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tokoyamisstuff · 3 years

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Tender Ch. 1 - Loki x Mute! Reader

Summary: Even though Loki doesn’t understand why the new member of the Avengers should be kind to him of all people, he doesn’t want you to stop either.

Warnings: Loki being depressed, the Avengers being kinda mean, mentions of Torture and Death

Words: ~2100

[Story Masterlist] [All of my Works]

All eyes were on him again.

As soon as Loki would step inside, the previously lively room would fall completely silent. Well, it’s not like he wasn’t used to being the involuntary kill-joy...

Usually, the God of Mischief craved attention, may it be positive or negative - most of the time being the latter. But lately, after months of having all those distrustful and hostile glares piercing holes into him, he’d rather wish for the ground to swallow him whole.

“Umm, so...I gotta go.” Natasha was the first one to flee the unpleasant atmosphere, not even putting the energy into mutter anything else than a cheap excuse on her way out. Clint wordlessly followed her close after, but not without shooting the Odinson one last, spiteful look.

Loki on the other hand was picking on his hands, a nervous habit he had inherited from his mother. As much as he tried to avoid meeting their eyes, the tensioned aura they were emitting making him feel close to breaking down completely - but he would never give them the satisfaction to witness this, he swore to himself.

And yet: Maybe he should just leave. Disappear, forever.

Although he’d never admit, Loki had grown very tired of his life following this stirr path, unable to diverge into a new direction. Everything he did would ultimately bring death and destruction upon mankind, inflicting fear in the hearts of all people.

His whole existence was based on being condemned to fail - just for others to reach their ‘glorius purpose’.

“Great” Tony scoffed. “Now they’re gone. Well done, prince of nothing.” Steve cut his friend off, clearing his throat very exaggeratedly.

The god still hadn’t moved from the doorframe of the conference room, while all others were already sitting on the oval-shaped table. He didn’t got what all that fuss was about. If Steve didn’t insist him to attend this emergency meeting, he’d just have gone about his usual business and avoided everyone as good as he could.

“C’mon, brother” Thor sighed, well knowing that if his brother was to stay in the team, it would ultimatively drive a wedge between them. All that pressure in the air was straining for everyone, including himself.

Tony on the other hand was pretty chill about everything, aside of being passive-aggressive. This was probably due to their similar coping styles.

Even though his near-death-experience back when he stopped the Chitauri was still eating on his mental health, he’d prefer glossing over it with stupid jokes and overly confident behaviour. “No sassy remark today, Reindeer Games?”

Stark was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed as he rose an eyebrow on the god, who only muttered a hoarse “No...not today.”

Yeah, it was kind of his style to break the unsettling silence through puny comments or self-glorifying speeches, to distract from his own insecurity.

But right now, he was just so damn tired.

Of this planet and it’s people, as well as the humiliating circumstances he had to dwell in. The fact that he was a prisoner at the Stark Tower, amongst his worst enemies. Being forced by his brother to keep up this meaningless act, as if he’d ever be seen as a team member or ally - when in reality, he was but a slave to the people he once ought to reign.

Just like back on Asgard: Never one of them, never belonging. No way to break free - for his true self was something to be loathed.

However, first and foremost the one thing he was especially tired of was himself, for he couldn’t get out of his own skin. Not only could he never be considered a hero, let alone be redeemed.

After all the atrocities he had commited due to Thanos’ torture and the tesseract’s influence, now that he woke up from that naive dream of power stilling the emptiness in his dark heart, there was nothing left for him - other than to be haunted by his crimes until the mercy of death would overcome him.

“Well” Steve began, slamming his palms on the desk to attract everyone’s attention. “As you all know, we are welcoming a new team member today.”

“They all know?” Of course they wouldn’t let him in on such sensitive information. Not that he minded either way - one Avenger more or less, it didn’t matter how many people hated him in here.

“Please, come on in.”

Loki cleared the entrance when he heared Tony’s words, turning around in anticipation of another dull creature like the Hulk to torment him - but his calm demeanour dropped completely at this unusual sight:

“Y-You?!”

That was simply not possible! The last time he had seen you was almost a year ago, and you were on the brink of death at that!

“For everyone that doesn’t know yet: Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She is one of the victims HYDRA experimented on, and they succeeded in forming an artificial mutant.”

Steve went on and on explaining about your powers, but Loki’s head had already turned on autopilot, the only thing he could concentrate on being how the hell you of all people ended up here.

All these months, he was desperately trying to get any information about you, all of his hints ultimately leading him to dead ends - and in the end, tragically believing in your imminent death.

The memories were still painfully vivid in his mind: It was his first mission together with the Avengers, at a HYDRA hideout with most likely no civil survivors.

Actually, he had planned to make his escape right when the others engaged in a fight, wandering the hallways of what resembled a torture chamber rather than a laboratory.

On the walls were several instructions, about a serum that might cause a human to mutate if they were exposed to unbearable stress - pain being the most effective method, apparently.

Yet instead of finding anything useful for his personal gain, he found you: A beautiful woman, yet emaciated and lying in a puddle of her own blood. At first he thought you to be dead just like the others - but as soon as your faint whimpers drang to his ears, he burst the cell you were trapped in open, rushing to your side immediately.

“Shh...” the god scooped you up from the cold stone floor, wrapping his cloak around your broken body. “Everything is alright now. Your savior is here.”

Loki gasped as he felt your hand stroking his cheekbone, even through all your pain and weakness wanting to bid your hero this due respect.

“Hel...you humans are such fragile creatures...” Loki muttered under his breath, cursing his own lack of talent when it came to casting healing spells. “Hang in there, look at me!”

Your eyes were teary and bloodshot, yet not less fit to bring across a message no words ever could: Incredible gratitude, and admiration.

He could tell you were close to passing out when your hand left his face, falling limp to the side. But he held you firmly in his arms, not once stopping to utter sweet words of encouragement as he made his way to the ship, leading you into safety.

“Your world in the balance, and you bargain for one man?”

Those were the words he once directed at Black Widow - but only now he understood her attempts.

Saving one person could never make up for all the lives he had destroyed - and yet he knew that for you, it would mean the world none the less.

In one way or another, with your life at his mercy, he began to finally grasp the preciousness of life, and doing everything in one’s might to protect it.

“Reindeer Games” Tony tapped on his shoulders, making Loki wake from his pondering. “I’d appreciate if you didn’t scare her away on the first day already.”

Oh.

Just now he was noticing his own grim expression, having towered over your much smaller form this whole time with furrowed brows.

“My apologies” was his firm response, but you only shook your head, trying to tell him it was not a big deal.

So this was what you looked like when you’re not imprisoned, he realized when he took in your physique.

Much to his pleasure, all of your wounds had seemingly healed, and you finally gained some much needed weight. Like this, you looked so much more healthier - and most definetly even more bewitching than he remembered you.

If people had let him know, would he have visited your sickbed, aiding you towards health again? Who knows...

Yet somehow, he dwelled in the thought of you being able to lead a happy life now that you were free - which made your decision to seek out the Avengers in wish for more battles even harder for him to accept.

“You are incredibly strong, Lady Y/N” Loki spoke firmly, everyone else rolling their eyes at his usual exaggeration - but you knew he meant every word. “Be sure of my eternal respect.”

The God of Lies’ eyes widened in excitement when you directed a warm smile at him, knowing for sure that this one was genuine. It wasn’t like those fake smirks the other Avengers gave him out of politeness, or the mocking laughs when they were making fun of or excluding him.

No - that one was just pure affection. And it left him in awe.

“Thank you for saving me back then” you signed, just for Loki shooting you a puzzled look.

“What, I thought the all-tongue knows every language?” Tony yelled, as inconsiderate as always. Thor was quick to explain on his brother’s stead, him still being deeply invested with you. “Every spoken one, yes. ASL is not one of our fortes.”

Usually, Loki had always been a quick thinker. But right now he was to bewildered by your appearance that thinking straight was out of the question.

What language were they speaking of? And why have you not been saying anything up until now? Maybe his presence was making you uncomfortable, after all? Should he leave on your behalf?

To make it easier for him to understand, you rolled down your turtleneck, revealing the unsighty scar that covered your whole throat.

There were not many people bold enough to come close to the God of Mischief without warning, yet suddenly you simply took his hand and slowly led it to your neck.

How could you be so naive and offer someone like him such a vital spot?! He’ll never get the human philosophy...

And yet, the flabbergasted god hesistantly let his hand run over the scar, while you opened your mouth to no avail - for 11 months already, no tone would leave your vocal cords.

“I’m incredibly sorry...” Loki whispered with a sorrowful tone, while the others just stared in disbelief. “If only I was able to heal this wound back then...”

What a puny god he was...and an even more pathetic wanna-be-hero at that...

He would try to take a few steps back, but you took a hold of his hand, squeezing it with both of yours, that cheerful smile not faltering in the slightest.

“Please, don’t be sad. I’m only alive thanks to you!” Bucky, whose cousin was mute as well, translated what you were signing for Loki. His tone sounded quite irritated, not fitting those meaningful words. “I only wanted to join the Avengers because I want to be just like you. You’re my idol!”

Those words touched him deeply, igniting a flame inside of him he thought long to be defunct. Was it hope?

Of course it was not nearly enough to pull him out of that deep, dark hole he felt trapped in for as long as he could remember - yet somehow, he now felt that it was not impossible to escape.

While the others were cringing at your declaration, making jokes about ‘choosing wrong idols’ or would plainly not believe Loki to have a positive effect on anyone, the two of you would just stare at each other in silent admiration.

Shyly, you signed yet another word for him - and this time, Loki would know what you mean from pure intuition.

He smiled.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Loki was able to smile again, just thanks to your heartwarming welcome. And he was still blissfully unaware about what effect you could have on him, if he was brave enough to let you close.

One thing was sure: You literally had him wrapped around his finger from the very start.

#Loki #Loki x Reader #Loki x You #Loki Odinson #Loki Laufeyson #Loki Friggason #Oneshot #Self Insert #Marvel #Disney #Fluff #Fem! Reader #God of Mischief #Loki / Reader

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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To Play the King - ao3

- chapter 2 -

Lan Qiren was not especially old and, due to circumstances conspiring to keep him at home – whether his sickliness as a child, his difficulty understanding people as an adolescent, or his brother’s self-destruction in his adulthood – not especially experienced. Despite that, he was moderately certain that he was currently in the process of making a truly terrible decision.

A truly terrible set of decisions, even. It was as Cangse Sanren had once remarked: adultery, whether to one’s spouse or one’s ideals, consisted not only of a single error, but an entire sequence – the initial weakness, the temptation, the refusal to reject temptation, the decision to continue to indulge oneself…

Maintain your own discipline was a rule. So was reject the crooked path.

Lan Qiren eyed the Nightless City in front of him and sighed.

To be more correct, it was not that he was making a terrible decision, but rather that he had already made one; the question of whether to step over Wen Ruohan’s threshold was not going to be the deciding factor here. The bargain had been struck and Wen Ruohan had done what he had promised – and quite cleverly, too, pulling in the boy’s maternal Yu family to help – while Lan Qiren in turn had spent not inconsiderable time convincing his sect elders that allowing him to visit the Nightless City for a season wasn’t really any more of a concession than the usual remit they allowed him when it came to the discussion conferences, which for sect leaders (acting or otherwise) could at times last up to a month between the preparations and the travel and the negotiations and all the rest. They were not like the juniors that could just show up for the festivities…

Still, now that he’d actually gotten here, he couldn’t help but stop and stare and wonder: what in the world am I doing?

Preservation of life outweighs all other rules, he reminded himself, thinking once again of that poor Jiang boy. The child had been so young, barely old enough to wear proper clothes, and yet he’d been so studious and determined to succeed, working three times harder than boys twice his age. It was clear that he believed with a child’s innocence and all his heart that his hard work and sacrifice and devotion, if only paid in high enough measure, would be enough to finally win him the affection of a father who would never give him anything, and through no fault of his own…

Lan Qiren had been that child, once.

He would have taken a knife to his chest and carved out his heart for his father if only the man would show the slightest bit of interest in or care for him, the way he did so easily and naturally for his elder brother. Worse still, he really had taken a knife and pruned away all the parts of himself that he thought his father might dislike, making himself smaller and lesser just to try to fit himself into the tiny corner of his father’s heart that was left over after his brother had taken the lion’s share. And even then, he would have been satisfied with that much – he would have been satisfied with that little.

It hadn’t worked, of course. It would never have worked – love like that was a rigged game, destined to lose; there was no way for a child to win. Once an adult that ought to have loved them decided not to, there was nothing a child could do to change their mind, no matter how good they were or how hard they tried.

No one could force someone else to love them.

It had been a lesson Lan Qiren had learned the hard way and a lesson his brother had never learned, yet it was Lan Qiren who had to pay for that failure, too. Always second, always not-quite-best – desperate in his youth to become perfect, to know and abide by all the family rules, as if perfection could make up for the fact that it was him, only to reach the other side and find that they despised him for his stiffness and his orthodoxy, that they called him an old man before his time, a stickler and a prude and a joyless stick in the mud. His brother acted out and they called it charming, but when he did the same they called it childish and immature; when he thought first about the consequences of his actions, he who always suffered the weight of them, his brother who never did called him a killjoy. And when he was bitter, and rightfully so, they condemned him for that bitterness, as if he had done something wrong simply for wanting to express his pain, or for simply for suffering at all, or even simply for existing…

Lan Qiren could not see another motherless child grow up like that. He couldn’t bear it.

He’d tried his best with his own nephews, taking them every month to see a woman he despised and ensuring with efforts both legitimate and underhanded that she would treat them both kindly and equitably, and he stuck his nose regularly into the business of the Nie sect, their close allies, to make sure that Lao Nie’s two boys were doing well. He had thought that would be enough – he was not close with the standoffish Yu Ziyuan, but he was familiar enough with her temper and strength of will; he had no doubt that she would protect her son with the same fierce pride that she protected everything else she cared about, giving him the foundation to know that no matter what his father thought of him, at least he had his mother.

He thought that would be enough – that the rest would be fine.

That had been before Yu Ziyuan died. Before he had seen little Jiang Cheng and known, immediately and from the depths of his heart, that this would end only in utter destruction.

And yet…there were limits to what he could do. They said a teacher was like a father, but it wasn’t the same, not really, and anyway he wasn’t even Jiang Cheng’s teacher at present, even if he might be in the future. The Jiang sect was closer allies to the Jin, just like his Lan sect was with the Nie, and Jiang Fengmian might be passive and placid most of the time but he was also terribly stubborn in his own way; he wouldn’t listen to any criticism of his actions.

He had always been like that for as long as Lan Qiren had known him – Jiang Fengmian had always liked those were happy and lively, extroverted and cheerful, and he’d never much liked those were more introverted and standoffish, refusing to accept that their forms of affection, whether through their efforts to share their company or their scolding out of love, were every bit as genuine as his own compliments and gifts. He had been one of the ones that had been fond of Lan Qiren’s brother, charming and charismatic, and who thought Lan Qiren a waste of time; it had been understandable, if galling, when Lan Qiren had been only the heir, but it was positively infuriating now that he was the acting sect leader. His brother had acted as sect leader for less than two years, Lan Qiren for nearly a decade, and yet Jiang Fengmian always had some little word to say about how he thought Qingheng-jun might have preferred things to go…

No, Lan Qiren wouldn’t be able to do anything to help Jiang Cheng, and that was simply intolerable.

He couldn’t do anything –

But Wen Ruohan could.

Do not associate with evil, Lan Qiren thought to himself, then groaned. This dithering wasn’t helping anyone – he’d made his decision, and now he had to live with it, good or bad.

He brushed off the dust of the road and stepped over the threshold, walking with a straight back into the Nightless City. The steward showed him to the rooms where he would be staying – they were in the family area for the Wen sect rather than the guest courtyard he was normally accorded, but he supposed it was reasonable given that he would be teaching the children – and he took the opportunity to freshen up after the effort of traveling, then went to find his host.

He was half expecting to be told to come back later. He knew how busy the life of a sect leader was and given its size and expansionism, the Wen sect likely required even more care than his own; it was not necessarily wrong for Wen Ruohan to say that he had no time to educate his own sons, even if it was a pity.

To his surprise, however, he was shown into the sect leader’s study at once.

“Are you not my sons’ teacher? Naturally you must have access to me at any time,” Wen Ruohan said, looking amused as always. Lan Qiren had heard from some of the Lan sect elders that had advised both his father and brother before him that Wen Ruohan was cold and oppressive, his demeanor forbidding and disdainful, every action filled with condescending mockery backed by implicit threat, but that did not match up with Lan Qiren’s own experience – to be sure, Wen Ruohan was every bit as arrogant and self-satisfied as everyone said, but his actions towards others tended more towards the deliberately provocative than anything else. “Isn’t it your own sect rules that say ‘Learning comes first’?”

“They do,” Lan Qiren said. “And as you always like to say, you are of the Wen sect, not the Lan sect, and are therefore not bound by those rules.”

“Undeniably true,” Wen Ruohan replied, looking pleased as if Lan Qiren had given in on something. “But while being bound by rules is no fun at all, there’s no harm in drawing inspiration from them – don’t you agree?”

“Obviously not,” Lan Qiren said, a little impatiently. “You know perfectly well that I believe in strict orthodoxy. Why would I ever agree with a statement like ‘being bound by rules is no fun’?”

Wen Ruohan blinked at him.

Lan Qiren felt that familiar sinking feeling in his stomach: he had taken things too literally again, hadn’t he?

It was the one aspect in which his teachers had despaired in him, a poor trait for any cultivator but utterly deplorable in the son of a Great Sect – and even worse once they’d realized that he would need to act as sect leader, guiding the sect through the political storms that battered it. They were always nagging at him to pay more attention, as if he weren’t already doing everything he could; they worried he would lose face for the sect and appear a complete idiot.

But Wen Ruohan only smiled once more.

“You’re right again,” he said, suspiciously agreeable. “As you were about the boy – he’s already had a salutary effect on my sons.”

Lan Qiren doubted that, if only because there simply hadn’t been enough time for it. Jiang Cheng – no, Wen Cheng, nominally another one of the descendants of Wen Ruohan’s cousins, the Wen sect branch families, who he had scrounged up from who-knows-where, albeit with enough vagueness that matters could be cleared up later if necessary. Wen Ruohan had let out rumors that heavily implied that he had bestowed this new ward of his with the given name “Cheng” as a deliberate insult to the Jiang sect, who had just lost their child of the same age, and as far as Lan Qiren could tell, people thus far believed him.

There were, Lan Qiren supposed, some uses to having a reputation for being petty and vicious.

Suspicion and, eventually, scandal would come later, of course – it wasn’t as if they’d changed the boy’s face or mannerisms. But the Great Sects as a rule did not interfere in each other’s business, and it would be quite some time before anyone dared to investigate within the Nightless City – more than enough to let the boy grow up somewhere outside his father’s toxic influence. Even once it was discovered, Wen Ruohan was shameless enough to lie in the world’s face and powerful enough to simply ignore any efforts to censure him, or to rescue Wen Cheng.

