#like i’d literally be thinking and say oh we have to get more lined paper or something
Text
Responsible
Ao3
Summary: A case of mistaken identity kicks off a dilemma.
@dickgraysonweek 2024, Day 6: Supernatural Creature AU | Dick Pushed to the Limit | Identity Porn
On the morning that everything goes down, Dick answers a ringing phone.
To be more specific, he answers a phone in Bruce’s office. And that’s where everything goes to absolute shit.
He’s in there picking up some documents Bruce texted him to get. The office in question is his study in the main house, his Brucie office, where everything to do with his civilian job is located. And, since Bruce is away for a multi week mission with Clark, he’s had to kick up the slack on some Brucie work.
And, while he’s in there, the landline phone on his desk rings.
Dick pauses right after picking up a folder. He eyes the ringing phone, uncertain about what he should do.
Should I pick this up? He asks himself. Do I…would this be the right thing to do?
The phone keeps ringing.
Because he’s a nice guy (and he’s kind of curious, okay?) Dick picks up the phone. “Bruce Wayne’s office?” Dick says, a vague question in his tone.
“Ah,” A woman’s voice says on the other end of the line. “Yes, hello. Would that be Damian Wayne’s parent?”
Oh. This must be someone from the school. “Yes,” Dick says. “That’s correct.”
“Excellent,” He hears some papers shuffling. “We just wanted to inform families that all students have their art exhibitions on Friday next week. Can we confirm that Damian’s family will be coming?”
“Yes!” Dick says, beaming. He hadn’t known Damian had a family school event coming up. “Absolutely, yes.”
“Great,” The woman says. He hears typing in the background. “And can we confirm that you’ll be able to take a photograph with Damian’s artwork in it for the photo wall?”
“Of course!” Dick says. He smiles wider. “I’d love to.”
He hears more typing. “Amazing,” The woman says. “We needed each child to have one with their parent or guardian. Damian was our last holdout. We’ll see you there, Mr. Wayne.”
Dick’s eyes widen. “Wait—”
He’s met by a dial tone and the sound of his mistakes.
Dick slowly lowers his face onto Bruce’s majestic desk, phone still held up to his ear. How could he have made a mistake like that? Bruce is away for another few weeks at least. How is he going to get him to show up for Damian’s event? He can’t have him be the only person there with no picture…
He hears a whisper on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” He asks, confused. He waits for a little, but he’s greeted by nothing further. A little unsettled, he places the phone back down and leaves the room as soon as he’s able to.
-
“So. Yeah. I think I made a mistake.” Dick grimaces, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“You think?” Jason says. He chews on a chocolate chip cookie. “Dude. You answered the phone in Bruce’s office and you didn’t think that they would assume that you’re Bruce? You serious?”
“I know,” Dick groans. “It was stupid. But it’s done, and now the school thinks Bruce is coming when he isn’t, and Damian thinks Bruce is coming when he isn’t, and I’m in big trouble.”
Tim chews his own cookie thoughtfully. “I mean,” He says. “I really don’t think so to be honest. You just have to tell Damian that there was a miscommunication and Bruce can’t make it. We’ll go instead. Whatever. No big deal.”
Jason frowns. “Hey, don’t volunteer me for this.”
“Yeah,” Dick says. “We’ll go anyway. But he’ll be so disappointed.”
“Wouldn’t it be more disappointing if he thinks Bruce is coming when he isn’t?” Tim asks, raising his eyebrows.
Dick sips his tea contemplatively. “You’re right,” He says. “But the school? And Damian being the only one with no parent/guardian there? That sucks. Think we can get around that somehow?”
“Um,” Jason says. “I don’t think you could impersonate Bruce, if that’s what you’re asking. First, he’s a literal celebrity. Second, I’m pretty sure impersonating a parent to get into a school is vaguely frowned upon.”
Tim raises a hand. “I think it’s illegal,” He volunteers.
“You guys are no help,” Dick sighs. “Fine. Whatever. We’ll make it there for him anyway.”
“You never came to my school events,” Jason comments. “I bet you never knew a single project I ever did.”
Dick lifts the mug back to his lips. It hides his grin as he stage whispers “Ka-chow” into his tea.
Jason’s face goes pale. “You son of a—”
“Cars?” Tim says, voice rising about two octaves in a second.
“NO!”
“Oh, yes,” Dick says, putting the mug back down. “Do you know how many times I heard ‘Oh, same old, same old. What's up with you?’ Whenever the word ‘wasabi’ was said? Years. I heard that for years. And I had to hear it again for his film review presentation.”
“FUCK OFF!”
“Cars Two?” Tim says, two seconds away from hysterical laughter. “It wasn’t even the good Cars?”
“Hey!” Jason points at him. “I’ll have you know that Cars Two is a very serviceable sequel to—”
“It was about Mater!”
“Yeah, and he’s—hold on, how did you recognize the quote was from Cars Two?”
Dick makes his stealthy exit at the sounds of the now heated debate, grinning all the way.
As he ducks around the side of the kitchen, he sees someone turn the corner. Alfred, He thinks, speeding up. Alfred may have some sage advice for these moments
When he turns the corner, there’s nobody to be seen.
-
“Yes, you should go!” Steph says. “Are you kidding me? Go!”
Dick sighs, leaning against an old city gargoyle. “But,” He says, “Batman should…”
“Oh please,” Steph scoffs. Her legs swing as she sits on the side of the roof, blonde hair blowing in the cold Gotham night. “You know Robin would prefer it that you went instead of Batman anyway.”
“No he wouldn’t!” Dick protests.
The comm buzzes in his ear. “Um, guys? Shouldn’t we be paying attention here?”
Dick laughs under his breath. “You’re right, Signal. Sorry. Keeping an eye out now.”
“Yeah, Signal,” Steph says. “What do you think? About Nightwing’s predicament?”
Dick smiles, looking back to the street below.
There’s a short silence. “I mean, sure,” Duke says. “We’re all going, right?”
“Not about that going,” Steph says. “About the parent picture going. For Nightwing to be in the picture instead? Since Batman isn’t gonna be there.”
“But he’s not the parent,” Duke argues. “Isn’t that, I don’t know. Not allowed?”
Steph sighs. “Come on, dude,” She says. “You’re being too literal about this.”
“I mean,” Duke says. “Legally speaking. Will the school even let it happen? It’s possible we’ll all just get kicked out and it’ll be even more embarrassing for Robin.”
Dick frowns. “He’s right,” He says. “I didn’t consider that part.”
“Oh come on,” Steph says. “Don’t make it a big deal. Just do it. Nike style.”
Dick looks back down at the silent street, considering his options. Which would be the better option for Damian?
At his next blink, the street changes.
Instead of a street corner with a white parked car and fire hydrant, there’s now a shattered image overwhelming his vision. The canvas of his sight has cracks running down the image , separating Gotham into various pieces. Each piece looks different (night, day, early morning). It’s like he’s looking at different times of day layered over each other, all of time passing by simultaneously.
Dick slams his eyes shut. He rubs them furiously.
“Nightwing?” And that’s Steph, voice concerned. “What’s up?”
Dick’s almost scared to open his eyes. “Give me a sec,” He says, trying to keep his voice calm.
He works up the courage and opens his eyes back up, and in the second it takes for his vision to readjust, he sees that it’s back to normal.
He breathes a sigh of relief. “All good,” He says. “Any updates on—”
He cuts himself off as a dark figure leaps onto the roof next to him, elegantly landing and slinking towards the rest of them.
“Hey,” Steph grins, standing up. “Any movement?”
“Riddler’s group are on their way,” Cass says, and there’s no mistaking her battle-readiness. “Be prepared.”
“Yes!” Steph says. She stands up, stretching. “Let’s gooo! Formation eighty four, right?”
Her voice echoes strangely on the number, bouncing around Dick’s head, layering over different voices.
He shakes his head hard, then stands up too. “Right,” He says on comms. “We go in together.”
He looks at Cass, giving her a smile. “Ready?”
Cass shrugs, voice sparkling with humor. “As I ever am,” She replies. “Also…”
“Hm?” Dick says, mind already on the best way to flip back onto the ground below.
“You should go,” Cass says, and approaching voices interrupt Dick before he can respond.
-
After that, things just get weirder.
Dick doesn’t have much time to spare: he has to decide how he’s going to handle Damian’s issue, how he’s going to make sure he can be as happy as possible. But things just keep happening to him, with no clear explanation and it’s really starting to freak him out.
He knows that he should be asking for help at this point. It could be one of many things: medical issue, psychological issue, work issue? He hasn’t been in a situation where he thinks he could’ve been magicked or anything, so…maybe this can wait, just so the school thing can go without a hitch.
So he just decides to ignore it. But sometimes, when he starts seeing things out of the corner of his eye or hears things that don’t make sense, he needs a moment to recover.
Like now, hanging out with Alfred in the manor while he straightens up in his biweekly spring cleanings. Dick helps however he can, although sometimes he thinks he hinders more than helps most of the time.
This time around Babs is there too, and it’s so wonderful to catch up that he loses concentration and when he starts to see colors at the edge of his vision, he knows that he needs to pull himself together. So, he excuses himself and runs to the bathroom.
Dick splashes water on his face, breathing in deeply.
Pull yourself together, He thinks, staring at his face in the mirror. Pull yourself together.
Is this stress? Is he so stressed about Damian’s school thing that he’s starting to hallucinate? Surely not.
He sighs, clicking open the bathroom door and making his way back to the living room. He enters to see Babs still on the couch, book in hand, while Alfred straightens picture frames behind her.
“I believe your path forward is clear, Master Dick,” Alfred says. He picks up the conversation that has been started moments before, without missing a single step. “Go to the school event and offer your support where it’s needed. Including the individual pictures. When Master Bruce is unavailable, you have the right in absentia.”
“Well, yeah,” Babs says. “I don’t think anyone denies that part, Alfred. It’s just a matter of approaching it intelligently. And since we���ll all be there to back him up, it should go okay.” She gives Dick a piercing look. “Although…I’m pretty sure we can make you look like Bruce, pass you off as him. Problem solved.”
“I would advise against that,” Alfred says. “The ethics of doing this would be dubious to say the least.”
Dick groans, settling back on the couch. “I gotta say,” He says. “I’m getting a lot of opinions from the peanut gallery on this.”
“You asked,” Babs says, rolling her eyes.
“Regardless, Master Dick,” And here, Alfred’s voice takes a softer quality. “Whatever you decide, know that it’s with Master Damian’s well being in mind. And that is the most important element of this situation.”
Dick smiles to himself. His eyes wander to the window, and the rain that lashes through the dark sky. “Thanks, Alfie,” He says softly.
He blinks, and sees a face pressed up against the window. The face is set on a wild expression, blue eyes flashing against the darkness of the sky.
Dick practically jumps, almost falling off the couch. He blinks again, and the face vanishes.
“Dick?” Babs asks. “You okay?”
Dick shakes his head. “Yeah, sorry,” He says, shaky. “Lost my balance. I’m good.”
He keeps staring at the window. It remains empty all night.
-
“Let’s go,” Dick says. He taps his foot, straightening his tie nervously. “Everyone ready to go?”
He does a headcount of the group gathered by the Manor’s entrance. It had been an ordeal making sure everyone got there on time. “Who’s missing?”
Jason glances around the group critically. He has forgone Dick’s strict insurrections to “dress nice”. “Still missing Tim,” He says, then mutters under his breath “Of course.”
Steph smirks back at him. She, at least, had followed the dress code. “Yeah, I know, right?”
“Be nice,” Dick says mildly. He checks his watch. “Okay, maybe we should go in groups. That way, we can get there early enough to—”
Another blink, and his watch vanishes. He looks up, startled “What—”
He’s still in the manor. But…
Everyone’s disappeared. The warm glow of the halls have vanished, replaced with dark hallways and a cold air surrounding him. The familiar walls and floors have a haze of gray surrounding them, and he feels choked on the feeling of despair that radiates out of every corner.
He steps back, and everything goes back to normal.
Babs raises her eyebrows at him. “Get there early enough to—?”
They hadn’t noticed. What in the hell is happening to him?
Dick feels his mind start to whirl, and he desperately tries to hold on. “Enough to—”
He blinks again, and he’s back, he’s back at the empty manor, but this time there are sounds too: whispering in the hallways, silent tapping on the floors.
Dick whirls around. “What the hell…”
He comes face to face with a familiar face, a face with bright blue eyes, a face that he had seen both at the window a few days ago, and in the bathroom mirror every day of his life.
His own face blinks back at him, looking just startled.
“Hey,” Dick says. “Who are—”
The world shatters.
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Amnesia!Dabi
Once again, the ask has forsaken me- (Edit:and then this got away from me, holy shit-)
so like, the “half-baked plan to leave”-
Dabi, by this point, has spent - god, I don’t know how old he is - let’s say sixish years? essentially homeless, mostly without memory, and hiding as best he can from the law. And like, yeah, he wants to know who the hell he is, but he’s out of options, and by the time he joins the LoV … I won’t say he’s given up, but he’s getting real damn tired of not knowing things. It’s not like he’s investigated all of Japan, but he’s starting to wonder if that’s even where he’s from. Or even if maybe he should stop looking so hard, find somewhere he can hunker down, maybe see a therapist? Someone who could help him unravel all the blankness in his head, anyway. But, like, it’s not a concrete PLAN, so much as a thought experiment, at this point.
then he joins the LoV, meets Himiko, and goes “oh. huh. maybe this won’t be so bad?” Like, he’s under no illusions that these are the bad guys, but like. He’s remembered more bits and pieces hanging out with Himiko than literally anything else he’s ever tried. I doubt he’d trust the league as a whole with his memory loss, but if he says “yeah, I’m trying to track down someone, it’s sort of important and means a lot to me”, I imagine they’d all be pretty on board? Like, the League are all fairly nice people, really, so it’s going ok. Yeah, there are a few things that make him a bit uncomfortable, and he’s quickly becoming protective of Himiko (and worried, is she supposed to have random fevers?) but Dabi’s thinking maybe they CAN help him figure this out.
But he also isn’t a moron. He knows this kind of group could easily screw him over, so now he’s seriously considering back-up plans. Even if the group DOES screw him over, he’s met a few people now, made some of his own connections. He could pretty easily get papers to get himself out of country if he needs to. He’s also making plans to find a hospital or something to take Himiko to, because she’s starting to seriously worry him. I’m basing this mostly on myself, honestly - I have a pretty severe Iron deficiency - and before we figured out that was the problem, I would have dizzy spells, migraines, nausea with no explanation, my immune system wasn’t great so I’d keep getting sick, etc, So this is what’s happening to Himiko. And like, the rest of the League isn’t indifferent to Himiko clearly being sick, but as far as they know, this might be normal for her. Dabi’s the one really getting worried and starting to look at treatment. But this is still mostly theoretical. He doesn’t have a solid plan.
But then- then we have the Forest Training Camp, and Kidnapping Katsuki. And that’s our first big stumbling block, cause like. Dabi is not okay with hurting kids. Not at all. In any way, shape, or form. He’s taking solace in the fact that this isn’t, like, the goal - they’re just here to recruit, right? Only, wow, so many kids ALMOST DIE, this is NOT OKAY. Honestly, he might have dipped during the fight itself , except then he sees Shouto, and “Surprise!” he’s remembering baby Shouto, “Just one more, T****-n**!”, wait, what, who? What was that??? The whole thing makes him seriously disoriented and it’s all he can do to make it back to the hideout without passing out. Which, ya know, he does the moment he has a flat, safe surface on which to do so.
So he wakes up, all confused - he knows the Peppermint kid? Maybe? - and he’s thinking of a plan, walks out into the main room … and sees Katsuki chained up. And muzzled.
Oh. Hell. No.
Yeah, fuck that, fuck this, Dabi does not want to be a part of whatever bullshit this is. He’s honestly preparing to set the place on fire, when All Might shows up, everything quickly goes to shit, and we probably have some awesome back-to-back dueling going on, as Dabi tries to keep Himiko and Katsuki out of the line of fire.
Now, the moment Katsuki gets rescued, Dabi is grabbing Himiko and bolting. He might cover their retreat, might create some theatrical distraction, but then he is LEAVING. He is NOT sticking around to watch All Might punch the thousand year old man. And he does get away, but now-
Well, I would imagine during the fight, Himiko got hurt. And maybe if she was completely healthy, it wouldn’t matter so much, but Himiko (as we have stated, but I feel the need to reiterate) has spent twelve years being STARVED. So she’s hurt, probably already sick, and not doing too great. Dabi is, at this point, a wanted criminal. He doesn’t have a lot of money, he just betrayed what allies he had, and watched the boss of those guys throw down with the best hero ever born. He has NOTHING to work with.
Except …
He remembers Shouto. He remembers Shouto as a kid, a little kid, a memory that’s clearer than any he has. Shouto goes to U.A., where they have Recovery Girl, and are pretty outspoken about Quirk Discrimination and how they won’t tolerate it. One of their teachers even has a blood based Quirk. Yes, Dabi participated in helping kidnap one of their students, but he also helped that student then escape. If it was just his memory, or just Himiko being sick and hurt, Dabi might not have done it. He might have figured something else out. Laid low, or found an underground hospital.
But together?
Yeah, he’s taking that risk.
-
YEAH ITS
so re: the Timeline if we’re going with the Chaos Children timeline where he ‘died’ at 19 and he’s 23 when 1-A’s first year starts so it’s closer to just the three years depending on how long he was in coma-town(in CC it’s still a bit so he hasn’t been ‘awake’ for /too/ long, enough to get some bearings and to be manipulated, but in this AU we could have the coma being really short which is part of why he escapes.)
