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buglife · 3 years

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Quirrel finally snaps. Royalty au. (He deserves it)

In Which Quirrel Has Enough :O

The morning started off just like any other. Waking up next to Ghost was always wonderful for Quirrel, especially in the big comfy nest gifted from Deepnest. It was like sinking into softness itself, something he and his spouse both appreciated, and there was plenty of room for cuddles. He yawned, stretching a little and turning to nuzzle his spouse to wake them.

“Morning, love.” He whispered, trying to gently wake them.

Usually they would be awake instantly and nuzzling back. Quirrel wasn’t sure if they actually slept now, having taken over the aspect of dreams. Even if they didn’t, they still made sure to be in bed every night to be with Quirrel, and stayed there until morning.

But today...they blearily blinked awake and didn’t nuzzle back right away. He instantly knew something was the matter.

“Dear, what is the matter? Are you alright?” He touched the side of their head and rubbed it in an effort to comfort them.

“Tired….” Came the soft quiet voice in the back of his head. Ghost had a measure of telepathy, but it was something they only did with friends and family. They tended to use sign language everywhere else, afraid of frightening their subjects. The Pale King had it as well, but used his to intimidate and issue orders. Ghost was doing everything in their power to be the complete opposite of their sire, even if it meant limiting their communication. Quirrel was trying his best to convince them otherwise, that their subjects loved them, but it’s taking a while to actually make Ghost believe it.

“You look tired. What where you doing last night?”

Ghost’s mental voice dissolved into a murmur of numbers and figures and laws hundreds of years old. The feeling Quirrel got along with it was an even measure of frustration, bafflement, and an extreme sense of mind numbing exhaustion.

“You were trying to rewrite the tax code last night, weren’t you?”

Ghost sank further into the pillows with a wheeze.

“You know I could have helped you, you silly thing.”

They sank further and didn’t look him in the eyes. He sighed and patted them gently, thinking about the situation to himself. For a long time, Ghost pretty much did everything, leaving Quirrel with the task of planning the rebuilding efforts once they took the throne officially. Ghost was the sole ruler, and the weight and pressure of that all had started to weigh down on them. Sure, they had their friends and allies to help them, but some things you just have to do yourself. Now that he was a king himself (something he still had trouble believing some days until he looks at the ring on his finger), he felt like he needed to do more to help his partner.

“Today, you are going to take the day off.”

They turned their head to look at Quirrel, a look of mild panic on their blank mask. Before they could ‘say’ anything, Quirrel beat them to the punch.

“Look at yourself dear. You are beyond exhausted. You haven’t had anytime for yourself in so long, you need a break. I’m your spouse, your equal now, let me help you take some of the load off yourself, please?”

“But...court? The new code…” They were too tired to properly argue, but Quirrel could feel their worry leak through their words.

“I can do them for once. It can’t be harder than what I usually do.” He thought of his duties, how much traveling he does to other parts of the kingdom to keep up good relations with their neighbors. Some ambassadors were pricks, to be frank. They seemed to enjoy trying to get a rise out of the Scholar King, but Quirrel used his wit to go toe to toe with them. It was fencing, but with words, a subtle dance where each tried to pick out weaknesses and use them to their advantage. Talking to the actual rulers though, was a lot more pleasant. In fact, he’s due to have a meeting with Herrah soon. Hornet would demand he spar with her, but she at least was completely honest with her desires. He thinks Herrah gets a kick out of watching her daughter beat the hell out of a King. She was at least kind enough afterwards to patch up his wounds.

Surely, sitting in a building and talking to the public won’t be that harder than having to actually fight someone every-time he needs to do his job.

Ghost gave them an incredulous look, and then sighed and nodded.

“Excellent, shall I make a pillow fort for you?”

They nodded excitedly, and Quirrel took all the extra pillows from the cabinets to add to the pile. After some time stacking and slinging blankets around, he had made a pillow fort that passed his personal inspection. Ghost retreated inside, and then promptly fell asleep, which vindicated his feeling that Ghost was too damn tired to do anything today. He made sure to put a note on the door for people not to disturb them and made his way through the palace.

It was not the White Palace, that one never came back from the realm of dreams. Ghost had told him that it was for the best, as no sane ruler would have that many buzzsaws. Quirrel inclined to believe them and not ask further questions. Instead, a new one was built, and it couldn’t quite consider it a ‘palace’. It was more of a government building and a place to house the knights of the kingdom. It was a hell of a lot more modest than the White Palace, but it was still nice. The citizens insisted after all and Ghost did not say no to them.

Quirrel would have to admit that the top floor where they both lived was really nice. Their friends and family had gotten their own rooms too, for them to live in or just stay in when visiting. Once Ghost had gotten their deserved family, they refused to be apart from them and was more than happy to have visitors around.

Quirrel made his way down to the ground floor, where court was held. It was just a simple room, decorated in shell wood and tapestries to give it a more calm feeling. A part of the room was dedicated to chairs and benches where petitioners could sit and wait their turn. There was a section where the workers would sit, such as the recorder and paperwork keeper, and next to that, was the thrones, sitting a bit higher than everyone else. Quirrel wasn’t too sure if it was required or not to have the thrones elevated, but just shrugged and went along with it.

Usually Ghost held court with at least two of the new knights of Hallownest keeping guard. In reality, Ghost really didn’t need guarding, but they appreciated some wranglers to deal with the public and the emotional support. It seemed today it was Tiso and Cloth.

“Heya Quirrel.” Tiso gave Quirrel a funny look. “Where’s the Squib?”

“I made them take a day off. They are in their pillow fort at the moment, resting.” He internally snickered. Tiso never stopped calling Ghost ‘Squib’, which would cause nobles to have a conniption whenever they heard it. If they complained, Tiso invoked ‘big brother rights’ and that was that.

“Good, they work too hard.” Cloth adjusted her club over her shoulder. “So you’re holding court today? By yourself?”

Quirrel nodded. “It shouldn’t be too hard. I mean, I will have to do it sooner or later. Why not now?”

Tiso and Cloth shared a look. They looked...apprehensive.

“Just be prepared, you get a mixed bag of people. Some are rather um…”

“Super fucking stupid. And spoiled.” Tiso finished for Cloth, gesturing to the still closed doors.

“They can’t be that stupid!” Quirrel took his seat on his throne (which is still completely unbelievable to him). There were two, the other was for Ghost, built side by side. There used to be just one, but well, now there was a need for two. At least they were comfy. For a moment he did want Ghost to be here by his side, but he was firm in the believe that his poor spouse was in dire need of a break. So, he will endure.

“They can and they are. Don’t get me wrong, most folks that come in are really nice, but you get a few every-time that cause trouble. We’ll be here to help you out, no worry.” Cloth gently patted Quirrel on the head. Cloth the Strong was the title given to her after she was knighted, and he was glad to have her here.

“Yeah if you want us to throw them out the windows, just say so.” Tiso of course, didn’t give too fucks. They couldn’t call him Tiso the Ant Who Doesn’t Give Two Fucks, so instead he became Tiso the Daring.

“Thanks guys.” Quirrel felt a little emboldened by the support of his friends. “Go ahead and open the doors, we’ll get set up and I think we can start court for the day.” Tiso flashed a thumbs up, opening the doors to let the various workers of the court come in to take their positions. Once settled, he nodded, and the first petitioner was called in. Quirrel sat up straight, making himself as approachable as he possibly could. He was a pillbug after all, they are usually considered cute, so it wasn’t like he had to try hard.

He smiled at the beetle who walked in and stood before him.

“Hello there, my friend, what can the court do for you today?”

The beetle took a breath before speaking. “I’m petitioning the court to ban nails entirely.”

Quirrel boggled as his brain ground to a halt, did he really hear what he just heard? It took him a moment for him to be able to speak properly.

“Ma’am, we use nails to protect the people and for individuals to defend themselves. Why in the world do you want to ban nails?”

She tutted “Well my little Perler keeps trying to pick up other people’s nails and he could get hurt! It’s dangerous to have those around anyone, let alone children!”

“Well then, if we do ban nails, how else would you expect the royal guard to defend you from threats? How do you expect travelers to protect themselves when alone? How do you expect the average citizen to defend themselves should they be attacked?” Quirrel tried to use logic, but to no avail.

She looked Quirrel straight in the eyes. “That’s for you to figure out, right?”

Quirrel sighed.

---

It was official, he wanted to be anywhere but here. He kept glancing at the ornamental hourglass in the hall, watching the grains of sand fall one single piece at a time. It was like the sand wasn’t draining at all, that he was trapped in this one moment forever. This was officially torture.

Sure, a few legitimate bugs came in with reasonable requests. Asking for information to form a legal town militia? Sure go down the hall and to the left and there’s a bug to help you with that. Asking for funds to renovate an empty building for printmaking? That’s reasonable, we need all the books we can get. Asking for a possible sliding scale tax model for citizens based on income? Thank you for that idea, we will look into it when we can. Hell, some little kid somehow managed to make their way inside and asked Quirrel if he could make it illegal to deny dessert. He said he’d discuss it with his spouse but most likely they’d agree to make it a law. The kid left, skipping in glee and Quirrel felt himself smiling. He mused a bit of a possible ‘kids only’ court session just so they all can hear whatever these kids could come up with. It would be a welcome break, maybe a holiday? He’ll talk to Ghost later about it.

However, for every reasonable bug, came three that was dumber than a bag of hammers.

“I propose a tax cut for my business because making gold plated luxury monocles are essential to society.”

“Those Deepnest beast-folk are poisoning our society and corrupting our children! I request that they be deported entirely!”

“I’d like to propose a debate on lowering the age of consent.” (Quirrel had that one hauled off by the guard for questioning).

“I want this book banned because the author argued against the noble class and it hurt my feelings.”

On and on, it steadily got worse as the more opulent members of society came out to air their ‘concerns’. He had started to just dismiss them when they came at him with ridiculous requests, only prompting them to start whining. And boy, could they whine. He could feel his antenna vibrate under his hood with the shrill pitch of entitlement. He did his best to be polite, to gently let these people down. But they just kept coming, and coming.

When the next noble asked for him to tear down the local children’s playground because he wanted to build a second business there, Quirrel snapped.

“ENOUGH!”

He stood up from his throne, staring down at the weevil before him.

“No, I will not tear down a source of enrichment and enjoyment for our citizen’s children to satisfy your selfish desires!” Quirrel’s words were tense as he hissed them through clenched mandibles.

The weevil, that before was so bold, now cowered. Quirrel was someone who was rare to anger, that had a sense of calm and warmth that made most folks comfortable. But here, he had a dangerous aura about him, eyes glinting with chaos and the sense that he probably caused some destruction on purpose before. Here was a scientist, raised by Monomon the Teacher, a being known for her inability to take shit and being able to dish it back twice as bad. That was a terrible mix indeed.

Tiso and Cloth looked at each other, and then stepped back. Quirrel will let them know if he needs them, and they want to see what goes down.

“I want everyone, who’s court petition would only benefit themselves, to leave. This is not a place to fulfill your want for power and riches. This is a place to hear the concerns to the citizen and to help them with said concerns. This is a place for anyone, rich or poor, big or small, to bring awareness to how we, the court, can care for them.”

He glanced down at the weevil who was still cowering, and narrowed his eyes.

The weevil, had a smidgen of bravery to comment. “Okay, my liege, we can just come back later and ask Sov-”

“You will NOT, bother my spouse with your wretched and idiotic statements!” Oh, he was angry now. Children being told no asks another parent for a different answer, but not an adult. He could scarcely believe it. He has seen selfishness before, but not to this degree. “ESPECIALLY since you think you are above the happiness and joy of all the children in the city! And let me tell you, if you asked my spouse that question, you’d earn yourself a stint in the dungeon to rethink your priorities. They love children a hell of a lot more than arrogant pricks like you. Now get the hell out of my sight!”

The weevil booked it, a sizable portion of nobles scurrying after. It didn’t take long for the room to nearly clear out completely, leaving only a handful of bugs. As Quirrel took a deep breath to calm down, a spike of fear shot through his heart. He had lost his cool, here, in front of his subjects. Were they going to be afraid of him? Would they be afraid to come to court now and bring up legitimate problems?

He took a second look to see that most of them were in various fits of laughter.

He sighed in relief and slumped back in his throne.

Tiso leaned down to whisper “Nice one, nerd, I think you scared them off for a while.”

“Here’s hoping.” Quirrel sighed in return and rubbed his eyes. Once composed, he sat up again, and called the next petitioner to him with a smile.

“How can I help you, my friend?”

“Yeah um.” The ladybug looked back at the door where the group of nobles had fled. He recognized her to actually be one of the nobles that had stayed. “I propose a request to strip nobles of their titles should they prove that they do not have the best interests of the citizens in mind.”

Quirrel grinned. “You know what, that is a fine idea!”

---

Being a king was exhausting. Quirrel barely dragged himself up to his bedroom, the day had turned to night and finally, all the work was done. All he wanted to do was not have to think at all for the rest of the night. How the hell did Ghost manage this every day? Especially before when it was just them doing most of everything? Quirrel now had a better appreciation for what his spouse does, and is still determined to lighten their load and share the burden equally.

He barely made it in the room before he was snatched up by Ghost, who was instantly purring and nuzzling his face. “Ah! Ghost!” He couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a little better as the love of his spouse seeped into him. It was wonderful. “Hello to you too, my darling.”

Ghost chuffed and gave one last head bonk, and carried him to the still stable pillow fort. They crawled inside, dragging them within where a few lumaflies fluttered about to provide light. It was warm and cozy, and Quirrel sank into their arms with a sigh. Ghost snuggled up, making them comfortable in their little nest. “Today was...interesting.”

Ghost touched their mask to his and felt the quiet voice in the back of his head. “Yes. Tiso told me when his shift ended.”

Quirrel groaned. “Did he now?”

Ghost nuzzled him affectionately. “He told me you handled court splendidly.”

“I don’t know, I lost my cool. I should have been able to deal with it all like an adult, not by loosing my temper like a child.”

“Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.” Ghost leaned back, pulling Quirrel down with them so they can sink into the various pillows. “I am also sure you have just endeared yourself to our subjects doing that.”

“Are they always that bad?” He asked, sighing. He snuggled up to Ghost, who rested their head on his. “The nobles?”

“Yes. But that just gives us some...amusement.”

“Amusement? I felt like someone was digging into my brain with a pickaxe!”

“Think about it. The opportunity for pranks. Like how father and your mother took them out during the coronation ball. It was splendid.” They chirped softly in laughter. Quirrel couldn't help but smile at that. Indeed, that was absolutely hilarious. Especially when Oro punted those stuck nobles out of the door and sent them flying. He could deal with a bit of a headache here and there to see that sort of thing again.

“You know what?” He said, grabbing a blanket and pulling it up around the both of them. Ghost sighed sleepily and Quirrel knew he won’t be far behind.

“What?”

“I could get used to this.”

Ghost was both delighted, and terrified.

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nuricurry · 3 years

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Saint Seiya | Shura, PG-13; "see what's inside"

He still remembers what his father used to tell him about fear. “It’s better to be feared than to be loved. Love is weak. Love is fickle. Fear isn’t something that goes away.” He thinks his father probably has a point. After all, it wasn’t love that kept his mother around. It wasn’t love for his anger, love for how he would break things, love for the horrible things he said to her, or the bruises he left on her face and her arms. It was fear that kept his mother close, fear that stopped her from running away. It wasn’t that his mother loved his father enough to have his children. It was that she was too afraid to refuse him. It wasn’t that she loved Shura enough to stay behind, when she should have tried to get away. It was that she was afraid of what worse his father would do to him if she left. Fear was a powerful tool. It was a weapon with no shield, a toxin with no cure. It was the vorpal sword, the unbreakable steel. It had no equal, and it had no conqueror. Fear lived in the hearts of all men, and that was why it could never truly be erased.

