#like. he makes no sense from a writing standpoint but like. if he was a person hed make perfect sense

[ofbreathandflame]

Well, again, the issue is not that Rhys has done bad things, it’s how those actions are framed in the story. Let’s think about this – if Rhysand’s actions UTM were framed as negative then perhaps we would not be having this conversation.

Of course, we can argue that Rhysand (1) has developed negative coping mechanisms / perspective (2) Rhysand’s trauma informs the things that he does (both pre, during, and after UTM), and (3) Rhysand’s position was uniquely isolating because of the nature of the role he was forced to play. These are points that I believe can be argued and offer an interesting view; but for any of that to happen, we have to acknowledge that the behaviors are negative. That’s often the problem with the arguments that begin to arise – no one wants to admit that Rhysand has developed (or just has) negative qualities and behaviors. No one wants to contend with the reality of consequences. “Rhysand has always admitted that he would be willing to do terrible things for his family” – and yet there’s no elaboration on those “terrible things.” No one wants to talk about those proposed negative qualities. The story (and the audience) don’t want to admit that Rhys doesn’t really have a solid moral high ground over Tamlin, or admittedly other villains. Just because Rhysand “admits” he’s prone to basically being abusive doesn’t…make it any less abusive.

My proposed argument about Rhysand’s actions UTM are this: he chose to sexually assault Feyre, he chose to “protect” Feyre in ways that were extremely sexually explicit. I believe these are choices that Rhys chooses to make – and I believe they say something about him. It’s noted, to me, that Amarantha scarcely makes Rhys do anything that he does to Feyre. I also believe that his actions regarding Feyre were done with an air of autonomy; as in, I believe Rhysand takes these measures into his own hands. Ultimately, I believe that while Rhysand has to contend with the horrors, he himself becomes beholden to them at some point and ends up perpetrating the same behaviors.

We cannot argue that Rhysand sexually assaulted Feyre, and then argue that it doesn’t say something about him. It does. In the realm of the story – from a writing standpoint – I think a good author can still make a character like that sympathetic and understandable (see: Nahadoth and Itempas from N.K. Jemisin’s Hundred Thousand Kingdom). If I were analyzing Rhysand’s actions, I would simply make the argument that perhaps Rhysand’s abuse of Feyre mirror’s his own abuse by Amarantha hands, and he potentially sees Feyre (and her hope) as something to be threatened – or even shamed by. If Rhysand’s actions were written in a way that clearly exemplified that his actions are not meant to be praised (and are NOT are reflection of love) then he could be salvaged. I actually believe a lot of the abusive things Rhysand does makes sense given the environment and if the story leaned into this from a storytelling perspective and did away with needing to moralize, then this would all be fine. Framing Rhysand’s abuse of Feyre as something to be praised, admired, and loved for is actually quite insane. If we frame his actions as purely preservational and self-serving, that would make so much sense. Imagine being in Rhysand’s position; I guarantee everyone would do whatever they could to stop such extreme amounts of abuse and sexual violence. And even then, the story could still create a narrative that warns of the danger of sexual violence and consent, it would just be subtextual and more allegorical than concretely written in the text. Starting Feyre and Rhysand off in such a tragic place, having Feyre and Rhysand acknowledged truly what happened, having them discuss ways for both of them to move forward while building up the mating bond in the background. Have Feyre acknowledge this untrusting, sly, slick part of Rhysand and have her not assume her mate does everything out of the kindness of his heart. Build their romance out of a place of mutual atonement – play on the theme of guilt Feyre feels and the whole premise of the court. Let the connection between Feyre and Rhys be that they truly acknowledge each others darkness (and also let Feyre do selfish things – maybe she knew damn well Clare Beddor’s family might suffer a bad fate but its not her family and Feyre would do anything for them; Let Feyre kill those fairies with ease because she cares about her life. Let her contend with reality that she would actually do anything for her family and then have that be a connection between Rhys and Feyre.

Something that has always bothered me about the “we don’t talk enough about Rhysand’s trauma” argument that gets thrown around when we earnestly discuss the validity of his actions is the presumption of innocence in that statement. The unwritten statement is that the trauma somehow explains and simultaneously absolves him of the implications of his actions. I objectively agree with the sentiment – Rhysand’s trauma is not talked about enough and it should be. The argument dancing in the corner is the fact that people believe that Rhysand’s extreme amount of trauma absolves him – even going as far as essentially say that Rhysand’s abuse operates out of fear (or because of fear) which is essentially the exact same ideology the book bashed Tamlin for. In the end, the cycle just comes back around and the abuse gets pushed into the backdrop.

#anti sjm #anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti feyre #anti acosf #anti acomaf #this is more of an analysis of character than anti character rant #I’m just tired of people trying to essentially disregard that rhysand has done bad things #while simultaneously trying to make justification for it

[sillybayo]

Bayo's Black Rose Arc Analysis

Some notes before I begin:

-This ramble/essay contains heavy discussions of CSA, general sexual themes, and incest. Also, keep in mind that the characters discussed here are 12-17. While I will be looking into how sex affects them mentally and such, I will not tolerate child sexualization here. I will block anyone who makes a single weird comment or make me uncomfortable. We'll be talking about this from a pure psychological standpoint.

-This is a thought dump rather than anything formal, so I won't be dropping episode titles or numbers. I'm also going purely off of memory, and things I said in group chats. So if things lack clarity, this is why.

-I'm not saying I "cracked the black rose arc code" or anything, this is purely my interpretation that I wish to share, due to not seeing many black rose analysis', and being displeased with what some people have said and concluded. I just want to put what I think out there for others to enjoy :3.

-To avoid being repetitive and cluttered, I'll be generally referring to any character who pulls swords out as "wielders", and any character who has had a sword pulled out of them as "sheaths". Any scene where this transpires will be called a "sheathing scene."

-Once again, due to the material of this analysis, I will be blocking anyone who sexualizes the characters in notes, or anyone who I see as creepy.

With that out of the way, let us begin :3!

So I was watching rgu video essays one day, and I stumbled across one about Miki. About halfway or late into the video, they begin talking about how Miki and Kozue had sex in the black rose arc, due to the way she touched him before the sheathing scene, and the way he turned beet red when Nanami asked how it felt for the sword to be taken out. And I thought it made sense at the time, as I was still new to utena, and I only watched it once. And the allegory is clearly there in other black rose sheathing scenes (besides with utenanthy), right?

But then I thought about it more when I rewatched the juriori black rose episode a year or so later, and caught Juri blushing when Nanami asked her the same question. And...wait. Because doesn't all of the black rose sheathing scenes look..uncomfortable? The sheath cries in pain as the sword comes out of their chest, and Wakaba even forced it out of Saionji. And this weirded me out, because why would a show thats so clearly against rape of any kind go on to write something like this? Why did Miki and Juri blush about something that was so forceful? And even if they were under a mind controlled like state, why would they write the wielders to be rapists? With the way rgu writes sex and rape, it didn't seem right, y'know?

So a few months later, when I decided to continue my rewatch and reached the Wakaba black rose arc episode, thats when I truly started to think about it more. And thats when I reached a conclusion: Miki and Juri are more influenced by Touga and Saionji than they realize. And by extension, they're all influenced by Akio.

You see, Touga and Saionji clearly view Anthy as someone to be sexualized. Shes their wife, who would fulfill their every request. Even though they might not know Anthys and Akios relationship, and/or how the latter treats her, this is an undeniable shared mindset.

Even though the boys and Utena uses Anthy as a sheath in the exact same ways on the outside, you know that when its with Touga and Saionji, its sexualized. They own her. When Touga demands Anthy to kiss his sword, it feels so off that Utena couldn't bare to watch. You could argue that its because it would hurt Anthys lips, but in later episodes its clear that it isn't the issue, as Utena uses the same powerup but in a more supportive fashion rather than sexual. So whats up with that?

I say; in (most of) the wielders view, the sword is like a penis.

I know, a very silly thing to say. But I don't mean exactly. And I, of course, don't mean literally.

Do you know that scene from the scream movie, where the two guys are stabbing each other, begging for it and all? It definitely has sexual undertones, because of the mood set by the characters, and heres where I'm getting at; the idea of a long pointed object being thrusted in you.

What I think is that Anthy is so sexualized by the student council, that the idea of a simple sword being pulled out of her 14 year old south asian brown girl chest, is arousing.

So when each of the student council members become sheaths themselves, of course they think that its one of the most sexually intimate things to experience. And its so stupid, right? Its just a sword. a SWORD.

And I shouldn't be referring to the student council so generally, because Nanami is the only one who sees through this. As far as I remember, she wasn't weird in the slightest when she was Tsuwabukis sheath. And even in the apocalypse arc, shes uncomfortable when Touga kisses her, and disturbed when walking in on Akio and Anthy (but then again I haven't rewatched that episode yet, so I could be wrong). She purely meant to ask how the sword felt, with no sexual intent. Miki and Juri were just pure idiots on that part.

So then, wait, if the sword pulling in the black rose arc wasn't a metaphor for rape, then what is it?

Well, I argue that it black rose wielders follow the same mindset as some sexual assaulters when they're under the effects of Mikages reverse therapy, in a way. Its the strong feeling of thinking the sheath owes the wielder something, and that the wielder deserves it no matter what they say.

Another reference to a different piece of media, but remember when its revealed that Pearl continued to fuse with Garnet for her own personal wants, which crossed Garnets boundaries? People interpreted that scene as Pearl raping Garnet, when....no. What? Of course she isn't. Its just the general idea of your wishes being disrespected, and boundaries ignored. Do you see where I'm going with this?

The black rose wielders see something in the sheaths that they want for themselves, whether it be their love, their attention, or some secret third thing. So with nothing but entitlement and desperation in their heart, they force the sword out of their hearts, where their desires lie.

But, wait. How about other scenes with swords? Like when Anthy is Utenas sheath, and when Anthy has a thousand swords stabbed into her? Do swords still represent desire?

Well, yes! Very easily. Utena fights for the pure sake of love and friendship. She fights Saionji when hes cruel to Wakaba, and she swears to protect Anthy with all her heart. She duels with the strongest ounce of care in her soul. Thats the desire to keep her loved ones happy.

What about when Anthy what continuously impaled? Well, that was the villages desire to get to the prince. And it was Akios desire to finally revolutionize the world after so long.