But even so the three years is enough for him to start looking into things and being incredibly frustrated.
Actually using the CC timeline might make things worse because it’s harder for him to figure out how old he is as he’s already a grown adult. Like still a young adult obvs he has some maturing to do still, but in terms of physicality he’s pretty indistinguishable and any other features that would be used to guess his age are obscured by the burns.
I think the rest of the League would notice and care about Himiko’s health, but it’s. None of them trust AfO’s doctor because the fucker’s playing frankenstein and taking her to a /real/ doctor would result in her (and whoever is escorting her) getting arrested. Like yeah she can shapeshift and disguise herself doctors /really/ need to know your real self to get a diagnosis and to prescribe meds so she can’t really just walk in as a rando even with fake paperwork.
So they try to help her as best they can with things they can get at a pharmacy(either over the counter meds or stuff they rob from behind the counter when the otc stuff doesn’t work). And Himiko kinda waving them off because she’s ‘always like this’ and ‘just needs to manage herself better’ doesn’t help. Because they don’t know the cause is because of her Quirk and being starved for 12 years, and even though she’s getting a decent supply of blood now (sometimes from them letting her have a bite of them, sometimes through whoever is the target of the day), it’s not enough to really make up for the years of neglect. But again: they don’t entirely know all of these details so when she says she’s used to feeling bad like that, they start to assume some kind of like chronic illness type of thing that yes she genuinely needs a doctor for.
But again that loops back to the above issue of getting her to a doctor without being thrown in jail. Doubly so because they doubt she’d really get proper treatment in jail either.
I think the thing that keeps Dabi from taking Himiko and jumping ship earlier is mostly just Himiko herself. Because she doesn’t want to risk it and it’s pretty impossible to force her. And even on the days when she does feel awful enough to debate risking trying to go to a doctor, Himiko still hesitates because she’s grown friendly with the other LoV members and this might endanger them but also she’d never be able to see them again.
And then yeah the kidnapping thing happens and it’s. It’s a final push but even then Dabi might’ve hesitated more if Himiko hadn’t been hurt. And while he could patch her up on his own both of them REALLY need an actual doctor. so he takes the risk.
Himiko is probably mad at him for a while. Sure, she understands, so she’s not too mad and she’s not going to stay mad at him forever. But she’s at least gonna cry about it for a while.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
Opinion At 33, I knew everything. At 69, I know something much more important.
By Anne Lamott :: Contributing columnist
Anne Lamott is an American novelist and nonfiction writer. Her latest book, “Somehow: Thoughts on Love,” will be published in April 2024.
Today I woke up old and awful in every way. I simultaneously cannot bear the news and cannot turn it off: It’s cobra hypnosis — Gaza, Israel, the shootings in Maine. The world is as dark as a scarab. I have two memorial services on my calendar this week. A dear friend is in the hospital waiting for a liver, dying. She keeps assuring me, “I ain’t in no ways tired,” and I say, “Oh, stop with that or I’m not going to visit again.” I’m exhausted just driving 90 minutes to and from San Francisco to see her.
My body hurt quite a lot when I got out of bed this morning, and I limped around like Granny Clampett for the first hour, until it unseized. Worse, my mind hurt, my heart hurt and I hated almost everyone, except my husband, my grandson and one of the dogs.
I don’t think I could have borne up under all this 20 years ago when I thought I knew so much about life. That was not nearly as much as I knew at 33, which is when we know more than we ever will again. But age has given me the ability to hang out without predicting how things will sort out this time (mostly — depending on how I’ve slept).
In many of Albert Bierstadt’s Western paintings, there is a darkness on one side, maybe a mountain or its shadow. Then toward the middle, animals graze or drink from a lake or stream. And then at the far right or in the sky, splashes of light lie like shawls across the shoulders of the mountains. The great darkness says to me what I often say to heartbroken friends — “I don’t know.”
Is there meaning in the Maine shootings?
I don’t know. Not yet.
My white-haired husband said on our first date seven years ago that “I don’t know” is the portal to the richness inside us. This insight was one reason I agreed to a second date (along with his beautiful hands). It was a game-changer. Twenty years earlier, when my brothers and I were trying to take care of our mother in her apartment when she first had Alzheimer’s, we cried out to her gerontology nurse, “We don’t know if she can stay here, how to help her take her meds, how to get her to eat better since she forgets.” And the nurse said gently, “How could you know?”
This literally had not crossed our minds. We just thought we were incompetent. In the shadow of the mountain of our mother’s decline, we hardly knew where to begin. So we started where we were, in the not knowing.
In the center of many Bierstadt paintings, you sometimes see animals grazing or drinking. They’re fine, they’re animals; they are just doing animals. But they are not the point — the point is the light. No matter how low you are, the light can reach you. It falls on animals, including us. This is positively biblical. Some of Bierstadt’s animals are lined up at the water as if they’re going to march onto Noah’s Ark. Or they’re huddled together as on a park bench, just hanging out. You have to wonder if the older deer are slightly surprised upon waking every morning, as I am, fumbling around for their glasses.
The animals never seem to have anywhere to go. I used to have lots of places I had to get to. I had to go out for this or that, and it was an emergency — graph paper! I suddenly, urgently, needed to drive to town for graph paper. Also, in the old days when there was something to celebrate, I’d go out to a nice restaurant with friends. To celebrate now, I might exuberantly skip flossing for a night, and maybe if the news is good enough, the hip exercises. Wild times.
In my younger days when the news was too awful, I sought meaning in it. Now, not so much. The meaning is that we have come through so much, and we take care of each other and, against all odds, heal, imperfectly. We still dance, but in certain weather, it hurts. (Okay, always.)
The portals of age also lead to the profound (indeed earthshaking) understanding that people are going to do what people are going to do: They do not want my always-good ideas on how to have easier lives and possibly become slightly less annoying.
Now there is some acceptance (partly born of tiredness) that I can’t rescue or fix anyone, not even me. Sometimes this affords me a kind of plonky peace, fascination and even wonder at people and life as they tromp on by.
The price of aging is high: constant aches, real pain and barely survivable losses. But each time my hip unseizes, it reminds me that this life is not going to go on forever, and that is what makes it so frigging precious.
Another gift of aging is the precipitous decline in melodrama. Enjoying how unremarkable life is takes practice and time, and then the little things start to shine and delight. Life gets smaller and in its smallness it starts winking at you. On my first day back in New Mexico recently, the high desert looked barren and brown. Pretty, yes, but a little dead. Then the tiny desert flowers, yellow, lavender, magenta and baby blue, made their way into my consciousness, and the earth’s shades of ochre and red started to warm me, and before long the formerly dead desert was alive and awash in dynamic, undulating streams of color.
[Albert Bierstadt :: Yosemite]
Sometimes at the right or the top center of Bierstadt paintings is a trippy splash of light, often a mystical, jagged slash that breaks through dirty-looking or white-fire clouds. There might be bright reflections, or long, slanted fingers of sun shining down with religious airs, organ music playing softly in the background. Puffy rainclouds glow. All say, “Yes, there is the deep dark, but we have some light as well.”
Will my brothers or I inherit our mother’s Alzheimer’s? I don’t know. I do know that I recently parked in front of my house and sort of forgot to turn off the engine. Three hours later, a formerly standoffish young neighbor knocked on my door to tell me this, and I pretended to have known. I said the battery had been low and so I was letting it recharge.
“Ah,” she said.
Now she is sweet when she sees me. We wave to each other when we pass in our cars, reflecting a new affection. Reflections say, “In the dark, there’s still some light around. So don’t ever think things are too dark. We’re not going to give you the entire reserve, but we just want you to know it is there. And more may be on its way.”
[Anne Lamott]
#articles#Anne Lamott#aging#age#Bierstadt#WAPO#Washington Post#paintings#Thanksgiving#Yosemite#about art#Albert Bierstadt
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
"O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night.”
Chapter 3 / Series Masterlist / Previous Chapter
6.1K words
~~
MONDAY. 2:50 PM.
“Tryst?”
“Tryst.”
“That’s not a word that’s a medication or some shit.”
“No,” you bat his arm and shake your head, “‘tryst’ is a bona fide word. It means an agreement to be present at a specified time and place.”
“Okay, and how do you spell bona fide?” he shoves a spare piece of scribbled-on loose leaf paper in front of you, “Because I swear to God people like you are just making up letter arrangements and calling it words.”
“People like me?” you write down the word and pass the sheet back to Eddie, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Smartasses,” he teases and looks down at the paper, “Oh, shit, I’ve been spelling this so wrong.”
“How did you spell it?”
“Uh, I can’t look at you while I do this,” he averts his eyes, “B O N E I F I E D - all one words. And yes, I did use it in a school paper - multiple, in fact.”
“Oh my God,” you groan, “Eddie Munson, why would you use a word when you don’t know how it’s spelled?”
“Because I wanted to sound smart.”
“Well, I bet your teachers appreciated the effort.”
“Definitely didn’t, considering I’m 19 going on 20 and still in high school.”
You had your materials for English set out by the time Eddie arrived at the library. But Eddie was prone to distraction and you were quickly finding that when it came to him, so were you.
“Tryst, though,” your leg starts bouncing before you realize it, without noticing that Eddie’s leg was bouncing this whole time, “I was thinking,” you watch Eddie actually pull out his work now, “about the play I mentioned Friday. I was wondering… if you would like to come? It probably won’t even be packed, but I figured I’d just ask.”
As if he can sense your nerves, Eddie grins, “Hell yeah, who wouldn’t wanna see our resident genius on stage?”
You return his smile and kick your legs on the chair, eyes falling to the clock on the wall, “I can’t remember the exact date,” a lie, but you choose to not seem overeager, “but I can secure you two tickets. So you aren’t alone or anything.”
Little do you know, Eddie just thinks the way you’re trying to not show how excited you clearly are is adorable.
Now, however, it’s his turn to be embarrassed as he moves an unfinished essay before you. It’s marred with lead smears and eraser marks - his introduction paragraph showing clear signs of being written and rewritten repeatedly.
He sheepishly scratches the back of his neck and is more than ashamed to reason, “I have no idea how to write a thesis statement.”
“Oh, - it’s just a line of reasoning or argument,” you scooch closer to Eddie and he automatically leans into you, “Like, if we were fighting right now about the best color and you were to say it was black and I said it was green - your thesis statement could be something as simple as ‘black is the best color’,” he nods slowly, brows furrowing, “But since this is an academic paper, you’ll need something more complicated.”
“Yeah, I get that,” Eddie shakes his head, his pencil’s eraser jabbing into his paper, “I just don’t how mine is wrong.”
“Let me see,” your eyes scan what he has written down so far.
The novel 1984 shows the impacts of widespread communism by it’s mass surveillance and use of doublethink.
“It’s literally all I could think of and she keeps just telling me it’s wrong and I don’t know what to do,” you can hear how frustrated Eddie sounds and it makes your heart clench.
You shake your head at him and hope that the action is enough to give him hope, “No, this is good - it’s just more about totalitarianism than communism. So, think of something that’s related to communism and how you can form that into the essay.”
“Uh,” Eddie turns to stare at the paper, eyes closing as he thinks, and you wait patiently until he shrugs, “economy’s shit.”
“Yeah,” you nearly bang a hand on the table but refrain for the sake of other students’ in the library, “so, what more about that?”
“Well, what’s-his-ass lives in a bad apartment, right?” you nod and Eddie continues, “And everybody eats poorly, so there’s not enough to go around,” you hum and make an effort to quietly clap.
“Good job,” you tilt your head, laying it in your palm, “I’ll let you in on a secret. The only other point I could think of was the political control, which is breaching totalitarianism again, but if you’re vague enough then she just gives you the points.”
“Are you serious?” his eyes widen, “That’s such bullshit.”
You hum in agreement, “I know, right?”
“So, political control - “ Eddie clenches his eyes as he thinks, “The Party is the only form of government and they just torture whoever so that they can get confessions to crimes, right?”
“Pretty much,” you nod and then sit up straight, “So, now that we have our reasons - we should work a bit of formatting.”
“What’s wrong with my formatting?” his brows furrow and before you register what you’re doing, you reach out and smooth out the skin.
Instead of focusing on your own actions, you start talking, “Nothing, but there’s just a more specific way that teachers like…” your eyes dart from Eddie to the clock and back to Eddie, “It’s weird.”
“Then, show me your magic, princess,” he leans back as if to give you free reign of his paper.
The nickname that rolled from his tongue is meant to be nothing but a tease at your infamously proper nature, but the way he says it leaves your chest tighter than you’d like to admit.
“It’s really easy, I promise,” you assure, “For starters, essays can usually be started with something like, ‘In the novel 1984, written by George Orwell’,” Eddie’s fingers come down to rhythmically tap the table as you speak, “Then you just reference your topic and the details you’re using. Also, you used the wrong form of contraction. It should be ‘its’ with no apostrophe - since you’re using it to reference a noun.”
“Uh,” Eddie moves the paper back in front of him, “okay. Okay,” he nods, “Okay.”
Once again, you wait patiently for Eddie to gather his thoughts before he starts erasing and writing over his marks. Then, he passes it to you, leg bouncing faster and his hands drumming quicker against the table.
In his novel 1984, George Orwell shows the effects of widespread communism by the economic difficulties and political control by The Party.
“I kept wanting to write hard-on instead of difficulties but, you know,” Eddie admits once he can tell you’re finished reading.
“I can sense that,” you nod, “This is really good, you should be proud.”
And he is, he can feel his chest puffing up at your praise.
“Now, let’s talk about how to format our evidence,” your eyes fall back to the essay and you nearly wince at the lack of pages cited, “and citations.”
“Great, great, great,” Eddie nods, “and what are those?”
…
If you wanted to be able to get to work on time by walking from school, you should’ve left five minutes ago - at 3:40.
“Oh my gosh!” you shoot up from your seat and start packing away your work.
“‘Gosh,’” Eddie squints at you, “are you a cartoon character?”
“I’m gonna be so late,” you shake your head, “Sorry, Eddie, I have to get to work. Like, now.”
“I can drive you,” Eddie almost laughs at how surprised you look to hear him say that, “I’m not a dick, princess.”
“I never said you were,” you pout as Eddie hauls his bag over a shoulder after shoving his papers away.
“I could see it,” he waves off, guiding you to his van in the parking lot.
“You couldn’t see anything because I wasn’t thinking it,” you insist, hurrying to catch up with Eddie’s long strides.
He hums like he doesn’t believe you and knowing his experience in school, you can’t blame him.
Eddie puts on the radio and another song your parents would puke from hearing comes on. You look at him and he takes a glance at you.
He pretends that your doe eyes have no effect as he only says, “Black Sabbath.”
“Ah,” you pretend to know who that is.
Once again, you can feel something break out within your veins while sitting next to Eddie listening to metal. Exhilarating, you decide.
“You know,” you break the silence, turning and resting your head to look at Eddie, “about the play - you should have auditioned.”
His hands are tapping at the steering wheel with the rhythm of the song, something you now assume he does often, “And give everyone more reason to make my life hell? Doesn’t sound like my best option.”
He’s right, but even so, you can’t help from muttering, “Bummer. Would’ve been great working with you, Munson.”
“Then I’d miss out on your leading lady performance from the audience. Also not my best option.”
Flattery usually doesn’t work on you, but the way Eddie says it so simply - like it’s absolute fact - makes your heart stutter for just a moment.
“I never got the idea of performing like that,” he admits, “I mean, don’t get me wrong - I like giving a show to my band’s five drunks - Tuesdays at The Hideout, by the way,“ he winks and you can’t help but giggle at the obvious plug, “but school plays sound so…”
“Shit?”
If Eddie weren’t driving, you’re certain he would’ve scrambled to clutch his pearls, “Swearing? You? No way.”
“I’m sheltered, not a child.”
“Of course, of course,” he relents, “but yeah. School plays just sound like an invitation for a public meltdown. You fuck up one line and everyone hates you.”
“I think that’s almost part of the appeal,” you shrug, “For me, at least. It’s weird, but I think I like that adrenaline.”
You know you like that adrenaline, but something about that commitment is lost on you when you’re explaining it aloud (Neurasthenia, you decide, from neuro for ‘nerve’ and asthenia for ‘weakness’. Coined by a young Dr. George Miller Beard in 1869. Now more commonly referred to as ‘anxiety’).
You want to know what it’s like. To be thrown to the wolves - just for a moment. For someone to lock you outside in the middle of a zombie horde before dragging you back in, you crave the pounding of your heart in a controlled setting. Class presentations are sluggish hell that nobody is really paying attention to. But school plays are just out of reach enough to be desirable. You want to feel alive - in a controlled setting.
Everyone coming is expecting flubbed lines and poor choreography. It’s all families and friends and a few teachers - nobody important is coming.
But when Eddie throws out a line about sitting in the front row just to see you all dolled up as Juliet Capulet, your mind blanks.
“Huh?” you dumbly mutter.
“I look forward to seeing you all fancy,” Eddie repeats.
Not exactly the way your brain translated it, but if you clogged your ears enough - you could act like it’s really what you heard.
“Well, I look forward to seeing the Eddie Munson actually at school for longer than he has to be.”
“The Eddie Munson is not as excited about that, but,” he grins and you think the sight is more charming than anything the basketball team could drum up, “anything for you, princess.”
“Why do you call me that?” you tilt your head, dreading the fact you can see Family Video coming closer into view - halfway because work and halfway because it means you can’t talk to Eddie anymore.
