#and even if a significant amount of people had that still wouldn’t be a moral issue to shame and abuse people about

[anarcho-mom-unist]

Could you imagine if a conversation about public health could happen in like any context without the specter of The Fatties being brought up as a clearer and more present danger than whatever is the actual topic at hand.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

May I ask why you dislike Malleus so much?

[My TWST character tier list is here.]

[For context on why I dislike Malleus: here and here!]

Many of the reasons previously cited above are still applicable presently (though some points may be outdated since those posts were written before book 7). In this post, I will mostly be focusing on why my thoughts on Malleus have not changed despite the new added content of book 7.

I ramble on for a bit, so I put my thoughts below the cut! Ah—but before you read, please be aware that these are my opinions and not meant to be disparaging to any Malleus likers out there.

Me disliking him should not take away any of your joy!! Go out there and love him for me ^^

A lot of the things happening in book 7 were a long time coming, so really I felt as though Malleus finally “losing it” was affirming of all the red flags from before. Since day 1, his loneliness, aloofness, and awkwardness around his peers were key traits of his. What book 7 does is it magnifies the darkest aspects of his character.

We’ve seen several examples when Malleus has fits of rage and his power flares out of control or he at least threatens it. In Glorious Masquerade, he becomes enraged at the realization that the invitation he received was a false one. In A Firelit Sky, he insinuates that he would be upset if people questioned his presence for the trip. He crushes Lilia’s phone in his own Dorm Uniform vignettes, destroying a friend’s belonging because he was upset about not being invited to an occasion. In book 7, we see a flashback of Malleus freezing the whole castle as a child because his grandmother, overtaken by her duties, could no longer dine with him as promised. Malleus’s temper has been a persistent issue since childhood.

We’ve also seen him act callously toward his classmates and misuse magic to force his will upon them. Remember him stopping time during Endless Halloween Night? How he wanted some ghosts to enjoy themselves instead of missing out on being with everyone for the holiday? Now he’s stopping time in book 7 and keeping everyone in their happy dreams forever. Remember how (in his Dorm Uniform vignettes) Malleus thought it would be easier to make the other dorm leaders come to him instead of him coming to them for their meeting? So then he disregards their autonomy and casts magic that’s normally cast on objects on living beings (something which the other dorm leaders take offense to, as it is dehumanizing). He fails to consider their perspective when he returns to Diasomnia (he basically goes, “well, I wouldn’t have been mad if they cast that spell on me!”). Malleus learns nothing from the experience despite Lilia trying to tell him over and over to be more considerate of others and how different they are from him. Now we have Malleus relating his peers to a virtual pet that he never ever wants to leave him.

Malleus can be stubborn and arrogant. He has a very single-minded way of thinking and often does not consider others’ feelings before he makes the decision for them. Malleus can be insecure. He doesn’t even fully realize he is lonely until Yuu suggests it in book 7, but he’s capable of acting on his bouts of intense emotion. He has always had these flaws, and now they are being brought out in full; we’re being forced to confront OB Malleus and all the complicated, twisting feelings of abandonment that come with him.

Let’s make one thing very clear: I don’t take issue with the overblot boys in general; they are meant to be morally grey characters that act in dubious ways. It would be insincere for me to claim “I dislike Malleus because he did bad things!” News flash, many TWST characters have done bad things or at least questionable things that would give you pause. What separates Malleus from the others and makes him egregious enough to earn significant ire from me is the particular actions he takes (which triggers a personal disdain of mine).

Malleus consistently exerts a scary amount of control over others. This is not a new idea; Riddle and Vil are also notorious for being oppressive or controlling, and I’ll be the first to admit that. (You’ll note that those two are low on my tier list too.) The thing is, Riddle and Vil were very overt and open about their demands for obedience. Malleus can be too, but it’s so insidious how he acts within the dreams. He ignores people’s autonomy, gaslights others, and, again, acts like he knows what’s best for them 💀 Other characters have done these things too, but never to the same scale or by exerting this much power. Malleus then resorts to violence when his lies don’t work, even though he’s fully aware of the power disparity between him and his peers. It feels particularly scummy to me because of how Malleus frames his selfish actions and feelings (his wish for Lilia to not leave) as selfless (for the benefit of his peers) and something everyone else would want in order to justify it to himself 💦 I know he is in (or bordering on) overblot so he wasn’t thinking rationally at that point, plus the fact that many examples I listed come from events or vignettes which may not be canon to the main story timeline. Still, there is a concerning pattern of behavior with Malleus misusing his powers or not being considerate of others and failing to grow from those mistakes. You can only go “oopsie” so many times before you harm someone by accident. I expect people to learn their lesson by then and adopt some proper restraint. He keeps claiming his intentions are good as if that’s supposed to dismiss any harm that results from his actions??? No, his actions still harmed people and he has to deal with the consequences of them, not have them hand-waved away or excused. The behavior I’m witnessing is reminiscent of like… having a toxic friend that is constantly told “hey, what you’re doing/saying makes me feel uncomfortable; do you think you could dial it back?” and the friend tells you they’ll try but then never actually changes their behavior or defends their behavior with “I didn’t mean to, so therefore I did not actually harm anyone”.

You can give me a backstory, but a backstory only goes so far as explaining why he is the way he is; it does not excuse him at all. You can say “He’s a fairy! He’s actually a child mentally! He's sheltered!” until the cows come home, but when he relies on magic to quickly fix the problems he caused instead of stopping to genuinely reflect on why people are mad at him, it’s hard for me to sympathize. Because of his immense power and status, the only person that can reasonably hold Malleus accountable is himself, and he has not demonstrated to me that he can do that.

Book 7 is essentially the payoff for allllll the tropes and traits I never liked to begin with coming into fruition. That’s why Malleus has stayed where he is in my TWST character ranking. I did not expect the writing, no matter how good or tear-jerking, to change that. Until Malleus shows that he’s fully apologetic, recognizes the error of his ways, and consciously tries to connect with others and understand their perspectives, he’s staying squarely where he is.

Am I saying a character with flaws is a bad thing? No, absolutely not! Flaws are what make a character interesting, I’m not faulting Malleus or any other characters for having them. Am I saying that he is poorly written? No, I think Malleus is actually quite a complex character and he’s been really fascinating to follow. I love the emotional complexity of book 7–and it was so clever how the devs related his virtual pet to wishing for happily ever afters for people in his real life. This magnitude of danger is also just about what I expect of book 7 and the themes of togetherness that TWST was angling for from the start. But the fact remains unchanged that I perceive his attitude as irritating at best and reprehensible at worst.

My distaste for Malleus is based entirely on my own views and life experiences. The specific flaws Malleus has and how he acts because of them don’t sit well with me and the kinds of things I enjoy in fiction. It’s not anything deeper than that!

[bizlybebo]

Because its on my mind Im sending this as a "Ramble about it here when you get to X episode" ask. When you finish the episodes titled black, white and grey please rant about them here. They are great and I want to see your opinions

hahaha. hi endy.

the staring at the wall evolved into falling asleep and randomly waking up at 4am, still processing these episodes.

i wrote down. some of my thoughts now having experienced the full thing and got kind of carried away with um. 1.4k words of rambling :3

it’s not even all i want to say but i. ough. fuck these episodes were so good but so. auugggh.

it’s like 5am now im posting this and gonna try to go back to sleep but. holy fucking SHIT when i get you bizly.

(i don’t at all expect you to read this behemoth of a ramble!! just. need to put this somewhere as well because my brain’s still exploding after these episodes)

When season two started I thought it marked a lot of stuff for, y’know, how the show was gonna get darker. I mean, episode one, people were getting killed by a chaos demon in that prison.

I was entirely expecting all the ugly, gory bits of season two to be… external shit. Stuff that other guys, the actual antagonists, did.

But William felt pressured in Black. And suddenly it sets off this chain reaction, and suddenly one of our protagonists is no longer doing heroic things. Suddenly William is effectively torturing a guy psychologically in an attempt to save thousands more with David’s medical research.

He fell into the crux of a lot of villains: “It’s for the greater good”.

There was no going back after he stabbed Tide with the syringe. Tide, who never even had his guard up around William because despite everything, he trusted him and had immeasurable faith in his boys.

White is probably my favorite and least favorite episode, simultaneously, to ever come out of jrwi. The emotional, symbolic, and hell, even cinematic effect it has is insane.

I could fucking scream forever about Willian’s actions in White. About Vyncent’s inactions and the way he was torn about everything— about the fact that in season one, Vyncent was the “violent” one.

But Mark and Dakota fucking hit me in the heart to an insane amount.

Dakota. MOTHERFUCKING. Cole.

I said this before, but:

It’s the fact that Dakota still has optimism. He still has hope, at the very least, that Mark can change; turn over a new leaf for his kid.

“I think he should turn over a new leaf, like, with a new hero name, like— Soundwave, or something.”

He still thinks, or at least thought, that Mark can change. This was after he saw what he did to Lightspeed. He saw the worst of Mark’s actions but he still had faith and hope that there was a good person in there.

This shows so much fucking growth for Dakota’s character. The entire development of his morals, especially over season 2, is insane.

But Mark tries to kill Dakota. Several times.

He shoots at him, unleashes hundreds of bullets, and even tries to stab him. He couldn’t predict that Dakota would be incorporeal, and yeah, sure, you could say that he didn’t know Dakota forfeited his powers (and even without him he’s still significantly stronger than other kids his age). But even with his powers, Dakota would still have taken significant damage from the attacks.

Dakota and Mark’s rivalry is something I could pick apart and think about every little piece of forever.

They both have overwhelming love for Ashe, but it manifests in different ways.

Mark says it himself, “I am what I have to be.” He’s bringing home his kid by any means necessary. Ashe doesn’t have to like him, she just has to be safe and alive.

Dakota’s entire screaming match with Mark is engraved into my brain forever. It felt so real to witness, and the emotion in it was insane.

Dakota’s entire proclamation gets me. He’s so well spoken throughout despite shaking with how angry he is.

“I have been killing myself trying to train hard enough to save her.”

“If you were doing this for Ashe you wouldn’t do things that she’d hate you for.” But Mark is what he has to be.

Dakota never stands down. He keeps getting back up, and back up, and back. Up. Okehrjwjr I’m actually going to start crying thinking about this again.

When he was searching for Lightspeed and following Wavelength’s tracks, he kept asking himself: What would William do? Because he had faith in William’s decision making and investigation.

But at the very same time, William was wondering what Dakota would think about what he’s done.

And GOD don’t get me started on William and his brother.

In a sick, twisted way, I loved their dynamic. I loved what it meant for William narratively when David congratulated his work of defeating Xavier, even calling him “little brother” as a term of endearment. I was on the edge of my seat for their entire conversation in the meeting room.

David gave William his first drink, like older brothers do. William tortured a man because of his brother. David had apple juice sitting on hand because their mother told him to, just in case William ever showed up. William wanted apple juice. He killed somebody.

Cantrip’s been FUCKING me up. I couldn’t even write the word “death” after her name. It doesn’t feel real.

This can’t be the same show in which Jade was sitting on Xavier’s shoulders during mario kart, nonchalantly offering no help as he fought for his life to win like. Second place.

I mean, Jade was such a candid and real character. She was a teenager, just like the rest of the Prime Defenders, and she tried to take a turn for better things after leaving the fighting ring. She went from villainy to vigilantism, and sure, her morals were kind of skewed with how she seemed pretty okay with Alan killing the Bell Tech employees, but her motives were good, in a sense.

(“It’s all for the greater good”. It’s the same thing William was thinking, except William was directly dirtying his hands by torturing Xavier, while Cantrip was just accepting that Alan killed some people.)

I think there’s something to say for how William creates a vision of Cantrip out of smoke, distorting her into some monster, and how that’s the last time we see her image at all before learning of the fact that she’s. Gone.

The last time we see the real Jade, she’s just trying to escape. She doesn’t even talk, if I remember correctly. She just tries to get out. She gets shot in the arm but still persists.

And William ends up being the one who pulls the trigger; who injects the memory loss shit into her blood.

He’s the one who kills her, despite not knowing it at the time.

And David still masquerades as an innocent man, going as far as to relax at his apartment with him and William’s parents as though the events of the previous night never happened.

It fucks me up how the last words that Will and David exchanged before the confrontation in the apartment was:

“Don’t turn into a supervillain while I’m gone.”

“You either.”

William was starting to believe that David was a guy with awful methods, but good intentions— and William felt as though he was the same way. He saw himself becoming David, but David manipulated him into thinking that, hey, it’s awful, but at least he wouldn’t be… alone, I guess, in being a horrible person.

William and David finally saw eye to eye on the worst thing.

And David. Still. Lied.

Lied by omission.

And Jade was the one who took the fall for William’s actions. Jade, the girl who made fun of William for his crush on Vyncent. Jade, who had a sister she cared about, even if she scoffed about her love of heroes— despite the implication that their parents died because of them (likely caught in crossfire or casualties of battle). Jade, who painted her nails and placed bets on William kissing Vyncent, saying he’d be too pussy to do so. Jade, who found herself in a fucking fighting arena of all places but still found friends through it.

Jade, who was the first one to trust William with her actual name instead of Cantrip.

William, who killed her.

And. Fucking Christ.

Vyncent’s monologue at the end of episode 33 just. Fucks me up.

For the entire greyscale series, he finds himself suspended in inaction, too scared to do the right thing and too scared to stop the wrong thing.

But he finally faces it. He looks at William, certainly with fear after knowing all that he’s done, and even still, Vyncent dances around the morality of the subject. He accepts if William wants to flat-out lie to Dakota’s face about what happened at Bell Tech, though he does warn him of the significant damage it’ll do to their friendship.

And when William asks Vyncent to leave the room at the end of the episode, Vyncent finally takes a leap and becomes no longer caught by his indecision between apathy and guilt.

He looks at William, thinking he’s on the edge of something he won’t come back from, and he takes his hand, and pulls Wlliam back from the metaphorical cliff’s edge. If William does fall, then they’re falling together.

His entire proclamation, starting with “I’ve had so many opportunities to do the right thing”, fucking guts me.

God I’ve been typing for like. An hour now but the greyscale series really fucked me up holy shit.

tldr: AAAAUUUUIGGHHHHKEKGKKSKVMEMGOOCU:$)&2’ynkejvjk4&3&582$2!:$?82&;&/&(929@,@2&(&2&&?EVIL EVIL EVIL GOD IS DEADDDDJGKRMHKSKKKKLLEKCKSJGJKSICIWKFMSKGIWIIIAI&383&5&?&?@39(92@?&&/8:7;&,£,]*+\+<*]¥<**]+<+¥sfkwkfkkwjfkI HATE EVERYTHING AOUUGGGHHHHHH OUUUUUUEHEHRHRHRJKGHRHRHRRRRRRR

i am emotionally attached to this media a normal amount

[griefbuilt]

✧.* { BOOBOO STEWART & HE/THEY & NONBINARY & 27/42 } is that SKYLAR FORBES hanging around town ? I wonder if they want to know what the future holds, as for right now, they are a COLLEGE STUDENT AT WHITMORE ? i’ve heard they can be pretty VOLATILE. how typical for a DRAGON. i guess they must rely on their DISCERNING side shining through. rumor has it they’re trying to hide THAT HE BURNT DOWN THE SALVATORE SCHOOL, but that’s probably just noise…

basics

full name:  skylar  maddox  forbes

nicknames:  sky  ,  skylark  ,  mads  

age:  27  /  42

date of birth:  february  22nd

gender:  nonbinary

pronouns: he  /  they

sexuality:  bisexual

family

father:  joel  augur  (  bio  dad  )  ,  chronos  (  ex  step-father  )  ,  klaus  mikaelson  (  wannabe  stepfather  )  .  stefan  salvatore  (  wannabe  stepfather  )

mother:  cassandra  (  bio  mom  )  ,  caroline  forbes  (  adoptive  mother  )  

siblings:  lizzie  &  josie  saltzman ,  cameron  ,  eli  ,  and  carli  forbes  (  adoptive  siblings  )  

significant other:  n  /  a  

personality

morality:  chaotic  neutral

positive traits:  discerning  ,  dedicated  ,  loyal  ,  unwavering  ,  honest  ,  hard-working 

negative traits:  blunt  ,  callous  ,  short-tempered  ,  cynical  ,  sharp-tongued  ,  detached

abilities:  fire-breathing  ,  durability  ,  strength  ,  flight

drives/motivations:   keeping  his  family  safe  while  staying  as  far  away  from  the  mckinley  shenanigans  as  possible  

bio

contrary  to  popular  belief,  skylar  knows  who  their  birth  parents  are   -----  well,  almost.  they  know  their  mother  in  the  nebulous  sort  of  way  that  comes  from  second-hand  memories  and  stories.  he  has  a  name,  a  picture,  and  what  his  father  told  him  of  her.  she  was  a  dragon.  she  loved  the  rolling  stones.  she  didn’t  stick  around  to  raise  him.  safe  to  say,  they  don’t  think  too  much  about  her  (  a  lie.  he  feels  that  abandonment  even  now.  how  awful  a  thing  it  is  to  be  launched  into  space  by  the  one  person  who  might  have  understood  you  ).  

comparatively,  his  relationship  with  his  father  was  much  more  complicated......or  maybe  simple.  it  depended  on  the  day.  you  see,  people  could  say  a  whole  lot  of  things  about  joel  augur,  but  none  of  them  could  be  that  he  didn’t  try.  raising  a  kid  wasn’t  all  flowers  and  sunshine.  raising  a  kid  who  could  set  the  goddamn  house  on  fire  when  he  didn’t  get  his  way  ?  yeah,  that  was  something  else  entirely.  but  he  did  it.  he  stood  by  and  loved  his  kid  in  spite  of  everything.  kept  him  safe.  kept  him  hidden.  was  a  good  father.  but  all  good  things  must  come  to  an  end.....if  you  ask  skylar  how  he  feels  about  having  a  dad  who’s  serving  a  life  sentence,  well,  your  stupidly  brave  or  suicidal.  and  honestly,  he  wouldn’t  know  what  to  say.  they  were  so  young  when  he  got  taken  away,  that  they  hardly  remember  a  time  before  it. most  memories  of  his  father  are  inside  those  four  walls,  in  those  uncomfortable  chairs,  under  the  watchful  eyes  of  the  prison  guards.  caroline  made  the  trek  with  him  and  filled  out  the  forms  every  month....at  least,  until  the  barrier  went  up.  then  it  was  only  painfully  short  phone  calls. 

it  was  funny  how  it  only  took  a  few  months  in  the  foster  care  system  before  one  of  the  workers  swiftly  sent  them  the  way  of  alaric  saltzman  (  something  something  a  threat  to  himself  and  others.....  ).  it  could’ve  and  should’ve  been  worst.  by  the  time  they  made  an  appearance,  dorian  had  already  put  together  that  dragons  were  still  around  in  the  loosest  sense  of  the  word,  but  what  the  fuck  they  should  do  with  one  was  still  a  mystery.  he  ended  up  taking  a  stupid  amount  of  classes  with  the  werewolves  and  witches  (  temperamental AND breathes  fire  ? though,  no  one  really  had  any  proof  the  temperamental  thing  was  a  dragon  thing  and   not  just  a  skylar  thing.....  )  and  getting  one-on-one  training.  it  bored  them  to  death.  but  most  of  his  days  at  the  salvatore  school  were  spent  alone.  there  weren’t  exactly  many  kids  his  age  running  around  (  save  for  pedro  )  and  fewer  who  could  relate.  some  of  the  older  kids  tried  to  reach  out,  but  they  just  weren’t the  type  to  reach  back....but  the  salvatore  school  did  do  one  good  thing  for  him.  

maybe  it  shouldn’t  come  as  a  surprise  that  he  hit  it  off  with  caroline  -----  she  always  did  have  a  thing  for  the  weirdly  dysfunctional.  at  eight  years  old,  skylar  was  closed  off  and  viciously  bitter.  too  angry  to  draw  people  in  close  but  made  all  the  worse  by  the  lack  of  connection.  it  was  obvious  that  something  needed  to  happen,  but  what  was  unclear.  enter  the  one  and  only  caroline  forbes.  she  took  him  under  her  wing,  gave  them  the  tools  they  needed  to  survive,  gave  him  a  home  and  a  family.  and  for  the  next  14  years,  they  were  content.  sure  they had  their  issues  (  a  fuck  ton  of  issues  )  but  they  had  gotten  better  at  working  through  them.  

then  the  parents  fell  asleep.  suddenly,  things  were  a  lot  fucking  less  alright....but  they  had  siblings.  very  little,  very  dumb  and  vulnerable  siblings.  after  burning  down  the  salvatore  school  in  a  fit  of  anger  (  oops  ),  he  got  his  shit  together  to  help  lizzie  and  josie  raise  them.  

and  then  ken....and  the  future  bullshit.  ugh.  but  for  the  time  being,  he’s  just  trying  to  keep  trying  to  keep  everyone  alive.  something  that’s  apparently  not  going  to  be  easy  given  their  mom’s  new  boyfriend  is  apparently  public  enemy  number  1  (  and  after  chronos....they're  thrilled,  really  ).  

[scarlettriot]

Along for the Ride PT 1

Pairing: KirishimaxF!Reader

Summary: A drunken mistake had you marking the little Plus One box to your snobby cousin's wedding. Kirishima told you not to worry, if you couldn't find a date, he'd go with you. When the wedding gets moved up, there's absolutely no time to find a date and you're now about to be traveling to America with Kirishima on a private jet no less, dreading having him meet your rude and impossibly arrogant family.

Contains: Kirishima and Reader both come from very well-off families. Plus-Sized Reader. Fluff. Hurt/Comfort.

Warnings: Kinda smutty for a minute. Minors DNI. Drunken Sex. TW: Manipulative Family Relationships. TW: Body Image Issues

A/N: This story has been rolling around in my head for a while now. I might rewrite this and repost. Or I might just post the whole thing soon. I dunno yet. It does get smuttier.

Word Count: 4,974

"What's up with Y/N?"

Eijiro stepped out of the locker room with a towel slung over his shoulder and made his way into the kitchenette where Mina was chugging a bottle of water before getting back to her patrol. His eyes were trained on their mutual friend out on the patio, pacing.

You had your phone pressed to your ear, the high neck of your hero costume unzipped to your collarbone and he noticed your gloves discarded on a chair.

"No clue." Mina shrugged. "She got back from patrol and she noticed a bunch of missed calls from her mom. She's been out there, flailing on the phone for the last fifteen minutes now."

The three of you had met in your second year at UA when you transferred into their class and were quickly accepted by their little squad of friends. You were a bit quiet at first but quickly found comfort in the group. Eijiro had grown especially close to you when you both interned with Fat Gum.

Late nights traveling on the train back to school, a few close calls while helping patrol, and days spent playing cards while you both healed up in the hospital left plenty of time for Eijiro to get to know you better than most. It was how he knew you had a pretty bad relationship with your family, why you hated returning home for the holidays almost as much as you hated any and all forms of tomatoes.

He considered going out there just to see if there was anything he could do but before he had the chance, you were sliding the glass door open. "Oh, good, you're back." He offered you a bottle of water for your throat that he assumed was sore after that argument. "I- um- can I borrow you for a second? Alone?"

Mina snorted a laugh. "If you guys wanna bang it out on the counter you can just say so. I gotta go to work anyways."

Eijiro threw the towel at her as she left the room leaving you two alone. "What's goin' on?"

You hoisted yourself up on the countertop while he leaned against the fridge. "You remember my cousin's wedding that's happening this winter?"

He nodded. He vividly remembered the both of you getting waste a few weeks ago when you were filling out the RSVP and accidentally marking 'plus one'. Then you ran around trying to find White Out but he'd told you if you didn't find a date or have a significant other by the time of the wedding, he'd just go with you.

You argued that your family was bat shit crazy, had more money than they could spend in their lifetime and because of that, they were among some of the rudest people you knew, and you didn't want Eijiro or anyone else around that.

The thing was, Eijiro already knew that and was still okay with going. He came from money too. A lot of it. His family was just more welcoming than yours, the wealth never really going to their heads. But, he reminded you that he'd ran into enough people like those in your family that he knew how to handle them. You finally agreed to let him accompany you, leaving the plus one box checked but the name line blank.

"Well, my cousin just found out that surprise, she's pregnant! And, obviously, she can't have a wedding while seven months along so they've decided to move the wedding up to this weekend."

