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prettyrealm · 11 months

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i love ur blog fr… one of my least favorite things about the tarot community (not just kpop) is how some people alter or water down their readings (or just aren’t perceptive enough) so that their content is more positive and validating for consumability… and the people who choose to be honest and direct get ate up 😭 divination can be harsh. idk why people are here expecting validation or only positive things. most of these idols are not nice!!

if you want a romantic story and enjoy living in denial, go to ao3!! wattpad or something?? y’all are looking for fanfiction. there are soooo many writing blogs on this site.

and i also have soooo much beef with like, pop culture tarot readings on youtube and tiktok that are clearlyyyyyy not too good in quality, but people eat it up blindly because it tells them things that they like to hear and never anything critical. i have a theory about that being one of the reasons why people assume honest readers have bad intentions or are hating on people. i don’t think people realize just how common it is to read on someone and get the vibe that they’re shitty in some capacity, or not even having to rely on intuition and to be directly told that there is something off about someone. idols aren’t usually any better than the average person, and the average person usually has bad traits. period. some are worse than the average person.

also… i have a problem with how it’s seen as perfectly fine to share the positive traits we’re able to pick up on through tarot, but sharing the negatives is seen as invasive?? like girl either it’s all invasive or none of it lmaooo. you’re okay consuming content that makes you feel like you’d be attractive to someone or reading about what their personality is like, but it’s too much when that same person says that they’d potentially be a bigot or have issues with stuff like anger? that’s when it’s too much??? 😭😭

Thank you so much for stopping by to show love!! I really appreciate your perspective and agree with pretty much everything you’ve said. 🩷

People were shocked by @dreamofmetoday and l’s ideal type readings being so specific and descriptive and we didn’t get why until we tapped in with other peoples readings and realized most are just saying very vague things or just things that EVERYONE is looking for in a partner (for example, kind, sympathetic, loyal) or just things that make it easy to self-insert in general. I think the self-insert aspect is a main reason people put such an emphasis on only focusing on the positive.

I also get asks demanding I tell them how I get such specific and detailed answers when it comes to things like homophobia/race/misogyny whatever, and it’s like, that’s just how it works? Makes me wish more people would get into tarot themselves so they could see.

The “romantic love story” crossover stuff that you mentioned is why I think you’ll often come across readings, and even PACs, on here that are like a wattpad story. like you said, many readers know there’s a large audience for this. For example when it comes to PACs, 3 pile PACs are a very quick and easy way to get followers and likes, but overall don’t exert a lot of energy and limit the amount of people who can actually connect with the PAC but then each pile will be filled with nuance, details and specifics and the reader is able to just say, “take what resonates and leave what doesn’t” to get away with it. How is someone even supposed to know what truly resonates and what doesn’t for a future spouse reading anyway? Not to mention, how can these readers suddenly get so much detail for a random pac and then not in their other readings or personal readings? There’s just a lot of predatory behavior in the tarot community unfortunately (thank you to melody’s anon for helping us label this finally too), and in turn, it creates a huge misunderstanding of what to expect from readings when you know nothing about tarot.

Not saying all 3 pile PACs are bad of course btw, because that would be ridiculous. There are of course situations where the 3 pile format makes sense, but a lot of them on here are just baiting.

In regards to positives being welcomed with open arms and negatives being considered invasive, it’s literally just nonsensical and honestly, a little weird (often the result of fetishization or idolization etc. so to say this under the pretense of high morals is odd… to say the least). I’ve seen people say things like “who are readers to decide what’s a negative?” when that’s literally not the case, it’s not a case of the reader “deciding” anything, I’m literally asking specifically about the negative traits. It makes me wonder what questions other readers are actually asking in the first place to even come to the conclusion that we would assigning these traits ourselves. Or the argument that “humans are multifaceted so we shouldn’t assign them blah blah blah” like… yeah… duh they’re multifaceted, which is why there’s literally a positives section? It just seems like they reach for excuses to defend their main point that the negatives of these men’s personalities just shouldn’t be acknowledged. It almost makes me feel like some people make these blogs to even improve their idols overall image on a smaller scale or have more control of the perception of it.

I really LOVE how you said “it’s either all invasive or none of it is” because that’s something Melody and I talk about together all the time. Their love lives and “kinks” aren’t invasive topics, but everything that could ruin someone’s fantasy about an idol is. In the end, you’re only allowed to post readings that let you daydream about being their best friend, boyfriend or girlfriend with no complications or obstacles I guess lol. Thanks again for sending this ask! It was really cool to unpack this and see that there’s a reader/follower on the same page. 🩷

#kpop tarot #tarot #answered #really great and insightful ask!#tea = clocked

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creune · 11 months

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I have come to face a realization from an extremely strange source about the world we live in, the media being created around us

So get ready for a nonsense, all over the place rant, while I'm feeling woozy af and forgetting where I'm going with most of my thoughts

Let's go

So, I was browsing YouTube as usual when I'm procrastinating, when I decided to click on a specific video. Nothing special, a horror game story analysis and explanation, basically a summary of what happens. I watch those sometimes to get a grasp for a game or just don't feel like sitting through hours of playthroughs

The game in question? My friendly neighborhood

Spoilers for the game from this point on btw. I don't know how to use the site to tag properly but you've been warned

I've seen it float around, watched some gameplay of it when the demo came out

Seemed like the usual mascot horror. You know the type. Dead people, creepy toys coming to life, trying to survive them etc. So at first I was just like "did the kids or crew get to possess the puppets this time"

But it wasn't anything like that

The puppets are alive. Not in a possession way, but just, living creatures with thoughts and feelings and ideas. That was the first thing that caught my attention. "No dead kids in a mascot horror game? That's new" I thought. So I kept watching the summary and the more information got revealed the more I realized something

This game wanted to say something

And say it did

Through the use of the horror genre, it didn't just subvert expectations from a story perspective, it made it's own stand, it said something it wanted to

Not about how people and workplaces are horrible, how murdered people seek revenge, not about a hopeless escape or a struggle for survival

It said something that I haven't seen in horror games in so long

It said something about hope

It said something about kindness

It said something about how, if people can learn to be good again, hopeful again, to smile again, we could be happier

And, for me, it was shocking, coming from a mascot horror game

And then, I scrolled through YouTube again, and saw the same thing that happened on the tv on My friendly neighborhood

Negativity, bad news, hopeless outlooks and searching for the bad in everything

Admittedly, I know that's probably my fault, cause the algorithm works like that

But considering how most of those, I had no previous interest in, how those came from other corners of YouTube

I can make a safe assumption that that happens to a lot more viewers than not

And not just that

Every time I scroll down the Google news thingy, even if I'm only ever clicking on memes or gaming news, it's still full of the negative, hopeless gunk that at this point I just ignore and scroll past

Only for those to pop back again and again, from different sites

I stopped scrolling through news for that reason

And even in films and shows

The very things that supposed to provide us with escapism

They show broken worlds, hateful people

I cannot for the life of me watch an "adult" film or show anymore

I couldn't put my finger on it for years, until this game made me realize how much of what I have watched showed the broken world, leaving bitter people that rely on themselves and push everyone away as a "good" thing

How a lot of them showed that caring for another is stupid and pointless because you will always be betrayed by those you love

How the world cannot and will not help you, even if you cry and beg for a sliver of help

A sign of hope

Call me childish, but when I want to have fun, my idea isn't to watch another fucked up world fucking up people. If I want to see that, I can look out my window. I can stare my family in the face, to feel utter hopeleness and loneliness in a broken world, as I know they will never love me as I am

So yeah

I stopped watching that too

But the negativity is inherently in everything nowadays

Every day, there's new YouTube drama in my feed, there's a new show about an unwinnable fight where you should give up and learn to leaver everyone behind, where you have to be afraid of everyone's intentions, a new person "proving" that there is no goodness left in humans

But then comes My friendly neighborhood, and says "you know what? Screw you. We can scare you without making you feel hopeless for the future of humanity. We can show you, that even in a broken world, there is hope and kindness and that's what makes people happy and good and life worth living" and it's completely right

I don't live when I'm just surviving on junk

I live when I see my partner smile, when I see my gush about his training, when I read the snippets of a book my friend is writing. I live when I tell them how proud I am, when I help them carry a bag, when I tell a joke to brighten their mood. I live when I am kind. I live when I am in a community, when I give help, and when I know I can ask for it when I need it

I live when I'm playing overdramatic to make people laugh, because their laughter gives me hope, and brings light into a world with barely any left. And that's what makes life worth it

Not sitting alone and wondering what xyz's intentions are when they offered to give you a ride hope, not being wary of the stranger who said "have a nice day", not consuming media that makes me feel alone and untrusting, not when seeing how people "turned bad", not when I hear news of the world rotting

Those have made me the farthest thing from alive

Those have made me think "I should always avoid people, just in case", "I should learn how to beat people up, just in case", "I should never say a word about anything, just in case someone will backstab me" or on worse days "According to these facts, if I stopped existing, it would be better"

Not exactly the best things to think, when you always hear about how one product in your house is inherently evil or how you not screaming on the streets and getting shot for something you believe in is "not enough", or just constantly hearing how everyone else is horrible

How the girl wearing makeup is a bitch

How that boy with muscles is an asshole

How those people playing card games are useless gamblers or gatekeeping assholes, depending on the game

How that chick is a golddigger for sure and how that guy is also one

Without ever getting to know any of them

Because that's what we're being shown

I bet you've had specific images of people you have seen on tv pop up in every single example

That when you look at people on the street, you put them into these categories yourself

I can't blame you

That's what you're given by everything around you

But don't forget to get to know them, before you truly make a judgement call, okay?

Because maybe that person just needs someone to talk to

Or maybe they're going through stuff you'll never imagine

Or you might be right

But you will never know

And trust me, talking to people with kindness, making them smile, it will guarantee that the world, even if just for a second, is a brighter place

And if you are kind to someone, they will probably also be kind to others. Or they will learn with time, when the world is too kind for them to remain an asshole. When they will feel out of place for being a jerk or being called out for constantly bringing others down

With kindness, there is strength needed, and not just physical

And I think My friendly neighborhood expresses that element nicely

Gordon is a war veteran, what he's carrying is not easy to face, yet when he can help those around him, when he helps the puppets, he has to look his past in the eyes and say "it will be alright, I know what it's like". Of course he isn't healed magically, but it shows a strength needed to be kind to those who need it

And I love that in the game

It does something that many don't dare anymore

It dares to show hope

You know, it ironically reminded me of dark souls

Now, stay with me here

Game is known for difficult boss fights and minmaxers and memes, right?

Cause I never hear anyone really discuss its themes or a critical element, the very reason why the game is even possible

Hope

The game shows the power, the will, the strength needed to chase for a sliver of hope that the world can get better

In the world of tragedies and monsters and dying and undeath, the game always tells you, that you never truly turn into a murderous zombie, as long as you have a will strong enough to hold onto your humanity. The hope that you might be someone to keep the fires burning. Because wether that's a good thing or bad, is not the point of that strength. You don't fight for the "good" or "right" thing. Most don't even care. Because what matters is that you, and by extension, your character, has a strong enough will to hold on till the end, a reason to keep on fighting

For another example of this, look at Solaire, who as far as I know, is a fan favorite. He is the definition of kindness, of hope, of always looking for the light, literally or figuratively

It of course is set in a world where you can't trust everyone, like patches. But it also shows the beauty of the world, the good, the things worth fighting for

My friendly neighborhood does something similar, but in a more clear and hopefully way

Of saying that the world itself can heal if people learn to be kind again

And I think that's beautiful

And something we have so little of anymore

In a world where even our media is growing hopeless and bleak, a horror game of all things, giving hope for a better world, for living happy, for trusting in people yet again

It's truly inspiring

I just wish we had more hopeful things like that in every corner of the internet, of gaming, of tv, of the world itself

No one wants to die a bitter, old person

And the knowledge that we don't have to, is the truest power we have against it

Have hope y'all

Be kind

Learn to love instead of hate

It will get you to a happier place in life

And happy is one of the best things you can be

#video games #i dont know #long ass rant #be nice y'all #have hope #hopepunk?#dizzy af ranting #sorry about the confusing mess btw

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hxllblazer-a · 2 years

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high fantasy au write up part 1

This portion’s mainly targeted towards a specific series, in this case Dragon A.ge but kinda adapted from Dark Knights of Steel because I may or may not have caught a brain worm thinking about this at work.

General portion coming soon ™ but for now here’s This Shit...

Born in Qarinus before being displaced to Minrathous under the vain hopes of one Thomas C.onstantine hoping to punch his way up to Magister, though succumbing to the despair from the death of his wife, a young John’s life was plagued by the hardships and abuses from being seen as nothing more than a parasite that couldn’t do anything right but kill those around him. When he was old enough, and finally his magic had manifested, he was immediately shipped off to Neromenian to apprentice under Magister Logue as a teenager. Rowdy, arrogant, John seemed to fit in nicely in his new life and even took to his master’s research in crossing the Veil at whim.

What he hadn’t known about was the darker side of his research involving old grimoires dug up and brought back from a Nevarran burial site that were rumored to contain much of the secrets of the mysterious Moralitasi, the infamous death mages who were said to be necromancers and bound the spirits of the fade to the mummified bodies of Nevarra. See, Logue knew little on how to bind demons with blood magic and had a theory that maybe, if they could implement the work of the death mages, then Tevinter could create the ultimate army.

It was when John realized that young Astra was being used in his experiments that he had tried to stop the research. Unfortunately, with what knowledge he already had, John had an idea that maybe he could bind his own demon on this side of the Veil to end Magister Logue’s work. And it worked… mostly.

Magister Alex Logue was indeed dead by the creature that was brought forth, but in delving too far into magics he had no control over, Astra was unfortunately lost to the Fade. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for the soldiers to come down, and John soon found himself tossed into the hands of an even worse Magister by the name of Huntoon who happened to be very familiar with Alex Logue’s work.

It was decided that John would be bound to the demon that he had summoned as penance for his crimes, a creature of Pride with a name long forgotten to all, though the whispers of Nergal sounded familiar. Though it was less a penance and more a case of ‘lab rat’, as Huntoon would turn John into his own experiment in hopes of picking up where Logue had left off.

Tormented, tortured, broken, any hope of escape seemed vein until he found himself being dragged out of the basement one day to be brought before a strange noble from Nevarra who simply gave his name as Jefferson. Originally, he had come to barter for the return of his family’s grimoires, but after hearing the story of what had happened with the books, he demanded that John be given to his care.

And Huntoon? Well… by this point it seemed like the demon was dormant, so he had lost interest in John as an experiment. So, he relented and let Jefferson take the young man with him back to Nevarra.

Here, in their little settlement outside of the Capital, things began to be different. Jefferson had given John shelter, stability, taught him stable spellworks to keep from relying too much on blood and the things he learned that could potentially reawaken Nergal. He even managed to arrange a meeting with the Motalitasi themselves where John could learn more about the specifics behind the binding magics in the books and if he caught their attention (which he did), apprentice in something that could hopefully help. And all Jefferson wanted in return was for John to remain by his side as an advisor.

Theirs was a budding little settlement, one that Jefferson hoped would be a budding example of peace and prosperity in Nevarra, and John knew that he would never be able to repay his beloved Lord for his kindness.

SOME LITTLE THINGS!

Primarily a fire mage, though he secondaries in electric based magics.

If in Skyhold he will almost always be found sitting on any part of the fortress walls or even in a window.

Does have a habit of showing up when you least expect him.

If he’s in Val Royeaux he’ll almost always sneak off to the Grande Royeaux Theater. He happens to be very attached to a certain black haired female performer there, though he’ll never explain why.

Cannot be trusted with Antivan wine.

Approval guide!

#✦✦ OF WARLOCKS AND THE BUGGERING OF THE WORLD – (fantasy)#if you couldn't tell i thought about this for four hours

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fluffy-critter · 1 year

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#crosspost #busybee

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rigelmejo · 3 years

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So while I’m not fond of Peppa Pig, I do find this discussion interesting. And it did make me go check if I could follow Peppa Pig (I can, easily, I know most of the words if not all - though I’m watching without subs so I might miss a little bit).

*This is a show that WAS recommended to me, if you want to watch a simple show for kids that’s easy to comprehend - 大头儿子和小头爸爸 (and it is cute, it reminds me a little of Arthur and shows I watched when I was little) : https://youtu.be/bpO2W9Xaigc

Ok back to Peppa Pig discussion, of all things lol.

So on reddit, someone was discussing how they’d been studying chinese 8 months and still could not understand Peppa Pig. I found the discussion between everyone very interesting. All I really think on my end is like? I also could not understand Peppa Pig (or any shows super well) that early on so it is partly a matter of “you just gotta study chinese for a while.” (The reddit discussion: https://www.reddit.com/r/ChineseLanguage/comments/mk4665/fed_up_with_my_poor_chinese/ )

But also? I am a big believer in “it gets easier the more you practice.” So if you want to do something in a language, try to DO it. And try to keep doing it - because partly yes, you will likely realize you need to learn more words/grammar and the ‘doing’ may just be a catalyst to ‘make you study more’ so that next time you try to DO you know more and its easier. But also, doing it involves building the skills of getting USED to listening, used to recognizing words you studied in a different context, getting used to recognizing and understanding grammar in real time instead of on a delay (like in a textbook when you can slow down and really look at something and figure it out) etc. So partly, how ‘easy’ it is to read or listen has to just do with how often you’ve done it. Have you done it enough that the parts you HAVE studied you can grasp immediately? Or have you done it so little that even things you ‘studied’ don’t click right away - but they might on a rewatch or if you pause and read a subtitle slower, replay a line, etc. The part of the skills you pick up by DOING you really have to just... do to get better.

