#Its not really a vent piece either? More came about because I was being self introspective and all that junk

[disruptivevoib]

I've never actually drawn a self-portrait before.

Assumedly, on some level, this one counts?

[ryosmne]

Tattoo artist! Sukuna x reader part 4

Hello, it's me your friendly neighborhood Sukuna simp, I don't have much to ramble about today, I hope you have fun reading this part :)

Series masterlist here

Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, implied smut that I'm too shy to write.

The café was unusually quiet today, maybe it's because the other days y/n found herself sitting at that exact spot by the window, Mai was the one sitting across from her. Today was different, Nobara took Mai's place for brunch after class, to be fair she hadn't showed up in some time so both Nobara and y/n jumped at the opportunity to spend some time together.

"So, does it feel lonely now that Yuuji and Mai spend so much time together?" Nobara asked, evidently trying to make y/n admit to some form of jealousy she was sure she had. "Not really, I'm happy she's finally with someone so good for her and she's finally off my back about hooking me up with random dudes" y/n said and she was honestly happy for her best friend, Yuuji was a very nice guy and in the past few weeks he's been seeing Mai, he's nothing less of a sweetheart and y/n saw him a as a little sibling even though they were roughly the same age.

"Of course, why would you be lonely, Sukuna's been keeping you company too." Nobara's eyes had a glimmer in them, not because she wanted to tease y/n, but she was very invested in the girls business with the oh so attractive tattoo artist.

Nobara did her homework on the guy, he certainly wasn't as polite or well mannered as he came across the night they met. He did seem like trouble at first glance, but the way he looked at y/n that night, or the times he waited for her to get off class to have some time together, Nobara would say that even a blind man could see that y/n had been tugging on Sukuna's heartstrings.

"It's not like that" y/n was once again flustered. What was she to the pink haired man, who missed no chance to be around her? "You're making out in his car in broad daylight, what is it like?" the brown haired girl chuckled, her friend was an idiot if she worried for a second about the man who looked at her like she would disappear at any second. "I don't know, but we aren't together like that, he's an interesting guy" y/n longed to be with him, she had a faint memory about him talking about something like that the time he spend the night with her, but then again, she was drunk and that could be her mind playing cruel tricks on her.

"Ok then whatever you say, I really hope you're not doubting the dude that cooked you ten different options for breakfast, after he took your drunk ass home."

"Wait how do you know about that- did Mai? Oh I'm gonna kill her."

Despite the tiny voice asking 'what are we?' in y/n's head, her days with Sukuna have been some of the best she's had. Granted they couldn't see each other that often, whenever they did, it was always better than the time before.

Sukuna had taken her to all the restaurants he knew were good, cafes with the best tiramisu she had ever tasted, taking an hour and a half to get to the next place he'd see her smile listening to her excitement filled voice as she told him how delicious the food was, then giving him some attitude mumbling about how she didn't expect him to have such nice taste, was the easiest victory to him, the highlight of his day.

He hadn't managed to get her back to his chair like he needed to yet, he had been so busy finding the best places to take her to that it seemed like it completely slipped his mind. It hasn't slipped Sukuna's mind though, he's just been nervous to bring it up again, what if she doesn't want to do that anymore? What if she changed her mind? What if she just agreed because she felt compelled to do so? Sukuna didn't know which one was worse.

Even on the days they couldn't see each other they were in touch, texting silly things or messing with each other. If a day was anything other good Sukuna could vent and let out his frustrations talking to y/n and she often did the same. Sukuna preferred calling her for that, not only to get things off his chest but because her voice was so calming to him, the need to hear it grew stronger each day he wasn't able to see her.

Afternoon classes were always adding to her demise, y/n even accepted Mai's gossiping over paying attention. Yuuji as she expected was as sweet as he looked, Mai was once again gushing over him and his adorable nature. Y/n just smiled at her friend who rumbled about the boy who, by now had a very firm hold of her heart. "You and Sukuna?" She asked, prying for any information she didn't already know from Yuuji. "Me and Sukuna" y/n stated back, shit eating grin on her face, knowing how not entertaining Mai and not feeding her what she wanted completely pissed her off. Y/n's phone buzzed from her pocket, giving her a little break from her friends curiosity.

Can I take you out after class?

Y/n's lips tagged into a small smile. "Speak of the devil" Mai teased looking over y/n's phone.

Hmm depends. Where to?

Its a surprise, doll

You know I hate surprises, but I can make an exception for you.

Mai pretend to gag next to her, but y/n payed her no mind. She had already seen enough from her and Yuuji to do the same.

You won't regret it, I'll be outside when you're done.

"Just don't make out in the parking lot again, being in his car doesn't mean that we don't see you." Mai was being Mai again. Y/n shoved her arm lightly and told her that they all knew how her and Yuuji sneaked around the bathrooms, laughing as her face flushed red.

Sukuna entered her field of view leaning against his car, finishing up a cigarette, looking too good for anyone not to stare at him. The total black outfit he had on did wonders for him, even if it was the simplest of crew cut shirts and sweatpants, every piece of clothing complimented him. Waving at Mai, y/n walked towards him noticing he's cocky expression. "Feels like you're eating me up with those eyes" he laughed, why must the sound of his voice be this melodic at all times. "Don't worry I missed you too" Sukuna said laying a soft kiss on y/n's lips as a greeting. If her fellow students weren't staring already, now they surely were .

" Where are we headed tonight?" Y/n asked fastening her seatbelt, she still kind of thought of Sukuna as clumsy, even though he's driven her many places, it's not that she didn't trust him, he was a very good driver. Hey safety comes first.

"You'll find out" he spoke with a little grin, before starting his engine and driving off.

Unlocking his door, he let y/n step inside first. Sukuna's house was surprisingly neat, everything looked to be in place, the décor was minimalistic. It felt like Sukuna very home-y, but then it didn't. It was too tidy, y/n didn't really think of him as a tidy person. The place also had his scent of sandalwood so y/n easily relaxed into the new space taking some more steps forward to look around.

"Bringing me to your house like this without taking me to dinner first, tsk should've known you were that type 'kuna." Y/n said in a mockingly disapproving tone "Who said that, I'm cooking dinner for you." Sukuna said draping his arm around her shoulders guiding her to his kitchen.

Whatever Sukuna had on his stove smelled scrumptious, making y/n's mouth water, maybe how pretty Sukuna looked with an apron on and a little sweat forming on his forehead from the heat of the stove helped too.

"You know, I would have never guessed you knew how to cook." Y/n let some of her assumptions fly in the room, she was the only one with a pass to talk about whatever she wanted with him. Sukuna wasn't going to shut her down. Y/n had leaned back on his table, her eyes roamed his figure freely. Sukuna would look over his shoulder smiling to himself every time he caught her in the act.

"I had to learn, Yuuji and I lived with our Grandpa, when he passed, it was just me and him." Y/n's heart clenched in her chest, Sukuna sounded different saying that. The truth is, Sukuna had never talked about that with anyone, he never made word of his grandfather's passing or the hardships him and his brother went through when they were left alone. He had mentioned to y/n that his and Yuuji's grandfather raised them, but from the way he spoke about him y/n was sure his Grandfather was doing well. "I'm sorry for your loss" was all she could muster at that moment, the pain in his voice was much too real for her. "Thank you, at least my brother turned out pretty good" he quickly changed the subject to something ligter, surprised at his self for opening up to her so easily. "You didn't turn out that bad either" y/n let the words spill, she had spent the past half hour blatantly checking out his back, she had nothing to get shy about. Sukuna let out a laugh, gripping his wooden spoon a little tighter throwing a glance over his shoulder. "Is that what you think?" Y/n shifted in her seat, how could this guy go from sentimental to laughing about his brother and to whatever this dark seductive tone was, she had no idea.

"Come on don't get shy on me, you were having fun checking me out just a minute ago, see anything you like" in the blink of an eye, Sukuna was slightly bent down facing her. Even after all the makeout sessions they've had that usually ended with y/n slapping his arm worrying that someone saw them and Sukuna looking at her with a cocky grin reassuring her that they gave a good show to whoever was watching, he could still make her all flustered, and she looked adorable like this, a deer caught in headlights. Sukuna kissed the tip of her nose, telling her she looked cute before turning his attention back on the food.

"Did you find that movie?" Sukuna's voice came from the kitchen, y/n was fumbling with the remote on his couch. Sukuna insisted on eating in his living room, he didn't want this to feel too formal, he still had whine out with fancy plates and everything, but he only wanted to cook for his girl and see her eyes light up eating his food, like they always did when she tried the food on the restaurants he took her.

"Yeah, here let me help with that." She said getting of the couch to help him set everything. "No no no, you go sit down, I'll do the work." Sukuna insisted, y/n only raised a brow at him and complied.

"Okay, you have to teach me, this tastes so good 'kuna" that nickname stuck, not that Sukuna complained, his stomach still did flips every time y/n called him that. She was looking at him just the way he hoped she would. The dish was quite simple, chicken with some red salsa and vegetables, but it was better than anything she'd ever tasted.

"I can give you a little cooking class, as long as you go grocery shopping" He offered her a little smile and y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

Y/n was leaning on Sukuna's chest with her arm hooked around his waist, he had a firm hold of her too, mindlessly looking at the screen but not paying enough attention to it. The movie y/n chose turned out to be a barely watchable C grade thriller and the two glasses of wine they had didn't make it tolerable either. Bad movie or not, having her under his arm like this was all he needed to feel calmer. Sukuna was so calm that he forgot why he brought y/n over.

"Can I show you something?" Sukuna spoke softly, looking down at her, y/n nodded in reply and groaned loudly at the loss of his warmth when he got up from the couch, Sukuna could only chuckle at her .

"Just two drinks and you're already a brat."

"Shut up."

Sukuna came back holding a big folder and some sketch books, y/n's curiosity picked and she found herself straightening up a bit.

"I've been dying to show you these." Sukuna stated as he flipped through the pages. Y/n's eyes danced all over the various shapes and designs he had came up with. Her eyes traced a particular three headed fox, she had never seen anything like that before, she reached out her hand to feel his drawing on her fingertips.

Sukuna's heart picked up its pace, she was currently in aww at his favourite piece for her. "Are those what you told me you came up with form me?" She was amused, she stared at him wide eyed not believing that anyone would ever do something like that for her, "Yeah, every design here is meant for you, you can pick whichever you like, but if you don't want me to tattoo you, I'll understand, you don't have to let me if you don't want to." Y/n couldn't believe it, there were enough drawings in here to fill her entire body in ink. She had hardly believed him when he said he had a vision for her sleeve, but this, this was out of this world.

"I don't even know what to say, these are so beautiful, but why did you go through all this trouble?" She still couldn't see a reason for it. "You've given me so much inspiration from the first time you visited, I can't get your skin out of my head, seeing you in my work is just surreal. I would do anything to do it again" Sukuna's words had not yet sunken in properly, y/n was still in disbelief.

Sukuna placed his sketchbooks on the coffee table, his hand prompting y/n's chin up so he can look at her face in the dim lights of his living room. "I will decorate any part of your skin you're willing to give to me, I'll give you the best work I can, please let me do this much." Sukuna almost sounded desperate, his face was once more too close and his wine scented breath tickled her lips, he had almost gone mad drawing in most his free time, and every time he saw her, a new idea of what would fit her popped into his head.

"You can do that" the moment these words rolled out of y/n's tongue, Sukuna had heard all he needed, and latched his mouth on hers, allowing his hands to explore more of her body. Between heavy breaths, Sukuna whispered about the softness of her skin, how he couldn't wait to mark her again, how he wanted her to be his canvas, his and only his. Diving in her neck once more, littering her sensitive skin with bruises she'd have to cover up tomorrow and her hands tangled up in his hair. "Just be good for me and I'll be gentle" His words only made her anticipate more.

The next day Sukuna was walking like the happiest man on earth, he woke up and had breakfast with his beloved doll, he had a smile on his face you couldn't miss. His co-workers didn't miss it either nor did they miss the huge forder he had under his arm when he came in, but they didn't question it.

Gojo spent his time teasing him about his unusual demeanor while Geto laughed to himself assuming what everyone else did.

Teasing him and prying about Sukuna's previous day didn't really work in Gojo's favour, Sukuna would simply ignore him and his smile still hadn't fadded. Gojo took it as his personal mission to piss him off when he had a lightbulb moment.

"Come on man, you talk about her all the time and when she comes over we're all working, when are we gonna get to meet her?" Gojo pushed, for the third time today, he finally found a weak spot.

The entire crew was curious meet y/n, properly this time at least, but Gojo was the only one who could confidently voice that. "Tell you what, go one month without fucking someone in here, and we can all go for some drinks tonight." Sukuna said in a joking manner, there was no way Gojo Satoru would agree to something like that, the man couldn't last two days on that deal, he was not about to give his word to Sukuna and take one for the team.

Gojo stood before the pink haired man, his glasses low on the bridge of his nose "Then, it's a deal" he said, obnoxious as ever with his hand extended for Sukuna to take. Sukuna knew Gojo was a man of his word, and if he shook on something, he would no doubt keep his end. Now Sukuna had to keep his as well.

Hey doll, I was wondering if you'd like to go grab a few drinks with me and the rest of the guys after closing?

Sure, I'll be there before nine, what's the occasion?

No need, I'll pick you up, they just really want to meet you, you don't have to come if you don't want to though.

Don't be stupid, I won't pass the opportunity of collecting blackmail on you.

Sukuna was smiling at his phone, that was so typical of y/n, his grin quickly faded once his eyes met the idiots standing before him with hopeful eyes. "Just don't do anything stupid" he sighed defeated before getting back to work, this was going to be a long night.

Y/n easily spotted Sukuna's car, he was parked just further down her street. Carefully swinging the passenger door open, she expected at least extra someone inside, but it was just Sukuna.

"Hey 'kuna." y/n greeted stepping inside, Sukuna faced her with a half smile, lazily bringing his hand on her jawline, pulling her in for a short kiss. "You're looking very pretty today, dollface." he spoke, still inches from her face, as his eyes traced her figure. Every inch of exposed skin begging him to mark it. Sukuna halted his wandering thoughts when y/n spoke again. "Everyone ended up ditching you in the end? cause you could've taken me out without an excuse like that."

"I wish they did, but unfortunately for both of us we'll have to suffer through it, I know you'd rather have me all to yourself." The mare glance he gave her from the corner of his eye as he put the car on speed was enough to have y/n's hear thumping in her chest. "Speak for yourself, airhead." Y/n's tone didn't lack at all in sarcasm. She did want him all to herself but she also was very intrigued by the rest of his crew, Sukuna always spoke about them. Whether it was stories from his childhood, college or everyday work things, y/n kept hearing about Nanami, Geto, Gojo and Megumi so she looked forward to getting to know them for herself. She had only seen Gojo and Nanami. Megumi and Geto had always been occupied when she dropped by the shop she would catch a glimpse of them tonight.

Sukuna's hand had taken a grip of her thigh, making y/n not so focused in their conversation. Sukuna was mindlessly squeezing while warning y/n about his friends.

The bar looked more like a museum in her opinion, still a very beautiful, elegant place. Y/n expected no less from Sukuna, he's already accompanied her to the best small restaurants and patisseries, sometimes she wondered how he came to know this many perfect date spots.

Sukuna had managed to slip his hand in her's the moment he noticed eyes on his precious doll and guided her to the table his co-workers were sat.

"You owe me 50 Nanami, they did show up."

"You're making me regret this already." Sukuna said, his head dipping slightly

"Come on 'kuna don't be such a grump" had that been y/n's voice Sukuna would've smiled down at her and his demeanor would instantly change, Gojo's voice only offered him annoyance.

Y/n took notice and softly brushed his hand with her thumb, Sukuna let a little laugh and proceeded to introduce the girl under his arm to everyone. "Y/n this is Geto, Megumi and you already know Nanami and Gojo here" Sukuna spoke pulling out y/n's seat as she shook hands with everyone. Gojo took the chance to piss his friend off, after all he would have to strictly work for the next month, he brought y/n's hand to his lips, giving her a compliment on her dress, making Sukuna red in the face.

Everyone took a liking to her very quickly, seeing exactly why Sukuna was so taken by her, she was witty and smart with a silver tongue that was also very sharp. Geto begun telling her about Sukuna's embarrassing drunk nights in college while Gojo laughed and even Nanami snickered. Megumi made Sukuna regret the day he considered taking him in his shop when he told y/n how he always cried as a kid if he didn't have a cookie after his meal. "That's why you always grumble about dessert?" Y/n asked him choking in laughter, Sukuna mumbled a reply and went back to looking annoyed, he was really happy to see y/n interact with his friends so effortlessly. This girl was constantly giving him more reasons to be around her.

Y/n was in the middle of a deep conversation with Nanami about philosophy, her eyes gleaming when he mentioned Plato's allegory of the cave. Geto subtly tapped Megumi's leg to get him to notice how Sukuna was resting his chin on his hand staring at y/n, who was blabbering about Greek philosophers, with the most sweet expression on his face any of them had seen. Gojo also took notice of that and an unspoken pact of 'annoy the fuck out of Sukuna' was made then and there.

"Have you thought about the next thing you want done or did you just want one tattoo?" Gojo asked the girl, breaking her conversation with Nanami a little too early for her liking.

"Yeah, I'll be getting some more work from Sukuna pretty soon" y/n replied proudly, her mind wandering to the night before to Sukuna and the beautiful pieces he came up with just for her. Sukuna perked up, his heart thumping by how happy y/n sounded with these words rolling out her lips.

"You sure you want him to do it though? You know I'm free if you need." Gojo's voice was condescending like always. Sukuna tensed up, jaw clenching at the thought of anyone laying a finger on y/n's skin. "Are you crazy? with work like this, I wouldn't let anyone else do it." Y/n laughed, Gojo must've been joking anyway.

Sukuna found so much comfort in her reply, she loved his artistry and never hesitated to show it, no matter how much of a brat she could be with him. Geto butted in the conversation too "y/n is right, look at how beautiful Sukuna's work looks on her, there's no way she'd change him." Y/n nodded at his words. "But I also do black and gray, I'm sure I could come up with something for you" Sukuna's eyes were glaring daggers at the raven haired man next to him, he remained oblivious to it laughing on the inside, Sukuna was so predictable.

"Thanks, but you said it yourself, there's no way I'd change him." Y/n spoke confidently, taking a sip of her vodka, knowing that at this point she was stroking Sukuna's ego and it would only grow bigger. Sukuna had no idea what everyone was onto trying to tattoo y/n, probably piss him off. From the looks of it, y/n wasn't going to let that happen. Nanami was observing quietly exchanging a few more words with y/n, he was right about her not taking other people's bullshit, Gojo couldn't pull anything with her, Nanami could see what Sukuna saw in her.

"Y/n, when you first came you were going to get tattooed by Megumi right?" Nanami spoke, Sukuna never expected him to join the others in their stupidity. "Yeah, he takes the walk ins right?" Y/n said casually, paying no mind to what Nanami was trying to do, the rest of them were also shocked that he decided to join in on making Sukuna's night a little hellish. Oh the betrayal.

"Did you want to get tattooed by Megumi?" Such a simple question, but Sukuna was at the edge of his seat "Yeah, I did, he was the reason I chose Domain in the first place, everyone loves this guy's work, I was pretty excited." Sukuna's face dropped, it's not like he didn't expect that, of course y/n came based on the reviews, he couldn't be mad at her for not booking him, she didn't even know him. He was pretty happy that he ended up taking her in that day, even if his insides boiled with jealousy at this very moment "Sorry for ruining your plans doll" the same smugness echoed in his voice "I can only stay mad at you for so long." Meeting his enlarged pupils and darker eyes, she could tell Sukuna was indeed, jealous. He had nothing to be jealous of, she didn't plan on leaving his side anytime soon, but when Megumi took his turn in the game everyone seemed to play, y/n found it hard not to join them. "If you still want to I can tattoo you since I never got to" Megumi knew he was walking on thin ice when Sukuna gave him a look that made him wish he was dead, these two got in fights all the time as kids and ended up with bruises all over them, if Megumi didn't ease up Sukuna would gladly remind him of the past.

"Uh, yeah, if you've got a design" y/n said with a bit of hesitation, Sukuna was seathin next to her, his hand aggressively palming her leg just above the knee. The rest of the night Sukuna didn't really speak, only leaned in y/n's ear to tell her to slow down on the vodka, the rest of the guys continued to talk amongst themselves as if nothing had happened.

Exiting the bar, y/n was walking- trying to keep up with Sukuna who walked fast to his car after mumbling a goodnight to everyone. Y/n regretted playing along, she'd never seen Sukuna this quiet. " 'kuna, I'm sorry I really didn't want to upset you" she said her eyes on the ground, gently tagging at his jacket, how could he ever get annoyed with her when she looked like that. Sukuna wasted no time swiftly taking a hold of her, his lips ghosting her's "I'm not that upset, only a little" his voice barely above a whisper, lips grazed over hers briefly. Sukuna didn't know if that was his heart or hers thumping so hard "I'm tired of dancing around it" his breath was hot, warming up her face making y/n's face impossibly hotter. "Dancing around what?" She asked with visible hesitation. Sukuna dipped down once more, not so softly this take taking her soft lips into his own, gently tugging on her bottom lip with his teeth, letting one of his palms to rest on her cheek and the other taking a loose hold of the back of her neck. Her arms naturally found their way around his neck. "I told you I want you all to myself" . Did he mean what y/n was thinking? Did y/n want him to call her his? Sukuna almost crackled at her puzzled expression. Sukuna wasn't one to express things this openly, y/n was a bit dense in that department so he had to, at least he told himself that.

"I'm starting to get a bit disappointed, I clearly remember you saying 'i would say yes' with some romantic mumbling" Sukuna said, stroking her cheek ever so slightly.

Her breath was striped from her lungs, it wasn't from the kiss this time. So that did happen, y/n's mind was not playing tricks on her, Sukuna had in fact asked. Her eyes once again gleamed looking straight to his crimson irises. "So will you be mine?" He was more confident this time, they had grown closer, laughed more, shared more, Sukuna wanted this from the very first session they had together and the more time he spend around her, the more he couldn't bare the thought of anyone laying their fingers on her. Perhaps Nanami's little show got under his skin way more than he could ever admit, but there was no way he's letting anyone mark her. Y/n was his personal artwork, only the finest of pieces shall taint her skin. "Yes, airhead" y/n said, finally having enough air to form words, still in his arm with a smile on her face, indulging him on another deep kiss. "Let's seal the deal then."

Sukuna finally got to fulfill his need, y/n was back on his chair late in the afterhours of the night. He finished free handing another of his designs he showed her the night before, the outline of her sleeve, with the Cerberus foxes he created just for her.

Y/n was standing in front of his full body mirror, examining the very delicate lines of his marker. His arms snaked around her waist, Sukuna could watch her admire his art for eternity.

"You look so beautiful in it" he simply stated, looking at their reflection he could only note her beauty. Y/n looked beautiful, beautiful on her own, beautiful in his tattoos, beautiful in his arms.

"Your art is probably the most beautiful thing I've seen, but you too are a close competitor" her voice crystal clear, she managed to make a faint pink dust his cheeks. Sukuna wasn't one to take compliments, but from her? He could listen to her little praises all day. "Now, now get your ass back on this chair, you're not getting out of this"

"I didn't plan to anyway."

Bonus Domain shenanigans: Megumi had the pleasure of opening up the very next morning, what the hell happened here, he was about to call the cops when he saw Sukuna looking scruffy and sleep deprived, emerge from the back room, same pants and undone dress shirt as the night before. "What the hell" was all that he could say. Sukuna was thankful he let y/n out the back just so they could both avoid the embarrassment that was to come.

"What happened here?" Geto asked the moment he came through the door, although he already knew, Sukuna was predictable. "Nothing happened" Sukuna groaned trying to get them to shut up, he just needed some coffee. He disappeared in the back again.

"yeah sure, 'nothing happened' does he think we're stupid or something" Gojo said to Nanami, who already had a headache and he hasn't been in for 15 minutes yet. "Stop it already nothing happened" Sukuna said, coming out in the front to order a coffee. Gojo stared at him, walked closer to him and began laughing straight to his face, "fuck you're laughing at?" Sukuna was confused

"Next time, clean the lipstick off your face and neck." Nanami chuckled while Gojo continued to laugh at Sukuna's frustration.

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[svtkillua]

little lion man > 3

rating: [pg-13 / angst] pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader x todoroki shouto warnings: cursing, lots of yummy angst >:)) word count: 8.7k listen while you read here!

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ch.1 + ch.2 + ch.3 + ch.4 (final) + alt. ending

Having a secret for so long that suddenly becomes public was uncomfortable and dread inducing. A part of you you’d kept locked away from prying eyes for years had not only been thrown into the spotlight, but shown to the one person you hadn’t wanted to see it. You felt naked, you hadn’t been ready to let the world know you were completely in love with Bakugou Katsuki, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. The weight of keeping it hidden was gone off your shoulders but they still remained sagged from the pain in your chest.

He knew you loved him even if you hadn’t said the words, he had to know. Why else would you have had that reaction to him proposing to another girl? You could still see the pained look on his face when he’d seen you crying, a wave of guilt washing over you.

It wasn’t Bakugou’s fault he had hurt you, it was yours. You had never told him you loved him. You had never made a move to let him know that you wanted to be more than friends. Just because in your head it’d seemed obvious, didn’t mean it was to him. You had been scared, scared of the rejection and the pain you would feel if your friendship was ruined. You never let yourself risk anything more because what you had was important to begin with.

He hadn’t known he was tearing you apart by giving you every detail of his relationship. He hadn’t known that all the touches he gave you meant so much, nor did he know that every second you saw them together was like torture. You were so in pain just knowing they were dating, let alone now that they were engaged, but in the aftermath you’d been realizing that the blame wasn’t on him. It was on you.

You did this to yourself, and you were now dragging everyone else down with you.

Your body curled deeper into the blankets around you, bloodshot eyes half closed as your focus remained out the window. The curtains were drawn back so the sun could shine through, it warming the skin of your bare thigh the blanket had fallen off of. The bathroom door opening quietly behind you didn’t make you stir, figure un-moving as your cheek squished against the pillow.

His feet were quiet behind you as he moved towards his dresser, your fingers picking at the soft blanket surrounding your stomach and chest. The silence felt comfortable, your eyes sore from the consistent crying the past few nights. The bed dipped beside your head, your body lulling onto its back and your vision focusing up on Todoroki.

He was staring at you with a blank expression, his hand resting on your shoulder. His thumb moved in soft back and forth motions over the tense muscles and you felt yourself relaxing enough to close your eyes when he spoke.

“Are you alright?” His voice sounded gentle, calming even, as his bare torso shifted, his back resting against the headboard. His light grey joggers felt soft when his knee brushed against your forearm from how he had them folded.

“No.” You laughed quietly, opening your eyes back up to look at him, a small smile on his own face, though his eyes showed worry. You were thankful he didn’t stare at you like you were pitiful, despite that being exactly how you felt. You felt pitiful and sad and broken, like all you wanted to do was sleep but your nerves were too strung out to relax.

“You know you can’t just hide out in my apartment forever.” He spoke quietly, hand moving from your shoulder and instead shifting up to your hair, brushing it off your forehead. “I like having you here, but eventually you’re going to have to do something. You can’t avoid him forever.”

You nodded, turning your head to the side to look out the window again, his fingers still lightly combing through your hair. You knew he was right, you’d been holed up in his apartment for days and doing little more besides crying and showering. Five days had passed since Bakugou proposed and you fell apart, and those five days were spent self destructing.

You’d been avoiding everyone besides Todoroki, only once responding to Kaminari when he wouldn’t quit asking him if you were okay. You mostly stayed in bed, balled up in the sheets and thinking about all the wrong decisions you’d made to get yourself to this point.

Bakugou had called you that night, fifty-two times to be exact. Every time the voicemail came up he’d hung up and called again, for hours. You didn’t answer once, nor did you respond to his texts begging you to please come talk to him or to let him know where you were. You couldn’t face him, not now. Not now that there was no way he didn’t know you were completely in love with him.

The thought made you grow anxious, you weren’t even sure what to do. You couldn’t be in your own apartment, there were too many taunting memories. Todoroki had been there beside you helping you through it all but you felt guilty, like you were driving a wedge between himself and Bakugou. It wasn’t hard to see that the pair weren’t happy with each other that night he proposed. Todoroki had looked like he wanted to knock his teeth out then and there in the parking lot.

“Are you trying to kick me out?” You joked quietly, his soft laughter resonating in your ear as you turned your head back up towards him. His large hands came up to cup your cheeks, though they were upside down. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your forehead, before flicking it right in the middle with his knuckle.

“Of course, not. Don’t be stupid.” He chided. The corners of his lips were turned upwards as his hands slipped off your face and he moved to stand, tugging on his shirt he’d sat on the nightstand previously. “Though you are an awful roommate, haven’t cooked me dinner once.”

His joking tone made it easy to laugh, your eyes rolling as you pushed yourself upright in bed, his eyes wandering over you quickly. You had been stealing his clothes all week, you hadn’t gone back to your place and you definitely couldn’t sleep and wallow in self pity in that horrible dress. You were wearing one of Todoroki’s old t-shirts and a pair of old boxer briefs that served as your shorts.

“You love cooking, I was doing you a favor, really.” You argued, tilting your head to the side, rolling it around on your shoulders to try and stretch out the strained muscles. Here in Todoroki’s bed felt like a safe haven, no one could see you cry here. No one would remind you of the bad decisions you’d made to make you cry, either. Todoroki never pressured you to talk, and when you did start to vent he was a willing ear there to listen and comfort you. You couldn’t help but think he deserved better than this.

“Sure.” Todoroki rolled his eyes as he stretched, sliding a sweatshirt over his chest and tugging it down as he focused on you. “I have to go to train, okay? If you need me call me, I’ll answer.”

You nodded and gave him a small, lackluster smile as he sighed, but left, the sound of the door shutting ringing in your ears a few minutes later. You exhaled loudly, fingers drumming into the mattress below you as you took a glance over at your phone. The temptation to call Bakugou was high, fingers practically itching to dial the numbers. The moment you were alone you wanted nothing more than to hear his playful insults and feel his warmth against your skin.

You missed him, you missed him so damn much even though thinking of him made you want to break down again. You wanted to know how he was and if he was okay and if he hated you now. You wanted to know if he was thinking of you as much as you were thinking of him. You wanted to call him and say you were sorry for making him be in this situation but all you could do was sit and stare at the device beside you. Calling him would do more damage than good and you knew that, but it didn’t make your natural pull towards him just go away.