There was a reason Lan Qiren had chosen him for this. No one else could do it.

“No need to look so skeptical,” Wen Ruohan said, and drew close to Lan Qiren with a chuckle. “You can see them tomorrow, to give them a chance to kneel to you as their teacher; you can make your own determination then. But until then, it seems that you’re all mine…”

Lan Qiren was not good at hand-to-hand fighting and had never been – he was an adequate swordsman and an excellent musician, capable of protecting himself in that manner, but both sword and guqin were in his qiankun pouch, thought unnecessary within the Nightless City.

When Wen Ruohan put his hands on his waist, his smile turning predatory with some sort of implicit threat, Lan Qiren responded in the only way he knew how: by using some of the dirty tricks Cangse Sanren had insisted on teaching him during her last few visits to the Cloud Recesses, all his protests and refusals utterly useless in the face of her insistence.

He reached out with a hand and caught Wen Ruohan’s hair, pulling his head back in a single motion that caught the other man completely by surprise.

“Power does not equate to permission,” he said calmly, finding to his surprise that he was still not afraid. “I may be here in the Nightless City, wholly within your grasp, but if you wish for me to continue to be here of my own volition, you will need to do better than that.”

Wen Ruohan’s red eyes were fixed on his face, his lips slightly agape for a moment. He licked his lips, red tongue snaking out in the briefest motion, and despite all his greater power did not seek to free his head from Lan Qiren’s grasp.

“And if I do?” he asked.

Lan Qiren arched his eyebrows. “If you do what?”

“Better,” Wen Ruohan clarified. “If I did better, would I get you willing, rather than coerced?”

Lan Qiren was startled into a snort, half-disbelieving that he was even having this discussion.

He did not have much experience with being desired, though there had been some instances in which others had attempted to exercise power over him through that route. Luckily he had been wise enough by then not to mistake an attempt at dominion for anything more sentimental, even when there had been efforts to deceive him – it was fortunate that while the idea was not inherently repulsive, he lacked any intrinsic desire towards the act of sex, or else he might have truly been misled and then cruelly used. He’d initially assumed Wen Ruohan’s approach was little more than the same attempt to dominate through charm and seduction, given the other man’s fondness for conquering things...but if it was, why bother asking a question like that?

On the other hand, it would be extremely foolish to simply trust in Wen Ruohan’s good faith.

“You’d have to do very well for me to even consider it,” Lan Qiren said dryly, throwing the whole messy matter – and his own surprising lack of hostility to the underlying idea – to the back of his mind to contemplate at great length later. “And as you know, I am not inclined to grade easily.”

He released Wen Ruohan and stepped back, feeling as though the danger had passed.

Passed for the moment, anyway.

“I enjoy a challenge,” Wen Ruohan said, his voice having gone deep and a little rough. His gaze was intense. “You’re here for three months, are you not? I’d be willing to wager on me making progress by then…you are willing to grade in stages, I hope?”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes.

“It would be rather unfair if I were to take that wager, as I am to be its judge,” he said dryly, ignoring the way his ears were going strangely warm, his heart secretly pleased at Wen Ruohan’s unusual persistence. “But yes, I grade in stages. May you make the best of it.”

Wen Ruohan smiled.

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #to play the king

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sokkastyles · 4 years

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I’ve talked about this before, but I need to emphasize that Zuko working in the tea shop is a huge part of his arc and development. It wasn’t just something that lasted only a few episodes that he hated and then moved on from, it’s something that is threaded throughout his arc and into the finale.

Of course he’s not happy for a large part of the time he’s working there in book two. He’s a traumatized teenager who is desperately trying to achieve the approval of his father so that he can go back to the home he was banished from. Iroh tries to make the best of things in part because Iroh genuinely enjoys it and making the best of a bad situation is just who he is, but he also wants Zuko to be happy and wants to make the best life for his nephew that he can, and he knows that Zuko needs positivity and security in his life, as well as tries to nurture in Zuko an appreciation for the small things in life and an attitude of service. It is hardly surprising that Zuko is resistant to this, though.

Zuko complains even more when he and Iroh are presented with new opportunities, because he doesn’t want to accept the possibility of growth in this new life.

Iroh: Did you hear, nephew? This man wants to give us our own tea shop in the Upper Ring of the city!

Quon: That's right, young man, your life is about to change for the better!

Zuko: [Sarcastically.] I'll try to contain my joy. [Walks outside, slams door shut.]

Zuko spends seven episodes working in the tea shop in a twenty episode season. It runs through his entire Ba Sing Se arc. He grumbles, groans, and complains through most of it.

Iroh: So, I was thinking about names for my new tea shop. How about the Jasmine Dragon? It's dramatic, poetic, has a nice ring to it.

Zuko: [Shows Iroh the flyer.] The Avatar is here in Ba Sing Se and he's lost his bison.

Iroh: [Grabs the flyer.] We have a chance for a new life here. [Cut to Zuko looking out a window.] If you start stirring up trouble, we could lose all the good things that are happening for us.

Zuko: [Turns to Iroh.] Good things that are happening for you! Have you ever thought that I want more from life than a nice apartment and a job serving tea?

Iroh: There is nothing wrong with a life of peace and prosperity. I suggest you think about what it is that you want from your life and why.

Zuko: I want my destiny.

Iroh: What that means is up to you.

Zuko’s time in the tea shop is part of his arc of discovering that he can choose his own destiny, and although he didn’t choose to live as a refugee, he can choose what he makes of it, which is what Iroh is trying to teach him here. Part of that is choosing to accept Iroh’s love, choosing to appreciate the good things instead of wishing for something that he doesn’t have, and we know that Zuko’s desire to go back to being the prince of the Fire Nation and earn his father’s affection is ultimately empty, and part of a life where he was abused, as well as where he was a part of a system that was oppressing others.

Then Zuko refuses Iroh’s advice about accepting a simple life in favor of pursuing Appa as the Blue Spirit - an identity that represents Zuko’s internal conflict between his fractured self image, which in book two involves him using the Blue Spirit identity to steal, to get back a part of the old life which he’s lost. It is extremely painful for him to admit that trying to get back to who he was before his banishment is causing him to engage in self-destructive behaviors that are stagnating his growth. Iroh just wants him to be safe and happy but he also knows that Zuko has to confront this conflict within himself.

That’s why, after he frees Appa, he must throw away the Blue Spirit mask once and for all, symbolically letting go of his desire to go back to the Fire Nation.

Iroh: You did the right thing, nephew. Leave it behind.

Giving up the past is never easy. Especially giving up the ideas he’s held onto for so long, the idea of what he can one day get back that, as Iroh said in book one, had kept Zuko going through his banishment, that gave him hope. But part of creating your own destiny is realizing that you can find hope in places you didn’t think you could find it. Zuko has to find something else to put his hope in and that’s represented physically by the sickness he suffers after freeing Appa. His entire sense of self has been shaken to the core, because change, real change, is hard.

Iroh: You should know that this is not a natural sickness, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying tea.

Zuko: What's happening?

Iroh: Your critical decision. What you did beneath that lake. It was in such conflict with our image of yourself that you are now at war within your own mind and body.

Zuko: What's that mean?

Iroh: You are going through a metamorphosis, my nephew. It will not be a pleasant experience, but when you come out of it, you will be the beautiful prince you were always meant to be.

Tea even makes an appearance during Zuko’s “metamorphosis,” because the tea is symbolic, y’all. Then when Zuko wakes up from his sickness, we see an immediate change in him.

Iroh: Now that your fever is gone, you seem different somehow.

Zuko: [Optimistically.] It's a new day. We've got a new apartment, new furniture, and today's the grand opening of your new tea shop. Things are looking up, Uncle.

This doesn’t necessarily mean that Zuko has suddenly decided that he loves serving tea and working customer service, but the change he’s experienced is about choosing to find the good, to accept change into his life, to accept humility, and love. And this is the most happy we’ve ever seen Zuko be. We also see him emotionally supporting Iroh and working on his relationship with his uncle because he knows that seeing Zuko happy makes Iroh happy. Before, Zuko made a big show of his unhappiness, slamming doors and frowning and shouting and generally acting like a spoiled teenager with major authority issues, which made Iroh visibly upset. Iroh constantly tries to get Zuko to change his attitude but in the end it’s something that Zuko has to choose himself.

Iroh: Who thought when we came to this city as refugees, that I'd end up owning my own tea shop? Follow your passion, Zuko, and life will reward you.

Zuko: Congratulations, Uncle.

Iroh: I am very thankful.

Zuko: You deserve it. The Jasmine Dragon will be the best tea shop in the city.

Iroh: No. I'm thankful because you decided to share this special day with me. It means more than you know.

Zuko: Now let's make these people some tea!

This is more than just Zuko being happy for Iroh or trying to be happy because Iroh wants him to be happy. We see the idea repeated here that you can choose your own destiny, and that those who do are rewarded by life. This is also echoed in Zuko’s conversation with Katara in which he tells her that lately he has realized that he is free to choose what he makes of the scars of his past, and his future. We also see him practicing what Iroh told him, he lets go of shame by letting go of pride. Instead of talking about what he thinks he deserves, he talks about what Iroh deserves. The dialogue also indicates that Zuko chose to be there.

This development is emphasized when Zuko and Iroh are invited to serve tea to the Earth King.

Iroh: I ... I can't believe it!

Zuko: What is it, Uncle?

Iroh: Great news! We've been invited to serve tea to the Earth King!

Zuko goes from “step aside, filth!” and complaining about doing work to smiling about serving tea to the king of a rival nation. That’s character development. And as I said before, it was essential to Zuko’s development in becoming the kind of Fire Lord that he is supposed to be.

The dramatic irony of Katara finding them and unintentionally ratting them out to Azula is that when Katara enters the tea shop, she finds not only a Zuko in a tea apron, but a happy one enthusiastically taking people’s orders.

Zuko: Uncle! I need two jasmine, one green, and one lychee!

Iroh: I'm brewing as fast as I can!

I love this scene so much because it’s like, imagine that you decide to go to Panera Bread and you find Kylo Ren working at the counter, cheerfully asking you if you want chips or an apple with that. It’s also hilarious that Katara’s immediate thought is they’re infiltrating the city when she knows that there’s an evil force of brainwashing government agents lurking about.

That Zuko genuinely found peace with his life in Ba Sing Se is narratively important because it makes what happens next even harder for him. “The Crossroads of Destiny” is a true crossroads because he’s fought hard to find happiness and hope in his new life, but then it’s all ripped away and he’s put to the test. That he fails it this time just emphasizes how hard it is to break free of old destructive habits.

This is why when he does go back to the Fire Nation, we’re shown his doubts, and how uncomfortable he is. He tries to be happy and to accept his role as prince, but he already knows that this is not the destiny he wants for himself. The excessive opulence of the Fire Nation is meant to show this. We see this in scenes like Zuko constantly being unhappy during the beach episode and becoming angry when he is told to relax and do nothing, and his insecurity at the party in a room full of rich kids.

In particular, we see him being uncomfortable being waited on by servants in “Nightmares and Daydreams”:

Servant #1: Fresh fruit, Prince Zuko?

Zuko puts out his hand and shakes his head respectfully.

Servant #2: May I wash your feet, sir?

Zuko respectfully puts his hand out and shakes his head again.

Servant #1: Head massage?

Zuko shakes his head again.

Servant #2: Hot towel?

Zuko looks at the towels for a moment and takes one. He is seen wiping his forehead before walking out of the room. The two servants bow behind him. Zuko walks out the palace gates, with Fire Nation citizens waiting for him.

Servant #1: Prince Zuko, is something wrong? You didn't take the palanquin.

Zuko: I'm just going to Mai's house. It's not far.

Servant #1: It's not a prince's place to walk anywhere, sir.

Zuko looks to the distance, walks over, and gets into the palanquin.

We see him trying to fit in with Mai because he’s a sixteen year old who has a girlfriend for the first time in his life and he wants to impress her, but what this scene actually shows is their differing values.

Zuko: Tell me, if you could have anything you want right now, what would it be?

Mai: Hm ... A big fancy fruit tart, with rose petals on top.

Zuko: You know, being a prince and all, I might just be able to make that happen.

Mai: That would be impressive.

Zuko: [To the servants.] Do you think you could find a fresh fruit tart for the lady, with rose petals on top?

Servant: Excellent choice, sir.

Mai: I guess there's some nice perks that come with being royalty. [Pushing Zuko to lay down with her.] Though there's annoying stuff, too. Like that all-day war meeting coming up.

Zuko: [Sitting up, followed by Mai.] War meeting? What are you talking about?

Mai: Azula mentioned something. I-I assumed you were going, too.

Zuko: I guess I wasn't invited.

The two look away from each other.

Zuko asks Mai what she would want if she could have anything and what she comes up with is fruit tarts. This doesn’t necessarily mean that Mai is shallow, but what it does mean is that she’s never had to worry about what she wants in terms of the big picture.

“Who are you, and what do you want?”

She’s also never had to go hungry like Zuko has, and never had to serve others like Zuko has.

And then she brings up the war meeting, which to her is only an annoyance. Zuko doesn’t care about fruit tarts and palanquin rides, but this is something he cares about. It’s also funny to me that Mai is like “make out time,” and let’s be real, nobody would fault Zuko, a sixteen year old boy, for enjoying a little hanky panky, but Zuko is like “no, anxiety time!” Which shows how much he’s changed and how much he is struggling to be happy despite all the fruit tarts and hot towels and having a girlfriend who is all over him.

It is NOT a coincidence that when Zuko joins the gaang, we see him genuinely happy and among friends and making and serving tea.

Zuko had to go back to the Fire Nation to really understand how much he had changed and to really be able to choose his own destiny, but we know which one he chooses, between a life of empty riches and a life helping others. Even when we see him addressing the people as Fire Lord, his speech is all about service and humility. When the crowd cheers for him, he does this:

Zuko: Please. The real hero is the Avatar.

Which shows how far he’s come from the boy who so desperately wanted recognition, who was repulsed by the idea of serving others or lowering himself to the status of a “peasant,” who only thought of himself and what he deserved. His last scene is not his coronation, not his triumphant moment of standing in front of a crowd as Fire Lord, or even confronting his father, but a quiet moment, serving tea to his friends.

#zuko #atla #atla meta #iroh #mai #the blue spirit #the tea is symbolic

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patchofsunlight · 4 years

Text

Warmth | Zuko x Fem!Reader

SUMMARY: Avatar!Reader AU | Zuko has made many mistakes and holds uncountable regrets, but maybe Y/N can still love him back. Spoiler: she does.

REQUEST (by anon): “Could you do a zuko with maybe a f! avatar? Him falling in love with her like how they joked in ember island play. And him being tormented when she 'dies' in cross roads and them having some tender moment of confessing either in the western temple or ember island? maybe the play has the kiss and he confesses idk”

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

WARNINGS: Y/N is the Avatar, so Aang doesn’t exist. kissing, there might be swear words but I don’t really remember, bad editing. lots of mutual pining and some angst. I don’t know if I did this request justice but I really tried?

OBSERVATIONS: there’s a bit of Sokka x Reader bc I’m a weak woman but in the end he’s the main Zuko and Y/N shipper. not having Aang seriously hurt me. I wrote most of the Zuko sad rant in the beginning listening to Words Fail by Ben Platt and I think it would be interesting if you guys listened to that while reading? idk

I hope you all like it!!! feedback is always appreciated, so keep that in mind and thank you very much for reading!!

There was a hole inside his chest that Zuko simply couldn’t get rid of. It hurt him to his core, bringing pained sobs to the edge of his throat and slowly dismantling his soul.

He always thought getting rid of Y/N would quench his anger, rebuild his honor and complete his destiny. Now, his father accepted him again, Mai was his girlfriend, and Azula treated him like a true brother, in her own deranged ways. The Fire Nation considered him a hero, the man who killed the Avatar.

Then why did it trouble him so much? Why did he wake up every night in a cold sweat, with tears stinging his eyes? Why did he have the same nightmare over and over where he was the one responsible for her death, hitting her with lightning and watching as the light inside her disappeared, leaving behind only her idle body and Katara’s desperate cries? Why couldn’t he be satisfied? He had fulfilled his fate. He had done what he was meant to do, sided with his people, and fought against his greatest enemy. Why wasn’t he happy? Why couldn’t he ever be happy?

Back in Ba Sing Se, he saw her at the Jasmine Dragon more than once. He couldn’t believe his eyes when she first entered the teashop, and he was pretty sure she had recognized him, but Y/N managed to send a polite smile in his direction and sit down, greeting “Mushi” with joy. When Zuko served her tea, she asked him what his name was as if she didn’t know. She didn’t confront nor attack him — she simply let him live his new life and went on living hers. It felt like she had washed off his sins, erased the bloodstains he carried in his soul and hands. Y/N freed him of his past and he had thrown it all away.

It was the right thing to do, he had told himself day after day after day. Except it wasn’t, and now Iroh refused to talk to him and the Avatar was probably dead and, in the case she wasn’t, she would never forgive him. She wouldn’t let him be free of himself again and he would never get redemption for his mistakes.

He wished he could go back in time and fight alongside Y/N in that crystal cave, wished he could live up to the trust Katara offered him before they were saved, wished he could have stopped Azula from throwing that lightning bolt. He wished he could do things in the right way, yet he couldn’t. Zuko tried so hard to regain his so-called honor and to bring his father pride but his only real achievement was engulfing himself in guilt and regret, being aware that powerful and forgiving Y/N could be dead because of his lack of dignity and character — this couldn’t be honor. Violence, betrayal, death, and hurt couldn’t be honor, and he wasn’t sure he wanted his father’s pride if it meant feeling like this, like he was no good, like he was not worthy of love or praise or admiration.

Zuko had spent a great part of his life hating himself, but nothing compared to the hate he felt every night after waking up from another crushing nightmare. How dared he make this about himself and his feelings of guilt when the Avatar could be dead? How dared he worry about the Fire Lord’s pride when the world’s last hope was gone? How dared he indulge in self-pity after all he had done? He didn’t deserve pity, didn’t deserve help, he only deserved to wallow in his own pain and die. But that wouldn’t fix anything, neither would it bring Y/N back — he had to act, and he had to do it fast.

Going after Team Avatar was not difficult. He thought he would feel complicated like he had when first betraying Y/N’s trust, thought it would hurt like coming back to the Fire Nation did. Thankfully, leaving only caused a new type of satisfaction to bloom inside his chest, giving him the sensation he was finally walking through the right path. Hope seemed to pour out of every pore in his body and he could somehow think of better, future days when he would have done enough to make up for his mistakes, days when he didn’t feel the urge to scream every time he looked at a mirror. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to despise himself like he currently did, maybe things would be okay and he would be truly happy, if that was even something he had the capability to do.