The first time he learned that he was capable of causing fear was the day he finally stood up to his father. It is all a blur to him now. There was a fight, he thinks, though there was always a fight. His father yelling. His mother sobbing. The thick, meaty sound of flesh hitting flesh. He sees his hands, his face, he sees the blood, and that’s all he sees, until he lifts his head, and catches sight of his mother’s face. He sees the fear in her eyes, and that’s all he remembers. That’s all he has to explain why he was taken away, why leaves home, and becomes part of Sanctuary. He’s eight when he begins his training. A late bloomer, some of the instructors call him, as if he was always meant to be where he was, he just took longer than others to get to the same place. That’s a nice thought; better than what he thinks is the reality, that he is here only because he had nowhere else to go. In Sanctuary, he’s taught about Athena. He learns that she is a force of peace, of goodness. That she encourages trust and faith, she does not ask for fear. He likes to hear about Athena. He likes to learn about a goddess who offers hope, someone who rules out of love, rather than a desire for control. (Maybe, he thinks to himself, that is what his father would have been like, if he knew how to love, instead of how to invoke fear.) Training for him comes easy. It’s patterns. It’s structure. It’s the same thing every day. It’s secure. After spending the first several years of his life in constant chaos, the confines of rituals come as nothing short of a relief. He wakes up at the same time every morning, he eats his meals, attends his classes, does his chores, all on a cycle, it becomes familiar, safe, and he relishes in that. Developing his skills fall into that same pattern; it’s a process that builds upon itself. Each day he gets stronger, and each day he learns more. It takes time, but there’s a linear progression, there’s a predictable trajectory, and it’s seeing those changes that motivates him. It also helped that Aiolos always encouraged him too. Aiolos is older than him, more experienced, more confident. Aiolos is loved in Sanctuary, admired, and Shura is no exception. Aiolos has an easy smile, a warm laugh, Aiolos is someone who is easy to love, because there is nothing about Aiolos that isn’t loveable. When Aiolos earns his cloth, he’s humble, but proud. He thanks Pope Shion for deeming him worthy. He thanks Athena for allowing him the chance to serve her, even though her new incarnation is not yet born. He thanks his teachers for guiding him on his journey. Later, he thanks Shura for believing in him, and for the gift he brings him after the ceremony is over, and the crowds have dispersed. He is fifteen when he first thinks he understands love. He is young and naive and punch-drunk, when Aiolos places a hand on his shoulder and calls him his friend, when he says that he looked for him in the crowd after he earned his cloth, hoping to find Shura there with a smile on his face. He thinks he knows what it means to love someone in that moment, because he loves Aiolos’ smile and he wants to protect his laugh, and he dreams of the life where the two of them can be saints together, where he can learn more about love. It isn’t until Shura earns his own cloth, it isn’t until he learns the weight of the duty that comes with being a saint of Athena, that he realizes that sometimes, loving someone is what leads to fear. ”He betrayed us. He betrayed Athena.” He doesn’t want to believe it, because he loves him. He chases Aiolos down with a weight pressing down in his chest because he doesn’t want to be proven wrong. He loves Aiolos, and it’s that love that makes him hesitate, when he finally confronts him, and sees him with that baby cradled in his arms. Aiolos’ body lies at the bottom of a ravine and he is the one that put him there because of his fear. His fear that if he stopped and asked Aiolos to explain, he would learn that his love was misplaced, that love alone was not enough to keep even Aiolos from failing

in his duty. He learns to fear himself after Aiolos. Though, perhaps he always feared part of himself. He thinks back to his childhood, to the last day he can remember seeing his father. The day with the blood, the day that his mother looked at him with fear in her eyes. She must have known what he was, before even he did. It doesn’t matter, he decides in time. His father had a point. Fear is better than love. With fear, he knows what to expect. With fear, there’s no surprise when it hurts, when it backfires, when it stings. “Anyone ever tell you that you think too hard about the stupidest shit?” Deathmask is blunt, crass, and unpleasant. But he’s honest, and Shura can respect that. At least, as much as he can respect anything about Deathmask. Their methods are too different, their standards too opposite. But he is a gold saint all the same, he earned his place the same as Shura, and so he doesn’t challenge him, nor does he refuse his company when it’s imposed upon him. Deathmask buys them alcohol, and by that, he means that Deathmask steals liquor from the bar in the small town just beyond Sanctuary’s borders. Deathmask has long legs and broad shoulders and he hasn't looked a day under nineteen since he hit his first growth spurt at eleven; when he was fifteen he could pass for a solid twenty-three if he tried. So he doesn't have to steal the beer, he could just buy it. But that means having money, at least enough money to buy beer and weed, and Deathmask, who is a weed-smoking shitlord, never has enough money to ever buy anything 'and weed' at the same time. He has his priorities, and they include going to Athens to get a bunch of weed, then stealing cheap vodka before returning to Sanctuary, and harassing Shura in his temple.

“Don’t be jealous because you’re incapable of thinking at all, Deathmask.” Aphrodite joins them sometimes. If there’s alcohol, always, but if there’s not, sometimes. He seems more fickle about company, more selective with his time. Deathmask likes to fill the days with anything that catches his interest, while Aphrodite curates his diversions. How the three of them became...whatever they were, he still doesn’t know. It just became routine at some point, it just became part of the fabric of his day. Like his training, like his chores, like his guilt, spending time with them was a habit now, it was something that he does without thinking about it. Not that all habits are healthy. He trains his body until it bleeds. Until the muscles of his shoulder are torn and the bone dislocated. He hones his weapon to be razor-sharp, and he does not care about the cost. He only notices that it’s strange when someone else points it out to him, when he’s bent over Deathmask’s back, and Aphrodite presses his lips to the maligned blade of his shoulder that is pressed taut against his skin. “Why do you do this to yourself?” Aphrodite asks later, as they’re lying on their backs, and the room smells like sweat and sex. He doesn’t know what encourages him to be honest. Perhaps it’s the pot, or the booze, or the sex. Perhaps it’s the need to get the words out of his mouth, because he’s afraid if he keeps them inside they’ll start to rot where they’re lodged behind his teeth. “Because I am afraid of what will happen if I don’t.” Neither says anything for some time after that, not until Deathmask can no longer bear the silence, and mutters, “That’s fucked up.” He notices it after a while, how after his moment of honestly the way Deathmask seems to be afraid to touch him at times. How when they walk beside one another and their knuckles bump, the backs of their hands brush, his hand will hover, not touching him, but lingering, almost as if waiting for some sign to do more. He will touch Shura’s back when he walks behind him, alerting him to his intention to pass by, but it will be just a quick skirting of his fingers over the collar of his shirt. Not touching him directly. Not establishing full contact. He doesn’t say anything about it, at least not to Deathmask. What he does is speak to Aphrodite, in hushed tones late at night, when the two of them are standing together on watch, looking out from the highest peak of Sanctuary to the valley of buildings below. The flickering of torches in windows and along rocky trails are like a mirror reflecting the sky above, and it’s a quiet time, a peaceful time, where there is nothing but the two of them and the soft, warm Greek wind blowing their voices out into the ether. “He’s an idiot,” Aphrodite says simply, as if there is no other explanation needed. As if that excuses everything. And, maybe to him, it does. He has low expectations of Deathmask’s emotional intelligence, and therefore can’t be disappointed if he never meets them, and can be pleasantly surprised if he surpasses them. It’s a method of self-preservation that he never quite mastered. “He’s afraid of me,” Shura corrects him. Aphrodite says nothing, he just lifts a hand upwards, slender, deft fingers tucking a stray strand of pale hair behind his ear. He isn’t looking at Shura, he’s looking at those hundreds of star-torches, he’s making constellations of the lights in Sanctuary’s windows, and avoiding Shura’s eyes. “Are you afraid of me too?” “No.” It isn’t said in a rush. It isn’t fired out of his mouth like a bullet, he doesn’t say it quickly just to prove that it’s true. His voice, that low, melodic timbre, is quiet, the sound soft but clear. It always feels as if he is whispering into Shura’s ear even when he’s several feet away, and right then is no different. Except he does step forward, he moved in close, and it’s Shura that those pianist fingers of his touch next. He slips his hand between his back and the waistband of his pants, then turns it around and moves it up, into his shirt, following the column of his spine.

Shura can’t help but shiver, gasp, from both the touch, but also the cool wind that blows against his skin, sneaking in between the gaps in his clothes that Aphrodite makes. His nails, long, filed smooth but still sharp, dig into the meat of his shoulder blade, and then Aphrodite’s chin is on his shoulder, and his lips against his ear. “I’m not afraid of you,” he says again, “The only thing that could ever frighten me would be you realizing what I am actually afraid of.” “What is that?” he asks softly, because he needs to know. Aphrodite only smiles before kissing him, and never answers his question.

#saint seiya #fanfiction #capricorn shura #gold saints #pisces aphrodite #cancer deathmask

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motherofoliver · 4 years

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A Fire Reborn: Chapter 1

(AO3)

Summary: Shouto rejects Momo despite liking her, thinking it would be best for her, but after a close brush with death and Momo losing her memory, he decides to makes amends and try to be closer to her.

Word Count: 1,851

Notes: This was based on a headcanon and my first BNHA fic and I also abandoned it during some difficult time but I do plan to finish it. I finally got it added back to my AO3 account.

*****

Was it possible to feel both happy and terrified at the same time? It had to be because his heart was being twisted and torn in two different directions right now.

It was night by the lily pond, and there was a summer breeze that kept moving Momo’s bangs in front of her eyes so she kept tucking it behind her ear. Shouto focused all his attention on that repetitive movement so he could distract himself from the words she was saying to him.

She had asked to speak to him privately so they came here where no one could hear them. She looked nervous and kept fidgeting and twirling the belt of her jacket but eventually looked up at him with those deep onyx eyes and directly told him that she liked him, more than just a friend. The unexpected admission sent him reeling though he did his best to conceal the reaction. More things were said after but he didn’t really hear them because he was mesmerized by her blushing cheeks and the soft movements of her full lips. He was overcome with an overpowering desire to kiss her but he stopped himself quickly.

What makes you think you deserve to kiss her?

He would be lying if he said he didn’t like her too, he had since the first time they were paired up together and he witnessed her brilliance first hand, his admiration growing every time he saw how calmly and intelligently she would act under pressure, how kind and caring she was towards her friends, how considerate she was of everyone’s feelings, until his admiration blossomed into something that was a little more than just that. He found himself smiling every time she got excited over something and the bubbly side of her would surface, or when she was studying another book of hers, her brows furrowing a little while concentrating.

It would also be a lie to say that he didn’t imagine this exact same situation a thousand times before in different settings. Sometimes he would confess, sometimes she would, sometimes one of their classmates would spill the beans, but it always ended with him taking her into his arms and kissing her. He would then invite her to a place that offered good cold soba or whatever food she liked and they would spend the evening talking and really getting to know each other. The image in his head invoked a sense of warmth that spread over his body whenever he entertained those fantasies.

But right now, the image of the flowers, the ones Fuyumi told him his dad left for his mom in her room, kept flashing in his mind like an alarm and the old feeling of nausea crept up again and filled his throat, rendering him cold and mute. Shouto wanted to believe he was nothing like father but those flowers were a cruel reminder of what he could be.

His father was once kind, or at least pretended to be, and he was obviously attentive enough, but he still managed to turn into a fiery monster in human form. What’s preventing Shouto from becoming the same? As if half his body didn’t serve as enough of a reminder to their shared DNA, he shared his ambition and drive too. No matter how hard he tried to run from his past, there was no escape, because it was engraved in every cell of his body and advertised to the world by that scar on his eye.

Momo was too good and the thought of her ending up isolated in a hospital one day like his mother made bile rise up even higher in his throat. He liked her too much to put her through such a thing, he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t let her throw away her life, her kindness, her love, for someone who might bring her pain and ruin. He knew he was nothing like that now but how could he guarantee he would never become like his father? There was no way to be sure.

It took him a few moments to gather the courage to utter his next few words but before he opened his mouth, he allowed his mind to wander and conjure up an alternate reality. One where he really takes her into his arms and kisses her, he would inhale her scent and commit it to memory, maybe she would put her arms around him and bury her face in the crook of his neck and they could spend a few minutes like that till the weather got too cold and they would have to go inside. Perhaps he can get her some hot chocolate and they could sit alone somewhere where she could lean on his shoulder till it was bedtime, then they would go their rooms but not before one final kiss.

“Thank you for sharing your feelings with me” his usual nonchalant voice was low “But I’m afraid I don’t feel the same” his face betrayed nothing but he had to swallow a hard lump. The smile on Momo’s face fell and she could only let out a defeated “oh”. The small blush in her cheeks quickly took over all of her face and neck, clearly embarrassed, as she started apologizing profusely “I’m really sorry for putting you on the spot like this, I’m really sorry. Ahh, this is really awkward” she laughed nervously, tears filling her eyes.

“It’s alright, nothing to apologize for, I hope you’ll have a better chance with someone else” he allowed the words to exit his mouth hurriedly while turning around to head inside, not daring to look back at the sight of Momo for fear it would break him. He moved as fast as he could without jogging but he still caught a glimpse of some of the girls of his class behind the wall fence, they were starting to move towards Momo but Jirou was glaring at him, she flipped him off before joining her friends.

He hesitated for a moment, wondering if he should turn back. He said he didn’t want to hurt her but the look on her face just now showed he failed. Maybe he should go and tell her he was joking or something (Jirou would actually punch him for that though). Shouto felt his neck constrict as a weighty chill took hold of his body, his hands resisting the urge to tremble as he could feel himself losing grip of his emotions. Even when he was trying not to hurt someone he loved, he couldn't help but be like him .

He forced his body to turn away from the pond, knowing those thoughts were just his way of allowing himself to slip. She’ll get over this quickly, she had all her friend to support her but if he was with her, she would hurt for a long time. One swift blow was the smart solution.

It’s for the best. He kept repeating it in his head like a mantra, hoping it will dull the ache in his chest. He breathed a sigh of relief the second he shut his room’s door behind him and sunk to the floor, allowing himself to let out the tears he’s been holding. It was fine, it was fine, he couldn’t let himself falter over something he knew was the right choice, and however he felt now was a momentary inconvenience at the most. It was fine, it would be fine.

He never thought the right choice would be so painful to make.

*****

He’s not sure who told him the news, or how he got into the car going to the hospital with some of his classmates, or how he found his way to the waiting area in the hospital. Everything around him had blurred into dull colors and distant sounds, locking him in a trance Momo was injured in a fight with some villain while she was out with some of the girls. She was in the hospital and he knew nothing besides that it was a severe injury.

Everyone went inside to check on her but he stayed behind. He didn’t want to face her. Did she get injured because of him? He knew how anxious she can get, did that affect her ability to fight? Was it the reason the villain got a chance to injure her?

No, Momo was a strong fighter, smart and capable under pressure, she wouldn’t let her feelings get involved, not after all the progress she’s made with her quirk. But still, he couldn’t help but blame himself for rejecting her the night before. He felt as if a fiery grip took hold of his heart and squeezed hard till he was out of breath.

He could’ve lost her today. He could’ve lost her and her tear-filled eyes would have been the last thing he remembers of her. Telling her he didn’t care for her would have been the last thing she heard him say. The panic that rippled through him made his breath rapid and shallow.

How cruel could he be? How could he let his fear of the future to take over and hurt someone he cared about? He was so worried he might turn into his father and hurt her in the future that he allowed himself to hurt her now. He looked at his hands and they were shaking, he couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t hurt her again, not now and not in the future. He couldn’t let their last encounter be the last one.