“You’re like a princess,” he shrugs, “sweet ‘n’ pretty,” he turns to you and unbuckles as you do, “I can also see you leading an army.”
To say Steve’s eyes widen like dinner plates when he sees you walk into Family Video with Eddie “the freak” Munson would be an insult to dinner plates. You wave at him and Robin before rushing off to the bathroom to change into your uniform.
Eddie, meanwhile, strolls over to the counter and leans in so his head is resting on his hands, he looks up at Steve and smiles sweetly, “Hi, Harrington.”
“Munson,” Steve bites back bitterly.
Robin steps up beside her friend and waves, “Buckley.”
“Buckley,” Eddie nods at her in acknowledgment, “How are you two on this fine evening?”
“Cut the shit, Munson, what’re you still doing here?” Steve glares down at the metalhead.
“What? I can’t catch up with beloved former classmates?” Eddie sardonically pouts.
“Not when you’re doomed to repeat senior year until the state makes you drop out as a 21-year-old burnout,” even Robin gasps at that.
All humor suddenly drops from Eddie’s face as he stands up straight, “Fuck you, Harrington, I’ll get it this time,” he points at the bathroom you just ran into, “I got the smartest person in Hawkins helping me, so just watch. I’ll graduate.”
“Yeah, and stay away from her, by the way,” if it weren’t for the fact that they were trapped within the confines of a public workplace, Steve would be grabbing Eddie by the collar and shaking him cartoonishly - he’s sure, “You’re a bad influence and she doesn’t need that. Especially when she’s so close to getting valedictorian.”
“Oh, yeah,” Eddie pretends to think as he glares at Steve, “‘cuz I was always the one that people had to protect their daughters from.”
“If you so much as- "
Before Steve gets the chance to finish, you come out of the bathroom and flit to the backroom to punch your timecard, then return to the front counter.
“Lookin’ good, princess,” Eddie drawls as you approach him at the counter.
“Keep it in your pants, Munson,” Steve huffs.
To his surprise, you push Steve away and shake your head, “Don’t mind him.”
“Never did,” it’s a lie and everyone can tell, but he’s granted a small mercy in the form of nobody saying anything.
Eddie can’t determine what it is exactly, but with you leaning against the counter and staring up at him with those sweet eyes - his chest aches in a strangely delicious way. His angel of Family Video, is the intrusive thought to follow, and he can’t find it in himself to be ashamed of it.
“You know,” your brows raise as he speaks, “if you want another ‘taste of the other side’, you’re always welcome at my trailer.”
“Oh, I don’t know, I’m not off for a few hours,” you look at the clock - 3:52 PM, “Are you sure? I wouldn’t wanna disrupt your schedule.”
Eddie’s grin makes you snap to the realization that he’s about to tease you, but you can’t bring it in yourself to shut him down, “Do you have a bedtime, princess?”
You sigh but respond in kind, “I try to be in bed by ten.”
“Well, that’s plenty of time,” Eddie throws his arms out, “Doesn’t matter the time, just the company - and if you’re there, the company is mighty sweet.”
The giggle that pulls from you makes you feel foolish, but the way Eddie brightens at the sound seems to make it well worth, “I’m off at 8:40.”
“I will be here at 8:40,” Eddie raps his knuckles to the wood counter before walking backwards out of the store, “That’s a promise!”
“I was almost hoping he’d trip,” Robin admits once Eddie’s out of the store.
“I was expecting you to start giggling and kicking your feet,” Steve stares at you in disgust.
“Yeah, whatever,” you huff but there’s still the remnants of a smile that you notice seems to come up whenever Eddie’s in question.
Robin is also grinning, hers, however, is more ribbing, “Someone’s got a crush.”
“Shut up,” you shake your head, “I do not. I’m just hanging out with a friend.”
“Even that is too far,” Steve interjects.
“Whatever, Mom,” you and Robin groan in sync and roll your eyes.
“I’m just saying,” Robin leans in to mutter, “that was adorable and you were so cheesing.”
“I was not cheesing, also that’s a gross way to put it.”
“Cheesing!” Robin sings.
“I was not,” you huff.
You totally were.
9:10 PM.
To be fair to you, you did say you try to be in bed by ten, not that you always are.
Fifty minutes until your parents would have wanted you asleep and yet you’re in Eddie Munson’s trailer bathroom changing out of your work uniform. You’d called your mother just minutes ago and lied to her directly for the first time since fifth grade when you said you did all your math homework but had not, in fact, done all of it.
“Keith just needs me here for a little while longer. I’ll call when I’m off, I promise. Yes, Mom, I’ll get a ride. Yes, I have my key. Okay. Okay, bye. Love you.”
“Oh, Dad’s home - do you wanna say hi?”
You pretended to already be in the process of hanging up and simply clicked the phone to the receiver.
Once again, the exhilaration of rebelling against an iron fist was returning. And good God did you find it addicting.
You can only imagine what your parents would be saying to you right now. How shocked your teachers would be that their beloved little top student was hanging around Eddie Munson. In his trailer no less.
Scandalized, you think. That’s exactly what they would all be.
When you get to Eddie’s room, his head shoots up and you can see he’s rooting through his metal lunchbox.
“Sorry,” his eyes flicker from you to his pale of drugs and back to you, “I didn’t hear you.”
An absolute lie, but he’d been on a roll of counting stock and didn’t want to stop because he knew he’d forget later.
In the time you take to respond he quickly finishes counting but before he can shut the box you stammer, “Actually, I- uh - was thinking.”
“Oh?”
“I think I wanna smoke…” you mumble.
“Think or know?” Eddie raises a brow, “That’s very important.”
“Know,” you nod curtly and settle down onto the carpet next to him.
“Alright, princess,” he rises from his place against the wall of his room and points at his bedroom door, “I have to get a few things - and then I’ll show you how to take a hit.”
You nod eagerly and Eddie leaves - returning moments later with two glasses of water and a lighter tucked between his teeth.
Taking the water he hands you - you watch Eddie pull out a small bag of weed and take the lighter from his mouth. And you especially watch as he rolls the weed into a small square paper, or more specifically - you watch the way his muscles flex and the peek of his veins as he moves.
“You’re just gonna suck it, sort of like a straw,” Eddie holds up the joint between two fingers once it’s lit, “but not too much. Just little hits right now, and only a couple at a time so we can see how you feel,” you nod meekly and he brings the joint to his lips, “I’ll do it first - just watch, okay?”
You’re thankful he does it multiple times before passing it to you because if you’re honest, you had trouble paying attention during the first example. Too keen on seeing how his cherry lips carefully came around the joint and how he quietly gasped as he breathed in the smoke. Eddie was pretty, of course, he was - you may not know why it’s now that you’re paying so much attention, but you do know you don’t mind all that much either.
Carefully, you bring the joint to your lips and copy how Eddie did, though not for as long as he did. You let go and breathe in quickly to hold the smoke - waiting for a beat before releasing it. Your face scrunches and Eddie can’t help but chuckle quietly when you start to cough, though he does pick up the water at your side and press it into your hands.
“I don’t feel anything,” you look at him once the coughing has died down.
Eddie nods, “It doesn’t kick in immediately. Most drugs don’t.”
You take another hit and Eddie watches with sweet bambi eyes. His eyes are just as dark and endless as an abyss but whenever you look up and lock eyes with him, you can’t imagine why anybody would ever be afraid of him.
He’s loud. And he mocks cliques openly. But he isn’t afraid to make himself the fool for a laugh from his friends.
You think you adore him for that. The confidence with which his body moves even though everybody points and laughs. The strength he uses to resist the pressure of conforming. Certainly more of a hero than Jason Carver who taunts you for not doing his homework and harassing Chrissy when she tries breaking up with him.
Another coughing fit suddenly rattles you and Eddie rubs your back as you gulp down water. Eddie takes the joint and you wrap your arms around yourself, leaning into his side as he smokes.
You are wide-eyed and naive and you didn’t know that Special K was code for Ketamine until he told you in his van five minutes ago. You’re dense and you always let the flirtations roll off of you because it’s safer than assuming someone is actually interested in you. You come from an entirely different world than Eddie does and sometimes it’s so painfully obvious.
But Eddie can imagine himself taking you out on a date and that’s dangerous. For better or for worse, though, he’s never been the best at avoiding danger.
So he loops his arm around your shoulders and tilts his head back until it thunks against his wall. He doesn’t notice he’s doing it but he’s drawing the tips of his fingers over your arm in light circles. Then he observes, “You’re so tense.”
“Sorry,” you mutter, honestly anxious as you’re waiting to feel what you’d overheard about marujuana from your peers.
“Don’t apologize,” Eddie continues his soft caresses when you relax under his hand, “‘s just that if you’re all tense and worried, then you don’t have as nice an experience - so I’ve learned.”
“Right,” you nod slowly and hold out your hand, “Can I…?”
“You sure?” Eddie places the joint between your fingers, but still holds it just in case you change your mind.
But you nod resolutely, “I’m sure.”
It can’t hurt. Besides, Eddie’s here - and he promised to take care of you.
You don’t know when it starts happening, but eventually you realize that your chest burns a little bit - but not in a way that you hate. It feels like your bones expand as you breathe; ribs a little heavier and your eyes start to droop. But you don’t hate it.
Eddie looks at you and grins and you return the gesture. He can see the red coming through your eyes and the way you keep licking your lips.
“Someone’s high,” he murmurs in your ear and puts out the joint in his ashtray.
“‘m not high,” you protest, but the way you’re nearly boneless against his side says otherwise.
“Whatever you say, princess.”
“Maybe I’m a little high,” you throw your head back so it rests on Eddie’s shoulder.
“I know, sweetness,” the pet name makes you giggle and he definitely hears it, “What’s so funny, huh?”
“Uhh,” you stare up at his trailer ceiling and decide to play it off as best as you can, “thinking about my audition.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you then turn your head, cheek squished against the material of Eddie’s Hellfire shirt as you look up at him, “I did Juliet’s monologue for it and now I’m, like, super embarrassed looking back on it.”
“Why’s that?” he turns so he’s looking down at you. Those bambi eyes now fitted with dilated pupils as they carefully watch you bite your lip and giggle. For a moment, he thinks about pressing gentle kisses to the lip you drag between your teeth.
“I totally axed my words,” you mumble but you pause, mouth slightly open as you think - then you giggle again and you know it’s only the weed, but something inside you likes feeling this way, “Don’t even know how it happened, but sometimes I used modern English instead of Shakespearean English.”
Eddie places his free hand over his heart, eyes widening, “That’s tragic. How’d you recover?”
“Stop,” you bury your face into the material of his shirt - it smells of pot and cheap cologne and you know that when you have to leave, you’ll miss it - “I just asked to start over and Mr. Harvey let me ‘cuz he knew I was nervous.”
“Well, I’m sure you still blew those other girls out of the water,” Eddie nods curtly and his hair falls into his face.
You don’t think before reaching up and brushing the hair from his eyes. Eddie’s gaze falls to yours and you two pause. It feels like the rest of the world could corrode and neither of you would notice - too busy staring into one another’s eyes.
A little smile comes over you and Eddie smiles back. You two giggle and Eddie takes the hand you used to brush away his hair and holds it. He squeezes your hand three times.
“You know what a shotgun house is?” you squeeze his hand back.
“Cannot say that I do.”
“They’re really common in New Orleans - it’s a house that has a direct line of sight between every doorway. So, if you shot your gun through the front door, it’d go straight through to the back.”
“Sounds like a good time,” he mutters, “Why would they name it based on how easy it’d be to kill all the residents?”
“No clue but it sounds badass,” he chuckles at your state and you move so your chin now rests on his shoulder, “How’re your grades?”
Eddie’s attention couldn’t be ripped away from you if a fire caught right next to him. Your lips are barely inches away from his and it’s like he’s in the Garden of Eden, a snake coaxing him into reaching for the apple.
“They’re awesome,” they’re alright, “Actually looks like I’ll be on track to graduate this year.”
You squeeze the hand he’s holding and nod slowly, “That’s great, Eddie. I knew you could do it.”
“Well, I couldn’t have without you, princess.”
The nickname surely started out as a way to tease you, but now it feels more affectionate. Like he’s really trying to convey how dear you are. Tomorrow you’ll blame it on the weed, but right now you decide to bask in it.
“You’re really smart, Eddie,” when he looks at you skeptically, you push further, “‘m serious. You’re smart. I’ve heard from Dustin the kinds of campaigns you make and what a good storyteller you are. You need real brains to do the stuff you do and you make it look so easy. I think you should be more proud of yourself.”
“Yeah,” he nods but the way he spat the word drips with sarcasm, “I’m sure all our school’s beloved students would agree with you. Especially my best friend, golden boy Jason Carver.”
You pout and he has half a mind to kiss your forehead and get rid of the upsetting thoughts he just undoubtedly stirred within you.
But to his surprise, you just snicker and say, “They’re all the same like that. Saying something wildly insane and then only claiming they’re joking when it isn’t received well,” you huff, then grin, “Schrödinger’s douchebags.”
You’re giggling after the jab but when you look at Eddie, the laughter slowly dies when he only looks at you quizzically.
You press your lips and blink up at the ceiling, “Sorry, it’s dumb.”
You’ve never been good at talking to others. Even back in elementary school, you couldn’t form friendships with other students. You didn’t try to make them feel less than, but your words were too big and your jokes too clunky or specific. Kids would shove and pinch and point and grumble and you would always tell the teacher but nothing would get done.
You haven’t changed much and it makes you wonder if Eddie will grow to hate that about you, too.
“No,” Eddie insists, and your gaze returned to him, “I just have no idea who Schrödinger is or why he’s interested in douchebags.”
“Oh,” you bite your lip again and he admires how clearly you’re thinking despite being high, “Schrödinger was a physicist in Austria. He had this thought experiment that basically was like - a hypothetical cat in a hypothetical box may be dead or alive because you can’t see it, so you don’t know,” you wait for him to nod before continuing, “Therefore, the cat could be considered both alive and dead,” you gesture to the ceiling as if the basketball players would be up there, “Schrödinger’s douchebags.”
This time, Eddie nods and a small chuckle draws from his lips and you don’t think you’ve ever been more proud of making someone laugh before. You decide to keep this jewel and not blame his good humor on the weed.
You and Eddie sit like that. Quiet. Staring into one another’s eyes. Holding hands with his arm around you.
Then, suddenly, that beautiful smile came over his lips, “You relaxed?”
Like the cartoon character he’d accused you of being, you practically ‘teehee’ as you nod, “Yeah.”
…
It’s 11:10 by the time you actually end up at home - both you and Eddie wanting to sober up before he drives you home. Eddie’s tolerance was much higher than yours and he hadn’t had enough to genuinely inebriate himself, but even so.
You lean back into the rolled down passenger window before Eddie can take off, “Hey, what’re some albums you recommend?”
He shoots you a suspicious glance, “Why?”
“There’s a record shop right next to Family Video and I wanna know what I’ve been missing out on.”
“Alright,” he pats the dash, not looking at you as he thinks, “I think, for now, we’ll just do one. And I’ll do you a favor and tell you about the greatest album of all time - Led Zeppelin four: Roman numerals though, so look for IV. Technically a rock album,” he suddenly whips to look at you and points at the ceiling, “but I have yet to find anything that compares.”
“Then Led Zeppelin IV it is,” you step back and wave goodbye to Eddie as he drives away.
Quietly, you unlock your front door, knowing that your parents were sound asleep by now, but you also know one girl who’s never asleep at this time of night. No matter how often you lecture her on proper sleeping habits, she’s up late watching romcoms and doing homework in her ridiculously exorbitant bedroom (even a TV that your jaw drops at every time you see it).
You make an effort to be as quiet as possible while you dial Chrissy Cunningham’s number.
It picks up immediately and you can hear the girl’s nails as she taps them against the nearest surface, “Cunningham residence - Chrissy speaking.”
“Chrissy, hi,” you murmur, “Do you have a sec?”
You can hear the way her voice lifts with a smile as she replies, “For you? Of course, what’s up?”
“I may or may not have just had the best night of my life so far.”
TUESDAY. 12:15 PM.
Chrissy is still grinning at you at lunch, “I can’t believe you got high with Eddie and didn’t invite me.”
“It was a more…” you can’t reason why exactly it wouldn’t have felt right for Chrissy there, you just know that it wouldn’t have, “private affair.”
She gasps and her hand lands on your shoulder, “Oh my God - my sweet girl? Is she,” she dramatically shakes her head, “no way, is she getting a crush?”
“What?” you laugh but something inside you clicks at her suggestion, “No way. We’re just getting friendly. It makes sense ‘cuz I tutor him, we should be friends. You know? It’s totally normal.”
“Mmmm,” she nods but you know it’s only for show, “that’s why he’s totally staring at you right now.”
“You’re joking,” you refrain from whirling around to check, but Chrissy just shrugs.
“You’ll have to see for yourself.”
“You act all nice, but you’re really a witch sometimes, you know that?”
“It’s what I do best,” she jokingly flips her ponytail from one shoulder to the other.
You turn and see that, yes, Eddie was looking at you. You wave and he returns it, though he then quickly turns to one of the boys at his table and you can hear Chrissy giggling.
“I’ll actually be right back,” you stand from the table and you can just faintly feel the hands of Chrissy shoving you closer to the infamous Hellfire table.
Eddie, for once, isn’t trapped in the throes of an impassioned speech on the bullshit of forced conformity for his table’s enjoyment and you take full advantage of that.
