#like it's just okay to punch down at people who struggle with delusions and it shouldn't be; we should be considerate of | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itsclydebitches · 3 years

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A weird defence I've seen of RWBY's conflicts has been that it's good writing simply by the virtue that people can disagree on what's the right thing to do in said conflict. Which doesn't work when one decision is being presented as the only valid choice while every other option is either not addressed or demonized. This isn't a story leaving a nuanced set of stances to explore, it's a guy on stage signalling the crowd to boo whenever someone goes against the Protag's decision.

Real quick, I want to talk about RWBY by not talking about RWBY. I’ve seen this argument a lot too and the tl;dr is that just because your audience debates the right action in a conflict — something that is inevitable given how subjective media is — doesn’t mean the story encouraged that reflection in any way. As you say, RWBY pretends that those disagreements don’t exist and that This Is The One (1) Right Answer... which entirely defeats the purpose of a morally nuanced situation in the first place. That lack is bad writing because it demonstrates the author’s inability to provide an accurate picture of the conflict while still ensuring we come out of it liking the parties involved. The conflict was too complex for them to manage alongside equally complex characterization, so they just pretended it was far simpler than it actually was. That’s not something to praise.

But to get to the not RWBY part. I’ve mentioned this a couple times before, but one of the scenes that I think manages these sorts of conflicts really well is the funeral fight in The Haunting of Hill House, episodes 6, “Two Storms.” So warning from here on out for spoilers. Sometimes, the best way to see what’s not working well in one show is to look at another show that does (basically) the same thing successfully and compare the two.

Normally I’d include screenshots, but Netflix doesn’t allow that :/ So I’m forced to rely on bullet points.

The basic premise is that the Crain family has assembled in daughter Shirley’s funeral home, the night before they bury their sister, Nell. A lot of secrets are about to come to light.

The scene kicks off when their father, Hugh, relays the call he got from the housekeeper the night of Nell’s death. She had committed suicide in the family’s childhood home.

Though everyone knew how she’d died, son Steven is distraught at hearing the details and reveals that a few weeks prior Nell crashed a book signing of his. This shocks the others given that this was very unusual behavior for Nell.

Shirley likewise reveals that she got a call from Nell who’d been worried about their brother, Luke, but hadn’t spoken to her the night of her death. The implication is that no one did. They’ll never know what was going through her head the night she died.

Hugh reveals that she did call him. “I talked to her.”

Stunned by this news, his children demand to know what was discussed and Hugh is clearly reluctant to continue. However, he eventually says that Nell wasn’t just worried about Luke, but also the “Bent Neck Lady,” a specter from her childhood.

The viewer knows that ghosts are real in this show. The kids don’t. Or rather, they all experienced supernatural occurrences in their childhood, are still experiencing them now, but only some of them are willing to admit they’re real. Steven is the diehard skeptic of the bunch and starts yelling at his father, accusing him of aiding Nell’s delusions and ignoring a family history of mental illness. In particular, he declares that this “makes you culpable [in her death].”

Steven continues to accuse Hugh of “holding back information” about Nell and Hugh shoots back that “If I held back anything it was to protect you kids.” The viewer understands Hugh’s dilemma: the only reason he keeps things to himself is because Steven and the others refuse to believe the truth, with an added dose of this supernatural stuff being very dangerous. Steven asks, “Why do I need protection from the truth?”

Before their fight can go any further, Shirley tells Steven, “You might want to check yourself before you start talking about the truth.” He published an autobiographical book about their childhood trauma and notably capitalized on a supernatural angle he doesn’t believe in. Shirley calls it “blood money.”

As the argument about the ethics of his book rages, Shirley defends herself primarily with how everyone else thinks this is “blood money” too. No one took a cut when Steven offered one, proving how despicable they all think it is.

Meanwhile, sister Theo has been getting heat for being drunk (a coping mechanism for her own supernatural troubles) and Shirley eventually pushes her far enough that she admits she did take Steven’s money and used it to get her degree. “It’s good, fucking money.” Suddenly, Steven has someone in his corner and Shirley’s main defense has crumbled.

Shirley is furious that Theo had this secret income but was still living with her and her husband. Theo reminds her that she offered to pay rent, but Shirley isn’t interested in hearing that. She demands that Theo move out immediately and uses this betrayal as the new way to protect herself. She’s the victim here.

Steven, sensing another secret in the works, cautions Shirley to “get off your high horse before you fall off.”

Shirley maintains her position until her husband blurts that they also took Steven’s money. Shirley hasn’t been running the funeral home well and they would have sunk without it.

Despite being the punching bag for the second half of this fight, Shirley is offered both reassurance and dignity. Her husband emphasizes that the only reason they’re struggling is because Shirley is a good person. She does too much work pro bono. Shirley also delivers the line, “Do you have any idea how much you’ve humiliated me?” calling into question the husband’s choice to admit this now, purely as a way to prove her wrong.

Shirley leaves to get some distance and discovers that someone — something — has put buttons over Nell’s eyes. The shock of this keeps the fight from continuing and, as plot intervenes, gives the characters the space needed to eventually start healing and forgiving one another, notably by sitting with the various truths they all now have to grapple with.

Phew! A long summary, but I’ve put this much detail in to highlight the nuance of the scene. Obviously RWBY would differ in many ways — less cursing, for one — but the core elements of any morally complex scene should be the same. The important takeaways here are that no one in the Crain family are “pure” or “evil” and everyone gets their chance to be both right and wrong. Hugh is right that Steven won’t listen to him and wrong in that he didn’t do enough to help his kids. We get Steven and Hugh’s frustration, their understanding of the world at odds with one another. Steven is wrong to put everything on his father and justified in starting his writing career with their story. We watch the scene move from “Steven is Wrong and everyone agrees” to “Oh shit nm, more and more of the family are revealing that they benefited from his money, complicating how “wrong” he actually is.” Shirley is right to point out that Theo is getting drunk during their sister’s funeral and Theo is right to point out that being drunk doesn’t erase having a good point. Theo is allowed to scream at the group and then immediately be offered help when she falls. Shirley pretends she’s better than all of them and is slowly, horrifyingly proven wrong, but is then still extended compassion and is allowed to point out how horribly they’ve just treated her. The husband is right about the money, wrong about keeping it a secret/revealing it the way he did, right in how he tries to diffuse the other fights, and VERY wrong by getting caught kissing Theo down in the storeroom!

The scene twists and turns in a way that highlights everyone’s points and their flaws, the moments when their perspective should be upheld and questioned. The end result is a scene that has space for the audience to debate everyone’s choices without imposing the single view of This Person Is Obviously Wrong/Right and If You Think Otherwise You’re Not Watching The Show Correctly. The show itself acknowledges the complexity and nuance of these problems. It asks, “Hugh should have tried harder, but what more can he do when his kids literally don’t believe this stuff exists? Was Steven really justified in writing a book about their collective experiences? What does it mean that something his family sees as capitalizing on their trauma also helped them keep businesses and schooling afloat? Was it okay for Shirley’s husband to keep that money a secret, even if it helped them? How might he have told her in a less cruel manner? What about Shirley’s life has led to her intense need to be on that ‘high horse’?”

And of course: “Who is really responsible for Nell’s death?” By this point the viewer already knows that there is no “really” here. This is too complicated a tragedy to lay the blame at any one person’s feet. Everyone in this room has moments of justified accusations and moments of chastisement because they’re well written, well rounded characters who are neither saints nor devils. The length of the scene (done in a single shot!) emphasizes that if you just wait long enough, even the most perfect looking person will eventually have a skeleton pulled from their closet. No one is above mistakes.

RWBY has NONE of that. Zip. Nada. Nothing. RWBY gave us a scenario with many of the same, core themes — secret keeping, secrets unwillingly revealed, blaming others for your mistakes, hurtful actions with helpful consequences, questioning who is responsible for a tragic death — and instead of even attempting to give us some of the above nuance, RWBY said only that Ruby was right, Ozpin was wrong, and demanding that the audience ignore the nuance they could already see in order to accept the canon.

RWBY’s scene asks the audience to play dumb and look at the world as a Black and White place, despite the show simultaneously insisting that “the world isn’t a fairy tale” and is, in fact, filled with shades of gray.

Just not any shades of gray that mess with that dichotomy that now drives the story.

That’s not good writing. It’s oblivious and contradictory writing that makes the audience frustrated. Not satisfied, surprised, contemplative, or curious. Just frustrated.

#rwby #the haunting of hill house #mymetas #Anonymous

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littleoddwriter · 3 years

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So in the comics, Sionis's skull mask is actually NOT a mask and the result of him cutting off his face. What about a story where Roman entrusts with Zsaz with disfiguring him?

Perfection | Roman Sionis x Victor Zsasz | ZsaszMask

1) Anon, please, you need to tell me what comic you saw/read this in, because I've read pretty much all of the ones Roman is in and it's always a mask (he's called Black Mask for a reason after all). It's usually just fused with his face because it was burned to it.

So, I'm genuinely just curious in which comic book version he cut his face off, because I'm not aware of it, fjdhfjkskfsl. And I need to read it. Please, dhjgsdjfhsf.

2) This turned more into a character study, whoops. I hope it's still to your liking anyway. Thank you so much for the request, it was super interesting and it totally got out of hand again... (cue no one being surprised).

I hope you enjoy! :)

summary; see above.

notes; TW / CW // Dissociation; Delusion; Psychosis; Visual Hallucination; Murder; Violence; Blood; Cutting; Disfiguration; Scars; Identity Death. That should be everything important.

A/N: Also, Roman suffers from BPD, like always in my Fics, so that's where this is all coming from, as I headcanon that it started out as the general symptom of having a distorted sense of self, and developed into a delusion, and then he suffered a psychotic break with hallucinations and such, resulting in his disfiguration.

[And remember that psychosis is a very serious thing and that I'm not using it lightly here. Psychotic people suffer. They're not bad people for having psychosis. They deserve love and respect. Don't use it against people, don't disrespect them with it and do not under any circumstances use it as a synonym for evil. Thanks.]

Everybody knew just how much Sionis cared about his perfect looks. Always, at any time, he had to look and be presentable, and he had to be perfect doing it. His parents had drilled it into him from an early age on, not caring much about anything about him, other than his appearance. He was one of the faces of Janus Corp after all. He had to be perfect in order to make the cosmetics sell better.

Still, when Roman looked in the mirror he couldn’t recognise himself. It was as though he was staring at a stranger. He painted his face and took great care of it; always making sure it looked immaculate. It didn’t help the disconnection he felt from it, though.

Sometimes it only made it worse, because really – he was just putting on a mask, wasn’t he? He made himself look absolutely perfect, so that others couldn’t possibly see what was underneath the surface.

He was a cruel and sadistic man, one with many issues, and a crime boss behind his businessman persona. That was all him, but it also wasn’t.

No, this cruel man was Black Mask.

The persona he’s made up to make a name of himself in Gotham’s underbelly. That was who he really was. Not Roman Beauvais Sionis. No, that man was just a mask that his parents had constructed and that he’s kept up all his life in a desperate attempt to gain approval and respect.

But every single day, one more crack appeared on this mask, and another piece broke off on worse days. Soon, none of this ‘Roman Sionis’ would be left.

He could feel it.

He could see it.

When he looked in the mirror, all he could see then was this broken mask, an empty shell, waiting to fully break apart and let the inside rear its ugly head to its fullest.

Some days even, he would sit in front of his vanity and look at himself for a while, seeing the way he cracked and broke apart slowly, but surely, how his skin was crawling with the feeling of it. It made him itch. He desperately needed to get it off.

So far he hasn’t dared to do it, though. He couldn’t make himself take a knife and just carve into this fleshy mask.

He hated the way he hesitated every time.

This mask didn’t mean anything.

It was just an unnecessary hurdle he had to overcome to be who he really was, to the fullest.

He’s already made a good progress of realising himself with the Black Mask, but it was just there to hide his perfect exterior, to seem more malicious, to protect his precious skin.

That particular night, he’s worn his Black Mask and had gotten into a nasty fight with some other criminals. While Zsasz and his other goons were usually so good at keeping him out of it, this time wasn’t so.

Victor had been busy fighting off three men at once – and really, Roman admired the way he’s overpowered them after all, soaked in their blood, three new tallies on his skin. It was magnificent. Zsasz was so gorgeous to him. He knew who he was; he had no qualms about whether or not he looked perfect. He wore each tally as though it was a medal – and in a way, Roman guessed it was. Sionis envied him – this freedom Zsasz had that he so desperately wanted.

Black Mask had been attacked by two men of his rival. He had tried shooting them, but one of them managed to knock his revolver out of his hand. It was okay, he wasn’t entirely incompetent when it came to hand-to-hand combat after all. Still, that didn’t mean he liked it.

During the fight, he’s taken some punches to the face, which was fine; the mask saved him of some of the damage. But then one of the muscles took it off his head, leaving him vulnerable. He hated it. It enraged him. His rage caught on fire, bursting into roaring flames. He went to beat them up with more fervour. He didn’t care anymore. He just wanted them dead.

And he did kill them, after one of them had swung a knife at him, slashing his left cheek. He wrestled it out of the guy’s hand and stabbed them both in the neck, watching with cold eyes as they bled out right in front of him.

The turmoil around him and Victor had started dying down by then. Eventually, they were able to go back home, death and victory hanging fresh in the air, excitement buzzing under their skin. And for that one night, Roman hadn’t even cared that there was a cut on his otherwise immaculate face, or that it would most likely heal into a nasty scar.

Of course, that hadn’t lasted very long.

The next morning, he had started crying because of it, too upset over his ruined skin, the evidence that his mask was slowly but surely breaking apart. He couldn’t stand it.

When the cut had healed, though, and it was merely a pink scar, and not as ugly as he had expected, it was easy to cover it up with make-up. He did that for a while, until he seemed to have reached his breaking point.

Roman has just gone through his usual nightly routine, which always took way too fucking long anyway for the fact that he’d never look as perfect as he wanted – no, not wanted – felt like he had to. And like so often, he just sat there in front of his vanity and looked at himself, staring at his face.

Was it really his face? He just couldn’t tell.

Was that really what he looked like? He didn’t feel like it.

It was just all wrong, so far away, not him.

No, that was underneath.

Everything important was only skin deep.

Or was it?

What if everything important was under the skin?

What if skin was nothing but a fucking hindrance?

What if perfection was nothing but an illusion? He was sure that it was.

Perfection didn’t exist.

Nothing and no one was perfect. He should know. While his parents tried to appear as though they were above everyone else, they really weren’t. They struggled with the fact that the Wayne’s were above them financially, but also as humans. Roman’s parents haven’t ever felt human to him at all. All affection was nothing but a lie, all ‘perfect and happy family’ was nothing but a show.

So no, perfection didn’t exist.

Then why did he even bother conforming to something that was only a construct anyway?