He won’t let himself turn into his father, he would work to become a man worthy enough of being with her, and he would never abandon her again. The thought filled him with enough drive to go to her room and tell her everything, no more worrying about what he could be in the future, he's in charge of his destiny and he won't let himself turn into a monster. His classmates were in the next room visiting Jirou who was also inured, and Momo was sitting in her bed, staring out the window. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Her face turned to him, and besides a small scratch on her cheek and a bandage around her head, she looked the same as she always did. She smiled at him and there was no hint of malice or anger in that familiar smile. Could she have forgiven him already for what he’s done?

“Thanks for visiting” she welcomed with a courteous albeit tired tone “Are you also from UA?”

The question made Shouto double back for a moment, why would she even ask that? Is she pretending she doesn’t know him? Momo was too mature for that. A sense of foreboding was building up in the back of his head like a glass vase wobbling off the table.

“I’m sorry, I was told I’ve forgotten most the people I know because of the injury. Do you mind telling me who you are?”

In the distance, Shouto could hear a crash.

#todomomo #bnha #mha #momo yaoyorozu #todoroki x yaoyorozu #todoroki shōto #todoroki shouto #My writing #boku no hero academia #my hero acadamy #fanfc

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bakaaruo · 4 years

Text

touch is a strange thing.

for naruto, it wasn’t that he had never felt a kind touch, but that he went so long without any kind of touch at all. as a result, hardly any touch he offered had any emotional reason behind it, and for a very long time the exclusive reason behind his touch was anger. on the other hand, sasuke had known a very gentle touch from the very beginning; two fingers knocking against his forehead, slightly jarring but warm and smelled like itachi. and then he stood in the aftermath of his massacre, and became to distrust any amount of affection.

needless to say, this caused certain rifts in their relationship. but, believe it or not, it caused more bridges than motes between them; their affection was not rooted in physical touch, but in their spiritual ties. maybe sasuke smacked naruto in the head more than he should, and naruto could easily overwhelm sasuke ( in bad, but more often good, ways ) by touch alone, but the connection between them was something unmatched by most.

sometimes, when the stars perfectly aligned, they could find the time to spar. in all honesty, their sparring was half-assed even for average shinobi standards, but they didn’t do it to improve their combat; they were uzumaki naruto and uchiha sasuke, after all. the moment their fists meet, sasuke’s heart blooms inside naruto’s mind, and he can see it. like a dance, they’ll move in perfect harmony, their attacks and counters in such balance that each impact was hardly felt. instead, naruto was assaulted by memories from sasuke ( and vice-versa ).

naruto could see how much sasuke valued him; even without their astral connection, naruto could see that sasuke cared about him. he sacrificed his whole life to travel alone, shouldering the weight of the world on his back to atone for the pain he caused everyone, and to keep naruto safe. and in return, naruto could only show sasuke how treasured his presence was. distance was a foreign concept when it came to the love uzumaki naruto had for the sole uchiha. whether it be hundreds of kilometers, or in moments where they could hardly find where naruto ended and sasuke began, the jinchuriki’s devotion to his rival would never dissipate.

for sasuke, he’d wait a hundred years if it meant at the end of their lives, they could finally rest. the fox understood his conviction; he couldn’t say sasuke was wrong for seeking redemption, nor would he lie and say it was unnecessary, but when he returns from missions after months of no contact, exhausted beyond measure, it hurts. and in those moments, naruto really does feel useless. so those were the moments he chose to hold sasuke, because there were simply things that spoken word could never successfully convey, and naruto believed if he held him tight enough, perhaps he could absorb the guilt, the weight, from his partner. and sasuke would let him; unless it was summer, and in which case naruto had to be wearing clothes and a fan needed to be in the room for sasuke to not throw naruto out the window to keep from overheating.

❛ i love you. ❜

sasuke froze in the midst of their sparring, both men panting softly as they stood, froze in mid-motion as naruto stood with a heated expression, face flush and eyes glittering brighter than usual. neither of them had any idea of a normal relationship; they hardly understood the concepts of dates, marriage, dual spaces and property. most of their friends would often comment, you two haven’t changed. you still act like you’re the same kids from the academy.

naruto wouldn’t give the comment too much attention, for the most part. it was usually mentioned like the weather, as if the state of his relationship was as trivial as the forecast, but he had recently come to understand what they meant. to be blunt, if naruto didn’t sometimes fall asleep in the same bed as sasuke, it would be really hard to tell they were in any relationship at all. when naruto really thought about it, it kinda make him laugh; in comparison to their friends, their dynamic must seem boring. they bickered, they trained, they threw childish insults at each other while walking through town-- and then they went home together.

no outward displays of affection, no verbal confessions of love, not even a brush of their hands; nothing but the usuratonkachi that sasuke would mumble in a voice that made naruto’s mouth dry. but the more naruto thought on it, the more he realized that the foundation of his connection with sasuke wasn’t born out of anything romantic at all, but out of the pure unconscious desire to be around him. naruto didn’t always love sasuke by any means; he certainly didn’t sit in the academy classroom thinking about spending his life with uchiha sasuke, but over time, his feelings for sasuke evolved organically until he recognized he had come to love his rival. and he didn’t need to shower sasuke in praise and affection for that to be recognized, and therein lied the benefit of being able to see into each other’s hearts, where they could communicate wordlessly and with little touch. but sometimes, words were necessary.

❛ i know. ❜ naruto almost choked at sasuke’s response, his body deflating with a low groan, eyes hooded while he scowled at the raven-haired man. baka... he thought to himself, but was soon distracted as two fingers jabbed the center of his forehead, causing a mild daze.

the thing about uchiha sasuke’s touch is that it was rare, and often insignificant in nature, but its effects would last for days. naruto could feel warmth blooming from where sasuke’s fingers had been, and his ears suddenly felt flush. something so simple had such an impact, but nothing was comparable to being kissed by sasuke. for the most part, naruto could snag one before and right after his missions, and his lips would sing for days; he would sit in his office, sasuke’s phantom touches wracking his whole body, until a few days of work caused exhaustion to be the only thing his body could comprehend.

he laughed, reaching behind him to scratch the back of his head with a toothy grin, face a gentle shade of pink. if touch was rare, i love yous were once in a lifetime comparably; sasuke hardly said it, and never first, but naruto never expected him to. he never said it to invoke validation, but because there were moments where he was overwhelmed by how much he fucking loved sasuke. it's as cathartic as punching a wall when he finally does say it, and he usually keeps his attention off of sasuke as he does, as to not make it seem like he expects anything in return. neither of them grew up hearing it, but neither of them wanted the other to forget they were wanted.

❛ let’s go home, sasuke. ❜

#𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻 ━━━ DRABBLE #𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻 ━━━ HEADCANON / did you lose that love or have you never had it?#( btw this really isn't a headcanon but there are a Fuck ton of naruto headcanon's i put in here in terms of how he is in relationships )#( but besides that none of this is specific to any verse this is just my take on them )#( fsdfsljd like why would anyone read this ohmygod anyways )

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classified-bluerose · 5 years

Text

put me back together part III - quentin beck x reader

chapter 3: devoted to destruction

a/n: title from ‘’sucker for pain’’ by lil wayne, feat. B.O.B, wiz khalifa, logic, imagine dragons & x ambassadors. (😅)

warnings: manipulative quentin, brief & vague description of a panic attack, canon-typical violence, suggestive content toward the end but not really nsfw.

a/n 2: i’m rlly not sure how i feel about this lol but here you go!!!

(GIF is not mine)

—

it’s all going so well. as he prepares to ‘’sacrifice’’ himself in order to save the world from the final elemental, he hears your voice screaming his name. behind the fishbowl helmet that obscures his face, he smiles. you sound terrified, heartbroken, devastated. you think you’re going to lose him, and a surge of pride flows through his veins as he realises your feelings for him are real.

don’t worry, honey, he thinks to himself, you’re not going to lose me.

both you and parker rush to his side once the monster has disappeared; you drop to your knees and put your hand on his cheek. he groans and leans into it, hears the shuddering relief in your breathing as his eyes blink open. the first thing he sees is your face, covered in smoke and bruises.

as parker helps him to his feet, you punch him, hard, in the arm.

‘’ hey! ‘’

you are furious. a fire dancing in your eyes, mesmerising in it’s heat. ‘’ you idiot! you idiot - why would you do that? are you trying to get yourself killed?! ‘’

quentin takes your shoulders in his hands and squeezes firmly, but soothingly. offering a crooked, weary smile. ‘’ it’s okay, ‘’ he soothes, ‘’ it’s okay. it’s over, it’s okay. ‘’

your jaw clenches and you nod once before pulling away from him in irritation. he understands; once the immediate aftermath has worn off he knows you’ll cool down. this anger is nothing more than passion and care.

fury shakes quentin’s hand and offers him a job - quentin plays along, impatient now, wanting to have that moment with you when you’d give in to the relief and rush into his arms. the moment he knew was going to be worth waiting for.

—

at the base, again, you’re the last two left. he meets your gaze and smiles. ‘’ still mad at me? ‘’ he questions, softly. you roll your eyes, but it’s fonder. you cross the floor and push at his torso, nudging him into a chair.

he looks up at you, a question in the rise of his eyebrows. ‘’ you look like shit, ‘’ you tell him, blunt, ‘’ i’ll get some water. clean yourself up. ‘’

you bustle around the place and return with a bowl of hot water and a cloth. you move as though to hand it to him, then change your mind and dip it into the steaming liquid. wringing it out, you lift it to his face and push back the stray hairs from his forehead. carefully and intimately sponging off the dirt and blood.

quentin relaxes against the chair; his eyes fluttering shut. heart skipping a beat at the intimacy of your actions. silence holds steady, interrupted only by the steady hum of machinery. he only opens his eyes when you start to tug at the heavy armour. with your help he removes it, leaving him in his undersuit. you lean back, then let your hands press lightly to his ribs and belly.

‘’ this hurt? ‘’

quentin shakes his head. watching you, your expression open and warm. your eyes meet his and red blooms on your cheeks.

‘’ what? ‘’ you ask, self-conscious.

quentin smiles. ‘’ you’re beautiful. ‘’

he’s not expecting you to laugh at that, but you do. head ducking away as you attempt to conceal the smile that grows on your lips. it’s the smile you keep hiding from him. the one that betrays too much emotion, the one that makes him feel weightless.

‘’ you are, ‘’ he insists, his fingers brushing the soft skin of your face as he tries to tilt it back to him. you pull away, not fast enough for him to miss the way your breath hitches.

‘’ shut up, ‘’ you mutter, playing with the damp cloth. you reach up again to wipe some dirt off the tip of his nose. his hand comes to touch your wrist. everything slows down, this moment, suspended in time.

quentin tilts his head, curiousity colouring in his endless blue eyes. pale lips part, posing a question.

‘’ can i see? ‘’

you frown. ‘’ see what? ‘’

‘’ your powers. ‘’

you draw away again, face dropping. shoulders slumping, as you shrug. ‘’ i - i don’t know if i can, ‘’ you admit, ‘’ after thanos, i - they’re not working the way they used to. ‘’

quentin leans in and takes your hands in his. ‘’ try, ‘’ he implores, pleading with his eyes. it’s bloody impossible to deny his request, there is no resolve when it comes to him. it’s scary, you’ve never fallen this hard this fast.

you disentangle your hands from his and nod. taking some deep breaths to anchor yourself. you focus on drawing the energy from the air, the heat under your skin simmering.

quentin savours the moment. this picture you paint so beautifully in front of him. lashes brushing your cheeks, chest rising and falling evenly. hands laying palms up on your knees, a muscle in your jaw twitching from effort.

quentin’s eyes only move from your face when a tiny spark ignites between your palms. your eyes fly open, staring down at the flickering flame. as you focus again your hands shape a ball, then a star, then a dancing figure. you look incredibly pleased with yourself, a little pale, but pleased.

as it dissipates into smoke you fall back and grin, tired. quentin shakes his head, face full of wonder. ‘’ wow, ‘’ he breathes out. ‘’ you are incredible. ‘’

‘’ that was nothin’ - when, or if, they ever come back. i’ll show you proper. ‘’

‘’ they’ll come back, ‘’ he tells you, so assured and confident it’s easy to believe.

you sigh and stand up, moving away with the now dirty water. ‘’ it’s late, ‘’ you call over your shoulder, hoping your trembling hands aren’t noticable. he’s too intoxicating. too inviting. any longer alone with him and you might just tip over the edge completely. you hear him moving behind you. feel his presence coming closer. ‘’ you should probably get some rest... ‘’

you wince as your voice shakes and you turn around, his closeness unexpected. he’s looking at you with such a tenderness it almost hurts to see.

‘’ let me walk you home. ‘’ he offers, and you want to let him, want to bring him home too. he thinks he has you where he wants you. but he‘s almost forgotten about the story he told about the other you.

he only remembers when you start to freak out.

‘’ no. no, um. i’m tired, i’m tired and - i’m not her. i’m not her. ‘’

he panics. ‘’ i know, no, wait - ‘’

but you’re spiralling now and it’s too late to stop it. ‘’ i am not her and - and i understand it must be frustrating, okay, i get that, because i look like her, i sound like her - ‘’

‘’ you don’t, ‘’ he tells you, desperately, ‘’ you’re so different, in little ways and big ways, i swear - ‘’

‘’ i gotta go. i have to - this is, ah, this is too much, too soon, and i can’t. i’m sorry. i’m sorry, i just can’t. ‘’

and with that breathless statement you practically sprint out of the base. leaving quentin, stunned, disappointed. and worried.

—

he follows you. partly because he’s afraid that this will mess up his plans. partly because he’s afraid for you. to leave you wandering the streets of prague at night in this state, quentin can’t bear to think about what might happen.

‘’ honey, please, trust me, i- ‘’ his thumbs sweep gentle strokes across your cheekbones, pulling you close to rest his forehead against yours. ‘’ this isn’t me trying to replace her with you, i promise. ‘’

he traces the line of tears down your face. wiping them away with the pad of his thumb. ‘’ quen... ‘’

warmth fills up his chest at the nickname. come on, he urges inwardly, let me in, let me in.

‘’ i’m right here. i’m here, with you. i’m not going anywhere. ‘’

the kiss is their undoing. it begins as a soft press of lips, tentative and cautious. a first meeting, souls edging around and getting to know one another.

it’s you, who bites down softly on quentin’s lower lip, invoking a breathy moan as you part. he stares down at you, wide-eyed and awed. the edges of his mouth curl up into a smug, satisfied smirk - he surges forward then and drags you in, mouth possessing yours, tongue delving in and breath mingling as his arms wind around your waist and hold you against his chest. in a grip as tight as iron, as solid as vibranium.

quentin doesn’t just kiss you - he consumes you. hands coming to touch and caress and feel and grasp, wherever they can reach. each brush of fingertips ignite a white-hot heat on your skin, as he bruises and bites and pushes - you give back as good as you get, full up with feelings of desire, need, want.

this place is too exposed, this air too cold. you drag yourself away with great difficulty, quentin lets out a sound akin to a snarl at the loss of contact. for a moment words desert you, as you notice quentin’s expression. hungry. dark. desperate. blue eyes now almost wholly black, lips swollen, bruised, and parted slightly. you shake yourself out of the daze he keeps drawing you into, meeting his gaze with determination.

‘’ come back to my hotel room. ‘’

that smirk again - so sharp, so deadly. so attractive. his hands find yours as you hurry off into the night.