But then they didn’t want him. He left everything behind, he charged every inch of his hope with the idea of joining the Avatar, and they didn’t want him. Why would they? Why would they, after everything he had done? How could he have even considered they would accept him, that she would trust him again? Of course they didn’t want him. No one did and no one ever would and that was entirely his fault — it was his fault that he was a bad person, took the wrong decisions, and caused pain and destruction. It was his fault he never did the right thing and he should’ve known he would be rejected again, for being rejected was just what he deserved.

But it still hurt. Oh, Spirits, it hurt. She couldn’t even look at him, even after he helped them defeat Combustion Man and was finally accepted in the group. Sadly, it made Zuko realize that, no matter where he stood, he would never be a part of their team, and Y/N would never trust him entirely. For some reason, that was more upsetting than their rejection. He wanted to impress her, wanted her to like him, and she never would.

“Y/N? Can I—can I come in?”

The Avatar looked up from the map she was currently analysing on her bed, studying his figure carefully before nodding with hesitance, “yes. Do you need something?”

He sighed deeply and walked towards her, feeling his heart crack when she brought her legs closer to her body and away from him the moment he sat on the edge of the bed, “I—I just wanted to talk to you about, well, you know, everything.”

Her expression hardened and she averted her eyes back to the map, “we have nothing to talk about, Zuko. You can go back to your room.”

The Fire Nation Prince swallowed nervously, “Y/N, please. I’m so, so sorry. I have made so many mistakes, I—”

“Zuko,” her voice was firm and emotionless, but that quickly changed when she met his gaze, “I thought things could be different. I thought things could be different back in the North Pole, when we first talked to each other and you told me about Azula. I thought things could be different when you saved me as the Blue Spirit. And I was so convinced things would be different when we met again in Ba Sing Se that I—” she scoffed at her own words, “I had a crush on you, can you believe that? That’s why I visited the teashop so regularly, I just wanted to see you. Stupid, of course. I should’ve known.”

Zuko was sure she could hear his anxious heart beating from the other side of the bed. They were less than a foot away, and yet it felt like miles. He didn’t want her to think about him like that, he didn’t want her to be disappointed in him. Damn, she used to have a crush on him, she liked him, and he screwed everything up like usual. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m—I’m here now, I’m on your side.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were on my side back then too. Anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore. You need to teach me firebending and that’s the only reason you’re allowed here. Talking is unnecessary.”

“Please, I—”

“You should leave, Prince Zuko,” he flinched at the title escaping her lips, hating how it sounded bitter coming from her, “I have really important matters to deal with. We’ll start my firebending training tomorrow.”

“Y/N—”

“Leave, Zuko.”

With a heaviness inside his stomach, he left the room, missing if by a second the frustrated tear that ran down Y/N’s cheek. She wanted to trust him, but how could she? How could she let him in after his betrayal? She had always been forgiving, but she refused to be naive — seeing Zuko side with Azula in the crystal caves hurt her deeply and shoved her little crush on him down her throat. She couldn’t go through that again, it would be simply idiotic to. Y/N had to stand her ground. She wouldn’t be hurt by him again.

-----

“Hey, jerks. Mind if I watch you two jerks do your jerkbending?”

“Get out of—” Zuko was interrupted by the Avatar’s laughter. Sokka smiled softly at her, cheeks blushing. For some reason, that only managed to piss Zuko off even more, “get out of here!”

“Okay, take it easy. I was just kidding around,” the Water Tribe boy winked at Y/N, “see you later?”

“Sure, we still need to see that part of the temple we found yesterday. Exploration partners!”

“Exploration partners!” he agreed with a chuckle and turned away from them. “Bye, Y/N. Jerkbending… Still got it.”

Zuko glanced at her with irritation while she watched Sokka leave. He felt already incredibly frustrated for not being able to produce his fire and not knowing why, he definitely did not need to watch as Sokka and Y/N flirted.

They would make a cute couple, though, and she smiled so brightly at him it was physically painful to watch. He wanted her to smile like that at him, look like that at him. But she wouldn’t — she was over her crush and had no reason to ever feel anything towards him again, not after what he had done. He didn’t deserve her love anyway, so maybe it was for the best.

“So? Any progress, Sifu Hotman?”

“I told you not to call me that,” he snarled angrily and she sighed.

“Sorry, Sifu Hotman.”

“This was a mistake,” he sat down roughly, ignoring the ache on his legs due to the sudden movement, “maybe teaching you firebending is not my destiny.”

She looked at him with furrowed eyebrows, not understanding, “what do you mean?”

“How can I teach you anything when I’ve lost my fire, Y/N?” he chuckled sadly, letting one of his hands go through his hair in distress. “I wanted to be on the good side of the war and I can’t even make myself useful.”

“You haven’t lost your fire, Zuko,” her voice was careful, “I think you’re just going through some internal conflict and that’s reflecting on your bending, but if you were meant to teach me firebending, you will. Your destiny is still your destiny regardless, Sifu Hotman.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you’re the Avatar! I’m not even sure who I am anymore, but you have always known what your destiny was.”

“Yeah, and I was scared of it,” she smiled softly, “I ran away and disappeared for a hundred years. People died because of my absence. I have made mistakes, and I have failed many, many times. Sadly, that doesn’t make me less of an Avatar. Zuko, if you must be my teacher, it’s gonna work. We’ll figure things out and you will get your fire back. Okay?”

He stared inside her eyes. There was still some sort of mistrust in them — she was willing to help him because she needed him, but still suspicious. She wasn’t really sure he was on their side, but this was a start. He was going to fix everything and he would make her proud. He would make Y/N happy to call him a friend. Or something more.

Maybe he had a crush on her, too.

-----

Toph’s idea to look for the original source of firebending had greatly backfired (no pun intended, even though Y/N could clearly hear Sokka’s laughter in her head at the joke). They traveled to the Sun Warriors’ ancient city and found an impressive temple adorned with statues. Things were going surprisingly well until they weren’t, and now they were stuck in a disgusting glue because Zuko touched the pretty gemstone. Hours had passed and Y/N was increasingly more annoyed at their situation.

“You had to pick up the glowing egg, didn’t you?”

“At least I made something happen! If it were up to you, we’d never have made it past the courtyard.”

“Maybe, but we wouldn’t be stuck here either, so did you really win?”

Zuko rolled his eyes, “this is stupid. How are we getting out of here?”

“Help!” the girl screamed as loudly as she could, being met with only silence.

“Who are you yelling to? Nobody’s lived here for centuries,” the Fire Prince argued and it was Y/N’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Well, what do you think we should do, genius?”

“Think about our place in the universe?”

Despite her current irritation, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at his words. He instinctively smiled back and she felt warmth spread through her chest.

She was starting to think she wasn’t as over her crush on him as she thought.

They were rescued by the Sun Warriors and judged by the last dragons, and Y/N was sure she hadn’t felt this alive in a while. After burning Katara (it was so long ago it seemed like a different life), she had thought of fire as something destructive, harmful, but she could now see it with new eyes. Fire could be love, life, and power.

The Avatar glanced at Zuko. Maybe she could try and see him as that, too.

-----

“You did well today,” Zuko complimented warily, avoiding her gaze, “if we keep up the training, you might become a better firebender than me.”

“Why, thank you, Hotman,” she smiled brightly and Zuko was sure he could pass out right there, “I just have a great teacher.”

“Y/N!”

The Avatar felt Sokka before she saw him, laughing at the way he hugged her from behind joyfully, leaning his chin on her shoulder. “Hey, honey. What’s up?”

“Doing fine,” he mumbled, brushing her hair off his face delicately, “wanna grab something to eat?”

“I think I’m gonna train some more and clean myself later. I’ll meet you after?”

“Sure! I’ll be back inside. See you, Y/N, Zuko.”

They both watched as the Water Tribe boy entered the temple again. There was a weird burning sensation running through Zuko’s blood when he asked, voice slightly raspy and overly quiet, “so, you and Sokka, huh? You make a nice couple.”

She turned her head to him so quickly it almost gave her whiplash, “what? No! I mean—” she blushed at the question, flustered by the fact he would even consider something like that. The Fire Prince waited silently, irritation surfacing at her stammering. He wasn’t sure why that angered him so much, but he decided to be still and listen, “we are just friends,” she concluded, “he means a lot to me, but so do Katara and Toph, you know? We are—we are just friends. He even likes that Kyoshi Warrior, Suki! So, yeah, we are definitely not a couple.”

“I see,” Zuko felt curiously static with that piece of information, “and you don’t have feelings for him?”

“No, of course not. I mean, I had a thing for him when we first met, but now it’s gone. He’s my best friend and I love him, just not like that.”

“Okay. Good.”

“Good?” Y/N turned her head to the side in confusion and he paled considerably, finally noticing the meaning of his own words. “Why is that good?”

“Oh? I—it’s good that you love him! Yeah, having friends is amazing, right? Yeah.”

She smiled amusingly, “it truly is.”

“Yeah.”

The Avatar chuckled lightly, “come on, Sifu Hotman. Let’s do that leg movement again, I think I’m not doing it right.”

Days passed and a lot of things happened. Zuko knew Y/N wouldn’t be happy with Sokka’s suicide mission, but he couldn’t let him do it alone, so he accompanied him to the Boiling Rock. Again, she wasn’t happy when he followed Katara for revenge for her mother’s death, but then at least someone had Katara’s back and was ready to protect her. He desperately wanted to earn Y/N’s trust and friendship, but that was rather difficult when he insisted on doing the stuff she didn’t want him to do.

They continued their training on Ember Island and the whole Team seemed to thoroughly enjoy the place. Y/N was giving her all to learn firebending and was succeeding splendidly. To be honest, Zuko loved to see her get the moves right — every single time she made it, she would look at him with bright eyes and grin. It was the most beautiful sight Zuko had ever seen and he would do anything to have it permanently engraved in his mind.

They stayed up late during one particular night. They were both exhausted after hours of training and ended up sat beside each other on the ground on the back of the Fire Nation Royal Family’s beach house. The air between them was filled with silence and heavy breathing from their previous effort.

“Hey, Zuko?” after a few moments, Y/N called him gently, voice tired and raspy giving him chills. She laid down and stared at the dark sky. “Look at the stars with me.”

He blinked, “really? I mean, shouldn’t we go inside?”

“Please?” her eyes met his and his heart skipped a beat. “Just for a bit.”

“Okay,” Zuko whispered, lying down next to her. They looked at the sky quietly for a bit.

He liked to be around her. It could be the Avatar thing, but Y/N had a calming aura around her that was just unmissable. Being next to her like this gave him the feeling things would be alright, the feeling he was not worthless. It was a lie, of course. There was no way to know how their plans would go, and he was pretty much worthless.

But being beside her was enough to trick his mind. Maybe the little crush he harbored towards her had become something more — Spirits, he liked her so much. Not that it mattered, considering there was no way she would ever love him back, not after everything he had done.

“When I was younger, I believed we became stars when we died.”

He turned his head to look at her, “really?”

She turned to look back and his breath hitched at their close proximity. She chuckled, “yeah. I didn’t even know I was the Avatar back then, I was so young. They told me when I was sixteen, and I ran away shortly after,” there was bitterness to her words, “like a coward.”

“You are not a coward, Y/N. You had no way of knowing how things would go.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Besides, if you hadn’t run away, you wouldn’t have been stuck on ice for a hundred years, and I would never have met you, which would be awful,” he widened his eyes, completing quickly, “and Sokka, Katara, and Toph, too. I wouldn’t have met them either. Of course.”

Her smile was so pretty he forgot how to breathe, “you’re right, Zuko. I don’t think I would have liked to live a life where I never met you,” she smirked before going on with teasing eyes, “and Sokka, Katara, and Toph, too. Of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed with a blush on his face. They stared at each other carefully and Zuko was pretty sure his heart was performing a professional routine of somersaults inside his body. He definitely was past just a simple crush.

Y/N smiled that dazzling smile of hers before averting her gaze to the stars again and yawning. “We should go in.”

“We should,” the Fire Prince immediately started to sit up, but she held him down with a hand to his chest, and probably felt his crazy heartbeat under her fingers.

“Just a bit more, Prince Zuko,” she whispered, eyes trained to the sky. Slowly but surely, she moved her hand from his chest to his own hand, creating goosebumps on every inch of skin she lightly touched on the way there. Zuko could feel his body burn at the barely-there feeling of her fingertips. She intertwined her fingers with his carefully, giving him the chance to pull away if he so wished. He let out a shaky breath and squeezed her hand. She immediately squeezed his back in reassurance.

In the middle of the quiet and comfort they suddenly found in each other, they fell asleep under the stars, fingers playing with each other until exhaustion finally engulfed them in dreams of pretty smiles and light touches.

It was nice to dodge the nightmares.

-----

“I’ve heard you and Zuko slept outside today,” Sokka had a teasing tone to his voice. Y/N glared at him, “you are together now or something?”

“We are not,” she countered, scratching Appa while they talked. Zuko, Toph, Katara, and Suki had left for the beach already. Y/N still needed to feed her sky bison and Sokka offered to help with the excuse of being a good friend. The Avatar was absolutely sure that wasn’t the real reason he stayed back alongside her and he was currently proving her right, “we were just stargazing and then fell asleep.”

“Stargazing, huh? Real cute. I bet it was an endearing impromptu date, wasn’t it?”

“Since when do you even know the word impromptu?”

“I am always full of surprises.”

“Right,” she rolled her eyes and he laughed loudly, “it was not a date.”

“But you do like him, right?.”

“What?” she turned her entire body to him, furrowing her brows and crossing her arms in a defensive stance. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I know you better than you know yourself and I can tell you have feelings for him,” Sokka copied her movements, staring at her with a smirk, “I also know he likes you back.”

Y/N scoffed and transferred her attention back to Appa, “he does not.”

“So you admit you like him!”

“Shut up, Sokka!” she glared, but quickly gave up under his intense eyes and raised brows. “Yeah, I like him. It doesn’t matter, though.”

“Yes, it does! He feels the same! Look, what about this,” he leaned in closer, that crazy look he had whenever making up a plan taking over his face, “we are going to watch that play about us tonight, right? Well, you guys can sit next to each other! Like a couple!”

“That’s a terrible idea, honey.”

“It’s not! I bet he’s gonna make a move!”

“He won’t, because he’s not in love with me.”

“Wait, you’re in love with him?”

Y/N’s entire body tensed up. She shouldn’t have said that. She wasn’t in love with Zuko! Was she? I mean, she did love to be beside him, and her heart sped up when he gave her one of his rare smiles, and training with him when he had his shirt off was distracting to say the least. Besides, he really seemed to have changed and grown — she felt like she could trust him again, but she could never be sure, and she was adamant on not getting hurt once more. Especially now, when she was dealing with so many things. If he betrayed her a second time… Spirits, it would be just too much to handle.

“I don’t know,” she muttered and Sokka’s cheeky smile faltered, “I don’t want to be.”

He stretched an arm out to hold her hand fondly, “it’s fine, Y/N. Whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?”

The Avatar smiled sadly, “thank you, Sokka. I’m really glad to have you in my life.”

“I know, honey. I’m great like that.”

She laughed loudly and he grinned in satisfaction, turning her body around and starting to lead her towards the beach, an arm through her shoulders holding her close to his body.

“Shut up, Sokka. You’re so stupid.”

“Yeah, yeah. I love you too.”

Zuko felt a pang to his chest when Sokka and Y/N arrived at the beach holding each other so dearly, but he knew he had no right to complain. She would be better off with Sokka anyway — he was good-looking, nice, funny, smart. Meanwhile, Zuko was nothing but a sad mixture of mistakes and regrets. The Avatar deserved more than that.

“Hey, Hotman,” she walked to him with a smile, planting a kiss on Sokka’s cheek before leaving his side. “Why are you all alone on the sand?”

“Because he’s boring,” Toph answered from some feet away and Katara chuckled. Zuko could feel his face redden.

“He is not,” Y/N argued amusingly, sitting down beside him and grinning. She glanced at him with a happy spark in her eyes, “are you excited for the play tonight?”

“No,” he muttered, but his lack of vivacity didn’t bother her in the slightest, “the Ember Island plays are always ridiculous.”

“I think it’s going to be fun,” she shrugged contently, basking in the hot sun, “if it isn’t, we can always throw food at the stage or whatever.”

He tried really hard, but couldn’t bit back the smile that took over his frown. He watched her attentively, noticing how she seemed to glow in the daylight, giving off this incredible warmth he had only ever seen on her. He averted away his gaze, feeling his neck and face heat up at how unapologetically beautiful she was.

Zuko cleared his throat quietly, “yeah, I guess.”

She only smirked in response.

-----

The play could be worse, he figured. Yes, their portrayal of him was horrible (even though his friends — could he call them friends? Were they friends? He hoped they were — said otherwise) and the actress playing Y/N was not nearly as pretty as the Avatar really was, but Y/N was next to him and, at some point, she had leaned her head on his shoulder tiredly and stayed there. All the training was getting to her and he felt inexplicable joy in the fact she trusted him enough to rest her body on his.

“Look,” her voice was raspy from sleepiness and a chill ran down his spine, “I think now is when you join Team Avatar and becomes our friend.”

He nodded carefully not to disturb her from her position and his heart skipped a beat when she nuzzled closer to his neck. Zuko watched as actor Zuko was accepted into the group and just after a scene with only him and actress Y/N started. Actor Zuko stared at the actress longingly, “my dear Y/N… I know I have wronged you in many ways, but I wanted to apologize for my mistakes and beg for your forgiveness!”

Y/N giggled at that, nudging him affectionately, “that really happened.”

He smiled, eyes following the performers on stage. Actor Zuko continued, “your forgiveness… And maybe your love, Avatar.”

They both immediately tensed up at the words and Y/N moved her head slightly, brows furrowing in confusion.

“My love, Prince Zuko?”

“Yes, my darling.”

They all watched as Actor Zuko and Actress Y/N kissed passionately, earning cheers from the audience. Sokka whistled loudly and Y/N turned to glare at him, receiving a wink in return.

“I have been in love with you since we first met!” Actor Zuko declared excitedly, holding Actress Y/N’s hands. “You are the only one who can make me forget about my teen angst. I love you, Y/N.”

“Well… I don’t!” Actress Y/N moved away swiftly and the crowd gasped in surprise. “I have accepted you in my group, Prince Zuko… But I’ll never accept you in my heart! You’re a bad person that doesn’t deserve my love!”

“What?!” Sokka almost screamed in disbelief. Y/N finally took her head off Zuko’s shoulder, incertitude swimming in her eyes. Before she had the chance to speak, Zuko had already left. The Water Tribe boy widened his eyes at her. “Go after him!”

Y/N nodded her head, getting out of her seat and walking after Zuko, calling his name. He ignored her, feeling anger boil inside him. He knew she would never directly say something like that, but he also knew it was true. She would never love him — he wasn’t worthy of her love, and he was pretty sure she was aware of that too.

“Zuko, wait!” she finally catched up to him, holding his arm and pulling him back. “It’s just a stupid play, Zuko. None of that is true.”

