#but what can you do? accept that or else be preemptively shamed into silence (which is of course its goal).

[aeide-thea]

a while back i made a post (that of course i now won't be able to find) that was like, two really popular (complementary!) fallacies are (1) thinking an experience is universal, when in fact it's specific to one's particular body/psyche/milieu; and (2) thinking an experience is specific to a particular body/psyche/milieu, when in fact it transcends such divisions—

anyway i get that the phrase 'purposelessly cloistral' is fun to sneer but i'm afraid that, like rhetoric about 'touching grass,' i actually think it's both unkind and intellectually unrigorous as analysis. yes, exposure to a broad variety of people is good for you, and can help you realize that positions you've taken for granted aren't shared by everyone; but people tend to cluster into insular echo chambers anywhere they congregate, whether that be in chatrooms or churches or cities, and i'm frankly very tired of this recurrent urge to, like, resurrect middle school ideas of coolness and use them as cudgels. clubbing—of either variety!—doesn't make you a better person.

[spicycreativity]

I saw you were taking requests and i wanted to send one in!

Can i request Remus angst, where his intrusive thoughts are getting really bad and he thinks that everyone is going to abandon him like roman (the split) and virgil, and then Janus comforts him and it ends with janus holding remus and comforting him?

Please and thank you!

You're awesome!!

This kinds turned into fluff, oops. Like angst-fluff. Also thank you for the request! This was a fun one b/c it's not something that ever would have occurred to me to try to write, and it was interesting to take a character like Remus, who feels very sure of himself (imo) and explore what kind of self-doubts he might have

I ended up leaning on my own experiences w intrusive thoughts and also that like Aro Fear that all your friends are gonna pair off and forget about you because That's What Happens

Anyway! I hope you like it!

Remus and Janus are QPPs, your honor

Unhealthy behaviors were hard to gauge with Remus. His being quiet was not always a red flag, nor was his tendency toward sudden bursts of energy. Even his self-soothing behaviors were a constant, and did not necessarily mean anything was amiss.

He was quiet this morning, chewing on his knuckles and staring at Janus, who was drinking his coffee and pretending to enjoy the silence.

Remus was agitated. He bit down on his bent index finger and tried not to think. Unfortunately for him, being Intrusive Thoughts meant experiencing intrusive thoughts, and no amount of coping mechanisms could make them go away. Much like himself, they simply demanded attention, repeating like propaganda, over and over and over until they became the truth. It wasn't self doubt and it wasn't fear. It simply was.

Today, the manifest truth that drove his front teeth together against the barrier of his finger was this: Janus was going to leave him. Roman left, after all, and Virgil left, and Patton and Logan wanted nothing to do with him. Not that Remus wanted anything to do with them, but if he ever did…

So it stood to reason that Janus was next.

The inevitability of it lodged in his chest like so many knives, until he was certain he could see them sticking out of his chest and-- Ah, they were there. Big, ugly butcher knives. Janus hadn't noticed yet, too busy with his newspaper (an imperfect facsimile of one Thomas had seen a few days ago in a coffee shop).

What would mornings be like without Janus? What would Remus do without anyone? Preemptive loneliness washed over him; the knives faded out and he started to go with them, gradually turning transparent in his armchair. Loneliness. That great certainty, that big, ugly fact.

What the fuck was he going to do without Janus? With no one to listen? How much time did he have left? How long before it all went away?

Now it was fear, now it was despair, now it was an utter lack of any sort of hope for the future, because it was going to happen, it was going to happen and there was nothing he could do about it, and it didn't matter if it was now or a year from now because there was no happy ending--

A few cold tears snaked down his cheeks. Stupid. Not shameful, but completely fucking stupid. He sniffled.

Janus put his newspaper down. Remus watched with blurred vision as his expression turned from curious to concerned and then stayed there, instead of reaching its usual sardonic terminus. "Um, Remus?"

It was hard to talk. Remus swallowed and made an effort. "What?"

