#because its IMPOSSIBLE just to get people for a normal raid | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jiminstonic · 4 years

Text

Apothic | pjm

pairing: yandere!zombie!jimin + g/n reader

word count: 6.1k+

genre: thriller, fluff(?), mild angst

warnings: GORE, violence, puking, obsessive thoughts, death, zombie cannibalism, is it necrophilia when it’s a zombie?? (sorry if i forgot anything)

— synopsis: Ever since the apocalypse hit, it’s been kill or be killed. So, what are you to do when a ghoul would kill for you instead of kill you?

Fuck, no more canned ravioli. Chef Boyardee will be dearly missed.

You crack a smile at your own thoughts while scanning the supermarket aisle, a flickering fluorescent overhead. Dirt and various food wrappers litter the tiled floor that you tiptoe on with sock-covered feet, shoes in hand in order to make as little sound as possible. You’ve yet to see a ghoul in this supermarket, but better to be safe than sorry.

With every item you stuff in your bag, a small sigh of relief passes through your lips. Going nomad helps a lot with your need to be alone, but also comes with many cons. Sitting at the very top of the list is being cautious. If ambushed by a group of ghouls, you must find a way out all on your own. It’s a risk you’re willing to take. But you’re not stupid enough to be noisy, whether you’re really alone or not.

Maybe you’ll get a box of cereal this time. You just hope it won’t make too much noise while in your bag.

You make the round of a few more aisles, grabbing a new toothbrush and a few pens. Some rash cream too maybe, just in case. You start to mindlessly grab items that you might need until you end up in the candy aisle.

Gummy bears. It’s the first thing to grab your attention, better with the nearly vacant shelves, and you refuse to leave without it.

Carefully, you pinch the corner of the bag, gently pulling it from the rack it hangs on. It’s a slow process, and you’re on the verge of regretting it as a scraping starts to sound when you continue to tug. Finally, the rack comes to an end and the bag slips off with no more than a split second of a crinkle. That’s when you decide that you have enough for today’s supply, not wanting to risk much more than that. With a swift spin, you turn to head out, one socked-up foot in front of the other when you’re stopped dead in your tracks.

Right at the other end of the aisle, stands a ghoul. It’s as still as a statue, save for the twitch in its fingers.

The sight makes your heart drop and the bag of gummy bears slip from your grasp. The sound that emits when it hits the floor makes the ghoul jump, oddly enough, but it still doesn’t make a single move. It just stands there, watching you.

That’s when you finally snap out of it, stumbling backward and running as fast as you can to the back exit. Even with the machete strapped to your side, you like to avoid having to kill them because, once again, noise. It’s always noise. The same thing that caused a headache for you once upon a time, but is now sometimes caused by the lack thereof.

You can’t care enough to try slipping on your shoes, too busy running for your life down the road. Rocks jab at the bottom of your feet, but you can only tighten your jaw and force yourself to bear it. A bite hurts a lot worse, you remind yourself.

The entire road is bare, same as when you came and is the reason why you even went into the supermarket. No ghouls around. ‘Clear skies’, as you like to call it. So, why was it just that one ghoul there? And how did you not notice it before?

Your pants come out in a near wheeze as you push yourself through the heavy door. Once it’s shut behind you, you fall back onto it and slide down to the floor. The thick air of the high school locker room suddenly doesn’t seem so bad when you’re gasping for breath.

With one last deep breath, you push yourself up with a huff. You sling the bag from off of your shoulder and let it drop to the ground, not very worried about its contents. With a tug on the strap around your torso, the velcro pulls apart and you place it on a metal table sticking from the brick wall, the machete only making a small thud.

Your mattress is in the deeper corner of the locker room with the rest of your stuff. The lockers in that spot hold more than you should probably keep, but you’re not very worried about anyone raiding the place. As far as you know, this town is abandoned.

Your feet drag across the tile as you make your way toward the showers, flicking on every one of the battery operated fans as you pass by. You don’t know how or why, but there’s still running water coming into the locker room. You’ve always tried not to question it, afraid of jinxing it just for the water not to work anymore. And you’re worried for when winter comes, since the water can only run cold. But you’re grateful for it. There’s no way you can’t be.

Usually, you’d pick a cd out of your stash to put into the battery operated player, but you don’t want to waste any time in washing off the sweat that sticks to your skin. With your clothes thrown to the floor at your feet, you turn the nozzle and immediately feel the cool water rush against your skin. You’re quick to grab the bar of soap, one of the many you’ve made sure to collect, and rub it against your skin.

You wake up randomly, not bothering to sit up and separate yourself from the warmth of the blanket, even if it is just a fireproof blanket. But the grumble of your stomach forces you to change your mind. Eating something before crashing on the mattress would’ve been a smart decision.

With a kick, you fling the blanket from your body, setting your feet onto the floor. As you stand, the faint breeze from the fans hit you, waking you further. You rummage through the lockers containing food, not being able to see much of anything—it’s still dark out. The moon is high in the inky sky, a tell-tale sign of the night’s peak. It casts its glowing rays through the high windows to beam down in sections on the tile.

Your hand finds a pack of crackers that you settle for; it’s only a late night snack anyways. Shutting the locker door, you practically jump out of your skin at seeing the dark figure that stands there. A shriek escapes you, feeling your heart drop far into your chest as you drop the crackers in favor of clumsily shuffling backward into the corner of the lockers. You can’t afford to take your eyes off of the figure if they’re here to hurt you, take everything you have left.

You can’t even see their face yet, the moonlight only illuminating their torso. Looking at what you’re able to actually see, you notice that they’re holding a bag, quickly recognizing the gummy bear logo. Your brow shoots up in question.

It isn’t until you shift your eyes back to their shadowed face that you realize they’re getting closer, the moonlight racing up their body. You push yourself further into the lockers pressed against your back, not thinking it was even possible to be any closer. Your breaths come out quicker, nostrils flaring as you begin to panic with every step the stranger makes toward you. Looking past them, you catch sight of your machete that sits on the table, useless on the other side of the room.

Maybe you can side step them, make a narrow escape and grab the weapon, impaling them with it before they can blink twice.

But that plan bursts into flames as you feel their presence just inches from you. They’re eerily quiet, not even the sound of breathing could be heard from them, only you. You slowly look at their face, the moonlight finally bringing it to light, and you panic further upon the sight.

They’re a ghoul. The ghoul. It’s the same one that you ran from earlier today in the store. It’s pale and delicate face, devoid of life and showcasing veins here and there, is surprisingly unscathed. It-...he must’ve been a gorgeous man when he was alive. His blue-ish violet lips stand out the most, especially with the dried blood that stains them. His eyes are the most unique you’ve seen for a ghoul. Usually, a ghoul’s irises were clouded over in a deathly white mist, but he only has one eye like that. The other is perfectly normal, it’s deep brown holding a single sparkle from the light. It’s captivating, to say the least.

Not once has his eyes drifted from you, and it’s starting to make you worry even more. You can already feel the sting of an impending bite everywhere he looked on your skin. It was torture, and he kept getting closer and closer, making you shut your eyes in fearful expectation. Yet, a bite never came. He didn’t fiercely tear away at your flesh with his teeth, making you his late night snack just as you were fearing. Quite the contrary, in fact.

Instead of a painful bite, you felt cold skin pressed against your chest. It has you feeling your own rapid heartbeat against your rib cage. Slowly, you open your eyes to look down, only to see him leaning his forehead against your chest. You’re beyond confused, but you don’t push him away in fear that it may trigger him to actually kill you. And so, you stay impossibly still as he has his...moment?

You watch as he slowly moves his head, the tip of his nose brushing against your skin until you feel his slightly parted lips do the same. He stays there with the tip of his nose and lips lightly touching you, right over your pounding heart. You have no idea what he might be thinking—if he can think. If there’s more to ghouls than what people know, then you are just as clueless.

Suddenly, you feel—as well as hear—him take a deep inhale. It makes you clench your fists that are pressed against the lockers since you’re still too afraid to squirm away from him. His exhale comes out as a small, soft whine, almost as if he were in pain, but still content. You’ve never heard anything so smooth and airy come from a ghoul before, most of them wasting what’s left of their voice boxes by incoherently yelling. He presses his free hand rather harshly against the locker next to your side, emitting a bang that has you flinching. With the same arm, he pushes himself upright to meet your eyes. Once again, he lets out a soft hum while you keep eye contact, and if he were still alive, you would’ve melted at the sweet sound.

It’s not until you feel a nudge at your hip that you look down, seeing him pushing the bag of gummy bears toward you. Hesitant, you glance back up at him, gauging his intentions only to be met with the same stare. He was waiting, wanting you to take it. So you did. With a shaking hand, you take the bag from him, and his arm immediately falls limp at his side as if he were carrying a large weight this entire time.

As he steps back, you take the only chance you have and run past him while dropping the bag, the machete being your only priority. You grab it, spinning around with it already raised high in the air and pointing at the ghoul, ready to bring it down into his chest. But you stop halfway, the sight in front of you completely catching you off guard. His eyes are wide, scared even, hands held in front of him to shield himself from your attack. They shake with the effort he puts into holding them up, and you slowly start to break at the dawning realization. Your grip on the weapon’s handle immediately disappears, the blade dropping to the floor with a resounding clang.

“What am I even doing?” You whisper, appalled by the aggression you didn’t think twice about. That’s not like you, it never was like you. Even if the one standing in front of you is a being that can rip your flesh and devour your organs in an instant, you were still disgusted with yourself.

Sure, his actions were confusing and you’ve never seen a ghoul act so...human. But that definitely doesn’t mean you should put a blade in his skull without a second thought, all because he confused you.

On the other hand, you’ve lived with the apocalypse for half of your lifetime, only ever knowing to kill or be killed. There weren’t many times you had to kill a ghoul, but when you did, there was never the satisfaction that others talked about after taking one down. You never felt victorious or powerful. Only guilty and despondent. Even if it was their fate, a fate that could’ve never been reversed.

So you stand there, tears blurring your vision as you’re unable to meet the eyes of the ghoul in front of you. All of your thoughts are like knives spearing your heart, and you’re unable to focus on anything else around you. Shutting your eyes, the tears flow freely as a sob erupts from you. Maybe this has been building up for weeks, months even. Leaving your makeshift family to go nomad, adjusting to being on your own, jumping from place to place, and never knowing where is truly safe. It was all piled up stress, and this was the peak of it, your breaking point.

Lost in those thoughts, the sudden feel of lips on your cheek make you still and blink until your vision was no longer blurred. He was kissing your tears. You can feel how the ghoul’s lips were pressed ever so gently on the salty trail, and it only made you feel worse to know that he was trying to comfort you only seconds after you tried to end his afterlife.

“I’m so sorry... I don’t deserve that...” Placing your hands against the ghoul’s cold chest, you softly push him away and make a beeline for the mattress. You were no longer worried about the possibility of him eating you alive—he would’ve done that already. He would’ve done it instead of giving you the gummy bears you had wanted today, instead of kissing your tears away. What a complex, lovely ghoul.

You curl yourself into a ball once wrapped up in the blanket and lay with your back towards him, not yet having the heart to face him any longer.

As for the ghoul, he never thought he could once again feel his motionless heart constrict so much. The sight of your tears made an indescribable feeling dwell within him.

He sits on the ground, leaning back against the lockers as he watches your balled up form. Oh, how he wants to hold you right now, feel you in his arms, even if they are still weak.

When he stumbled upon you today, he knew he had to have you. You were glowing under the flickering fluorescents and he swore he felt butterflies. But he was a coward, standing there as you sped off in fear, slipping through his fingers. For that split second, he had forgotten what he really is. How foolish.

He doesn’t remember what exactly happened to him; all he knows is that he slowly turned into what he is now. He can’t quite recall his own name, although he knows for a fact that it starts with a J. He also knows for a fact that he is /not/ like all of the other ghouls. Yet, they all limp alongside him as if they see nothing wrong, because they can’t. He’s positive that maggots have eaten half of their brains already with the way they have no communication whatsoever, or sense of direction and coordination. Unless they’re after food, then it’s a one-track mind.

And he can’t lie, he’s done his fair share of flesh chewing, but he’s only ever felt as if he was going through the motions. It wasn’t as important to him as it was to the rest of the walking dead. He’s never tried talking, so he must’ve lost his voice from never using it, which explains why he had such a hard time speaking to you. That, and his body that never really decomposed, leaving him on the fence of death. He had tried so hard to tell you something, anything, but it just didn’t work out in his favor.

You also smell amazing. Your lingering scent was what led him to you, after all. If it wasn’t for the way you caught his attention, he might’ve taken a few bites of you. No doubt the urge is still there, but he doesn’t want to hurt you. He could never.

He can still feel the vibrations of your heartbeat, it’s calming sound that put him at ease. His lips still tingle with the warmth of your skin. Sure, it was a bold move on his part, but he doesn’t regret it one bit. He’d do it over and over again. Even if you ended up nearly bashing his head in for a second time.

His mind was running wild with the visions of you, your warmth that is so close now, yet still so far away. But his serenity was interrupted as a bang resounded. His head snapped in the direction it came from, sadly taking his eyes off of your now sleeping form. You must’ve cried yourself to sleep, he muses, wishing you would’ve used his shoulder to let out your pain.

He’s met with the darkness of the rest of the locker room, silence returning, but he can’t take any chances. Shakily, he pushes himself up, trying to take on a protective stance and shielding you with his body, but ultimately failing when his spine slacks under his own weight. The damn zombie body, he internally curses.

With dragging feet, he makes his way around the corner, only to be met with the silhouette of a ghoul standing in the doorway that he broke off himself in order to get to you. He must’ve been so consumed with tracking you down that he missed any sign of other ghouls around. Oh, how distracting you are to him.

It was obvious that the other can smell you, trying to make its way toward where you sleep while foolishly ignoring him. Without hesitation, he snarls, lunging at the intruding ghoul. There’s no way he’s letting it get anywhere near you. Not without ripping it to unidentifiable pieces, anyways. The anger quickly boiling up within gives him the strength to knock down the ghoul, letting the thought of you push him further, far beyond self-control.

You woke up slower than usual, the weight of the night before still heavy on your chest. He was on your mind right when your eyes opened to the morning light beaming into the locker room. Your dreams were even plagued with him—dreams that are rather compromising to have with a ghoul. You aren’t even sure if you really want to remember it. And it’s sad to say, but you didn’t feel so lonely.

Looking over to the lockers, you find the spot empty of his presence, making you jump up from the mattress. He couldn’t have just up and left, not after last night.

You nearly laugh at your own thoughts. Who are you to act that way toward a ghoul? It isn’t as if you slept with him. Not in reality, anyways; his little moment last night must’ve really gotten to you. It all makes your brow furrow, not understanding your own mind and feelings.

You walk around the corner of the lockers, picking up a foul stench that makes you immediately cover your nose and mouth. Whatever it could be, you know it isn’t good. But nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were met with at the door.

There you found him, sitting on the floor with his back turned to you, hunched over a mutilated body. Not any human body, but another ghoul, or what once was. Its head, torn off at the shoulders, lays a foot away from its body, unfortunately facing you. Its foggy eyes wide and seemingly staring into your soul. Its jaw is hanging by a thread, pulled apart with the stretched flesh hanging like strings. Whether it was always that way or not, you’d rather not know.

Both arms were ripped from its torso, one of them laying in tact, the other in pieces at each joint. Discolored blood is smeared on the floor, most likely from the gaping hole in the torso.

You try to suppress a gag—because of both the smell and sight—but it was futile. The sound alerts the other to your presence, making his head snap toward you. The same discolored blood from the floor is slathered on and around his mouth, dripping down his neck and staining his already dirty clothes. Something must’ve snapped him out of whatever mindset he was stuck in because upon seeing you standing there, visibly appalled, made his stomach churn. He pukes it all up right there, the disgusting taste of zombie organs finally registering with him.

You quickly look away, fighting off gags with your forearm pressed against your mouth. Never have you witnessed something like this. A ghoul eating another ghoul was just unheard of. It didn’t seem logical with what a ghoul’s diet really consists of: humans. He puked it all up as well, begging the question of whether he really wanted to or not. It would seem that way with how you walked up on him taking bites from the other’s intestines, but with him, you have to question everything you know.

Glancing back, you find him trying to wipe off the remnants of the other ghoul. He was struggling, even looked a little confused. So, you couldn’t help what you were about to do.

“Come on,” walking up to him, you hold your hand out toward him, “come with me.”

The look he gives you could’ve shattered your heart, his wide puppy-like eyes staring up at you coupled with the blood smeared on his face shouldn’t make you feel that way. It should make you feel disgusted, yet you only feel that way toward the mess and stench.

With a shaking, bloody hand, he takes yours, letting you lead him to wherever you were going. He wasn’t very focused on that, though. No, the sight of your hand grasping his is far too enthralling. The fact that you initiated it makes it feel even better.

Once at the showers, you pull him into the stall, making him stand just far enough to not be under the shower head. Letting go of his hand—much to his dismay—you reach past him and turn the nozzle, the sound of water smacking against the tiles echoing. You quickly take the opportunity to hold your hand under the water, washing off the blood that transferred onto your palm. You both watch as the dark substance flows on the floor and down the drain, getting stuck in creases along the way. He mimics your actions, surprising you when he skips waiting for the blood to wash off, immediately going to caress the lines of your palm.

“Why did you do it?”

Your voice is gentle to his ears, much like a soft caress. He did it for you. It was all for you. He would’ve killed anyone who walked through that door, not just a ghoul who wanted you for food. He could see no reason for anyone else to be in there anyways. He was protecting you. There’s no way he’d let anyone or anything touch you, not even come near you. He’d make sure of it even after you’re only his to keep. But he couldn’t tell you that. Not yet.

As for eating the other ghoul—that wasn’t planned. It was almost as if he blacked out. He can remember smelling you as he was ripping the limbs from the ghoul. It was too much to handle, so he bit into the ghouls thin, decaying flesh in an attempt to alleviate the hunger he felt for you.

He didn’t have the courage to confess it all to you, he didn’t want to scare you off. So, he ignored the question in favor of bringing your hand up to rest against his cheek.

“Please...”

His voice is unexpected, making you freeze completely and stare at him in shock. His eyes sparkle, staring at you pleadingly while you still try to comprehend the fact that he talked to you. There was a break in his voice that pulled at your heart, so you can’t stop yourself when you swipe your thumb across his cheek. His eyes flutter in bliss as you begin to wash the blood from his skin. The dark blood is like a waterfall on his skin, a contrast to his translucent and paling skin.

Your heart starts to beat faster as your fingers inch closer to his lips, yet they still dance across the bottom one ever so gently. He doesn’t hesitate to kiss your fingertips upon feeling them, gliding his hands up your arm to hold your wrist in place. You didn’t expect the first kiss, and you definitely don’t expect when he continues to kiss different spots on your hand. It’s almost as if he’s lost in what he’s doing, his eyes shut as he concentrates on pressing his lips to your skin over and over again. You can feel the heat that rises to the tips of your ears while you watch him.

But the moment is short lived when you gently push him back, leaving him standing under the water. Hurt flashes across his features, a look that you force yourself to ignore.

“I’ll, uh, leave you to wash up properly,” you’re unable to make eye contact with him, but you still hold your tingling hand to your chest. “...and I’ll get you my mouthwash. Must still have a bad taste in your mouth.”

He can only nod in agreement and watch you walk off, never sparing him a glance. His heart hurts, but swells simultaneously at you caring for him. You’re right, there’s still a bad taste in his mouth. And he highly doubts that you would’ve wanted his nasty throw up mouth on you. How inconsiderate of him, he scolds himself.

You do exactly as you told him you would, opening up your bag and grabbing the travel bottle of mouthwash. But you’re so caught up in your thoughts that you’re basically on autopilot. You’re well aware of your heart still going haywire in your chest. It’s a little embarrassing, a ghoul making you feel this way. Maybe if you could just get past that stigma...

No way. There’s no way you’re seriously contemplating being with a ghoul. But it’s so tempting when he’s so sweet to you, practically worshiping your body every chance he gets. It’s supposed to creep you out, scare you—you know that. Still, your thoughts are filled with what it might feel like to let yourself go to him. You just don’t think you could handle it if he went all ghoul-cannibal again.

Those thoughts come to a halt once you walk up to his stall. His bare back is turned to you, littered with dark veins that demand to be seen through his deathly skin. The dried blood in his light hair washes away as he holds his head under the water. He didn’t bother taking his pants off, something you’re not sure if you’re actually thankful for.

Stuck staring, you notice the marks on the back of his right bicep. A bite. The teeth marks are messy, but left visible holes in his skin nonetheless. That must be how he turned, you think, must be why the rest of his skin is barren of gashes and punctures. Black veins branch out from the old wound, leaving the surrounding skin dark. Though it makes you wonder...did he die alone? That possibility makes your heart fall.

“Hey...”

His voice pulls you from your melancholic reverie. It still surprises you, his small voice. It doesn’t waver this time though, most likely getting used to using his vocal chords. He’s turned to face you now, chest and stomach accentuating his lean stature. You force yourself to hand him the mouthwash before you get too lost while looking at him again.

“Hey. Here you go.”

He takes the bottle from you, trying to pull the cap off, ultimately cracking it. Bringing the rim up to his lips, he takes a swig, surprisingly not struggling to keep it all in his mouth as he swishes it around. He makes brief eye contact with you as he spits it out—well, more like letting it spill from his mouth, the minty liquid dripping from his bottom lip to flow into the drain. Eyes meeting once again, he stares at you with an almost menacing look while sloppily wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The sight sends a shiver through you, not knowing if it’s from fear or excitement.

Still full of surprises, he drops both the bottle and cap, letting them bounce on the tile as he reaches for you. Panic shoots through you when he grasps your hips, pulling you into him and under the flow of water. Maybe this was his breaking point. Maybe he was finally going to kill you—eat you.

But he only wraps his arms around you, securing you in a tight embrace. His face fits perfectly in the crook of your neck, a fact that leaves him as elated as feeling you against his cold skin. He can hear the breaths you take right next to his ear, a sound that comes second to your heartbeat—his favorite. The pounding muscle, especially when it speeds up, sparks excitement within him. He can just imagine the rapid beating doubled with your quick breaths, how you would say his name...

Wait. His name.

In that split second, he remembers it perfectly. All it took was the thought of you. It’s always you. You are his complete motivation; he would do anything for you. Anything at all.

“Jimin...” He huffs out into your shoulder, still having a hard time getting any words out since he already doesn’t breathe. It’s the moment you realize that he’s just a human stuck in a ghoul’s body.

By now you can’t help but ghost your hands over his arms, your fingertips going against the water droplets gliding along his skin. You’re both soaked, but it’s the least of your worries when he speaks the single name to you.

“That’s your name...isn’t it?” You can feel him nod in affirmation, his cheek brushing against your shoulder almost in a shy manner. However, his brazen actions paint him as anything but shy.

“Mine’s ____,” you whisper directly into his ear, oblivious to the true effect it has on him. Your name is something that he will commit to the little memory he still has. He’ll chant it over and over again if that’s what it takes to never forget your name. Lifting his head up, he locks eyes with you. His hair, drenched with water dripping from the ends, almost covers his contrasting orbs. You feel his arms tighten around you with his next words.

“____...”—making your breath hitch—“say it...” You stare at him in confusion, not quite sure what he means. “Say my name.”

His once soft tone is suddenly demanding, throwing you off, but reeling you in all at once. You’re captivated, completely and utterly captivated by him.

“Jimin.”

And he doesn’t waste a second in connecting your lips, his hand holding you in place on the side of your neck. It surprises you, but you’re quick to melt into his lips. His grip borders on tight, and you’d be worried if you weren’t so focused on how his lips feel. Soft and plush against your own in a delicious dance. And now, you didn’t have to wonder anymore with his lips latched to yours.

Jimin turns you until your back is pushed against the stall, all while you feel his tongue peek out to graze your bottom lip. The action has you letting out a small gasp and he takes the chance to push his tongue into your mouth, leaving you even more breathless when you feel it glide against your own. You can feel his hand massaging and gripping your waist, in turn making you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. With his body pressed against your own and his tongue feeling like heaven, your mind turns to mush. You’re putty in his icy hands.

Jimin detaches from your lips and you finally take a breath of air. His kisses move further down your neck, his tongue swirling on your skin with every few press of his addicting lips. You’re practically seeing stars already, eyes drooping in bliss. With him so close to your ear, you can hear each and every hum from him that has warmth spreading throughout your body. As his lips travel higher on your neck, you lean your head back, baring your throat to him. Jimin’s practically ravaging your skin, his kisses getting fervent, making you sigh as you card your fingers through his drenched hair.