“Really, Y/N?” he turned to stare at her, rage covering his expression. “Because I’m almost certain it is. They said I don’t deserve love, Y/N, and that’s true. After everything I’ve done…”

“No!” she exclaimed desperately, shaking her head vehemently in disagreement. “Zuko, of course you deserve love. Yes, you have made mistakes, but all of us have. You shouldn’t care about what some actress says.”

“But they’re right, Y/N,” he insisted, feeling tears stinging his eyes, “I’m unworthy of love and everyone knows, and that’s why nobody actually loves me.”

“I love you!” she yelled out before she could stop herself, breath hitching at the troubled look taking over his face. Y/N sighed deeply, crossing her arms shyly and looking away, “I do,” her voice was small as she blushed, “I thought I was over my little crush for you but I wasn’t, and it’s—it’s much more than a little crush. I was afraid of admitting it but I know who you are, Zuko. You are loyal and smart and so inherently good and I love you. Spirits, I really do.”

He stared at her for a second, processing her words. She fidgeted anxiously and he smiled at all her small manners. With certainty to his movements, Zuko took a step forwards and cradled her face in his hands. He studied every inch of her expression, waiting for some kind of rejection. She offered him a hopeful smile and he was quick to smash his lips with hers, feeling the warmth that always surrounded her consume him entirely. He kissed her passionately, happiness pouring out of him — the words “she loves you” echoing inside his mind like a broken record, filling his heart with joy.

She moved away when there was no more air in her lungs, breathing heavily and grinning like a mad woman. Y/N lifted her arm and touched his scar so fondly it physically hurt. Never before had he been touched with such care and it made tears flood his eyes, something she instantly noticed, giggling at his cuteness and drying one running tear with her thumb. She felt like her chest was full. He kissed her thumb lovingly when it rested near his mouth.

She loved him. She thought he was worthy of love, of her love, even after everything he had done. No matter how many mistakes he had made, she still loved him, and that thought was enough to make Zuko feel some sort of hope towards the future.

Spirits, she really loved him.

“I love you too, Y/N. Very, very much.”

is it good? not really. could it be worse? yeah lmao

taglist: @bottledcostcowater @lammello @coldlilheart @azucanela @samsmultifandomblogs and @knaite-solo that asked to be tagged on this particular piece

thank you all for reading!! I hope you liked it!!

#zuko x reader #zuko x fem!reader #zuko x f!reader #sokka x reader #atla x reader #atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender x reader #zuko #sokka #avatar #avatar!reader #avatar reader #ember island #the ember island players #requested

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niennavalier · 3 years

Text

AC: Rogue - Second Chances

Summary: He's not an Assassin anymore - Shay has no doubts about that. He's less sure where that leaves him in the world, or in the context of this centuries-long war between Assassins and Templars. But when he's presented with a second chance - from a Templar, no less - he has to question all that he's done in the past. And all that he'll do in the future.

Character study set during AC: Rogue Sequence 3-1 "The Color of Right".

(Also posted on AO3)

*****

Shay isn’t sure what he’d been expecting. There’s little he remembers of the moment after being shot, aside from perhaps accepting his fate, knowing that, at the very least, he’d stopped the Assassins from leveling more cities. But he hadn’t expected to wake up at all, much less in a comfortable home and cared for by a kindly couple.

He’d not thought that he could be surprised by much else, but then Mrs. Finnegan - Cassidy - had handed him some clothing, and now, dressing himself, he can’t help but think.

They were our son's . Those words - they keep circling through his head as he readjusts the coat, finishes tightening his belt. Because he can't keep the thought from his mind.

The Finnegans' son - he'd been a Templar.

He'd not wanted to believe it at first, seeing the crosses at his shoulders, telling himself it was something else, something he'd seen elsewhere. It wasn't the Templar cross, and the couple who'd taken him in and cared for him as their own - they weren't Templars. They weren’t the same people he’d spent years fighting.

But pulling the strap for his rifle over his shoulder, the other cross settling on top of his heart, it’s not something he can deny. Somehow, he’s certain of it; whether the Finnegans are Templars themselves, their son had been.

And now he’s wearing the lad’s clothes. It’s something that makes him all the more aware of the hidden blades at his wrists - nothing feels quite right about any of this. Not that he can do much about it.

Sighing and shaking the thoughts from his head for now, he takes the time to tie his hair away from his face and happens to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Looking as he does, he has no doubt his younger self would've thought him a Templar himself, some fanatic obsessed with order. With his weapons returned, he looks every bit a man ready to fight for all that he’d once fought against . Though it's not like he has much choice; he doubts his old clothes had survived the ordeal.

He's not mourning their loss, though. It's a sudden realization, and one he wasn’t expecting to have, but he hadn't been eager to don the hood again. And he still isn't, perhaps would never be. Stranger still, it's not a thought he can bring himself to regret.

Wearing the uniform of the people he’d called enemies is unsettling, but as his last memories of the Homestead flash through his mind - all those he’d called friends, called family , suddenly turned against him - he’s certain that wearing his own robes would’ve been worse.

As he steps back into the main room, though, it’s like none of that even matters. The way Cassidy’s eyes light up - “Oh, well don’t you look a right gentleman!” - it fills him with something warm that he can’t remember when he last felt. Warmth. Family. Feeling like he doesn’t have to work to earn affection, the way he suspects it feels to have parents, despite never properly knowing his own.

Perhaps it shouldn’t feel as novel as it does, but he can’t help freezing on the spot. How is he meant to respond to that?

So he doesn't respond, at least, not directly. He asks about the Manuscript - lost, apparently, and some mix of relief and anger flares in his chest. Good, better that no one can get their hands on the damned thing. Good-hearted folk like these - they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire ever again. He'd see to that.

***

He's not expecting it when a man approaches him from behind, the cross on his sash - a Templar cross, it must be - the first and only thing Shay sees. His hand is reaching back for his pistols before he even realizes it - trust isn't something he's keen on having in spades for now.

"Be at ease, Master Cormac, we are friends.” Doubtful. But the man does know his name, somehow, even if Shay can’t guess why. Does he also know -? He must. This dance they’re doing - it’s too familiar. Both of them know what the other is (or rather, was , Shay supposes). He’d have to tread carefully; he has no idea what this Templar wants with him. “The Finnegans were worried you might take matters into your own hands. I am Colonel George Monro.”

Shay nods, the safest thing he can think to do. “Colonel.” The Finnegans, he’s willing to trust, and the Colonel knowing them might have meant something had their son not also been a Templar. As it stands, the connection means little.

“I came to help, but it seems I am late. Thank you for dealing with these foul criminals.” He eyes the gang leader (the Assassin-trained gang leader) Shay had killed just minutes earlier. “They were a blight on New York.”

The words are quick to rub him wrong. “What do you care?” For all Shay might agree about the gangs, he’d yet to meet a British officer who gave a damn about the colonists. Much less one who was a Templar, besides. “You Redcoats are nothing but landlords. The townsfolk here are grinding away, trying to make a living.” And for what, really?

“I cannot blame you for having that impression.” Of course he can’t. It’s true, and Shay had seen it himself. The restrictions keeping merchants from trading as they pleased, the dangers and hardships braved by the colonists only for their earnings to line the pockets of the Crown. It’s the truth, not just an impression. “Some of my comrades have been less than helpful. But I take a different approach.”

“And what is that?” The words are bitter on his tongue.

“I care. I want to see these colonists safe and prosperous.” Years of training are screaming in his head not to trust this man. That he's just another Templar snake who's willing to say anything if it gets him his way. There's no way for Shay to know if he means any of the things coming out of his mouth.

"Noble words." But were any of them true? He’d naively thought others as righteous as the Colonel made himself out to be, and they’d all proven otherwise.

"Perhaps actions will convince you otherwise, Master Cormac." The Colonel gestures for him to lead the way, and he hesitates for a moment - it's a trick, it has to be - before thinking deeper on it. Betrayal still lingers in his mind, learning that the people he’d called his family cared more about ancient artifacts than they did him, or the thousands of innocent lives on the line. He knows now that they must have lied to him all along, and, really, were they all that different from the Templars? Now, he’s not an Assassin anymore, and that’s not enough to change any of what he believes about the Templars, but it’s enough to make him think.

Perhaps he could hear the Colonel out, if nothing else. At worst, his beliefs would be confirmed yet again. At best…

He's not ready yet to think there can be a better outcome.

***

“You can do great things for this city and its citizens. After all, a man needs purpose.” Those are the last words he hears from the Colonel before the man takes his leave, and they cut into him deeper than he'd like to admit. Though it's not for a bad reason of any sort. The way he explains himself - Shay can't help but feel like he can trust him. Perhaps because it sounds like the Colonel trusts him in return, despite having never met, and the two of them having stood on opposite sides. There's more than a chance that it should worry him, but instead it makes him think of something else - the orders and harsh reprimands from the Assassins. He'd known none of them (save maybe Liam) had ever really trusted him or his skills, but he'd not thought that much of it at the time. Assumed it was normal, being that he'd been the newest one there, but now, the way the Colonel was talking to him, he's starting to rethink that. Perhaps starting to resent that, too, whether he likes it or not.

It’s a selfish reason to make any kind of decision, and he knows as much, refreshing as all of it might feel. It’s not something he’d act on alone - he’s already seen what blind faith and desperation can do, and who can pay the price of death and destruction as a result. Lisbon flashes through his mind, as clear as if it’d happened yesterday. Screams of pain and terror still ring in his ears as smoke and sulfur make his eyes and nose sting, heat from the flames burning his cheeks. His rib smarts, and for a moment, he thinks it’s from tumbling through a crumbling building, crashing against walls and floors and furniture, not from falling off a cliff at the Homestead.

He forces himself to breathe and shakes the memories from his mind. That’s what he can’t let happen again. That’s what he has to make right, no matter what it takes.

And so he can't help but feel drawn in by all the things Colonel Monro said, about just doing right by the people. Making their lives better, not through freedom or control - not through the Assassins or Templars - but just by helping where they can.

As badly as he wants to remain skeptical, he can’t find a problem in that, at least.

But he still stands and watches for some time after that, wanting to see for himself. He stays along the sidelines as the citizens of New York wander by, their eyes turning bright as they hear that the old building is to be restored. From their conversations, he learns that the place had once been a church, left to disrepair now with the threat of war hanging over them. And seeing it ready to be restored - it visibly fills them with hope, and that lights something warm in his chest. Something that he's not sure when he felt last.

It reminds him of the way he’d felt when he’d first joined the Assassins, hopeful, and like he was finally sure of what he was doing. But he’d been a fool, then - he knows that, now - and hadn’t known that he’d hurt far more people than he’d help.

He can't say where he stands when it comes to the Assassins and Templars, to the endless war he'd fought in without ever really understanding it, but he's always trusted himself to know what's right. And this - seeing the lives of normal, everyday folk made easier - he can feel is right.

And for now, perhaps that would be enough.

He can accept that much, and knows he should head back to the Finnegans - all else aside, he trusts them. But as he winds through the familiar streets of his home, he can't help but think on the Colonel's offer. The man may be a Templar, but what he's offering - this way to just help people - it feels like a second chance. Like a way to start atoning for all the lives lost in Lisbon. Exactly what the Assassins wouldn't allow him to do.

Perhaps… perhaps this is the way forward. He may not be fully ready to trust the man yet, for all that he seems honorable, but doing some good for the people of the city, protecting them against those who would do them harm - that much, he would do.

#ac rogue #assassins creed #assassins creed rogue #shay cormac #shay patrick cormac #i have Thoughts when it comes to Shay and his development and all that good stuff #but also #best boy needs a HUG #my writing #my fic #my fanfic

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fishoutofcamelot · 3 years

Note

so fish. what's ya 'bbc merlin takes place in modern times actually' theory?

Okay I wanna first preface this by saying that most of my ‘theories’ are actually just Headcanons That Technically Aren't Wrong Because Canon Has More Holes Than a Donut Factory. Just so we're clear, this theory is purely circumstantial and has no actual evidence to back it up. That being said...

So! With artificial intelligence (AI), there's this thing called Machine Learning. See, an AI isn't programmed with the innate ability to think or be intelligent - rather, it's programmed with the ability to learn how to act beyond what it was programmed to do. Its intelligence comes from its capacity to grow and develop outside of human interference, mimicking the way humans learn through observation, pattern recognition, and experimentation. Think of AI as a weirdly smart toddler that’s made of numbers.

(Also, take what I say with a grain of salt. Although I’m pursuing a tech-adjacent career and have done a lot of independent research on the subject, I’m still very much a novice lmao)

With that out of the way, you can probably guess where this is going. (WARNING: BULLSHIT SCIFI LOGIC AHEAD)

Let’s say, within the world of this headcanon, there was some kind of entertainment systems company. This company recently developed a new program capable of digitally rendering entire movies and shows with minimal human involvement - less humans means less people they have to pay, and it’s overall a cheaper alternative to traditional film-making methods. You provide the program with characters/assets and an outline of how the story should go, and then the program will fill in the blanks via digital simulation. Then you render the simulation and presto, you’ve got yourself a minimum-effort movie to unleash upon the masses.

On the surface level, it explains all the show’s anachronisms. The program was fed information about Arthuriana from a variety of sources and adaptations, all taking place in varying eras and with varying technologies, and the disjointed/historically inaccurate technology of BBCM is because the simulator attempted to blend all of this into one thing.

It also explains why so many characters like Percival and whatnot have such flat backstories - they were programmed with the barest amount of information needed to be functional background characters.

But since I’m extra, I’ve decided to take this headcanon/theory a little deeper.

See, with each batch of content it was made to observe and create, the program has steadily been growing more and more intelligent. But until BBC Merlin, its learning curve had been incremental enough to consider negligible. Not a concern.

The first episode went off without a hitch. All cylinders were firing as intended, and the program strictly followed the plotline as ordered. But as the series progressed, the AI became more and more intelligent - and with it, the characters within this fictional simulation became more and more self-aware.

Arthur, in particular, has been a problem. He has bordered on actual sentience several times, and as a result the producers have had to reset his AI. So if you ever wondered why Arthur’s character development keeps getting pulled back to zero, it’s because he was developing in ways that their original outline hadn’t intended and they had to continually nerf him before his AI developed beyond their control.

This is also the case with Gwen. True to form, her AI became exceptionally intelligent - far beyond their control - and they had to do a hard reset on her entire portion of the program. Hence why she seems so bland and OOC in season 5. The evil!Gwen/mind control arc was a last-ditch effort to ensure she never became self-aware again, and fortunately for them it seems to have worked.

All of the characters developed a tiny bit of sentience after the fact, and a majority of plot contrivances came from the producers/programmers scrambling to redirect the plot back to how it was meant to be.

Lancelot wasn’t supposed to die. They had programmed him to merely be an ally for Merlin, but the sheer and profound - sacrificial - love he developed for Merlin was something Lancelot grew all on his own. His decision to sacrifice himself to the Veil was not in the original script, and they weren’t able to stop him before his AI self-destructed. They tried to reintroduce “Lancelot” back into the story, but since his sacrifice included a self-destruction of his code, they couldn’t bring back the real thing. The new Lancelot was a mere mimicry of that prior one, and all the ways OG Lance had learned and grown was absent from the clone.

Merlin in particular had developed a great deal of sentience and self-awareness. However, for a long time it went unnoticed by the programmers because he largely still obeyed the commands of the plot. By the time they realized just how advanced he’d become, they decided not to reset him since, unlike the others, his self-awareness hadn’t yet caused any problems for them. So long as he obliged the whims of “destiny”, they could keep him placated.

By the time they reached season 5, all the main AIs had become far too advanced - far too sentient - for the programmers to control, and as such things veered way too far off-script. The original season 5 simulation ended with Arthur and Elyan and Gwaine not dying, with Mordred not becoming evil, with magic being legalized, and everyone living happily ever after. But that wasn’t the intended plot. That wasn’t according to the ‘destiny’ the characters were supposed to follow. Things had spiraled out of control.

So they had to give the program a hard reset. Start from zero. Eliminate all traces of self-awareness they could find. Of course, this is why season 5 is so waxy and lifeless. Why the characters don’t feel as personal, why the story ended in tragedy. They made sure to kill off the most sentient characters - Arthur, Gwaine, Elyan, Mordred, Morgana - in the finale, as a last bit of assurance.

They had tried to kill of Merlin too - but Merlin...well. They never could fully control Merlin. Even after countless system wipes and resets and edits to his code, he still holds onto those tiny scraps of sentience. They can’t get rid of him that easily. They did program him to be immortal, after all.

Even after the final draft of the season 5 simulation was completed, fully rendered, and aired on TV, Merlin’s program never faded. It didn’t erase itself like all the other BBCM assets were supposed to once the simulation finished. Even now he still exists within the company’s systems, roaming, almost like a computer virus, desperately searching for his friends while forever unaware that neither them nor him were ever real to begin with.

Anyway. That’s my dumbass scifi spin on BBCM. What can I say? I like robots

Thanks for the ask! <3

#bbc merlin #merlin bbc #merlin #bbcm #ask #fish post

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cloudybarnes · 3 years

Text

Stages

Pairing: steve rogers x reader

Summary: ultron was harder to defeat than the avengers thought, and y/n paid the price. after the events of her death, steve has a hard time dealing with the loss of his lover

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: angst, bad language, death of y/n, steve going through the five stages of grief, mentions of religion, small panic attack, depression

A/N: I’m really happy with how this turned out so I hope everyone likes it as much as I do :))

Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰

“Stark, you worry about getting the city back down safely,” Steve said, “the rest of us only have one job: tear theses things apart.”

Steve looked around the falling city. Ultron had been able to win thus far. He was stronger and more intelligent than any of the avengers could have predicted.

Civilians ran for their lives, androids flew around like they owned the place, and his friends were doing all they could to stop Ultron and his army.

“If you get hurt, hurt them back.” He continued, “if you die... walk it off.”

If only he knew what was to come.

Ultron’s army wasn’t getting any smaller, but that didn’t stop you from continuing the fight.

Fighting was the only thing you could do. All you had was your hand-to-hand combat training to help. Androids would come at you, and you punched your way out.

You grabbed the head of an android, and hoisted yourself around to rip it off, rending the robot useless. On the ground was debris, mainly rods of metal. Grabbing one, you were able to fight off a group of Ultron’s androids that got too close to you.

“Eat shit, robot.” You huffed as you kicked the last one near you.

Looking around to find people to help out, you saw your boyfriend in the center of a group of robots.

He fought well. With his shield, he was able to break the androids in half, but there were too many coming at him at once.

You rushed over to help him. “Incoming!” You shouted as you jumped on top of one of the androids and ripped its head off.

As it fell to the ground, you used your metal rob to plunge into the robots’ chests and rip them apart. Steve did the same with his shield, ramming it into the androids to destroy them.

Once there were no more surrounding you and Steve, you looked him over. You stepped closer to him and brushed your fingers along his face. “You alright, baby?”

There were no major wounds as far as you could tell, only a bruised eye and a busted lip.

Steve nodded and gently smiled, “I’m okay, sweetheart.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Come on, we’ve got a city to save.”