No more, though.

As he looked at himself in the mirror, it had become distorted. That wasn’t unusual for him. It happened a lot, especially as of late. He saw the crumbling mask that was his supposed face. Pieces broke off, starting by the scar on his left cheek. Those pieces were falling away, revealing only darkness. It was as though one was breaking a porcelain doll’s face in. Hollow inside. But that wasn’t what he was. He wasn’t hollow. His true self just needed a little help to come out.

“Zsasz!” he shouted for his partner.

It felt far away, as though someone else had shouted it, someone that wasn’t him. But then again, this wasn’t who he really was anyway.

“Boss?” Zsasz came into his dressing room.

He didn’t take his eyes off the mirror, looking at Victor through that.

“I need you to help me with something. You’re the only one I trust to do it right,” he stated, holding up the carving knife Zsasz usually used to peel off faces and slit throats on his command.

Victor looked at the knife and then back at him, looking confused. “D’you need me to kill someone?” he asked, unsurprisingly.

“No- well, technically yes, but not really,” he answered cryptically.

“Uh, sure, alright. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it, boss.” Zsasz was always so fucking loyal and obedient. It was truly lovely. That was exactly why he trusted him with it – and because Victor’s knife skills were definitely superior to his own.

“Good boy,” he purred and let Zsasz take the knife from him. “I need you to ruin this,” he continued, gesturing his hand around his face in circles to let Victor know exactly what he was talking about.

“Your face?” He nodded. “Are you sure, Roman?”

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed angrily, “And fucking do as I say! Ruin my face. I trust you to do it right and not have this body end up dead. ‘Kay?”

He didn’t know if Zsasz understood what he was on about, although it was so very clear to him, he couldn’t fathom the possibility of someone like Victor Zsasz not getting it.

“Alright, sure. Whatever you want,” Victor murmured then, “I need you to turn around, though. I can’t reach you well like this.”

Nodding, he turned around in his seat, facing Victor, who stood beside him on his right. “Go on then.” He twirled his hand, index finger up, for emphasis, like he always would.

In a way, he felt giddy with excitement, although some underlying anxiety lingered beneath it all. It would be okay, though. He was certain of it.

This was right.

This was what was supposed to happen.

Zsasz took a deep, steadying breath. Then he pressed the blade’s point against his right cheek. For a moment he didn’t do anything else, looking him over, giving him an exit to all of this. But he was so absolutely certain of himself in that moment; he wasn’t going to back out.

Not this time.

“Do it, Victor,” he ordered with a steady voice, conviction clear in it.

Nodding, Zsasz put pressure on the knife and pressed the tip into his skin, drawing a three inch line down his cheek with it. He didn’t react to the pain. He couldn’t feel it. He was so disconnected from it all.

Zsasz continued to slice into his face’s skin, making bigger and smaller cuts, all deep enough to scar, just like he did for his tallies. Blood was oozing out of them, running down his face, his chin, falling on his precious pyjamas – those with his face on it. It was alright, though. He wouldn’t need them after this anymore, anyway.

Eventually, Victor stopped cutting. “Is that enough, boss?” he asked.

He turned around and looked at himself in the mirror. He’d have to wear bandages over his face for a good while, that was for sure. It was worth it, though, because now it was perfectly ruined – disfigured.

Roman Beauvais Sionis was no more.

Due to the blood all over his face and running over his lips, he could only nod a little. He didn’t dare talk just yet.

Then Zsasz cleaned up all the cuts and bandaged them, making sure it was all safe and secure for the night.

While his face was slowly healing, Zsasz had inquired why he’d asked him to do it in the first place. He explained it to him and Victor understood – just like he knew he would. That was exactly why they were so strong together; why they had been meant for each other; why there was never a question about whether or not their relationship had been a good idea.

No one but Victor Zsasz could understand him. And no one but him could understand Victor.

When he was able to leave the bandages behind, Victor ran his fingers over the would-be scars. His eyes reflected the admiration and wonder he must have felt. It delighted him. He knew it had been right.

“Thanks for trusting me with it, by the way,” Victor had murmured that night as they lay in bed.

“Of course. No one else could have ever done what you have,” he replied, kissing his partner, “Thank you for not refusing to do it,” he added, his lips brushing against Zsasz’s as he talked.

“Anything for you, boss. Told you so.”

“I know. Still, saying something doesn’t always have to mean anything. Only actions truly say what words can’t.”

“Yeah, I s’ppose you’re right.”

It was just so easy to be with Zsasz. He couldn’t have possibly asked for someone better at his side.

The next morning, he looked in the mirror without any kind of bandaging and for the very first time in his life, he felt a connection to his mirrored image. He could finally see himself.

Now when he wore his Black Mask it wasn’t to hide, or to protect – no, it was only to symbolise his true self, put emphasis on it. He had nothing to hide anymore.

Perhaps perfection existed after all. Just not in the ways that society believed in.

He realised that, when he stared at himself in the mirror, in awe.

“Perfect,” Black Mask whispered, stroking his fingers over the scabs on his face.

And he truly was perfect.

#blood cw #tw delusion #disfigured #tw dissociation #identity death #tw murder #tw psychosis #roman sionis #roman sionis fanfiction #black mask #black mask fanfiction #victor zsasz #victor zsasz fanfiction #zsaszmask #zsaszmask fanfic #fanfiction #i wonder if anyone catches the details from the comics i incorporated into this fhkdsgkdfl #i also wonder if anyone notices what i started doing here after bit into the fic #i probably think this is more inconspicuous and smart than it really is rip fjdhjhdsjkfgdl

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thedeevirus · 3 years

Text

Nygmobblepot Ficlet; ‘The Direct Approach’

And now for a break in your holiday cheer; an angsty Nygmobblepot fic featuring Batman. Hope you all enjoy! ***

The candles flickered and Oswald felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. On the wall in front of him loomed a foreboding silhouette.

‘Let me guess’, Oswald said, not turning around, ‘He’s not coming. You couldn’t have shown up to tell me that any sooner?’

‘Where’s Riddler?’ the dark figure asked quietly.

Oswald took a sip of whiskey to moisten his throat. Even though he and the so-called Batman had an arrangement, a truce of sorts, the vigilante remained an intimidating figure. He was grateful he had given the staff the night off. The last thing he needed was more traumatised bouncers and waiters.

‘Merry Christmas to you too’, he replied, ‘Help yourself, there’s plenty’.

Batman didn’t even seem to notice the lavish (albeit increasingly cold) feast laid out in front of Oswald as he walked into the Penguin’s line of view. Oswald avoided Batman’s hard stare and distracted himself by mentally listing the items displayed on the table; a turkey with stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce-

‘Where. Is. Riddler?’

‘I. Heard. You. The. First. Time’, Oswald said, irritated at Batman’s theatrics, ‘He’s exactly where he promised me that he wouldn’t be, at the exact time he promised he would be here enjoying this little dinner I spent all afternoon preparing’.

He scowled at the table. Okay his personal chef had prepared it but Oswald had paid him handsomely for the privilege and he had set the table himself. Fat lot of good it had done. They had only started celebrating Christmas at Ed’s suggestion in the first place. Oswald hadn’t done it since his mother had passed years ago. She had insisted on putting up a tree every year. Despite being raised Jewish, she had loved the lights, proclaiming, ‘So twinkly! So beautiful! Like a storybook!’ Another person he loved missing from the table. Oswald’s frustration finally gave him the courage to glare at Batman directly.

‘Couldn’t you have taken one night off?!’

‘He’s taken hostages’.

‘Nobody I know’, Oswald shrugged, ‘Try again’.

Batman’s eyes lingered on the tall ice sculpture Oswald had selected as a centrepiece for the table. The carved leaping penguin’s eyes seemed to widen under the ‘Dark Knight’s’ threatening glare and the long neck (already melting) suddenly seemed very fragile and the head very heavy. Batman’s leathery fists tightened.

‘Look, can we at least discuss this civilly?’ Oswald said, half rising as he understood the threat, ‘I’m sure we can come to an arrangement. ‘Tis the season of goodwill after all’.

‘What do you want?’ Batman asked, folding his arms.

‘I’ll tell you where Ed is, you get the hostages then you let him go’, Oswald said, ‘He comes here to me and you leave us alone. A Christmas amnesty’.

‘Not both of you’.

‘Then no deal’, Oswald sniffed haughtily, even as his mind raced to come up with an alternative solution, ‘I’m sure he’s sent you one of his envelopes so you’d better get deciphering. Before it’s too late’.

Batman threw something onto the table. A blackened piece of card. Oswald picked it up and could just about make out the GCPD address on it written in Ed’s handwriting. Oswald’s heart sank.

‘It was disguised as a Christmas bonus paycheque. Two officers are in the hospital. I can’t ignore this’.

Oswald gritted his teeth. It was part of their deal. Oswald would not target the GCPD and Batman would turn a blind eye to some of his ‘less savoury’ activities. Oswald had made Ed promise to avoid the GCPD as well, omitting the part about Batman and instead emphasising the logic of such a position. Why attract that level of attention? Why pain a target on your back? It had taken a long conversation but Ed had finally promised Oswald that he wouldn’t target the GCPD. He had promised. Oswald dropped his gaze and inadvertently caught sight of Ed’s empty chair at the table. Just like he had promised he would never miss another dinner.

Batman extended a hand for the card and Oswald exploded, flinging it at him.

‘And whose fault is that?! Up until you started lurking on rooftops, he was stable! Oh fine maybe not ‘stable’ but at least he listened to me! Kept things low key! But now beating you is all he cares about!’

‘I don’t have time for his games’, Batman growled dismissively.

Oswald threw his whiskey glass at the wall. It shattered, casting crystalline fragments around like Christmas confetti. Batman did not react which only made Oswald angrier.

‘You think I haven’t told him that?! You and I both know there are far worse things for you to occupy yourself with now instead of Ed. Gotham was always crazy but ever since you flew back into town, it’s gotten worse than ever!’

Oswald’s words rang throughout the Iceberg Lounge. He stiffened, realising what he had just admitted. He bit his tongue, furious that he had left his ace in the hole slip out but conscious that the only move was to keep going.

‘Oh, do I detect surprise beneath the mask?’ he teased with a confidence he did not feel, ‘Yes. I know who you really are. Only one person would have enough money to waste on nonsense like this. And be crazy enough to waste it on Gotham’.

Oswald knew he was bluffing. Batman’s face (what he could see of it) had remained completely impassive. He might as well have been made of stone. Oswald knew from experience that his punches certainly felt like it.

‘You seem sure of your theory’, Batman said.

The corner of his mouth had kinked. Oswald didn’t know if it was a smile or not. He also didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing.

Oswald laughed bitterly.

‘Don’t worry, I know nobody will ever believe me. I’m not like Ed. I have nothing to prove and I know when I’m outgunned. Besides, if you are who I think you are, I always had a soft spot for you. We’re both orphans after all. Though we seem to have coped with that in drastically different ways’.

Batman’s ‘smile’ vanished.

‘You said you could keep Nygma under control’, he said, the barest hint of accusation in his tone.

Oswald was surprised to feel shame filling the pit of his stomach at Batman’s disappointed air. He filled another glass with whiskey and knocked it back in one swig. The damned holidays always made him sentimental.

‘I used to be able to’, he said quietly, ‘He was taking his medication and we set time aside for date…’ He sniffed hard and chuckled. ‘Why am I even telling you this? It’s not like you care’.

‘I care about innocent people getting hurt. Maybe assuming you would too is giving you too much credit but you obviously care about Nygma. Get him to stop these games and he gets the same deal you do’.

Oswald shook his head, looking defeated.

‘I haven’t told him about our little arrangement. He’ll never agree to help you. And he won’t stop. It’s who he is. He’s a genius. He’s the Riddler’.

‘Who hasn’t figured out you’re working with me’.

Oswald slammed the glass down, stung by the taunt. And by his own dishonesty. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Ed! It was just…easier to be flexible. You had to be practical in this town! There were rules! At least there used to be. Oswald still had rules.

‘Only because he trusts me! I can’t betray him! I won’t!’

Oswald bit his lip. His voice had cracked treacherously. He inhaled and exhaled slowly. He needed to regain control. Needed to maintain his dignity.

‘If you love him, you need to put his needs before your own. He needs help’.

Oswald turned away. His eyes were moist. He cursed his decision to only use the table candles for illumination. He knew now how Ed could hate Batman so much. Hate him being right.

‘You save people’, Oswald said though gritted teeth, ‘Can you save him?’

‘He belongs in Arkham’.

The tone was gentler than Oswald knew he deserved but he couldn’t prevent a shuddering sigh from escaping his mouth. Hearing the same thought that had been building and building for weeks spoken aloud was jarring. Was Batman telepathic? There were stranger things in Gotham.

Oswald’s artificial eye ached. It always did when he was stressed and it and it had been getting worse. Just like Ed’s delusions had been getting worse. The obsessions, hallucinations, irritability, lack of self-care, insomnia… Oswald had found his meds in the trash that morning. Unopened for the last two weeks. Ed had sworn he had been taking them. It turned out they were both liars. Oswald looked at Batman and realised with horror that Batman was waiting for Oswald’s response. For his permission. And Oswald’s skin crawled at the relief he felt.

‘Is it true that y-that the Wayne Foundation has changed things there?’ Oswald asked.

He locked eyes with Batman. Searching them. He wasn’t sure if he was looking for honesty or the opposite. He had the awful feeling he was just looking for some way out. Something to help him do what he had to. He loved Ed. He did. But he wasn’t what Ed needed right now.

‘Yes’.

Oswald could endure Ed’s resentment. Even his hate. He had been on the receiving end before. He could do it again. He would do it a thousand times as long as Ed was safe. His artificial eye impossibly pulsed in its socket. He struggled to stop his eye twitching.

‘Do you trust the people there?’

‘Yes’.

‘And-and you promise he won’t get hurt? I know he’ll try to hurt you but he’s not a fighter and you know that so please don’t-‘

Batman held up a gloved hand. Oswald blinked hard as the metallic knuckles on the material caught the light.

‘I promise I won’t hurt him’, Batman said.

Oswald was startled to find he believed it. And heartbroken that he could believe that more than anything Ed had said recently.

He sat back down in his chair, both hands clasped around his now empty glass.

‘He’s hiding in the old Gotham Gazette office in The Narrows’, Oswald said robotically, ‘There are tripwires at the entrance and the vents are mined but the passcode to his bunker is 1690. Apparently, it’s when the first issue of Publick Occurrences was published‘.

Batman lifted his arm and began to input what Oswald assumed were coordinates into a hidden compartment in the suit. There was an affirmative beep. To Oswald it sounded like a death knell. He leant down hard on his knees. They were shaking.

‘He’ll know you told me’, Batman said.

Oswald sneered at the subtle concern in Batman’s voice. Oh now he cared?! How touching. Nobody else did.