He nearly choked on his own spit. "This weekend? As in four days from now?"

"Yup! Saturday at 4 in the evening. Oh! No one's supposed to know she's pregnant either. So, I'm just supposed to compliment her on how flattering her dress looks, how thin she is," Your hands strangled the water bottle between them, "And I have to find something flattering to my figure because my mother has seen me in my hero outfit and she's so glad I wear a mask because if anyone knew her daughter ran around looking like I do, well, it'd ruin her!"

You massaged your temples circling back to the actual point, "Anyways, I just wanted to bitch for a sec and let you know you're off the hook since four days is just a little short notice and I told her my plus one wouldn't be able to get the time off that fast."

He pushed off the fridge. "Well, wait, hang on! I'm not letting you go in alone to deal with them! Hell no! You need backup!" You looked almost taken aback by his abruptness, "Yeah. I can work this out. Is the wedding at the same place it was supposed to be or has it moved?"

"No, it's still that fancy lodge in California. I was planning on leaving Friday morning and then coming back either Sunday night or Monday morning since my mother insists I go to their brunch the following day. But, Eijiro, I already have this weekend off..."

"Denki owes me a favor or twelve. He's supposed to be off this weekend too, I'll just see if he can cover me."

"And if he can't?"

"Then..." He pressed the back of his hand to his forehead, "Y/N, am I feeling warm to you? I think I might be starting a fever!"

You folded your arms, shaking your head, "Thought you said lying isn't manly."

"Technically, correct. But, what would be real unmanly is for me to let you deal with your family's bullshit all alone." You watched him closely, "To be honest, I'm sure we could just explain you had a family thing come up and asked me to come along for moral support. I don't really think anyone would think twice about it. Hell, you took a few days off to console me when my turtle died suddenly!"

"Eiji, you refused to eat."

"And you brought me my favorite dumplings! Same thing!"

You might have shaken your head at him but your arms opened wide. The telltale sign you wanted affection. He walked forward, consuming you in a tight hug. Your arms latched around his neck, face buried in the hollow of his throat. "You're the best."

"I just do what I can."

>>><<<

You should have canceled. Instead of Eijiro faking sick to get out of work, you should have faked it with your mother so you didn't have to go in the first place. You crumpled to the floor of your bedroom in pure frustration amidst the twenty or so outfits and dozen pairs of shoes you'd thrown out of your closet trying to find something that your mother would deem appropriate.

It wasn't your fault you had a fuller figure. You worked out, ate right, not to mention your job kept you very active, and yet your, hips, ass, and breasts were by no means subtle.

Your mother had also insisted on the dress being floor-length and modern, "Do try not wearing all black. It's a wedding, not a funeral. And, get your hair looking natural, please." And, just like that, 70% of your wardrobe was out the window!

"It's open!" You called from the floor when the doorbell rang.

"You really should lock this." Mina tutted, walking through the door with a bag full of takeout.

"I do. At night."

"Honey, it's 9 PM."

"Night like bedtime."

Mina just rolled her eyes and walked into your tiny kitchen. "I see the dress hunt is going well."

"I actually figured it out!" You got off the floor, careful not to step on a heel as you made your way to the pink haired woman, "I'm just gonna go in my birthday suit. I figured, my mother made my body technically therefore she can't disapprove of it. Because, you know, she's never done anything wrong in her life!"

Your best friend snorted out a laugh and passed you the take-out container stuffed full of stir fry. "you're a wonderful person, you know that?" You loved the fact Mina didn't even have to ask what you wanted.

"If you'd just move closer to work then you could pick it up yourself and I wouldn't have to bring it to you."

"Too expensive." You declared after a mouthful. "You pay almost twice as much as I do per month and I just don't see the point. I have damn near the same amount of space you do for half the cost!"

You adored your small one-bedroom apartment. It was perfect. Right above a bakery that you visited each morning after your run and a little balcony that provided you with the most stunning view of the sunset.

"You and Kiri, I swear." Mina just shook her head and curled up with her food on the loveseat. "I thought he'd end up with the biggest house out of us all the moment we started making that real Pro money. You've seen his parent's house. It's massive! You could get lost in that place!"

Eijiro's place was barely bigger than your own. He lived in the same condo he had since you'd graduated UA, claiming it was perfect for him in each and every way. But, you knew that he donated a sizable amount of his paycheck every month to charities, the same as you. With savings to spare, neither of you saw the point in hoarding it and therefore the small condo was all he could afford with what he actually kept.

"Just don't understand how a guy that big can live in such a tiny little space. At least with you, it's you know, physically feasible."

Eijiro's bedroom was barely large enough to fit the king-sized bed the man needed to sleep comfortably and even then, his feet were dangerously close to dangling off the bed. And, as if the man's ears were burning, your cell phone went off under a pile of discarded shoes.

Shark-E: Figured out your dress situation? If not, I'm just gonna pack like ten different ties and hope for the best.

You: Yeah! I totally did! I'm just gonna wear this birthday suit I got and call it a night.

You chuckled at your own joke all over again. Watching the grey ellipses appear and then vanish, appear and vanish again. After a third time, you took pity on the man.

You: Joking, Ei. I still don't have it figured out but Mina's over so, hopefully, she can help.

Shark-E: Gonna give me a damn heart attack! Seriously, I wouldn't put it past you just to see the look on your mom's face. Tell Mina hi and good luck to you. I vote the dress from the Hero Gala two years ago.

You: Hi from Mina. Can't. Too much boobs.

Shark-E: You take that back right now! There is NEVER such a thing as too much boobs!

You chuckled to yourself, putting your phone down, and then finished off the last of your delicious dinner, thinking about the dress Eijiro mentioned.

You wondered if maybe there was a way you could make the thing work but it was so very low cut. So much tape had been used to make sure no slips happened but damn was it worth it! The beaded bodice with the sparkling long sleeves, gods, how you loved that dress.

"I'm inclined to agree with our shark boy. You're busty, who gives a damn. You looked hot as hell in that dress."

"My mother, that's who. As much as I'd like to not give a flying fuck what she thinks, for some dumb reason, I do. On top of her telling me that the amount of cleavage I would show would be vastly inappropriate for a wedding, she'd also say the way it hugs my hips makes them look too fat."

Mina rolled her eyes. "She's such a piece of work." Pushing herself up, she held her arms out to you, wiggling little pink fingers for you to take. "Come on then. Let's get you sorted."

"What about that one you wore to the charity art thingy with Kyoka last winter? The one with the silver top."

"Silver is too close to white." You called out from within your closet.

"What! Not true!"

"You know that. I know that. Every person with two brain cells knows that, which is why most of my family does not know that."

"Fine..." She whined and started sifting through the opposite end of your closet. "Oh, what about this?" Mina waved about the blue and green plaid skirt that made up your uniform from your middle school days when you lived in America. "Please try this on. I'm begging!"

You were pretty sure it wouldn't even go over your thighs anymore.

"It's got a better chance of fitting you!"

Mina threw it at you anyway. Slipping off the sweats you wore, somehow, someway, you were able to tug it on AND get it zipped, barely. It no longer covered your ass but you still enjoyed the way it swished around when you wiggled your hips.

"You could be fulfilling so many people's fantasies right now." Mina mused.

You pulled the skirt off and sweats back on, throwing the former back at her. "Yeah, you can take it and go fulfill Hanta's fantasies if you like. Not like I've got anyone to impress." You pulled down a dress you bought on sale a year ago but Mina was quick to dismiss it.

Too puffy, she said and then held up one that was from Momo. "I needed to get it shortened and I don't have time for that now."

"Wait..." She hummed and dropped the Momo dress. "I know what it should be!"

Mina hurried through the closet, grumbling about not finding it. "Just tell me which dress and I can tell you where it's at."

"It's that one you got for grad night and then you got sick and couldn't go!"

"Mina, Mina I can't wear that! That's actual vintage, not like, made-to-look-vintage!"

"But it's so elegant and has that off-the-shoulder sleeve thing. The wedding is at a damn sky lodge! It'll look so pretty in the snow! Ah! Found it!"

She yanked up the long, elegant gown from the garment bag you'd never removed it from. There wasn't a single wrinkle in the burgundy fabric. It looked just as beautiful as the day you found it in that second-hand store, on a mannequin with gaudy stage jewels that you just had to buy so the look was complete.

You ran the back of your hand over the velvety fabric, soft to the touch. "It'll be too tight now. If I was the same size I was at graduation-"

"Bullshit!" Mina cut you off with a dismissive hand, "You've got hips now. We aren't 18 anymore! It's not like it's some clubbing dress. And I bet no one would say a damn thing about your figure if they knew how easily you could crush them with those thighs!"

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips. Without quirks, you gave every single one of your classmates a run for their money in hand to hand. Most were fairly easy to beat. You could usually take down Eijiro in about five or six minutes and Katsuki in half the time. Funny enough, it was Ochaco that gave you the hardest time.

"I'll consider it. But help me find something else just in case."

>>><<<

It was another two hours before you finally agreed on an a-line, empire waist green and gold number that had been the bridesmaid's dresses for Tetsutetsu's wedding. Mina thought they were a crime the first time they had to wear them, she had no idea what you were thinking.

That's why the moment you were preoccupied with trying to find yet another dress for the Sunday brunch, Mina pulled out her phone.

You: DO NOT, under any circumstances, allow Y/N to wear the green dress. She's bringing two because she can't decide. Red is the winner!

Jaws: Aw, come on. If she likes it, let her wear whatever she's comfortable in. She'll be under enough stress already.

You: Kirishima, it's the dress from Tetsu's wedding. The one that looks sparkly baby food.

It took him a second to respond.

Jaws: Alright. Understood. I thought you guys looked good but damn, she hated that dress.

You: We all did.

Mina looked at the message chain again and couldn't help but asked, "Are we just gonna ignore the fact that you and Eiji are flying all the way to America, last minute, to attend a wedding together, even though you're not together?"

"We've flown to the states before."

"For work!" She sat up eagerly. "This is different, Y/N! This is a date and not just a, like, casual date but a wedding date!"

You poked your head out of the closet. "No, it isn't. This is a friend helping another friend who stupidly mismarked an RSVP." You corrected very plainly but Mina wasn't one to give up so easily.

She whined, dragging out your name, "You guys have been doing this thing for ages. Why do you have to be so stubborn about it all!"

"What's that supposed to mean!"

Mina started ticking off points on her fingers. "He was the first person you opened up to at UA. You saved his life when he was busy saving Katsuki's life second year. You spent all that time interning together, became sidekicks together. Went to America together for three whole months, ALONE, and you honestly expect me to think there's nothing between the two of you!"

The truth of it all was simple really; 17 year old you had a massive crush on Eijiro Kirishima. He was sweet, always listening to you, providing comfort when you needed it, and always encouraging you to push your limits. He was bright and honest, a little slow in the head from time to time but that made him all the more endearing.

He was also head over heels in love with Katsuki Bakugo.

It was why you never made a move. Never spoke a word of the feelings you harbored. You didn't dare to cross that line with him because you couldn't ever hold a candle to the explosive man.

In the three years Eijiro and Katsuki spent together, your brain finally started registering Eijiro as just a friend, nothing more, and certainly nothing less. You thought your heart had followed suit but it was becoming more and more apparent that wasn't the case. Because the night he showed up at your door, tears in his ruby eyes, every lock you put on your heart broke open.

The same way you couldn't hold a candle to Katsuki, Eijiro couldn't hold one to Izuku. You knew exactly what he was feeling even if you never intended to tell him. Too overcome with fear. If Katsuki came back... that'd be it. Eijiro would go back and you wouldn't even blame him!

Still, the redhead consumed a decent chunk of your heart though, you couldn't deny that after the three months you spent together in America, gathering intel on a smuggling ring, living in the same apartment. The groggy, 'good mornings' when his voice was still scratchy with sleep, hair falling in his eyes. The late nights bandaging wounds and killing cheap bottles of wine while watching terrible American reality shows.

It was those bottles of wine that did you in on your second to last night in America. Supplying you with courage and draining your sense of reason, allowing you to crawl onto his lap, into his arms. You could still remember the pressure of his lips on yours, those sharp teeth gently dragging along your lower lip.

Scared hands tracing the curve of your ass before taking handfuls to squeeze. The laugh that came from you was unlike anything you heard before, something so genuine that you couldn't reproduce.

How it felt when he lifted you up and took you to his bed, laying you down taking his time removing your clothes, and watching with awe as you pulled away his own. The way he looked over top of you, his hair a curtain of red around you just before you closed your eyes, gasping while he filled you.

You also remembered the guilt that crept into your head during the wee hours of the morning, the doubt that was louder than the snores coming from behind you.

It made you slip from under his massive arm, gather up your clothes from his floor, you tucked the blanket around him, and pressed a kiss to his temple before padding out of the room.

You told yourself you'd talk to him about it if he brought it up, but he never did. Not the next morning, or night, not on the plane ride back home, nor anytime since. It was a memory you'd hold close to your heart, one you wouldn't let slip away or share.

"There's nothing there, Mina. We're just good friends is all." You lied with a smile on your face, something that had become surprisingly easy to do.

If only you knew that Mina saw right through it. That Mina already knew the truth of it all.

>>><<<

It was nearly one in the morning when your phone rang. The goofy picture of Eijiro with face half painted at a festival a few years back never failed to make you grin.

"It's a little late." You answered by way of greeting.

"Don't pretend like you were anywhere close to sleeping, you little night owl."

Chuckling at the nickname that had followed you since high school, "What's up, Eiji?"

"I was going over flights. You said in the office that you wanted to leave on Friday?"

"Yeah. I have patrol tomorrow and I didn't find any flights after 6 PM so, Friday is the earliest."

He was quiet on the other line for a moment. "Yeah, you don't have patrol tomorrow, or work at all for that matter."

You sat up a bit straighter in bed. "Um, yes I do."

"No, you don't. I called Mina, asked her if you'd mind taking that shift for you and, since she knows what's happening, she agreed the extra day for travel would do you some good. So, she's covering you tomorrow then you're off work until next Wednesday. As for me, thanks to all that overtime I put in when Denki, Kyoka, and Hitoshi got married, the three of them are splitting up my days so I have until Wednesday too."

Eijiro sounded impossibly proud on the other line, you could almost see the smirk on his face. "You've got this all planned out, don't you?"

"And a bag nearly packed. Just need you to tell me what ties to bring."

"Gold, burgundy, and black."

"Thought your mom said no black for you?"

"She said no black for the wedding. She said nothing about black at the brunch!"

You couldn't wait to put on the tea-length dress that had been a favorite for years. Satin with a lacy top and, best of all, pockets.

He let out a rumbling laugh that fell off into comfortable silence as you laid back in your bed, lights still on, the room still a mess. You tapped the speaker icon and laid the phone on the pillow right beside your head, listing to the various sounds of Eijiro moving around.

A door creaking open, a hanger clattering against another, and a zipper. "And just like that, I'm all set."

"Don't forget your passport or hero license."

"I have one in my wallet and the other in my backpack."

You swiped up on your iPad, off Netflix, and going to google, lazily searching through flights. "So, did you find any good flights since you've clearly been looking?"

Another chuckle, "Eijiro, why are you laughing?" More stifled giggles had you sitting up in bed again. "Just tell me a site you were on. They're just flights, what's so funny?"

"There isn't a site."

"You said you were checking flights."

"And I was... on my family's jet."

"Eiji! No! No, no, no! That is supposed to be for their business or hero things! My stupid cousin's wedding is neither of those things!"

"Relax, Y/N. My family has multiple and they don't have any business trips planned right now anyways. I already cleared it with my mom. Seriously, I just mention your name and she's likely to let me have it for a whole year at least. Plus Todoroki's is back up in working order so the agency is covered too."

Damn, why'd he have to be so good at planning from time to time! You'd completely forgotten about the second jet his family had. Always opting for the larger one since the few missions they needed it for required them to bring fifty or so heroes along.

"Besides, if we fly private, we can land at an airstrip closer to the venue and won't need to drive four hours on top of a ten-hour flight."

"Alright, okay, thank you but, let me take care of the rental car, please. It's the least you can let me do."

"Deal. I just have one more question for ya."

"What's that?"

"Wanna leave tonight?"

You nearly dropped your damn iPad in shock. "Eijiro! What the fuck has gotten into you! It's the middle of the night!"

"I'm excited!" He boomed, "I haven't had a vacation in months!"

"I hate to break this to you, buddy, but this isn't going to be a vacation. You really shouldn't get your hopes up. This isn't going to be a good time with laughs and fun memories... my family, they just, they aren't those kinds of people."

"But we are." He stated matter-of-factly. "If they want to have sticks up their asses then let them! We'll have a good time on our own, laugh and make fun memories! So, what do you say, Y/N? I can be at your place in fifteen. I just gotta put shoes on and grab my keys..."

"Wait, hang on. Are you forgetting that we need someone to, oh, I dunno, FLY THE PLANE! Actually, we need two someone's, can't forget about a co-pilot!"

He hummed happily and you rubbed your temples. "You, you have a pilot and a co, don't you, Eiji?"

"Mhm! There is a company we use. Two can be at the hanger in an hour and every hour after that. I just have to make the call and get the flight plan approved which will be done before I even get to your house."

There was literally no reason to say no. You had mostly everything packed, nothing you needed to get from the store, all you had to do was put on pants and pack up your hygiene bag and you were ready too. Maybe getting there quicker and getting the whole thing over with would be better than staying home dwelling on everything.

"Better put your shoes on."

The glee in his voice, that was enough to make this whole thing worth it, "I'll see you soon."

>>><<<

Eijiro reached into the backseat and plopped a bag down on your lap the very moment you were buckled in. "Had to make a pit stop." He explained.

"It's after two in the morning, where'd you have to..."

"Just open the bag and don't complain."

You found it filled to the brim with all your favorite snacks.

"I'm sure the plane will have a bunch of snacks we can raid but I know for a fact they don't have these." He held up a pack of cookies and creme flavored pocky that had been his favorite for as long as you'd known him, quickly followed by your favorite flavor too. You also found a massive bag of gummy worms and jolly ranchers.

"So, what you're telling me is our teeth are going to rot by the time we land? Not that I'm complaining."

You ripped open the bag of ranchers knowing that was what he'd go for first and sure enough his hand dove inside just as he pulled away from the curb. You could hear his dangerously sharp teeth biting through the rock candy like it was nothing while you still rolled one around your mouth.

Eijiro asked you about the resort you'd be going to, wondering if you'd been there before or what other stuff you guys could do when you weren't dealing with your family. "I figured we could fly back Monday night or Tuesday morning, you know, just play it by ear in case there was anything else we wanted to do."

More than anything, you wished you could just leech a little bit of that excitement from him. The glimpses of his smile you caught as you drove under the street lights made your heart ache.

"What?" He asked with that wide smile of his. You'd been caught staring, red-handed.

"I, uh, I just don't know what to tell you."

You could see the subtle change of his grin, watch as it softened and his hand came to rest on your thigh. "Hey, it's gonna be fine! And if we run into them while out doing stuff, you can just avoid them or hide behind me!" At least hiding behind Eijiro is an easy thing to do, damn mountain of a man.

His thumb slowly brushed back and forth. "'S gonna be okay. I'll beat 'em up if they're assholes!"

You snickered at his Katsuki impression and let the drone of the radio fill the air around you both. Enjoying the silence the rest of the way to the hanger with Eijiro's hand atop your leg.

[bettsfic]

Hi betts! I hope you’re doing alright and that your semester is wrapping up smoothly. I have a question about genre, I guess? I’ll preface this with the fact that I am not a writer or lit person, but just an enthusiastic reader. But as I’ve been on Tumblr and TikTok (in this case BookTok), I’ve noticed that it’s a lot of the same kinds of books that people get obsessed over. Largely, SFF written by women and often in “new adult.” I’m thinking of V. E. Schwab, Leigh Bardugo, etc. I’ve read a number of these books and enjoyed some of them quite a lot, but they’ve never captivated me the way they do some. That’s fine, people have different tastes. But after being served yet another TikTok about this same category of book, I kinda realized that for some reason they just don’t feel that adult to me. Which is weird because they typically deal with very adult themes. Some are super sexual or violent and the like, but the way they’re written doesn’t feel mature to me. Even The Poppy Wars, which is very adult, falls into this category for me (I did enjoy this one, though). I’ve tried to interrogate this for bias, especially since I know a lot of people like them because they are written by women, (mostly) feature more diversity, and have large female audiences. But then I think about which books did feel adult, but fall in similar genres: N. K. Jesimin and Ursula Le Guin come to mind (even her youth fiction feels more adult to me). So I guess I’m curious what you feel makes a writing style more mature versus simply the content? Why is it that SFF, while often depicting adult events, doesn’t come across as mature? I guess my frustration is that it’s one of my favorite genres, but the recommendations I’m getting across many folks just...isn’t the SFF I want. How does one distinguish between these? Idk if I’ve expressed this well and I definitely am not trying to judge people. I’m just looking for a certain atmosphere in my reading that I find rarely.

i’m so excited i have an answer to this. so first i want to say, i experience this also and it’s why i struggle to get through a lot of books. it’s why i love the secret history but couldn’t get twenty pages into if we were villains, even though everyone told me they had a lot in common. even if the description of a book is compelling and the story is very much to my taste, and even if the writing is totally competent, i’ve found that sometimes there’s just something lacking that makes me set a book down and never pick it back up. 

i was thrilled to find there’s term for this: the implied author.

the implied author was coined by wayne c. booth in his book the rhetoric of fiction which, while dense, is a really fantastic read (if you’ve been keeping up with my newsletter you know how feral i am for this book). as a blanket definition, the implied author is the space that exists between the narrator and the writer. when you read something, you can’t make any factual conclusions about the writer (the author is dead and all that), but the narration often tips you off to the idea that the consciousness behind the writing is wiser and knows more than the narrator. 

that’s a very condensed version of booth’s definition, which takes up like 40 pages. here forward are some conclusions i’ve drawn based on it. 

when the space between the narrator and implied author is narrow, some of us as readers tend to get bored pretty quickly. it’s what you’re referring to as maturity. however, when that space is wide, when it’s clear that the implied author is much, much bigger than the narration, that’s when i’m willing to sink my teeth into something. the wider that distance, the more i’m happy to ignore things like syntactical clumsiness or poor grammar. i would follow a good implied author into hell. 

for example, i could write a story from the point of view of a violent abuser. if you were to read it, you wouldn’t be able to say for certain that i, the writer, was not a violent abuser also. but you would be able to tell via the implied author whether or not there is an awareness of the abuse, whether it’s being written with intentionality. not morality, mind you, but artistic purpose. 

the implied author has an idiosyncratic relationship to the reader. sometimes depending on the complexity of the work and the critical reading skills of the reader, the presence of the implied author can be invisible. this is the catalyst, imo, to a significant amount of the present morality discourse. many (if not all) purity officers and antis don’t have the reading skills to be able to see the implied author, or that the moral trespasses that occur in fiction are written intentionally and for a purpose. they believe that anything depicted in fiction is advocating for or promoting that which it’s depicting. 

lolita is kind of the ultimate classic example of the inability of some readers to see the implied author. nabokov even has a fictional preface from the pov of a scholar doing research, flat-out telling us that humbert is a bad guy and Do Not Trust Him. and yet, lolita has been misinterpreted and vilified for decades now.

in that same vein, the implied author is the reason that some stories put a bad taste in our mouths. it’s how we reach the conclusion that a story is racist or sexist or homophobic outside the literal depictions of racism, sexism, and homophobia. how can you witness racism taking place in a story and know that it’s speaking to the experience of racism and not advocating for racism? that’s the presence of the implied author. sometimes, though, you can’t tell. sometimes a writer tries to speak to the experience of something and fails at making clear their own awareness. or sometimes, they’re just not aware at all. 

in fanfiction, the implied author takes place, in part, in the tags. i remember stumbling upon a fic written by a purity officer which depicted an extremely unhealthy, non-negotiated power dynamic. and none of it was tagged. i had no evidence the author was aware that they were even writing something “problematic.” obviously i support their right to depict whatever kind of relationship they want for whatever reason they want, but i did find it a bit off-putting, that this person who was a known harasser in fandom had no seeming understanding that they were writing the very kind of fic they were rallying against.

but, you know, my hands aren’t clean either. until the MFA, i was a very poor reader. for example, in 2010 i read the hunger games for the first time. in 2020 i re-read the series on my kindle, where all my annotations from 2010 had been saved, and so i got to see all my glaring misinterpretations of the text. every time katniss has to get dolled up in the capitol and made beautiful, i left a note like “ugh,” because i thought all depictions of performative femininity were Bad. even though thg is a YA book and i was an honors student in college, i was still unable to see that katniss’s beautifying was commentary on consumerism. i was oblivious to collins’ implied author, the presence in the book that is shaking you by the shoulders and going, THIS IS WHAT’S WRONG WITH SOCIETY. 

but sometimes, like in your case, the opposite situation occurs: you the reader are wider than the implied author, and so some books have little to offer you in terms of depth or insight into the human experience. i don’t mean that to sound pretentious or anything; what i mean is, we all read at different skill levels and for different reasons, and we all get different things out of the stories we read. we’re all at different places in our reading lives, and we all have room to grow.

i hope i explained this clearly enough! hopefully one day i’ll be able to write a formal essay on this, because booth wrote about it in the 60s and a lot has happened in fiction since then. 