Your fist rubbed away the stray tear that slid against the side of your nose as you rose to your feet, shuffling over to peek out the window. It was warm inside but outside was frigid, the sun covered by clouds and casting a grey shadow over every surface. Your fingers skimmed along the window pane, puffing out a breathe of air that fogged against the glass.

Todoroki was right, you needed to do something, something that would help you begin moving on and putting the pieces of yourself back together. You couldn’t even think straight anymore, it felt like chunks of the puzzle were missing but you had no idea where to find them. Your heart still felt achy and your muscles were still weak. You felt like a minimized version of yourself that wasn’t working properly.

You noticed Todoroki’s apartment key sitting on dresser by the door when you turned your head, eyes rolling as you slid it onto your palm. You stared at the metal for a moment before, as if on que, hearing a knock on the front door. You laughed softly, a teasing smile on your lips as you walked up to the door, throwing it open.

“See, aren’t you glad I’m here n-”

Your words were cut off when you realized it wasn’t Todoroki in front of you.

It was Camie.

She looked beautiful as ever despite the dark circles under her eyes, a jacket wrapped tightly around her petite form. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at your lack of long pants and a shirt that very obviously belonged to Todoroki. You self consciously tugged the shirt down more, it covering your shorts as you swallowed the nervous feeling bubbling up in your own stomach.

Why was she here? How had she known where you were? Was she here to tell you to stay away? Maybe she wanted to punch you for ruining her birthday dinner.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice came across meek, your fingers curling into your palms as you tried to appear stronger than you felt, your mind exploding with the possibilities of what she could want. You weren’t sure Camie liked you much to begin with but after ruining her birthday party and causing a huge scene right after she’d gotten engaged, you doubted you were her favorite person. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, crossing one leg over her other as you cleared your throat “How did you know I was here?”

You could feel the resentment in your gut as you looked at her, the girl who’d gotten what you wanted. Your body felt strung out, like she wasn’t really there and you were just hallucinating from your lack of sleep. You’d been picturing her in a wedding dress so much the past few days you really wouldn’t have been surprised if it was just in your head.

“I got Kaminari to tell me.” Her voice was, as usual, soft and polite as she hesitantly took a step forward, your body sluggishly moving aside so she could come in. The door clicked with the force of your palm, her body moving over to the sofa and taking a seat. Your heart was pounding away in your chest as you slowly walked over, but took a seat on the chair furthest from her, when she spoke again. “I needed to talk to you.”

“Talk about what?” You questioned, crossing your legs over each other and folding your hands on your lap in an attempt to stop looking as tense as you felt. You’d never been alone with Camie before, you’d barely even spoken to her really, and yet here she was across from you wanting to talk about something that was making her usual soft exterior look hard and tired despite her even voice. “If this is about your birthday…”

“About you.” She cut you off and you shifted uncomfortably, silently wishing it had been Todoroki at the door, “There’s a lot that’s gone on you don’t know about and I think you need to.”

Something about her matter of fact octave made you narrow your eyes at her. She sounded like she had all the answers and you were confused as to why. Did she know something you didn’t? Did she even know that you had all but told Bakugou you’re in love with him? Why would she want to help you with information when you’d ruined her night just days ago?

“What are you talking about?” Your heart was pounding at an alarming rate as your mind wandered all the possibilities. Her demeanor made the room feel ominous, like a dark cloud was looming over you just waiting for a the right moment to pour out the rain.

“We’d been going out for about a month when Kaminari told me.” Camie said cryptically and looked away from you, instead staring at the dark colored wall, her fingertip dragging back and forth over the faux leather sofa. She came across forced,  like she didn’t want the actual words to come out of her perfectly painted red lips.

“Kaminari told you what?” You questioned, face scrunching up, baffled, your teeth biting down on your bottom lip, the flesh tender from doing it so much lately.

“That Bakugou was using me to make you jealous.” She said it like it didn’t bother her in the slightest but you could see the flash of pain in her eyes. Your lip slipped out from under your teeth’s grip, lungs tightening as the words processed.

“What?”

“That he was using me to make you jealous.” She repeated, turning her gaze to look at you again, her lips parting as she let out a heavy sigh before speaking again, “That Bakugou was in love with you.”

The room felt like it was flipped upside down, your heart slamming against your rib cage as you looked down at your knees, confused and unsure of what to do with this information. Was it even true? Why would Kaminari have told her that if it wasn’t?

“I think he took pity on me, seeing that I was starting to really like Bakugou. He didn’t want me to get hurt because of Bakugou’s irrationality. I think he’d assumed I’d break up with him, but I didn’t. I wanted him.” Camie explained, her hands lifting up to brush her curtained bangs away from her face. She looked wounded, as if this was something she hadn’t ever wanted to say out loud, “I was falling in love with him and I was sure I could make him love me too.”

“In retrospect I knew it was a bad decision. Even when he started to grow deeper feelings for me, I couldn’t trust that you weren’t still in the back of his mind. He was falling in love with me like I’d wanted but I never let him get over you.” She continued, edging forward in her seat so her toes could reach the ground, shoes tapping lightly into the dark wooden floors. “I almost thought I’d won him over, and then we went over to your place for dinner and I just knew.”

The way her voice wavered at the end made a feeling of irrational guilt spread in your stomach. He’d gotten so quickly into Camie that it was baffling he’d even had time to develop feelings for you, but her earnest voice was making it all seem so true. A bitter escaped her as she shook her head lazily.

“I knew as soon as he hugged you, the way he was gripping onto you so desperately. How he practically forgot I was there when he’d tried to get you to sit with him. That whole night he complained about how touchy Todoroki was with you. He’s not the best at hiding his feelings when he’s annoyed.” She mumbled the last bit as she folded her arms across her chest, growing quiet.

The sounds of your quiet breathing was the only audible sound, the air feeling thick around you. Your eyes were on her delicate features as she stared down at her lap, her sunshine yellow coat clashing with her dimly colored surroundings. She looked defeated, like she’d been trying to convince herself she was wrong about everything going on around her.

Maybe you hadn’t been the only one Bakugou was unintentionally hurting.

Your mind was reeling with too much information being pumped into it. You’d barely begun getting back to functioning again and now you were sent right back into the haze that is Bakugou. Your eyes shifted up to Camie’s face, her eyes now on you.

“I hated you, I hated you so much for a long time because I couldn’t get his attention how you did. I was so jealous every time you guys were alone. I would say such shitty things about you and he’d get so mad, it drove me nuts. I did everything I was supposed to do, everything he loved. I finally got his heart, and yet you’re still the one he went running after.”

“Why are you telling me this?’  You mumbled, picking at your thumb nail aimlessly as you stared back at her. You never tried to push a wedge into their relationship, but had you unintentionally? This entire time you’d been envious of her when she was insecure about you, and that was perplexing.

“Because I know you love him, I’ve known since I met you. Best friends don’t look at each other how you look at him. I love Bakugou, but I don’t want to be his second choice. I think he cares about me too, I know he does, he loves me. Just lately he seems confused, like he’s not sure what he’s feeling. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t think he’s still harboring feelings for you, though.”  Camie sighed, pausing as her hands slipped onto the sofa and gripped the edge of it. “The way he looked after you left crying the other night…I’ve never seen him that upset before.”

“Is he okay?” You asked before you could think, the words blurting out like a reflex, your body sorrowful with the thought of being the one making him upset. Part of you felt frustrated with him, if he had loved you why had he never said anything? Then again, neither had you.

“I wouldn’t know, he hasn’t been home in days.”

“What?” You asked, eyes widening and your body straightening up. She looked tired, physically and emotionally, like she’d been struggling to hold herself together and you were sure you looked very similar. The entirety of time you’d known of Camie you’d been envious of everything she had and everything she was. She seemed like she’d had everything all together, but now, alone and in front of you, she looked broken. Broken because she wasn’t sure the man she loved loved her quite as much.

“He won’t answer my calls, he hasn’t been back to his apartment, I can’t find him. I don’t know where he is or what he’s doing.” Camie said simply, body moving upright. Her diamond ring sparkled as she lifted her hands up to tighten her jacket around her slim waist, making your stomach twist uncomfortably. This was all too much to take in. “I should get going, I have class.”

Your body stayed frozen for a moment as she walked herself to the door, her heels clicking against the wood. She paused once she gripped the door handle and turned to look at you, a sad smile on her lips as she spoke.

“None of us can do this forever. I know you care about him, so figure out what you want to do.”

With that, she was gone, the door closing behind her and enveloping you in an uncomfortable, stuffy silence. Your palms pressed together as you bowed your head towards the ground, pulling your legs up and against your chest.

You thought back to all of your memories with Bakugou and swallowed the lump forming in your throat. You had so many questions and basically no answers for them. Had all the guys known he had feelings for you? Did they all know you did for him now? Had he really asked Camie out to try and make you jealous?

Bakugou wasn’t the type to willingly hurt people, so you could imagine even if it started out of a not so good motive, he’d developed feelings for her rather quickly, otherwise he would have broken it off. It was obvious he loved her, as obvious as it seemed to be to Camie that he cared for you. You could see it when they were together that she obviously made him happy, so why was Camie acting like she had lost a fight? Could it be possible he really harbored feelings for you both?

It all felt surreal, like the plot to a movie you’d surely hate, with a love triangle that left everyone upset and broken inside. From Camie’s perspective you’d be the villain, the girl who showed up and threw a wrench in her perfect relationship. Only that perfect relationship had apparently been built on a lie and you were just now finding out about it.

You groaned and flopped back on the sofa, folding your arms across your face and inhaling sharply. You wished you were miles away in a little cottage with no troubles on your mind besides deciding what you’d have for dinner. You willed your feelings to just go away so you’d not have to worry about what to do now. What were you even supposed to do now. You squeezed your eyes closed, chest feeling shallow, like your lungs had caved in. You didn’t know how you ended up here, but you knew you needed answers.

You needed to know if what Camie was saying was true.

Your fist rapped on the door to the training room, hair pulled back into a messy bun and nerves brewing up in your veins. You peeked through the glass, counting seven heads inside and breathing a sigh of relief when none of them looked like Bakugou. Camie hadn’t been lying about him being MIA, evidently.

Midoriya answered the door after the background music cut off, a smile making his cheeks bunch up as he opened the door wider realizing it was you. “Hey, come in.”

The room felt hot, the boys all panting and getting drinks of water during their short break. Tsuyu was curled up in the corner by Tokoyami, watching something on a phone that had them both giggling. Kirishima was stood beside Shindo as they talked about some special offensive move, both of them too in their heads to notice you. Todoroki had however, his hair covered by a ball cap and his sweatshirt from earlier folded neatly by the side of the room as he quickly made his way over to you.

“You okay?” He questioned, eyebrows raised slightly, surprised to see you here considering this morning you didn’t even wanna leave his bed. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his joggers, tilting his head backwards some to see you better under the bill of his cap. 

“I need to talk to you, and Kaminari.” You explained mutely, stepping a bit closer to him as you could feel eyes on the pair of you. It wasn’t silly as to why some of them would be starring, you’d been spending a lot of time with Todoroki lately. Not to mention you were still wearing one of his shirts, just now it was paired with an old pair of basketball shorts. It didn’t exactly send a look of friendship as much as relationship. “It’s important.”

Todoroki bobbed his head in a yes, his hand landing on your elbow as he called Kaminari’s name, the tall boy rushing over and smiling widely at you. His arms looped around your middle, picking you up off the ground til just the tips of your shoes were touching, the hug tight and crushing but incredibly comforting. You found yourself laughing faintly, shaking your head as he placed you back on your heels. It made your anxiety lessen just a bit, Todoroki nodding for the pair of you to move over to the corner of the room with him.

You sat cross legged beside Todoroki on the bench against the wall, Kaminari’s long legs spread out in a v shape on the floor in front of you as you took a shaky breathe, not sure where to start. Your mind was still a jumbled mess, so you blurted out the first thing that popped up in your brain.

“Did Bakugou have feelings for me?”

Both of them remained tight lipped at your question, Todoroki stilling beside you, while Kaminari’s eyes flickered everywhere around the room but to yours. You weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want to tell you no or if he didn’t want to tell you something you weren’t supposed to know. Todoroki cleared his throat finally and maneuvered his muscular arms across his chest, speaking quietly.

“He did. Before he started dating Camie.”

Kaminari looked up at you finally, his eyes full of guilt as he squeezed his hands together, nodding in agreement. He looked somber, the emotion looking wrong on his usually cheerful exterior.

“When he asked her out he thought it would make you jealous, he was too chicken to just tell you he liked you.” Kaminari sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, “I told him it was a bad idea but he didn’t listen to me. I tried to tell Camie what was going on but she didn’t seem phased. I thought maybe she’d break up with him, but clearly she didn’t.”

You nodded languidly as you leaned back into the arm of the couch, Todoroki’s hand hesitantly resting on your knee and giving it a benevolent squeeze. You looked over to see him nibbling on his bottom lip, before looking back at Kaminari.

“He started to like her after a few months, he fell in love with her and I guess we all thought he’d gotten over you, but then at your house a few weeks ago… When I walked in on you two in the kitchen, seeing him all desperate to get you to talk to him, I figured out he was starting to feel something for you again, or those emotions never completely went away.”

“He’s an idiot.” Todoroki grumbled and brushed his thumb over your knee absent mindedly “He shouldn’t have asked someone else out if he still had feelings for you. He’s not just hurting you, but he’s hurting her as well.”

He had an edge to his voice you hadn’t heard before, your hand landing on his and giving it a light pat. He looked over at you, sighing and using his thumb and index finger from his free hand to rub at his eyes.

“He’s really been confused about what he wants, and it’s not fair to any of you, but I know he cares about you both. He won’t talk to any of us, and I think it’s just because he’s not sure what to do. Him and Todoroki about got in a fist fight yesterday.” Kaminari said, Todoroki narrowing his eyes at him, apparently not wanting him to share that information.

“What?” You questioned, turning your body towards Todoroki, who was now avoiding looking at you. “You got in a fight?”

“He came to practice trying to get someone to tell him where you are. I knew you didn’t want to  see him so I didn’t tell him. You’ll talk to him when you’re ready.” Todoroki explained, shrugging his shoulders “He wouldn’t back off. I’m tired of him making you feel like shit, he’s being selfish. He can’t just drag the both of you along, on purpose or not.”

You rubbed at your eyes with the heels of your palms, Kaminari sighing heavily and reaching forward to pat your leg. You looked at him through your fingers and he frowned, running his free hand through his messy hair, his forehead shiny with sweat.

“I’m sorry, he made me swear I wouldn’t tell you about it when he came up with the plan in the first place.” He was drumming his fingers against the light wood flooring, “I tried to get him to just talk to you about things, but you know how stubborn he can be. He was scared he’d lose you.

You just nodded, staring at your lap and letting your mind wander. You wanted to cry again but for completely different reasons than you had been lately. It was all too much, too much to think about and too much to fuck up your already unstable emotions. Everywhere you looked there was a reminder that your life was falling to pieces and no one could help you fix it.

Everything felt too quiet, most of the boys had stopped their chattering and were now watching the three of you, which made your neck feel hot. You stood, brushing Todoroki’s hand off your knee as you did so, his duo-coloured eyes watching you move.

“I gotta go.” You said quickly, making a move towards the door, Todoroki’s loud sigh audible behind you but you didn’t stop, giving a quick wave to everyone before slipping out, shutting the door behind you.

The air felt cold against your arms as you walked, regretting not taking one of his jackets before you’d left Todoroki’s place. You wanted to scream. You wanted to scream so loud your lungs would give out and you’d be left with no thoughts in your head. You were so lost and conflicted and tired, so so tired that you just wanted to sleep.

You needed to get away, from all of this. You needed a break to sort out all the things clogging up your head. You hated being away from everyone, but you needed to be. You needed to be alone with just yourself and your thoughts and your mind.

The idea of just grabbing your passport and leaving on a whim made your stomach churn with nerves. Could you really do that? Could you really just pack up your things and leave? Could you let go of everything holding you here and have time to figure things out? Maybe that was exactly what you needed; distance from reality.

Your limbs felt heavy, dragging you so your body walked at half speed towards your apartment door. It looked menacing, leering at you and taunting you of what laid behind it. All the pictures and memories you were trying so hard to tuck away and never pull out again, they were waiting just beyond the wooden surface. You inhaled sharply as you paused just outside, before letting your hand land on the brass knob, turning it, and slipping inside.

Everything seemed normal, like your world hadn’t exploded just a few days before. The walls were still covered in the old photos, your piano still sat in the corner by the big windows, everything felt still and silent. Your shoes made a dull thud as you slipped them off by the door, walking further into your apartment, desperate for a long bath to think.

Your bedroom was quiet, the curtains drawn almost shut, light coming from the small lamp on your bedside table. One of the blankets had been tossed on the floor, landing in a heap beside the foot of the bed, your closet doors open and a few boxes knocked over inside. Then, in the middle of the bed with a pillow against his chest and his eyes closed, was Bakugou.

His hair was a complete mess, parts of it sticking up and fanning over the pillow, parts of it sticking down near his eyes. His lips were open, breathing slow and his chest rising and falling in rhythm. His eyes were puffy and red rimmed, his fingers digging into your pillow he had hugged against his middle. He must have used his key to get in, one you gave him for emergencies, which he apparently decided this was.

You gradually moved further into the room, walking silently towards the bed, where he had just mumbled and rolled onto his back, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. You hated the way it made your lips curl up at the ends, your heart slowing in your chest as you watched him. It was infuriating how he could simultaneously break your heart and make it pound all at the same time.

Part of you wanted to let him sleep forever, just peaceful and in your bed where nothing could make the calm look on his face twist to one of pain or sadness, but a larger part of you needed to talk to him. You’d been avoiding it but you knew that you did, you couldn’t avoid it forever, even if that was tempting. Whatever this was, it couldn’t stay like this, it wasn’t fair to any of you.

Your body lazily shifted to the head of the bed, sitting down beside his shoulder as you watched him hug the pillow tighter. Your fingers reached out, pushing his hair off his face, making him stir and scrunch his face up.

“Katsu.” You whispered, not wanting to startle him, fingertips feeling burned as you skimmed the skin of his arm. You bit down on your bottom lip, giving his shoulder a light shake. “Bakugou, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered open, looking glazed over and dazed as he tried to see in the dimly lit room, his hands coming up and rubbing at them. Once he focused up on you, it was like he registered in his brain who you were, his body springing up right within seconds. His hands came up to wrap around your waist, yanking you into him and burying his head into your hair.

“Thank gosh.” He sounded relieved, like he thought he was never going to see you again. His hands pressed into your spine, pulling you as close as you could get to his chest. He smelled incredible, like crisp, clean sheets mixed with an expensive cologne that drove your senses crazy. “I was beginning to wonder if you were gonna ignore me forever.”

“I thought about it.” You mumbled into his chest, dropping your eyes shut, half joking but half serious. Your fingers brushed down his back as he sighed into your hair, his lips puckering and brushing against your scalp.

“Don’t say that.” His voice came out muffled from your current position, but you could hear the sadness lacing it. He pulled his head away, his arms staying loosely wrapped around your middle as he stared down at you. His ruby eyes were bloodshot, his bottom lip chapped from biting it so often.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to read my mind.” You looked up at him as you spoke, folding your arms over your chest. He reached up and pushed your hair behind your ear like always, grazing your cheek as they moved away. You let out a deep exhale as he brushed his thumb along your hip.  “If you want to know something than ask me.”

He stared at you silently for a moment, his lashes fluttering as he flicked his line of sight all over your face. He swallowed roughly, his eyes finally settling on yours as he spoke.

“When you left Camie’s birthday party, after I proposed, why did you get upset?” His eyes were glued to you, to your every move and reaction, like he was trying to see if what he was thinking was right. You shook your head at him, moving backwards from his grip on the bed and pulling your legs up to your chest, hiding into yourself.

“I think you know why, Katsu.” You said simply, voice quiet and forced as you stared at your feet. You wiggled your toes around, staring at them like they were the most interesting thing in the room. “I know you know why, actually, you’re not stupid.”

He sighed beside you, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he watched the side of your face. You could feel his gaze burning holes into your skin but didn’t turn your neck to look back, not having the stomach for it.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He whispered and his hand brushed against yours. He easily tugged it towards him, slotting your fingers together and holding on tight.

“Why do you think?” You laughed bitterly, glancing over at him as your eyes stung. “You’re my best friend and you’re in a happy relationship. I wasn’t going to fuck that up just because I had feelings for you.”

“You should have told me.” He huffed, licking his lips and letting your hand go to stand up. He walked over towards your window, running his hands through his hair exasperatedly. “You shouldn’t have just assumed you knew how I felt.”

“You have a girlfriend Katsu, fiancee, now, actually. How exactly do you think I thought you felt about me?” Your stomach knotted at his words, choking down the frustrating emotions filling your esophagus. “She came and talked to me this morning by the way.”

You could see his back muscles tense, his arms folding over his chest and flexing in a manner that looked uncomfortable. He turned towards you, leaning his back into the window sill and staring just past you towards the other side of the room.

“She told me that you used to have feelings for me before you two started dating, that Kaminari told her you were using her to make me jealous.” You added, staring at his face to gauge his reaction. “Is that true?”

“So what if it is?” He sounded nervous as he finally looked at you, his hands dropping to his sides and shoving into his pants. His fingers were drumming against his thighs inside them, the fabric rustling.

“Why wouldn’t you have told me that? Why would you start dating someone if you liked me?” Even saying out loud that he liked you felt funny on your tongue, the idea something you never seemed to think would be true but had so desperately wanted.

“Probably for the same reason you didn’t tell me, I didn’t want to lose you.” He shrugged and gazed at you intensely, “It’s not like I could tell you once I was with her either. I knew it bothered her but I was too selfish to just let you go. You’re my best friend, I thought maybe the feelings would just go away after awhile.”

He paused as he started to pace, his head tilting back towards the ceiling and his eyes falling shut as he exhaled.

“I started to fall for her, I really did. It was so much easier when we were both busy and I couldn’t see you. I fell in love with her and it felt so right that for a while I figured it’d worked out, even if my intentions weren’t that great to begin with. Then when I brought her over to your place and I saw you again, I just…I knew. I knew I still had feelings for you.”

You were silent, taking his words in as they flowed out of his beautiful lips, gripping the comforter under you so tight your knuckles lost all blood flow.  Your heartbeat was thumping in your fingertips and toes, a faint ringing in your ears as his words settled in the air.

Your heart was screaming for someone to say something but neither of you spoke, your body raising and your arms folding across your chest, your stance much like Bakugou’s. Standing here in front of him, hearing him say he had feelings for you felt surreal. You’d always pictured yourself being so happy if he confessed to you. You’d pictured him holding you in his arms and whispering that he loved everything about you.

You never imagined it would be explained in such soft tones along with him detailing how he loved someone else. You never imagined that it would hurt quite this much to love someone. It hurt to love Bakugou, it made your heart sear in your chest and your eyes burn like lit coals. You knew that regardless of your feelings now or his, that he still wasn’t yours. He still loved her, regardless of his feelings for you, and you knew you couldn’t do it anymore.

“I think I’m going to go away for a while, Katsu.” The words left your lips before you could think about them properly, the decision already made in your heart. You had to get away, you had to figure out who you were without him.

“What? No.” He said and immediately whipped his head towards you, shaking it side to side frantically, the panic bubbling up inside him. “You’re not leaving, you can’t leave. I need you here.”

“I have to, besides you have Camie now.”

“I don’t want her! I want you, I need you.” He rushed over, grabbing your elbows and pulling your body towards his chest despite your squirming. His eyes were becoming more reddened by the second, water collecting in the ducts.

“You don’t need me.” You whispered and looked at your feet, “You’re engaged. You’re gonna get married and you’re going to be so happy.”

“Not if you’re not here!” His tone was getting louder, agitation pumping through him as you pulled from his grasp, “I don’t know what to do, I don’t, I’ll admit that. But I know I need you here, I know I have feelings for you that are so strong I can’t ignore them, and I know that you feel it too.”

You felt the tears starting to drip slowly down your cheeks, hands shaking as you gripped your sides, hugging your own stomach as if trying to hold yourself and the pieces of your heart together. You felt the remaining cracks in your heart quaking and getting bigger when you looked up at him again and saw a tear slipping down his cheek, even as he tried to rub it away.

“I’m not going to let you throw away the person who makes you happy because I was too slow to tell you how I felt. You don’t need me, Katsu, you think you do because I make you feel comfortable. I missed my chance to have you, it’s gone.” You explained somberly, teeth clattering together as you tried to keep yourself from sobbing. He was staring at you rigidly, his lips parted as he hung on your every word, no longer trying to hide the few tears leaking from his eyes, “I should have told you such a long time ago, and that’s something I’m going to regret for the rest of my life.”

“I don’t want to lose you.” Bakugou’s cracked voice was barely audible as he stepped closer to you. He looked so beautiful even with his eyes filled with mild panic and his bottom lip trembling. His hands were shaking as he lifted them up and rubbed at his cheeks again, hard enough to turn his skin light pink.

“Please don’t cry.” You whispered, hands reaching up and cupping his cheeks, dragging away the wet trails with your thumbs, your own cheeks soaked with your sadness.

“Don’t go.” He begged, repeating himself as his hands gripped your waist and held it tight, as if he could keep you in this spot forever. “Please, I’ll figure things out, I’ll give you space if you need it, just please stay.”

“Bakugou, please don’t make this hard.” You whimpered, moving your hands off his face, but his own just whipped up and grabbed yours, hugging them against his chest that was trembling as his tears fall more freely. You could feel his heart beating away through the material of his t-shirt and tried to memorize the rhythm.

“What about what I want? What if I decided already that I want you?” His voice was growing frustrated as he gripped your hands. He was holding them so tightly his knuckles were growing white as he spoke with desperation. “I want you, I want to hold you and kiss you and tell you all the things I never said when I should have. Does that not matter?”

“It doesn’t matter because you love her!” You snapped, “You proposed to her, you have her pictures on your walls and her in your heart. You feel safe with me Bakugou, you’ve known me long enough to not be scared of what could happen with us, that’s all this is. You never once were thinking of me when you developed feelings for her, if you were then you wouldn’t have developed those feelings. “

“You don’t know that.” He said loudly, throwing his hands up into the air as he shook his head, turning from you and walking across the room, beginning to pace again.

“Do you know what it’s like to watch the person you love love someone else, Bakugou?” Your eyes were blurry as more tears built up, your throat feeling like his hands were around it choking you when you tried to speak. Your breathing was becoming shaky, voice thick with from your crying. “It’s the most painful thing in the entire universe. It takes all of your good thoughts about yourself and consumes them, turning them into fuel for the self hatred it forms. I don’t like who I am anymore. I don’t like waking up every morning wanting to cry because you don’t love me.”

“I do love you.” His voice cut in, his body turning towards you again, eyes boring into yours from across the room. “I love you so much, more than I can explain.”

“You may love me, but you’re not in love with me. “ You wavered as you looked away from him, his heart breaking gaze too much to take when you were already having a breakdown. “There’s a difference and you know it. Distance is what we both need, so you can focus on Camie and I can try and move on from these feelings like you started to.”

“I haven’t fucking moved on!” His voice was so loud it made you jump, it reverberating around the small space and filling every corner. “Don’t you get that? Don’t you understand that seeing you with another guy makes me want to fucking explode? Do you think I don’t see how damn beautiful you are when you smile or feel how huge your laughter makes my heart swell? Do you think all that just went away because I started moving on?”

“It has to!” You snapped right back at him, your head lifting up to let your eyes meet, “Whatever chance we had is gone! We both waited too long, way way too long.”

“Stop fucking saying that!” He shouted, his eyes full of anger, perhaps at you or perhaps at the situation you’d both landed yourselves in, the warm tears flowing full force from him now. “You don’t get to just decide when our chance is over. You don’t get to just pick that we never get a shot!”

“We had a shot! We had a shot and we were both too fucking chicken to do anything about it and now that shot is gone!” You argued, hands tugging through your hair exasperatedly, body tired from crying and chest sore with the sobs still fighting to get out. He stared at you for a moment before his body was charging him across the room to you, face distraught.

“No.” He decided, feet carrying him to directly in front of you, his hands raising up and cupping your cheeks before you could process what was happening. “No it’s not.”

And then, his lips were pressed onto yours.

Your back was pressed against the wall behind you, his body molded against yours and his hands delicately holding you against him, his lips moving languidly. The kiss was desperate and needy, his hands leaving your face only to grab at your middle, arms then sliding around it. Your own hands found their way to his biceps as your slotted together lips muffled your crying.

It felt like everything, everything you’d ever wanted and everything in your heart you knew you couldn’t have, not now anyway, not while his heart still belonged to someone else, at least partly. His tears slipped between your lips, the kiss salty against your tongue. He lifted his hands to cradle your neck as a quiet, muffled cry fell past his own lips that were still pressing into yours.

He was everywhere inside you, in every single bone of your body, in every muscle that tensed and moved as he pulled you tighter to him, your leg slipping between his. He filled your senses in a way only Bakugou could, and you savored the kiss because it may be the only one you ever had. The one kiss to solidify that you had both broken eachother’s hearts without even trying, that you had murdered the chances you both were presented.

Because it was too late, it was to late now and he knew it even if his desperate kisses were trying to prove himself otherwise. Your time had come and gone and now you were both left broken, half of your hearts given to the other but never held how it was supposed to have been.

The kiss felt like so much, like all the things you’d wished you had done differently. All the times you had almost kissed him or held him. All the times you’d almost said those three simple words and changed everything. All those times he’d nearly held you too long, the times he’d spent late at night contemplating calling you and saying everything he ever felt.

But most of all, it felt like a goodbye.

A goodbye you never wanted to have.

“Please don’t go.” He hiccuped against your lips as you pulled away, his forehead pressing into yours as your breathes mixed together between you. “Please, I’ll do anything.”

You wanted to give in so badly, to just stay and live in the little bubble Bakugou was trying to make. To pretend you didn’t care he’d have unresolved feelings for another woman, to pretend that your life wasn’t a complete mess, but you couldn’t.

So when he laid you on the bed and kept whispering how much he loved you into your ear mixed with his sobbing, you let him. You let him whisper all the things to you you’d wished he had said sooner. You let yourself pretend that this wasn’t just for the night. You tricked yourself into believing that love was enough.

You let yourself pretend to sleep in his arms while your tears grew silent and his rapid choked breathing grew even. You let yourself feel his arms around you all night long while you listened to his heart that beat in his chest and pretended it only belonged to you. You let yourself pretend that finally, finally he was yours.