‘How? You going to tell him?’

‘No’.

‘Then he’ll just assume you figured it out’, Oswald shrugged savagely, ‘He always says you’re the world’s greatest detective. High praise. Though I’m sure some of those fancy toys give you an edge’.

‘He doesn’t share your theory about who I really am?’

‘The answer’s too obvious for him to accept. The one time I told him about it, he thought I was making a joke at his expense. Now get out of here. He gets antsy when he thinks he’s being ignored and I have a mess to clean up’.

Oswald turned away, signalling that the exchange was over. He leant his elbows on the table, feeling tired and drained.

‘I’ll arrange visitation rights for you’.

‘I’m sure you’ll come up with some way for me to return the favour’, Oswald snarled, ‘Now for the last time, get out’.

Why couldn’t Batman just leave him alone?! What else did he expect Oswald to do?! Wasn’t Ed enough for him?! The only person Oswald cared about?! Did he want him gift wrapped?!

‘No need. I know how it feels to miss someone on Christmas’.

Oswald did not reply and he did not try to catch Batman leaving as he usually did. There was no point.

The sympathy in Batman’s words should have infuriated him. Batman’s audacity should have had him reaching for the umbrella gun concealed beneath the table. He should have been wondering if his theory about the vigilante’s true identity was indeed correct.

But he was just too damn tired.

He wanted another drink. He wanted to go to bed and just pass out. He wanted to have never made the stupid dinner in the first place. He wanted Ed. The Ed he loved back. He needed him here. With him.

But he had never gotten what he wanted for Christmas.

#nygmobblepot ficlet #nygmobblepot #edward nygma #Oswald Cobblepot

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kiame-sama · 4 years

Text

Forever~ Yandere!Midoriya x Reader Lemon~

Hello again my lovies~! I have returned with a lemon for proper consumption~

This of course is a yandere fic, so fair warning dearies! And! Izuku has been aged up, so no worries about that my dears!