"I don't know if you noticed, but you're crying."

"So?"

Janus cocked his head. "What do you mean 'so'?"

"So what?"

"Goodness, it's not like we're friends or anything. If you're upset, please keep it to--" Janus took a deep breath. "Look, if you're upset, you can talk to me about it. I want you to talk to me about it."

Remus accepted this with a nod, knowing full well it wasn't that simple. How could he make Janus understand? "I was just thinking about what it's going to be like when you leave, and… Well, I'm gonna miss you, that's all."

"When I leave?" Janus leaned forward, pressing his elbows on his knees so he could study Remus better. "Who said I was leaving?"

"Everyone else did," Remus said, trying for bravado. He got a few more tears instead, which he really should have seen coming. Remus was many things, but he was not a liar. "R-Roman went away, Virgil…" His voice broke. "I just…"

"Oh, come here." Janus got up. It was a difficult thing to jam two grown men into an armchair, but Janus was clever and arranged it somehow, so that Remus could rest his head on Janus' chest and get snot and tears all over his nice gray shirt. That was nice of him. "Remus, why are you mourning something that hasn't even happened?"

Sure enough, Janus didn't understand. "It's going to happen," Remus said. "I just know. It's-- I know it."

"Oh, come on, Remus." Janus pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Where would I go? I don't like any of the others half as much as I like you."

"But--"

"But?"

Remus smiled through his tears and nuzzled into Janus' chest, leaving wet spots on his shirt. "I just made you say 'butt.'"

"There you are," said Janus, and the fondness in his voice was so undisguised, so genuine, that Remus found he had no choice but to believe in it. "I take it your brain is being mean to you today?"

"I guess," Remus said, because it was easier than arguing. He'd never been able to make Janus understand that the thoughts didn't always feel mean even if they were upsetting.

"How can I help?"

"Can we just stay like this?" Remus asked.

Janus ruffled his hair. "Of course. But you're not using my shirt as a tissue."

Remus wiped his eyes on Janus' shirt just to be contrary, and laughed when Janus jammed a whole fistful of tissues in his face. "Thank you," he said, shoving one of the tissues into his mouth and swallowing it for the joy in the shock value.

"I'm not going anywhere," Janus promised. "I'd like to see you try to get rid of me."

[ablogthatishenceforthmine]

Zeke Character Profile

Physical

Zeke is a very physical person, in a multitude of ways. He is tough. He loves and is good at physical activities. He is obsessed with wrestling; he does it all the time and can’t seem to stop doing it. It seems also to be an emotional thing, as he often wrestles people when he is overcome with emotion or affection.

In group tasks or environments, he often occupies roles that demand physicality. At the makeshift gambling joint the Belcher kids run in their basement in “The Kids Run the Restaraunt,” he is the doorman and bouncer.  In “Few ‘Gurt Men,” his role in the mock trial is the baliff. In the heist in "The Taking of Funtime One Two Three,” his physical strength is emphasized and used to win an arcade game.

He is not just physically tough, but also physically affectionate. He is physically affectionate with most people, but is especially so with Jimmy Jr., his best friend. Zeke has no shame, embarrassment, or self-consciousness in hugging, holding, or throwing his arm around Jimmy Jr. and other boys his age. It’s really refreshing to see a male character that so thoroughly enjoys showing physical affection to his male friends without any “no homo” posturing or thoughts. To give Jimmy Jr. credit too, he likewise has no problem with the physical affection Zeke shows him or giving Zeke physical affection. 

Good Friend

Zeke cares a lot about about his friendship with Jimmy Jr. He values it above all else. He and Jimmy Jr. are inseparable. Zeke is a great friend to him. He always encourages and supports Jimmy Jr., showers him with compliments, and comforts him when Jimmy Jr. needs it. The only time he is disloyal to Jimmy Jr. is in the “Oeder games,” and that’s only after Jimmy Jr. turns on him first.