—

tag list: @loki-doki-fever @djjffkd @kellzogg @bucky4cap45 @tuliptx @evee550

#personall~#quentin beck x reader #quentin beck x you #mysterio x reader #mysterio x you #quentin beck imagine #mysterio imagine #qb:pbmt #marvel #mcu #marvel studios #spiderman #peter parker #nick fury

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captainkippen · 6 years

Note

Are you still taking prompts? If so can you write a something of what could happen the rest of the day at school and Buffy and/ or Andi talk to tj and stuff is explained?

send me fic prompts

Buffy has seen Cyrus cry a fair few times throughout their friendship. They’ve known each other so long that it’s a given, and it helps that Cyrus is one of those people whose emotions are evoked with relative ease; it only takes a good romantic comedy or cute video of someone being reunited with a loved one to set off the waterworks in him. However it’s not often that she sees him struggling not to cry at school, so when she notices his red-rimmed eyes while they’re having their photograph taken for costume day it immediately invokes a strong desire within her to punch someone. No one hurts Cyrus and gets away with it.

He doesn’t say anything about it. He doesn’t want to talk about TJ or the way he bailed on their costume. In fact, he brushes off the whole thing like it doesn’t bother him at all. Maybe she’d believe him - maybe she’d nod and say okay and attribute the tears to the recent passing of his Bubbe - if it weren’t for the fact she’d seen how excited he was earlier in the week after TJ had asked him to do the costume. That’s what she doesn’t get about this whole situation. TJ has been a bully. He’s been a jerk. He’s started arguments and deliberately provoked people and found it funny, and she’s watched all of this happen… but that’s all stuff he’s done in the past. He hasn’t done any of that recently. In fact, he’s become a pretty decent person to hang out with. And he’s never ever been mean to Cyrus like he was to other people. Cyrus has always been the exception when it comes to TJ. Buffy doesn’t understand why that would suddenly change now.

Cyrus is good at a lot of things but hiding the fact that he’s hurting from his best friends is not one of those things.

He tells her to leave it alone and she says she will, but he should probably know her better than that by now. She hates to see him like this. He is someone who has always had her back, even in times where they’ve had disagreements, someone she loves like a brother. That means she has his back too. She’s not going to stand by and let someone crush him like this. She goes looking for TJ the second Cyrus turns his back. She’s getting to the bottom of this.

She finds him after school, sees him coming out of the bathroom up ahead and jogs to catch up. Anger bubbles up even faster inside of her at the mere sight of him. Grabbing him by the shoulder she forces him to stop and turn.

“You know, I really thought you’d changed-” She starts and falters when she sees his face.

TJ’s eyes are red.

“I-um, have you been crying?” She asks, dumbfounded.

He sniffs and shrugs his shoulder out of her grip, then rubs his nose with the hem of one sleeve and a loud sniff. “No.”

It’s a weak lie and it’s almost enough to make the anger dissipate entirely, but then Buffy is reminded of Cyrus’ own red eyes and it flares up again in an instant.

“What do you want, Buffy?”

She scowls at him. “It was a pretty crappy thing you did today, bailing on Cyrus like that.”

She expects him to fight back, to make a snarky comment or to tell her to mind her own business and stomp away, but he does none of that. Instead, he drops his gaze to the floor, shoulders slumping in defeat like he’s ashamed of himself and nods. “I know.”

“What?”

He sighs and meets her eyes again. “I know it was crappy.”

“Then why did you do it?” She folds her arms and taps her foot against the floor, the noise loud and expectant in the emptying corridor.

“It’s… I just- I screwed up.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“I know, I just… I can’t tell you why.”

“Why not? It’s so weird, you know that, right? I know you’re like allergic to being nice to people or whatever, but it’s never been like that with Cyrus. Do you know how excited he was for this costume? He bailed on our group idea to do it and he never bails. Not for anyone. He’s the most loyal person I know. He would only do that for you and you just left him hanging without any explanation. For Kira of all people. I didn’t even know you and her were friends.”

“We’re not.” And he says it so miserably that Buffy finds her anger seeping away only to be replaced with confusion and a twinge of sympathy.

“Then why…?”

“I can’t tell you.”

She sighs. “Look… usually, I’d call you a jerk and be done with it but you mean a lot to Cyrus and even I have to admit it’s weird that you’d do this to him, so… you can tell me, okay? I won’t say anything to anyone. Not even to Cyrus, if you don’t want me to. I’m just trying to understand what the hell happened here. I mean the ‘summer-salt’ thing was your idea, right?”

There’s a moment of silence where he shifts, awkward and shut-off in a way that she’s never seen him behave before, and then he lets out a long breath.

“You promise you won’t say anything?” He asks.

“I promise.”

He swallows and nods. She can tell he’s psyching himself up for something and she wonders for a moment if she’s about to get more than she bargained for.

“I wanted to do the costume with Cyrus,” he says. “I spent ages thinking of it. And I was so glad when he liked it, y’know? ‘Cause usually my ideas aren’t that great and I thought maybe he wouldn’t be into it or he’d rather do something with you guys, so like… it was really cool when he said yes.”

“Okay…”

“But,” he takes another deep breath. “Kira’s been bugging me, right? She wants to join the boys' basketball team since you kicked her off the girls’ team. But like… I kind of don’t want to let her because Cyrus said she’s a bully.”

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“Well… she kept asking. And then the other day she came up to me and asked if I wanted to do a costume with her. I said no. She was really insistent. So I told her I already had plans for it with Cyrus, and…”

“Yeah?”

He looks away again like he can’t bear to meet her gaze. “She was like ‘so you’d rather do a costume with Cyrus than me?’”

Buffy doesn’t see what the problem is. “Well, obviously you would. He’s your friend? You barely know her. So what, were you afraid Cyrus would make you look uncool or something?” The anger is back, bubbling low in her chest and threatening to come out in a mess of mean words.

TJ looks offended at the very suggestion. “What?! No! No.”

“Then what?”

“I… she made it seem weird, that I would want to go with a guy instead of her. That people would think it was weird.”

Suddenly, everything clicks into place. Buffy has seen the expression on TJ’s face before. The shame and the fear and the guilt. She’s seen it painted across Cyrus’ features in his lowest moments and she recalls the day at The Spoon when he first came out to her in vivid clarity. TJ isn’t afraid of being seen with a dork.

“I didn’t want people to think it was weird. I didn’t want them to think… I’m not ready for people to think…” TJ’s voice breaks. “I got scared.”

She can’t stop herself from reaching out and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. At first, he flinches, like he thinks she’s going to hit him, and the anger is reaching a boiling point now but it’s no longer directed at TJ.

“TJ… did Kira threaten you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know if that’s what she meant to do… I don’t know if she knows or if she’s just like that or what… but it felt like it.”

“Oh, TJ,” she says, and then surprises both of them by pulling him into a hug. It’s awkward and brief, neither of them really know what to do and TJ sniffs loudly after pulling away. He looks like he might actually burst into tears again right here. Buffy is struck by how small and vulnerable he seems. There’s no trace of the confident, smug idiot she usually sees in him. He just looks frightened.

“Does he hate me now?” He asks abruptly.

Oh. “He might be mad, and he’s definitely hurt, but Cyrus could never hate you.”

You don’t hear the way he talks about you, she thinks to herself.

“I wouldn’t blame him if he did.”

“TJ, it’s okay to get scared. Maybe you should’ve called but… it’s understandable. He’ll understand. You know Cyrus, he’s the most understanding person in the world. All you have to do is talk to him.”

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?”

“Give him time to lick his wounds,” she says. “He’ll come around eventually.”

“He’s my best friend. I…”

She nods. “I know. I get it. It’s going to be okay, I swear.”

And it will be eventually, she knows this. Cyrus isn’t made for holding grudges, but she also knows that this time is a little different to usual. He’s going to be hurt for a while, at least until he has a real explanation, and she doesn’t know if TJ is ready to give that to him yet. It’s going to take time but it’s going to get fixed.

In the meantime, she’s going to kick Kira’s ass.

#my writing #andi mack #Anonymous

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haloud · 5 years

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“Not as Lost, Violent Souls:” Alex Manes and T.S. Eliot’s “The Hollow Men” -- part 3 (fin.)

- intro - part 1 - part 2 -

- posted in final edited format on ao3 -

Previously on:

(gif by bisexualalienblast, used with permission)

This is not a happy poem. Nor do I believe that analyzing it in this way will reveal any more hopeful, happier meaning for Eliot’s hollow men or for Alex Manes. The existence of the hollow men is a bleak one, and at the very beginning of Roswell, New Mexico—the inciting events that build upon each other until Alex references the poem—Alex is in a fairly bleak place himself. However. I, unlike Eliot, do not believe in unhappy endings, so I didn’t want to close out this section just with a whimper. So while this essay concerns itself primarily with bleakness, I still want to remind everyone that “the world ends with a whimper” in episode nine of thirteen (and yet to come). Alex has already punched through the end of the world and is in the process of pulling himself through that hole and out the other side, retaking agency, rediscovering himself, relearning what he wants and how he is going to achieve those desires. The hollow men may have only empty hopes, but Alex’s hope is very real, and his character’s journey, as is the case with all characters in Roswell’s first season, has only just begun.

Part three of this essay will reexamine Alex’s character, his relationship to “The Hollow Men” at various points in his life, and his decision to quote the poem in context from a Watsonian perspective.

Part VI: Alien nation

In order to examine the place of “The Hollow Men” in Alex’s life, we should start at the earliest point for which we have any context for his character. In episode 1x05, Alex references himself as a child before high school and says his father knew he was gay before he did. This mention is brief and barely expanded, but it does provide a point of reference for Alex as a child and the alienation he experienced beginning from such a young age. The audience is given much more context for his character as a teenager on the cusp of becoming a young man, in his last year of high school and about to enter adulthood. It is likely in high school that Alex would have encountered the works of T.S. Eliot—that’s when I did, personally, through both class assignments and a deeply teenage draw towards angsty modernist poets. Eliot’s work is—and I’m drawing on the evidence of my eyes, here, rather than the scholarly—moody and depressing and vague, full of literary references and snippets of myriad different languages, and all those things are intensely appealing to the emo teen.

There are aspects of Eliot’s work that would have come through for Alex as a representation of his personal experience. Eliot himself was not a soldier; he remained at Oxford through the duration of the first World War, and nor did he involve himself in World War II. However, “The Waste Land” and “The Hollow Men” are poems about war all the same, written in the post-war landscape of 1920’s London and among all the accompanying—appropriately dichotomous—depression and euphoria of victory, survival, guilt, and the Treaty of Versailles. The tension between Eliot’s civilian status and the unavoidable nature of writing about war creates a compellingly fitting—or compellingly antithetical—profile of an author in the life of Alex Manes, who was a soldier long before he officially became an airman. As he states, “My father was my war.”. Unlike war poets both canonized and lost to history, Eliot could not write about the realities of the battlefield. However, the emotions felt, and communicated in “The Hollow Men,” are still intensely resonant with the feelings of soldiers. The struggle with hope and loss of hope, the religious imagery, the over-hanging, vague menace of the Shadow, all call to difficulties of returning soldiers and the transition back into a “normal” life, which may never be “normal” again. Therefore, while Eliot’s body of work in general appeals to a person with Alex’s personality, his taste in fashion and music, and in his stage of life at eighteen, “The Hollow Men” as a specific instance of Eliot’s work would have called to Alex more personally.

The religious themes contained in “The Hollow Men” would have had a particular resonance for Alex as a gay young man trapped in a restrictive, though not outright religiously based, household. Again, I draw from personal experience. Because of the opinion of queerness held by conservative religion, which is at best a sort of compassionate condemnation, young queer people often have an instinct toward rebellion and reclamation of the cultural narratives of salvation and damnation. The hollow men in the poem are a group of people condemned to an eternal purgatory, outside of paradise, outside of hell, and this denial of the spiritual right to judgment hits on some aspects of that rebellious feeling. The religious imagery in “The Hollow Men” is indicative of Eliot’s despair at the failings of love, which he attempts to ameliorate with a turn towards God and Christianity, but this is not a path that holds any sort of sanctuary for Alex, even as he struggles with heartbreak and despair. While I can’t say with certainty how Alex feels about religion, I can say that religious alienation is both another type of alienation keenly felt by many queer youth as well as a key feature in understanding “The Hollow Men.”

This understanding of the poem’s religious themes as well as aspects of the poem I earlier established regarding Alex’s relationship with his father provide understanding as to how Alex might have experienced the poem as a young man. I can imagine a scenario in which he was exposed to Eliot’s writing through school and how that writing might have stuck with him through the ensuing decade. Time passed, he grew up, but the feeling of alienation only grew more severe as he compartmentalized his personal identity and his identity as an airman—and lived more completely in the latter. Until, that is, the audience first meets him in the pilot episode of Roswell, New Mexico.

We first meet Alex as an airman, not as a civilian, but the connection he has with Michael is immediately established. It first comes off as antagonistic, but over the course of the episode it unspools itself until the final romantic confrontation at the very end of the episode. Though the viewer is unsure how adversarial Alex may be at this point, no doubt remains that he is a person leading an intensely complicated life. In subsequent episodes, we see Alex shed the uniform more and more, even as he struggles to overthrow his father’s influence and does not always succeed. Finally, in episode 1x08, he learns that Isobel, Max, and, most importantly, Michael are in fact aliens; and not only that, but Michael has been identified as a high-level threat. Though this information is filtered through the lens of his father’s manipulation, and he rightly rejects that worldview, Alex is still left with a choice to make. Does he follow his heart, which tells him that his father must be wrong and that the man he loves couldn’t possibly be the evil Project Shepherd says he is, or does he follow his head, which tells him that he needs to have all the information before he can make any sort of decision, and that he has to do so alone, not trusting anyone else, not simply going up to Michael and asking?

This is the choice Alex struggles to make in the days and weeks leading up to the confrontation with Michael in the Wild Pony at the beginning of episode 1x09. It is a choice with an explicit emotional link to his identity as an airman, as shown in the later conversation between Alex and Kyle:

Alex: “I just…I can’t go in blind.” Kyle: “I’m talking about a conversation, Manes. Not a war.”

But even when he’s faced with Michael demanding the answer to a question he doesn’t even know Alex is asking, Alex hasn’t yet decided. That decision comes at the end of the episode, when he declares “I’m tired of walking away” and asks Michael to tell him everything. During that moment in the Wild Pony, Alex is still caught, one could say, between the idea and the reality, the motion and the act, the emotion and the response. And he doesn’t say “we’re done;” he doesn’t say “not now;” he doesn’t say “let’s talk.” He quotes “The Hollow Men.”

Part VII: Conclusion

By invoking “The Hollow Men,” Alex calls upon this entire body of bleak imagery, of hopelessness, and of futility. Even what potential for salvation exists within the poem is “the hope only / of empty men.” “Sometimes the world ends with a whimper” is a gut punch of a line to begin with, but the statement he makes is even more deliberate and definite than it first appears. First, it’s a tacit admission that this thing between himself and Michael that he’s ending has or does constitute a “world” of its own. Second, if Alex identifies with the speaker of the poem, it’s an admission that not only does the world end with a whimper, but that it does so because of failings within himself, the same failings of the hollow men. It’s an apology as much as it is a rejection.

Alex’s journey, as previously stated, does not end when he references the end of the world itself. His character, despite the massive strides taken throughout season one, has not completed its arc. He has not struggled for the last time against the influence of his father or the consequences of a lifetime of trauma. There will always be a part of him that identifies with the scarecrow and the effigy. With this explication of “The Hollow Men,” I strive to identify the imagery and themes within the poem that are illustrative of Alex’s character, some of his internal struggles, and his choice to reference the poem at such a subtly key moment. Episode 1x09, both the confrontation in the Wild Pony and the reconnection in the junkyard, is a pivotal moment for both Alex’s character and his relationship with Michael. Understanding the potential weight behind his choice of words aids understanding of him in totality, where he is coming from, and where he may go from here.

References

Eliot, T.S. “The Hollow Men.” Norton Anthology of English Literature: The Major Authors, ed. Stephen Greenblatt, 9th ed., 2013, pp. 2728.