It feels like you’re invisible to the cafeteria until you get just a little too close to the table of D&D kids. Then, the stares are hot and they scorch through your clothes as you dig around your pocket for two front stage tickets to Hawkins High’s production of Romeo & Juliet. Then, the people start whispering.
But good God, the way Eddie’s eyes light up as you approach him makes the looks and whispers and points more than worth it. In fact, they fade away once when he throws out both arms at his sides and cheers, “Princess!”
“Special delivery,” you jest, holding out the tickets to Eddie, “I hope you like the show.”
“With you as our beloved star?” he takes the tickets and your fingers brush for just a moment, but it feels like everything else slips away in that mere second, “How could I not?”
“You’re in the play?” Mike does what Mike is best at and sneers at you.
“Yes, I am,” you actually feel proud to admit it when Eddie’s said so much about being eager to see you, “and I’m Juliet.”
“Oh,” the boy nods, “have fun killing yourself on stage.”
“I’ll certainly try, Michael,” you fiddle with your fingers and turn back to Eddie, “but, yeah. There’s two,” you feel stupid for mentioning it since he can definitely count that high, “so you can bring someone.”
Eddie immediately turns to Dustin and raises one of the tickets, “You in, Henderson?”
Dustin, ever the ray of sunshine (when he chooses to be), nods and takes it, then turning to smile up at you, “I’ll see you there.”
“Fantastic!” you give the boys thumbs up and awkwardly grin, “Can’t wait - hope you like it!”
Before you can leave, Eddie gestures for you to lean down and when you do, he whispers and you try to ignore the way it makes you shiver, “I was so kindly invited to a party tomorrow for the favors and treats I come with, but if you’d like to go - I could definitely use a plus one.”
You pull back, now genuinely beaming at Eddie and you nod eagerly, “I’d love to - yeah.”
“Sounds good,” he ignores the peculiar stares the Hellfire boys shoot him and says, “I’ll pick you up around six, yeah?”
“Yeah. That works,” you like the way Eddie smiles and how he’s playing with his hair while he talks, “Definitely works.”
You return to Chrissy’s side and Eddie skims the ticket before putting it in his metal lunchbox - since he truly does pay more attention to that than his own bag. He waves off the stares and jeers and hey, how’d you do that? that he gets from the Hellfire Club.
Meanwhile you’re practically tripping over yourself to update Chrissy on what the hell just happened between you and Eddie Munson - not caring how many of the cheerleaders stare or gag. You truly can’t be bothered when the only person to really make you feel alive is gladly paying forward the attention you wanted.
In retrospect, you should’ve noticed the way that Ms. O’Donnell and Mr. Harvey were whispering to one another while monitoring the cafeteria. Furthermore, you definitely should’ve picked up on how odd it was that Mr. Harvey gave you two front row tickets (and reserved seats with them) for free when you mentioned that Eddie Munson was the one you wanted them for.
Backpfeifengesicht (something that’ll come to you when you finally do make those realizations) a German word meaning - of a person - ‘in need of a slap’.
~~
Taglist
@homiesexual-or-homosexual @chainsaw-man-inserts 4 u <3
#within six days#wsd fic#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson fluff#stranger things x you#stranger things fic#stranger things x reader
91 notes
·
View notes
Text
Charisma House - Superhuman Sharehouse Story “Charisma” - #61 Birthday Present
Please read alongside listening to the drama track on Youtube.
TL note:
About teru teru bouzu from Wikipedia: “A teru teru bōzu (Japanese: てるてる坊主 or 照る照る坊主, literally "shine shine monk”) is a small traditional handmade doll made of white paper or cloth that Japanese farmers began hanging outside of their window by a string. In shape and construction they are essentially identical to ghost dolls, such as those made at Halloween.“
Terra:
There he is
Terra: Ghost-kun,
Ohse: !
Terra: Do you have a moment to spare?
Ohse: Sorry, I had plans to die before the day ends.
Terra: Actually spare your life instead
Amahiko: Ohse-san, tomorrow is your birthday, right
Ohse: Eh..?
Ohse: …Ah
Amahiko: The 14th of June, that’s what you told us if I’m not mistaken
Terra: And since we want to give you a present, we’d wanna know what you’d like
Ohse: HUUH!?
Ohse: Buh… birth… birthday pres…
Ohse: EEEH!!? NO WAY!?
(Ohse panicking)
Terra: What’s wrong- just what is he doing-
(Terra and Amahiko trying to calm him down)
Ohse: F-f-f-f-for this shitty sore loser.. a b-b-b-birthday present…
Ohse: Not in a million years!
Ohse: It’d also be better for you to quit before it’s too late!
Terra & Amahiko: Huh?
Ohse: Tomorrow is a day of mourning.
Terra & Amahiko: Mourning?
Ohse: This piece of shit’s birthday shall be grieved.
Terra: What are you going on about
Amahiko: Please let us celebrate the occasion.
Amahiko: What would you like as a present?
Ohse: Eh… uuuuh…
Terra: Can’t you stop looking like a teru teru bozu on a rainy day?
Terra: What’s up with you? Are you not happy about getting a present from us?
Ohse: That’s not it! I couldn’t be happier!
Ohse: It’s more like, rather than not wanting anything… um… It’s that I’d be happy with anything instead, something along these lines, um…
Terra: Geez, that was the reason
Amahiko: You’d enjoy anything as long as we’re the ones who chose it, is what you were trying to say, no
Ohse: Yes…
Terra: That’s great then
Terra: Then we’ll go ahead and give him something we personally chose, Amahiko
Amahiko: Indeed
Amahiko: Do look forward to it, Ohse-san.
Ohse: T-thank you very much…
(Terra and Amahiko laugh, leaving Ohse be)
Amahiko: Ah, what kind of present are you going for, Terra-san?
Terra: I’m maybe thinking of cheerful clothes that Ohse-kun doesn’t usually wear
Ohse: Eh?
Terra: Gonna pick out the flashiest ones, it’ll brighten him right up
Ohse: U-um…
Terra: And you, Amahiko?
Amahiko: Perhaps I’ll give him some clothes too.
Terra: What kind?
Amahiko: Sexy ones.
Ohse: EEEH!?
Amahiko: Revealing as they can get. To make him bold and daring.
Ohse: E-excuse me…
Terra: Let’s go shopping at once, Sexy!
Amahiko: Roger, Beauty!
Terra & Amahiko: Lala lala lala lalalaaa~♪
Ohse: Please wait!
Terra & Amahiko: Hm?
Terra: What’s wrong? You’re suddenly being loud
Ohse: U-um… about the present…
Ohse: Ccccheerful clothes?
Terra: Mhm
Ohse: And, sexy clothes..?
Amahiko: Oh YES.
Ohse: …..!
Terra: What? Got any issues with it?
Ohse: No, no! Not at all!
Amahiko: Ohse-san…
Amahiko: Could it be that you aren’t glad about receiving these as a present?
Ohse: It’s not that I won’t be happy with it!
Ohse: You know you’re going out of your way to prepare a present for such a piece of trash of a human being!? It’s unbelievable! It makes me extremely happy!
Terra: You’d like whatever we choose, yeah?
Ohse: Yes!
Amahiko: We’ll be off shopping then
Terra & Amahiko: Lala lala lala lalalaaa~♪
Ohse: UWAAAAAAAAAAH——-!
Terra: Just what’s the matter with you
Ohse: U-um…
Ohse: …!
Ohse: You cannot buy clothes.
Terra & Amahiko: Huh?
Terra: We can’t?
Amahiko: What’s the meaning of this?
Ohse: Both of you, this is something for just between everyone present here.
Terra: What
Amahiko: Hmm?
Ohse: Truth to be told, this shitty sore loser, is considering leaving this lifestyle of wearing clothes behind.
Terra: Excuse me?
Amahiko: WHAT DID YOU SAY!?
Amahiko: In other words, Ohse-san, you are going to be nude the whole year round!?
Ohse: Yes!
Terra: Why be that unconventional?
Ohse: I’ve realized that luxury items such as clothes are wasted on someone as shitty as me, and I rarely leave my room to begin with and neither do I see other people.
Amahiko: I understand! It’s killing two birds with one stone!
Terra: Are you sure of… that?
Ohse: How commendable, Ohse-san.
Amahiko: Terra-san, we cannot dare to hinder such a revolutionary commitment. We better give up on the idea of giving him clothes.
Terra: Eeeh~?
Amahiko: Let us look at other things instead, Beauty.
Terra: What, like, seriously? Hey, hold on, like…
Amahiko: Gosh~ this calls for a celebration. Double meaning intended.
Terra: In what way?
(Amahiko drags Terra away)
Ohse: W-what a relief~
-
Iori: WAAAAAAAH! OHSE-SAN!? WHY!?
Fumiya: Woah. That spooked me.
Sarukawa: HAAAH!? What the hell are you doin’
Iori: W-w-w-w-what is this
Sarukawa: The fuck happened, oi, explain yerself-
(PPPPPPPPPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII)
-
Rikai: It’s a shame, Ohse-kun.
Rikai: I believed you had the potential, however- to think that you were a vulgar dunce who would stoop so low to such stupidity instead
Rikai: Live as you like. It has nothing to do with me anymore.
Ohse: Ah….
Ohse: Aaah…
Ohse: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH-
#charisma house#charismahouse#minato ohse#terra#tendou amahiko#ito fumiya#motohashi iori#sarukawa kei#kusanagi rikai
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Paintbrush, PlasGlue, and Holy Clippers: Sparse Marns Part II: Assembly
RIGHT! Let’s get to CHOPPIN >:> >:> WHATS IN THE BAAAAAACHS?!??!
Here are the (gender inclusive: they’re Transhuman Childsoldier Fleshwarbots)Lads I’ll be turning from Bits to Bums
A squad of five Primaris Heavy Intercessors; I bought these because my gameshop had them. I’m not a particular fan of the Space Marines, I’ve ALWAYS preferred the Xenos factions and Certain Cultures among the Horribly Maligned Natives of the Empyrean(Guess Which One :> :> :> It’s a CINCH!!), tho I DO, actually, have a wee little OC Chapter of my very own of headcanony significant(in this I am utterly unique among GW fans, I am Sure u_u u_u) which I hope to paint up an army for one day. However: I need to practice on something and my game shop has very few votanni boxes so here we are. Coincidentally I do also like the Adepta Sororitas(Space Battle Nuns), and that may come up later who knows u_u
Here is What’s in the Bachs. Look what they’ve done to my boys. These are the fabled Spruce, which we all pronounce ‘Sproose’ for some unfathomable English Reason. I’ve been spelling it Sprues up til now because I, Civic Mindedly, want you to know how to say it. No I didn’t call them “Spruces” for literally 20+ years of my life why would you think that of me??? Also there are their bases above, a contact sheet(I may or may not get to these later cuz they are A Hassle), and the instruction manual. I know this looks like allot but, Trust Me, it’s only five guys. Five Horribly, Horribly Mutilated Guys unu unu
But even Greater Horrors await us...
OH GODS! The humanity. Should I censor the image? I just found them like this I Swear your honor.
This is them clipped and gathered into the five builds I decided to use. I’d have liked to do process pics for that but, as but a wee snek, I cannot clip bits from sprues and operate a camera at the same time unu They are, reading the pic like a page from top left to bottom right, a Sargent(mandatory), Heavy Weapons Guy(optional. If you dont take em you can upgrade the whole squad’s rifles for free, but the Heavy is So Chunk so...), and Three Rifliers(it’s totally a word shutup unu) I decided on these by looking through the instructions
which look like that. They’re unnecessarily confusing. The way it SAYS it works is each build is color coded, but also numbered, but then sometimes the numbers are ALSO different steps in the same build, and then variants of the build are lettered(except when they’re numbered). I’d prefer if the steps were the letters and the numbers were build-exclusive, but you get used to it and the builds are so well engineered that you can’t really use “the wrong” part and end up stuck or anything. It’s important to do the steps for each build in the proper order but I’ll get to that later.
Here’s the thing: according to ppl who should know these things, they coat the sprues in “release agents” during manufacture to keep them from sticking together, so you need to clean that stuff off or the paint wont stick later. So, After I clipped them I washed them in
the cups from before, and quickly realized I’d overfilled the soapy one. You don’t need ALLOT of water there, just enough to cover the pieces. So after the first two I dumped it, used a more reasonable amount, and it went fine. The process is this: clip out your pieces, put them in the soap, swish em around a few times with a suitable digit, then pick em out and dump em in the clean water, swish, then set to dry on the paper towel. Easy Peasy.
When they’re dry(I waited 30ish minutes I think? Should have probably timed it -__-) You can start gluing them together. BUT NOT SO FAST!
These are mold lines. They’re a product of the way the Bits are cast, and they need to be removed before you start assembly-proper because it’d be a Hassle trying when they models are built and also they’d interfere with the joins. Most hobby companies make a “mold line remover” tool which, presumably is designed and shaped to do this job well, but honestly I just use the back of my hobby knife. Finger nails are also pretty good at the job:
et voila! That was just with nails. Sometimes the lines will be soft enough that you can, and sometimes they won’t. You’ll notice, also, that some details are just too small to really get at the lines without destroying the whole structure and that’s fine; you don’t need to go all out on the lines there. I might get a line remover at somepoint just to see how they do but honestly I feel like it’s a bit Finicky when finger nails and the back of a hobby knife work just fine. It’s not just mold lines tho:
that Weird grey-white accumulation center screen on the bit is where the sprue connected. When you cut them free, often there will be a little bit left cuz Physics. This, usually, is something you’ll need to use your hobby knife for, and this time I mean the sharp side. Remember: gentle, controlled, shaving and slicing, move in one direction and don’t saw, aim for a shallow angle. Some ppl will describe this process as “scooping it out” but I think “making the surface smooth” is a better description(cuz that’s what you’re aiming for). Once you get most of the sprue-smut off with the cutty-end, you can then try the back of the knife, or a file, or your nails to finish smoothing. A few of these were tough enough to justify the file for me, but most weren’t and I just cleaned with nails and the back of the knife.
AND ANOTHER THING(omg)
This is one of the bolters(technically bolt rifles with Primaris marines), and as you’ll notice the barrel is a whole plug. But that’s not how gun barrels work! This is where the Hobby Drill comes in, tho honestly it’s really more of a pride/vanity thing and you don’t REALLY need to do it. It’s a pretty simple process; what I did was make a pilot divot with the tip of my awl-file, then used the smallest bit on my drill to drill a hole until it looked like it was as deep as the front bit of the barrel there, and then I drilled out the side holes. After the first one, I realized it’d be simpler to drill out the side holes first,and then drill from the front. Since the side holes are already recessed, you don’t really need to bother with making a pilot divot, tho you might want to trade off side to side if you’re worried about drilling at the wrong angle.
OK: FINALLY:: NOW::: PEOPLE FROM PIECES:::: AGAIN NO PROCESS PICS SURRRR:::::
Here’s the Sargent. They had allot of bare head options but imo That’s Stupid: why would someone go into a fight without a helmet? That prevents critical hits!! People keep their brains in there and honestly I think that’s a better idea than them floating around, wild and free.
cHeavy Weapon. On the one hand I like this sculp, on the other I really do think that tubing is Fiddly and Dumb and part of me desperately wanted to cut off the parts attached to the gun, and not include the parts which needed gluing. [EDIT: I Originally Forgot to put in this part X|] Also I put the arms on too early, and didn’t attach them to the gun first, so I had to DEtach them(A Hassle), attach them to the gun, then to the torso, THEN I knocked off his leg wrestling those into place; it was a nightmare. SO: Follow the Steps.
I THINK(???) I set him up with the armor-piercing ammo tin, but honestly WH40k is so RNGesus that taking the assault variant with, like, twice the attack dice is probably the way to go over two measly shots at -2Armor. Realistically most units will get vaporized a turn after firing, if they even survive that long(Heavy Intercessors probably will; they’ve got three wounds, which is as much as a light vehicle, and the whole squad is like 15 or 16, I forget if the Sargent gets an extra, which is as much as a Flipping Tank. Most infantry only have one), so maximizing your dice-count seems to be the best strategy.
I affectionately(derogatory) call this Lad “Stumbly”. Of all the builds they had the hardest time standing(they EVEN came off their stand at one point, but I’ll get to that later) because the illusion of forward motion makes it VERY fore-heavy, but once I attached the backpack/lifesupport it stood Okish. I like to imagine they’re not looking forward cuz they just saw a Really Neat Bug. Maybe they’re stepping around it; maybe they were just Trudging along to murk some space-elves and then ‘OH! Cute Bug!! Sorry, Sir, go about your day’ redirecting around it with their Transhuman Murderbot Reflexes uwu
You can’t really see it in this pic, cuz the angle is Awesome, but this Lad looks like they’re in the middle of raising their gun, so I’ve named them “Surprise!”. Their bolt-rifle barrel REALLY makes me wish I could have gotten the next size up bit in that drill -___- Presumably they were in the middle of some Important Discussion, Possibly about Neat Bugs, when a malnourished religious dissident stumbled out of the bushes and, well, Atheist-Space-Murder-Catholicism’s just Not That Great what can I say? That starving waif had Theses locked and loaded and they Needed to Die u_u u_u
This Lad’s reloading cuz, while everyone else was Lollygagging about Neat Bugs, they were Getting Shit Done. I’ve named them Already-Done-Shooting, or Ads, and I Love Them even tho they’re a bit annoying u_u u_u u_u
And here’s The Whole Squad, Based
I’m sorry for how blurry that looks; I Know Nothing about posting pics to tumblr and I refuse to learn.