And then suddenly, with his mouth opening wider, a searing pain sparks on your neck. Your eyes shoot open to be greeted with the molded ceiling that has you crashing back to reality. A pained sound escapes your open mouth as the realization dawns on you. Jimin is biting your neck. You can feel each and every puncture of his teeth into your skin, and he only bites down harder when you try to move. With all of the strength you can muster, you push him away harshly, finally getting him to stop sinking his teeth into you.

With foggy vision, you watch as he stumbles back, hitting the stall behind him. Your blood coats his lips and stain his teeth, and you can see it on his tongue when he licks his lips. All sound fades until there’s just a constant ringing.

Clutching your neck, you can feel the thick and slimy liquid that coats your skin. Even though you already know what it is, you can’t help but look at your shaking palm, caked and dripping with your own blood. Looking back up, you find Jimin nearing you once again. Hastily, you move backward until you’re cornered like you were before with your back against the stall. He gets closer and closer, watching you carefully, especially the blood that gushes from your neck. You sob when he brings a hand up to caress your cheek, not letting you jerk away.

“Beautiful...perfect...” And he means it. The thick red dripping along your body is a divine sight. He hates that you have to hurt for this to happen, and he’d be furious if it were anyone else that had done it, but it needed to be done. How else were you going to stay with him? Surely not as a human. Of course, he loved the beating of your heart and the warmth that you held, but he knew it would get in the way of making you his. This was inevitable.

His bite will stay there long after you’ve become undead, a fact that had him even more excited. His mark on your skin would be visible forever, a constant reminder of who you belong to—who made you. It was perfect.

Jimin watches you carefully, and it seems you’ve lost the will fight, though you never stopped glaring at him through your tears. You were already bitten, it was inescapable. But little did you know this was your fate from the moment you saw him in that abandoned store. You foolishly put hope into being with him, the deceiving ghoul that he truly is.

Your eyes start to roll back into your head, legs giving out with Jimin catching you before you can hit the hard floor. Picking you up, he leaves the running shower behind to carry you over to the mattress. Your body is limp in his arms, either passed out or already dead. After all, he picked the perfect spot to bite you. With the wound on your neck, it’ll take no time for the infection to make its way to your brain. He’ll have you quicker that way.

He sets your body on the mattress, blood quickly pooling on the fabric. Already, he can see the bite mark start to take effect, slowly starting to look just like his. It’s a gorgeous sight to him, and he can’t wait until you finally awaken. Then, he’ll be able to keep you forever.

tag list: @jikooksgirl19 @sicnesa @buzzyourgirlfriendwoof @deepdarkdelights @iamnamjoonsbxtch @4evahevah @moon8child

872 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 3 years

Text

Ahistorical, Absurd, and Unsustainable (Part Three)

An Examination of the Mass Arrest of the Paranormal Liberation Front

Introduction and Part One Part Two

PART THREE: Ethical Problems

Law Enforcement Conduct

The first thing that jumps out—the thing everyone talks about first and foremost about the raid—was Hawks’ murder of Twice. Murder is a controversial word in this context, I know, but I stand by it: regardless of his guilt or his intent, Bubaigawara Jin was a fleeing man who Hawks made a cold, rational decision to quite literally stab in the back. In that moment, Hawks appointed himself as an executioner of the state and murdered a man without due process—no trial, no judge, no nothing. It was an extrajudicial killing,[26] and while I know many people in the U.S. have gotten kind of jaded about that sort of thing, let me assure you that police brutality is still police brutality even when it’s being exercised against people who have committed crimes.

To illustrate this, allow me to share a few more excerpts from the Penal Code:

Assault and Cruelty by Specialized Public Employees: When a person performing or assisting in judicial, prosecutorial or police duties commits, in the performance of their duties, an act of assault or physical or mental cruelty upon the accused, suspect or any other person, imprisonment or imprisonment without work for not more than 7 years is imposed.

Abuse of Authority Causing Death or Injury by Specialized Public Employees: A person who commits a crime prescribed under the preceding Article and thereby causes the death or injury of another person is dealt with by the punishment for the crimes of injury or the punishment prescribed in the preceding Article, whichever is severer.

The punishments for Criminal Injury are imprisonment for not more than fifteen years or a fine of not more than 500,000 yen or, if the injury results in death, imprisonment for not less than three years. That’s really what Hawks ought to be looking at for Twice's murder, save that apparently heroes just aren't liable for this stuff, otherwise they'd be up against it all the time in the course of “fighting villains.” Certainly, Hawks doesn’t seem to have faced any repercussions thus far, beyond having to apologize in a press conference.

Now, again, many American readers of My Hero Academia are deeply embedded in a culture that normalizes police violence, and so there is a lot of callous handwaving about how Hawks did the right thing because Jin was a significant threat. In response to such dismissal, let me provide a few more numbers:

In the U.S. in 2019, law enforcement killed over a thousand people.

In the same year in Japan, law enforcement killed two. Two people.

In the U.S., a major factor in how police keep skating on these deaths is the legal doctrine of qualified immunity, which is nominally intended to protect officers from frivolous lawsuits in cases where they’re ruled to be acting in “good faith,” a vague ruling which has made successful prosecution of police brutality and negligence all but impossible.

Japan, and I cannot stress this enough, does not have this doctrine. The significance of law enforcement taking a life is not so casually brushed aside in other places in the world, so please don’t try to tell me that Horikoshi was trying to get across the idea that Hawks did the right thing, easy as that. The critical depiction of heroes and Hero Society dehumanizing their enemies is all over the manga.

When the Tartarus guards discuss what the government is doing about Gigantomachia, one of them complains that the higher-ups can’t use missiles—missiles!—on him because he’s quote-unquote-human.[27] During their battle at Kamino, All Might tells All For One that this time, he’s going to put him in a prison cell—he characterizes his attempt to kill All For One six years ago as a mistake. Even in the spin-off manga, Vigilantes, designated police representative Tsukauchi[28] looks absolutely aghast at Endeavor’s willingness to use lethal force against Pop Step, an innocent-until-proven-guilty minor, even though, at that time, they have all the evidence in the world that she is actively engaged in setting off bombs in populated areas.

Most prominent is the series’ treatment of the High End Noumu. The heroes rationalize them as corpses, monsters, inhuman, all in order to kill them guilt-free,[29] and this rationalization spills over to Shigaraki during the War Arc, as the chasm of understanding between heroes and villains reaches its most stark. Yet, that same arc was proceeded by the reveal of the truth about Kurogiri, which had Tsukauchi directly acknowledge that they may have misunderstood the Noumu as the series dangled the possibility that Kurogiri possesses lingering awareness from Shirakumo Oboro. Earlier, we had Ending, a man who wanted Endeavor to kill him and thought Endeavor would do it specifically because Endeavor killed the High End, and this act set him decisively apart from the non-murdery heroic norm. Even into the War Arc itself, we were getting new information on the Noumu: to wit, we were shown incontrovertible proof—in the form of Woman’s internal monologue in Chapter 268—that the High End Noumu do think.

Even if we assume the government has relaxed its prohibitions about public servants assaulting people in the course of carrying out their duty, it does not follow that Hawks’ extrajudicial execution was totally fine. Heroes are not supposed to kill because police are not supposed to kill, and in Japan, it isn’t assumed that they will the moment they run into resistance.

And look, this is not to say that Japanese police never get away with police brutality. Obviously, the country has its own problems with the issue, typically involving racism and ethnocentrism. But the way that some people in the fandom just brush off Jin’s death does a disservice to the way the series frames Hawks’ actions and what that framing is communicating to a Japanese reader.

Also, even putting aside the matter of his death, openly taunting a mentally ill man about how easy it was to fool him definitely pings me as an act of mental cruelty, though of course there’s no one to sue Hawks over that one, seeing as he murdered the victim and only witness. (Chapter 264)

That all said, there are other issues with the heroes’ actions during the raid. One is called out right in the text: Midnight acknowledges that the use of chemical agents is illegal, but calls upon Momo to engineer knock-out drugs to use against Gigantomachia anyway. Is that an action Momo will face any repercussions for at all? And if not, what does it imply about the setting that she won’t?

Here’s another big one: what’s the legality of heroes using their quirks against civilians? Because that’s what the vast majority of the PLF are, civilians. Oh, they’re suspects, sure, but throughout the manga, “heroes” aren’t set up as people who just fight any and every tiny crime they come across. From the very first chapter, heroes are set up as a specific counter to “evildoers” designated as “villains”—legally defined as people who use their quirks illegally two or more times.[30]

There is a very illuminating scene in the second chapter of Vigilantes in which Aizawa confronts Knuckleduster for his assault of a random businessman and, the moment he realizes Knuckleduster is quirkless, apologizes for the misunderstanding and walks away. If Knuckleduster doesn’t have a quirk, Knuckleduster by definition cannot be a villain, and thus, Aizawa is not authorized to throw down with him.[31] It’s somewhat unclear, not least because a lot of the evidence is in the more-interested-in-systemic-worldbuilding Vigilantes, but there is reason to believe that heroes are not allowed to use their quirks against people who are committing mundane crimes.[32] If anything, I should think that heroes only using their quirks on people who are using their quirks illegally is part of the philosophical scaffolding that gives heroes their moral authority—you see this argument from the first bearer of One For All, who loudly espouses that people not only should not use their quirks selfishly, but that quirks should only be used to help others. This kind of supposed selflessness is what MHA’s current society is built on.

To see the relevance here, consider Trumpet. Oh, he absolutely was using his quirk illegally, but can the system prove that?[33] After all, he only ever used it on allies—do you think they're in a big hurry to snitch on him? Do you think Mr. Compress is going to? And if the police can't prove Trumpet used his quirk illegally, then is he even a capital-V Villain? What about all those other rank and file types? Certainly we saw the ones at the villa fighting back with quirks, but what about those supporters at bases scattered around the country? Did they fight back, and if so, did they do it with quirks? If not, was it legal for them to be targeted by heroes?

More importantly, can they mount an argument on that, be it a legal or a moral one?

The Scope of the Operation

The next big ethical problem actually predates the raid itself, and it’s this: how did the Commission know where to target their raids? How did they obtain that information? Specifically, how many privacy violations were involved? It strains credulity well past my personal breaking point to imagine that Hawks and the Commission were able to get every name, every base of operations, especially given the limitations they were under—the fact that Hawks couldn’t communicate openly, the hard time limit before the PLF put their plan in motion, making sure they didn’t tip off someone in the massive secret organization that had people working in heroics, the government, the infrastructure, etc.—but let’s consider the sorts of avenues the HPSC did have available to them.

So to start with, they send in Hawks, who’s specifically trained to extract information from people without raising suspicion about his motives. Doubtlessly, he’s able to get all sorts of names,[34] starting with the higher-ups—not just Re-Destro and his inner circle, but also any of the advisors that e.g. run businesses that they invite him to patronize, MLA heroes, and so on. And with a decent crop of names in hand—let us assume for the sake of argument that Hawks had some way to communicate those names to his handlers—the HPSC can start doing background checks and digging in.

Where do these people come from? Where were they born, and, if they moved, where did they settle? Where do they work? What are their social pastimes? Trace the commonalities, look into publicly available records, use wiretaps…

Yes, the police in Japan can totally use wiretaps if they suspect organized criminal activity—it was one of the powers expanded significantly under that controversial 2017 law I footnoted earlier. One thing to note is that this does require a warrant, or at least the expectation that a judge will grant a warrant.[35] But how far does that go? Can they get a warrant for financial records? How about phone records? E-mail accounts?

Can they wiretap people for no reason save their association with a name Hawks provided? If a PLF member attends a Jazzercize class on Thursday mornings, does every member of that class start noticing a weird little reverb on their phone calls for a week? Does Re-Destro’s hometown have an influx of people poking around evaluating its potential as a place to live? If Slidin’ Go once snatched your dog out of traffic and you subsequently bought a Slidin’ Go keychain, are you and your family now under investigation?

Getting details on people like the CEO of Detnerat and the head of the Hearts & Minds Party is probably pretty straightforward; heck, investigating Kizuki Chitose’s publication history was probably a goldmine in and of itself. That sort of surveillance gets more complicated and difficult to justify—and to make credible to the reader—the further down the chain of command you go, though. Sooner or later, the HPSC would have had to make a call: knowing that they don’t have the time, freedom, and resources to perfectly get only and exactly everyone that’s a real threat, do they overcompensate or do they undercompensate?

You only have to look at Hero Society to know which answer they were going to go with.[36]

To be fair, undercompensating, while it clearly would have been easier on their strained resources, ran the risk of leaving threats out there to come back to bite them later. They likely thought that they’d done enough undercompensating for Shigaraki Tomura, compounded by the fact that apparently there hadn’t been enough done about Destro’s followers back in the day, either. I mean, better to grab everyone and then let the courts sort it out, right? Rather than risk innocents getting hurt?

Well, let’s talk about innocents. Innocents, and the costs of overcompensating.

Pictured: a man who was in daily close contact with the leader of the movement and who was at one point in time in possession of a copy of the movement's manifesto. (Chapter 218)

The problem with grabbing everyone in a group, even the most obviously PLF-aligned groups, is that there are always going to be both people who don’t seem to know anything because they’re very good at living double lives and aren’t particularly active on the recruitment front, and people who don’t seem to know anything because they legitimately don’t know anything.

The Gunga Villa is straightforward enough—on paper, it was probably reserved for a business retreat for four months, because you certainly wouldn’t want some random newlywed couple booked for a nice mountain honeymoon recognizing Shigaraki Tomura wandering around. Same story for the employees; the MLA wouldn’t have put the League up at the villa if there was a chance that anyone there would rat them out. So I think we can assume relatively fairly that anyone in the building the day of the conference is solidly implicated, whatever their claims might be otherwise.

Of course, plenty might well try to claim that they were just there for the vacation, or just started work last week and had no idea the place was a nest for conspiracy, but that was where Hawks spent most of his time, and most of the people at the villa presumably fought back against the heroes. It might be a complicated process, matching hero eyewitness testimony to every person there, but you can at least sort of see the path to it.

Other groups, however, are a lot less straightforward. Consider the following categories:

The Liberated Districts

As I discussed earlier, Deika was presumably a high watermark on societal saturation, but Deika still only counted 90% of the population as “Liberation Warriors, lying in wait.” That leaves 10% unaccounted for. So who are those 10%? Are they children?[37] Some children too young to know anything about the PLF, and some old enough to know but not yet old enough to be considered warriors for the cause? Are they instead elderly people, maybe remnants from when the MLA first started to infiltrate the town that have just never had enough close family or social life to get pulled into the Liberation Army by the usual vectors?

By far the worst option is if Trumpet’s 90% accounts for anyone even remotely connected to the MLA—that would mean one out of every ten people in Deika is legitimately completely ignorant of what the powers that be had brought in. How on earth are you supposed to tell those people apart from the other 90% when the heroes sweep in and arrest absolutely everyone? Or are we to believe that the HPSC had time to get in an agent to flash a covert L-sign at everyone in town and they only arrested people who visibly acknowledged it?

These problems only get worse for our hypothetical town that’s 70% PLF. That opens you up to far more people who have only recently started getting drawn in. Consider the disaffected twenty-something whose family has no idea what’s been keeping him out so late in the evenings. The young mother who met the nicest and most convincing people via the daycare, but whose husband is always out of town on business trips so she hasn’t had time to introduce him to anyone. The working parents who just joined up and whose kid, away at hero school, doesn’t know anything—yet.[38]

Evaluating these peoples’ social circles and financial history for other PLF attachments is going to turn up a ludicrous number of false positives unless the Commission can narrow down exactly when and where such people crossed paths with the ideology of Liberation. So many people would have been raised to it, people whose entire lives are suspect, but mistaking even one new recruit for a lifelong loyalist gives you exponentially more avenues to baselessly suspect people—and as established, the Commission just doesn’t have the time to be overly discerning.

Detnerat, Shoowaysha, and Feel Good Inc.

This is another line of attack that seems like it should be a bullseye, but is actually quite the opposite. Detnerat is a business that is run by the leader of the entire movement, yet the fact that not everyone who works there is a member of the MLA is one of the very first things we find out about them! Miyashita was something akin to a personal aide or secretary to Rikiya, someone Rikiya liked well enough that he was on the verge of introducing Miyashita to his other friends—and Miyashita didn’t know the first thing about his boss’s true affiliations. It’s patently obvious from that alone that not everyone at Detnerat is PLF, and it's likely that the numbers of the faithful are even thinner at Curious and Skeptic's outfits, where they're high-ranked executives but, crucially, not actually in charge.

This is, of course, complicated further by the fact that people who work at e.g. a publishing house are probably there because they agree with that publishing house’s politics, whether or not they know what’s going on behind the scenes. Ditto with Detnerat—certainly there would be people there who just needed a job and could charm their way through an interview without an inner passion for the work, but loads of people probably work there because they legitimately believe in the company’s ethos. So how do you tell people who have relatively radical personal politics without having any idea about the terrorism apart from the people who are absolutely PLF/ex-MLA but who are now lying about it because their organization's cover is blown and the response to that is, “Well, time to go back underground!”

The Hearts & Minds Party

Membership of this party would seem to be a good indicator, but using it that way too unquestioningly is also very flawed. This is because the HMP particularly is probably an excellent recruitment tool for the MLA/PLF. The note above about having radical political beliefs but still being ignorant about the planned acts of terror is especially true for the HMP. The Commission cannot just pull the voting records and arrest all of them because plenty of them are going to be totally ignorant of what was really going on with the heart of the party, only joining up because they believed in the kinds of things the HMP was platforming on—less repressive quirk use laws, prison reform, very possibly issues like the abolishment of the legal category “villain” or greater social safety nets. Just because someone votes for those things, doesn’t mean they know about or would support the MLA’s violent extremism or the PLF’s anarchic goals.

So at what level of initiation does the Commission call a cut-off? How long does someone have to have been voting straight-ticket HMP for them to be considered condemned by that association?

Over and over again, the question arises: how did the heroes and the police distinguish the initiated from the uninitiated? And given that Japan’s legal system at least nominally requires that guilt be proven, what are they going to do when huge numbers of those people claim innocence?

The Presupposition of Guilt

Let’s take a few minutes to circle back to what I talked about earlier, the presumption of guilt and how it relates to arrests, convictions, and the perception of arrestees in Japan. This is going to swerve hard back towards real-life Japan issues for a bit, but it is exceptionally relevant when examining what’s likely to happen to the people arrested in the raids, innocent and guilty alike, so thanks in advance for bearing with me.

In Japan, the rate of conviction is extraordinarily high—if you’re in anime fandom and active in social justice circles, you may have seen the tumblr posts about the country’s famed 99.9% conviction rate.[39] There are a range of explanations for this. Defenders argue that, compared to police in many other countries, police in Japan are very cautious and don't move to prosecute unless a case is all but airtight; thus, many who are arrested may well be released without charge if there is even the slightest doubt that the case will hold up in court. One can easily see truth to this by looking at the numbers on how many people are arrested in Japan versus how many are actually charged: Wikipedia notes (albeit without citation) that in the U.S., roughly 42% of arrests in felony cases result in prosecution, while in Japan the figure is only 17.5%.

Conversely, critics note that a major feature of convictions in Japan is the confession, and confessions can be coerced, particularly in the sorts of conditions that those imprisoned in pre-trial detention are kept—no legal representation, no contact with their families, loved ones or employers, no requirement that they be informed about what they’re being charged with, potential weeks upon weeks kept in isolation, sessions of questioning that can extend for most of the day.

There have also been cases in which confessions have been found to be falsified, for example by having the suspect sign a paper and then filling in or altering other details after the fact.

There are some other factors about confessions to be aware of here:

In Japan, it is not legally permissible for a suspect to be convicted solely based on their confession. The constitutional provision in this regard is something called himitsu no bakuro, the “revelation of secret.” The revelation of secret is something in the confession that is factually verifiable and which, at the time of the confession, only the suspect could have known. Common examples are things like the location of a previously undiscovered body or the time and location where a weapon used in the crime was purchased. The majority of verdicts that are overturned in Japan are overturned because of issues with a confession.

Sentencing is also very lenient compared to the U.S., particularly if the suspect was cooperative with police and admitted guilt (seen as showing remorse). Thus you wind up with a situation in which suspects believe that they’ll lose a case if they go to trial (because practically everyone does) and prosecutors—rather more aware of the weaknesses in a case than a confused and vulnerable layman—don’t want to bring a shaky case to trial, and thus both parties are invested in whatever will get the suspect out with a minimum of effort. The result of this is a high number of people released on “suspended prosecution,” which is an admission of guilt, but with a prosecutor's decision to show lenience while still establishing precedent for possible later offenses warranting more severe punishment. This is a particularly common result for first-time offenders, especially in non-violent crimes.

Note that suspended prosecution is not at all the same thing as being released for lack of evidence; a suspect is conceding their guilt by accepting the arrangement. However, many suspects who the police might not be confident in convicting are known to sign confessions and accept the arrangement regardless, because, along with fear for their livelihoods, it’s known that judges tend to view extended time in detention as a sign of guilt. Also too, if admitting guilt is seen as showing remorse, then maintaining one’s innocence is often perceived as a lack of remorse—leading to fears that fighting the charges will result not only in defeat, but also in harsher sentencing!

All of these factors combine into a problem with perception of guilt that feeds on itself endlessly at all levels. Let me use a run-on sentence to summarize: the general public views anyone who is even arrested as probably guilty, because the police are seen as generally only moving on those who are guilty, because police specifically only prosecute those who they can all but prove are guilty, but guilt can be “proven” by a sufficiently detailed confession, and while confessions are required to have some corroborating evidence, they can easily be falsified and may well be offered up with minimal resistance because the suspect is also convinced that judges will only be harsher on them if they put up a fight because suspects also believe that they will be convicted at trial because everyone knows the conviction rate is unbelievably high.

Japan likes to think of itself as a “safe” country, which is in large part why its deeply concerning arrest and detainment procedures have held up repeatedly in court. These things help keep people safe, after all, and who wouldn't want people to be safe?

Returning, then, to the matter of My Hero Academia and the Paranormal Liberation Front mass arrest, I don’t think it’s overstating things to claim that the dehumanization of villains and the glamorization of heroes has probably exacerbated these problems.

Cruel punishments are illegal under Article 36 of the Japanese constitution? But what if someone really, really deserves it, though? (Chapter 94)

You can see that willingness to shrug off civil rights violations as long as it means safety in the symbol All Might represents, a hero who is there to beat up baddies, not ask questions about why they're being bad. Ditto Tartarus, where the Bad People get put, regardless of whether their Bad really warrants so awful a punishment or whether the severity of such a punishment serves as an effective deterrent.[40]

As to the presupposition of guilt, if a hero thinks they saw someone Doing A Bad, and confidently testifies to that effect, who’s going to doubt them? It’s blunt to the point of headache-inducing that Midoriya Izuku, the boy who will be the greatest hero, who’s treated by the story as if he’s the first person in history to think about “saving” a “villain,” doesn’t even start to think about such a thing until he literally experiences a psychic impression of a five-year-old crying within the heart of Shigaraki Tomura.

At the press conference in Chapter 306, it’s illustrated numerous times that huge portions of society don’t particularly care about Dabi’s accusations. They don’t ask for Hawks to face justice for the murder he openly admits to committing; they don’t ask for apologies for the heroes’ wrongdoings. They ask for heroes to make them feel safe. Even if it means lying to them; even if it means asking Endeavor to go out there and “take down” his firstborn son. People are uneasy about the accusations, certainly, but what they want is not for heroes to take responsibility for their actions, to atone for them, but rather to deny that there’s any truth to the accusations at all.

This is not a society that, in the wake of Gigantomachia’s rampage, is going to be open to the possibility that some people caught up in the mass arrest are legitimately innocent and that everyone, even villains, deserves to be afforded the full extent of their rights.

The Dissolution of the HMP

Speaking of rights, let’s go over one that we can immediately see has been flagrantly violated in the manga compared to the state of real-life Japanese law—the overnight dissolution of the Hearts & Minds Party.

As discussed earlier, it's unlikely that every member is a dyed-in-the-wool terrorist. There are bound to be perfectly innocent people in the country who just so happen to agree with the HMP’s campaign platforms. Now, all of those people are going to turn on the evening news[41] and be blindsided with the news that their political party has just been dissolved and some enormous percentage of its membership arrested. This was not publicized or forewarned; it just happened, in a matter of hours. Do you think those people—people who are members of a party that specifically opposes the current status quo—are just going to nod and say, “Oh, wow, that sucks, but who am I to question the wisdom of the government and its agents? Time to find a new political party, I guess!” Would you?