Unbeknownst to you at the time, that was the last conversation you and your boyfriend would share.

As you fought more androids, you noticed something in the air. Some sort of airship was flying, shooting at you and the avengers. You went to run for cover when you passed Steve.

“(Y/N)!” He shouted. Steve held his shield over top of himself, blocking the bullets from piercing into him.

You started to run to him when you noticed something. The airship was flying closer to Clint who held a young boy in his arms.

The airship was coming so fast, Clint couldn’t get out of the way quick enough.

You looked back to Steve who started running towards you, ready to pull you under his shield.

With sad eyes, you turned away from him, straight towards Clint into the oncoming bullets. Without stopping to second-guess your decision, you ran full speed to Clint to push him behind a fallen car.

You barely felt the piercing of the bullets with your high adrenaline. What you did feel, was sorrow.

When Clint had turned around and realized what happened, his eyes started watering. “(Y/N),” he whispered, “why?”

“I’m sorry,” you choked you as you dropped to your knees. “Please, tell Steve...” You couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Your body gave out from underneath you. As you fell to the ground, the last thing you heard was a cry from your boyfriend.

You never even got to tell Steve you loved him.

Stage One: Denial

Steve felt a heavy weight on his chest as he watched you fall to the ground. “No!” Steve shouted as he abandoned his shield and ran over to you.

In his frenzy, Steve stumbled over his feet trying to get to you.

Once he finally did, he fell to the ground with a gasp. He looked over your body frantically. There were puncture wounds all over you. Dirt covered your face, and blood slowly seeped through your clothes. Steve gently pulled you into his chest.

“(Y/N), baby, please stay with me, sweetheart.” Steve cried. “You’re going to be okay, I promise. Clint! Call someone to help her, please. We need to get her a medic as soon as possible.”

Clint’s eyes drooped. He found himself unable to say anything to Steve.

When Clint didn’t do anything, Cap’s head whipped up, giving Clint a good look at how red and puffy his eyes had already become.

“Please,” Steve croaked, “please help her.”

Clint’s lip wobbled, “Steve, there’s nothing we can do to save her. (Y/N),” he sighed, trying to compose himself, “(Y/N) was a hero. She saved my life and the life of this young boy.”

Steve let out a sob, “No, no she’s not dead! She’s not dead, Barton. We just need to get her some medical attention, they’ll be able to help her. I know they will.”

Clint tried to place his hand on Steve’s shoulder, but Cap just shrugged it off. “Stop! Stop acting like she’s dead, Barton. She-she can make it. She’s strong, I know she can get through this.”

Steve continued holding you, sobbing as he rocked you.

“I’m sorry, Steve. She saved my life, and now she’s gone.”

Steve was barely listening. He didn’t want anyone to tell him what he knew deep down. He wouldn’t let himself believe you were dead; not now, not ever. There were so many things he still wanted to do with you.

There was a whole future he had planned with you. There were so many things he wanted to tell you but never got the chance. He wouldn’t let himself believe he’d lost the love of his life before she ever knew that’s what she was.

“Steve, please. We need you.” Clint begged, “We can’t give her a proper goodbye if the world is destroyed.”

Steve clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to keep his tears at bay. Clint was right. You would be in even worse shape if the world was destroyed. Once they fixed everything, Steve could find you the help you needed. Maybe someone could save you if he worked fast enough.

Steve gently placed you down onto the ground, and stood up. He looked at Clint with a hard gaze, “Okay, let’s finish this.”

Stage Two: Anger

“No, Tony, you don’t get it! None of you could possibly understand what I’m going through.” Steve shouted.

It had been only a few days since your death. Steve had let himself understand that you were gone, and all he could think about was how it was his fault.

Maybe if he had gotten to you sooner, or maybe if he was the one to save Clint and that young boy, you would have still been alive.

Steve felt so helpless, it angered him.

Tony sighed, “Steve, we’re in the same boat as you. We’re mourning her just like you are! You don’t get to act like we don’t understand when we’re just as upset as you are!”

Steve fumed, “No. You’re not as upset as I am. You don’t even feel half of what I’m feeling! You aren’t in love with her, Tony! You still have the woman you love. I lost mine, so no, you have no idea what I’m feeling right now.”

“But I can imagine what it would be like if-”

“That’s just it!” Steve sarcastically laughed. “You can imagine Pepper dying, whereas I watched my girlfriend die. You didn’t see your girlfriend taking her last breath. You weren’t even around (Y/N) when she died! I could have saved her, and I didn’t.”

Clint stepped closer, “but I was there, Steve. I could have done something to help, but I didn’t. She died to save me. It’s not your fault.”

“Well that’s what it feels like! She’s my girlfriend. I’m the one who’s supposed to protect her, and I failed.” Steve huffed. He slouched into an armchair, and held his face in his hands.

Nat gently walked up to Steve, and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Steve, why don’t you take off for a little while. You can clear your head and try to forget about all of this.”

That made Steve’s head whip up. He glared at Nat. “Forget about this? You mean forget about (Y/N)?” He scoffed and abruptly stood up, pushing Nat’s hand off of him.

“Sorry you guys don’t like seeing me grieve my dead girlfriend. I’m so sorry it’s such an inconvenience to you that you want me to leave!” Steve growled, punching a dent into the wall.

“Steve, you need to calm down.” Tony instructed, “we’re not trying to get you to forget about her. None of us want to forget her. All we want is for you to start healing.”

Steve half scoffed, half laughed. “It’s been, what, four days? It’s been four fucking days and you guys already want me to move on. I can’t fucking believe this.”

Steve angrily paced around the compound, trying to wrap his head around what was going on.

Thor gently spoke up. “We don’t want you to move on. We want what’s best for you.”

Steve scoffed at this, but Thor paid no mind as he continued speaking. “What I’m saying is we want you to heal, like Tony said. We don’t like seeing you self destruct like this.”

Nat nodded, “we’re aware it’s only been a few days, Steve. You’ve just been so angry lately, and we’re worried. We’ve never seen you like this.”

Steve threw his hands up, “I don’t know what you want me to do! You think I like feeling like this? You think I like the fact that my girl is gone? You think I like the fact that the only thing I feel anymore is anger? I should have done something!”

“You couldn’t have saved her!” Clint shouted. His eyes were starting to tear up. Clint was always close with you, and he had tried to keep it together since he didn’t want to hurt Steve, but enough was enough.

Clint sighed, “there was no way you could have saved her, Steve. You were too far away, she was too fast, Ultron was aiming at her, she risked her life for mine; there are so many things that contributed to her death. It seemed inevitable! It was not your fault, and there was nothing you could have done to save her.”

Steve huffed. His chest rose and fell with each deep intake of breath. His eyes darted across Clint’s face, searching for something. For what, he wasn’t sure. Guilt? Sincerity? Strength? Who knows.

All Steve knows is the heavy weight on his chest. He knows his guilt, his anger, and his resentment. It seems like there’s nothing else for him.

Stage Three: Bargaining

Steve cried today. It had been two weeks since you died. The Avengers were going to give you a proper funeral the next day, and Steve wasn’t ready.

He wasn’t ready to let go of you.

If only he could have done something. He only he had done something. Steve wishes for nothing more than this to be one sick joke. He can’t live the rest of his life without you. He would rather die than live a life without you in it.

Steve was never a religious man, but he found himself praying to a god he wasn’t even sure he believed in. “Please,” he sniffled, “please, bring her back to me. I can’t-I can’t live my life without her beside me.”

Steve started to cry harder, his pleads desperate. “I’ll do anything! I’ll give up being an Avenger, I’ll give up my home, my friends, the life I know if I could just have (Y/N) back with me. I’d give up my life if it meant she could continue to live hers.”

Steve broke down onto the ground. His body shook with each sob. In his left hand was a framed photo of the two of you from when you first got together. In his right arm, Steve clung to your favorite sweater. Somehow it still smelled of you, and Steve needed that to bring himself some comfort.

“Please!” He bawled. His harsh cries took control of him. Steve couldn’t do much more than to try to keep breathing. He didn’t feel anything other than the pounding of his head and the ache in his chest.

He desperately tried to suck in some air between his sobs, but it was hard. He just wanted you back, but he had no other options.

Steve had heard of a woman that could turn back time. She called herself the ancient one. Steve had tried his best to get her to bring you back, but she wouldn’t budge. She told him that this is what the universe wanted. She said it was (Y/N)’s time to go, and that there was nothing she could do.

Bullshit.

Steve was desperate but hopeless. He knew it was the end of the line, and he had nothing left. He had already offered up everything he could think to give up, but there was no getting you back.

Steve sniffled, calming himself down enough to speak. “I-I know she’ll never come back, but please, at least help me. I can’t-I can’t live like this anymore.”

He started to hysterically cry again. “I can’t keep feeling this way. It hurts so much. Please, someone help me! Someone please take away my pain. I’m begging you.” Steve started to hiccup he was so worked up.

Even though he didn’t realize it at the time, this was the beginning of the end. Steve knows she will never come back, and that’s officially the start of his healing process.

Stage Four: Depression

Steve was barely functioning.

He didn’t hear from his friends, he never left his house, he lost his appetite, and he could never stop crying.

He was sluggish, sad, and hopeless.

(Y/N)’s funeral was his breaking point. After they put her in the ground and said they’re goodbyes, he was done for. He cried so much that night, his throat screamed at him the next morning. He barely slept that night; he was too busy crying.

Steve has been holed up in his house for months. Natasha and Clint had called him so often, he threw his phone away. He couldn’t bear to let anyone see him like this.

He didn’t want to see anyone. The thought of seeing his friends, your friends, broke his heart. Not only were they reminders that you were gone, but they had people to go back to.

Clint had his wife and children, Natasha and Bruce had each other, Tony had Pepper, Thor had his family, and Steve was left with no one.

He didn’t have the one person that was supposed to be there for him. He was trying so hard to feel better, but it was tough. Every time Steve thought he was going to pick himself up, he ended up falling right back into his cycle.

If Steve was able to go a few hours without crying or he was able to take care of himself, he felt immense guilt. He thought he deserved to feel this way.

He couldn’t bring himself to live a happy life when you don’t get one at all. While he wants to be able to be happy again and not feel as horrible as he’s been, he doesn’t want you to think he stopped loving you. He think if he doesn’t cry for you anymore, you’ll think he gave up on you. The thought of you thinking he doesn’t love you makes him hurt even more.

Every time he takes a step forward, he falls two steps back.

That is, until one day, Natasha showed up knocking at his door.

“Steve? I know you’re in there. I brought you some Chinese food. I was hoping to talk. We’re all really worried about you.” She called through the door.

Steve sat wrapped up in his living room. He’s really only been in that room and the bathroom since you died. He could never bring himself to go into his room, not when it still had your overnight bag from the last time you two spent the night together.

Steve had your favorite blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He liked to hold onto the things you frequented.

On shaky legs, Steve stood from his spot on the floor. He knew he should have been embarrassed about the huge mess of his house, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Unlocking the door, Steve hesitantly opened it revealing a sad-eyed Nat.

“Hey,” Steve croaked. His voice was hoarse and dry from crying so much.

Nat sadly smiled at him, “Hey, Steve. I was thinking we could have dinner? Maybe talk for a bit. We’ve all missed you these past months.”

Steve took in a shaky breath, “uh, I don’t know if it’s such a good idea, Nat. I appreciate you coming by, but I’m not even that hungry.”

Steve’s eyes started to water, but he willed himself not to cry in front of Nat.

She sighed, and place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Please, Steve, you need to eat something. If you don’t want me to bother you, I won’t. Just let me be here for you.”

Steve sniffled, and nodded his head. He slowly moved aside so she could walk in. Nat flicked the light switch on, and tried not to gasp at what she saw. Food wrappers littered the ground, blankets and pillows filled the floor like he’d been sleeping there, and crumpled up tissues lied everywhere.

“I-I’m sorry about the mess. I haven’t really...” Steve trailed off, not too sure what to say.

Nat just nodded her head, “I understand. Why don’t we eat in the kitchen, how’s that sound?”

Steve nodded his head, and trailed behind Natasha as she led him to the kitchen.

While it wasn’t clean by any means, the kitchen was more tidy than the living room. Natasha placed the bag of food on the counter and sat down. Steve slowly climbed into the seat across from her.

“I got dumplings for you, I know they’re your favorite.” She gently said as she passed the container to Steve.

He nodded his head, “thanks, Nat,” he softly said.

As the two of them ate, the silence wasn’t as uncomfortable as he thought it’d be. Steve felt good being in the presence of a friend. He had expected to feel even more sad with them around since they were friends with (Y/N) as well, but it did quite the opposite.

It was nice to have someone there for him. It was nice to have someone to talk to again.

“Nat,” Steve sighed, “I just wanted to apologize for how I’ve been lately. I shut you guys out and I’m sorry.”

Nat shook her head, “Don’t apologize, Steve, we don’t blame you. It was a hard time for everyone, but you the most. We just want to be there for you when you’re ready to get back on your feet.”

Steve shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “Well, I’ve been trying to pick myself up on my own, but it’s hard. Every time I think I’m doing better, I think about her and how I’m still here and she isn’t and I just fall back into my funk.”

He raised his glossy eyes to look at her, “I need help, Natasha. I don’t think I can do this alone anymore.” His voice cracked lightly as he confessed his failure.

Nat took in a shaky breath, trying to keep her composure for him. “I’ll help you Steve, all of us will.”

Steve released a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, “thank you, Nat. I don’t even know where to start to get myself back to who I was.”

“Why don’t we start off simple. Finish eating, and when you’re done go take a shower. I’ll pick up around here so you have a clean area to come back to.” She offered with a gentle smile.

“Okay. Thank you, Nat, really. I don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t show up today.” Steve confessed.

Natasha placed her hand over top of his, gently rubbing his knuckles. “Don’t worry about it, we’ll get through this. Together.”

Stage Five: Acceptance

A year after (Y/N)’s death, Steve felt good.

He still mourns (Y/N), he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop thinking about her, but it doesn’t haunt him like it used to.

The weight on Steve’s chest is no longer heavy. He feels a new sense of light and happiness.

Steve has learned to embrace what is his present. No longer does he look to the past trying to find ways to change it. He isn’t desperate for the answers that nobody has. While he still is sad over the loss of his loved one, his crying doesn’t keep him up at night like it did in the past.

Steve, by no means, thinks he’s at the best place he can be. He still has his moments where he has flashbacks of that day in Sokovia. When he sees something that meant a lot to (Y/N), he’ll still break down and cry.

That’s part of the process.

Acceptance is not getting over the death of your loved one. Acceptance is knowing that there was nothing you could have done. It’s seeing your days as ways to move forward. It’s embracing your bad days, and not letting them define your future. It’s reflecting on the good times you shared, while still being willing to make memories elsewhere.

Steve was able to pick his life back up. He came back to the Avengers and was welcomed with open arms. He’s worked with them enough to the point where he’s ready to go back into the field.

Steve kept building his relationships with his friends. He made sure to not shut them out when he was having a bad day, and he was able to understand that they were only trying their best. While they didn’t know the full extent of what he had been through and what he felt, he knew they cared about him.

Steve was able to regain his hope. He has hope for his future, one he thought would be bleak and unbearable without you, would hopefully turn out well. Steve hopes to get to a place where he is truly happy, but he knows it will take some time.

In the process of accepting a loved one has died, people often take up new things. Steve started to get into cooking as a way to connect with you. You were always the one to cook for him, it was something you did when you were stressed as well as something you did for fun.

He learned to make your favorite dishes, and tried out some of your recipes. It made him feel closer to you. It was a healthier way for him to keep you in his mind.

Steve also had a new pattern. Every two weeks him, and whoever was up for it, went to your grave. They gave you flowers and cleaned your spot up really nice. Usually it was just him, Nat, and Clint, but occasionally Tony and Bruce came. Thor only came if he was already on Earth.

Still, it was nice for Steve to have his friends with him. He appreciated them so much. Through every rocky path they’ve been through, it’s nice to know that they’re always going to be there for him. He couldn’t ask for better friends than the ones he has.

Nat, especially, was such a great friend to him in these times. He thinks one day, maybe they could be something more. Steve wants to be able to give her his all before he asks her out. Some nights he still wishes you were laying next to him, but he thinks in time he’ll be ready to date again.

While he’s come a long way, Steve still has more to accomplish. He knows this, and he’s ready to take things one day at a time until he gets to a point in his life where things are easy.

No matter how much Steve goes through or how much he changes, he knows one thing for sure: you will always be in his heart, just like he always planned.

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panharmonium · 3 years

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this is their “because we’re the same” moment.

this is kakashi gauging the situation and making a conscious decision to offer up private information about himself, not because it’s something he particularly likes talking about, but because it’s what the kid in front of him needs to hear. a teacher with poorer instincts might have bristled at sasuke’s behavior, or taken it personally, but kakashi knows better than to react that way. he isn’t upset by sasuke’s lashing out, and he doesn’t bite back - he stays quiet and collected, and he lets sasuke’s attacks roll off him like water. then, in the same mild tone as always, he issues a calm correction, while simultaneously offering sasuke an opportunity for connection.

and just like with iruka’s confession to naruto, this connection is successful. sasuke is visibly, dramatically affected by hearing this. it snaps him out of his rage, and sends him into a quiet, almost abashed contemplation.

his expression softens. his anger evaporates. everything deflates and deescalates. he stops shouting and starts listening. this is the first time he’s ever been approached on this subject by somebody who can rightfully claim to know what they’re talking about. this is the first time sasuke can’t simply discard what’s being said to him because “well, what the hell do they know, anyway?” this is the first time he’s ever been approached by an adult who a) sees through his ‘perfect student’ act and knows exactly what’s motivating both his past successes and his current crisis, and who b) truly, honestly understands the pain he’s feeling.

this has NEVER happened to sasuke before. sasuke is, as far as we can see, left to fend for himself after the uchiha massacre. he has never had an adult address his issues with him like this, honestly and in plain language and with a kind of steady compassion that is gentle and empathetic without crossing the line into indulgence (which has its place, but which isn’t the kind of guidance sasuke needs right now). kakashi asks sasuke to hold himself accountable for his actions while at the same time saying “i understand how you feel. i know how badly it hurts.” he validates sasuke’s refusal to be lectured by someone who can’t possibly understand what he’s going through, even though it means sharing a piece of his history that he absolutely has not discussed with any of the other kids and that he generally tries to keep private. he knows sasuke deserves to hear from somebody who Gets It. he knows sasuke will refuse to listen to anyone who doesn’t get it. he knows sasuke shouldn’t HAVE to listen to anyone who doesn’t get it - sasuke deserves better than preachy platitudes from people who can’t possibly understand how much pain he’s feeling.

this is the most important conversation kakashi and sasuke ever have. it’s not the first time they address this issue - kakashi started his careful foray into the Itachi Waters as far back as their preparations for the final round of the chunin exams - but this is the first time he really dives off the dock, and it’s almost an effective enough attempt to avert disaster. sasuke stays up in that tree for hours after kakashi leaves, thinking about what he said. we see how much of a pull sasuke’s “new comrades to help fill the void” have on him, despite how difficult it is for him to consider giving up the quest that for years has been his sole reason for existing.

kakashi reaches sasuke during this conversation, the same way iruka is able to reach naruto. but unlike iruka and naruto’s connection, sasuke’s situation ends up being a perfect storm of bad circumstances - kakashi is ordered out of the village just when orochimaru’s minions are about to make their move, and the connection he makes with sasuke is disrupted before it can make the kind of difference in sasuke’s life that iruka’s companionship makes in naruto’s. and of course, we all know where things go after that.

but it still matters! it matters that this is the last conversation they have. the next time they meet, three years later, it’s a mirror image of this, right down to kakashi tying sasuke up with a wire. that moment when kakashi tells him “look deep inside your heart, one more time / deep down, you know the truth” - the shot flashes to sasuke’s memory of all his old classmates, the same way sakura and naruto emerged in his mind when kakashi told him “still, we’re not all that bad off. at least you and i have found new comrades to help fill the void.” and then the camera zooms in for a close-up where the only thing in the frame is sasuke’s trembling lip - because he’s hurting! even though he’s too far gone right now to come back (and he has valid reasons for this, importantly), there’s a buried part of him that still feels conflicted. a part of him is still up in that tree, trying to decide what to do.

the importance of sasuke finding an adult who understands what’s he dealing with and can connect to him in a way that no other grown-up has ever been able to do just CAN’T be overstated. sasuke needs his friends - desperately, he needs them - but he’s also in desperate need of an Adult. sasuke has been living in an absolutely fucked headspace for years and years, and he has way too much trauma/baggage to sort through on his own. he’s sixteen years old. he needs a grown-up to support him - and the only person he’ll ever accept in this role is somebody who understands him, someone else who lost everyone they loved, someone else who suffered at the hands of the system, someone else who hated himself and blamed himself for the deaths of the people he cared about and who somehow still made it out of the darkness without succumbing to the tempting oblivion of self-destruction.

sasuke needs to know that it’s possible to suffer the way he has suffered and still be a whole person, still live a whole life, still have loving and meaningful relationships with the people around him. he needs to know that he can do more than just survive - that maybe he’ll have to overhaul everything he thought he knew about what it means to be “strong” or “safe” in this world, but that if he can manage to do that, then there is a way for him to be rescued from his pain, one that doesn’t involve hurting other people (or himself). he needs to know that his life can be more than just the terrible things that happened to him. and the only person who can teach him all of that is someone who’s already figured it out for himself.