Anyway: There’s All the Heavy Intercessors assembled and glued to their 44mm(I think?) bases ^v^ After this I used the Mister Dissolved Putty to fill in any gaps(cHeavy’s Heavy Bolter barrel had a pretty significant one), and then glued some Additional Bits to each model the next morning(this one), but I forgot to take pics before progressing further X| X| Tomorrow I document that progress in: The Undercoat
EDIT: GAH! that’s the POST BUTTON not the SCHEDULE BUTTON X| X| X| oh well I’ll reblog tamarrah -__-
#zA Builds#zA Hobbies#GamesWorkshop#WH40K#Space Marines#Heavy Intercessors#Hobbyposts#Oops I posted this early X|
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Figure 17 - A profound and deeply personal slice-of-life/sci-fi twist on the magical girl formula
Figure 17 - Tsubasa & Hikaru is a 2001, 13-episode (46 minute each!) show created by, as leaf so kindly put, “the studio of all time”: OLM, Inc. OLM is responsible for a few recent vaguely relevant titles that I’m actually not familiar with at all, but more notably they produced To Heart and Comic Party back in 2001. Oh, and also Pokémon. And Beyblade. And Cardfight!! Vanguard. And just a metric shit-ton of video game and multi-media adaptations, with majority of their wholly original series being children’s anime. Figure 17 is interesting conceptually in this line-up just because while it is literally about children, it has a very quiet and patient atmosphere more on par with the deliberate, thought-provoking* stories of Bee Train’s prominent catalogue (that is, titles like Noir and .hack//Sign).
*Which is not to say that children’s shows aren’t capable of being that but I’d be hard pressed to say that something like Noir is explicitly for kids.
For the sake of not writing (and subjecting you to) an entire thesis paper on this show’s themes, I am going to structure this post similarly to that of a MAL review - discuss the art, story, characters, sound/music as succinctly as possible and maximally spoiler-free, although hopefully without the undertone that I’m also a Reddit regular. I just want to lay down what it is that makes Figure 17 so unbelievably good. Oh, yeah, I haven’t mentioned that up until now, have I? Figure 17 has got to be one of the best shows I have ever seen and that judgement stands both in regards to its impact on me, personally, and what I believe are its objective strengths.
ART/ANIMATION
This is a fairly controversial category that I’m not gonna spend too much time in because generally speaking, art is “good” if it achieved what it set out to do. If smooth animation is your fancy, may I direct you to YouTube dot com, which features a plethora of animation degree graduates’ portfolios. With that out of the way and the skin of an elitist shed, the backgrounds in this show are so pretty.
The background art team here did not hold back in the slightest and I commend them both on their raw skill and because these establishing shots set the tone and atmosphere for a good majority of this show. A solid portion of it is in fact spent watching these landscapes slide by, often times in complete silence (a standout Bee Train similarity), but never does it feel like padding, in large part due to the undeniable feeling of comfort that this countryside evokes.
As far as animation is concerned, I won’t deny that this stuff is quite smooth. Children have the mannerisms of children and the action, however infrequent it may be (I’d say that each episode has about as much action as your average 24-minute episode of a similar premise, not counting the last), pays off with a lively rhythm. Not to mention that the characters are always well-drawn and carefully shaded, giving each character and the scene they are within an appropriate and impressive amount of depth. We also can’t forget the character designer for this show, Yuriko Chiba, who’s worked on Berserk, To Heart, and Code Geass and she brought her absolute A-game, as always.
And since this is also a show about aliens and sci-fi, oh my god the aliens are gross, and I mean that as a huge compliment. The first episode had me physically recoiling away from the screen in my seat, thinking, “God dammit, leaf, I thought we agreed that you’re not gonna recommend me anything that’ll keep me awake at night.”. They are considerably less gross throughout, with the focus being more on the battles with them than the perpetual horror of the monsters themselves, but I promise (or warn, I guess) that they do get gross again at the end. These things are intricate in their alien-ness, unnerving in both the way that they move and the way that they are and the show never holds back in detailing every part of them in all of their fleshy glory.
SOUND/MUSIC
The mostly-MIDI OST contains 40 tracks, a solid portion of which I believe are exclusive to the tense moments of the first episode and the last two, as there is a distinct soundscape within all the episodes in-between. There is one particular melody that is weaved within every scene that it needs to be in, in order to unify and then properly evoke your emotions at a later point. It’s catchy and never overstays its welcome, often serving as a backdrop to convey emotions that cannot be summatively expressed as “happy” or “sad”, especially as the melody slowly snowballs with connotations as the show goes on. It’s a Pavlov’s dog response, of sorts, or maybe it’s just good scoring, but this show doesn’t suffer from an overabundance of minor little tracks to hold your hand along every emotional moment. Every melody has its purpose, and when it’s not being used for that specific purpose, there is silence. Sometimes (but honestly, not frequently, to my recollection) it’s intercut with the natural sounds of the countryside. Other times, it’s a heavy, genuinely empty silence, used at points of panning over the scenery, of character deliberation, and the grounded and “mundane”.
We can’t not mention the aliens, of course, which sound as fleshy and otherworldly in all of the most unpleasant of ways as they look. And I’ll also give it this: for a show made in 2001, somehow it made me adjust my volume less throughout the duration of any number of episodes than majority of modern shows that excessively alternate their quietest moments with their loudest. I am no sound designer but I think a show that doesn’t make me go “Wait, did someone say something?” or “Oh, please shut the fuck up!” and have me reach for the knob on my speaker, is probably a show whose sound has been well-mixed.
STORY / CHARACTER(S)
Before I begin, here’s Anilist’s summary of this show: “Tsubasa Shiina is a 10-year-old girl who recently moved to Hokkaido to live with her father. In school, she is very quiet and unsociable with her classmates. Then one night, she witnesses a UFO crash in the forest near her home. She rushes to the scene and finds the pilot, codenamed "D.D.", in a barely stable condition. Also in the scene is a Maguar, a hideous alien that hatched aboard D.D.'s ship. As the Maguar is close to taking Tsubasa's life, an alien lifeform fuses with her body to form the Riberus battle armor Figure 17, which shortly destroys the alien threat. The life form takes the name Hikaru and turns into an identical twin of Tsubasa. As time passes, Tsubasa becomes more open to everyone around her, thanks to her new twin sister Hikaru. However, with Maguar eggs scattered all over Hokkaido, their ability to form Figure 17 is needed to eliminate all hatched Maguars until backup from D.D.'s home planet arrives on Earth.”
This summary is … haphazard at best. I think the reason that it rubs me in all of the wrong places is that not once does it mention the most important piece of this set-up: Tsubasa goes to live with her father in Hokkaido because her mother died. Wikipedia at least mentions this fact, sure, but for some reason it’s still framed as one of those episodic little life lessons about growing up and things changing, as if it’s just a trivial one-note plot like any other. While this is a show with children as the primary characters, I struggle to call this a children’s story. Figure 17 is a story about grief. Namely, Tsubasa’s grief.
It’s a very honest rendition of grief that reaches much deeper than what I reckon is the usual representation of just … “missing someone to a crippling extent”. Furthermore, I don’t know about any media that addressed a child’s grief with any nuance beyond the usual plot of “an overly-self-reliant kid that steps up to the plate within their home to fill whatever void has been left behind with the occasional overwhelming breakdown and eventual reconciliation that they still have to be a child to some extent and have to allow themselves to be vulnerable”.
Grief is, more often than not, framed as something that is, for lack of a better term, easy. Like it is something that can be cried out a few times and tempered with a reminder to hold your head up higher. If you’re an adult, it’s just something that you have to learn to deal with because “all things end” and you should have the maturity to look ever onward. At best, the common, even earnest! story about grief, ultimately ends up conflating it to regret. Representations and renditions of grief don’t often tell you about how it comes and goes in tidal waves, about how much it hurts to have that piece of you severed. They’re not particularly fond of addressing that unfillable void left in their place, nor do they bring up that choking anxiety that it will happen again, and you don’t know when or to whom. And most damningly, absent is that acute helplessness of finding yourself there, again, having convinced yourself that you’re better. If you’ve compartmentalized it enough, if you’ve gone through it once, then surely, you can hold your ground at least a little bit? and yet your knees still give out beneath you and you’re enveloped in that utterly hollow shroud.
Figure 17 is different.
The evident elephant…s in the room are the aliens but as far as I’m aware, I don’t think it would’ve worked as a stand-alone slice of life, just like I don’t think it would’ve worked as a stand-alone OVA about some kids fighting some aliens. Even if at some point these elements may have been separate, I wouldn’t consider the slice of life a reprieve from the action or the action a “reward” for the viewer that had the patience to sit through the slice of life. The dynamics of one fit into the other in a meaningful way that goes beyond the usual, “We have to keep our identities a secret!”. Spoiler alert — they do keep their identities a secret. This story isn’t about that.
Figure 17 is slow, but not meandering. The scenery is chewed just enough to feel lived in and the dialogue, as far as I can tell from the cadence of the voice actors and the English subtitles, is natural. I will say that at many points I held my breath, thinking that there's no way this show could possibly weave through this so flawlessly and not fall to any of the usual dramatic conventions, but I’m pleased to announce it does. Every single character feels like a real person and no one is blatantly antagonized. There are familiar faces in the characters like “shy girl”, “boyish, outgoing girl”, “rowdy boy who’s probably poor”, “class rep girl” and “difficult teenager”, just to name a few, but they feel less like stereotypes and more so just as the people we’d encounter in our day to day. They go beyond their pre-determined roles without ever miraculously metamorphosing into somebody else entirely after “seeing the error of their way”.
I think what I appreciate most about this story is that it’s not fixated on a take-away, hence my affectionate Bee Train comparison. I hyperfocused so much on the summaries partially because I think that they themselves are too fixated on the idea that a story has to have an ultimatum. To “learn”, to “become” — they’re such confining words, aren’t they? In the context of a narrative, when such a premise is presented, the assumption then is that is what will happen, that there is a moment where we can conclusively say that that is what occurred and/or was reached. This story isn’t about that. Will it be considered strange or unappealing for that exact fact? Yeah, probably. And it’s also probably the reason why this show, made by a prolific studio with a proven team and profound art direction never cemented a spot in public consciousness. But why is that the pedestal all media is obligated to be held to?
FINAL THOUGHTS
rat (05/10/2023 6:57 PM)
So i uh finished figure 17
leaf (05/10/2023 7:13 PM)
wait was it that good?
rat (05/10/2023 7:14 PM)
I will need a night to sleep on it to put it into words
yes
I’m like
[an emoji that conveys that I’m vibrating at an audible frequency]
leaf (05/10/2023 7:15 PM)
OLM really is the studio of all time
rat (05/10/2023 7:16 PM)
On god
#figure 17#2001 - 2002#OLM inc#mod 🐀#kinda crazy how much hella anime is buried in the archives of the 2000s#it was tough to write this without getting carried away emotionally#it's like ... a really humble show if that makes sense#it's technically adequate in every single regard but it's never trying to flex#it just uses all of its strengths to tell a really good story
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
so my shift at work last night. oh my god where do i even start. well i guess first off you may have noticed i had not posted about a certain coworker of mine(37 years old, did not know what stationery was, exact same speaking cadence as cousin greg) in like a week-plus. well that is because he hadn’t been there because he had covid(which i suspected was the case but wasn’t going to say anything about until i heard it confirmed from the man himself). which is the bad news. the good news is he’s fully recovered & back & said it wasn’t super horrible and his main symptom was just a fever. and we do get covid pay so he didn’t miss out on any money so overall? could’ve been worse. glad it wasn’t!
also we still have seven carts but my god at what cost. so first of all when we first closed i saw five(four downstairs which i then brought upstairs and one already upstairs). and then when i was about to wipe down the self-checkouts i saw that we had no paper towels upstairs so i went to head downstairs to grab more and that’s when i found cart #6(empty, abandoned by the escalators). so i sent it down the escalators and that’s when i saw the market lead with cart #7. which was also abandoned but decidedly NOT empty. and in fact it contained approximately $1,450 of merchandise in various states of having been tampered with. which i know because i’m the one who did the training receipt for AP. also that’s the single largest training receipt i personally have ever laid eyes upon. the only one that even comes close is the one from when the bald guy tried to steal the 8 pairs of haircutting scissors along with all that other random shit which according to hr guy was also in the $1400 range.
and here is the part i’m super mad about. and i don’t know exactly how this started because i really only saw the end of it but there was an incident with a stupid bastard that came in and i guess couldn’t afford the shit he wanted to buy and made a huge scene about it including cutting in line in front of other guests who were waiting & demanding to be rung up at the register that doesn’t even turn on. and he demanded to speak to a lead and when the tech lead got there he started spewing the most vile shit possible at him(i’m talking “racial slur” level vile along with calling him retarded) which then became the standard threats to “write a review” that would “get the store shut down because we suck.” which is like the only part of it i actually saw firsthand but when the tech lead had to step off the floor afterwards i knew it was much worse than what i’d witnessed. and i found out the details from him and my other coworker who had to step in when i went on break a couple minutes later.
and it’s like. there’s a sliding scale of how mad i get when we have asshole customers and at the bottom of the scale is when they’re an asshole to me. and then the nicer i know my coworkers to be the higher up on that scale they are when customers are assholes to them. and the tech lead is right at the very top of that scale because he is literally THE best lead we have. he is by far the nicest out of all of them and i witness him go out of his way to go above and beyond to help the guests literally every single time i work with him. when i first started i was kind of all over the place in my interactions with people and i improved that 1000-fold just by thinking to myself “what would [tech lead] do?” in any given situation and then doing that. and now i get told i’m “the best” on a regular basis and it’s literally his impact. and he was also the first lead to compliment me on my job performance w/ the drive-up times(which up until then i thought nobody had noticed) and there was one night in like march or april that he just out of the blue started thanking me for everything i do and it meant the world to me because i was not doing so hot mentally at the time and i really needed to hear the exact things he said. like i genuinely unironically believe this man deserves to be paid a million dollars an hour. and so it’s like. to see him be mistreated by some stupid asshole like that literally STILL has my blood boiling nearly 12 hours later.
and i did tell him all of this a few minutes later when we were alone in the tech room and he hugged me twice and told me i literally flipped his mood. and i felt kind of bad because he had been on the verge of tears from anger after that interaction with that idiot customer and i could tell he was about to cry again but for the opposite reason after talking to me. but i am SO glad i spoke to him because he IS the best lead we have and he HAS always been my favorite and he needed to know that ESPECIALLY after being treated like that by some guy who(in my humbly correct opinion) deserves the death penalty just for being alive. and i also told him how the day hr guy made me really mad and i almost quit the main reason i came back was that i was thinking about him and the closing lead specifically and how it wasn’t fair to them if i quit over hr guy. and that’s when HE told ME that when he and the closing lead found out what happened they literally had a conversation along the lines of, “we CANNOT lose her.” which i mean i don’t think i need to tell anybody reading this what kind of mental state i was in during that whole ordeal because i’m sure you all remember the types of posts i was making that weekend so like. suffice to say hearing that meant a lot to me. so like, on the one hand we wound up having a great conversation that helped both of us but on the other hand the circumstances that led to it….horrible! and i’m still so mad that that happened to him because he literally deserves that less than anybody.
and uhhh anyway july 17th. what a night! (derogatory)
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
did anyone else randomly go through a phase in middle school where you mentally only referred to yourself with the royal we pronouns or was that just me being stupid again
#like i’d literally be thinking and say oh we have to get more lined paper or something#now that i think about it maybe i should’ve found out some things about myself sooner#i don’t think i did this bc she her pronouns yucky but maybe??? why did i do this????#honestly i try not to remember middle school those were trying times#the random blacking out definitely helped#i do sometimes still worry about what i said in those times but oh well#i’m sorry to everyone who sees me on their dash tonight idek why i’m acting like this i’m simply feeling a type of way#i spent thirty minutes thinking about if i could fit under my bed and so i made a fort and hung out there so you know somethings up#is#wait i keep getting distracted the suggested tags are hilarious wtf#is this becau#nvm i’ve forgotten what i meant to say the point is i’m sorry if you’re seeing anything i post tonight i hope your day improves
0 notes
Text
Discuss!
Spencer Reid x Reader
Synopsis; Where the team discusses the question ‘do you kiss after head’, you find out Spencer has too little experience to answer the question so you help him out
Warnings; smut, oral (male receiving), sub!spencer, praise, slight degradation
a/n; LMAO im so sorry for disappearing again life has been actually kicking my ass but anyways lately i’ve been thinking about subby early season spence so here we go,, hope you enjoy!
***
Another Friday night and the team was out bar crawling after an easy case. But this time all members were there as it reached 11pm which was rare. Usually Hotch and JJ would have been home by 10:30 and Spencer wouldn’t have been there at all. But there was something light in the air which had all parties concerned sitting packed in a booth, laughing after each sip of their drinks.
Since it wasn’t your first rodeo together you knew how the night went. It started off with Rossi offering to buy the first few rounds, always whiskey but he made an exception for Penelope. Then again who would deny her anything.
Once the drinks were flowing and lips got a little loose, the questions would start popping in at the top of your heads. However these were not your run of the mill, ‘hows so and so doing?’ ‘done your taxes yet?’ oh no. The name of the game was discuss where you would all think of a question which would help you dig just a tiny bit deeper into your coworkers sex lives.
Maybe if you were all sober then you’d avoid thinking of each other in such positions, pun intended, yet in this state your prying minds were open and your stomachs were ready to grow abs from bending over in laughter.