I can assure you that you wouldn’t, because let me be clear: under current Japanese law, what we’re told happened to the HMP is unbelievably illegal—not only because they were dissolved at all, but particularly the speed with which that dissolution was carried out.

I mentioned earlier, in the section “Japan and Illegal Organizations,” that there were methods by which organizations can be dissolved. Now I’d like to look at that in more detail.

Any organization that’s been flagged as a potential threat—that “terroristic subversive activity” designation—can come under investigation from the Public Security Intelligence Agency. Their recommendations are then passed up for evaluation by a member of the Public Security Examination Commission,[42] who can pass a variety of prohibitions—the bans I mentioned earlier on printing activities, public assembly, and a few others. These prohibitions are issued in periods lasting up to six months, at which point they are re-evaluated and can be dismissed or renewed.

If the Public Security Examination Commission decides that the comparatively soft-pedal restrictions on freedom of the press or freedom of assembly are not sufficient to deter the organization in question from committing terroristic subversive activity continuously/repeatedly in the future, the Commission can elect to order the organization dissolved. This revokes their rights mentioned above entirely, and further stipulates that they liquidate their assets,[42] and that no member of or representative for the organization can take actions in the organization’s interest (e.g. things like opening bank accounts or buying property). The only exception to the latter restriction is a designated representative for the organization who is granted the right to manage its assets in the process of overseeing the dissolution.

Any of the designations above can be appealed, but dissolution is permanent until specifically overturned.

Now, it might well seem that the HMP could be targeted under the “advocating for subversive terroristic activity” criteria, but here’s the problem with that: that criteria is based on the organization engaging in/advocating for such terroristic subversiveness as an organizational activity—that is, the activity in question is a foundational, core aspect of the organization’s endeavors. And I simply don’t think that’s how the HMP operates. To reiterate, I believe they’re a recruitment tool, meant to siphon people into the MLA (later the PLF) proper, but otherwise a perfectly legitimate political party with real political aims, outreach, goals, and so on.

Of course, I can easily see the anger over all the destruction leading the Ministry of Justice to being heavy-handed in its response to the Paranormal Liberation Front and any organization even suspected of being associated with it, of which the HMP is the most prominent. I could also simply be wrong about what the HMP says at their rallies. Regardless of either of those possibilities, however, there is still the matter of the timetable.

There was a period in Japanese history that organizations—political parties especially—could be dissolved on the spot. The Meiji Constitution granted that right to the Minister of Home Affairs, a Cabinet position appointed by the Emperor, and indeed, any number of socialist, communist, or labor-oriented parties were banned and dissolved within scant months of their establishment for their alleged leftist or subversive leanings.[44] The Farmer-Labor Party of 1925 was dissolved three hours after its establishment! So clearly there’s some precedent—or at least, there was. Like many things, the power to summarily dissolve organizations did not survive the Meiji Constitution’s transformation into its modern-day incarnation after World War II.

The Subversive Activities Prevention Act, the same one that lays out the causes for dissolving an organization, also details a legally mandated process by which this dissolution is carried out. Most prominently, organizations cannot just be dissolved with no notice, no chance to defend themselves. Any disposition curtailing an organization's activities, from the bans on their printed material to complete dissolution, is required to be announced both via the government's official gazette[45] and, if the residence of a chief officer or representative of the organization is known, also via written notification. These notifications must be sent at least seven days before the hearing date—a hearing which, further, the organization has the legal right to send agents to in order to present statements and evidence in their own favor, as well as examine the evidence being presented against them.

This clearly did not happen. Bare minimum, Hanabata Koku, as leader of the Hearts & Minds Party, should have had an address the Commission could get ahold of, especially given all the snooping they so obviously must have been doing to unearth the extent of the PLF’s reach.

It’s instructive, in this regard, to look to history. To wit, I’ve said a lot about how gun-shy Japan is to dissolve organizations outright, thanks to its history of governmental repression—but how true is that really? If the government really wanted to, couldn’t it just decide to crack down on something and ride out the controversy? Has it done as much before?

To put all this into proper perspective: no. It hasn’t. The government has invoked the Subversive Activities Prevention Act against a group rather than individuals only once in all the time since the act was passed in 1952.

It was against Aum Shinrikyo, and it didn’t happen until seven months after the subway attacks. Even with nearly unanimous desire to prosecute, even though Aum had been under police surveillance prior to the attacks, even though lawsuits against them were and had been ongoing, meaning at least some measure of investigation was being done openly, it still took seven months to gather the evidence, submit it to the Public Safety Examination Commission, allow Aum their appeal, and enact the ruling. That’s because, in a society ordered by democratic processes, these things take time.[46]

But the HMP? No one who wasn’t a member knew about their affiliation with the League of Villains—much less an underground army!—until Hawks got the word out, and the Hero Public Safety Commission had to be rigorously careful that news of their investigations not leak because they knew they had their own moles to deal with. So far as we know, the Hearts & Minds Party remained a legit organization right up until the day of the raid. It is functionally impossible under current Japanese law for them to have been dissolved in the scant few hours between the commencement of the raid and the attack on Tartarus in which the two guards mention the dissolution.

Even if the relevant agency in the Ministry of Justice submitted their paperwork the absolute minimum of time in advance, there is no way the HMP and Trumpet—and therefore Re-Destro and the League and everyone else—shouldn’t have known that the government was moving against them. The only answer is that the Ministry of Justice was evading its legal obligation to notify both the public[47] and the HMP itself, or that the Japanese government, in the wake of the Advent of the Exceptional, throttled back on constitutionally guaranteed freedoms exactly the way human rights activists today are always warning about.

Stigma and Recidivism

In the same way that In Custody is not (or shouldn't be) a magic status effect preventing villains from escaping from police, In Jail is not an endgame state. Most people in prison are not there for life (or death) sentences, particularly not in Japan. Even if the majority of the PLF gets stuck in prison for decades, there will, eventually, be an “after” for them. So what happens “after”?

Well, like many countries, Japan has made efforts in the modern day to offer training classes and parole officers to help reacclimate ex-convicts into society once they’ve done their time, but it remains a difficult process, and the country has a relatively high recidivism rate. Given the stigma against criminals—present to a degree in all countries, but particularly exacerbated in Japan—it is frequently difficult for released prisoners to find stable housing or employment—both key factors helping to prevent recidivism.

So does MHA’s Japan have similar programs? Well, it’s hard to say, given that the only prison we’ve actually seen is Tartarus, which is obviously a poor model to base a lot of judgement on—save, of course, that any country that could develop a place like Tartarus is a country with an appalling deficit of care for criminals’ human rights, which doesn’t bode well for their other prisons.

Speaking of things that don’t bode well, though, we have two obvious examples in the canon of how convicted criminals fare: both Gentle Criminal and Twice are, it’s suggested, prosecuted for their foundational fuck-ups—Tobita for obstructing public duties[48] and Jin for his traffic infraction. It’s unclear whether they went to prison or not—given the relative lenience shown to first-time offenders, I’m inclined to think probably not—but even given these very mild offenses, their lives were turned completely upside-down, and no apparent efforts were made to help them through chaotic periods that saw Tobita apparently disowned and Jin losing his job.

Consider the harsh reactions they garnered and the apparent lack of assistance from any social structure despite the relative mildness of their wrongs, and things start to look very bad indeed for the PLF. Will there be any steps taken at all to deradicalize them? Does taking such steps seem likely, given what we've seen of MHA’s legal and carceral systems thus far? Further, if there is no plan for deradicalization, how exactly do the heroes propose to stop this from happening again (and again, and again and again and again)?

Here’s another alarming thought: what will be done with the children? There’s no way around the fact that the MLA, and therefore the PLF, included children[49]—and I don’t mean it in the tumblr sense of describing a sixteen-year-old as “a literal child,” though there would be some of those, too. No, I mean the grade-schoolers, the toddlers, the babies. Maybe some of them will have non-PLF family they could hypothetically go to, but as I have written about in the past, there’s a very real bias about orphans and other children separated from their parents in Japan, and even blood ties are not always enough to overcome that stigma. Alternative care is in a woefully sorry state as it is in Japan, and this would only be compounded for PLF kids—damned first for their criminal associations and again for being the children society doesn’t want.

However many thousands of them that may be.[50]

So here again, a question recurs. Where before it was, “How do you tell the guilty from the innocent?” here it’s, “How do you stop the societal backlash from ruining countless peoples’ lives both now and for decades into the future?” What kind of stigma will all these people—rank and file who come out of prison deradicalized and ready to rejoin society, children who were too young to understand why heroes took their parents away, ignorant family and friends who just lost loved ones to a massive government sweep, innocents swept up in the net and imprisoned for crimes they didn't commit—going to be facing? How long, then, before that stigma sees them radicalized in turn?

You cannot sweep 115,000 people under the rug and not expect there to be a stain—and given the narrative themes of the rest of My Hero Academia thus far, it’s absurd to think that’s even an option.

Next time: how scrapping the ex-MLA portions of the PLF undermines MHA's narrative integrity.

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

Footnotes (Part Three)

[26] And in the legal sense, murder in the second degree.

[27] For the monstrous callousness of his comments in that conversation, said guard is immediately murdered by karma All For One. I very much hope we ever get Shishikura’s opinion on this, because I’m pretty sure the guard was his dad.

[28] Who, in Chapter 35 of that series, leads a group of police firing rubber bullets at an active villain, emphasizing that the police are trained in non-lethal tactics, and any escalation from that is not to be taken lightly.

[29] Indeed, you could make a fair argument that that’s exactly why the manga included the Noumu to begin with, though the lower-tier ones wind up captured as often as not.

[30] Vigilantes, Chapter 74.

[31] This sidesteps the matter of “rescue heroes,” those who focus on disaster response and evacuation. Note, however, that this is not a categorization that pits those heroes against non-quirk-abusing civilians. Non-quirk-abusing civilians are criminals for police to deal with, not heroes of any stripe.

[32] This would be in keeping with real-world de-escalation tactics. So for e.g. the purse-snatcher in Chapter 1, where we’re told he didn’t use his quirk until he’d been backed into a corner, I would bet that Kamuy Woods or whoever confronted the thief didn’t start actually using their quirk on the man until he went into giant mode. That is anyway a kinder interpretation than noting that he was a heteromorph and would have been using his quirk automatically just by virtue of existing in public.

[33] After digging him out from under the stairway it had a teenager drop on top of him, I mean. Did he even have much of a chance to use Incite at the villa, do you think?

[34] Though given that literally every member of the MLA we’ve met is addressed solely by their code name, I don’t for a second believe he could have gotten real names out of everyone he talked to.

[35] And judges virtually always grant warrants. It’s that presumption of guilt thing again.

[36] But that panel of the normally taciturn Edgeshot shouting at a bunch of high schoolers not to let a single person escape is pretty damn telling too.

[37] 14% of the Japanese populace is under 14 years old, so that’s not too far off, though I’d be inclined to think, based on everything we know about them, that the MLA was having more kids than Japan at large, not fewer.

[38] This should have been Uraraka, by the way.

[39] An exaggeration, but only by a handful of tenths of a percentage point.

[40] Though until recently, it’s served as a great check on recidivism, clearly.

[41] You know, assuming that they weren't all arrested in the middle of their workday or cleaning house or going to university or what have you.

[42] Both are among the agencies that make up the Ministry of Justice. I’d be willing to bet that, in-universe, the Hero Public Safety Commission is also under the Ministry of Justice umbrella.

[43] The funds are then remitted to the National Treasury.

[44] Though one thing to note for our current context is that, even when those parties were dissolved, it did not automatically follow that any duly elected representatives were expelled from office. Unless there was legal reason to remove them, any elected officials were simply rendered “Independents” rather than being affiliated with a political party. The constitution stipulates that Diet members can only be expelled by a two-thirds majority vote, though in such circumstances, most politicians choose to step down from their positions before it comes to such drastic measures.

[45] A newspaper or other bulletin officially authorized by the government to publish public and legal notices—in Japan these days, it’s an online site/newsletter.

[46] And they’re often still controversial with progressive activists, as the invocation against Aum was even contemporaneously! Incidentally, Aum’s dissolution lasted for a mere two years before the government panel ultimately declined to make it permanent.

[47] And if you don’t think the HMP had someone watching the official Japanese government website, you’re clearly not taking them seriously.

[48] And possibly more besides; the dialogue in question trails off in a way that suggests that the obstruction charge is only the first in a list.

[49] Start at Yotsubashi Rikiya being inducted when he was still in schoolboy shorts and continue right on up through the people we see in school uniforms in various mass battle scenes involving the MLA rank and file.

[50] And it easily could be thousands. If, say, even 10% of the PLF are minors, that’d be well over 10,000 kids, and thus we’re right back to overcrowding problems, except this time they’re about Japan’s child services programs, and the last thing they need is a new group of kids that numbers a full third of the number of children already in their care in real-life Japan. Naturally, the number only climbs if you think Re-Destro wasn’t counting kids in his initial reckoning of the MLA’s membership.

#bnha analysis #bnha meta #paranormal liberation front #meta liberation army #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha spoilers #my writing #plf arrests #stillness has salt

77 notes · View notes

joshslater · 4 years

Text

Bulk Bucket

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"Time's up, Parker" Ronan Parker felt a firm grip on his arm from someone who had walked up behind him and was now steering him. It was Seth Dale from the football team, though Ronan could never remember what position he played. Sport wasn't a big part of his life, and while he knew most of the players, it was mostly to keep up with the latest gossip. He had been big before the summer, but now he was huge. What had he been up to?

"Good news, Parker. We are going to help each other out." Ronan looked to his other side and saw Nigel Wilkinson, running back on the team. He too was way bigger than before. Had they been working out together over the summer? "Yeah," Seth continued, "we asked around, and everyone agreed we wanted you."

They flanked him on either side and walked him around the corner, away from the library he was heading to. "Christina started to call Brennan by the name you came up with, Brawnan. He really wanted you to help us out" Ronan felt a pit in his guts. Wherever this march ended, it would be payback time. Not being athletic enough for any of the teams, or had enough patience to really shine academically, he'd used his street smarts and social skills to be an authoritative voice on who was cool and who was a joke in the school. The jocks had decidedly been on his shit-list. Not because he really disliked them, he didn't know them, but because it was easy to come up with jokes and every other guy, and many of the girls, would happily join in for their own reasons. Some were envious, some rejected the patriarchal idolization, and some were just getting even after years of getting bullied. But now the tax was due.

Ronan didn't even try to resist. Outrun the running back? Even shake out of Seth's grip would be a feat. They exited the main building and walked towards the sports center. Ronan went through hazings he could recall and started to put them in order of suck. Tied to the flag pole would be preferable to being suspended and used as a punching bag. What about stuffed in a locker with smelly training gear? Probably depends on what gear and the size of the locker. He wasn't that big, so he could fit in all the new ones. "You're awfully silent all of a sudden," Nigel said as we crossed the concrete square outside the main building. "You don't have a new joke for us? The one about beef broth was hilarious to some." Ronan remained silent, thinking that was probably the sane thing to do. "Hey, what about the meatloaf one? People used it for weeks," Seth chipped in.

Nigel opened the doors for them, all the way to their locker room. Inside it was the entire team waiting. The moment they entered the happy banter instantly died down to silence as they walked into the room. Ronan got a shock seeing them. He recognized them all, of course, but the muscles they all packed on during the summer was unreal. Impossible even. The room was quite big, but somehow it felt very cramped with a whole football team's worth of large bodies around him. All had gym clothes on, of more or less revealing kinds. The air was damp and there was a smell of sweat and testosterone in the air. All eyes were on him, but he couldn't make out their expressions. It ranged anywhere from triumphant to muted. Jonathan walked up to Nigel with a protein drink shaker. "All there, freshly squeezed" The shaker was milky white plastic, almost opaque, with a dark, green-tinted liquid inside. Nigel gave it a few shakes. It looked to be about two cups of something sloshing around in it.

"Ok, anyone not ready?" Seth asked the room. There was a second of silence. "Let's begin then." Nigel handed over the shaker to Ronan. "Drink up, funny boy". Ronan's mind was racing. What was in the shaker? Were they trying to get him drunk, or to shit himself? He knew one thing, it would be pointless to struggle surrounded by what looked like a spartan army. Hesitantly he opened the cap, put the opening to his lips, and began to sample its contents. It was sour, it was bitter, it was salty, it was sweet, but more than anything it tested of herbs. Like someone had made a herbal smoothie with whatever they found in their garden, plus lime. "Hurry up, all of it" The liquid wasn't as thick as a smoothie, but it wasn't just water either. Ronan emptied the shaker faster, shaking out the last drops at the end as a pretend front of courage. Almost immediately a loud groan came from his intestines. Then another one. "What's that? I didn't really hear you," Seth joked, and got a murmur of laughter from the team.

Ronan felt clammy and sweaty, like the first signs of food poisoning. Apparently it showed as well, as Seth continued "Not feeling well, you say? You should take a seat." Ronan was showed down unto one of the benches by several hands. He was feeling dizzy. "It's working. Get the stone" someone said. From behind someone tied a leather strap with a stone pendant around his neck. Ronan just wanted to take a hot shower, maybe throw up, and go to bed. Sitting down they all looked even more imposing, looking down on him.

"How long until he's ready?" ask someone Ronan maybe recognized as Harry. It was hard to tell with their new bodies. "The fuck do I know, " Nigel responded. "It's not like we've done this before. Let's give it time to make sure it is fully absorbed. We have all afternoon after all."

"Let's show him what we got," Seth said to Nigel. Ronan still felt like shit, but it was kind of stabilizing. He watched as Seth and Nigel removed their shirts to show off their impossibly well-sculpted bodies. They had been regular jocks as they left for summer break, muscled for sure, but no where near this. "Ok, story time while we wait," Nigel started. "So this year the team had its summer camp over at the reservation. Pretty much the same as every year. Even if the location is different, there are the fires, the tents, outdoor sports and such. It's just that one evening one old indian dude showed up. He wasn't part of the organizers, cause we hadn't seen us before or since, but he talked about how you could channel the spirits around us. Nice camp fire story, but not much more to it. Not until a few nights later when a few of us got high and saw... Well, we realized some shit that turned out to actually work. Being a team we all did it, and perhaps a bit too much, since we ended up like this."

"The coach was fucking furious," Seth jumped in. "Turns out we got a bit greedy on strength and got way more pounds to haul across the field than we can win with, so we need to make some adjustments," Nigel concluded. Ronan started to get the picture, though wasn't sure what it would mean for him. Seth continued "We can't just give all of this back. It doesn't work like that, so we were all in agreement that the best bulk bucket to dump all the excess muscle on is you. The way you've run your fucking mouth off all last year, it sounded like a cry for help."

"Fuck it, let's do it now, " Nigel interrupted. He grabbed a wooden stick with both hands, and held it out in front of him. He closed his eyes and appeared to concentrate on something. Ronan could feel the heat building in his legs, and then tiny vibrations, like when you are pushing yourself to your limit and the muscle is about to fail of exhaustion. Then it spread upwards in his body, the heat, the vibrations, and followed by spasms. Nigel stood completely still, eyes closed, and concentrated. Then Ronan saw how Nigel slowly started to shrink. Slowly and subtly, but he was changing. From what he had been told Ronan assumed the opposite was happening to him, but he couldn't really focus enough to register that. His entire body was just a blur of vibrations, heat, and discomfort.

Then it all stopped, almost instantly. Nigel opened his eyes and inspected himself. He still looked amazing, but more appropriate for a football player his age. "Fuck yeah!" Seth exclaimed, and the entire room erupted in cheers and high fives.

"One down and the rest to go. You'll probably feel like shit until everyone who jizzed in your potion is done," Nigel told Ronan, while handing over the stick to Seth.

Ronan was wide awake and was greeted by staring into a pair of pecs as he opened his eyes. It hadn't been a bad dream after all. He really had been in that locker room for hours, getting more and more pumped with muscles as one after the other of the team grabbed the stick and spent some five, ten minutes on transferring muscles over to him. He had felt less and less sick as they progressed, but his heart sunk lower and lower by what was happening to his body. After about a quarter of them he needed to get out of his clothes. His feet hurt the most, but fabric was straining everywhere. He realized he was as buff as any of them, and by the half point he was confident he could kick the shit out of any of them, but to what end? If he ran away they would just continue anyway. Perhaps the pendant was needed, and he could rip that off, but just as Nigel said he was feeling like shit. So he stayed and went from his thin, normal self, through athletic, jock, muscular, swole, to whatever bodybuilding monstrosity he was now.

He didn't cry, that's not the kind of person he was, but he felt like he should as the now recognizable players went through his greatest hits of jock insults, and a whole list of new ones like meatpacker, swole sink, and hunkty dumpty. Harry had brought a roll of stickers from a supermarket saying "USDA Prime" and put one on his chest. After he had removed it he got another one stuck on his back, and to everyone's great amusement he couldn't reach that far back with all his new muscles. Someone had brought some clothes he could actually fit in. A pair of well worn, bulky sneakers, a pair of spandex shorts, and a stringer with the print "Size Matters", all raided from the lost and found at local gyms apparently.

A lot of the players had left after they had adjusted themselves, and the last few of them left just after having thrown the clothes at him. Ronan sat in shock and disbelief for a long while before he got up and put on the scant pieces of clothing, gathered his belongings, and started to head home. He felt off, but wasn't sure how much was residual of the tonic he drank and what was just his new normal. The way his thighs made him waddle and his chest and arm muscles made the arms stand out wouldn't go away just with a night of good sleep.

331 notes · View notes

toomanyrobins · 4 years

Text

MINIMAL LOSS

summary: Spencer and Y/N head into the Separtarian Sect and are greeted with trouble.

pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

content warnings: few swear words, guns, character death, violence, cult behavior

word count: 3.7k

It had been a few months since Y/N had joined the BAU. Despite initial worries, she fit right into the team. She had joined the women for girls’ night and even helped Garcia plan JJ’s baby shower. Hotch was truly showing how much trust he held by sending the two youngest teammates on their own assignment. Y/N and Spencer were in a car in La Plata with Nancy, a CPS worker, on their way to Liberty Ranch. Spencer played the call for the three of them: “He comes into my bedroom and lays with me. He says it's god's will. I'm only 15. And I'm not the only one. Please help me!”

Y/N turned to Nancy, “Who is the ‘he’?”

“I believe the ‘he’ that they referred to is the church's leader: Benjamin Cyrus.”

Reid flipped open the file and leaned forward so that Y/N could look at it too. She smiled appreciatively at him, “Benjamin Cyrus--No criminal record. No record at all, really. What else do you know about him?

Nancy shrugged, “It's rumored that he's practicing polygamy and forced marriages.

Y/N scanned the file as Spencer read aloud, “Do we know who the caller is?”

“Jessica Evanson is the one who the age fits, But...we can't be sure. I negotiated interviews with all the children. It wasn't easy.”

“Well, considering their view on outsiders, it would be best if you didn't identify us as FBI. Just use our real names and introduce us as child victim interview experts.” Y/N and Reid left their badges and gun in the car. The trio pulled up and was greeted by a single man lounging on the stairs. He seemed unimpressed by their presence and continued to read his book. Y/N noted that the act seemed a bit over the top and a definite attempt to appear nonchalant about their visit.

Nancy walked up to him, “I'm looking for Mr. Benjamin Cyrus.”

The man walked down the stairs, shutting the Bible in his hands, “You found him.”

“I'm Nancy Lunde. We spoke on the phone regarding the allegation.”

“Savages they call us because our manners differ from theirs.”

“We didn't come here to hear you cite scripture, Mr. Cyrus.

“Actually, It's a Benjamin Franklin.” Y/N smiled softly at the ever fact-driven Dr. Reid.

Nancy motioned at the two of them, “Y/N Emard and Spencer Reid -- they’re child victim

interview experts.”

“How far from God's word must we have strayed for there to be the need to invent a job called child victim interview expert?”

“We wish we didn't have to be here,” Y/N said.

So do we. But you are welcome, nonetheless. The children are in the school,” He pointed to the building behind him.

Nancy nodded and thanked him. The two women forged ahead, but Y/N stopped when she heard Spencer remark on the compound’s use of solar power.

“We're completely self-sufficient,” Cyrus explained, “Electricity, food, water. Ben Franklin said, ‘God helps those that help themselves.’ You look surprised.” Y/N noticed that Spencer was working to build a relationship with Cyrus and followed Nancy to begin interviews. They decide to start Jessica: the suspected victim. Y/N immediately noted the defensive posture that the 15-year-old held. Her mother, Kathy, stood beside her and looked much more submissive.

“So, what does a normal day on the ranch look like for you?” Y/N inquired.

“We go to school. We do our chores. And we treat ourselves and each other with the respect that God demands.”