Warnings; lemons, yandere, non-con, manipulation, kidnapping, Obsessive Yandere, creepy themes

~~~~~~

The slow steady sound of dripping water drew you from your sleep, your mind hazy and your head heavy. You couldn’t see too far ahead of you through the inky darkness and your entire body ached as if you had just gone head-to-head with a pro-hero.

As you began to slowly move, you noticed several things simultaneously; one, you were laying on a plush bed. Two, you were in a loose sleep-gown that barely came to your knees with no underclothes. Three, there was an unusual weight around your ankle. Four, there was someone cuddled close to your body.

You froze, not wanting to wake whoever it was that curled up so happily next to you. You strained your eyes to see who or what was next to you on the unfamiliar bed, but you could hardly make out shapes, let alone colors. So you did the only thing you could think of; you shoved the person off of the bed. There was a short yelp and a heavy thud from your right, as you heard the intruder slowly get up from the ground.

“(Y/n), what was that for?”

A familiar whining voice met your ears and it didn’t take you long to remember the name attached to the voice.

“Izuku?”

A light next to you clicked on, making your eyes hurt from the sudden adjusting of your pupils. He sat on his knees on the floor, his bright green eyes shining warmly in the light as he nervously smiled at you. His hair was the usual mess that it had been and you could faintly make out his freckles in the yellow light of the lamp. He had clearly been asleep as he yawned shortly after, wearing a tank-top and loose sweatpants.

Your attention was drawn from Izuku by the clinking of metal, coming from further down the bed. you quickly pulled the blankets off of your legs and noticed the bright silver quirk-canceling cuff that wrapped around your ankle. Your heart-rate jumped as the chain attached to the cuff refused to give when you tugged on it.

“Izuku... what- what is this? Why am I chained?”

The greenet smiled at you, his eyebrows pulling together in what seemed to be nerves as he twiddled with his fingers, refusing to look at you.

“Well... it’s to keep you safe, of course.”

“Safe from what?”

“From the outside world. I always worry so much about you when you’re out and about. Anything could happen! There could be a villain, a stray animal could attack you, you could injure yourself... So, if you stay here, you won’t get hurt!”

You felt as if you were talking to a child, or someone who was not the most stable mentally. But you didn’t care if you were talking to an adult who is sane or not, you wanted your questions answered and you wanted to be let out of whatever room he was keeping you in.

“What the hell are you talking about? Let me out! I can take care of myself! I don’t need your protection!”

His eyes filled with a look that was almost like he had been completely crushed by your words, but then his warm smile and a light blush returned to his face.

“Oh, (y/n), you don’t have to be scared anymore! I figured out what you were trying to tell me when you were out shopping, so I’m going to make sure you stay safe!”

“What do you mean? What I was trying to tell you? What do you think I was saying?”

“Well, you don’t usually get bananas unless you are stressed, and you put them in your basket upside-down, which upside-down flags are a call for help, so you needed help with your stress! Don’t worry! I’m here for you! I have all the things you like and could need so you don’t ever have to go out again! I’ll make sure to keep you safe and protected!”

You could hardly believe what you were hearing. Did he honestly think you were asking for help because you were craving bananas?

“What the hell are you talking about? Were you watching me or something?”

“Of course! I’ve been watching over you for a while. Like your own guardian angel! But now we can be together! I love you so much! I’ve already figured out what our kids should be named and what kind of pet we can get!”

He hopped up excitedly, grabbing several stacks of journals. You knew Izuku was fond of writing down information about heroes and people he thought were interesting. But you were almost freaked out by the fact that he had been watching you too.

He set down the books on the bed and opened a few of them, everything you could see on the pages were facts about you. What you liked, what you didn’t like, what your quirk was, how strong you were. Everything. As you stared in horror at the several journals that seemed to be filled exclusively with information about you, Izuku picked up a journal and flipped to a page, holding it out for you.

“See? This is the wedding dress that you will wear! We can have a pretty wedding, and I have even narrowed down where we should go for the honey-moon! But I thought it would be better to let you choose that one from the list I made! We can have your favorite kind of cake, and we can-”

His voice seemed to fade from your hearing as you stared at the open pages before you. There were detailed drawings of you with all of the information that were written on the pages. One drew your attention and made your blood run cold. It was of you in a rather... compromising... position. Your legs were lifted up and you were laying back against a pile of pillows, nothing other than thigh-high stockings covering you. The drawing was surprisingly detailed and even included small marks on your body that no one knew about.

It made you wonder just how many times he had seen you nude and how many times he had watched you when you were alone. Your blood was rushing in your ears with a deafening sound, your breathing had become faster, and your body shook with terror.

“-and if we start trying in January, we could have a kid around August!”

You couldn’t force yourself to look at him, listening to him telling you every little part of your life that he had planned out for you. He looked over at you and his smile fell, seeing your wide-eyed expression as you stared down at everything he had planned out.

“(Y/n)? Are you okay?”

You couldn’t force yourself to respond as tears began to gather in your eyes, now realizing that if you don’t get away from him, your entire life and your future had been taken from you, planned out for you. The moment Izuku saw your tears, he was quickly wiping them away and trying to pull you close in an effort to comfort you.

“Do you not like the dress? We can always change it. You don’t have to wear that one.”

You pulled away from his touch and backed up to the headboard, trying to get as much distance between the two of you as possible. As the blankets fell off of your form, you could see more clearly what you were currently wearing. A small baby-doll sleep-gown hugged your figure, lined with black lace and thigh-high black stockings. You couldn’t remember how you wound up in this place or even what had happened the previous day.

"Stay away from me!"

"But... (Y/n), why would I do that? Are you not feeling well? Do you need anything?"

"No, I want you to leave me alone!"

"It's okay, I understand if you're scared. We can take the marriage slowly! Don't worry, Sweety, I'll make sure to take care of you no matter what!"

He followed you up the bed and smiled, kissing the back of your hand. He was smiling warmly at you, seeming completely unaware of your fear towards him, trapped in his own little fantasy.

"Don't worry about the chain, either. That's just to make sure you stay safe when I'm out! It is a dangerous world out there, (Y/n), and someone could try to hurt you."

It seemed he had no honest idea that you were unhappy, afraid, and not interested in him. When he held your wrists and started kissing your neck was when you panicked. You tried with all of your might to kick, punch, scratch, anything to get away from him, but nothing worked. All you managed to do was exhaust yourself and likely bruise your legs and arms with your struggling.

"Don't be upset, please, Sweety? I know you want to wait and take the wedding slow, but I can't stand it anymore... You are just so beautiful right now... I promise I'll be gentle and you'll like it too!"

You were horrified, knowing exactly what he was implying and it was clear he was not at all going to listen to you. He was lost in some realm of reality where you were a willing participant in his little game. He has clearly been stalking you for a while and has come to some sort of delusion that you have been communicating with him in some kind of code.

None of it made sense and you wanting nothing more than to get out of this fantasy world he had put you in.

"No! I don't want to!"

"Don't worry! It's okay, I promise! It's okay to be afraid, I'll show you that there's nothing to be scared of."

His lips were persistent against your neck and you couldn't fight back against the delusional man's grip as he searched over your exposed skin. Despite yourself and your discomfort, a gasp escaped your lips when he brushed over a sensitive spot. You could feel the smile against your neck as he focused on that spot, causing you to shiver and whimper.

Your soft noises spurred him on, making him rub his hardening length against your thigh, practically fucking himself into you. His moans and gasps were almost too innocent sounding for his vulgar actions, feeling a heat pool in your stomach regardless of your fear. It was as if you were fighting for control of your body, and you were losing terribly.

Your body didn't want to listen to you. No. It wanted to listen to Izuku. After all, he was the one giving it what it wanted most.

He was quick to pull off his shirt, working on having as much contact with you as he could. Your loose gown was sliding up your legs more and more as Izuku continued to rut his hips, his hands rubbing over every little inch of skin he could reach. He was blushing a deep red as his hands shakily slid the straps of your dress down your arms. You were powerless to stop him as you had no control over your traitorous body anymore.

Your perked breasts were the first things Izuku noticed as he slid the gown down your body, seeing his tongue dart out to wet his lips. His gaze was steady and locked on one place alone. You knew you couldn't fight back or break free, but lord, you were gonna try.

You twisted your body under him to keep him from being able to touch you, ignoring his continued words of how everything would be alright. He gripped your hips, pulling you close with your legs on either side of his waist, forcing you to splay out on your back. His eyes were becoming slightly glazed as he stared at you in pure lust, trailing kisses down your neck to your chest where he easily caught one of your nipples in his mouth.

You had to bite back the moan that tried to escape you, whimpering softly and gripping his hair. No matter how much you tugged and yanked on it, he continued doing what he wanted to your soft body. You barely even noticed when he ripped off his pants, too lost in the haze of pleasure that was taking over your mind.

A sharp, agonizing pain ripped through you as he buried himself to the hilt inside of you. He was so fucking thick. He filled you completely to the point you were afraid you would break. The sudden intrusion forced a sob from your lips as your body desperately attempted to adjust to his length.

Your words had done nothing to get through to Izuku, but the choked back sob that whimpered from you had his full attention. His eyes were wide and focused on you as he quickly began rubbing your hips, tears welling up quickly.

"I-I'm so sorry, Sweety! I didn't mean to! I didn't know it would hurt you! I thought you would be wet enough so it wouldn't hurt! I'm sorry!"

He rubbed your hips in quick, panicked motions, whimpering louder than you were as his tears ran down his soft cheeks. He was more upset by your pain than you expected or even than you were, despite your situation. It seemed like he truly had no idea that burying himself inside of you would hurt you as much as it did.

"Forgive me... Forgive me... Forgive me..."

He muttered and whimpered lowly in your ear as he lay his body over yours, careful not to move his hips. He continued to chant those two words like a mantra as he stay rigid above you, eyes tightly closed. While he was lost in whatever despair had taken over him, you tried to push him off. Maybe you could get him off of you long enough to free yourself from his insane clutches.

As you shoved at his chest, it caused him to move inside of you, shooting a new wave of pain into your body. The movement seemed to have a different effect on Izuku however as a desperate moan squeaked from his lips. His tears quickly dried as he panted against your neck, that small movement seeming to overwhelm whatever sorrow he had.

"(Y/n)... I'm so-sorry but I- but I can't..!"

His voice was strangled and hoarse, practically ripping from his throat. He quickly began to lightly buck his hips, ignoring when your nails dug into his shoulders as he became lost in the feeling. The pain that had consumed your mind melted away like ice in an inferno, being replaced by a burning pleasure.

Even with the new feeling of bliss, you tried your hardest to keep your noises in, not wanting to encourage Izuku in any way. He didn't seem to need any encouragement anyway, his slight bucking hips turning into a rough pounding rhythm that shook the bed beneath you.

Even with his increased pace, the pain didn't return. Your bliss only heightening as he angled his thrusts, his rock-hard length brushing up against a bundle of nerves that made you see stars. It was clear his grip was going to leave behind bruises if not break your pelvis from how tightly he held onto you.

"So good! I can't- can't stop! Feels so damn-damn good! So tight!"

He was panting like a bitch in heat as he aggressively drilled into you, gasping and mewling every time you tightened around him. You could barely form a coherent thought beyond digging your nails into his shoulders, no longer caring if he heard your sweet whimpers and moans. You felt so damn full. Like you never went too long before you were being stretched out by his heavy length.

Your legs spasmed with every thrust, resting over his hips. Any time you managed to suck a breath into your lungs, it was being forced out by his endless pounding.

"Perfect! You're so perfect! Amazing..! Amazing!"

His voice changed in pitch as your voice reached new volumes, your throat burning with every harsh scream ripping through your vocal-chords. It felt like a frustrating pressure was pumping up your stomach, and you desperately needed it to break.

"Inside..! I'm gonna- gonna cum inside!"

You couldn't be bothered to register his words, moving your hips in random spasms, your entire body winding up and tensing. As it felt like you couldn't take any more, your vision went white with a flood of pleasure, your body burning with bliss. You couldn't hear your screams over the mind-numbing wave of euphoria flowing through you.

That bliss was only extended by the feeling of something hot pulsing into you and hitting that bundle of nerves with unbelievable force. When the blinding pleasure came to a plateau and faded away, you could do little more than lay on the bed, panting and gasping for air.

When your breathing leveled and your heart-beat resumed a calm rhythm, you were instantly aware of a thick liquid running down from you heat, which Izuku was still firmly planted in. You wanted to gag from the sensation and from the full, splashing feeling deep within you.

Izuku lay with his face pressed into your breasts, arms pinned by your sides and legs still suspended around his hips. His eyes were closed and small beads of sweat dappled his brow as he breathed deeply. You were horrified when reality came crashing down around you, fully taking in the reality of the situation.

You let out a soft cry, which went unheard by Izuku who lay sleeping against your spent and exhausted body. He wasn't going to let you go. That much was clear now.

You were his,

Forever.

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inspired-by-the-music · 3 years

Text

For You: Stand By Me

Taglist: @jineunwootrash

If you would like to be added to the taglist of any of this blog’s works, please ask!

Recommended Reading: For You: 4 O’Clock; these works have separate, independent, but deeply interwoven timelines.

Warning: This chapter contains themes of bullying, especially in regard to one’s appearance.

Chapter 4: The Boy Who Couldn’t Give More

Lei’s POV

When I turned twelve, I was officially cast as an S.M. trainee. For many reasons, I would rather not describe every trial and hardship. I don’t want to tell you every high and low, so I will just tell you about what stands out as the worst and (somehow) the best day of training.

I’m sorry if you think this approach isn’t entirely honest. There are just some things that I would rather not remember. Plus, I worry that if I detail everything that ever troubled me, you won’t be able to understand that I was, in my own way, happy. I hope you understand me. I hope you believe that I am happy— that I have always been as happy as I can be.

I was probably naïve to believe that I would find a real friend in the training rooms full of people closer to my age. Environments like the one in which idols are trained aren’t exactly conducive to healthy relationships, if you know what I mean. Everything was a competition. Everybody wanted to be the best dancer, the best singer, the best rapper, the best visual.

Everybody except Mark Lee, who was content with being his best. I would never tell him this because he would probably get the wrong idea, but I admired him first. It was never a crush. I just wanted to possess his passion, his optimism, his ability to smile through every challenge.

Because of Super Junior’s influence, I didn’t struggle with dancing, singing, and rapping as much as some of the others. By no means was I perfect or anything. My pronunciations were always weird because of my accent and my braces. I could probably count on one hand how many times an instructor praised me. Talent-wise, I was average. I could have passed on to my debut under everyone’s radar if I didn’t look so different.

Even though I was among the youngest trainees, I towered over the other girls. While they were petite, I was naturally muscular, and my dedication to taekwondo only added definition to those muscles. My hair, although long and dark like everyone else’s, fell in tangled curls over my shoulders. While my braces were closing the gap in my front teeth little by little, my teeth were still way too big for my face. At age twelve, the only beauty standards I met were credited to my cartoonish eyes and pale skin.

Anyway, there was never a moment for as long that I can remember that I didn’t feel different because of my appearance. At twelve years old, I think the last thing anybody wants to do is stand out— especially for looking the wrong way. It was uncomfortable enough when I cursed myself for looking the way I did; it was worse when others noticed the differences and started to point them out.

I guess I always knew that I wasn’t popular. Because most of the girls were older than me— and none of them were quite as inviting as Taeyeon or Amber— I didn’t quite know how to befriend them. Heeding Sehun’s advice, I didn’t talk to the boys under any circumstances. Everybody probably thought that I was mute or that I didn’t understand the language well enough to speak.

Still, even though I didn’t have any delusions about my popularity, I wasn’t quite prepared to hear what they— the girls— thought of me.

I looked like a chipmunk. I was a giant. My hair looked like a bush. My pale skin made me look like a vampire— and apparently not in a cool way. I was fat.

That last one always bothered me because in all my years of self-criticizing, I never once thought I was fat. Yeah, my cheeks were full and I wasn’t crazy about looking like a super tall baby because of that, but my body— I wasn’t overweight. And even if I had been, why should that warrant commentary from people who never bothered to say a word to my face?

The most insulting part was that the girls would drop their voices just slightly into half-whispers. They would speak Korean quickly, obviously assuming that I didn’t know the language, assuming that I hadn’t lived in the same country as them for most of my life.

Trying to follow Sehun’s advice, I reminded myself that some people wouldn’t like me. I told myself that was okay. I fixed my eyes on the shiny wooden floor and kept them there through every practice. Just keep your eyes down, I told myself, and they will stop staring.