You raised the margarita glass up clinking it with a fork to get the tables attention. Everyone including Aaron had a smile on their face, ready to hear the intrusive question for the night.
“Ok my fellow profilers, doctor, and tech genius,” you added pointing at Spencer then Pen, “Do you kiss your partner after they give you head? Discuss!” you finished in your most formal voice.
Right as you took a swig of your drink the mixed responses of yes and no filled your small space.
“Why wouldn’t you? You guys especially, if someones willingly trying to swallow then you damn well owe them a kiss,” Emily finished earning nods and ‘exactly’s from JJ, Pen, and yourself.
“Ok but thats weird. I just can’t explain it but its a no go for me,” Morgan finished. This only gained him a scoff and raised voices, “Hotch man help me out here,” he said looking over to the man hiding his smirk behind the amber liquid.
“I have to agree with the ladies here Derek,” he said curtly.
The girls yelped and hooted at Hotch for siding with them while Morgan sat with his arms crossed being the singular person left out as even Rossi agreed. Meanwhile you noticed the presence next to you had shrunk back and wasn’t too active in the conversation.
“So Spence do you kiss your partner after they,” you trailed off shaking your fist by your cheek and poking your tongue in the side.
He coughed as he instantly sat up quicker. Even under the dim lights of the bar you could still see the blush creeping up from his neck to his ears and the slightest tint on his cheeks.
“Oh I uh- I never-” he said looking anywhere but your eyes.
“You don’t kiss them?” you said raising your brows.
“No! I-i mean yes. I would I think b-but I haven’t had the chance to actually partake in such.. activities,” he finished finally taking a look into your eyes.
You could tell he was waiting for you to laugh in his face for being so inexperienced but you felt far from it. If anything you wished you could be the one to show him things.
That sweet boy had you wrapped around his finger and he didn’t even know it. Maybe it was his naivety considering how exceptionally smart he was. Or maybe it was the cute sweater vests he wore and now he nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. All you knew was that you wanted Spencer Reid and tonight was your night to make it happen.
You hummed taking in the information, “Well that’s not a bad thing Spence. Everything takes time,” you said putting your hand on his arm for comfort and giving him a smile.
Going to turn back to face the table you almost didn’t hear Spencer go to speak again, “Do you?”
Got him.
“Why don’t you find out pretty boy,” you said with a wink as you downed the rest of your marg. In the corner of your eye you could see Spencer shifting in his seat, subtly moving his bag to cover the slowly growing tent in his slacks.
As the night went by you couldn’t help but really give him a show. You had popped open a button or two on the long sleeve you had on, since it was getting stuffy in the booth. Though when you leaned forward and jutted your chest out, the soft inhale of a breath from the man next to you was just serving as motivation to get bolder.
For the last hour you called it quits on the alcohol and drank a few glasses of water before you drove home. Spencer had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since your little interactions.
The team had all gotten up to say their goodbyes. Rossi going by and giving everyone a kiss on each cheek. Derek having to quite literally rangle Penelope from talking to passing by groups on their way out. Then there were two.
You turned to the side where Spencer was nursing on his coke, “Hey pretty boy, it’s late, let me give you a ride home,” you said grabbing your belongings.
“Y-yeah ok. Thanks Y/n,” he said getting up. You’d noticed how he still had the burnt orange bag over his crotch. He couldn’t still be hard could he? Well you’d love to find out.
As gentlemanly as he was, Spencer opened the door for you to exit the building first. The whip of fresh night air cooling on your exposed chest and legs under your skirt.
You unlocked your car and stepped in, Spencer waiting to hear the little beep signaling his side was open. As he sat down you heard him let out a little whimper. Your head shot over to look at him, you could tell from the flush on his cheeks he didn’t mean to let the noise out.
Holding in your chuckle you started the ignition and pulled out of the lot, “Can I put on some music?”
“Yeah I don’t mind,” he said looking over at you with his lips in a line. If it was anyone else, they’d probably think he was uncomfortable but you loved his tiny awkward smiles.
The ride to his apartment was mostly silent besides a rare quip from Spencer about paper work or fact about an older building you had passed by. It fascinated you to no end hearing him talk. Spencer was a hand speaker, meaning he always used his hands waving them around and making gestures. The pale digits had you captivated. Probably a driving hazard but you couldn’t help but let your mind wander.
You pulled up into one of the visitor spots and put the car in park. You looked over to see Spencer almost contemplating something. You’d seen the look on his face before when he was looking over puzzles.
“Somethin on your mind Doc?” you said with a small smile. As cute as he looked when he was nervous, you’d never want him to feel uncomfortable around you.
“Would you-,” he cleared his throat, “Wo- Would you maybe want to c-come inside?”
“Of course Spence I’d love to,” you finished with a reassuring nod.
As he led you upstairs you were giddy with anticipation. So what if nothing happened. He was your friend first and you were glad he was letting you into his personal space. Even if you wanted nothing more than to have him writhi-
“Y/n?”
The door closing snapped you out of your thoughts. You didn’t even realize you were in his living room. The dark green walls and shelves bursting with books put a grin on your face, “Sorry Doc, just caught up in my thoughts. What did you say hun?”
His brows practically raised to his hairline from hearing the pet name. While he was used to the names coming from Garcia they took a whole different light coming from your lips.
“I was asking if you wanted water or something,” he said fiddling with the keys in his hands. Eyes darting everywhere but your face so you wouldn’t be able to see the flush rising on his cheeks.
“No I’m fine thanks for asking though,” you said taking a seat on the worn leather couch.
You reached for the tv remote making a face at Spencer to ask for permission. He nodded and you settled back turning on an old sitcom that played late at night.
As the episode ended you both sat in silence. Again you didn’t mind but you could practically hear the cogs moving in Spencer’s brain.
You were about to speak when he cut you off before you could even get a word out, “What did you mean by ‘why don’t you find out’.”
Gaining confidence you moved closer to where he was on the couch, slow enough for him to stop you in case he wanted to back out.
“Well you have options pretty boy,” you said moving a leg to straddle him. Your hands instinctively going to his brown locks. You could’ve sworn you heard a little moan leave his chapped lips. Noted.
“W-what are the options,” lust blown eyes looked up to yours.
“One, you can put that mouth to good use on me,” you said trailing your finger over his bottom lip, “and let me cum over that pretty face.”
His eyes shut hearing your words and you weren’t having it, “Nuh uh eyes on me honey,” instantly they were back on yours.
“Or number two. I can suck you off and let you cum down my throat, but,” you paused making sure to roll your hips on his growing length, “ you have to give me a nice big smooch after.”
The hands on your hips pulled you closer as he bucked his hips into you as you finished the sentence. It was clear which option was preferred.
You moved to slide down in between his legs. You let your hands trail down his clothed thighs, causing him to jump.
“Tsk such a needy boy,” you said mockingly, “Am I not going fast enough baby?”
“Please Y/n,” he all but whimpered. It was like music to your ears.
Your hands went to his belt, looking up in his eyes for a final sign of permission. Once he nodded you quickly undid it and he lifted his hips to help get his pants down. You palmed him over his boxers, feeling the wet patch where he was already leaking pre cum.
“Is this all for me Spence? Does the thought of my lips around you make you this hard,” you said taking him out of the striped confines.
“Oh god please just,” he cut himself off. You could see his hands curling fists besides his legs.
“Please what baby? I can’t give you anything unless you ask.” Your hands continued their task of leisurely stroking his length.
“Fuck please put your mouth on me,” he rushed out, hips bucking to prove his point.
The answer was good enough for you so you wasted no time in leaning forward and taking him in your mouth. Both of you let out content sighs as you tried to take him further.
You looked up to see him with his head leaned back, eyes scrunched closes in pleasure.
You pulled off with a pop, letting your hand work him over. “Better keep those pretty eyes on me before I decide you can’t finish.”
He looked down with a flash of worry, that was quickly replaced by a loud moan as you spit down on his cock before taking him in your mouth again.
For a germaphobe, Spencer loved how nasty it was. He was thanking god or whatever higher being there was for giving him his eidetic memory because the sight below him was something he’d never wanna forget.
Your eyes were teary and you had spit dribbling down your chin but he wanted nothing more than to give you more than just a kiss after you finished. Or well after he finishes.
You could tell he was close by the way he was throbbing on your tongue. Again taking him out of your mouth you used both hands to jerk him off.
“You’re doing such a good job baby. So good for me. You wanna cum in my mouth pretty boy?”
“God Y/n I’m so close please please please,” he whimpered out.
“Cum for me baby, be my good boy Spence,” you said before taking him down your throat. He was big, not girthy but long and it was a struggle but you’d be damned if you didn’t try to take him all.
Hollowing your cheeks you bobbed your head quickly, egging on his release further. His hands finally found a place in the back of your head. Pushing you down further as he came.
“F-fuck Y/n I’m gonna”
His moans and whines were a symphony of sounds you’d have on repeat in your head forever.
You swallowed the salty release but before you could even wipe your lips you were being pulled up by Spencer placing his lips on yours. You moaned into the kiss, his hands gripped the sides of your face not wanting to let you go.
The need for air made you both pull back. You looked at one another, chests heaving and looking like you ran a marathon.
Then a sad look came across his face.
“Spencer what’s wrong?”
“You didn’t get any pleasure,” he said looking like a hurt puppy. Oh your sweet boy.
“It’s ok baby, I can take care of myself,” you tried to shrug off.
He was quick to push you back on the couch, taking the spot you were previously in. His warm lips trailing down your exposed thighs.
“I wanna do it, but only if you kiss me after.”
#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid smut#spencer reid x reader#Spencer Reid fic#mgg fanfiction#mgg smut#mgg x reader#Criminal Minds Fanfiction#criminal minds smut#sub!spencer#chellewrites
3K notes
·
View notes
Note
Wait, isn't "anti" stuff more like "anti-pedophilia" and stuff? Like, you have a point about anti-porn attitudes, but from what I've heard just "anti" on its own means against stuff like kid porn and incest porn and legitimately f*cked up sh*t like that.
Okay! So this, I think, is actually a great example of what I was talking about, and a really useful thing to understand. (CW rape, child abuse, etc)
Smarter people than me have written much better essays about why policing thoughtcrimes is a bad road to go down, and I will probably reblog some of them next time they cross my dash for more context. What I want to talk about is the trigger mechanism, the ‘oh, this looks like danger!!!’ immune response in how we look at different kinds of porn, and how that applies to anti culture.
Here’s the thing: I am anti-pedophilia. I think that, for most people, that’s a stance that largely goes without saying! Adults who prey on children are bad. I’m also against incest; relatives who prey on their family members are bad. Above all I oppose rape. Sexual predation of any kind is bad. In fact, I’d say that’s the most important item on the list. There is plenty of room to argue about where the lines are between ‘adult’ and ‘child’ and how teenagers fit in the middle, and there’s plenty of room to get historical about the lines between ethically terrible incest, distasteful-but-bearable “aristocratic inbreeding” between distant cousins, and the kind of consanguinity that tends to develop in a small town where everyone’s vaguely related to everyone else by now anyway. The core of the issue is consent, and it has always been consent. Pedophilia and incest are horrific because they are rape scenarios where the abuser has far more power and their victim far fewer resources to cope, both practically and emotionally; because harm to children is, to us as a culture, worse than harm to adults, for a lot of very valid reasons; and because they constitute betrayal of trust the victim should have been able to put in their abuser as well as rape--but they are all rape scenarios, and that’s why they’re awful.
These things are bad. It is good for us to have a social immune response system that recognizes these things when they’re happening and insists we step in. That is a good thing to develop! It helps us, as a society. It can help the people being victimized. It’s the same reason educators and childcare workers in the US are all mandated reporters, why we do background checks on people working near kids. These things happen, and they’re terrible, and it’s good that we try to be aware and prepared for them. (Though obviously studies show we’re a lot less good at protecting the vulnerable than we’d like to pretend we are.)
The question is: why does that same social immune response trigger, and trigger so angrily, in response to fiction?
Anti culture is fundamentally an expression of that social immune response. Specifically, it’s that social immune response when it is set off by a situation that, while it has some similarities to the very bad real-life crime of sexual predation including pedophilia and incest, is in and of itself harmless.
If you’re instinct is to flare up in anger or dismissiveness because I’m calling these things harmless, I want to ask you to just take a deep breath and bear with me for a bit longer. What you’re feeling right now is an allergic reaction.
Humans tell and read and listen to stories about “legitimately fucked up shit” all the time. It’s part of the human condition. It’s part of how we process those things happening, not just to use, but to other people in the world around us. It’s part of how we process completely unrelated fucked-up shit, playing with fears and furies and insecurities that we all have, through so may layers of fiction that we don’t even recognize them any more, playing with power dynamics in metaphor and making characters suffer for fun. Aside from the fact that literally all stories do this to some extent or another; aside from the fact that drawing lines between ‘ok that’s good storytelling’ and ‘that’s too fucked-up to write about’ is arbitrary, subjective, and dangerous in its own right; aside from all of that, these stories are stories. All of them.
Even the ones about rape, about incest, about pedophilia. They’re words on a page. No real children were harmed, touched, or even glanced at in the making of this work of fiction. This story, pornographic though it may be, is part of a conversation between consenting adults. (And if a teenager lies about their age to consent, that is a different problem altogether.)
Stories in and of themselves, no matter what they’re about, are no more dangerous than a crate full of oranges. Which is to say: utterly harmless, unless all you have to eat is oranges, all day every day, and you find yourself dying slowly of nutrient deficiency--which is why representation matters. Or unless someone wields one deliberately, violently, as a tool to cause harm, and someone gets acid in their eye--which is the fault of the person holding the orange. And unless you happen to be allergic to citrus.
The key here is this twofold understanding: First, the thing that hurts you can also have value to others. Real, legitimate value. Whether you’ve undergone trauma and certain story elements are straight-up PTSD triggers or you just don’t like orange juice, that story, those tropes, that crate of oranges may be somewhere between icky and fundamentally abhorrent--but we understand that that is still your reaction. Even if you don’t understand how anybody could ever enjoy it; even if every single person you surround yourself with is as sensitive and disgusted and itchy about this thing that makes your eyes hurt and your throat stop working as you; that doesn’t make it true for everyone. That doesn’t make oranges poisonous. No real children were involved in the writing of this story. It is words on a page.
But, secondly: the thing that has value to others can also hurt you. Just because a story isn’t inherently poison doesn’t mean it can’t cause you, personally, pain. That’s what a PTSD trigger is: an allergic reaction, psychological anaphylaxis, a brain that’s trying so hard to protect its own from a threat that isn’t actually present (but was once, and the brain is trained to respond) that it causes far more harm and misery than the trigger itself possibly could. And no, it’s not just people with PTSD who sometimes get hurt by stories. There are many, many ways a story can poke the part of your brain that says, this is Bad, I don’t like this, I don’t want to be here. The story is still, always, every time, pixels on a screen and ink on paper. The story causes no physical harm. But it can poke your brain into misery, it can stir up your emotions, it can make you want to cringe and run away. It can make you want to scream and fight and go after the author who brought this thing into existence. It can make you hurt.
This is an allergic reaction. This is your brain and body, your reflexes and instincts, trying to protect you from something that isn’t really happening. And just like a literal allergic reaction, it can do actual harm to you if it gets set off. This is real. The fact that stories can upset you to the point of pain and mental/emotional injury is real, even though it’s coming from your own brain and not the story itself. There are stories you shouldn’t read. There are stories I shouldn’t read, regret reading, will never read, because they hurt me. That doesn’t mean they’re the same stories that would hurt you. That doesn’t mean they don’t have value.
And, finally:
If getting upset about stories is fundamentally an individual person’s allergic reaction, their brain freaking out and firing off painful survival instincts in the face of a thing that isn’t, in and of itself, a threat? Then the anti movement is a cultural allergic reaction.
Fandom as a whole has a pretty active immune system, which doesn’t mean we have a good immune system. We try very hard to be aware of all the viruses and -isms and abuse and manipulation and cruelty, both systematic and individual, that exists around and within our community. We’re primed and ready to shout about things at all times. The anti movement is that system, that culture, screaming and shouting and fighting at a harmless thing on a grand scale. It wants to stop that thing, that scary awful thing that trips all of its well-primed danger sensors, at all costs. It’ll swell up and block off our airways (our archives) if it has to. It’ll turn on the body it came from. It’s scared and protective and trying to fight, and it’s ready to fight and destroy itself.
Luckily, fans and fanfic and fandom and fan culture are a lot bigger and older than they often get credit for, and it’s not like these cultural allergies are anything new. We could talk about shippers and slashers in the X-Files fandom in the 90s. We could talk about the birth of fandom in the days of Star Trek. We could talk about censorship and book burning going back centuries. We survived that and we’ll survive this, too.
But god, does the anti movement my throat and eyes itch. Man is it irritating, and sometimes a little suffocating, to realize how many stories just aren’t getting told out of fear of what the antis will say. And that’s the real danger, I think. What are we losing that would have so much value to someone? What are we missing out?