[tobiosmilktea]

ahh omg requests are opened !! can i request atsumu, iwa, kenma, and tsukki angst to fluff kinda thing where they get into a big fight and the boys blow up on the reader but make up at the end? pls make me cry but also go “💘🥺”,, thank you so much !!!

- 🧋

kiss and make up with atsumu, iwaizumi, kenma, and tsukishima

— m. atsumu

being with atsumu,, it’s no surprise that you two occasionally get into a few arguments here and there

they honestly range from the tiniest little, insignificant things from what to get for dinner to whether or not pineapple belongs on pizza aka things most people probably wouldn’t even bat an eye at

you were used to it considering how atsumu is, but his personality is what you liked most about him with how he’s constantly having you on your feet —never knowing what he’ll do next

they’re quiet funny at the end of the day and that back and forth banter is just another way you two show how much you care about each other

with that being said, no matter what you two are arguing about, it’s always lighthearted and not so serious

that’s why it honestly took you by surprise how atsumu’s typically nonchalant and teasing nature whenever you guys “argue” over something was something you’ve never seen before

very rarely did you ever see this man get incredibly angry and you’ve even seen all of his games where things weren’t going right

and perhaps that’s where the root of this argument started in the first place

dating a famous division 1 volleyball player who is well loved and respected, it’s hard being able to spend the proper time with him when he’s constantly travelling or getting recognized whenever you two are out on a date

you weren’t exactly complaining about this problem to atsumu after he came back from a tiresome and strenuous day of practice as you knew that it was going to be like this when you two first met

if anything, it was just a concern you voiced out that you obviously weren’t expecting him to solve with a snap of his fingers

“and what the fuck do you want me to do about it, (y/n)?” he snapped at you, venom coated his words like tar

you looked at him with widened eyes as a mixture of confusion and utter offense melted upon your expression

atsumu was notorious for using foul language on a daily basis, but never had he ever swore at you and it’s safe to say you like to keep that same energy with him

you scoffed at him, still a bit dumbfounded, “i’m not expecting you to fix anything over night, i was just saying.”

“as if i already didn’t know how hard it is to find time to spend together.”

“so, are you just treating me like an idiot now?”

it was late, you were tired just as much as atsumu was and you certainly weren’t in the mood to argue with him anymore

before you could even let him answer, you walked away from him and entered your bedroom withy a slammed door

you hated going to bed angry, but there honestly wasn’t anymore moral within you to even continue whatever leftover conversation between you and atsumu

perhaps giving time for something this to simmer until the morning would be enough to make sure your fatigue wasn’t blurring your thoughts knowing how dangerous misunderstandings can be

a few minutes later, atsumu enters the room, eyes scanning over your figure beneath the sheets as your breathing subsided

he thought you were fast asleep, but your mind was still awake and racing with the worse case scenarios. it made it so much more difficult now that atsumu laid beside you

he would wrap his arms around you, “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have yelled at you.” whispering in a hushed, muffled voice. you could feel the way his lips pecked at you shoulder then up to your temple

you weren’t sure if he knew you were awake or not as you swore he could’ve heard your heart pounding

without uttering another word, you turn towards him, burying your head into the crook of his neck

you were just glad his warmth was still here

— i. hajime

you believe one of your biggest flexes within your relationship with iwa is that you two rarely argue or get into childish fights

sure, there were disagreements here and there, but most of them were minuscule decisions on what outfit to where that day or what restaurant you two wanted to eat at. most of which would be decided with a harmless game of rock, paper, scissors or nose goes lmao

other than constantly bickering with oikawa, iwaizumi isn’t really the type to get into shouting contests with you unlike with his best friend (most of which is started by oikawa anyway)

because of this, you weren’t really expecting to get into a fight with your boyfriend, and yet, it wasn’t like you weren’t used to him doing so

at the end of the day, you always ended up being the moderator of iwaizumi and oikawa’s loud back and forth banter if things got too rowdy

so never in a million years were you expecting oikawa to be taking your place at this very moment

poor dude doesn’t know what to do

he’s used to third wheeling you and iwa being all lovey dovey, but now that you two were in the midst of a midafternoon shouting contest, he’s completely dumbfounded

oikawa couldn’t help but feel bad for you as technically the whole reason why you and iwaizumi were arguing in the first place was because of him

long story short, iwa was sick and tired of oikawa flirting with you all the time despite only doing it to tease him

you were well aware of this as well, playing along with oikawa’s flirts just to tease your boyfriend

you didn’t see any harm in it as you made it very clear the moment you confessed to iwaizumi that you liked him and not his best friend (who you more or less saw as a brother over anything)

“listen, i’m sorry i was only playing around.” you apologize, throat already aching from the amount of stress you had already put on it

“if you were only playing around, then you wouldn’t be flirting with him everyday!” spat iwaizumi as he flickering a harsh look to oikawa who backed a good six feet away from you two (social distancing king lmao)

you honestly didn’t know what to say as a lump formed in your throat, rendering you speechless. granted, he had a point, but how couldn’t he overlook the way you only had eyes for him? the way you would “flirt” with oikawa they always tended to be backhanded, the way you would always kiss iwa after each of oikawa’s attempts to flirt, or how you would constantly remind him how much you loved him

it hurt slightly knowing how it was all overlooked by harmless teases

regardless,, it had to stop

before you could  apologize once more and say you’ll stop, iwaizumi huffs, “just say that you wanted him the entire time and not me.” before walking away entirely

your eyes widened, turning over towards a distanced oikawa who had the same look of surprise before motioning a hand towards your boyfriend, “well, go after him!”

with missing a beat, you ran down the block to catch up to iwaizumi, spreading your arms and throwing it around him as you bury your face into his back

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have done that.” your voice muffled into his uniform shirt, “i only like you, iwa, you have to believe me.”

your hands that were firmly clasped together to prevent him from breaking out of your embrace was slowly pulled apart by iwaizumi, feeling his entire body turn to face towards you

“idiot,” he muses with that same embrace

— k. kenma

i don’t think argument are common between you and kenma

he’s probably too preoccupied with playing video games or sleeping to even bother starting a fight over mindless disagreements

you were glad that you didn’t have to deal with such burdens of fighting with your significant other, but at the same time, you believed that small disagreements in relationships showed just how much you cared for the other

it showed how they were looking out for you if you were to ever make a terrible decision, and yet kenma would only bat an eye at you and shrug whenever you ask him for advice

in the end, you’d end up fucking something up or get hurt

or whenever you’d ask your boyfriend what he thinks about a specific outfit, he barely spare your a glance before uttering the words, “yeah, looks great babe.”

it sounded almost crazy to say, but sometimes you wished for you and kenma to get into arguments sometimes

not ones so serious it would lead to a significant gap within your relationship, but rather the ones the led for you guys to communicate more

besides, it’s not like you guys communicate a lot in the first place

you first brought up this concern when you came over to his apartment to which he was (surprise surprise) still playing video games

you didn’t mind about his hobbies as that’s what he liked most, but sometimes you just wished he would give you the proper attention for once

“hey,” you’d call out to him in the dark room, shaking a plastic bag in your hand in the hopes it would capture his attention, “i bought takoyaki!”

and to your low expectations, kenma simply hums as he clicks rapidly at his keyboard

your brows furrow as you pondered to yourself, what will get his attention?

“i also brought my boyfriend with me!” you lied just to see if his expression would even change

and what do ya know, it doesn’t. it’s the same focused deadpan on his computer screen, “no you didn’t, your boyfriends right here?”

you were at the end of your rope

“then why doesn’t my boyfriend come over here and act like it?” you hissed, “last time i checked, boyfriends get excited whenever they see their significant other and not over genshin characters.”

now that was a bite to kenma’s ego as he finally pulled his eyes away from the screen and towards you. “what?” he says, confused.

“do you even like me anymore?”

kenma scoffs almost dumbfounded, “of course i do, how could you say that?”

“because i experience it everyday, kenma.” you confess, fighting to keep your heavy gaze onto your boyfriend as he approaches you. “every time i come by i always see you at your desk in front of your computer. you never greet me first and unless i verbally say something, you probably won’t even notice that i’m here.” you voice broke slightly

“i-i’m sorry, (y/n)—”

“do you ever stop and think of the fact that the only times we see each other if from me visiting you? if i were just to stop one day i’d figure we wouldn’t even have a relationship in the first place.” you sigh as you shook your head, “you probably wouldn’t even notice, anyway.”

almost immediately does kenma wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace, almost as if he feared that you would disappear if he were to let go in the slightest

he places a kiss on your forehead before resting his own against yours, “i don’t ever want to hear those words come from you every again, (y/n). i’m so so sorry, i’ll promise to be better.”

you melted within his embrace, feigning a smile from appearing as you quickly give him a peck before remembering that the bag of food you bought was still in your hand

“let’s start by eating before the food gets cold.”

— t. kei

unlike the rest of the previously mentioned boys, arguments are pretty common between you and tsukishima considering his nature

he’s constantly teasing and making fun of you, but all of which were just jokes not meant to be taken seriously and you were well aware of this too

it’s probably the main reason why tsuki found himself so enamored with you as you constantly matched his energy 

you two were shockingly similar with your humor and your smugness, but the main differences between the two of you was you academics

it’s not surprise how tsukishima is always at the top of his class while you’re always at the bottom of it

considering this, the majority of your dates during the week with him are usually study dates or normal dates that end with the two of  you either at the library or each other’s houses studying material for the following day’s test

it was clear that in order to date each other, you both had to have patience

you weren’t exactly the fastest learner and you easily got distracted with things around you that you’re honestly surprised that tsukishima’s nonexistent patience was still up and active

besides, he loved you. he had to understand your difficulties as most of the time you can’t help it, but at the same time his personality was like treading on broken glass

usually he had enough patience to last an entire two hour study session with you, but today was oddly different

nothing was going right with tsukishima’s day and he just got absolutely annoyed with every little thing from a person bumping into him in the halls to a stain on his uniform that you could barely even notice

right now, this was the tenth time he found you tuning him out and daydreaming

his knuckled turned alabaster from the pressure of squeezing his mechanical pencil. he huffed, trying to calm himself down as he rubbed his aching temples

“(y/n), were you even listening to what i was—”

“do you think giraffes know where other giraffes are from?” you interrupted him with another one of your mindless tangents, “like considering how the pattern of a giraffe’s fur depends on what regent they’re from, do you think a giraffe from southern africa could tell if another if from western africa—”

tsukishima was at his limit, “can’t you just shut the fuck up and focus for five minutes, (y/n)?” he shouts at you, “i swear, you wouldn’t be failing if you just listened for once.”

he huffs out in annoyance, completely ignoring the way the brightness in your expression fell into a frown

you weren’t mad as you honestly couldn’t blame him. having learning difficulties and a short attention span was burdening you boyfriend so much that he isn’t even obligated to be doing this for you

he was sacrificing his time tutoring you and you’re just wasting it

“i’m sorry i can’t learn as easily as you,” you mutter softly, picking up your things quickly

tsukishima gives you a look of confusion, “w-where are you going?”

“thanks for all your help, but i can’t keep wasting your time like this.” you say as you zipped up your backpack and left

the next day you walked to school alone. usually you would be walking with tsukishima and yamaguchi, but it seemed like even tadashi wasn’t there to wait outside your house either

you weren’t able to hide your melancholy as you entered your classroom, slightly glad that tsukishima and yamaguchi weren’t here yet to see your expression

it allowed you time to pull yourself together, and yet, that time alone was cut short as the two walked in

you briefly flicker them a look fast enough that they don’t notice, but long enough for you to see yamaguchi patting his best friend on the back with encouragement

tsukishima had something in his hands, but you were too far away to construe them

you looked back down to your desk, fiddling with you pencil and pretending as if you were thinking about what to write next

it was then did footsteps approach, arriving right next to you with a presence so unwavering

you gulped, hoping that it wasn’t who you thought it was as you looked it

of course it just had to be that one lanky boy with glasses and messy blond hair to be standing by your side

he was holding a stuffed giraffe and a small white box with string neatly tied around it

“i’m sorry for blowing up on you,” he bursts out his apology, “i know you have a hard time and i should’ve remembered that you can’t help it.”

he places the giraffe plushy and box onto your desk

“it’s an masai giraffe since i remembered you liking their unique fur pattern and i also got you strawberry short cake this morning before they ran out that’s why i wasn’t there to walk you to school.” tsukishima continues explaining, “i just hope you’re not angry with me.”

you felt a smile creeping up to your lips as you shook your head, “i could never.”

[maxwell-grant]

Cass wouldn’t even begrudingly tolerate [the Black Bat], because she’s even less lenient than Bruce on killing and far more willing to throw down.' - THANK YOU for remembering that.

Cass is my favorite Batfam member, the only one really that I have an active interest in reading about. I'd be incredibly ignorant to not bring bring up such a crucial aspect of her characterization. And even if I didn't personally care for her, well, last thing I'd want is to be another source of frustration for Cass fans. Lord knows there's enough of those to go around.

mousebrass also asked: On that note, how do you imagine a meeting between Cass and the Shadow going?

Fair warning: This one took me 6 hours to write, and it became a hell of a lot longer than I imagined. I liked Cass a lot, but I never quite realized I had this many feelings regarding her until I was tasked with writing this, and a lot of things clicked for me regarding my plans for The Shadow thanks to this ask. @mousebrass, thank you. I mean it. I think I may have found something here I've spent years looking for. Hope you enjoy the post.

I'm thankful that this scenario is only really taking place in a hypothetical fanon where both characters can get a fair shot, because I wouldn't trust DC with this premise. I don't trust DC with either of them as is.

There's a lot of ways that this crossover could go on about taking place naturally, initially because Cass is already connected to some of Batman's pulpier elements, due to her connections to Lady Shiva and the League of Assassins, and one could connect Cass to Myra Reldon (who really should just be race swapped if ever brought back so she can stand out as the cool character she is, without the yellowface gimmick holding her back). There's two things I think are crucial to making the most of this idea, and the first of which has to do with the subject of killing. I usually don't like to come up with hypothetical team-ups for The Shadow that focus too much on the fact that he kills, because it's far from the most significant aspect of his character to focus on, much of it is written from a wrong understanding of the character, and it never amounts to anything other than perfunctory. But here, not only is it completely unavoidable to discuss, here there is actually a very, very substantial grounding as to why this has to be such a big part of the story.

The first and foremost thing that's gotta be established to everyone reading that doesn't know already is this: Cassandra Cain, more so than Batman, more so than any other DCU hero, has a tolerance towards murder lower than zero, and this is completely non-negotiable. She will throw herself on the path of an assault rifle to stop men trying to kill her from accidentally killing each other. The defining moment of her incredibly grim backstory is that she was trained from birth to be the world's greatest murderer, and her first kill traumatized her so badly that she has pivoted as far away from that as possible. I stress a lot that the Shadow should not be written as the trigger-happy maniac comics made him into and that the pulp version killed mostly to defend himself and others, generally left criminals to the police if possible, offered plenty of second-chances, had stories dedicated to the rehabilitation of criminals and so on, but none of this would matter to Cass.

Cass has literally chosen suicide over the prospect of living with murder on her hands time and time again, and The Shadow kills. When he kills, he does so without remorse, with unshakeable certainty. He hates death, he doesn't want lives to be at risk in the first place. But people will die if he doesn't do anything, and what he can do, what he exists to do, is turn the tools of evil against evil, and murder is the oldest tool of evil there is. He doesn't kill because a war scarred him, he doesn't kill because he's got a demon in his soul, he doesn't kill because he's mentally off balance, he doesn't kill because he's evil or sadistic or arrogant or anything of the sort. He kills because the men he fights chose death when they sought to harm innocents and fire guns at him. He kills because he is Death itself.

Regardless of how compassionate he is or can be, regardless of the fact that he's motivated by a desire to protect people, regardless of how justified he is, he is still dropping corpses and laughing maniacally doing so. Cass's real arch-enemy isn't Shiva or David Cain, it's Death, it's the thing that she's fundamentally most opposed to. And guess what The Shadow gets compared to often enough? Literally the very first line of the very first book where we get to see him, this is how we are introduced to him:

So the premise here is that we are taking a character who is defined by her fundamental opposition to death with every fiber of her being, who understands death on a level no other human being does, who is traumatized and hard-wired to detest death at all costs and to choose suicide over it, and asking her to team up with The Grim Reaper.

Even if he received the most abject lesson conceivable on the sheer wrongness of murder, even if he does put down the guns around Cass out of respect for her, he cannot protect his agents and others if he cannot shoot or kill those who try to harm them, and the protection of the agents is absolutely non-negotiable and not at all something he's willing to fuck around with by trying out gadget kung fu superhero alternatives. The Shadow has chosen to throw his life away for their sake time and time again, and no matter how appaling or disgusting Cass finds his deeds, even if he concedes that she's right and should be right on all accounts and that he is fundamentally a monster who has no right to judge others, he would not concede on his mission and he would make it very clear she would have to put him down violently to stop him from protecting others this way, and death has not stopped him before.

And to be upfront in case there's anyone who doubts it, Cass would kick The Shadow's ass, if they had to fight. She is the strongest fighter in the DCU, she lives and breathes fighting and combat in a way no one else does. And The Shadow's not one of those characters who is supposed to be invincible and the best at everything all the time always, he can and does lose fights and scrapes to people far less adept at it than Cass. He's a great fighter, obviously, he hauls bigger men than him through doors and was disabling people with Vulcan neck pinches decades before Spock, and he would definitely have an edge in other areas, but he's out of his league here. Frankly, I don't see The Shadow raising a finger against Cass unless she's been brainwashed into killing people by bad writing. Not because she's a woman, that doesn't really stop him from dealing with evil. But because, for one, she's practically a child compared to him age-wise. Two, he'd obviously know beforehand of her capabilities and how futile it would be to fight or even provoke her. And three, the Shadow's whole thing is knowing. The Shadow Knows and all that. Knowing comes with understanding.

He'd understand very quickly that there is no way someone this young could grow so quickly into the world's greatest fighter without horrific treatment that no one should ever be subjected to. He'd see the movements too practiced and quick, the self-control, the strength and speed far beyond even the trained warriors he's seen, the places where she's been scarred and is good at covering it up. Assuming he doesn't already know about her life story, any meeting between the two would lead to him very quickly figuring out that there's something much deeper about her opposition to killing than just moral reservations, something deeper than Bruce's own gun trauma.

Denny O'Neil's 2nd Batman and Shadow story was about The Shadow secretly helping Bruce overcome gun trauma, and Bruce rejecting The Shadow's intentions to hand him a gun. And to make it clear, people tend to assume that The Shadow only helps people for utilitarian reasons, which is not true as I've tried to demonstrate many times now. I don't want to convey that he would want to help Cass overcome her trauma just so she could be more efficient or something, absolutely no, he'd help her because he helps people in any way he can. I think a story with The Shadow and Cass might involve a similar premise, The Shadow understanding that she has been traumatized very deeply by death and refuses to accept it on any terms, trying to help her overcome it, only to learn that she does not want to "learn" anything she doesn't already know, that she has weaponized her trauma into a source of strength, and wishes nothing more than to help others with it.

And here's where we get to the part that allows the two to be on less antagonistic terms, because one thing that also very strongly defines Cass, at least the Cass I like reading most, is her stubborn, almost desperate need to believe in the best of people, that people can and will change for the better. Like The Shadow, her strength too is knowing, it's perception, the things that she knows about people that words cannot convey. Just as there are many things The Shadow would grow to understand about her that others would not, there would be many things that The Shadow would not be able to conceal from her. Things that no one but her would figure out. Things that, despite her age and lack of experience compared to him, he would have to defer to her knowledge on, which reverses the usual dynamic The Shadow has with people. And perhaps one aspect of that reversal, it's that maybe it's she who winds up secretly manipulating The Shadow into overcoming a deeper issue.

Cass's perspective on killing is shaped not just through trauma, but from a painfully intimate understanding of not just what happens to someone at the time of death, but the cost of murder upon the human soul, the ways it warps people into things they never should have been. Killing is a deeply, deeply serious matter, much more so than fiction seems ever willing to go into. Of course we suspend disbelief for fiction, there's nothing wrong with that, but if a story starts asking questions, starts poking holes into fantasies, they should not be disregarded.

And so it begs a question: How has it affected The Shadow? Is he really as remorseless as he appears to be? Is the fact that he's only killing evil people really of that much use? What's the cost of living as someone who has to know so much about so much evil in so many hearts? Knowledge never comes without price, and knowing evil is his tagline. When he enlists Harry Vincent, he makes it very clear that he has lost lives as he has saved them. From when is that regret coming from? What lives did he lose then? Is he saving people by damning his soul or merely prolonging the inevitable by piling corpses on another end of the scale?

If there's a character that could meaningfully start bringing these questions forth, who could ever truly get The Shadow to stop and reveal things to the audience he never would otherwise, maybe Cass could be that character. A girl who was raised to be a monster, who is treated as a monster and an aberration in-universe (and even outside of it), and turned that into a strength she uses to help others, who cares about everyone and refuses to let others be dehumanized as she was. Who better to know what lurks in the Shadow's heart?

Sometimes when I get an ask, I bullshit my way through infodump walls of text until I can structure it into something vaguely resembling a point. And sometimes, and I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I get a very, very clear word on my mind related to it before I start writing, that almost seems to be a beacon pointing where I need to get to, and I work my way into getting there. Once you sent me an ask about crossing over The Shadow with Cassandra Cain, the word that came to mind the very second was Language.

It's an interesting relation the two have with language. Language is of course a very substantial part of Cass's character, who does not process language and linguistic development the way most people do, and instead reads body language to the point of superpower. Many stories revolve around Cass's relation to the concept of language, the help she may require from others in getting around things beyond her upbringing, and ways in which she has mastered beyond anyone's scope. Though she is mute, language is her power, what makes her what she is, and she is someone that Batman freely admits could kick his ass if she ever felt like it.

For The Shadow, language is also his power. He speaks all languages and connects allies all over the world, he is an expert ventriloquist, he is able to project his voice beyond what's physically possible, he can imitate voices perfectly to the point of being able to conduct group conversations single-handedly well enough to fool even the people whose voices he's imitating, much of his presence and terror and manipulation are done through his voice, arguably the very reason he exists in the first place is entirely because a radio actor's voice performance was so good and captivating that it tricked people into thinking the character was a real star and not just a glorified narrator. The man you cannot see, but only hear, the perfect hero for radio. And then of course the laugh, which I have a whole separate post on and which, in many ways, acts as a substitute for language in the novels. He uses the laugh so often as a substitute for statements or words, even to himself, that it's pretty much his own personal language. And language is at the core of how he deals with people, as he knows the right language to use to manipulate and move and help them. He knows what to promise, what to reveal, what to omit. He knows what to say, how to say it, when to say it. Language is the strings by which he puppeteers the world around him (and he can talk to animals, at least of one kind).