But when the sun rose and poked through the curtains casting a faint red glow on his features, you detached yourself from his arms, the bubble bursting and fading into nothing. The feelings you’d finally let yourself have, if only for a few hours, enough to give you the strength to pull out of bed.

You pressed a faint kiss against his parted, sleeping lips, his figure curling into itself as one silent tear dripped from your face onto the sheets beside him. Your bottom lip trembled as you pulled away, grabbing your things from your dresser drawer quietly before heading for the door.

You paused as you gripped the door handle, taking one last look back at his sleeping figure as you bit your cheek and fought out a whisper to his deaf ears.

“I love you, Bakugou.”

And then, you were gone.

---------------------------------------------------------

taglist: @bnhatrashh​ @icyhotpie​ @domtamaki​ @daphnxy​ @yamichxnwrites​ @hokage-state-of-mind​ let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist for the last chapter!

[leutik]

Literature between Political Correctness and Cancel Culture

(Analyzed through Walter Siti, Natalie Wynn and Rick DuFer.)

(buckle up, because if you're gonna read this, it's gonna be long)

«Today is much easier to mistake an author’s personal stances with the content of their works, and then make the author pay for the work’s sins.

Today I look around and I have the sensation that literature is no longer taken seriously: that the way to interpret literature the way I knew it, depth-focused, focused on the power of words to reveal truths otherwise concealed to their own author, is disappearing — substituted by a conception of literature that has to serve a list of good causes.

When some writers of the “neo-effort” (Siti’s neologism) insist on the fact that words are decisive, and that it’d be urgent to change the words in order to change reality, I’m suddenly reminded of those old Marxist authors: they explained that the structure, which is what lays under society, determines what lays upon it, that is words and ideology. Thus, changing the name of something doesn’t change the thing the word stands for at all.

Literature has been considered throughout time the most indicated form to make resurface the part of ourselves — often, the least pleasant — that we’ve exiled in the shadows of our subconscious: a process that often happens without the author’s acknowledgement of it.

The authors of the neo-effort believe they have the duty to spread their ideas to the largest possible number of people and that, in order to do so, they have to simplify as much as they can what they write, sacrificing on the altar of efficiency the style, considered useless. The aim is to do good, namely gain an effect, what does it matter if it’s good or bad literature? Literature used to “take root”, to influence; put at the service of pre-established ideas, and not to venture into the discovery of something we don’t know yet. This way, it gains an ancillary role. And it’s a humiliation of literature — which can truly be useful, instead, only then it hurts.

Sartre’s “Nausea” doesn’t align with his political stances. For Sartre, the effort was the individual reflection of a society in perennial revolution, substantially a school of liberty, whilst for neo-effort the role of literature is to reassure.

Their attitude, their rejection of style, their low consideration of literature, tends to isolate the good writers out there, marginalizing them in a niche that looks like a convention of obsessed aesthetes in the public’s eyes.

I see it in the writing courses I teach: more and more young people whose main interest isn’t to write to learn something about themselves or society, but it’s to write to gain the title of writer and place themselves on the market, detecting the most profitable sector at the moment, which might be fantasy, crime, or effort-centred writing: it doesn’t matter, what matters is for it to be trending and to be reassuring to the reader, in a more and more therapeutic conception of writing.

Literature isn’t immediately therapeutic, this is the difference. When “The Sorrows of Young Werther” was published, copies of this book were burnt, because of the suicides it inspired. Today we read it at school. How much time has passed? I don’t refuse knowledge’s benefit, I refuse that knowledge can benefit instantly, painlessly. When I went to a psychoanalyst to face my neurosis, the psychoanalyst made me suffer for months, and only after I took benefit from it. What would have happened if they had welcomed me with a pat on the back and said “Don’t worry, stop thinking and go help African children”. Probably I would have had an immediate benefit, but all my neurosis would have stayed there, intact.

The Literature I talked to you about is depth-centred, and literature hasn’t always existed: thus it can disappear, sink for many years. Who said that it’ll survive, despite everything?

In Pasolini’s trial he was acquitted because Ungaretti was called to testify. He wrote a letter where he wrote that the formal value of Pasolini’s work turned into literature even those scenes that the prosecution deemed obscene. Law couldn’t do anything but recognize the critical judgement and welcome it. Web’s tribunal, today, would have burned Pasolini at the stake, and Ungaretti with him.» (via Walter Siti’s interview with the Huffingtonpost)

In other words, we can summarize Siti’s view with the sentence «novels aren’t the cure to the world’s evils.» They aren’t, because they don’t have the power to be, and more so they aren’t even supposed to be: writing is a form of art, and art has primarily an end in itself. Literature isn’t a political marketplace, even if it can be used to be — it’s not a crime to turn it into one, but by doing so, one loses Literature’s nature. By doing so, the harm could be mistake literature’s primary aim (that is being a form of art, that is style, that is the pursuit of the truth) with what they turned literature into: a marketplace to defend the author’s ideology.

Siti’s powerful image of the Web’s tribunal, the Web’s court finds an echo in Natalie Wynn video Canceling: in a sense, what Siti calls “neo-effort writers” fall under the same line of thoughts of Cancel Culture perpetrators.

«Like the guillotine, [cancelling] can become a sadistic entertainment spectacle.

Now there's a version of this conversation that's already been had to death, and it goes like this: On the one side are a bunch of male comedians who constantly bitch about how Cancel Culture is out of control, you can't joke about anything anymore without these Millennial jackals trying to get you in trouble.

And the other side is mostly progressive think-piece authors who argue that there's no such thing as cancel culture, it's just that powerful people are finally being held accountable for their actions and they can't fucking handle it, so they go around bitching about cancel culture.

Now unfortunately, neither of those viewpoints is quite as correct as some people might hope.

What Cancel Culture does, [is to] take one story and transform it into a significantly different story.

Presumption of Guilt

There's a traditional understanding of justice according to which, before you condemn or punish a person, you hear the accuser's side of the story and the accused's side of the story. You allow both sides to present evidence and only after everyone involved has had a chance to make their case do you pass judgment and punish the convict.

But cancelling does not abide by the law. Cancelling is a form of vigilante mob justice. And a lot of times, an accusation is proof enough.

Abstraction

Abstraction replaces the specific, concrete details of a claim with a more generic statement.

Essentialism

Essentialism is when we go from criticizing a person's actions to criticizing the person themselves. We're not just saying they did bad things. We’re saying they’re a bad person.

Pseudo-Moralism or Pseudo-Intellectualism

Moralism or intellectualism provide a phony pretext for the call-out. You can pretend you just want an apology; you can pretend you're just a “concerned citizen” who wants the person to improve. You can pretend you're simply offering up criticism, when what you're really doing is attacking a person's career and reputation out of spite, envy, revenge.

No Forgiveness

Cancelers will often dismiss an apology as insincere, no matter how convincingly written or delivered. And of course, an insincere apology is further proof of what a Machiavellian psychopath you really are.

Now sometimes, a good apology will calm things down for a while. But the next time there's a scandal, the original accusation will be raised again as if you never apologized.

The Transitive Property of Cancellation

Cancellation is infectious. If you associate with a cancelled person, the cancellation rubs off. It's like gonorrhoea, except doxycycline won't save you this time sweetie.» (via Natalie Wynn's Canceling video transcript)

Natalie Wynn describes and formalizes the phenomenon of Cancel Culture in those steps:

I only listen to the presumed victim,

I abstract the context to a vague idea,

I equate the action to the actor’s very essence (as if such thing even existed),

I say I’m acting in favour of morals or truth,

I accuse every person the presumed abuser ever came in contact with to be an abuser as well,

and I either reject every form of apology at the moment, or bring up the issue as if no apology was ever made at their first misstep.

Now, in this post I’m not trying to perpetrate any concept of charity, not only because it’s an attitude that takes a lot of work to inherit, but also because the negative aspects that might bring one to be a neo-effort writer or a Cancel Culture perpetrator are part of the very human nature (or, very stupidly, they wouldn’t be humans.)

The self-evidence rises here: those negative parts of human nature can be channelled everywhere, and literature or any other form of art is the healthiest way to do so: you’re not going to get rid of your anger, or your sadness — the best thing you can do is learn to control it and suppress it, but how is it going to work in the long run? It’s going to act past your good judgement, or even cloud your good judgement, clouding it into thinking you’re defending some pseudo-moralism or pseudo-intellectualism, when what you’ll be doing is just venting on someone else.

This is one way to see it: when one forgets what proper thinking is and falls into those quick and gut-feeling “thoughts”. Or one could even take advantage of this Cancel Culture, of this ground of poor thinking to instrumentalize this lack of critical judgement to attack someone else.

On instrumentalization and its dangers, Rick DuFer says:

«Political correctness works when its aim is to protect the weak from abusers, but when it favours every little susceptible sensitivity it turns dangerous.» (via Rick DuFer’s podcast DailyCogito)

Rick DuFer talks about a shared responsibility that happens during offence: shared between the offender and the offended. The problem with offence, as opposed to harm, is that it isn’t quantifiable, so the offender is guilty in regard to their intentions, and the offended is guilty in regard to the instrumentalization they can enact with the situation.

And again we find “instrumentalization”: if one destroys my property, I can quantify the damage, but if one insults me, how can I quantify how offended I truly am? This is when I can twist one person’s words and turn them into an offender, this is when sensitivity becomes a mask and no longer a virtue (or, for the toxic masculinity’s thought, a vice.)

Now, to wrap things up:

These people take the (s)word of this school of thought (which some other dichotomists may, generalizing it, call it “Strong Thought” or “Unique Thought”), perhaps without even knowing there’s an alternative, while there are multiple, actually: as many as the human beings right now populating Earth.

They may do it out of a dualistic and very childish view of society — divided into good and bad people. And if that’s your view of life, you’re not gonna want to be associated with who others deem as bad, following a gut feeling and nothing more. (And I say “gut feeling” to avoid saying “very poor thinking”, because that’s what absolutization, essentialism, and the rest is.)

Your thoughts aren’t really yours, and you become a vessel for something that belongs to someone else, someone who crafted those thoughts in a very different context, or with instrumentalization in mind. You don’t want to risk criticizing those thoughts because you don’t want to be isolated, or because you’re a sane person who deems it important to act rightfully (even if you’re letting others tell you what “right” is.)

And for how problematic moral relativism is, it surely is better than any form of absolutization: better than rejecting your status as “sapiens” and stopping thinking altogether, passively accepting what others taught you to be right and wrong, maybe even out of fear, or a stupid rush for glory and sympathy.

So I wouldn’t call this moral relativism, strictly, but rather moral subjectivism, or context-centred morality. A morality in which people still have a brain to separate a piece of work from an author’s ideology (against essentialism) and to still take into account the context in which an action was performed (against abstraction). A morality in which “good” and “wrong” aren’t seen in black and whites, but rather into lighter and darker greys; a morality which systematic use can slowly dress into the habit of charity towards one another, into kind teaching rather than cruel instrumentalization.

And is it really utopistic, is it really unfeasible, if we’re not falsely annihilating the suffering and the negative parts of the Human Experience?

This whole discourse could be turned into a political marketplace of rights and lefts, of conservatives and progressivists — but my aim here is much smaller (or bigger, if one is a humanist): to make the reader question their critical thinking, and just that.

(We love some self-doubt.)

I believe moral acts aren’t supposed to be a badge to share on one’s vest — to renew your status as “approachable person” (as if saying “don’t worry, you can talk to me, you’re not going to be deemed as bad for it”) or to be praised for. Moral acts are the only acts that raise humans from other species, the acts where the “sapiens” shows its evolution, the acts where our negative aspects aren’t hidden but channelled into arts, without the fear that someone might call us bad for it. (Immoral, even, whilst acting in the most moral way possible, exorcising those negative parts of us in the least harmful way possible.)

So, at the end of this unnecessary rant, my question is: is it better to be a minion in a culture where you have to watch your mouth, as if it wasn’t yours, or to be a person who’s engaged in researching how right and wrong truly manifest?

[stitchieau-the-actual-one]

Fuck what or where can I vent about this...

WARNING: IF YOU DON’T LIKE OTHER PEOPLES OPINIONS OR HAVING A THOUGHTFUL DISCUSSION, THEN THIS POST AIN’T FOR YOU! MOVE ON!

we good?

Are the Radicals gone?

yes?

good.

Honestly, America has gone to shit since Biden came into office. Actually no... It’s been shit since Obama’s administration. just a constant shit show, an awful comedy of errors.

I legit no longer feel safe or comfortable in my own country. 

I feel like I am not being heard as a US citizen, and how I vote or what I say no longer matters because some rich Democrat or rich Republican decided it just doesn’t. I feel like nothing I say or do matters anymore and that if I speak at all, people are either going to label me as a “Bigot.” or “TERF.” on one end or “Snowflake.” “SJW.” on the other. Or just flat out be told to “pick a side.” when both are shit. 

One is spray painted gold.

The other is covered in literal gold.

And I hate it, I hate every single second of it. the fact I have to constantly pick the lesser of two evils and that if I vote “wrong” or “Wrong think” people are just going to silence me. In a country of free speech. It’s ass backwards but its true. 

so here’s some stuff that may or may not ruffle your jimmies:

1) The Riots are and ALWAYS will be unwarranted and should DEFINITELY be stopped:

I feel like it should go without saying, but apparently this is a controversial statement... which it shouldn’t be. Look, you were taught as a kid that stealing, breaking, arson, assault, battery, destruction of private and public property is bad and unacceptable. So why do you think that suddenly changes when you’re an adult? You still got spanked and/or sent into timeout didn’t you? You got disciplined (not punished there IS a difference) for it right? Well as an adult, news flash! It’s the government instead of your parents who discipline your shitty behavior. (Also furthermore: ACAB just helps the rich since their the only people who can AFFORD personal protection, so Defunding police would just help criminals find victims and get away with a variety of crimes. Since there’s no longer any scruples to prevent this.)

Do I believe that the national guard and riot police should’ve been called in:

Yes.

Do I believe that EVERYONE involved was being shitty?

No.  

Do I believe that in cases like these Potentially fatal force is nessecary to control a growingly restless and violent crowd?

AbsoFUCKINlutely!

Do I believe children should be at large protests?

No.

Do I believe the entire situation could’ve been avoided if people ignored Social Media?

Fuck, Yes.

But sadly I and the rest of us do not live in a perfect vacuum of morale and decency, which brings me to another point.

Can we please stop the whole Marxism/Communism trend? Please?

Tldr of my opinion on this issue: If it doesn’t work the first time it won’t work for the *insert whatever number it is* time either. just let this fantasy die already PLEASE!

my actual explanation on how I feel about it:

 So Marxism is a type of Communism. Which if you didn’t know, Communism is the extreme of Socialism... and the Extreme/Radicalized version of literal ANYTHING! ISN’T GOOD! FULL STOP! 

I honestly feel like the current education system fails to teach kids the issue as to WHY Communism and more accurately Marxism just... doesn’t work. Like at all, not even a little bit. But in order to talk about Marxism and why it just fails in a spectacular way we need to take a Rrrrreally old piece of text into consideration.

Plato’s utopia.

Plato based his utopian world off of a fantasy, a morale void, a perfect vacuum that was the foundation to a squeaky clean world. Of rainbows, gumdrops and candy cane frogs. where everyone was a productive and virtuous citizen that strived to better mankind.

however it suffers a major flaw.

that’s just not how Humanity let alone how the universe works in general. We don’t live in that perfect virtuous vacuum Plato so desperately wanted us too. 

Humans are by default, infallible, selfish, self centered, bratty, judgmental pricks who no matter how virtuous have dark and destructive tendencies. Whether it’s aimed towards ones self or their community, it doesn’t matter. Humans are just naturally assholes and if you don’t believe me go sit down, pick any point in history and just listen. History is filled to the brim with examples of why we don’t live in a perfect vacuum of virtue. Even with the best of intentions people still make one another miserable whether they know it or not. People are greedy, selfish, self serving and otherwise shitty one way or another. so ultimately even if its intent if founded in the purest, kindest, sweetest whatever have yous. It won’t work. 

Similar to how Plato’s utopian society doesn’t work, neither does Marxism nor Communism. it realize to heavily on that Vacuum that just doesn’t exist.

if you don’t believe me, just ask anyone from a Communist/Marxist country or if you’d rather read instead. Go read “Animal Farm” and come back, its okay I’ll wait.   

On the other hand this absolutely DOES NOT mean I am okay or fine with Facism or really ANY radicalism in general. if it isn’t clear already. 

not that brings me to the most controversial opinion I have and one not a lot of people (yourselves included) won’t like me for (most likely)

My stance on BLM:

I.

Don’t

Like.

Supremacy.

Of.

ANY. 

Kind.

And you know what, that’s just how I feel. If your movement involves challenging something by doing more of the same thing by design but just a different coat of paint. then no. I don’t like your thoughts or your movement because that’s just toxic and literally detrimental to everyone around you. 

if you feel like the only way to fight “White supremacy” is with “Black supremacy” then expect me to think your a horrible (closeted) racist. The people who bang the table the loudest about an issue, are usually the people causing it in the first place. So how do we solve the issue of racism, the same way you deal with terrorists actually. By making fun of them and mocking their awful opinions. 

Everyone is special and one of a kind, and even considering the notion of it not and taking it seriously is beyond the scope of any sane logic one should have. Treating racism with even a monikerum, a snibblie of seriousness is only feeding into and perpetuating the said issue.

if you make fun of it, like how we make fun of outdated ideals like Sexism and Terrorism. laugh at the people who do toxic shit, they fucking HATE being mocked or laughed at since they honestly want you to be a misreble as they are. So don’t let them. Also education is good, ignorance bad.

anyways may write a part 2 later, my second dose of the covid shot (moderna) kicked in and I am suffering...

[littleoddwriter]

Help | Dan Torrance x Gender Neutral!Reader

This is another vent fic. This time about a BPD episode. I was on the verge of having one so much these past weeks and especially today and yesterday, so that I decided to write a vent piece and share it, once again. I’m aware that only a few people will be able to relate to this, if at all, but hey. Self-indulgence. I really wish I had a Dan Torrance or Roman Sionis IRL for myself, lol.

summary; You experience a BPD episode, Dan comes to the rescue and helps you through the rest of it.

notes; TW // self-harm (scratching, hair pulling and punching oneself), dissociation, BPD episode, intrusive thoughts (mentioned), flashbacks (mentioned), recovering alcoholic almost having a relapse (mentioned), that should be all. Also: Gender Neutral!Reader (no gendered terms are used for reader, so this can be enjoyed by anyone!); Emotional Hurt/Comfort; 

You were sitting on the couch, watching one of your comfort movies. Dan was out, attending his regular AA meetings. You wished he was here, though deep down you were glad he wasn't.

Why you were watching this comfort movie was because you thought it would help making you feel better, distract you, make you less difficult to be around, when Dan came back.

It had worked for maybe half an hour, then you became restless; the intrusive thoughts came back full force. The flashbacks, too. It was all too much. You wanted to scream.

'Shutupshutupshutup!' You chanted in your head.

You wanted it all gone.

You wanted to stop hurting.

You wanted it to fucking stop!

The feelings were too much, you felt suffocated by them, unable to breathe properly. It made you panic. Your breathing quickened, you bounced your leg so fast that your entire body was shaking with it. You were rocking back and forth, trying to feel it all a little less and have it leave your body.

Whatever was happening on screen, you didn't catch any of it. You saw it, but you couldn't hear it. You didn't process it at all.

More flashbacks.

More emotional pain.

More intrusive thoughts of how to relieve yourself of this anguish.

Somewhere, besides all of this, you felt floaty. Unreal. Everything around you felt so unreal. Were you even real?

A whine tore its way from your throat.

You started scratching your forearm.

You didn't even notice it until suddenly your skin had broken, was scratched open and burning.

Immediately, you stopped.

Though, you wanted to continue until it was all gone.

You tried to resist.

That wasn't what you really wanted. It was an intrusive thought, not you.

You didn't know how much time had passed. It must have been a while, though, as you vaguely noticed that the movie had almost reached its end.

Taking deep breaths, you tried to calm yourself.

Dan would be back soon. You didn't want him to see you like this. You didn't want to be a burden to him.

The pain, the guilt, the flashbacks, everything; it came back to you with an almost violent force and you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to will it all down. Push it away. Repress it.

It usually worked. Why wouldn't it work, now?

You punched your thigh.

The pain made everything stop for a moment.

You did it again.

Again.

Again.

And again.

Until you couldn't move for several minutes because of the pain that your brain was trying so hard to process.

A few moments passed.

It all came back, all over again. Even stronger, perhaps.

You wanted to scream.

You gripped your hair, pulling at it repeatedly until your scalp burned.

You rubbed over your face.

Rubbing turned into scratching.

Suddenly, there were arms around you, a body pressing against you, a warmth enveloping you.

Dan.

You startled to a stop.

"Sssh, it's okay. It's okay," you could faintly hear Dan shushing you.

You lowered your hands from your face and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his shoulder.

A cry forced its way out of you as you started weeping, soaking his jacket in your salty tears that burned your eyes, oh so painfully.

He was rubbing your back soothingly, continuing to shush you quietly, rocking you back and forth gently.

Distantly, you noticed that he was bent over to accommodate your sitting position and that it must be hell on his back.

So, you tried to shift.

Neither of you let go of the other, as you both came to sit on the couch, either torso twisted to keep the other wrapped up.

Dan's head was resting against the side of your head, whispering to you and nuzzling your hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," you repeated, whimpering, over and over again in between sobs. "I didn't mean to. Didn't mean to!"

"Sssh, darling, it's alright, it's okay," Dan replied soothingly.

After a few long moments, your sobs turned into silent tears. You were trembling. Your breaths were erratic.

Reluctantly, you let go of Dan. He also released you, leaning back a little, but keeping one hand on your back and continuing to rub soothing circles into it with just the right amount of pressure to be felt but not be too much.

You could feel him looking at you, even though your head was lowered and you were looking at your lap. Biting the inside of your cheek and your bottom lip repeatedly, you tried to push down the tears that still threatened to spill.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Dan asked gently after a couple of minutes.

You shook your head, not looking up.

You were wringing your hands, twisting your fingers, cracking your knuckles, trying to get rid of the guilt, the shame, the dread.

"Okay. Can I do anything for you?" He asked after a few more moments.

You thought about it. But you came up empty-handed.

"I don't know, sorry," you whispered brokenly.

Dan nodded and wrapped the arm, of which his hand was on your back, around you, squeezing your arm lightly.

You leaned into his side, resting your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes.

  After a couple of minutes, you lifted a trembling hand and grasped onto his shirt, balling a fist, holding on tight.

"I didn't mean for you to come home to me like this. I'm sorry," you rasped eventually.

"Y/N, it's okay. I promise. I wish I had been here earlier, though," he replied, kissing your hair.

You nuzzled his neck, kissing the little patch of skin you could reach.

"Thank you, Dan," you whispered.

He squeezed you in answer.

You were so exhausted then. Drained. It was already late anyway. Usually you wouldn't even have stayed up so late, but you had established a habit of waiting for Dan, whenever he went to his AA meetings.

You never knew when he would come home feeling raw and on the verge of a breakdown.

You never wanted to wake up again, in the middle of the night, to him screaming and smashing a bottle of liquor he had managed to resist just so.

He rested his chin on your head, when you cuddled into him a little bit more.

"Let's go to sleep then, hm? Do you think you can do that?" Dan asked.

You just nodded, peeling yourself from his side, immediately missing his warmth and soothing touch.

The two of you got up and got yourselves ready for bed in a comfortable silence.

You still felt raw and vulnerable, but at least you didn't feel like you were being suffocated anymore.

Dan tended to the wounds on your forearms, when you were both done with everything else. Fortunately, those wounds were the only open ones. Your face was streaked with red lines, but nothing was bloodied or open. Your thighs might bruise, though. Your scalp still burned a little, too.

Eventually, the two of you crawled under the covers of your bed, cuddling into each other. Your head laid on Dan's chest, rising and falling with his breaths; hearing his heart beat. It calmed you.

You're okay, y/n. I've got you. You can go to sleep. You're alright, I promise.

You could hear his voice in your head. He rarely did that. He didn't like using his shine on you; it felt like a violation to your privacy, he had told you.

A small smile stretched your lips.

You closed your eyes, sighing, and made yourself comfortable, nuzzling into his chest and kissing it through his soft cotton shirt.

After a couple of minutes - and most likely with the help of his shine - you fell asleep eventually, finally at peace and leaving this horrendous night behind yourself for the time being.

[angelkurenai]

Imagine confronting Dean after his argument with Castiel and finding out he blames himself for your child’s death. Even if Jack was the one who accidentally did it.

“You know you will regret this later.” you whispered, approaching you boyfriend once you'd made sure Castiel had left. You wanted them to have a private moment but at the same time couldn't help but want to give Dean a piece of your own mind “He is a brother, you've said so yourself, and no matter the mistakes he makes you know deep down he did have every right reason too. In this life nothing is just black and white. And you are always going to forgive him for them. Just like you forgive Sam or me or-”

“Forgive? Which one out of all of them, (Y/n)?” not really much to your surprise Dean snapped, eyes hard and body stiff all over again but behind all that you could sense the pain that had built up over the past months and was by no means letting down anytime soon. You didn't blame him, especially after what had just happened with Castiel and, even more, especially after... well, that. “Cause, hell, the more I think about everything that has gone wrong, the harder it is for me to just forgive him.”

“Alright, I didn't say it is that simple. Trust me, I know this!” you emphasized on your words, getting even closer to him so that you were standing face to face with him and could stop him any time from escaping “But this doesn't stop me from seeing what's right and what's wrong. And for all of the things that have gone wrong, it was for the right reasons and there is no point in-”

“Right reasons? What right reasons is there to being played by like some freaking puppets our whole damn lives? To being tossed around, to being broken over and over again without given a single damn break?! I-” you knew his voice would have raised even more, and you would have let him because you knew he needed to vent, so when you heard him choke on his words you almost wished he actually had. It broke your heart to see him close his eyes and hold onto the table for support, jaw tightly clenched and lips pursed to hold back any broken sounds.

“It's not what I meant.” you whispered after a long second. You reached out and took his glass out of his hand before taking hold of it with yours and cupped his cheek. You didn't say anything more for a couple more seconds, as Dean only buried his face further in your palm, until- “But it's not Castiel's... or Jack's fault that she is gone... that they are gone.”

His eyes flew open instantly, you saw that they were glossy, verifying our thoughts. You smiled sadly at him “You know this too, don't you?” you paused when you saw him tear his eyes away from you, as if to not disappoint you “I mean, come on, if Cas is a brother then Jack is a son. For the both of us. You can't really hold this against them... not as much as you hold it against your own self.” you shrugged softly “Which... I suppose is alright, it's natural, and I understand how that feels too. But you can't let yourself go through this kind of pain, of seeing another family member go, because you can't forgive your own self. Some things are not up to us and you couldn't have prevented it.”

“...And you?” it sounded so weak, so broken that in that moment he reminded you so much of a scared little child that you wanted nothing more than to gather him in your arms to comfort him “How easily can you forgive me? Or better yet... can you even forgive me for... everything?”

“Is that what you're worried about? Is that... why you acted like that before? Because you're afraid I won't be able to forgive you for it?” you could feel your own throat closing and your eyes burning with unshed tears. Dean let out a shaky breath before pulling your hand away and giving you a numb shrug.

“I wouldn't hold it against you. It is my fault. You're right, Cas has made mistakes but none of them, not all of them together, can ever or will ever be able to match up to what I did! And I did none of it for the right reasons! I- I did... I did nothing. Nothing to prevent it.”

“What?” you breathed, your eyes widening in horror “Dean there is nothing you could have done! You can't be serious now. You- My gosh. This is not your fault! There is nothing for me to even forgive because you are not to blame. I don't blame you! Please believe me, baby.” you reached out for his cheek again but he just pursed his lips and shook his head, turning away from you. It made you take in a shaky breath but you held your ground “Don't do this to me.”

“I'm trying not to, I'm really trying to but sweetheart I-” he smiled sadly, his tears on the brink of rolling “I couldn't protect you. And what am I worth for if not protecting you? Not a damn thing, I'll tell you. I couldn't do that one damn thing right. I-” he scoffed, full f pain before he snatched his glass and downed it in one go. You winced but he didn't even make a sound after that and you didn't know what was more painful.

“This is not fair, you know it, right?” but you didn't know if it was unfair for him or for you “I know the pain is too much, I know that you didn't lose just your mother but also-” you choked on your own words. You brought a shaky hand up and hastily wiped out a single tear that rolled down your cheek “You weren't the only one to lose a child, Dean. I lost my baby too.”

“I- I know. I know. And I'm sorry. Fuck, baby, I don't mean it like- You must feel like-” a small choking sound “I'm really sorry, I just-” he shook his head “I can't stop this. I- I can't hold back this feeling. I am responsible.”

“No, you feel responsible but you're not. As do I! It took me a lot of time to realize it b-but it's the truth. We did everything we could, even more than that. It's not our fault this happened, we couldn't have predicted it. And Jack was not in control of his powers, so we can't blame him either. We can't really do anything about it but accept it a-and move on. Shit it hurts to think about it but there is no other choice. We both lost it.”

Dean closed his eyes, lips pursed to keep them from trembling any more. He dragged his hands down his face “And I hate myself for it even more with each passing day. If only I could have been there earlier. If only I could have stopped it-stepped in the way before you got thrown across the wall. Before-” he let out a pained laugh “You must feel like you've lost a part of yourself, don't you? I didn't even care to ask how you felt, I didn't- How much did we talk about it? Did we even talk about it at all? Was I even there for you when you really needed me? I- I shut it down, just like I do with everything that hurts me, bottled it up because I- I lost mom too and I didn't even care about how you were hurting too along with me. I turned a blind eye to your pain like some asshole. I- Son of a bitch.” he scoffed “You should hate me, (Y/n).”

“But I don't hate you for it.” you said softly but with all the sincerity you could muster. You heard him scoff, as if you could hear him say 'Maybe you should.' but didn't dwell on it. Instead you approached him again and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing firmly before you whispered “I only still love you. With all my heart. Nothing you ever did could take that away. And I- I understand. I understand everything. That's the way you've always dealt with pain, I didn't expect it to change and you- you were there for me, in your own way. And if anything, it only made me love you more.”