“But you've never been off of the ranch?

Kathy spoke, “I brought Jessie here when she was 2.”

The young girl had a very sour look on her face and had her hands folded tightly in anger, “You've talked to lots of children in your work. Tell me, are their lives somehow better than ours? We devote ourselves to God.” Kathy put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder to calm her.

Y/N reassured the teen, “We are not here because of your religious beliefs.”

“Then why are you here?”

“We received a phone call alleging that an adult male member of your church was having inappropriate relations with the younger women here.”

“You're talking about Cyrus.”

Reid had joined them and heard the last bit of the conversation, “What makes you say that?”

Kathy tried to stop her daughter, but the indignation was clear. “Is it inappropriate for a husband to share a bed with his wife?

Y/N was shocked, “You are married to Cyrus?”

“Yes. Cyrus is my husband and a prophet. It's an honor to bear his children.

“Jessica, you're 15 years old. The state of Colorado requires parental consent.”

Y/N stared at Kathy and saw the regret in her eyes. She looked up at Reid, “She gave consent.”

Before they could continue to question, they were interrupted by members of the ranch coming in armed. They forced the three outsiders back and pointed their weapons at them. ”What's going on?” Nancy demanded. Three men came over and patted them all down. Y/N dug her heel into the man’s toe when she felt him linger. He groaned and stepped back with a scowl, nodding to Cyrus to confirm that all three were weapon-free.

“We just got a very strange phone call from a news reporter. Is there anything you want to tell me about a raid, maybe?” All three of them were shocked. Especially Y/n and Spencer since they knew that JJ had checked with other agencies before sending them in. Cyrus shook his head, “They don't know.” The men shepherded the woman and children through tunnels hidden under the buildings to a bunker filled with weapons. Gunfire could be heard overhead as instructions were given by Cyrus.

Y/N and Spencer both saw how the guns lining the walls. She whispered, “Where did all these guns come from?”

Spencer shook his head, “I don't know. Garcia checked with the state police.” Nancy broke free of the group in the bunker and hurried up the church, thinking she could stop the raid from continuing. They heard the gunfire cease and he whispered again, “The raid is over.”

“What does that mean?”

“Either Cyrus convinced them to leave or this is over a lot faster than we thought.” When the men returned back down, Y/N realized that they were stuck in the compound again. Spencer inquired into where Nancy had gone and Cyrus explained that she had been shot by the Colorado authorities.

“They’re pulling out.”

Reid shook his head, “Not for long.” They were stuck in the bunker while the male members of the cult all armed themselves.

Y/N leaned over, “The team will have to be on its way now that a failed raid will be on the news.

“With an average flight time of five and a half hours between DC and the La Plata County Airport plus the half hour drive out to the ranch, I estimate that they’ll be here by 4 o’clock, maybe 4:30 depending on who drives.” Y/N and Reid stayed trapped in the bunker, covered by an armed member at the door.

Y/N needed grounding and turned to Spencer, “What is the playbook here?”

“If the BAU is put in charge, which I imagine they will be because we are inside, they will go for the minimal loss situation. Statistically, it is improbable that they will get every member out, so they will do their best to save as many as possible. With the indoctrination in cults like this, some will be too far gone. It will be impossible to convince them that what they have been following is a lie. They’ll first try to get out 1 or 2, then 3 or 4, and then as many as possible before it goes bad,” Spencer stopped talking and looked confused, “You haven’t told me to stop rambling.”

“Why would I tell you to stop? This is valuable information,” Y/N’s cheeks warmed, “Plus you have a nice voice. We are going to be here a while until someone gets in contact with Cyrus. Best to be informed and it seems that you’re a wealth of information, Dr. Reid.”

Despite the situation, Spencer smiled and continued talking quietly to Y/N about the tactics used. She asked him questions and let him answer them with as much information as he had. Y/N had seen him get cut off by the others before, and she understood why they did it, but she realized he probably didn’t get to share to his heart’s content often and currently they had a minimum 6 hours of waiting ahead of them. That plan was cut short by Cyrus coming back down. He brought them all up to the church. The duo were off to the side, watching as Rossi came in carrying a box. He was patted down and Cyrus spoke to him. Y/N and Spencer were both careful to keep any hint of recognition off of their face, knowing that even a twinge of weakness could seal their fates.

Rossi let his eyes pass over the duo, before turning to Cryus, “I’d hope you let me take the children.”

“Nah, they’re our protection. I remember Waco... we all do. They stay for now. While I pray for God’s guidance. Please don’t try to force us out.”

“No one’s gonna try to force you out of here.” The two men walked to the door and Rossi left again.

The moment he was out the door, Cyrus ordered a member to prepare wine, “We are celebrating. Everyone drinks. Everyone rejoices. Because today we are one day closer to being with him.”

Y/N watched a scene unfold in front of her and brushed her hand against Spencer’s to get his attention, “Look at Jessica’s body language. The way she looks at him. She literally worships him.”

Spencer nodded, “There is no way she made that 911 call.”

They both watched as Kathy stood up to speak to her daughter, “Look how she comes between Cyrus and her daughter. She's inserted herself between them. I don’t think Kathy is as devout a follower as she wants people to believe. Cyrus isn’t the most important thing to her; Jessica is.” Spencer squeezed her hand in silent agreement.

Cyrus began preaching from the front as all the followers drank the wine, “Acknowledge him in all things and he will guide your way. Drink to acknowledge him and I will guide our way. We will be with him soon. We drank the poison together. Mothers… Fathers… Children, though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, we fear no evil, for thou art with us.”

Y/N eyes widened and she looked up at Spencer, “What do we do?”

He shook his head, “Nothing.”

“We have to do something. These people just took poison.”

“Cyrus just told them they did. I think he's just bluffing. Just after he told them about the poison, he waited for them to start to react. Then, he nodded to Cole and he started writing. They're scanning the audience looking for reactions. They're writing down the names of the people who are crying.

Realization hit Y/N, “It's a loyalty list. So he knows who will follow him to the end.”

Cyrus spoke again, “Be still. There was no poison. Instead a test of faith. Because your adversary, the devil, waltzes about as a roaring lion, choosing whom he may devour. Watch each other for signs of weakness. You are your brother's keeper.”

After the test, they forced Y/N and Spencer back into the bunker. A guard again stationed by the door. It wasn’t long before Cyrus came back into the bunker, anger written across his face, “Which one of you is it? Which one of you is an FBI agent?”

Spencer and Y/N shared a look. “Why do you think one of us is an FBI agent?

“God will forgive me for what I must do.”

Spencer kept his face confused and innocent, “I--I don't know what you're talking about.”

Cyrus cocked a gun and pointed it at Spencer’s forehead. “One of you does. Who is it?”

Y/N knew that Spencer had built a rapport with the sect leader. She took a deep breath, “Me. It's me.”

Spencer looked at her worriedly as Cyrus uncocked the weapon. He flew forward and grabbed Y/N by her hair, dragging her into another room, “I told you not to put me in this position!” She tried to stand, but he backhanded her. She got up again, staring determinedly at him. This time, Cyrus threw her into the wall. Y/N crashed into a mirror and felt the shards cut her arms and face. He continued to preach while beating her, “Proverbs 20:30 tells us blows and wounds cleanse away evil.

Y/N remembered what Reid had said about the FBI trying to find a way to listen in, she had to stop them from coming in, “I can take it.” Cyrus thought she was antagonizing him and hit harder. She repeated herself, “I can take it.” Y/N hoped that the team understood that she could handle this fight and not blow the operation by trying to save her.

“Pride comes before the fall,” Cyrus punched her in the stomach and threw her to the floor. Y/N lay on the floor, trying to catch her breath after the last kick to her stomach knocked the wind out of her. He called for another man to come in, “Tie her up. Put her upstairs.

Kathy snuck into the room they had trapped Y/N in. She had brought a small first aid kit and cleaned the blood away from her face and removed bits of glass, “You should have told Cyrus who you were. He's a prophet. He predicted Satan's armies would come and lay siege to us.

Every inch of Y/N’s body hurt, but she knew she couldn’t give up. She looked at Kathy, “There's a name for that kind of prophecy-- self-fulfilling.”

“You don't know how dangerous It is to lie to him.”

“I know it would take a brave woman to defy him, Knowing the consequences. And that woman would have to have a damn good reason to do it. Kathy sucked in air when she realized that Y/N had suspicions about who made the 911 call that had led to them coming to the compound. She left the room and Y/N let her head fall back against the pillows, hoping that she was getting to the woman.

She tried to track how long had passed but when the sun set, she had no measure of time. It hadn’t been long before the door to the room flew open and the same man who had tied her up entered. He roughly dragged her up and cut the rope binding her wrist. He kept his weapon trained on her and forced her into the church, where everyone else was.

Cyrus stood at the altar, “It has come to my attention that some of our brothers and sisters have lost their faith in God. That they no longer love us. They want to abandon us. So when I call out your name, please stand.”

Spencer came up to her. She kept her eyes trained on the sect leader, “He looks pissed.” She turned to him and smiled softly when she saw the worry in his eyes, “Spencer, it's not as bad as it looks. I’ve had worse.”

“I'm so sorry,” Spencer scanned over Y/N’s body, taking in every injury inflicted by Cyrus. Moments like this, he hated his eidetic memory; knowing he would never forget the beating Y/N took to protect him. Their attention was drawn back to the members,

“Look at who he's releasing. It's the ones who failed the loyalty test. I'll get word to the team. Wait for a sign from outside to indicate what time the raid will come.” Spencer walked away from her to speak to Cyrus. He turned and nodded to her, before she was dragged back up the room. Her arms were tied again and she was thrown on the bed.

Y/N nodded off for a few hours, but had woken up when the sun had started to rise, cursing herself for falling asleep. Y/N situated herself on the bed and used her shoe to pull the blinds down. She knew that the glass needed to vibrate in order for them to hear her, “If you can hear me, I know you're coming. I can try to get the women and children down to the tunnel, but I need to know when you're coming.” She continued to repeat herself, when a red dot shone on the opposite wall, “Ok. Ok. I got you. What time?” The dot held steady for a moment and then moved 90 degrees. “3 a.m.?” The dot moved up and down confirming, “Understood. Reid is on the first floor somewhere with Cyrus. And, please, remember there are children here.” Y/N heard someone coming and dropped her foot, letting the blind close again.

Kathy came back into Y/N’s room. She helped her sit up and gave her a glass of water. This was Y/N’s last chance to convince Kathy to held, “Cyrus is planning a mass suicide. You made that 911 call.”

The woman shook her head regretfully, “This is all my fault. None of this would have happened if I hadn't of made that call.

“You were trying to protect your daughter. No one would fault you for that”

“There were other girls before Jessie. He--he would marry them in secret, and after a while he'd take another. And we weren't permitted to speak of it. So, when she asked for my consent, I wanted to just take her and run. But I was afraid she wouldn't leave him.”

“You wanted us to take her.”

“Well, I--I wanted to save her from Cyrus.”

“I can give you another chance. The FBI is coming here at 3 a.m. I need you to gather Jessica, the kids, the other women -- get them into the basement just before 3 a.m.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I have faith that you are a strong enough woman to do the right thing for Jessica.” Kathy stood and walked out of the room without another word. Y/N was left with the hope that she had gotten through to the woman.

Only a few moments later, Kathy came back. She helped Y/N sit up and removed the bindings from her wrists, “You were right. They're setting the place to blow up. I told Jessie that Cyrus wanted her to gather the women and children.”

Y/N’s thoughts were on Spencer, “Where is the man I came in with?”

“He's in the chapel with Cyrus. It's 2:45, though, we gotta hurry.” Y/N and Kathy rushed to get the women and children down to the basement, careful to avoid any of the armed men.

Once they got to the basement, Derek and Rossi were waiting for them. He rushed up to her, “Y/N, Y/N, you all right?

“Worry about me later, Derek. They've wired explosives.” Kathy and the agents rushed everyone out of the compound.

“Where's Reid?”

“He's in the chapel with Cyrus.”

Rossi turned to her, “We gotta get you out of here.

“No. We've gotta get Reid!

Derek grabbed her shoulders, “I will get Reid. Get out of here. Get to safety. Go now.” Y/N nodded and followed after the rest of the members. She stayed watching the building as the other continued to run. Y/N had to know that Spencer was okay. The church exploded and Y/N fell to the ground, covering her head. Once the smoke cleared, she stood up, “Reid! Morgan? Reid? Morgan!”

“We're ok!” Derek called.

Spencer ran up to her and wrapped her in a hug, “Are you okay?” She nodded and he put his arm around her, helping her to walk to get medical attention. Only once he was certain she was getting help did he leave.

Y/N sat in the back of an ambulance as the paramedic pulled shards of glass from her arms, and bandaged and disinfected the cuts on her face. JJ came over to check on her, “How bad is it?”

“Everything is sore, but the worst is cuts from the mirror he slammed me into. They said I don’t even need to go to the hospital.”

“Take it easy and don’t move until one of us comes to help you. Understand?”

Y/N smiled, “You’re already such a mom, JJ.” The blonde laughed and sat next to her, one hand on her belly. The rest of the night passed quickly and soon the team was on the jet back to DC. Y/N sat next to Spencer on the couch, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

Y/N gently pulled the book out of his hands and put her hand in his, forcing him to put all of his attention on her, “I need you to listen to me. What Cyrus did to me is not your fault. It was my decision, and I would do it again. Do you hear me?” Spencer nodded. Y/N smiled at him and handed him his book back. She tucked her feet under the blanket and put her head on his shoulder, exhaustion weighing her eyelids down. Spencer read to her, remembering what she said about his voice, until he was sure she was asleep. The team all shared looks at the familiarity between the youngest teammates and smiled.

When they landed, Spencer offered to drive her home. The duo ended up at Y/N’s apartment. They ordered Chinese food and Y/N let him turn on Star Trek and explain all of the science and how it was ahead of its time. By the end of the night, Y/N had her legs slung across his lap and a frozen pea bag on her bruised face. She fell asleep sometime during the fourth episode. Spencer turned the TV off and covered her with a blanket. He quickly put the leftovers and peas away, and even laid out some Advil and water on the coffee with a note for when she woke up.

Y/N,

You fell asleep and I decided you need your sleep. I put the food away and the peas back in the freezer. Take the Advil when you wake up. You’re going to need it. Text me when you wake up and I’ll pick you up. You shouldn’t drive until you’ve healed.

Dr. Spencer Reid

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #toomanyrobins

195 notes · View notes

lizzy-frizzle · 4 years

Text

I’m going to start this by saying, I have bias. Everyone does. I do not intend for this to come off as “the thing you like is bad”, but moreso “the corporation that controls the thing you like is manipulative”.

My background; I am a 26 year old trans mom, I have a history with addiction, particularly gambling, and spend most of my time playing video games. I have gone to college for about 3 years for my psychology degree, and while I do not have my degree, I have been studying psychology for roughly 12 years. This is to say, my views will reflect this background. Just because I present this information like I do, does not inherently mean I’m right, though it also doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Try to view things with a critical mind, and know that most topics have nuance.

Ok, so lootboxes, booster packs, gacha games, all of these are gambling. This is not really an argument. You are putting money into a service of sorts, and receiving a randomized result. Be that a fancy new gun, that same boring legendary you have 5 of, or that final hero you’ve been trying to collect. You don’t know the outcome before you give your money. As defined by the merriam-webster dictionary: “Gambling; the practice of risking money or other stakes in a game or bet”

You are risking your money in not getting an item you want. There are ways this is handled acceptably, and ways this is handled poorly. Gambling is also illegal to people under 21 in a lot of places, but places online aren’t quick to tell you why. I don’t have any sources because every source requires a paywall to get any information, but pulling from my own personal experience and what I learned in college, it’s because children are very impressionable. I say “I like pokemon” and suddenly my 2-year old can’t go anywhere without her pikachu. I remember distinctly playing poker with my mom and her friends when I was 12. When you normalize gambling, what it does is lower the risk aversion of gambling. You are less likely to see a threat in playing that card game, because when you are that young you have no concept of money. You don’t know what a dollar is, so why not throw it away so you can have fun. This is...I hesitate to call it fine, but it’s mostly harmless. The issue is with children and their lack of knowledge of money. When I grew up and got a job, it’s a lot harder to tell my brain, “hey, don’t spend that money, you won’t get it back and you won’t get what you want.” Because my brain just acknowledges the potential for what I want. I want to buy the booster pack so I can have the potential to get that masterpiece misty rainforest. I want to buy that diamond pack so I have the chance to get the cute hero. I want to buy that lootbox so I can get the battle rifle that does a cool effect. These are harmless concepts, but very dangerous.

Make no mistake, companies know how psychology works, and will use it to their advantage. MatPat from game theory states that companies have even go so far as to have systems in place that change the odds as you’re losing, and monitor your skill level to put you up against harder opponents, to see the better weapons and go, “Oh I want that!” and entice you to buy more lootboxes. As it turns out I found an article covering what he was talking about, Activision had actually acquired a patent to arrange matchmaking to do just that [x], and the article says it’s not in place, but my trust in companies is not high enough to actually believe them.(honestly, matpat made a 2-part video series about lootboxes, and I’d recommend watching them)

So, companies are trying to manipulate you to buy more gambling products. There’s proof of it. It’s also more blatantly obvious in games like Magic the Gathering, where they release fancier versions of cards at rarer probabilities. To better explain it, from a collector’s standpoint, you want the fancy card cause it has value, it has value because it’s rare, rarer than the other versions, so if you’re on the lower end of the income ladder you buy a pack, or two. After all, you could get lucky and get it. On the higher end of the income ladder, you buy the card outright and hoard it. Maybe sell it off later if you notice the price goes down. From a player perspective, you see a card is being used by tournament players, you want to win more games, so you want those cards, which encourages you to buy products and try to get those cards. That’s predatory behavior. It’s predatory from the company’s perspective because that poor person might not be able to afford the card outright, but $5-$10 isn’t much, plus they always entice you with that Chance. They also further this desire for the cards by making it limited runs, such as the secret lair packs, if there’s a low amount purchased and it’s made to order, or worse, if they limit the order capabilities themselves, that drives up the value, and provides further incentive to buy the cards and packs. This not only creates an impossible barrier between the poor and the rich, but also heavily encourages people buy their gambling pack than people would have in other conditions.

For the record, I love magic the gathering, I’m not saying the game itself is bad, this is just a VERY predatory marketing tactic.

Let’s switch gears. Gacha games. I play AFKArena, because like I said, I have a gambling addiction and cannot stop myself. In AFKArena, you collect heroes, and battle with them in various ways. If you collect more of similar heroes you can rank them up. If I’m to believe what I’ve heard, it sounds like this is pretty common for gacha games. So what makes it bad. In AFKArena you use diamonds to summon heroes, now, you can acquire diamonds by beating specific story chapters, logging in every day, random limited time events, or paying for them with real money. AFKArena hero drops don’t seem that bad compared to the free diamond amount they dish out, which has resulted in me not spending all that much money on it, all things considered ($20 over 2 years). I believe that for a mobile game like this, that’s fair. I get way more enjoyment out of the game than I do most $60 games, so it balances out. However, this isn’t the case for every gacha game, and my trust in companies, as previously stated, is very low. The issue lies in them making the rates for good heroes so low that you HAVE to spend money on the game to really get over a roadblock of sorts. I do think that there is this issue in my game and I just didn’t notice it, someone with a lower tolerance or patience might absolutely have the incentive to drop hundreds of dollars on the game over a month. There are people of all different flavours, and it’s important to keep that in mind when discussing these topics, just because a marketing technique doesn’t work on you, does not mean it doesn’t work on anyone. After all, they have those $100 packs for a reason, you might not be that reason but someone is. That’s predatory.

I feel like I’ve gotten off track, let’s get back on the rails. Where was...gambling...predatory…ah, kids. So my biggest issue, is that Magic the Gathering is marketed towards 13 year olds. Not directly, but the packs say 13+. AFKArena and any mobile game for that matter, can be downloaded by anyone with a phone for free, with minimal mention that there’s microtransactions. AAA title games like Destiny 2, Overwatch, Fortnite, etc. are probably the worst offenders. A kid spent $16,000 of his parents money on fortnite in-game purchases, and that’s not the only time this has happened [x] [x] . More often than not, what happens is, the kid wants to play a video game, like halo on xbox, or destiny, or something, they ask their mom for their credit card, and the system saves it. I mentioned before that kids do not have a concept of money or its value, so giving kids unlimited access to the credit card is going to result in this kind of thing happening. I’m not blaming the parents for not being hypervigilant, sometimes you are really busy, or disabled, or whatever the reason, and you don’t notice the system just saved your card. I’m not blaming the kids cause their brains are literally underdeveloped. I blame the corporations, because they make the process as easy as possible to prey on kids and people with gambling addictions. (as a personal anecdote, I found that if I want a magic card in MtG:O, I’m way less likely to try and buy it if I have to get up and get my card, I’d recommend not saving your card if you suffer from gambling/addiction problems)

So after all of this evidence, how can anyone still view these things as anything but predatory? The answer is simple. You’re told they aren’t. Businesses spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on really good marketing, and public relations. I tried to google why gambling is illegal for people under 21, and got nothing, I got a couple forums asking the question, and a couple religious sites saying it’ll make them degenerates. I try looking up sources to prove the psychology behind these concepts, but they are locked behind paywall after paywall after paywall. Businesses and capitalism has made it so incredibly hard to discover the truth and get information you need, and it’s on purpose. They want you to trust that that booster pack is a good idea. They want you to spend money on lootboxes (look at all the youtubers that shill out for raid shadow legends, or other gambling games to their super young fanbase [x]). They want you to lower your guard and go, “well, it’s a video game, how can it be predatory?” “it’s a card game with cute creatures on it, surely it’s not that bad”

But it is. So why did I make this post? I dunno, my brain really latched onto the topic, I see so many people enjoying gacha games, but I’m worried that it’s going to ruin lives...I just want everyone to be informed and critical of what is going on.