The Shadow and Cassandra Cain have mastered two different types of Language as throughly as anyone can possibly master them. The Shadow can talk a group of hardened criminals into killing themselves, Cassandra can punch a heart into stopping without killing it. The Shadow echoes his voice "through everywhere and nowhere at once" to whip crowds of thugs into frenzies, Cassandra outraces missiles and was tanking bullets as a child. The Shadow can lie and usurp lives so masterfully to fool even the families of those he's passing off as, Cassandra is a living lie detector who gleams inner conversations from miniscule reactions. The Shadow can speak every language known, Cassandra is the greatest master of the world's most universal language other than music. The two are supposedly human, but every now and then, something comes along to call that into question because of the things they can achieve. They cannot hide secrets from each other the way they do to everyone else. They are driven by a deep desire to help others, to make something out of the circumstances of their lives. To weaponize that which dictates they should be evil and monstrous into a relentless force of good.

Language is the root of understanding. And if nothing else, as impossible as a conciliation of their approaches to crimefighting may be, I think there could be an unique understanding between the two. Perhaps, and this is a bit crazier a concept but one that seems to be where I might have been heading towards all along, even Cassandra Cain finding a calling away from the frayed dynamics of the Batfamily, away from the Bat's looming presence, to become The Shadow's successor, swearing to uphold a mission of justice through non-lethal tactics while he stays on the backseat guiding her. If The Shadow could trust the safety of his agents and the protection of the innocent at the hands of someone as capable and selfless and good-natured as Cassandra, I think he'd be all too happy to be able to trust someone in such a manner, to no longer be the Master of Darkness, but instead to serve the next generation that's weaponized darkness without submerging in it. To achieve, and perhaps return, to his strongest, highest self: A disembodied voice heard, but not seen. Once again the narrator, not the star.

It's a concept I've thought about very extensively for the years I've been a Shadow fan, but now it occurs to me that, if I had to appoint a successor of The Shadow, someone who could take up the mission but shine on their own right, even improve it with the right guidance and circumstances, it would be Cassandra Cain. The Orphan, The Shadow of the Batgirl. Daughter of the greatest assassins, meant to be the world's most lethal murderer, instead pivoted to being one of it's greatest heroes, but never allowed to shine as she should. But in the darker, less restrictive and wilder world of pulp heroes, in The Shadow's world, a beacon would shine all the harder. Perfect strengths attached to perfect opposites, joined together for a greater good, unstoppable after together having weaponized that which most take for granted: the power of language to move worlds.

[levitatingbiscuits]

For the Obi-Wan prompt, he is undercover somewhere for shadow work and meets jango, they have a fun time, and then years later they see each other on Kamino and instead of thinking Obi-Wan is actually a Jedi jango thinks he’s pretending to be a Jedi

“What the kriff are you doing here?” Jango hissed, once Taun We had left his quarters.

Ben, the karking idiot, had gone the color of spoilt milk at the sight of him. He was lucky Jango hadn’t blown his cover and gotten him tossed into the ocean or executed by clone firing squad for impersonating a Jedi.

“Dad?” Boba asked, losing the cute but ineffectual glower he’d been giving the supposed interloper.

“Everything’s fine, Boba,” Jango said, watching the fascinated glance Ben cast at his son. Ben was honorable, as far as bounty hunters went, but Jango would make sure to threaten him just in case. A lot of people would pay an obscene amount for something to hold over his head, and Jango had very little in the galaxy he cared for other than Boba. “Go work on your modules, we’re gonna talk shop.”

Boba’s eyes sharpened with interest, knowing by now what his father’s trade entailed, and he gave Ben an assessing look. Ben was unassuming when he wanted to be--disguising himself as someone important wasn’t his style, but he’d done a damn fine job with his cover, as he always did. He was carrying himself like a Jedi. He even had what looked like a kriffing lightsaber hilt tucked into his belt, though Jango wasn’t sure if it was a replica or if Ben had somehow managed to get his hands on the real deal. It wouldn’t exactly surprise him if he had; Ben was good at what he did, even if Jango was better.

“It was good to meet you, young one,” Ben said, in that stilted but sincere way he had with kids. Boba rolled his eyes as he left, and Jango didn’t bother to stifle his smile. He doubted that Boba had made Ben’s first few minutes on Kamino especially pleasant.

“Answer the question, Ben,” Jango said, once Boba was safely in his room. The little womp rat probably had his ear pressed to it, just like Jango used to do when Jaster held war counsels, way back when. “What are you doing here?”

Ben still looked a little like he’d been cold cocked at the sight of him, but he was getting over it quickly. It was a trait Jango appreciated just as much as he mistrusted. Ben had never screwed him over before (at least not in a way Jango hadn’t enthusiastically reciprocated and participated in, at any rate), but Jango had been in the game too long to trust a bounty hunter who was good at their job.

“I was hired to track down the person who put a hit out on a senator. I wasn’t aware it was you I’d be dealing with or I wouldn’t have come.”

Jango smiled again at that; Ben had the oddest way of pulling those out of him without even trying. Most bounty hunters would never admit to something like that, because they worked in an industry where you really couldn’t afford the resultant loss of face, but Ben had always been an oddball. It was a breath of fresh air to hear someone self-deprecate when most bounty hunters preferred to self-aggrandize.

Of course, Ben was too skilled, and Jango too smart to fall for it--but he admired Ben’s dedication to his cowardly, pragmatic facade. He might have believed it if Ben hadn’t saved his life in situations where he stood to gain nothing from it. The man was about as noble as a bounty hunter could be, with a healthy serving of death wish, to boot.

“That quick, huh. Hadn’t known you were on Coruscant. If I did I would’ve subcontracted to you instead of Wesell.”

“Yes, well, I’m currently in the employ of your target, and I won’t be swayed without a much more significant percentage of the payout than you’re willing to give.” He hesitated, tugging contemplatively at his beard, then said, “Naboo is a very wealthy planet, you know--”

“Not happening for me either, though I appreciate the offer. My employer isn’t someone I want to cross.” Yet.

“I see,” Ben said. “Well, I don’t suppose you’d be willing to talk about your... other contracts?”

He sent a significant glance at Boba’s door.

“Boba’s not a product,” Jango said sharply. “He was the reward.” That’s what the others are. Products. I have only one son.

“I didn’t mean to insult your family in such a way,” Ben said delicately, though he almost certainly had. Jango let it slide; up until a few minutes ago, he hadn’t known his colleague, rival, and occasional fuckbuddy had a son. All things considered, he was taking everything very well.

And the Jedi might receive the intel better if it was Ben selling it to them. After all, a clone army with the Jedi Killer’s face was always going to be a hard sell, and Ben was a born salesman. Jango had worked too hard for his revenge for it to falter now.

And... he found he wanted Ben and Boba to get to know each other. As it stood, the only other bounty hunter Boba knew was Aurra Sing, and as much as Jango respected her she was hardly a role model. He still had his Mandalorian sense of honor, and Ben was the only other bounty hunter he knew who had even a semblance of a moral code.

That was the only reason he wanted Ben to meet his son.

Besides, they hadn’t slept together in years, and Jango was nothing if not an opportunist.

“Why don’t you stay for dinner, and we’ll see if we can work something out.”

[aardvaark]

it was semi-believable back when there was hardly such a thing as an accessible internet, BUT no one could feasibly have a secret identity as a superhero these days due to social media lemme just. okay. 

we have paparazzi for celebrities, its gonna be 100x more for superheroes realistically. they would have a fanbase online who would clearly want to find out who they are. plus i think c*ps might be trying to find them.

let’s take spiderman as an example. it should have taken a few months at most imo. even though he has a fully body suit, we still have criteria for him

- male (spider*man*, stereotypical body shaping, ‘masculine’-coded voice, etc) - young. age bracket would be about 15-25, and though they wouldn’t exactly expect someone that young, people are going to be lenient with age. and he’s clearly not very old - again, voice, use of language, appearance - primarily english-speaking w/american accent.  - you can get a very accurate height from photos & videos (as we know from that one dude on tiktok), and there is a LOT of media of spiderman - lives in NY - muscular to an extent, athletic physique, somewhat thin. 

ofc you can be like “well that barely helps” but heres some stats.

7 billion ppl in the world.

8.4 million in NY.

4.2 million men in NY (roughly)

504,000 men in NY between 15-24 (about 12% of NY.)

352,800 men in NY between 15-24 whose first langauge is english/would likely have american coded accent (added a bit bc ppl with other langauges may easily still have an american-coded accent like Spiderman’s)

137592 men in NY between 15-24 similar accent height close to tom holland’s (which is current spiderman: 39%)

42654 men in NY right age right height right langauge/accent similar physique (69% americans considered overweight or obese)

38389 ‘’ who do not have a disability which would make it actually not possible for them to do what spiderman has done (note: i still firmly believe anyone could be spiderman, à la the entire movie about Miles Morales and a cartoon pig and a black and white old detective movies guy etc etc, but videos and stuff from THIS specific reality have shown spiderman do certain stunts, walk without aid for long periods of time, etc. this list is not about ‘who can be spiderman’ but about ‘who from his universe could be this person whose superhero identity is spiderman’)

so now we’ve narrowed down 8.4 mil to 38389. just under 0.46% of NY is still eligible by discounting ppl on very basic facts. thats still a whole lot, but its... a significant amount less. now we make some assumptions. 

he’s at an age where he would be at school, college or an apprenticeship. let’s be real, none of those are particularly flexible. you have a new criterion: search for ppl with high absences in education OR absences whenever spiderman is around during the day. its only a little, but its all you need. all you need is access to some school records, and it seems like just about anyone with any interest in tech in the universe spiderman is in, has the skills to break into literally all records ever, so this isn’t even a reach. (peter obviously would have to meet this criteria, plus being ‘lost’ on field trips an awful lot)

another group you would search would be anyone close to tony stark or that works at stark industries, for possible candidates. we know he’s getting tech from somewhere and is seen w the avengers on occasion or where they are. (peter’s... internship... meets this criteria. the fact that its sorta unofficial and unexplained makes it that much dodgier.)

another group is young men of over-average IQ or do ‘intellectual’ things. boys who are really into science, essentially. cause he had to make his suit somehow, he has to be keeping up grades to some extent, he has to be smart to get away w it, he has to manufacture web fluid. you’d search participants in competitions, awards that are handed out to school and college students, scholarship programs for science, etc. (peter does meet this criteria in fact; academic decathalon, science school, high grades.)

so essentially your method would be: 

to go through (students) + (ppl close to stark industries) + (highly intelligent). we can assume a candidate would meet AT LEAST ONE of these points (peter meets all 3). 

file out anyone who isn’t in that, like, less than 0.5% of people who fit his physical description

suddenly you have a far more concise list, of which you can count out anyone who has an obviously different body shape/features/etc which completely don’t coincide with all the images of spiderman

suddenly you have a far more concise list of people to track.

from here, you want to find anything dodgy, like the weird stark internship thing which sorta just got made for peter parker, or ppl with excessive injuries, sick days, etc

AND this is all based on the assumption that no one’s been snapping shots of him while even a small bit of his skin is exposed (eg if he is injured), or that he’s never given any information whatsoever about himself like having an aunt or what colour his hair is or his favourite flavour soup. and that no one has ever followed him home at least a short way.

if we use some of those, then

we would know he’s either white, very light-skinned or has vitiligo (depends how much skin exposed)

we would know he’s vaguely from queens & surrounding area

we could discount people whose favourite soup flavour is tomato or something idek

my point being, it gets narrower and narrower. you’d end up with at most like 30 subjects, who you would monitor and someone might even leak the names. this is just something fans (who don’t care about his safety much) could do, but imagine if you were his enemy and actually had to find him. or stark did it, right? it’s just not particularly hard. i very firmly believe ppl would find him. i dont agree w it, cause tbh i’d rather a superhero keep their secret identity or else they’d get prosecuted and stuff by c*ps, but ppl would likely do this. and this is a superhero whose face we have never seen, much less his skin or eye colour hair colour etc.

tl;dr clark kent needs to fucking step it up my dude

[akari-hope]

how would someone deal w a problematic hyperfixation? like harry potter for example? /srs

that's a good question! obv this is a pretty layered conversation, and this depends on the particular hyperfixation, but for the sake of being able to discuss at least somewhat how far this all goes, i'll focus on the example you gave.

quick note before i go into it though: EVERYTHING is problematic in some way. this is truly just a fact of life, and part of why this is such a difficult conversation to have. you're genuinely never going to find a piece of media that is without problems in one way or another. the difference is the degree of problems, and scope. so keep in mind from the start that i'm not going to take a "everything that's problematic needs to be thrown out" stance, bc that's just not realistic and we'd be left with nothing.

harry potter is a unique beast bc of joanne's transphobia and not inconsiderable money and power that she uses to lobby for it. it's not like enjoying works by lovecraft, who of course held many bigoted views but is now long dead. buying a lovecraft book does not directly provide monetary support to the bigotry. on the other hand, buying a harry potter book does. and even things that may not have a financial boon for joanne are still aiding to the popularity of the franchise, still aiding the platform she uses for her bigotry.

at the same time, it's impossible to say that people cannot have an emotional attachment to her work. ignoring the myriad of problematic elements for a moment (bc wow there really are a lot), joanne fundamentally wrote a story about a boy who was an outcast, who was unloved by the family he had, who didn't fit in, and found solace in others who were like him, just as weird and strange. it's impossible to ignore that, even if it was not intentional coding, that sort of story through a queer lens reads incredibly authentic and meaningful to the experiences of many queer people. i know many trans people in particular who found meaning in those books, and it's been a struggle for them to grapple with joanne's vocal hatred of them after feeling for years that maybe she understood, was an ally.

so it's already a bit of a moral conundrum. you can't support harry potter somehow without at least indirectly supporting joanne's transphobic lobbying. and the more you hear her speak about her bigoted views, the more you realize how much of that is in the books. and then you also run into the problem of your brain being latched onto it, unwilling to let go. it's genuinely a shitty situation.

now everyone can come to different conclusions about what is the "correct" course of action here. some people think that loudly enjoying harry potter with the addendum of "everyone is trans" is sufficient, death of the author as it were (quick note that isn't what death of the author means, but that is the claim people make). some people say you have to throw the whole thing out, become vocally against everything in it. some people say you have to enjoy within reason: don't buy merch but you can still read the books/watch the movies/etc., just pirate and you're all good.

and tbh i'm not going to tell anyone what's "right", bc this is a moral dilemma. not everyone's morals are going to align with mine. but if you're like me and joanne's views upset you too much, if the issues in the books are a little too uncomfortable to look past, if the idea that you might be funding hatred against your own group, against friends, against those you love keeps you up at night - it's definitely time to try and move on from it.

so, if you've settled on that course of action, what do you do? first off, you gradually limit your exposure. if you run a specific themed blog, write fanfic, draw fanart etc., those are the easiest things to start cutting out (mind you, you don't have to cut it out completely from the get go! maybe you write/draw but don't post as an example). if you desperately need to, reading/watching on physical media you already own is okay, or pirating instead. gradually weaning off is the key. eventually as you stop, the hyperfixation DOES begin to alleviate.

and again, this is only for this VERY particular piece of media under this very particular circumstance. were we in a lovecraft situation, where yes there's problems with the text but the man is dead and you're not funding bigotry, we truly wouldn't need to HAVE this conversation. my advice there would just be to consume responsibly and acknowledge the problems without making excuses for them. and to be clear, when the thing in question is not causing direct harm, that IS my advice. bc it bears repeating: everything is problematic in some way, and everyone is going to have a different threshold for what is a workable amount.

but when you have things like harry potter where you're funding transphobic policy, or attack on titan which is straight up japanese nationalist propaganda that can and has caused harm to real life people, this is when the conversation shifts less from "the media is problematic" to "this is actually affecting real life people". which...again, part of the reason this is such a layered conversation. honestly even with as long as i've rambled here about it, i've still barely scratched the surface of it all.

tldr: if your support/consumption of a particular piece of media is concretely (as in there is significant evidence and actual easy to identify examples of this) causing harm to real life people, it's time to consider weaning off of it by gradually limiting consumption, and not providing monetary support. if your support/consumption of a particular piece of media is NOT concretely causing harm to real life people and merely has problematic elements, acknowledgment of said elements and critical thinking is sufficient.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

11x02: Acheron, Part 2 - Analysis

Okay, let’s talk 11x02. And 11x01. Because it’s a two-part episode, it’s important to consider them together. I have a LOT to say about what’s going on in these two episodes, so I’ll have plenty to post all week. Let’s dive in!

***As always, spoilers abound below for TWD 11x02. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Maggie

The first thing we see is a point of view from under the train car. The instant I saw that, I knew how things would go. I never thought Maggie would die (if nothing else, there are scenes with her in the trailer we haven’t seen yet) but I was curious as to how she would survive. When I saw this POV, I knew she’d end up crawling under the train. Just as Glenn crawled under the dumpster. Massive parallels to Glenn. Which by extension, massive parallels to Beth. Major resurrection theme.

It's also important that when she reappears, she comes from underneath the car. Obviously, that’s logical given that she crawled underneath the car, but they make a point of asking if the pounding is coming from the roof. Gabriel says no and then they open the bottom hatch for her. Her coming up from the ground like that is a visual representation of a resurrection.

So we see Gabriel, Negan and the others enter the train car. The spatial details here are important, and I had to watch the episode twice to get them all straight. It’s a little confusing the first time. So, the group jumps down into the train car through a hatch in the roof because they couldn’t get the door open in the last episode. The thing is, if you watch closely, you come to realize they’re not in the train car on the end. They must have walked along the roof for two or three cars before finding a hatch that let them in.

So, when Gauge shows up, he comes behind them, and that confused me because I was thinking they came from that direction. And they did, but they entered through the roof, not the door. Anyway, they can’t get the door open. So honestly, even if they’d tried harder, I’m not sure they could have saved him.

This scene accomplished a lot of things, character-wise, that we need to touch on. It’s important to note that Gauge’s death happened due to his own choices. Does that mean he “deserved” to die or that they shouldn’t have tried to save him if they could have? Of course not. No on both counts. But that doesn’t change the fact that his choices sealed his fate.

It's especially interesting that he called Maggie a Liar. Not only is that a throwback to the Governor, but it’s a particular type of mentality they’re showing here. Even the fact that he didn’t shut the door behind him is really interesting. My first thought was to be annoyed with him. Why WOULDN’T you shut the door. You live in this world. You know better. But it’s all ego. He can’t imagine something bad will happen. He just assumes if it does, someone will save him.

But the most telling thing was how angry he got before saying Liar. It just shows very much how he approaches life. When he messes up, he doesn’t feel bad, and accept that it was his fault, and try to learn from it. No, instead he gets pissed and blames everyone but himself and his own actions.

If this had been Daryl or Gabriel or Alden or any of our other heroes, they would have recognized that opening the door would have gotten their friends and family killed and would have sacrificed themselves. Especially if they realized they’d screwed up. But Gauge became angry and defiant, even killing himself.

Anyway, I’m rambling. This really has nothing to do with Beth or TD other than perhaps being a future template for something. But I thought it was a really fascinating character sketch.

The thing is, this isn’t really a matter of Gauge being wrong and everyone else being right.

Maggie is…not doing so well either. As I told my fellow theorists, Paola Lazaro said in TTD last week that Maggie was kind of off the rails. I think she said that a little prematurely, because we really didn’t understand Maggie’s state of mind just by watching 10x17 and 11x01.

It's not until she tells that messed up story about the house she found and the people in it that we understand that her state of mind really isn’t at its healthiest. Even saying she wanted to kill Negan before is…understandable given their past. But it makes more sense now why Negan is so nervous. He’s sensing her state of mind that her moral conscience isn’t as strong as it once was, so of course he’s fearful for his life.

I don’t know where they’re going with this Maggie story line, but I have a feeling this attitude of hers will cause conflict down the road. Several of my fellow theorists believe it will cause a rift between her and Daryl. And we can see that somewhat through Alden. At first, he was very much defending Maggie, especially against Negan. He has a lot of loyalty to her. But he didn’t like her abandoning Gauge, and you can see his loyalties starting to waver.

At the very least, what she said about not feeling anything about it is the opposite of what Beth always stood for. Daryl was trying hard not to feel things during Still, in the wake of the prison going down. She made him feel things because that’s the only way a person is truly living, rather than just surviving. Now Maggie is in that state of mind.

And I’m gonna argue that makes it a prime time for Beth to return to help her. But of course I’m completely objective over here. ;D

Maggie’s Story:

Maggie’s story was definitely dark and horrible, but interesting to analyze. I’m assuming there was cannibalism going on there. That’s why the missing limbs. The men in the house were eating the female prisoners. No only a callback to Terminus, but remember that Bob’s leg was taken for food, so I’m sure that’s what we’re supposed to infer here.

She talked about no eyes, no tongue, no limbs, vocal cords ripped out. So definitely the see no evil, speak no evil themes. With the limbs, it’s also a matter of not being able to escape or save themselves.

In terms of the plot, I do have one question about this that I think may be significant. Maggie first talks about three deformed people (she says, “I wouldn’t call them men”) coming toward her. She kills them, and only after that hears the noise from the attic.

My question is, why were they deformed? If they’re “men,” then they must be at least Maggie’s age, if not older, which means they’ve been around since before the apocalypse began. Even eating human flesh doesn’t cause one to become deformed, so why the deformities? I have no idea, but I wondered if there is a radiation theme going on here. Something they’re hinting at, but not saying. Just thought that was intriguing.

After that, things go sideways and everyone almost dies until Daryl arrives to save the day. So, let’s skip to his story.

Daryl:

We first see him bust through a wall with Dog. So, dog took off in the last episode, but the first time we see Daryl, he’s already found Dog again. At least, the first time. This is where he sees the murals on the wall, the walker with the handcuff and the suitcase of money, etc. I already talked about most of that in great detail HERE, so I won’t rehash it, though it’s very important.

One thing I will say about the mural is that thematically, it’s a match to Still. So, in the golf club, we had lots of rich people who clearly hid there when the world first went bad. And I don’t remember this particularly, but several of my fellow theorists have told me they remember the TTD after Still and that the writers talked about how the golf club was a statement about the class system. You have these very rich people, but their wealth couldn’t save them. Death, walkers, the apocalypse…none of these things discriminate based on wealth or position.

On the wall, we see people with crowns standing at the top, but below, they are homeless, and one of them is being attacked and torn apart. Meanwhile, Daryl sees a line of text that says, “it comes for us all,” probably meaning death.

Well, guess what? Angela Kang, in talking about the murals, said that this, too, was a statement about the class system. So thematically, this is meant to be a parallel to Still.

It’s just interesting to contemplate because if you think about it, most of our heros—Rick, Daryl, the Greene family, etc—weren’t at all wealthy. Rick was humble and well-grounded. Hershel worked hard his whole life and never had any glory or fanfare. And then there’s Daryl, who was “nothing. No one.” They all survived.

So of course it’s a socioeconomic statement, but it’s also one about mindset. It takes not only grit to survive this world, but a certain amount of humility. Ego always gets you killed eventually, as it did with Gauge.

I’ll also mention that I thought the guy with the crown who was being torn apart was being set upon by walkers, but AK says they’re specifically not walkers. They’re people.

So, it’s not a coincidence that we see this juxtaposed with the Gauge situation. His ego gets him killed and we literally see him being torn apart because of it.

Moving on.

Daryl finds a bag with a $100 bill with a letter written on it. This is a massive TD clue from start to finish. 100 is an important number. The hundred dollar bill features Benjamin Franklin on the front and Independence Hall on the back. Look either of those up and you’ll find lots of fun parallels we could point to. I won’t go into all that today except to say it’s definitely part of the Revolution theme.

This is what’s written on the bill Daryl finds:

“Dear Dad, you always said if you don’t come back in a week to move on. Mom didn’t listen and went looking. It’s been three weeks, so we’re going next. I’ll watch Jesse and turn on the radio every day at 10. See you both soon. Love Tom and Jesse.”

He also finds a picture of two kids. So, the “three weeks” jumps out because of Rick’s line in 5x10, “it’s been three weeks since Atlanta.” It’s also about missing family members, going searching for them, etc. Possibly important that the mom is also missing. I can’t help but think of the song from Still. “Our mother has been absent, every since we founded Rome…”

There is a 10 in there, which is an important number. The turning the radio on every day is both the radio/airwaves theme (also a line from the song) but a callback to Rick and Morgan and their walkie talkies. So, really interesting symbols here.

The two kids immediately reminded me of Noah’s twin brothers. I don’t think these two are supposed to be twins. I’m assuming the brother is older. But still obviously siblings. And it hearkens back to the last episode Beth was technically in. Which also had a lot of the CRM/Revolution theme in it. (X, X).