Howard, Jeffrey G. “T.S. Eliot’s THE HOLLOW MEN.” The Explicator, vol. 70, no. 1, 2012, pp. 8-12, https://doi.org/10.1080/00144940.2012.656736. Accessed 2 Sept. 2019.

“Poets of Reality; Six Twentieth-Century Writers.” Cambridge, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge, 1965.

Smith, Grover. T.S. Eliot’s Poetry and Plays: A Study in Sources and Meaning. Chicago: U of Chicago, 1956. Print.

“Watsonian vs. Doylist.” TvTropes.org. Accessed 27 Aug. 2019.

Worthen, John. T.S. Eliot : A Short Biography. London: Haus Pub., 2011. Print.

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #this took forever to finish and now it's done! and about as many pages as any term paper i ever wrote lolololol

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hcpefulmarshmallow · 6 years

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I wanted to take some time out of our irregularly scheduled content to talk about something near and dear to my heart: Komaeda’s voice. Specifically, two of his character songs which I have been more eager to dissect than you know.

A couple of points before we begin:

These songs were not written by the same people who designed, scripted or even localised Komaeda, but rather his Japanese VA, Megumi Ogata. It has, however, been sanctioned as canon material, even released under the Danganronpa brand. Therefore, I will treat it with the same consideration that I do explicitly canon material.

The songs are, of course, in Japanese. I do not speak this language, so I’ll be going off the translations available on the DR wiki. If you do speak Japanese and you realise I’ve missed or misinterpreted something due to the language barrier, please let me know. Otherwise, as an English speaker, I’ll do my best with what I have.

My goal here is to reconcile his musical characterisation with his canon characterisation, as well as extrapolate whatever new things we can learn from these songs about our beloved boy. And if you’re reading this crazy long post and thinking, “wow, she’s reading way too into this,” ... yeah. That’s sort of the fun of it. My goal isn’t to challenge anybody, or shame anyone’s headcanons. This is just a weird niche hobby of mine.

Apologies for the lack of a cut. This much text, I felt, might be a little hard on some peoples’ eyes on my theme. It is tagged though.

Okay, onto the good stuff.

Zettai Kibou Birthday is, according to Megumi, a song about how Nagito feels on the “outside”. It contains a literal narrative and a metanarrative which is a word I like to use to sound smart, but in this case, just refers to an overarching interpretation that isn’t necessarily verbatim, but rather is represented, or is provided a structure, or is given meaning by the actual text.

In this case, the literal narrative is this: Nagito meets somebody on campus he was “born to meet”, and they have some sort of steamy rendezvous, and in amongst all the smooshing, there are several references to absolute hope. However, the song isn’t supposed to be a literal recount of events, but rather an expression of Nagito’s feelings; about hope, love, intimacy and connection. This is the metanarrative. The plot, if you will, is simply a presentation of that message.

While the song functions on a conceptual level and not a physical one, it interests me that sex is the medium through which he allegorises hope, intimacy and interpersonal connection. I think it’s also interesting that hope and intimacy are grouped together, as if to find one is to find the other. To quote Nagito himself, “Now that I’m on the verge of death, I’ve finally realised what I wanted all along: somebody’s love.”

Again, the song isn’t literal. It captures a feeling, likening that exhilaration and comfort of making a deep and impossible connection to the feeling of finding Ultimate Hope. And for someone who has been so lonely for so long, it makes sense he would find that hope in another person. Someone who isn’t afraid to be close to him in every possible sense of the word.

Now let me get it out there - I don’t expect a song like this to have explicit depictions of sex or anything. There is a fine line to walk when using the topic in media lest you be branded with a hard “lewd” rating, but there’s still no shortage of ways to use it without being explicit. Take, for instance, Carla Gugino & Oscar Isaac’s cover of Love Is The Drug. (Why the cover and not the original? Because I actually liked Sucker Punch, fight me.)

Late that night I park my car / Stake my place in the singles' bar / Face to face, toe to toe / Heart to heart as we hit the floor Lumber up, limbo down / The locked embrace, the stumble round / I say go, (and I say yes) / Dim the lights, you can guess the rest

The words describe literally what is going on, while still invoking the right mood and the emotions the characters in the song were feeling. It’s very well-balanced lyrically, especially with what Oscar and Carla’s performance brings to it. Contrast, if you will, with:

So lock up, mix up, cut up… key up, sex up, wrap up / I'll let you mess me up and indulge That's it, break up, use up, end up… hook up—because we're connected / The omen of hope after the worst disaster

If you look close, you can definitely see what’s happening in the actual narrative of the song. However, the details are more or less obfuscated under this layer of words that don’t really mean anything on their own. It’s more like a flurry of different sensations rather than one, tangible experience. These feelings he’s having during these experience are, in the next breath, directly correlated with connection, and then hope.

Nagito is a guy who works on the conceptual and the philosophical more than the literal. Even in canon, he’s heavily into symbolism. He likes to carry around Go stones because of what the colours represent to him. So this use of intimacy and word play to describe a significant bond between two people is remarkably fitting. What’s literally happening isn’t half as important as what is going on beneath the surface, and the way it makes him feel.

Like I said, it’s interesting that, of all the ways he could express hope and connection, this is the one he went with. I do believe that this also expresses an underlying attitude towards intimacy; that it’s something he only wishes to share with someone truly special. In many fan circles he is portrayed as a highly sexualised character, even though in the canon media, he is quite chaste, never taking any sexual interest in a situation that isn’t sexual; for instance, any of the many times Mikan falls over herself and winds up in a suggestive pose. (And nor should he, let me stress.)

And I can already foresee the counterargument that Nagito is gay, so of course he won’t enjoy seeing a girl’s underwear; and to that, I have two points. One is that, personally, I disagree. This doesn’t have to matter, but I headcanon him as bi or pan, possibly even demi. Either way, I don’t believe gender plays a major role in who he is attracted to. There’s no canon evidence to say who is “right” here (as right as anyone can be regarding fiction), but I don’t judge. If that’s your interpretation, you do you. The second is that, even towards the characters he is shown to be attracted to (namely, Hajime) his expressions of interest tend to be pure, for lack of a better word. Yes, there’s the joke about stripping naked on the beach, but I’m pretty sure that’s just a joke. He does tend to play a lot, after all.

And let me be clear -- there is nothing wrong with being a sexual person, or expressing one’s desire’s healthily. And certainly, Nagito has that side to him. He absolutely has sexual interest, urges and whatnot. It’s just not a highly key component to his characterisation. The point I want to make is: this song was a really good method to explore his feelings towards intimacy in a natural way, as well as provide more depth and context to attitudes he expressed in canon but couldn’t be explored to their fullest because, you know, it’s a story about murder, not Nagito’s feelings. The way he groups hope, love and sex as this euphoric thing, a singular whirlwind of emotions rather than separate happenings, is telling toward this desire he has for these things, the way he sees them as interconnected, and, with the way the song is so upbeat and uplifting, his hope that he can achieve it.

Nagito is someone who strongly believes in the idea that people are born a certain way, either hopeful or hopeless, talented or untalented. In short, destiny. And in this song, he speaks directly to the person he believes he’s destined for.

In the school campus at midnight, my heart throbs as I continue waiting "I was born for the sake of meeting you" I’II think at the moment

This song puts a tangible goal on this “Absolute Hope”, rather than the vague “overcoming Despair” thing he talks about all the time. Nagito really, truly wants to believe - and seems to believe - that his soulmate is out there, and it isn’t too late to make a deep and meaningful connection with somebody; someone who will be just as eager to reciprocate. Someone he can be unafraid with, captivated with, and with whom, he can experience that Ultimate Hope. It’s even in the title - the moment he meets such a person, is the moment true Hope itself is born. Something far stronger than what already exists in the world.

Zansakura, the companion piece to ZKB, is worlds apart in many ways.

It is, according to Megumi, how Nagito feels on the “inside”, the other side of the proverbial coin to ZKB being how he feels on the “outside”. Likely, this means that part deep within him he doesn’t let others see. This is present in the overall tone alone. While ZKB embodied in it that uplifting way which Nagito talks about Ultimate Hope, Zansakura is much more somber. ZKB echoes the Nagito we see through Hajime’s eyes; while Zansakura is more congruent with those fleeting moments we experience the game from his perspective, wherein he is even more down on himself. As we play through the Final Dead Room with him, we see that the excessive way which he berates himself out loud is nothing compared to the second-guessing and self-debasement that goes through his mind. It truly is a dark and melancholy place, which shows through in the slow, sad melody of Zansakura.

This one takes the imagery to a whole other level, relying primarily on the cultural and symbolic relevancy of cherry blossoms. I’ve written about all this before, so for the sake of those who have been around this blog a while, I’ll try to summarise as best as I can.

In Japan, Cherry Blossoms are symbolic of the ephemeral nature of life -- in other words, the fleetingness and impermanence of it all. In no small degree, the connection between the symbolism of Cherry Blossoms and life and death comes from the influence of Buddhist culture, and is embodied specifically in the concept of mono no aware. This can be translated a number of ways that all pretty much come back to the same idea of existing for only a short period of time. It’s used to describe the awareness of impermanence, the transience of things, and a sadness or wistfulness as their passing; and a deeper sadness about this being the reality of things. I know this seems boring and irrelevant, but please keep especially this last bit in mind, as it’s very important to the meaning behind this song.

The most popular variety of Cherry Blossom in Japan are the Somei Yoshino, which are almost pure white and tinged with pale pink near the stem. Although this song was written after the fact, I have to wonder if this was always intended to be part of the character’s aesthetic, because these colours are reflected in Nagito’s character design - specifically, his hair. Anyway, the Somei Yoshino typically bloom and fall within a week. Winter Sakura or Fuyuzakura begin blooming in autumn and continue sporadically throughout winter alone.

Though Cherry Blossoms are an important, and even iconic image for the country, most people are surprised to learn they don’t last for very long. For Nagito to compare himself to these flowers is to admit that he, too, is here to bloom for a short period of time. It’s also worth noting that Cherry Blossoms are considered their most beautiful, not as they bloom, but rather as they wither and fall. And all of a sudden, I’m reminded of all the times Nagito talks about attaining hope through despair, and how his life has only found meaning as he inches closer to death.

Yeah, I don’t like remembering this detail because it’s profoundly sad, but our marshmallow boy doesn’t exactly have long to live. He was given a year, at most, before starting at Hope’s Peak - and, at the end of the series, is presumably in his early-to-mid 20s. He’s beaten his own life expectancy, but not his illnesses.

The song starts in the most typical Nagito way I can think of:

“We can see again tomorrow", I laughed, short-lived cherry blossoms within my heart

As he always does, he laughs and is cheerful with others, even though deep down, he’s tremendously sad.

The song then takes us through this most beautiful and haunting imagery, of cherry blossoms in bloom after surviving a storm*, preparing to wither and fall; until at last they do, and as the flowers are carried away by the wind and water, a lonely, broken branch is left behind, wanting to bloom again.

(*The actual word used is ‘struggle’, however further down, the survival of a storm is mentioned, along with the flowers (aka hope) which will bloom after. The whole thing is a metaphor for his hope/luck cycle, is what I’m saying.)

He talks about this imagery as someone observing it (The storm of flowers, the sudden wind / I halt and open my eyes); again, with this idea of a metanarrative lurking beneath a literal one. He does, however, break the narrative to address (presumably) that same elusive “you” from Zettai Kibou Birthday:

To live an ordinary life, and die together with you / Oh, if that could come true

This seems so disconnected from the Nagito we know, who seems to have no interest in ‘ordinary’ things, and chases only hope. But as we’ve established, the place he most desires to seek hope is in another person. As he spends more time with Hajime during Island Mode, we know already that he admits to seeing hope in himself, and that he doesn’t necessarily take it as good news. But this line, right here, I feel embodies what this song is about, and what Nagito is all about.

Nagito is a very lonely person, desperate by his own admission for love and understanding. He knows he has little time left, and his prospects are...dim. Everyone he’s ever loved has either died or suffered at the hands of his luck, a force far beyond his control. And those who remain - namely, his classmates - either don’t like or don’t understand him. In ZKB - again, how Nagito feels on the “outside” - he expresses a hopefulness that there’s still someone he can love, who can love him, who he can experience that Absolute Hope with. But Zansakura has far more pessimistic expectations.

By breaking the metaphor to be straightforward and honest for a line, we get Nagito’s most core desire: to live a life with somebody; to love and be loved. Which, yeah, he’s already admitted to. For someone who’s been through so much, that probably seems like the most unattainable thing. Every time he gets comfortable, something invariably rips all that out from under him. And of that, he is painfully aware. Oh, if only that could come true - in other words, he knows it won’t.

Once again, do recall the concept of mono no aware. It’s not just an awareness of transience and impermanence, but also an intense, wistful sadness in the face of it. He knows he’s dying, and he knows he’s dying alone. But he’s not frustrated or angry, or even defiant. He’s not trying to fight it. As much as Nagito wants to hope for the best, deep down, he just can’t. He knows this is the reality, and he doesn’t have it in him to fight back. He’s just completely, deeply, helplessly sad.

In this song, Nagito’s life is represented as the petals that bloom for a short time, then fall; while he is the broken branch left behind; forgotten, wounded and unappealing; yearning for more time. Deep down, this is how he feels about himself. He is boring and unextraordinary, and yet (perhaps selfishly) he wishes that brief taste he has of being alive would last if only a little longer. He’s not quite ready to die yet, not until “the day this ordinary life is devoted”.

#meta;#( holy damn this went on #but i have been meaning to do this forever )#zansakura #zettai kibou birthday #long post/#( 2775 WORDS YO )

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thecomicsnexus · 6 years

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ACTION COMICS WEEKLY #636-641 JANUARY-MARCH 1989 BY ALAN GRANT AND MARK PACELLA

SYNOPSIS

Jason Blood broods in his lofty apartment, dwelling on his internal struggle with the Demon, Etrigan. Glenda interrupts his thoughts, calling him to the telephone. Once more, the same desperate woman that has been hounding him pleads with the former demonologist to help her possessed son. Jason again refers her to a priest, but she exclaims the last one was taken away in a straight jacket. Jason hangs up on the woman, but not without sympathy. He stews angrily, thinking of all the harm that has come to him, as well as his friends, Randu and Harry, from consorting with demons. Glenda consoles him, telling him that he knows better than anyone what a burden being possessed is, and asks him if really wishes that burden upon a child.

Without an address, Jason locates the woman's home from the sheer stench of demonic influence alone. The woman leads him upstairs to her son Jack's room, the walls of which have been damaged and defiled. She approaches to wake her sleeping boy, who turns and hisses insults at the woman, insisting his name is Malefik. Jason guides her out of the room and prepares for the exorcism, ignoring the petulant child's goading remarks. His ritual effectively casts out the entity, but fails to banish it, as Malefik materializes before him and attacks.

Back in Jason's apartment, Randu is jolted by a psychic flash of danger, and Glenda wonders if she was right to persuade Jason to help. She picks up the powerless Philosopher's Stone on display, wishing it wasn't inert so she could aid him, when the stone unexpectedly glows with the image of Morgaine Le Fey.

Reluctantly, but with no other means to save himself, Jason recites the spell to release Etrigan. Malefik recoils in fear to see a Rhymer now standing in place of the mortal, and tries to assure his fellow demon they have no quarrel. Etrigan on the other hand hungers, and roasts Malefik in a burst of Hellfire, before cannibalizing him greedily. Still not sated, Etrigan turns to the young Jack huddled terrified in his bed.

The Demon salivates over the though of eating young Jack, but Jason Blood intervenes. Etrigan swats his mortal keeper aside and argues the boy is only innocent now, but has nothing but potential for evil as her grows. Jason snatches a dagger and holds it to his wrists, threatening to commit suicide should Etrigan harm the child. The Demon embraces the boy and exclaims Jason has no sense of humour, before resigning himself back the confines of mortal flesh. Thankful it worked as Jason tells himself he would've held back like always, terrified of consigning himself to Hell. Jack's mother enters the room, and Blood leaves the two to embrace each other.