And it was then when you heard the broken sob, clear as day and painful as a knife through your heart. He turned around to face you and when you saw the tear down his cheek you couldn't help but reach out to wipe it out yourself. You wouldn't say the words often, Dean even more rarely, because of the way you'd both grown up; so you knew that saying those words was going to get a reaction out of him.

“I just miss it.” he confessed in a weak voice, fully turning to you to cup your cheek while he slowly trailed his other hand towards your belly but stopped instead to place it on your hip “I miss it so bad a-and it wasn't even here. I know we didn't talk much about it, I was a bit busy anyway, but I know I seemed a bit uhm... not interested? I- It sucks to say that. Because gosh I was far from it, I was- I don't even know the word to describe how I felt. I-”

“I can think of one or two. Dumbfounded. Shocked. Star-struck. Terrified. Scared shitless.”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” he spoke up, his lips pulling into a smile despite his watery eyes “You might be exaggerating there. I really had it under control!”

“Exaggerating? You nearly fainted when I told you about the pregnancy test!” much to your surprise a giggle escaped your lips and Dean caught himself chuckling, both of you despite the tears in your eyes. It came as no surprise though when the laughter turned into quiet sobs. You sniffled, resting your forehead against his and Dean closed his eyes, only for another tear to roll down.

“I loved it so much.” he whispered and you could hardly hold back a whimper “I was scared, yes, of not being good enough for it like I'm not good enough for you.” a sound of protest came from you but he ignored and kept going “But I was going to try. I wanted so bad to try. I wanted to be a good father and I- I thought that this- this was our chance at getting out. That this was some sort of sign, despite how crazy or weird that may sound, I really believed... things were going to work out for us. That things would be good. That-” he laughed painfully “Guess I let myself get too hopeful. I should've known better but I only... I wanted that kid so much and now I just... I miss it.”

“We miss it Dean. This baby came from the both of us. I miss it too. And I think we'll probably never stop missing it or hurting for its loss.” you pressed your lips against his slowly before continuing to speak again “I didn't speak about it because I was more scared. I think- I think I made you believe that I wasn't sure about it but truth is that I have never been more sure about something other than how much I loved and how much I wanted that baby. I- I had dreams about it, about what it would be like to raise it and how it would be like to be a mother, hold it in my hands for the first time, see you cry like there's no tomorrow You so would!” you giggled, and he grinned despite his tears “I'd watch you raise it with me and spoil the life out of our child. Gosh, if it was a girl she'd have you wrapped around her little finger. She would...”

“Sweetheart-”

“I'm sorry too.” you spoke up fast enough to beat him before he could say anything, but clear enough to make sure he heard you “I'm sorry I couldn't do enough for our child too. I'm scared you'll blame me too because I blame myself. I'm scared I won't be forgiven Dean. Just like you're scared.”

“Oh (Y/n), I could never-” his voice was low and hoarse but you stopped him with a kiss again.

“I'm gutted with what has happened b-but I- I don't want it to tear us apart. We only have each other left anymore and whatever memories we had the chance to make with-” you took his hand on your hip and placed it over your belly “Her or him. It's those memories that will keep us going. Not that it's going to be easy though, we can't forget that.”

“Yeah...” he whispered, his eyes casted down at his hand over your belly. A barely visible smile was on his lips but it was still there “Well, when was it ever easy? But we pulled through, didn't we?”

“We're the freaking Winchesters.”

[purpletimepiece-au-ahit]

What if Conductor wrote his own dairy the same way hat kid dose?

This is just an idea and i'm not of a great writer but i hope ppl will still enjoy

Chapter 1 Mafia Town

ACT 1 : Welcome to Mafia Town

So I guess this is where my journey starts. In ****************. However a bunch of Mafias who call them self ”Mafia of cooks” has taken over the island and has renamed it ”Mafia town”. I’ve only really heard of ************** in geography lessons when I was young. But from what I remember this island used to be very peaceful…

ACT 2 : Barrel Battle

I helped a little lass that has a mustache? she got herself caught by the mafia and I shudder to think what they might have done to her if I had not come. She was quite rebellious towards the mafia. she also said she was willing to help me get more time pieces if I help her take down their boss. I’m not certain I should be trusting her though…something about her tells me that I should beat her up but I can’t do that! She might not even be double digits jet!

ACT 3 : She He Came from Outerspace

I had to wait for that mustache girl to get herself done before we would face up against the boss of the mafia here. It was absolutely pouring there that day! And slippery. I slipped into a puddle of mud even. Not seconds after I got up from the mud I saw the mafia that was around me looked scared. That’s when I got an idea. I ran towards the goons and they ran like scaredy cats. Oh how I couldn’t help but to laugh.

ACT 4 : Down with the Mafia!

I knew I shouldn’t have trusted in that red-hooded peck neck….after defecting the boss the red lass got a bit too curios of the time pice. She was quick to find its actual power these hourglasses holds. She got obsessed and planed for the BOTH of us to be ”crime fighting time travelers”. That’s just too much for me. This is already enough this journey I’m gonna need to do. She robbed me as well! I should’ve just taken her out right then and there…

ACT 5 : Cheating the Race

HA! That peck neck riding on a rocket thought he could beat me? Well I have something myself that will make it balanced! I don’t like cheating but since it didn’t involve with movies and the bird movie award I was fine with it.

ACT 6 : Heating up Mafia Town

I leave Mafia town for 1 day and the entire island is half submerged in lava. That red lass is nothing but trouble. And might I add there are faucets all around the island that primarily controls the island’s volcano and its lava flow… I have no idea if they excited before or after the mafia took over…either way, I hope the next place ill be going to after will be bit cooler.

ACT 7 : The Golden Vault

I’ve noticed these tickets that’s been flying in the wind all over the town, As to why they were all just separated from each other is beyond me. I took the time to gather all of them, Most of the vaults contained pretty useless junk but attest the last one had a time pice in it.

Chapter 2 Battle of the Birds

ACT 1 : Dead Bird Studio

I’ve seen myself in movies before but what was odd this time is that I could interact with myself? The other me sees me just as the little hat lass, I don’t know if I should be thankful or if I really wanted to find out how I really would react if I were to met a doppelganger of myself. That would make into an interesting movie but for the first time in my directing career I just can’t figure out how that would be done without it being flawed. No one can imitate me better than myself and only myself. I also found out how the lass was able to infiltrate so deep into the studio. I’m paying these owls too much for hardly any work from them.

ACT 2 : Murder on the Owl Express

This is one of my best works I done in my career of directing movies. It easily bested Groves’s movie 10 times. Even from the kid’s perspective it was like a real detective case going on. I’m really proud of how it turned out.

ACT 3 : Picture Perfect

Ugh, I remeberd I was gonna need to be on that peck neck’s movies as well. I would just steal the time pice but that penguin just won’t stand still. However I got the chance to ruin his movie. By swearing! That’ll show him! if he really wants a chance to stand aginst me he gotta turn that age restriction up a bit.

ACT 4 : Train Rush

If it wasn’t for the fact I got the little lass’s energy I would in no way been able to reach at the end in time. I’m not as youthful anymore…I still feel as though I didn’t put enough action into this movie. This is one of the only times’s I’ve actually been uncertain in this movie. My acting was on point as usual it was really the recording process I was uncertain with. The exploding train movies are really hard and risky to make as I have a REALLY limited amount of times I can retake senses to none at all. Thankfully no one else will be reading this. Maybe I should start writing on a diary more often….

ACT 5 : The Big Parade

Okey, I’m actually happy that others see me as the little hat lass and not as myself. I had to wear a parade leader outfit and lead a goofy parade. I’m too pecking old to be doing something like this. He tried making it a bit more exciting with fireworks but really? Its a bloody pecking parade…

ACT 6 : Award Ceremony

THAT NO GOOD DIRTY PECK NECK CHEATED THE AWAERD CEREMONY! I know for sure that I had the most score! That must be how he won the award 42! If there wouldn’t be so many birds in the ceremony I would’ve beaten up DJ Groves…

ACT 1 : Dead bird studio?

How do I start with this…? I first got a phone call from myself when I used the audio changer in the murder on the express owl. CONFIRMING that Groves did rigged the ceremony. he then hinted me to get down into the basement. After searching around there for a bit I did find an elevator that I had no idea we had. Not only that while I was reaching the basement I could her that peck neck talking through the vents and walls. I couldn’t really make out what he was talking about but I was certain he was talking about the time pieces. That’s when I found him. With all this time I’ve worked in the same building with him I’ve never seen or even heard him like this. He has gone mad, he was desperate and he was out for blood. He even used my own BOMB to try to end me. Thankfully this timeline me came and saved me to beat down that pecker…for someone that made family friendly movies he was a real good fighter ill give him that. Oh! This might make a good movie aginst him…that was at lest the last time pice of that place, I should be almost done now right…?

Chapter 3 Subcon Forest

ACT 1 : Contractual Obligations

Before I never really thought much about the Subcon forest. the forest was rumored to be haunted and that who ever enters it never comes back. It has been proven to be true when some bodies where found at the very edge of the forest but it could very much be some deadly diseases there or they could’ve gotten poisoned. I never had any business to do with the forest and thought I never would till today. I never believed in ghosts or really anything ”super unnatural” it never has the same rules, there were just too many different variant for the same thing! No one I’ve met has been able to prove to me that ”magic” is real. Well I guess the time pieces’ would count but the kid uses it like it was fuel to a machine, I don’t know. One really popular rumor was there lived a soul stealing ghost there. I thought to myself it was all just some hoax. it was till I actually got into the forest that things changed. I got caught and not long after the rumor of the soul stealing ghost proved to be true. I was able to keep my life but at the cost of having to do some of this ghost’s bindings and my soul. I must say without my soul I feel so…empty…no fear, no worry, I don’t even feel a hint of anger…

ACT 2 : Subcon Well

It was quite important that I get the ”cleaning the subcon well” contract done as it will give me an item that I must have if I wish to complete the train rush movie. I found out that the hook shot is something that hat kid did not have at the beginning. If I’ve known that I would’ve allowed her to borrow my hook shot badge that I ”own” for the movies but to be honest it might not be in a good condition now as it has been years since I myself last used it

ACT 3 : Toilet of Doom

So that shadow thing that is called ”Snatcher” just let my soul escape. I know now that he didn’t eat it right after and just kept it which is weird. I don’t see any reason why he would really but anyway. It then when on to posses an outhouse and cause a lot of ruckus. It really made A LOT of ruckus, probably because its my soul…But I was able to defeat it at last and ”Snatcher” took back my soul.

ACT 4 : Queen Vanessa

Okey, this time even without my soul I felt an aura of fear. I felt overwhelmingly cold but I could feel a sense of unease…the entire village and the mansion was in a sphere of ice. Incased in an interval winter. Vanessa herself was a danger, a psychopath!….or a sociopath, what’s the difference even? She would’ve killed me either way if she found me. Not to mention there were quite a few ice sculptures. Showing these last victims their last reaction before they met their end…She already knew I was in the mansion. I however lived to write about this another day…

ACT 5 : Mail Delivery

So, after having kill off some spirits, fight my own soul, rob some demon’s home I gotta now deliver stolen mail to this ghost’s minions? Also, after I’ve been doing all this stuff the girl had to do I feel quite bad that the lass had to endure this to get these time pieces’. having her soul tacken and do all these contracts. The lass’s just a kid for crying out loud! Well she has the appearance of a young lass but she could be older then I thought…she is very smart and skilled.

ACT 6 : Your Contract has Expired

I knew that I would have to fight this pecking contract ghost noodle someday! I’m certain he wouldn’t give me my soul back or even give me the last time pice willingly…when I had defected him he gave me a chance to leave but this was without the things I wanted. When I thought I had no other choice then to just sign it I realized that fool had already stamped the contract. Which meant I could do some ”adjustments” to the deal. Again, Pretty clever there lass!

Chapter 4 :Alpine Skyline

First arrival

I landed on some mountain tops. The place looked it had once people living or to the very lest came around often but was now abandoned. However a seemingly endless line of banners append at the very top. It then took me to a much more lively place. ancient people and goats has been living on the very top of these mountains for what they say ”thousands of years”. For them the air is thin but somehow for the kid and now me its perfectly fine…there was also a lot of strange flowers growing all over the place. What’s more concerning is that the people nor the goats have no idea what they are…

The Birdhouse

this was the biggest bird house I have ever seen! It was HUGE. There were also a lot of ”odd” birds there. but those exploding eggs must be the most gruesome scenes I have ever witness In my entire life. They give me shivers when ever I get too close to them so they became ”active” . Far too extreme to even mention in my movies but maybe if I were to tone down the details then just maybe I could use it for a horror movie…

The Windmill

okey I thought the giant bird house was huge but this windmill might as well count as a mountain it self. Claiming the bloody thing wasn’t easy either, I can’t fly as easily and as great like I used to anymore.

The Lava Cake

this civilization is really impressive. Somehow they stacked lava like the cake on my wedding I had many years ago I think its called a ”pillar cake”?. I’m quite surprised I didn’t burn most of my feathers when I traversed it…now I really miss my wife…

The Twilight Bell

that giant bell transferred me somewhere. I don’t know to where, haven, hell, limbo or the void who knows! But I was certain I wasn’t in the land of the living…

The Illness has Spread

okey, these strange purple flowers has certainly proven to be a threat! And since they didn’t turn me to a mindless raging zombie I was the only one that could take down these flowers before they would spread furtherer. I’ll write this again, the things this kid has been though…

Attic cruise

ACT 1 : Bon Voyage!

I was able to see my grandchildren again after this long journey I had to do. It is still really nice to see that they’re all fine and are just the cutest things in the entire world. I get why now why the caption really doesn’t like his crew. They broke the time piece. The kid still doesn’t understand how time hasn’t completely broken down or to the very lest changed something as it should have. It is easily fixable so that’s a relief. But what if something has changed or it did rewind and we just don’t know. Oh god I start to sound and think like the lass now.

ACT 2 : Ship Shape

First time i’ll go on a vacation and not drink. They won’t even allow me since to them I look like the lass. I also found out while the other me is all drunken out that the little rascals are still able to escape. Ugh, I’m the only one that can keep them all in the same place…

ACT 3 : Rock the Boat

I had a feeling it was the kid that crashed the boat but I wanted to believe it was the crew. I had to then save the crew and the passengers. Well those that didn’t directly dived into the icy cold water first….Thankfully none of my grandchildren did. I got worried when I only found 4 myself but found out the rest was saved by the crew members…also saving myself felt a bit weird. It’s also now I realized I got sobered up quite quickly.

Nyakuza Metro

Main station

out of all places the MOST timepieces landed on. Had it be Nyakuza Metro!? The pecking place where there are nothing but cats!? I know I don’t look like a bird for others but I hope they don’t sense it…

After

great. Getting these time pieces’ might get harder now since someone with a high amount of power named ”Empress” wants these hourglasses as well like always….

Yellow overpass

good news, they don’t know or they don’t care that I’m not a cat. However I was forced to wear this hoodie and this stupid scribbled medical mask. I guess it is not great inhaling these weird smells…I don’t even know where they’re coming from or what they actually would do. either way I need to wear these to show I’m in this ”gang”

Yellow overpass manhole

there are all these stickers around the metro. Most of them depict the hat lass but some depict as Snatcher, Groves, lass’s friend which I can’t remember their name and even me. As to why and who made them is a mystery. But I still feel as though I need to collect them.

Green clean

I thought the lass’s rumba was weird but the rumbas in the metro are way scarier. They even chase you if you’re dirty. I found that out the hard way…

Green clean manhole

the lass couldn’t help herself but to play ”dress up” with me since there are so many cats that sells these customizations like other hats and dyes. Some I actually liked. They fitted quite well on me while others….I’m just never gonna touch those ever EVER again…

Bluefin

huh. A poster of my newest movie ”PECK NECK” was on the walls here in the metro after the ”shipwreck incident”. a waste of advertisement money if you ask me but maybe these cats will actually be interested in watching a bird movie. But I doubt it since they’re mostly only interested this overly obnoxious animated genre called I believe ”anime”? Well they just don’t know about the true art of real movies! Then again it is getting my interest….

Pink paw

there’s A LOT of fast food stations here. I know that it’s the biggest (and only) metro on the planet but still. All the joints doesn’t smell great either. Well it is fast food. its not supposed to be great, its supposed to be fast. The coffee is okey at lest.

Pink paw manhole

well this was new, well kinda. I had to collect over 100 of these electrical pons to get the time pieces. I didn’t want to since the empress’s gang just takes it away from me as fast as I get it and brings it back to her. The money’s nice but I’m certain that they’re counterfeit. I think I’ll need to come up with a plan to get them all back. I guess for now I’ll get the rest…

Rush hour

HA! They thought they could just steal from me? i’ll just steal it all back! But I’m actually relived I was able to get out of there alive and to never have to return to that metro again. The only train i’ll be seeing is my own.

Final boss

The red hooded lass stole all the time pieces that I have collected. Well I guess it is time that I go best up the peck neck once and for all…this journey has been…well fun actually. I’ve run into a lot of conflicts and obstacles but I’ve been able to get around those. I was able to see more of the planet I’ve been living on. For most of my life I’ve just been in that desert and the studio. Finally getting somewhere else, Somewhere different was really refreshing…I actually hate that this adventure is gonna end now so soon. I want more…but at the same time. I miss my grandchildren, my train, making movies and dare I say it? even arguing with DJ Groves…I should really stop stalling right now. I best take out that peck neck as fast as possible now. Its time that I fix this mess and get back home soon…

Community map

how the peck am I gonna write about this adventure I had today?? I think I’ll just leave it blank. Hopefully its nothing far too importent to remember for later…

[violet-amet]

this isnt the first time something like this happens... touching on some personal stuff to vent about here. boi this turned out longer than i expected. caution: mentions of familiar death, cancer, illnesses, dementia, and abuse. there might be one or two things i missed, but yeah... a lot has been going on lately. im doing okay-ish, despite these struggling times, but whats really been going on is all under the cut.

ive been in a situation before, when my father was sick, that his family took advantage of his fragile mind, and took everything away from him, me, and my sister. i still cant forgive them for this, but i cant blame the kids for being put up with them either. my cousins on that side of the family, two of them specifically, have been abused by their parents that was taking care of my dad, and i was the center of it all, at the age of 13-14. barely a teen, barely understanding anything that happened. since then, i still keep thinking back on it, and what i could try to understand from it. i hope the kids grew up well, tbh, despite our differences. anyway, this is sort of relevant with whats happening now with my uncle.

he got diagnosed with dementia, then with alzheimer’s, which makes things... difficult to deal with for him, and everyone around him. his son -- my cousin -- and my mom -- his sister -- are trying to take care of him the best they can, while i sit here and support them in my own way. tbh, i keep getting flashbacks to my dad when he was sick, so its... not great, to say the least. very, very taxing.

but pushing me and my stress aside, there has been on big, big, big issue here, and that is my aunt -- my mom and uncle’s sister -- that has been coming here to take whatever she can from my frail uncle. like, i get it, material things and money is important, but as a christian, isn’t this kinda... wrong? but i suppose thats subjective, who knows! but, what bothers me more, is that she dared to say that my cousin is not my uncles son. while they may not be related by blood, i personally loathed that, and nothing enraged me more, than saying that someone is not family, no matter what the situation is.

what my aunt is doing is incredibly wrong. she is trying to take advantage of a sick person, and causing havoc for some reason that im not entirely sure of! but if its anything like my father’s situation, and it certainly feels like it to me, i hope she doesnt get anything from this. esp not my uncle’s church.

but this is out of my power. i cant do anything to help anyone, because im inexperienced. but, i dont mind helping my mom out, since thats one of the reasons why i came here anyway, aside from spending time with my uncle. he is sort of like a father figure to me, tho, maybe its because i still miss my dad. idk.

anyway, to say the least, it seems that even a self-proclaimed religious person doesnt mind taking money and material things away from their frail, sick family member. those kinds of people are less than dirt -- than anything really -- and i hope she gets nothing from this. i only wish the best for her sons, but not her. esp since she dared to say the things she said.

woof. what a world. i really need a break from all this. its really taking a lot out of me. its... really heartbreaking to see my uncle become less like himself over time. and i know i look younger than i actually am, but it did kinda hurt when he thought i was a kid. its not just because of my self-esteem, but also because, he really is losing pieces of himself.

well, i can only leave it up to god.

to you all, take care, stay safe, and i wish the best for you.

thank you, and may we continue to take it easy one day at a time.

[rayshippouuchiha]

I came out of Endgame with tears in my eyes and my heart filled up to the brim with absolute seething rage.

Even as I write this now my hands shake with some sick mixture of sadness, rage, and bitter disappointment.

So I preface this by saying that I am emotionally compromised and some of my views might shift with time and distance.

But, for better or for worse, this is my first rage flushed take:

I am so disappointed and so angry that after all of the tension, all of the build, all of the time and sweat and tears, all of the loyalty, we were rewarded with this.

Endgame had its high points, I’m not saying that it didn’t.  There were some genuinely funny moments and some heart rending ones as well.

Every single second Tony Stark was on screen was flawless as always.  Robert Downey Jr. once again proved why he and he alone was suited for the role of Tony Stark and the task of carrying the majority of the MCU for the past 10+ years.

That’s not to say that the rest of the cast wasn’t good.  All of the actors all obviously brought their A game and then some when they were allowed to by what I loosely call a script.

So yeah, there were some highs.

But when its comes to Endgame’s low points?

Its low points were subterranean.

They lowered the bar and then they dug underneath it.

Again I’m writing this basically fresh from the theater and with my emotions still high so do forgive me if this is a bit jumbled around or if I ramble a bit as I cover some of the real issues I had with the film.

So, first thing to address was the overall tone of the film.

For this to be the much glorified Endgame, the “battle of our lives”, there was, in my opinion, a distinct lack of true tension in this film.  Instead of a fraught, nail biting, tension filled ride, Endgame is more of a ... brisk jog through some vaguely sticky situations.

Instead of playing the story straight and giving the situation the gravity it deserved, the narrative went out of its way to put humor that served no other purpose than to ruin what tension had been previously built.  And, in my opinion, the tone of the film suffered for it.

The humor and jokes were humorous, I’m not saying they wasn’t.  I genuinely laughed out loud in the moment.  But I also feel that, with the majority of the comedy that was wedged into the narrative, the film suffered for it.

Now let’s move on a bit to the actual plot of the film.  Again, forgive me if I bounce a bit:

Jeremy Renner was breathtakingly heartbreaking as Clint Barton.  Renner was finally allowed to stretch his legs a bit in this film and he proved that, had he been given the chance, he would have given us a Clint Barton to take our breath away.

Watching with Clint as his family died helped to set what should have been the tone for the majority of the film from there on while reminding us of just what was lost and just what was at stake all at the same time.

Chris Evans brought heart to his portrayal of a Steve Rogers who seems both lighter and more weighted down in this film than ever before.

Scarlett Johansson’s Natasha finally showed more emotion than “head tilt”, “lip purse”, and “arched brow” and it was beautiful.

The brief flash of friendship and affection between Nebula and Tony was perfect and heartwarming as well.  Nebula was magnificent as the “feral space cat desperately in need of softness and a friendly hand” when placed side by side with a slowly withering Tony Stark who is, even at his lowest moments, still kind to this alien cyborg he doesn’t know but to who he owes his life.  They flowed together with an onscreen chemistry in their few moments side by side that felt organic and aching.

Together Tony and Nebula embodied a truly important life/plot point of “meet kindness with kindness and kindness will be your reward”.

Moving forward in time hearing Tony vent his anger and his pain and his distrust at Steve was cathartic in a lot of ways.

As was watching Tony rip the arc reactor from his chest and slap it into Steve’s hand.

In this moment Tony is handing Steve his metaphorical broken heart and leaving someone else to, for once, try and pick up the pieces.

But then, unfortunately, things go rather steeply down hill from there.

With Tony out for the count in a hospital bed the others hunt down and execute Thanos with basically a hand wave and all hope for the stones is lost.

Until deus ex rat-ina unleashes Scott Lang from the quantum realm and the logic of the film takes a sharp left turn.

Scott Lang was missing for 5 years.

To him it was 5 hours.

To which I say, why did Janet van Dyne, age during her stay in the quantum realm?  If, according to the MCU canon, every year in our world was roughly only an hour for Scott Lang, then why didn’t Janet come out of the quantum realm only 30 hours older instead of 30 years?

I feel like the answer is probably “because” but yeah maybe I’m just fuzzy on my Ant Man so if I’m wrong then just ignore that bit please.

Also, just a side note, I adore how it’s been 5 years, Wakanda is very much an ally and still up and running, and yet Rhodey still don’t have working legs.  But alas, racism.

Moving on. 

So with the main villain dead and Tony Stark having solved time travel in his living room, because I stan legends only, we’re now subjected, and that is the very word I’d use to describe what happens next, to what is called a Time Heist.

Cute.

Also Bruce Banner and Hulk have now merged Steven Universe style despite Hulk being scared green-less 5 years ago.  But that’s all good, Bruce smoked a ton of weed, they meditated, went on a cleanse or whatever.

Either way Bruce finally did that character development that everyone had been shouting at him since Avengers 2012 and accepted Hulk as part of him and they’re now Dr. Hulk which was … something that happened?

A thing that they chose to do.  The direction in which they set their narrative wheels and then powered full steam ahead and plowed us right over in the process.

But yeah, Time Heist!  That’s the way to go, the only way apparently.

Because going back in time to stop the Snappening isn’t an option due to reasons that are explained and still look and feel paper thin but probably just honestly boils down to “Russos”

Our intrepid heroes will now split up and surf through time Bill and Ted style to collect the Stones from different points in history.

Yay.

So the rest of the film is basically that, a big old jewel hunt through space and history where the Russos attempt to fool us into thinking their plot points are cohesive and cool by donkey punching us repeatedly in our nostalgia-sacks.

We’re treated to, in no particular order, such hits as:

“Ah 2012 and the invasion of New York only not as interesting but Tony Stark is very much an ass man, but then we been done known that.”

“The Ancient One and her still very distracting skull vein coming at you right now”

“LOKI YOU LITTLE SHIT”

“The one time I envied Scott Lang because, for a split second, he got to be inside Tony Stark”

“Let’s watch Tony Stark simultaneous take a Hulk to the face and have a small cardiac event all at the same time but from different angles”

And let us not forget

“Tee Hee Hee us white bois just had to find a way to make sure Captain America say “Hail HYDRA” but it was for “spy reasons” so weren’t we clever???????”

Yeah boys, great job.

So edgy.

(Although as a side note I do agree, Steve Roger’s ass really is America’s ass and I’d like to thank him for that. Personally.)

But then, of course, Endgame would not have been complete without:

“Steve Rogers stares longingly and creepily at Peggy Carter from behind a window, further backing up his one defining character trait in the MCU which is the inability to move on.  Also she doesn’t look up at all despite being a trained spy and all around badass who probably should have noticed the 6 foot slab of American Beef staring at her from less than a foot away, dark room or no dark room.”

And then my personal favorite:

“Tony Stark sees Howard Stark, the father he described as “calculating, cold, he never told me he was proud of me, never even told me he loved me” but it’s all good cause Tony’s a dad now so looking back all he sees are the good times with his emotionally neglectful and abusive father who says there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for his unborn kid and now they awkwardly hug while I try not to scream “FOOTAGE NOT FUCKING FOUND HOWARD AND NO THAT ONE 3 MINUTE VIDEO DOESN’T COUNT YOU SHIT” at the screen and explode in pure rage.”

Joy.

Truly a scene that was necessary and fit the narrative of Howard Stark’s personality and was needed for Tony to uh get closure or grow as a man and a father or something …

It totally wasn’t yet another excuse to give a canonically abusive father screen time in a way that seems genial and sweet in an attempt to give them a bit of redemption that they neither earned nor deserve.

But yeah, whatever, moving on.

Also Rhodey remains an absolute gem and he and Nebula get shit done.

Only oops, not so fast.

Because apparently the only one who is going to run into the whole “two of you can’t exist in one place at one time without consequences” rule is Nebula who, despite her bitchin orange stripe/badge of character development, managed to like synch up with her past self?

Because she didn’t turn her bluetooth/quantum entanglement function off I guess.

Either way Orange Stripe Nebula, O’Snebula as I call her, has accidentally air dropped all her files into OG Nebula’s mental iPhone.

So yeah now big old Past Grimace knows what’s up.

Ooops??

So shit goes down and then Past Grimace is like “you need to Trogan horse this shit, least favorite daughter” so OG Nebula does because “daddy issues”.

Dr. Hulk puts on the gauntlet and Kentucky fires his arm bringing all the people lost in the Snappening back to life now, 5 years after they got dusted.

Which is … honestly a recipe for disaster in so many ways.  What about the people, like the guy in Steve’s support group, who have started to move on?

What about the people who have remarried, have built new lives?

All of that’s ruined now.

It’s fantastic all those people are alive again but jobs, housing, food, healthcare, government, all of it is back in massive disarray across the universe.

And bringing those people back does nothing to bring back the people who didn’t die in the Snappening but died from causality instead.  All the deaths caused by suicides, by car/bus/train/plane/ship/etc crashes, by a lack of first responders, by the civil/world/interplanetary wars that probably raged across the universe due to entire governments disappearing?

All of those people are still dead.

The Snappening killed half of all life in the universe.  Causality probably killed another good ¼ after that.

And Dr. Hulk’s Un-Snappening saves none of them.

This isn’t a true solution, it’s a shitty band-aid.

But yeah, Russos so….

Moving on.

Yadda Yadda Yadda, plot plot plot. OG Nebula goes undercover, Past Grimace ends up in the future, there’s some fighting (which was admittedly BAD ASS), shit happens, and Tony saves the day like we all knew he would.

YAY!

Despite the massive rambling up above I’m not gonna plot out the entire movie right here though a lot will probably get covered coming up because here’s where I get down and start talking about the various character arcs too.

Because what a wild fucking ride those were.

Okay to take it from the top Scott Lang’s arc was fine.  Beyond my questions about the quantum realm his was clear cut and fine although I do wonder at his luck at being, apparently, the only Scott Lang in San Fran to go missing.  Well either that or he was staring at some other Scott Lang’s name instead of his own and in that case “awkward”.

Bruce’s arc was … look I could have done without all of the cringy Dr. Hulk stuff that they played up for laughs.  If they were gonna brush Hulk being terrified under the rug they could have found a better way to do it besides just erasing the duality between Hulk and Banner with a hand wave.

But yeah, Russos.

Carol Danvers was beautiful and magnificent and completely brushed aside.  Yes she was out in the universe handling shit, yes I know they did that so they could focus on the core Avengers, etc etc etc.