I may be missing a few scenes, but this is the general idea, and I hope I got the idea across. Thats the end of my little ramble :3. As an acespec hypersexual, I already spend a lot of time deconstructing the truth behind sexual things and feelings. So this was fun to think about. I hope y'all liked this, and understood it most importantly. Toodleeess

#rgu #revolutionary girl utena #utena #utena tenjou #anthy himemiya #shoujo kakumei utena #sku #juri arisugawa #miki kaoru #touga kiryuu #saionji kyouichi #akio ohtori #nanami kiryuu #wakaba shinohara #mitsuru tsuwabuki #souji mikage #kozue kaoru #essay #rambles #black rose arc #black rose saga

[perenlop]

im starting to crawl to poketubers again and im watching lumiose trainer zac’s ranking vid on the gym battles and im realizing once again that i have a veryyyy different definition of what makes a good battle vs other people’s definitions

#then again idc about that aspect as much so. idk #like in a minor way i would have the elesa battle under the cress one bc the cress one is just kinda embarrassing and doesnt make sense #while the elesa one is just really awful all around from a battle and story standpoint #but idk i give the anime a lot of leeway in certain cases. like im shocked he put ash vs valerie so low just bc he broke trick room #like the fact that ash somehow broke the trick room was part of the fun for me even if it wasnt faithful to the game #the point to me is that ash is extremely unpredictable and doesnt play by the rules #also i dislike when ppl go ‘’ash was dumb here bc he brought a weaker pokemon to this typed gym!’’ #like in some cases sure #but with hapu the point wasnt ‘’oh he just wanted to round things out with pikachu again’’ #it was that pikachu lost to mudsdale before and ash wanted pikachu to redeem itself. plus he liked the challenge #of the one on one electric vs ground #idk like from a storytelling standpoint sure this happens kinda often but this is done to create an underdog story #its more of an obstacle to overcome if the weaker pokemon overcome the stronger one #which makes the win more rewarding #idk i definitely wouldnt put hapu on the same tier as elesa where ash’s writing is just straight up bad #as opposed to him wanting to give pikachu a revenge win in his trial battle #like in the elesa ep they make another joke that ash cant tell his snivy is a girl and he uses his dumbass palpitoad #echoed voice

[scoupsahoy]

thinking about dustin, as a trauma response to steve nearly getting killed For Him in season 3, doubling down on his already abrasive and judgmental nature to make sure the people he loves aren't too confident that they think they're indestructible

dustin who educates himself entirely on every angle and holds others accountable to REMEMBER what he says so he can make sure he's done everything in his power to keep them out of harm's way

dustin who cemented his role in his friend group years too late, makes sure he has a purpose and makes sure the peace is kept unless he is the one who is disrupting it. he can disrupt the peace because he thinks he's looking at things objectively

dustin who idolized steve who got too cocky and nearly got himself killed because that's the way his mother shows him love. dustin who has been lying, EASILY, to his mother, for years, about the cat and will and dart and the upside down, and knows he can get away with it because his mother cherishes and trusts him. dustin who instinctively wants to trust people and idolize them because thats the way he knows how to love but after season 3 refuses to do it anymore because if he lets his guard down they will get hurt.

dustin who didn't know eddie very well until he was involved into the upside down and didn't realize was someone that might get hurt because he's amazing and cool and untouchable

dustin who, if eddie dies, will blame himself for thinking eddie was indestructible, for treating eddie like he was indestructible, for maybe making eddie think he was indestructible

dustin who, if eddie lives, will start holding him accountable, talking down to him, lose his patience, not because he's angry at eddie for almost getting himself killed, but because he's angry at himself for trusting that eddie would make the right, planned decision. for trusting that eddie was too cool to throw himself into the fire. for trusting that he would follow the rules.

dustin who, from season one, mediated between his two friends who knew each other WAY before either of them knew him, enforced rules based on The Rule Of Law, who called everyone out on their bullshit because he knew them well enough to know that they were capable of making mistakes and he had to be there to bail them out

dustin who has to be the smartest person in the room, because if he's wrong, they're all going to get killed. he has to be right and the rest of them have to remember what he tells them, because if things go wrong, it'll land back on him

#thinking about the kids and their specific trauma responses on my call with peter today #also i was writing for big bang and i was angry about dustin in season 4 bc like #how do you go from If You Die I Die to Do You Have To Be Told Everything You're Not A Child #but it. makes sense if you think of it from a standpoint of dustin needing to ensure everyones safety #and being kind of a dick about it because if you idol thinks he can defeat anything he's going to fucking get himself killed #and then it will be. his fault #etc #dustin henderson #mine #meta #stranger things

[matoitech]

like i dont feel still years later that its pitting two bad bitches against each other to bring up that galo and lio Get Each Other in a lot of ways and even tho galo doesnt have a lot of specific trauma and experiences lio does u r just bad at writing them if u take the lazy and completely out of character and not even true to the actual canon of the movie approach of galo knows what ptsd is bcuz hes, a first responder. like damn rly. not the like, having ptsd? smooth save galo if u just always say oh its bcuz im an emt no one will know the information that was widely available bcuz ur trauma was broadcasted on the internet and news for ur entire life to where no one rly knows much abt u as an actual adult person and everyone just thinks of or recognizes u still over 15 yrs later as ‘the kid kray foresight saved’. but absolutely none of this did anything to him mentally. hes fine

#anyway i know 'trauma being different doesnt mean completely wiping one characters away to be a Stock Nice Boyfriend Helping The Other One #Thru His Basic I Looked At Wikipedia To Write This Ptsd Symptoms makes any sense or is not kinda stupid and shitty' is beyond fandom ppl #but its just such a Not Discussion like. ever. i mean to b fair. i was not involved w fan stuff. so i couldve missed it #and been like. its just me and the other ppl im friends with even bringing this up #but i feel when i went on twitter briefly here n there id see ppl say 'oh its hard to talk abt galos trauma so' and then thatd b it #IT JUST DOESNT MAKE ANY FUCKING SENSE TO ME. I KNOW HE IS NOT A REAL PERSON #BUT I DONT GET FROM LIKE A FUCKING. NARRATIVE STANDPOINT? FROM CHARACTER? FROM RELATIONSHIPS? #WHAT GRASP OF GALOLIO DO U EVEN HAVE IF UR SCRUBBING EVERYTHING ABT ONE OF THE TWO AWAY TO BE A NICE SUPPORTIVE #GENERIC BF W NO PROBLEMS OF HIS OWN. RELATIONSHIPS ARENT LIKE THAT #THATS WHAT MAKES THEM COMPELLING TO YOU? IF U HAVE TO WRANGLE THEM THRU A PAPER SHREDDER FIRST?

[mishkakagehishka]

Have you ever heard the song Puppet Loosely Strung? Because the lyric "they just couldnt see that it was me needing you not you needing me" makes me think of shu and mika

Oh, I've never heard it, but👁👁 it does... it makes me think especially of the whole ex-valkyrie break-up, the aftermath of their live being sabotaged and how Shu took it, and how Mika actually helped him through it... but also just. They're so symbiotic. There's so many stories where you can say "Oh, Shu is the reason for Mika's development" but also so many where you can say "Oh, Mika is the reason for Shu's development" and just.

In the beginning, Shumika were making eachother worse, but they actually managed to build eachother up as time went by. Good for them

#i just. can i talk ab it from a bit of a meta standpoint i think the writing for Valkyrie is so fucking good #because they had some of the most fucked up dynamics in enstars at the start and like especially for ex-valkyrie #and bit by bit piece by piece you watch them move forward move on you watch the subtle developments and the. #the fuckjvndndnd . you watch Shu become more open with his feelings you watch him realise he Fucked Up and you see him regret it and want t #to do better and you watch Mika realise his way of thinking ab himself and the world around him is wrong and you see him try to fix that #but they can't do that shit alone nobody can ''fix themselves'' without a support system and tho they were truly and honestly toxic to one #another (and i do believe this one another when talking ab shumika being toxic i gen don't understand how people forget that mika is #like. pathologically jealous. unnaturally jealous and obsessive like if i knew a guy like that irl i'd get a restraining order but anyway) #but they don't want to be that anymore they want to improve and they have eachother as their support bc they want the best for the other #like. shu wants the best for mika so he wants to change but he also wants mika to change #does this make sense does any of this make sense is this thing even on help it's 2:15am i'm about to pass out #asks #ensemble stars

[waterberry-strawmelon]

A yes, the revolutionary leader of an anti-oppression resistance movement will start turning on other resistance groups too because he’s *gasp* an extremist!! Your politics are bullshit, Young Justice cartoon.

#I’m just waiting for them to say that all extremists are the same; the classic ‘Youre just as bad as your oppressors!!’ pile of dogshit #This is in reference to ep 18 #The first one in raquel’s arc #Like. Ma’alefa’ak isn’t even in character!! From what we’ve seen earlier in s4 he genuinely is interested in ending #the systemic oppression of white martians. and I frankly disagree that it makes sense for him to actually have just been interested in #nothing more than granting himself domineering leadership #which is what this alliance with darkseid seems to suggest? That all he cares about is personal power? #I really don’t think he would turn in other resistance group members #but even if I’m wrong and it IS somehow in character #Then that character is just absolutely disgusting from a meta standpoint #All writing is produced within a larger context. #The larger context here is real life ‘extremist’ left wing political movements; specifically anti-racist (and to an extent anti-capitalist) #ones. and for a bunch of white middle class writers to be writing this shit? makes me sick to my stomach #it’s the MCU problem of making your hero protagonist (yknow. the one who’s usually the one you’re meant to root for and usually supposed to #be some marker of morality in the show so u know when the antagonists are right vs wrong—it all depends on when they agree or disagree with #the protags.) ‘agree with your fight but not your methods’ and inexplicably make these extremist activists/leaders do morally reprehensible #bullshit alongside the good stuff #so you can be like ‘oh yeah this person was totally right about the racism but like. they also bombed a hospital full of dying children so #I cant support them 😔🥰’ #cuz believe it or not that shit seeps into real life!!! This literally results in a hesitancy to trust real life antiracist movements #and things like that #UGHHHHHH anyway I’m tired #YJ #young justice #young justice cartoon #yj cartoon #Yj s4 #yj season 4 #mine #just some thoughts

[thegroundhogdidit]

real interesting choice for the new girl writers to make winston a cop after explicitly making him the most wary of cops

#and like obviously acab and all that #but also from a writing standpoint how did that make sense to anyone? he already didn't like cops why did he become one #new girl #winston bishop #i think it was in the same season too which really gets me

[theghostofashton]

.

#admittedly i was kinda putting off 3x16 bc i knew it was owen-centric and owen is far from my favorite character #i wasn't sure the writers would handle it well but i def underestimated them bc..... wow #i feel like owen's hero complex gets criticized a ton and it can get annoying admittedly but it does make so much sense #like this is really good writing #from an in-universe standpoint this entire thing of trying to be the hero isn't really about the attention or the praise for owen #it's about helping someone saving someone bc he's carried the guilt of not being able to do that for his brother up until this point #and then it was compounded by 9/11 #so from the audience standpoint i get/agree w all the critiques about how frustrating it is that owen always swoops in and saves this #but that's actually really good writing #very in line w his character and the traumas he's endured #and given this ep is at the end of the season and it's now that his father eased some of that guilt #i am hoping next season has less of that #also the judd/wyatt stuff choked me up god judd ryder the man that you are...... #i just love this show i love this writing i am very glad to have been pleasantly surprised

[feralrabidcrow]

I'm sure all of us are familiar with what happened to Heavy and Medic in the TF2 comics, particularly, comic #6.

They reunite after spending 6 months apart following the mercenaries being fired. Heavy has been living back in Russia with his family, and Medic has joined the TFC team, which has gone horribly.