Even when they kept staring, I knew that I wouldn’t stand up to those girls. How could I have argued when I agreed that (visually, at least) I was as far from perfect as an idol could be? I think that if I could have disagreed with them, even internally, their voices wouldn’t have followed me.

Mark didn’t want to argue with them either, but he must have heard them too. Every day that we had co-ed training, he would sit next to me and, between stretches, say, “You’re beautiful, Lei.”

At first, I eyed him cautiously, unsure of what to do with the attention. Nobody who wasn’t Mom or Super Junior or any of those “safe” people had ever called me beautiful before Mark did.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe Mark. There was always something endearing about the obvious fact that he couldn't have lied even if he wanted to. The issue was just— what did it matter if Mark thought I was beautiful if I couldn’t smile at my reflection? What good were Mark’s compliments when his voice didn’t follow me into the dark?

Sehun told me that it doesn’t matter if people dislike me. During trainee days, I learned that it didn’t matter if people liked me either. Maybe that’s toxic. Maybe it’s untrue. But it’s what I believed for years.

The mean girls’ voices followed me because they spoke my insecurities. If I could have learned to admire myself, then Mark’s voice would have followed me. Even then, at twelve years old, it was clear that Mark’s admiration was no substitute for self-love, so — please don’t judge me too harshly for this— I didn’t want him to look at me with little hearts in his eyes. His feelings served no purpose, and, to my absolute horror, everybody noticed how Mark looked at me.

Everybody noticed that we spoke exclusively in English. Everybody who couldn’t understand us misinterpreted our very casual friendship as a young budding romance— even our dance instructor, who warned us once when we were partnered together, “Be mindful never to meet each other’s eyes while performing for an audience. Be mindful!”

Mark and I flinched as we heard for the first time, “You don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted because she was distracted by romance!”

No, I decided then as the instructor looked solely at me, I didn’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted.

Squirming under scrutiny whenever I stood too close to Mark, I understood why Sehun warned me to stay away from boys. It doesn’t matter what your intentions are; people see only what they want to see or whatever will justify their hatred. That’s another lesson I learned as a trainee.

Anyhow, I think I was doing a pretty good job of hiding the fact that I was absolutely miserable behind a carefully crafted blank stare until the day I overheard one of the girls saying, “You know, she’s only becoming an idol because her mom is a manager!”

That was true enough that, even if I had the nerve to bicker back, I couldn’t have truthfully argued. I lowered my head so I wouldn’t catch my blush in the mirrored wall.

I hadn’t even lowered my backpack before another girl said, “Yeah. I bet she’ll get to debut before all of us because—” She glanced over to see if I was paying attention. Satisfied when I broke our eye contact to stare down at my sneakers, she continued, “her Mom has been sleeping with Heechul for years. Who knows how many executives rely on her for favors?”

When I looked up from my feet, I saw red. Before I even processed the words, I had grabbed the girl around her shoulder, fingers digging small bruises into her bare skin exposed under her tank top, and growled, “Who are you talking about?” as if I didn’t know.

Even if she hadn’t been trembling like a leaf as she stared up at me, too terrified to speak, I wouldn’t have let her answer. “Just go back to calling me chipmunk cheeks or bush head or vampire or fatty or Mark lover or whatever makes you feel clever and better than me.” My entire body flushed, and I hoped that I was burning her with my fingertips. “Don’t say another word about my mom ever again, or I’ll—”

I didn’t even get to threaten to knock her crooked teeth down her throat. Johnny, who was my senior by about four years, carefully pried me off of the girl, tutting, “Ladies, ladies, isn’t training challenging enough without all this fighting?”

It was.

“Can’t we all be friends?”

No. I never could have been friends with those girls, and I said so plainly, snatching my hands out of Johnny’s gentle grasp to cross my arms over my chest. You’ll find that I can hold a grudge like no other. I’m not saying that’s a good thing; it’s just a fact.

“We don’t want to be your friend either,” the girl spat at me. “We don’t want anything to do with the daughter of a glorified hooker! Just look at you.” Her glare trailed from my head down to my toes. “You’re wild. I don’t wonder where you got it from, but at least your Mom knows how to hide—”

Had Johnny not been standing there as an insurmountable barrier, I would have punched that girl, and I probably would have been kicked out of the agency, and my behavior would have reflected poorly on Mom. Fortunately, while I was too furious to think clearly, Johnny was there to wrap me in an almost suffocating hug, trusting that I wouldn’t strike him in my rage.

“Just take the day off,” he urged quietly. “I’ll tell the trainers you got sick, and—”

I started to shake my head and insist on peacefully standing my ground before a sharp pang of nauseated hunger pierced through my stomach. Owing to my lack of appetite those days, I hadn’t eaten much for dinner the night before, and I had woken up too late to eat breakfast that morning.

Johnny promised, “I’ll take care of these girls. Just go and take some time to yourself, please.”

When he wiped my cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, I realized that I was crying. I ran out of the room purely to escape the embarrassment of having been reduced to scalding tears by something so stupid in front of so many other trainees. It was a failed attempt; embarrassment followed me into the hallway.

Eager to try again to make me feel better, Mark chased after me, calling my name. “Are you okay?”

As I slumped down at the table by the vending machine, I thought the answer was obvious. Still, I took the chance to lie. “Yes.” When I brought a hand up to touch my cheek, I was relieved to find that I wasn’t crying anymore.

I had an epiphany: even if I’m not strong, I can pretend to be. Clenching my jaw, forcing my hands into fists under the table, I said, “You should go to practice, Mark, and you should stay away from me.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “Why?”

“Because,” I forced myself to look away from his pained expression, “you don’t want people like those girls to talk about you. They’ll bully you if you keep being nice to me.”

“I don’t care.” Mark stood across from me, but he wouldn’t take a seat. He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

I said, “Well I care.” I really did. I didn’t want to put the target on Mark’s back. “I don’t want to end up like the idol who never debuted,” I swore without knowing her whole story.

Mark scratched at the back of his neck. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything. I just know that I like you, and I’m not gonna pretend that I don’t to please anybody.”

Too annoyed by Mark’s stubborn resolve to like me without knowing me to feel flattered, I kind of rolled my eyes.

“Does that mean you don’t like me that way too?” Mark wheezed, and I understood that he had a crush on me. On some level, I guess I had always known, but I tried to ignore it because I didn’t want to hurt him.

No, I didn’t like Mark like that, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him— not when he looked so sad. Thinking of Sehun (as usual), I mumbled, “I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to like anyone like that.”

Slowly, Mark nodded, and I think he understood that I would never return his feelings. “Well, if it’s okay with you, I’ll just keep liking you anyway.” Without waiting for me to reply that I didn’t think feelings worked that way— I didn’t have to give him permission to like me— he bowed and ran back to practice, carrying most of the burden of his unrequited feelings.

I was sitting there, feeling small because I had given in to my temper, feeling cruel and cold because I rejected Mark’s pure infatuation, when Sehun sat across from me. I didn’t meet his eyes as he laid his head down on the table.

He asked, “What’s up with your face?”

For some reason, that question set my eyes watering again. I tried to wipe the tears before he could notice, but nothing got past Sehun. His eyebrows twitched. “What’s wrong, Lei?”

My chin dimpled as I lied, “I’m just hungry.” Well, it wasn’t quite a lie. My stomach growled loudly enough for him and everyone in the building to hear.

Perhaps eager to believe that I wasn’t troubled by anything too serious, Sehun nodded. “That’s nothing to cry about.”

I watched him spring from his seat and pound a fist against the side of the vending machine. A pack of chocolates fell out without payment. “Here you go.” He tossed the candy before me. When I only stared at it, he said, “If that’s not enough, and if you’re not busy, I was about to go to McDonald’s. You can come if you want.”

That must have been the first time that I didn’t burn to be in Sehun’s company. I didn’t exactly want him to rush to leave, but I also didn’t want him to stand there looking at me that way— like I was falling apart. It’s impossible to please me when I’m upset. I frown if you try to talk to me about my feelings, and I frown more if you try to act like everything is okay.

More than anything, I wanted to be alone in my room where nobody could see my flaws. I couldn’t even console myself with the thought that these feelings would pass within a few years by the time I debuted because it was starting to sink into my mind: the realization that every day for the rest of my life, people would try to tear me apart with their eyes. They would try to weigh me down and drown me with their expectations. There wasn’t any way to eradicate that overwhelming sense of dread because it was rooted too deeply in reality.

I would just have to try to silence it— the dawning knowledge that I would always be more human (a wounded one, at that) than idol— until Mom found me at the table by the vending machine as she always did at the end of long days. Then, I would be too afraid to say anything on the ride home. And then, not too long after we walked through the door, she would probably fall asleep on the couch again, and I wouldn’t have the opportunity to tell her about the unnamed monster tearing me apart even if I miraculously found the courage to string words together. I would just turn the television off, drop the remote on the coffee table, run upstairs to my room, and tuck my radio into bed so I could fall into restless sleep while listening to SHINee because they were real idols. I would comfort myself by imagining that my voice could become for others what Onew’s, Jonghyun’s, Key’s, Minho’s, and Taemin’s— especially Taemin’s— were for me: inspiration and healing.

I wouldn’t have wanted to repeat those girls’ insults to Mom anyway. Imagining her disappointment if I confessed to almost punching someone, I sank. It was best to just keep biting my tongue. I would get used to the taste of blood, and soon the pain would scar and numb.

Looking back, I can see that I kept too much to myself. I went through too many trials alone because I was determined to become strong and self-sufficient even if that meant being forged by fire. In some ways, now I think that strength is a little overrated. Maybe I could have been happier— maybe my shoulders wouldn't have felt so heavy had I talked to Mom or Heechul or Yesung or Donghae or anyone. But I couldn’t. I just couldn't.

Once upon a time, I prided myself on my honesty, but it’s easy to be honest when your feelings are simple. It’s easy to be honest when you feel the right things— happy when you’re supposed to be happy, excited when you’re supposed to be excited, sad only when you’re supposed to be sad. It was too hard to shake the fear of being a burden. I never wanted to be a burden.

Despite deciding to carry my own weight, I wasn’t strong enough. That's why I dropped pieces of myself left and right to become something like the blank canvas my instructors wanted.

Sehun broke through my spiraling thoughts with the promise, “I won’t make you talk about it. I just—” he gnawed on his bottom lip— “I’ll feel like trash if I leave you here alone when you’re hurt.”

Sehun rarely talked about feelings first. His shoulders were tense; the muscles along his jaw were protruding. Obviously, he was making himself uncomfortable in an attempt to console me. Half numb with shock, moved by his concern, I nodded and (after grabbing the candy) followed him outside where we boarded the bus.

This is a little embarrassing to admit following my promise to work through my feelings alone: our bus wasn’t even five minutes down the road before I blurted, “I almost punched somebody today.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but he tried to hide his surprise and/or disapproval behind his natural stoic expression. Taking the candy from my hand, he opened the box, popped a colored chocolate into his mouth, and asked, “Why?”

“A girl called my mom a hooker.” I tried to replicate Sehun’s calm, even tone.

Sehun choked, and I felt somewhat vindicated in my rage when his pale face flushed crimson.

“I tried to be good. I tried to be a proper lady,” I promised. “I tried to be strong like you said. Remember my tenth birthday, when you explained that some people are just gonna dislike me, and I can’t shed tears for everyone?”

“Yeah.” Sehun nodded once he noticed that I was looking to him for a response. He returned the candy to me. “I remember.”

“So I tried not to shed tears when they made fun of my hair, my teeth, my skin, and my weight. I told myself that even if they’re right—”

Sehun interrupted to say, “They’re not,” in a tone so stern and authoritative that I never could have argued back.

I nodded, cheeks burning pink. “Well, even if they were, and I’m not saying that I believe them,” I added when Sehun cut his dark eyes at me— “I told myself that being pretty isn’t that important anyway.”

“It’s not,” Sehun agreed instantly. “Being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all.”

Without thinking, I grumbled, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re the most handsome person on the planet.” I didn’t care that he gave me that warning glare. I was telling the truth, not flirting. Heart pounding, I maintained, “It’s easy to say that beauty doesn’t matter when you’re beautiful.”

Sehun frowned at me. “I didn’t say that beauty doesn’t matter. I said that being pretty on the outside isn’t important at all, and I’m right. Superficial beauty is overrated, and nothing as subjective as the words ‘pretty’ and ‘handsome’ can ever define a person.” Turning his gaze out the window, he concluded, “Or, at least, they shouldn't. Those words are too small.”

It occurred to me that Sehun was right. I was in danger of becoming the kind of person who couldn’t look past my reflection long enough to find anything worthwhile inside. Shame washed over me, and hot tears spilled onto my hands, which formed fists around the candy box.

“Please don’t be disappointed in me, Sehun. I promise that I’ll work harder to believe what you say.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I swear that I never would have tried to fight about anybody’s opinions about my appearance. I’m not that shallow. It’s just— they talked about my mom, and she—” my voice wavered— “she’s everything to me. If my whole world was just one person, it would be her. She— you know, there aren’t many people who only deserve compliments, but she’s one of them.”

It didn’t matter that those girls were probably too cowardly to ever talk about Mom where she, Super Junior, or any of the many idols who loved her could hear. They had no right to insult Mom when she worked to the point of exhaustion, when she greeted everybody with her sparkling smile, when she treated everybody with kindness, when she was the most beautiful person in the world— inside and out. They had no right to ridicule her when they wanted to hurt me.

“I know,” Sehun said softly.

When I looked up at him, he was looking down at me, eyebrows knit together in anger or concern, and for half a second, I thought he was mad at me. My stomach sank until he swore, “I’m not disappointed in you, Lei. I told you not to care what people say, and I also told you not to be a pushover. I’m—” He wrestled with his words before deciding, “I’m proud of you. Not just for following my advice, but for working so hard to become an idol. I know it’s not easy.”

He raised his hand, and I held my breath because I thought he was going to hug me, but his hand stopped short and landed atop my head. He patted my hair twice. “Maybe just— um— try to avoid fist fights. It won’t be good for anybody if I have to get involved.”

At first, when Sehun retracted his hand, his protective anger was real and frightening. It lit a fire in his eyes. But then he made a spectacle of popping his knuckles, and we broke into a fit of laughter that lasted so long that we missed our stop.

It wasn’t often that I heard Sehun’s laugh. It sounded more youthful and golden than you can probably imagine. Still, as happy as I felt even with our mistake, I apologized as I finally stuffed a piece of chocolate into my mouth. “I’m sorry we missed the stop.”

“Don’t sweat small stuff like that,” Sehun instructed, shrugging. Moments later, he said, “I’m sorry too.”

I cocked my head to the side and wondered aloud, “For what?” but Sehun didn’t respond with words. He gave me this look that I had never seen before— one that held about a thousand foreign words that I wanted desperately to understand, but my conscience whispered that it was wrong to ask for a translation.

It seemed that Sehun was sorry for a lot, but I couldn’t understand why. From the day we met, he had been an unlikely sort of friend— a protector— and all crushes aside, I truly loved who he was in my life. Beyond the childish infatuation that made my heart race and painted my pale cheeks pink, there was a warm love that shaped every memory of him— a love that shaped aspects of my own character.

It didn’t matter that he would never look at me the way I looked at him; maybe no two people ever look at each other in the same light anyway. He didn’t have to love me or stay by my side as an almost imaginary Prince Charming. I was just grateful that we crossed paths, even if the way we met determined that he would always see me as a gap-toothed nine-year-old. I was beyond happy to sit beside him for a moment where I could admire him up close. I was content, knowing that I would always remember my first crush as a good person.

Of course, I didn’t tell Sehun anything like that. He didn’t appreciate that sort of sentiment. While talking to Mark, I decided that I would never date because I couldn't stand the whispers or the stares. Looking at Sehun, though, I knew that I would forget that decision in an instant if ever we woke up one day (when I was older, of course) and Sehun wanted to love me.

If that day should come, I wouldn’t notice any stare because I would be too busy admiring his every feature. I wouldn’t hear any whisper because I would be too busy listening to his every word.

For that moment, however, I was fulfilled just by smiling at him because I believed that feelings don’t have to be expressed with words to be real. Feelings don’t have to be reciprocated to be real. Sehun didn’t have to give me permission to love him; I always had, and I always would, and nothing could change that.

“I’m about to say something very mushy,” Sehun grimaced, “and I have a feeling that you’re really gonna like it, so write it down or record it in your memory because I won’t repeat myself no matter how many times you beg.”

Holding my nose up in the air, I asserted, “I never beg.” Sehun laughed, and my heart swelled, and I prayed with all of my soul that someday somebody with a warm, gentle touch and a kind, bright smile would make his heart swell too.

“You’re like your mom,” he said, meeting my eyes. He didn’t say it as an insult like those girls did. He said it with a faint hint of a smile— the smile that imprinted forever on my heart. “You’re one of the people who only deserve compliments.” Then, as if he couldn’t tell from my unrestrained smile that he had given me the greatest praise imaginable, Sehun turned his gaze back out the window and mumbled, “I’m really sorry that I can’t give you more.”

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sparrow-flies-south · 4 years

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Choose A Side