Jason is greeted by Glenda at the door of his apartment, unwilling to confide in what happened back at the exorcism. Glenda immediately shares her concerns with Jason about her vision of Morgaine le Fey in the Philosopher's Stone. Jason dismisses her claims, seeing at the stone's power way removed, but Randu implores that he listen to what she has to say. Glenda describes the statue of Morgaine they saw back at Tintagel Castle, and how a coven of witches were trying to restore her to life. Incredulous at first, Jason decides he can't he can't risk the premonition being true, and books a flight to England for himself, despite Glenda's willingness to join him.

At Gotham City Airport, Jason's friends see him off, responding to Glenda's kiss with cold indifference. Hurt by his detached departure, Glenda is reassured by Randu, knowing very well that Jason is reticent to drop his guard out of fear of how Etrigan may manipulate such emotions.

Once back in his country of origin, Jason drives through Wiltshire, passing Stonehenge and Silbury Hill, unsuspecting the the latter contains a demonic rider inside, which bursts forth at Jason's arrival!

At Gotham City Airport, Randu does his very best to dissuade Glenda from following Jason Blood, but she is determined to help. The customs officer is curious as to why she would want to take a rock to England with her, but lets Glenda through. Glenda explains to Randu how she feels that she needs to be there, and Randu admits he, too, feels his fate is intertwined with his friend Jason's.

Across the Atlantic in Wiltshire, the demonic rider that erupted from Silbury Hill intercepts Jason's rental car and brings his warhammer down on the driver's side. The vehicle swerves into a telephone pole and the Hell-born warrior rips the car open as if it were made of paper. The fiend raises his warhammer aloft for the finishing blow, but it slams into Etrigan instead, summoned by a desperate Blood at the last second. Etrigan relishes the pain he's been dealt, but will not let the gesture go unanswered for. He dismounts the rider by punching his steed, then melts the assailants face in a burst of Hellfire. Etrigan continues to burn the creature's skull until it crumbles in his hands, and he spreads the ashes back to the "Earthmother" who spawned it. The horse dematerializes with its owner's death, leaving Etrigan to check on his keeper. Slumped unconscious over the steering wheel, Jason's head wound is fingered by Etrigan, tasting the very blood that cages him. But without his host, he would perish also, and so Etrigan recites the verse to confine him in his mortal prison once more. Jason awakens, healed by Etrigan's presence, and hitches a ride with a truck driver to Tintagel.

These exploits do not go unnoticed, for in the bowels of Hell, Asteroth watches Etrigan's movements with malevolent glee, providing a commentary for his prisoner, Merlin, suspended above a chalice by eldritch hawthorn. The thorns dig into the helpless sorcerer's flesh, his ancient power bleeding from him, with every crimson drop funneling into the goblet. Asteroth takes the cup of blood and drinks the essence of the world's greatest wizard, before spying on the progress of Blood's friends.

Glenda is stopped by customs at London Heathrow Airport, once more regarding the Philosopher's Stone, which his now glowing. The security officer suspects it to be radioactive, but Randu utilizes his psychic powers to implant a mental suggestion in the man's mind, and he lets them continue. Glenda looks into the Stone and sees the image of a haggard witch.

The vision of the witch in the Philosopher's Stone becomes clearer, as Glenda makes out a sign with the words, "Wookey Hole," before it quickly fades away. Randu urges her to focus and regain her insight, but the stone is unresponsive. With the little information they have, Randu decides it best to make for Wookey Hole, seeing as it is on the way to Tintagel Castle. Glenda is anxious to reach Jason, but Randu assures her it can do no harm to investigate.

From his lair in Hell, Asteroth pleasures in watching all his pawns fall into place with only slightest of influence. He gloats to his tortured prisoner, Merlin, removing the hawthorn tendril that renders him mute. Merlin exclaims the Triumvirate of Hades will put and end to his schemes, but is once more gagged by the eldritch thorns, while Asteroth finds a magic tome to prepare for the arrival of his "guests."

The truck drops Jason Blood outside Tintagel Castle, and the ruins invoke the memories of the fall of Camelot, when he was long ago bound to Etrigan. He makes his way to the courtyard where the statue of Morgan Le Fay stands, and overhears a guide tell a tale of how Merlin is believed to be responsible for her missing hand. Only Jason knows the truth, that it was Glenda and Etrigan who robbed Le Fay of her hand, and he wishes it was her head instead.

Armed with a guidebook, Glenda and Randu enter the Wookey Hole, a massive cave system used for centuries by man since neolithic times. Centuries of superstition and rituals the have left an occult fingerprint on the eerie location. Glenda spots the figure she saw in her vision, said to be the last witch to reside there, petrified by a servant of the Lord. Randu suggests she take out the Stone, and it immediately reacts, glowing bright, and physically pulling her towards a fissure.

Meanwhile, at Tintagel, a coven of witches circles the statue of Morgan Le Fay under the cover of darkness. Their ritual of fire resurrects their queen, but one look at her missing hand throws Le Fay into a furious rage, and she lashes out against her saviors, killing them all with magical bursts. From his lofty vantage, Etrigan watches it all.

In hiding, The Demon watches gleefully as Morgan Le Fay murders the witches that restored her once more to flesh and blood. Two warlocks flee straight into Etrigan's path. Tempted to kill the pitiful men himself, he is spotted by Le Fay, and he releases them to face the sorceress. After slaughtering her own devotees for the loss of her hand, Etrigan mockingly reveals the missing limb he himself bit off. Enraged, le Fay sends the Demon flying back with a powerful eldritch blast, before restraining him in rock so only Etrigan's face shows. She tortures her ancient enemy with bolts from her eyes, searing into his forehead. Etrigan recognizes the witch has grown much stronger since their last encounter, and suspects it's not just her own power she wields.

In the darking caves of Wookey Hole, the Philosopher's Stone leads Glenda and Randu to a secret door with the ominous inscription, "Abandon hope all ye who enter here." Randu recognizes the phrase, which distinguishes the entrance as a gate to Hell, the demonic door-knocker confirming his suspicion. The Keeper of the Portal offers them entry should they desire it, but Glenda has already seen the horror of the Inferno and does not want to endure it again. The Keeper's enticement fails until he shows the pair a vision, Jason Blood bound by imps, dragging him helpless into the Pit while Etrigan watches on laughing. Fearing for Jason's soul, Glenda's mind shifts to what was previously unthinkable. The Keeper opens up to the duo, burdening them with the responsibility of saving Blood. Reluctant, Glenda consults the Stone, which glows brightly, urging them through the gate. They pass into the murky unknown of the damned, and the door slams behind the two friends, with the Keeper lets out a sinister laugh.

Watching the easily manipulated mortals cross into the his realm, Asteroth cheers, gloating to Merlin. With his guests so close at hand, Asteroth calls for his servant, Lurgo. The lumbering manservant answers his master's summons, and Asteroth orders a bath to be drawn and his ritual robes set out. While Lurgo fills the tub with polluted water, his master observes his other prey at Tintagel Castle.

Morgan le Fay continues to burn a hole into Etrigan's skull, and Asteroth playful questions if he has afforded her too much of his own power, and leaves the Demon's better half to come to the rescue. Jason watches helplessly from behind a stone ruins, knowing all too well his magic is no match for hers. He notices the severed hand on the ground dropped by Etrigan, and hopes to pacify the sorceress with sympathetic magic instead, and casts a spell to return the hand to its owner.

Jason Blood hurls the severed hand of Morgan Le Fay, which strikes her on the head. Infuriated by the insulting act, she fires a magical blast at the insolent mortal running towards her with an improvised club. The sorceress tortures Blood, turning her back on Etrigan enveloped in rock. The Demon shatters his constraints to Le Fay's shock, and leaps towards her, grabbing hold of her wrists and breathing Hellfire directly into her face, killing her.

In Hell, Asteroth's bath is disturbed as the pain of Morgan Le Fay's death echoes through him. He curses Etrigan for dispatching his resurrected witch with whom he lent his power. Once dressed in his ceremonial robes and primped by his manservant, Lurgo, Asteroth dismisses the loss of his pawn, knowing Etrigan will soon follow the breadcrumbs that will lead his last two victims to his five-way blood sacrifice. He torments Merlin, still suspended helplessly from the hawthorn, before sending Lurgo of to meet his first arriving guests, while he spies on the last two remaining on Earth.

Etrigan scolds Jason for risking his life when the Demon was allowing Morgan le Fay to exhaust her power, while he discovered the source of her new-found strength. Though he cannot discern motive, Etrigan can trace the source back to Hell, and the Arch-Duke Asteroth. Jason wonders what the demon Asteroth could possibly want with him, and Etrigan, eating le Fay's corpse, repeats that he does not know Asteroth's plans, only that he has lured Glenda and Randu into the Inferno. Jason is incredulous. He specifically told his friends to remain in Gotham City, and walks away from Etrigan, believing it to be more lies and schemes. The Demon is apathetic to Jason's decision, but reminds him of Harry, who's death weighs heavily on Jason's conscience. Not willing to risk the same fate for his other close friends, Jason asks his Demon to show him the way.

As Glenda leads Randu down the murky staircase, the mist begins to clear towards the bottom, revealing a lake of tormented souls begging for mercy. They make their way through the damned via a narrow pathway, until Glenda succumbs to the horrible pleading and tries to aid one of the desperate dead, only pulling her and Randu into the mire.

Jason hitches another ride to Glastonbury Tor, an ancient mound of chalk attempting to dampen the powerful centre of earth-power, hiding a doorway to the unknown. With the correct ritual, Jason's pentacle transports him to the dark depths of depravity.

Asteroth applauds enthusiastically, now that all his pawns are in place. He unveils his five-way sacrificial alter, knowing the power to rule all of Hell is close at hand.

REVIEW

There is a mix of tones in this story, the whole Lurgo bit doesn’t fit the rest of the story. It’s ok, after all, it’s the only part that made me smile.

You see, at this moment in the eighties, DC assumed readers were already up to date with miniseries and specials. So they didn’t bother much on contextualizing stories. So in order to understand the first issue of an ongoing series, I had to go back in time, track a mini and these stories from Action Comics Weekly. The same thing happened with Aquaman and his minis and Atlantis Chronicles. I think they were experimenting at the time with reader loyalty (and the fact that comic shops would have these issues). But you still need to let the reader know where to go to read those stories.

Not much happens to be honest, Asteroth moves slower than Thanos in 20 movies of the MCU. And Glenda just can’t stop getting herself in trouble. I hope this starts getting better in the ongoing.

I give the story a score of 5

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ofthedivinekrp-blog · 7 years

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Did you hear? BANG JAEHYUN, the nineteen year old STUDENT/BARISTA, was spotted in downtown Yeoshin. We heard they’re a descendant of VENUS is known for having the ability(s) of LUST EMBODIMENT. If you look closely, they have an uncanny resemblance to BTS’ JEON JEONGGUK.

* . ✧ ˙ ˖ — and deep down in the soul, something rises, knowing well that what made us is what could be our demise.

Venus is the Roman goddess whose functions encompassed love, beauty, desire, sex, fertility, prosperity and victory. In Roman mythology, she was the mother of the Roman people through her son, Aeneas, who survived the fall of Troy and fled to Italy. Venus was central to many religious festivals, and was revered in Roman religion under numerous cult titles.

The Romans adapted the myths and iconography of her Greek counterpart Aphrodite for Roman art and Latin literature. In the later classical tradition of the West, Venus becomes one of the most widely referenced deities of Greco-Roman mythology as the embodiment of love and sexuality.

* . ✧ ˙ ˖ — we are capable, pressured into valiant things, able to do what others can’t in this foreign land.

Jaehyun has the ability of Lust embodiment, the ability to embody all forms of sex, lust, and arousal. From this, he’s able to gain power from the apparent lust emanating from others, as well as himself. While Venus was the Goddess of a vast amount of qualities, Beauty and Sexual Desire were two of her main abilities. She was a pillar for many in this regard, though Jaehyun’s own doesn’t hold a candle. While he’s well-aware of capabilities, the youth is still learning, and has only since barely mastered its main properties. There’s a certain selfishness that comes to his abilities, mixed foul with his traits and he knows it. But from what stems of this power, many would consider him a sexual master, due to further applications that derive from it–spanning from heightened stamina, to sex specialty.

Despite having mastered some of its applications, the power can quickly go out of his control depending on the situation. Particular in light of emotional circumstances, or high powered ones, Jaehyun can unintentionally invoke its applications and find himself falling into its whole. He can become a mess of emotion and a sex addicted monster at the best of times.

* . ✧ ˙ ˖ — as stories told, legends passed, languages spread, we start to forget who were before.

triggers in the following passage: Depression, mental instability, suicide, death, adoption, bullying, sex addiction.

His parents were your picture perfect couple, the type bragged about in lifestyle magazines–with their expensive yet humble possessions, gleaming smiles and eyes that lit up the world when they shared a glance. A couple of dreamers, who wanted nothing more than a child to call their own, to further their romance and install some spare love into another being. They had succeeded in the process, of course. It had been steady, Doctors telling them that they were to birth a healthy child–that complications were of no concern. They were nothing but smiles and sweet laughter, until the nine month mark hit and that twinkling laughter turned to sobs. Jaehyun had been born, as healthy as a newborn could be. But at a cost, his mother had died sometime after labour, after having held her child for a matter of moments.

Thus left two. Has father had succumb to grief, hardly having time to look after his child. He became forgetful, reserved. Family friends were usually the ones to come over, simply to look after Jaehyun through his stages of development. He was thankful for that, for those who spared their time to think of him while his father had neglected to do so. But, it didn’t take long before his father had had enough. Days spent without his “soulmate” had hollowed him out entirely, made him forget that the world existed without her and for a moment, he’d considered ending it all. Except it didn’t stop at consideration. And that’s when Jaehyun, only just old enough to speak full sentences, had found his father laying on his bed, not breathing and as pale as snow. Suspected suicide, they’d called it.

From then on, Jaehyun was sent to an orphanage. The relatives that had once looked after him, had not signed for care, and thus laid the only option left. It didn’t affect the boy, though. In fact, being forced to interact with other children his own age was a benefit. He’d been socially inept before, due to his withdrawal from his father. Conversation had never flowed then. He wasn’t the most social of kids during his time at the orphanage, but he’d gotten far better. That didn’t stop the bullying, though. As with anything, there’s always a hierarchy. It just so happened Jaehyun was at the bottom of the food chain here. The elder kids felt it best to consistently tease his inability to socialise, to pick on his background, to throw him down as a lesson. He’d just taken it, without moving a muscle nor speaking against it. A blank slate.

It continued as such. Bruises painting his porcelain skin constantly–to which didn’t help when it came to bullies twice as difficult in school. Only when it came to high school, did he develop a backbone. During the first years, he’d been painted as a bad boy due to his apparent social phobia. He’d spend every moment alone, and would remain silent during class. Decked in dark clothing, completely oblivious to the world around him. It was because of this mysteriousness, he was dubbed a problem child. He’d still keep his mouth shut in light of those same bullies, but he was stronger now, physically. He could counter demand, and avert attention with little more than shoves and the like–the occasional punch when necessary. Lord knows how many times were was temporarily suspended due to the amount of fights he’d gotten into. Perhaps a trigger for his depression. The loneliness of it all. As if the world was against him. And maybe it was.