Their reunion is in a less than ideal situation as Heavy is interrupting Cheavy from tearing Medic into pieces. Cheavy kills Medic, and Heavy completely loses his shit. He is determined to kill the man who killed his Doktor. To a degree that doesn't seem like avenging a friend, almost more like avenging a partner. Someone he loves deeply.

But then Medic comes back, and Heavy is just... weirdly casual about it. He goes from complete rage mode to "Ah Doktor it is good to have you back." No hug, no tears, just accepts that Medic is alive again. It almost feels like there is an awkwardness between them.

From a logical standpoint, this is just TF2 being TF2. The emotional moments in the comics are often quickly switched to a comedic tone.

But my Red Oktoberfest obsessed brain has latched onto this hard, and I have a headcanon that is now deeply ingrained into my worldview.

Heavy and Medic broke up when the team disbanded.

As much as I like the idea of Heavy and Medic keeping things going long distance and writing letters to each other, it doesn't make much sense to me logically.

This is something I've thought about a lot, to the point where I'm considering writing an angsty little one-shot about it.

I believe that when Gray Mann took control and fired the mercenaries, Heavy and Medic were left in a complicated situation where their interests no longer aligned. Heavy wanted to go back home to Russia and take care of his family. Medic wanted to look for a new job to continue his medical mad science endeavours. No matter what, if they were to stay together, someone would have ended up dissatisfied. After trying and failing to come up with a compromise, they decided the best thing was to go their separate ways.

But it didn't change the fact that they still loved each other. They went on to their new situations, with feelings of lingering regret and wondering what could have happened if they had stayed together.

When they reunite in the comics, this is the first time seeing each other since their painful break-up. They still care deeply for each other, hence Heavy instantly becoming protective of Medic when he sees him in danger. And when Medic dies, he snaps completely. He has thought about this man constantly since returning to Russia, silently hurting over the loss of the only real relationship he ever had. And now that man is dead. Of course he's going to lose it.

But when Medic comes back, he's confronted with the fact that Medic technically isn't his partner anymore, not at this point, anyways. In comes the awkwardness. He isn't sure how to approach this now. He and Medic have barely even spoken to each other at this point, much less talked about their feelings or their break-up.

I like to think shortly after the 6th comic ends, or sometime off-screen, they talk things out, resolve their issues, and maybe even share a lovely little reuniting kiss. But hey, that's just a theory! A game theory!

#tf2 #team fortress #team fortress 2 #tf2 comics #medic tf2 #heavy tf2 #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #heavy x medic #medic x heavy #heavymedic #redoktoberfest #red oktoberfest #tf2 red oktoberfest #tf2 headcanons #tf2 fanfiction

[ihadlife]

Achilles' Heel

pairing: (aged up) pro hero!Bakugo Katsuki x fem!reader

word count: 10.2k

synopsis: You and Bakugo aren't dating, so you can't be really mad when he's toying with you. What you can be, though, is miserable. Especially when you get laid off from work. And to whose else's arms can you run into other than the person who's hurting you the most. 

tags: 18+, adult content, fem!reader, fem gendered pronouns and pet names, angst, so much fucking angst, baby trapping, unprotected sex, dumbification, masturbation, dom/sub dynamics, dirty talking, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, degradation kink, impact play, unrequited love, reader and other people smoke, reader has crippling mommy issues and self-isolates, the worst possible decisions ever made at all times, toxicity contest between reader and Bakugo i guess

an: crossposted on ao3. reader makes decisions so bad i wanted to smack her head against concrete all the time. if you're reading this for the smut i suggest you skip this one, it's not centered around it. it was pain in the ass to write bakugo’s direct speech but if it doesn’t make sense from an accent standpoint i’m begging you let me know and i’ll adjust it. and as always, english is my second language so if you spot any mistakes or even typos pls let me know.

“I get that he was like… busy, and probably exhausted after, but he could’ve sent me a message at least, you know?” 

“Yeah, I’ve been telling you he’s a dick.” 

Your best friend inhaled the cold autumn air through the tobacco and filter in their cigarette, filling their lungs with smoke before exhaling it, letting it mix with the breeze. 

“He’s not a dick… there’s just a lot on his plate.” You tried defending him, but even to your own ears, the words that had left your mouth sounded pathetic and feeble. “God knows how I would’ve acted if I had his job.” 

You were looking down at your own hands, playing with the handle of the mug that was now empty, the coffee in it long gone. You didn’t even have to look up to know that your friend was giving you a dirty look. 

To be fair, they weren't completely wrong. You still couldn’t get behind their words – a dick – but you more or less agreed with their general idea: he wasn’t treating you right and you deserved better. 

Knowing and realising all that, you still couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it. 

“You would’ve been honest and communicated.” They took another drag through their cigarette. “And he should be too. If he wants to keep a relationship.” 

The truth was, he had a demanding job. Being a pro hero and saving people’s lives almost every single day was taxing. Not only physically, but also mentally. You understood that. You had let him know that you understood. 

Still, as your friend said, and even as your own head was telling you, wanting him to communicate his needs and intentions beforehand was the bare minimum. Not even letting a problem arise and preventing it. Because he should have cared. 

The thing that hurt you the most was that it hadn’t always been like that. 

At the start, when you two met, he was attentive. Funny. Kind. Charming. You were sure he was still the same person, only not towards you. Not anymore, at least.

You entertained your friend and they tried to distract you from your own thoughts for about another hour before you both got up and went separate ways, counting on seeing each other sometime in the next two weeks again. Not that any of you could make it longer without seeing each other. 

You decided to take the longer walk home, hop to a small market on your way and buy some necessities you needed. Maybe pick up something small to treat yourself. 

Your heels were clapping on the sidewalk loudly, your tempo moderate. Your feet hurt after spending the entire day in your heels and once again you cursed yourself for choosing this type of footwear when you had known you would have to spend an entire day in them. There was a huge blister forming on your right Achilles, you were sure. 

You fished your phone from your purse without even thinking about it, your thumbs moving on the screen as if they’d had a mind of their own. Or maybe it was a muscle memory at this point. 

You opened the messages app on your phone and stared at the screen. Maybe hoping that if you stared long and hard enough, you would somehow manifest his response. Or maybe he would even open and read the message instead of leaving you on delivered. 

I’m sorry to hear that! You really should take a few days off, you deserve it :( 

Pathetic. 

Scoffing at yourself you put your phone back into your purse and entered the small market. After greeting the lady who owned the shop you grabbed a basket and started browsing the isles. 

You liked this market. The owner was aloof, she never asked you personal questions. You had been going here for long enough for the lady to remember you, you were one of the regular customers, yet she treated you like a stranger every time. 

You appreciated that. This kind of curtness. 

You began your usual route around the small store – a route you’d walked so many times you would be able to walk it with a scarf around your eyes without bumping into a single thing. 

You idly strolled through the shop, picking up the stuff you needed. 

Toast bread. 

A premade sandwich with cheese, ham, and cucumber. 

Spam ham. 

Canned fish. 

A few packets of instant ramen. 

Cheap coffee. 

Two single rolls of toilet paper. 

Two bottles of soju. 

Your feet stopped once you were in front of the register. You put the basket on the counter with a tiny smile and waited for the owner to scan the items. 

Your eyes slid from the small woman to the stand next to the register, where the magazines were, all kinds together. The serious ones and the ones that just wrote about celebrity gossip. Living and lifestyle ones. Ones for teenagers. Weekly sudokus and crossword puzzles. 

You weren’t the same scared, shy, uncertain intern as you were a few years ago. You’ve earned your place in the publishing company; you were a proper columnist at that point. So when your boss had assigned you the interview with the pro hero that would be the main feature of the next issue, you had been elated and had readily accepted the task. You had been sure this would help further your career. Maybe help you get a raise. 

As you had soon learned, you might have been a good columnist, but you were still very much naive. You hadn’t gotten a raise. Nor had the feature helped the career. 

What you’ve gotten out of the interview, however, was your phone number in Dynamight’s phone. 

“Thanks for the interview, it was great.” You smiled and closed your laptop right after saving the file. 

“No, ya were great.” 

You laughed a little, bashful, a quiet ‘thank you’ leaving your lips as you put your laptop into its case and into your faux leather bag that was resting against the chair you were sitting in. 

“I mean it,” he leaned back in his luxurious office chair, his elbows resting on the arms of the seat. “Most of the interviews I do are real uncomfortable. People love bein’ nosy and invadin’ my  fuckin’ privacy.” 

“You can’t blame them,” you grinned. “Of course, they wanna know everything about one of the most popular heroes.” 

“And ya?” He asked after a slight pause and butted his chin in your direction. 

“Me?” 

“D’ya wanna know everythin’ ‘bout the most popular hero?” 

You didn’t miss the way he changed ‘one of the most popular’ to ‘most popular’. Shameless. 

“Uhm,” you bit your lower lip, not really sure what to answer. 

“Lemme take ya out.”

You couldn’t deny his attractiveness. His cockiness and the roughness around the edges were more alluring than you would like to admit. 

“Okay.” You breathed out and gave him a nervous smile. 

Were you ready to go on a date with a pro hero though? 

“Sorry?” You apologised to the woman when you realised she had said something. 

She repeated the total price to you. 

Oh, right. 

You fumbled with your purse a little and fished out your wallet. 

“Could you please add a bag to that?” 

The woman grabbed one plastic bag from under the counter and put it on top of the things you purchased, not bothering to bag them. 

“Actually… I would also like some cigarettes. And a lighter.” You put your wallet on the counter and started bagging the groceries yourself. 

“What kind?” Was all she said, but you didn’t miss the judgy look she gave you. 

“Gold Marlboro.” 

She turned around to retrieve the cigarette box and basic, plastic lighter in a bright blue colour and handed them to you. 

You finished bagging your stuff quickly, paid for it and with a goodbye exited the market. 

A silent groan left your lips when you felt the rocky cement underneath your feet again, the back of your shoe digging into your Achilles more than before. The blister was going to be a big one. 

The rest of the route to your home was uneventful. Thankfully. Once you opened the front door of the crappy building where you lived, you stood in front of the elevator. 

It was old, unreliable, and just barely held together. This is why you usually took the stairs, but the painful cushion filled with fluid made you reconsider your actions. You looked from the elevator to your feet. It was either the stairs which would abuse your blister even more, or the risky elevator. 

You sighed as you carefully stepped out of the heels. 

“Shit.” 

The blister that formed on your Achilles during the day must have popped and was now bleeding. Your entire heel and the inside of your shoe were stained with red that was slowly turning brown; the edges were crusty and flaking.  

“Great.” 

You bent down to pick up the bloody shoes in your free hand and started walking up the stairs. The stone and occasional tiles of the floor were just a tad too cool on your soles but you didn’t necessarily mind the sensation. It felt nice on your slightly swollen feet after the entire day. 

Once you made it to the seventh floor – your floor – you stopped in front of the door to your apartment, and with a loud bang let the shoes fall from your hand to the floor. The bag with your groceries followed suit and soon you were trying to fish out your keys from your faux leather shoulder bag. 

Your phone started vibrating, set on silent mode. Scrambling to quickly pick it up, you found your phone in record time and checked the caller’s ID, hoping to find a certain hero’s name on the display. 