I found a few responses from people who are years into studying chinese and still find Peppa Pig difficult. And I think in that case, it might be the same situation as my japanese was (studied for 2 years and could still barely read a manga for bare gist). I think partly at that point, lack of understanding has to do with not practicing understanding by Doing. Someone who’s studied a couple years, likely knows a few thousands words+? If they practiced listening or reading regularly for a few months, they’d likely see a TON of improvement. Because they probably ‘learned’ a lot already they just need to develop stronger skills to comprehend what they studied when engaging with shows/audios/novels etc. And if they just ‘wait’ to engage with material until it feels ‘easy’ they may be unnecessarily holding themselves back. Because a major part of ‘why’ it might feel difficult is simply that they don’t practice the skills of USING what they learned. If they practice more, it will get easier. But if they wait to immerse until ‘easy stuff FEELS easy’ when they first try? Then they aren’t challenging themselves nearly as much as they can probably handle...

Like? I’m not that good. I still only kinda comprehend a LOT of things. But that doesn’t stop me from watching chinese dramas I wanna watch in chinese only. And I think a big reason I can comprehend ENOUGH now to follow the plots of shows I wanna watch? Is because when i was 8 months, 10 months, 12 months into learning - i would watch 12 minutes and look up lots of unknown words, or watch an episode and pause to read hard sentences, or make myself watch when i ‘just’ got the gist of an ‘easier’ show and hope that the more i did it the more i’d understand. And somehow, that did work out. (Also it motivated me to keep studying new words in other activities lol, hoping that would make watching easier). Now I’m at a point where i can turn on new shows I want to watch, and watch them, and follow the main gist and pick up some details. Its nice. Its nice and its getting a bit easier each time i do it. And if i had ‘waited’ until ‘easy stuff’ like Peppa Pig was easy? Or until stuff like “Granting You A Dreamlike Life” was easy? I probably would not comprehend this much right now. I tried to watch gyadl like 8 months in and it was pretty rough... even rougher because i only paused a handful of times an episode to make things go faster. But now? When i watch a show ‘about that hard’ that’s mostly slice of life? I can pick up a ton more easily than before. Doing the ‘hard’ thing eventually made it easier.

So if there’s anything I think about all it, its just... don’t be afraid to challenge yourself sometimes. Sometimes doing hard things makes the ‘easier’ things finally Actually easier. And sometimes waiting until you can ‘understand’ the easy things means just never trying the easy things - when its trying and doing, that will eventually MAKE them doable for you. At least that’s advice to myself ToT I wasted a ton of time in japanese when I didn’t do this, and helped myself a lot in chinese by doing this. I also did it with french even though i wasn’t really aware what i was doing back then.

Some links:

Peppa Pig in mandarin (let me know how much YOU can follow an episode! - if you can... sit through one): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X1dhSMSAXxI

Konglongmandarin - a site that teaches mandarin utilizing Peppa Pig episodes. Which, while I do not like that cartoon much, I really appreciate the concept behind this site and its lessons. And I think its a really cool way of making comprehensible input lessons (which I think are a quite easy and Direct way to teach things that click well with my learning style and probably some other peoples’). I am checking the site out currently: https://www.konglongmandarin.com/lessons/

AVATAR THE LAST AIRBENDER IN MANDARIN - its on WeTV! I didn’t know that! It’s all just free to watch so like?!! I guess I’m doing a rewatch! The downside is these have no subs. The upside is I guess it makes good listening practice since you can’t rely on reading skills. Also, if you’ve watched atla before like me, then you likely have enough context already you should be able to follow what’s going on and pick up some new words: https://v.qq.com/x/cover/m0t0ud0mjg6td5t/v00225ojbpd.html

Again 大头儿子和小头爸爸 - its a show that was recommended to me by a language partner, and its good if you want a show for kids to practice comprehensible input with (I find it a lot more nice to watch then peppa pig but that’s just my preference): https://youtu.be/bpO2W9Xaigc

Two Souls in One - a cdrama I’m watching right now, its really good! Its only in chinese subs rn but I imagine youku plans to english sub it since its on youtube. Its magical premise mixed with mundane reality, a lot of fun identity and gender shenanigans. At my comprehension level its reasonably easy to follow - since most of its slice of life or actor-genre lingo. I think for most people who know 1k-2k common words this should be very doable to watch (just like Granting You A Dreamlike Life was doable to watch and follow the gist of). https://youtu.be/zaX2pdVpmUY

#shows #april #april progress #rant #peppa pig #comprehensible input #discussion #yes i lurk the language forums on reddit and other sites #this one was a pretty happy discussion tbh #a lot of people had good advice and interesting personal experience to share #i have seen some pretty. hostile language forum discussions lol #this one was nice

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baubabble · 4 years

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“Subtle Differences” Part II - Hotch x F!Reader

PART I FINAL PART

Summary: As you continue working the case in Seattle, you begin to notice more and more that Hotch is staying close to you. With the occasional glance, you start to think that maybe his feelings are real, but doubts start to creep up. When another woman goes missing, you and the team must connect the dots faster to save her and find the unsub before it’s too late.

Word Count: 3743

Warning: Typical CM Violence

Song I Wrote To: “Honest Man” by Ben Platt

Note: Ooh, part 2! This one is the “filler” i guess. Part three is when we get the team in action and a little more hotch x reader moments that I love. That should be up later this week! Also, I have watched this show A LOT, but presenting profiles isnt easy so i did my best. Also, the painting i reference is not real.

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The two of you worked in silence for a while as you tried to wrap your heads around the beginnings of a workable profile.

As you both sat alone in the conference room, you could occasionally feel Hotch glancing over at you, but you were determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. This wasn’t like him to keep somewhat distracted while at work. Then again, he was never one to really show any kind of interest outside of work either. Something had changed, but you weren’t what it was yet.

Half an hour later and Spencer and Rossi arrived. “Well, doesn’t this look cozy,” Rossi said as he pushed into the conference room, the doctor following right after.

You didn’t bother in acknowledging his snide comment as you continued to focus on the photos spread out before you on the board. Perotta had brought the maps Hotch had requested and Spencer immediately grabbed his red marker and began his geographical profile.

“All three victims were taken outside of very public places,” Spencer said, gaining the attention of the team. “Mason from outside a church she visited weekly, Rayna from a parking lot across from a major shopping center, and Lisa from outside the public library. Whoever the unsub is, he’s not afraid to take risks in the abduction.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” you asked, glancing around at your colleagues.

“It can be either,” said Reid, tucking his hands into his pockets. “However, considering that no witnesses have come forward, he must be using a rather convincing ruse.”

“Or he’s threatening them with a weapon,” Hotch added. Spencer nodded in agreement.

“Something else isn’t sitting well with me,” you revealed. “This method of killing...it seems like you would need to practice it before, right? Maybe not the wax on the body, but at least using it as a method of asphyxiation.”

“You think he’s done it before?” Rossi inquired.

“It’s a possibility,” you said. Hotch nodded and hit the call button on the phone.

“Speak and be heard!” Garcia said.

“Garcia, I need to know if there have been any other murders in the past that resemble the unsub’s method,” Hotch said.

“As in just the wax in the throat or the whole enchilada?” she asked, causing Rossi to smile.

“I think we would have noticed the rest of the ritual, so focus on just the method of killing,” you added.

“I will dig and dig until I can dig no longer. Hit you back!” Garcia said as she hung up.

As everyone got back to work, you got up to get yourself some much-needed caffeine. As you waited for it to brew, you tapped the pen in your hand against the countertop, trying to organize your thoughts. There had to be more to the killings instead of just replicating a piece of art. The woman in the painting had no discernible features so he wasn’t trying to get her exactly right. There had to be another reason for picking three different women from three different places. The mystery was gnawing at the back of your brain.

“You look like you’re overthinking.” You turned to see Perotta leaning in the doorway of the break room.

“Just thinking, actually,” you said, grabbing a cup and pouring your coffee. “There are just a lot of things that are bothering me about this one.”

“Don’t all of them bother you?” he asked with a slight chuckle. You shrugged.

“Unfortunately, you get used to it,” you said, moving past him. Perotta kept close to you.

“Have you always been in the BAU, Agent (Y/L/N)?” he asked, halting you in your step with a hand on your arm. You took a step back, letting his arm slide off of yours.

“No, I used to be a part of an anti-terrorism task force for a while before I transferred,” you explained. Perotta nodded thoughtfully.

“Wanted to get less action?” he asked, with a half-smile.

“More, actually,” Hotch said as he interrupted the two of you. Perotta turned to your boss and you saw him swallow thickly as Aaron Hotchner stared him down.

“Huh, who would’ve thought,” Perotta said, glancing back at you, but you kept your arms close to you and didn’t bother smiling back.

“The others are back,” Hotch said, pulling your attention. You nodded and turned away from Perotta. Hotch followed you back to the crowded conference room. He walked behind you, keeping a hand on the small of your back.

“Thank you,” you whispered to him, acknowledging his perfect timing.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured to you as he held open the door and waited for you to walk through before following afterward, letting his hand fall away. As you joined the rest of the team, you instantly knew something was up. Based on JJ’s concerned face, it wasn’t good.

“What happened?” you asked, taking your seat between Morgan and Hotch.

“The unsub has taken another woman,” Spencer revealed.

“Already?” you asked, surprised. “Lisa wasn’t even missing two days. The others were taken a week apart.”

“He’s increasing his abduction time,” Rossi said, flicking through the file.

“Most likely because he thinks he’s running out of time to perfect his replication of the original painting,” Reid said, twirling a pen around in his slender hands. “Though, I am still not sure what connects all the victims together.”

“I may have an answer for you, Doctor,” Garcia’s voice lit up the room from the phone in the center of the round table.

“What did you find out, Mama?” Derek asked.

“Well, honey, I have unearthed something rather interesting. All three of the victims were what you would call art connoisseurs. They all belonged to the same club that focused on fundraising for the arts and preserving historical pieces.”

“Garcia, is the membership for this club exclusive?” Spencer asked.

“Not at all. In fact, the list of members and donators are both available on the club’s website.”

“Considering he didn’t abduct them from their homes, he has to be getting their routines elsewhere,” you said.

“Do we have any information on the newest victim?” Prentiss asked.

“Her name is Allison Wilson, she’s twenty-four-years old from Port Angeles, and she was taken outside of her gym,” said Garcia.

“Another public place,” Rossi realized. “In the middle of the day too while cops are out in higher numbers. And we thought he was being bold before.”

“Was Allison a part of this art club, too?” Hotch asked.

“Yes,” Garcia confirmed. “A newer member from the looks of it as she just moved to the area.”

“Okay, well if they’re not getting their addresses from the site, then the unsub knows when and where they’ll be,” Prentiss said with a sigh. “Garcia do we have any idea how he’s getting their information?”

“Not yet, but I am working on it,” Penelope said. “I will hit you back once I figure it out,” Garcia said in goodbye and there was a collective sigh within the group.

“Okay,” Hotch said, “I think we have enough to deliver the profile.”

------

Once Perotta had wrangled his officers, your team presented the profile.

“We’re looking for a white male in his early thirties,” Hotch began, pulling the whole room’s attention.

“We believe he has created a scenario in his mind based on a single work of art in which he sees himself as a sort of reaper type character,” Emily added.

“He is posing his victims in the same way as the woman depicted in the Italian painting. “Manto di cera” or “Shroud of Wax”,” Spence continued.

“The painting is set to be on full display at the Seattle Art Museum later this week,” you said, stepping forward. “We believe that the final victim he abducted, Allison Wilson, is going to be his final piece of art.”

“So, what was the point of the other three women?” An officer asked.

“Mason, Rayna, and Lisa can be considered his trial runs. All of it in order to perfect his masterpiece,” Rossi said.

“He is an unhinged individual and will not hesitate to do whatever it takes to make sure he gets what he wants,” Derek said. “You should consider him armed, dangerous, and not afraid to die by suicide or suicide by cop.”

“This unsub thinks of these women as less than human so there is a good chance that he has a negative history with one,” JJ added, “maybe a girlfriend or even his mother.”

“Whoever this man is, he is connected to the art community here in Seattle,” Hotch said, finishing up. “We’ve set up a tip line, but we are going to have to rely on his previous victims to locate him and Allison Wilson. Thank you.” Perotta then dispersed his officers and everyone got to work on trying to track down the unsub.

“(Y/N) was right, this guy has to have priors,” Morgan said once you and the rest of the team returned to the conference room. “There is no way that he just woke up one day and decided to kill. Not like this.”

“We should look for any non-lethal incidents,” Reid said, “he may have tried to strangle someone first.”

“I’ll get Garcia on it,” Hotch said as he hit the call button.

“Ready when you are,” Garcia answered.

“Garcia, I need you to look for any past police reports where female victims were strangled or suffocated. Not just crimes that seem similar to the wax," Hotch said, reading through the file again.

You watched as his brows pulled together and all you wanted to do was to reach out and smooth down the crease that had formed. You knew stress was all a part of the job, especially when it came to Aaron. He never got a break and when cases arose like this one where there were more questions than answers, it took its toll.

At that moment, you wished for a Hail Mary. You wanted to save Allison, of course, but a simple answer or even just a bit of good news would lessen the weight on Aaron's shoulders.

As if feeling your eyes on him, Hotch looked up. Your (Y/E/C) eyes met his dark ones and for a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room. His eyes glanced down your face for a fraction of a second before he looked away. You didn't even realize Penelope was speaking again.

"Okay, I've been running searches for both kinds of crimes that correlate with the profile, but so far, I got zilch," Garcia said.

"Great," JJ groaned, "another dead end."

“However, fear not, my friends, as I do have something else," added Garcia.

“You figured out where the wax came from?” Reid asked. You looked at him, unaware he had even asked her to look into that in the first place. You also realized that it was something you should have thought of yourself. Your frown didn’t go unnoticed by Morgan who lightly kicked your foot under the table. You nodded to him, assuring him you were alright.

“Not exactly,” Garcia said. “The wax itself is pretty generic. You can get it from multiple different suppliers, but the pigment used in it to make that blood-red color is not sold by the companies. It is an oxidized clay that is regulated and sold from a local artist and I have just sent his name and address to you...now!”

“Morgan, Prentiss,” Hotch addressed, “go pick up the owner and bring him back. JJ, Dave, get in touch with Allison Wilson’s family. Reid, (Y/L/N), keep working on trying to figure out how the unsub is finding his victims from the club.”

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asked.

“I’m going to call and get a warrant for the owners of the charity club,” Hotch said as he stood and exited the room, followed closely by the others.

You and Spencer sat in silence for a few minutes before he swiveled his chair in your direction. "Is there something going on with you?" Reid asked, peering at you over the knee he had propped up on his chair.

“What do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your brow.

“I don’t know, something just seems...different about you,” said Reid as he stared at you with that signature confused look of his.

“Don’t profile me, Spencer,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

“I’m not!” he said, “but I am your friend and I can tell there is something up.” You turned back towards, sighing. Spencer never missed anything.

“Hotch is keeping me under evaluation this case,” you said and he immediately understood.

“I know,” said Reid, “I had to do the same after getting shot. Emily had to do it too.”

“I feel like every move I make… I feel as if I am under a microscope.”

“It’s procedure, (Y/N). Look on the bright side, at least Strauss isn’t doing the evaluation,” Spencer said, trying to lighten the mood. That got you to smile and Reid brightened. “See, I knew I could make you do that,” he said, twirling his finger in front of your face. You playfully swatted his hand away.

“Thanks, Reid.”

“Anytime,” he said with a wink and got up to go stare at the board once again.

Looking out at the precinct through the glass walls, you could see Hotch in the Captain’s office. He paced while speaking on the phone. Spencer’s words resonated in your mind as you watched your boss. At first, you thought that maybe he had chosen to take on the responsibility of your evaluation to be closer to you, but now you weren’t so sure. What if it was just procedure after all and you were only reading into it? It wouldn’t be the first time that you read signals wrong. For being a profiler, when it came to your own love life, you could be pretty clueless.

Eventually, Hotch rejoined you and Reid. “Did you get the warrant?” Reid asked, looking over his shoulder as Hotch took a seat.

“Judge wouldn’t approve it,” Hotch sighed, “said because the website is public domain, anyone could have access and that it wasn’t enough probable cause to warrant a search and seizure.”

“Great,” you said, “so now we just have to hope the clay guy gives us something.”

“Do you think he’s a part of this?” Spencer asked. You shook your head.

“No, but he has to know something. Considering how much wax has been used, and not to mention Rossi believes the unsub had trial runs… He must have bought more pigment than the shop’s usual customers.”

“But why would he even leave a paper trail for something as easy as a red dye? You can practically make it out of anything?” Reid asked.

“Because not everyone is as smart as you, Reid,” you said and he smiled shyly, turning back to the board to start laying out the hunting grounds. You looked at Hotch and he was smiling at you, thankful for you praising the doctor. You quirked a brow in question but he just shook his head, returning to his work. You turned away before the blush that welled in your cheeks became more apparent.

“You guys need anything?” Perotta said as he pushed open the door and leaned in,

“We’re fine for now,” Hotch said, his tone filled with dismissal. Perotta pursed his lips, but nodded and left, letting the door swing shut behind him.

“I don’t like him,” Spencer said quietly, his back still turned to you and Hotch.

“I second that,” you muttered.