That’s when his power had made itself obvious. Instead of seeking out conversation, he instead took to seeking out company through sexual means. Meeting upperclassmen behind the school with a quick five minutes. Pulling boys out of the corridor into closets. He’d garnered a reputation for himself. The consistent one-night-stands and quickies weren’t helping with the names. With the quick jabs sent his way. He seemed to manifest sexual attraction no matter what. Even the straightest of men would find himself taken by Jaehyun. And he revelled in it, couldn’t help but feel good about it. Fed his ego like nothing else, and he ran with it too well.

Towards the end of high school, he was a near completely different person. Cocky and proud, disruptive. The school playboy. He lived up to the name and then some, used his apparent power to his own selfish and greedy needs. Until he was caught. It was funny, really. How the headmaster had walked in on Jaehyun and his teacher, the latter bent over a desk. Of course, the teacher got fired for sexual misconduct. Jaehyun suffered a similar fate. Luckily, it had happened little before graduation. Luck was seemingly on his side.

But he couldn’t stay. He’d had enough of repetitive routines, having already left the orphanage after surpassing legal age. The next step was obvious, and he’d found himself finding education at Yeoshin. His old self remained, though. Entirely too self-worthy, sarcastic and sex addicted. Most of which was used as a mask to shy other away from the timid boy beneath. He’d found work, dedicated himself to study, found himself craving sex far too much for words. And it was that same addiction that was quickly becoming his downfall. While he could control some attributes, he struggled with most. The power was more-so controlling him over anything.

#otdfollow #accepted #bang jaehyun #otdjaehyun

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itsallavengers · 7 years

Text

SO I WROTE THE ANGST (which u can find here if u want) AND. DIED A LITTLE BIT INSIDE. But,,, it’s his birthday,,, I can’t just write angst,,, so... *throws fluff in your face*

“Morning, beautiful,”

Tony squinted, rolling a little further into the warm embrace that he knew was Steve’s arms and groaning softly. “No. Too early. Call back in an hour.”

Steve laughed, lips brushing softly over Tony’s hair. “It’s 11. I’ve been lying in for 3 hours, now.”

Tony smiled, kissing Steve’s chest as he did so. “Have you just been lying there watching me this whole time? Pervert,”

“Guilty,” was all Steve said, before rolling himself on top of Tony, elbows resting against the bed to stop his weight from crushing into Tony’s arc reactor. He leaned down a little, kissing Tony’s nose. “Happy birthday, darling,”

Tony paused, brow furrowing for a moment before it dawned on him. “You remembered my birthday?”

Steve shot him a look, part frown, part fond exasperation as he kissed Tony again. “We go through this every year, babe. Yes, I remembered your birthday. I’m slightly offended that you thought I wouldn’t, to be honest.”

Tony shrugged, pouting a little as he arched up into Steve’s touch, hands wrapping around his neck and mouth finding Steve’s. “Does this mean,” he whispered in between kisses, “crazy morning s-”

“Nope,” Steve interrupted, pushing Tony’s hips back on to the bed before rolling off him, grinning cheekily, because he was a motherfucking tease, “There’s food cooking- and the team said they’re waiting for us downstairs.”

Tony groaned, sprawling out on the sheets ad smushing his face further into the pillows. “But it’s my birthday-”

“And the team are going to come barging up here with pitchforks unless we hurry up,” Steve interrupted, throwing on a shirt and smiling as he crossed the room and jumped back on the bed, crawling over to Tony and covering his face with kisses, despite the man’s giggling protests.

“Steve, stop it, I thought we needed to h-h-hurry!” Tony wheezed, as Steve dug into his ribs and tickled, mouth moving across Tony’s face and strategically, covering every area he could find.

Steve paused, nipping Tony’s ear lightly before sitting up and sitting on his knees, still beaming. “Correct. Let’s go, Stark, get a move on, we don’t have all day- you’ve already spent half of it asleep.”

Tony groaned again, but allowed Steve to wrap an arm around his waist and pull him up. He took the opportunity to slide his arms around Steve’s shoulders again, mouth on the other man’s neck. “Are you very sure we can’t just-”

“I’m not going to let you tempt me, Tony,” Steve said, biting his lip and unwrapping Tony from his neck. It looked like he was having a tough time believing his own words, but he kept firm, yanking them both up into standing and then maneuvering Tony until he was facing the direction of his wardrobe. “We will definitely be coming back to that later, though.”

“I’m counting on it,” Tony said, pulling out some comfy clothes from the bottom of his wardrobe and throwing them on. “By the way you’re talking, I’m guessing you’ve got plans for me.”

Steve nodded, watching Tony dress. “Yep.”

“Care to give me a hint?”

“Nope.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve excessive amounts of peril, I’m good. Medium amounts of peril are fine, though. Also no nudity on Clint’s part.”

Steve paused, but altogether he didn’t seem that shocked by Tony’s wishes, which said something about their lives, really. “I told Clint explicitly that no clothes were to be removed, don’t worry. As for the peril, I’m pretty sure there will be none. Although, you know, I can’t exactly promise that.”

Tony just shrugged, walking over to where Steve was sat on the bed and slotting himself between his knees. “Eh, that was pushing it anyway.”

Steve laughed, taking Tony’s hands and kissing the palms, before wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and pulling him in, pressing his face to Tony’s stomach. “Happy birthday,” he said again.

Tony stroked his fingers through Steve’s hair, shutting his eyes and letting the sound of Steve’s breathing take over.

Well. For about three seconds, anyway. After that, their moment of peace was rudely interrupted by four other people as they kicked the door open and piled in.

Tony sighed as he was rounded on and pulled away from Steve, who was just sitting there with a fond smile and a twinkle in his eye. The team had a very thorough hold on him, so there wasn’t much point in trying to fight them off. He just let them haul him up and carry him down the stairs, while Steve laughed and trailed along behind him.

“Which one of you creeps is feeling my ass?” He yelled.

“Apologies, Tony, there is no other space to hold,” Thor said, giving him a look that meant there were plenty of other spaces to hold, he was just a little shit.

Once they’d kidnapped him, it didn’t take long for all of them to end up in the communal kitchen, dropping Tony gently on the table and then pressing a mug of coffee immediately into his hands.

“Thanks Brucie,” he said, because it was only Bruce who knew how to make coffee just right- everyone else had yet to learn the art.

“Right! When do we get to do presents?” Clint asked the room, clapping his hands and then slow-motion punching Tony in the face, because he was a five-year-old.

“No time like the present,” Natasha shrugged, and then paused, eyes widening a little. “That... that was not a pun. If any of you mention that ever again I’ll break your fingers.”

Tony laughed, and Natasha saw, but she just rolled her eyes and smiled a little, squeezing his arm. “We had a long think about what to get you this year- it was kinda difficult, as always, to buy anything for you, considering the fact you are a billionaire and can therefore buy anything you so desire.”

“So we were like- what do you do for a guy who has everything?” Clint cut in theatrically, before whipping an envelope out of his pocket and grinning. “Why, you do him favors, of course.”

Tony’s eyes narrowed, as he took the envelope from Clint’s hands. “This better not implode upon opening-”

“I can vouch for Clint, don’t worry,” Steve said, leaning on the counter opposite Tony and smiling. “No explosions.”

Tony nodded, and ripped open the envelope. Inside, there were three strips of paper, with hand-written sentences in the middle of them. He furrowed his brow curiously as he removed them, reading them quickly.

5 free passes to the TV, even when I’m watching it, because it seems 80% of all our fights stem from arguments over who wants what.

1 team-up against Natasha. Only one. She’s scary and will kill us both if we do it any more than that.

5 ‘leave me the fuck alone’ opportunities. You invoke this slip and say those words, and I’m gone, no questions asked.

Tony looked up, confused. “What the hell does this mean?”

“It means,” Clint rolled his eyes and hopped on the table next to Tony, “that these are favors you can ask- no arguments allowed- of me, contractually signed and agreed upon. Only for the amount of times it says on the slip, though, I’m not that easy.”

Tony stared at them for another few seconds, before a smile broke out on his face, and he looked at Clint, eyes sparkling. “Thank you. I’m going to savor the fuck out of these for years, you know. Save them for special occasions. Or maybe I’ll do them all at once, and make you my slave for the day.”

Clint frowned, but Tony pulled him into a hug and then let go, turning to Natasha as she held out an envelope of her own. “Wait- you’ve all done this?”

“Yes. Decided to switch things up for a change, you know?” She explained, shoving her present into his hands and then turning away to grab some food. Tony knew she didn’t like her kindness being acknowledged, but when Tony read her slips, he jumped off the table and pulled her into a tight hug anyway, which she luckily returned.

One by one, he received all the favors off each teammate- from ‘will let you ride on the Great Stallion of Asgard through the meadows of Gold’ from Thor to ‘I’ll get you coffee whenever you ask for a whole month’ from Bruce.

It was perfect and thoughtful and by the time he got around to Steve’s envelope, he was already feeling pretty emotional.

Smiling, he opened the letter and pulled out its contents. There were three slips, the same as everyone else, and Steve had bordered them with little cartoon drawings of the whole team. It looked adorable,,and Tony grinned up at Steve, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him down for a kiss before he continued.

The whole team were positively beaming, and everyone seemed to have forgotten how to stand still- even Steve was fiddling with his hands as Tony read through the first note.

I’ll grow a beard on three different occasions for a month- I know how much you want to see it on me.

Tony laughed, imagining clean-cut, lovely Steve with a scruffy lumberjack beard. “Yeah, I’m using the first one right now. No shaving for a month, baby.”

Steve laughed nervously as Tony continued.

You can order to me get to bed if I’m in a shitty mood and still working at the gym. 10 times, non-negotiable on my side.

Tony smiled softly, nodding his head. “That sure will come in useful. Thank you, Steve.”

At this point, the entire room was pretty much vibrating on the spot, and Tony was a little nervous as to what the last one was going to be. He looked at Steve curiously, eyebrow raised, and Steve just nodded at the last slip, biting his lip.

Curious and a little excited, Tony read through the last line.

This one isn’t so much doing a favor for you as it is me, but- you’d make the happiest man in the galaxy if you would let me have the honor of spending the rest of my life with you, as your husband. If you’ll have me. Unlimited offer.

Tony stared at the words for a long time. When he looked up, Steve was on one knee, and there was a ring held between his fingers.

He raised an eyebrow, scarlet in the face. His hand was shaking a little, but there was the same determined look in his eyes that he kept for battles.

Like Tony agreeing was ever going to be a battle.

“Oh my god. Yes. Holy shit, yes, Steve.”

The room erupted in yells and cheers, and Steve’s eyes widened in shock as Tony jumped off the table and slid down until he was able to throw himself at Steve, burying his face in the other mans shoulder and gripping the fabric of his shirt so tight his knuckles were white. “Yes, yes, yes, holy shit, I love you Steve, yes-”

Steve kissed him, cutting off the ramble, but they had to stop when both of them began laughing uncontrollably. Steve looked down at Tony, wiping the tear tracks off his cheeks with his thumbs before leaning down and kissing him again. “You make me happier than I ever thought I could be. And I’m going to be the best husband you could ever hope for, Tony Stark. I promise.”

Tony opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment it seemed Thor lost patience and tackled them both to the floor, hugging them tight enough to bruise. Not that Tony gave a damn, mind.

He was marrying Steve.

“Group hug!” The God yelled, and Steve was laughing, tears still in his eyes as he rolled Tony into his arms and leaned over him, making sure he wasn’t crushed as four other superheroes launched themselves on top of them, whooping and yelling and (In Clint’s case, anyway) removing their shirts to swing them like lassos.

Tony felt like he was dreaming. Like he was floating on a level of euphoria that anyone else had yet to reach.

He was marrying Steve.

“Clint, what did we say about keeping our clothes on?” Someone groaned, and Tony could feel the vibrations of Steve laughing on top of him, his face crinkled and smiling from ear to ear.

He was marrying Steve.

“Happy fucking birthday,” He said to himself, stealing a kiss before the whole pile rolled and fell down the set of stairs that lead to the living room.

#tony stark #steve rogers #stevetony #avengers #marvel #superhusbands #FLUFFY VERSION OF TONY BIRTHDAY FICS #YAY

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lucifersus · 8 years

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Hey, I'm curious. Is there anything psychologically different between Novel-Izaya and Anime-Izaya, and is there any difference between Novel-Shizuo and Anime-Shizuo?

Oh my, where do I even begin?There are definitely things psychologically different from Novel-Izaya and Anime Izaya.

(Fun fact - Anime is an anagram of Namie, I just mispelled it lol) I talked about it in this post some time ago. Generally, anime Izaya is made to seem invincible especially in the first season. And because they left out important novel scenes, there’s inconsistency in his character. For example, how did he get knocked out so easily by Slon while talking to Kujiragi when he had the advantage before? It was actually because Kujiragi mentioned Shizuo and Izaya ‘fell silent’. She spoke about Shizuo being a hindrance and thanked Izaya for landing him in jail.

Whether he was worried about Shizuo or not, Izaya’s moment of silence and the description of his bad feeling shows that he’s not invincible even though he suddenly seemed to gain the upper hand. He was affected by his human feelings and emotions when Kujiragi mentioned Shizuo, for whatever reason.

I took that as a Shizaya moment because it was very unusual for Izaya. But the point is, Izaya has human feelings and emotions that can render him vulnerable to unexpected consequences and is definitely not invincible, even though he may seem like it.

This link was something the anime left out, the novels expands on this further with his conversations with other characters and the telephone pole scene where he punched a telephone pole as he thought of betraying Shinra.

In retrospect Shinra, who lived confidently above this world, did invoke some jealousy in him.

Yet he was attempting to betray even a friend like that. Not a friend by Izaya’s standards, but a “friend” as defined by most people in the world.

He’ll probably be mad at me if he finds out that I went to meet Celty taking the head with me.

“Haha!”

Izaya couldn’t help but laugh slightly as he pictured his only “friend” by the world’s standards getting mad at him.

There is nothing to be afraid of.

This is the way I have lived my life all along, he laughed as he thought –

Laughed –

Laughed – Laughed –He clenched his right fist and slammed it hard into the telephone pole next to him.

- Durarara Volume 9

This was a very important scene in Izaya’s character development especially after they showed his past with Shinra, his only friend. It shows Izaya’s conflict over his own desires which has governed the way he has lived all along and one of his only two relationships - the friendship he has with his only friend. Izaya was affected by a human relationship, and it really shows he isn’t some villain but just an abnormal human who is eternally true to his own desires (but is still affected by relationships like everyone else)I’m working on a theory for Izaya’s attachment to humanity. It’s taking much longer than I thought since I lack the time to sit down and finish it. But I intend on showing how Izaya is actually very human. It will of course include reference to the Shinra stabbing incident as Izaya said himself it was probably the only thing that affected the formation of his personality in a significant way. I’ll also refer to the interviews about Izaya in his novel. So I’m currently integrating all the information together, both old and new about Izaya to formulate a theory that may explain Izaya’s attachment to humanity. You might want to look out for that if you’re interested in the psychology of novel Izaya.

Other than novel Izaya not being invincible (both psychologically and outwardly), I guess another psychological difference would be that Izaya is actually a very private person. The impression I got from the first season was that Izaya was a very open person (not open-mindedness, as in socially open).

But Izaya behind all his talk and interaction is actually very private. You don’t see it in the anime, but in the novel he thinks to himself a lot, reflects quite a bit, and generally is…very confident in his own identity internally. For example, Mikado’s first impression of Izaya was not that he was a weird person, but that he looked like an ‘intellectual that gave tuition in some remote district’. It speaks to the demeanor novel Izaya has that Mikado would form such an impression of him.

Even though he might seem open with humans, Izaya actually keeps to himself a lot. Shinra said himself in his interview that Izaya’s not the type to stand in front of people. You can see that in both the novel and anime version of middle school Izaya. While he was portrayed like a rebel in the anime, in the novel he was just distant and enjoying observing humans. He was actually a model student, not a rebel, so that’s another difference in portrayal there.