But it’s a damn shame that Carol Danvers, and her glorious haircut, was reduced to being the sorely needed and totally badass cavalry and last minute ace in the hole when she should have, logically, been a part of the vanguard.  Honestly I have thoughts on why Carol’s entire character should have been saved completely for the next phase of the MCU instead of introduced so late in this one but I digress.

O’Snebula was a perfect shining bionic light and I love her.

Gamora is now alive in the future but at what cost?  Not that her life isn’t worth something on its own, it totally is and she deserved the loophole resurrection 10000%.

Shit’s gonna be awkward though cause she doesn’t love Quill, she doesn’t love the Guardians, doesn’t really know O’Snebula or the universe she’s been thrown into.  She doesn’t have the memories or the experiences or the character growth and even if she does go back to her family she’ll never be the same person.

Now her and Quill’s relationship, if they ever have one again, will be reduced down to Quill going “you fell in love with me once you could do it again despite us no longer having the shared experiences that bonded us together”.  Same can be said for the rest of the Guardians as well.

Guess we all know what the plot of GotG 3 is gonna be about.

And that brings us to the story lines that really and truly upset me.

Which is basically all the rest of them.

Natasha/Clint’s combined story-line, Thor’s everything, Steve’s … Steve, and then finally Tony.

Now the Natasha/Clint story-line started out promising.

Clint’s rage and pain was obvious, his heartbreak poignant.  His decision to use all of those to cut a bloody swathe through the criminal underworld was both Dramatic(™) and understandable.

Natasha’s love and grief for him, her desperate attempts to hold onto what she has left by throwing herself into her new job, was a perfect demonstration that Natasha Romanoff is very much not a robot.  She was exhausted, frayed at the edges, and she had tears in her eyes, over Clint.  And then she pulled herself together, slipped her mask back on, and pushed her way forward.  This was all excellent.

It was also a nice narrative callback/parallel to have Natasha be the one to go out and bring Clint in from the cold.

Natasha plays touch stone, plays stability, for Clint and for many of the others.  For the first time Natasha is truly portrayed as a person all the way down to the core instead of some witty quips in a catsuit.  Plus her eyebrows finally came back from the war and her hair looked good again.  So there was that.

Clint and Natasha’s arc comes to a climax on Vormir as they search for the Soul Stone and Red Skull, the Nazi cockroach that he is, gives them the same spiel he gave Thanos.

To get the Soul Stone you must give up the life of the one you love the most. A soul for a soul.

Narrative wise this is consistent, we all knew this would happen as soon as they started searching for the Stones again.  It was obvious.

It was also obvious that Clint was the perfect sacrifice.

He’s got nothing left, his family is dead, he’s already lost the people he loves the most, he’s spent five years being a borderline monster.

And he is also, without a doubt, the thing that Natasha loves the most.

Clint was ready and willing to go, ready to die for the blood on his hands, ready to sacrifice himself for the chance that his family would be saved.

Ready to lay down on the wire and let Natasha walk over him for the sake of everything.

Clint dying made sense, was narratively sound, and heartbreaking.

All of which are only a few of the reasons why Natasha’s death was such a goddamn betrayal.

Instead of following along with the narratively sound death of Clint Barton, an Avenger that’s been ignored for most of the films as is, the Russo brothers instead chose to fridge Natasha.

Clint dying would have been the perfect mirror to Gamora’s death.

Gamora was a daughter unwillingly sacrificed by her father to destroy half of all life in the universe.

Clint would have been a father willingly sacrificed by a friend to save half of all life in the universe, his own sons and daughter included.

But no, we didn’t get that, instead we got a gratuitous scene of Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, splayed angel like and bloody on the rocks below.

Instead they fridged the Black Widow, the only woman of the original Big Six, because they couldn’t bring themselves to fridge a man.

So Clint gets the Soul Stone.

Such a fitting end for the Black Widow right?  Dying in a man’s place, mourned on screen by a circle of men, but ultimately set aside rather quickly.

I understand why Natasha wanted to be the one to go, I understand that she didn’t want Clint’s family to lose their husband/father and that her true family was the Avengers. I get that.  It doesn’t mean I enjoy or agree with the decision they made any more.

It doesn’t make me any less tired of watching female characters die for the sake of men and their families.

Natasha Romanoff sacrificed herself for the universe and her family and that deserves respect even if I absolutely hate it as a narrative choice.

Oh and what about the absolute NERVE of the Russos to have that awesome Lady Power Battle Strut happen but only after they killed Natasha, one of the Big Six?

Bitter? Me? Nooo.

Now, moving on to Thor.

Thor.

Oh my actual God, Thor.

The levels of disrespect Thor, Chris Hemsworth, and the fans were shown with this character arc/story-line in Endgame is breathtaking.

The absolute, shameless disrespect.

They turned Thor into a cowardly, drunken slob who has spent the last 5 years ignoring his responsibilities to what’s left of his people and instead has spent his time drinking, sulking, and literally yelling at kids over PSN??

Endgame’s Thor has the bullshit reasoning that he needs to stop trying to be who he thinks he should be and instead be who he is.

Which flies completely in the face of literally all of his character development from Thor all the way to Thor 3 and then Infinity War.

The entirety of Thor 3 was Thor’s hero’s journey culminating in him finally being the king he was always meant to be.  Finally maturing and stepping forward to lead his people.

I am supposed to believe that Thor, depressed and guilty or not for not killing Thanos when he had the chance the first time, just abandoned his people like that?

I’m supposed to believe that Thor would piss all over everything the majority of his family and friends died for?

I’m supposed to believe that Heimdall, Loki, countless soldiers, and The Warrior’s Three and Lady Sif (I guess), all died to protect Asgard, died for the people and for Thor, and Thor just what? Turns his back on all of that to become a drunk?

No, Thor wouldn’t do that.  Thor should have been down there beside Valkyrie working those fishing vessels when Bruce and Rocket came calling.  If Thor had any hesitance to join them it should have been, “I can’t abandon my people, I am needed here.”  He should have been fiercely guarding the tiny fraction of Asgard that’s left.

Thor’s depression and guilt was valid. Don’t mistake me on that. But they played it for jokes.  They made him a caricature of depression, made him “gross” and incompetent and the butt of the jokes, and in the process diminished what should have been a painful and poignant arc for Thor.

Instead we got Big Lebowski Thor, bathrobe included, who does stand up and fight yes but, in the end, gives up his crown and just fucks off to space to have petty pissing competitions with Peter Quill so he can?? find himself?? despite finding himself in Ragnarok already???

Thor’s entire arc in Endgame was shallow, mishandled, and disrespectful to the character, to Chris Hemsworth, and to the fans.

You, we, he, all deserved better than this.

Now we get to Steve.

Steve Rogers, Captain America himself.

I’ve had a lot of salt about Steve’s character and actions in the MCU but, all of that aside, he deserved so much more than what the Russo’s did to him in Endgame.

Hell he’s deserved so much more than what’s been done to him since post-CA:TFA.

But this is about Endgame specifically soooo….

Steve’s shown leading a support group in the beginning of Endgame, is shown talking about moving on and moving forward and learning to let go. Which is wonderful.  It sounds like the exact character development we’ve all been waiting for for Steve.

Which is, of course, the exact moment when Steve goes “nah just kidding, we don’t ever move on”.

Which, given the circumstances, is pretty fair.  If Steve was only thinking/talking about Thanos and the events of Infinity War.

But of course he wasn’t.

CA:CW should have been the end of the Peggy Carter saga for Steve.  He mourned her, he was finally moving forward, he’d kissed Sharon, he threw everything away to save Bucky, he gave up his shield, etc etc.

But no.  Endgame finds him right back there, clutching that goddamn compass, and making moon eyes at a woman who we all thought went on and lived a life without him, got married, had kids, and generally existed outside of Steve Rogers.

But no.  The Russo’s had to take that away from us too.

And yes yes I know I know multiverse or whatever but still.

Steve steamrolls his way through Endgame with skill and determination.  He picks up Thor’s hammer, finally worthy, which how??? Why???  (perhaps because he’s no longer keeping secrets??? Or maybe that’s just my salt talking? Who knows? Not me?)

And then he fights Thanos head to head.

(Although him wielding the hammer brought up an entire separate set of issues cause I’m pretty sure Mjolnir doesn’t actually summon lightning. Ragnarok pretty much said that the lightning has always been within Thor.  Mjolnir was just a control accessory.  But, you know, Russos *jazzhands*)

And then, in the end, he insists on returning the Stones on his own.

Only he doesn’t come back like he was supposed to.

Instead we’re given old Steve Rogers.

Because Steve returned the Stones and then ….went and found Peggy Carter and got married and lived an entire life with her ignoring everything he would have known was going to happen to her and around the both of them or something???

Or maybe not if the multiverse thing holds up but then who knows any more???

But then how did Old Steve end up right there by that lake on that day at that right time if he’s technically from a different multiverse???

Either way Sam gets his shield and the mantle of Captain America, which was fantastic, and Bucky more than likely knew Steve’s plan all along but the best read I really got on him was basically “eh” so he might well have been happy for Steve too.

But still, instead of finally achieving peace and continuing to learn to live in the future with Bucky and Sam and the remnants of the Avengers, his family and the life he’s built there over the past years, instead of putting the shield down because he’s learned to let go in the now, Steve only puts the shield down because he chooses the past.

He chooses the past over all of that and all of the people left who love him. Sure the argument could be said that he knew they’d be alright but still.

There is a deep well of dissatisfaction inside of me as to how Steve’s entire ending arc was handled.  Why did peace only come to Steve after Tony and Natasha were both dead and then was only found in the past?

No disrespect to Peggy Carter, I adore her, but were the relationships he had in the future worth so little that the past was the only place he could find happiness?  A past with a woman that he knows loved him but still moved on and found happiness outside of him, lived a full and happy life without him?

Steve didn’t get a character arc so much as he got a character circle.  A character loop.  He went right back to where he started.

Endgame erases all of the character development Steve underwent post-Avengers.  Just brushes it all under the rug.

The Russo’s stole the character development Steve Rogers spent a decade undergoing to give him their version of a happy ending.

They robbed him and us both of every bit of growth and forward motion Steve has underwent and I will never forgive them for that.

And now we get to Tony Stark.

Anthony Edward Stark.

The Iron Man.

Tony’s arc is, was, the longest and best developed arc in the entirety of the MCU.

It’s spanned 10+ years and has been nurtured and hand fed by Robert Downey Jr.

If Endgame got one thing right, one thing at all, it’s how they handled the majority of Tony’s arc.

From him laying the smack down on Steve once he was home, finally venting his emotions and his anger, all the way to him solving time travel before tucking his kid into bed, and then building an Infinity Gauntlet on his own even though Thanos committed genocide to get the one he had.

Tony Stark’s arc was glorious and expected and sad.

I think that my one almost complaint is that Tony stopped for 5 years.  On one hand he deserved the rest, deserved the chance to find happiness.  He was hurt and tired and he’d faced his demons and been left bleeding out with the death of half the universe weighing on his shoulders.

He deserved to just stop for a while.

On the other hand stopping is not something Tony has ever been good at, just like Pepper said.  A part of me thought Tony would be working, frantically, to find something, anything, to turn back the hands of time.  To track Thanos down. To get the Stones and then to get everything else back.

To get Peter and all of the others back.

But that’s not the route they went and I’m … okay? I guess, with that.

Tony was validated and vindicated and everyone would have finally listened to him.  It only took the death of half of the universe to do it.  But he was too tired, too hurt and untrusting to keep pushing.  I can respect that.

But of course once an idea worms its way inside Tony can’t let it go.  So he solves time travel on the fly and sets out to save the world.

Again.

His one stipulation is that he will do anything, everything, he has to in order to keep what he has now.  His wife Pepper and Morgan, his sweet little daughter.

So of course he doesn’t get to do that either.

After all of the blood, sweat, suffering, and mental illnesses, Tony doesn’t get his happy ending.  Not really.

He gets to rest, yes, but he loses out on everything he wanted to do with his kid.  In the process of saving the universe he becomes the one thing he never wanted to be for Morgan, a distant father.

A face on a screen, stories, memories other people have.

No matter how many holograms or inventions or whatever Tony left to Morgan, it’ll never replace him.

Morgan got 5 years with her father.  She’ll spend the rest of her life hearing stories about him, about how much of a hero he was.  And hopefully, with Pepper and all the others behind her, Tony will remain a hero to her and will not, instead, become her version of Captain America.  An untouchable symbol that Morgan will never live up to.

So, in the end, Tony sacrifices once again.

Watches the future he wanted crumble to dust in his fingers, lightning scorching him from the inside out as infinity rips him apart.

And he dies there, surrounded by some of the people who love him best.

His best friend.

His wife.

The son he almost had.

And, despite all of that, it is very very fitting that his death was at his own hands.

Thanos could take out half the universe, he could traverse time and space, he could humble Thor, terrorize the Hulk, rip Steve Roger’s up, survive shield and hammer and so much more, but the one thing he couldn’t do?

He couldn’t kill Tony Stark.

The only thing that could kill Iron Man, could kill Tony Stark, was his own heart.

Tony Stark takes the Infinity Stones in hand knowing how this is going to end, knowing that Stephen Strange set him on this path years ago.

Because didn’t Strange warn him?  Didn’t Strange tell him outright “I’ll let the kid and you both die to protect the Time Stone”?

Tony just never expected it to take a few hours and then 5 more years for Strange’s promise to finally be fulfilled.

So Tony does it knowing that after everything he’s been through, all of the pain and the suffering and the battles, it was only enough to have earned 5 years of happiness, 5 years of his dream.

5 years of being the father he always swore he’d be.

Tony Stark takes the Infinity Stones and dies for the entire universe, for his family, for his daughter.  Dies knowing that he’ll be doing the one thing he didn’t want to do, swore he would never do.

Leaving them behind.

Tony Stark brings us full circle as he stands as both equal and mirror of Thanos once again.

Man to Titan.  Good Father to Bad Father.  Life to Death.

Tony Stark picks up the weight of the universe and then he dies making sure that it has a future free from the same fear that has haunted him for a decade.

A warm light for all mankind, sent to sleep, to rest, knowing that finally everything will be okay.

And all he had to do was die for it.

So, I’ll close this out saying this:

This was written in one solid push after my first viewing and Endgame was dissatisfying for me as you might have guessed.  I am disappointed and angry at so much they chose to do to end out this iconic decade of cinema and to close out these character’s arcs.

There were a lot of points and little details I didn’t get to cover in this and perhaps a lot of points you might not agree with me on.

That’s okay.

Because, no matter what, there is one thing I know for sure.

We, I, will always have Tony Stark and the lessons he taught me.  The pain he endured and shared with all of us.  The bravery and strength he inspired in so many of us as we watched him struggle with physical and mental illnesses on screen.  As we watched him obsess and stress and love and grow.

I have never loved a character more than I love Tony Stark.

I have never been impacted by a character as much as I have been by Tony Stark.

I’m not sure if I ever will again.

So, Tony Stark is Iron Man.

He always will be.

And he saved more than just some fictional universe.

He saved a lot of us along the way too.

And we’ll always love him for that.

[mimiplaysgames]

A Rush of Blood to the Head (6/6)

Pairing: Aqua/Terra Rating: T Word Count: 8,672

Summary: Change was painful, and Terra and Aqua have a lot of wreckage to sort out.

Read on AO3.

A/N: Happy Nortvember! So the whole image of Aqua pouring scented oils on Terra because of his hatred over the smell of Xehanort's cologne came from my dear friend and genius, @holyteapotofrussell. I mean, I died when they told me about it, and if they ever finish that comic, I'll definitely post it here! <3

****

So Help Me See

Time was forgiving, allowing Radiant Garden the tools to rebuild. It wasn’t yet back to its former glory, still faded in comparison to the glow that gave it its proper nickname of “City of Light.” But it was getting there. 

Terra didn’t know what to look for - well, he knew what, but he didn’t know where to start or how.

The castle square was the first place to look - it corroborated with Aqua’s last stand, and with what many of Ansem the Wise’s apprentices testified. To anyone’s hazy memory, her Keyblade appeared and then vanished right here. 

Keyblades didn’t have legs so it couldn’t have been wiped off the face of the worlds like Aqua was when she plunged into darkness, but who knew what the hell Xehanort was thinking when he took it. 

Terra wasn’t even sure Xehanort was the one who took it…

He stared at cobblestone, imagining a giant hole swallowing Aqua... He was grateful that he didn’t have any of Xehanort’s memories when he had control of the body (who’d want to witness that sort of thing?). To see someone else move his own hands and he wouldn’t be able to stop it...

Now he wished he had. It wasn’t like there were any visible clues to point him to a direction: Her Keyblade is here! 

But what Terra did have was the suspicion that he was being watched.

He looked over his shoulder - indeed he was, by a figure in a dark cloak with the hood up, standing on a roof and out of reach. These cowards never wanted anyone to easily identify them - that, or they really liked being dramatic. 

The man turned heel and fled. 

“Don’t-” Terra started. 

He followed, sprinting until his heart thrashed and begged for a break. Down an alleyway, closer to Ansem’s castle, far from the main entrance, around the moat.

It didn’t matter how fast Terra ran, the man was always finishing a turn around the corner like a tease, despite that he walked. Terra got the sense that he was being mocked for sure.

It all stopped the moment they reached a back terrace overlooking the barren fields of Radiant Garden beyond, where the casual noise of crowds couldn’t reach. 

The man waited for him, and it only occurred to Terra now that this was maybe a trap so he kept a healthy distance.

“So the Copy meets the Original,” the man said, his voice unnervingly deep and burning hot. He pulled his hood back, and Terra came face to face with who he knew as his clone: Xemnas.

Well, he knew what a Nobody was supposed to be and how all that worked. Xemnas was a warped mirror: the same eyes with a different color, the same purse of the lips with a different grin, the same determined look but armed with a distant anger like it ghosted in his mind.

His voice - his voice - Terra never expected it to sound like that.

“Speechless?” Xemnas cooed before his eyes went cold. He was similar enough that Terra almost expected him to stay quiet - a reflection wasn’t supposed to move on its own. “How disappointing that my Someone is so vapid.”

“I-” Why was he giving him the benefit of a response? “If I’m that boring, don’t you wonder why you’re the one following me around?”

Xemnas didn’t need to wear a scowl when his eyes betrayed him. He reached his hand out, his palm up against the air and his fingers splayed as if framing Terra in between them under an inspection. 

“White wings,” Xemnas said.

Not what Terra was expecting at all. This guy’s weird.

“If I should,” Xemnas continued, “tear them feather by feather, consume them for sustenance, would it satiate? Would it let me grow my own?”

“Excuse me?”

“I have to bear your memories either way.” Xemnas stared hard. “I have to witness your emotions, poured from a full heart... while my own existence numbs to most of what I experience in the now.” He lowered his hand, and looked at its empty palm. “I walk a path that would lead to my eventual destruction, for there is no other purpose for me. If I should take your place, would it satiate, or would the heart I’m growing never be enough to compare?”

Terra had nothing to say. He thought of Naminé, and his belief that she had a right to exist and be happy. Naturally, he felt that Xemnas deserved the same, even if he wore a stolen face. Who was Terra to judge? 

… But he still couldn’t even imagine Aqua tolerating this guy. Wow.

Xemnas wasn’t done with his monologue: “They say a heart has the potential to bear tremendous strength.” Red light flashed, stretching out from one of his palms and joined by the other, two swords now at the ready. “How weak is yours in comparison to the rage you’ve awakened in mine?”

“I don’t have time for you,” Terra spat. “If you don’t know anything about-”

“You’ve left me with little to keep,” Xemnas said with the weight of cold stone.

It was an accusation. Terra had felt something similar - yes, he had some dark thoughts, as any human would do. Wishes that he could have her to himself, guilt for even letting it pass his mind. A proper Keyblade Wielder would let that baggage go.

“She doesn’t belong to you, either,” Terra said.

It seemed like an undeniable truth for the both of them, pressured by the voids they couldn’t fill. 

A flame flickered in Xemnas’ eyes before it died down, and he propelled forward at Terra.

Despite how big he was - definitely a head taller than Terra - he blurred. Gifted with levitation and teleportation, he popped up on one side to strike until he suddenly reappeared on the other to strike again and he was fast. 

All Terra could do was hold still, using his Keyblade to block attacks coming from random directions. He wasn’t spared even partial of a second to move.

So he blocked again and ducked, rolling off the ground to escape the waves of personal grudges his Nobody wasn’t finished venting out. 

“You squirm,” he heard Xemnas say from somewhere. “Have you lost your spine to face me?”

Terra threw himself down a hallway in Ansem’s castle, hiding behind a nook. 

“Pathetic,” Xemnas continued. It sounded like he was carefully traversing down that same hallway. “She surely deserves to have her strength and bravery matched.”

Terra steadied his breathing to catch a moment’s peace to think. The words slapped him and left a mark: they were in agreement there, that Aqua deserved better than what Terra had to offer. But he couldn’t imagine that Xemnas was any better. 

It dawned on him: Xemnas wouldn’t have wasted his time just to taunt him. He knows something.

Many years ago, Terra went on a search for his own strength to find that he lacked so much of it in all the necessary places. 

But he had to do her right. He had to make amends. He had to make his best friend happy. And from this need he would draw his strength and magic. 

He stepped out and faced Xemnas, who was already prepared. 

Terra only hoped that appeasing his mistakes would be enough to withstand the onslaught. He expected it was going to hurt against such an opponent, but that didn’t matter - this was no time to doubt himself.

Feet steady on the earth, imagining that he was as immovable, Terra readied his Keyblade. He thought about her, about Ventus, about the Master’s theories of drawing light to fulfill promises. He had his own to satisfy, a promise that he would set things right. 

And he shone with a light so bright that Xemnas had to cover his eyes. 

****

Terra found her behind the academy, in the Master’s gardens. 

Seeing her tend to the blossoming flower bed made his stomach reach for his throat - as seeing her always did this to him nowadays. Sure, he was the type to be self-conscious sometimes, but now it was so much worse. 

She maintained the flowers so beautifully just by watering the earth, but it also had to be a special kind of magic that only she was capable of giving: the flowers had fresh reasons to live, and they were growing back to the way Eraqus liked them. Aqua looked after many of the smaller things that made the Land of Departure home, while Ventus took care of the maintenance and the rebuilding. 

Her crutches rested on the ground by her - she still used them, and proudly so as though she didn’t have a reason to be ashamed of them. 

Terra was covered in dust and dirt with some bruising, but the more important thing was the large sack he dragged behind him. Aqua noticed it all, and she gave him a smile anyway which he didn’t have the strength to act like he wasn’t swooned by it.

“Got something for you,” he managed to say after clearing his throat, taking a spot on the ground. He left the sack by her side without crushing the flowers.

He couldn’t watch her rummage through it, and instead found comfort in staring at a soft, peach-colored flower by his knee, noticing the fibers on its petals reaching for the sun. 

She gasped. Pulling out her Keyblade, Aqua studied it for scratches and other scars, pieces of her armor still in the sack shining from the sunlight. It was weird... watching two pieces of a whole reunite where they didn’t know if they still fit. 

“Where did you find it?” she asked. 

He could feel her watching him for an answer but he stared at the flower. “Xemnas… he told me.”

“He kept this from me?” Aqua leaned over to see if he was being serious, shaking her head. Her eyes scattered the garden for meaning, for a reason behind everything. “That bastard.” 

The way she spoke about him gave Terra the impression that she had… expectations of Xemnas, as if they were close. 

“... A friend of yours?” 

She clicked her tongue. “Barely a half-decent one.”

If only she knew that in his defeat, Xemnas admitted the location to her Keyblade to Terra.

In his defeat, Xemnas searched for meaning, for a reason behind everything and he found nothing.

“There is no room left for me in her light,” Xemnas had said before he surrendered, and Terra left him behind without a reply. 

Xemnas didn’t know that Terra agreed with that statement, and that Terra felt the same for himself. 

Yeah, Xemnas really disappointed her. It nauseated Terra to see her so affected.

Terra wasn’t sure if he had a right to know more about his Nobody or if it was none of his business to hear what the love of his life felt about this man. 

He didn’t have to ask; she volunteered, “He found a way to connect with me in the Realm of Darkness.” She stroked her Keyblade’s hilt lovingly, thinking about a fond memory. “I didn’t realize it then but... I had begged for so long for someone to talk to and whenever he had the time… I used to look forward to talking to him, and maybe it helped me but his promise to find me gave me the strength to keep going.” 

Hearing this crushed Terra, wrinkling a wave of nausea and hatred and pain in his stomach. He was already a terrible friend to her, that he knew, but it was worse now.

“He did better than I could have ever…” Terra started to say.

“Don’t.” Her glare was as sharp as her command. 

Aqua pursed her lips, her grip on her Keyblade making her knuckles white. “Xemnas did eventually find me… and look what happened.” Her breath shook, her eyes remembering more horrible things. “Xemnas was also cruel, his friends were scared of him and-” 

She swallowed, and continued, “I don’t ever want to hear you compare yourself to him again. You deserve better.”

No, he didn’t, and he was about to say that but her glare turned icier and she shook her head. She wasn’t going to let him rat on about how awful he was. 

It left Terra biting his knuckle to hold it in. He understood it was healthier for him to stop indulging in these thoughts, and he was so aware of what he was doing to himself but he just couldn’t stop.

He took one last glance at the flower, vibrant, raised with all the care and love she was capable of giving. 

Terra mumbled that he was dirty and sweaty and that he should shower, getting up and leaving her to reach for him - but he did not reciprocate. 

He did that a lot - leaving her alone with an empty hand that he wouldn’t hold. It was as if Terra never learned that darkness and self-destruction were one and the same, and if only he would just take her hand when she offered it, then he’d finally step into the light.

But he kept choosing darkness, and why did he let it win all the time?

He led himself to his bedroom, to his shower, to strip naked and stand under the water for an hour until he was raw and red, scrubbing whatever was left of Xemnas off of his skin. 

****

Aqua was walking fine when she came through the doors to the Master’s office. Terra already had the fire going to dry off his newly washed hair, his piled blankets ready to be slept in. Ven’s sleeping bag was tussled right next to them because he never bothered to straighten it out in the morning.

Ventus had started to join their nights at the office, like it was their new camping spot - at least until Aqua healed enough to take long hikes. 

Judging by how smoothly she was performing - not standard just yet - it might be soon that they could return to the wilderness. She still had her crutches strapped across her back, just in case, but she stood proudly by the couch before slumping into its inviting cushions.

She tapped the seat next to her for Terra to take. Too often he gently refused, saying he was fine and comfortable. 

But he took the seat this time, and she beamed. He loved to see her smile, and he pained to see it, too. 

“I fixed it,” she said, and from her pocket she pulled out his orange Wayfinder. 

It was back to normal - almost. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t have enough materials to replace that last petal.”

On said petal was a scratch, interrupting the way the light reflected off of it. There was no telling whether the scratch was born when he carried it (maybe from Stitch?) or if it occured when Xehanort had it. 

“No need,” Terra said, feeling the scratch’s texture under his finger, “it’s perfect.” 

A scar etched right into his Wayfinder, much like he was now, and probably what they all felt deep inside. An immaculate Wayfinder would otherwise just be a lie - this was still his, and she fixed it. 

Aqua was pleased to hear it, rolling blankets on top of her lap. Terra noticed that she got closer to him, as she always did when they were alone. Part of him was sure it was because she didn’t know how else to reach him when he always turned his shoulder on her. He let her do it because he, too, wanted to be near her. 

Then the memory of her seething in rage and walking away reminded him of…

She breathed in deeply, taking in the strong fragrance that no doubt came from his soaked hair. 

Aqua rolled her lips, thinking about what she was going to say before she spilled her honest thoughts: “I like your shampoo.”

He knew this conversation was inevitable. “Thank you.”

“Sandalwood, right?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded slowly, taking in information: his aroma, his tension, his anxiousness. “You shower a lot, Terra.”

His skin was still a bit raw and the heat from the fire didn’t relieve him of it. But she said this to inquire, to give him space to talk. “I have to.”

“Why?” She wasn’t too pressing, just concerned by such a weird answer.

“I feel like I need to, I-” He sighed. “I need to get his stench off of me.”

She blinked, her eyes wavering. “Ah… of course.”

“I still smell it.” His voice gets lower. “Patchouli. It’s disgusting.”

“Hmmm,” she nodded like she understood, and he wondered if she wore the same cologne when she was under Xehanort’s influence. “If it makes you feel any better, Terra, you don’t smell like patchouli. Ever.”

How simply she approached the subject only made him feel silly, especially when it was more complicated than that. 

“It’s…” He shivered. He couldn’t believe he was about to talk about this. “It’s not just that, it’s… I lived a long time - well, not me, but my body… and I don’t remember any of it, and… And I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I was eating, I don’t know who I was talking to or what I was doing, and… I don’t know if I was touching anyone, or hurting anyone, or killing people and it scares me.”

He’s near tears by this point, gripping his forearm with such ferocity that it made the skin there red.

“I can’t live with myself,” he continued, waiting to hear that his fears were all real, waiting to hear from Aqua that he had justifiable reason to worry. “I feel gross and I can’t wipe him off of me.”

It was a problem with no solution, because realistically, there wasn’t anything she could say that could actually confirm anything, and maybe that was worse.

“Terra,” she said sweetly, “he was an awful person, and he plagued everyone, including you. None of it is your fault.”

“I know it’s not.” It just didn’t feel true.

“And you’re not him,” she whispered, as if softening the blow. “You never were, and you’ll never be again. You made sure of that when you freed me.”

“But what about what I’ve done?”

“What he’s done,” she corrected.

“Still, the past-”

“You’re atoning for.” It was blunt but it was gentle. He’d spent his time traveling to different worlds affected by darkness, saving people left and right, answering calls for help - and all without her help and without Ventus. 

In a way, Terra was breaking a promise by not including them in those adventures, since they were supposed to stay together. Neither of them had complained about it, letting him do his thing...

“...Yeah.” 

“Terra… What matters most is what you’re doing. Those people you’re helping - they’d be in trouble now if it wasn’t for you. You’re saving them. There isn’t a light out there like yours. That’s why the Keyblade chose you in the first place.”

She brushed fingers against his hand, almost as if asking him to spare his arm and let it go. “And it’s your body,” she said. “You decide what you want to do with it, and who you’ll let near.” 

She smiled. “Besides, Xehanort didn’t like getting touched.”

That was right, she remembered everything under his influence. “How much do you remember from… ?”