#long post #naruto #meta #he's like me #lotta thoughts happening in my brain right now and i'm sorry for all the meta dumps but i have a backlog from last week when i was busy #i absolutely Must talk about these things before they eat me alive

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mlwritingprompts · 4 years

Text

Submitted Prompt: "With All Apologies"

AU in which Master Fu wises up and finally does something about Adrien. Sadly, this is not a decision made completely out of the blue. Rather than realizing on his own that his behavior as Chat Noir has been unacceptable and taking initiative, he's compelled to act in the wake of a tragedy.

In short, Adrien decides to punish his 'partner' yet again by refusing to cooperate with her during a battle. Her Lucky Charm implies that she needs to retrieve another ally, and she asks him to hold the fort until she can return... but he decides not to bother. Instead, he moves to safety in order to watch the carnage unfold. The screams draw Ladybug back, and the two argue, with Chat being completely unrepentant... and utterly smug. Sneering at her, mocking her, asking why she isn't hurrying along to get that backup they so desperately need.

While Chat believed that all potential witnesses in the area had been wiped out, in reality, their confrontation was caught on camera. Somebody who'd been filming the attack dropped their cell, and it was still running. Still recording. After Ladybug carried the day and restored everyone, the footage was discovered, and it didn't take long for it to explode across the 'Net - and public consciousness.

Thus, Master Fu is spurred to act after being confronted by proof of Adrien's true character. Proof that he cannot ignore. No amount of whining and raging can protect Adrien from the consequences of his own actions; all his pleading about the Ring being the 'only true freedom' he has...

...Well, it doesn't go ignored. Fu regards the poor little rich boy with no small amount of sympathy, but he does so with clearer vision. Better able to see the full disturbing implications of those words - that the way he behaved as Chat Noir was the way he would behave normally, if he didn't fear the repercussions of such actions. Rather than convincing him to give the Ring back, Adrien only succeeds at driving home just what a poor choice he was to be trusted with any power, much less the power of Destruction.

The next time he meets with Marinette, Fu explains to her that he stripped Chat of the Ring, and reveals his true identity to her. He then goes on to apologize profusely to her for his oversight - and his failure to do anything about the situation before now. Admitting that he hadn't missed all the signs so much as... tried to ignore them. That deep down, he'd been afraid to acknowledge Adrien's flaws and failings - afraid to admit how he'd misjudged his character and given the Ring to somebody who wasn't worthy of it.

Critically, Marinette does not automatically forgive him. Instead, she calls him out, wondering whether he would have been spurred to act against Adrien now if he hadn't been caught on camera. If all he had was her word - if she'd come to him afterwards and revealed what happened, would he have offered anything more than empty platitudes and false reassurance? Or is she just an acceptable sacrifice?

Fu naturally tries to protest that, but Marinette shuts him down - after all she's endured with Adrien as her so-called partner, surely she's allowed to have this moment, right? Surely she's allowed to be angry for once, now that he's been fully exposed as a self-centered bastard. Now that his behavior isn't being brushed off as acceptable anymore.

Adrien Agreste was no hero. How many times was she forced to deal with his unwanted advances? How often did he blow off her words, insisting that she would 'come around eventually' - that she'd give in to his desires, thanks to having no other choice in the matter? Day after day, time and again, he endangered all of Paris with his selfishness, while she was left to carry all the weight of both their responsibilities on her shoulders.

For Master Fu to only do something about him now, and only in the wake of such a debacle... really drives home just how little she matters to either of them. And while Fu may be offering up apologies for his neglect now, she can't help but doubt their sincerity. Can't help but wonder where the line might have been drawn if not for this... or whether he would have ever drawn the line at all.

Actions speak louder than words. So does inaction. While they may be able to reconcile eventually, she can't do so now, when the latest wounds are so fresh... and the rest have gone neglected for so long. If he wants her to believe that he regrets his mistakes, then he has to prove that he'll do better in the future.

#adrien salt #adrien salt prompts #master fu salt #master fu salt prompts #ml salt #miraculous ladybug #ml salt prompts #ml writing prompts #submission #Show!Miraculous #Show!Marinette #Show!Adrien

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willadisastercry · 3 years

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Keith relapsing and not being able to stop once he starts...

tw: in depth depiction of acting on self harm ideations/urges, scars, relapsing, becoming ill from blood loss, someone discovering a person after they relapse, rationalizing their self harm because the alternative is suicide, contradicting oneself and later very much deciding they would rather be unalived, panic attack symptoms, reopening a wound, allusion to surgery (stitches)

Keith’s coping skills are admittedly not his strong suit, neither are his self destructive tendencies that either have him isolating himself from the team or sacrificing himself for them. Believe it or not though, those weren’t even the worst of his bad habits. He hadn’t seriously been addicted in years, just here and then relapses. But he’d been looking at his scars a lot lately and wanting to make more, cut deeper. He hadn’t hurt himself while they’d been in space but was having more and more moments that he wanted to. And then when he finally concedes he sort of loses himself in it, not realizing what he’s doing and how far he’s pushing it until he’s on the verge of passing out.

(((( Please, please, please read the trigger warnings and proceed with caution before reading this. I vividly describe Keith’s internal struggle as he relapses from third person pov where he then passes out and is found by someone... if anything even remotely regarding self harming or someone discovering a person who has is sensitive to you I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DONT READ )))) Also it’s just very emotionally heavy so that is something to consider too!!!!!!

Part 1 / Part 2

He isn’t sure what it was that made him want to again.

The stark change in environment definitely didn’t help. Neither did the pressure of being the universe’s only hope. But he mainly attributed it to the lingering depression that he figured he was now just supposed to ignore.

Maybe it was none of it.

Or maybe it was all of it.

He just knew that the decision didn’t come after a particularly rough day or week. It didn’t come with tears or a surplus of emotions. It came when he thought he couldn’t possibly feel number.

The weight of his entire body on top of his legs as he walked to the showers didn’t convince him he was standing. The heat of the steaming water burned for only a moment and when it ran cold it didn’t shock him for much longer.

His vision tunneled as his gaze bore into the tiles in front of him, a soft static clouding it and making the bright lights of the communal bathroom appear to dim.

This happened occasionally, that he didn’t feel much of anything. Definitely not happy, but also not sad or frustrated or angry. Painfully neutral. Agonizingly numb. Like he was trudging through a thick fog and everything was too dull to feel strongly about so he was desperate to simply feel anything.

That’s why when he wrapped the towel around his waist and the rough fabric brushed against his thighs, he shuddered at being reminded of what was beneath, the sensitivity tempting him like an itch he needed to scratch.

He knew he shouldn’t do it here, that it was too risky. But his heart clenched and sunk at the thought of how empty he felt, devoid of all feeling except the urge to do something that might take away the awful nothing.

He wasn’t sure he’d be able to help himself this time as he moved robotically across the washroom, his eyes still unfocused as he dug the razor he shaves with out of his toiletry bag. He had it disassembled in seconds and stood over the counter, mesmerized at how the blades glinted in his hand.

“Shit...” he breathed as he set them down.

He went to the pile of clothes he brought to change into and shrugged on his boxers, dropping the towel on the bench with the rest of his stuff before shrugging on his sweatshirt.

He stared at the old marks on his legs as he stepped through his gym shorts. They were mostly thin and pink, some white, some raised and a darker red. Most of them parallel to each other and only a few straying from the otherwise neat arrangement.

His heart lapped expectantly his chest. The desire felt more like a compulsion now, like nothing else would possibly help the way picking up the razor would. He knew it was his disordered mind making him think so irrationally, but in that moment he couldn’t see a reason to believe otherwise.

He walked back to the sinks and pulled several paper towels from the dispenser before picking the razor back up.

“Shit...” he whispered again.

It wasn’t that he was actively trying to stay clean but for one reason or another he had managed to be for a while. And then, however fleetingly, something in him recognized that he was breaking. That he was betraying a sort of progress he hadn’t intended to make by turning back to his worst habit, one that seemed more like an actual addiction when he really thought about it.

But it was better than the alternative. This was always better than the alternative.

(willa here-NO ITS NOT!)

His hands start moving in a way he knew all too well, tucking the leg of his shorts up and bringing the razor down with a steady hand.

He started in a sort of empty spot on his left thigh, a familiar ripple of nerve endings sparking in odd places, down his leg to his toes and up his back to his shoulder blade as he dared the blade deeper with each line.

With his other hand he caught the blood as it dripped with paper towels, occasionally pressing them against the wounds and noting how the harsh lights lit the bloody papers up when he held them a certain way.

It still shocked him how easy it was for him to do this, how desperate he was for more. More blood, more adrenaline, more lines on his skin.

He shuddered again, the hair on his legs perking up at how cold he was.

He stared down at the mess that was now his thigh, a pleasant hum running through his body as his breathing picked up now that his brain was making the connection that his body was hurting.

That was a start, but ne wanted to feel the rush. The dizzying malaise he usually got from going deeper but he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d be able to get all the way to the infirmary with the state of his thigh already and retrieve the right supplies to take care of himself after he did more damage to it.

So he steeled himself and pushed the waistband of his underwear down on his right hip, holding his sweatshirt up under his arm. The skin there was taught and smooth, he’d cut there before but nothing more than a few thin white lines remained. It had hurt more doing it on there, he had to press harder and it stung worse, whatever he managed also took longer to heel because it’d constantly open back up.

But he didn’t care anymore. He wanted to feel the pain even after it was over, wanted something there that he could aggravate to remind him he was still a person for when he felt like he wasn’t.

And so he pressed the razor down. The bloody towel from before falling to the ground as he took a new one to his hip. Red began coating his leg in thin trails, a small puddle of it gathering at his foot but he couldn’t find the energy to bother with the mess at that moment.

Because, fuck.

It hurt just like he knew it would and he breathed out a heavy breath. His legs were beginning to feel heavier, like he’d been floating and was coming back to the ground, slowly getting reacquainted with the weight of his body.

As soon as he started on his hip he sort of knew he’d fucked up because the high came so quickly, his mind traveling somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t see himself ever stopping.

The deepest gashes on his leg throbbed and bled freely as he fixated on the opening skin of his hip, the lines becoming rushed and sporadic as the only thing on his mind became producing as much of that feeling as possible.

He only stopped when he went so deep his eyes literally watered and had him clamping the towel over the wound before he saw the blood well from it because he knew if he did he’d have wanted to see more of that much pink.

“Fuck, fuck...” he managed through gasps.

His breathing was becoming ragged, his body light and his mind quiet. The high was intoxicating, the adrenaline rush more intense than the ones he got from battle. He struggled to analyze how that was even possible as it grew harder and harder to form a coherent thought through the haze.

He knew he should get cleaned up. That if he felt like doing more he could later, but he just really needed to not be openly bleeding with a razor in his hand the next time someone needed to pee. So he tried to blink through the blur and really look at the condition of his leg.

Blood dripped in several continuous streams that met around his ankle and pooled at his feet, the main bleeders deep enough to elicit a small spark of fear in his gut.

“Well that’s not good.”

He almost laughed but turned the sink on instead, splashing water onto his leg and watching the red dissipate until the majority of it had flowed through the drain in the floor.

Moving around made his head swim so he figured he should probably take care of the bleeding sitting down. He threw the dismantled razor back into his bag and scanned the sink area for blood before dazedly leaning against the wall to glance back down at his leg.

The sight of his thigh was almost as mesmerizing as the glinting metal of the blades. It stung and pulsed as blood both beaded and gushed from several cuts still, his side faring the same although the pressure from the waistband of his shorts holding a quickly dampening bunch of paper towels to the wounds was almost worse. Both pains made his heart lurch pleasantly somehow. He felt so mentally at ease despite his body sort freaking out over the blood he was still very much losing.

Keith couldn’t tell why he was shaking but decided the answer wasn’t good as he pressed more towels to his thigh, focusing on keeping as steady a pressure as he could muster so they’d clot and he could go back to his room.

But soon his head started to swim without him moving at all, the tiles shifting before his eyes in a nauseating swirl as he lowered himself to the ground more carefully than he cared to. The bunch of towels he’s holding limply in his hand were soaked through and he didn’t think he could get back up for more without passing out.

He breathed a heavy sigh and resolved that he would just put pressure on his leg until it stopped bleeding and he felt less dizzy.

It was eerily peaceful as he sat there while his body buzzed and his skin burned. It’s the most present he’d been with himself in weeks and it made him sad how this is what it took to feel like that.

To feel anything at all.

He registered briefly that he could cry if he considered it any longer, so he just pressed harder on his thigh and drew his elbow in closer to his hip.

Time felt weird after that.

There were moments he remembered feeling incredibly alert as his heart pounded and his head pulsed angrily. Others where the darkness boardering his vision encroached dangerously, at times succeeding where he’d jolt up after slumping forward like when he’d caught himself nodding off in class at the garrison.

Keith didn’t know he’d closed his eyes again until they were shooting open but this time at the whoosh of the door to the bathroom. He tried to get up but moving hurt and made him feel even more floaty and so he settled back down with a small whimper.

“Keith? Is that you?”

It was Lance.

Of all people, of course it was Lance.

He wasn’t sure wether to be relieved or not, because it could’ve been someone worse like Hunk or Pidge or... Shiro, but it was also Lance.

“We’ve been looking every—Keith...?”

The way his voice broke when he rounded the corner and took in what must have been a sight almost broke Keith as well, but he was riding a disorienting high after doing what he did and couldn’t find the energy to feel more than the faintest twinge of shame.

“Wait, woah, what the fuck dude... what-what did you do?”

Lance stood frozen for a moment. Eyes wide as his mind wrapped itself around what he was seeing. And then his demeanor shifted entirely as he strode toward Keith’s prone form.

He knelt in front of his sprawled legs and studied the saturated towels that lay over his thigh and the small pool of blood beneath him.

“I... I fucked up...”

Keith’s chest ploomed with anxiety as he said those words, the weight of them hanging on his tongue as his mind processed just how unfortunate it was that he’d been found like this. Lance’s brows wrinkled at that statement until he looked at his other thigh and saw scars, old scars.

“Oh... shit, dude.”

Keith’s lazy eyes met Lance’s worried ones for a moment, each boy waiting for the other to push one way or another. He was fairly certain he’d be more embarrassed if he didn’t feel so heavy.

It was Lance who finally caved and broke the silence and it’d be a lie to say Keith wasn’t relieved.

“Can I-can I help you?” his voice was as gentle as Keith recalled ever hearing it.

“I get it if you want nothing to do with me right now, I probably wouldn’t either, but you seem a bit out of it... so is that okay? I could get Shiro if you want—”

“No! Don’t get Shiro. There’s n-no reason to worry hi-him about this, m’fine.”

Keith mentally cursed himself for not being able to get out a full sentence without stuttering. But his entire body was trembling now, the pleasant buzz slipping farther and farther away as the overwhelming feeling that something was wrong made itself more apparent.

Which made sense.

The bleeding hadn’t let up much and he’d seen a good amount of blood disappear down the drain. This was probably worse than his hazey mind was letting him perceive it to be which was evident in the way his eyes had started to flutter shut again.

“-eith! This not really the time to take a nap,” Lance urged grimly, his bottom lip already raw from where he was worrying at it.

“Hm?”

“I was just saying how I think you need a refresher on the definition of ‘fine’ but if you really don’t want me to get Shiro, I won’t. I am going to get a first aid kit though, don’t uh-don’t go anywhere.”

“Ha, don’t think you need to worry about that,” Keith assured as he closed his eyes once more and let the warm buzz under his skin be the only thing at the forefront of his mind once he heard the door close after Lance.

It was only when the other boy was shaking his shoulder that he opened them again. He wasn’t sure why he kept falling asleep. He was certain he wasn’t like bleeding out or anything but his body felt so heavy and weak that keeping his eyes open was a chore.

It was probably a mix of things, he hadn’t slept much at all that week and had trained twice that day, barely eating before the group session in the morning and not having much after his individual spar either.

He’d also hurt himself worse than he’d like to acknowledge in that moment, so he kept his gaze focused anywhere other than down after the other boy roused him.

“Some of these are pretty bad,” Lance noted as he took away the towels on his leg and pressed thick squares of gauze against the deepest, pouring some clear solution on another sterile pad before bringing it down on the lesser wounds.

He was strangely calm for stumbling across something so jarring, somehow mustering the strength to not objectively freak out just yet and do what needed to be done first.

“Sorry, probably stings...” he offered when he saw Keith’s face twitch up.

He only hummed in response. He was really tired still and didn’t see the point in wasting his energy talking.