Your eyebrows furrowed a little when you found out it was your mother calling you. Inhaling deeply and breathing out through your nose, you slid your finger over the screen and put the phone against your ear. 

“Hi, mom!” Your voice was too high-pitched as you greeted her. You leaned your head heavily to the side and squished the phone between your ear and your shoulder to keep your hand empty. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” 

You pulled a face at the pet name. You hated loving it. 

“Mom, I’m sorry, but I’m really busy right now. Is it important?” You slightly fumbled with your bag as you kept trying to find your keys. 

“Oh, no, I just wanted to call and ask how you’re doing,” you could hear the smile in her voice. 

“I’m doing fine! Listen, would it be alright if I call you tomorrow? I’ve got a lot of things I still gotta do today.” You were lying through your teeth. 

It took only a few more seconds of conversation with her, and you both agreed on a call the next day when you ‘have more time’. You tossed the phone in your bag and rummaged through all the things once again before you found your keys in the bottom corner of your bag and unlocked the door. 

 First, you walked into the small and cramped hall of your apartment and put down your purse, then just halfway stepped out of your flat to retrieve your shoes and finally the bag with groceries. 

Eventually, you closed and locked the door behind you, the grocery bag in your arms as you stepped into the apartment that was way too small to even fit a single person. Not even two steps later you were in your living room and bedroom and after three more steps and turning the corner twice you were standing in the ‘kitchen’. ‘Kitchen’ with quotation marks, because the very few cabinets with a sink and without a proper oven could hardly count as a regular kitchen. 

The apartment was horrible. It was in a worse part of town – not necessarily the worst, but bad enough. The prefabricated block of flats was old and in desperate need of renovation; the plaster on the outside of the building was slowly crumbling, the insolation was thinner than the walls between apartments, the pipes were rusty, and you heard that several neighbours of yours from lower levels had complained about mould. 

Most of the people here, except for a few old grandmas and young women around your age, were unfriendly. The neighbours, with whom you shared one of the living room walls, were too loud. 

Oftentimes, there were strange smells, ones you could not identify or describe. Whether they were lingering in the hall of the building or, for some godforsaken reason, in your own flat, they always lasted only a couple of hours. 

During your walks up and down the stairs to get to or from work, you’d meet people who’d make you cross the street if you met them in the city at night. They were mostly younger men with pronounced eyebags and a strut that was either overconfident or not confident enough. 

The only reason you stayed there was because it was cheap and the commute to your work from here was alright. Even with a salary that was too low for the job you did, you were able to afford it and even save a little bit of money on the side for any possible emergencies. 

You set the grocery bag on the counter and went back into the hall to take your probably ruined shoes, bringing them to your minuscule bathroom and setting them on the floor in your shower, deciding on trying to salvage them later. 

On your way back to the living room you took your work bag with you. Opening the window first and letting the cold autumn breeze in, you sat down on the couch and fished around in your bag once again, looking for the cigarettes and lighter that you put separately into your purse. Once you found it, you chucked the bag without any care on the floor and leaned back on the couch, putting your bare feet up on the coffee table. 

You hissed as the raw meat on the back of your heel came into contact with the old glass top of the table that needed some proper cleaning, but ultimately did nothing to alleviate the pain. Instead, you took a single cigarette out of the package and rested it between your lips, inhaling at the same time as your fingers brought the fire from the lighter to life. 

You left the cigarette hung from your mouth, held by your dry lips, and leaned your head back, your hands splayed on the sides of your body. 

The fact was, you were exhausted. 

And you didn’t even have a good reason for it. 

Sure, work sucked. You worked like a dog only to be constantly overlooked and not earn enough. You were lying to your own mother every time you talked, pretending you were much more successful than you actually were, trying to get on her good side and receive any bit of praise. You hated living in your apartment. You were seeing a man who probably didn’t feel the same about you as you did about him. 

The only good thing was your high school friend, always by your side and ready to lend a shoulder to cry on or an ear to listen. 

Maybe you should go see a therapist. 

You closed your eyes and deeply breathed in the stale air that refused to move even with the window opened through the tobacco and filter. You wondered what Bakugo was doing right now. Maybe he was working on the paperwork in his office, sitting behind the big, wooden table that you’d once seen. Or maybe he was out, patrolling with one of his sidekicks, walking in the streets. Maybe he was covered with fake sweat, flexing his muscles for a shoot for another men's magazine. 

Your mind lingered on the image of that. 

His healthily tanned skin taut over his herculean muscles, the drops of water rolling down and creating a web of moisture, leaving goosebumps behind. 

You pressed your thighs together, putting a small amount of pressure on the nether part of your body. 

You thought back to all the passionate moments you’d spent with the pro hero. Bakugo might have been getting on your nerves lately due to his behaviour but he was an exceptional lover. He was the best you’d ever had, not that you would admit it out loud. That fiery personality of his projected itself well in the bedroom. 

You brought your hand to the cigarette between your lips, took it away from the dry skin and shook off the stack of ash that was growing bigger and bigger at the end of the tobacco. Even though the hot ash landed on the floor covered by very cheap linoleum that was slowly peeling in some corners, you didn’t care. 

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight, princess,” Bakugo was panting above you, the drops of sweat rolling down his forehead, neck, and chest and occasionally landing on your damp skin. 

Your pussy was drooling on his dick, your juices wet on your inner thighs as well as his entire crotch and lower abdomen. He was bullying your body with his cock, repeatedly slamming it in and out of you at a fast pace. 

“Katsuki,” you pleaded. You didn’t even know what you were asking him — to slow down? To change the angle? To fuck you harder? Your brain was a mush at that point and all you could think about was him, him, him. 

“Not my name, sweetheart,” he grinned and slapped the top of your cunt with his hand, successfully hitting your clit. 

You winced and tried to comprehend what he just said to you. Once the words registered, you corrected your mistake. 

“Dyna- Dynamight!” His hero name on your lips was cut in half by your gasp. 

“There we go.” He praised you. He didn’t move his hands from your hips when he angled them more, making your back arch and your pussy more open for him. “Your pussy fits me like a fuckin’ glove.” 

Your head was swimming from all the sensations. Bakugo’s dirty talking, his hot breath hitting your calves while your legs were propped up on his shoulders, the blunt nails on his fingers digging into the skin of your hips, the tip of his dick dragging along your warm walls while he made sure you could feel him for several days to come. 

“Look at ya,” he continued. “My dick feels so good’ya can’t even think, huh? Did I fuck ya dumb, princess?” There was a mocking tone to his voice while he talked. 

In a normal situation, if you were having sex with anybody else, you would’ve been embarrassed. Both about the mocking and also about the fact that he was right. To be fair, none of your exes were able to fuck you good enough to get you into this state. But with Bakugo you couldn’t even manage to form thoughts coherent enough to feel the embarrassment at the moment. 

“Dynamight,” was all you managed to let slip from your lips. 

With the cigarette still between your lips, you unbuttoned your trousers and pushed your dominant hand under the fabric of your panties, the tight cotton sandwiching your fingers between the textile and your cunt. 

You circled your entrance to gather some moisture, your pussy just starting to get wet. With the now slick pad of your finger, you moved it upward, tucking it a little underneath the hood to touch your clit directly. 

Breathing out cigarette smoke from your nostrils, you leaned your head back, resting it against the headrest of your couch. With your eyes closed and a gentle sigh leaving your lips, you started moving the finger in circular motions. 

“That’s right, princess.” 

Your eyes were watering as you tried to swallow around the thickness of his cock in your throat. 

“Fuck yeah, just like that.” His grip on your hair tightened. You were running out of air and fighting your gag reflex when you put your palms on his strong thighs, ready to tap out at the last second in case you needed to. “Choke on my dick.” 

Your nose scrunched up against the neatly trimmed pubes as you gagged hard and you quickly tapped his thigh. Bakugo didn’t release your hair, instead, he tugged your head backwards so you would get him out of your mouth quickly. Your lips were red and swollen, covered in your own spit and as well as his precum, parted as you panted for air. Two tears rolled down both of your cheeks as you looked up at the man standing in front of you. 

“Good girl,” he sadistically grunted through his gritted teeth. “You’re such a good slut for me, aren’t ya?” 

You closed your eyes as he gently, almost affectionately, slapped your cheek a few times. 

“Open,” was all he said as he pushed two fingers into your mouth, reaching so far into your throat it made you gag again. 

You grabbed the butt of the cigarette with your hand that wasn’t down your pants and leaned over to your coffee table to put it out against the glass. Leaving the butt there, you reclined against the couch once again, moving your finger from your clit back to your entrance, adding a second one to cover them both in your wetness and pushing them inside of you, immediately targeting your g-spot. 

“Don’t stop.” 

Bakugo’s hand on your hip helped with guiding your movements, effectively pushing you up and down on his cock as you rode him. You were so close to him your nipples were rubbing against his chest with every motion and you were practically breathing each other’s air. The tip of him was deep inside of you and rubbed against your g-spot each time you moved. Your arms were resting on his shoulders. One hand was leaning your weight against his trapezius and the other one against the god-awfully expensive leather sofa of his which you were probably staining now. 

“Fuck,” he groaned so quietly you were only able to hear him thanks to the proximity. “You’re mine, do you understand?” His other hand, which wasn’t holding your hip but was snaked around your waist and pushing in between your shoulder blades so that you would be close to him, moved upwards and firmly, but not forcefully, squeezed the back of your neck. The gesture only made you feel that much closer to him. You nodded your head as fast as you could, but that was not enough of an answer for him. 

“Say it. Say you’re mine.” 

There was a certain desperation in his voice. Desperation that you heard for the first time with him. 

“I’m yours.” 

The words silently left your lips with a puff of air following suit. Bakugo wasted no time and kissed your lips passionately, seemingly putting all his feelings into it. 

But you knew better. 

“Say it again.” 

“I’m yours.” 

The buzz of your phone vibrating in your bag next to the sofa disrupted you. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” You let out an angry grunt. 

You debated not picking it up and calling whoever it was that interrupted you later, but decided against it when you felt a considerable amount of guilt in your throat. What if it was important? 

You quickly pulled your hand out of your trousers and wiped your wet fingers on your blouse, leaving shiny, sticky splotches behind. Fumbling with the bag a little, you managed to find your phone just in time, not even looking at the caller ID as you swiped your finger against the screen and put it against your ear. 

“Hey.” 

Your body froze a little at the sound of the unusually cheery voice on the other end. He must have had a pretty good day, judging by his tone. 

“Uh, hi.” 

“Ya busy?” 

You straightened on the sofa and tried to clear your throat as discreetly as possible. 

“No, I was just cooking, sorry.” Lie. 

“Cool. Listen, we haven’t seen each other for a while so I wanted to call ya.” 

“That’s nice of you.” Bare. Fucking. Minimum. 

“Yeah. I can’t really talk now, I’m ‘bout to go grab a few beers with my mates. I’ll call ya later, so we can talk properly, yeah?” 

“Oh, sure.” You turned your head to look at the clock on the wall in your kitchen. It was already nearing eight o’clock, just how late did he mean to call? 