“You are both correct,” finished Hotch and Spencer slightly turned to look at you with amusement in your eyes. You couldn’t help the laugh that flew from your throat. Spencer chuckled quietly next to you as you tried to get yourself under control. Hotch watched you, completely enamored by the way your face lit up with a smile as you found him humorous. It was better than any drug he could think of, seeing that smile of yours.

------

It was a little less than an hour later that the others came back with the shop owner.

The man, Terry Owens, looked nervous as Morgan took him into the interrogation room. His demeanor alone as he walked into the station was enough for you to know immediately that this was not your unsub.

As JJ continued speaking with the Wilson family, you went to observe the interrogation. Spencer and Emily were going over new evidence while you stood next to Hotch on the other side of the two-way mirror. Morgan and Rossi entered the room, taking a seat across from Owens.

You watched closely as they asked their questions. You could tell that both Morgan and Rossi made the man nervous. He would flinch slightly any time Morgan raised his voice or Rossi shifted in his seat. You and Hotch didn’t say anything as you observed, but the closeness to him was tugging at your mind as you tried to stay focused.

You weren’t focusing on what your team members were asking the man, but rather how he responded to each question. Owens was sweating even though they chilled the room for him. He began slurring his words as he struggled to find answers for each inquiry thrown at him. When Rossi presented Owens with the crime scene photos, the shop owner nearly turned green. Pushing up his sleeves, he took slow breaths, trying to calm down. That is when you noticed the burn marks on his skin.

They were slight and faded, but from your time with anti-terrorism, you knew the signs of torture immediately. You turned to your boss. “Hotch, I think I know what’s going on,” you said.

“You saw something?” he asked softly.

“I think he’s been tortured by the unsub,” you explained. Hotch turned his attention back to the interrogation room for a moment before nodding at you. Sweeping past him, you entered the room. Morgan and Rossi looked at you and then got up and stood back, giving you room to work. “Hi, Terry,” you greeted with a warm smile. “I’m SSA (Y/L/N) and I think I know what happened to you.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked nervously.

“The marks on your arms,” you said, gesturing to the exposed skin. He looked down and his eyes closed as his jaw went rigid. “Terry, look at me.” He did. “Those burns are from hot wax, right?” Owens nodded. “He hurt you to get you to not talk to anyone. He poured the wax on you to make sure you knew that if you talked, you would end up like the women he was killing.”

“I didn’t know he was going to kill them,” Owens said. “Please, I just thought he was into something weird, you know? Like a fetish or some kind of performance art. I’ve seen things like that before. I never imagined…” he trailed off, his hands shaking. You reached out and placed your hands over his.

“You’re okay,” you promised him. “Terry, nobody is going to hurt you again. He is not going to be able to get to you anymore, but I need his name. He has another woman with him now. Her name is Allison and she’s only twenty-four-years old. She has a little sister named Cailey and a mom and dad who are worried sick about her. If we don’t find her, she’s going to end up like these women too.” You placed the other three photos before him again. “They didn’t deserve to die like this and neither does Allison Wilson.”

Owens met your eyes, nearly pleading. “I don’t know his name,” he said. “He always paid in cash and he threatened me anytime I asked any personal questions.”

“Is there anything you can tell me about him? The smallest thing can make a difference.” Owens thought for a moment before he straightened up.

“I once heard him on the phone,” he said. “I was preparing his new order and someone called him. He was talking to them on speaker and they didn’t say a name, but they called him by a nickname.”

“What was it?” you asked.

“Galahad,” Owens said.

“Like the Knights of the Roundtable?” you asked, turning over your shoulder to look at Morgan and Rossi, confused. Morgan, however, was shaking his head.

“That’s what Lisa Bracken’s neighbor called the delivery guy that delivered Lisa’s artwork,” Morgan said before he and Rossi were moving out the door. You turned back to Owens.

“You did great, Terry,” you said. “We’re gonna get him.” You didn’t wait for his response as you followed Morgan and Rossi back into the conference room.

“Hey, baby girl,” Morgan was already saying as you pushed through the door.

“Got something for me?” Garcia asked on the other line.

“The unsub is a delivery guy that delivers specialty art pieces. He works for Ground Express,” Morgan said.

“Okay that is a pretty big company, honey, you’re gonna have to give me a little bit more than that,” Penelope said.

“Garcia, look for drivers that are specifically assigned to the dumping zones. He may be dumping their bodies during a route,” Spencer said.

“Okay, one second…” she said as her hands flew over her keyboard. “Okay, I have four men that work that specific route. Two of them are way too young, the third is African American…” she paused for a second. “And the fourth fits our profile perfectly.”

“Garcia, I need a name,” you said.

“Alan Rhett,” Garcia announced. “He owned an apartment downtown but was evicted two months ago and now he rents a loft space in Belltown. Oh,” she said.

“What is it?” asked Rossi.

“He uses his own truck for deliveries and he hasn’t been to work in a few days.”

“Garcia, send us the address,” Hotch ordered.

“Already did,” she said. “Be safe, my friends, and go get him.”

“Will do, Mama,” Morgan said as he ended the call.

“Gear up,” Hotch said, “We’ll leave in five.” The team dispersed immediately. As you headed for the lockers to grab your vest, a phantom pain echoed through your injury site, but you took a deep breath and tried to center yourself. You were ready for the field, you had to be. Shutting out the echos of gunfire in your mind, you secured your sidearm and went to gear up. You weren’t going to let him kill another woman, not if you could help it.

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thathopelessromantic · 3 years

Text

Reckless Good (2/?)

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia/My Hero Academia

Fic Rating: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Todoroki Shouto/Midoriya Izuku

Note: Part of the @tododekubigbang for 2021! I’m super excited to share this AU with everyone. And please check out the awesome compaion art from @cryptidcatgod for chapter six!

Todoroki Shouto had accepted his fate as a public figure when he became a pro-hero, but there are some parts of his private life he would like to stay private. When he gets invited to be a speaker in a college lecture series, he goes to the meeting with one goal: to give the coordinator a piece of his mind and finally put an end to people hounding him for information about his family.

The last thing he expects is the curious, and quirkless, hero- and quirk-study professor, Midoriya Izuku, who has no interest in his family’s history, and, somehow, even more ties to the hero industry than Shouto. Intrigued by the professor, Shouto tentatively agrees to the lecture series, unknowingly intertwining their futures.

But the more Todoroki sees of Midoriya, the more questions he has. When a villain attack leaves them living together until the culprits are apprehended, maybe he’ll finally get some answers.

AO3: (x) Chapter One: (X)

“You agreed?” Kyouka all but shouts into the phone. Despite her over-the-top reaction, Shouto’s still not sure who is more surprised out of the two of them.

“I didn’t exactly agree. I just didn’t…say no.” Even as he says it, Shouto is aware that from him that is basically an agreement. God what was he getting himself into?

Kyouka is talking rapidly but he’s not entirely sure that she’s talking to him. The range of emotions she seems to be going through is impressive, though. Finally, she takes a deep breath and asks, “You’re going to talk about your family?”

Shouto sinks to the ground outside the building and leans against a tree. He hasn’t put back any of his “protective” civilian clothing and there’s a good chance of him being seen by more students, but he doesn’t have the energy to move again just yet.

“He didn’t ask me to talk about my family,” he finally admits. It’s stupid, he doesn’t even care about this kind of thing, but it wasn’t until he said it out loud that he realized how relieved he is that someone wants to talk about something – anything - other than that. “He wants me to talk about my quirk.”

They sit in silence together for a few moments. Shouto can hear the muffled sound of Momo talking to Kyouka in the background, likely asking what the hell was going on. Kyouka doesn’t seem to know what to say about this revelation, or the breathless way Shouto is talking about it, so she settles with, “So I guess he’s not a fame-hungry douchebag?”

The idea of Kyouka calling the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed professor that almost makes Shouto smile – almost. “No, I don’t think he is.”

“Huh,” Kyouka sounds almost as surprised as he is. “So, this is good, right? That you agreed?”

“Uh, I’ll let you know when I figure that out.”

Kyouka snorts, but at least she sounds more like herself and not as off-kilter as he still feels. “Think you’ll know by Friday? Momo wants you to come over for dinner.”

Shouto shakes his head. “I doubt it but, sure. Thanks.”

“Good luck, Todoroki.”

They end the call with promises to try to talk down Momo from the interrogation she’s probably already planning (from Kyouka) and the chocolate cake from Sato’s bakery for dessert on Friday (from Shouto).

Shouto wouldn’t say he was waiting for the professor’s email, but after the third comment on his surprisingly frequent use of the phone, he forces himself to push the meeting from the previous day from his mind and focus on work. He and Momo started their agency in Musutafu together a few years ago, and as the only senior-hero in the office for the night, he needed to set a good example. Especially when Monarch, a sidekick who had followed him when he left Gang Orca’s agency to start on his own, was in the office too, and had no qualms about tattling on his weird behavior to Momo.

At least the others were still a little too intimidated to cross him, though he had a feeling he could only rely on that hero-worship for a little while longer. There were only so many times you could watch someone put their hero-suit on backwards or accidentally salt their coffee before you stopped fearing standing up to them.

Most of the night is rather easy after pushing the email from his mind. Patrols are pretty much standard. The lack of activity means most everyone who was in for the night could relax, or make a good dent in any paperwork or reports piling up after busier days.

Until the alert for a villain attack comes in.

Shouto rushes out at the first alert, accompanied by one of their newest sidekicks, Sunspot, but by the time they reach the site of the attack, the radio is a flurry of activity, and his pager from the agency beeped with at least three more alerts.

Downtown is a disaster area. The evening traffic is backed up for miles, and cars in the few blocks closest to the fight have all been abandoned. At least one building is already rubble, and two more look on the brink of falling.

“This is Entropy, where-” before Shouto can finish his offer of help, he recognizes Chargebolt’s voice cutting through the chatter.

One of the villains is headed towards the Rainbow bridge! he yells over the radio. He has a hostage!

Shouto takes off towards the bridge before he has even finished speaking, throwing an order for Sunspot to rendezvous with the paramedics gathering on the fringes to help with the injured as he leaves.

“What’s the quirk?” He asks, aware even as he does that he might have to go into the fight blind.

There are three! What are you talking about? Someone he doesn’t recognize snaps over the line.

Entropy, thank God, Ingenium’s voice drowns out the cursing. It’s hard to isolate them, they’ve been working in tandem but the one headed towards the bridge seems to be able to melt things – organic and inorganic material both. Be careful.

The bridge comes into view, and there is the fleeing villain, zipping unencumbered through the streets on what almost looks like lava, bubbling and expanding under their feet.

Shouto throws up a wall of ice a few feet away. It won’t stop them, especially if it is lava under them, but it could slow them down at least for a moment. He doesn’t see the hostage Chargebolt had mentioned until he gets closer. It is a terrified looking child, bundled against the villain’s chest, wrapped in some kind of bindings that keep it from fighting the hold or screaming for help. The bindings look sickeningly like Aizawa-sensei’s old capture weapon and if it is even a little similar, Shouto knew there was no way the child would be able to get out on their own.

“Stop!” Shouto calls, throwing up more ice. He blocks the villain in on all sides, but the bottom of the ice is already beginning to melt before he has all the walls up.

The villain finally looks up to where Shouto stands on the top of one of his melting blocks of ice. Their face is covered by a traditional kabuki mask, and when they laugh the familiar robotic sound tells him they are using a voice modulator.

“Entropy! This ice won’t hold me forever!”

It doesn’t have to be forever, Shouto thinks, reinforcing the bottom of the ice, just long enough for backup to arrive. Normally he could encase the villain in ice, limit their movements just in case and, if he was lucky, cool them off enough that they couldn’t melt it fast enough – assuming their quirk was even heat based – but he doesn’t have enough information now, and there is too much of a risk with the child hostage involved. He hates fights like this. He’d never been good at trying to negotiate with villains, and there was too much risk for his usual long-range fighting style.

He has an idea, but it is a risk. It is a dumb risk. And he prays if he dies down there Momo isn’t actually powerful enough to somehow revive him just to kill him again for his stupidity. But he jumps off the ice, landing a few feet from the villain. He sinks a few inches into the goop surrounding them. It helps absorb some of the shock of his landing, but already he can feel the oppressive heat rising from the ground. His boots are steaming a little, but so far, the heat protected material is holding up. Hopefully it will be enough.

The closer he gets to the villain the hotter the air becomes, and he can feel his right side trying to help regulate his body temperature.

“Give me the child,” He demands. “They shouldn’t be a part of this.”

The villain laughs again, but their voice comes out more muffled and sluggish than before. He has a feeling whatever support equipment they were using hadn’t been designed to withstand this kind of heat for so long.

“That’s what you don’t understand, hero. They are the reason for this!”

Shouto tries to look reassuring as the small child stares pleadingly at him, muffled cries coming from behind their bindings, though he isn’t sure if he is successful.

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re the key!” The villain yells, squeezing the child closer to their body, and Shouto hates to see the way they squirm uncomfortably. “A hero like you with a perfect quirk could never understand! Though I suppose, even you aren’t invincible, are you?” The villain swipes at their mask with their free hand, leaving a dark, sooty handprint over the left eye-slit of their mask. “How much heat can you really withstand?”

Shouto ducks out of the way just as the villain sends up a wave of melted material where he had been standing seconds before. The ice wall behind him sizzles at the contact, melting away a perfect person-sized opening.

Shouto holds up a hand, ready to throw up more ice before the villain can break through the weakened wall, when from the other side Ingenium and Mr. Smith burst through. Shouto propels himself upwards with ice, grabbing Ingenium at the last moment as Mr. Smith hardens the melted material around them, trapping the villain’s feet in the stiffened rock. Shouto drops them both back down and Ingenium shoots off towards the villain. Ingenium throws a punch, and hand-to-hand combat might not be his strongest selling point as a hero, but the villain is already at a disadvantage trying to hold onto the child. At least with the confirmation that they had kidnapped them intentionally, rather than just as leverage or protection, it meant they were less likely to do something that would hurt the child.

The rock around the villain’s feet is already beginning to melt again, but Shouto wraps ice around their legs, keeping them immobile enough for Mr. Smith to catch up, stiffening the villain’s shirt as they lift an arm to defend against Ingenium. They wave their hand uselessly, unable to move their arms much more in the cast around them. Shouto reaches for the child, carefully wiggling them out from the villain’s trapped arm. They catch his arm as he extracts the child, however, and his shout of pain is drowned out only by the villain’s own anguished scream.

“This isn’t over,” they promise. And then their entire body begins to melt. The three heroes reach for them, but Mr. Smith and Ingenium’s gloves catch on fire before they even make contact with the melting body. Shouto’s ice is absorbed into the goopy mess and in a few seconds, it was as if the villain had never been standing there at all.

“Shit,” Mr. Smith swears. He glances over at the child in Shouto’s arms and winces. “Sorry.”

Shouto nods to him, agreeing with the sentiment regardless, before taking a few steps away. He cradles the child close to his chest, wishing she didn’t feel so small, wishing there was something he could do about the way she trembled.

“You’re going to be okay,” he says softly, shifting her in his arms. He tests the bindings around her torso, but they don’t give. “You’re safe, and we’re going to get you out of this.”

“I can help.”

Shouto looks up at the new voice. A hero, presumably, stands before him, but he doesn’t recognize the newcomer. Their face is covered by a dark helmet, tinted glass hiding even their eyes. Their costume is a simple dark green bodysuit, but a tool belt at their waist boasts a truly impressive number of gadgets.

Shouto holds the girl closer to his body and looks the other person over. The other hero seems to understand his hesitance and reaches for something in their tool belt. Shouto shifts his weight, prepared to run if this interaction turns sour.

“Architect!” Ingenium calls, running up besides them. “I didn’t realize you were working.”

The stranger, Architect apparently, nods a greeting to Ingenium. “I was at the hospital checking on something when the attacks started so I came out to see if I could help.” He turns back to Shouto. “I was just about to introduce myself to Entropy so I could help with the bindings.”

“Architect is part of the support team at All Might-er, Lemillion’s agency,” Ingenium explains to Shouto. “He’s a friend.”

Architect produces a small pair of scissors from his tool belt. The blades are jagged and look dangerous, but he handles them carefully, finding a space away from any exposed skin.

“This will be a little uncomfortable,” he tells the young girl in a gentle voice. “But it will be over in a flash.”

The scissors don’t seem to actually cut through the bindings, but the jagged blades get caught in the rough fabric, pulling at it tightly as he moves them. The girl twists in Shouto’s arm with a quiet whimper, but a moment later the bindings seize and then loosen, dropping harmlessly from her body.

Shouto lowers her to the ground carefully and Architect crouches to be at eye-level with her.

“How are you feeling, Kou? Are you hurt anywhere?”

The girl shakes her head, staring at Architect with wide eyes. “How do you know my name?” she whispers, awed. Shouto would like to know that too, but Ingenium doesn’t seem at all surprised by the development, so he wills himself to let it go for now.

Architect tilts his head, and though he can’t see, Shouto suspects he’s looking at him. “Entropy told me,” he lies cheerfully. “He knows the name of all his fans.”

Kou whips around to stare at Shouto. “Really?”

“Ah…yes?”

“Wow.”

Architect and Ingenium both seem amused by the child’s awe. “I bet if you’re good and go with the heroes to get checked over by the doctors, Entropy might even give you an autograph for being so brave.”

Kou’s face scrunches up in displeasure, and Shouto doesn’t really blame her, but a moment later she reluctantly agrees. Architect stands up, waving to someone through the melting ice and a few more heroes come through, accompanied by two paramedics carrying a stretcher.