AK says this family probably didn’t make it, so I’m not expecting these kids to show up in the narrative. But it’s also important to note that the little girl is carrying the toy rabbit Maggie found earlier. So the rabbit also ties into all this symbolism. (P.S. I didn’t get to my rabbit post last week. I planned on it, but time got away from me. I should get it posted later this week.)

So, this is massive in terms of TD symbolism. I’ll talk about it fits into the bigger narrative in a minute.

Then Daryl kills the sleeping bag walker. I wasn’t sure the significance of this at first, but I think it ties to the tents and sleeping bags we saw in Atlanta in 5x06, Consumed. Daryl and Carol passed them while looking for Beth. So, this just shows us that this is tied to her storyline and Daryl searching for her.

You could also argue that the walker was “hidden” at first, and it’s significant that Dog found it/realized it was there before Daryl did. 

The other thing is that as he’s looking at the sleeping bag walker, there’s a random shoe on the ground next to it. Missing Shoe/Foot theory, which is also indicative of Beth. 

They hear another roaring sound and Dog takes off, running into the dark tunnel.

Here’s the thing. I think most people will assume the roar he heard was just more air being forced through the tunnels by the storm, as Alden explained it in ep 1. But I always watch with the subtitles on and I noticed at this part, the subtitles said, “Man Roaring.” So they actually did hear someone screaming. And that’s probably why Dog ran toward it.

After watching it again, I realized it’s probably supposed to be Roy. He’s the white-haired guy, played by C. Thomas Howell, who Daryl finds wounded after he emerges from the Tunnel. I think whatever happened to him when he went topside but then got attacked by walkers is what Dog heard and went running toward.

Maybe not terribly significant in the plot, but it’s important symbolically. Because once again we have something Daryl hears from a distance but doesn’t see. Dog (a proxy for Beth) runs toward it, and Daryl follows. When he does, he find someone who had previously separated from the group. They’re hurt, but alive. See the parallels?

I will say the Roy situation confuses me just a little. He’s clearly hurt, and when Daryl tries to bandage him, he refuses, saying, “just tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” But then later he’s with the group, all bandaged up, and seems to be okay. (He dies when they reach the Reapers by taking an arrow to the head, so he still dies overall.) But it’s just weird that it seemed he would die, then seemed he was fine again.

It may well be something that foreshadows a future situation, and that’s why it’s not making tons of sense right now. Only time will tell.

Anyway, I kind of glossed over Daryl crawling through the dark tunnel. I don’t have much else to say about it except that it’s a SUPER potent symbol for Beth’s arc and very important that he emerges on the other side and finds this person. Annnd then goes to save TF. (Dark Tunnel Symbolism).

So, he hears the gunshots and finds the train they’re on. He comes up behind the walkers attacking them from the front, kills them, moves the bench blocking the door, and lets everyone through. Then he uses a grenade to blow up all the walkers. (Ew.)

After that they all get out of the tunnels and go topside. The next scene is also super important. We see the stars above. That’s partly to show that the storm has passed now, but also constellations = Sirius.

Maggie asks what he has and he tells her about it. There is one weird moment in this scene. When she tells them about the supply depot she wants to stop at, she says Georgie (from S8) set it up for emergencies, for people on the outside to use. When it says this, the camera focuses on Daryl for a LONG moment, and he looks almost sad. I’m not sure what they’re trying to tell us there.

Anyway, they all head out. Unfortunately, when they reach the right neighborhood, the Reapers are there to meet/kill them. And Roy is the first to go.

So, a couple of things here. I’ll probably do a details post because I’m leaving out MOST of the background details throughout the episode, and there are a lot of them. Lots of details to be gleaned in this scene.

But the second time I watched it, I was struck by the people hanging upside down. Obviously a grim sight, but it occurred to me that these people hanging this way look a LOT like the deer diagrams from Scars. Let me show you some pictures:

Top pick is 11x02. Middle and bottom one are from Scars.

See what I mean? So, chances are something about Scars foreshadowed the Reapers, which is interesting. They clearly see human beings in a certain way (as animals to be strung up and…perhaps eaten?) And that makes me think that what Maggie found in that house may tie into the Reapers as well. Just kind of interesting foreshadows of coming plots.

Eugene:

Let’s talk Eugene and then I’ll shut up for today. Eugene’s stuff was very intriguing. First thing you need to know. And understand, I didn’t know this. @wdway​ pointed it out. Some months ago, the actress cast as “Stephanie” was announced. This is her:

And that’s clearly not the woman who steps into the train car at the end. Which means this isn’t really Stephanie. She’s a decoy. In fact, the actress from this episode is billed on IMDb as “woman 2,” not as “Stephanie.”

Knowing that, if you go back and re-watch the parts with Eugene’s group, they mean something very different.

On the surface, it seems that Zeke, Yumiko and Princess are taken away in a sinister fashion. Then Eugene melts down and tells his story. (Note: while he focuses on his feelings for Stephanie and I think most of that is true, he still says he lied both to her and to his friends about being from a large settlement. So, he’s still keeping large chunks of the truth from them.)

Again, on the surface it seems that they accept his explanation and just decide to allow them all in. All the stuff with the other three is just a misunderstanding.

But if “Stephanie” is a decoy, that can’t possibly be the case. I think Zeke and the others told Eugene the truth as they know it, but they’re all still being manipulated.

After Princess left to pee, the guy told Eugene no one was in the room and acted like he had no idea who Princess was. They were definitely using psychological torture on him, trying to break him.

I think they know very well that Eugene's group is still lying about their settlement, and they're using a decoy "Stephanie" to find out the truth.

My point is that it goes back to the hallucination, making-someone-think-they're-crazy theme. It will be really interesting to see how this unfolds, because there's all kinds of psychological shenanigans going on here.

@galadrieljones​ made a really interesting connection some time ago. She noticed that back in 10x18, at Leah’s cabin, there is a metal, heart-shaped chair. The same chairs show up in the Commonwealth’s sales video from the trailer. So there’s some kind of link between Leah, Daryl’s memory of her, and the Commonwealth. We don’t know what it is yet, but all of this gives credence to the idea that she is either an outright hallucination, or Daryl is just remembering things wrong.

It also might mean that the Reapers are connected to the Commonwealth in some way. We don’t really know yet, but I’m having tons of fun trying to figure it out.

I want to touch briefly on the train car theme. Once again, there’s a parallel in both story lines (Terminus, and this one at the Commonwealth). Daryl’s group is in train cars this episode. And while Eugene’s group has been at a different compound, they started in the train yard and end in it here. But what I noticed is that Eugene enters the train car at the end, which is furnished inside, and finds his friends there. They all have a happy reunion.

It made me think of the fact that when Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Carl enter the train cars at Terminus, there is also a family reunion. What happened beyond that was not good or easy. Clearly, Terminus was not a good place. Many of them almost died at the trough and they had to fight their way out through a walker blood bath.

I’m just saying that, while it obviously won’t play out exactly the same way, something similar is probably waiting for Eugene’s group outside that train car. Not good.

Acheron Overall:

Okay, let’s get to the big cheese, here. The overall narrative. The template.

These two episodes are called Acheron part 1 and part 2. So here’s the skinny:

Acheron = Underworld. Daryl’s group going into the subway tunnels (dark, underground) is what constitutes Acheron and why the episodes are called that. That’s why, at the end of this episode, they emerge from the tunnels onto the surface (i.e. the living world).

Given all the death, cemetery, and dark tunnel symbolism around Beth, given that she ventured into the land of the dead by being shot, maybe clinically dying for a time, and being thought dead for so long, what this tells me is that everything that happens in these tunnels is a foreshadow and template for what will happen this season.

I maintain that Dog = Beth and we will soon see something where Daryl hears something (not necessarily her; it was a man screaming so I still think it will be Rick he hears word of) and goes chasing after it. While searching for it, he stumbles across Beth. Then the two of them (both Dog and Daryl returned to the train car) go back in time to save TF from something.

This is most likely why the Roy thing is weird. In a super understated way, he represents Rick in the template. Daryl will find him, but only after he finds Beth. Even consider what Roy says. He says, “tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” And that’s all well and good, but did we even know Roy had kids? No. Have we met them? No. But who has kids that Daryl IS concerned with? That would be Rick.

So I’m thinking that maybe when Daryl finds Rick, Rick will think he’s dying for some reason, and that’s why the dialogue here. But he won’t, which is why we see Roy with the group later.

And no, I’m not thinking that Roy dying via the Reapers will extend to Rick. It’s more like what they’ve done with countless characters that have been Beth proxies. Eventually, they kill them off. He’s a minor character they were using as a proxy, and when they are done with him in the narrative, he becomes walker chow. Or, in this case, Reaper fodder.

Anyway, I think everything will end up being a foreshadow for something. Maggie and Negan. The Gauge situation. All of it. I’ll try to keep coming back to this as the story progresses to show what everything foreshadows. I’ll stop there for today.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Mind the Gap, Epilogue

Title: Mind the Gap Summary: Modern Day AU. Tired of Ernesto’s snide remarks, Imelda decides to put him in his place and her husband is more than happy to help. It was supposed to be a one-night deal. Things quickly get out of hand. [OT3, mostly porn and humor. Plenty of instances of Ernesto being Dramatic, Imelda getting Sick Of His Shit, and Héctor trying to be the peacekeeper. Don’t expect anything serious.] Pairings: Ernesto/Héctor/Imelda Rating: Explicit.

Art by @swanpit​.

[All chapters are tagged as ‘mind the gap’ on my blog.]

A/N: A family can be a mom, a dad, their baby, mom and dad's boyfriend who is also the baby's honorary uncle, a cat, and a total of five dogs. 

***

“You know, you and your brothers had been baptized long before you were six months old.”

The speakers are not on, but Ernesto is still able to hear every word Imelda’s mother is uttering due to the disease that seems to affect many people the age of fifty - the certainty you absolutely need to yell into the phone for your words to be heard on the other side.

Imelda would very much appreciate not hearing them, if the way she drops the side of her head against the passenger side window with a thunk is anything to go by. “I am aware, mamá,” she almost groans. “But we’re doing it now, no? We’re on the way there, by the way, that’s what I called to let you kno--”

“And I am glad, but I cannot see any reason why you had to wait this long.”

Imelda’s head thunks back against the window just as Ernesto changes lanes to get past a car whose owner seems to be missing the foot that’s supposed to go on the speed pedal. Somewhere in the back, Héctor groans quietly. 

“I had work to do, Héctor had work to do, and if we wanted to have the ceremony in Santa Cecilia we needed time to organize,” Imelda is gritting out. “I don’t see why we should have rushed things, considering that Coco is not at risk of imminent death. Nor has she had enough time to commit significant sins on the mortal plane.”

“Of course she has not, but you know it is important for babies to be baptized--”

“And besides, the Pope decided limbo is no longer canonical some ten years ago.”

“He also said it is no reason to delay--”

“Ah, we’re getting into a tunnel. Signal is bad. See you later,” Imelda snaps, and ends the call before dropping against the backrest with the expression of a luchadora who barely made it through the end of the match. “Remind me why cancelling the entire baptism out of spite is not a good idea?”

“Ceci worked really hard on the ropón and Coco looks beautiful in it,” Héctor speaks up.

“I already paid for the entire damn thing,” Ernesto supplies helpfully.

A chuckle. “Ay, we’re stuck, then,” Imelda says, and turns back to Ernesto. “... Sorry. What were you saying before the call again?”

“The concert next month. The latest piece Héctor wrote is a duet and we could use a woman’s voice. You should come with us, it will only be a couple of nights and you’d only need to be on stage for that song. Armando is already sold to the idea.”

It seems a very reasonable proposal to Ernesto, but Imelda frowns, pulling the car’s window down just enough to get some wind on her face. “I know he is, but I am not completely sold to the idea of leaving Coco in my brothers’ care for any amount of time.”

“It can’t be that ba--”

“You were not there when they came up with the self-rocking crib,” Héctor interjects from the back.

“The self-rocking crib?”

“Yes. Thankfully they tested it on Pepita first. She was not very happy about being ejected against the wall, but you know what they say about cats landing on their feet.”

“Ah.” Ernesto briefly debates whether he should tell them about the surprise the twins are planning. Not that he knows what the surprise actually is, they just briefly mentioned they were going back to Santa Cecilia a few days earlier than them to prepare… something. 

Ah, it will be fine. Probably. 

“Well, maybe we could find someone else to look after Coco,” he finally says instead. “Or keep an eye on them while they look after Coco. ”

Imelda hums. “I guess Ceci may be able to.”

“... Anyone else?”

“Don’t be like that, she’s her godmother.”

“Not yet she isn’t, you have time until tomorrow to change your min--”

“Your co-godparent,” Héctor pipes in. “Meaning that if anything happens to me and Imelda, you two will be morally obliged to step in and help her out. Together.”

“Uuugh. You both had better live long and healthy lives.”

A chuckle. “We’ll do our best,” Imelda promises, and for a time the car is quiet. Not for a long time, with Héctor speaking up again soon enough. 

“Are we there yet?”

Ernesto sighs. And there he hoped he would stop asking. “No.”

“My leg is all pins and needles.”

“Wouldn’t have happened if you sat like a normal human.”

“But Coco needed me to hug the baby seat, she wouldn’t settle otherwise.”

“Well, she’s asleep now. You can let go.”

Sprawled across the back seat in order to keep his arms wrapped around the sleeping child on the baby seat, his left leg folded awkwardly beneath him, Héctor shoots a very offended look which Ernesto glimpses through the rear view mirror.

“No,” he declares with all the defiance of a father refusing to hand over his baby to King Herod himself to be slaughtered in the Massacre of the Innocents. Ernesto shrugs.

“Suit yourself,” he says, and keeps driving. A boring task right now, the road straight and mercifully empty. They should be in Santa Cecilia within a couple of hours, he estimates, give or take a few--

“Are we there yet?”

“Por Dios, I was prepared for the baby to be insufferable throughout the trip, but you’re worse,” Ernesto groans. On the passenger seat, Imelda rubs her temple. 

“We could stop a few minutes, so Héctor can stretch his legs - don’t protest, you know you need it. I wouldn’t mind a break either,” she adds, and glances over at Ernesto. “Do you want me to drive the rest of the way? You’ve been at the wheel the entire time.”

“I can drive the rest of the way,” Héctor volunteers.

“Absolutely not,” Ernesto and Imelda say as one.

“Oh come on, if this is still about that thing with the level crossing in Colima, it was weeks ago and--”

“Coco is in the car,” Imelda reminds him, and Héctor promptly shuts up. When Ernesto pulls into a service station and stops the car in the small parking lot, he slowly disentangles himself from the baby seat. As Coco does not, in fact, bolt awake screaming in horrible pain the second he lets go, he finally gets off the car and takes a few steps. 

Or rather, hops awkwardly on one foot while trying to regain sensation in his left leg. Imelda watches him hop towards the toilet with a chuckle, and turns to put a hand on Ernesto’s arm. “I’ll be getting coffee for both me and Héctor. Knowing you, I assume you’d prefer a beer.”

“I’m supposed to be driving--”

“Look at you, being all resonsible with a baby on board. But no, you’re not. I’ll take over from here,” she cuts him off, and Ernesto smiles. 

“I’ll take two beers, then. One for me and one for the señorita in the back.”

Imelda laughs, and smacks his chest before she picks up her purse. “I’ll be right back. If the señorita in the back awakens and demands a drink, you know where the bottle and the thermos with her milk are.”

“I may have forgotten, Héctor only showed me sixteen times,” Ernesto calls after her, leaning against the side of the car. He arches his back to stretch, groans at the satisfying pop somewhere in his spine, and pulls out his phone. Sofía has sent him a photo showing the couch in Héctor and Imelda’s living room, currently occupied by four napping chihuahuas, an unimpressed-looking cat, and an upside-down Xolo dog.

Pet sitting them here is a lot better, she wrote. At least it’s not my shit they chew up. No shoes among the fatalities, though, so no need to castrate the big one. Tell Imelda that.

Ay, how unfortunate that Dante is getting the snip either way, Ernesto thinks, much like Diablo and Lobo did. He could have Clara and Zita spayed, true enough, but the procedure is more invasive and he’d rather spare them the ordeal if it can all be fixed, literally, by fixing Dante. They’ll book the appointment as soon as they get back, and then he and Héctor will have a drink in male solidarity. Soon, possibly before either Clara or Zita can--

“Bababababa!”

Ah, so the señorita is awake. Ernesto puts away the phone and sticks his head back into the car. “You called?” he asks, and Coco grins up at him with half a tooth, absolutely delighted. She reaches up with a squeal, and Ernesto grins back.

“You want me to pick you up? Is that it?”

“Aaaababah!”

“Is that a yes? I’ll take it as a yes.” Getting Coco out of her baby seat gets another delighted squeal out of her, chubby hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He bounces her a bit and she gives a joyous laugh. “Ah, look at you. Don’t tell your papá I said it, but sometimes I get what he means when he--”

“BLEAGH!”

“Gah!” 

Getting half-digested milk and apple puree all over his shirt is not what Ernesto expected to happen, but in retrospect he probably should have. To his credit he doesn’t give in to his first instinct, which is to drop the baby to tend to his shirt, so he will get to live another day. He just stands there, staring down at his ruined shirt, holding Coco at arms’ length. 

Unaware - or maybe perfectly aware - of the mess she has made, Coco burps and laughs, legs dangling in what almost looks like a little dance. Ernesto sighs, and stares at her in the eye. “I take that back,” he informs her. Coco giggles. 

“... I suspect I know what that look means. I will not be the one to change your diaper.”

“Paaa.”

“Yes, exactly. We’ll leave it to your--”

“She’s awake! She didn’t cry, did she? Coco! Papá is here!”

“Paaaaaaaa!”

Héctor takes Coco from Ernesto’s hands with a wide smile, not even noticing the condition his shirt is in, and twirls around with her in his arms, making her laugh harder. Ernesto would warn him not to spin too much, but it seems she’d already emptied her stomach, the little demon. In the end he just scoffs, gives her an offended look she absolutely ignores, and grabs a clean shirt from his luggage in the back of the car before he heads for the toilets to try and somewhat salvage the one he’s wearing. Maybe if he washes off the worst of it now, his mother will know how to fix the rest. He’s halfway to the toilets when Imelda calls out. 

"Here's your beer, it's not as cold as you like it but-- ah. I see Coco got you."

Ernesto turns to meet her gaze, his expression solemn. “I am afraid your mother was right.”

“... Qué?”

“You’re too late. Your daughter has now definitely sinned on this mortal plane,” he declares. “Do you know how much I paid for this shirt?”

Imelda raises an eyebrow. “Ah, more than you should have. It doesn’t fit you that well. You should just arrive at your parents’ place shirtless. They’re used to seeing you shirtless by now,” she adds, and laughs at Ernesto’s indignant sputtering as he informs her that was low. 

But then she kisses him and promises she will keep his beer in the ice box fridge until he’s back, and he can find it in himself to forgive the affront after all.

***

“... And this my mamá, see? Emilia. She is your other abuela, can you say abuela?”

“Abbwaba!”

“Heh. Close enough, querida. Close enough” 

Sitting cross-legged before his parents’ grave, with Coco nestled comfortably in his arms, Héctor kisses his daughter’s head before turning back to the gravestone with a small smile. Ricardo and Emilia Rivera are smiling back from it, a few years younger than they were when they died. 

Finding that photo was a struggle, because the gas leak that destroyed his home spared none of the family albums. Ernesto nearly tore down his own home, but in the end he was able to dig up a bunch of photographs from one of their very last Nativity plays - and among them was one photo of Héctor, looking a little embarrassed in his angel wings and fake halo, with his parents beaming at either side of him. 

The original is now proudly displayed in the living room in Mexico City; Imelda’s parents have a copy, which Héctor always finds on their ofrenda when he and Imelda come to spend Día de los Muertos with them. Two cut-outs from a third copy are now gracing their gravestone.

I should make more copies. Just in case.

In his arms Coco squeals, and holds out a chubby hand towards the smiling faces of her grandparents. Héctor’s somewhat dampened smile brightens again. 

“Mamá, papá, meet Coco. She’s very happy to meet you.” He bounces the child a little in his arms. “She crawls everywhere and puts everything in her mouth, just like you said I did. And she's got my eyes! Yours, mamá. Not the nose, thank God - no offense, papá, but… come on.” He laughs a little. “Ay, I shouldn’t complain. I mostly grew into it, like you said I would. I’m sorry you didn’t get to see that you were right. I’m sorry you don’t get to be here today.”

Héctor pauses a moment, and kisses Coco’s head one more time before he speaks again. “... I wish you were here to give me advice, but I’ll do my best to be as good a parent as you were. I, uh. Well, my family is not really traditional now, I guess. I don’t know if you’d approve. I don’t know if you’d understand. I’m both relieved and sad I may never get to know, and then sad I’m relieved at all because-- either way, I wish you were here.” 

He pauses, and swallows. Oblivious to the painful lump in her father’s throat, Coco has managed to grab a flower and is trying to put it in her mouth. He takes it out of her hand gently, placing it back before the grave. “But I wanted to tell you, I believe I am doing the right thing. And I am very happy. We are all very happy, and doing our best, and that… that is the most important thing, I think.”

Their smiling faces stare back, forever unchanging. He never got to see their bodies - he was told it was for the best - and now he is glad of that. This is how he wants to remember them: whole, and alive, and always smiling. They would smile today seeing their granddaughter, he’s sure. He likes to think that somewhere, they still are. 

Coco sure is smiling plenty for someone with only half a tooth, still babbling and trying to reach out for the faces on the gravestone. Héctor holds her a bit closer, and her hands press on the glass over the photos like she’s trying to grab those smiles for herself. 

“Abbwaba,” she chirps, and laughs like someone just told a really great joke. 

Must be papá. Mamá’s jokes were terrible, Héctor thinks, and when Coco turns to look at him again, laughing, he laughs just as hard.

***

“Oh, you look so handsome!”

That is something Ernesto usually appreciates hearing - he appreciates it very much, truth be told - but it does lose some of its appeal when the person saying it is your mother as she circles you to make sure your jacket looks absolutely spotless.

“Uh, yes. So, are we ready to--”

“Isn’t he handsome, Estéban?”

Estéban de la Cruz, who clearly needs help getting ready far more than Ernesto ever did - anything vaguely more elegant than an undershirt seems to make him ill at ease - glances over and gives him a shrug that probably translates to ‘I have to listen to this every day, now it’s your turn’. 

“Looking good,” is all he says, causing Ernesto to blink. This kind of thing, his father looking at him and talking to him like a normal specimen of homo sapiens, is something he has yet to get entirely used to. He remembers times when he saw his father sitting on the couch while staring at the wall in an alcohol-induced stupor, and being both relieved and frustrated by it. A part of him rejoiced at the chance to just pass by unnoticed and spare himself one of his moods, while the other wanted to grab him by the shirt and shake him, knowing full well it would amount to suicide.

I am here, damn you. I’m right here. Look at me.

“So handsome,” Adela repeats for the eleventh time, snapping him from his reminiscence. “You know, you should find someone.”

As his father looks suddenly very busy fiddling with the buttons of his jacket, Ernesto holds back a groan. “Mamá, can we not--”

“You know Mirela’s son? He’s a nice boy too, and word is that he also may be--”

Oh no. No no no no no, this is not happening.

“Ay, look at the time, I really need to go! See you in church!” Ernesto yells, and sprints to the door, almost forgetting to pick up the sack of coins on his way out.

***

“That’s a very generous bolo.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. Ceci would never let me hear the end of it if I gave anything less.”

“Ah, don't be modest. You wanted to be a good godfather and bring plenty of good fortune to your goddaugh--"

“No, it was definitely Ceci."

"Ah." As children swarm around them to pick up the frankly astounding amount of coins Ernesto has scattered around, Héctor laughs and puts an arm around his shoulders. “Ay, don’t worry, mi amigo. I have a song in mind that will more than make up for your losses.”

Ernesto, newly-minted godfather, snorts. “It had better,” he says, elbowing him in the ribs, but his lips are already curling in a smile. Héctor lets out a yelp that’s mostly for show, and looks over to where Imelda is standing, clad in a beautiful dress Ceci insists on tailoring just for her along with Coco’s pure white ropón.