“Alright. I’ll talk to ya later.” 

He ended the call sooner than you could say goodbye. 

Your hand that was holding the phone to your ear fell limply against the couch with the device still between your fingers. You didn’t know if his call made you feel happy or even more pathetic. 

It was good that he called you, right? He obviously wanted to check up on you. And also promised to call you again later. 

So why were you feeling like this? Where did this feeling come from? 

You gulped the saliva that gathered between your teeth and the flesh of your cheek, accidentally swallowing a bit of air as well. 

No, you thought to yourself. He was trying. That was good enough for you. For now. 

You raised your hand with your phone again and unlocked it, opening a food delivery app. You debated between classic pizza and maybe something healthier, but your finger ultimately landed on the pizza picture on your screen, successfully tapping it into the cart. You chose the address for delivery and type of payment and locked your phone.  

Releasing a deep breath, you stood up and with your phone still in your hand walked the few steps to your bed. The pizza was supposed to be delivered in 30-60 minutes. Might as well masturbate properly with your vibrator in the meantime. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

After giving yourself two orgasms, eating the entire pizza and drinking several shots of soju, you fell asleep on your sofa just a few minutes after midnight. Bakugo didn’t call. 

»»————-　　————-««

It was several days later that you heard from him again. This time, he didn’t even bother with calling you; he decided that two texts would suffice. 

hey, sorry for not calling you the other day, i got wasted 

you wanna see each other sometime again? ;) 

‘That’s not a proper apology. Send him to hell.’ your friend replied when you sent them a screenshot of said messages. 

You were sitting behind the desk you were assigned at work, your hands idly resting on the keyboard of your computer, but your eyes were glued to your phone that lay locked next to your cup of coffee. You should send him a reply. 

“Do you have a minute?” 

You jerked in your seat involuntarily, the sudden proximity of the voice effectively scaring you. Your blood rushed to your cheeks, heating your face, when you realised you were caught slacking off. 

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You replied to your boss, not exactly enthusiastically. 

“Great.” He gave you a fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes and quickly left his lips and tapped the side of your cubicle a few times before he turned around and started walking towards his office, obviously expecting you to follow. 

You cleared your throat and got up from your seat, tugged your pencil skirt down a little and followed him as quickly as you could in the garment that was sexy and elegant, but also restrictive. 

You closed the door once you stepped into the personal office that was separated by glass walls from the rest of the cubicles where you and your colleagues worked. 

“Sit down.” Your boss moved his hand in the general direction of the seat that was positioned in front of his desk. 

The table was made of a grey and white particle board, as well as all the desks you and others worked on. The carpet in his office was originally the same shade of dark blue as the rest of the entire floor, but was less walked on and therefore managed to retain its colour better than the carpet in the rest of the space. 

The window behind his back that you were facing and that he liked to stare out of so often was as bleak as it always is this time of the year. The strange shift between autumn and winter when the weather gets even colder and the days even shorter, when you usually reach for your second-hand wool coat before leaving your apartment. 

“We need to talk.” 

You were fucked. 

»»————-　　————-««

Tears were rolling down your cheeks as you held the phone in your hand. 

When are you free? We need to talk. 

A small part of you wished Bakugo cared about you enough to actually get stressed after reading your message. But the more rational part of you knew that that wasn’t the case. The pro-hero with a super-inflated ego wouldn’t get anxious due to a mildly threatening message from an average journalist who had had his balls in her mouth not so long ago. 

Unemployed journalist. 

You debated calling your mother but ultimately decided against it. You weren’t in the headspace to deal with that kind of phone call. 

You also considered calling your friend. 

You didn’t, though. 

You knew they would pity you. You didn’t want people to pity you. You just needed somebody to listen. And maybe a hug. But none of the people you were in contact with or that were in your life would ever just listen. 

So you were left all alone with all these feelings that felt just too heavy on your chest. A lead that made it hard to breathe, a lead that your muscles had to actively fight against to fill your lungs with much-needed air. A lead that made you drag your feet against the pavement. 

Your phone buzzed in your hand. 

this thursday at 5pm, come to my apartment

You didn’t even open the message to properly read it, your eyes just skimmed over the message in the notification on your lock screen before you stuffed the electronic device in your bag once again. 

Good, you thought for yourself. You had three days to somewhat get your shit together before visiting him. As much as you had feelings for a certain pro-hero, you were not about to let him see you like this. 

Especially not since you were determined to end whatever the weird situationship between the two of you was. 

»»————-　　————-«« 

You rested the back of your head against the cool mirror behind you. The extra thick layer of concealer underneath your eyes to hide the dark circles was slowly creasing even though you’d used enough powder to set it… you could almost feel it. 

The Visine in your eyes to make them appear whiter and not like you cried just this morning felt unnatural – too watery and a tiny bit stingy when you closed your eyes for long enough. 

Your thought process? Don’t let him see your weakness. Don’t look like you actually care about this ‘relationship’. Could you even call it that? Could you call this situationship a relationship when he kept you secret from the public and his friends as well? When all he ever wanted to do with you lately was to fuck you? 

The odd smell of the hairspray that you had used deliberately to keep your hair bouncy was almost palpable in the air, even though you used quite a lot of perfume. Those two smells as well as the lingering stench of a cigarette you smoked earlier combined were almost suffocating you, pressing down on your person, making you feel smaller and smaller. 

The supposedly calming music that was playing in the elevator was paradoxically making you even more nervous. 

The trousers you decided to wear that day made your ass look extra good, but cut into your stomach every time you sat down – a decision you, again, made on purpose. To get it over with quicker. You can’t even really sit down with these on. Plus, obviously, it wouldn’t be bad to remind him what he was going to lose, right? One last look at your ass was all you were going to grant him. 

Saying that you were uncomfortable was an understatement. 

You lost your job just a few days ago. It was clear to you you’d have to consider moving soon; the shitty apartment you lived in was cheap, but not cheap enough to keep while unemployed. And now, on top of your job and an apartment, you were about to lose him. 

Maybe it was a good thing, though. Even though he made you feel like you were on cloud nine in the beginning, showering you with affection and spending most of his free time with you, lately all you’d been getting from whatever was happening between you two was stress and anxiety. Self-doubt. More insecurities. 

Besides, were you really going to lose him? Could a person lose something they’ve never had in the first place? 

Your mind wandered on its own to your favourite memory with him. It was still quite fresh, you could remember it as if it had happened a few days ago, even though in reality it had been weeks. 

Your head resting on Bakugo’s thigh, the sound of the television and the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair inevitably lulling you to sleep. Your belly was comfortably full thanks to the amazing dinner Bakugo had cooked for you. 

“You’re sleepin’.” 

“Am not.” You replied, but you could hear it in your own voice, the tiredness and how you slightly slurred your words, your eyes still closed. His smell and proximity was just making you feel so, so safe.

A sigh left your lips as your hand moved on its own and started rummaging in the small purse that you’d brought with you. The fluorescent light in the elevator did nothing to flatter your appearance, quite the opposite, actually. You found the lip gloss you were wearing that day in the depths of your bag and reapplied it generously. You gave yourself another look in the mirror as you stuffed the small thing back into the bag. 

God, it looked like you’d tried too hard. 

Quickly, with only a few stories left, you tried to card your fingers through your hair to make them messier and ruin your appearance a little. Your hand flew to your lips to wipe off all the gloss you’d just put on as the door of the elevator opened to Bakugo’s floor. 

You hesitantly stepped inside of the apartment and took off your shoes, the elevator door closing behind you. Leaving your coat and scarf on the hanger that was situated in the dead end of the hallway, you then stepped in the other direction to actually get further into the flat. 

Your feet were quiet on the overpriced Persian runner rug, so you called his name to announce your arrival. 

“Hey.” 

You were looking directly at his back as you walked into the more open space and the centre of the floor. With his back to you and broad shoulders covered by a simple oversized black hoodie, he was standing right in front of a kitchen counter, probably mixing something judging by the sound of it. 

“Hi.” You replied, your voice lacking the usual enthusiasm that laced it whenever you were with him. You put your purse on the couch in the living area and walked closer to where Bakugo was standing. 

“Hope you’re hungry.” He said without raising his head or really looking at you. 

When you came close enough, you were actually able to see what he was cooking – tamagoyaki. 

“Not really.” You’d kill for some tamagoyaki at that moment, to be honest. “I'm not planning on staying long, actually.” You crossed your arms over your chest and leaned your weight against the kitchen counter, resting your hip against it. 

“Hm.” Was all he said. 

You watched as he poured another part of the egg mixture into the pan, helping it spread by tilting the metal and sort of pushing the liquid with chopsticks. 

Bakugo was an amazing chef. You’d asked him about it when you were eating curry rice during one of the occasions that you’d visited his flat and his response was a grunt and cookin’s not that hard. 

“You know why I’m here, right?” You asked. 

You hoped that he would say it first. Yer leavin’ me. You had prayed that he would say it, make it easier for you. Spare you from having to force air over your vocal cords and formulate the sounds with your tongue and lips. 

He didn’t. 

The silence stretched on as he seemingly minded his business, rolling the tamagoyaki into a perfect little roll and adding more egg mixture. 

“I can’t…” You started but cut yourself off. You gave it another thought before you started again. “This has to end.” 

Bakugo didn’t move a single muscle to indicate any sort of reaction he might’ve had. You watched him finally move as he took two bowls out of his kitchen cabinet and nodded his head in the direction of the kitchen aisle. 

“Siddown, food’s almost ready.” 

He started filling the bowls with steaming rice straight from the rice cooker while the egg was frying on the pan. 

“I said I’m not hungry. I’m not here to eat.” 

“And I didn’ ask.” 

“Stop treating me like a child.” Anger was gathering in the pit of your stomach, twisting it more than it already was. 

“Then stop actin’ like one.” 

A moment of silence. 

You were speechless. 

A lump formed in your throat, successfully gagging you and preventing you from defending yourself. You could feel them, the tears forming in your eyes, threatening to fall over your lower lash line and roll down your cheeks. 

“Please, siddown so ya can eat your food.” 

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat and just nodded your head, not trusting your voice to keep steady. Without another word, you walked around the kitchen aisle and sat down on one of the tall bar stools, resting your forearms on the cold granite countertop. The stone was cold enough to sting your already cold skin, goosebumps forming on your arms. 

After not even two minutes the meal appeared in front of you – a bowl of rice, another bowl of miso soup with tofu, a plate filled with cut tamagoyaki and a small bowl of steamed spinach with garlic. 

“Eat up,” Bakugo said as he put his own bowls and plate on the countertop, sitting next to you. 

The food was warm, filling your tummy with a nice feeling. 

“It’s delicious.” You complimented after a few careful bites. You meant it. 

“It’s alright.” 

Ever the critic. Even when it comes to himself. 

The two of you were eating in silence, only the sounds of chewing and slurping filling the air. 

Bakugo raised his eyes from his meal when he noticed your reluctance to continue eating about halfway through the meal. 

“Why aren’ ya eatin’?” 

You could hear the disapproval in his voice. Not worry, not even concern. Just disapproval. 