Pairings: Gen Summary: Whumptober Day 2: Pick Who Dies

Thomas meets another side, and is forced to make a terrible decision. Notes: Written for whumptober day two: "Pick who dies"! Yes, I am aware it's the middle of the month, but in my defence, starting whumptober on the 16th is a very Thomas Sanders thing to do. I am planning on writing a follow up for a later prompt, so keep an eye out for that!

Masterpost Read on AO3

When Janus rose up, it wasn’t in the mind palace like it should have been. Instead, he was in a dark, empty version of Thomas’ living room, a feeling of malaise wrapping around him like thick smoke.

“What the-“

Janus turned, and his heart sank when he saw Thomas and Virgil standing in their usual spots. The others were nowhere to be seen.

“Did you do this?” Virgil asked, bristling.

There was an undercurrent of hope in Virgil’s voice that stopped Janus from being offended at the accusation. He shook his head wordlessly and tasted the air, ignoring Thomas’ wide eyes at the sight of his tongue. The scent he picked up almost choked him from the force of it; he clenched his fists with the urge to strike hard and fast, find all the weak points and make them scream.

“We need to go,” Janus snapped, because he recognised that feeling. “Get him out of here.”

Virgil spun and reached for Thomas’ arm, only to go flying across the room before he could make contact. He hit the wall and stayed there, pinned by some invisible force. Janus only had a moment of alarm before something pulled him through the air. His breath slammed out of him as back hit the wall.

Thomas raced forwards then froze, halfway across the room. He lifted on arm and reached out, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier.

“Okay,” Thomas said, and Janus didn’t need to glance at Virgil to see that he was panicking. “What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, don’t mind them.” Malice appeared in the middle of the room as if he’d always been there, dressed in the same expensive suit as when Janus had last seen him. “I’d hate for them to interrupt while I’m trying to introduce myself.”

“Wh-who are you?” Thomas asked, taking a step back.

“Why, I’m Malice,” the other side said with a bow.

Thomas shook his head. “No, that’s- That can’t be true. I can’t have a side that’s malice.”

Malice laughed and took a step forward. He reached out and stroke one hand against Thomas’ cheek.

“I feel real, wouldn’t you say?” Malice whispered. “As real as anything around here, anyway.”

“Get the fuck away from him,” Virgil snarled, straining against whatever power Malice was using to keep them in place.

Malice turned, and looked straight at Virgil, and Janus stiffened. The old instincts of draw his attention away, protect Virgil came screaming back.

“You see,” Malice said, as he strode towards Virgil and Janus. “Once upon a time we were a happy little family. But, see, some people decided they didn’t want me in their family. So they shut me up here!”

Thomas’ gaze turned to Virgil, upset and confused, silently questioning. Virgil looked away, not meeting his gaze, and Thomas turned his attention to Janus instead. Janus’ mouth went dry. He knew it had been the right thing to do, to keep Malice locked away where he couldn’t destroy Thomas. But the look on Thomas’ face stopped him from admitting that.

“Thomas,” Janus said instead, “This is your mind. You control-”

Malice’s fist hit his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He gasped for breath, tried to curl in on himself, but couldn’t move. Malice smiled, and drew his arm back for the next blow.

“Stop!” Thomas shouted.

Malice went still, eyes glinting like a cat that’d just spotted a mouse nest. Janus tensed, sensing the trap but unable to see it and Malice took a step away from him, shrugged and said, “If you insist.”

Before Janus could say anything, Malice took a step to the side and punched Virgil in the face. Virgil’s head snapped back, hitting the wall, and when Malice stepped back Janus could see blood dripping down Virgil’s chin.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Malice said, completely calm. “You’re thinking, but Malice, I already have so many sides. However will I fit another in? And I understand those feelings, really, I do. But here’s the thing-” Malice was stood between the two of them, so close he could just reach out and touch them and they wouldn’t be able to do a thing- “You don’t really need two sides for self-preservation, do you?”

Dread curled heavily in Janus’ stomach, and Virgil started trashing against the invisible restraints again.

“What do you mean?” Thomas asked. Janus could see his chest heaving with anxiety, though how much was Virgil’s fear and how much was his own he couldn’t tell.

Malice frowned. “Really, Thomas, do we need to bring Logic in here? You pick which of them you want to keep, and you can take them away with you. Oh, and the other one gets killed horribly by me,” Malice added. “Sorry, it’s the rules, and also I’ll find it incredibly fun.”

Thomas looked from Virgil to Janus and back again, fear evident on his face.

“Thomas,” Virgil rasped.

“Don’t, Virge, I- I’m going to get you both out of here, okay?” Thomas said.

It was funny, but some part of Janus had believed Thomas would manage to make everything okay, right up until he sensed the lie in Thomas’ words.

Janus was going to die.

He had none of the insecurities the others had about his role; he knew that he was important, that Thomas would suffer without him, would die without him. But he also had no delusions about his standing among the other sides. It had been barely over a month since the wedding, and though Thomas accepted him, even that had been a grudging thing. Thomas had known Virgil for years, Thomas liked Virgil, did his best to make him feel comfortable, stuck up for him whenever another side’s words hit too close. Really, it was barely a question.

“Right,” Virgil said, “But if you don’t- it’s okay, if you choose him.”

“Virge-”

“The- the others will probably be able to take over things. You shouldn’t let him-” he broke off, choking on the word. “Not because of me.”

A swell of hope surged up within him, that maybe Thomas would listen. It was quickly doused by horror. Oh, he’d throw anyone under the bus to get ahead without a second though, but for Virgil to be tortured by Malice, to be killed-

He should be able to say something, to tell Thomas to save Virgil and get out of there. He couldn’t. He was self-preservation – he’d fight to protect all parts of Thomas, of course he would, but to knowingly offer up his own life? His function prevented him from speaking the words.

All he could do was try to soften the blow, make sure it was one side, and not two, that Thomas lost, because he didn’t want to know what Malice would do if Thomas didn’t choose.

“Thomas, it’s okay,” Janus lied. “We’re a part of you. Dying would be unpleasant, yes, but we can’t stop existing. We will always be there.”

It was even true, in a way. They existed solely within Thomas, which meant that no, they could not die the same way Thomas could. But that didn’t mean they’d still be there afterwards. Even if Thomas did manage to retain their functions, there would be nothing of them, the parts of Janus that liked snakes and the colour yellow and revelled in the thrill of a good trick. The parts of Virgil that listened to emo music and stayed up far too late watching scary videos, and kept making Janus check under his bed for monsters and serial killers when they were younger.

Virgil was watching Janus, and Janus managed to catch his eye. Shaking his head would alert Thomas to what was going on, so all he could do was hope Virgil saw what Janus was doing. Let Janus play the part of the trickster one more time, Loki guiding Hod’s arrow, so Thomas didn’t have to know what he was doing.

“Times up,” Malice sing-songed. “Sorry, but we don’t have forty five minutes for you to make this decision.”

“No,” Thomas said, firmly. “I’m not going to pick who dies, that’s sick.”

Malice sighed, and then shrugged. “Well, if you really can’t choose…”

Something rose up, twisting around Janus’ neck and pressing, making him choke. His hands were free, now, and he reached up and tugged at the rope, but it wouldn’t move. It pressed tighter, stopping him from being able to breathe-

Light danced in his vision, he could hear Thomas say something, yell at Malice to stop, and Malice reply. His vision began to fade, going grey at the edges-

“Okay, Virgil! Save Virgil!”

The rope disappeared and Janus fell forwards, no longer pinned to the wall, and struggled to breathe. When he registered what had happened, the air was knocked out him again.

He looked up, Thomas was holding Virgil in his arms. Virgil was still shaking, hands touching his throat, looking like he didn’t see the room in front of him; and Thomas-

Thomas looked devastated.

“Janus-” Thomas choked, but Malice was already moving forward, blocking Thomas from his sight.

Malice wrapped his fist into Janus’ hair and used it to pull him into a sitting position. “Sorry, Thomas,” he said, “No take backs. I’m not sure why choose a snivelling freak like Anxiety, but, well the pickings were slim.”

“Don’t,” Thomas begged. “Please, just-“

The knife hit him in the stomach. It hurt surprisingly less than he’d always assumed it would. He gasped, and Malice was still infront of him, still blocking his view from Thomas, and something broke inside him.

He tried to pull away from Malice, crying and unable to stop, and this time when Malice stabbed him he did scream, sobbed and called Thomas’ name, because Thomas was meant to fix things, had to be able to fix things-

“Step away from the reptile,” someone who sounded like Roman said, and Malice’s hand disappeared. Janus curled in on himself, as if that would actually stop him from being stabbed again.

Nothing else happened, though, and Janus looked up, blinking past the tears.

The other sides were there. Roman was stood in front of Malice, sword pointing at his chest; Logan was next to Thomas, talking, and Patton-

Patton ran to Janus’ side, pressed his hands against Janus’ wounds. Janus hissed, tried to pull away because it hurt, and Patton whispered, “I’m sorry, kiddo, but I have to stop the bleeding.”

“You three weren’t invited,” Malice said, sulkily.

“We are parts of Thomas,” Logan replied. “You could never hold us back for long.”

“Should have spent less time on the monologue,” Roman said, though his voice was brittle. “Classic villain mistake.”

“Is Janus-?” Thomas started to ask.

“Janus will be fine, if we can get him out of here,” Logan said. “Malice holds too much power over this place.”

“I can’t leave,” Thomas said. “I tried.”

“Of course you couldn’t,” Logan replied. “You didn’t have me. This place thrives off of fear and repression. I, on the other hand, am none of those things. Listen to my voice; you are not here. You are in your apartment, and you are safe. You are in control of what you imagine.”

The movement was gradual, not the usual sudden rising up. Malice’s room began to fade away, replaced by the usual light and clutter of Thomas’ apartment. Patton was still kneeling at his side, but the others had returned to their usual places. The agony in his stomach had faded into a dull ache, phantom pains from an injury that no longer existed. Janus pushed himself to his feet and adjusted his clothes.

Virgil was huddled in on himself, eyeshadow streaked down his face. He refused to meet Janus’ eyes. Patton remained kneeling, and Logan and Roman just looked concerned.

“What happened?” Roman asked.

“Janus,” Thomas said, “I’m so sorry.”

It was the truth; or at least, it was a truth Thomas believed. He really did regret that Janus had nearly died, that he liked Virgil too much to save him. It hadn’t been enough to save him, though.

“It’s fine,” Janus managed to say. It was clear from everyone’s looks that no one brought that.

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” Patton told Thomas softly, and Janus couldn’t stop the ugly, bitter laughter that rose up.

Thomas flinched, and Janus looked away. Thomas had been crying, he hadn’t realised that before. Wasn’t sure when the crying had started, or if it even mattered.

“Well,” Janus managed, finishing adjusting his gloves. “That did nothing to solve today’s dilemma. Since I imagine you’ll want to rest, I’ll leave you be.”

He hesitated, waiting for Thomas to say something, to tell him not leave, that everything would be okay and nothing like that would ever happen again. Thomas just nodded.

The rest of the sides looked torn, but Janus wasn’t interested in false platitudes from them. He disappeared back to his room.

No one came after him.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #tss virgil #janus sanders #tss janus #My fic #whumptober

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cushfuddled · 4 years

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Okay so JDS came forward with a statement about how he’s working to be better and the comments underneath are like...oh my god

Some of them are genuine critique and like, people saying “Yeah, you really hurt me with how you portrayed x character.” But some of them are just flat-out cruel??

Like, I’m under no delusions here. Voltron FUCKED UP. It fucked up HARD. Adam, an mlm POC, died screaming as he was blown to fiery bits. Allura, a POC commander, suffered a frankly ridiculous amount of torture (she lost her planet; her whole family and culture besides Coran; her commander position; her castle ship; her LIFE...even her crown). Shiro, an mlm Asian disabled man with PTSD, existed to be sidelined or get the ever-loving shit beaten out of him. Ezor, another queer character, would’ve been killed had there not been fan backlash. If the wedding was an olive branch (as the EP’s claimed), it was a twig thrown over the studio’s shoulders as they fled down the fire escape.

VOLTRON. WAS. A. FUCKING. MESS.

These creators fucked up. But the fact that one of them has had the balls to come forward and say, “Hey, I’ve been writing from a place of privilege, and I understand that I can’t make up from what I’ve done in the past, but I am educating myself and working to become a better person now,” is like...I think that’s something to celebrate!

I’m not saying anyone has to forgive this dude. A lot of people like me loved Voltron BECAUSE of its hopeful messages about rep and found family...and when that blew up like a grease fire, we were left to pick up the pieces. There was zero response from the studio besides a somewhat patronizing pair of Afterbuzz interviews two months after the fact. I was in those video chats; I know how frustrating that was. Voltron meant a HELL OF A LOT TO PEOPLE. For those of you who used Voltron to literally survive: I’m one of you!! I used Voltron to get through my depression and stress and misery at college! It gave me something to hold on to when I wanted to give up.

BUT ALSO...we have to remember that Voltron was, at the end of the day, a show. It might have been healthy for some people to use Voltron to cope, but it certainly wasn’t healthy for me. I attached too much of my mental health to VLD, so that when it spiraled it took me with it. The show made horrible choices that hurt me and others like me terribly, but a lot of the very real pain I experienced after s7 dropped (s8 was more a nail in the coffin for me than anything else) was because I’d literally become dependent on a show to keep me going in life. And I don’t think that’s a fair burden to put on any show!

I’m saying—we’re valid af, to be pissed off at the VLD team for their creative choices. But there are replies to this apology with people talking about how, after the last season aired, they had to TALK MULTIPLE PEOPLE DOWN FROM SUICIDE, and then PINNING THAT ON JDS.

If VLD made you have anxiety attacks or caused a depressive episode or made you contemplate suicide...like, I also struggle with depression and anxiety, and VLD punched me like a train to the gut. But at a certain point I had to look at myself and say, “This reaction is not all the EP’s fault.” I had tied my emotional health to a fictional series. It was a dangerous thing to do, and it backfired.

Personally?? I’m really glad that JDS is educating himself. It would’ve been REALLY easy for him to just move on with his life and pretend nothing ever happened now that like *checks watch* a year and a half has passed since s8 dropped. But instead he came forward and promised to do better, and he gave people a platform to finally tell him how they felt.

Isn’t this what we want? For creators to acknowledge it when they fuck up, and work to do better next time? Yeah, I know—he could’ve done this a year and a half ago. But he’s doing it now, when he could have chosen not to do it at all...and honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a big-time creator make that kind of decision. I just wish people wouldn’t look at that apology about fictional representation and respond by accusing JDS of NEARLY INCITING SUICIDES

#fjdaklfjala #voltron #vld #vent #death mention #suicide mention #suicide ideation #panic attacks #anxiety attacks #depression

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thelittlesttimelord · 4 years

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The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 34

TITLE: The Littlest Timelord: Cracks in Time Chapter 34 PAIRING: No Pairing RATING: T CHAPTER: 34/? SUMMARY: A little girl escapes the Time War when the Timelord’s return in “End of Time Part 2″. The newly regenerated Doctor must now raise the little girl while trying to find out why cracks in time keep following them around.

[A/N - So I made a miscalculation and the first part of this chapter should have been added to the end of the previous one. Therefore, I added the beginning of Big Bang to the end of the this chapter.]

The Doctor grabbed the communicator and called River. “The TARDIS, where is it? Hurry up. What are you even doing there?”

Elise grabbed the Doctor’s hand to offer him comfort. He squeezed her hand back.

“Something's using her memories. Amy's memories. You said something had been there. If they've been to her house, they could have used her psychic residue. Structures can hold memories, that's why houses have ghosts. They could've taken a snapshot of Amy's memories. But why?” The Doctor kept glancing back at the Romans.

“Projections, or duplicates. They might think they're real. The perfect disguise. They actually believe their own cover story, right until they're activated.” The Doctor started pacing. “Why? Who'd do that? What for? It doesn't make sense. River? River? River, what's happening?”

Elise suddenly wished she’d gone with River instead of staying with the Doctor.

“You're flying it wrong. Where are you? What's the date reading? You need to get out of there now. Any other time zone. Just go. Well, then shut down the TARDIS. Shut down everything! But how? Why?”

A high pitched noise filled the air.

Elise watched as the Romans in the chamber with them doubled over for a second before raising back up.

“Listen to me, just land her anywhere. Emergency landing, now. There are cracks in time. I've seen them everywhere, and they're getting wider. The TARDIS exploding is what causes them, but we can stop the cracks ever happening if you just land her,” the Doctor told River.

The Pandorica started to open and a white light filled the chamber.

“Well, now. Ready to come out, are we?” the Doctor asked. He put the communicator back to his ear. “Okay, just walk out of the doors. If there's no one inside, the TARDIS engines shut down automatically. Just get out of there. Run!” The Doctor soniced the Pandorica as the Romans came closer to them.

Their hands were now guns.

Elise tugged on the Doctor’s jacket.

“Doctor! Doctor, I can't open the doors!” River yelled over the communicator.

The Doctor finally turned and saw the Romans. “Amy!” he yelled.

The Romans grabbed both Elise and the Doctor and walked them towards the Pandorica.

“Plastic Romans. Duplicates, driven by the Nestene Consciousness, eh? Deep cover, but what for? What are you doing? What's in there, eh? What's coming out?” the Doctor asked.

“The Pandorica is ready,” one of the Romans said.

“What, do you mean it's open?”

“You have been scanned, assessed, understood, Doctor,” a Dalek voice said.

“Scanned? Scanned by what, a box?” the Doctor asked.

“Your limits and capacities have been extrapolated.”

Cybermen and a couple of other alien species that Elise didn’t recognize appeared in the chamber.

“The Pandorica is ready!” The alien that spoke was short and brown.

Elise had never seen so many different species before, but she wasn’t scared. The only real thing that scared her were Daleks.