What a strange guy.

I’ll just keep observing him in the future.

But I have to watch out. Getting too close to him might be dangerous.

So this is just a small scene when Izaya thinks as he watched Shinra leave to go home to Celty (though he didn’t know that yet). But even with Shinra Izaya is already distancing himself. He tells himself he can’t get too close to Shinra, can’t let himself be too affected and involved in their friendship. Perhaps he’s apprehensive Shinra wouldn’t satisfy his expectations, perhaps he just doesn’t want to become like everyone else - whatever the reason is, Izaya has, since young, kept a distance between himself and humans. So much that he has to be ‘wary’ when he feels himself getting closer to Shinra than necessary.

At first sight, he looked like a gentle-natured man of slender build, but his features had a relative sharpness in them, making him the perfect exemplification of the word “handsome”. He was smiling as if willing to accept anything in the world as part of him; yet at the same time his eyes shone without mercy as if he held contempt for everything except himself. The way he dressed was idiosyncratic, but it was hard to point at why. Overall, he gave an elusive and mercurial vibe.

- Durarara Volume 5

What are the implications of this? Well, it just shows how distant Izaya is from humans. And how he keeps to himself. Even though he’s handsome, it doesn’t matter to him, and he may only use his good looks for human observation and not any socialization. He has a stable internal perception of his love for humans, so he’s willing to accept anything, but at the same time he’s the only one who understands his love for humans so he holds a contempt for everything except himself.

One reason why could be his tendency to keep things to himself and how he’s a private person. Like, he says he loves humans and declares love for humans but except with Shinra (and a reluctant Shizuo), doesn’t try to form any sort of relationship with them. He doesn’t try to connect to them in a way they can understand (maybe because he can’t because of his upbringing) and so they can’t understand him. And so he’s left with him only understanding himself and being shunned and outcast from society, which will naturally breed contempt.

That might be why Izaya seems mysterious and ‘elusive’ - because he’s such a private person. He’s more introverted in the novels, in that it seems natural for him to be alone with his thoughts. I guess you can kind of see this in Volume 5 where he’s shown to have stayed at an internet cafe alone while working on his plans for the city, left alone and walked away alone, he basically just does things alone.

Novel Izaya is also not in control of everything. Well you can see that in the anime as well when he got knocked out twice. But I mean, he’d move the piece that will give him the most advantage, but generally he’s open to any result. He just seems like he’s in control all the time because he accepts everything that happens (except with Shizuo). Because he loves humans unilaterally and doesn’t have any personal feelings or relationships with them (except Shinra and Shizuo) So again, he’s not invincible in his predictions. He does have some idea of how things will go and what he wants to see, but he’s less of a ‘mastermind’ in that sense. He’s still a mastermind, but has less of the ‘mastermind mindset’? In that he doesn’t expect everything to go according to plan.

And I suppose novel Izaya is more sensitive. You don’t see it in the anime, but when he was left out of hotpot, it was mentioned he ‘felt more lonely than usual’. Tsukumoya said that he’s lonely but accepts that loneliness. And he was not happy at being left out of the events of Volume 4, which is part of the reason why he wanted the ‘city’s holiday’ to be over. He’s more human in that sense. Like, he’s a logical minded man, but he actually acts on his feelings quite a bit. He is affected by his feelings, sometimes even driven by them (like in the death match with Shizuo) and is definitely human.

Also, novel Izaya is more like a child. As in, there are various times in which he’s described like a kid having fun. So in that sense he really doesn’t have any malice. He just wants to see, like a kid discovering more about the world. Shiki agrees with this, in both the novels and his interview for Izaya’s novel. I’ll be expanding on this with my Izaya attachment theory in the future.

Now about Shizuo…

While the second season was more accurate to Shizuo’s novel character than the first, they still left out some important aspects of his character. I talked about that in this post here.

So unlike what Izaya says, Shizuo is actually very smart and intelligent. Not the mastermind type of intelligence Izaya has, but a sharp intelligence. Psychologically, he wants to figure things out. He takes note of discrepancies. He has a deductive mind.

- Did he kill those three men? …Not likely.- There’s no way that Izaya would have had strong enough arms to kill those three men bare-handed like that. First of all, why on earth would he want to make such total enemies of the Awakusu-kai folks in the first place?- If he didn’t do it himself, then he must have gotten the information beforehand that someone else was going to do it and tricked me into going there on purpose…

- Durarara Volume 6

This is just a small part of his thinking when he ran away from the Awakusu-kai. The anime made it seem like he did it instinctively, but there was actually real thinking behind it. He ran away from the Awakusu-kai because he assessed the situation sharply in a split moment and determined it was the best course of action because he knew he was already being framed by Izaya and they wouldn’t listen to what he had to say. That takes smartness and intelligence.

Shizuo also thinks to himself a lot. You don’t see it often because we don’t get to see Shizuo’s thoughts often, but I think you can get a glimpse of it from this scene. Not only did he deduce that Izaya was behind it and how he did it, when he was alone on the rooftop of Sunshine 60, he mused to himself on what he should do. He independently thought about the consequences of his having been framed and what action should he take.

If the notice had been fake, in that apartment he would at least find clues as to where Izaya might be, if not Izaya himself.

If he could negotiate with Awakusu-kai and offer those to them, the tables would be turned and they would be after Izaya instead.

This is definitely not the thinking of someone who is dumb or has a ‘protozoic brain’. This is deductive thinking. In the novel he was tricked by the fake notice on Izaya’s apartment door too, but he actually thought about it afterwards. He makes use of the new information to determine what he should do next. He makes use of both old (the fake notice) and new information (Izaya framed him) to determine his next course of action.

And he came up with the plan to negotiate (showing that he’s not all about violence) to turn the situation to his advantage. Again, that takes intelligence and sharpness of mind - all while in an unexpected ‘crisis’ situation.

He had chosen to come here because, compared to running somewhere with no one else around, it would be harder for the Awakusu-kai men to try anything if he came to a place where everyone could be looking. Furthermore, this place also had an advantage over department stores in that were anyone to come after him, he would be able to see them. But still, this was not a place he could stay for long periods of time.

We can also see his considering of advantages and disadvantages here. Let me deconstruct this.

‘He had chosen to come here because, compared to running somewhere with no one else around, it would be harder for the Awakusu-kai men to try anything if he came to a place where everyone could be looking.’ - to make this decision Shizuo would have to be aware of the disadvantages of other places in comparison to that of Sunshine 60. That requires some cognitive juggling of the odds of the situation. It shows he didn’t just aimlessly run around, just like he seems to do when he chases Izaya, because he was aware of the situation he was in.

‘Furthermore, this place also had an advantage over department stores in that were anyone to come after him, he would be able to see them. But still, this was not a place he could stay for long periods of time. - Again, comparing advantages and disadvantages as he makes a decision. Also considering that he would be able to see them - showing that he is on the lookout for the people chasing him, that he’s conscious he’s being hunted down and if he doesn’t want to use violence to solve the problem, he needs to use his brain to figure out how he can keep an eye on the situation instead and plan accordingly. He’s also aware he needs to think of what to do because they would catch up with him eventually, and he can’t just keep running around.

Running away and hiding from someone is very different from chasing someone. It requires intelligence and quick thinking, assessment of the environment, decision making. Being the ‘prey’ is harder than being the ‘predator’ because you’re at a disadvantage, in that you can’t fight and you have to run away. (Just think of all the survival game manga) Izaya does that when he needs to get away from Shizuo.

And Shizuo has shown he’s able to do that.

Shizuo also said in SH his childhood dream was to be a detective, and his deductive thinking certainly suits such a role. Shizuo can think quickly on his feet, which is not a skill that can be learned easily. And requires experience.

Another thing different psychologically is that even though outside, Shizuo seems to have no problem, inside he’s insecure and lacks confidence. When he’s not angry, he’s very quiet and introverted. It was touched on a bit in the Saika arc, but Shizuo has self-deprecation because of his past.

“Why did I turn out like this? At least it wasn’t my family. There was no childhood trauma I can think of. I never watched any violent anime or read violent manga. Didn’t watch movies either. So that leaves only myself, doesn’t it? It’s gotta be me, right?“

Because he turned out violent and unable to control his temper for a reason he didn’t know, and ended up hurting people including the milk lady who was important to him, Shizuo hates himself.

Don’t get the wrong idea, you idiots.

No one will love me because they’re all scared? Don’t make me laugh.

I’m the one who’s scared.

It’s me.

I’m the world’s biggest coward.

Because I’m scared of what I should trust the most – myself.

He calls himself a coward for not being able to trust himself. He’s scared to love, because he’s scared of hurting the person he loves, just like in the past.

It drifted.

And drifted.

Everything drifted away from the boy.

He only wanted to be loved by someone.

He only wanted to love someone

The shy boy didn’t even have the bravery to control himself.

He was afraid of hurting the one he loved.

So he decided not to love anyone.

Feared, feared, and unloved.

Time evolved the boy into a monster.

And it eventually turned him into a monster because he was unable to love, he probably hated himself more for that, and became more violent (which is something he didn’t want for himself but since he hated himself he didn’t care), and became a monster as time passed.

In the anime (especially the first season) he may not seem to care about violence, but he actually cares about it a lot. He really means it when he says he wants to live a peaceful life, because to him a peaceful life means no violence which is something he probably hates about himself.

“In the end, it might have been thanks to her that I’m still human… I missed my chance to thank her…”

- Heiwajima Shizuo, Durarara Volume 13 Epilogue

The anime also made it seem like Izaya was the only one with emotional scars from their death match. But in a way, Shizuo was too. Shizuo isn’t traumatized like Izaya, but he was aware he had really almost become a true monster by killing Izaya.

And that’s why he felt regretful for not having been able to thank Vorona for stopping him from killing Izaya and letting him remain human.

Despite his distant attitude, Shizuo also wants to connect with people.

“I’m not like Kadota, Yumasaki and the others. I’m always alone no matter what I do. I guess Izaya’s the same as me. That bastard probably doesn’t have anyone he can call a friend. But, it’s not like I want to be alone all the time. Actually, I really want to interact with people, even if it’s just a formality or something.”

I think he said it in the anime too, but it wasn’t as elaborate?

Anyway we can see this after Volume 6, where he used his strength to save someone for the first time - Akane. He has Vorona as his kouhai, he forgives Masaomi, and he’s concerned about Mairu and Kururi, that if something happens Izaya will leave them behind.

This is interesting because despite his outside rough demeanor, Shizuo is actually a caring person. The anime showed that too with Akane and Vorona, but there were other interactions like with Mairu and Kururi that expanded further on this, on how Shizuo was really starting to interact with people and care for them. He even had a scene with Vorona where she offered to kill Izaya for him. Despite saying he would kill Izaya, he reprimanded her for saying such a thing and telling her that it was ok, knowing that was how she felt was enough for him. It was a sweet Shizuona interaction scene which showed how Shizuo cares about others above himself, but the anime left that out.

Shizuo also said when he killed Izaya he wouldn’t get anyone involved, and we can see his distant stance while still maintaining his friendships here. It’s like, psychologically, he doesn’t think he’s worthy of making trouble over.

Ironically, Vorona, Celty and Simon all showed him that he is worth it, because with their combined efforts, they stopped him from killing Izaya. So there’s a divide in perception in Shizuo’s perception of himself and others’ perception of him.

I think that’s why Shizuo felt guilty he didn’t get to thank Vorona, because she stopped him from becoming a monster. She got involved even though he didn’t want her to, just like Celty and Simon did, but it was a good thing because Shizuo would have become a monster if he had killed Izaya.

So those are just some things about novel Shizuo. If you’re interested, I expand on that more in these two theories here and here. The second one is a Shizaya theory of the Saika arc but focuses on Shizuo’s character, and the first one is my own theory about Shizuo’s black and white perception.

Thanks for this question. I’m sure others are curious about the difference between novel Shizuo and anime Shizuo, and anime Izaya and novel Izaya, as well, so it’s a good opportunity for me to expand on this in an analysis.

And it’s definitely something that’s going into my FAQ.

#ask #qns #orihara izaya #heiwajima shizuo #durarara #durarara character analysis #shizaya #izaya orihara #shizuo heiwajima

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sarahwritessomestuff · 6 years

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Beautiful Boy and the Importance of Pacing in Story

A mild spoiler warning: This review does contain minor discussions of specific plot points, but largely focuses on the narrative as a whole.

The acting is spectacular. The cinematography is gorgeous. The soundtrack sets a perfectly encapsulated mood. So, why do Beautiful Boy’s heaviest moments feel more like a light push than a punch?

Let me preface this by saying that I am a movie crier. I typically gauge a movie’s emotional impact by the level of tear it invokes. Did they well in my eye but never fall? Did I have the two tears down the side of my cheek that sit uncomfortably under my chin until I casually pretend to scratch an itch and wipe them away? Was I silently sobbing half-way through? Not so silently? My tear-o-meter is pretty spot on.

So it shocked me when, 75% of the way through the movie, I realized that the tissues I had stuffed away in my pockets in anticipation of waterworks remained untouched. I hadn’t even felt the hint of an oncoming cry. And I never did. Neither did any of the otherwise engaged audience around me. It was a good movie! It just wasn’t a tear-jerker, and it should have been.

Let’s try and figure out why it just didn’t hit.

The non-linear structure may have seemed artful on the page, but it left a lot to be desired within the actual film. Between flashbacks and time-hopping, clarity and structure began to feel secondary to cinematic shots and glossy images. Perhaps this was intentional or an attempt to show the confusion of drug use, but moments that otherwise should have hit home with the audience failed to do so because of a lack of setup.

We need a crescendo. Instead of one, we have dozens of tremors throughout the film which leave us on edge but not at a precipice. Again and again, these moments, these tiny little hits, though acted spectacularly, become dull in their frequency.

As a writer and as an audience, we need variety. We need a break from the intensity. We need a tonal change.

They say that when the human ear is subjected to the same high pitch on a constant basis, it adapts pretty quickly. You may still be able to hear the frequency occasionally, but the intensity has been diminished. The same thing happens when you give tell a story with a “gut punch” moment that just keeps hitting over and over and over, seemingly without fail. The impact just doesn’t hit as hard anymore. It is no longer a gut punch, but simply just another plot point.

Medium spoiler ahead:

One of the most honest and powerful moments of the film comes toward the end of the film when Steve Carell’s character admits that he just can’t do it anymore. He has done his share, and now he needs his ex-wife to step up and take charge. He is fatigued and overwhelmed. He can’t handle the relapses any longer. He just can’t help Nic, and now it is her turn.

This should be a total tear-jerker of a moment, except the audience has already felt this exhaustion for half of the movie. We’ve been fatigued, and we’ve also been exhausted by a character who has fallen down time and time again. The problem is, all we really see of him as an adult are moments when he is high or needing to get high. He wants to get help because he has a disease, but only in flashbacks are we asked to care about the person he was prior — and most of these flashbacks are of him as a child. We’ve only been given snippets of the person who existed before the addiction.

Though we are told he is brilliant and capable and could do anything he ever wanted, these are presented as afterthoughts told by others or shown in the smallest of his actions. Worse, they are shown as evidence to discredit his addiction rather than discuss the real root of it. When we tell stories, the focus needs to be on the “why” of a moment just as much as it is on the effects. We need to see young Nic, and I think we would have felt more for him if we had observed his decent. We need to see inside of his brain rather than just discuss it.

Unfortunately in film, even if 90% of the factors go perfectly, that last 10% can leave viewers hanging. Even a beautiful, well-acted film can leave us wanting more if we aren’t invested in the why of a character.

___

https://medium.com/@sgardiner11/beautiful-boy-and-the-importance-of-pacing-in-story-baa484102ea7

#flm #cinema #film review #films #screenwriting #scriptwriting

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