“Uhm,” you started, but couldn’t finish your sentence. 

The godforsaken jeans you’d decided to wear were digging into your stomach painfully, to a point where a sharp pain was shooting up your chest. And you filling your belly more wasn’t helping it. 

“D’ya not like it?” 

“No! No, that’s not it.” You moved a piece of the omelette with your chopsticks around on the plate. “It really is delicious.” 

Hmph. 

You chewed on your lower lip. Bakugo was obviously unhappy with your answer. He was still staring you down. 

“I’m wearing my standing jeans.” You admitted after a few seconds. 

“Standin’ jeans.” He repeated, obviously not understanding the term. 

“Yeah. Standing jeans. Jeans that look great when you stand up, but you can't really sit down in them because they’re too tight.” 

Your laughable reason was met with silence, he was obviously letting you stew in the ridiculousness of it all. 

“They’re too tight when I sit down, they dig into my stomach.” 

Bakugo blinked at you once before he rolled his eyes and without a word got up and left the kitchen, disappearing in the direction of his bedroom. 

You heard some sounds coming from the other side of the flat before he reappeared with grey sweatpants in his hand, handing them to you. 

“Change.” 

“I’m not going to change into your sweatpants.” You protested, looking at the fabric in his extended hand. “I didn’t even want to stay here. Nor eat your food. Can we just get this over with?” 

You were this close to begging him. This close. Begging him to say the final words, those ones you had no guts to really say. Even though they were long overdue. 

“Ya look like shit.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Ya heard me. Ya look like a’mess. Change'nto those damn sweatpants and finish your food.” 

You looked from his face to the sweatpants he was still holding out for you. Reluctantly, you took them and stood up, immediately feeling the relief in your midsection. You walked back into the hallway where you came from and disappeared in the door on the left – Bakugo’s bathroom. 

You peeked a look at yourself in the mirror immediately after closing the door behind you. He was right. You looked like shit. The concealer was cakey under your eyes; the foundation was sitting on your skin almost unnaturally, making you look like you were wearing some sort of a mask. The mascara formed spider legs on your lower lash line – where some stray tears had gathered. The Visine you had used obviously wasn’t working.

You could just leave the apartment. Just leave and not look back. Obviously, he would get the hint, right? 

Leave and not say a word. Save yourself from the uncomfortable conversation, the uncomfortable feelings that would inevitably bubble up your chest and settle in your throat. 

You sighed and put some liquid hand soap in your palm, turning on the water with your other hand. Smearing the soap across your face, you rubbed hard enough to get the mask off your face, so you could feel the inevitable tears on your skin without any barrier between the two. The soap was slightly stinging as it got into your eyes, but it didn’t stop you from rubbing your face with your nails until your skin was all red and the makeup was now underneath your fingernails. 

It didn’t matter if you wore your mask or not. Not anymore. He had seen right through it. Might as well bare yourself to him. 

Looking up at yourself in the mirror, you saw the black streaks of mascara all over your face, which made you dunk your face into the watery, soapy concoction for longer, until it was running down your forearms and to your elbows, dripping down onto the grey rug on the floor. It didn’t bother you at this point. 

You only opened your eyes again when you ran out of breath, now looking at beet-red skin with two bloodshot eyes that were staring back at you in the mirror. 

That would do for now. 

Opening the drawer underneath the bathroom sink, you knew exactly where to look to find the hair accessories Bakugo kept for all his hookups. Grabbing the ones you needed, you pinned your slightly damp hair out of your face. Stripping off your standing jeans, you folded them neatly into a nice square before you put on the grey sweatpants that were ill-fitting on you. 

It didn’t matter now. 

Didn’t matter what you looked like. 

You sniffled a little and opened the door, emerging into the hallway and letting only the slight taps of your feet announce your entry to the kitchen. 

Bakugo looked up from his meal, unphased, and nodded his head to himself. 

“Thanks for the sweats.” You put your jeans on the counter to your right, where there was empty space. 

“No problem.” 

That was actually kind of nice of him. 

Your brain whined in your head. 

He wasn’t supposed to be nice to you. Not now. Not when you needed a final push to end this. Like a coward. 

“Is al’this just ‘cause of me, or did somethin’ else happen?” 

You stayed silent for a while, instead putting in your mouth a spoonful of miso soup with a piece of tofu. 

Should you be honest with him, or lie? 

…It didn’t matter anymore, did it? 

“I got fired.” 

You stuffed your face with the fried egg. 

It was really nice to eat a warm meal after some time. Only now that you were wearing his sweatpants and your entire stomach wasn’t hurting from those damn jeans did you realise how much you actually relished the feeling of warmth filling you up. 

“Sorry t’hear that.” 

All you replied was a low hum from the back of your throat, continuing to fill the dark, empty space inside of you with the home-cooked meal. 

“Ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” He asked after a minute. 

You could see in your peripheral that he was looking at you now, pausing his eating. 

“Not really.” 

After that, the two of you finished eating in silence. Once you accepted that Bakugo knew you weren’t alright, the silence actually turned comfortable. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from thinking things over while the two of you were eating. Was this really the last time you’d ever see him? He deserved to get dumped for how badly he had treated you, right? 

Maybe he had his reasons. Maybe something in his life happened the same way you got fired just recently? 

You shook your head from side to side discreetly as you swallowed down another mouthful. It was too late. You came here for a reason, and that reason was exactly what you were mulling over now. 

Don’t be a fucking coward. 

It was the right thing to do. 

Bakugo treated you as disposable. If that was what you were to him, there was no reason for you to stay. 

Were you ready to prove to yourself that you truly were disposable to him, though? 

You realised you had been staring at now empty plates and bowls in front of you only when Bakugo’s hand appeared in the picture to collect the dishes. 

“Thank you for the food, it was really nice.” 

“Hm.” 

You stayed seated at the kitchen island as you watched him neatly put the bowls and plates into the dishwasher. It was obvious that he followed a certain system. You didn’t even consider getting up and offering any help. You knew him well enough to know that he would scold you and tell you to sit down again. 

Your eyes drifted over his body while he was bending down to put the porcelain away. The way his back muscles moved underneath the fabric, the way the dirty blonde hair at the nape of his neck brushed against the skin. 

You could almost feel it. Feel his muscles move under your fingers, taste his skin on the tip of your tongue. 

Your eyes followed his movement as he finally turned around once he was done, resting his backside against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes met and your look didn’t falter. It didn’t. 

“So ya wanna break up?” 

You let him win and looked down at your lap. All you saw was the grey fabric that belonged to him. 

“Is it really a break-up if we haven’t even properly dated?” You dared to raise your eyes again. 

“Fair enough.” 

It was him now that looked down. You won this round. 

You were sitting on the bar stool in silence while he was just standing there, in the kitchen, the kitchen island creating sort of a safe barrier between you two. Your fingers were fidgeting in your lap, trying to make your mind focus on anything else than what was really going on in your head. 

Don’t say it. 

Don’t. 

“What happened?” 

You winced. You said it. 

“Whaddya mean?” 

This was a mistake. 

You abruptly got up and grabbed your jeans from the countertop. You were leaving in his sweatpants. You’ll send them back to him sometime later. 

“Wait.” 

You could hear his hurried footsteps following you to the living room area where you collected your purse from the couch. 

“Wait, god dammit,” he grabbed your arm and spun you around so you could face him. “What didya mean by that?” 

You were staring at the neckline of his hoodie, tears smudging your vision. There was not enough of them to roll over the notional barrier, but enough of them for you to fear that they would. 

“What didya mean by that?” He repeated the question. Now that he was so close to you, his voice got much softer. Much quieter. 

That along with the smell of his cologne and deodorant made you realise just how much you’d missed him. The emotion filled your body with a strange feeling of sorrow and grief. 

His hand left your arm and you craved for his touch to return. 

“What happened?” Your voice sounded broken. It felt like it was another person talking rather than you, you couldn’t recognise it. “It was so nice at the start.” 

You dared to look up at him, which turned out to be a mistake. The movement sent the drops of salty water over the edge of your waterline. You felt them rolling down your cheeks to your chin where they connected into one and dripped down. 

Bakugo’s vermillion eyes followed the movement of the liquid on your face. He almost looked guilty. 

“I don’ know whaddya want me t’say.” 

“The truth.” 

He looked away from you for a few seconds while he put his hands in his pockets. It was clear he was debating it. Whether or not he should really be honest with you. 

“You owe me that much.” You encouraged him to talk even though you didn’t want to hear it. You wanted to be anywhere else with anybody else than in his apartment with him. Maybe you were a masochist. 

“I used ya.” 

Fresh tears started streaming down your face as soon as his words registered in your brain. His saying it out loud made it all too real. If he hadn’t admitted it, you could still pretend it was something else. You could pretend and make yourself feel better about it. When he admitted it you lost the possibility and comfort of gaslighting yourself into thinking he had a good reason. 

He had enough sense to look at the floor almost shamefully when he carried on. 

“I had a lottov things goin’ on ada time. Ya distracted me from it.” 

You blinked harshly to force the water from your eyes out. The gentle gasp for air left your lips even though you tried to fight it, to conceal it from him. 

“’M sorry. I thought I could give ya more, ‘cause you’re really nice.” 

“Yeah, well… really nice doesn’t seem to cut it, does it?”  

You both stood there in silence for a few more beats before you felt his hand on your cheek, his thumb smearing the tear away from underneath your eye. 

“Don’t.” 

It was a quiet plea, a quiet plea that sounded too much like a whimper, leaving your lips parted after rolling off them. 

“I meant what I said.” He pulled his hand away from your cheek, moving it to the other and wiping your tears there as well with the upper side of his index finger. “Ya are nice.” 

“Whatever.” You removed your face from his touch, eyes glued to the floor. 

“Spend the night.” 

Was it an order, or a request? You didn’t know, but the sentence froze your feet to the floor before you could turn and make your exit. 

“What?” 

“Listen, listen. No funny business. Just, spend the night. Ya can sleep inda guest room.” He added the last sentence almost as an afterthought. 

Your eyebrows were furrowed above your eyes that were moving from right to left, going from one red eye to the other, trying to gauge the sincerity of his statement. 

“Spend the night.” He repeated once more, his voice just barely above a whisper. 

Your mind was screaming at you to get the hell out of that apartment, but you felt yourself nod. 

A masochist. 

“Yeah?” He was making sure. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, not even looking him in the eye. The lump in your throat was making you feel like you could choke on it and you already felt bad for betraying yourself like this and agreeing to his outrageous request. You couldn’t bear the way he was definitely looking at you on top of all of that. 

Bakugo gently put his hand on your shoulder and guided you back into the heart of his apartment. 

“D’ya wanna watch some movie?” He led you to the couch so you sat down on it without any protest. 

“Sure.” 

He sat down next to you, not really close, but not far away from you either, turning the TV on and switching to the streaming service on it immediately. 

You kept biting the inside of your cheek and looking everywhere else than at the TV or him. Hearing the opening of a movie, you raised your eyes to the big screen mounted on the wall. Your throat went dry as soon as you realised what was playing. 