“No, no purple, for God’s sake,” he remembers Ceci muttering as she took Imelda’s measures. “This is your child’s christening, not Lent!”

Imelda does favor purple over most colors, but she looks stunning in the blue dress as she speaks to guests, Coco squirming and giggling in her arms as Óscar and Felipe make faces at her. She gets to make some noise now, after being on her best behavior through… most of the ceremony, a few drum-shattering shrieks aside. Héctor finds himself smiling dreamily. 

“She is beautiful, isn’t she?” he sighs, and Ernesto raises an eyebrow. 

“Imelda, or Coco?”

“Both.”

“Heh. Yes,” Ernesto concedes. For a few more moments they just look on, side by side. For just a split second Héctor allows himself to wish circumstances would allow him to grab Ernesto’s hand, but he knows better than that; they will not go out of their way to hide, but they have got to be practical. If there is anyone present at the moment they may try to come clean to first, it’s probably-- ah, speaking of them…

“Ernesto?”

“Mmh?”

“The twins are planning something during the reception, aren’t they?”

“Of course they are. It may or may not involve explosive material.”

“Por Dios, tell me you talked them out of it!”

“Why would I? I like fireworks.”

To the boys’ credit, the display is pretty spectacular. The only casualty is a perfectly replaceable tablecloth, and Coco’s sheer delight as she claps at the lights, nestled in her grandmother’s arms, is well worth the loss. 

It also causes enough of a distraction for the three of them to slip their arms under the table and hold onto each other’s hands for a few moments, squeezing tight.

***

“Home, sweet home!”

Héctor’s dramatic declaration would be more accurate as ‘bed sweet bed’, really. When they made it back to their apartment it felt anything but sweet, with a baby cranky from the long trip and five dogs, plus a cat, either very offended by their absence or bouncing off the walls,  frantic for their attention after a grand total of two hours on their own after Sofía left. 

It took about an hour to put down their things, feed the pets, feed the baby, take the dogs out and put Coco in her crib. Then, and only then, can the three of them collapse on the bed and breathe in a sigh of relief. 

“We survived,” Ernesto mutters into the pillow. 

“Seems like it,” Héctor groans. “Now we can sleep.”

And then, of course, Coco starts crying. It takes Imelda approximately half a minute to pick her up, decide she’s not going to be able to keep standing on her own two feet long enough to soothe her, and return to their bed with her. She lays down with her and Coco settles quickly, nestled securely in her arms. She never moves around when asleep and Pepita is keeping watch as always, so it’s safe enough, Imelda reasons with a yawn. She only realizes she forgot to close the door when Pepita jumps in, curling up next to Coco. She groans. 

“For the love of God, close the door before--”

“BOOF!”

“Yip! Yip! Yip!”

“Agh-- Dante, no, wait--” Héctor trails off with a yelp when Dante jumps up on the bed, landing across his legs and just barely missing his crotch with a clumsy paw. Out of the corner of her eye, Imelda notices Ernesto reaching down. 

No dogs on the bed, she wants to say, but Dante is already up and she is tired enough to admit defeat, at least this once. She sighs and shushes Coco while she falls back asleep, trying to ignore Ernesto’s little monsters as they snuffle around to find a spot to snooze. Once they finally settle, Imelda closes her eyes and tries to sleep. And tries. And tries. 

On the pillow, Pepita is purring away. The dogs are mostly silent, except for the occasional twitch and half-snore. Coco is suckling on her thumb as she sleeps, Héctor is breathing with his mouth open as usual, and Ernesto is snoring softly behind her. She could blame any of those things for the lack of sleep, but she knows that’s not it. 

Finally, quiet and careful to stir no one, Imelda half-sits and looks across the bed she used to share with Héctor and no one else, and that used to feel so large. 

It’s quite crowded now, with the three of them and Coco resting on it, Héctors’ limbs splayed in all directions and Ernesto a solid presence behind her, their pets filling up all remaining space. Not a single gap left.

It is perfect. It is whole. 

It is home.

Imelda nods silently, and leans back down. She tucks a lock of hair behind Coco’s ear, kisses her forehead, and closes her eyes with a sated smile.

***

Aaaand it's over, yet another fic that got out of hand and ended up at least three times longer than planned! Hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed writing it.

(Also, letting a baby sleep in the Big Bed with mom, dad, their boyfriend who is also a honorary uncle, their cat and their five dogs is really cute in fiction, but can go very wrong in reality if someone turns in their sleep. Don't do that.)

[blitzturtles]

Title: Nothing Else Matters

Rating: Teen and Up

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Vento Aureo

Pairing(s): NaraFugo / FugoNara

Summary: [In a world where it takes Pannacotta a while to come home after the events of VA...]

Patience is not a concept, but a word that bounces around in Narancia’s mind. An echo of syllables rather than something that has meaning. He can repeat it to himself as many times as he would like, but he will find none of whatever it was that Bucciarati wished to impress upon him when he spoke the word in the first place.

Notes: Also, this was honestly an excuse to write Fugo with long hair and scars.

-

Patience is not a concept, but a word that bounces around in Narancia’s mind. An echo of syllables rather than something that has meaning. He can repeat it to himself as many times as he would like, but he will find none of whatever it was that Bucciarati wished to impress upon him when he spoke the word in the first place.

Narancia is not patient. He is not capable. His only lapses in action come when he sleeps or when it is absolutely necessary for survival. The only things he has ever waited for are food and medical care; the latter of which nearly killed him. For Narancia, there is no virtue in patience; only unending anxiety. Worry that gnaws at his already chapped lips and pulls the threads loose in the cuffs of his sleeves. It keeps him up at night with questions that never receive answers.

How is patience a form of high moral standard (what does that even mean?) when it could mean that Fugo is out there by himself? Possibly in danger. With no one to watch his back in a Passione that is rapidly changing around him in a way that he surely is not prepared for.

It’s been a year. One very long year, and that’s accounting for the fact that Narancia spent several miserable weeks in the hospital after a two week long coma. He remembers looking out the window, unable to see the street from so high up, yet hoping he might catch a glimpse of white-blonde hair off in the distance. He had never given up hope that Fugo would stop by one day, even if only to sneak in for a moment. That day had never come, and now countless more have passed.

Giorno does his best to reassure Narancia that Fugo is alive, but that only brings about more questions and concerns. Alive is a pretty low bar to set, but it’s better than some of the scenarios that have run through Narancia’s head. It’s better than dead at Diavolo’s hands-- indirectly or otherwise--, but it only does so much to soothe Narancia’s nerves.

He can’t bring himself to ask how Giorno knows that Fugo is alive. That he’s at least surviving out there in the world where the most powerful crime syndicate is undergoing significant restructuring. Has Giorno seen him? Spoken to him? Does Fugo visit him?

Giorno’s got eyes in more places than Narancia can wrap his head around, so it’s possible that Giorno’s monitoring Fugo from a distance. And Narancia tries to ignore how that thought makes his chest ache. As if Fugo is some kind of threat to them.

The problem is that Fugo could be a threat. If he had it in him. He has more information on those closest to the Don than anyone else in the entirety of Passione combined, but he’s not a traitor. Narancia knows that like he knows the sky is blue, an observable and undeniable truth.

What almost hurts more is the thought that Fugo is talking to Giorno directly. That he’s gone to see the Don on more than one occasion, or that he has some means of reporting to Giorno that none of them are privy to. That Narancia knows of, anyway. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised to hear that Bucciarati also knows of Fugo’s whereabouts, but that thought doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as the idea that Fugo is avoiding him.

Narancia does some avoidance of his own. Mostly, it’s calendars that he can’t stand to look at. He tries his best to steer clear of them, but it’s been hard ever since he started up school again. Everything operates on a damn schedule with school. Tests, homework, tutoring (remote and not through Fugo, and he hates it)... It’s never ending, and the moment he gets his hands on one, he’s counting back all the time that’s passed.

Today marks one year, two months, and three days, and patience has gotten him absolutely nowhere.

______

Giorno sends for Narancia while Narancia is busy studying in the mansion’s library. He gives Mista-- the one often sent to collect for the child Don, whether it be man or money-- a look of confusion, with one eyebrow cocked and eyes searching, but Mista only shrugs,

“Dunno, dude. You’re gonna have to go see for yourself, I guess.”

Narancia doesn’t know how Mista can sound so detached. These kinds of things drive him crazy. He wants to know, and he wants to know now. Patience is bullshit, and he’s tired of pretending otherwise.

______

The door to Giorno’s office is a large, heavy oak thing carved with expert hands. Narancia’s fingers sink into the grooves that make up the design of foliage and wildlife. He’s found himself tracing various parts of this door more times than he can count. The scene is beautiful. One of the artist’s whim, but she had clearly understood her client, given how perfectly it fits Giorno. It’s often the first impression people get of the Don when they’re called upon. The door comes across as unnecessarily ornate, but, truly, it’s a reminder. Besides, the whole thing had been a gift. Not a single penny had been spent (well, not in commission, anyhow.)

Narancia likes it because he can usually find something he hasn’t noticed, some groove he hasn’t touched. The surface is surprisingly smooth for wood, and it feels nice under his fingers. He’s used it as a distraction before; a way to pass the time while idling outside of Giorno’s office, either as a living radar or as an invited guest.

He’s almost never there for a mission briefing. It’s rare that he gets sent out on field work at all anymore. He’s technically an ex-mafioso now. School is supposed to be his priority (it’s not), which means mafia work is saved for everyone else. Most of the time. Which raises the question: what does Giorno want?

“Come in!” Giorno calls loud enough to be heard. It startles Narancia out of his thoughts, but he brushes it off quickly and reaches for the door, only stopping for a moment because he can hear a second voice. A quiet murmur that Giorno responds to in a gentle cadence of his own. One that’s meant to be reassuring, yet sends alarm bells off in Narancia’s head. He flips Aerosmith’s radar over his eye, checking the signatures in the room. There’s definitely only two, but that doesn’t give him a whole lot to work with.

Rather than keep his boss waiting any longer, Narancia pushes the door open and peers inside, half expecting the stranger to be holding a weapon of some sort. Instead, the man stands there, stiff as a board with his back facing Narancia. He has a ratty hoodie on with the hood being pulled up in such a way that Narancia can’t see any of the man’s features. It does nothing to settle his unease. Something is going on, and he feels wholly underprepared.

“It’s alright,” Giorno says, standing from his chair and moving around his desk. Narancia doesn’t know if he’s trying to reassure the stranger or him, but he has a feeling that neither of them feels any more at ease than before the Don spoke. And what Giorno says next makes even less sense, but is definitely aimed at the stranger, “He’s been waiting for this.”

Slowly, the unknown man reaches up to lower his hood. It seems to take an eternity, but the moment Narancia sees his face is the moment when he feels like someone has punched him in the gut hard enough to go through layers of skin and muscle and fat. There’s a horrible twist in his stomach before an odd, detached hollowness settles in, and all he can do is stare in disbelief.

Fugo’s fingers linger on the rim of his hood. He holds it tight around his neck, still partially obscuring his hair and part of his jaw. His fingers remain clenched in the fabric so tightly that his knuckles have gone white, and he stands there, seemingly frozen part way through his reveal. His mouth is too obscured to see the full extent of his expression, but his brows are drawn in a frown. Bright red eyes dart suddenly from Narancia to Giorno, searching. He looks ready to run, and that’s enough to kick Narancia’s brain back into gear.

“You bastard!” Narancia’s lunging at him in an instant without bothering for his knife. He grabs at Fugo’s hood, and his fingers clasp tightly in the bunched fabric before Fugo’s hands.

Giorno moves to get between them with a hand raised, prepared to force the two apart if need be. Gold Experience manifests behind him, no doubt prepared to create a literal barrier to prevent any bloodshed.

“Don’t,” Fugo breathes, eyes darting to Giorno. “Don’t,” he repeats, “It’s fine.”

“Fuck you!”

Fugo doesn’t flinch at the exclamation, though he does sink his gaze downward and refuses to look up at Narancia. No amount of time could have prepared him for this particular reunion. Getting into contact with Mista and Giorno again had been hard enough, and that hadn’t exactly been his choice. This is an entirely different matter. One more complex than he knows how to deal with, and that’s exactly why they’re in this situation now: because he hadn’t known how else to do this.

Rude as it is to stick Giorno in the middle of all of this, it’s the only way that Fugo could assure that he would follow through with his plan to finally reintroduce himself to the rest of the team. He’s already proven himself to the Don. To Giorno. And to Mista. Though he hardly feels as though he deserves their trust. No matter how often Giorno reassures him otherwise. Still, this is more complicated.

Narancia stares him down with a fire in his eyes. Aerosmith’s radar vanishes from existence, which at least means Fugo won’t be shot, but that’s little consolation given the rage rolling off of Narancia in waves. His fists press into Fugo’s jaw, causing him to wince, and just like that something… snaps. Either inside of Fugo or in the air. It’s like a crack of thunder that rings in his ears.

“I hate you,” Narancia nearly sobs into his ear the moment he gets his arms around Fugo. He pulls him into a crushing hug with no warning and repeats the phrase ad nauseum. They both know the words aren’t true, though Fugo deserves them to be.

“I’m sorry,” Fugo breathes his response, and not just because Narancia is trying to squeeze the life out of him. His own eyes are burning with tears. Months of pent up emotions spill forward in an unstoppable avalanche, and all either of them can do is hang on tightly to the other until the worst of it passes.

Fugo barely has a moment to catch his breath before Narancia is reaching, and he flinches. Narancia’s eyes widen and his mouth falls open a bit. Nothing needs to be said for Fugo to know that he’s added one more hurt to a very long list.

“Just,” Fugo tries and glances helplessly at Giorno, but the Don seems to have made his escape in the little outburst of chaotic emotions once he had realized the two weren’t a threat to one another. “I’m different.” It sounds ridiculous in his own ears, and it doesn’t cover the reality of what he’s hiding behind his hood and his clenched fists.

Narancia laughs. A startled sound that gets ripped from him before he really processes the words, or the look on Fugo’s face. He feels bad almost immediately and tries to recover the situation by saying, “You’re you.”

Fugo inhales deeply and holds his breath a moment before he drops his hands away finally. The hood falls down around his shoulders, and he has to steel himself to avoid turning away.

“Oh,” Narancia sucks in a breath. He reaches his hands to either side of Fugo’s mouth, only hesitating a moment when Fugo stiffens, but he forces his own hands steady enough to brush his thumb over the newly gnarled skin. Well, not that new, he supposes. The scars are healed enough; no longer the bright, angry red that they once were, but it’s clear they had been painful. They may still be. Narancia thinks it must hurt when they pull at the corners of Fugo’s mouth whenever he speaks.

“Purple Haze,” Fugo explains without really explaining. He gives a half shrug and stares down, but he’s startled when Narancia surges forward and kisses him. Of all the reactions he had been expecting, that has to have been the last on his list.

It’s not as if kissing is new to them. They’ve done it plenty of times before, when they were together. Before Fugo chose to stay behind and watched Narancia swim off after the boat without him. When his feet had been cemented to the ground underneath him and his heart had been hammering in his chest and his stomach had been doing its best to turn itself inside out because they were all going to die, and nothing he could do or say would change it.

He doesn’t deserve Narancia now. Doesn’t deserve his undying devotion and his freely offered affection. He can’t justify asking for forgiveness, much less another chance at what they had before, yet here they are.

Narancia draws back with a gasp of air. His eyes bore into Fugo’s, searching, and he must find whatever he’s looking for because he’s grinning wide. “You look badass, Panna,” he says and steals a second kiss while Fugo’s brain reels violently.

The next time they break apart for air, Narancia runs both hands and eyes over Fugo, undoubtedly searching for more marks. More changes, and he finds them in the form of Fugo’s hair, which has gotten absurdly long in his time away. He can’t bring himself to let anyone cut it, and it hardly bothers him.

There’s a moment he worries that Narancia might hate it, but Narancia has his hands in the soft, white locks with that same, goofy look on his face. “You look so pretty with your hair like this,” he tells Fugo with so much love in his voice that it almost burns.

“How can I look badass and pretty?” Fugo asks, though it isn’t important. It’s something to focus on. Something that means nothing at all. His hair is inconsequential. A safe topic for him to latch onto until his heart stops pounding painfully in his chest.

“You’re asking me!” Narancia says in a non-answer. He brushes his fingers through Fugo’s hair again and again, and all Fugo can do is lean into the touch that he’s missed for so long. He hasn’t been able to let anyone else get close since that day with the damned boat. It had been like being thirteen again. Where he felt alone and scared; every noise making him jump and check over his shoulder, prepared for something ugly and unspeakable, but the only real, irreparable damage that he’s taken is from his own Stand. A penance for all the hurt that he’s inflicted on those that he cares about most.

“Does Bucci know you’re back? He’s going to lose his mind, but oh! Too bad, because I call Panna time first, and I’m not giving it up for nothin’,” not even to Bucciarati, who Narancia has the utmost respect for. He doesn’t care; he’s waited so long for this, and Fugo came back with new scars and pretty hair. They’re both things he wants to commit to his memory via the longest cuddle session he can get away with.

“Not yet, and I think he’ll understand,” Fugo replies with the barest of smiles.

“Good, let’s go!” Narancia moves his hands from Fugo’s hair to grasp at one of Fugo’s. He intertwines their fingers and tugs hard enough to nearly knock Fugo off balance, but Fugo recovers enough to allow himself to be dragged along.

He still feels like a raw nerve. Fight or flight are just on the edge of his conscious brain, and his ribs ache from the way his heart continues to beat too hard and too fast. There’s a lingering feeling that he doesn’t belong here. He doesn’t deserve any of this, but he pushes the self-hatred down for now. Somehow, Narancia doesn’t hate him, and nothing else matters.

[softyoongiionly]

Portraits of a Tiger || 02

Legends of a great and equally terrifying warrior nicknamed the Tiger have been emerging from your fellow villagers for quite sometime. Stories of his skill, his stealth and his supposed wickedness have been passed around to the point where he is more prophecy than person. You have lived your life with a strong sense of conviction, rarely letting gossip influence your opinion. However, you would be lying if you said that his legacy didn’t intrigue you. When the Tiger and his infamous army arrive in your village to refuel, you come face to face with the man behind the myth.

And no amount of marketplace gossip would ever be enough to capture the true complexity of his nature.

Pairing: Merchant! Reader x Warrior! Yoongi

Genre: Adventure, Romance, Smut (later), Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: language, depictions of violence both verbal and physical however they are fairly mild, mentions of war and power dynamics, there will be smut in future parts so, (18+ only please).

Current Tag List (let me know if you want to be tagged!): @gldnrecs​ @naajix​ @bluewhale52​ @nikkikenji​ @lustedkisses​ @loveyoongles​ @hear-me-growl​ 

A/N: oh hiiii. I’m a little obsessed with this universe so, I hope you guys are enjoying all the Warrior! Yoongi content. Love you!

Once again, I want to shout out @bulletproofbirdy​ for everything she has done to make this fic possible. I love you so much! 

“I’m just saying, some of the women in this village should at least attempt it. Wedding a solider is an honor, not to mention the fact that it sets you up for life.”  

Jane’s voice sounds beside you and it causes you to smile to yourself; she’s always coming up with plans for other people, attempting to live vicariously through them.  

“Like Y/N- you’re young-” She tilts her head, her frizzy red hair almost twirling above her scalp, “-ish. You would probably be able to convince one of them to take you for a bride.”  

You scoff, “Thank you for having so much faith in me Jane, I’ll keep that in mind.”  

Jane quickly moves on to another girl in the market, throwing the same amount of enthusiasm her way.  

You know she means well, even if she is a little brash at times.  

It’s been two days since the market place was riddled with thieves and soldiers. Things have mostly gone back to normal apart from the same armored men loitering about your village.  

Over the time that’s past, you’ve been able to meet or at least learn more about Yoongi’s fleet.  

Seven men, each of them possessing an incredible amount of skill, made up the group behind the gossip.  

Seokjin was indeed in charge of community outreach (and the cooking) but, he was also an incredible marksmen; his aim was unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed. Whilst you were cleaning up yesterday evening, you saw a few of them practicing and Seokjin through a dagger from nearly 200 feet away only for it to land directly in the center of the target.  

Namjoon, you met in the library whilst you were reading more about a new remedy you were planning to try. He was extremely brawny but very mild mannered. He introduced himself and thanked you for the bread you had delivered and upon speaking to him, you learned of his position in the fleet; psychological warfare. According to Namjoon, he was in charge of depleting the moral of their enemies by various means that he didn’t specify.  His gentle demeanor made it very difficult for you to believe that he was apart of such a dangerous team but you realized that, that was the very reason he was so successful.  

Jungkook, according to Seokjin, was the fleet’s first responder: The first man on the ground during a battle and usually the last one to leave. He had two things on his side: speed and strength. The fleet calls him the Terror Cub which is supposed to be a play on Yoongi’s nickname. You’ve also learned that Jungkook is Yoongi’s younger brother and upon minimal observation, you can tell they have a very close bond.  

Jimin, you met at the tavern during an evening out with Rachel. He was incredibly kind and his beauty was nothing short of offensive. His position in the army made sense; he was known as a Red Herring or in civilian terms: the distraction. Jimin’s beauty and charm was the fleet’s secret weapon and after spending a bit of time with him that night, you could definitely see why. Without a uniform, Jimin looks like a soft and unassuming man. A target would never suspect his true intentions.

Taehyung and you had a lot in common as he too was an Apothecary only- he didn’t specialize in the same type of medicine you did. Taehyung was the fleet’s resident poison expert. You met him at the tavern as well as he was the man Jimin hung off of the entire night. You learned of their romance throughout the evening and, couldn’t help but admire the sheer power between them. The Herring and the Poison Expert, what a duo.

Hoseok was still a bit of a mystery to you as he rarely ventured into the village. According to Seokjin, Yoongi placed him charge of training the new recruits specifically in the art Hoseok was most familiar with: archery. Upon the introduction of his position, you quickly recalled a story regarding the legendary archer.  Hoseok’s expertise had made it into the discourse in your village roughly a year ago when the Royal Army took down invaders in the snowy mountains just west of your home. In accordance with the story, Hoseok defeated their front line from the treetops before they were able to reach the rest of his fleet. You hadn’t had a chance to speak with him much but, he did introduce himself when you brought a second basket of bread to the camp.  

Aside from being their general, their leader and, the most expert swordsman in all of the land, Yoongi was also the fleet’s strategist. He mapped their every move, their every course, their objectives and several precautionary measures should things go sour. He was essentially the brains behind everything but of course, you didn’t learn this from him. The rest of his men had revealed bits and pieces about him throughout your interactions with each of them.  

In addition, you also learned that Yoongi’s army was a defensive force. They were established as a means of protection by the Queens which would mean that the stories of them ruthlessly invading territories around the region were null and void. The seven of them preceded over a much larger fleet; 22,000 men who follow closely behind them but never fight unless Yoongi calls in for backup.

The Tiger’s fleet was the frontline, the brain, heart and soul of the royal army.  

You feel a bit of sadness for them. They have done so much to protect this land and although they are revered and admired, they are also unnecessarily feared.  

The morning passes easily and it’s one of those days where you actually enjoy being out in the plaza.

The weather was nice, temperate and cool just as you like it.  

Clouds encase the otherwise sunny sky which keeps it from growing too warm in the marketplace and, with the slight breeze wafting throughout the atmosphere, you feel content.

A minimal afternoon crowd makes it easy for you to provide accurate and lengthy consultations to your patrons.

“Yes- just apply this three times a day and you should notice a significant reduction in the inflammation.” You smile sweetly, passing a lot the salve to your customer before you notice a familiar color making its way through the crowd.

It’s platinum and the curve of the ponytail its attached to belongs to someone you hadn’t anticipated on seeing.

It causes your heartrate to go a little wonky whilst you attempt to look away.

The salve Yoongi purchased from you days earlier prove to be very popular amongst his crew and now his tin that was supposed to last him three months is nearly gone.  

He may have other reasons for returning to the market as well but, his story was air-tight and would need no further explanation.

He would know, he checked.

“Good morning,” You smile at him and Jane’s train of thought is derailed the moment she sees your next customer. “How can I help you?”

He raises his hand, a large metal tin between his fingers, “Do you have any more of this? I woke up this morning to find that my men have ransacked it. If you have the stock, I’d like to buy 7 more tins so I can have one of my own.”  