“Almost everything.” She looked down at their touch, and how none of them shied away from it. “The one thing that always comes to mind is believing I was being backstabbed.”

“Really?”

“I was very paranoid and I rarely let anyone near me, yes.” Whatever pain she dealt from that, she sounded like she made peace with it. With her other hand, she massaged one of her thighs, where her dark scars have gotten lighter over time. “The veins are receding. I’m doing better.”

It wasn’t fair; she was stronger than he was, especially since she was actually able to fight Xehanort’s influence - yet she was the one suffering worse consequences.

Terra knew he couldn’t measure - in spite of what she’s been through and what she’s done for him, she manages a small smile every day. 

“I want to see you do better, too,” she said.

“I don’t know how.” I’m not as strong as you.

“You can start by skipping the morning showers,” she chuckled. “You don’t need them if you’re going to bed squeaky clean.”

“Ha,” he scoffed. “You’re going to have to convince me better than that.” 

“Give me time, I’ll find a way.” Her eyes met his, and she asked the most typical question they shared between the two of them, like everything was the way it used to be: “Deal?”

“... Okay. Deal.” 

Their touch lingered, and Terra didn’t want her to let go. He knew that she couldn’t read his mind, and that in time if he didn’t say anything, she’d let him go. He knew he should ask her to keep touching him - yet he didn’t understand why it was so hard to actually say the words. 

He wished it was easier. A part of him even wished that she would show him how to do it.

It seemed the same for her, struggling to say something that halfway scared her. He felt a light pressure on his knuckles, like she was asking to hold his hand.

And he took hers, finally letting himself go.

“Can I?” she asked. 

Could she… what? He didn’t know, but whatever it was, he was fine with it. “Yeah.” 

It was a small movement but she made it slowly, closing the gap in between them and covering his lap with her blanket. She found a soft spot on his shoulder, breathing him in from the collarbone, relaxing into his arm. 

Some bright star far away took pity on him and actually heard his wishes. 

As she nestled, he felt a small smile on her lips brushing up against his shirt. She brought her blanket up to her face and now he didn’t have the space to move away, but this was exactly what he wished for. 

It didn’t take long for her to slow her breathing and fall asleep… she barely stirred, and even though his arm was getting numb, he didn’t want to disturb. He just wanted to watch her - he was allowed to do that, right? To memorize her eyelashes and the way her hair parted as it disappeared under the blanket? 

What finally ruined the peaceful scene was the sound of a door opening, and the moment Ventus noticed what was going on, he shut it as quietly as he could, tip-toeing to his sleeping bag. 

The boys nodded to each other as a greeting.

“Finally,” Ventus whispered. “You guys were taking forever.”

Terra rolled his eyes. Whatever. 

“I mean it,” Ventus said, his whisper just a note louder. “It was just so different between the two of you… and it sucked.”

“I’m sorry,” Terra whispered back. He was being selfish, and never thought about how it affected Ventus.

“It’s fine.” Ventus stared into the fire, crossing his arms. Turning his head back to the scene, he watched Aqua safe and sound in Terra’s arms, her breathing heavier. 

Quietly, he picked up an embroidered foot rest, its mat welcoming for Terra’s ankles, allowing him to rest easier on the couch. 

(But this also meant that he wouldn’t help Terra find his own space to sleep and would rather keep them together like that.)

“Do you think the Master ever knew about the two of you?” Ventus asked. 

The Master’s framed portrait sat on the table right next to Terra, his grin snug behind the mustache, in one of the rarest photos where he allowed expression reach his eyes. 

There were moments where Eraqus passed Terra knowing looks, pulled him aside to talk about sexual health, and made sure he received long lectures about the strength of emotions, of bonds, of unbreakable connections, of learning how to fall in love, and why there were important for the strength of the Keyblade - and of their downfalls as well. All of that made Terra think about Aqua and then blush at the thought but he pretended otherwise. 

Maybe the Master knew, maybe he didn’t. 

“I don’t know, Ven.”

Ventus nodded, straightening out his sleeping bag. Tucking himself and leaning on his elbow, he played with a loose strand that stuck out of the seams. “It doesn’t matter I guess. It’s been very awkward between the two of you and I don’t think… I don’t think the Master would have wanted that.” 

Terra stammered. 

“You’re better together,” Ventus said. “You’re stronger that way.”

He was serious, and whether or not the Master would have agreed if he was alive wouldn’t change what had happened earlier that day - Terra’s bright light against Xemnas for the sake of reuniting Aqua with the extension of her very soul and heart. 

Or even the strength he found when he did everything he could to get her back.

None of it compared to her sacrifice, however, and how many years she spent alone - something that neither Terra nor Ventus would have survived. 

Aqua was the strongest of the three, that was Terra’s opinion. The most fierce, the most brave... Now she was the most vulnerable, asleep in his arms.

There once was a day when he (not he) strangled her. 

****

The next morning, Terra was the last to wake up. Sitting upright all night wasn’t comfortable and delayed all promise of rest, but he kept it up anyway for her. 

What woke him up was the sunlight beaming through the windows. Aqua’s soft footsteps approached him, and he mumbled a wary hello because he decided to go back to sleep.

Then cold struck him, like a thousand soft feathers.

Loose flower petals cascaded onto him, their lavender scent conquering his nose, and he jolted up, spitting them out of his mouth and rubbing them off of his face.

It was going to take a long time to clean out the pile on his lap, which was already throwing itself onto the floor like a purple waterfall. 

Aqua held an empty basket. 

He rubbed his eyes harder to make sure he understood correctly. “Why?”

“I figured if you smelled good…” she started and he couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. From her pocket, she pulled out a vial plugged with a cork, and opened it. She then hovered it above his head. “Maybe you’d skip the morning shower.”

“This was your bright idea?”

“Is it working?” 

“You’re crazy.” He sighed but it was an amusing sight: Aqua threatening him with scented oils, reading his eyes to gauge an answer from him. “I won’t shower, I promise.”

She nodded slowly, as if egging him on to promise again, and when he didn’t - when she knew that he wasn’t going to keep it - she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I have to do it.”

Oil poured onto his head, soaking parts of his hair and jumping onto his shoulders. It was lavender-scented as well. 

With a promise that she’d clean it up later, Aqua thanked him for being a good sport and left alone (very proudly). 

He had to say it worked: the perfume was so strong that it electrified him. 

There was no way that a shower would be able to scrub this off anytime soon. 

****

He announced to the both of them later that he was going to stay in the castle with them for the day. 

Aqua and Ventus had done such a marvelous job at fixing up the castle, Terra only realized now how much it had improved since he spent everyday away from them. With the dust cleaned up and the debris gone, the hallways looked brighter, and Aqua was finding all the right places to arrange the paintings.

If he didn’t have her back, the castle would have stayed foreign to him.

There was still enough damage - collapsed ceilings, blocked entrances, stairways with holes - that Ventus wasn’t able to handle by himself, considering Aqua’s condition.

At first, Ventus gave him a hard time (pssh, took you long enough to offer… and shit, are you wearing perfume?) but the first order of business that needed immediate attention was the lounge in the eastern wing of the castle. The hallways here were still muddy, and the lounge in question disgusted Terra enough that they went to search for gas masks and thick gloves before going back in there. 

As soon as the two boys fastened their masks and made sure they could breathe out of them, they measured what they had to work with: the outer wall was blown open, and years of rain left the room with masses and veins of black mold. The furniture had fuzz growing on them, the books soft and falling apart, the wood stained with mushrooms. It was humid. 

There were so many memories of them studying in here, and now they had no chance to relive them.

The plan was to take hammers to the infested drywall, gather them in a pile with the furniture, and burn the disease away - start over with a newly cleansed room, so they could remove all darkness away from their castle for good.

It was the best they could come up with.

“Terra, do you think mold could actually like… possess us?”

“What are you talking about?” Terra pulled apart a large chunk of drywall, holding it where it was dry because the other end was completely covered in black.

“You read those weird, creepy books,” Ventus huffed, throwing a dirty chair on top of a dirty couch. “Is there a world out there where mold turns people into monsters?”

There actually was.

Terra wiped sweat off his forehead. This job was going to take several days. “You need to control your imagination or you’ll get nightmares.”

“You sound like Aqua.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be the cool guy. Who turned you into a mom?”

“Aqua is like our mom?” Terra laughed, his voice contained in his mask. 

“... Are you that obsessed with her that you never noticed?”

Terra rammed his giant hammer to start the breaking of another piece. He chose to ignore the question. 

“How’s it going?” Aqua’s voice said and he nearly jumped. She stood at the doorway to keep her distance, but it was still too close to the mess for it to be safe.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Ventus said, “No mask, no entry.” 

“I want to help,” was her answer. 

He grunted. Ventus knew better than to argue with her, and they both knew that when she was ready to help, there was no stopping her. 

They gathered what little they could bring together into a heap on the middle of the floor (and Terra realized he’ll have to tackle the mold under the ceramic tile, too), and gave her the space to do her magic.

Aqua took a few moments to breathe - Terra at first worried it was due to the unhealthy air quality, but she was simply meditating. 

She summoned her own Keyblade (for the first time in years), and when it sparked in her hand, she shivered, and bent over in tears. 

“... You’re so surprised,” Terra said gently, his voice half-muted in the mask.

“I was worried it wasn’t going to recognize me.” She had her free hand over her heart, gripping it like it was going to pop out. “Not after everything I turned into.”

With earnest, she completely forgot that Terra’s own Keyblade still worked for him after years of being someone else. He didn’t point that out to her, because he once felt the same when he finally woke up, scared of what would happen the first time he called for it. 

They were fine. Their hearts were fine.

“Okay,” she stated - her grit was something to be admired, willing away all those horrid thoughts quickly to get herself ready and Terra remembered he still had so much basic skills to learn to be a proper Master. 

The plan was a simple Fire spell to get it started.

What she conjured was a blast, setting off a huge bang and a tornado of flames engulfed the infested mass. Aqua barely summoned a barrier for all of them, and the three Keyblade wielders were thrown out into the hall. 

Heat licked the hallway and Terra sweated beads. Aqua slumped onto the floor, her Keyblade dismissed. 

Already she had trouble getting on her feet. By his instinct, he held her, and by her instinct, she gripped his shirt as if to say she was fine. 

The fire roared until it simmered into its hub, burning like a wide mountain that would threaten them again if not tamed.

It was supposed to be a simple Fire spell. Simple.

Aqua melted into a fit of chuckles from her work. 

“She’s gone crazy,” Ventus said, refusing to take off his mask. “It’s the mold, it got her.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, her laughter strangling her. “I’ve spent,” she gasped again, “a long time fighting Heartless and I completely forgot I was supposed to take it easy.”

All Terra and Ventus did was stare at her while she melted away again - it was such a depressing sentiment and here she was laughing about it. Terra didn’t know if he should join her. 

“Well, I’ll be the one to put it out,” Ventus sighed. “Seeing I’m the only one around here who’s not a looney.”

And he did good, using ice magic to quell the flames, whipping the snow into his Aero spells in a retort every time the flames rebelled. 

Terra would have helped but Aqua didn’t let him go. She held onto his shirt, taking her other hand to his wrist. 

“What’s up?”

She blinked a few times, something that looked like relief overcoming her face. She just seemed… in awe that she was holding him.

“Don’t get mad at me?” she asked.

“... Why would I get mad at you?” 

“Whatever it is,” Ventus yelled from the other room, still attacking some stubborn flames with Blizzard spells, “I agree with her!”

She rolled her lips inward to contain another fit. “Just, please don’t be mad,” she asked again.

Terra scoffed. “The both of you are ridiculous.”

“You’re the one who sticks by us,” she said. 

It only took Ventus yelling, “Oh sure, leave me all alone and defenseless here!” to snap them out of it. Aqua still couldn’t stand, and Terra told her it was okay if she stayed behind as he went to help - throwing ice magic from her position probably would have done massive damage anyway, the stars forbid.

After the sun set and everything was calm, they decided that burning the castle down wasn’t the best idea to deal with the mold.

The silence that followed a roaring fire was eerie - Terra never realized just how peaceful it was in the Land of Departure, and whether he should find comfort in that or be on edge. 

His room especially lay still, and he knew that the other two were somewhere close but it didn’t shake the feeling off. 

Actually, Terra realized why it was so much better sleeping in the Master’s office - his bedroom smelled of cologne. Patchouli cologne to be exact. 

He was covered in sweat, ash, and dust already. He had all the justification to scrub himself clean. 

But his shampoo and soap were nowhere to be found. What stood in their place were Aqua’s toiletries, packaged in bright colors.

“You expect me to use this?” he asked out loud as he picked the shampoo bottle up to read the ingredients.

Most of it didn’t make sense to him: just a heap of natural oils and promises of softer, more luscious hair. It was so Aqua’s - it didn’t belong in his bathroom but her thoughts were the reason why he was holding them now.

Her shampoo bottle had her personal touch, as much as anything else she did to make him feel like she saw him. 

She knew him, just like she knew exactly how much he was stressed about the Mark of Mastery exam and she made sure to arrange his egg yolks and his bacon to form a smile every morning for a week to cheer him up. 

She knew him well enough to hear what he never admitted: that he really despised the way he smelled because it made him think of how easily he allowed Xehanort to possess him, and made him think of how much of a failure he truly was so she made sure that he’d smell like her instead. 

In this bottle was everything he truly needed, and it made him cry.

****

The wind howled like it was alive, throwing what sounded like a woman’s wails against the windows of the Master’s office. Since Terra was the first inside, he’d have to listen to such racket by himself, prompting him to double check that they were all locked and wouldn’t be thrown open.

The rattling strangely got more violent, like the banging came from the inside, and it took a moment to realize that it came from the door - Aqua, who was leaning on her crutches, struggled to open it. 

He rushed over to keep it open for her and close it behind her - Aqua would refuse any more help.

She slumped on the couch with a content sigh; it had to be exhausting to make so much progress in her therapy only to backpedal again. But she kept her head high regardless. 

This time, Terra promptly agreed when she motioned for him to sit by her.

With her was their journal, the white leather cover stained a bit by fingerprints. Before opening it, though, she flashed him a grin.

“I like your shampoo,” she smugly said.

“It’s hard to smell Xehanort when I only smell like…” You. That was the truth. “Vanilla.”

She was pleased to hear it. “It’s a good scent.”

“What happened to mine?”

Aqua proceeded to open the journal and flip past the middle of it, where a velvet bookmark showed her where she left off. She rolled her lips inward because she wasn’t going to answer his question.

“Ah, you’re using it.”

“It’s a good scent,” she said through her beaming teeth.

Terra decided that her smile was worth it. “Thanks, Aqua.”

She hummed, turning her attention to the written words on the page. Often they’d go through this journal together, and he’d tell her stories of what happened that put those words and pictures there.

Aqua knew she didn’t remember the journal because her memories tied to it were also tied to whatever memory she gave up in order to save Ventus… of course, she didn’t remember what she gave up either.

Terra never told her - and never will - that the memory she gave up was of their first kiss.

“I was doing some reading on my own,” she said, tracing the page, “and I came across these letters we wrote to each other?”

He didn’t have to read to know what they were. 

“There was something,” she continued, “you wrote that just really warmed my heart.” 

He held his breath as she read (she didn’t know it hurt him, either):

“I know exactly what you mean. But I think we will be okay. The Master always said that it's important to watch out for each other. That's what I felt I was doing when I lied. I don't ever want to regret doing that. You're usually better at understanding some of his more obscure lessons than I am. I know you'll look out for me too.

That's why we'll always be best friends.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before she dared to speak again. “I’m glad it’s always been that way with us.”

“Do you remember what led to that, Aqua?”

“No… I wish I did.”

Terra took a tight breath. “The Master took us to a world, and there was an accident with a bear. It attacked us, and to protect me, you attacked it back-”

She inhaled. 

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, “the bear was fine. But I lied to the Master and said I was the one who did it.” He could remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday. It happened when he was fifteen which was… seventeen years ago. “He caught the lie.”

The breath she held, she spit out. “That mustn’t have gone well.”

“It didn’t. He separated us as punishment but… we never stopped writing to each other.”

She smiled at him, searching his eyes. “That’s why we’ll always be best friends,” she recited. 

If she still believed that, then it was safe for Terra to agree. It was when he admitted to her all those years ago that he never regretted the letters that she kissed him for the first time. 

It made him wonder. “Did it… make you remember anything?”

She shook her head, looking back down at the journal. “For some reason, it makes me think of the time you screwed up a spell and turned Ven’s hair black.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” she burst into laughter. “Oh, I was so mad. We tried washing it-”

It crawled to him. One image of poor Ventus crying about his hair. “And counterspells didn’t work.”

“No.”

“And I lied to the Master and said that Ven was lost in the woods-”

“To hide him and you know, we got into so much trouble for that.”

Terra laughed to himself. “Ven was the only one who didn’t get grounded.”

“Which was never fair,” she said. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Then why-”

“Because I didn’t stop you.” She smirked.

“So that made you my accomplice.” The Master never changed. 

“Still wasn’t fair.” She flashed him a bigger grin. “I’ll never get involved in your antics again.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Maybe.” There was a glint in her eye that made him feel as though she realized… finally realized that she wasn’t alone. 

Aqua was about to turn to the next page -

“The rest is blank,” Terra said. They never needed the journal anymore after that point. “Those were the last entries.”

But it didn’t stop her from turning it. Sure, the pages after were blank, except for one shred of fabric with inked scrawls tucked into the spine. Aqua straightened it out to read:

“Find him. May your heart be your guiding key. You just need the right one.

“It cannot break.

“It hurts so much.”

Aqua stared at the stained wording, that one chance she took to give Terra clues to find Ventus. She rubbed a thumb over the ink as her eyes went glassy. “I remember writing this.”

She lowered it back into the journal, droplets plummeting from her eyes and tapping the surface of the pages. 

Terra’s heart pounded; he kept the note because he wanted to treasure whatever was left of her, back when he believed that he’d never see her again.

“I was arguing with myself,” she said, wiping the tears but they kept coming. “Whether I should write it and… It should have come so naturally to me to want to save Ven but I couldn’t-” She sobbed once. “It hurt so much and I was too scared of what would happen if I just let go and let him take over me, and I- I didn’t understand why these terrible things kept happening to us.”

It was hard not to feel that Terra was the reason why she was crying right now. “I’m so sorry, Aqua,” he whispered. “You didn’t deserve to get taken like that, you should have let me fall-”

She stopped crying so quickly that the silence hushed the room, ignoring that Terra had his own tears to contend with, acting like the howling from the outside didn’t exist. 

“No,” she said.

“No?” 

“Even if…” She licked her lips. What she was about to say scared her. “Even if I knew exactly what was going to happen, Terra, I… I would have still saved you.”

It willed him into silence, his own tears in shock of what he was hearing.

Her eyes scattered the room, the journal, the fireplace, everything but him as she found her words in different places. “I would do it all again, too… I don’t have any regrets. I know you. I know you would have been there for me - and you were. You were there when you put me to sleep, and you were there when I woke up -”

She choked a little, and found the courage to look at him, her eyes still a beautiful blue, blue like shallow water, blue like the mid-afternoon sky, blue like the color that made life precious. “And I hurt you,” she said, “and I’m sorry.” 

Terra had to remember to find his own voice. “I- It’s fine-”

“It hurt, Terra,” she said, her voice calmer, like she was ready to jump and take flight to whatever uncharted territory awaited her. “To think about you because…” Tears fell again. “Because I thought I lost you forever and I made you sad and… it reminded me that I was alive when I didn’t want to be.” 

She only took a moment’s pause to make sure he was looking right into her eyes as she said, “And that’s because I love you, too.”

The only movement accompanying the flicker of the flames in the fireplace were their breaths, their eyes silent as they stared and searched for inner truths. 

She loved him, too. She loved him, too.

Aqua managed a small smile. “I still don’t have regrets.”

Terra wanted to kiss her. Or hug her, or thank her, or take a walk and recover his thoughts, or start over, or anything besides staring at her like an idiot but he didn’t know the next step like he expected that any movement on his part would make him cry harder. 

She blinked a few times, biting her lip like she was waiting for him to do something.

“Okay,” he managed to say. 

Her brows cocked. It was an awful thing to say.

He licked his lips and looked at his hands and he wasn’t sure what to do with them. 

It made her laugh and it reminded him of when he first started fighting with a Keyblade, when the Master told him after a frustrated fit that beginnings were always the most arduous. 

Aqua removed the journal from her lap and crawled toward him, taking his face in her hands and pressed her lips on his. 

It tasted salty, of tears, but it was a warm drink and it left him thirsty for more. She gave him a second, then a third, and he’d thank her for making it easy on him but he was busy.

Terra was about to ask her for another after she stopped - when she looked over his shoulder and hid her entire face into the crook of his neck. 

“What?” He looked over his shoulder to face none other than the framed portrait of his Master smugly watching from the side table, his grin wide and hidden behind that beloved mustache. 

“Oh, um,” Terra chuckled, and Aqua snickered into his shirt. He asked for forgiveness and gently tipped the picture over on its face, hiding the Master’s eyes from the scene before it. 

Eventually she took a peek to find they were safe from any judgment, her laughter leaving her desperate for breath. 

They locked eyes, melting into hysterics that mutually agreed they had the weirdest lives. 

Aqua studied his face, mostly his eyes, as she brushed his hair with her fingers and he realized that she smelled like sandalwood. She glanced at his lips and he touched hers with his thumb.

“That’s why we’ll always be best friends,” he recited and she joined along. 

Aqua brought her knees together, and he spread his legs wider to hold her closer as she took his mouth again. Thoughts left his mind when all he experienced was her taste after the tears had dried up, and he wanted to have her night after night for proper nourishment, for the rest of his life so he’d never ever forget the flavor of her tongue. 

Someone cleared their throat, and terror froze them and spit them out. 

Ventus had been watching them with a self-satisfied smirk.

Her cheeks turned beet red. “Ven!” She had half a mind to hide in Terra’s arms but that would have made both of them more guilty. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Enough to see too much.” Ventus rolled up his sleeping bag and flung it over his shoulder.

“Oh no, Ven,” Terra said, “you don’t have to-”

“Nah, don’t worry about me.” Ventus dismissed him with a dramatic arm wave and then shooed the both of them away. “You keep trying to swallow her, okay? Good luck with everything else.”

If Terra and Aqua could survive all the horrors thrown at them over the years, then Terra assured himself he could survive this amount of humiliation. Aqua contained her giggles into her mouth as Ventus left them with proper privacy.

“I think he’s been waiting too long for…”

“Something to happen between us,” he finished for her.

A tiny giggle escaped her lips, and he wanted to taste them again. “Was something always going to happen between us?”

He was better at hiding his laughs than she was. “I hoped it would.”

Her sighs dissolved into giggles. “Well... when you, um, confessed to me... it was just horrible timing, Terra.”

It was, he just realized. Being on his knees and pouring his heart out to a possessed Aqua probably made him look dumb.

“Better late than never?” A tear dove itself into his smiling mouth, his chin on her head, his arms around hers, his thumb rubbing circles on her back.

Aqua dug her face into his shirt. “I never expected it to happen like that.”

“It was the worst confession ever.”

Her smile shivered into his shirt as she tried to contain herself.

He drew his head back, cupping her chin in his fingers. “It’ll be something we’ll laugh about later,” he said.

Aqua liked control, and worked way too hard to contain her giggles, pretending like she was telling a story to someone else: “‘He told me he loved me, and here I was trying to kill him.’”

“Maybe it was perfect timing, then?”

She nodded, agreeing with him, agreeing to another kiss, and he didn’t know what he did to make her sigh in relief, in contentment, in joy. 

He didn’t know what he did to deserve her, period, and he whispered a promise into her hair that he’d never neglect her again. 

Aqua spoke of unbreakable connections, since she still remembered that night when they made those sorts of promises. Their journal opened to a first page with years-old blood oaths from when they were children: always be best friends. Frankly, Terra didn’t remember a life before Aqua and never wanted to experience one without her ever again. 

He offered a second blood oath - it was time to renew those old childhood vows - and give Aqua one that she could remember. At first she rolled her eyes and scoffed… but she accepted.

In one of the drawers from the Master’s desk lay a ceremonial knife and with it, they pricked their right forefingers. 

Shit, they both forgot how much it hurt and why they decided on pinky swears from now on but the worst was done already, tiny slices into their flesh that pricked and throbbed but a small amount of pain was worth a transformation of happiness.

At least that was a motto Terra lived by nowadays.

Opening the journal to the next blank page, after the one keeping her possessed scrawls, they pressed their fingers onto the surface and left red prints. 

Next to his, Aqua wrote, I’m with you.

He couldn’t have said it better. He picked up the pen and wrote next to hers, I’m with you.

They let it dry before they closed it, and bandaged themselves. The hearth made her sleepy and he carried her to his blankets on the floor, taking spots next to each other as though it was any other late night where they sneaked into the lounge like it wasn’t scandalous because they weren’t sharing bedrooms - maybe tonight would be the last they would camp here.

Terra listened to Aqua talk about whatever came to mind, about moving in to his room, about Ventus and how he would handle the two of them, about darkness and what they left behind, about light and what they had to do to keep each other safe. 

This was all Terra wanted, and more than what he would have wished for, and enough to keep him happy. 

She only interrupted herself to kiss him, and they talked, talked, talked, finally falling asleep when dawn quieted the wind.

[mars-barssss]

you aren't alone anymore: Roman (2/6)

Chapters

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

Trigger warnings: Remus mention, General lack of self-care, Low self-worth/bad thoughts, Minimal swears,

Characters: Virgil, Patton, Roman, Logan, Remus

Pairings: Platonic LAMP; Platonic Analogical, Platonic Moxiety, Platonic/Romantic Prinxiety

Word Count: 2.5k Words

Summary: Virgil’s need to protect others goes beyond physical protection. He does a good job of looking after each of the others in his famILY, but he doesn’t have the time to take care of himself. Lucky for him, he’s got someone looking after him too. More than one actually, to his surprise.

--- --- ---

    Roman questions himself and self worth after Logan had to work overtime on the couch because of him, as well as an audition that is coming up fast. Virgil is not impressed.

...

Patton has been talking about tomorrow for a long time now.

It was originally just a passing comment, or maybe an energized speech, but now he was literally jumping up and down, much like a puppy, and Logan was growing tired of witnessing it.

"We are going to get the role, I’m so excited-!” His whole body was jittering, and if Virgil was honest, he was sure Patton was going to faint. “They are going to love Roman’s audition tomorrow! I know it!”

Virgil himself was removed from the living room. His own pulse was jumping around, almost matching the moral side. And yes, he knew that they had accepted him recently, but something felt strange about stepping willingly into the living room. So he was fine with sitting here. If he could, he might mention his problems, which he didn’t want to bother them with.

So Virgil remained at the top of the staircase, witnessing the upset teacher slowly being driven insane. He knew everyone was indeed on edge right now. Logan was probably just trying to make sure everything made sense of this. Roman himself had tons of practicing to do. Patton, well, he was just excited for the audience that would one day see it. And of course, Virgil was doing as he always did, worry.

Just earlier today, he had to shove so many thoughts back into his room. Even now, they seemed to creep under the doorway of his room, echoing thoughts that ran around his head.

What if Thomas failed? What if the director wasn’t impressed? What if he tries to be confident and doesn’t notice a hazard? He could trip, maybe slip. What if he misplaces something? What if he forgets the notes, the lyrics? He could sing a note wrong, or lose a prop! 

It was his job, after all. Make sure Thomas doesn’t get hurt. The other sides always disagreed with his actions to make Thomas safer.

What if he was late? Would the director think he’s lazy? Maybe something he said in a previous conversation came up to haunt him. Maybe it’s already too late!

Shadows like hands crawled across the floor beside him, reaching as if to catch the anxious side. He placed his head in his hands and clawed at his hair.

What if it’s perfectly fine, and you ruin it? Maybe you’ll overreact on stage, and ruin everything. Patton would be upset. Logan, a bit confused, but frustrated. And Roman…

A shadow that had gotten close had gently taken his hand.

Roman would be furious.

What if?... What if?... What if?...

Virgil raised his head, shaking the intrusive thoughts away. Slowly, he started his trusted breathing exercises. His hands shaking slightly as they were pressed into each other. A tense grip was formed as he closed his eyes.

This was not the time for some panic attack. Any other night but tonight. Not tomorrow either.

Eventually, the shadow melted away from him, and his breathing gathered itself. A stray tear managed its way down his cheek for a moment. Focus. From here he could already feel the tense feeling he had spread across the mindscape.

He definitely wasn’t looking forward to the repercussions. He swore heard Roman yell in anger down the hallway.

That was the problem with him. His anxiety was sometimes just, contagious. He definitely caused a few problems, which can’t really be afforded tonight with the audition. Great. Time to be prepared for the Logan express train and a freaking lecture from Princey. Glad I ruined today as well.

He’s already used to it, if he was being honest. Letting his neck fall slack, his head hid beneath his arms, preparing himself for the inevitable heaving footsteps on the staircase and a monotone voice.

Except, he didn’t get the sudden reaction he was used to. The next thing he knew, there were hesitant, quiet footsteps climbing the stairs, which was new. He didn’t know Logan as the careful, or nervous type. Nervously, his eyes flinched upwards upon feeling a footstep beside him. But instead of a tie-cladded side arriving, there stood a very concerned Patton.

“Virge? Are you okay?” He knelt down in front of Virgil. Patton reached a hand towards Virgil's messy locks. In a quick movement, Virgil shrunk back from the touch and sank into his room. Well, probably not what he should have done, but he didn’t think too much in that moment.

"... Shit." Virgil backed up from where he appeared next to his bed. His room in the mindscape was right beside where he previously was. He could practically hear Patton let out a sigh, and shuffling from where he stood.

Virgil knew it was only going to be moments before the paternal side would be knocking on his door. He was in danger of a very strongly worded lecture from the father figure. His eyes locked into his room's door, his body frozen.

Patton is finally going to end this charade of yours, Virgil. You've done it now. You avoided the one who loved you. It will go right back to where everything was-

No. Virgil looked away from the shadows that grew with in his room. Patton wouldn't hate him.

Don't test my patience. Maybe if he knew what you really are, he wouldn't last. He doesn't like things like you.

Shut it. Virgil took a step back, closing his eyes tightly. He kept staring at the door, his hands digging into his own hair. A vague conversation could be heard from outside, as what sounded like Patton and Logan were about confront him.

"Virgil? Are you in there? We need to have a conversation. We're coming in." Logan began, growing louder.