#fandom#anti culture#anti-anti#I guess?#asked and answered#you are not WRONG or BAD or BROKEN if a story hurt you#but neither is the story#Anonymous#anti discourse day
1K notes
·
View notes
Note
hi, this is my first ever ask so I'm not sure I'm doing this correctly, if that's the case I'm sorry; I don't know how tumblr works just yet >:')
would it be possible for you to write something about bakugo, pining incredibly hard for fem!reader and initially hating how strongly he feels about her? because they're not even friends, they only exchange few words occasionally and she doesn't even glance at his way whereas he slowly finds himself unable to divert his eyes from her during classes? shes always with damn deku and his friends and doesn't even seem interested in him at all but his heart can't ignore the way she looks at him proudly whenever they spar together, the way she sends him small confident smiles as they fight each other with all they have; so he thinks that maybe, maybe he might have a chance. basically bakugo liking reader so much he's completely lost in self-hatred because he always thought feelings were for weak romantics and not great people like him, but everytime he sees reader doing some badass things (again, like sparring with him and basically matching his skills etc...) he's reminded of how badly he likes reader? but when he finally accepts he's fallen for reader, after ignoring and trying to forget about how she makes him feel, he masters up the courage to confess? and it's a very clumsy confession because he's awkward and has no idea how to deal with those feelings? and he tries so hard to make reader realise he's never been more serious than now? and reader is startled and speechless before rejecting him? and at that point he's just completely humiliated, so he nods and walks away.
it might be a little dramatic but I've always been into unrequited love and one-sided pining. thank you, its okay if you don't want to write about this, i'll understand <33
𝓫𝓻𝓾𝓽𝓪𝓵 - 𝓴. 𝓫𝓪𝓴𝓾𝓰𝓸𝓾
character(s): katsuki bakugou x fem!reader (my hero academia)
reblogs are greatly appreciated!
a/n: AHHHHH this is so cute <33 honestly this is super exciting for me and this ask made me so happy, lovey. i’m fairly new to tumblr, i’m usually just a reader but i wanted to migrate here from wattpad so this made me so happy. here u are my love <33 i hope this lives up to what u wanted !! :)) a bit lengthy, but i had a lot of fun writing it !!!
summary: bakugou finds he’s rejecting his feelings for you in fear of becoming weak, however he just can’t seem to ignore you.
genre: fluffy, fluffier than the clouds istg, however the clouds are sprinking a little teeny weeny droplet of angst.
warnings: cursing (bakugou, duhh), one-sided pining (on bakugou’s part) second hand embarrassment (on bakugou’s part bc we can all agree he’s a complete idiot when it comes to trying to get someone’s attention), just bakugou being a jackass, i gave the reader a quirk
word count: 3,859
(pls excuse any typos or mistakes, i edited to the best of my ability but i miss some things sometimes !)
- - -
part 2 is here my loves <3
brutal. it was utterly ruthless. he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think right. his hands were already exceptionally sweaty, but gosh when he saw your damn face, he was ready to explode. literally.
what the hell was it about you? was it your stupid smile? or the way you just seemed to carry every battle on your back? was it all the undeniably sweet things you do for others ‘just because’?
it made him angry that he thought about you, but gosh he couldn’t wait to see you every day.
just like any other day, bakugou found himself staring at the large door to the classroom, awaiting the moment you would bounce into his day, skirt shifting around your legs, bag slung loosely around your shoulders.
his leg was bouncing eagerly.
bakugou didn’t know when the feelings came. his cheeks just started flaring up all of a sudden and one day you just looked...different. you hadn’t done anything different to yourself. it was just him. not that he would ever admit that, to you or anybody else.
you were insufferable. you were stupid and obnoxious and so...so damn...
“y/n! come look at this!”
you’d come walking into class just as expected, and as soon as you did, that stupid nerd had called you over.
it didn’t help that deku sat right behind him, either. the two of you had recently gotten closer. bakugou noticed it last month when he yelled at the two of you to shut up about all might and get to work. he’d turned around to find you leaning over deku, hands resting on his shoulders while you peered at his phone.
“sorry, bakugou,” you’d said, barely acknowledging him. you had waved him off like an annoying fly. is that all you were to him? some nuisance that got in the way of your oh-so-entertaining conversations with deku?
all he heard nearly every day was your chipper voice talking to deku. always, “oh my gosh, midoriya, did you see the fight edgeshot was in last night?” or “midoriya! i have something to add to our quirk analysis book!”
that was the one that took the cake. you two dorks shared a notebook, occasionally passed between one another, and filled it with junk about quirks and pro heroes. but no matter how much he tried to tune you out, no matter how he tried to zone off and think about something else, you were always there. it made him want to vomit how much he thought about you.
you were doing an adorable shuffle over to midoriya’s desk and leaned over the table as you usually did while he angled his phone your way. “did you see this hero report?”
deku let you slip the phone out of his grasp to get a better look.
“no,” you breathed. “was this just recent?”
“yeah,” deku said, taking the phone back. “last night.”
“holy—”
“can you guys shut up over there?” bakugou said, his voice quaking.
“sorry, kacchan.” deku scrolled through the article.
dammit, bakugou thought. “i wasn’t talking to you, nerd. i was talking to shitface over here.” he jerked his head towards you. his eyes flared in anger when he saw you were looking down at your phone, now focused in on the article yourself. “i was talking to you, asshat!”
your eyes flicked up to his. you looked around for a moment before slowly pointing to yourself as if to say, “me?”
his face scrunched. “yeah, you. you’re so damn loud.” gosh, he hated how his voice was cracking, how he could feel his ears and cheeks lighting up in a swollen, cherry red. his stomach flipped.
she’s looking at you, gosh i’m sweating. i’m going to throw up. she’s so gorgeous. what the hell? they’re ugly as shit, i don’t think anything of them.
his eyes bore into yours.
“did you...need something?”
your voice broke his trance.
“kacchan, are you okay? you dozed off there for a second. you look like you’re burning up.”
bakugou looked to deku who was currently stretching out of his seat, arm extended. he pressed the back of his hand to bakugou’s forehead. “you’re really warm, kacchan. should we call recovery girl?”
it took him a moment to realize what was happening. his vision got blurry every time he was with you. bakugou smacked deku’s hand away. “i’m fine!” his voice lifted at the end, cracking. “i’m not sick. don’t you think i’d take better care of myself?”
“i don’t doubt you take good care of yourself, kacchan, but everyone gets sick once in a while. there’s nothing wrong with that.”
“i never get sick!” besides, if i got sick, i wouldn’t want you to be the one taking care of me.
he was still pissed. he was always in a bad mood, however, more so right now because you’d gone straight back to your phone and that stupid hero article that was supposedly so damn interesting.
soon enough, the bell rang, and you were seated at your desk. it was jirou’s old spot, however, after much convincing, you two had switched spots so you could be closer to deku. just a few months of getting close to the idiot and you two are suddenly best friends. jirou hadn’t minded one tiny bit, claiming she needed a break from how loud that section of the room was.
late as always, aizawa came trudging into your room. thankfully, his entire body wasn’t obscured by a yellow sleeping bag that smelled of something unwashed and coffee and gasoline. (for some reason, aizawa’s clothes always smelled of it.)
“lucky for you,” he began while shuffling papers on his desk, “all of you are doing training for these first periods.”
the class cheered in perfect unison, followed by their individual chatter. you had erupted with glee along with them, and bakugou was sure he felt his heart clench and then explode. just a tiny bit. but he shoved the feeling down just as quickly as it had come up.
“go out to the field and wait for further instructions. don’t make a sound in the halls otherwise, i’ll expel all of you.”
this shut everyone up in almost a second, the sound draining out just as water does. the first years trailed out into the hall, single-file mimicking the positions baby ducklings would take when following their mother.
bakugou found himself walking faster when he saw you take up your spot in the line, hoping to land his spot right behind you.
unfortunately, this idiot who considered himself bakugou’s friend tugged him back. “bakugou!” a familiar voice rasped.
“shitty hair, let go of me.”
“hey man, chill out. wanna partner up if we’re doing training in pairs?”
bakugou glanced at the line, the spot that should have been reserved for him now taken up by sato.
bakugou tugged his sleeve from kirishima’s hand. “whatever,” he snapped.
“sounds good!” kirishima flashed him a toothy grin and a thumbs-up. the bubbly feeling in bakugou’s chest died down as he stood behind sato, the overwhelming scent of sugar filling his nose, various candies that would go straight to your arteries.
“you smell like ass, damn,” bakugou remarked, squeezing his nostrils together.
luckily, sato was tall enough to not hear the insult, as he towered over bakugou by just another head. the line began moving like a sloppy train down to the change rooms.
bakugou scoffed as he listened to your giggle. he should be making you laugh.
-
“you’ll be given partners randomly from this box.” aizawa held up a familiar red box. “inside are all your names. i’ll select one, then that person will come up and pick another name from the box. that will be your assigned partner for today. as soon as you have your assigned partner, i want you guys to get straight to work.”
denki raised a hand, speaking before being called on. “sensei, why are we getting random partners? we’re always allowed to choose.”
“in the real world, you’re going to come across different villains every day. you’ll never improve your skills or your quirks if you keep fighting the same person.”
denki sighed, slumping back.
dammit, bakugou thought, gritting his teeth together. there wasn’t any way he wanted to be partners with you. it’s obvious he’d win the fight in the first few seconds.
yes! exactly right! bakugou internally grinned. his fluctuating feelings had finally soothed themselves. you were just another extra, and he had no room for you in his head.
aizawa took a moment to fiddle with the slips of paper inside the box. soon enough, he pulled out a name. “todoroki.”
todoroki walked up, digging his hand into the box when aizawa held it out for him. he pulled out a name, delicately unraveling the slip. “uraraka, you’re my partner.” he deadpanned.
the brunette grinned. “great!”
the two found their own spot on the field, and the class’s attention was once again diverted to their grouchy teacher as he pulled out another name.
“bakugou.”
bakugou strutted up without a worry in his mind. he pulled a name to find...
“y/n,” he said, voice a low growl. instead of the annoying fluttering in his chest, his eyes met yours, and they were filled with a different, new ferocity. he crumpled the paper in one hand, letting it twirl to the ground.
you looked at him, unsmiling. your eyes gave away nothing, and to bakugou’s knowledge, all you saw in him was another opponent.
it took him a moment to realize you had both locked eyes for about a minute. perhaps the two of you would have stayed as you were if aizawa hadn’t snapped at the two of you to get moving as yaomomo’s name was called.
bakugou was on his way to the back of the field, you followed close behind. while there was plenty of room still, he chose a secluded area. while it was still open enough to view everything going on so nobody got hurt, it was often nobody chose to train here. for whatever reason, you weren’t sure.
“wait up, bakugou,” you said. after a bit, you caught up to him.
“if you can’t keep up, then...” then what? he looked at you from the side of his eye. “then don’t keep up...” gosh, here came the embarrassing, disgusting feeling of redness in his cheeks.
you laughed. “what?”
“shut up.”
“you’re an idiot, bakugou.”
“i said shut the hell up!”
“what, so you can call me shitface in front of the entire class but you get all pissed when i call you an idiot?”
so you had heard him!
he tongued his cheek, curling his hands around an invisible ball, explosions sparking in the centers of his palms. “don’t expect me to hold back, dumbass.”
“i wouldn’t dream of it.”
gosh he loved that about you.
bakugou caught his thought in the air.
ahem...gosh he hated that about you.
you both charged in at the same time. his cry was louder than yours, but you struck first.
he admired your quirk. while he’d overhead you explaining all the drawbacks it had, it was strong, and you were strong because you knew how to control it.
purple arrows flew from your arms, going in your desired directions. if you lost focus for one moment, they’d vanish and weaken. if you focused too hard or long, you’d be plagued by a splitting headache.
he’d spent too much time obsessing over your strengths and weaknesses.
your arrows were weightless, however they were solid objects capable of carrying any mass, any thing, and worked as extensions of your body.
the violet arrow had shot out at him, twisting around his right gauntlet and crushing inwards. it’d snaked around him without him noticing, slithering along his back.
bakugou struggled to get the air-light arrow off his wrist, but it was no use. he glared back, only to see your focused, furrowed brows. he’d expected to see your cocky ass smiling. it was nice to see you weren’t.
that was one thing that had also caught his eye. you never underestimate your opponent, but you never underestimate yourself, either.
you conjured a larger arrow. it snaked around your right arm as you hurled bakugou into the air, releasing your grasp on him. you shot your other arrow into the air, and it raced into the sky.
it swerved. bakugou’s eyes went wide as the tip of the arrow came down on his chest. if they weren’t intangible things, he would have been bleeding out.
another drawback: the arrows, while they could solidify, they couldn’t do any actual damage. you had to use your surroundings to inflict harm on your opponent.
he coughed out as the arrow shot him into the ground. he hadn’t even touched you, and here he was, vulnerable and so...so...
you stood over him, hands on your hips.
vulnerable and so lost in that adorable, winning smile.
“get away from me, idiot,” he grunted and turned onto his side, his back crying out in pain.
“i think i won this fight, bakugou,” you chirped, rocking on your heels.
“don’t get arrogant, shithead. you won’t be winning against me anymore.”
you grinned, arrows shooting out behind your back.
-
the dorms were exceptionally quiet. you were typing away in the common room, bakugou on the couch reading. everyone was off doing something else. it was the weekend, luckily. he’d expected you to go bounding out with everyone else, however you’d stayed back, claiming you had some homework to catch up on.
bakugou being classic bakugou had stayed back. he was excited to have the dorm to himself, but your dumbass was stuck here with him. couldn’t you have done your typing in your room?
you were so aggressive on that poor keyboard.
“oi, quiet down with your shit typing.”
you barely grunted in response.
“don’t ignore me.”
“i heard you, mom.”
“the hell did you call me?”
no response. only your aggressive typing is a bit less aggressive.
“i can still hear it,” bakugou remarked, eyes fixed on your back.
“‘kay,” you said. your typing slowed a tad, and your pressure on the keys lessened.
it was quiet now. bakugou should go back to his book. he shouldn’t still be looking for a reason to talk to you.
the pages crinkled in his fingers. he bit his tongue, keeping his snarky comments in.
“you’re a fucking idiot, you know that? doing your damn homework. it’s due tomorrow.”
you turned, pursing your lips. “and how would you know what i’m working on? are you stalking me?”
“i- what? no. you’re such an idiot, of course i’m not—”
“i’m messing with you,” you breathed, face un-moving.
“o-oh,” bakugou stuttered out. he blinked awkwardly.
“gosh, what’s gotten your panties in a twist?”
“you’re annoying.”
“you’re a jackass.” you returned to your work. bakugou settled with reading in his room. reading consisted of jumping onto his bed just as the stereotypical high school girl would in an eighties movie. he buried his face in his pillow, face burning bright red. he cursed you for making him feel this way, and hated himself even more for how much he enjoyed it.
-
the next day came swiftly. you’d left early to go train with midoriya. there were many improvements needed to be made, but you weren’t doing too bad.
you propelled yourself forwards with an arrow, and your green-haired friend shot back, lightning flickering around his body.
landing back on the ground, you panted and swiped the sweat from your brow. from the corner of your eye, you could make out both kirishima and bakugou coming to the training grounds.
bakugou stopped in his tracks, frowning at the sight of you.
it was evident he hated you a bit more than everyone else. he was always making his annoying comments, he was always snubbing you. you saw no reason to talk to him, so you didn’t. either way, even if you tried, he would still get angry for no reason.
it’d taken you quite some time to get used to his obnoxious attitude. tuning him out had been the best course of action, in your opinion.
the way you and midoriya had bonded was through bakugou, in a way. the first day of school, bakugou had snapped at you for tripping over your laces and nearly crashing into him. later that day, midoriya had stepped up and apologized for his old friend’s actions.
you two had never been too close until now. the recent incidents going on with the league of villains had snagged your attention, and it seemed you were the only person who didn’t mind listening to him ramble on about heroes.
you were just as passionate and just as dorky, but midoriya could talk your ear off. you never minded, and he always took the hint when you didn’t want to listen.
you brought your leg up, twirling in the air with ease and watched your heel collide with midoriya’s face. he grunted, stumbling back.
you were about to charge in again when a hand landed on your shoulder, big and rough. you turned to see bakugou standing behind you, a scowl on his face.
“fight me again,” he demanded.
“excuse me?”
“don’t act like you didn’t hear me.”
“i’m in the middle of fighting midoriya right now.”
“so?”
“so if you think that i’m just going to ditch my friend because you want to fight, i won’t.”
“you’re being stubborn.”
“i’m being reasonable. back off.”
“y/n?” midoriya rubbed his jaw—right where you had struck him. “what’s going on?” he jogged up to you and bakugou.
“he wants to fight me in the middle of our fight. it’s nothing serious. don’t worry about it, midoriya. let’s just ignore him.”
bakugou made a sound someone would only make if they were choking. “the hell did you just say?”
“we’re ignoring you!” you waved him off and placed your hand on midoriya’s shoulder, wandering away.
-
it was new to him, not getting what he wanted. and what he wanted right now was to be around you. again, it wasn’t like he would ever admit that to himself.
“dude? you good? i thought you went off to fight y/n. i was so ready to cheer you on, dude,” kirishima’s chipper voice piped in. “she’s not fighting with you? why not?”
“the dumbass was just probably scared of getting her ass beat by me.”
“dude...that sounds really weird.”
“whatever, shitty hair. let’s go.”
-
the clock ticked. his ears were on fire. again.
gosh, it was happening again. it was all you. his face scrunched up, his voice would surely crack if someone were to ask him what was wrong.
bakugou was once again stuffing his face in his pillow, hiding his expression from no one. why did you have to go train with that shitty nerd? why were you always around deku? deku, of all people. what did he have? why was he so great?
bakugou was a man of many insecurities, but losing to deku? that was possibly his biggest fear.
perhaps he wasn’t the nicest, or the most soft person out there. bakugou could admit that, at least. but he was smarter than deku. he was stronger and he was better and people liked him more. right?
what was so...amazing about deku?
it was often bakugou would find himself obsessing over little, insignificant things such as these.
you were what he was thinking of most of the time. just yesterday, he’d gotten a test returned. he was expecting an eighty at the lowest, but more so expecting a high ninety. it’d come back exactly sixty percent.
sixty. percent.
bakugou vividly remembered staring at your face. he also remembered not being able to focus because of it. his grades were dropping because of you.
you were the only person to be able to do this to him.
his heart grew quiet, but the pounding of his didn’t cease. he lifted his head.