#gambling addiction tw #addiction tw #this is probably a bad idea to post knowing how this site operates #but it matters to me

230 notes · View notes

feanorianethicsdepartment · 3 years

Video

youtube

‘today’s silm vocaloid song: clear sky engine (クリヤスカイ機関) by nyanyannya and hara ft. rin kagamine and zunko tohoku

this one’s about elrond, maglor, and the sudden non-ending of the world. you know that thing where you build an elaborate fandom video in your head for a completely unrelated song, but you don’t have the most basic art skills you’d need to make it a reality? yeah, i square that circle by writing them out. here, have an extremely long songfic/filk/commentary/thing

It was just another day, beneath a black sky

The bustle of camp churned on around me

I wasn’t paying attention to what my hands were doing

Dreaming of a shining star-lit sky

we open on elrond, living in a world about to die. the fëanorians were forced to abandon amon ereb years ago, and now the last of the host ekes out a precarious nomadic existence, raiding deserted villages for food and losing more people they can’t replace with each battle. they’re still doing better than everyone else on the mainland, though. their blades, at least, remain sharp

(the smoke from the fires of angband has risen to cover the whole continent in dark clouds. some of the sun’s warmth still gets through, and on good nights the star of high hope is still faintly visible, but the light-filled skies of old are little more than memory. all the survivors know that the end is near. it’s only a matter of time)

He’d broken a promise he’d made to us

So I was a little more annoyed at him than usual

He chatted with me while I worked to make up for it

And I made all my usual complaints

elrond and elros are at this point... i’d say very early teens? not that they had much of a childhood; the fëanorians are so short-staffed the twins have been doing odd jobs around camp pretty much since it became clear they weren’t going to run away. today elrond is taking stock of the medical supplies, less because he has any interest in the healing arts than because it’s a job that needs doing and everyone else is busy

maglor is hovering within talking distance, doing elrond-doesn’t-care-what. the twins’ relationship with maglor is extremely complicated to say the least, their mercurial hellbeast protector who scares the shit out of everyone else they’ve ever met and who has stood between them and the darkness for as long as they can remember. recently, he promised to stay with the twins while they did something difficult, but he failed to do so for a whole host of reasons, including getting into a two-hour shrieking match with maedhros at the last possible moment. elros shrugged it off, like elros shrugs everything off, but elrond is a simmering cauldron of adolescent rage at the best of times

which is why maglor’s checking on him, giving him an outlet for his anger before it can turn into despair. because what would be the point, in the end? they’re all going to die anyway. one of the reasons maglor’s resisted sending the kids to balar so hard is that no matter where they are, eventually morgoth will sweep down and destroy them all. there’s nowhere safe left, nothing they can do to protect them. none of this is even new, it’s a shadow that’s hung over them all since the twins grew old enough to understand this

so maglor and elrond chat, or rather elrond grumbles incessantly and maglor snarks as upliftingly as he can remember to. it’s a day like any other, nothing about it to distinguish it from the hundreds that came before or however many will come after. that is, until one of the lesser minions comes over, yelling, ‘boss! boss! you have to see this!’

elrond turns around. for the first time ever, he sees true hope on her face

“Have you finally grown tired of us?” I hissed

But in that moment excitement ran round the campsite

And someone cried out with joy

“The hour we thought would never be, the return of the light, has finally come to pass!”

far, far away, the hosts of the valar are landing on the shores of beleriand. disembarking from their luminous ships, clad in radiant armour and carrying blessed weapons, their brilliance pierces the dark fog that has settled over beleriand for so long. shining like the stars come to earth, the hallowed army of valinor begins its long march towards the gates of angband. far above, ships riding jets of light slice open the smog

this news - this unexpected, unbelievable, impossible miracle bestowed unto doomed beleriand, this chance that their enemy might actually fall - is the greatest thing anyone in camp’s heard all century. maybe in more prosperous times the host would have groused about the valar finally seeing fit to get off their asses, but in this world turned to ash any chance at victory is to be celebrated. the minions throw a massive impromptu party, of the kind they haven’t since before sirion. elros is right there with them, singing off-key and laughing as loud as anyone else. even maedhros cracks a tiny relieved smile

maglor watches the festivities from the outside, more genuinely optimistic than he thought he was still capable of. elrond joins him, brow furrowed as he tries to comprehend it all. they talk

“It feels like a dream I’ll never wake up from”

“What are you blabbering about now?”

elrond is voiced by zunko, maglor by rin. the song’s more of a dialogue than a duet, so i’ll be bolding maglor’s lines

The sheet of paper I held in my hands read

“The hosts of the West have come! Our world is saved!”

the letter’s from gil-galad, or at least his administrative apparatus. it’s not even that hostile; apparently the armies of the gods showing up out of nowhere to save them all from certain doom has him in a magnanimous mood. there’s some drivel about surrendering and eärendil and all wrongs being forgiven, but neither maglor nor elrond is paying attention to it

“Hey, do you remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Love and justice and valour and hope”

“I remember the sea of blood you drowned everything in for them”

elrond didn’t really have any formal schooling - nobody had the time - but he has managed to pick up a lot of stuff from the stories the people around them tell. that the fëanorians came to middle-earth for high noble ideals, and that it was trying to fulfil those ideals that led them into darkness, is something maglor told him once, when he was in a darkly honest mood

“Haha, that’s just details, everybody makes that kind of mistake when they’re young”

“Why are you like this?”

a mood maglor’s obviously not in at the moment, if he’s laughing off the kinslayings like this; elrond knows this isn’t how he actually feels about them. normally elrond would just roll his eyes and move on with his life, but things are different today

The camp was full of laughter, as if everyone had lost their minds

elrond’s not used to happiness. not full, unironic happiness, untainted by the shadow of their inevitable death, not from the fëanorians. the sheer jubliation suffusing camp is fundamentally alien to him, a child of a world about to end. he doesn’t know what to do with the knowledge that maybe they won’t all get eaten by dragons. he doesn’t know what to do with the hope in everyone’s eyes

so instead, when maglor wanders away from the party, elrond catches him with a song

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! For certain”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the fears I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine songs I can give to you”

maglor’s been teaching elrond how to do this, how to snatch someone into a world of music and throw your voice at them until one of you can’t take it any more. maglor wins this one, as usual; even if his song is incapable of anything but violence he’s got centuries of experience on elrond, enough to turn the sharp edges of his voice into blades in elrond’s hands. and that is what he’s doing, clumsy and harsh as he is; he’s trying to give elrond a reason to hope

elrond is the one who breaks the spell, dropping the melody, letting the music dissolve into the air. maglor flashes him a grin and walks off, humming merrily. elrond just stands there, still unable to understand

I’ve heard it before, it’s all anyone can talk about, even if I try to avoid it it stabs into my ears

cut past a decade or so, to well into the war of wrath. elrond and elros are in their mid-teens now. they’re still with the fëanorians, but these days the fëanorian warband is effectively an auxiliary unit to the amanyar army, skirting around the edges of that much larger force. for the first time in a long while, elrond and elros have regular-ish contact with people outside the fëanorian sphere of influence, mostly peripheral edain and the sindar who run messages between the camps. it’s different, talking to new people

(the sky is still covered with smog, but it’s gloomy grey, not oppressive black. the sun is faintly visible through it, most of the time. the rain is much less poisonous than it used to be, and on good nights you can almost see the moon. the closer they get to angband, the darker the clouds grow)

“It is as the gods have decreed, soon the darkness will be swept away and the Enemy will be cast down

And after the war in the purified world, we will all live happily together

Building new homes in a land unmarred by evil”

the people outside the host are much more optimistic about the future, for one. the fëanorian minions are happy morgoth is getting trounced but they don’t really talk about what comes after that, like they can’t imagine a world without war. the sindar, and especially the edain, on the other hand, have all these plans about the cities they’ll build, the arts they’ll perfect, the children they’ll raise in a world without danger. elros is super into this; he barely spends time with the fëanorians any more, he’s so busy going between different edain camps, making friends, planning for the future. elrond, though...

Even my twin knows what future to reach out for...

elrond doesn’t know what to do with any of this. the very concept that someday the war will end and the sky will clear and he’ll have a bright future is still something he doesn’t fully understand. even more, he’s defined himself for so long as not-a-fëanorian, now he’s regularly interacting with people who doubtlessly aren’t he’s having trouble figuring out what else he is. he’s stuck between people who are lowkey hoping they’ll die gloriously in battle and people who have been dreaming about what they’d do in a world without darkness all their lives, and he doesn’t know what he even wants, not really, not yet

so he keeps on living, just like he always has. he’s been promoted to sick tent dogsbody and is learning how to heal with song from the last minion who can kind of still do it. he acts as a proxy between the fëanorians and the more timid outsiders they keep running into. when he goes (or elros drags him) exploring in other camps, he keeps track of every new detail he comes across, in case it’s somehow useful later

and he keeps talking to maglor, with anger and spite and sarcasm and whatever other emotion he’s covering his uncertainties with today. maglor always listens, usually offers to help, and sometimes elrond even lets him. the fëanorian camp settles into a rhythm of buildup-fight-recovery-buildup-fight-recovery, so regular it lulls elrond into complacency. he takes the future he still doesn’t quite believe in one day at a time, until suddenly the ground crumbles beneath his feet

You say it’s to ‘fulfill our ideals’ but what you mean by that is ‘to sate our bloodlust’, I know

With their blades and teeth sharpened for battle, the kinslayers broke away from the light and disappeared into the shadows

there’s a whole mountain of reasons why, as they draw near to angband, the dregs of the fëanorian host abruptly peel off from the valinorean army and vanish into the night. they know they're more effective as a stealthy shock ambush unit, they’re somewhat concerned the amanyar will turn on them the second morgoth is no longer a problem, they're making one last desperate rush for the silmarils, all that and more. it’s not the first time they’ve suddenly packed up and left before their enemies can react, probably not even the first time they’ve done it to the hosts of valinor. there’s just one little difference

Leaving us behind? Leaving you behind

they’re not taking the twins. said twins only find out about this, like, the day before they decamp. maedhros’ justification is something about them not being able to support noncombatants on the march, but the twins believe that about as much as they believe that the fëanorians are doing this for any kind of hope. elros, of course, was half-planning on leaving anyway, going off to chase his own ambitions with his new edain posse. he copes with it pretty well, relatively

but elrond’s mind goes blank. once he thought the day they let them go would be the best day of his life, but now it’s come it feels so wrong, and this horrible coldness is seeping into him. in a flash of what feels like foresight, he suddenly knows the people who raised him will never come back. how dare - why - he can’t -

with a sharp desperate burst of sound that’s a surprise to even himself, elrond lashes out a song to catch maglor

“For ten more minutes, one more week, half a year, please, let me stay with you!”

“In a year’s time, ten years’ time, a hundred years’ time, we’ll see the starlit sky together”

“What if one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight times I begged you not to go?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine of your other wishes I’ll hear”

and elrond just stops. he lets the song trail off, staring at maglor. he’s in an incredibly weird mood, with something that could almost be compassion in his eyes

there’s only one way he can find out what’s happening, elrond realises

“In that case - !”

maglor was never really demonstratively affectionate with the twins. it would never have come off as real on his part, and they wouldn’t have believed it in any case. still, he supported them. he let them trail behind them, all but cling to the backs of his legs, in those first horrible weeks when they were terrified of absolutely everything. he taught them to ride and he taught them to read, how to reinforce a blade with nothing but song and close a wound with needle and thread. on the darkest nights, when all the world was filled by the howling beasts of morgoth and the wailing of the unhallowed dead, he held them tight and flared his own fires high, a warm smoky bonfire between them and the void. he answered their questions, and told them stories

and sometimes, he tried to be kind

“Sing me a lullaby like the flat of a blade”

“Which one would you like?”

“I want to see a flower that will still bloom”

“I know just the one”

“I don’t care what kind of monster you are! Just please stay with me, for even one more tomorrow...”

“...I’m sorry”

“What do you mean?”

“You were given your name because your parents wanted you to see the stars someday”

it was easy for maglor to justify keeping the twins when they didn’t have a future. the shadow of death blotted out the sky, so why not hold them close for whatever little time they had left? no matter where they were, the void would soon claim them all

except it didn’t. in the end they were not forsaken. the sacred light came out of the west to burn away the darkness and finish the war he once thought they could never win. the hosts of the valar have gotten farther in decades than the noldor did in centuries, and soon enough they’ll cast the enemy down and release the world from his terrible maw. and then the future the free peoples dreamed of will stretch out before them, full of possibilities beyond measure

and that’s why maglor has to let them go. the magnificent people that elrond and elros are already becoming will only wither among hopeless kinslayers who have nothing left but the sword. to flourish into their full glorious selves, they need to be with people who dream, who can travel towards the future alongside the twins with light hearts and songs on their lips. maglor refuses to let his own darkness drown the last people in the world he does not hate. elrond deserves so, so much better than maglor is capable of giving him. he deserves to see the stars

hearing all that, there’s only one thing elrond can say

“You can’t even keep one miserable promise! Don’t pretend like you’re my father, kinslayer!”

and that’s the last elrond sees of maglor. the fëanorians vanish in the middle of the night, leaving elrond and elros (and about half a dozen minions who are taking their last possible chance to get out) behind. elros takes up with his edain buddies and starts making contacts and forging alliances. elrond winds up in gil-galad’s orbit, surrounded by people who are very understanding about how awful his childhood was, which just pisses him off more. he doesn’t throw tantrums or refuse to work, those aren’t luxuries he was raised with, but he spends a fair bit of time spurning every bit of sympathy and aid he’s offered and trying not to cry himself to sleep

with time, though, he finds a place. it starts with círdan, the first person who believes elrond about what his time with the fëanorians was like. then he befriends erestor, and then gil-galad starts actually respecting the way elrond feels, and then he gets officially taken on as an apprentice healer. he starts learning about his own ancestors and their peoples, and reaching out for stories he never knew could be his. as the final battle of the iron hells begins, elrond is doing... better

and soon, the hope that no one in beleriand once dreamed would be fulfilled becomes a reality

And then, as if it had never held power, the darkness was cast down...

they win the war. the armies of angband are crushed. the peaks of thangorodrim are torn down. the prisoners of the deepest pits of the iron hells are freed. the forces of evil are scattered to the four winds. morgoth, the fallen vala himself, is defeated and captured and bound with great chains, unable to ever hurt anyone again. the precious remnants of the light of the trees, the remaining two silmarils, are recovered. the dark clouds evaporate, and for the first time elrond can remember, the sky is perfectly clear. the war of the jewels is finally over

elrond has grown so much since the day he first heard that the hosts of the west had come. he still can’t quite believe it

They held a great celebration beneath a star-speckled sky I’d never seen before

“The world is saved and we are freed! Evil has been vanquished forevermore”

The triumphant voices of the generals poured out over the victory feast while the stars shone true above the happy ending

the soldiers of valinor and the people of beleriand (what’s left of them) throw a truly massive party. it’s still tinged with their grief over everything they’ve lost, but the atmosphere is primarily one of ecstatic relief. they’re alive, and they’ve come out the other side. dwarvish tailors dance with high maiar, humans who don’t remember the moon get drunk with elves who remember cuiviénen. even after the official festivities die down and people start hashing out what they want to do next, the general mood remains buoyant and cheerful. at long last, they live in a world without danger

none of it feels real to elrond. gil-galad’s talking about building a kingdom on the other side of the blue mountains, elros and his grand edain alliance are trying to bully the maiar into letting them set up on tol eressëa, and elrond feels so disconnected from it all, like he’s watching someone else’s life. he’s happy the enemy has been overcome, of course he is, but he’s not feeling the overwhelming joy everyone else is. he can’t let his guard down yet, something is still wrong -

Except he hasn’t come back, they haven’t come back, where did they go, what have they done?

The word raced around as fast as the wind, giving me an answer I never wanted to hear -

where is maglor? the fëanorians broke off to fight the war their own way, but the war is over now, where are they? they were so happy to hear that the amanyar had arrived, he can’t imagine them not thrilled to see the enemy they hated more than anything else fall. in the warm afterglow of victory, it feels like even their sins might be forgiven, and they could finally go home. they have nothing else left; why wouldn’t they take that outstretched hand?

but nobody’s so much as glimpsed their flag since some time before the final battle. elrond quietly assumes, perhaps even hopes, that they all died fighting, and yet he can’t shake the cold dread crawling up his spine

elrond has mixed feelings about the silmarils, and doesn’t particularly care to be near them. by the time the news of their theft reaches him, maedhros and maglor have already fled into the night

Still driven on by their oath, they turned their blades on their kin one last time

“And stole away the hallowed light”

Yes, that light which sank all of our lands beneath a deep dark layer of corpses and ash

all elrond sees is the aftermath, the blood sinking into the ground. it’s far from the first time he’s seen people killed, but somehow now it’s all hitting him, all at once. he sees the bodies and it knocks the breath out of him. all he can see is the dead, from finwë on down, the rotting carcasses of every last person who was slaughtered for these gems, a whole continent bleached with death. they call the silmarils the most beautiful things in the world, jewels shining with the very light of creation, but elrond can’t see it for the blood they’re dripping with

that’s the immediate thing that has his hands shaking and his breath running cold. by morning it’s had a chance to sink in a little, and -

He lied he lied he lied he lied

maglor regretted the kinslayings! elrond knows he did! it was never even something he actually said, it was obvious from the way he talked about them. every single one was a complete disaster, nothing the fëanorians ever got out of them was worth what they lost in the process, and afterwards things always got worse in ways they never expected. and maglor hated the person the kinslayings had turned him into, elrond spent enough time around him to pick up on that much! surely he’d do anything to not have to commit another one?

apparently not! apparently all that regret, all that loss, the arguments and the nightmares and the coldly determined efforts to stop them following his path, it all meant nothing! he still gave in to despair or maedhros or whatever, killed yet more people, stole from the army whose return he said was like a dream come to life, spat in the face of his last chance to go home, and vanished! gil-galad’s people were right! he really is nothing more than a monster!

the shock of it all makes something snap in elrond, whatever fragile optimism he absorbed from the people around him draining away until he feels completely hollow. hundreds of years of suffering and death, and for what?

Smeared with the blood of untold hundreds, untold thousands, untold millions of people

Did they buy us peace for even half a year, even a week, even ten minutes?

Noooooooo!

Even the very land we lived on crumbled and drowned

What was the point?! What was the point?! What was the point?!

I feel like I’m going insaaaaaaane

morgoth may have fallen, but beleriand is dead! nothing remains, not the lush green lands of the stories, or even the dessicated forests of his childhood, just desolate earth and the devouring sea. almost everywhere he’s ever known, almost everyone who lived and fought and dreamed there, are lost forever. nothing was saved, everything was destroyed, what good is a clear blue sky when there’s nothing beneath it?! how can they call this a happy ending?!

elrond can’t see any light here, all the great battles and heroic deeds seem absolutely pointless in the face of everyone and everything immolated in the endless grasping for these gems. the hosts of valinor leave the continent they shattered, the remnants of gil-galad’s people escape the raging forces of nature, and the survivors bicker and fight over resources just like the fëanorian minions elrond grew up around. the world is never going to get better, he realises. the dream of a paradise will never come true

and then one night, running a message down the craggy still-turbulent coastline, he hears a snatch of a distant, familiar voice

I can hear a voice whittled away to a weapon singing what could almost be a lullaby -

elrond leaps off the ridge and onto the rocky beach, scrambling over the uneven ground. he’s heard the rumours about where maedhros and/or maglor went - all of them, there’s dozens of them, he didn’t pay any particular heed to the ones where maglor wandered the coast, but if they were right, if he’s here -

his own voice has grown strong over the years, solid and forceful and mature. elrond screams his song into the emptiness, hoping against hope it will be heard

“What if for one more year, ten more years, a hundred more years, the shadow still reigns?”

“Then ten thousand years, a hundred thousand years, a million years later, we’ll see it fall! Isn’t that so?!”

“What if I lay out all one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-eight of the griefs I carry?”

“Then there’s one billion eight hundred million three thousand and sixty-nine days for you to live!”

“That must be it...”

the impression of a hand touching his cheek, the ghost of a smile. for a moment someone else’s voice slips into the ebb and flow of his song, a shadow reaches out to wipe the tears off his face. live, it whispers. you who i held dearest last, live

elrond’s breath catches in his throat, and the song, and the shadow, vanish. it’s just him on a forsaken beach, the only sounds the waves crashing and the gulls calling. the sky is completely overcast, the clouds dull and grey. he watches them drift along for a while, as his pulse slows down and his airways clear up. live, the word echoes in his mind

he waits until his breathing is back to normal and the churning emotions inside him have settled into a form he can handle. then he wipes his face and clambers back onto the ridge

(life. it’s not much, but it’s enough. it has to be. his home is destroyed, but he is alive; his family is broken, but he is alive. he is alive, and they want him to live, as much as he can while he still has a chance. the world he lives in will never be perfect, but he knows how to work with that)

(and besides - elros, círdan, gil-galad, erestor, the other healers, the small knot of elves of all stripes who seem determined to follow his banner. he hasn’t lost everything, not yet, and he won’t let the world take away what he has left. he’ll never abandon those he loves)

the clouds are lightening. soon the stars will be out. elrond takes a deep breath, and starts running towards his future and the person he’s going to be -

thousands of years later, a memory resurfaces

“Two million, two hundred and forty-one thousand, five hundred and thirty-nine days... Ah, yes. I know I forgot to say it earlier, but you did a very good job”

a smattering of notes are lifted by the ocean breeze. they travel inland, across the worn-down mountains, around the weathered hills, above the tangled forests, up the untamed rivers, and finally into the hidden valley

in the gardens of imladris, lord elrond hears a voice he hasn’t for millennia. a watering can slips out of his hands, and suddenly he can’t breathe

It was just another day, beneath a dark sky

The ocean and the wind roared on all around me

I wasn’t paying attention to how my tears were falling

Trying to remember a clear star-lit sky

that youthful dream of a world free from evil never came true. the shadow came back, and it kept coming back, taking his people, his friends, his family, his wife. everything they built after the defeat of morgoth has been reduced to dust by the weight of time, and every year more of it slips through his fingers. elrond doesn’t know how much more of it he can endure. he doesn’t know how much more he can lose

he chases that scrap of music all the way to the seashore

I ran down the path between the rocks and the spray following that voice I never knew why I loved

But in the end I could only stand weeping

elrond searches up and down the coast, scouring the shoreline for clues, asking the locals, listening. sometimes he hears whispers of song, long wailing lamentations that make his heart ache all the more now that he understands how that despair feels. occasionally it’s loud or consistent enough he can track it, trying to pinpoint the singer’s location in the intense storms of bitterness and grief

but he never finds anything

“You fool, he’s already gone. Like he was never there at all...”

all that’s left is a voice on the wind

15 notes · View notes

queenangst · 4 years

Text

uraraka-centric fic recs

it’s time for my best girl! here’s a collection of 27 gen, uraraka-centric fic recs. a mix of mostly canon compliant fics and some aus; hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, and everything in between.

for more fic recs, please check out my: ‘fic rec’ tag | ‘bnha fic rec’ tag | ‘weekly fic roundup’ tag (bnha)

Starfire by Anonymous

gen; 2.6k; chapters 1/1 complete

Stars create gravity, and Uraraka wishes on herself.

It was impossible to make her own shooting stars, but that inspiration sounded like a touch of divinity. Only the imaginings of a god with their versatility of powers could be capable of involving outer space. Uraraka...dreamed of that.

Home for Christmas by sobakasuai

gen; 1.2k; chapters 1/1 complete

Ochako feels slightly pitiful about herself as she loads a few more cups of noodles into her shopping basket. Christmas Eve was a time spent with family— a time for gifts under the tree, multicolored lights in the windows, and sending cheesy postcards in the mail.

Yet here she is, stocking up on sustenance as she rushes to get back to the dormitories before it gets too dark to be comfortable with walking back alone. A violation of Christmas spirit in human form, feeling not unlike Ebenezer Scrooge.

Barology by MissAquarius

gen; 4.6k; chapters 1/1 complete

Barology: the study of gravity.

intersection by kiroiimye

gen; 1.2k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & bakugou

“Getting coffee, obviously.” She doesn’t want to meet his eyes and it’s only happened once before; the first times had been intimidation from hardened crimson eyes. But as the years went on, she had grown past that stage; he was more a classmate than enemy. “Would you like to—

“Nope.” It’s flippant, over-the-shoulder, but Bakugou makes no move to leave and Ochako can’t help but smile wryly.

It’s the sort of thing he’d pull when they were younger.

Ochako runs into Bakugou after graduation.

momentous by kiroiimye

gen; 2/6k; chapters 1/1 complete

She’s in the middle of a math lesson, ignoring the whispers behind her back when the rumbling starts. It’s a dull roar in the beginning, and it’s when the pens start rattling on her desk that she stops the lecture. Even the students have gone quiet in their seats, the room stilled with tension.

“Uraraka-sensei, what was that?”

Ochako squares her shoulders, lowering her voice. “I don’t know, but stay alert.”

And then the water comes rushing in.

Becoming a teacher was not part of Ochako's post-U.A. plans, and yet here she is. Standing in front of a raucous class of about twenty teenagers, who all seem to have it out for her. Really, why is she here again?

The Hunger for Survival by SingingCookie

gen; 6.2k; chapters 1/1 complete

People say your early life shapes you, really molds you into the person you’ll become. Likes, dislikes, the habits, the tics, and the pet peeves… A majority of that when you grow up is influenced by where you came from.

Ochako’s early life shaped her into someone who knew how to survive—but it was always the living that fell just out of reach.

one hundred percent by UnidentifiedPie

gen; 2.2k; chapters 1/1 complete

White like bone, Uraraka thinks, mind flashing back to the people she saw on the street. Civilians lying all around, eyes blank and staring and dead. The defeated hero, body a mangled mess, spilled organs and shattered, bloodied bone.

She’d watched that hero die. The villain Uraraka had fought had gripped him by the neck and supercharged his blood, contorted his body into something twisted and terrible. She’d run for him, something screaming in her heart and lungs and nononono-

-but she wasn’t fast enough. And it didn’t matter anyway; the man had been dead before he’d hit the ground.

Patchwork by bishounen_curious

gen; 6.8k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & 1a/1b girls

At the beginning of Third Year, Ochako suggests to the girls in the Hero Course that they make a patchwork quilt to commemorate their time together at U.A., their friendship and their solidarity as women in the hero profession. Something private and special that they all can share for years to come.

However, the quilt doesn't get finished. And it never does.

at long last by Quintessence

gen; 2.7k; chapter 1/1 complete; uraraka family

"Her parents were proud. The kind of proud that came from decades of unrelenting hard work matched in intensity only by their miserable luck. The kind of proud that made them refuse the money Ochako sent after her every paycheck. The kind of proud that was going to make a gift of the magnitude she planned to give go down as easily as a mouthful of chalky pills without water."

In which pro-hero Uravity finally achieves her lifelong dream of giving her parents an easy life.

got your six by Quintessence

gen; 1.6k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & bakugou

“Oh, yeah, they rejected my application,” Uraraka says, like it’s nothing, which, Bakugou decides, fists clenched under the table, it most certainly isn’t. “They’re mostly a combat-based agency, and they thought I’d be better suited for a rescue oriented one. So I’m gonna keep looking. I mean, Kurashiki Agencies isn’t the only game in town, so I’m a little bummed, but it’s okay.”