A moment later two detectives come through the ice as well, and Shouto is pulled into giving a report of what happened while he was alone with the villain and if he noticed anything distinctive about the villain’s appearance or quirk that could help track them down. When he’s finally done going over everything, Kou, the paramedics, and Architect are gone. Ingenium and Mr. Smith head back to where the fight began but Shouto stays behind to melt down what’s left of his ice first with a few other heroes with heat-based quirks, including Sunspot.

Once that’s taken care of, they head back. Sunspot gives him a rundown of the intel she gathered working closer to the main fight. One of the villains was mostly contained when the other two spilt up, the one with the child presumably looking for an escape while the other went deeper into town, ricocheting off buildings and bridges with some kind of body-hardening quirk that kept heroes preoccupied trying to minimalize damage and protect civilians from toppling structures. They have since been contained, however. From the discussion on the radios, rescue and clean-up teams have already started to move in.

Near where they first joined the fight, there is a circle of ambulances, back doors flung open while paramedics check on civilians and heroes alike. Shouto scans the area for Kou. He finally sees her perched in the back of an ambulance, talking animatedly with someone crouched on the ground in front of her. She sees him as he’s making his way over and waves excitedly. There are red marks crisscrossing her arms from where the bindings were too tight and tear tracts on her rosy cheeks, but she doesn’t seem so bothered by either any more. Shouto waves back.

The person in front of Kou stands as Shouto approaches and turns to him with a smile.

“Entropy,” Dr. Midoriya says in greeting. “Kou was just telling me all about your daring rescue.”

“Dr. Midoriya…” Shouto doesn’t stumble as he comes to a stop near them, but it’s a near thing. He leans against one of the open ambulance doors in (faked) nonchalance. “I didn’t realize you would be here.”

Kou reaches out and tugs on Dr. Midoriya’s sleeve. “See!” She exclaims in a barely contained whisper to the professor. “I told you he’d know who you were! The other hero said he knows the names of all his fans!”

Shouto is pleasantly surprised at the bright blush that comes over the professor’s face at Kou’s whispering. He runs a hand through his hair, riling up the wild curls at the top even more and glances quickly at Shouto out of the corner of his eye. He looks away just as quickly with a nervous laugh.

“Well now, Kou, weren’t you also telling me something about wanting an autograph?” Dr. Midoriya asks, changing the subject easily.

Kou sticks her tongue out at him, but turns to Shouto a moment later with a suddenly shy look. “Um…Entropy,” she starts, his hero name coming out a little muddled as she stumbles over the word.

Remembering Architect’s promise to her, Shouto starts to reach for the notepad he keeps in his tool belt before she can even finish her question but his arm bumps into the ambulance door. The contact immediately sends a searing pain through his arm. With a hiss, and just barely swallowed curse, he pulls his arm in close. Based on their gasps, Kou and Dr. Midoriya see the injury just before he does. Part of his uniform sleeve is melted. Gaping, burnt holes in the fabric reveal splotchy, disfigured skin underneath – a burn. Made all the worse by the deep blue fabric that melted into the open sore. Shouto faintly remembers the villain touching his arm just as he rescued Kou and a flash of sharp pain, but somehow he blocked it out afterwards, so focused on keeping her safe.

Now with the throbbing, searing pain at the forefront of his mind, the fact that he went this long without noticing it feels unreal.

“Sit down,” Dr. Midoriya orders suddenly, pushing Shouto to take a seat in the back of the ambulance next to Kou. “Adrenaline must have blocked the pain, but you’re going to go into shock if we don’t take care of this.”

Behind the pain, Shouto faintly registers the change in the professor’s voice as he orders Shouto around and calls for some first aid supplies to the nearby paramedics. It reminds him of the sudden way he changed in his office the other day, when Shouto mentioned his family. The cheerful, bemusing professor replaced by a no-nonsense professional.

Dr. Midoriya cuts away what’s left of his sleeve, examining the wound closely. All the while giving directions to the paramedics and talking Shouto through a shot of painkillers and the start of an IV. Shouto and Kou are ushered into the ambulance, Dr. Midoriya and another paramedic climbing in after them. In a moment they are on the move.

“The burn needs to be cleaned in a more sterile environment,” Dr. Midoriya says, though Shouto isn’t sure if he’s saying this for his benefit or Kou’s. Shouto is no stranger to the care of significant burns. Kou however is watching both of them with a nervous, teary-eyed expression from where she’s sat on the paramedic’s lap. “The painkillers should kick in soon, which will help. And the IV will help with dehydration.”

Dr. Midoriya pulls out his cell phone, still in a bright All Might case, immediately tapping away at something on the screen. “You were on the scene with a sidekick from your agency, right? Sunspot, the UV hero?”

Shouto blinks in surprise a few times before he remembers the professor’s notebooks. He nods. “How many pages of notes do you have on her?”

Dr. Midoriya gives him an incredulous look, but Shouto doesn’t know what the big deal is. With the heavy-duty pain killers they gave him, he really doesn’t know what the rush is, or the harm in a few questions.

“Just one. Well, one and a half.” Dr. Midoriya finally answers, going back to typing rapidly on his phone. “She’s still new, I haven’t had time to observe her fighting enough to gather more information.”

Shouto will one hundred percent blame it on the drugs later, but a laugh bubbles out of him despite everything at the professor’s petulant tone. “You are something else, Dr. Midoriya.” Shouto starts to sit up, but Dr. Midoriya stops him with a firm, but gentle, hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down. He gestures to himself instead, with his uninjured arm. “How did you even know how to do all this? I thought the doctor in your name was for a Ph.D., not M.D.”

The paramedic chuckles from the corner of the ambulance. “He didn’t mention? It’s both. His quirk research is not limited to just academia and theory.”

“What?”

“None of us have been able to figure out how he did it either, don’t worry.” The paramedic adds cheerfully.

Dr. Midoriya stumbles over his words for a few moments, carefully avoiding Shouto’s surprised look, before he settles on scolding the paramedic for “distracting the patient” and changes the subject.

Shouto lets it drop for now, exhaustion from the fight and the injury finally settling in, but one way or another before this damn “Hero Talks” series was over, he was getting some answers out of this professor.

#bnha #mha #tddk #tododeku #tododeku big bang 2021 #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #fic #rita writes #6.17.21 #fic: reckless good

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potatotrash0 · 3 years

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Oh? You've been into Childhood alternative universes lately?*slides Mastermind Nagito file back and pulls seperate piece of paper out* Let's work with that. *sits in the worn down swivel chair that I imagine myself keeping in this hellscape of a fictional office* Now :).

Hinata and Nagito first met when they were six. Nagito was still sick at this time, so his parents were taking him to a doctor in a different country in hopes of being able to treat him. Nagito was sitting on a street corner waiting as some of the servants packed up the car for their plane trip, when he notices a little boy with the greenest eyes and the oddest cowlick crying on the other side of the street. When he goes up to the child to ask what's wrong, he sees the big scrape on his knee, and the busted skateboard lying next to him. Nagito offers a hand to him. "Komaeda Nagito. Need some help?" He says with a smile that wasn't yet tainted with anxiety and despair. The kid crying grabs the hand, still bursting at the seams with his tears, and manages to say "H-hinata Hajime." in a shaky voice. When Hajime's taken inside for a glass of water and bandages, and is able to talk in a less shaky voice, they make a fond promise to hang out when Nagito gets back.

When Nagito gets back from the "trip", Hajime is in absolute shock. This sweet kid who helped him without hesitation had to deal with all this... terrible luck. Hajime does his best to look up ways to feel better, gets a bucket of a water and a handful of chocolates ( drinking water can help stop crying and chocolate can give ranged waves of dopamine [if I remember right]- Hajime doesn't know what dopamine means but it was on a site to help sadness and shit and he's just doin his best), and heads to Nagito's house. He's allowed in, and when he eventually finds Nagito curled up in the corner of his room, he stupidly drops the bucket and chocolates in front of him with a grin. Nagito responds by crawling over to him and crying on his shoulder for seemingly hours, and Hajime lets him.

Nagito was glad he had someone who wouldn't judge him for his "good luck" now.

( afterwards, Nagito says that it was alright, that he heard the servants talking about how it was good luck, since he inherited a large estate, and Hajime says he heard his parents say the same thing, and they both agree that it must have been good luck, since everyone else said so, despite the countless bruises and tears that it caused. Neither of them realize that their views on luck were permanently obscured since then.)

They grow closer after that, and don't seperate once, not as they grow older, not as life beats Nagito inwards which each traumatic event and curls into his beliefs of hope, despair, and talent, not as Hajime realizes he can't save Nagito from himself. Which each day, they grow closer and closer to the hip, practically seamed to each other.

That is, until Hope's Peak academy came into the picture. Nagito and Hajime immediately jumped for whatever chance they had to get in (both reasons are personal, but more tied to the character- Nagito still desires to be amongst the greatest, while Hajime still desires to be remembered [mostly by Nagito, though he doesn't entirely realize that's why].), but when they're still separated by the two courses, that's ywhere the problem lies. You see, Nagito is still an insensitive dumbfuck that doesn't realize how his words affect other people, and when he keeps actively degrading the reserve course students even in front of Hajime, it takes a toll. Hajime starts believing that Nagito hates him because of his status as a reserve course student now, and between the pressure of all the bullshit that happens to him because of his status and now this bs drama, he's willing to pay a price for his affection once again. A price that'll be much too permanent for either's liking.

This is where I add the Kamakura project in. I'm sorry for this upcoming angst shit but I always find my way back here.

When Hajime is presented the Kamakura project, he thinks about being able to join Nagito in the talent course and that Nagito won't be hate him for it anymore. He thinks of Nagito showering him with hugs and praise for finally being able to join him and his classmates. He thinks of the joy it'll bring to Nagito and his parents- but mostly Nagito. He thinks of Nagito, Nagito, Nagito as he signs his name. He didn't think he'd be shoved into a pod. He didn't think he wouldn't be able to see Nagito ever again. As he dies, he thinks about the little boy who offered his hand to him when his other friends left. Nagito, Nagito, Nagito. Izuru is born thinking of this boy, and it sticks. Nagito, Nagito, Nagito. He doesn't stop thinking of him, even when Enoshima and Ikusaba appeared with their proposition of despair (a part of him told him to not do it, let Nagito keep his hope, this man he couldn't remember), even when Chiaki dies in front of him (he feels... guilty, about her death, but not exactly sorrow. he wonders if he'd feel this way if the sheep man died.).

Nagito realizes who Izuru was when he turned around to aim at him. He saw the cold, dead eyes of this man, and for a moment he saw the boy who remembered him and brought him water and chocolate to help him feel better. The one person Nagito thought couldn't be affected by his luck was gone now. This was how Nagito fell into despair.

They generally stayed together for most of the apocalypse, still attached to the hip, although it was... different now. There were no more subconscious handholding moments as they traveled through the streets. There was no more trying to stop Servant from berating himself. There was no more helping Hinata's injuries. No more ice cream "dates". No more... love, in their presence.

Izuru tells Servant about his plan as they sit together on the boat to Jabberwock. Servant is sitting in the other's lap, stroking their hair as they speak. He responds with expressing his excitement, and Izuru feels a wave of guilt wash over him, though he drowns it out immediately.

Hajime wakes up to see his best friend standing over him. "Hey, Hajime, are you alright?" Nagito says, with a smile tainted with fear and despair as he offers his hand to help him up. Hajime briefly feels a sense of Deja vu, and grabs the offered hand.

(I keep making these too long dkckakkflakfkalfk f u c k)

sobs.........every time you get to the kamukura project i just brace myself bc it hurts like hell 100% of the time without fail......but ahhhhhhh i love this.......

for a moment i thought this was gonna be childhood friends and mastermind komaeda and i nearly had a heart attack?? mmm i’m still buzzing with the ideas but i’ll put it under the cut

just like. hajime finding comfort in having at least one person to rely on in this bizarre situation. komaeda really does ground him, he realizes, but that stability seems to crumble beneath him during that first trial. watching nagito, someone he thought he knew so well, reveal that he had been the one behind this elaborate plan to get himself or someone else killed? there’s no way hajime could okay after that, no way he could look at him the same way.

and he doesn’t, but he doesn’t look at him completely differently either. this komaeda, someone who’s unstable and actively looks forward to the next murder, is still komaeda. he’s still the same guy who goes through whole novels like they’re picture books, who pokes at his food at meal times and has to be nagged at to eat. he’s still nagito. and even if he wanted to, hajime couldn’t find it in himself to just ditch the guy he grew up with for all those years.

so, he reaches out again. gets to know his childhood friend for a second time, relearning his beliefs, his likes, his dislikes. even discovers some things he never noticed before. in a way, they were driven apart, but also brought back together again.

and that’s part of the reason it’s such a shock to see komaeda in monokuma’s place during that last trial, grinning down at them. he looks and sounds like nagito, but he couldn’t be him. someone who put them through all this couldn’t be that same boy who helped him when he fell off his skateboard all those years ago......right?

all of this information, from the world being a simulation to his childhood friend being the one to basically kill all of their classmates, it all throws him off. not to mention that he might not even exist outside of this program. choosing between staying with someone who betrayed him twice over or disappearing entirely........can he even make a decision like that?

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skellebonez · 3 years

Text

Smoke, Flasks, and Unfinished Tasks: Chapter 10

AO3 Link!

Chapter 1 Link!, Chapter 2 Link!, Chapter 3 Link!, Chapter 4 Link!, Chapter 5 Link! Chapter 6 Link! Chapter 7 Link! Chapter 8 Link! Chapter 9 Link!

Summary: While the trio and Jin are in the Calabash, the family they left behind try to figure out what to do without falling apart at the seams.

Warnings: Mentions of mouth related injury, self depreciation and negative self talk.

Author’s note: Happy Season 2 premier in a few hours from posting this everyone!

Chapter 10: In The Meantime, Stay With Me

When Iron Fan had said she could get them everything they needed, Pigsy was not expecting that to be a nearly literal statement.

It had taken no time at all for the bull clones to set up a a veritable base of operations for them to use. Long rectangular tables set up and pushed together to make one large enough for DBK to maneuver things on a map, various types of technology that clearly had red Son's handiwork on them around the edges of the map. They used pieces from a mahjong set to mark spots on the map, barring the bonus tiles of seasons and flowers which would be used should they run out of others (and if they did they would allow themselves the worry they were pushing deep down for the moment) and the three dragon tiles. Green for Mei, Red for Red Son, and while Pigsy felt the White tile wasn't the most fitting for MK it was easiest for cohesion.

They had everything laid out in front of them, each location they checked marked off with a numbered suit tile (all bamboo used up first, then moving on to dots, and once those were finished they would use the characters). The 4 winds marked the four major locations they felt needed to be tracked, barring Flower Fruit Mountain as they eliminated the possibility of anyone reaching there outside of PIF, Wukong, and MK themselves: The Bull Family homestead, a temporary place reminiscent of Fiery Cloud Cave just outside the city where they were currently pooling all their resources. Pigsy's Noodles, the obvious place for the trio to go if they managed to escape themselves. The tea shop that the Spider Queen made them aware of.

And one final tile left sitting to the side, ready to be placed should the tea shop lead them somewhere else. They had doubts that the trio would still be there, though did not discount the possibility, since it would be risky to not take them to a secondary location if they knew the Spider Queen had prying eyes. And most everyone who could have pulled this off must have known that to an extent.

Pigsy wished that they could have used some of Red's tech instead of a too large map and mahjong tiles... but most of his tech was locked up tight and none of them really knew how the tech he left with his parents worked anyway. Not even they had a good handle on it, he was the one who typically ran everything when they were all together and he had programmed the operating system to his own needs. While they would have been able to figure that out in time, and Sandy was doing his very best to work out how to unlock some of the devices and would eagerly transfer everything they had on the tables into whatever programs they could access, they knew time was not in their side.

As DBK and PIF and Wukong mulled over who to send to the tea shop and where else they could look if they weren't there, Tang was nose deep in his own phone. Signal was shocking good here, all things considered, and once everything had been established he had started to scroll through social media once again just like he had when the search began. One site, another site, refresh, scroll back up, another site, back to the first, refresh refresh, scroll again.

He hadn't stopped for almost half an hour... and nothing had been found, Pigsy could tell by the shake in his hands and shoulders and the frown on his face.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Tang jumped, too immersed in his search and easily startled before he realized who was talking to him. "Come on, I... I don't think we're gonna find anything like that."

"I have to do something, Pigsy," Tang said firmly, refreshing the page he was on once again and grimacing.

There was an edit of the trio someone had posted, a news photo, filtered in bright colors and emoji hearts. "Our Heroes!" laid out on top. Tang almost threw the phone down on the table, just barely managing to slam it down instead and drawing the shocked attention of everyone else as he buried his face in his hands and took a deep calming breath.

Pigsy waved them all off with a frown, and only turned back to Tang when they turned away from them both,

"Tang, this is just makin you upset. You-"

"Have to do something," Tang repeated, shaking his head and looking back up at Pigsy. He looked so tired. They all were, he supposed. "I'm just me. I can and I will help look for them and fight, and you will not be able to stop me, but I can't do... anything else here. I'm not a strategist, I'm not that good with tech, you don't need grunt work done with the Bull Clones around... the best I can do it recite stories about the Monkey King to help us figure out who this could be. And the person who did this might not even be an old enemy!"