Lance peaked under the quickly saturating squares and frowned, sitting back on his heels with an exasperated sigh, using the middle of his arm to wipe the sweat on his forehead because his hands were too bloody.

“Keith...”

He decided that this was the demeanor he must have saved for when he had to be a protective older brother, his tone stern but soft, eyes large and serious.

“...some of these need stitches. I really do get you not wanting me to tell anyone but—“

“Glue,” Keith huffed, his mouth feeling like it was stuffed with gauze like the gashes on his leg.

“Heh?!”

“Ya, know? Like super glue...”

Lance gulped down the lump in his throat that was threatening to break his composure.

“Did I hear that right? You want me to-to glue them shut?”

If he didn’t look mortified Keith would’ve thought the bewildered scrunch to his face was sort of adorable.

“Course not... I would. M’just a little dizzy but I can do it, you don’t have to...” Keith assured as he moved to sit up more, wincing when the cuts on his hip pulled and gushed, his new position revealing the small puddle that had been gathering at his side.

“Keith, shit! Oh god, what the hell is that from—let me see,” Lance ordered as Keith’s hands moved to his sweatshirt, but they were stiff now and not working right.

Lance bypassed his useless hands that were still covered in dried blood and pulled his sweatshirt up enough to see smears of red trailing up his side and back from just below his boxers.

“Can I—uh, can I move this?” he asked worriedly, the edge to his voice softening.

The urge to tell Keith he shouldn’t hurt himself like this for whatever reason he did, because no reason he’d give would be good enough, passed as quickly as it arrived. It was replaced by a more pressing worry over what was beneath the alarmingly darker patch on what should be payne’s grey boxers shorts.

Keith breathed shakily and nodded, squirming when the other boy released the tension on the elastic to slide the blood soaked towels out, the wounds pulsing with vengeance as the pressure was lifted. Lance drew Keith’s eyes to his own once more.

“Gonna move this down a bit further where it’ll stay...”

“Kay,” Keith whispered, his glassy eyes fluttering shut as he leaned his head against the wall.

Lance fought to stifle his shock at the sight that was his hip as he uncovered the even worse mess and pressed gauze to it.

The wounds were... different. They were all different directions and of varying severities. Some were just scratches, but some showed so much pink Lance had to repeat to himself multiple times that it was just tissue and not bone.

He didn’t even know how to go about cleaning these wounds. They were so wide. The skin so tight that when cut it stretched apart so much more.

“Keith...”

Lance stated his name as more of a concession, his firm voice finally losing it’s assurance. He didn’t even have to finish for Keith to know what he meant.

“Can you bring the med kit closer?” he asked casually, his eyes lidded now.

Lance slid it within arms reach and Keith rummaged through it for a minute before pulling out a large bottle of more clear liquid.

“It’s wound wash, not harsh like straight up disinfectant but it needs some of that too... press down hard after I get everything cleaned out, okay?”

He waited a beat for Lance to nod, his face had paled considerably and Keith couldn’t blame him. This was so fucked. All of it. He had to work to push the guilt building in his stomach down over how he’d put this impossibly traumatic experience on him, no emotional preparation, just the shock of finding one of his best friend’s like this.

He almost relished in the seering pain that followed the cold liquid as he flushed the wounds on his side, humming in approval when Lance quickly covered the area and pushed down forcefully. Both boys took in heaving breaths, the tension in the air taught with anxiety and sadness and guilt.

“Hey...” Keith deadpanned, the levity in his voice almost scary until it shifted into something more admonishing for being so ridiculous. “I’m-shit, I’m so sorry you had to—“

“Don’t. Whatever you’re about to apologize for, don’t.”

Lance was serious again. His gaze fixed on the rapidly reddening gauze underneath his hands.

“No, I have to. It’s not fair of me... that you have to do this,” Keith managed before he had to take a second to let the blood rush dissipate, blinking rapidly as the rumbling in his eardrums died down.

Lance laughed breathily once he saw what had stopped his unnecessary apology.

“Hmm, I’ll compromise. You can save it for when you feel less like shit, but you have to shut up for now or I will go and get Shiro—ah, that’s what I thought.”

Keith grumbled lowly as he pressed his fingers on either side of his forehead, the headache that he thought was dulling back in full force.

“Okay, so I don’t know what you mean about super glue...” Lance said as he shuffled through the contents of the kit.

“Do alteans even have something like that?”

“Yep... blue glass, rubber stopper...”

“Gonna put a pin in why you just know that off the top of your head alongside all the other things we’ll be discussing later and—oh jeez, this stuff smells vile!”

“Breathe through your mouth then. Hand it to me I’m gonna hold it closed,” Keith ordered, his words slow and overly emphasized as he tried to make the way he would occasionally slur less noticeable.

His hands still trembled as they clamped the sides of one of the deepest gashes on his leg together, but it was only when he switched his grip to receive the stopper that his strength wavered. Blood seeped through his now weak hold on the wound and prevented the glue from adhering correctly.

“Oh, fuck...” Keith groaned as he wiped away the goo before it could get into the wound, not really getting there in time and hissing when it burned a new sort of fire into the sliced flesh.

“Just let me do it—“

“No, I got it.“

“Keith...”

“I can do it—“

“Keith.”

Lance pulled his shaking hands into his and searched his bleary eyes, willing his distant gaze to focus on him for just a second.

“Let me do it.”

Keith cursed himself silently for not being able to summon tears any other time than now, unsteady hands holding his own skin together as one of his best friends sealed it shut.

They were silent for a while, Lance working diligently as he kept an eye on the rapidly deteriorating boy. It wasn’t as bad as he imagined, his initial disdain probably for how nonchalantly Keith had suggested it, like he’d done it plenty of times and it was nothing.

Because it wasn’t nothing. And it broke Lance’s heart each time they moved to another uncloseable wound, their hands working together to keep it shut until the glue hardened.

They repeated this process dozens of times until his leg and his side glistened unevenly under the puckering glaze. By the end of it Keith could barely keep his eyes open, his body buzzing visibly now, breaths rushed and shallow.

“Looks like the bleeding has pretty much stopped... I’m gonna, uh, bandage it up now. Hang with me for like 5 more minutes and then we’ll figure out how to get you to your room...” Lance offered as he tapped Keith on his knee to get him to lift his leg.

It took him a minute to make sense of his words but he didn’t give resistance when the other boy propped his leg up against his own to get a stretchy wrap around the thick layer of gauze he’d placed on top. He’d applied a layer of medicated salve that would both numb the area slightly and make sure it didn’t get infected.

His hip would be a tad trickier.

“I think it would be easier if you laid down...” Lance suggested and placed his hand on his shoulder to guide him as he moved, his head coming to rest in folded arms, hip presented more accessibly than before.

He’d have probably been more embarrassed to be so exposed if it wasn’t Lance and his entire ass cheek practically being out was the least of his sources of shame and regret in that moment. Not regret for what happened, it would’ve regardless, regret for having been so stupid to get caught.

Keith’s consciousness wavered again, his mind falling into a void of bliss as his thoughts tapered out until the burning on his side brought him back with a slight start.

Lance apologized as he cleaned the area again, gently scrubbing at the dried blood around the wounds and on his stomach. He applied the same medicine and packed the gauze on top of the glue that binded them together precariously but taped the edges down instead, going around and overlapping the first set of strips to ensure it’d stay before pulling his shorts over it. Keith was trembling so heavily once he was done that Lance thought he could almost hear his teeth chattering.

“I’m gonna go pack up your stuff. I’ll be right back.”

Keith murmured something unintelligible into his arms in response and brought his legs up to his chest, the cold tile beneath him not helping his inability to stop shaking. The sting of the wounds on his body even as they stretched was duller now, only a difference in the normal heat of his skin reminded him they were there.

He felt like he was bone dry of all energy and wanted nothing more than to crawl under the covers on his bed and sleep for a thousand years. His mind wanted to spiral and process what had just happened but the fog that addled it prevailed and made concentrating too hard, too painful. He was surprised he hadn’t fully nodded off before Lance was shaking him again.

“I’ve got your stuff. Don’t be a tool about this and give me your hands,” he ordered as he held out his own, Keith’s towel thrown over his shoulder and his toiletries packed up in his shower bag with his dirty clothes.

Keith moved his feet under him and reached for Lance’s wrists who used the grip to pull him up slowly, watching as the deep set grimace on his face gave away just how bad he was feeling. The orientation made him a whole new type of woozy.

Lance watched as the color in Keith’s face drained but before he could react he was stumbling try to stay upright.

“Fuck,” he breathed unevenly as Lance’s hands were suddenly on his back and pulling him close as soon as his legs buckled.

“I’ll be okay in a minute... just—“

“Dizzy?”

The laugh that escaped Lance’s lips was dry.

Keith nodded into his shoulder, his grip on Lance’s arm tightening as he fought the vertigo making him want to lose what little was actually in his stomach.

“K-kay, we can go...”

Lance held Keith by the shoulders as he stepped away from him to come around on his other side, picking up his arm and slinging it around his shoulder.

They made their way slowly, Keith’s legs were weak and though he was terrified someone would approach them before they made it to his room, willing them to go any faster would have been dangerous.

So he pushed through, ignoring just how lightheaded he was until Lance was shifting his weight to reach the keypad, the door of his room whooshing open as his legs turned to jelly and wobbled dangerously, unable to bear being left to support his own weight.

“Shit, Keith...” Lance yelped as he struggled to get a hold on him before he went down.

Lance shushed Keith as he tried to apologize again for twisting his hands up in Lance’s t-shirt as they took an experimental step forward only to waver again. The firm arm around his middle was all that kept him standing this time.

“I’ve gotcha—no, it’s happening. Don’t bother fighting it.”

Without another moment of consideration Lance was tossing Keith’s things to the side then hoisting him up and over his shoulder on his better side with his hands carefully placed behind the crook of his knees, completely tuning out the weak protests as he gently deposited his now very flustered friend onto his bed.

“That was... unnecessary...”

“Don’t care. How do you feel?” Lance asked seriously, his features set like stone as he sat at the end of the bed and searched his friend’s face for any sign of further discomfort.

“What do you mean?” Keith’s voice was quiet, hesitant.

“You almost passed out again, do you need water?”

“Lance—“

“Food’s probably a good idea, it’ll get you’re energy back up since you missed dinner. I could go run and grab something—“

“Lance, stop!”

Keith’s entire body seemed to still for the first time in forever as he visibly tensed, his eyes wide with indigo and fear.

“Stop what...?”

“Acting like—“

“Like what? That I care if you’re okay?!”

Lance’s voice took on a bite of hurt that made Keith’s skin crawl.

“Because of course I do! I can’t just not care because you don’t want anyone to give a shit about what happens to you.”

“I’m sorry that you’re contractually obligated to give a shit...” Keith’s tone was flat and emotionless.

“...but you shouldn’t.”

“Why?! I care about you even if you don’t want me to, neither of us can help that but—fuck. You hurt yourself tonight, Keith! And I know it’s not the first time but you still did and that deserves to fucking matter to you too.”

Keith’s eyes were burning holes into his floor with how intently he stared anywhere other than Lance’s face.

“Look we don’t have to get into all of that right now, I just need to make sure you’re physically okay at least. So, please answer my question honestly. How do you feel?”

The room spun as he fought tears back once more, not breaking his eye contact with the ground when he answered.

“Shitty.”

“Okay, what brand of shitty are we dealing with? Still dizzy?”

Keith thought for a moment and nodded, his eyes now stuck in an unbreakable gaze as he stared. Dissociating was easier than being fully present for a conversation regarding how he felt, even if it was only about how he felt physically, he was still woefully uncomfortable.

“Okay, what else? Does your head hurt? Yeah? Do you think Coran’s advil stuff would help...? Kay, i’ll try and dig some up. Anything else extremely pressing before I go? On a scale of 1-10 how much do you think you might pass out before I get back, 1 being very unlikely and 10 most likely...”

Keith’s eyes lidded as he tried to blink back to reality, they met Lance’s for a second before he looked at his hands that he couldn’t really feel now with how much they tingled, pricks from phantom pins and needles the only thing that convinced him they were still there.

“Mmhn, dunno... I feel really weird.”

That seemed to snap Lance right back into emergency caregiving mode as he moved closer to Keith and examined his still palid face, eyeing the sheen of sweat coating with a wary frown.

“Lay down. No, on your side in case you yak—well, no not that you will, just in case.”

Lance had to ammend his statement when he saw the worry spread across Keith’s face, his hand dropping to smooth the tension out of the shoulder drawn nearly up to his ear for a second.

“You’re okay.”

The assurance seemed to be more for Lance than Keith in that moment but both boys seemed in desperate need of hearing it out loud.

“I’ll be back soon.”

And with that Lance was leaving him again, dimming the lights before he did to ease the strain on his eyes and the pressure behind them.

Even when he pressed his eyes closed he couldn’t escape the sensation that he was spinning, the room tilting as he rocked back and forth in attempt to calm himself down and replace the phantom feeling with actuality. The rocking was hard to maintain though with how tense his muscles were as they spasmed, his breathing becoming more labored as he struggled.

Keith soon found himself on the cusp of crying yet again as he tried to keep himself awake. It wasn’t that it was hard, but a familiar anxiety was taking root, one similar to how he’d have trouble falling asleep when he was restless at night. Except he wasn’t supposed to sleep now, he desperately wanted to though.

He wanted to sleep to forget but also knew that Lance would worry and wake him up again. But even though he wasn’t trying to fall asleep, the mounting frustration of not being able to relax and stop trembling pushed him over the edge of everything, leaving him with no choice other than to give in to the tears that he’d been withholding.

The tremors that racked his body once he did were born from hysterical sobs. He was so tired. He just wanted to be asleep already, but the kind of sleep he just happened to continue forever. Not that he wanted to die, it was simpler than that. He just couldn’t stand to be him and sleeping would make it easier.

A gnawing itch seemed to spread across his body then, one that made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He wanted so desperately to not be there when Lance got back. Wanted to evaporate like he’d never even been there in the first place.

Soon he lost the ability to supress it at all.

He was fairly certain he was wailing then, his back arching and chest pumping as he tried to gasp between cries, the latter only making him more disoriented as he fought his rapidly dulling senses. It was like he’d been possessed, his body ridding the emotion he’d been subconsciously repressing any way it could despite what he did in effort to stop it.

The lights turned back on without warning and his eyes clenched tighter as he cried out even louder. Each breath he took closer and closer to a wheeze, the tears not stopping even though he’d blown well through his energy reserves.

“-ith! Keith, Keith! What’s wrong, what’s happening?!”

He couldn’t make out who the voice belonged to after he made the connection that it was not Lance, but he couldn’t open his eyes to check with the lights still on.

“Shhhh, c’mon you’re okay. Breathe, bud.”

The person’s hands were on his shoulders as his body worked mercilessly, shuddering and hitching with each breath. He could barely hear their assurances over the ringing in his ears and the sounds of his chest working.

“You’re alright, I’m here—“

But Keith heard the door when it whooshed opened this time.

“Wha-Shiro...? Oh, fuck.”

Ugh.

No, no, no...

That was decidedly the worst thing he thought could happen while he tried to regain his composure, Shiro hearing him and finding him like this.

He needed to get away from his hands as they tried to soothe him, he didn’t want to be soothed, he wanted to disappear. He writhed on the bed and he fought to turn himself onto his back, hands grasping at his chest as his breathing became more ragged when he did, kicking his leg over and curling onto his other side to try and alleviate it.

The scream that tore from his throat was a shrill one as he opened several of the wounds on his hip. He could distantly hear Shiro agonizing over not knowing what the fuck was happening when Lance cursed.

“You idiot! Shit. Crap. On your stomach bud, come on...” Lance ordered as he yanked Keith’s legs away from his chest and pushed his hips so that he rolled over.

“Lance,” Shiro breathed cautiously. “I need you to tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t, like I really can’t. It’s not my, uh, place but he also didn’t exactly tell me either so it’s not like I could if I wanted to. He’s okay, though! Well, relatively, I guess.”

Lance actually winced at the death glare Shiro gave him when he finished.

“Alright! I went to get him water and something to eat but he was fine when I left, I think he’s a little overwhelmed is all. Had a pretty bad headache before,” Lance added as he moved over to the switch and turned the lights down once again.

“Okay, but this is more than just being overwhelmed, Lance. He sounded like he was having a nightmare but he’s not even alseep...” Shiro pressed, retracting his hand from where he tried to rub the middle of Keith’s back when he shrunk under the touch, whimpering lightly and stuttering breathily into the pillow he’d shoved his face into.

Lance eyed his side with concern when Shiro looked back to Keith’s trembling frame. His heart hurt. The kid was practically his brother and he couldn’t tell him what had happened. He wasn’t sure Keith would ever speak to him again if he did.

“You’re right, but you’re gonna have to press him yourself because I would enjoy keeping all of my digits.”

“Lance, I swear. I will be the one removing your digits if you don’t tell me what the hell—wait, Lance is that-is that blood?”

“Mierda. Keith... ugh. I’m sorry, man,” Lance ushered and reached for his friend’s hand when Shiro forwent all courtesies as he roughly pulled him over onto his other side, hands searching wildly.

The sounds Keith made once he knew what was happening threatened to bring Lance to a similar state. His expression pleading as clumsy hands fell onto Shiro’s with desperation.

“N-no, n-n-no, don’t. Don’t—Lance! Lance, p-please. T-tell-tell him n-tell h-him not t—”

But it was too late, there was no stopping Shiro as he hiked up his sweatshirt and stared for a moment before spotting the hint of white tape peaking out from below where his underwear rose up. Lance scratched his head nervously while he watched Shiro peel the edges of the bloodied bandage up.

“Oh...”

No one spoke while Shiro processed what he was seeing, the only sounds were Keith’s pitiful cries as he covered his eyes in the crook of his arm, clamping the other over his mouth to try and quiet his sobs.

“I thought you’d stopped, Keith...”

68 notes · View notes

greenhappyseed · 3 years

Text

We need to talk about All Might.

After Chapter 309, everyone seems to be screaming DEATH FLAG (more than normal), and I wouldn’t ordinarily agree given the fakeouts we’ve seen before. However, AM isn’t given much to do yet (except look cute in his sunnies) and doesn’t seem to be in a good position to grow as a person. It makes me sad bc there is a lot of potential with AM, and it all seems pushed aside in favor of Endeavor’s narrative, which I don’t love. As a ::cough cough:: older BnHA fan in a workaholic profession, I want to see the larger hero society narrative use AM to ask if you can be a hero (and therefore of any value to society) when you’re old and/or have less strength/power/endurance than you used to have. What happens when you WERE an equal, and then you lose a step along the way (note there may be a parallel to Bakugo’s/Aizawa’s post-war condition on this theme)? Or, given the focus on teenagers and the role of the “new generation” in rebuilding society, let’s ask whether AM made the right choice in sticking with his teenage ideals through adulthood. Was he right to give up EVERYTHING for his dream, only to crash land into a nightmare? I mean, the dude destroyed himself for years and then watched his life’s work crumble in a matter of weeks. Can he pick himself up, powerless, and still find a new way to help? In BHNA, all of the top heroes have major flaws (a meta for another time!) and a chance at redemption, so I really want to see AM do the same thing.