And then she has the nerve to smile, making her full, pink cheeks even rounder, shrug, and take a sip of her drink. Bakugou has to breathe deeply before he replies, because he really is working on not lashing out as much anymore, but the anger burns and bubbles like boiling water in his stomach.

“That’s the biggest fucking load of bullshit I’ve ever heard, Round-Face.” His teeth are clenched as he speaks, but at least he’s not yelling. “I mean, have they even seen what you can do? Or did they just take one look at your Quirk and fucking write you off?”

In which Uraraka gets rejected from a hero agency, and Bakugou is her most aggressive (and I mean aggressive) supporter.

Like an Onion by BigDangoFamily

gen; 3.7k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & aoyama, background/minor uraraka/midoriya

It was strange, Uraraka thought, how someone so sparkly and so over-the-top could fade into the background so easily. Even with his theatrical nature and his showy costume and his (quite literally) dazzling Quirk, Uraraka had somehow never noticed Aoyama that much.

He was a piece of the background; he helped make up the landscape of their class; he was a figure her eyes automatically skipped over in her search for her friends—which, when she put it like that, made it sound pretty harsh.

It wasn’t that she particularly disliked Aoyama. She would gladly enjoy time spent hanging out with anyone in Class 1-A (well, maybe not Mineta), and she was friendly to all her classmates. That was how she was. It was just that, somehow, her eyes had always seemed to glide right off of Aoyama.

Well, now her eyes definitely saw him, and quite clearly too.

OR: Uraraka unexpectedly comes to respect Aoyama.

Determination by chockfullofsecrets

gen; 1.1k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & midoriya

If Uraraka wants to win this sparring match, she’s going to need to find a way to put a stop to Deku’s endless determination.

perfidy by khattikeri

gen; 500 words; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & midoriya

She pressed the knife harder against Midoriya's throat.

Just Keep Floating by ProPinkist

gen; 2.9k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & all might

Ochako runs into Toshinori, hiding away alone in the dorms, who might could use a helping hand.

Luckily, in this case, she's just the right person for the job.

Uravity: (Kitten) Rescue Hero by TenyaTrash

gen; 1.4k; chapters 1/1 complete

Childhood Ochako is always looking for ways to excel as a rescue hero. She wants to help her parents, her friends, and the world.

And wouldn't you know it? She's got a knack for finding animals that are purrfectly in need of a rescue or two.

Every hero has to start somewhere!

Freefall by Cornflower_Blue

gen; 2k; chapters 1/1 complete

The first time it happens, it is an accident.

The first time it happens, Ochako is just walking around her neighborhood.

Cold Tea and Hot Tears by Wolfie_Dragon

gen; 2.6k; chapters 1/1 complete; minor uraraka/midoriya

When Ochako and the other work studies students are back at the dorms after the Shie Hasaikai raid, things are supposed to go back to normal. But Ochako finds she can't forget the horrible events. It's only in the dark of night that she finds that Deku is just as traumatized, if not more.

Scars by All_five_pieces_of_Exodia

gen; 2.4k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & dekusquad

When Ochako is training one day and gets injured because of it, she starts to wonder about scars and what the people who have them think of them.

But does she even want to know?

Normalcy Has Its Place by Madam_Chauncey

gen; 3.2k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & yaoyorozu

Sometimes a day of kickboxing with your gal pal is all you need. Or; Momo and Ochako decide to make the best of a bad week.

foundations by blueberrytree

gen; 2.5k; chapters 1/1 complete

Ochako drums her fingers anxiously on the surface of her desk. Why does she want to be a hero? It had seemed so clear before last night’s phone call—make money to support her parents and give them an easy life. Now, though?

Gravitational Pull by Sky_King

gen; 2.9k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & dekusquad

Despite having been friends for a while now, Izuku soon realizes there's a lot he doesn't know about Uraraka.

And on the other hand, Ochako discovers that opening up to her friends might not be as frightening as she suspects it to be.

Sleep is for the Weak by baggytshirtsandtiredeyes

gen; 2.9k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & aizawa

Exhaustion was as familiar to Ochako as breathing. She was only fifteen but she felt more like she was edging on forty. But it was okay. She could just power through. She couldn’t stop now. Not when she was living her dream.

Catch Me When I Fall by baggytshirtsandtiredeyes

gen; 2.1k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & asui

Ochako feels like she's falling behind her classmates so she starts training alone. One night Tsuyu finds her and offers to help. If only they could have known what was going to happen.

If the Dress Fits by calamansifresh

gen; 2.4k; chapters 1/1 complete

It’s the day of the Annual Hero Awards Gala and Uraraka Ochako is in attendance as the recipient of the Rising Star Award. While she’s certainly proud of her heroic accomplishments, impostor syndrome rears its ugly head and she wonders if she really belongs in the spotlight.

caution, handle with care by SpiritusRex

gen; 2.7k; chapters 1/1 complete

It was an accident. Ochako reminds herself, as she cups her hand to her mouth and tries to keep the hot, bright blood from dripping through her fingers. It was an accident.

But Ochako knew, had witnessed, just how severe an accident could be.

She pulls her hand away, and her palm comes back with a jagged chunk of a tooth cradled in the center. The sight blurs in front of her eyes; a dot of white in a small pool of red.

Ochako takes a page out of Deku's book, and makes an impulsive, painful decision.

All Might for a day by PurpleCarSeat

gen; 9.3k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & all might

What had he been about to say?

Ochako expects it’s more of the same “push beyond your own limits!” stuff that he likes to spout, which always feels a little hollow coming from him because All Might doesn’t have limits. Despite what he claimed, she doesn’t think All Might has ever been weak. He’s the number one hero, perfect in every way. He can move faster than the eye can follow and jump so high he’s practically flying. He was probably trying to make her feel better – it seems like the sort of thing he’d do.

Or: Ochako learns the hard way that strength is more than just physical, and that the people at the top are only human too

Sacrifices and Jogging Routes by Quillium

gen; 5.8k; chapters 1/1 complete; uraraka & dekusquad

"We're heroes," she says instead, simply, quietly. It's hard to be excited about becoming a hero... every child's dream, what everyone idolizes... when you know the likely outcome. Most of her friends will die before her or she will be dead before they've even begun to sport wrinkles.

Uraraka tries to figure out what it means to be a hero and the sacrifices that it entails.

#uraraka #uraraka ochako #ochako #bnha #bnha fic rec #fic rec #please consider checking OUT all the fics on this list #and also reblogging this bc 1) it took a long ass time to compile and FORMAT all of these and 2) boost some great writers!

91 notes · View notes

theheartsmistakes · 3 years

Text

Any Other Name: Chapter 2

“Cordelia!” Her mother called up the stairs in a fake, chipper voice that held undercurrents of irritation Cordelia knew had nothing to do with her and everything to do with their company. “Our guests are here. Why don’t you come down and help me set the table for dinner?”

If she took to yelling up the stairs at her rather than walking the staircase or sending her father to come and retrieve her, she must be considerably uncomfortable.

“I’m coming!” said Cordelia so no one could come after her and find her kneeling on the floor over a removed floorboard with a secret letter in her hands.

Quickly, she folded the paper, stuck it back under the floorboard, and pushed the wood plank back into its place before pushing herself to her feet and brushed the dust off of her hands. She grabbed her black cardigan from off the bed and threw it on as she twisted the knob and opened the door and nearly walked right into Augustus Pounceby.

A small shriek escaped her as she fell back against the door frame, cursing in Persian, and clutched her chest.

Augustus smirked. The last time she’d seen him he had an impossibly round face, buck teeth, and a lisp that made it difficult to understand him. They’d been twelve years old at the time, but she didn’t think people could change so much in five years. He’d lost the roundness of his youth, grew several inches, and his teeth were a normal size. His dirty blond hair was cut short at the sides, long on the top, and perfectly coifed with products. He wore a black button-up t-shirt with the buttons done up to his neck, over dark denim jeans, and a pair of black and white trainers.

His smirk turned lascivious as his eyes roved over the length of her body, lingering on the bits her dress left exposed. She fought against the urge to close her cardigan around her.

“Pounceby,” said Cordelia by way of greeting. “Anyone ever tell you it’s rude and a bit creepy to lurk outside of someone’s bedroom door?”

“I was sent to fetch you,” he said, glancing over her shoulder into Lucie’s bedroom. “Your mother said that you’d give me a tour. I’ve always wanted to see the inside of the infamous London Institute.”

Cordelia unceremoniously closed the bedroom door behind her with a bit more force than necessary. Unfortunately, the movement made her step closer to Augustus. “No one’s ever invited you in before?”

“It wasn’t a matter of being invited,” said Augustus, not moving an inch to provide some space between them. “I wouldn’t have stepped one foot inside of this place with those demon-blooded Herondale’s living here. You can still smell their taint all over this place.”

Cordelia shoved her shoulder into his chest as she moved around him, fighting against the urge to also knee him in the solar plexus while simultaneously breaking his nose with her elbow. Her father probably wouldn’t appreciate her getting Pounceby’s blood all over the floor and he’d most likely make her clean it up, so she decided against bloodshed for tonight and keep things— cordial.

“Allow me to give you a tour then,” said Cordelia pointing to the walls as she walked towards the stairs. "This is the hallway and these are the--" She looked over her shoulder and realized Augustus wasn’t following her.

“What’s down this way?” He asked, nodding towards the other end of the hall.

She hadn’t bothered to wander farther than Lucie’s old bedroom. It felt wrong like she needed an invitation to go farther. There were two more doors at the end. One used to be a study and the other had been James’s bedroom.

She’d only ever been in there once the last time her family came to London for a visit. Lucie had gone on a trip to Paris with her Aunt Cecily, but James stayed home due to some punishment after an incident that happened at the Academy. James never told her and she never asked. Not that she could have, from a young age she was so enamored by James that she often found it difficult to form coherent sentences when she was around him. He was the most beautiful boy she’d ever seen. With his raven black hair, always unruly and curling at all ends like it’d been worked and shaped by the wind and his eyes, like golden flecks of sunlight framed by thick dark lashes. She remembered how they would crinkle at the edges when he smiled, and he always smiled at her.

They spent that entire week reading, wandering around the Institute, pretending to battle each other with the baguettes Tessa brought home for dinner. It'd started as the worst summer of her existence and ended as one she would never forget.

Warmth spread up her neck and into her cheeks at the memory of it. “There’s nothing down there. Come on, they’ll be wanting to eat soon.”

“The men are talking in the old, stuffy drawing room,” said Augustus as he turned on his heel and walked leisurely down the hall. “Come on, Carstairs. It’s your house now, you can do whatever you want in it.”

“I want to go downstairs and help my mum set the table,” said Cordelia, crossing her arms. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Wait just a moment,” drawled Pounceby. “Isn’t this goat eye's old bedroom?”

Cordelia glared. "Who?"

"James."

Cordelia bristled at the rude name he'd given James. “I don’t know. Why does it matter?”

“My interest is peaked is all.”

“Some infatuation of yours with James, Pounceby?” smirked Cordelia. “I’m sure he’ll be flattered, but somehow I doubt you’re his type.”

Augustus put his hand on the doorknob and tried to turn it but it wouldn’t move. “It’s locked.”

Relief swept through Cordelia. “That’s settled then. Let’s go to dinner.”

“Why is it locked?” Augustus tried the door again. “What’s in there?”

“How am I supposed to know. I did just tell you I haven't been there." Cordelia dragged her feet as she came beside him to try the door herself. It was, in fact, locked. “I’ll tell my father about it at dinner and he can find the key, or something.”

Augustus narrowed his eyes at her. “Are you hiding something in here?”

Cordelia’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“It was no secret you were a Herondale and downworlder sympathizer,” he said with a sneer that once again made Cordelia want to shove his face into the wall. “Is there a reason you don’t want me going in here?”

Cordelia’s empty hands clenched around the fabric of her cardigan to keep from swinging out against her will. “If you want to look stupid for claiming that my father has anything to hide from the Clave by dragging them away from their drinks to come up here and open a door that’s obviously been locked from the inside, only to find that it is as empty as all the rest?” She stepped aside so there was room for him to go around her. “Please, by all means, be my guest. I was really hoping for quality entertainment tonight and to see the look of disappointment on your father’s face will be well worth the wait.”

Augustus held her gaze for just a moment longer before he released his grip on the door and walked past her, whispering the word ‘bitch’ in a volume that was just loud enough for her to hear.

She’d been called worse.

When he was far enough down the hallway, she gave the doorknob another attempt, but just as before it wouldn’t budge.

Curious, she thought and tucked the anomaly away for a later time.

~ ~ ~

“Ah, there she is!” Her father said as Cordelia descended the stairs. Now with the lights all burning in their sconces from the wall, casting shadows from the chandeliers, they gave the Institute back some semblance of the warmth that Cordelia remembered when she would visit. It still felt odd without any Herondale presence; she half expected Will to come bursting through the door in a rage about the city traffic and Tessa to follow behind him with her genuine smile.

But the front door remained closed, much to Cordelia’s dismay, as she slowly sank from the last step.

“Cordelia, you remember Inquisitor Bridgestock?” said her father with a tight smile.

Cordelia looked to the tall man standing before her. He always reminded her of a toad with his round face, bulbous eyes, and thin mouth. He even had a rather large wart at the start of his right eyebrow.

“Well, Elias, what a beauty your daughter has become,” said the Inquisitor, folding his hands in front of himself, not even bothering to shake hers, because why would he? Perhaps he thought her dainty little hands couldn’t withstand his masculine dynamism.

She fought hard not to roll her eyes at her thoughts and plastered a smile across her face. “Oh yes, I remember him well.”

“And our new Consul, Marcus Pounceby?”

Her eyes shifted to the man standing beside the Inquisitor. He did offer her his hand, and when she placed it into his smooth palm, she could not feel a single callous on his fingers or palm. It made her wonder when the last time he trained, or patrolled, or held a weapon for that matter. He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. A European custom and she was in Europe, but it still made her feel uneasy, small. At least, he wasn’t trying to kiss both of her cheeks like the French, which she didn’t mind, it just all depended on the person. Lucie and James’s cousin Anna was privy to that custom and with her, Cordelia didn’t mind it in the least.

“My son wouldn’t stop raving about you when he learned about your arrival,” said the Consul. “He spoke of your bravery, your skill, we are very lucky to have you back in England. He graduated from the Academy with top marks and has shown himself to lead a powerful squadron of Shadowhunters. You should speak to him about going out on raids together. He can show you around town.”

Her eyes flashed to Augustus, standing beside his father, looking rather bumptious. When she didn’t say anything for a good long time, her father nudged her with his elbow. “That would be delightful.”

She’d only used the word delightful possibly twice in her life. It tasted like poison coming out of her mouth, but it did its job. They both looked pleased with her which made it all the more difficult not to vomit on their shiny oxfords.

Only her father, who was attuned to her sarcasm and indifference after being the victim of it for sixteen years, noted the tone of her voice.

“Where is your son?” inquired the Consul.

“He stayed in Tehran to oversee the Institute until the new family moves in,” said her father. “He’ll be joining us just as soon as their settled.”

“Excellent,” said the Inquisitor. “Another student of the academy that succeeded with top marks. We could use him on the streets while this issue with the Downworlders is in effect and in meetings regarding demon and downworlder business. He had some dealing of his own with the Herondale boy, did he not?”

Cordelia looked to her father for an answer. She knew Alastair and James went to the academy at the same time and didn’t necessarily get along. Then some incident happened that resulted in James’ expulsion, but she didn’t know what that had to do with Alastair. He never told her even though she asked him nearly a hundred times.

Elias shifted a step so he stood closer to Cordelia. “Alastair only spoke of how troubled James was.” His eyes flashed to Cordelia. A warning and a plead not to say a word.

“Yes, well, with the filth that runs in that family’s blood it is no wonder he was capable of causing such a disturbance. He shouldn’t have been accepted into the academy in the first place,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock.

Cordelia bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.

“Wouldn’t you agree, Elias?” asked Bridgestock.

Elias breathed through his nose and straightened his shoulders. “Of course. Now that we’ve all been reacquainted, why don’t we move this discussion into the dining room. Sona has been slaving away in the kitchen for the better part of our move-in day to make this dinner special. Cordelia, please go help your mother.”

Cordelia gave them a half-hearted curtsy and dipped out of the entryway towards the hall that led to the kitchen. Upon noticing her angelic energy, the lights in the sconces along the walls flickered on with several distinct clinks and filled the space with a subtle glow. Cordelia put her hand on the swinging door that led into the kitchen where her mother, with a large ladle in hand, poured some kind of broth over the sliced pork chops lined neatly on a silver platter.

“I can’t do it,” said Cordelia as soon as the door swung shut again. “They are absolutely incorrigible. They called the Herondale’s filthy.”

Sona set the bowl of broth down on the crowded counter and started to pull the leaves off from a sprig of thyme. “You already knew they felt this way, Cordelia. This should not come as a surprise.”

“Yes, but to hear them say it out loud makes my skin crawl.” She picked up the serving fork and stabbed it into a pork chop. “I can’t even say anything to defend them. I just have to nod my head at all of their slurs. I might as well be stabbing my friends in the back.”

Sona wiped her hands on the cloth hanging over her shoulder as she turned to Cordelia. “Your friends know you, they know your truth, and they would want for you to protect yourself. If the situation was reversed and it was our family that had been banished, what would you want from James and Lucie?” After a moment, when Cordelia didn’t answer, Sona continued, “I knew Tessa well. She was a good friend. I know that if the situation was reversed, I would want Tessa to protect her family.”

“She was a good friend?” Cordelia emphasized the second word without looking at her mother. “Maybe I would want James and Lucie to protect themselves and not be banished like me, but I know I wouldn’t want them to stop seeing me as their friend.”

Sona opened her mouth and sighed. “Cordelia—“

“Let’s just feed the monsters so they can leave.” Cordelia picked up the platter of steaming pork chops and started towards the swinging door, leaving her mother to look as dejected as Cordelia felt.

Once in the dining room, still decorated in Tessa’s elegant taste with gold and white herons flying across the wallpaper with holly in their beaks, Cordelia set the platter of pork onto the center of the mighty oak table. The chandelier hung low with sphere-shaped crystals that cast rainbows across the walls when the light from the large arched window at the west side of the room hit them. The table was set for only six people tonight with Elias at the head closest to the window.

Cordelia had no choice but to sit beside Augustus, as all the other spots had been taken.

Sona followed in after her, free now of her emerald green apron and kitchen towels, carrying a plate of scorched rice and another plate of fresh-herb Kuku-- Cordelia’s favorite. A twinge of guilt went through her as she noticed the plates of comfort food her mother had prepared for no one else, but Cordelia.

“Sorry about the wait, gentlemen,” said Sona as she placed the food on the table. “I hope you’re all hungry and wish to expand your palettes. These are all dishes from Tehran. We thought you might like to experience something from our home.”

Augustus looked at the green pie-shaped dish placed directly in front of him as if it might come to life and attack him.

“It’s called Kuku,” said Cordelia, serving herself a large piece before anyone else. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s green,” said Augustus and looked to his father for help.

Consul Pounceby just laughed. “You didn’t have to go out of your way for us. We would have been happy with fish and chips or a nice shepherds pie.” He forked a piece of pork onto his plate with a small helping of scorched rice.

"What kind of pie?" asked Cordelia with a mouth full of Kuku.

“I thought it might be nice to have something from home for our first night here,” said Sona.

“It’s looks wonderful, darling,” said Elias.

The conversation took a small reprieve as everyone ate their meals. Metal forks clinked against plates and ice rattled around in glassware in the silence. Marcus Pounceby chewed with his mouth open and took a particular fondness to the Kuku, though his son took one bite and then refused to acknowledge it again. Inquisitor Bridgestock proceeded to take a drink of his wine after each bite to clear his throat. Cordelia felt a brief sense of satisfaction at the light sheen of sweat that coated his brow after having a piece of pork.

“We’re not used to such flavors here in England,” said Inquisitor Bridgestock, dabbing his face with his napkin. “It’s quite exotic.”

“I may have gone a bit heavy handed on the peppers,” said Sona as she soaked a piece of her pork in the sauce. “Can I get anyone some water or milk, perhaps?”

Cordelia forced herself not to laugh.

“Milk?” inquired Marcus. “Does that help?”

“It does,” said Sona.

“That won’t be necessary.” Bridgestock patted his distended stomach. “I’m quite finished as is. If I drink a glass of milk you’ll have to roll me out the door or call my wife and have her come drive me home.”

“How is Mary Beth?” asked Sona. “It’s a shame she couldn’t come tonight. I did look forward to seeing her again.”

Another easy lie from her mother. The last time Mary Beth and Sona met, Sona couldn’t stop talking about what a deplorable know-it-all with questionable moral Mary Beth was and how the Bridgestock’s may have not been the best family to adopt the young Ariadne girl. To go from such strong feelings towards the Bridgestock's to inquiring about her as if her absence was missed surprised Cordelia. Her mother’s ability to be so languid never ceased to amaze her.

“She’s well. She simply didn’t want to be present for a bunch of Clave talk.” Bridgestock wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Not when she had a previously schedules game of bridge with some of the other wives. You should go sometime, Sona.”

Her mother’s tight smile was all Cordelia needed to know. She’d been invited to a few bridge games and attended one thinking that at least Tessa would be there and she’d have someone to talk to, but when she got home Sona looked exhausted and explained that all the women at the bridge club did was gossip, smoke, and drink expensive wine. There was not one game of bridge to be played. She then went into a rather hilarious impression of the Inquisitor's wife, with her pinched face and animated hands that may have been slightly exaggerated, but had even Alastair snickering.

“Perhaps when things are a bit more settled,” said Sona and took a long drink from her water glass.

“That reminds me,” said Marcus as he placed his napkin on the table, “we’ve interrupted your move in day. We apologize. We’ll get out of your way just as soon as we finish some business with Elias. Should we retire to the study, gentlemen?”

“Yes,” said Bridgestock as he rose from the table. “There is much to discuss regarding this Downworlder business. We’ll need to brief you on some of the changes we’re making regarding the laws and how we are expecting those on patrol to be our inforcers. We’d appreciate your opinion on a few of these matter before we hold the official Clave meeting in two weeks.”

“Uh, yes,” said Elias as he stood from the table too. “Cordelia, would you mind helping your mother with the dishes and then come and join us—“

“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” said the Inquisitor. “Our talk will just bore her. We can explain everything to her at the official meeting with the rest of the Clave.”

Elias’s grip flexed on his dining room chair. “My daughter will be one of those patrolling the streets of your city. I would like for her to be prepared and understand what is expected of her.”

“Kill demons and any downworlders that dares to step out of line,” whispered Augustus under his breath. “Not much else left to understand.”

Demons can take the shape of many things, she thought. Even privileged, annoying boys.

She might be able to plead her case against the Clave if she were to accidentally stab him.

“It will all be explained at the meeting,” continued Bridgestock. “Until then, Cordelia will not be allowed to patrol alone and will instead train with Augustus.”

Cordelia couldn’t stop the pinched look that took over her face. Her mother nudged her underneath the table before anyone could see her.

The men filed out of the dining room, leaving their half-cleared plates of food for Cordelia and Sona to clean up. They piled the dishes and separated the silverware in silence before carting everything back into the kitchen.

Sona turned on the faucet over the deep bucket sink and held her hand under it waiting for the water to warm while Cordelia continued to bring plates in and set them on the small island.

She glanced at the old grandfather clock that stood in the hallway each time she passed it. Only two more hours and she could find Lucie. Finally, there would be someone she could speak freely about all of this to and not constantly be shut down; told to smile, and bear it.

The large hand steadily clicked on, but not fast enough.

Not nearly fast enough.

A/N:

This chapter does include some artistic license. To make it relative to the times, I changed it from James having to stay home from a Paris trip due to being expelled from school rather than being sick with the Scarlet Fever.

I also made up Augustus's appearance. It is not canon. It's just how he looks in my head.

Also I have no clue what Inquisitor Bridgestock's wife's name is so I'm calling her Mary Beth.

Comments and hearts are ALWAYS appreciated!

Next update comes out in two weeks: May 28

#the shadowhunter chronicles #jordelia fanfiction #the last hours #chain of gold #chain of iron #cassandra clare #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #james x cordelia #lucie herondale #matthew fairchild #thomas lightwood #christopher lightwood #alastair carstairs

22 notes · View notes

weepingaesthetic · 3 years

Text

Orenda

Pairing: Dabi x reader

AU: Adult Verse

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Romance

Rating: NSFW

Warning: Drug use, swearing

Notes: Orenda is a mature fanfic that takes place in the characters adult years. Characters have been aged up (20+). There will be cursing, drug-use, extreme violence, explicit content, mentions of death and abuse. I don’t do clean versions but I will put a line where you can skip explicit scenes if it makes you uncomfortable. :) All content will be on my Masterlist. Enjoy~

Words: 2900+

Chapter 02

Masterlist

Orenda:

An internal summoning of personal strength to change fate. The courage to love someone against the obstacles life has set before you.