"I ain't doin much either," Pigsy rebutted, gesturing over to the unlikely trio of ancient beings across from them. "They may be deferring to me for the final say, but I'm relying on what they tell me to make that choice." He moved, sitting beside the scholar without taking his hand off his shoulder. "So lets distract each other. Work on something else. Maybe whoever did this isn't an old enemy of ours, but maybe they are. Think of anyone who might still be around to hold a grudge and tell me their story."

Tang sat still for a few minutes instead of answering, just leaning into Pigsy and looking down at his shaking hands before they saw the shadow of a Bull Clone fall over the table. Pigsy recognized this one, the only one dressed in attire. A cape to be specific. PIF had introduced him as General Ironclad 2.0, one of the many recommissioned Bull Clones that had to be rebuilt after... The White Bone Spirit.

He placed a tray in front of the duo, two hot cups of tea and two sticks of Tanghulu candied fruit between them (and that was a strange sight, here in this cave, and Pigsy wondered if it was DBK or PIF who had a taste for the treat enough to just have it available like this). Like all the Bull Clones he said nothing, at least nothing that Pigsy or Tang could understand, and bowed before taking his leave.

Pigsy chanced a glance over to the working trio, catching DBK watching them from the corner of his eye. Wukong had a sad smile on his face as he talked while Iron Fan looked... well, he couldn't really tell. She didn't seem annoyed or frustrated, more confused than anything else as she glances up at her husband. DBK gave them a small nod before turning his gaze back to the map.

It was bizarre to him to see them like this. Sun Wukong without his overly enthusiastic smile and laugh or battle roar grimace. Princess Iron Fan without a scowl or a evil smirk of victory and cruelty. The Demon Bull King without his frustration and anger. Now working together for the first time in centuries, possibly ever to his knowledge as he had no idea whether or not Wukong and PIF ever actually did anything together with DBK before he was trapped under that mountain. He... he should have asked the person he once considered to be as close as a brother more about his life before. During the journey they took, before he vanished never to be seen or heard from for 500 years before showing up again just to give the kid he considered his son his mantle.

Maybe... maybe he wouldn't have left if he had.

There was no point dwelling on the past like this, however. Not now. Instead he picked up one of the tea cups and held it in his hands, the warmth not needed in the heat of the cave but still welcome. As welcome as the heat against his shoulder as Tang stayed leaning against him. In time he felt the man move in the same way, holding his own tea cup before taking a sip and sighing.

"You know..." He started slowly, reaching out to take a piece of candied fruit off the stick. The crunch was loud in the quiet of the cave and he spoke with his mouth full. "I have been thinking... Jin and Yin..." He swallowed, frowning. "They shouldn't really be here based on the stories I have learned. The Spider Queen too, I thought for the longest time she died with her sisters, until a few years before meeting her anyway And MK told us about... Macaque." Pigsy frowned deeper at the name, remembering those few days when the Monkie Kid had been run ragged and seemed easy to anger and more eager to please than usual making the tea taste bitter in his mouth. "And he shouldn't be around either. I have my theories, immortality and desires to return to what they were doing before their defeats and all that. But I was wondering..."

Tang paused, sipping his tea before choosing his words carefully.

"Maybe even more of your enemies.... aren't as dead as everyone thought they were?"

Yin scowled. That was the most he could do in his current state. Scowl at the door he was trapped behind.

If he tried he could have probably broken it down. But Princess Jade Face hadn't left. She could have, but he doubted it. She could have done a lot, but every time he tried to guess she hadn't.

He was so stupid...

He hadn't tried to talk his brother out of this arrangement, he hadn't stopped him from making her mad enough to use the smoke, he hadn't thought to check to make sure she was gone when they tried their escape plan.

He could have done so much but hadn't.

He wished his brother was there. It didn't feel right to be alone. They'd been together for as long as he could remember, they were twins after all. Sure, they had spent time apart, but never like this. Not like this. And Yin was cold and alone and Jin wasn't anywhere he could reach.

Yin was alone and he hurt everywhere.

It must have been the smoke itself. It wasn't like a truly hurtful pain, he was able to go about whatever he needed to do. It was a dull pain, like his entire body had been grabbed to harshly and squeezed all over. But he could do what he needed to, like eat. Princess Jade Face had even been "nice" enough to even give him food and water. Good food, surprisingly, meat buns that filled him up nice and good and made his stomach stop aching like it was going to devour him from the inside out.

That made him feel guilty. Jin hadn't eaten as long as he had. He hoped that she hadn't deactivated the part of the Calabash that would trick the person in it into thinking they weren't hungry... or maybe he should hope she had. He didn't like the idea of his brother slowly starving to death while he was filled up with good treats. If he hadn't remembered his brother yelling at him not to let good food go to waste all that time ago, before they managed to open their business and find something they were actually good at, the nausea he felt at that would have made his throat burn.

He wondered if she only fed him to keep him quiet.

It was pointless to think about that right now, though. It was pointless to worry about his brother.

He had to think of a plan. One that had more than two steps. One that actually worked for once in his damned life, one that would actually help them and get them somewhere than hurt and cold and alone and sad and in pain. Unlike all their other plans. Like with Sun Wukong. And MK in the Calabash. The race, though that one was fun.

The only other plan that had ever worked out for them was their job selling tech to other demons, but look where that got them now.

Yin winched as he grit his teeth and pain shot through his upper jaw, reaching up to the spot where one of them was now missing. Jade Face had come in to check on him and found him holding it. He had apparently hit himself hard enough on the way down to knock it out the last time she administered the smoke to his face.

It had already been chipped, weakened from another scrap the twins had gotten into with another demon. Yin wondered if his reflection would make him look like the younger twin he was now, with the gap in his smile.

Yin shook his head, curling in on himself and scowling at the door again.

He was so stupid...

But he would think of a way to get his brother back.

#monkie kid #lego monkie kid #gen fic #whump fic #sfaut #smoke flasks and unfinished tasks #relationship hint but no shipping

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eyayah-oya · 3 years

Text

My Brothers

66 FOLLOWERS!!! Thank you to everyone who has followed me and stuck around as I mess around with Star Wars and the Clone Wars. This fic is for you all!

Also, I’ve had this story idea rattling around in my brain since last Saturday. I hope you all enjoy and I’m sorry in advance.

Rating: T

Pairing: none (maybe Rex/Echo if you squint)

Warnings: canon typical violence and death (I’m sorry a named clone gets killed off screen ToT)

Ao3 link

Echo let his blaster fall to the ground from his numb fingers. The Empire had sent Crosshair after them again, with five full squads of troopers, trying to terminate the traitors. They’d finally managed to subdue them all, including Crosshair, and had removed his chip. All that was left was waiting for him to wake up and help him deal with being under the control of an evil regime.

Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Omega gathered around Crosshair, just like they had done for Wrecker when his chip had activated, and waited. And suddenly, Echo found he couldn’t stay there a second longer. He had other duties to attend to.

The small clearing the Empire had cornered them in was covered in the bodies of fallen stormtroopers. If Echo blocked out the past year, he could even believe that these were squads of shinies and that the rest of his brothers would be at a camp nearby, mourning the loss of the ones killed in action. But the Empire destroyed everything good left in the galaxy and left behind flimsy illusions of a perfect society.

Rather than pay any kind of attention to his team—because they weren’t quite family, not really—Echo moved to the closest stormtrooper, clad in the new, weaker armor the Empire supplied its army with. He knelt down in the blood-soaked dirt and pulled off the trooper’s helmet, needing to see their face.

The clone that looked up at the starless sky with blank eyes couldn’t have been older than eight. They had probably only just been deployed before the Order went out and the galaxy fell. Echo brushed his fingers over their eyelids and closed them. “Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la, vod’ika,” he whispered. Echo wished he knew their name. Instead, he slipped the tags from around their neck, emblazoned with their CT number, and placed them in his hip pouch. There wasn’t anything he needed in there at the moment, and it was more important that these brothers be remembered.

Echo moved to the next one and repeated the process. Again. And again. Some clones were older, like Rex or even Echo himself. Others were obviously shinies, sent to die for the new Empire. Most fell somewhere in between. All of them carried the face that Echo had spent his whole life looking at, a comforting familiar that he no longer could indulge in. None of the clones he had teamed up with shared a clone’s face. The only one that Echo had seen since they’d left Kamino was Rex.

Force, Echo missed Rex. He wished Hunter had taken Rex up on his offer and they could have gone off and actually made a difference in this awful galaxy. Maybe Echo could have helped save his brothers instead of slaughtering them.

But.

Standing among the bodies of his dead brothers, Echo felt like wailing. Like crying. Like giving up for once in his short, pathetic life. He hadn’t felt this way since Rex had told him exactly what had happened to Fives. And Hardcase. And Kix. And Jesse. And the rest of the brothers that Echo loved and fought beside. They were all gone.

When he’d been rescued from the Techno Union and realized the full extent of what they’d done to him, Echo had sworn he would never hurt another brother again as long as he lived. He’d already been the weapon used to kill countless numbers of clone troopers (and Echo really didn’t know how many brothers had died because of the information the Techno Union had dug out of his brain), he refused to be used like that again.

Echo stood in the middle of a clearing, surrounded on all sides by the bodies of the brothers he had helped kill to save one. How many could he have saved if he’d just spoken up to the rest of the Bad Batch? How many would still be alive if he’d had the courage to present his own tactics instead of relying on Hunter’s?

The next bucket he pulled off revealed a face that was more familiar to him than all the others. This was a vod he knew personally. His hair had been shaved down, but from the tan lines on his head, it was obvious he had had a mohawk for years. There was the cute scar on his lip from when he’d sparred Commander Cody and bitten through his lip. Echo had laughed with Fives and congratulated the shiny on lasting longer than usual against Commander Cody.

There wasn’t a speck of 212th gold on Wooley’s armor.

They’d stolen his mind, his free-will, his identity, and Echo had stolen his life. He’d killed the adorable floofy-haired kid with the most lethal tooka eyes in the entire GAR and a wicked right hook. The one who loved stories and songs from far off planets and could weave the most incredible tales around the fires after a battle. His sightless eyes gazed up at the stars he’d loved so much.

With a silent sob, Echo fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against Wooley’s, cradling his body as best as he could without a hand. “Ni ceta, vod’ika,” he rasped as tears streaked down his cheeks. “Ni ceta. I’m so sorry, Wooley. I should have saved you. I could have saved you.”

There was nothing but the still-warm skin of Wooley’s forehead pressed against his own. No shaky breaths or snarky comebacks or easy forgiveness. Nothing but the soft murmur of Hunter’s voice as he assured the others that Crosshair would be alright. Nothing but Echo’s own gasping sobs as he mourned the lives he had taken with his own hands.

“Echo?” Omega’s voice startled him, and he nearly reached for the blaster he’d dropped before he registered that she wasn’t a threat. “What are you doing out here?”

“It’s nothing, Omega,” Echo said, his voice rougher than usual. “Just gathering intel. You should go check on the others, make sure they’re holding up alright now that they have Crosshair back.”

“I’m sure they’d all feel a lot better if you came and joined us,” Omega suggested. She sounded worried. Echo didn’t have the heart to turn around and comfort her, knowing she would see the tears on his face.

“I’ll come back when I’m done. He’ll probably be waking up soon anyway.”

For a moment, there wasn’t any sound behind Echo, but he refused to turn and look. Someone had to be the voice of reason for the Bad Batch, even if they didn’t listen very often, and he couldn’t do that if they saw how broken he really was. Not even sweet Omega.

A gentle, small hand settled briefly on his shoulder, and then Omega walked away, picking her way carefully through the dead bodies. Echo let out a shaky sigh and set Wooley down on the ground again. As gently as he could, he closed Wooley’s eyes and ran a finger down his cheek.

“Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la, ner vod’ika. I’m so sorry, Wooley. I will do everything I can to free the rest of our brothers. Haat, ijaa, haa’it,” Echo vowed softly. He wore Wooley’s tags around his neck, rather than putting them in the pouch with the others. Echo wanted—needed—the weight to keep him grounded even as he continued to mourn and honor the brothers he’d killed. Dread and grief weighing down his every step, Echo moved through the remaining bodies, removing their helmets and collecting their ID tags so he could remember every one of them. There were a few more brothers he recognized from the 212th and the 327th, though he hadn’t ever been as close to them as he had to Wooley. It still hurt, looking at these men whom he’d loved and cherished, knowing that he was the one that had killed them. Knowing that he was responsible for them dying as slaves of the Empire.

At some point, Echo heard Wrecker’s joyful yell, Tech’s babbling lectures, and Hunter’s quiet reassurances. Even Omega chattered excitedly. Crosshair must have woken up, then. Echo didn’t move to greet him or welcome him back to the world of free-will. Instead, he focused on his task. There were only a few left, and then . . .

And then what? What would Echo do? He had the commlink Rex had slipped him before he’d left them on Bracca, but could he really abandon the Bad Batch now that they were all reunited?

Yes, Echo realized. Omega was the only one that he would miss extensively. He just didn’t belong with these off-color clones. He might not really belong anywhere, but he had a duty to his brothers and to Rex. His last true brother. Echo would try to contact him.

But first, Echo couldn’t leave his brothers like this. Left rotting in some forgotten clearing on some forgotten forest moon in a forgotten sector of the galaxy. It felt . . . wrong to leave them like this. Echo knew there was a shovel among their gear on board the Havoc Marauder. It would be difficult, but he could bury them. Give them each a proper send-off.

It was a good plan. Echo knew that the others wouldn’t understand. They’d be angry with him, probably try to make him change his mind. Maybe even tell him that these “regs” weren’t worth the effort it would take Echo to bury each of them. Especially since he only had one hand. Handling a shovel would be difficult, but he would do it. For his brothers. Regardless of what the squad said or complained about.

With a final, murmured Remembrance, Echo stood and made his way back to the ship. Tech probably kept the shovel in the cargo hold with the rest of the gear they didn’t use as frequently. Most likely with the other survival gear he’d dubbed “unnecessary until necessary”. Echo knew that feeling very well.

As cluttered as the cargo hold was, it actually didn’t take Echo very long to find the shovel, and soon, he walked back down the ramp to go find the best place for a mass burial site.

“What are you doing?” Tech asked, and Echo stopped in his tracks. “Why do you have our shovel? Is there some kind of specimen that would be beneficial to take with us?”

Echo’s grip on the shovel constricted and he very carefully didn’t look at the others. “Just a little bit of maintenance and storage,” he answered, voice tight with anger. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Is there something wrong with the ship?” Hunter asked.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with the ship,” Echo answered, a bit shorter than he’d intended. “Relax. I have everything under control.”

“Oh, great,” Crosshair drawled, and Echo had to fight to keep his shoulders from climbing to his ears. He’d forgotten how caustic the sniper could be. “We’re taking orders from the reg now.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Wrecker boomed. “Hunter’s still our Sarge!”

Echo decided it would be better just to walk away. Until a soft, sweet voice halted him in his tracks.

“Echo, are you going to be digging holes for the stormtroopers?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Omega. That would be illogical. Echo wouldn’t spend time burying a bunch of stormtroopers, especially as he doesn’t have two hands and can’t hold the shovel properly,” Tech scoffed.

More machine than man, Echo sighed heavily. He turned around and faced the Bad Batch for the first time since they’d managed to take down Crosshair without killing him. They would see the red, sore eyes and the tear tracks down his grimy cheeks. They’d see Wooley’s tags, standing out against the dark paint of his armor. As much as he should be worrying about showing them that vulnerability, Echo had reached his breaking point.

“Yes, Tech, I am going to bury them. It’s the right thing to do,” he said slowly and evenly, desperately trying not to lose his temper.

Tech heaved an annoyed sigh, like Echo had been placed on this team specifically to bother him. “Again, that is illogical, Echo. The Empire will send someone out to dispose of the corpses, or the wildlife will eat them before anyone else arrives. We will need to move shortly to avoid detection, especially since they’ll know we have Crosshair once they see this failure.”

Failure? Echo swung the shovel off of his shoulder and dropped it to the ground. “Is that what you see? A bunch of failures that we merely disposed of?” he growled softly.

Wrecker gulped and muttered a not-so-quiet “uh-oh” while Hunter’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Omega looked like she wanted to hug someone, maybe somehow prevent this fight, and for a moment, Echo regretted starting anything. She was the bright star left in his life, but he was fighting for all the other bright stars that he’d murdered. He needed to say this.

Crosshair didn’t actually say anything, and Echo couldn’t help but be relieved at that. He only had to deal with Tech.

“Well—yes,” Tech fumbled, clearly confused as to why Echo was clarifying anything.

“You know what I see?” Echo asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I see my brothers that we killed to save yours. I see my brothers that I swore to never harm again, murdered by my hand. I see men who had as much choice in their actions as Wrecker or Crosshair, killed simply because they were in our way while we saved Crosshair.”

“We didn’t have a way to save them all,” Tech argued back. “Besides, they’re just regs. Crosshair is a modified clone who would be more dangerous in the hands of the Empire than any other average clone. It was logical to rescue him above the others.”

“Tech—” Hunter tried.

But Echo snapped.

He pulled Wooley’s tags from around his neck and held them out, a vicious snarl on his face. “Do you know who these tags belong to? Of course, you don’t. These tags belonged to my little brother. Wooley from the 212th. I watched him grow up from when he was a just a little shiny, rescued from the Separatists who had been planning on selling him to the Trandoshans to be hunted down for sport. I watched him learn how to fight from Commander Cody himself until he could hold his own for several minutes. Wooley had a stupidly adorable, fluffy mohawk and the best tooka eyes in the GAR that he used liberally on General Kenobi to get him to go to medical. He loves music and stories and the stars. And I killed him. I shot my little brother, my vod’ika, so you could save yours.