“Ready for what?” the Doctor asked.

“Ready for you,” the white Dalek said.

Two Romans dragged the Doctor to the Pandorica as Elise screamed. The Romans locked the Doctor into the seat.

“What do we do with this one?” the brown alien asked, pointing his gun at Elise.

“Scan reveals the child is Timelord”, the white Dalek said.

Elise struggled against the Romans.

“The child will be confined with the Doctor”.

Elise was picked up and carried to the Pandorica where they shackled her wrists and ankles together at the Doctor’s feet.

“You lot, working together. An alliance. How is that possible?” the Doctor asked.

“The cracks in the skin of the universe,” the White Dalek said.

“All reality is threatened,” the brown alien added.

“All universes will be deleted.”

“What? And you've come to me for help?” the Doctor asked.

“No. We will save the universe from you and your offspring!” the brown alien said.

“From me?”

“All projections correlate. All evidence concurs. The Doctor will destroy the universe,” the Cyberman said.

“No, no, no. You've got it wrong.”

“The Pandorica was constructed to ensure the safety of the Alliance.”

“A scenario was devised from the memories of your companion,” the White Dalek told him.

“A trap the Doctor could not resist,” the brown alien said.

“The cracks in time are the work of the Doctor. It is confirmed.”

“No. no, no, not me, the TARDIS. And I'm not in the TARDIS, am I?” the Doctor asked.

“Only the Doctor can pilot the TARDIS.”

“Please, listen to me!”

“You will be prevented.”

“Total event collapse! Every sun will supernova at every moment in history. The whole universe will never have existed. Please, listen to me!”

“Seal the Pandorica,” the Cyberman said.

“No! Please, listen to me! The TARDIS is exploding right now and I'm the only one who can stop it! Listen to me!”

The Pandorica doors closed. Inside the Pandorica, it was deadly silent.

The Doctor slammed his head into the headrest behind him in frustration.

If they were going to be stuck in here till the end of time, Elise would have to do something she’d been terrified of doing. “Daddy?”

The Doctor froze, hearing Elise’s voice. He’d never heard her voice before. Well he had, but that was a long time ago. But this version of her had never spoken on purpose before. “Yes, love?” he said.

“I’m scared”.

“I don’t know how, but I will get us out of here.”

“How?”

“Do you trust me?”

Elise nodded and said, “Yes”.

But only a few minutes later, the doors to the Pandorica opened and Rory stood there holding the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver.

The Doctor was released from the chair. “How did you do that?”

“You gave me this,” Rory told him.

The Doctor pulled out his own sonic screwdriver. “No, I didn't.”

“You did. Look at it.”

The Doctor quickly soniced Elise’s restraints before they stepped out of the Pandorica. He touched his screwdriver to Rory’s and they sparked. “Temporal energy. Same screwdriver at different points in its own time stream. Which means it was me who gave it to you. Me from the future. I've got a future. That's nice.” He pointed to the fossilized Daleks. “That's not.”

“Yeah. What are they?” Rory asked.

The Doctor looked at Elise and gestured for her to answer the question. She shook her head and he nudged her.

“They’re called Daleks,” she said.

Rory’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god. She can talk.”

Elise rolled her eyes.

“Bigger picture here, Rory. History has collapsed. Whole races have been deleted from existence. These are just like after-images. Echoes. Fossils in time. The footprints of the never-were,” the Doctor explained.

“Er, what does that mean?”

“Total event collapse. The universe literally never happened.”

“So, how can we be here? What's keeping us safe?”

“Nothing. Eye of the storm, that's all. We're just the last light to go out. Amy. Where's Amy?”

Rory led them outside.

Amy was lying on the ground not moving.

“Auntie Amy!” Elise said, dropping to her knees next to her.

The Doctor knelt down and put his fingers on her throat.

“I killed her,” Rory said.

“Oh, Rory.”

“Doctor, what am I?”

“You're a Nestene duplicate. A lump of plastic with delusions of humanity.”

“But I'm Rory now. Whatever was happening, it's stopped. I'm Rory.”

“That's software talking.”

“Can you help her? Is there anything you can do?”

“Yeah, probably, if I had the time.”

“The time?”

“All of creation has just been wiped from the sky. Do you know how many lives now never happened? All the people who never lived? Your girlfriend isn't more important than the whole universe.”

Rory punched the Doctor, sending him to the ground. “She is to me!” Rory yelled.

“Dad!” Elise gasped, “Rory!”

The Doctor jumped to his feet. “Welcome back, Rory Williams! Sorry. Had to be sure. Hell of a gun-arm you're packing there. Right, we need to get her downstairs. And take that look off your plastic face. You're getting married in the morning.”

Rory carried Amy down into the Pandorica chamber and the Doctor placed her in the chair.

“So you've got a plan, then?” Rory asked.

“Bit of a plan, yeah. Memories are more powerful than you think, and Amy Pond is not an ordinary girl. Grew up with a time crack in her wall. The universe pouring through her dreams every night. The Nestenes took a memory print of her and got a bit more than they bargained for, like you. Not just your face, but your heart and your soul.” The Doctor placed his hands on Amy’s face and closed his eyes. “I'm leaving her a message for when she wakes up, so she knows what's happening.” The Doctor soniced the Pandorica, sealing Amy inside.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. What are you doing?” Rory asked.

“I'm saving her. This box is the ultimate prison. You can't even escape by dying. It forces you to stay alive.”

“But she's already dead.”

“Well, she's mostly dead. The Pandorica can stasis-lock her that way. Now, all it needs is a scan of her living DNA and it'll restore her.”

“Where's it going to get that?”

The Doctor checked his watch. “In about two thousand years.” The Doctor pulled out a Vortex Manipulator from his pocket and strapped it to his wrist.

“She's going to be in that box for two thousand years?” Rory asked.

“Yeah, but we're taking a shortcut. River's vortex manipulator. Rubbish way to time travel, but the universe is tiny now. We'll be fine,” the Doctor told him.

“So hang on. The future's still there, then. Our world.”

“A version of it. Not quite the one you know. Earth alone in the sky. Let's go and have a look.”

The Doctor raised his wrist. “You put your hand there. Don't worry. Should be safe.”

“That's not what I'm worried about.”

“She'll be fine. Nothing can get into this box.”

“Well, you and Elise got in there.”

“Well, there's only two of us. I counted.”

“This box needs a guard. I killed the last one.”

“No. Rory, no. Don't even think about it.”

“She'll be all alone.”

“She won't feel it.”

“You bet she won't.”

“Two thousand years, Rory. You won't even sleep. You'd be conscious every second. It would drive you mad.”

“Will she be safer if I stay? Look me in the eye and tell me she wouldn't be safer.”

“Rory, you…”

“Answer me!”

“Yes. Obviously.”

“Then how could I leave her?”

The Doctor sighed. “Why do you have to be so human?”

“Because right now, I'm not.”

The Doctor typed in the date he wanted and the Vortex Manipulator started beeping. He grabbed Elise’s hand. “Listen to me. This is the last bit of advice you're going to get in a very long time. You're living plastic, but you're not immortal. I have no idea how long you'll last. And you're not indestructible. Stay away from heat and radio signals when they come along. You can't heal, or repair yourself. Any damage is permanent. So, for God's sake, however bored you get, stay out of…”

The Doctor and Elise vanished and Rory took his place guarding the Pandorica.

#eleventh doctor fanfiction #eleventh doctor imagine #eleventh doctor #doctor who #Doctor Who fanfiction #doctor who imagine #Rory Williams #rory williams imagine #the littlest timelord #the littlest timelord: cracks in time #the pandorica opens #big bang

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kpurereactions · 6 years

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Im Here | Part 10 (FINALE)

wow 6 MONTHS AND IM FINALLY DONE LIKE WOW IM JUST sorry im such a failure and that it took so long to finish this story... I hope you will be excited since I have another one planned out for you guys though... so like... here we go!

Kitty

Pairing: Jaebum x Reader

Rating: Drama, Angst, Smut, Fluff

WARNINGS: Language, Eventual Violence, Lots of Smut Later on

Part | Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

“Let's sweep the house.” Jaebum said getting out of the car, closing his coat with one hand. “Go up to the room.” he said quieter once he rounded the car. You nodded and followed Jackson who opened the door and lead the rest of the croup inside.

You doubted yourself for half a second as you slowly made your way up there stairs, not sure if you were crazy or if Jaebum actually just sent you to scout out a room, even if you were to stay in that room until the house was cleared.

You entered quietly, closing the door behind you all the way before looking around the room and remembering something. Quickly and on your toes to your heels didn't clap too loud you made your way to the closet and knelt down, punching in the numbers of your sade before reaching for the black gun and slipping in the pocket on the inside of your coat, just in case. You stood and rolled your neck trying to relax, but the sound of Jackson's voice yelling that he had discovered Daesung in the office made you tense up even more. Just as you were about to walk to the door to lock it a pair of arms wrapped around you, trying to lift you off your feet and get you down.

You were too quick though, turning your body in a way the made his grip slip and soon you were pushing him in a way that made him stumble and it the ground. You looked behind you nothing Seunghyun's angry face as he shook his arm out before running out the door. You stopped suddenly when you were able to peer over the banister, Jiyong standing there with an arm risen and a gun pointed straight at Jaebum, who you knew very well was unarmed.

“You think you can keep something that isn't yours!” He screamed, making you jump slightly. You watched as Jaebum just blinked, obviously so tired of the delusion that Jiyong was living with.

His scream again made you jump as Jiyong demembed an answer but before you could do anything you remembered Seunghyun. Averting your eyes from Jaebum you looked over your shoulder, hoping to not see him, but the moment your eyes refocused his chest was already against your body and once again his strong arm were holding tightly around you. You felt your feet leave the ground as he started to lift you towards the stairs. You struggled to get him off of you but nothing was working until you remembered what Jaebum had taught you.

In one swift motion you threw your elbow back hitting him hard in the gut before pushing a leg back to tagle with his. His arms let you go as he struggled to keep his feet under him, but just as soon as his arms loosened you were out of his grip and pushing him, causing him to fall down the stairs.

You watched as he hit the ground with a hard thud and instantly you looked up to see Jiyongs eyes divert to the noise. In a blink you watched as Jaebum launched forward to try to get the gun from Jiyong. You watched intently, studying the tug of war, and when Jiyong’s hand started to slip, the trigger was pulled.

The loud echo of the gun caught you off guard causing you to jump and your eyes to dart around, but Jaebum was fine as he lifted both his arms to point the gun at Jiyong. You sighed, noticing the bullet only ripped the corner of the shoulder of his coat. You took a deep breath, continuing to watch as Jiyongs hand slipped into his pocket and he nodded deeply, but you noticed something Jaebum didn't.

The awkward way his hand was shaped in his pocket made you reach into your pocket and pull out the gun, and as quietly as you could made sure you were loaded and cocked it. You watched closely as Jiyong tried again to undermine Jaebum, asking him why he thought he was so special. Why he thought he deserved to hold you hostage when you were clearly in love with Seungri. But before Jaebum could answer Jiyong quickly pulled a smaller gun out.

The sound of the gunshot this time was twice as loud, since the moment Jiyongs gun sounded off so did yours. You didn't realize your eyes closed instantly after your finger pulled the trigger, but the sound of a falling body encouraged you to open your eyes and peer over the railing. Your eyes met Jaebum and your heart instantly started to race as you noticed his coat glistening in a new ripped area. You started to run down the stairs, forgetting about seunghyun who laid there still groaning, his leg now obvious that it was broken. You didn't even realize he was reaching into his coat until a bullet was whizzing by you hitting him in the chest and knocking him back into the ground.

You looked behind you to see Mark who had a gun raised to his cheek, nodding to him before you continued your way to Jaebum, who had moved one hand to clutch his shoulder. You instantly placed your hand over his and asked if he was hit anywhere else, looking at him, regretting that you waited too long to shoot.

But all he did was smile widely at you.

“You saved me.” He said with a little amusement to his voice, making you laugh and shake your head.

The sound of people stomping down the stairs made you advert your attention to them where you saw Jackson and Mark walking with Daesung and Youngbae hands bound. You watched them as they noticed to the two men and their shoulders dipped as they let out a deep breath.

“This is it.” Youngbae said, his eyes sticking to Seunghyun a little longer before moving over to Jaebum. “They were the only ones who entered. Seungri refused.” Jackson said to Jaebum, who nodded and stepped away from you to square his shoulders, his hand dropping from his arm though covered in blood didn't stop you from walking forward with him and allowing him to take his hand in yours.

“The car that followed you from the restaurant is waiting on standby for Jiyongs word, which obviously isn't coming anytime soon.” Daesung said, his voice not as bitter as you thought it was going to be even though his leader had just died.

You watched as the two men looked over to each man who was holding their arm and you furred your brows as they let go of their grip, but seeing the two bow deeply you started to get a feeling there was surprisingly no hard feelings.

“We would like to take these two back, if that is okay with you.” Youngbae said, not looking at his friends.

You looked over to Youngjae as Jaebum did and watched him nod before he walked over to the corps to check the pulse. When he nodded Jaebum returned a nod to Youngbae, who bowed deeply again.

“Before I let you go, and let you take these two I need to hear from you that you will never come for me and my family again. That you will stay in your lane and out of my way.” He said in a stern voice, not relaxing even when the two older men nodded and bowed once again.

“You have our word. You know how this is. You've won, we are now here at your disposal.” Youngbae said.

You watched as Jaebum shook his free hand, the veins in his temples slightly popping at the pain in his arm.

“You don't have to do anything for me. No offence but I don't really want you to. But, since you mentioned it you will be running everything you do by me, and you won't do anything unless I say you can.”

You watched as Daesung nodded, sighing in relief you figured he thought that it could have been much worse than what Jaebum told them. They bowed again to Jaebum and then to Mark and Jaebum who released their hands. You watched as Daesung made a call before walking over to Seunghyun's body and carrying him to the front and out the door.

The moment the door was closed you let out the breath you had been holding and looked around to the other guys who all stood looking stressed.

“That was kind of anti climatic don't you think?” You said. All eyes snapped to you, Jaebum being the first to laugh before the guys started to all tease you about your comment.

• • •

An hour had passed since Daesung and Youngbae had left, and how you were sitting on the edge of the bed, criss cross as you dabbed a cotton swab across Jaebum's cut, which thankfully wasn't even deep enough to need stitches. You could feel Jaebum's eyes on you, making you look up to him and smile. But seeing the worry in his eyes made you think back to what had actually happened.

“Wow, what a birthday.” You said looking down, a soft smile covering the drop your stomach just gave at the memory of shooting someone as you looked at the ring you still had on.

You smiled again as Jaebum's hand held onto your knee, his thumb rubbing softly back and forth as you pushed around the first aid kit to find the ointment and something to cover the wound with. You didn't even realize you were crying until you let your hand fall from the gauze you wrapped around Jaebum's arm and his hands came up to hold your cheeks, his thumb now pushing the tears that silently fell off your cheeks.

“Wow, I was starting to think something was wrong with you.” He said making you smile and sniff before pulling you into his chest and hugging you tightly.

#got7 #got7 mafia #im jaebum #jaebum

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intergalacticrp · 6 years

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NAME :// IZUKU MIDORIYA ORIGIN :// BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA AGE :// TWENTY-TWO GENDER :// TRANS MALE JOB :// TEACHER’S AIDE / YOUTH’S COMMUNITY CENTRE WORKER FC :// KIM TAEHYUNG (V)

When you've been fighting for it all your life You've been struggling to make things right That's how a superhero learns to fly Every day, every hour, turn the pain into power

BIOGRAPHY ://

izuku midoriya always wanted to be a hero. growing up he would consume every bit of superhero oriented content he could get his hands on. comic books, actual books, cartoons, tv shows, movies. a variety of videos that he found on the internet convinced him that being a superhero in real life was an option, and that was absolutely what he wanted to do. he idolized these people who could pull someone to safety from a burning building, who could stand to protect those that were weaker than them, who could save someone's life just by putting their hands on another and working some kind of magic that he did not understand. it would take him years to realize that these real life superheros weren't superheroes at all. they were everyday heroes, and izuku didn't need superpowers to be like them. but before he realized, well ... he spent a lot of time waiting to develop his own.

this delusion was not at all discouraged by the company he kept as a child. growing up, his absolute best friend was katsuki bakugou : another kid his age who izuku affectionately called 'kacchan.' good or bad, kacchan was full of confidence. and izuku couldn't help but to think that he was the coolest person he'd ever met. kacchan was everything that izuku was not, but that was okay with izuku. in fact, he actively idolized his best friend. always ready with a compliment or a smile, he didn't care that katsuki never really complimented him back. sometimes he'd smile, sure, but it was always the superior smile, the angry smile, the smile that told izuku that katsuki knew that he was better, stronger, incredible. again, izuku didn't mind as long as his friend was happy. he was the type that was always around to build others up, and to help them when they fell. which is exactly why izuku was the first of their friends to rush forward to help kacchan when he'd fallen into a creek.

it was a long fall. long enough that his friend truly could have hurt himself had he hit his head on a rock or even the creek bed. so while their friends - katsuki's friends - waiting up above, proclaiming that kacchan was strong, he'd be fine, they just had to wait for him to get back up there ... izuku rushed down just in case he needed help. of course kacchan came out of the water just fine. he was strong, he was fine, but izuku offered his hand anyway just in case. after all, kacchan was the type of person who would have surely pretended that he was fine even if he wasn't, and izuku wanted to be there to help if he needed it. help him stand, help him get back home if he'd been hurt. but kacchan only stared up at him, expression slowly turning into something angry and dangerous. he didn't want izuku's help.