But a moment before the door opened, Virgil felt a pair of hands grabbed his arm, before pulling him to sink down and into a bright light. Virgil flinched away from the contact as the world spun, his eyes scrunched up tightly. He stumbled backwards into a stiff object.

His voice died in the shock of the moment. His body immediately curled up after managing its way out of the intruder's grip. As sudden as the moment was, he didn't hear his door creaking open anymore, or Logan's voice, or anything. Actually, he couldn't even feel the shadows that used to surround him or the voice.

Virgil sat for a few more mere moments curled up, before deciding to open his eyes. One, he was not in his room anymore. Two, his head slammed into what appeared to be a bookshelf. Three, someone was looking beside him silently.

After blinking a few times, and a few shaky breaths later, his vision cleared to reveal what side just took him out of his room.

"Roman…?"

The side that had rescued him looked nothing like the valiant prince he knew and loved. In fact, he barely had any ounce of confidence he usually has. His hair rivaled Virgil's untamed hair, and his eyes held a numb, drained look to them.

"Welcome to my room, Prince of Doom and Gloom!" Roman attempted to bow towards Virgil, but he could see his jolting posture and a small, but stubborn waver in his voice. "Be glad that I have saved you from that incoming lecture, it would have been a travesty, surely!"

"Roman?"

"I have solved everything, no Logan necessary! And he says I'm reckless, I am NOT reckless!" Roman began to rant as he usually did, but something felt missing from the prince. His voice felt worn, and tired. Frustrated even. "I can solve problems too, and not just make 'a questionable pile of nonsensical words'! I mean, heck, send me to some dungeon if I'm so bad!"

As Roman moved away, pacing in his rant, Virgil finally got a glimpse of Roman's room. The bookshelf he hit his head on was empty, aside from a few torn shreds of paper. The floor was covered and cluttered in books and half-thought out scripts. Some were personal journals, others were vents. There was hardly a section of floor not covered in them. His walls which once held beautiful paintings and colors were now faint, and his bed was nearly cleared of any sheets or blankets. The pillows didn't have pillowcases, and the blanket remained abandoned on the floor. One thing that caught Virgil's attention was that Roman's mirror on his dresser was cracked, a large split ripping reflections in half. Beneath the dresser were slivers and pieces of royal red material. With a bit more thought, he recognized the article as Roman's prized sash, which he wore everyday, was in ripped in pieces before him. That didn't settle right with the anxious side at all.

"ROMAN!" Virgil blurted out with force this time, catching the attention of Roman, who turned to him with wide eyes. Virgil quickly steadied himself on the bookshelf and approached the creative side, who took a step back at the movement.

One look at his face was all Virgil needed. He saw Roman's red-rimmed eyes and dark eye bags. Two tear streaks lined his pink cheeks. His cheeks looked like they were rubbed to remove any sign of sadness at all.

"What is it Surly Temple? Can't you see I'm ranting?!" He snapped at Virgil, but soon his face fell again after he said it.

"What… what happened here?" Virgil's voice was barely audible, but he held his ground as he saw more pages on the ground.

"The creative process, of course! Now along you get, the others have surely gone to their rooms." Roman nudged Virgil towards his door, his smile forced wide. If he was any other side, maybe he'd believe it. But Virgil noticed everything, from his voice, all of the way to the way his smile just didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Sure, just keep on lying and keep me worrying, see if I care, Princey!" Virgil pushed back, looking Roman right in the eyes. Or at least, attempted to. Roman clearly was avoiding the anxious side's gaze. "Roman, look at me!"

"I shall let you know I'm perfectly fine!" He turned further away, his voice strong with false confidence of what he used to have.

"Look at me." He reached up at Roman's face, placing his cheek in his hand and nudging his face into view. "What happened?"

Virgil flinched slightly at Roman's hand that had come to meet his own. When Roman backed off at the flinch, Virgil reached back.

"Virgil… I… fine." Roman's forced grin dropped, and his voice began anew, being softer than Virgil has ever heard before. "The… the play… everything's been so ridiculously hard recently. I can't even think straight, and Logan's been pestering me and complaining and complaining! I… I'm terrified. I'm scared, Virgil. I can't seem to control anything, every thought of mine has ended in flames! It's like I'm not able to make it to his expectations, like I'm never enough!"

"I feel like I'm not good enough. Like I'm not doing my job. For Thomas. And, heck, I want to be enough for even at least you guys! But everything I do fails. The audition is what I have to prove myself, to show I'm strong, and not weak, to all of you! That I'm not worthless or less than you all and-"

"Princey, you can stop-!" Virgil extends his voice for a moment, before dropping his volume, guilt biting into his neck. He knew what Roman meant. Ever since he was split, he knew this bothered Roman. Even when he wasn't allowed into the light common room.

"Sorry, but look Roman, you need to take a break or something. Like, I don't know, take a nap, maybe a walk or something! Here." Virgil approached the only other door in Roman's room besides the exit. The entrance to the imagination, and opened it.

Bright light poured into the disheveled room, glaring into the broken mirror. Clouds swirled around the sunlight that entered, causing an almost troubling weather to enter. Rain sounded like it was pouring nearby, but not where they were. The grass was both light and dark, a distinct line was formed from the shadows of clouds. Roman looked almost distraught from it.

"The audition is tomorrow, Virgil! I can't adventure tonight, you know this!" Desperation bled through his voice, choking him up as he held back a sob.

"You won't do well if you're like this on stage. Come on." Virgil's mouth pulled into a tight frown. "You'll be back before practice today, but you need to get yourself situated."

Virgil frowned, as he raised a hand to Roman, who was staring sadly into the mirror shards. He remained patient, although for a moment he wasn't sure where he learned it from. This kind, forgiving patience.

Patton.

Virgil didn't want to think of how he was going to have to apologise to him for his actions. It was inevitable though, and Virgil felt bad for what he did.

Patton was the first one to accept him and he got that treatment.

You are truly the worst. What's worse than that? Hurting the kindest one here? I mean, really what is-

"Why are you helping me?"

Virgil's gaze jumped up to Roman, who had now dragged his eyes from the broken glass. It was a simple question, really. One that Virgil didn't believe needed asking. "What…?"

"You know what I mean. I was all but rude to you. I don't understand."

His eyes landed on his raised hand, then to Roman. Determined, and focused. "That's all in the past. You know this." Roman's face lit up in surprise for a moment. "You're my friend Roman. Besides, I won't leave you while you're like this. I care about you To, you just need to believe it at some point."

Silence engulfed them, but it wasn't an unpleasant silence. A small smile eased its way onto Roman's face. Virgil's hand remained raised, unmoved. Eventually, he felt Roman's hand enter his own.

"Right. Come on Princey, let's relax." He gently guided him to the door, where clouds have shifted, seemingly from his own words. Sunlight poured onto Roman.

They walked together, sometimes in silence, sometimes in playful banter. Virgil recognized some areas of the imagination that didn't quite change from their childhood. A certain carved tree or a hill, he remembers before the sides were split, they'd play here all of the time. Before dark and light.

Before Roman and Remus. When Creativity was still together and happy. When bad and good didn't matter.

He knew by Roman's grip, that he remembered too.

"Roman…" Virgil pulled Roman off of the dirt path, surprising the creative side. Little pieces of memories returned to Virgil, allowing him to find the old cliff they used to run around.

It was also a wonderful view of the imagination.

He pulled Roman's arm, encouraging him with a small smile to lie down and cloud gaze. Although with hesitance, Roman laid down beside him, looking at the partially cloudy day.

After a few minutes of silence, Roman's voice grew in willpower, soon rising just above a whisper.

"Do you think I'm good enough?"

…

"I think you're perfect."

There were no clouds in the imagination today.

[silverwhiteraven]

Not a Rabbit in the Magician's Hat

Chapter 1: The Nutcracker

[A/N: Hello and welcome to my first ever chapter fic, second MLB based fic, third fanbased work, and fourth work I've worked on in earnestly in a long time!! Thank you so much for reading, and small shout to my FeliNette Discord Server peeps for inspiring me! I hope y'all like it~!! [Posted on Ao3] [Also the title is a bit of a WIP, it may change, eventually]]

[Summary: Félix is back, and with the same goal in mind as the year before. Only now, he has to plays the long game. And play a little more nice, too, except he's no longer on the playground he's used to, oh no. Now, Félix is among the heroes with a Miraculous of his own, and the playground is now a much more difficult battlefield with new pieces in play. And to top it all off, he has to deal with a whole new school and all the people inside. This is going to be tricky, isn't it? And to think, it wasn't a rabbit keeping a magician company, no, its a mouse or two keeping tabs on this master of slight-of-hand. At least it was somewhat fitting, even if he didn't like being called a rat every so often.]

Ladybug gazed over the scene before her, taking in all that she could. The Akuma, Mazer, had fused the walls of buildings together seemingly randomly, eliminating alleyways and cutting off streets, turning the city of Paris into a giant and infinite maze, much resembling a labyrinth with the Eiffel Tower at its center. Wandering between the walls of the giant maze were minotaur-like golems, chasing and trapping anyone they encountered.

Almost like a prize at the end of a game, Mazer's Akumatized object, a compass, hung in the air between the beams of the tower, surrounded by several layers of cage walls, too tightly woven to climb through and too far apart between layers to Cataclysm in one shot. 

Ladybug really didn't like this.

After long moments of quiet surveying and pondering, she did the first thing that she knew how to do best: summon her Lucky Charm for a clue.

Down from the sky and into her open palm came a Nutcracker.

She barely needed to glance around without seeing anything useful to know that this truly was a hint rather than an actual piece of a puzzle like her Charms usually were. It wasn't lost on her that there was a theme emerging. 

She looked at the maze, full of half-bull monsters needed distracted, then to the small spaces between the bars of the cages around the Akumatized object, then down to nutcracker, and lastly, almost reluctantly, up at Chat Noir beside her, watching her with silent curiosity and anticipation. She smiled with confidence in herself and her gut feeling about this.

"Chat, I know you trust me, and I trust you, too."

"Of course, Bug, what brought this on?" He tilted his head in a curious manner, a slight grin gracing his features. 

"Switching things up a bit. You're not playing decoy this time. In fact," she states almost mischievously as she stands, "you'll be finding one. I need to go get a Miraculous, and you get to pick who uses it."

She smiled as she watched him spring to his feet, excitement written all over him with the possibilities he could choose from. 

"Stay here, and don't get in trouble, I'll be back in a flash!"

She found herself curious, too, as she swung away through and over the walls of the maze, back towards home. She didn't know the right person for the Miraculous she was going to get, yet she had the feeling Chat Noir did. She looked at the Nutcracker in her hand, wondering if it would have a different meaning in Chat's eyes. 

She landed on her balcony and slid into her room through the open skylight, de-transforming and making her way below her bed to her work area, setting the Nutcracker to the side. Se knelt in front of a large box marked "Old Designs" that sat below the desk, opening it with a key hidden under her shirt. 

It was a large version of her diary's trap box, designed to keep the Miracle Box safe and secure. She pulled out the red and black Box, pressing one of the spots gently. The spot slid out, revealing a hollow, open topped tube with a Miraculous nestled into shimmering grey velvet.

She gently lifted the pendant necklace, the Miraculous of the Rat, out of its drawer. The theme she had noticed earlier had pointed rather obviously towards it. A maze, a goal where only something small could reach, and multiple enemies needing distracting by more than simply two or three heroes could provide. 

The nutcracker Lucky Charm hinted at it, too, the main enemy in the story The Nutcracker was the Rat King. But she had a feeling that it had more than one reason for taking that form.

She set the Miraculous into a round black jewelry box, which she had made to resemble the spots on the Miracle Box. She couldn't exactly reuse the old boxes from Master Fu, she didn't have enough of them, and she was guilty of wanting the smaller individual boxes to match the large one's new design. And design she admittedly didn't like very well. She wished the Box had been transferred to 'Marinette' and not 'Ladybug', but no time to dwell on that again.

Still, one of these days she was going to test if she can transfer it from her hero identity to her civilian one.

Locking the Miracle Box back up and transforming once more with Tikki, Ladybug grabbed the Lucky Charm Nutcracker and left her room, returning to Chat Noir who had loyally and wisely kept his distance from the Akuma and the minotaur golems. 

He looked to her, giddy and expectant, waiting for his instructions. She looked back at him with pride, full of joy for having him as a partner.

They had their rough patches in their first year, plenty really, but after she became Guardian and was faced with the need and requirement to know his civilian identity, things truly began to get much smoother.

She learned he was Adrien Agreste, one of her best friends, the popular, quiet and sweet model of the class. He was the boy who was so amazingly attentive to emotions that he helped her civilian self realize within a few days of meeting that she didn't have a crush on Adrian so much as a "squish": a want to be his friend. She had a feeling it was good that he spoke to her about why she was acting odd, she's quite sure things would have gotten a bit out of hand if her thoughts, emotions and behavior went unchecked. 

Learning his identity under the mask also helped to clear a few misunderstandings with Chat Noir. 

For example, Marinette had learned a few months into knowing Adrien that he was Ace. He still wanted a partner in life, he made sure to clarify that he was not Aro, and he paid much more attention to emotions because he wanted to be certain of who he wanted, who he would give himself to and who he would accept for himself. 

But his home life wasn't the best place emotionally, only getting worse after his Mother disappeared, and that followed him in his public life, too, including at school, so he didn't have many outlets for his canned affections for the people he loved and cared for. Learning this, she understood why Chat Noir would often be overflowing with energy and positive emotions, showering Ladybug in his abundance of love. 

He admitted he did consider her romantically, but only as a secondary to her status as his super-best friend. He respected her feelings, even from the start, and she appreciated it endlessly. Though she had to admit, it was rather confusing at first, and a bit aggravating when it came out at the wrong times. She didn't help much at first, either, as her attempts to be somewhat emotionally closed off and professional while behind the mask made their communication and even trust rather lacking. 

So learning he was Adrien allowed her to understand him far more, and lead her into working on herself for his sake as well, not just her own. She relaxed and allowed herself to be far more open, even invited him to outings around Paris, opening him up to vent all his pent up emotions, both negative and positive, and that in turn lead to better performances against Akuma. Chat hasn't been controlled or tapped out of existence in over nine months. 

It was truly a blessing for them for her to know, the good luck of it no longer disguised behind the stressful possibility of them becoming endangered by knowing.

In fact, barely a week after finding out, Ladybug told Chat that she knew, and offered to let him know her identity as well. He declined with the widest grin on his face, saying he wanted it to be kept secret, leave the reveal to be a special moment, or even something he might discover on his own. They laughed together, and she told him she wouldn't hide from him if he ever did decide to change his mind and take a peek behind her mask. 

But enough of that, ladybug returned his excitable grin and held out the black jewelry box and the red and black Lucky Charm. 

"Chat Noir, this is the Miraculous of the Rat which grants the power of Multiplication. You will find someone to use it for the greater good. As soon as the mission is over, they shall return the Miraculous to you, and you shall return it to me. I'm counting on you."

The sun was in his smile and the stars were in his eyes as he took the small box and the nutcracker. She just knew this was a good choice, she could feel it as deeply as their very bond ran. A bod she could feel strengthen as she trusted him with another new thing. He's her partner after all, a fellow protector of the lives of Paris, she would trust him with her own life, too, as well as the responsibility of all the Miraculous they had in their hands.

"I won't let you down, see you soon, Ladybug," and with that he was gone. She watched him go, waiting for him to disappear before she took up his spot of waiting and task or keeping an eye on the Akuma victim.

❇❇❇

It had been almost a year since Félix had last set foot in Paris. He has since mellowed out from his mischievous habits, grown aggressive around the time of his Father’s death, but it didn't stop him from still knowing and utilizing his skills when the need arose. The distance from the city however did no good for his grudges against either his family-in-law or the heroes of Paris. 

During a video call with Adrien a few months back, his cousin's father had walked in, reminding Adrien of a previously arranged engagement. He barely spared Félix a glance before leaving, yet the young Graham de Vanily still noticed a little, majorly significant detail about the old Agreste. 

A silver wedding band still sat upon his finger. 

Félix was suspicious in an instant, even going so far as to end his call with Adrien sooner than intended, and brought the revelation straight to his mother. They brainstormed together, considering the options and possibilities that this brought.

How did he have the other ring of the twin set? They thought Emilie had gone missing, her half of the set should have gone missing with her. They didn't like the churning of their stomachs that thought gave them, the Graham de Vanily pair didn't like the possibility that Gabriel Agreste could have something to do with Amélie's twin, Félix's aunt, Adrien's Mother, the man's own wife, going missing.

Félix may have had a grudge against Gabriel for having one the Graham de Vanily's family rings, but having had both while neither belonged to him, while Emilie didn't even have hers? It was unforgivable.

Trying to negatively influence the Agreste image through the use of his similar looks to Adrien was a jab at the old Agreste, but it had never been enough, especially now, in light of this disastrous news. 

Even that stunt with Ladybug wouldn't have worked well enough to knock the man down from his pegs. 

Félix had yet to tell his Mother the full extent of what had happened that day in Paris. He quickly realized afterwards that he regretted what happened, and would have regretted it still either way if he had succeeded. 

Kissing her would have gotten him nowhere with slandering the Agreste family. Ladybug seemed like the person to keep problems she had with people to herself, not make them public, so that plan would have failed anyway. Yet the kiss itself would also have been regretted. Giving his first to a hero he didn’t know for the sake of a half-baked hope to get a strike against the older Agreste, and have a little ammo against his cousin if need be, too, was a terrible idea, and there was no way he would ever attempt it, or anything like it, ever again. 

Even if it was for his Mother’s sake. 

There will always be other plans and strategies, he just needed to think of them, and think them through this time, no more spur of the moment ideas.

Still, Ladybug didn’t need to punch him as hard as she did… It was a good hit at least.

He may not hold a grudge for the strike that she was perfectly and fully allowed and entitled to do in reaction to his actions, but he certainly held one against the Black Cat. 

That stupid comment, how dare here, Félix thought. He really did non want to think about that, especially since it still hung true in spite of his better efforts. 

The young Graham de Vanily forced his attention away from himself and the past year, and instead looked out one of the dining room windows of the Graham de Vanily’s newest manor estate located in Paris, France. The city looked disheveled and unorganized, a true labyrinth maze fashioned perfectly for the latest Akuma. 

He hoped it was dealt with soon, he needed to go greet his Uncle Gabriel and Cousin Adrien at their manor later, inform them of his family’s plans to stay in Paris, hopefully without giving any real intentions away with failed attempts to cover up his seething hostility towards his Uncle and whatever he had to do with his Aunt Emilie’s disappearance. 

“Felix!” called an overly joyous and too familiar voice from behind, and the said boy, pulled from his thoughts, whipped around in alarm. 

Crouched on the dining room table just like any normal cat that shouldn't be there, a window open wide behind him, was Chat Noir, a cheshire grin and gleeful eyes locked and aimed directly at Félix. 

He decided to ignore the fact that there was an out of place, red and black nutcracker in one of the hero’s hands. His mother had joked he was just as stiff as one, once, and if he wasn’t so mean or even cold-shouldered towards people his own age, he would be just as princely as the one in the tale, too. Yes, he much prefers not to think of that at the moment.

As he looked at the Black Cat, Félix was starting to regret coming to Paris for another visit. He had a sneaking suspicion that the heroes were going to be popping up around him without warning all over again, and with more frequency now that his visit was going to be indefinite rather than limited to a day. 

Gods, he bet the Akuma were going to be showing back up to haunt him, too. Oh, what kind of luck he must have to have gotten this kind of fate.

Félix crossed his arms in a defiant, almost proud manner as he settled his weight on one foot and stared down the famous Black Cat of Paris. “What do you want, stray? I won’t have you mocking my friendships again, and I won’t be making the same mistake twice, so you can leave back out the way you came.”

Chat Noir looked momentarily shocked before hunching and smiling sheepishly, sliding off the table to stand properly on the floor. “I wanted to apologize, actually.”

Félix’s arms loosened with shock of his own, but managed to remain crossed. He looked Chat Noir up and down, looking for any signs of deceit. 

He found none, just a regular hero trying to make amends in the middle of a rather pressing Akuma attack. What odd timing.

He supposed, however, that almost a year wasn’t all that bad a wait for an apology, considering there really was no possible proper way for the hero to make an apology to someone living in an entirely different country. And he couldn't very well expect everyone to be like Adrien, his overly sweet cousin who would catch when he said something wrong before Félix had enough time to fully react and would amend himself just as quickly. He was lucky for his cousin, the least he could do was count his blessings and give others the chance to make things right as well.

Felix shifted onto his other foot a bit awkwardly and nodded once in a stern yet accepting manner. “Go on.”

The Black Cat seemed to relax at that, standing us straight and looking Félix in the eye with determination and a hint of respect. 

“Félix, I’m sorry, for what I said to you last time you were- well, last time I encountered you in Paris. What I said about your friendships was spur of the moment and defensive of the people I care for, but it was rude and mean, you didn’t deserve that. I would have apologized then and there, but the Trio of Punishers going after Adrien- well, you- arrived a bit too soon for me to do that. So I’m here now.”

The crashing steps of one of the stone minotaurs outside interrupted the black clad hero for a moment, and a look that seemed like he was reminded of something crossed the hero’s face, morphing his speech into something a bit more rushed.

“Right, anyways,” he continued, “I’m sorry, again, I really am. You don’t have to forgive me or anything, I just want you to know that I at least don't hold anything you did against you, for whatever reason you did it.”

The Black Cat then tilted his head a degree, a curious look on his face. “Though, I guess I would like to know why, I really should ask why before I do anything else.”

Félix sighed, dropping his head and shaking it gently. Of course the hero would ask, why wouldn't he. Adrien had been respectful enough not to pry, but this was a hero, a protector of an entire city, cat-like curiosity aside, he had a duty to know things and protect people with that knowledge. 

“I assume you mean my actions towards Adrien and his friends, and Hawkmoth as well. I suppose I can tell you, but I won’t hesitate to pull your tail and twist your ears if you tell anyone else besides Ladybug.”

Félix’s weight shifted once more and his arms uncrossed, hand set to his hips as he raised his head and looked the hero in his unnatural green eyes. Chat Noir mimicked his shifting around, though now his arms were the ones that were crossed, preparing himself for whatever he was about to hear.

The hero gave an accepting nod, “Not a word. Go ahead.”

Félix hesitated only a split moment before answering.

“I was after the Graham de Vanily twin rings, family heirlooms that Gabriel Agreste was in possession of. They’re important to my family, I wanted to get the one Uncle had, and give it to my mother. I had nothing against Adrien, not really, even if he did think I did. I was rather convincing in that front. No, It was all just jabs toward Uncle, even… even that rather brash and rash moment with Ladybug, which I do regret fully.”

Félix looked away for a moment as he continued. 

“I wanted Hawkmoth’s help in getting those rings, I figured he could do it when I couldn't earlier that day. I failed at that, but I did manage to get the ring from Uncle’s finger anyways before I left.” He looked back towards Chat Noir, who was considering him thoughtfully. 

“I did, however, find out some time later I failed anyways.”

That seemed to catch the Black Cat off guard for a moment. “How so? You have his ring, what could you have done wrong?”

“I underestimated him. I found out by chance that he had both rings.”

The hero’s eyes went wide in comprehension of what that could imply. The look made it clear that the Black Cat knew at least a little bit of the happenings of the Agreste family, and what a terrible thing it could possibly mean for Emilie Agreste if Gabriel really did have her ring while she was assumably missing. 

Chat Noir almost looked like he wanted to argue, to deny, and to question Félix more all at once, but he kept quiet, his mouth firmly closed. Félix let him stand there and ponder it for a moment before bringing up the much more pressing concern at the moment.

“So, Chat Noir, why are you here? Paris is currently under siege, right? Why be here making yourself on good terms with a citizen when you could be fixing that instead?”

The look of reminder crossed the hero’s face again and Félix almost wanted to roll his eyes at how many things this stray needed to keep track of. He almost felt a bit bad for him, today was clearly busy, if not a bit overwhelming.

“Right!” The hero got a look of excitement, “Now that's cleared up, I need your help! Well, want your help, but it would be purrfurrable if you did agree to lend a paw.”

“A paw.” Félix gave a mildly surprised yet very skeptical look. “What kind of, ‘paw’,” he quoted, hiding instinctive air quotes behind his back now that the cat themed hero decided to leak his puns into their serious conversation, “do you need lended.”

The smile of the Black Cat once more turned cheshire.

“Félix Graham de Vanily,” the destructive half of the Paris hero team spoke like he was a king appointing a new knight, his hand suddenly coming out towards him, a black box clutched in his fingers, “This is the Miraculous of the Rat, which grants the power of Multiplication. If you choose to accept, you will use it for the greater good. Once our mission is over, you will return the Miraculous to me, or Ladybug if I’m not there. Can we trust you?”

[lokidoki-imagines]

Everything is Blue

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Content/Warnings: Body image issues, fluff

Words: 2195

Prompt: Can you do something where the reader is half frost giant/Asgardian or human or half dark elf/Asgardian or human? They could be really self conscious about what they are or afraid like Loki is of his frost giant heritage and he could help the reader be more accepting of themselves? Idk I’ve never seen a piece where the reader isn’t Asgardian or human and I think it could be really different 🤷🏼‍♀️

Thank you to @skyrenx​ for requesting! Hope this is okay, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything!

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“I’m not so sure I’m gonna go,” Tying your shoelaces you stood straight, avoiding the glaring from the women before you. “I mean I’ve never been a massive fan of the heat and I always burn in the sun anyway -”

“You’re going and that’s final young lady!” Stomping over to your drawers Darcy began to pull out various underwear and t-shirts while Jane unzipped your travel case you kept under your bed. “Even if we have to hog tie and gag you, you’re going.”

Hip bumping her out of the way you took over sorting through your underwear, tossing in a bikini or two just to make them happy. “Will you stop man handling my underwear if I agree to go?” Your hand stilling you spun to face them both, “I’m not even sure I wanna know whether you were serious or not about the threat to hog tie and gag me...I wouldn’t exactly put it past you to know how.” Quirking an eyebrow at Darcy who lifted a pair of lacy underwear from your case, you began throwing the few summer items of clothing you had at them.

You could hear the smile in Darcys voice, “Who did you wear these for?” Jane snatched them out of her hands and stuffed them back into the case. You rolled your eyes, the topic of your love and sex life was a touché subject at the best of times. “My mirror.” You replied dryly, folding the only two summer dresses you own into your bag. “There, I’m packed. Happy now?”

Your summer wardrobe really was pathetic. Your luggage consisted of a few of your nicer pairs of underwear, a bikini and swimsuit, two dresses, a pair of shorts, one skirt and a few vest tops. “You seriously need to go shopping.” Darcy sighed, zipping the bag as you grabbed a jacket from your wardrobe.

“Just think,” Jane began as you grabbed the case off Darcy, “Sun, sea, sand and most importantly...Shirtless superheroes.” Giggling along with her you had to admit that the vision was pretty convincing. “Trust us, it’ll be so worth it.”

“This is so not worth it...” You mumbled in front of your mirror. Tony had kindly paid for a team vacation to Isla Bastimentos in Panama as part of a ‘team building exercise’. Or at least, that’s how he put it on paper for taxes anyway. You were here for a week and had been fortunate enough to have been given your own room for the duration. 

Turning to get a better angle you tried to suck in your stomach and push your chest out, a fake cheery smile plastered on your face. “I’m so happy to be here!” You spoke in a fake cheery tone, slumping back into your natural stance you groaned. “Who am I kidding?” 

The thought of having to stand and socialise with women like Natasha and Darcy made you want to be sick. Natasha had the perfect body, all womanly curves and toned abs while Darcy was the perfect hourglass, round hips and even rounder breasts. You however, were more like a nice plump pear. Rubbing your thighs and hips you wished that you were as voluptuous on top. Scowling at your pale skin and ice blonde hair you grabbed the straw sunhat that Pepper had leant you and threw the white cover up over your shoulders.

“Stupid tropical climate, why couldn’t it have been a nice team holiday to the Arctic?” Everyone had congregated on the strip of private beach in front of the beach house. You slowed your pace, torn between which camp of people to visit first. The frantic waving of Darcy made your decision for you, wrapping your cover up around your frame more you gave a small smile at the group sat on the sand.

“Why are you wearing that?” Darcy sneered a little, trying to pick the cover up off your shoulders as you sat down. “Because!” Shrugging her off you pulled your hat down a little more, “I told you I burn in the sun, lobster red isn’t my colour.” 

Smiling in thanks you took the cocktail from Jane and said a quick hello to the two Asgardians sat with you. Since the remaining Asgardians had settled in ‘New Asgard’, Thor and Loki had been Avenging. The two once quarrelling brothers had now reconciled and formed a semi-normal relationship with each other. 

Eyeing up a spot in the shade, you quickly stood and joined Loki under a parasol. “You don’t like the sun either?” Stretching your pale legs out in front of you, you let your toes bathe in the sun. He chuckled from his position next to you, laying on one elbow with his eyes cast forward on the horizon. “Heat doesn’t exactly do my Jotun heritage any favours.” 

“I forgot about that,” You mumbled, “I don’t like the heat either. Doesn’t exactly agree with my powers...” You’d wondered for a while about Loki’s heritage, everyone had said how he was the disgraced prince of Asgard, the stolen frost giant baby that Odin had used as a pawn in his plans, but to you he’d always just been Loki. The sarcastic guy who listened to your venting and read books with. Trying to sneak a sideways glance at him you saw him staring at you already. 

“And what exactly are your powers? I don’t recall you mentioning them before.” His words wasn’t as harsh as you probably thought they were, but to you it just sounded as if he was calling you useless. You are useless, what good is an avenger who can’t control their powers?

You picked up your cocktail, watching as the liquid slowly began to freeze over and the glass crack as ice encased it. Handing the frozen glass to Loki you pulled your knees up to your chest as he sat forwards, studying the glass in his hand.

“You can’t control it.” He guessed, having placed the glass on the sand, the ice melting in the sun. You shook your head, “No,” you replied with sadness in your voice. “Not fully anyway, it gets hard to control it when I get emotional.” You could feel a blush creeping onto your face, “I don’t mean to, it’s just that everything seems so much sometimes and...” You cringe at your words, “And I sound pathetic.”

Rubbing your hands over your face you couldn’t believe how much you were babbling, but you and Loki had always had a strange relationship. You’d gravitated towards each other naturally out of your love of books and quiet, conversations began small and eventually grew to you seeking each other out for hour long conversations about the mundane and everyday. Conversations turned to comfortable silence and comfortable silence turned into peaceful sleep. It wasn’t unknown for the two of you to wake tangled together, apologies and blushing glances thrown between you both.