“I’ve killed hundreds of my brothers, men that I served proudly beside for two years, to save your brother. I swore to never harm another brother, and I broke that promise for you, just so you could save Crosshair. And now, you want me to just leave them here to rot? For the Empire to find?” Echo shook his head with a sharp, bitter laugh. “No, I’m done. I refuse to turn my back on my brothers and if you can save yours, then I can save mine. Get Crosshair and Omega out of here and lie low so the Empire doesn’t find you, but leave me here. I’m saving my brothers, this time.”

He leaned down and picked up his shovel. Really, he had no idea how he was going to dig fifty graves with only one hand, but he had to do it. He had to try.

“Echo,” Omega whimpered and he couldn’t help but drop to his knee and hold his arm out towards her. She immediately rushed into his hug and Echo held her close for a moment, dropping his shovel back to the ground. “Don’t go, please?”

“Omega, I don’t want to leave you,” he said softly. “But my purpose is elsewhere in the galaxy. Hunter and the others will keep you safe, but right now, I have a duty to save my brothers and I intend to do it. I can’t do my duty if I stay with the Bad Batch.”

“What if we came with you?” Omega sniffled.

Echo locked eyes with Hunter, and then Tech and Wrecker. Crosshair didn’t even bother looking up. “These guys are your family, Omega, and they need to do what’s best for you. You shouldn’t have to experience war, and that’s exactly where I’m going. I’m a soldier and a weapon that any rebellion against the Empire could desperately use. That’s what I was made for.”

“You’re not—” Hunter started, and Echo could see the desperation and uncertainty in the Sergeant’s eyes. “You’re not just a soldier or a weapon anymore, Echo. You have a place with us.”

“I’m a droid,” Echo said. He gently nudged Omega back and pressed his forehead against hers for a second before giving her a little push towards the rest of the Bad Batch. He stood up and looked at the other clones, so unsure of what to do in this kind of situation. “I was turned into the ultimate weapon against my brothers, and Tech said it himself. I’m more machine than man now. All I’m good for is doing menial repairs on the ship and being sold for credits. I was “just a reg” before I became a prisoner of war, and you wouldn’t have even given me a second look if I wasn’t torn apart and put back together again. I’m just a replacement that can be used when one of you isn’t able to fulfill your duties. A stand-in.

Echo took a deep breath. “I need to fight against this Empire the best way I can, and I need to save my brothers. That is my mission now. I will fulfill my duty.”

“But you can’t go,” Omega said, and there were tears glistening in her eyes. “Echo, you’re a part of my family and I just got you.”

“Omega, you’re a part of my family, too. But you know that we’d do anything to save our family and I have a whole galaxy filled with my brothers who all need to be saved.” Echo reached into one of the pockets on his belt and pulled out the secondary secure communicator he had built just in case. “I’ll always be there for you, Omega. I’m only one call away, and if you or the rest of the Batch get into trouble, I’ll come and help. But I need to do this.”

She took the comm in trembling hands, then with a sob, threw her arms around Echo’s legs and shook. “I’ll miss you so much, Echo.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Omega. But don’t worry, I’ll keep in touch as much as I’m able to. And we’ll see each other again. I know it.”

Echo let Omega hug him for as long as she needed as he ran his fingers through her hair soothingly. He would miss her a lot. In fact, she reminded him a lot of Ahsoka when she was a youngling at the beginning of the war. Naïve and just wanting to prove her own worthiness. Eventually she stepped back, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

“I understand why you need to go,” Omega said with a watery voice. “I’ll call you every day, okay?”

He chuckled. “Maybe not every day, but as often as we can both manage. I promise.”

Hunter stepped forward and put his hand on Omega’s shoulder. “Echo—“ he began, but Echo held up his hand.

“It’s alright, Sarge. Just—take care of her and each other. And if you’re ever stuck in a situation, give me a call and I’ll come help.”

“Are you sure we can’t convince you to come with us? There’s plenty of room for you.”

Echo shook his head. “You saved your brother. It’s time I saved mine. And you need to do what’s best for Omega. Taking her into war zones would be a terrible idea.”

Hunter stared at Echo for a long time, likely trying to figure out if there was any way he could convince him to stay, but Echo held firm. He didn’t belong with the Batch. Never really had. They were good for a temporary posting, just to help readjust since Rex was busy with the war and dealing with the loss of so many brothers before everything went to hell. Echo was ready to get back into the thick of the fighting.

“Wrecker, go grab Echo’s gear and whatever rations and medical supplies we can spare,” Hunter ordered. He turned back towards the rest of the Batch. “Tech, get Crosshair on board and start up the engines. We need to get going as soon as possible in case the Empire returns. Omega? You should probably go get strapped in for takeoff.”

The Batch scrambled to obey, though Echo noticed both Wrecker and Tech giving him uncertain looks. Little brothers were always the same. They always wanted to make sure they were doing the right thing and looked to their ori’vode for advice and help. Hunter had filled that role for so long, but Echo had carved out a tiny space for himself, too. As much as Echo wanted to help them, he had his duty. And he could only really help them if they actually listened to his advice. But it didn’t hurt to leave them with a few last suggestions.

“Hunter, don’t trust Cid. They’re only looking out for themself and will likely betray you if it’s profitable enough. Find someone you can really trust and have them teach you how the galaxy works so no one else can take advantage of you. And take care of yourself and the others. Especially Omega.”

Hunter nodded and saluted Echo. Echo gave a weak grin and returned the gesture before he picked up his shovel once again. He had work to do.

It didn’t take long for the Havoc Marauder to take off, and he watched the ship silently until he could no longer see them before turning back to the field of white, broken bodies. His hand slipped into his belt pouch and removed the secure transmitter Rex had given him before they’d parted ways. Without hesitation, Echo flicked it on and called the only saved frequency.

“Rex? Yeah, I’m gonna need a pickup. Got room for one more in your little rebellion?”

(Hours later, and after Echo had finally finished burying the last body, Rex’s ship touched down in the clearing. The door slid open and five notes were whistled out of the opening. It was a call Domino squad had come up with while on Rishi and one that he and Fives had continued to use in the 501st. The only person left that would know that tune was Rex. Echo grinned and returned the whistle. Seconds later, a shape that was definitely not Rex barreled out of the ship and into Echo’s arms. Ahsoka was taller than he remembered, and a lot more weary and sad. But she was alive, and that’s what mattered most.

Echo looked over her montrals and grinned at Rex, who leaned against the ship and just watched him reunite with his long-missed jetii’ka vod’ika. The Empire may have taken everything good out of the galaxy, but a few small pockets persisted. They had hope and they were willing to fight for it.

“Let’s go save our brothers,” he said, arm wrapped around Ahsoka’s shoulders as they walked back to Rex. Echo only paused once to look back at Wooley’s grave. He would not be forgotten, and Echo would make sure that for every life he took, he’d save two more. It’s what he owed them. It’s what his brothers deserved.

Nu kyr’adyc, shi taab’echaaj’la. Not gone, merely marching far away.)

#mom echo #clone trooper echo #the bad batch #tbb omega #mando'a #what I think should happen #echo has trauma #i'm so sorry wooley #i didn't want to kill you

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ethrenisnotthehero · 3 years

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@hogwartsmystory is a predator (part 2)

If you haven’t read the first part of the callout, I encourage you to do so here. As before, the normal tags are not included in this post in order to allow this to reach as many people as possible. Potential triggers are listed below, and the main content is hidden to keep sensitive individuals from being unintentionally exposed. TW: Pedophilia, Abuse, Gaslighting, Sexual Assault, Self Harm, Suicide, NSFW Topics, Faked Illness, Faked Mental Illness, Faked Death, Victim Blaming

Ren met Jill sometime between December of 2013 and January of 2014. At the time, he was dating another staff member of the website who will be referred to as Buttercup from now on. Jill was vulnerable in some of the most classic ways a CSA survivor often is. Her home life was chaotic and difficult. She was just finishing middle school. Depression had started to surface, and, worst of all, she had just been diagnosed with a life-altering chronic disease that would require her to change significant aspects of her daily life just to survive. She just wanted a place to fit in and be welcomed, and fell into Ren’s lures without ever considering the danger that lurked behind the screen.

Up until now, it could be understandable to argue that Ren may not have been purposely grooming young girls. Creating a mature themed website might be creepy and inappropriate, but that doesn’t necessarily make someone a predator. No, what made Ren a predator were his motives, his goals, and his solicitation of vulnerable youth into grossly exploitative relationships. What remains the most disturbing to me is that his behavior consistently fits with the profile of an egomaniac desperate to have power over someone dependent on him, fitting textbook descriptions of the methods abusers employ in order to coax their victims in and trap them there.

The Act of Grooming, Part Two: Approach

Even though common luring methods of child predators are well-known within advocate and legal communities, the average person typically has neither heard of them nor is likely to recognize them as they happen. Some behaviors attached to common lures are easily identifiable: a stranger somehow uses a young child’s name to create familiarity and abducts them, or convinces a child that there are prizes to be had if they come along. Methods like these have names, and Ren is guilty of utilizing at least four to his advantage.

The Authority Lure

When Jill first told me about her first interactions with Ren, she was quick to note how starstruck she was with that fact that he wanted to talk to her at all. “I was surprised that admins even RPed down with their peasants on this site,” she told me. Interacting with staff on the site made her feel special and seen, and Ren was quick to start chatting with her. He had a particular interest in her character. Someone of great importance and authority on the site, going out of his way to interact with her out of all people. He held power over her (over most users on the site) and that was something he was keenly aware of. More sinisterly, not only did Ren himself have power over younger users, but he increased his reach and control through the creation of alternative identities. Ren’s main identities were Aaron, Seth, Carter, and Lauren, all of whom he used to form relationships with and manipulate different individuals on the site.

Seth and Carter’s accounts have since been deleted, so unfortunately I was not able to see what kind of people Ren made them out to be. However, he clearly made users believe that these were all existing people, and used their identities to build his authority. When everyone on staff is the same person, it doesn’t leave very much room for dissent.

As for Lauren? Lauren was Ren’s real identity, and the mastermind behind all of it.

As you can see in this post, as of November 11, 2013, Ren was 17 years old. Not only that, but he was in a position of power over children in real life, too. There’s no reason that Ren would not have known better; no one in that position would be able to have a relationship with a small child as a “mistake.” Frequently, Ren claimed to be a babysitter for kids as old as 14, which means that children were fully exposed to him on all fronts. Ignorance is not a viable excuse for him; there’s no way he didn’t realize what he was doing was wrong.

A person might argue that there’s no substantial proof that these identities are fake. That would be a valid question at this point. One of Ren’s supporters (and self-proclaimed partner) has admitted themselves that these “alternate personalities” did not exist. In an attempt to explain away Ren’s toxic behaviors, they offered up a Dissociative Identity Disorder diagnosis as a defense:

However, there’s one glaring issue with this claim. According to the DSM-5 classification of mental disorders by the American Psychiatric Association, amnesia must occur for a diagnosis of DID. Amnesia is defined by the DSM-5 as gaps in the recall of everyday events, important personal information, and/or traumatic events. Ren never experienced amnesia associated with the “switch” of an alter; in fact, he claimed that he and his friends would regularly do activities together, and would even communicate back and forth online with each other during the same lengths of time on AS as he switched between accounts.

I understand that everyone has different experiences with mental illness, and that illness does not have the same symptoms for every person. Regardless, Ren was clearly aware of his actions and the way he used his other accounts to lure/hurt users. Mental illness is not an excuse for hurting children, ever. Ren knew it then, and I can guarantee you he knows it now.

The Affection Lure

Another way predators appeal to their victims is with affection. Pedophiles take advantage of rocky home situations or difficult experiences to abuse the trust a child has placed in them. Jill came to know Ren well through their role-plays. They talked often. Ren made himself available to her, gave her comfort that she desperately needed, and even offered other friends who could be an ear or a shoulder to her. When Ren learned of Jill’s chronic illness, he connected her with Seth, another of his personalities. He coaxed Jill into trusting him, and their relationship became inappropriately intense. Most children are exploited by people that are close to them, by people who they trust and rely on.

At the time, Jill may not have realized how difficult her situation was for her. To her, the chaos of her family life may have seemed normal. Having to compete with siblings and neighborhood kids may have seemed normal. Falling into severe, deep depression may have seemed normal. The truth of the situation is that a vulnerable young woman was falling through the cracks, and Ren saw an opportunity to place himself as the most important person in her life. She needed to belong, so he made sure that she felt like she belonged with him. She needed to be heard, so he made sure that she felt like he was the only one who heard her. She needed friends, so he made sure that all her friends were him.

Not only did he use her trust in him to groom her for a relationship, but he used it to isolate her. If everyone she knew was him, then he would be the only positive feature in her life. If everyone else was an enemy, then she would have nowhere to turn to but him. If he convinced her that she was his world, and that he was hers, she would never believe anyone trying to warn her about him and his behavior. Ren took advantage of a 14 year old child’s insecurities and sickness to insert himself as the most important aspect of her life.

There’s plenty of evidence that this wasn't the first time he’d thought of something like this, either. Ren had an obsession with themes of abuse, torture, and child slavery in his stories and role-plays. Much of his content centered around taking advantage of vulnerable people.

It wasn’t just his role-play ideas that crossed the line. His behavior toward other members of the site was hair-raising at best. His supporters try to paint him as someone affectionate and well-meaning, but he had habits of talking to young users in a manner that borders on profiling.

These aren’t things that someone a few months short of their eighteenth birthday should be saying to children on the internet. His behavior also delved into the realm of victim blaming, too; when a minor on the site was posting about their father going out of his way to make custody as complicated and as disruptive as possible, Ren had this to say:

A man, who would have been 18 at the time, with the audacity to imply that a child was to blame for the controlling behavior of their father. That their father only loved them, and that they might have done something to make a grown man act like a petty child during a divorce.

Ren’s idea of love was as toxic as his need for power.

The Hero Lure

This is, perhaps, the lure that Ren is mostly guilty of. An egomaniac soothed by his own words, Ren saw himself as a hero. In his own mind, he was a faultless deity who deserved no less than the complete and undivided affections of his subjects, but who fabricated false identities at every opportunity. In Ren’s mind, he is the hero. The survivors of his abuse are turned to abusers, those who dare question him are nothing but petty liars, and anyone not completely enthralled by him is nothing but an extra in his story. That’s what Ethren was created to emulate.

Ren has not grown. Someone who has grown would take ownership of their mistakes and apologize for the pain they had caused. Someone truly sorry, truly changed, wouldn’t dare to trample on the feelings of people they had hurt. Ren is no different now than he was six years ago, when he made the decision to change Jill’s life. Instead, he’s turned a survivor into the villain of his world. Instead, he faked his own death so that he could start over with his reputation on AS intact. He never accepted what he did, and instead continues to paint Jill as someone who needed to be “fixed.”

Wanting to be with someone because it feeds a need to “fix” or “help” someone isn’t love. It’s an adult man putting the weight of the world on the shoulders of a little girl. A girl already struggling to adapt. A girl already struggling to fit in. A girl who spent her second week of high school hospitalized because of a sickness that would change her life forever. Jill is a person; she’s a person who’s had to learn to live with restrictions that mean the difference between life and death. She’s a person who’s had to walk alone through the past six years battling depression and trauma completely unheard and unseen. She’s not a character in Ren’s world. She’s not some fixation to help him feel better about himself.

Jill is a real, living, breathing human being with thoughts and feelings and a future: a future that Ren has done him damn best to make about himself for the past six years.

Ren never wanted to help anyone. Ren needed to feel important to other people to have some kind of meaning to himself. His obsession with playing hero went so far that he would torment his victims just so that he could swoop in and be what they needed. He would pretend to be sick or injured. He would go from having a cold, to strep, to pneumonia in under a day.

He would suddenly need a nebulizer for breathing treatments for his false illnesses.

His friends and loved ones would suddenly have life-threatening medical conditions and need to be taken to the hospital.

He pretended to have cancer.

He would use his identities to threaten self harm or death. He used Seth to tell Jill that he was going to send someone to kill her, making her scared for her own life. He made her a part of a world where he was the only one who could help her to satisfy his own sick need to be the most important thing to someone else.

When life caught up to him, he pretended to die.

He knew what he was doing was wrong. He asked Jill to lie about her age and told her that if anyone ever found out about them, he would get in trouble. He used his status as her hero to solicit sexual content online. He knew her age, knew how vulnerable she was, and knew how desperately she needed to fit in. He took advantage of that to fill his own desperate need to be the hero.

The legal age where a person can consent in Jill’s country is 16. When they officially began dating, she was 14. Ren was 18. He was an adult four years older than her, who would have faced charges of child abuse in his own state for their relationship. They had a sexual relationship online, which would be equivalent to soliciting child porn in his state. She never cheated on him; he was her world, because he made every effort to make sure that he was.

She never even saw his face.

She never even knew his real name.

She grappled for years afterwards with trauma, and he wouldn’t even give her the decency of having peace when they finally split. Instead, he came here with his stories. He wrote up fantasies where he was the hero, and she was the one who abused him. Jill was still a minor at the end of her relationship. When I asked her if she’s gotten help, she didn’t think a therapist would take her seriously. Ren took her ability to trust her own voice from her. He took her ability to believe that her own problems were valid. He took six years of her life and made it hell for the sake of his own ego and vanity. Pedophiles will often lie about their age, but most of them make it clear that they’re adults. Their true age might vary by four to five years (like in Ren’s case of claiming to be 21 at 17), but they always make it very clear that they’re adults. Predators know what they’re doing. They’re master manipulators. They’re adept at communication. They seem innocent on the surface, until everything they’ve done is laid out where it can be seen for what it is. Predators rely on persuasion, not coercion (Abrams 2016).