“alright, fine,” he said aloud. “you win, y/n. you win.”
he settled with getting over his feelings the way he’d read them in his collection of romance manga.
bakugou left his room and knocked on your door. (he was banging on it, but it was his nice way of knocking.)
you answered, looking around awkwardly. “yes?”
his hands shook. how was this supposed to go? sure, he’d seen it in romance movies and read it in books but it was always easy to tell whether the guy would get the girl or not.
in this instance, bakugou was clueless. for once in his life, he was clueless. you stood, tapping your foot with a hand on your hip, waiting expectantly for him to tell you why he was here.
“um.” he scratched behind his neck. “you uh- i uh...i’m sorry i called you a, um...a shitface.”
“okay? is that it?”
what? come on! it was already unlike him to apologize. what else did you want from him?
“did you...i’ve been thinking, maybe? maybe we could..train together as...friends?”
“...what?”
gosh dammit, as friends?
“whatever, um...the uh...” oh gosh, what did the boys do in all the books he’d read? right! bakugou stretched out his arm, resting his forearm on the door, leaning to the side.
although he didn’t, really, because like the clumsy jackass he was, bakugou missed completely and nearly toppled to the floor.
this earned a snicker from you.
his stomach flipped and churned, and bakugou found himself unable to reach your eyes. “uh, would you maybe..? okay, um. do you want to go on a date with me? you absolute fucking dumbass.”
your eyes flew wide. “...what?”
“no, that’s not what i— i mean i didn’t mean the last part. um, i meant the first part. the first two parts. the part where i was asking you if you wanted to go on a date with me and then before that when i said maybe because it’s still a maybe until you say yes. or...or no because that’s an option too.”
he swallowed.
you resisted the urge to mock him, just a little bit. “um, bakugou, listen.”
he leaned closer. “yes?”
“it’s going to be a no. i’m sorry, but i’m just not interested in you like that.”
it took him a moment to register everything. his shoulders sagged. gosh that was brutal.
“oh, alright.”
“yeah, uh, sorry about that.” you offered him a weak smile, still a bit shocked yourself. he did his best to return it, and when you closed the door, his face was ready to explode.
it was so damn difficult to deal with these feelings, but maybe it was better this way. knowing where you stood on your end, he knew he wouldn’t miss out on anything.
perhaps it was alright to admire from afar. things could happen in the future, right?
right now, he’d just wait. for a long, long time. bakugou pressed a hand to his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat. maybe it was alright to not have you right now. perhaps he could better himself for you. just for you.
#bakugou fluff#bakugou angst#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou#bnha#mha#x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#izuku midoriya#deku#my hero academia#uraraka#angst#fluff#ask#request#anime#bakugou x reader#uraraka ochacho#boku no hero academia#boku no hero bakugou#kacchan#todoroki#kirishima#mha eijirou#eijirou kirishima#denki kaminari
320 notes
·
View notes
Text
period pains || sapnap
Sapnap x fem!reader
Word count: 1.5k words
Summary: Sapnap, being the amazing, super, terrific boyfriend he is, went to buy y/n tampons. needless to say, she got plenty.
Moving in with Sapnap and Dream was exciting. It got to the point where Y/n was at their house almost everyday, so it was an easy acclimation. At first, Y/n was nervous about how living with her boyfriend’s best friend would work, but it was surprisingly more manageable than she thought. She wasn’t nervous about walking around Dream anymore, though her cheeks would glow a particular shade of red after late night rendezvous with Sapnap that he pretended to not hear. Little did she know, he spared her the mockery by privately doing so to Sapnap.
Currently though on a somewhat cloudy Florida day, her boyfriend was out with said best friend and roommate before the Texan received a text.
y/n <3
do you love me
He put down his drink at the sight of the notification popping up on his phone, quirking a brow at his girlfriend’s words while his friend proceeded to eat his meal.
sappy pandas
??
of course I do
where’s this coming from?
Sapnap was slightly concerned, knowing Y/n to be more reserved when asking for his affirmation of love.
y/n <3
since you love me
can you pretty pretty pretty pls
get me tampons
and stuff
I am suffering
He chuckled at the multiple text bubbles that appeared on his screen, causing Dream to divert his attention from his food to his friend’s phone.
sappy pandas
oh shit
I’m sorry :((
We’ll be back in 30 or 40 minutes <3
Y/N groaned, not being able to take the pain any longer and just wanting cuddles with her boyfriend, though regardless, she appreciated his actions.
y/n <3
omg thank you
thank you
I love you so much
Sapnap smiled widely, quickly moving his fingers to text a reply. “Y/n?” Dream asked, taking yet another bite. Sapnap just nodded his head, focused on his girl.
sappy pandas
yeah yeah love you too baby
“Can we stop by Walgreens or something on the way back? She needs stuff,” he spoke to Dream who was currently scarfing down the rest of the food. He nodded his head, still chewing.
“Also, can we order her food?” Sapnap asked shyly. Dream chuckled at the comment, “oh so now I’m both your AND her sugar daddy? I’m going broke because of you two.”
Sapnap blushed, feeling bad about making the blond pay even though he almost always insisted. “I-I’ll pay for it dude, it’s not a big deal.”
Dream shook his head, taking a sip of his soda, “no. Never. I literally asked you to come here, I’m not making you pay for shit.”
The waitress came back, taking the plates and asking if we’d like a check, with the boys instead asking for a menu.
Half an our later, the pair was going across the street of the restaurant and to the drugstore. “What does she need anyways?” Dream asked, following Sapnap’s footsteps.
“Tampons and stuff,” he almost whispered, uncomfortable with the words and also not wanting others to hear him mutter them. “Oh,” Dream answered shortly as they made a bee line to the ‘feminine hygiene’ aisle. Needless to say, the men were overwhelmed.
“Why are there so many?” Sapnap asked as his eyes scanned over various pink and purple packages. “Text her and ask her exactly what she needs,” Dream suggested, eyes also scanning the products before him.
It had been five minutes and Y/N had yet to respond. Sapnap groaned, “what do I do?” His friend shrugged before a very dumb idea crossed his mind. “Just like, get a bunch.”
Sapnap looked at his friend and blinked before speaking “that’s a great idea.” They went to go grab a shopping cart before they began to fill it with various types of cotton.
“No, Sapnap that’s underwear,” Dream spoke as he saw his friend grab diaper like underwear, “it’s for bladder problems or something.”
Sapnap quickly put it back before looking at tampax, “okay but these are definitely tampons.” He grabbed those, along with several other brands and sizes. He moved onto pads, doing the exact same thing.
“This looks... fine,” Sapnap spoke as he examined the sheer amount of cotton recently thrown into the cart. He pushed the cart until reaching the candy aisle. He wanted to buy her some in hopes of making her feel better. So, he took various chocolates alongside her favorite candy and went to go grab pain relievers before approaching the register.
The cashier looked between the cart and the two men scurrying to put the period products onto the counter, forcing a muffled laugh out of Dream. “Find everything okay?” She muttered, scanning the items that Sapnap began to place on the counter, a line forming behind them.
“Uh y-yes thank you,” Sapnap stuttered, placing the candy down last.
“That’s gonna be $198.46,” she expressed as Sapnap fumbled with his debit card, Dream already carrying most of the bags. The two men hurriedly left the store.
“That was so embarrassing. There was a line and everything, oh my god those people must think I’m crazy,” Sapnap muttered, rubbing his hands over his face.
“This-This is definitely a little overboard,” Dream spoke as he slammed the trunk closed.
“It’s fine. This is fine. I don’t want her to like, not have the stuff she needs. I’d feel awful,” Sapnap spoke as he opened the passenger seat door. “Whatever you say pandas.”
~
Never receiving a text from Y/N, Sapnap assumed that she had been asleep. Dream helped him carry the various bags of tampons and food into the house, but thought it’d be best to let his friend carry them to his girlfriend.
So, Sapnap did so, just very loudly. He stumbled into the bedroom, his eyes landing on his girlfriend. Through the ruffling of the bags and his loud footsteps she began to stir about. “Sapnap?” She mumbled tiredly, his form looking like a blob in her sleepy daze.
“Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” he whispered, gently placing down the bags by his bed before leaning over to kiss her forehead.
“Did you go to the store?” She asked, her eyes opening more and more. He scratched his neck as he looked at the bags, “yeah. I just- I just didn’t know what you needed so...”
His voice trailed off as he bent down to grab the bags, “I kind of bought a lot.” Y/N sat up slowly examining the bags with wide eyes, a hand covering her mouth to stifle her laughs.
“Baby,” she giggled, moving to get up to go towards the bags before Sapnap stopped her. “Stay put, I’ll bring the bags to you m’lady,” he spoke with a posh British accent on his last word. Y/n smiled and watched as he grabbed the bags and tossed them by her legs, finally settling onto the bed next to her.
“This is so much,” she muttered going through bag after bag, “you are so sweet.”
Sapnap turned red at her words, watching her go through them to find what she needed, “w-we could donate them or something?”
Y/n let out a scoff, stopping her movements to look at him, “literally the sweetest man. How’d I get this lucky?”
“Yeah I’m literally perfect,” Sapnap spoke sarcastically, leaning his head on her shoulder. Y/n giggled once more, finding the bag that had the reciept and pulling out the long pice of paper. Her eyes went wide as she looked at the total, “two hundred dollars!”
Sapnap snatched up the receipt before she could examine it further, “don’t worry about it.”
Y/n shook her head proceeding to dig through the bags, “and you got me candy? And medicine?”
Her eyes began to tear up as she threw her arms around Sapnap, startling him. “It was nothing,” he muttered softly, wrapping his arms around her torso gently.
“You’re the first guy that’s ever done this for me. Actually care and shit,” she sniffled, her words muffled in his chest. Sapnap’s eyes softened and he carded his fingers through her hair, “well it’s cause I love you and I think you deserve the world. And if making a Walgreens go tampon bankrupt does that, then I’m okay with it.”
Y/n chuckled at his words, pulling away to wipe tears off her face. “I love you too,” she expressed with a slightly exhausted tone. A soft smile appeared on the Texan’s features,
“D-Do you want me to run a bath or something? Or we got you food. It’s in the kitchen and I’ll grab it if you want,” he explained as he laid back onto the beg, dragging Y/n with him softly.
“Can we just lay here for a minute?” Y/n asked, snuggling further into his chest.
“Whatever you want, baby,” he mumbled, kissing the top of her head. He continued to run his fingers through her hair, eventually hearing light and steady snores from the girl on his chest. He couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.
#sapnap imagine#Sapnap x reader#Sapnap fanfiction#Sapnap fanfic#dreamwastaken imagine#dreamwastaken#dream smp#Sapnap#Sapnap x Dream#dream#mcyt#sapnap fluff
562 notes
·
View notes
Text
Confession
Part two of this (but can be read on its own)
It was barely 9:00 a.m. and Adrien Agreste was already sweating. After an hour of pep talking and encouragement during patrol last night, Ladybug had declared that she wasn’t ready to ask Adrien out yet, but she never would be, so why keep waiting?
And Ladybug was Marinette.
And Marinette wouldn’t stop looking at him.
He hadn’t even gotten through his first class and it was already the longest school day of his life.
(Adrien peeked over his shoulder for the eighth time, just as Marinette turned her face away again and blushed. He whipped around to the front. She was going to get suspicious if he kept doing that, but he couldn’t seem to stop.)
It had been a whole week since Chat Noir had found out Ladybug’s identity, and four days since she’d told him the name of the lucky boy who’d caught her heart. And Adrien still couldn’t believe it was him.
And now she was going to ask him out. When? That was the question floating through his mind as his teachers droned on about algebra. When? Maybe something about the Revolution in history class, but he wasn’t entirely sure. When? Science possibly?
When?
When was she going to talk to him? Today? Tomorrow? Did he smell nice? Had he misunderstood and she meant a different Adrien Agreste? Should he wait for her to approach him or start a conversation to give her an opening? He should have asked her last night! Why didn’t he ask her that?!
One advantage to peeking at her so often was that he could tell he felt more nervous than she looked, which was probably a good thing. Maybe something he said to her last night had helped. He felt scattered and on edge. Marinette’s nervousness was subtle. A tap tap tap of her pencil. The squeak of her shoe as she bounced her knee. Meanwhile, his mind was going in a hundred directions at once, wondering how she would confess.
And that thought sent anticipation swooping through his stomach.
Maybe it would have been better if he’d just told her his identity last night, make sure she knew how crazy he was about her so she could stop worrying.
But Ladybug had made it clear how much she wanted to ask Adrien, and how much effort she had already put in for him, and he didn’t want to minimize her struggle. Plus - and he felt a little guilty for it - he really wanted to hear what she would say. Wanted her to ask him. Wanted to be wanted by her.
Behind him, Marinette let out a breathy sigh. This was going to be a very, very long day.
***
A few hours later, Adrien stood at the top of school stairs, looking down at the waiting limo with its door already open for him, waiting to take him home for the weekend.
His pep talks hadn’t been enough. Even though she’d had plenty of opportunities, Marinette hadn’t asked him. His footsteps were heavy as he walked away from the school doors and waved a limp hello to his driver.
“Adrien, wait!”
He turned back so fast that the world blurred. Marinette ran toward him and then stopped a few inches in front of him, stone still, hands clenched to her sides.
His heart pounded in his mouth. “Yeah?”
“I-” That was as far as she got before her eyes fell to her feet.
“Yes?” Adrien prompted, hoping he was keeping the desperation out of his voice. He was not going to let her get out of talking now. Not if she was finally going to tell him how she really felt about him. “Was there something you wanted?”
“N-no, I don’t want anything,” she said, eyes flicking back up to his. “Just, um.” Paper rustled as she reached in her pocket and held out a small piece of notebook scrap to him. This wasn’t in any of the plans that they’d made together.
“What’s this?” He took it quickly, careful not to let their fingers brush (even though he wanted them to) because it might make her more nervous. On it was a little doodle of a cat face.
“What’s this about?” he whispered, even though he knew exactly what was going to happen next.
“So I have a purr-fect idea.”
This was it. This was it! She was making puns! She was going to ask him out! This excitement and joy were expected. Every single wish he’d ever made was about to come true.
And all of it was almost overshadowed by the single revelation that his Lady trusted him this much, to take his advice on something so important to her, something that was literally keeping her up at night with worry. It wasn’t trust out of necessity. It was trusting him with her vulnerabilities. He hadn’t realized that was going to hit as hard as it did.
“Cat got your tongue?” Marinette asked.
A second cat pun? Adrien leaned against the open car door for support. It swung farther open under his weight and nearly took him off his feet.
Marinette’s face went white.
“Sorry,” he said, standing back up. (He leaned against the frame of the car this time.) He had to pull himself together and not make this harder for her than it already was. “Sun was in my--” The sun beat down on the back of his neck. “Never mind. What’s your idea?”
“Uh.” She pointed to the paper. “Flip it over?”
On the back was a hastily-drawn ice cream cone. One of the many date ideas they had discussed. That had been his favorite one. Low pressure, but still enough to get the point across that it was a date and not just hanging out. She trusted his opinion and went with his idea.
“If you’re free sometime, would you want to get ice cream with me?” Its job complete, Marinette’s mouth clicked shut. Her lips screwed up tight as she politely waited for his answer.
Adrien was having none of it.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you asking me for ice cream?”
“Oh.” Marinette folded her hands in front of her chest, eyes looking everywhere but at him. “I just, you know, thought that you might like some ice cream. Some time. And I like it too, and we know each other, so we could get some at the same time.”
“Is that the only reason? Because you thought we both liked it? Or is there something else?”
She sighed, shoulders dropping suddenly. “Listen, I really like you. A lot.”
“Yeah?” he prompted.
She finally looked at him, searching his face for any sign of impending rejection. Adrien smiled softly to let her know she wasn’t ever going to find any there.
“I think you’re great,” she said. “You’re very kind and you’re fun to be around, and I was hoping you’d want to go on a date with me sometime?”
“Yes. I’d love to.”
“Wait.” Marinette took a step back. “Yes? Did you just say yes?!”
“I’m really glad you asked me,” he said. “I’ve had a huge crush on you forever.”
It was Marinette’s turn to be speechless, but she recovered enough to squeak, “How about Monday after school? Do you have time then?”
“Sundaes on Monday? That sounds great!”
Marinette beamed, beautiful and wide and just for him. She liked him! She’d asked him! She trusted him!
She trusted him.
And he couldn’t start a relationship with her when he was keeping a huge secret from her.
“I have something to tell you first though, before our first date, and then you can decide if you still want to go out with me.”
Marinette cocked her head. “Of course I will. What is it?”
Adrien took a deep breath. Would she? He’d effectively tricked her into asking him out.
The Gorilla cleared his throat. A line of cars was forming behind them.
Feeling a little like a coward, Adrien started climbing into the limo. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“But it’s Saturday. We don’t have school tomorrow. And don’t you usually have shoots and fencing?”
He leaned out of the door and grabbed her hand. It would be too much of a hint for him to kiss it, so he squeezed it instead. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find you.”
***
Author’s note: There will be one more part! Update: Here it is!
491 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