You’re a hacker helping a villain. He gets the information from you and stays when it’s convenient. There’s no room for feelings, right?

Strikhedonia

Strikhedonia: The joy of being able to say “the hell with it”

The trip to the store made you anxious and it wasn’t because of the storm brewing overhead.

“Remind me again why you decided it was a good idea to go to the store with me.?”

The man beside you smirked. “Have to make sure our little hacker doesn’t get jumped in the street, don’t I.?”

You rolled your eyes. “You know as well as I do, I could have anyone on their knees before they could blink.”

His smirk turned into a full-blown grin, almost looking predatory. “Didn’t know you were into that kind of thing, doll. Kinky. I like it.”

You slapped his shoulder, part of you being cautious of the staples, another part of you hoping you hit them anyway. This man-

“Honest answer, sweetheart, Shigaraki wants tabs on you. Called last night. The heroes were after you specifically. Who did you give blue balls to.?”

This time you shoved him. Well tried. What is he.? Made of fucking brick.? And sleeping with them.? What does he take you for.?

“As if. Why would they come after me.? I work under the radar. As far as they know I’m just a stubborn hacker with no IP address. As far as personally, just some hacker who has no interest in helping them. They don’t even know my real name.” You could feel yourself beginning to shake, despite the confidence in your voice. Missed a protection wall maybe.? Impossible. Everything was checked and double checked. This wasn’t your first rodeo; you knew what to set up for.

“Seems not, princess. Someone has a vendetta and it has your name on it.”

“Guess I’ll be making another stop then.” He quirked an eyebrow at you, signaling for an explanation.

You shrugged. “If you think I’m recoding my own firewall sober, your dumber than I thought.”

He glared at you at the comment. “I’m not the one who failed at their own job.”

“Says the man who got raided out of their hideout last night.”

“Says the woman responsible for it.”

You turned on him, causing him to almost bump into you from the sudden stop. “I had nothing to do with that. Ask your undercover boy who did, because no one should know I’m even working with the League. I said stop the accusatory bullshit. If you can’t do that then fuck off.” To say you had a short temper was an understatement of the year. It was a double-edged sword. It kept a wall around your heart, but caused hell to those who got caught in it.

“I said your still a suspect, doll face. Why do you think we're keeping tabs on you.?” His smirk was cold. Unfeeling. It made you want to punch him.

“Fuck you guys. I stay up for days helping you and the minute something happens all fingers point to me.? Real great of you. Tell Twice he can shove his firewall job up his ass.” You shook your head in disgust, stalking off in your original direction. The fucking nerve of them. How dare they.? After all you put on the line for them? This is how they repay you.?

You heard Dabi walking behind you, neither of you making any moves to start a conversation for a moment.

“Crusty-face said you passed the test.”

“What.?” Your voice was low, threatening and louder than intended. A few people glanced at the two of you before scurrying off. If you were still rational maybe you would’ve felt bad for drawing attention. Right now.? Hell no.

He pulled out an ear piece and waved it at you before crushing it. “Wanted proof on me saying you were innocent.”

Your glare was ice cold. “Do that shit again and you can find a different hacker to do your dirty work.”

“Come on, don’t be like that Ace.”

“Fuck you. It’s Asayama to you.” You walked into the store, leaving him in the street. Stupid trust issues. Stupid feelings. Fuck Dabi, the League, and everything to do with it. At least you had still given him the privilege of using your first name.

The store was vacant for the most part. A few stragglers here and there. Nothing too concerning, especially with how late it was. You walked up to the counter, greeting the elderly woman behind it.

“What can I do you for.?” Her voice was soft and soothing. Part of you wondered if she carried the same candy your grandmother would always carry. She had the same air around her. Comfort. Home.

“Marlboro red black shorts please.”

She asked for ID and nodded, going to search for your request.

“I saw you fighting with the guy standing outside. Need me to call someone.?” At least she was caring, you’d give her that.

“No, just an argument. His trust issues are getting annoying.” You didn’t know why you didn’t just shut her down, but the thought of being rude to this woman made you uncomfortable. It’d be like yelling at your own grandma. The thought made you shudder.

She nodded, knowingly. “$12.14 dear. May I give my advice.?”

You nodded back cautiously as you handed over the money.

“Trust issues are best talked about openly. Explain your side and allow him to explain his. It may be annoying, but there’s a reason he's guarding his heart so much. Try to get him to open up to you.”

You wondered if this woman was some kind of psychic. You knew some of Dabi’s past to know it was rough, but not enough to know why he always pointed fingers at you. This woman made more of a point than you’d like to admit.

You thanked her and walked back outside. It was starting to sprinkle and Dabi was nowhere to be found. You lit a cigarette and started your walk home, mind running with indecision as you pondered the idea given to you. It was going to be a long day.

Two days passed before you saw Dabi again. This time had you sprinting over to him in mild panic. Bruises littered his face and arms, a slash wound on his shoulder trailing blood down his arm and onto your clean floor. He was leaning against the door frame heavily, smirking at you like he wasn’t about to pass out onto your linoleum.

“Got a band aid you can spare.?”

You scoffed at him and pulled him into your kitchen as quickly as he could move, pulling out the disinfectant.

“Shirt off.” Your voice was clipped with worry and anger. One part of you still wanted to kick him out and give him the cold shoulder, the other part worried what would happen if you didn’t bandage him up first.

“If you wanted me naked that bad princess, all you had to do was ask.” He was leaned back in the chair comfortably, like he owned the place. He almost looked like he did. Almost.

You glared at him unamused until he complied. Your breath caught in your throat as more bruises and scratches popped up where the clothing used to cover.

You steadied your breath and walked in front of him. “This will hurt.”

You poured the disinfectant over the worst wound on his shoulder, checking to see if it needed stitches. Luckily it didn’t, but you knew you’d have to bandage it. You grabbed the roll, working swiftly and carefully as you wrapped. He didn’t make any indication of pain other than the bouncing of his leg.

You grabbed the ointment for the other cuts once you finished before speaking. “Want to tell me what happened.?”

He didn’t look at you, keeping his eyes on the wall as you worked. “No.”You gritted your teeth, controlling your temper for once. Fine then.

You stood up once you were sure everything was cleaned and bandaged properly before turning away from him. You used putting the bandages away as an excuse not to look at him. You were still angry, right.?

“Your good now, you can leave.”

You heard the chair scrape against the floor and felt your heart drop. Why was this bothering you so much.? You knew he didn’t care about you. You knew this was a business arrangement. You were barely friends. So why were you so on edge.? Why did it hurt so much.?

“Twice wants to know how the Firewall breach is going.” Normal. Small talk. Business. You hated it.

“I told you, he can shove it up his ass.”

You turned around to walk past him, but he caught your arm, stopping you from going any further. You made no move to turn around and look at him.

“Are you really still mad about the test.?”

You turned your head toward him to catch him in your peripherals, your face void of any emotion. “Of course not. Why would I be.? Why would I be upset that the only real friend I fucking have accused me of betraying him.? Not once, but twice.? Why would I be upset that the people I work day and night for to secure their safety so much I barely sleep can’t believe I’m actually on their side.? Why in the hell would I be upset over that Dabi.?” You could feel your nails extending into claws and you ripped your arm away from him. Maybe you didn’t have as good as a handle on your emotions as you thought.

“You know as well as I do, Shigaraki doesn’t take chances. I told you I believed you. I was just soothing the boss's insecurities.” He almost looked sad for a second, before his face was back to its usual mask. It was so quick you second guessed if it had been there at all.

You knew you were being irrational. It was stupid. You knew they were just looking after themselves. So why did you feel so hurt and betrayed.? Why couldn’t you filter out your emotions.? You didn’t say anything of the thoughts running through your head, knowing if you did it would cause more damage than good.

“I need to get back to work.” You tried to change the subject, handing Dabi a flash drive out of your pocket. “This is what Twice asked for. All the information he needed is there.”

He chuckled at you and took it. “What happened to he could shove this job up his ass.?”

You flushed. “Just give it to him before I change my mind.”

“Will do.” He pocketed the drive, the normal comfortable silence between you two feeling awkward.

You cursed yourself. You created this. Should you fix it.? Should you take advice from a stranger who couldn’t begin to understand this weird relationship.? It was now or never. Emotions be damned.

“Listen I-" you scratched your arm to try and distract yourself from how awkward this whole thing was, “I know you don’t trust anyone. I know you're just looking out for yourself. The rest of League too.”

You saw his face soften from its usual hardened, playful expression. You felt your confidence push up a bit. “Just lay off the accusatories, okay.? Not a fan of having all my hard work shoved back in my face. If I really wanted to work against you that much, I would’ve already. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to screw you over. Not to mention you sleep like the dead.” You teased him, not that you could help it.

This soft, mushy shit was way out of your comfort zone. Emotions weren’t something either of you talked about. Hell, it took him months to even start venting to you about work.

His lips turned up into the smallest of smiles, the tension relaxing around you both. “You're one to talk. You snore loud enough to challenge freight trains.”

You swatted at him, watching him dance away from the attack, your own smile shoving it’s way to your face. “I do not.”

“Video evidence on my phone says otherwise.” His usual smirk settled back onto his face as you gaped at him.

“You fucking recorded me.?” You were ready to slice into him, injured or not.

“When you say my name all cute like in your sleep, how could I not.?”

You scoffed at him. “Bullshit. I have better things to dream about.”

He chuckled, the sound going straight for your heart. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ace.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Well, if you're offering.” He winked at you, hands sliding out of his pockets as if he was actually considering your remark.

“As if. You staying or disappearing again.?” Back to casual. Easy. Definitely safer for your heart.

“Miss me, doll.?” He grabbed the pack you had resting on the counter, grabbing for one of the contents.

You rolled your eyes, hand out for one as well. “You wish. Answer the question.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you, tossing you the pack instead before lighting the cigarette. “Sharing a bed with you.? How could I turn that down.?”

“Ha. You get the couch, pervert.” You lit your own, rolling your eyes. The smoke in your lungs felt like heaven against your nerves. The thought of the man in front of you in your bed had your thoughts straying to a place they didn’t belong.

His lips quipped up into a lazy grin. “We'll see, sweetheart.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, pointing the fingers holding the cigarette between the both of you. “We'll see nothing. You need to sleep and recover, I have work to do.”

“Working all night again.? Your fault if you work yourself into an early grave.”

You rolled your eyes. “Do me a favour and dress all ominous for my funeral. Make me look important.”

He chuckled at your remark. “Bold of you to assume I'd go.”

“Bold of you to think you wouldn’t be devastated without me. At least the pull-out couch. Poor thing has given you a place to sleep for almost a year.” Part of you was teasing, the other was stuck on what he would actually do if you actually did croak.

“It is a nice couch.” You watched the smoke roll slowly from his lips, wondering if it would taste different coming from him than your own stick. Your eyes widened at the thought. Where did that thought come from.?

He smiled lazily at you, like he knew your thoughts. “You know, legend has it that a kiss from a Siren can give you magical abilities. Breathing underwater,” He stepped closer to you, “Healing people,” another step, “Wonder if it’s the same with you.?”

You scoffed at him, trying to control your racing heart rate ay how close he was now. You could feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. What was happening.?

You swallowed hard, trying to remember how to breathe again. “I highly doubt I’m magical. Just cursed.”

“Cursed.?” His voice was lower, raspy, and anything but afraid. Shouldn’t he be terrified?

“You ever been overly high on adrenaline?” You tried to word this carefully.

He quirked an eyebrow at you amusingly. “I’m a pyromaniac, princess.”

“Imagine that feeling switched with lust. That’s what would happen if we ever swapped spit till the addictive in my saliva left your bloodstream. I could drive a person insane on their own sexual desires.” You wanted him to understand what would happen if he initiated what he was suggesting. It wouldn’t be pretty.

“You have your own built in aphrodisiac. Must be fun at parties.”

“Sure, if you like nursing the worst blue balls of your life just from kissing me.”

He grinned and you swore he was lying about not being a masochist. “Damn princess, that’s harsh. Their mistake though. They didn’t have the chance to fuck you.”

You tried to hide the dark blush slowly creeping up your face. “And you think you do?”

He cupped the side of your face, thumb slowly caressing your cheek bone. :Oh, I think my chances are pretty high.”

You sighed, wanting so bad to give in when his breath hit your lips. He was so close. If you raised your head up slightly, your lips would meet his. When did we go from fighting and teasing to this?

You put a hand against his chest, forcefully creating a space you didn’t want, but knew you needed. “Dabi… I don’t do one-night stands. I’d rather keep you as a friend than a fuck buddy. It’s not just an aphrodisiac, it forces oxytocin in your blood stream so your overwhelmed in euphoria for me. I’m not going to force you inot something you don’t actually feel.”

He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against your own. If you weren’t so nervous and dazed out of your mind, you might’ve noticed how bad he was shaking too.

“Who said I didn’t?” His voice was low, barely a whisper. If you hadn’t been so close you doubt you would’ve heard it.

“You said yourself this was just a business arrangement. You don’t care about anyone but you.” Your thoughts were spiraling. He was joking, right? There was no way-

“Think we both know if this was only business I wouldn’t give a damn about whether you ate or slept.” His blue eyes bore into your own, demanding your attention. He wasn’t lying. He never did. Could you actually bring yourself to believe it though?

“You don’t really mean that. You’re just caught up in the moment.” He had to be.

He sighed and pulled away from you, his hands retreating back into his pockets. His usual lazy grin making it’s way back to his face.

“Guess I’ll have to prove it to you then, doll.” He walked away from you, flopping himself on the couch. “You have any tea left?”

“Uh, yeah.” You walked to the kitchen to start the kettle, one thought repeatedly throwing itself around your mind.

Fuck. No. Why him? When did you start loving him too?

You glanced a peak back over to him. He was sprawled out, hair messily covering his eyes. He looked more comfortable than you had ever seen him. You felt your heart swell in pride at the thought.

Maybe… Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

30 notes · View notes

yanderepuck · 3 years

Note

Okay, I fell asleep because my body is being weird again, but I am here to send you the vampire lady and himbo king asks ✨

How do they, like, actually get together? You've talked about how they meet but what about the development of feelings and confession? Also first date?

What does each one like the most about the other and is there anything they particularly hate?

Who hogs the blankets?

How would either one react if the other was in danger? Considering they're both vampires, imagine it's like a mage or a vampire hunter? Like, who's more likely to go batshit insane over it?

So after Nicoleta explaining that she's a vampire, and Radu bluntly saying he's the King, he takes her to the castle. He ends up having a lot of questions for her, like...A LOT. So she ends up staying for a few days. Nicoleta is more or less 450 at the time, and Radu isn't even 200, and since he's never met another vampire this is his time to learn about things.

Radu is more like a giddy little school girl like "omg another vampire"

Meanwhile Nicoleta is like "how are you this dumb"

Basically Nicoleta stays to teach him things, and ends up taking some responsibilities without him even asking. Since Radu can't be in the sun, it has made the political part of his job difficult bc of people coming to get help, or nobles coming to just simply complaining about how he runs things, aka lack of running things. Which is why they bother him so much at parties, aka why he hates going to parties.

So the next time someone stops by Nicoleta comes to greet them. Being 18th century, no man is going to listen to a woman, but she's like "Nope, I'm here to help you out, King Fey is busy" so very quickly she becomes the face, because she can even go out and into the city.

For some time Radu doesn't even realize she's doing this, and wonders why he isn't getting harassed as much from others about needing to get things done.

Nicoleta bluntly tells him that she took over some of this duties during the day, and part of his is like "you did fucking what??" because he wants to run the country a certain way, but she seemed to grasp onto his ideals fairly quickly.

I wouldn't say they've really ever gone out on a date, but they go to parties together. At first their sleeping schedules were opposite and they only over lapped by a few hours. But eventually Nicoleta just started pulling all nighers to be with him more. But it was Radu who said "I love you" first.

Because of their sleep schedules, they ended up just sleeping in the same bed, plus Nicoleta has been touched deprived and wanted some cuddles.

Nicoleta is simply half laying on Radu with an arm around him, one leg between his, and he has an arm around her and playing with her hair, both are half asleep and he tells her that he loves her and she's like "wait...what" and he goes "I said: I love you" and gives her forehead kisses.

Nicoleta has never been in love, or hasn't been for a few 100 years, so she gets all warm and giddy inside and snuggles into him.

Radu Loves how assertive she is. He's like "whoa...strong woman" But because she is so much older she calls him a lil baby. Radu is like "I'm almost 200!!" and Nicoleta is like "yeah, and I'm almost 500" So he does get a little irritated that she does have more experience, and she will point it out. But honestly, Radu is a little gullible because he doesn't have much real world experience. He almost never leaves the castle and he became King when he was 25

While Radu is doing paper work, Nicoleta likes to be behind him and braid his hair. He finds it very soothing, sometimes too soothing and falls asleep while in the middle of writing. Once he's asleep its almost impossible to get him to wake up.

Even though Radu is the King, Nicoleta managed to whip him, and she didn't even mean to. He's just head over heels for her and would do anything for her. Nicoleta would do the same. She doesn't show it as much as he does though, she's not quite sure how to. So sometimes it may seem like she is ignoring him when he's telling her how much he loves her, but in reality she just doesn't show her feelings as well. She'd rather do things for him, or even get him things, but with him being a King...he sorta has everything he needs/wants.

Also, Radu def hogs the blankets. He's always cold. He could be standing in a fire and he'd be cold, so he's always wrapped up in a fur cape.

Okay. So after being together for only two decades, a war breaks out and Radu insists on not being like a normal King and staying behind, he wants to lead the fight. Nicoleta insists on going with him, because she is well worth over 200 soldiers, but she can't go. Someone still has to watch over everything, and plus he can't risk anyone finding out about them being vampires, her being so strong will end up being suspicious.

Well three years come and go and Nicoleta hasn't heard anything from Radu or anyone else in the war. Then one evening a rival army comes and attacks the city, basically burning it to the ground and killing everyone. Some of the soldiers from said army break into the castle to come kill Nicoleta.

They tell her that they killed Radu and she goes absolutely berserk. She ends up killing them with not much of a struggle and ends up leaving the castle.

HOWEVER. Radu is not dead. After some time he had to tell his men what he really was if this was going to go smoothly. He couldn't move forward during the day, but he still insisted in going forward. But, during the day the camp gets ambushed, which is odd, normally it would be at night, but it must be because someone on the other side knows he can't do anything. Radu ends up getting trapped and nailed shut in a box. They made sure to use just enough silver to weaken him so he couldn't just break the box open. The box is then buried in a tunnel wall, covering it up with bricks, and now that I'm saying this I'm realizing it is very similar to "The Cask of the Amontillado" and that one scene in "Interview with the Vampire".

Radu ends up being stuck in the earth until WWI, when he finally hears someone in the tunnels and starts yelling for help. Nicoleta was looking for him for years. She knew he wasn't dead. They said they cut off his head, so she insisted on seeing his head before she would believe it.

So she went back to her home in Rome, meanwhile Radu really wasn't too far away, he was in Tuscany. But right before WWII they ended up finding each other again in Paris. BUT they ended up getting separated again during WWII, because of all the bombings and raids, Radu had to stay somewhere until the sun went down, but things got so bad that he made Nicoleta leave him so that she'd be safe. Luckily this time, Radu knew where her home in Rome was and when he was able to went there and hoped she made it.

Fun fact!! By staying with Radu in Prussia, she had to agree to not eat/kill/attack any humans. It wasn't until Radu was finally free from the wall that he finally drank blood from a human.

#vamp oc #kat oc #kats oc #nicoleta #radu #i didnt mean for it to get so long #but ik you dont mind

6 notes · View notes

eryiss · 3 years

Text

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hey everyone. A bit of an emotional chapter this time, but Bickslow is involved so there’s also some relief. Hope you all enjoy it.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Nine - Some Time Later

One Week Later

Before the memories hit him, Freed felt a horrible sense of deja vu.

He was in the guildhall infirmary, with almost all of his energy sapped away from him, just as he had when he had first been taken to Fairy Tail. He had a feeling that there was something changed inside of him that would shape the rest of his life, just as he had after the demon had invaded his soul. He had a feeling of yearning, hoping to see someone who was destined to be a part of his life, only to be disappointed to see he was alone again. Everything was so reflective of how it had been when he'd first woken up after his first instance of possession, and it was horrible.

Of course, the memories did eventually come to him. The tournament. The twisted feeling of power that had slowly been seeping into him through the day. The lack of control that had overwhelmed him. The sudden inability to control his body. The feeling of trying to pour his magic into the demon to overwhelm it.

And then, there was Gajeel.

Gajeel had broken down every wall of defence that the demon had in place as if it were nothing. Even with the overwhelming power emanating from the fully unleashed demon, Gajeel had been able to walk towards him, and reach out to Freed. Like a light in the darkness, Gajeel had managed to drag him out of the demon's control and allowed him his autonomy again. He had managed to do something Freed had thought impossible.

The demon was gone. Gajeel had somehow burned the thing from his soul, removing it entirely. They had killed what remained of the demon together in a unison raid moments before Freed had passed out in his arms.

But, despite the importance of it all, that wasn't what Freed was thinking about.

I'm yours and yer mine.

That demon aint got a fucking claim on you.

Yer fuckin' mine.

It ain't ever hurtin' you again, y'hear me. Never

The words weren't subtle. They weren't something you could misunderstand. They weren't anything but a claim on Freed. Gajeel was stating loudly, in front of everybody in the guild - everyone that mattered to them both - that he and Freed belonged to one another.

Perhaps if it was coming from any other man than Gajeel, Freed might have felt fury. He might have felt some level of anger that Gajeel had proclaimed such a thing so publicly without so much as asking Freed, but he only felt a sense of rightness at what Gajeel had said. Of course he and Gajeel belonged to each other. How had that been in any doubt? The moment they had first laid eyes on each other, the motions were put in place to bring them into each other's arms. It was destiny.

Had Freed always been so romantic? Perhaps he had needed the right man to bring it out of him.

"Ah, you're awake," A grouchy, haggard voice cut through the silence. "You certainly took your time, didn't you?"

Freed looked towards the door of the infirmary, to see Porlyusica walking towards him. This too was how he remembered his first experience of living in Magnolia, with the impatient and impetuous woman acting as though his life was an inconvenience for her to deal with. That was something that was familiar, if nothing else.

"How long have I been unconscious?" Freed asked, and found his voice hoarse.

"Nine days," Porlyusica said, picking something up from the small table beside Freed's bed. He didn't know what it was, but it began to glow with healing magic. She turned to Freed and sighed. "Lower your covers and hold still."

Doing as instructed, Freed blushed a little when he realised he was without any clothing. The woman didn't seem bothered, and slowly began to lower the magical item over his body. It was scanning him, and he let out a gasp when the device passed over his heart. There was a sudden flood of warmth through his body, unlike anything he could ever remember feeling before. It was pleasant, but so foreign to him that he didn't know what to feel.

"Ah, good," Porlyusica said, placing the device down again.

"What was that," Freed demanded, pulling up the sheets to protect his modesty.

"I stimulated you, that magic was intended to induce a feeling of comfort and delight," She shrugged, picking up a small piece of paper that Freed assumed had his details on. "You've had that demon eating away at you from the inside for years, so you probably grew used to its influence. It has been slowly dulling your emotions for ten years. You just felt joy like the rest of us do for the first time since your possession."

What?

His emotions had been dulled?

Surely he would have noticed that. The ability to feel how he felt was something that he had always taken for granted, and he never expected it could leave him. Perhaps he had become jaded, but he had dismissed that as growing up and working in a profession where you often saw the worst of people. The demon had been responsible for that, too?

Fuck. Fuck his damn parents and the damn demon and the damn priest who had gotten him into this position. How the hell had he lost so much control of who he was without knowing it? Why had the people he loved allowed this to happen to him. His parents were meant to protect him, not to allow this.

Was this what anger felt like when not influenced by a demon? Uneducated and bitter?

"You'll acclimate," Porlyusica said, as if knowing what he was feeling. "Those friends of yours have wanted to see you since the incident. Annoying brats. I'm going to put you to sleep again, they'll no doubt be here before you wake."

"What?" Freed asked. "No, I don't intended to-"

"Quiet," Porlusica said firmly, and tapped her cane on the floor. "Sleep."

And Freed slipped away before he could protest.