He smiled, “You do not sound pathetic Y/N.” Rolling onto your front you leant up on your elbows, your sunhat on the sand beside you. “What if I’m like you?” You blurted, his eyebrows furrowing. “What if I’m a frost giant like you?” 

His smile was tense, “Your mother is too small for a frost giant,” He began, thinking of the time he’d accompanied you to a family dinner. “Your father however...” He was curious now to say the least, his hand twitching at the thought of being able to find out with a simple touch. 

You snorted at the mention of your father, “You know I never knew who my dad was. Mum said that he came and went quicker than I was conceived.” Loki smirked, an idea having formed in his head while you were talking.

He turned to face you fully, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “Why don’t we find out?” Sitting up on your side you shifted a little closer, curiosity in your eyes. “How?”

His gaze dropped, confused you looked down. A royal blue crept along his hand, working its way up to his wrist with intricate patterns engraving itself into his skin. Your eyes met his, “Do you trust me?” 

“Always.” You replied, not even having to think. With a boyish grin he took your hand in his and watched as the same royal blue began to creep from his hand to yours. Frost giant. 

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you pulled your hand away quickly, a nervous smile on your lips. “Well...that explains a few things.” Laughing a little you felt a sense of peace overcome you, you’d waited so long to find out why you were cursed with these powers and now...now you knew.

“Loki,” You spoke, a lump forming in your throat as you threw yourself at the God next to you. Wrapping your arms around his neck you laughed a little as his wound around your waist. “Thank you.” You breathed, his hair tickling your face.

Your heart began to beat quicker as you pulled back, his arm staying secured around your waist. “It’s not as bad as I made out,” Scrunching your face up in confusion you realised quickly what he meant. “When we spoke about it before, about Jotunheim and Laufey...” His eyes softened as he searched for the right words, “It doesn’t define you, Y/N. You’re still you.”

You opened your mouth to speak when you heard a whistle from behind you, both of you turning to see Tony and the rest of the avengers walking up towards the beach house. “Hey lovebirds, lunch time.”

"Coming!” You shouted, your voice breaking a little. “You’d think he’d give it up with the ‘lovebirds’ thing by now...” You joked, a nervous blush on your cheeks.

“Hmm,” Loki hummed, “You’d think.”

If the day hadn’t been long enough from the travelling and socialising, then the night seemed to be even longer. Drinks and party games had kept everyone up until midnight, and the swirling feeling inside your head only seemed to feed your insomnia. Sitting up in a huff you knew your insomnia was a demon of your own making. Heaving a sigh of defeat, you left your room in your t shirt and panties and made your way up the flight of stairs.

“Going somewhere Y/N?” Your head snapped to see Thor exiting the bathroom, glass of water in hand. 

“I uh, I was just...Well I was-” Who were you kidding? You were desperate for some sleep and there was only one way you were going to get it. “I just need some sleep.” You admitted with a whisper, eyes dropping away in embarrassment. “I’m so tired and I can’t sleep alone anymore, it’s just not the same.”

Thor looked you over, baggy t-shirt and messy hair with bare feet he couldn’t help but think that you were the best thing that had happened to his brother in a  long time. “Well I won’t keep you,” Turning for his room you climbed the last few stairs. “Oh Y/N?” 

Turning to see his hand on the doorknob you tilted your head in question, “Try to keep the noise down, eh?” Mouth flailing open like a fish he sent you a wink before disappearing into his room. Clamping your mouth shut you turned with a shake of your head and stopped before his door, too tired to dwell on Thor.

Pushing the door open as quietly as you could, you were hoping that the room layout was similar to your own. The door closed with a soft click as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you were half hoping that he couldn’t sleep either. That the comfort you gained from each other was mutual. Perhaps you’d gotten it wrong, paused halfway between the door and the bed you had second thoughts, you could easily sneak back out and he would be none the wiser. You’d tell Thor to keep his trap shut, and raid the wine bottles that were left downstairs to help welcome sleep.

“Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to come to bed?” His voice cut through the dark as you watched him sit up and turn the bedside lamp on, “Because I don’t know about you, but insomnia seems to have become my new best friend.”

You gave him a small smile as you toyed with the hem of your t-shirt, “And here I was thinking I was your best friend.” His face softened as you padded over to the bed, his eyes never leaving you. “And here I was thinking we were more than best friends.” 

You couldn’t hide the smile no matter how hard you tried, instead, you leant over him to turn the light off and settled beneath the sheets. Twisting to face him on your side, he mirrored you perfectly. “I guess we really are lovebirds then hmm?” Teasing him a little you leant in and pecked your lips against his before turning over, your back pressing into his chest. You felt him press a gentle kiss to your shoulder as his arm pulled you closer, “Goodnight Loki” You murmured, earning you a tired chuckle. “Goodnight Y/N.”

[done-mer-moved]

i Also don't know ur OCs but: 1, 4, 5, 8, 15, 22, 23, 24, 25, 33, 42, 50, 54, 56, 61, 73, and 78 please? -drunkmiraak

[[LKdghlkj sorry this took so long!! I got super sick so it sat half-done in my drafts for 84 years. @drunkmiraak]]

Oh boy oh boy oh boy!

So, while I’ve got half a billion OCs by technicality, my main idiot is Azaryne Redoran who takes the role of the Vestige in the ESO story I write with @sinnaroll by the name of Soulbound. (Ima also just casually pass on these questions for her to answer in reply for D'tannen, who is the other main character in this thingy so you can get to know him too!)

Thank you so much for asking!! Here we gooooo~!

1. What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Az’s main nickname is the self-explanatory name shortening from “Azaryne” to “Az”. But D'tannen has kinda stuck on jabbing him with “pretty boy” to the point where it’s basically a nickname lol 

Also, in-game plot reasons dictate that the Five Companions also know him by “Vestige”, much to his dismay. It’s what the Scrolls named him by, so the Prophet tends to slip and refer to him that way, and the others kinda do too by proxy for a while. However, after Az makes it clear that he’s really uncomfortable with it, Lyris and Sai specifically make a point not to call him that.

4. What is a noticeable physical attribute of your OC?

So I memed twice earlier before I got to these questions lasdgkh gomen, but my goofier answers are Dorito Shape and Resting Trouble Face

But more seriously, one of his major notable physical features is that he’s pretty much covered in tattoos from his neck down past his waist and starting down his legs. They’re being redesigned from scratch right now because I can’t ever allow myself to have characters that can be adequately represented in game i guess lmfao but here’s the in-game tattoos with some photo-editing for an earlier visual draft on where they might cut off—

It’s a total personal headcanon but I decided that since the in-game body marking style was pretty clearly influenced by Maori-style kiriituhi, that Az’s tattoos are also highly significant in a similar way. Each piece symbolizes or connects to either his ancestry, or his own life and skills and milestones. His designs weren’t finished, but have the indication of where they were meant to continue as he hit new points in his life. Unfortunately, since his life was cut so short, that’s as far as they ever get.

On a lighter note, he also has pretty big ears?? Lmao

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

He likes clothes that are comfortable but flattering. He knows what his assets are and enjoys looking well-dressed – a bit of a remnant from his previous life as a noble. 

He tends to favor sleeveless tops and cool-colored fabrics with neutral accents. He particularly likes blues of all shades, and some purples. He’ll also occasionally wear red. On his travels he wears leather armor that fits within these features, and notably has a Khajiiti-style jack because he liked the aesthetic of it when he saw the style in a tailor’s display. 

When he’s dressing up, he’ll wear more flowing robe-like attire. He had more reason to do so while he was alive, and at the time it was usually specifically Dunmeri cultural clothing. Over the course of Soulbound, he only dresses up the once so far for a date with Sinna. That takes place in Orsinium, so it’s Orcish formal wear. 

Even if the situation’s not a fancy one, though, he’ll usually still wear kohl eyeshadow, which D’tannen gives him shit for, of course lol.

8. How does your OC talk/what does your OC’s voice sound like?

Az’s voice is light, crisp, warm and friendly. It’s between tenor and baritone in range, and the expected Dunmeri accent. He’s well spoken, and you can tell he’s well educated, but his phrasing isn’t snobbish or condescending, and there’s a firm sort of sincerity to his speech, even when he’s being playful.

15. What was your OC’s childhood like?

Az’s childhood was a little complicated in that it came with a great deal of privilege, but also a great deal of expectation. He was noble-born— the eldest son of House Redoran’s Archmaster— so before he was even old enough to have an awareness of the world, his parents had already decided many things about his future. 

In spite of both this and the constant pressure of the Redoran philosophy that “a light, careless life is not worth living”, Az had an untamable spirit that continuously tried his parents’ patience. As a child, his impulsivity, tendency to bend the rules, and headstrong defiance on points he fundamentally disagreed with led to frequent discipline, and a particularly strained relationship with his father.

Over time, he begrudgingly learned to play by the rules, but would still disappear from time to time for brief moments of freedom. 

He had two younger siblings— Eralane and Meril, and they had very close and loving relationships with each other. Az always did his bes to see right by them, so they felt safe in knowing that he would always have their backs. They didn’t ever keep much from him, as a result, and Meril specifically often looked up to him as a role model.

By the time he was fourteen, he’d been arranged into a political betrothal to solidify clan relations within the House, and it was decided that the two would be married in 16 years when they were both fully grown adults. Neither he nor his intended fiancée were really comfortable with this, but even as young as they were, they knew it was a sticky situation far bigger than just the two of them. So, they quickly established that, future aside, they didn’t feel entitled to each other’s feelings. They would both rather have a straightforward, honest friendship than try to force things between them. 

Because of this, there was no tension when other chemistries developed in later years. Instead, they continued to ignore their inevitable marriage, and turned their performative date nights into formally-dressed vent and gossip sessions. Using the expectations put upon them to their advantage as they got older, they also happily became each other’s alibi when either of them needed time away with other people.

22. Who is/are your OC’s closest friend(s)?

Since arriving back on Tamriel, he’s been shuffling company a lot on his journeys. He’s also pretty introverted, despite being fairly socially adept. He doesn’t have any real connections from his previous life anymore, but has met many people and made casual friends and positive acquaintances with a solid chunk of new ones.

In terms of more serious friendships, D’tannen is honestly the closest, which is kind of incredible honestly laksdhg. But, they travel with each other day in and day out, so there’s a tight bond there that’s developing fast.

He’s also particularly attached to Irvane, who was his first friend since coming back to Nirn.

23. Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with?

Along the same lines as I just said above, he’s never in one place for very long right now, so he is constantly around new people. His kind heart and need for hands-on activity means he tends to gravitate toward people he can help in some way or another. His empathy and sense of honor do most of the weeding. He’d rather be around someone who has shown good intentions, even if they are rough around the edges, than someone who rests on the laurels of past deeds and judges others against themselves.

24. Who are the people your OC dislikes/hates?

It’s pretty damn hard to make this list, at least if you have any sort of good bone in your body. He’s really very empathetic and patient, and will forgive so quickly once he feels amends have been made that it’s honestly gotten him into trouble.

But, even with that said, he’s got some strong resentments for some strong reasons… Notably: Mannimarco and his Worm Cult, ol’ Molag Bal himself, and pretty much anyone who allies with them… Malacus is another name that quickly finds its way on the list under “kill unflinchingly” as he becomes closer with D’tannen.  

25. If your OC has a soulmate, who is it?

oh my god im so sorry this joke is just right here its too easy to grab i can’t help myself – 

Doesn’t a soulmate require… a soul…? 

33. What subjects interested your OC?

He’s always done whittling as a hobby, so he’s currently kinda advancing on that in woodcarving. Since he was also trained in maintaining and repairing his own weapons and armor in life, that’s carried over into an interest in actually crafting weapons on his own. He does wind up making his own bow way later on, and even spends a bit of time with the Morkul Orcs in the Orsinium arc learning to do some metalwork.

42. What makes your OC happy?

He’s very attached to his dog Blackjack, and the mutt can always seem to pick him up when he’s otherwise faltering. He loves whittling and tends to carve little objects to occupy his mind. Complicatedly, D’tannen makes him happy as well, lol. 

He also tends to have moments where he finds happiness in specific things, but the emotion related feels strange or misplaced. When this happens, it’s usually because whatever he’s experiencing— a particular sight or smell or flavor— is something that ties directly to a positive memory he’s lost from his life before. A sort of unwitting-nostalgia that’s hard to pinpoint or replicate.

As a general rule, he’s pretty easily contented. He lives very much in the moment, which combined with his adaptability and natural optimism, means that he’s usually able to find some small spark of cheer for himself anywhere he goes. He’s always wanted the freedom of life as an adventurer, so if circumstances were different, this would honestly be an ideal life for him. However, it’s pretty dampened by the stress of current events, along with the nagging restless and hollow feeling of having lost his soul.

50. What secrets does your OC have?

This is a bit of a tricky one. He’s not a super open person, but he also doesn’t like to lie to cover things up. However, there are many things about his life at present that he finds he has to dance around giving knowledge of. In some ways, the very nature of his current existence is something he keeps tucked away. It’s not very easy to explain to anyone, so he’s grateful that for the majority of the people he interacts with, direct questions never really come up.

In the second act of Soulbound, however, after he becomes very close with Sinna, Sinna asks him directly for his story. He dodges it for quite some time before finally giving him the details, but he’s kind of nervous at that point to state it. He doesn’t know how Sinna might react. But, he lays it out on the table anyway: He’s not truly alive. He’s what remained of himself after he was sacrificed by cultists to Molag Bal. His soul was stolen, and he has only vague pieces of memories from when he lived. And now, he’s been prophesied to assist in stopping a daedric invasion. 

Sinna’s response was heartfelt. But, nobody could blame him for the fact that all he could manage for a brief moment after listening was “Wild….”

54. Does your OC think with his/her head or heart?

Heart… His upbringing tried its best to instill an ability to detach for the sake of duty, but honestly, he’s never been able to. Even when he knows there’s no way he can avoid a difficult situation, and is able to approach it tactically, emotion will be gnawing at him all the while, and he’ll be completely staunch on the things he believes the most if those interfere with the “logical” course of action.

56. What are some of your OC’s strengths?

He’s honestly got a wide range of skills in a lot of ways. He’s a highly skilled archer, and has a very well-rounded set of combat and survival skills that have been hardwired into him since a very young age. He’s also got a great sense of aesthetics, which he likes to express in woodworking and whittling when he can. He’s intelligent, but a lot of his skill specifically in emotional/social intelligence comes from his powerful empathy, and how dramatic swings of circumstances in his life have given him many perspectives to draw from, even subconsciously through the massive amnesia he struggles with. He’s incredibly adaptable. He’s intensely loyal, courageous, and firmly optimistic even through the worst circumstances. He’s got an incredibly strong character to him, and it tends to be both charming and inspiring, even when he doesn’t recognize that he’s producing these effects himself.

61. What is the general impression your OC gives other people?

Honest. Empathetic and selfless. Good-natured, down to earth, and a bit wild-spirited. Patient, incredibly forgiving. Helpful. Playfully charming. A protector. A defender of good.

73. What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment?

He likes art, stories, nature, animals, and adventure. Crafting from time to time as well.

78. What is your OC’s favorite time of day?

Late morning. The point in the day when you’re up and awake and setting off. The whole day lies in wait before you, and you’re ready to meet it

[buzzdixonwriter]

You Don’t Say

For me, one of the unforeseen benefits of Facebook and other social media is that it gives me a chance to do rough drafts of ideas, assembling my thoughts and getting feedback before committing to more permanent form.

And sometimes, like asteroids colliding in space, two separate ideas / posts slam into one another and either create something new and unexpected, or else shatter themselves and reveal interesting aspects of their nature heretofore hidden from view.

That happened recently with a pair of Facebook posts I made on Dennis Prager and Harlan Ellison.

Let’s get the turd out of our mouth first.

. . .

Dennis Prager is a purveyor of herpetology lubricants admired by many on the right-leaning-nazi side of the spectrum, primarily because he keeps his mouth closed when chewing.  Half of what he says is repackaged self-evident truths of the “Don’t eat the yellow snow” variety, a quarter is opinions that if not startling original are at least not genuinely harmful, and the remain quarter is egregious bullshit for which he deserves a public pants down spanking.

Hmm, what?  Oh, yes; purely metaphorically, of course.

I long since wrote off Prager as a. utterer of inanities, but recently his turdmongering was forced on my attention by someone who posted a link to Prager’s argument that the “left” (i.e., basically anybody who thinks Auschwitz was a Bad Idea) is inflicting harm on both the American body politic and the universe at large by denying people like Prager the right to drop the N-bomb whenever they feel like it.

As some of you no doubt already knew, Prager is a member of what polite bigots used to refer to as “those of the Hebrew persuasion”.

That a person from an ethnicity that historically suffered hatred so vicious and specifically targeted that a special word had to be created for it (“anti-Semitism” because the original word -- “Jew-hatred” -- was too damned ugly even for bigots to use) now has his knickers in a twist because he’s “not allowed” to use the only other word of equal or greater impact -- also coined specifically by oppressors for expressing unrestrained hate and contempt against those oppressed -- is so rich in irony that all I can do is swipe a phrase from Jim Wright over at Stonekettle Station and say Dennis Prager has “all the self-awareness of a dog licking its own asshole in the middle of the street”.

First off, he’s lying: Neither the “left” nor American law prevents him from dropping the N-bomb whenever he feels like it and I invite him to go down to the intersection of Normandie and Florence in South Central and drop it at the top of his lungs for as long as he is able and please make sure to take plenty of video recorders along because I really wanna see what happens next.

Second, why the fuck would you want to say that? Seriously, other than in an evidentiary context (a cop giving testimony in court, a journalist reporting what some bigoted politician says, etc.), who today gains anything from repeating the word other than inflicting unjustified distress on people who have done nothing to deserve it?

(This is the point where a bunch of alt-right trolls are gonna jump up and say “but whatabout all the times when black people say it?” and to those trolls I’m gonna say STFU & STFD; if you can’t grasp the difference in context then you’re too damned stupid to be allowed out in public except at the end of a leash and with a ball gag in your mouth.)

It’s a word specifically created and designed to be used to brutally oppress people who did nothing to deserve that brutal oppression.  Why would anybody outside that group use it except to participate in that brutal oppression?

. . .

Least there sit any in the cheap seats who presume the above rant was targeted at Dennis Prager simply because he was Jewish, guess again, ya yutzes.

Few writers enjoyed as brilliant and as incendiary a career as Harlan Ellison, and I count myself privileged to have been one of his friends.

Ellison, as many of you know, also was Jewish, a damned tough little bastard, singled out for hatred and abuse as the only Jewish child in his backwater Ohio school, growing up with nerves & balls of chromium, a bona fide Army Ranger, and a writer so honest and fearless that when he wrote about juvenile delinquency in the 1950s he did so by infiltrating and joining a street gang to get first hand experience and insight on the kids who ran in that crowd (and as icing on the cake, James Caan played him in the TV version!).

Top that, Dennis.

Harlan’s electric eclectic career features many highpoints, but the one I want to focus on is his brief 4-year run as TV critic for the legendary Los Angeles Free Press (a.k.a. The Freep) from 1968 to 1972.  

What’s interesting is that Harlan did this while at the same time at the height of his demand as a TV writer.

You got any idea how hard it is to make a living while you’re gnawing on the hand that feeds you?

Harlan may have been crazy, but damn it, he was honest.

Back to the issue at hand.

Recently I’ve been re-reading his TV criticism columns, collected in two volumes, The Glass Teat and The Other Glass Teat.

The depressing thing is that all the evil we see today was in place back in those days, and the same smug pious frauds and their dimbulb marks kept congratulating themselves how wonderful they were as things continued to spiral out of control.

Oh, we've had good moments when we made changes that improved the lot of people who'd previously been marginalized, but the core cancer is still there. Harlan was no cock-eyed sentimentalist -- he was often filled with anger and could vent it spectacularly at deserving targets -- but he did have hope that somehow we could keep nudging the ball further towards the goal lines.

The columns make fascinating reading; they are nowhere near as dated as one might suspect. Sometimes they offer diamond-like brilliant dissections of a particular instant in the cultural gestalt, other times they examine the unseen (well, to most audiences, that is) tides of Hollywood that shape our media, sometimes he turns his attention to bear on seemingly insignificant and forgotten local programming only to show with McLuhan-esque clarity how that tiny piece of seemingly insignificant fluff is symptomatic of a much wider, much vaster, and far more serious problem.

One entry caught my eye in particular, the March 7, 1969 column on a failed ABC pilot called Those Were The Days.

Harlan sat in the studio audience watching the taping of that pilot, and his column praised the courage and insight of producers Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin, the brilliant performances of Carroll O’Connor and Jean Stapleton, and the raw honesty of the pilot’s sharp comedy and writing.

Those of you not in the cheap seats have already realized this was the second failed pilot for what would eventually become All In The Family over at CBS (there was an even earlier original pilot called Justice For All back when Archie and Edith’s last name was Justice, not Bunker.)

I remember the hoopla when All In The Family finally aired in January of 1971 as a mid-season replacement.

You might count Archie Bunker as the white Dolemite insofar as the comedy sprang from the shock of all the crude and vulgar things he said.

Lear and Yorkin were mocking that mindset, belittling bigotry, exposing the Babbittry of millions of “good” Americans who lacked either the self-awareness or the courage to take a long introspective look at themselves and realize how badly they were failing as citizens of this country.

Audiences weren’t supposed to like Archie Bunker.

And that’s where Lear and Yorkin made their fatal mistake.

No, audiences didn’t like Archie.

They loved him.

. . .

Asteroids collide, and sometimes they form new planets, and sometimes they shatter and expose what lies beneath.

Prager’s modern day Babbittry crashed into Harlan’s half-century old anti-Babbittry, and from the explosion a stark truth revealed itself.

It’s almost impossible to make an outlaw a villain in popular media.

No matter how many banks they rob, stages they hold up, sheriffs they shoot, the mere fact that somebody wrote a song / dime novel / movie about ‘em makes them into heroes.

Demi-gods.

People to be admired.

Emulated.

Professional wrestling knows this.

You can never be so big a heel that you won’t have a legion of followers.

And you can turn a heel into a baby face in the blink of an eye and none of the fans will remember the despicable acts the wrassler did just last week.

You put an Archie Bunker on TV, you do not get millions of people to recognize themselves in his hateful / hurtful behavior and change their ways.

Oh, hell no; you get millions of people to applaud him for saying and doing what they say and do in private.

And now that it’s all big and bold and brassy on TV, why it becomes even easier to say it in the privacy of your own home, then over the fence with the neighbors, then in the bar down the street, then on the street itself, and then against people who have done you no harm, who have committed no sin other than the heinous crime of not being exactly like you.

I remember watching and liking All In The Family when it first came on because I, like millions of other Americans, got the joke:  Archie was no hero.

But it wasn’t long before the voices cheering Archie began to drown out the voices laughing at him.

Lear and Yorkin tried undoing their damage with Maude and The Jeffersons and Good Times and other spinoff shows, but the bigot was out of the bottle.

Archie Bunker, even though written in a way to ridicule his use of bigotry and stereotypes, became a champion and defender of those who clung to said bigotry and stereotypes.

So tell me again why you want to drop that N-bomb, Dennis.

Explain to me -- even while you talk out of both sides of your mouth and claim even if everybody can use they word maybe they shouldn’t use the word -- how that does anything to help anybody…

…other than bigots and hate mongers.

Your argument is as circular as the thumb and forefinger gesture white supremacists use to signal one another, a gesture deliberately chosen because it lets them transgress openly by lying about the truth meaning of their gesture.

And Harlan, you were right about Those Were The Days as it began evolving into All In The Family.  Absolutely brilliant -- but absolutely deadly.

Not airing All In The Family wouldn’t have eliminated racial / ethnic / sexual prejudice in the United States…

…but it would have denied those ideas a voice.

The narcissist always proclaims, “I don’t care what they say about me so long as they spell my name right.”

Well, that’s what we got with Archie Bunker.

None of the bigots cared if we made fun of their ideas…

…just so long as they got their ideas out there.

Because ideas are made legitimate by their presence.

Now clearly, this is a bade that cuts both ways.

Ideas once unthinkable -- liberty and justice for all in the form of racial and gender equality, f’r instance -- need to be championed in public.

But we need to shout down and stamp out the bad ideas.

The United States took their foot off the neck of the defeated white racists after the end of the Civil War, and as a result jim crow came roaring back, and things did not change for millions of Americans for another entire century.

We allowed bigots and hate mongers and slavers to be whitewashed and glorified and forgiven for their crimes against humanity…

…and in the process we allowed them to continue victimizing African-Americans more and more.

Every song about the Ol’ South, every novel glorifying plantation life, every movie showing happy field hands, every statue commemorating murderous traitors as men of honor and principle, every single iteration of that idea made millions of people’s suffering not just possible but inevitable.

. . .

Now this is the point where the alt-right trolls are gonna jump up and ask “did you ever drop the N-word?”

Not in casual conversation, no.

I was born and raised in the South (Appalachia, mostly); my father’s side of the family were almost all Southerners.

Almost all.

My paternal grandmother was born and raised in New Jersey and met my grandfather when both served in the U.S. Army medical corps in WWI.  When my grandfather died in his 40s, my grandmother originally moved back to New Jersey, but her three children (dad and two aunts) felt heartbroken at having to leave their Southern cousins and friends behind so even though she carried no particular love for the South, my grandmother moved her family back and stayed there for the most of her life (she and one of my aunts moved out to California to be near us, but that’s another story for another post).

One thing my grandmother absolutely refused to tolerate was use of the N-bomb anywhere near her, especially under her roof or in the homes of her children.

This included both the -er and -ra variants, because Southern racists who didn’t want to appear as uncultured and as boorish and as bigoted as their backwoods cousins preferred the second pronunciation because they could claim they were actually speaking respectfully about “colored people”.

So I grew up in the rare white Southern home where the N-bomb merely wasn’t used, it was actually denounced as wrong.

Now, don’t go thinking my grandmother was some great paragon of virtue; she wasn’t (she was hell on wheels, in fact, but that’s another story for another post).

But she did recognize there was something wrong with the use of the N-bomb, and whether she demanded her children never use it in any form to keep them from appearing to be boorish, bigoted louts, or whether she just thought it was simple good manners of the golden rule variety not to use it, I dunno.

But I do know we never used it, and when my parents heard our neighbors or schoolmates use it, we were reminded in no uncertain terms that we were never to use it.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t used it.

A couple of decades ago I wrote a screenplay based on the life of Robert Smalls, in particular his incredible escape from Civil War Charleston by hijacking a Confederate gunboat and sailing it right past Ft. Sumter to join the Union fleet, bringing his wife and several other escaping African-Americans with him.

As a skilled harbor pilot, Smalls enjoyed certain privileges other enslaved African-Americans didn’t.

For example, he was allowed to go about the streets of Charleston unescorted…

…provided he wore a big diamond shaped brass tag around his neck.

Like a dog.

The tag indicated to slave catcher patrols that he was one of the “good” ones, that he could be trusted because he was helping his masters in their struggle against the Union by guiding blockade runners into the safety of Charleston harbor.

But knowing Southerners the way I do, and knowing the kind of low class good ol’ boy types they recruited for such jobs, I couldn’t imagine the slave catcher patrols being particularly courteous to him, even when they knew they had to let him pass because clearly he had the protection of some high positioned muckamuck.  

And I could easily imagine them flinging the N-bomb at him with great glee, taunting him, daring him to act “uppity” so they could beat the crap out of him and teach him some manners and remind him of his place.

So I used the word in their dialog in my script.

Would I use that word today?

Probably not.

It’s not that crucial to the story, and if the viewer doesn’t grasp the concept that these are bigoted bully scum from their actions and attitude, then I’ve failed my job as a writer.

Have I ever quoted people who dropped the N-bomb?

Yeah, I have, in the past.

I’ve quoted Richard Pryor and Blazing Saddles and Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction.

I would excuse it then as the aforementioned evidentiary context but ya know what?  I don’t quote those lines anymore.

I still think Pryor is hilarious and will recommend his routines to anyone I think might be interested, but he as a member of the African-American community at large (because like any other ethnic group, African-Americans have numerous sub-cultures and sub-communities among them), he could say things in a way neither I nor any other white person could say them.

(And, yeah, there’s a big debate going on to this very day among African-Americans about the appropriateness of that word and you know what?  Whatever decision African-Americans reach for themselves is their business and should not involve any input whatsoever from we white folk; we not only can’t use the word, we can’t even comment on how they choose to use it.  Period.  Full stop.)

Blazing Saddles when it came out used the N-bomb to be deliberately transgressive, to make a sympathetic point re how unfairly African-Americans were treated.

All well and good.

But nine years earlier there had been a movie called A Patch Of Blue and while it wasn’t a raucous comedy like Blazing Saddles it tried making a point about race relations in America and it was a really. Really good movie and it made some important points but today is virtually unwatchable not because of any flaws in it but because the times have changed.

Ditto Blazing Saddles.

We don’t need to approach the problem that way any more.

Quentin Tarantino?  I really like what he does as a director and a screenwriter but his use of the N-bomb to show us how transgressive his characters are is really shallow.  I have a strong feeling his movies are going to be considered embarrassingly passé’ in a generation or two, much the same way as benign-yet-stereotypical characters in 1940s movies render many of them passé’ today.  

Reservoir Dogs and Pulp Fiction lose nothing by changing the N-word to something else.  

Maybe an argument could be made for its use in Django Unchained or The Hateful 8 but even there I think substituting another word wouldn’t significantly change the tenor or tone of either movie.

So I stop quoting those lines from Tarantino’s films, at least not fully.

I can admire his skill / talent / craft without signing off on his problematic elements.

Let me offer an analogy: If a creator can get the same dramatic effect by pretending to shoot somebody but not actually blasting them with a gun, then they can get the same dramatic effect by using something evocative of the N-bomb without actually dropping it.

(By the way, for those who may be curious, my mother was from Naples and a bona fide card carrying member of Mussolini’s Fascist Youth Brigade, but that’s another story for another post.)

. . .

We are plunging into a new cultural conflict -- and while I think there will be violence, I don’t see it being violence on the scale or level of political organization as the Civil War -- and we can only win by refusing to let the bigots and the hate mongers spew their bullshit in the marketplace of ideas.

There is no compromise with an oppressor.

Stand up to it every time you encounter it.

Make it unthinkable, never acceptable. 

  © Buzz Dixon