“No, something else.” You demanded quickly. “I wanna watch something new.” 

Bakugo looked at you for a few seconds and then nodded his head, taking the TV remote in his hand once again and switching the movie to a different one. 

The movie that he initially pressed play on was a movie you talked about with him. You could still remember how you gushed about it, mentioning how it was your favourite movie growing up and saying the words we should watch it together sometime. Of course, that 'sometime' never really came. So, now you wouldn’t let him do this. You wouldn’t let him taint your movie. This was yours. He had no right to claim this thing as well. 

You wouldn’t let him have this because that would mean that at some point he actually listened to you. It would mean that at some point he might’ve tried if he cared enough.  

The sound of a different movie playing commanded your attention then and so you tried to tune in as much as possible. Just from the music, you could tell that it was an action movie. 

“Real’ like this one.” 

You wished he didn’t say those words. 

»»————-　　————-««

You were probably in the middle of the movie and lucky for you, you were already able to say that you hated it. Loud explosions, ridiculous situations, plot with holes. Surprisingly, Bakugo liked a Hollywood action movie with too big of a budget. 

Your eyes drifted from the TV screen to the window. Living this high up definitely had its perks. The view being one of the main ones. You remembered how naïve you had been when this situationship started. How you had thought maybe if this goes well, I’ll be looking at the same view every morning. 

“Ya don’t like it?” 

Ever the observant. 

You turned your head to the other side, looking at Bakugo who was looking right back at you. You bit your lip and shrugged your shoulders. 

“It’s fine.” 

You didn’t want to be mean but you also didn’t want to lie about liking it. 

“Fine?” 

Wrong answer, apparently. 

“I guess I just wasn’t in the mood for an action movie.” You tried to calm him down a little. Lying it was then. 

“Shoulda told me that hour and a'half ago. Dammit.” 

You watched him as he grabbed the remote and exited the movie. 

“What are ya inda mood for, then?” 

You watched his profile illuminated by the light from the TV screen for a few seconds. He was so beautiful it almost pained you. The constantly furrowed brows you almost couldn’t see because of his hair covering his entire forehead, his perfect nose, the shape of his lips. His skin without blemishes, apart from a few small scars, even though he didn’t really have a skincare routine. 

You remembered how you imagined what your possible babies would look like. They’d be perfect. 

“So?” He asked impatiently when you hadn’t answered immediately. 

His eyes met yours when you decided what to do. 

Moving closer to him, you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Just as you remembered. He still tasted the same. It was Bakugo who leaned back, looking at you. Making sure you knew what you were doing. You leaned in more, kissing him again. Gently, almost tenderly. What if this was the last time you ever got to taste him? You relished the feeling, trying to commit to your memory as much as you could. His taste, his smell, the way his lips felt against you. The kiss got interrupted when he pressed his forehead against yours. 

“Are ya sure ya can handle it?”

You knew what he meant. Are you sure you can handle that, emotionally? Are you sure it won’t ruin you even more?  You couldn't help yourself. Bakugo was like a scab you couldn't stop picking at. An open wound that just wouldn't heal. He was your weak spot.

“No.” You said with your voice all breathy, kissing him once again, this time more passionately. Bakugo reciprocated without missing a beat, one of his hands grabbing the side of your face and the other one going straight to your waist. Not even a few seconds in, you swung one of your legs over his thighs, straddling him without breaking the kiss. 

You were eager. 

And Bakugo was just as eager as you. 

Part of your brain hated this. Hated how good his touch felt, hated how familiar all of this was. How safe you felt right in that moment and just how vulnerable and exposed it was all at the same time. You felt weak. 

Bakugo’s hand that was on your waist moved to your hip and gripped it tightly, pushing you back and forth, guiding your movements so you would grind against him. There was impatience in the movements from both of you. You knew where it was coming from on your end but the implications of it coming from him made your heart drop in your chest. 

“Need you.” You half whined against his lips before you quickly stood up and took off the sweatpants he had lent you. Bakugo followed suit – he took off his trousers hastily and welcomed you back in his lap with open arms, immediately grabbing at your flesh and squeezing what he could. 

“Couldn’t leave ‘thout one last fuck, could ya?” He growled against your skin when he moved his lips to your neck and started kissing and nibbling it. 

You let out a quiet moan and grabbed his growing bulge through his boxers, the thin fabric the only thing separating you from him. He was almost fully hard already, huffing against your neck as you stroked him. 

“Fuck, okay, lemme go grab a condom.” The hero parted from your neck momentarily and was about to get you off of him and get up when you stopped him. 

“No!” 

You surprised yourself with how quickly you objected to that. Bakugo stopped himself and gave you a look. 

“No,” you said calmer this time. “I wanna feel you.” 

You deserved it. You deserved this. You deserved at least one good thing in your life. And he would be the one to give it to you. You didn't need his love or affection. All you needed was a piece of him.

You pushed his underwear down just enough so his balls and dick, now fully hard, were free and stroked it, eliciting an almost painfully sounding groan from the man. 

“I wanna feel you tonight.” You repeated, pushing your own panties to the side and lining him up with your entrance. 

You definitely needed more prep than this, you knew that it would be an uncomfortable stretch and that you weren’t wet nearly enough to help with it, but you couldn’t wait any longer. 

You groaned from the slight sting, it was a bit worse than you expected it to be. 

“Shit, easy.” Bakugo put his hand on your hip to slow you down a bit. “No need’da hurry. We got all night, princess.” 

»»————-　　————-«« 

You sat on the bathroom floor in your mother’s flat, having to temporarily move in with her due to your unemployment. The phone you kept pressed against your ear kept ringing and ringing. To be honest, you were expecting it to go straight to a voicemail right away. 

“Yeah?” He picked it up probably at the last possible ring. 

“Hey.” You greeted him. “Listen, could we talk?” You bit your lip as you looked at the positive pregnancy test in your hand. 

#bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #pro hero bakugou #pro hero bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo katsuki smut #katsuki bakugo smut #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #bakugo katsuki angst #tw: baby trapping #ves writes

[rhiaarrow]

Todays 5am rambling;

There is a difference between 'qBad' and 'Tio Bad' because Tio Bad instincts are just absolutely INGRAINED in ccBads brain and is just entirely separate from his actual qCharacter

Honestly. Half of the stuff he does he does out of instinct, not rp at this point.

And I'm 5am rambling about this just because it's become really really obvious to me these past couple days because Bad will be in rp with the eggs where he's not supposed to recognize them or know them but then he'll do or say little things that just doesn't quite fit with that and it's just so adorable because it's so obvious that he's just so used to hanging with the egg actors that some things are just natural at this point.

The most obvious is the iconic gasp whenever there's an egg downed message, of course.

(I still remain surprised that he managed to act completely nonchalant when Richas got knocked the other day, +1000 rp points there Brad)

That is a bodily response at this point, there is no character rp in that gasp of anxiety.

But there are just little things that slip through even when he is in full rp mode.

When Tallulah first saw him again he acted as qBad would but when Tallulah started to get genuinely upset Bad's voice changed to the voice he uses when talking through hard topics with eggs and he reassured her in a way that he didn't take the time to do with any of the other eggs and honestly it must've broken ccBad to not be able to comfort an egg that he's been a source of comfort for for almost a year.

Or when he went to ask Leo if she wanted to go mining. He'd previously been loud and confused with Leo and Foolish but when he went to speak to Leo alone he crouched in front of her and spoke clearly as he asked her and waited for her response, copying her when she jumped or crouched excitedly.

He learnt early on (back when the translations were still buggy as all hell) that sometimes when babysitting Leo in particular he had to make sure to speak clearly so that nothing got lost in translation because if you watch early vods there are times where Leo just does not understand what Bad is saying (and if you look at the transcription box it's often pretty damn easy to understand why she's confused because some of the stuff the early transcripts pick up are frankly hilariously far off from what was said).

Overtime he adapted, speaking clearer and reducing his use of complex vernacular or occasionally repeating phrases but changing them slightly to make the translations as understandable as possible and he still does that whenever he's talking directly with Leo, and now Pepito too.

The one that hurt and was the point that made me start writing this whole rambling was the way that Bad IMMEDIATELY snapped back into Tio mode as soon as he saw Pepito at spawn (even if from a pure rp standpoint it made not a lot of sense).

He was crouching in front of him, back to calling him little one, referring to all the eggs as 'kids' again, reassuring Pepito that he'd go pick up his dad and bring him to Pepito but only if he could make sure that Pepito was safe at his house first, trying to immediately get him out of the open and to set a pearl, telling him it wasn't his fault and that he doesn't need to apologise, that it's okay to be sad about his death but they need to get him somewhere safe first.

It broke me because this was just an exact echo of how he's had to act with every other egg after their deaths when he discusses the deep topics with them. He is too used to comforting eggs about these sorts of things and hearing him give the same reassurances killed me because Pepito is just a baby, he shouldn't have to have Tio Bad give him the after-death talk already.

(I feel like I keep giving Ted Talks atp with the length of my posts but ahhhhhhh neurospicy brainrot is just all consuming sometimes y'know? 🙃)

#qsmp #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp meta #qsmp analysis #badboyhalo #qsmp eggs #qsmp pepito #qsmp leonarda #qsmp tallulah #rhia rambles

[zvezdacito]

A Different Perspective on the Levan -> Crowley theories, who to trust and a way of tying it to the themes of the story

Preface: This isn't really gonna be a super serious compilation of solid proof, symbolism or anything, more like just me yapping abt something I happened to randomly think of yesterday and thought "it would actually be kinda interesting from a writing standpoint if this is the thing they go for instead of what everyone was expecting". Kind of long but I promise it will be at least interesting AU material if anything so just bear with me lmao

Ok so basically so far the general trajectory of theories is something bad happened to Levan while he was missing that made him into Crowley who is doing some kind of evil scheming that will disregard the safety of his family and students sooner or later. Generally Levan is the good self while Crowley is the fucked up self, and it would probably be better if Levan was here instead of him

But what if it's actually more like the other way around. That Levan is the one we should be looking out for, and Crowley is the trustworthy version of him this entire time?

What if everything Levan went through made it inevitable for him to snap and be vengeful and do evil shit so Crowley is basically his sane self's last ditch effort to make sure he doesn't hurt anyone and ruin people's lives, basically using the goofy Crowley personality to suppress and forget the vengeful Levan personality

Like the "Levan's soul got fractured and split into pieces and the pieces that remember his past are sealed away" theories, but instead of usual reasons it's him who sealed them away ironically to remain as true to his original self as possible, than if it remained and he turned into someone violent and hateful against his own principles.

I feel like it would be even more of a twist since they keep emphasizing how kind and peaceful Levan is so I don't think neither Meleanor, Lilia nor the audience would expect the OG Levan described that way to actually turn out cruel and untrustworthy who the seemingly suspicious and cowardly Crowley was actually trying to manage the whole time

Also it would kind of be more straightforward as to why he would choose to forget Lilia and Malleus than if Crowley was fucked up Levan and forgot them even though his goal would be to revive Meleanor and his old life with them anyway

It's hard to tell right now but Crowley despite his goofiness doesn't really seem to harbor any malice against anyone, nor would he be the type to seriously blood sacrifice any of his students, even if he does abandon them sometimes. In this new context maybe it would even make sense if he abandons them so the subconcious Levan doesn't try to find opportunity to break out/cause trouble through blot and magic related situations?