——

"Hey baby," Bickslow's voice woke Freed up before his eyes were open. "Are you feeling okay?"

He didn't know how long it had been since Porlyuscia had put him to sleep, but he woke up in the same bed with the sun higher in the sky. He blinked away the light and saw that Bickslow, Evergreen and Laxus were all sitting around his bed, looking at him with expressions of mingled happiness and concern. He pushed himself off the mattress so he could sit up, wincing at the feeling of aching muscles.

With a quick glance around, he saw that Gajeel wasn't there. That didn't feel good.

"Erm, yes," Freed said in answer to Bickslow's question, his mind not working as fast as he would have liked. "I believe I am. Are you three unharmed?"

"We're not the priority, Freed," Evergreen scoffed a little at the thought, but her expression turned to one of sympathy. It was almost motherly, which was a concern coming from her. Even worse, she took his hand and squoze it as if he needed consoling. "We all saw what happened, now be honest and tell us how you're feeling."

Freed hadn't thought of that. Everyone had seen him weakened and out of control. On the brink of death…

Fairy Tail maged had seen a lot of bad things - it came with the job - but he knew that they always were more affected when it was one of their own being hurt. This could have been terrifying to watch, and he supposed that he owed them some honesty.

"I feel… drained," Freed admitted. "As if I got into the worst fight of my life. Everything is aching, my flesh feels like it's burning from the inside, but no more than normal after a difficult mission," He thought for a moment, moving his arm as if testing that he still could. Of course he could, and the feeling spread warmth though him. It reminded him of what Porlyusica said to him, and he smiled a little. "I'm lighter now. As if a burden has been lifted."

"Well that's good," Evergreen smiled. "And you're not hiding anything from us?"

"Not knowingly," Freed assured them.

"So we can start teasing you about the fact your demon ripped off your clothes and when you transformed back we all saw you naked," Bickslow grinned, and it was a clear attempt to lighten the mood. Evergreen whacked him on the arm, but he just laughed. "Because we all saw your dick, and I gotta say baby, I'm impressed with what you've got going on down there. Don't know how I went so long without seeing it."

Freed chuckled, slightly weakly. "I'd rather not be teased about it, if possible. And I was under the impression that you've started seeing someone."

"I am," Bickslow sighed dreamily, in an overly exaggerated sense of course. "And he's the most handsome man in the world. And he's better than you because he's always getting naked in public and I love it."

Freed laughed. It was good to have Bickslow in moments like this.

Evergreen and Bickslow, as they so often did, started to playfully squabble between themselves. Evergreen had said something about how the PDA between Bickslow and Gray was revolting and far too graphic for the guildhall, and Bickslow argued back saying that Ever only thought that because she didn't have the chance to do it with Elfman because they were still being secretive about their very obvious relationship. The arguments spiralled from there, and Freed watched with amusement.

His gaze drifted from the two squabbling idiots to Laxus, who was looking at him with a quiet expression of concern. When he noticed Freed looking, he curled an eyebrow as if asking if he really was feeling okay. Freed nodded, with a small smile, and Laxus seemed to deflate a little.

"Really gone, huh?" Laxus murmured.

"It seems so," Freed nodded, and that was all that needed to be said on the matter of the demon. For a moment, Freed remained quiet, but there was one thing he needed to know. "Where is he?"

Laxus sighed, ran a hand over his face, and spoke. "You not waking up was getting to him."

"That's not an answer to my question," Freed said firmly. "Where is he?"

"He needed some time away, to deal with everything," Laxus explained. "I'll find him, he'll wanna know you're okay."

"Thank you," Freed whispered, smiling a little.

"No problem," Laxus nodded, standing up.

He walked out of the infirmary without speaking to Bickslow or Evergreen, who clearly hadn't been following their conversation as they both looked perplexed. When Laxus was outside of the building, they could all see an explosion of lightning as Laxus shot off into the sky, apparently having a good idea as to where Gajeel was. Freed certainly hoped so, he needed to see Gajeel as soon as he could.

What was he going to say to him, though? Thank you for ridding me of my curse? Everything you said about belonging together I fully agree with? When you weren't here when I woke up, I realised I always want to wake up beside you?

"Wonder what that was about?" Evergreen commented, speaking about Laxus' departure and bringing Freed's focus back to the room.

"Maybe he's still pissy becuase he and Loke were the losers of the tournament," Bickslow grinned, again trying to keep the mood light. Freed looked at him with a raised eyebrow, because that was something that would certainly distract him. "Shit, you didn't know, huh? Yeah, they didn't work well together at all. It was funny. Lost by a landslide. Laxus wasn't happy about it when I reminded him he has to do a forfeit."

"I expect so," Freed smiled. "Who will be giving him the forfeit, might I ask. I assume you, since I passed out during the fight."

"Me and Gray were deemed the winners, after we were sure you were okay of course," Bickslow assured him. "But we felt it was kinda bullshit. So we thought you and Gajeel could take the money from the prize, and me and Gray get to have fun with the forfeit. That okay?"

"I suppose," Freed chuckled slightly, because almost any other person would want the money. "What have you planned for them?"

Maybe it wasn't the most relevant thing to think about at the time, but Freed wanted the distraction. The lightness of his soul, the revelation that he could truly feel his emotions to their fullness again, and the fact that Gajeel hadn't been there when he woke were all starting to pile up on top of him. A distraction, even a ridiculous one like this, was exactly what he needed. Bickslow seemed to sense this, as he spoke with gusto and joy.

"Well, I wanna have them dress up like old-timey jesters and perform shows every night of a week where they make total asses out of themselves in front of everyone," Bickslow grinned. "And my darling baby wants them to be our butlers for a week and then they have to do everything we say. We haven't decided yet."

"Surely, if you have them as your butlers, you could make them dress like jesters and perform shows as well as anything else you wish," Freed suggested, and Bickslow grinned.

"You're a genius," He exclaimed. "And instead of suits, I'll make sure they're only wearing really tight black briefs and bowties. Really give me something to look at."

Freed chuckled. This was normal, at least.

——

Gajeel needed to keep moving. He needed to keep himself moving and active and his mind away from Freed because the moment his mind did fall onto Freed it would inevitably linger on the fact that Freed wasn't awake and that Freed might not wake up and that something Gajeel had done might have ended up killing the man that had so quickly intertwined their lives together. That was a thought too awful to even consider, so Gajeel had to keep moving.

After three days of waiting for Freed to wake, Gajeel had left Magnolia. Maybe he was a coward to do so, but he didn't care. He found himself walking, and hours later he was in the forest where he trained. The same forest where he had first gotten to know Freed.

It hadn't been a good idea.

He'd been sleeping under the stars ever since. He had exercised and forced his body to the brink of exhaustion every night, because the idea of lying down and letting sleep overcome him was nauseating. He couldn't let his mind wonder because that would mean letting himself think about Freed and he couldn't do that.

Every day, his body ached. He had pushed himself further than he ever had before. He'd ran more laps of the forest than ever, swam across the lake faster and with more purpose than he could remember doing, and he had pushed the dead tree trunk further up the hill than he thought he ever could. It was all in vain, because even in the split seconds his mind might wander from the exercise to Freed, it felt as though he'd been punched in the gut, and horror flowed through him.

He couldn't take any more. Today, his body was beyond moving more than necessary, protesting against the slightest attempt to exercise. That was how he found himself sitting in the shallowest part of the river, cross legged, with his hand turned to a small blade as he whittled away at a piece of wood.

His intention had been to meditate, something he often did. But today, confronting his mind has not been possible, because they made him feel sick to his damn stomach. And so he'd reached for a nearby bit of wood, and started to carve away at it. First it had been to occupy his hands with something to stop himself from fidgeting, but the more he carved the more he got into the rhythm of it, and he quickly realised that he was carving it into something. Something for a very specific person.

A crown. A crown fit for a prince.

And fuck it, when Freed woke up - becuase he would wake up dammit - Gajeel was gonna treat him like a prince. Two weeks ago he'd given Freed shit for being pampered, but now Gajeel would give anything to be the person pampering his spoiled ass that moment. He'd bring him hot tea, make him dinner, massage his damn feet if he had to. Anything to get his prince back to him.

But for now, he had to make the crown. Because once the crown was complete, then Freed would be awake and everything would be fine. It just had to be fine. Yes, it was a ridiculous claim to make, but he had to cling onto something for hope.

He'd make Freed a real crown one day. Metal, infused with gemstones.

Freed would like that. He'd call Gajeel an idiot, but he'd enjoy it really.

Gods dammit, this was so stupid. Gajeel growled and stood up, but kept the half-made wooden crown in his hand. His body protested from the small amount of movement, but he stormed towards a nearby upturned tree that he had been resting on and slammed his fist into the bark. He did it again, and again, not turning his skin to iron so that he could feel the coarseness of the wood grazing his knuckles. He needed to feel something dammit!

"That helping you?" Laxus' voice came from behind him, and Gajeel nearly jumped at the sudden sound as he turned. Fuck, how had he missed the man approaching. "It doesn't look healthy."

"The hell are you doin' here?" Gajeel grunted. He wasn't in the mood for company. "Needed to think."

"I get that, I've been there," Laxus shrugged, leaning against the tree that Gajeel had punched and looking unwilling to move. "But he woke up, asked where you were. Thought you might get pissed off if someone didn't tell ya."

Gajeel paused.

Freed was awake.

Awake, and asking for him.

For a week, Gajeel hadn't allowed himself to think about Freed at all, and the few moments that resolve had slipped he had gone to the worst case scenario. Maybe it was some kind of bullshit defence mechanism, where if he thought only about the bad outcome then maybe it wouldn't hurt so much when it happened, but he suddenly realised that he hadn't entertained the possibility that it might be okay.

He wanted to storm back to Magnolia as quickly as he could, but stumbled a little under his feet. His legs were aching and his body objecting to any movement whatsoever. He tried to fight through it, because dammit he could make it through some pain if he got to see Freed, but he nearly fell to the ground. The only thing stopping him was Laxus.

"He's not gonna be happy if you nearly kill yourself getting to him," Laxus said, hooking Gajeel's arm over his shoulder. "The two of you are fucking idiots, you know that. You love each other to the point of self destruction."

"Love?" Gajeel muttered. "He said that?"

"He looked pretty damn heartbroken when he realised you weren't there," Laxus said, slowly walking while helping Gajeel. "It means he loves you."

"Y' think so?" Gajeel asked.

"Of course," Laxus scoffed, helping the aching man traverse the woodlands. "He's not gonna admit it yet, probably convinced himself it's too soon to say it, but it's pretty damn clear. He doesn't show his emotions very well, so the fact he's showing them about you is a big deal. And if any guy could affect him so much to make him fall in love within a week, it's you."

"Really?"

"In a week, you managed to turn hatred into a special bond, you managed to nail a unison raide, you got rid of the fucking demon that's been ruining his life," Laxus laughed. "You're it for Freed. You're the last guy he's ever gonna love because who the fuck could compare to that?"

Gajeel blushed a little. Was Sparky always this complimentary?

"Aint this the point where you say yer gonna kick my ass if I fuck around with him?" Gajeel asked, because he wasn't particularly good with his feelings and Laxus had just said a lot of things that could overwhelm Gajeel if he lingered on them for too long. "Give me the shovel talk or whatever?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Laxus asked. "I saw how you look at him, I know you're not gonna be a dick or hurt him. And if you do, he'd deal with you himself."

Gajeel certainly agreed with that, his prince by no means needed anyone to fight his battles for him.

He found himself a little happy that he had gotten Laxus' blessing, even if he didn't think he particularly needed it. Laxus was an important part of Freed's life, and Gajeel didn't want to be the reason for any kind of rift between them. He also wouldn't have been surprised if Freed was firmly the type of man who might choose his friends over a new lover, and Gajeel respected that. So to have Laxus approve of them felt good.

"Just be good to him, okay?" Laxus said quietly, helping Gajeel pass over a branch that had fallen. "A lot of people have been shitty to him - more than he realsies - so be in his corner, okay?"

"Of course," Gajeel nodded, because he didn't need to be told that.

"But don't take any shit from him either," Laxus said with renewed volume, and apparently the seriousness of their conversation was over. "He's a cocky son of a bitch and he can pull some shit when you least expect it. If you're gonna be his boyfriend then it's your responsibility to knock him down a peg when he's being an ass."

"Kinda contradictory, don't y' think," Gajeel laughed a little.

"Trust me, you'll see just how much of an ass he can be, and you'll see what I mean," Laxus grinned at Gajeel, and Gajeel felt as though this was Laxus' way of offering Gajeel a way into his life, as well as Freed's. Gajeel grinned back, and they continued walking. After a little while, Laxus spoke again. "Now, you're gonna have to test how much you care for him now. We can either walk back like this, and get there past midnight, or go to the train station and risk a fucking train without his runes to settle our stomachs? It'll be faster, but feel shitty as hell."

"Train," Gajeel said immediately, despite his stomach groaning at the thought. "He's worth it."

——

When Gajeel saw Freed, he almost wanted to cry.

He stormed across the infirmary, and Freed looked towards him with an expression just as relieved as Gajeel was feeling. He didn't stop moving, and wrapped his arms around Freed as tightly as he could in a hug. Freed did the same, apparently his body recovered enough to deal with Gajeel's full strength. For a moment, they both clung to each other as tightly as they could, and Gajeel found solace in the scent of his lover's embrace.

Freed was alive, awake, and here. Everything was okay.

"I'm sorry," Gajeel mumbled into the crook of Freed's neck. "I should've been here when you woke up. I'm sorry."

"You're here now, that's all that matters," Freed whispered, and the hoarseness of his voice made Gajeel feel like shit. Freed seemed to notice, as he pulled away and cupped Gajeel's chin firmly. "I've been tortured by a demon for all of my adult life, and you have gotten rid of that. Not being at my side the moment I woke up is entirely forgivable."

"Should've been here," Gajeel argued, pressing his forehead against Freed's.

"I don't mind," Freed whispered again, leaning up and pressing his lips against Gajeel's in a chaste kiss. "So long as you're here now, I don't mind."

Gajeel leant down further, and pressed their lips together again. He pushed into Freed slightly to deepen the kiss, and his inner dragon purred at the feeling of Freed kissing him again. One night with the man had been enough for Gajeel to know that Freed was special, and that no kiss would be as good as a kiss from Freed. He had been wanting nothing but to feel the man against him again, and to have it finally happen was euphoria.

When they pulled apart, Freed was smiling at Gajeel with a lovestruck expression that looked so good on him. Gajeel would have loved to keep Freed in that moment, because such an expression could only be achieved when someone was feeling bliss. Freed was blissful looking at Gajeel!

"Lie with me," Freed requested. Gajeel didn't need to be told twice.

He maneuvered his tired body into the bed - resisting the urge to make a comment about Freed's nude state - and rested against the headboard. Freed shifted slightly, and leant against Gajeel, nuzzling into his chest with a yawn. So fucking cute.

For what seemed like forever, they stayed like this. Just the two of them, together again and breathing and alive and happy. Gajeel would happily live the rest of his life in that moment, with Freed in his arms and with comfort filling his soul. This was a level of contentment that Gajeel had never felt before, and he was unwilling to let it go. Freed was going to be his for as long as Gajeel could fight for him.

"I meant it, y'know," Gajeel murmured, pressing his lips to Freed's ear. "I wanna be yours. I want you to be mine. I meant everything I said."

"I know you did," Freed smiled, looking up. "I want to be yours too. I want to wake up beside you every morning, and kiss you goodnight every night."

Gajeel couldn't help but grin, lean forward and press their lips together again. Freed was his. He was Freed. In each other's arms, they fell asleep. Content, happy, and in love.

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #freed x gajeel #freed justine #gajeel redfox #fairy tail #fanfic #writing #multi chapter #chapter nine #word count: 4.4k

6 notes · View notes

phantombandit-films · 3 years

Text

Why ‘War of the Worlds’ (2005) is a underrated masterpiece.

‘War of the Worlds’ was released in 2005, it is directed by the film god that is Steven Spielberg (Jaws, E.T.) and written by Josh Friedman (Terminator: Dark Fate, Avatar 2) and David Koepp (Jurassic Park, Mission: Impossible)

Cast: - Tom Cruise as Ray Farrier. - Justin Chatwin as Robbie Farrier. - Dakota Fanning as Rachel Farrier. - Miranda Otto as Mary Ann. -Tim Robbins as Harlan Ogilvy. - Ann Robinson as Grandmother. - Gene Barry as Grandfather.

First lets start with some history of ‘The War of the Worlds’ - The 2005 film is based off the novel of the same name which was written by H.G. Wells between 1895 and 1897, it then was then made into a series by Pearson’s Magazine in 1897 in the UK, Cosmopolitan in the US. Then becoming a hardback novel in 1898, it is one of the earliest written pieces to tell a story of conflict between Martians and man and so its one of the most commented on pieces of science fiction.

It has been adapted and developed several times over many decades in many medias, the ones that come to mind are the famous 1938 dramatic radio reading that was directed and starred Orson Welles that actually caused public panic to those who listened in and didn’t know that the Martian invasion was fiction, its said that up to a million people ran out of their homes in terror. (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_War_of_the_Worlds_(1938_radio_drama) )

The 1953 ‘The War of the Worlds’ film adaptation, which was produced by George Pal and directed by Byron Haskin. It also starred Gene Barry (who played Dr. Clayton Forrester) and Ann Robinson (who played Sylvia Van Buren) who can also been seen at the end of the 2005 film, they play the grandparents of Robbie and Rachel which I think is a sweet little cameo to see for those who loved the 1953 film. Ann Robinson also revived her role as Sylvia Van Buren in two other films and three episodes of ‘The War of the Worlds’ tv series in 1988.

In 1978 the most well known musical album by Jeff Wayne was produced and based off the story of ‘War of the Worlds’ this album included the voices of Richard Burton and David Essex.

This was then turned into a concert musical which tours annually through out the UK and Europe, the concert includes live performers such as Carrie Hope Fletcher but also a 3D hologram of Liam Neeson. It also includes a mix of computer animation, pyrotechnics and a big mechanical tripod that comes out on stage and lights up and can fire its heat-ray.

(Source: Birmingham Mail.)

There have also been several Tv series, the two newest being the 2019 BBC version staring Poldark’s Eleanor Tomlinson and Full Monty’s Robert Carlyle, that has a Edwardian setting and follows closely to the novel.

The other being the FOX 2019 adaptation that is set in present day Europe but I found this version didn’t really go off the novel, and was frustrated with the lack of the famous Tripods. (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_War_of_the_Worlds)

As a kid I would watch the 1953 film with my mum all the time as its one of her favourites and I do really like it, but then 2005 rolled around and in comes Steven Spielberg’s version. To be fair it was probably 2006 when I finally saw it, I was nine years old at the time and I remember my dad bringing home the DVD that someone at work had lent him. I don’t remember watching it but I do remember having nightmares for a month after, only for a month though. Many years later when I was half way through high school and getting more and more into film my dad then bought the DVD from Woolworth's before it shut down, the DVD didn’t have a case only a see through CD case so I think it only cost him something like 50p. So I re-watched and again I don’t really remember this but all of a sudden I was hooked, and it climbed to the second spot on my favourite movies list where it still sits today. Honestly if you asked anyone I was friends with at that time they will tell you just how obsessed I was with it.

I have many scenes that I love in this film the first being the rise of the first tripod, but there are two that I geek out over every time.

The first scene being the one in the basement at Robbie and Rachel’s house, the scene starts off with Ray asleep in a chair. He starts to stir when when a blue flash of light on his face, but then jolts up right at a load whooshing noise followed by closely by Robbie shooting up from just below the camera. I love the way that Robbie appears sort of fits with the sound that’s heard, also the whole mood of the scene which is pitch black with this blue flashing light every now and then. The fact that you’re just as clueless as the characters as well, you find out what’s happening when they find out. Also the way that Rachel appears behind the basement stairs, which will appear again near the end of the movie in a much more damaged basement which shows just how much their world has changed in just a short few days. The sound design in this movie as well is something that I love, I love when the sound in a film alone can creep you out. The tripod sound is one of my favourite sounds to exist, like if I heard that from outside I would be so creeped out and scared. At this moment in time Robbie and Rachel have no idea what is hunting them or what Ray has seen, Imagine running from something and seeing something completely destroy the whole of your neighbourhood yet not knowing what it looks like. This is what runs through my mind when I heart Rachel cry “Is it them, Is it them?!” Then the next morning when Ray goes upstairs and see’s that the house is just completely destroyed by an aeroplane that has crashed down in the middle of the the housing estate. This Boeing 747 was a out of use plane and the production crew bought it for $60,000 which then cost them $200,000 to transport, it was then broken into pieces and houses were built around it. Which just shows how far some movie productions will go to make a film look more legit. (We love practical effects in this house.) This scene is still set up at Universal Studios Hollywood and can be seen on the Studio tour.

(Basement and Plane crash scene.)

My second favourite scene, which is one of my all time top favourite scene ever with no surprise is the dock scene. The speeding train that’s on fire is absolute stunning in every sense but for me the scene starts when the music starts. ‘If I ruled the world, everyday would be the first day of spring.’ But i’m really glued to the screen when Rachel starts to follow the birds coming in from the river to in land, she follows them up to the hill where she notices the tree’s on the top are moving weirdly. “The tree’s are funny.” She then reaches out and grabs onto Rays hand who was talking to a friend. Robbie turns to the hill as the camera slowly comes back and shows Robbie also turning to look at where Ray is looking. (Just remembering that this is the first time Robbie and Rachel ever see the tripods.)

The camera then shows us what the family is looking at to reveal a tripod stood on the top of the hill, it then moves one of its legs which crushes a tree and makes everyone else look back. Obviously chaos ensues from this point on, everyone running trying to get onto the ferry to get away from the impending doom, unfortunately we learn that no where, not even on the water is safe. As a tripod comes up from out of the water and attacks the ferry, the family manage to escape and get to land on the other side of the ferry. They stop for a moment to catch their breath as people are being picked out of the water below them, they turn as a old air raid alarm is heard on the other side of the hill and we see tripods coming over another hill that was filled with people and using their head rays to wipe them all out, we also see in the distance a lighting storm indicating more Martions are still coming to earth. The scene is like a depiction of all the stages of the attack. (Dock attack scene.)

I mean all the action scenes in this movie are just so beautiful and amazing, but did we expect any less from Spielberg? And the CGI and practical are all done extremely well and fitted together to make a scene look as real as possible. One of the art directors that worked on this film, Doug J. Meerdink who has also worked on Jurassic Park: III, Cloverfield and Jurassic World.

I was looking up some trivia on IMDB for this movie and found that there was a deleted scene that is called the ‘Camelot’ scene. This scene is supposed to take place between the attack on the ferry and the battle on the hill, it involves Ray, Rachel and Robbie walking through an abandoned housing estate that’s named Camelot, when a pack of tripods start walking near by. One of the tripods breaks off and the family has to take cover behind a SUV, they watch helplessly from behind as the tripod reaches into the house and grabs people from the houses. This scene has never been released but apparently it was fully finished, VFX and all but then taken out a few weeks before post production was wrapped up. There is only one official video from this scene that was in the actual trailer for the film, and it’s only a shot of the family hiding behind the SUV.

The only other shot from the scene is this landscape shot of a CGI tripod.

There are also photos of the set designers setting up the miniature of the housing estate to shoot this scene, the rest are fan arts of how the scene maybe looked/ played out. (Source)

I really hope that one day Steven releases this scene, or for some anniversary adds it into an extended version of the film like we’ve seen for other films. Because I would love that so much! It seems like such an incredible scene, and to see the tripods up this close again would be so cool!

One of the trailers that was released for this film doesn’t have any of the film shots it in, It takes place in a normal neighbourhood where people are just going about their normal nightly routine when suddenly over the hill there are all these brilliant flashing lights, everyone's just coming out of their houses in their pj’s and standing in the street marvelling at this sight in front of them. Then we see explosions and suddenly heat rays are blowing up the tress on the street which then goes into the title. I just love this, a trailer that doesn’t give anything away from the movie but creeps you out enough to be invested. (Trailer.)

All in all it’s just an very visually pleasing film, it feels real enough to give you a sense of fear for the characters and for yourself. I also love that Steven stayed true to the source material,more truer than some of the other adaptations and also added in his own little Easter eggs. The sounds, the aesthetic, the colours just everything comes together so beautifully. I think its a very underrated movie that deserves so much more love.

#war of the worlds #war of the worlds 2005 #robbie farrier #ray farrier #rachel farrier #steven spielberg #movie #film #film talk #tom cruise #dakota fanning #justin chatwin #the war of the worlds #not really a film review #i just wanted to talk about my love for this film

32 notes · View notes