You can’t help it but allow your eyes to widen at his request; the profits from 7 more tins would be enough to feed your family for the next month.

But you compose yourself quickly and nod, “I have more than enough- you said 7 right? Did you want the big tins again?”

He lowers his hand and sighs, his eyes flitting back towards his tent, “Please. I don’t trust the younger ones to use it as you instructed so, I want to make sure it lasts as long as it can.”

Snickering, you bend down and grab the requested amount of tins for him and nod in understanding, “Makes total sense. I’m guessing one of the main culprits was Jungkook? I saw him rubbing his hands together for a really long time and, now everything makes sense.”  

Yoongi smirks, his teeth peeking out between his lips, “Aish that kid- he's gonna give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“He’s younger brother right? I can see the resemblance...” You tease, wrapping the tins in paper,  spending a little too much time on each one and, no it’s totally not because you’re trying to prolong your interaction with Yoongi.

“Adopted brother yes- my parents took him in when he was 7. It’s interesting you think we look alike though, you’re not the first person to say that.” Yoongi’s hands have found their way to his uniform, smoothing it out subconsciously.

“Oh really? Yeah I wouldn’t have suspected that, you guys have the same mouth-” His brows raise at your comment and the glint in his eye makes you backtrack, “his lips are a little bigger I guess though so- uh not that I’m looking closely at your mouth or anything but-”

Yoongi starts chuckling then, the shakiness in your tone amusing him “I understand what you mean don’t worry. What’s my total?” He nods to the tins, which you’ve finally finished wrapping.

“Oh! Right, I’m sorry- your total is 24.50...” You slide the tins towards him carefully before Jane’s shrill voice sounds from beside you.

“Give the man a discount Y/N, he’s practically buying out your entire stock!” She urges, gesturing wildly towards your cart.

Your mouth opens as your eyes move quickly between her and Yoongi “O-”

Yoongi raises his hand, “Nonsense. Ms. Y/L/N’s products are some of the finest I’ve come across and are certainly worth the full price-  24.50 you said?” His brows raise again, looking directly into your eyes, not even bothering to turn to Jane’s direction.

The direct way in which he addresses her sends a bit of heat to your cheeks. Jane is someone you have mutual respect for but, her attitude isn’t your favorite nor is her incessant need to put her nose in everyone’s business.  

“Yes, thank you.” You smile sheepishly, bending down once more to grab a paper bag from beneath your counter, “I’ll put in a few bags of rose hip and peppermint tea free of charge; they help with inflammation. I know you all will be training over the next few weeks so, you should get some use out of it.”

He offers a small smile and bows his head, “Thank you. Uh-” Yoongi turns once again back towards his camp, “Seokjin hasn’t stopped talking about your bread, has he arranged for you to bring more?”

Giggling, you accept his payment, tucking it away beneath the counter and nodding, “Yes. I’ll be by this evening with a new batch.”

“Has he offered any payment? We appreciate the hospitality of course but, I do hope he plans on compensating you for your trouble.”

Waving him off, you shake your head and slide the bag his way, “It’s no trouble at all honestly, I’ve been wanting to hone my baking skills for quite some time so, this just gives me an excuse to do so.”  

He grimaces, “Still, you should be-”

“I really don’t mind Yoongi, I promise. This transaction is going to take care of my family and I for quite some time. Not to mention the fact that you all saved my village A LOT of trouble. Take the free bread.” You insist, smirking slightly and if you aren’t mistaken, you notice a light blush come across his cheeks.

Clearing his throat, he steps back away from your cart, moving the smile off of his lips as best as he can.

He likes the sound of his name on your lips a little more than he cares to admit.  

He needs to get out of this plaza before he smiles at you one more time.  

It’s getting a little out of hand.

“Appreciate it.” He mutters before bowing his head once more, “I suppose I’ll see you this evening then?”

Something flutters around in your stomach, “You will. Thank you again for coming by.”

His mouth fixes over a tight smile as he fashions the bag around his wrist, which is quite delicate for a man of his nature.  

When Yoongi is fully out of earshot, you take a deep breath and begin straightening up your cart, trying to distract your mind from his presence

Jane however, has been foaming at the mouth ever since he shot down her suggestion of a discount and quickly rushes over to you, smacking her hand across your arm.

“Ow! Ok- listen we have got to find another way to greet each other because, you’re going to leave some permanent damage on me one of these days.” You admonish, your brow furrowing as you rub your arm.

She ignores you and leans down, her eyes wide with curiosity, “You ARE going to pursue him aren’t you? He’s clearly interested, did you see the way he smiled?! He was quite literally hanging on every word you said!” She whisper yells, her eyes darting around  

This conversation is giving you deja vu and given your flustered state you don’t necessarily have the capacity to argue with her.

“Maybe he’s just kinder than you all gave him credit for.” You answer coolly, giggling as she tugs frantically at your dress.

“He’s kinder to YOU. He barely gave me a second look.” She insists, sound slightly bitter

You quickly move on, waving over another customer, a smile still on your lips, “Aren’t you happily married Jane? I’m sure your husband looks at you plenty...”

She kisses her teeth and rolls her eyes, “Happily is a loaded word dear. Regardless, my point stays the same. You said you were bringing bread over to him didn’t you? Are you planning on using that chance to further this little bond you two have?”

Its your turn to roll your eyes now, “I plan on using that chance to deliver bread.”

With a grumble, Jane reluctantly returns to her cart as she too has a customer heading her way.

The rest of the day passes easily, which you are quite thankful for given that you’re evening plans are a little out of the ordinary.  

It’s hard to get Yoongi out of your mind but, you really do try, he is just a man after all.

Just an interesting, intelligent, handsome-

“Y/N...” Rachel’s voice drags you out of your train of thought and causes you to quickly shift on the stool towards her.

You went to her house after you day had ended because:

She’s the absolute best

and

She has the better oven

“What? Sorry I was-”

She smirks knowingly, sprinkling flour over the dough on the cutting board, “Just thinking about how you plan on charming the Tiger tonight?”

You’d like to deny it but, she isn’t entirely wrong.

Instead, you just go back to wrapping the current loaf of fresh bread in the same paper you use to wrap you wares back at the market.

The cheese in this batch makes the outside of the bread a little greasy so, you always gift it with some wrapping; it also keeps the bugs away.

“You know- you should come with me. It's your one-way ticket to Jungkook, you only have a few weeks to gain his hand in marriage.” You point out, smirking.

Rachel blushes profusely, “I- well- you know?!?! He really is something.” She stutters, swallowing back a bit of her nerves before continuing, “I don’t know if I can do that. You've seen me in social settings...”

You snort and point in her direction, “I have. You’re great in social settings. We panic- in private- together remember? That’s how we bond.” Clenching your fist to your chest dramatically, you continue with the rest of her concern, “Honestly he’s not that intimidating face to face. He was practically hiding behind in his friend when I was there...”

Jungkook had stood out to you for that specific reason; his demeanor at the plaza would have never lead you to suspect his shy and rather docile nature.  

He certainly was perplexing.

Rachel smiles whimsically, staring off at nothing while she half-heartedly kneads the dough. She then lets out a sigh before giggling at the end of your sentence, “I suppose you’re right. He seems gentle underneath that brawny exterior. He’s so handsome too- and such a high rank for being so young. I’m just a village teacher...”

You smirk again, “Gentle is one way of putting it.” Then you scoff, feeling actual offense at her comment regarding herself. To express your distaste, you throw a piece of dough her way, “Stop that. You are literally the most eligible woman in this entire village. You are an artist, an educator and-” You take a bite out of a spare loaf of bread and shove it in your mouth, relishing in it’s doughy, cheesy texture. “- a damn good baker. Don’t sell yourself short.”

She rolls her eyes playfully, “Oh alright...you’re quite eligible yourself you know! How does it feel to have caught the eye of the Tiger himself, hm????”  

“So you’re coming?” You ask excitedly, bouncing on your stool before promptly looking away in denial, “I have done no such thing. He’s just being friendly to me because I cured his dry skin. Soft hands will change a man let me tell you...”  

“Ohhhh I suppose I will.” She sighs with a shrug to her shoulders, “My curiosity will always get the best of me, for better or worse.” She leans closer to her friend, conspiratorially “we can’t have that Tigers paws TOO soft—don’t do your job TOO well, oh esteemed herbalist.”

“In sickness and in health til death do you part...” You finish with raised brows, before giggling “esteemed and eligible? Now you’re just flattering me. I don’t think he’ll need to come back to my cart at least, I gave him enough salve to last the winter.”

Rachel shoves rounds the counter suddenly, heat blooming on her cheeks as she tries to shove you off the stool, “Oh YOUUUUU!!” She rolls her eyes again, looking at you pointedly, “Regardless of salve, you don’t give yourself enough credit. All jokes aside, Y/N, from what you have told me about your run ins with the general, he seems to appreciate your conversation. I don’t imagine people treat him with such frankness.”

Your laughter increases as you hold onto the counter for dear life, “Hey easy!” Biting your lip, you try to think of the right words to say without giving yourself away, “He’s very interesting. I am- you know, very intrigued by him that’s for sure.”

She lets you off the hook, her own laughter dying down as she returns to her place, “He is fascinating...I am a bit surprised at how different he seems to be from the stories...it raises so many questions like- how did he end up where he is?”

“I don’t know honestly. I kind of feel bad that so many people had him wrong- Seokjin said they don’t get a lot of hospitality due to the rumors about Yoongi.”

Rachel pouts before turning to pull one of the last batches of bread out of the oven. As she tugs the tray out of it’s warm resting place her lips tug up into a smirk “Oh it’s Yoongi now? On a first name basis with the nation’s greatest general I see- that was quick.”  

It’s your eyes that roll this time, heat rushing to the tip of your nose, “That IS his name... I can’t keep calling him Tiger now can I? That would be weird...”

She continues smirking but, her eyes hold a bit of sympathy as she addresses the rest of your sentence, “Seriously though, that breaks my heart for them...he handled that raider with more kindness than he deserved. It makes me wonder how many other rumors are unfounded.”

“Yeah it really surprised me- I was expecting there to be bloodshed...I still can’t believe he just let most of them go. I’ve seen soldiers administer worse punishments for lesser offenses.  

“I suppose you are right. Yoongi seems to be shrouded in mystery, but perhaps you will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the myth?” She suggests, brows rising with her inquiry.

“Typical teacher- rooting for me and all my hopes and dreams.” You tease as the two of you load up the bread into the basket, “Perhaps YOU will have a chance to learn more about the man behind the chest plate hm? Are you all ready to go?”

She smiles, “I will ALWAYS root for you!” And as the two of you begin packing everything up she huffs, blushing once again, “You really won’t stop teasing me, will you?”

“Nope.” You smile cheekily, dodging as she tries to wack you, “I can see it now- you, educating the youth and him- protecting the innocent. It’s a match made in heaven.”  

Rachel offers a shy grin as the two of you head out the door, “A girl can daydream...”

The walk to the camp doesn’t take long but within the short period of time you spend walking, your stomach manages to work itself up into a frenzy.

“Ok- the main tent is the one with the flag on the-” You begin, pointing it out to Rachel but your voice is quickly swallowed as you spot him:

The Tiger aka Yoongi, strolls through the courtyard of their camp towards a group of awaiting recruits in the distance.

He’s wearing crème colored linen pants and a matching peasant blouse, his long white tendrils wrapped up into a bun atop his head. He strides through the grass with confidence, his dark eyes observing his surroundings.

“You were saying?” Rachel eyes you curiously before following your line of sight.

Before she can say anything, you rush to return to your explanation, “Seokjin is the one that I made the arrangements with so, we can deliver these in there.” You gesture to the main tent, swallowing back a bit of nerves.

You don’t see many of Yoongi’s men out in the yard with the exception of Namjoon. He’s sitting on a bench, dressed entirely in red, sketching on a piece of parchment.  

As you ring the bell of the tent, Rachel subconsciously shifts behind you.

“Is that my bread?!” Seokjin yells from inside the tent and after a bit of shuffling, he pushes aside the entrance, a bright smile on his face, “Ugh it is. You are a godsent Y/N...” His head cocks as he sees Rachel standing beside you, “Oh hello, you must be Y/N’s friend. Kim Seokjin, did you assist with this delivery?”

He extends a hand to her warmly and Rachel graciously takes it, smiling softly.

“I did. It’s very nice to meet you. You can call me Rachel...”

He returns her smile, bowing his head, “Rachel- that’s a beautiful name. Thank you for doing this, I haven’t seen these men so energized in quite some time.” Seokjin smirks fondly before his teeth tug at his bottom lip, “Would you two mind joining me in here for a moment? I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

You nod despite your confusion, still in disbelief that you’ve made contact with the nation’s most infamous men.

“Of course.”

Rachel nods politely, following behind you as Seokjin holds the entrance open.  

Your hit with the smell of wood as you enter their tent along with a hint of musk. It’s genuinely surprising that the odor isn’t stronger given that multiple men likely share these quarters. There’s several cots on the floor and mini lanterns adorning the ropes holding the tent together. Supplies, personal belongings and various weapons litter the floor and tabletops and, in one of the cots you spot Jungkook, laying down, shirtless.  

In front of his face sits a book that needs no introduction; a famous military strategy guide written by an ancient legend. Befitting, you think, of course they would have their men brushing up on military technique.  

Your brain also hones in on the man holding the book:

Jungkook is truly beautiful. His chocolate locks reach the base of his neck, disheveled but luxurious whilst his tan and soft features are screwed up in concentration. He doesn’t notice your presence at first but, Rachel certainly notices him.

You can hear her swallow beside you, her face turning bright red as her body subconsciously shifts closer to you.  

Her lips part silently and she tries her best to tear her eyes away from his body. The broadness of his chest and the smooth curves of his stomach is enough to capture your attention as well despite the fact that muscle doesn’t normally warrant a reaction from you.

As you the two of you grow closer to him, his eyes finally flit in your direction and, they grow wide like saucers. Hastily, he throws his book to the side before ripping his blanket off the end of his cot and wrapping it around himself.

“Jungkook-ah, make yourself decent. We have guests. I believe you’ve met Y/N already but, this is her friend Rachel...” Seokjin gestures elegantly to both of you, unbothered and unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“Yes Hyung-” He mutters and grabs his brown linen shirt off the floor and tugs it over his head. He stands, almost robotically and extends his hand towards her, “Nice to meet you.”

Rachel moves in a similar way, her eyes still widened slightly whilst she takes his hand.

“Hi.” She responds, her voice smaller than usual and it causes Seokjin to quirk his brow at the two of them.

Jungkook visibly swallows, his prominent Adams apple bouncing in his throat as his hand sort of lingers against hers.

“I like your- “ His eyes flit to the top of her head, “ribbon. It’s blue.”

Seokjin smirks knowingly at the two of them now and he opens his mouth to break the tension before Rachel speaks up.

“Thanks!” She says a bit too loudly before swallowing the volume a bit, “I like your shirt. It’s very brown- a nice brown.”

Jungkook offers a tiny smile, dropping her hand reluctantly and before their encounter can continue, Seokjin speaks up.

“Uh ok, hooray for first meetings hm?” He nods to the exit of the tent, “Jungkook, I believe Yoongi was looking for you. He needs an assistant for today’s training session.”

Jungkook immediately perks up, nodding in excitement, “Yes hyung.” He pivots towards his cot to collect his armor but turns around once more to glance at Rachel, “Nice meeting you.”

“You too.” She practically squeaks, raising a hand in farewell.

Jungkook’s teeth peek out as he grins before he grabs his armor and practically sprints out of the tent.

Seokjin chuckles warmly and shakes his head before gesturing to the wooden table towards the back of the tent, “You are welcome to have a seat here, this should only take a moment.”

You each take your places at the table, illuminated by the lantern hanging above you.

Seokjin rounds the corner to sit across from you, his prince-like features tightening with a bit seriousness.

“As I said- this will be quick.” He assures you, licking his lips and lowering his voice a bit, “I was speaking with Yoongi earlier today and, he mentioned something that made me quite curious. He relayed a bit of your conversation with him-” He looks at you, “-he said that you told him that raiders were a common occurrence in your region, is that correct?”

You take his lead and lower your voice as well, glancing at Rachel before answering, “Yes. The number of raids has been increasing recently over the last few months actually.”

“I see. Do you have any idea as to why that may be?”

“I mean- our village is known for negotiating with raider clans.” You offer,” Our leaders feel as though it prevents violence.”

His brows quirk, hands clasping on the top of the table, “Has that method been effective so far?”

You look to Rachel for her insight and she tilts her head, considering the question, before she nods in approval which causes you to follow suit.

“I guess so. We have a specific strategy but, we are equipped with defenses as well.”  

Seokjin nods, his brows knitting together in thought. His plush lips part for a moment as he contemplates his next response, uncertainty written all over his face.

“Have either of you noticed any similarities between the clans? Anything at all- clothing, weaponry, language?”  

Your immediate response is to shake your head.

When a raid is occurring, you don’t necessarily have time to observe your intruders; safety is the only thing on your mind.

Rachel however, has noticed a similarity.

“There is one thing I’ve started to notice actually-” She begins, “They all seem to have a similar strategy. When they arrive, they encircle the town first before working their way inwards. It takes them a very long time to reach the center of the village, which is where we wait for them. It’s very strange actually, the center plaza contains most of our valuables- it's almost as if they are trying to take over in a way. However, they always end up leaving after negotiations and, I’ve never seen the same faces twice.”

Now that she mentions it, you recall that similarity as well.  

They do deploy the same tactic but, you just assumed that it’s the most effective way to get the most out of their raid.

Perhaps that isn’t their only intention.

Your stomach shrinks at the thought as you try to push it out of your head.

Seokjin’s features twitch with a bit of unease but, he composes himself quickly and smiles.

“Thank you. I’ll pass that along to Yoongi and see what he thinks of it.” He takes a deep breath, “We really appreciate your cooperation. As I mentioned to you the other day, it’s not very often that we are able to communicate with civilians and it makes our job a lot easier if we have insight from people who actually live in the territories we try to protect.” He eyes you both with a bit of hesitation then, as if he’s contemplating something, “If you wouldn't mind spreading the word that we aren’t a group of vicious demi-gods that would be great. As fun as the legends are, they can be a hinderance to our work...”  

You and Rachel nod in understanding, chuckling lightly at his word usage as the three of you stand.

“I’ll pass along the information. Thank you for having us.” You smile, bowing your head.

Rachel follows suit and, subconsciously her eyes drift to Jungkook’s cot, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Seokjin.

“We appreciate having you very much.” He smirks as his eyes flit to Rachel, “Both of you. I think you should come along with Y/N for future deliveries Rachel, I’m sure Jungkook would enjoy that.”

Comically, Rachel’s eyes widen a bit as she aggressively clears her throat, frantically looking away from Jungkook’s cot.

“What? Why would he? Wh-What do you mean?” She stutters which causes you to giggle fondly at your friend.

Taking her hand, you squeeze it gently and address Seokjin’s request, “Oh she’ll be back, don’t you worry.”

He chuckles and gestures to the door, “I look forward to it. I’ll walk you two out, I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

Rachel mutters something inaudible by your side, towing behind you reluctantly.

After your departure from the tent and a bit of friendly verbal sparring between you and Rachel, you separate to finish the remainder of your day.

That evening, you decide to go against your parent’s judgements and journey to the river once again.

As beautiful as it is in the daylight, the moon provides a rendition unlike any other. She casts her glow on the water like the mother of all spotlights, dancing across the surface with ease.  

The truth is, you often sneak out after your parent’s have fallen asleep to find solace in the atmosphere of there. It’s almost magical and you feel as though you can think clearly here.  

You always bring your wicker basket along as well so you can collect any herbs or ingredients you may need.

It’s a necessity to switch off between plants though and ensure that you aren’t depleting the rivers natural resources too much; a practice you are continuously getting better at.  

The river carries it’s usual orchestra of sounds along with a bit more whistling in the trees.

It’s mating season for the birds here and they are singing to one another in hopes of finding a lover.

You giggle to yourself and think of what the world would be like if humans implied a similar method of finding a partner.

“Should I be concerned that you’re out here alone, laughing to yourself?”

The voice instantly sends energy up your back and you whip your head around to find Yoongi standing a few yards behind you.

He looks a bit worn out, likely from all the work he’s been doing with the new recruits but, his beauty overwhelms you regardless.

The moonlight casts shadows on his face, his mouth pulled up in a smirk, his hair tied back once again into a ponytail.

He’s wearing a set of clean clothes, a white linen top with brown pants, his sword strapped loyally to his hip.

You imagine he never travels without it.

“Should I be concerned that you’re stalking me?” You retort trying to control the smile that crosses over your face.

He smirks, his hand coming up to rub behind his neck, “I’m not stalking you. I’m patrolling the perimeter, common military practice. You just so happen to be along the perimeter.”

“The perimeter is one the other side of the river, there is a path just through those trees over there-” You point to a group of trees to the left of you, “So technically, you’re not walking the ENTIRE perimeter.”

Yoongi smirks broadens enough for his teeth to peak out as he nods, impressed by your knowledge, “Fair enough.” He nods to the river behind you, “I like walking through here, it’s peaceful.”

You can’t help but return a smile of your own as you nod, “It is. I don’t blame you for taking a detour, even if it was to scare the lights out of me again.”

He chuckles, “Are you out here often?”

“Very.” You nod, “This place serves multiple purposes.”

“Oh does it? What purposes are those?”

“Well, I get most of my ingredients from the river or the surrounding forest so, it’s vital to my work and,” You gesture to the space around your head, “It’s the perfect location to contemplate my existence, the meaning of life, the secrets of the universe- you know, stuff like that.”

Yoongi’s expression grows very amused then, his tongue poking out between his lips before he laughs again, “Ah yes- that stuff. Has the river provided you with any answers?”

“Oh yeah- plenty but you know, the answers only lead to more questions. It’s a vicious cycle.” You quip, giggling a bit and feeling very comfortable in his presence.

There is magnetism between the two of you.

It’s something you’ve never felt before.

And deep down within your heart, you hope he feels it too.

He steps towards you subconsciously, glancing towards the moon and then back at you, “I know that cycle very well. Have you found anything worth sharing? My job doesn’t exactly allow me to indulge in philosophy very often, I’d welcome any of your insight.”

It’s perplexing that a famous General would care to know your thoughts regarding the best eateries in your village let alone, for him to care about your philosophy.

It’s incredibly odd.  

You've always been a fan of oddities though so, you don’t think as much of it as you should.

“You’d have to be a little more specific, I don’t think you’d want to sit here whilst I prattle on about the complexities of the universe.” You laugh

He bites his lip in contemplation, his gaze on you softening significantly, “I wouldn’t be so sure...” Yoongi murmurs and the way he looks at you sends your heart on a marathon, “But I see your point; what do you think of the war?”

Taking a deep breath, you attempt to compose yourself and your thoughts in order to accurately address his question.

“I understand it to a certain extent. Historically speaking, humans have consistently risen in opposition of one another for whatever reason. Peace seems impossible at times. With so many selfish people rising to power, it almost incentivizes that kind of behavior. It’s rewarded. Peace is only possible when you restrict the empowerment of those who act within their own self-interest. The cycle always continues though so, war is inevitable.” You speak softly, taking your eyes off of Yoongi for a moment to focus on your choice of words.  

His dark eyes seem to glimmer with fascination as he nods along to your response, the two of you shifting closer to one another.

Unintentionally, of course.

“How should we restrict the empowerment of those individuals?” He licks his lips as his eyes narrow in curiosity, “Do you think there is a way to do that?”

Chewing on your cheek, you consider his question before letting out a sigh, “The power would have to return to the masses. I think the idea that humanity needs finite leadership isn’t completely accurate. Snuffing out corruption is difficult though, especially since it’s already been let loose. I guess there isn’t a linear path but, I’d like to believe it’s possible.”

He smiles, “So would I. My profession wouldn’t really imply that though would it?”

Your hands play with the fabric of your dress to distract from how close the two of you are as you swallow back the instability of your breath.

“I think it does actually. You aren’t tasked with the corrupt objectives; your job is to defend against it.”  

A grimace comes over his face, “I still engage in violence.”

“You do.” You agree, your hands lowering to clasp in front of you, “There is a difference between you and your enemy though isn’t there?”