izuku will never understand why things went downhill after that ... why kacchan didn't want to spend time with him anymore, why he was always pushing him away. kacchan had always been ready with a harsh word or an insult, ever since they had known each other. but suddenly there was no happy tone behind it, no hints that kacchan was only saying these things because he didn't know what else to say, or because saying these things made him feel better about himself, or whatever rhyme or reason izuku had been able to console himself with in the past. suddenly, there were fists to go along with the harsh words. there were threats of murder to go along with the insults. there were no more smiles, no more conversations with just the two of them. slowly but surely, katsuki took every single one of izuku's friends away from him - because they'd always been kacchan's friends, of course, but izuku had always been allowed to tag along before. and izuku was left alone.

being left alone, constantly ridiculed, insulted, and bullied ... it changed something in izuku. where once he would have been able to stand up to those that picked on him for being smaller and weaker than them, now he just kind of took it. the only time he ever stood up for anything was to stand in the defense of others; to be a hero in the only way that he could be, small and weak as he was. he took hits dealt out by kacchan and other's that izuku once considered his friends. hits that were intended for others, hits that were intended for him. he couldn't fight back, but he could certainly keep others from being hurt. from this he developed a high pain tolerance - it was one of the few good things that kacchan gave him after everything went downhill. along with the gift of always standing up for those that needed his help.

standing up for someone who needed his help, even when that person was kacchan himself. it was pure chance that izuku was walking past that alleyway that day, pure chance that he glanced down it and realized something was happening. but it wasn't pure chance that izuku rushed in to help out - it was obvious that whoever was pinned against the wall here did not want to be there, if only by the harsh words that their assailant was saying. it was only once he was fighting to protect the victim that he realized it was kacchan, but of course that didn't stop him. he would have helped whoever he came across in that situation, would have thrown himself into the scene without thinking about how he could have gotten hurt. and he did get hurt. but he also thinks he might have saved kacchan's life. even if it was only by buying enough time for a real hero to show up and save the day.

he didn't expect katsuki to be grateful. in fact he was completely ready for whatever abuse he might face for saving the other boy. things got worse from there, but izuku could handle that. as long as kacchan was still alive, he could handle that.

high school was much better than his younger years had been though. for the first time in his life he had real friends. friends who didn't ridicule him, who didn't use him as a punching bag. friends who cared about what he had to say, who relied on him and could be relied upon in turn. somehow he ended up befriending pretty much everyone he met, and for once he felt truly happy to come to school, no matter the classes, no matter the hours or the teachers or the classwork and homework. he had friends, and that was all that mattered. on the other hand, kacchan didn't seem to be doing so well in a high school setting. too violent, too loud, too angry, he had a few hard and fast friends that would stick by his side. people that izuku could also call friend in fact, though he no longer could extend that term to kacchan himself. though they'd grown apart and formed something that was the farthest from friends they could be ... izuku still cared about him. still respected him. it was good that they each had their own friends, and that izuku could finally feel completely comfortable.

things weren't going too well in his pursuit of being a hero though. too heavy handed when it came to the practice of medicine, ridiculed for being so small when it came to pursuing an interest in the police force or becoming a firefighter ... izuku turned his hand to becoming stronger. and while he waited, he turned his mind to helping others in one of the only ways he could figure out how. children were always in need of a helping hand. izuku came to the station to become a teacher's aide, and to get away from all those who wished to torment him back home. though it's been years since katsuki last struck him, izuku still worries that he'll turn back to violence, and tiptoes around him at the best of times. that doesn't mean he'll let kacchan get away with being horrible to others though. they've developed some sort of rivalry that doesn't make any sense, but it's one that he can live with.

he also actively helps out at the youth community center at the station. strictly volunteer work, he puts in a lot of his free hours to this place - and some of his extra money, though that's a little harder to come by. there are plenty of kids out there who just need a helping hand, a positive role model, someone that they can talk to. there are plenty of kids out there who just need something to do after school to keep themselves out of trouble. izuku is more than willing to be a helping hand, a role model, a shoulder to cry on, a source of advice, a safe haven, a distraction, a friend. an everyday hero.

AESTHETIC ://

Running out of pages in a notebook. Talking to yourself. Muttering under your breath. An everyday hero. Unbrushed hair. Freckles and tanned skin, marred by faded scars. Muscles built under baggy clothes. Standing up to the bullies. Bones breaking and dark bruises. The need to protect others. Reaching out to friends. Analyzing every small detail. Studying everyone around you. Leaping into action. Superhero action figures. Developed anxiety. Going above and beyond, plus ultra.

MISC ://

For all his life, Izuku has had an admiration for heroes, both the super and the everyday kind. While he’s always been fond of the caped heroes on television and comic books, he’s often had a respect for heroes in everyday life. Whenever sirens are blaring, he was often found on the scene, inspired and starry-eyed.

In his early childhood, Katsuki had been his best friend. So affectionately named ‘Kacchan’, his respect for the other boy kept him trailing behind the other, even if the boy constantly bullied and teased him. Katsuki gave the boy the nickname ‘Deku’ which meant ‘useless’. Despite the boy’s cruelty, Izuku never stopped following after.

Their friendship seemed to come to a sudden end the day Katsuki fell into a creek and Izuku offered to help him up. He’s still not sure what made the other buy turn on him, but from then on out Katsuki’s teasing turned into violence and malice. It only seemed to worsen the day he tried to save the later teen from being harassed in an alley way, an altercation ended thanks to the help of Toshinori.

With Katsuki being the most popular kid in school, Izuku spent his entire pre-teen years harassed by the entire class, picked on and bullied with a teacher who did nothing to stop them.

High school was so much different. Katsuki was no longer the most popular and Izuku seemed to draw people in like a flame. He managed to make friends with nearly the entire class, some which followed him into his adulthood. One friend, Ochaco, managed to twist the nickname ‘Deku’ into something positive, something that meant ‘you can do it’.

Toshinori started to train Izuku throughout high school, the boy quickly building muscle mass. In time, he was taught how to fight as well.

Still wanting nothing more than to help people, Izuku became a teacher’s aide. He works mostly with his old teachers, Toshinori and Shota, and is loving the role. Because of his own childhood experiences, he’s able to empathise with kids and see when something is wrong.

After school, he regularly volunteers for the local youth’s community center, providing support and helping out the troubled kids. He’s also taken up the role Toshinori had to him and has started teaching the kids self defense.

CONNECTION ://

Ochaco Uraraka, Tenya Iida, Shouto Todoroki : Best friends.

Toshinori Yagi, Shota Aizawa : Teachers. Mentors.

Katsuki Bakugou : Childhood friend turned abuser turned rival.

Tsuyu Asui, Eijirou Kirishima : Friends.

Hitoshi Shinsou : (Not quite) friend.

AVAILABILITY :// OPEN ||- TAKEN BY KAELYN

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #v (bts)#kim taehyung #izuku midoriya #taken #male #tm

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thegraphitesword-blog · 7 years

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Pride Prompt Month 16/30: Amusement Park

Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen

Relationship: Tree Bros

NOTES: NO BODY CAN TAKE THIS FROM ME, BUT I WAS READING DEH HEADCANONS AND I WAS THINKING ABOUT MY OWN SPEECH IMPEDIMENT AND I WAS LIKE “holy shit connor totally had a stutter when he was young and then he got help and it only comes out when he’s panicking and scared.” Soooooooooo, to go in the theme of the prompt, the tree bros are at an Amusement Park and angsty bab Connor finds out something strange about Evan and Evan finds out something cute about Connor.

More Notes: This takes place in an AU where Connor didn’t die, Evan didn’t break his arm (but still “fell from the tree see 14/30 for more info) and they only bonded over a misunderstanding. That misunderstanding was something Zoe said and Connor kinda just started to date Evan out of fucking spite and well, it kinda came true......”but not because we’re gay......no not because we’re gay”

TW: withdrawal symptoms, exposed scars and self inflicted burns, speech impediment

Prompt: Amusement Park

Connor’s Pov

Of all the fucking places, Evan wanted to go to for the summer, I couldn’t understand why, WHY a fucking amusement park. Seriously, with Evan’s track record with large crowds and loud environments, I swore he was plotting something. That would have been true for anyone, but him though; aside from being sarcastic and snide every so often, he was way to anxious to be mischievous.

I was shocked to find put that not only did he have fond memories of amusement parks with his family, but EVAN, his Evan Hansen, was a major fan of roller coasters. It came as a shock, when the first thing he wanted to do was get in line for this coaster, that had so many twists and corkscrews that it was famous for making people hurl.

“You can’t be serious. You, of all people, want to fucking ride THAT?”

Evan shrugged picking at the skin on his hands a habit he picked up a few months ago, they had gotten pretty scabbed and torn up after he started getting over his benzodiazepine addiction (another mystery I never believed).

“I like them. I don’t know why that’s hard to believe.”

“Because this is the same Hansen that caused himself to fucking hyperventilate almost religiously at school and is so high strung and worried your body literally just quits because of the tension.”

“It’s not that weird....”

I looked back at the people in front and behind us, we were stuck in the middle of a growing line and honestly, I didn’t want to waste the fact we had been standing here for 20 plus minutes,

“Whatever, Hansen.”

He smiled, obviously fighting the urge to hug me or some shit. The only thing I wasn’t really looking forward to....was the panic to set in. I’ve never liked roller coasters. It used to be because I didn’t like heights, but honestly it’s because of the over stimulation they cause. The noise of the people screaming, the rush of air and jolts of each turn, the weak feeling of being on a structure only held up by barely understood science. Yeah....I wasn’t a fan

I pulled out my phone and checked the weather and the few messages I had received. Zoe and Alana were somewhere in the park and I fought the urge to complain to Zo about having to ride this death trap. She just texted me about being “a little bitch” and I didn’t give her the satisfaction of an answer. The weather app said it was going to be close to 95 degrees, which spelled out trouble for me and my gray sweatshirt and black jeans. Protective layers, i almost never go anywhere without. Evan had tried to convince me to take the jacket off, but I couldn’t help but growl back that he did have shame littering his arms.

Evan looks crest fallen and panic and I realize I crossed the line, like every other day. He touches the back of his neck and retreats when he comes into contact with the scarred skin. It took him ages to tell me that quite a bit of his back was just as knotted with scar tissue, and even more time to tell me why. I rest my hand on his and he takes that as an attempt at an apology. With a bit more confidence. I unzipp the jacket and quickly pull out my arms, keeping them hugged to my side. Looking at them made me sick, it didn’t matter if they where thin and superficial or the thick raised line leading down the center of my left forearm, wrist to elbow.

I’m really not happy about the shit I did in high school or throughout most of y life, but then again who is?

I can feel myself shaking, feeling way to vulnerable for my liking, the delusions of the world staring at me and my fuck ups weighted down my thoughts, until Evan laced his fingers in mine.

“Thank you.”

“Sure, thing acorn.”

“please don’t call me that. It took me fucking ages to get Jared to stop calling me that.”

He shoved me, as I poorly contained my laughter. I loved it when Evan swore, it reminded me that everyone is human, especially him. We held hand waiting for the line to crawl forward, the closer we got the more I wished I had stayed in my room or smoked something before we left. In the future but not far enough, we were at the front and I started internally freaking. So many things were happening in my brain, so many possiblitites of things going wrong.

“Evan, EHT.”

To anyone else, but Zoe and him, I would be speaking gibberish, but they understood my little quirk, EHT being “emergency hair tie”. Evan always had one on his wrist, sometimes more, both for him to play with and for those moments when I needed to tie my hair back. He doesn’t ask why, but hands a baby blue hair tie and i quickly pull my shoulder length hair into a messy bun.

The next round of people are ushered to the train and I drew the line when Evan wanted to sit in the very back. We settled for the second section and were strapped, locked and educated on proper safety and bullshit. I didn’t even notice i was gripping the hand rail and Evan’s arm til we started making the ascension.

“Holy fuck, holy fuck. FUCKING HELL.”

Evan busts up laughing as I start cursing a God I don’t believe in. He says something, but it’s too late. The first cart goes over the edge and it’s all downhill from there.

I don’t think there is a proper way to describe the fear I had having my body get jostled around at high speeds, or how my stomach tumbled around with all the corkscrews. I couldn’t even register the screaming I was emitting or how Evan was shouting and laughing both out of joy for the ride and at my over reacting behavior. The ride was over in a few minutes and I wasn’t the only on who hit the ground running. The second I could I got off, and ran to the exit, praying that my head would stop fucking reeling.

“s-sh-shit the fu-uck ha-a-a-ave I done.”

I pause for a quick moment, standing at attention. I was hoping that this wasn’t what I thought it was. I kept my mouth shut for the time being trying to hold in what I feared it was, but Evan catches up and well...things go to shit.

“God, Connor are you okay?”

“I-I-I.” I cover my mouth and turn flaming red, Evan just watches me unsure what is happening.

“Uh...Connor.”

“Sh-sh-shut the h-hel-l-l- up.”

He looks confused, “um....are you doing this on purpose? or is this anxiety related?”

“E-Ev-Evan-n. I am not ha-v-v-ving this conv-con-convers-sa-SHIT.”

“what is happening?”

I pull out my phone and point to it, and Evan pulls out his.

“Connor?”

C: don’t fucking say anything to what I am going to fucking tell you.

C: got it?

“Well yeah, but what is going on?”

C: it’s......shit. it’s my fucking speech impediment

“Wait....what?”

I roll my eyes and just start walking.

C: i had, have or whatever, a stutter. I’ve had it since I was like 8. we have to find Zoe

“oh...um, okay.”

I send Zo a barrage of messages telling her to find us and to call Evan.

Z: What the fuck do you want?

C: having problems.

C: need help

Z: just ask Evan asshole

C: I WOULD IF I FUCKING COULD BUT SORRY FOR YOU I CAN’T GET CONTROL OF MY FUCKING SPEECH RETARDATION

Z: are you kidding me? its been like 10 years.

C: and i struggle to speak everyday

C: SO IF YOU DON’T FUCKING MIND GET OVER TO THE SPEEDSTER COASTER AND FUCKING HURRY.

Evan was on the phone with Alana, giving them instructions to find them and I find a bench to fall into, hoping that I would get struck with fucking lightning or something. Despite it being extremely hot and the sun glaring its radioactive rays at me, I stuff my arms back in to my jacket and zip it, no longer giving a shit, if I was lucky i’d die of heat stroke.,

“Um, Connor?”

I look up mortified, as Evan gives me a worried look. I wish I could have just said something, I mean I could but I would most likely give up trying to muddle through this absolute bullshit.

“is there anything I can do?”

“N-no-n-no-o-o”

He takes a seat next to me and pulls my arms from his chest trying to do help me look at him or trying to get me out of my head. We wait him humming a song that he wrote for me, until we hear Zoe yelling running towards us.

“We’re here. How bad is it?”

“Y-Y-You-You fucking t-t-tel-l-l m-m-me.”

She turns away trying to stop from laughing and I would have yelled something, if I knew that it would be completely lost to my speech impediment.

“So....how do we fix this?”

“Well, he’s had little spurts of this kinda stuff, but....” smirks choking on her laughter, “never this bad before.”

I type out a quick message and had it to her.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea.”

“Do I h-h-h-have have a f-fuc-c-cking choice?”

“But...would dad be okay with that?”

“I DO-O-ON’T FUCKING CA-A-R-RE. If If I-f-f he won’t th-then, I’m screwed.”

Evan holds my hand again trying to keep my temper at a acceptable level.

“What is going on?”

“He wants dad to set up an appointment with his old speech therapist. But, both our parents were complete assholes about his whole stutter. Connor, I know he won’t but I will, since I’m gonna be the one to take you.”

I know I am giving he a suspicious look, because she punches my shoulder, “You’re welcome asshole.”

“Whatever, Z-Zo-Zo-Z-Zoe.”

Alana taps her girlfriends shoulder, “Are we gonna stay or is this something that needs to be addressed right away.”

I grab my phone and type out, “Just go. I’ll continue wallowing in self pity and hatred..”

“Don’t let him do anything stupid, Evan.”

“See you guys.”

I watch the two of them walk off, Zoe squeezing Alana’s shoulder, and sigh exhausted about this whole ordeal. It just had to happen and be this cumbersome, of fucking course. I get up shaking my head and pulling out the hair tie. I hand it back to Evan, and walk off, hands in my pocket. His footsteps hurry to catch up to me, and he grabs my arm.

“Hey, if you wanna go home can. I feel bad I forced you to ride that roller coaster.”

I don’t say anything, just drag him along to a more secluded area of the park. We settle on a picnic table, under a tree.

“It’s fi-i-in-ne.”

He rests his head on my chest, hugging me. I didn’t care at this point the day was ruined and I just wanted to lock the stupid stutter back in it’s cage.

“I don’t know if this will make a difference, but I think it’s kinda cute. The stutter I mean. Considering, i have had the same problems with stuttering, I understand. Notsayingthatit’scool no no no I just think it’s kinda cute. Sorry...”

I shrug, “It’s okay.I j-j-just just ha-hate it.”

“Yeah, I know. But, if you need anything just let me know.”

He leans up and kisses my lips, carefully, keeping his hand close to my chest. We didn’t really kiss or anything in public, but honestly I couldn’t care less. This day couldn’t be more embarrassing.

“We c-ca-can go g-go on more rides i-i-if you w-w-want t-t-to?”

“I rather just stay here, if you don’t mind.”

I nod and kiss his cheeks, making him blush and ironically stutter out of embarrassment.

“Keep doi-i-ing that a-a-and you’ll-l-l-l sound lik-k-k-ke me.”

“Not nearly as cute.”

#dear evan hansen #speech impediment #tree bros #zolana #pride prompt month #i had a lot of fun with this

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