Supportive and Encouraging

Zeke is extremely encouraging and supportive of other people. He’s a cheerleader: not actually, but in spirit. He is constantly cheering on and complimenting people’s ideas and accomplishments. He just really believes in people and lets them know. Even when he is being critical, he does it in a positive when. In “The Land Ship,” when everyone is bashing Tina for being bland or boring, Zeke included, he at least does it in a somewhat motivational way, telling her “get some spice into you girl!”

Kind

Zeke is incredibly kind. He really cares about other people. There are many instances of Zeke being extraordinary kind. Because there are so many instances, I will just pick out a few examples that really stuck out to me. In “Broadcast Wagstaff News,” Zeke tells Tina that after a while, he continued to be the mad pooper for Tina. It’s a surprisingly sweet and touching thing. Even Tina, who is not partial to Zeke, thinks so. In “Midday Run.” he steals the mascot costume from Wagstaff for his grandma. She is going into surgery, and he knows that him prancing around in the mascot costume in front of her would comfort her and cheer her up. Once he is caught, he is desperate to get away, not to get out of trouble, but so that he can be there for his grandma. In “The Silence of the Louise,” Zeke falsely confesses to destroying Mr. Frond’s therapy dolls so that Jimmy Jr. and the other kids can go to the waterpark. It’s a completely selfless act, putting others above himself even when he doesn’t have to. 

People Person

Zeke is a people person; he loves people and loves to be around them.  He is very affectionate with people and often gives them nicknames; for example, he sometimes calls Tina “T-bird.” He also loves giving compliments, which he does all the time.

 And people also really like Zeke. The best example of this is “A Fish Called Tina.” At different points, he is Rudy’s and Kaylee’s big fish (their mentor). He gets along with them so well. They really like him. Rudy even starts to think that Zeke could be his soulmate. After their first fish meeting, Rudy tells Zeke  “I love you so much man.” Zeke replies in kind and they hug. Zeke loves people and they love him.  Zeke just gets along with others so naturally and effortlessly. He is likeable, which in his case, is an actual skill. It’s no surprise he is such a great Big Fish.  Zeke is able to bond with people who are completely different from him. He likes them even though they are nothing alike. Zeke is loud, outgoing, and energetic. While Rudy and Kaylee are quiet, bookish, and meek. But he doesn’t care about this, he doesn’t look down on them or think their weird or that they’re loses. Zeke likes and appreciates them, and people in general, for who they are. It’s also telling that such quiet and reserved people are able to care about Zeke so quickly rather than finding him obnoxious or draining.

Empathetic

Zeke is extremely empathetic, and always tries to understand the reasons for others’ behavior. In "Bob Actually,” when Tina run’s away from Jimmy Jr.’s jumping kiss, Zeke empathizes wither her, telling her “feelings are scary girl.” He’s wrong about why she’s running away (it’s diarrhea), but it’s telling that he takes a guess at why she is running away, and emphasizes with it. In “The Hawkening: Look Who’s Hawking Now,”  Zeke is emotional and distraught over Rudy having a broken arm and he brings up the idea of a party to celebrate Rudy getting his cast off.

In "Sit Me Baby One More Time,” Zeke’s immediate empathy for Kendra is really incredible. He almost immediately zeroes in on the fact that her behavior stems from the difficulties of being the new kid in school. He intuits that Kendra is bullying others in a preemptive strike against rejection. He says that “she rejects them in their crouch before they reject her in their heart.” He offers this girl empathy and understanding, even though the few seconds he’s interacted with her involved her attacking him unprovoked. It’s really an outstanding moment of empathy, as well as showing that Zeke has an incredible ability to understand others.

Honest and Open

Zeke may lie about the trouble he gets into, but he is completely honest and open about his thoughts and feelings. He has no trouble showing or announcing how he feels. In fact, he almost constantly does so. The audience and the other characters in the show never have to guess what he is thinking or feeling. 