Yoongi is truly hanging on every word you say, eager to hear the soft twinkle of your voice, eager to understand your mind.

“There is.” He answers tightly, glancing down your hands, “Violence isn’t our objective.”

You notice his gaze on your hands and it causes you to look at his own; they look softer than you remember, which you hope you can take partial credit for.

Amused, you watch as he clasps and unclasps them unknowingly, his nerves starting to creep up inside his head.

“What is your objective?” You ask, smiling softly at him

He bites his bottom lip, nodding as he understands where you’re headed, “Defending the innocent.”

“In times of war, peace also requires an army...” You conclude, hoping to comfort him in some way.

He smiles again but, he doesn’t look up at you, his gaze transfixed upon your fingers, “You should consider becoming an advisor of some sort.”

Your head tilts, your heart rate going crazy in your chest but, your curiosity and it’s need to be sated override your need to be proper.

“Why do you keep looking at my hands?”

He still doesn’t look up but he does blush, nervous laughter emanating from his lips, “Because I want to hold them...”

At his confession, he looks up at you longing, his throat bobbing as he swallows and tries to discern your reaction.

Without thinking you unfurl your fingers and turn your palms so they are facing towards the sky, slightly embarrassed by the way that they shake.

“Then hold them.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen momentarily, shooting down at your upturned palms before he slowly, almost agonizingly places his own shaking hands atop yours.

Simultaneously, the two of you intertwine your fingers, feeling the erratic pulse of one another.

“It’s good to know that my heart isn't the only one that’s pounding.”

Nervously, you giggle and nod rapidly, “Definitely. I thought I was the only one...”

He chuckles in response, stepping towards you a little more so you can feel the heat coming off of his body.

The two of you stand there in silence, enjoying the feeling of one another and the simplicity of the act you’re performing.

Words fall short on your tongue because, you are truly in awe of the way you feel and, part of you worries that you’re actually dreaming.  

A shout nearby, coming from one of your fellow villagers rips the two of you out of your moment as Yoongi suddenly remembers why he came this way in the first place.  

He drops your hands and steps back, feeling slightly regretful that he let go of you so abruptly.

“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, looking back towards the voice before gesturing to the forest, “I should go- my men will come looking for me if I’m gone too long.”

Quickly, you nod in understanding, stepping a few inches back, “Of course. Thank you for the talk- it was-”

“I’d like to come by the river more often while I’m here- if that’s alright with you.” He interrupts you, his voice a little shaky as he clears his throat again.

Knowingly, you grin, “I don’t own the river Yoongi...”

Your quip breaks the bit of tension between you and he chuckles, his hands adjusting his clothes unnecessarily.

“I’m aware, Ms. Apothecary. I was just implying that-”

You interrupt him now with a smirk rushing to your lips, “You were implying that we should cross paths again.”

Yoongi bites his lip, cheeks the color of summer roses, “Yes.”

“I think we should too.”

This makes him smile and for a moment, he looks like a young man, completely rid of any burdens.

It’s a good look.

“Are you ok to walk back on your own?”  

You want to tell him no but, the light from the main street is yards away and after that, your home is only 5 minutes by foot.

“Yes.” You nod to the forest behind him, “Are you ok to walk on your own?”

He rolls his eyes before chuckling, patting the sword at his hip, “I’ll manage.”

With one last parting smile, the two of you begin to go your separate ways.

Tonight, each of your minds would be filled thoughts of one another and if you were lucky, you’d cross each others path while you sleep.

One could only hope.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

“Goodnight General Min.”

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 3)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24

Read on AO3

Masterlist 

Moodboard for this chapter by beecastle ❤️

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 4,334

Summary: Set loosely during You Will Cry Tears Of Blood (season 1, ep 7), Javier and Horacio attempt to deal with the aftermath of their mission in Tolú, whilst Escobar’s violence escalates and both men are caught in the middle of it. As the stakes get higher, so do their feelings and cravings for each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Canon-typical violence and the discussions thereof, guns, anal sex, unprotected sex, anal fingering, cockwarming, power dynamics, swearing, angst, smoking.

Notes: I had hoped to get this out sooner, but I kept getting distracted, oops. Thanks again to anyone who has interacted with previous chapters on AO3 or Tumblr. Your lovely comments have made me smile, especially as this fic is probably the most I’ve challenged myself with my writing so far ❤️ I will try to work on chapter 4 as soon as possible!

Whilst obviously I do not own Narcos or its characters, please do not copy, re-post, or plagiarize this fic in any capacity on this or other platforms. If you wish to create any fan works inspired by it, please provide a credit or send me a message if in doubt.

Chapter 3: Convergence

Javier and Horacio had still been attempting to process the events of their mission in Tolú when Escobar’s war ramped up several notches again, unleashing yet more violence on the already battle-weary people of Colombia. From his meeting with Steve and the Ambassador, Javier learnt that it was thanks to his partner that César Gaviria hadn’t boarded Avianca Flight 203. A significant political crisis averted, but something of a Pyrrhic victory for those not fortunate enough to have federal agents watching their backs.

The aftermath of the atrocity led Javier and Steve straight back to Medellín to interview the girlfriend of the suspected bomber. Horacio headed the investigation with the DEA’s assistance, but apart from a handful of lingering glances unseen by those around them, contact between Horacio and Javier had been strictly business.

Even though there were far more urgent and serious matters at hand, Javier was still struck by the gentle coaxing tone of Horacio’s voice as he interviewed the frightened young woman, whose name was Natalie. He’d seen Colonel Carrillo destroy countless informants and suspects with little more than a menacing glare and a quiet threat, but there were no signs of that here. He was offering to protect her ­– albeit in exchange for the truth – reminding her that Pablo’s men would most likely want her dead. She frustratingly wouldn’t cooperate and Javier had to remember that they couldn’t help someone who didn’t want to be helped.

Little did anyone know that the plane bombing was just the start of Escobar’s insatiable hunger for fear and intimidation, or ‘negotiating’ as he thought of it as. Bombings became a regular occurrence and Search Bloc were kept occupied with raid after raid, yet they still somehow got no closer to a major breakthrough. Horacio was exhausted. The deep-rooted kind of weariness that seeped into his limbs and tightened every muscle like a wound-up coil, but no amount of sleep eased. Every day felt like one step forwards followed by two steps back. Morale was low among his men and the weight of grief and guilt sat heavily on his shoulders, relentlessly bearing down and crushing him as the collateral damage rapidly stacked up. He considered himself a resilient man, but even he was being tested to the brink.

The current volatile situation also meant neither Horacio or Javier had much time for a life outside of work. Bureaucracy had largely relegated the Americans to the side-lines for the time being, meaning Javier and Steve often found themselves stuck on desk duties at the Embassy, with the exception of an unauthorised operation between the DEA and Search Bloc, which involved the tracking of sicarios’ vehicles around Medellín.

Horacio couldn’t be certain, but he strongly suspected Javier pushed a lot harder than Murphy for that one; a thought which raised an uncharacteristic smirk from Horacio as the three of them stood around the desk in his office planning their next move. Or perhaps it was the heady notes of Javier’s aftershave lingering in his senses, half-drugging him with tantalising memories of bare skin and shared body heat; or the casual yet electric way their fingers collided across the table for the briefest of seconds as they passed photographs back and forth; or it could even have been the fact that Murphy was stood only feet away blissfully unaware of what they had been up to when his back was turned. The sound of Javier clearing his throat snapped Horacio out of his thoughts, and back to Murphy looking expectantly at him, waiting for an answer to a question he hadn’t heard.

Beyond that, they’d hardly seen each other since Tolú, although not from lack of want. With Horacio leading regular raids, Javier began hovering around the surveillance team at the Embassy more than usual. If he got wind of an ongoing Search Bloc operation, he increasingly found himself checking in over the radio. He kept conversation brief and formal, so as not to rouse suspicions; anything to hear Horacio’s voice, to know that he was safe. Equally, Javier’s almost nightly contact stirred a flicker of warmth in Horacio’s chest as he and his men repeatedly charged headfirst into danger. It was always a strange, conflicting ache of relief that Javier was safe, crossed with a selfish desire for him to be by his side.

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Then came the kidnappings. The children of the highly influential – including the former President’s daughter - were the next victims of Escobar’s terrorism; plucked off the streets one by one to act as leverage in his pursuit of megalomania. Thanks to President Gaviria’s high-risk strategy to catch Escobar before he was forced to surrender to his negotiations, the CIA were authorised to undertake fly-overs in order to track sicarios via their satellite phones.

Javier and Steve happened to be driving around the streets of Medellín when they received a radio transmission from the surveillance team with the current location of some known sicarios. They were close by in Comuna 3, but only the two agents were on the ground ready to go, with no Colombian back-up in the vicinity. They knew it was downright dangerous and reckless to venture into the comunas alone, but there was no way they could turn down the chance to potentially catch some of Escobar’s right-hand men.

As soon as they pulled up in Campo Valdés, bullets began to fly. The two sicarios in question – Poison and Sure Shot, as it turned out – had Javier and Steve clambering up and down rooftops, weaving in and out of doorways and knocking over residents’ garden furniture and drying laundry. Javier was pretty sure he was too old for this, as he scrambled over a wall, his knuckles grazing harshly along the sharp edges of broken bricks as he hauled himself upwards.

He thought he’d finally got his man, as he and Sure Shot stood face-to-face, with Javier shouting for him to drop his weapon. Sure Shot obeyed, tossing the gun to the floor and raising his arms in surrender.

Before Javier could celebrate his victory, he noticed a small boy – who couldn’t have been more than eight or nine – out of the corner of his eye. More alarmingly, he clocked the gun in his hand that was now pointing directly at him.

“Let him go!” the boy shouted, his gun never leaving its intended target. Javier was trapped in the middle, his own weapon still trained on the sicario in front of him.

“I don’t want to have to kill you,” Javier warned, but he knew – or at least fucking hoped – it was an idle threat and that the boy probably knew that too.

With Javier’s attention elsewhere, Sure Shot fled the scene, leaving Javier alone in a stand-off with the child, as he turned to face him, both still armed. They stared each other down for several seconds, Javier visibly breathing harder than the boy.

Eventually, the boy ran off without any shots being fired. Javier’s heart pounded painfully in his chest as he collapsed against the wall behind him, grateful for the weight to be taken off his feet before his legs buckled. He glanced down at his gun; suddenly aware it was shaking in his hand. He shoved it in the back of his jeans, unable to stomach looking at it for now, before closing his eyes and huffing out an elongated breath, more from relief that he hadn’t pulled the trigger than anything else.

Steve’s chase had been just as fruitless, with Poison making his escape on a motorbike. Out of breath and battered and bruised, they made their way into the house they’d initially arrived at, only to be met with the horrifying sight of a baby in a highchair with her mother’s bloody and lifeless body lying in the doorway, along with that of her mother’s friend. Javier quickly recognised one of the dead women as Natalie. Horacio had been right and Javier was already feeling the guilt taking hold for not doing more, not that he had any real idea how. The reality of this war had never felt starker as he and Steve crouched down in front of the baby, wondering what the fuck they were going to do with her now.

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It was late afternoon when Javier pulled up at the Carlos Holguín School; the sun dipping low enough for him to need his aviators whilst he’d been driving, but its heat no less forgiving. Steve had made the rash but necessary decision to take the baby back to his and Connie’s in the interim and they’d figure out what to do from there. It went without saying that of the two of them, Steve was the better equipped for childcare responsibilities. Babies were absolutely not Javier’s forte.

With Steve needing to get straight back to Bogotá, Javier was at a loose end. Although, he quite easily could have caught the same flight as Steve, but he’d made an excuse and told him he had planned to meet a potential CI. Under normal circumstances, that would have led to the third degree from Steve, but he was unsurprisingly too distracted and preoccupied to question it this time. The truth was, Javier somehow felt drawn here. He was still digesting the last few hours and there was only one person he wanted – or rather needed – to see. Not that he imagined Horacio would be too happy about his and Steve’s lone adventure into the comunas.

Javier had been right, of course.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing? No back-up, no vests. Do you gringos have a death wish?”

“Well hello to you too,” Javier deadpanned as he shut the door to Horacio’s office. Someone had filled him in already, then. His greeting apparently hadn’t softened Horacio’s stern expression in the slightest.

“I’m serious, Javier.”

“I can see that. Look, I know it was stupid, but what choice did we have?”

“You could have called me, for a start.”

“There wasn’t time! If we’d waited, they’d have been long gone. And – they probably would have killed the baby as well,” Javier explained, his last sentence practically choked out in revulsion.

Horacio couldn’t disagree with that. “Where’s the baby now?” he asked instead.

Even after all this time, Javier still wasn’t used to the abrupt way Horacio’s entire demeanour could shift from one moment to the next. His last question was full of concern and his voice softer, much like it had been when he was interviewing Natalie.

“Steve and his wife took her in for the time being. No fucking clue what they’re gonna do with her.”

Horacio nodded slowly, whilst Javier’s eyes were resolutely angled down to the floor as he overworked his jaw and rested his hands on his hips; both men now at a loss at what to say or do, as they stood in a sombre silence.

“Did something else happen?” Horacio finally queried, scanning Javier’s face for any hint of what he seemed to be holding back.

Javier didn’t respond, but instead moved purposefully away from the door and towards Horacio, who was stood in a small alcove in the corner of the room by one of his desks.

Javier pinned him with a look that seemed to be asking everything and nothing of him all at once. His chest prominently rose and fell as he closed the gap between them; his hands moving up to steady himself on Horacio’s waist as he leaned in to press their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and for the first time in hours – or perhaps days, even weeks – allowed himself to properly breathe. A slow, steady exhale followed by a deep, grounding inhale that was full of Horacio. Faint traces of cigarettes and aftershave provoked his senses, only adding fuel to the fire already blazing inside of him.

Horacio was as still as a mill pond; his arms frozen by his side; unused to this kind of contact in such an exposed setting. He didn’t try to shrug Javier away though; instead allowing him to take what he needed, but not able to fully reciprocate either.

“We can’t do this here. Someone might see us,” Horacio warned in a low whisper.

“Where then?” Javier mumbled in response, as he slowly brushed his nose over Horacio’s and ran his thumbs in circles up and down his sides, catching on the edges of his uniform as the material ghosted over his skin and elicited shivers in its wake.

Horacio was silent for a moment, swallowing stiffly and clenching his fists so tightly, he could feel his own nails digging into his palms. He knew he shouldn’t be letting this happen when he was still working. Any of his men could burst through the door at any moment. Not to mention, he had a stack of paperwork and wiretaps to go through, which usually would have kept him busy well into the night.

“Meet me by my car in ten minutes,” Horacio eventually confirmed, his lips faintly grazing over Javier’s, before he reluctantly stepped out of his hold.

Javier nodded and left the office, swiftly lighting up once outside, anything to distract himself whilst he waited. A thread of tension was running through his body from head to toe, winding so tightly around him, he knew it was in danger of snapping or breaking him at any moment. He just needed to hold on a bit longer.

Meanwhile, Horacio excused himself with a vague cover story that involved following up on some leads across town. He knew no one would dare question him further, plus he was contactable and close by if anything urgent cropped up. A sinking feeling of guilt mixed with a rush of adrenaline simultaneously pulled inside him. He’d never done anything like this before. He knew it was reckless, stupid and irresponsible given his position, and yet a part of him – a part that was currently winning the battle in his head – just couldn’t resist.

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The short drive back to Horacio’s apartment was quiet yet loaded. Javier’s mind weighed heavy with the events of the day, but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell. Not yet. That would come later. For now, his only thoughts were of Horacio. Of how much he needed him in whatever way he was allowed to have him. He stared vacantly out of the window from the passenger’s seat for the majority of the journey, his hands impatiently twitching as they rested on his thighs. Horacio wasn’t faring much better; his grip on the steering wheel becoming more and more vice-like each time he stopped at a traffic light.

Once behind the safety of a closed, locked door, they were all over each other. Frantic, messy kisses in between shedding their outer layers of clothing and shoes, as they moved through the hallway, briefly stopping several times as each man took turns to push the other roughly against the wall before devouring him again.

They eventually made it to Horacio’s bedroom, clumsily stripping out of the rest of their clothes and climbing on to the bed whilst attempting to catch their breath in between heated kisses that were more tongue and teeth than anything else.

Javier soon found himself in Horacio’s lap, straddling his firm thighs as Horacio sat up to chase his lips, securing him in place against his chest with the sheer strength of his arms.

Javier groaned and squirmed as his hardened cock pressed against Horacio’s stomach, unable to resist grinding downwards as he clutched at Horacio’s broad back. So much solid muscle and his fair share of scars and bruises; an indication of just how embroiled Horacio had been in this war and the toll it had taken on his body, yet he’d somehow withstood it all.

“Keep doing that and this will be over far too quickly,” Horacio moaned against Javier’s mouth.

“Doing what exactly? Oh, you mean this?” Javier rasped, as he ground his hips down harder, the change in position surging their cocks together and pulling a string of breathless expletives from each of them in turn.

They were both so wound up and desperate, but Horacio wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. Before Javier could react further, Horacio flipped him over on to his stomach on the bed.

“This is what happens when you get cocky,” Horacio teased, as he reached over to the drawer in his nightstand and pulled out a bottle of lube – noticing the way Javier turned his head to the side with a quirked brow and eyed the bottle with a surprised smirk – before spreading Javier’s legs wider and positioning himself in the space he’d forged.

He liberally applied the lube to his fingers, before circling a digit across Javier’s entrance. Javier keened and arched his back, his nerve endings alight just from the slightest touch.

Horacio continued, sliding one finger in and gradually working past the resistance he felt as he eased it back and forth several times, before adding a second and rubbing his free hand soothingly across Javier’s lower back in a bid to relax him further. Ideally, he would have taken more time dragging this part out, but Javier was already whimpering and writhing beneath him and even Horacio had his limits.

He coated his own length in lube, before lining himself up and pushing into Javier, causing them both to gasp in unison at the overwhelming relief. Finally. The last few weeks had been torturous for many reasons, but this was what they’d both been craving; needing to find release and comfort in each other amid the chaos and devastation that surrounded them. Of course, they knew it would all still be there waiting for them tomorrow, but for now, there was only the two of them joined together, lost in the sensation and the heat of each other’s bodies.

Horacio began to move, slow yet deep. Each thrust pushing him further inside of Javier and extracting a plethora of pleasing noises that still managed to consume Horacio’s senses despite being dulled by the pillow Javier was moaning into.

For several moments, Horacio kept still; allowing his full weight to be supported by Javier’s back, as his arms fell forwards pinning him in place. He could feel himself throbbing against Javier’s tight walls and knew how easy it would be just to nudge forwards, yet for a short while he resisted. Instead, luxuriating in being held inside him, feeling the exquisite warmth and stretch around his leaking cock, their shaky breaths and his own pulse loud in his ears.

All Javier could do was grasp at Horacio’s fingers on the bed, any attempt to shift his hips backwards immediately denied by the imposing strength above him.

“Horacio, please,” Javier eventually whined, delirious and aching for any sort of movement.

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me,” Javier pleaded. In any other circumstance and with anyone else, he would have loathed sounding so needy, but this was what Horacio drove him to.

Hearing Javier beg to be fucked was all it took for Horacio’s hips to plough forwards, not holding anything back this time. He repeated the motion over and over in a relentless rhythm, grunting with the force of each movement; pounding Javier further into the mattress and causing his cock to inadvertently rut against it at the same time.

Javier was powerless to do anything but take everything Horacio had to give him, his jaw slack against the pillow and his mewling growing louder each time Horacio hit at just the right angle.

They both knew this couldn’t last for long. It was all so much, more than they were used to, more than anything they’d experienced before.

It took several more vigorous thrusts before Horacio’s hips stilled and his breath caught in his chest as though the air had just been punched out of him. Javier felt more than heard the shuddering growl behind him. The vibrations reverberated through their connected bodies as Horacio emptied himself deep inside of Javier, his torso and arms possessively caging him in as he climaxed.

A familiar word was in danger of escaping Horacio’s lips as he came, but he held it in by the skin of his teeth. A word that had echoed around his head every day since they had arrived back from Tolú, every day they had been kept apart by circumstances beyond their control. A word he probably had no real right to think, let alone speak out loud, but feared one day he would, because the urge was too visceral not to. Mine.

The sensation of hot, thick spurts filling him was enough to push Javier over the edge as the thread that had threatened to snap for weeks finally gave way; his back arching and his toes curling as he spilled copiously over the sheets and his stomach. His strangled groans were muted by the pillow; stars forming behind his lidded eyes from the all-consuming pleasure surging through his veins as he finally had gotten what he’d needed, what he’d stayed in Medellín for, what he’d craved with every fibre of his being.

Horacio stayed buried inside of Javier for a short while as their breathing evened out. His mouth peppered tender kisses across Javier’s neck and shoulders; confident that a lot of the tension had been dispelled from his tight, aching muscles, as he felt similar respite in his own for the first time in weeks.

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They had no concept of time as they lay tangled together, dozing lightly as they tried to pretend for as long as possible that the outside world didn’t exist. The sun had long since set and there appeared to be an unspoken agreement that Javier was staying the night. It wasn’t unusual for him to stop over in hotels in Medellín, especially if he’d made use of one of the local brothels – either for work or pleasure – but this was a first. He’d never even been inside Horacio’s apartment before, let alone in his bed. He was more accustomed to brief encounters that ended with either him or his bedfellow disappearing into the night. Between tonight and what happened in Tolú, it – whatever it was – was starting to become a habit. An addictive, intoxicating habit at that.

Javier eventually sat up against the headboard, post-coital cigarette in place between his lips. Horacio lay facing him, one arm propped up on the pillow whilst he used his other to lazily trace patterns up and down Javier’s bare skin.

“You ready to talk about it yet?” Horacio dared to ask, bursting the bubble they had cocooned themselves in.

Javier indulged in his cigarette before sighing in defeat. He had always assumed it was the way Horacio posed his questions and the tone he used when asking them. But if he was honest with himself, a pattern was starting to emerge, suggesting it was something else repeatedly compelling him to talk.

“There was another kid. Besides the baby, I mean. He pulled a gun on me. Couldn’t have been more than eight or nine.”

“Fuck,” was all Horacio could say for a moment. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t shoot him if that’s what you’re asking. But it crossed my mind that I might have to. Told him I didn’t want to kill him before he ran off – as if that makes it any better.” Javier let out a humourless laugh and rubbed the heel of his hand across his forehead with his cigarette still dangling between his fingers.

“You were held at gunpoint. Sometimes, you just have to do whatever it takes to survive.”

“And that includes shooting kids now, does it? Jesus Christ, Horacio.”

Javier hadn’t eaten for several hours, but he was confident the gnawing discomfort in his stomach was disgust rather than hunger. Disgust that the cartels so routinely used local kids to do their dirty work for them but mostly disgust for allowing himself to be put in that position in the first place, for contemplating pulling the trigger even for a fraction of a second, for trying to rationalise the difference in his head between what he could have done and what the sicarios could have done to the now orphaned baby sleeping in Steve’s and Connie’s apartment.

“Except you didn’t shoot him,” Horacio countered.

“No, but I could have done.”

“I don’t think you really believe that.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you made a choice, Javier. You could have been killed, and you still didn’t do it. That’s how I’m sure.” 

Before Javier had chance to argue further, Horacio leaned in and kissed him, slow and tender. It seemingly had the desired effect on Javier, who responded at an equally unhurried pace, his dark, racing thoughts soon melting away to be replaced with Horacio’s soft lips and warm body.

Despite everything, sleep came easier to both of them than it had done in weeks, as once more Javier drifted off with Horacio’s arms encasing him. However, they awoke in the early hours, seeking out each other’s mouths and touch in the half-light of the bedroom. There was still an unsated edge of desperation in the way they explored, tasted and gratified; unsure when they would get the opportunity for this again. Uncertain of the dangers ahead for them both and unwilling to admit that fear out loud, but this feeling like the closest thing to a confession.

For there were always dangers and unknowns lurking on the horizon when a country was at war. Moments of calm, escape or solace had to be cherished and savoured, as there were no guarantees. All they could do was cling to each other whenever they got the chance; taking what they needed before heading back to the frontline for more of the same. Except, nothing was the same, now. The stakes had been raised and without even necessarily knowing it, both men had more to lose than ever before.