Someone I know asked me if I ever considered, even briefly, that Jill wasn’t telling the truth. I answered back without hesitation that I never did, not even once, because I hadn’t even touched one of the most important parts of my research.

Like other predators, Ren had a type. Buttercup was his first victim. When she and Ren met she was only 13-- Just like Jill.

Continue to Part 3

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flightfoot · 3 years

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Holy fuck, it’s a good thing I’ve found you and more level-headed fans combating against the salt. I used to be one of those dumbasses reading that trash until reading some deconstruction fics, realizing how OOC everyone is. I’m even reblogging some of them to mine as an anti-salter. I swear even just seeing the first summary sentence of salt fics on TVTropes makes me lose my sanity and faith in the fandom, and even wanting to remove all my social media accounts just to get away from the tsunami of toxicity. I think it’s also great that I realized the salt is even killing my mental health, so I filtered that toxic shit out wherever I am. Not even joking, when I tried to read a Danny Phantom/Fenton x Marinette fanfic on FanFiction.net, Adrien is automatically a jealous yandere!

Jeez, not even amino is safe from the salt, the apps that’s usually chill compared to most sites! It’s literally been a few years since Chameleon! The salty “fans” better get over it! It’s just fiction! I’ve never seen a toxic fandom side this bad before! Hell, even I’ve seen way better revenge fics of other fandoms doing a better job because at least those fans keep the characters in character! For some reason those other fandoms seem more rational than miraculous fans when it comes to protagonists getting revenge or am I the only one noticing this?

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Eh, I read some of the saltfics too for awhile, mostly for Lila karma. Then my tolerance for the bashing and twisting of Adrien, Alya, the class, etc got lower and lower and the salt got further and further away from anything rational and... yeah at this point just seeing the tags for a saltfic or summary for one massively pisses me off.

I filter it out whenever I can as well. I’ve got over a dozen tags filtered on AO3 to cut down on it, and the people I follow aren’t into it, which helps.

Trust me, you’re not gonna surprise me with the revelation that some crossover ship with Marinette involves bashing Adrien. That is very normal, sadly. I’ve been reading the ML AO3 page daily for two years now, I’ve seen it.

With how the revenge fics are still going on and how much they rely on twisting the characters in specific ways that were only barely hinted at in Chameleon and didn’t come up past that, I get the feeling a lot of it is of a “well I want to write a revenge plot and this is already built into the ML fandom” than actually having anything to do with canon. Usually saltfics resemble Mean Girls more than they do ML. Which makes me think that something like “Gossip Girls” (which no I haven’t read or watched, I’ve only heard of it) or some other teen drama series would be more suitable for whatever the salters are trying to get out of ML.

Eh... I’d say the Harry Potter fandom has worse, more OOC popular revenge fics, but outside of that? Yeah I haven’t seen any that top the ML fandom.

I’m hoping that with season 4 airing those saltfics die down. I’m certainly sick enough of the entire plotline.

#ml fandom salt #submission

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bedlamsbard · 3 years

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Part 12 of the other side AU concept, the second epilogue sequence! At least one more sequence after this before I either start revising or just keep on going as concept writing.

Previous: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

About 4.6K below the break.

***

Humidity made the rock of the cliff face slick against his fingers, forcing him to pay extra attention as he made his way up it. He clung to the seemingly sheer rock with his fingers and boot-toes stuck into grips too small for most humans to manage for more than a few meters, relying on the Force to keep him from falling. Heights had never bothered him, but he still didn’t look over his shoulder at the vast spread of jungle beneath him; he needed all his focus for the climb itself.

“Sure,” Ezra Bridger muttered, the words so soft that they were closer to being a thought than voiced, “ninety-nine percent of the time it’s ‘sit in this cell until we can think of something better to do with you,’ but it’s that one percent of ‘you’re a Jedi, please do this incredibly dangerous thing that no stormtrooper can pull off’ that gets you.”

The unfamiliar weight of both the sniper rifle and the pack slung across his back made the climb a little more awkward than he would have preferred, but he didn’t mind it. Going anywhere without a weapon right now would be a bad idea, not to mention the fact that he was still a little impressed that Captain Pellaeon had given him one at all. More than one, as it happened; he had a blaster pistol holstered at his hip and a couple of vibroknives secreted elsewhere around his person. Pellaeon didn’t know about the blades.

Despite the fact that the humidity was so thick that the growing fog was just short of being rain, Ezra couldn’t resent his current position. If he fell – and it wouldn’t take much – then not only would it be an ignominious end, but it was likely that no one back at Chimaera Camp would even notice his absence for a few days. If they did, Pellaeon would probably assume that he had made a break for it. It was an option that Ezra had considered and discarded given their current circumstance, but he was keeping it open if those circumstances happened to change. He knew roughly where they were in relation to the Chimaera’s crash site, but he was also aware that there was nothing space-worthy left on the star destroyer. Aside from the ships back at Chimaera Camp, there was only one other option to get offworld, and Ezra wasn’t quite that desperate yet.

It felt good to have his hands on the living stone of the planet, to feel fresh air – and yes, the fog – on his bare skin, to lick his lips and taste the slight tang of the moisture of a new world. He had spent nearly all of the previous six years on the Chimaera; the Force was everywhere, but it was different in space than it was planetside. After spending his entire life on Lothal, the months the Ghost had spent with Phoenix Squadron in deep space had been a shock to him. It had been at least a little preparation for all those years on the Chimaera.

This wasn’t Lothal, but he was still attuned to the Living Force and he could still feel the thread of wrongness that ran through it here. As far as they knew, this planet didn’t have a name, just the designation it had been given when they entered the star system; if it had an indigenous sentient species, they hadn’t run into them yet. Ezra had no way of knowing what the planet should have felt like in the Force, but he could tell that there was something badly wrong here and getting worse by the day.

A few minutes later, he pulled himself up over the top of the cliff with a grunt and crouched there, breathing hard, then took out his water flask and drank sparingly. The Chimaera’s scientists were monitoring the water in the stream that ran past Chimaera Camp and had found that its chemical content was changing by the day; Ezra had water purification tablets with him, but there was always the chance that whatever was leaching into the water table was wouldn’t be affected by the Imperial-issue tablets.

He put the flask back onto his pack and took the sniper rifle off his back, using the scope the same way he would have done a pair of macrobinoculars. The scope was the reason he hadn’t brought a pair of macrobinoculars; if he had to he could remove it from the rifle to use on its own, and he might need the weapon. While he had never been formally trained as a sniper the way that some of the stormtroopers and death troopers aboard the Chimaera had been, given the time needed to set up a sniper’s shot he could use the Force for nearly the same level of accuracy. If not, well, a sniper rifle was still a rifle – this one was reconfigurable, so Ezra could always break it down into an assault rifle or a heavy blaster pistol. While most death troopers used the BlasTech E11-D and DLT-19D that were standard issue, they often had the liberty to carry other weapons if desired, which was how Ezra had gotten his hands on the A280-CFE that was commonly used in the Rebel Alliance.

The view from the scope showed him only the seemingly impenetrable tree cover of the jungle he had come through. Ezra knew that there were a number of clearings in it, some large enough for a light cruiser like the Scylla or the Charybdis to put down in – and in fact the Seventh Fleet’s remaining cruisers were parked in two such – but even with the scope they were impossible to see. It had a range of five kilometers on a clear day, which this wasn’t; a heavy blanket of fog mixed with the tall native trees of the planet, turning the view beneath him into a grayish-green sea. With a sigh, he straightened up again. He kept the rifle in the curve of his arm rather than returning it to his back, wanting to have it quickly to hand if he needed it; the few seconds it would take to swing it around could cost him his life.

The jungle began again a few meters from the edge of the cliff. Ezra eyed it dubiously; having spent his entire life to the age of fifteen in grasslands he still found forests both disconcerting and distasteful. When he stretched out with the Force, though, he could feel the life within it – confused by the changes being wrought upon the planet, but still present. The wildlife, he knew, would be his first hint of real trouble.

Right now it told him that there was nothing to be concerned with except for the planet’s native dangers. Still, Ezra hesitated, looking at the edge of the jungle and fighting down his nerves. Annoyed by his own reluctance, he sank down into a tailor’s seat, resting the rifle across his knees. He fell quickly and easily into a light meditative trance; he had years of practice, after all. He didn’t let his attention roll out the way he had done when he had meditated the previous night at Chimaera Camp, but turned it inwards instead. He just wanted a few minutes to clear his head.

He was, he realized, afraid.

The fight on the Chimaera had been one thing, as had the handful of other skirmishes he had been involved in over the years, but this was the first time in more than six years that Ezra had been completely on his own, whether on an alien worlds or back on the Chimaera. If he had died then, at least Grand Admiral Thrawn and the other Imperials would have known, assuming the whole Chimaera hadn’t been destroyed at the same time. There was no real difference in being out here than there was being back with the Imperials, who had more reason to want him dead than anything else on this world and had come close a few times; Thrawn had twice had his own men shot over two such incidents. Ezra had scars from the attempt that had come closest to succeeding. On this world only Captain Pellaeon and a handful of other acquaintances – not quite friends – amongst the Chimaera’s complement really cared if he lived or died. Some days Ezra wasn’t entirely sure that he himself did.

Kanan had lived like this for years, Ezra reminded himself, and often in worse situations than this one after his entire world had died. So had Zeb. Ezra could do no less than either of them, and refused to fail them.

It hadn’t been left to him to make any decisions one way or another for a long time now – not the kind of decisions that actually mattered. He had been volunteered for this particular mission rather than volunteered himself, but hadn’t bothered to argue it even though others had. It was something to do, at least.

Years ago he had asked Captain Rex about the Clone Wars, which Kanan only ever talked about when forced or when he had been drinking, which wasn’t very often. The old clone had gone quiet, thinking about the question, and then said slowly, “When you go into battle – whether it’s a major push like Geonosis or a five man black ops mission – you go in understanding you’re already dead. You can’t be afraid of dying. You accept it – you take it inside of you.”

Rex hadn’t said whether or not he had learned that from the Jedi he had served with, but Ezra wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. He let that knowledge fill him now, the reminder that in the Force he was both living and dead at once, and even if he was still drawing breath now, it was a state that could change at any point. There was no point in being afraid of the unknown: what would happen would happen as the Force willed it. All he could do was the best that he knew how.

He opened his eyes and got to his feet, tucking the rifle against his shoulder as he went into the jungle.

It was slow going. The undergrowth seemed to be thicker up here than it was in the lowlands around Chimaera Camp. The tree cover was so thick that it blocked out most of the sunlight, leaving Ezra to pick his way through the jungle in greenish gloom, trying not to trip over creepers on the forest floor, which had leaf litter so thick that in places he sank into it up to his ankles, or hang himself on the vines that passed from tree to tree. Many of the tree trunks were so wide around that it would have taken a dozen men holding hands to encircle them. Nor was it silent. Animals – he saw avians and snakes, along with some kind of small red-scaled reptile and the quick flash of a furry mammalian tail vanishing up a tree – called out constantly. They weren’t much bothered by his passage, as animals usually weren’t, though more than once he heard them go quiet in response to some native predator passing through. He sensed disquiet among them even as they went about their normal routines; they were as aware of the changes happening on the planet’s surface as he was. More so; this was their home.

Mid-afternoon brought the downpour that Ezra had learned to expect after the past three days onworld. Rather than press on, he spent the time crouched on the upturned root of one massive tree, sheltering as best he could beneath leaves the size of his cell door back on the Chimaera. The rain seemed to come down in sheets, like a solid wall of water despite the fact that by the time it reached him it should have been disrupted by the tree canopy. Ezra managed not to get drenched this time – the first day he had gone out to stand in it, to the horror and disgust of the sailors assigned to guard him. Most members of the Imperial Navy hated and distrusted uncontrolled weather at best and planets entirely at worst. This time getting soaked would be a hindrance – and besides, it wouldn’t particularly aid his already slow passage. Ezra watched the rain fall from the dubious shelter of the tree and let his mind drift out in something that wasn’t quite a meditative trance – while most of the native wildlife had gone to shelter at the same time he had, it wasn’t a guarantee that the enemy would do so as well.

When the rain had passed and the sun had reappeared, Ezra recommenced his slow trek through the jungle. He hadn’t stayed completely dry in the downpour, but the scout trooper’s undersuit he wore was more or less waterproof; it still left him feeling uncomfortably like he had gone through a sanisteam in his clothes. He paused twice to eat, the tasteless emergency rations that stormtroopers carried as a matter of course, and once to refill his water flask at a stream after he had tested the water with the Force and decided he didn’t need to use one of the water purification tablets. By the time that dusk fell, casting the jungle into even further gloom, Ezra had, he guessed, advanced within a kilometer or two of his goal.

The advent of darkness slowed his progress even further. He took out the night vision goggles he had gotten from the Chimaera’s death trooper captain – promoted from the ranks two years ago after the remaining death trooper officers had died – and put them on, blinking as the shadows of the jungle resolved into only moderately more penetrable shades of green. While he had a glowrod, using it would be just as good as sending up a beacon, not something he wanted. He could have passed through the jungle without needing to see at all, except that would leave him vulnerable to something he wouldn’t have thought possible six years earlier.

By the time he sensed the final setting of the sun sometime later, the jungle had been the next thing to pitch-black for more than an hour. Ezra was silently arguing himself out of trying to find somewhere to sleep for a few hours when he felt the nearby animal life go silent, then recommence its noisy outcry. The negation and recommencement of sound shifted in his awareness of the Living Force, and he swore wearily to himself.

Something was coming towards him.

He settled the rifle more closely against his shoulder and touched a finger to the night vision goggles, making certain that they were as firmly affixed to his face as possible. He had learned the hard way that what was coming left no trace in the Force – not of itself, at least.

Ezra could have gone up a tree, but he was city born and bred and could count on one hand the number of times in his life he had actually tried to climb a tree. Even in this unfamiliar environment he felt far more comfortable on the ground that he would have perched on a branch – he was sure he could get up to one, but not positive that he could stay there, a hesitation he would never have had on a cliff edge or a high-rise. He was absolutely certain that trying to fight on one would end with him flat on his back on the ground, and that was a best case scenario.

Instead he settled himself in the soldier’s stance he had learned from Rex, letting the rifle rest loosely against his shoulder as he let his awareness spread out. Animals, frightened by the alien sight and scent of the intruders, fled their approach; plants flinched away from the heavy tread of feet. Ezra felt them come closer and closer – a near-silent passage to anyone but a Jedi. The air felt close and heavy around him, the night sounds of the wildlife vanished into stillness or flight. Ezra let his mind fill with the blazing clarity of the Force, until in every way that mattered Ezra was the Force itself. The Jedi were the sword hand of the Force, Kanan had said more than once; with or without a lightsaber Ezra was still a Jedi.

He fired even before he saw the flicker of movement in his night vision goggles.

The crack of the blaster shot broke the stillness of the night air, sparks flaring at the laser bolt struck armor it couldn’t penetrate. Ezra threw himself sideways, feeling the rush of air as the thrown thudbug just missed his previous position. He rolled and came up on one knee as he fired again, twice in quick unison, relying on instinct rather than the little his vision showed him. He got one more shot off and then had to reverse his grip on the rifle, slamming it upwards two-handed to block the amphistaff blow aimed at his head. Quick as the serpent it resembled, the amphistaff lost its staff form and lashed out, its jaws gaping wide. Hissing, it spat poison at his eyes.

The night vision goggles cracked as the poison struck. His vision blurring – knowing he had only seconds before they broke entirely or the poison dripped down onto his skin – Ezra thrust out with the Force. The amphistaff’s bearer didn’t release the living weapon, but his arm and the amphistaff both swung wide, away from Ezra as he threw himself into a backflip, ripping the night vision goggles off as he did and letting them fall.

Darkness closed over him.

He pulled the rifle back to his shoulder and fired again; once more, sparks briefly illuminated his enemy as his shot struck uselessly off armor. Then the warrior was on him; Ezra swung the rifle like a club, feeling it connect with his enemy’s skull. Undaunted, the warrior lashed the amphistaff like a whip; the serpent slashed down across the barrel of the rifle, cutting the weapon in two.

Ezra didn’t hesitate, just flung the remaining half of the rifle at his opponent even as he flung himself sideways again, avoiding the amphistaff’s attempt to get its teeth into his throat. He twisted and came up with his blaster pistol, firing as fast as he could pull the trigger – a steady stream of blaster bolts, nearly all of which sparked uselessly off vonduun crab armor. Only one penetrated between the joints of the armor, making his opponent grunt in pain. His ears ringing from the blasterfire, Ezra thought he heard it echo oddly in the jungle, but he was already moving, grabbing one of his vibroknives with his left hand and slashing backhanded in the same motion. With the Force behind it, the vibroknife cut through the amphistaff in the vulnerable place just below the head. Halfway through the blade stopped, jammed against the creature’s seemingly indestructible internal structure. It thrashed in the warrior’s hand.

It couldn’t cry out, but he could. Ezra could neither understand the words nor sense the emotions that underlay them, but he released the vibroknife and got both hands on the grip of his blaster again, firing at the place he thought he had seen a vulnerable point between helmet and breast plate.

The blaster jammed.