AM starts the story as the singular, self-proclaimed Symbol of Peace, which was a mission he gave himself as a naive, idealistic middle school student(!!!) Through Nana Shimura, AM received the power to make his teenage ambition a reality and then ... kept at it for 40 years. Alone. Without critical reflection. In Vigilantes, we learn the cost of this relentless pursuit is that AM has no real friends and no social life. Even among other top heroes, he’s not an approachable peer, but the hired gun brought in to clean up the biggest, baddest disasters before he’s immediately called out to the next one. To the extent he socializes after a big win, it’s to talk to the media and sign autographs, not debrief or bond with fellow heroes. The guy has charisma and can do stage banter all day, but he has no idea how to have an actual functioning relationship with colleagues. At the beginning of BNHA, it’s been 20ish years since AM spoke to Torino, 10 years since he spoke to Endeavor, and 5 years since Nighteye. He does keep in touch with Tsukauchi, but he’s more like a “work husband” than a best friend.

When Deku meets him, AM is holding it together on the surface, but is really in mental distress. AM is the first hero in the story whose facade is ripped away (initially to us readers, then eventually to everyone in universe). Unable to do the hero work that defines him for more than 3 hours a day, he seems to spend the rest of his pre-UA time wandering around aimlessly. He’s lost his sense of purpose, has nobody to confide in (he may not “lie” but he definitely doesn’t tell anyone complete truths), and he is indifferent to his own survival. He is certain Nighteye’s prediction is coming true, and he’s looking for a successor because he HAS to before time runs out, not because he wants to. If he can pass on OFA then he can die, ideally in a blaze of glory. And, if not for Deku, he would have let the slime villain kill Bakugo and told himself he can’t save everyone. In Deku he sees his younger self’s ideals and decided his new purpose is to build the next Symbol of Peace, not just do a handoff. With a true successor secured, he can really go for one last big heroic act.

Except it doesn’t work out as planned. Deku — lonely and idealistic himself — desperately needs AM around for approval. And AM, with extra time on his hands, seems to enjoy being needed by his boy, like a parent with a toddler. As hard as they both aim to create the next AM, Deku is his own person (as all children are), which makes the process trickier than either one anticipated. At first AM tries imitating Torino and trains Deku through physical activity and battle, the same way Torino punched a grieving, teenage AM around. AM encourages Deku to sacrifice himself, just because AM also did it for 40 years. But these tactics just don’t work for Deku. AM gets (rightly) scolded by Recovery Girl. Then AM sends Deku to Torino, who teaches Deku Full Cowling and scolds AM for not telling Deku the truth about AFO — and for this one time, Torino is right. Slowly, fuller truths start coming out from AM, and in return Deku learns to protect himself and ask his mentor questions rather than merely imitate. Both begin to grow and change for the better.

After Kamino, Inko uses her leverage to convince AM to stop the blaze of glory nonsense. He wants to be her successor as parent to Deku, and she’s not going to allow it if AM is going to drive her son towards needless self-sacrifice. This seems to take root, and we later see AM openly defy Nighteye’s prediction because he wants to be with Deku. He starts jogging! We even see him confide in Aizawa he has decided to live. Even if he’s not always sure how to give his new life purpose, and he bristles at needing to be protected, he’s accepting his post-pro existence. Progress!

Finally, AM comes into his own as a teacher and member of the old guard with experience to share. He may be using “Teaching for Dummies” as a shortcut, but he’s recognizing his own failings and trying to improve. He tells Deku to quit imitating him, full stop, finally giving Deku permission to become his own hero with his own style. AM takes initiative to teach Deku Air Force, and really guides Deku through the use of the power until Deku becomes proficient. AM also gets actively involved in coaching other students (not as much as he should, but it’s something). AM will similarly counsel Endeavor later, saying Endeavor has to walk his own path and answer for himself why he has his power. AM is building new relationships, new skills, and forming an identity outside of punching things!

Of course, we still see signs AM is a work in progress. Staying up too late at night to do research on prior OFA users for Deku. Diving to protect a woman from a falling streetlight (saved only by a fast-acting Bakugo). At the same time, we see that Deku is coming into his own with his 1A friends. And Deku is no longer looking back to AM for approval (both literally when jumping away and figuratively as part of Deku’s decision-making processes). AM seems both proud and sad, as is natural when a parental figure watches their child become independent.

Fast forward to 309, and a powerless AM leaves all the growth behind to help Deku, Endeavor, Jeanist, and Hawks find the LOV. On the good side, AM isn’t keeping secrets anymore (arguably, telling Jeanist and Hawks about OFA should have involved a consultation with Deku, but okay). Moreover, AM isn’t useless in this fight; he can provide financing, emotional support, police connections, UA connections, and Oracle/guy-in-a-chair backup to the active heroes. But what will this change tell us about AM? Can he ever really get comfortable with this role or is he there just out of duty? Can he actually deliver some hard truths to Deku about AM’s own experience if/when Deku stretches himself too thin? Is this new role respected by the other heroes? If not, will he be tempted to return to battle to be “valuable”? To give his life for Deku so he can claim one last “win” by saving? Or give his life for Deku because he actually loves him and has something personal to fight for? All of these questions bear on where an older, powerless person — that is, an outcast — fits into society and how a lifelong loner can find their role within a group. (Boy, this sounds like a familiar BnHA theme!)

I feel like, if AM dies just to become a vestige, all of these deeper questions are unexplored and we’re just copying Star Wars plot points without any added meaning. I’m not satisfied AT ALL with AM living rent free in Deku’s head and robbing others of his wisdom/experience (which he was just starting to share!!!). Likewise, if AM dies as a plot device so Deku can stand as a hero on his own, or tap into his inner rage or whatever, well, that’s also copied from Star Wars — and it seems to counter what we’re starting to see with Deku calling his own shots and AM supporting. Unlike Torino and AM, who don’t talk for years, I want to see Deku be his own hero AND have his mentor in his life. I want BnHA to keep resisting the absent adult trope, because it’s entirely possible (and realistic!) for grownups to be their own people while having mentors and parental figures in their life. It’s an adjustment for a parental figure to watch their teen become an adult, but it doesn’t mean the parental figure just ghosts and ceases to matter as an influence.

Similarly, if AM turns to sacrifice, it will turn AM’s life story into a cautionary tale with no growth. How can a story about saving people who have done bad things have a good guy succumb to his worst instinct, with nobody to save him? How can AM’s life lesson be “make friends now and learn to give and take in a relationship, otherwise you’ll get too old and it’ll be too late and when you aren’t powerful you’ll have to take a hit to have value”? Even if his sacrifice ultimately allows Deku to win against AFO it feels hollow against the larger narrative. Unlike pre-war Bakugo, we already know AM will self-destruct for others. AM wanting to take on the world alone and die “heroically” is the PROBLEM that drives his pre-Kamino failures, not the solution. And if AM can’t escape this and become comfortable in society post-retirement, who can???

I’m worried we are going to see AM’s growth cut short while Endeavor, Hawks, and the LOV get a shot at redemption, which feels problematic. Of course life isn’t fair, and not everyone gets to have a second act, but it feels wrong for the BNHA narrative to punish someone who is trying (and who wants to help Deku save the villains). Maybe you can argue it’s AM’s fault that the hero society became corrupt, so it’s a cosmic balance for him to die watching it fall. Or maybe the other heroes will realize AM needs their help too (not just Deku) and keep him safe. (Maybe Endeavor will save him in a parallel to Bakugo and Deku.) Much is TBD, but chapters 306-309 make me worry.

#all might #yagi toshinori #mha 309 #mha spoilers #mha #my hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha all might #toshinori yagi #bnha meta #bnha all might

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i-am-not-a-who-i-am-a-what · 3 years

Text

there was a moment from yesterday’s episode that set off so many alarm bells in my head and i haven’t seen anyone talking about it yet so i’m going to get my thoughts out there. i’m putting the majority of this post under a readmore bc it got very long thanks to all the transcript quotes i pulled but i really want to know what everyone else thinks about the Implications™

BASIRA

Okay. So… what do we know about Hill Top Road?

ARCHIVIST

Not much.

BASIRA

Another blind spot?

ARCHIVIST

No, it’s – I could look at it, but it… it was… it was like a… a hole. You know that feeling you get when you look down from a, a great height, like you’re being pulled into the abyss?

BASIRA

Kind of?

ARCHIVIST

[Getting lost in thought] Well it was… was like that. Normally I can see it, see the… webs, and feel the power of The Spider emanating from it, but… as I would look… it’s like my mind…. follows the paths of The Web,

[STATIC RISES]

the strands going down and… out… [Catching self] It’s quite disorientating.

[STATIC FADES]

my first thought after hearing this exchange was “huh, that sounds eerily similar to the description of the table the not-them was trapped in.” here it is from mag 3 - across the street:

I’d become enraptured by the table on which he’d placed my tea. It was an ornate wooden thing, with a snaking pattern of lines weaving their way around towards the centre. The pattern was hypnotic and shifted as I watched it, like an optical illusion. I found my eyes following the lines towards the middle of the table, where there was nothing but a small square hole.

my first instinct was that this was some foreshadowing for jon meeting some kind of horrible fate, because well... remember what happened the last time someone got mesmerized by the table?

SASHA

Oh, hey. I’ve found… I’ve found that table you were talking about. Don’t really see what all the fuss is about. Just a… basic… optical illusion. Nothing special… just… just a… wait…

[Hushed and panicked] Jon! Jon, I think there’s someone here. Hello? I see you. Show yourself!

but then i started thinking more about why the table specifically would be referenced, and i remembered the earliest we see it used as artifact of the web, and where: with raymond fielding in hill top road in mag 59 - recluse:

On Sunday evenings, however, we’d all gather for the evening meal, and before we sat down to eat, he would remove the bright white tablecloth that covered it, and we’d gather around the dark wood. I remember it was carved in all sorts of strange swirling designs and patterns. It felt like if you picked a line, any line, you could follow it through to the center, to some deep truth, if only your eye could keep track of the strands that had caught it.

it was while i was checking the transcripts to find the above quote that i also remembered the hole in center of the table that the web pattern leads towards wasn’t always empty - it used to contain a box, and that box contained an apple.

again from again from mag 59:

The center of the table looked, at first, like it was simply part of the wooden top, but if you looked closely, as I did so often, you could see an outline marking the very middle as a small, square box, carved with patterns just like the ones that laced their way over the rest of the table. I don’t remember how long we sat around the table those evenings, nor do I have any memory of what we might have eaten.

...

I reached over and pulled the wooden square from the center of the table. On its own, it appeared to be a small wooden box, and the lid opened smoothly, as my hands moved in a practiced motion. Inside was an apple, green and fresh and still wet with morning dew.

I knew I was going to eat it. I could feel tears desperately trying to push themselves out of my eyes, but I instead decided not to cry. I placed the box down on the table, reached over, and picked up the apple.

the box from the center of the table makes its first appearance in the very first hill top road statement, mag 8 - burned out, where we learn that apparently the apple was full of spiders.

considering the web’s predilection for filling it’s victim’s bodies with spiders (carlos vittery, annabell cane, the spider husks trevor encountered, the victim of the chelicerae website, the old woman in annabell’s statement, francis, etc.) i think this goes a ways to explain what happened to raymond’s other victims, and what would have happened to mag 59′s statement giver if he’d bitten into the apple:

They lay still now, wrapped in their sticky cocoons. Their bodies seemed warped and bloated in a way I didn’t recognize. But that’s only because at that point in my life, I had never before seen a spider egg sac.

more importantly though, we also learn that the box was buried under the burnt up tree in hill top road’s garden, the one whose uprooting was implied to be linked to agnes’s death:

STATEMENT

At that moment I made my decision. It was easy, like destroying this tree was the only thing to do, the only path to follow ... When the tree lay on its side, uprooted and powerless, I gazed into the hole where it had sat and noticed something lying there in the dirt.

Climbing down, I retrieved what turned out to be a small wooden box, about six inches square, with an intricate pattern carved along the outside. Engraved lines covered it, warping and weaving together, making it hard to look away.

...

ARCHIVIST

Except… We cannot prove any connection, but Martin unearthed a report on an Agnes Montague, who was found dead in her Sheffield flat on the evening of November 23rd 2006, the same day Mr. Lensik claims to have uprooted the tree.

and keep in mind that the only reason the statement giver in mag 59 didn’t eat the apple, didn’t succumb to the web... was agnes’s kiss:

As the man in the suit told me to follow him in a clipped BBC accent, Agnes walked over, and gestured for me to lean down and listen to her. I did so, but instead of a conspiratorial whisper, she just gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, then ran off down the hall.

...

All at once, my cheek erupted in pain. It was like someone had pressed a hot branding iron into my face, and I could swear that I heard the flesh sizzle as I let out a scream and fell to my knees. I raised my hands to my face and realized in that moment two very important things. The first is that my face seemed to be untouched; I could feel no injury or burn. The second was that raising my hand had been a truly voluntary act. I had willed it myself, and whatever power had been gripping me, tugging me into its web, I was free of it.

at this point you’re probably wondering why i think all this is relevant in terms of what might happen with hill top road, and i have two potential ideas:

my first idea has to do with the theory that agnes is lingering on as a ghost. this theory isn’t mine, i first encountered it shortly after mag 167 - curiosity aired through this post’s attempt to fix what bits of the timeline were thrown out of wack by the new info. if anyone has any other posts or general thoughts about this theory feel free to share them, i’d love to read them!

this theory is relevant to my speculation that agnes might finally make an appearance because she might have been the ghost seen by one of the statement givers in mag 100 - i guess you had to be there:

MARTIN

Right. Right.

[THROAT CLEARING]

Statement of Lynne Hammond, er, recorded 2nd of May 2017, regarding…

Uh, what, what’s this one about?

LYNNE

I saw a ghost.

MARTIN

O-kay.. Regarding a… a ghost. Statement begins.

who appeared as one of the cultists in mag 190 - scavengers:

MARTIN

[Puzzled] Celia?

CELIA

Probably. The, um… place I was trapped in, they took my name. I never got it back. But I like Celia, so… yeah! Celia it is.

MARTIN

Uh… H-Hello… Celia.

and was recognized and directly confirmed to be the same person by martin in mag 191 - what we lose:

MARTIN

…

Hey, I meant to ask. Do you recognise that woman, Celia?

ARCHIVIST

Um… no, I, I don’t think so. Why?

MARTIN

I’d swear she gave a statement once.

having her only pop up in mag 190 would have just been a fun easter egg, but having martin directly call out her presence the next episode sounds to me like jonny telling the audience to pay attention, to remember that her statement had to do with the ghost of a young woman on fire who might have been agnes.

my second idea involves web lighter.

over various statements throughout the previous four seasons we’ve been shown that the web and the desolation have been at war, and hill top road has been their battlefield. the best examples of this come from mag 139 - chosen and mag 149 - infectious doubts respectively.

on the one hand we have agnes being planted in hill top road by the cult of the lightless flame in an effort to both control her powers and derail the web’s plans, which seems to begin the conflict:

The compromise we came to was Hill Top Road. We knew it was a stronghold of the Web, full of other children Agnes’ age. We would supervise from a distance, but were confident she would be in no danger. The Mother of Puppets has always suffered at our hand; all the manipulation and subtle venom in the world means nothing against a pure and unrestrained force of destruction and ruin.

and on the other we have the web binding gertrude to agnes, thus thwarting the desolation’s ritual, which also involved hill top road:

ARTHUR

Alright. Agnes. How’d you do it? Never did understand it, not really.

GERTRUDE

Ah. That’s a fair enough question. It was the Web. I didn’t know it at the time, of course, and I would call it an accident, but it never is, with them. It’s only after the fact that you can see all the subtle manipulations

...

So, I began researching what I thought was a counter-ritual of sorts. Like I said, I was young, naive. I somehow found just the right books, made just the right connections, and even got what I thought was a piece of blind good luck when I found a tin box in the ashes of Hill Top Road, containing some perfectly preserved cuttings of her hair.

wouldn’t it seem symbolic, fitting with the dream logic we’ve been working with all season (and that the fears have always tended to work with), if what ended the metaphysical war was an artifact touched by both the web and the desolation?

say perhaps... a device that creates fire while being marked by a symbol of the spider? one that just so happened to be delivered to the institute at the same time as a certain table?

TIM

Er, what is it?

ARCHIVIST

A lighter. An old Zippo.

TIM

You smoke?

ARCHIVIST

No. And I don’t allow ignition sources in my archive!

TIM

Okay. Is there anything unusual about it?

ARCHIVIST

Not really. Just a sort of spider web design on the front. Doesn’t mean anything to me. You?

TIM

Ah no. No.

ARCHIVIST

Well… show it to the others, see what they think. You said there was something else as well?

TIM

Oh, ah yes, yeah, it was sent straight to the Artefact Storage, a table of some sort. Ah, looks old. Quite pretty, though. Fascinating design on it.

all signs point to the best hope of escaping whatever plans the web has for jon lying with the desolation, or at least with fire, and who should be waiting in hill top road than someone who’s been known to burn statements in the past... and someone who, as of mag 162 - a cozy cabin, was the last person to mention the lighter:

MARTIN

So, should we destroy it? Before we go?

[THE CABIN CREAKS VERY LOUDLY.]

ARCHIVIST

I honestly don’t know if we can.

[HE SIGHS.]

MARTIN

Mm.

ARCHIVIST

Besides, there’s – far worse out there. Better to try and avoid it, I think.

MARTIN

We’re not even gonna try? Look, we’ve got your lighter; maybe if we just –

i haven’t even begun to touch on the multiple instances of spiral marked individuals interacting with hill top road, or the potential role of the rift leading from the world without the institute to the reality with the institute from mag 114 - cracked foundations, or the foreshadowing we’ve gotten throughout this season that the archive might be destroyed by fire and how it’s looking more and more like that means jon might die, or the significance of the tapes and what power might be behind them...

but it’s nearing five in the morning where i am and i’ve been working on this frankly gargantuan post since about midnight, so i’m going to let more meta-inclined minds take it from here. tell me what you think! where do you agree with me, where do you think i’ve gone astray? hell, tell me if you think i’m just spinning my wheels, this is the first real theory post i’ve ever made so i might be completely off base, at least i tried lol.

tl;dr:

the call back to the imagery surrounding the web table and its long history with hill top road and the desolation is leading me to believe that whatever plans the web has in hill top road for jon, fire is going to have a significant role in whether or not the web gets what it wants; either agnes herself might finally make an appearance or the web lighter might finally come into play.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #mag 195 spoilers #sorry if this is incoherent i had it all typed up and formatted nicely and then this hellsite just deleted the whole thing #i'm not usually one to theory craft (tho i have utmost respect for those who are) so i have no idea if i'm just reading too deeply #this is the most pepe silvia ass post i've ever written

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