So yeah it would be cool if it turned out Crowley was the "good" version of Levan all along, and Levan overtly and subtextually is just trying to gaslight the audience into distrusting Crowley so they can set a chain reaction of events going to unseal him so he can do whatever he wants to

Also Crowley probably knows he has to keep Levan locked away no matter what but also doesn't dare try to remember what Levan remembers because that would go against the whole point of keeping Levan locked away in the first place. His memory of his past is just puzzle pieces w/o the bigger picture. He has to be atleast partially aware that he has to not give in to the voice in the back of his mind for the sake of others

Like he knows he had to leave behind a family behind and forget them so he would not hurt them, but he doesn't exactly remember who anymore which is why he isn't really flinching or anything when around Malleus and Lilia at NRC

Though I feel like him suppressing Levan lowkey also took a toll on his mental state. So they actual conclusion would for him to basically symbolically stop suppressing his trauma in an attempt to be a perfect victim because it's not working either way and the only way for Levan to rest in peace is if he finds closure. Whatever that may be.

Maybe if Yuu and co. find out they encourage him to do this to his surprise basically saying "Don't worry headmage we'll beat the shit out of evil Levan for you if he goes out of control (you are so annoying so we've always wanted to do this)"

The reveal and Crowley needing to stop supressing Levan in his subconcious to let him process what he should have would make sense, since it would also tie in to the overarching theme around the overblots:

That even though they're ugly and hurtful manifestations of trauma they need to play out so the OBer can finally grow as a person instead of bottling it all up and being in denial

And also so they can finally come to terms with something that happened to them even if they can't change it

^ Accidentally sort of also combined this with the "Crowley's mask is hiding the fact that he's in a paused state of overblot that he just managed to sorta control" theory. Maybe overblot is what he had to stop Levan from devolving into in the first place

↑ This ties back to my HC for Levan's personality being a natural coward and not as battle-oriented but tries to be strong as he sees Meleanor and Lilia to be as well as making the most out of the skills the does have (using cowardice and sensitivity to be a master diplomat and educator instead) so he can feel like he has the right to continue to stand by their side. Maybe he didn't even care much for being considered kind until that's what Mel and Lilia saw his actions as instead of weak or foolish, that being what made him want to work on that newly defining trait of his now

Lilia at one point mentions that even tho Levan tries to perform honor student he could be as picky of an eater as Meleanor was and Lilia would have to eat his spare food too

Adding to the possibility Levan was always the type to make twice an effort to be 'kind' and strong to compensate for his nature that he sees as inherently lacking. This is also probably why he'd be super harsh on himself as Crowley

Oomf also suggested that this may add a layer to why his catchphrase ended up being "For I'm so gracious". As if to remind himself to keep up the effort to be such because he fears his natural state is one that isn't, as well as him encouraging himself to always be forgiving so Levan doesn't gain the upper hand from his subconcious

↑ Ok so I don't have the brainpower to paraphrase this too so I'll just copy paste what I talked to another oomf about here because it's also interesting

That's pretty much it, hope the general idea and effect was conveyed properly🔥🔥🔥 I don't think the exact details need to be followed since it probably has a bunch of holes itself, but the general gist of Crowley being the more positive side of Levan instead of the expected inverse all along + it making more sense as to why Levan would be motivated to forget + tying into the themes of overblotting and trauma would be interesting I think. Kind of a clever misdirection. All of this is not super substantiated though since even now we barely know anything about either Levan or Crowley, so really only time will tell. Personally kinda got attached to this direction for Crowley's character so I hope they go with something adjacent to the heart fo it at least

The other option is he's not Levan at all and we're racking our brains over this for no reason lmao

#dire crowley #levan draconia #twst theory ? #not even really a theory more like just a thought lmao #diasomnia

[machiroads]

Don't look, i'm about to overthink this panel

Long post under the cut.

Notwithstanding that I can't figure out what's going on with Aizawa's legs here because he's twisted around or something—it's a good panel. Look at them, they're adorable. 11/10 no notes.

Actually that's not true I have so many notes.

Will someone also please get this man a blanket for god's sake

I'm going to unpack the implications here from two perspectives: Aizawa telling Eri he got hit by a truck, and Eri trying (and failing) to save Aizawa.

Tis But A Flesh Wound

Aizawa tells Eri he got hit by a truck, and a common interpretation I've seen of this is that nobody told her what happened to him. I don't necessarily think this is true, because:

A) She rewound Mirio the day before the raid

B) She was watching the fight on TV with All Might.

Canonically, she is at least tangentially aware of what happened. Aizawa also knows that she's at least somewhat aware of what happened, vis-a-vis excerpt A.

I've also seen the interpretation that Aizawa is trying to obfuscate the truth about his injuries from her (presumably because the quirk-deleting bullets were created from her blood), but again, she was watching the fight on TV.

The most rational (hah) explanation is that he's just back on his bullshit, lying to children for his own amusement.

which is. hysterical.

Anyways, onto item 2!

The Deus Ex Machina

As we saw above, Eri rewound Mirio the day before the raid. I am not a scholar of the BNHA timeline, but I did do some research while I was writing Nine Lives. My understanding is as follows:

The Shie Hassaikai raid is sometime in September

The Jaku raid is at the end of March

Mirio corroborates these two points when he arrives at Jaku, noting that he's been out of the game for about 6 months

Post-Jaku is where the timeline gets weird.

Tartarus is breached the night of the raid on Jaku and Gunga

Midoriya is brought back to UA about a month after that

The Star & Stripe fight happens the day after that

The day after that, All Might reveals they have at least a week to prepare for the final battle. Aoyama is revealed to be the traitor on the same day.

In summary, the final battle happens somewhere in the ballpark of a month and a half to two months after Jaku / Gunga.

With the timeline sort of squared away, let's move on to the interpretation I've seen some readers make, which is that Eri didn't have enough energy to rewind Aizawa. The translation of Ectoplasm's dialogue has varied between the original leaks, the fan scanlation, and the official release, leading to some ambiguity of interpretation here, but there are a few different reasons that this doesn't make any sense:

Based on the timeline outlined above, where Eri successfully sends Mirio back 6 months on the day before the raid, it doesn't really make sense that 0 to 2 months later, she couldn't hypothetically rewind Aizawa by 0 to 2 months after he loses his leg and eye. Eri's power is wishy washy at best, but this seems like it's entirely within the realm of plausibility if Aizawa wanted to be rewound.

From a storytelling standpoint, what's the point of rewinding Aizawa to de-nerf him for the final battle if him and Monoma are ultimately removed from the fight via Sad Man's Parade anyway?

My interpretation is that this doesn't actually have anything to do with Eri trying and failing to rewind Aizawa, but rather she's trying to go rescue Midoriya and help him the same way that she did during the Shie Hassaikai raid.

The inference Ectoplasm is making is that it's too late for that, because she's at home watching the fight on TV rather than already being on the battlefield. This was also the case at Jaku, where she was canonically watching the fight on TV with All Might. She must have seen Aizawa go down and wanted to go save him, but it was already too late for her to try to help.

There's an entire separate essay worth of discussion on why Aizawa continues to live with one leg and one eye (both from a canon and a meta perspective), but I won't get into that here.

In conclusion:

This panel is fucking adorable

Aizawa continues to lie to children for fun and profit

Eri is baby and is physically perfectly capable of controlling her power at this juncture, she's just geographically removed from the action because she's like seven years old

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk

#BNHA #Aizawa Shouta #Eri #MHA Spoilers

[cryptotheism]

Hi, curious as to how you feel about the interpretation of the tetragrammaton vs the pentagrammaton where instead of the demiurge interpretation of things it's supposed to be that IHVH enacts their wrath through the use of the four elements, represented by the four letters until the Holy Light/Spirit (Hebrew letter Shin) is introduced forming the pentagrammaton IHShVH which is when the more wrathful edges are softened. Idk I think it makes more sense than the whole "oh the old testament God is just a false evil God" idea and find it fascinating from a linguistic standpoint but I'm curious to know how you feel about it and if it's come up much in your research.

Oh man I just studied this. Tldr: "I find it academically interesting but morally repugnant."

Let me preface this by saying that I'm not Jewish, and I don't want to portray myself as an authority on Kabbalah. Its not my lane. My lane is all the bootleg knockoff derivations. So while I'm happy to discuss this corner of Christian esoterica, I wouldn't really consider this conversation complete without input from my Jewish colleagues.

SO

The Pentagrammaton comes from Johannes Reuchlin, from his book De Verbo Merifico. For some background on Reuchlin: He was the founder of Christian Hebrew studies. He's notable in that he was the first renaissance esotericist who could genuinely, read, and write, Hebrew. Like, Gershom Scholem calls him "first great Christian scholar of Hebrew" which is something. When you hear people talk about "Christian Cabbala" they're probably referring to something Reuchlin wrote.

I'm gonna be over-summarizing a complex concept here. The central idea of De Verbo is that through the use of esoteric techniques like gematria, one can derive the secret, esoteric name of Christ from the Tanakh, adding the letter "shin" to the center, thus proving that Jesus was secretly in the Tanakh the whole time, thus "completing" Judaism.

The idea behind all of this is that it was supposed to be a tool of conversion. The pentagrammaton was supposed to be this big mic drop conclusion that would totally convert them with facts and logic. It was just supersessionism, the Pugio Fidei in a slightly more verbose package. Personally, I find it academically interesting but morally repugnant.

[emblazons]

Okay but I’ve got S4 on in the background (first time in a while actually) and ??!? it’s still insane to me that Argyle referred to El as Mike’s “super girlfriend” despite driving El as the whole sister of Jonathan and Will for an entire year AND having only met Mike like. 2 days before?

I just—that makes no sense from Argyle’s relational standpoints unless the writing itself is meant to draw our attention to that specific designation for El with Mike—aka, that Mike’s primary association exists (once again) with the “superpowers” and “girlfriend” (the title) rather than any kind of romantic depth for her, or even depth of interpersonal relationship, when he explains who she is to him…which is in fact an ongoing theme for him.

This isn’t even the first time he’s lead with El’s powers/heroic ability over anything else either (cc: the pep rally with Dustin…and how the only other woman he compliments, Suzie, is solely re: her ability to save the world too), which….I mean you all know the conclusion I’ve come to he admires her and cares deeply about her well being but doesn’t love her…because he likes boys BUT. After so much time not analyzing…it still hits me hard over the head LMAO

bonus points for the joke Argyle made about Mike getting another guy’s digits at the end of that segment tho lol I forgot they threw an extra reference to his being into men in 😂

#like. how…how do people miss this always I’m so ??? #I feel like the kid who got the point of the poem walking into a Socratic discussion and then being subjected to MADNESS as ‘analysis’ lmaoo #ANYWAY #byler #mike wheeler #argyle #gay mike wheeler #my st commentary #stranger things