Oh, karabast, Ezra thought – he didn’t have time to voice the words before his opponent’s free hand shot out and closed around his throat. He was lifted off the ground, armored fingers like durasteel cutting off his breath. The blaster fell to the ground as he clawed at that implacable arm, fingers scrabbling over the plates of living armor that covered his opponent’s forearm. He felt it twitch beneath his fingers, lending its strength to the enemy.

His opponent snarled something in his native language, his fingers tightening. Ezra reached for the Force as his vision started to gray out, knowing that if he wasn’t dead yet then it was because the enemy intended to take him alive. After enough suffering to make up for the death of his amphistaff.

Light flicked out like a whip, coiling around the warrior’s body.

Ezra had just enough time to feel astonishment before the brief flash of a jetpack’s repulsors heralded the being who slammed feet-first into the warrior, knocking him sideways. He dropped Ezra, turning to grapple with this new adversary as the glowing line of energized whipcord vanished. Ezra hit the ground, gasping for air but already reaching for another of his sheathed vibroblades.

Even now his enemy was absent from the Force, but the new arrival wasn’t. Ezra didn’t bother to think, just drew his vibroknife, thumbed the switch on, and waited – with his amphistaff dead, or at least out of commission, the warrior was left with only whatever razorbugs or thudbugs he was carrying and his dagger-like coufee. He heard the living weapon scrape against – or possibly through – what could only be beskar, and a grunt of surprise. The brief burst of a short-distance repulsor sent the warrior stumbling back a step and Ezra struck in his moment of confusion, slamming his vibroknife up beneath the skirt plates of his armor to the vulnerable place on the inside of his thigh where most humanoids had a major vein. He felt the weapon dig in and dragged it down as far as he could before the warrior cuffed him aside, sending Ezra flying to strike a tree.

He hit hard enough to black out for an instant, but was dragging himself upright as soon as he could, reaching for his fallen blaster through the Force. The grip smacked into his palm hard enough to hopefully displace the jam and he raised it, aiming at the spot he thought the enemy was.

There was a blaster shot, not his, and in its flash he saw the warrior on his back in the undergrowth. It also illuminated the injured amphistaff making its way like a sidewinder through the leaf cover, with Ezra’s vibroknife still stuck into its neck.

Even as the flash faded Ezra fired. His own shot wasn’t aimed at the creature, but at the hilt of the vibroknife, slamming the weapon those last few precious centimeters forward to sever head from body. Ezra heard it thrash briefly, dying, and then there was silence.

He would have liked nothing more than to collapse and sleep for a week, but he braced himself against the tree with his free hand and kept the blaster in his other hand. His head was pounding; he knew he’d have bruises the next time he looked, to go with the bruises he still had from the Chimaera’s final battle and crash.

“Who –” He coughed as his abraded throat protested. “Who’s that?”

Light sprang into being, the thin artificial life of a glowrod illuminating the Mandalorian woman standing by the warrior’s corpse. After four years living with one, Ezra was hardly going to forget that particular silhouette. His gaze traversed the slopes of painted beskar armor, noting the fresh scars on it from the coufee blade before settling on the helmet before the woman reached up to remove it.

“Ezra?”

He stared. Then he tried to take a step backwards and couldn’t, his shoulders already braced against the tree trunk. His mind didn’t seem to want to come to terms with what was in front of him, even as he lowered the hand with the blaster in it. He slumped back against the tree, letting it take more of his weight.

“Hey!” She crossed the space between them with a few quick steps and grabbed his shoulder, her grip solidly human and real. “Don’t you dare pass out on me now!”

Ezra reached up and closed his free hand around her forearm, staring into her face. “I’m not going to pass out,” he said. “They usually patrol in threes –”

“Yeah, we met the other two. They’re dead. You want to sit down?”

“I’m fine,” Ezra said, or tried to say, but was already folding up. He sat heavily, belatedly holstering the pistol he was still holding. “You changed your hair,” he said inanely.

“Yeah, I do that,” Sabine Wren said. “So did you.”

Ezra touched a hand self-consciously to what remained of his hair – long on top and pulled into a tail wrapped with strips of thin leather, close cut at the sides, because he had spent the past six years with sailors and stormtroopers who thought a buzzcut was the height of fashion. He stopped with his fingers hooked through a strip of leather, stared at Sabine, and felt himself start to shake. “You’re real,” he croaked, even though the Force had already told him the answer. “You’re really here.”

“Yeah,” she said, her hand still on his shoulder. “I’m really here. We’re all really here.”

When he looked up again, he felt as much as saw them ghosting out of the shadows at the edge of the glowrod’s illumination like the spectres they had been named for. Ezra was too tired and overwhelmed for further disbelief; he pushed himself to his feet with Sabine’s help and stumbled into Kanan’s arms.

“I felt –” he said shakily, his voice muffled by the fact that he had buried his face in the other man’s shoulder. He fisted his hands hard against Kanan’s back, aware of how gloriously alive he felt. “– in the Force, I felt something change, six months ago. I felt you come back.”

“It’s me,” Kanan said, his voice gentle. “Yeah, Ezra, it’s me.”

Hera put a hand on his shoulder, smiling, and Ezra turned into her embrace, then Zeb’s. He was shaking so badly that Zeb had to help him to a seat on an upraised tree root, one hand folded over his shoulder as though he couldn’t bear to let Ezra out of his grasp. He wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t hallucinating – that he hadn’t been taken captive after all and this was some new torture. Then he looked at Kanan’s calm white eyes and touched the Force again, gingerly, like prodding a sore tooth, and knew it wasn’t a trick.

“You’re going to explain that,” he said, a little wildly. “You were – I thought – I saw – I felt –”

“Yeah,” Kanan said again. “It’s a long story.”

Meaning not now. Ezra took a shaky breath and leaned back into Zeb’s reassuring grip, watching Sabine crouch to inspect the fallen warrior. She touched the scratches on her breast plate gingerly, then her eyes widened as a hand-size piece of beskar broke off in her hand – the coufee had cut nearly through it and the slight pressure of her touch had freed it. “What are these things?” she demanded.

Ezra sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Long story.”

“We saw the Chimaera,” Hera said, sitting down on his other side. She kept her blaster in her hand, resting across her knee, which under the circumstances Ezra thought was the wisest thing she could have done. “We were on our way to the rendezvous coordinates when Kanan sensed you, but we had to find somewhere safe to put down. Chopper’s with the Ghost about two kilometers away.”

Ezra rubbed his hand across his face. “They’re from beyond the Unknown Regions – beyond our galaxy, maybe – and they’ve been making a push towards the Empire since it was still the Republic,” he said. “They’ve been tracking the Chimaera and the rest of the Seventh for months – years – and finally cornered her here. They’re warriors – shapers, they call themselves; everything they use is organic, alive – their armor, their weapons, their ships.” He nodded at the warrior’s corpse and the dead amphistaff beside him. “They’re called the Yuuzhan Vong.”

#this one was the chapter I wrote to the same song on repeat #cut scenes and concept writing #other side au tag #as always comments are appreciated

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ransomedrogue · 3 years

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Tales of Woe - Scenes from S1

hi, it’s fic time again... 1.5 this time, swoon, what an episode! I don’t usually fic complete existing scenes but it felt right for this one.

1.5

Since Jane's arrival in his life, Kurt Weller had experienced emotional extremes he'd forgotten were possible; not to mention some of the most intense moments of his FBI career. Yet he still would never have guessed that he'd end up pointing his weapon at the deputy director of the CIA, waiting to see if his entire team was going to die in an inter-agency shootout.

Weller stood there, aiming his gun at Tom Carter, his finger twitching a bit as he remembered the CIA agent's interest in Jane earlier that day. His heart started pounding once more, just as it had finally settled down from the chase for Dodi – plus seeing Jane almost get shot in the head while she clung to a radioactive device.

And then, it felt like his head was about to explode too; with the same intensity and fallout that had just been narrowly avoided when Jane caught the deadly football. Because, just then, Carter began bargaining for Jane again. Asking to borrow her, as if the CIA would just "question" her and give her back once their interview was over. Thankfully, though, Mayfair's initial response was clear and immediate.

"Go to hell," she fired at Carter's smug face.

"Do you really want to start a war with us now?" Carter threatened.

Weller watched as his boss reconsidered her options, his pulse hammering as he waited for someone to fire the first shot. He wasn't entirely sure why Mayfair had come to the scene but he was very glad she had, even if she wasn't defending Jane as fervently as he'd like. Because, despite the rage pulsating through him, Kurt was still able to recognize that shooting the Deputy Director of the CIA would have some dire consequences for everyone involved, especially the rest of his team. So, it was a good thing he wasn't in charge right then; not when murder was so close to his mind.

Yet, if Mayfair went through with the deal, things were going to get ugly.

He didn't know what he would do if she tried to hand Jane over to Tom Carter but he was certain it would end a relationship he held close to his heart. Mayfair wasn't just his boss - she was his mentor and confidant. But he couldn't think of anything that would convince him to let the CIA take Jane, even for a minute.

The standoff seemed to last ages, though it didn't actually take Mayfair long to come to a decision. Weller's jaw clenched as she told him to give Dodi to the CIA and he voiced his displeasure, even though he recognized it was the only choice that protected Jane and avoided a shootout. His team had done all the work in recapturing Dodi, risking their own lives. So of course it pissed him off to hand him over to an agency that shouldn't even be operating domestically.

Yet the fact remained that they were outnumbered and short on options. They had to give on something so Weller did as he was told; feeling disgusted as he let the CIA goons take the prisoner. But at least he wasn't homicidal, as he would have been if Mayfair had tired to let them have Jane.

Still, Weller seethed at letting Tom Carter have any power on US soil. Instead of letting the wheels of justice run its course, Dodi would end up in another black site, getting tortured into making false confessions. Then dumped in a nameless grave once he'd given up all the information they could extract.

Weller glared at the CIA team as they walked away, his heart rate finally starting to settle again. It was a strange thing, coming down from the physical high of being primed for death. He felt tight and loose at the same time; extremely relieved that Jane was safe, yet still furious at what had just occurred.

As they began to walk away from the scene Weller sidled up beside Jane and glanced his hand against her shoulder as they headed for the SUV. He noted that she was wire tight, which wasn't exactly surprising. She'd nearly been the spark to light a volatile situation and none of it was her fault.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, reluctantly letting his hand slide back down beside him as they separated from the rest of the team.

Jane flashed him a look that irradiated fire and fear. Yet she stayed silent for awhile longer, as her eyes returned to her feet.

She didn't answer for so long that Weller wondered if she'd chosen to ignore his question. But then he glanced over and got the sense that Jane was still processing how to reply. So they just walked quietly until, eventually, she exhaled audibly and looked up at him.

"Yeah," she finally said. "I was scared for a moment though."

Me too, Weller thought, before clamping down hard on that admission.

"Mayfair wouldn't do that," he replied gruffly.

"Anyways, I would never let her trade you to Carter."

Jane scoffed, but then softened her expression as she looked him in the eye.

"She's the boss, Weller. What were you going to do?"

Something drastic, he mused, frowning at the mere thought of it.

"I would have thought of something," he grumbled.

"I'm not going to let anyone take you again."

He knew he shouldn't put so much pressure on her, all his guilt about what happened. Yet it was also the absolute truth, something he would swear to.

Jane was giving him that look that killed him every time. Part beseeching and part gratitude, but still firmly backed with fierce determination.

"I know you won't," she said. "I trust you."

It was everything he needed to hear and nearly more than he could bear, so Weller chewed back his emotion and fought the urge to reach out and grab onto her. Balling up his hands into fists to resist the temptation, all he could do was stare at her in awe.

She trusted him to keep her safe and that was what he was going to do, no matter what it took. He was not going to have regrets this time around.

###

Weller insisted on driving her home, as if he were reluctant to let her out of his sight. But somehow his attentiveness didn't feel like pressure anymore, even though he was still looking at her the same way.

Warmth flared up Jane's spine as he led her from the office to the SUV, his hand hovering behind her back possessively. After everything that had happened that day, it felt good knowing she had someone she could rely on. Because there was something about Tom Carter that scared her, more than just his desire to interrogate her. And Mayfair hadn't exactly been reassuring when Jane thanked her for not trading her to the CIA.

The ride to the safe house was quiet, yet the air between them still felt charged. Jane thought back to dinner the previous night, how she'd panicked and run away. At the time, it had been overwhelming to realize how much she meant to him. As if his happiness rested on her being Taylor. But she was coming to understand that he meant just as much to her – that he was her anchor in a storm-filled life.

As Weller pulled up in front of her safe house, Jane was surprised that he parked the SUV while she was unbuckling herself. She was about to remind him that her detail was right in front of them and would sweep her place before she entered but stopped short when she saw the intensity of his blue eyes.

"I know you don't need me to," Weller said. "But I'm going to see you in."

Jane wondered what was spurring on his bout of protectiveness and suddenly recalled the memory that had been pulling at her the entire day. Being led down the stairs into a dingy basement full of frightened kids. The realization that bad things had happened to her there, an understanding she felt in the pit of her stomach.

The memory wasn't as vivid when she brought it back purposely, but Jane still flashed back to how hard it had hit her in the lab, how fast her heart had been beating when Kurt came out to steady her.

For a brief moment the panic threatened to return, as her brain cascaded through the day's events. She'd likely been abused as a child, experienced some horrible things. And she'd almost been traded to the CIA for a terrorist, to be tortured for information she didn't have.

As her heart rate rose, Jane found herself looking over at Weller's concerned expression and her nervous system immediately began to settle again, just from knowing he was there with her. So she didn't really argue about his decision to show her in, despite how unnecessary it was.

Weller waited for her detail to clear the place and then walked her inside, which made warmth flare all the way up her spine. Especially when she tried to deflect his concern by reminding him that it wasn't necessary and he stammered out an adorable reply.

"It's more for me than you. I just wanna check out the new place make sure it's okay.".

Weller paused slightly, as if he might stop there. But then the next words spilled out too, a little rushed and unsure.

"Make sure you're okay."

His sudden protectiveness was endearing but again Jane wondered what had brought it on so strongly. Maybe he hadn't been all that confident in Mayfair himself and had thought the boss might actually ship her off with Carter. Or maybe he was just asking because she'd nearly had an emotional breakdown earlier that day and had almost gone back to the same place in the SUV.

"I'm fine, I-I- was just a little…" she stammered, not quite finding the words to describe what had happened. Yet Jane was determined not to fall apart on him again -really didn't want him to worry about her.

"I'll be fine."

Weller nodded seriously, like he was still concerned.

"I'm sorry I lost it today," she added.

"It's okay, it happens," he replied kindly, like he really wasn't judging her for having a freak out on the job.

Weller started to head for the door then and Jane wondered if that was really all that he was going to say. Now that he was there, she didn't want him to leave. So when he turned back, her heart began to thump, even before his words started spilling out.

"You've been through so much," he said, his voice crackling with sadness. "And if I'm making this harder for you then just tell me. Cause that's the last thing that I want."

He paused, as if searching for words through a sea of emotion.

"All these expectations, I should never have put you in that situation."

Jane's chest was tight and everything felt constricted. But this time it wasn't an overwhelming pressure, like at dinner the night before. She wasn't worried about who she was and what she meant to him. Instead, her heart was seized by the hurt she could see in him.

Jane shook her head, trying to make him understand that wasn't what she meant, that she didn't blame him for the way he looked at her. She just didn't know what to do with all the emotions it brought out in her.

"Kurt," she interjected.

But Weller didn't stop, and Jane could see a lifetime of regret pouring through his expression as he struggled his way through an absolutely heart-breaking apology.

"I should never have let them take you. I'm … I'm sorry."

He had tears in his eyes and, for the first time she clearly saw the boy inside of her gruff FBI agent; the child full of self-blame who'd become this man that had never stopped searching. She'd glimpsed him before, but Weller had always thrown up his walls as soon as the hurt emerged. Now, though, it was all pouring out and she didn't know how to stop the pain flowing through him. Because it was clear that all of his guilt hadn't just dissipated when they got the DNA results.

"It wasn't your fault," Jane stated, as sure as she could be about anything. He'd been a child and she was certain little Kurt Weller would have been as diligent a babysitter as a ten-year-old could be.

"I've heard that, my whole life," Kurt replied, in a tone that told her he'd never once believed it.

"But you haven't heard it from me," she said, instinctively edging closer.

"You told me that Taylor was my starting point. I think you're wrong."

She hadn't intended for things to go in that direction but Weller was struggling in front of her and she had nothing but the truth to offer him. Jane reached out for his hand and placed it over her heart, the same way he'd steadied her earlier when she'd nearly lost it. He just looked stunned, his eyes searching for her in desperation.

Jane remembered how it had felt, sinking into the dark and then being thrown a lifeline. A physical connection with another person, someone she could hold onto.

"You. You're my starting point," she declared, knowing right then that she'd stated a fundamental fact. Taylor Shaw was just a name that her five-year-old self once had. Weller was where her connection to this world began, both now and then.

Having Kurt's hand on her chest and feeling his trauma surging through his skin was just as intense as pressing up against his heartbeat earlier that day. She could tell that he was barely keeping himself together and got a peek at his walls crumbling to the ground before Weller choked out a goodbye and ran out the door.

Jane stood there and watched him leave, her body still tense with emotion.

She wondered if she'd said too much; she still felt so new at everything. But then again, it had been the truth, the one thing she had to hang onto.

Just that morning, she'd told him that she didn't know how to be his lost girl; that the way he looked at her held too much expectation. But Jane was coming to realize that was how she looked at him too.

Somewhere along the way he'd also become everything to her.

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #blindspot rewatch #s1fic #i wrote this

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