He has no problem showing his emotions, which is quite refreshing to see in a teenage boy character, especially one as typically boyish as Zeke. He loves to express affection for people, verbal and physical. In “The Gene and Courtney Show,” he openly cries in class at Gene’s love announcement. He informs the whole class that he is crying. He also cries and gets emotional at the puppet show in “If You Love it so Much, Why Don’t You Marrionate?” In “The Trouble with Doubles,” He openly admits to being scared by the movie. He says it without being asked.

Below Average Intelligence

Zeke is not the most intelligent kid. He doesn’t have the smartest ideas or the best critical thinking skills. He doesn’t do well in school. He is in the Home Economics class that Mr. Frond describes as “for dummies.” Part of his problem with school, seems to be his short attention span, and he probably has ADHD, but he’s also just not book smart.

Zeke is aware of his lack of intelligence. In "Ex Mach Tina,”  Zeke tells Tammy and Jocelyn that they’re making him feel smart, showing that he is aware that he isn’t smart. In “Bob and Deliver,” his whole plotline revolves around this idea. Zeke says he doesn’t need cooking, and that he’s not going to college. He doesn’t seem to believe he has a bright future, and has accepted that. Bob has to badger Zeke into trying to cook. Zeke repeatedly says that he can’t do it. When Bob goes to taste it the dish Zeke made, Zeke tells Bob that he probably wrecked it.  It’s clear that he doesn’t believe in himself, at least when it comes to his intelligence and general abilities. This plotline is about Zeke gaining faith in himself, and learning he can do more than he thinks he can. He learns that he is more than what he has been told he is. Once he finds a teacher who believes in him, he is able to flourish.

High Emotional Intelligence

While Zeke may struggle with some forms of intelligence, he has incredible emotional intelligence and maturity. He may be the most emotionally intelligent character, and not just out of the kid characters, but all the characters. He accepts and expresses his own emotions. He is not ashamed or afraid of them.

He approaches people with empathy and is genuinely interested in their point of view. In “Midday,” Zeke honestly asks Tina why she likes being a hall monitor, and challenges her on what the job does/means. He is genuinely trying to challenge, understand, and help her, rather than just calling her out or antagonizing her. ”

Because of his empathy and sincere interest in people, he is incredibly insightful and smart when it comes to people, their feelings, and their motivations. In "Ex Mach Tina,” he has rather insightful things to say about one of Jimmy Jr.’s songs, the one about Jimmy Jr.’s father throwing the ball too hard for Jimmy Jr. to catch when they play catch. Zeke analyses the song, telling the group it’s about parents putting too much expectations on their kids.

 In “Sit Me Baby, One More Time,” Zeke displays extraordinary emotional intelligence in his ability to understand Kendra. As described above, he only meets for her a few seconds, and during those seconds, she was trying to attack him. He hears secondhand from Tina that she is new in school and that she is bullying other kids. From just this information, he is gain accurate and incredible insight into her behavior and mindset. With this example, you get the feeling that Zeke really sees people, in all their complexities, masks, and flaws.  In the same episode, when Jimmy Jr. tells Zeke’s he’s scared, Zeke responds “I know buddy, that’s what makes us human.” Again insightful and empathetic. He has a great attitude toward emotions. Better yet, he doesn’t mock JJ’s fear, the way that so many boys are taught to do. He doesn’t think that fear makes someone weak, or is unmanly. He just accepts fear, and offers empathy to Jimmy Jr.

Big Picture Thinker/Philosophical

Despite his below average traditional intelligence, Zeke things about big things and issues. He is also occasionally philosophical.

 In "Tina and the Real Ghost,” Zeke reveals that he doesn’t believe in ghosts or the afterlife. It says a lot that he’s thought enough about death and the afterlife to have a strong opinion on it and to not believe in it. Zeke thinks about big picture things: some pretty serious, weighty stuff. When he does start to believe in ghosts, he says very seriously, and kinda in a sort of despair, that “this changes a lot for me. A LOT.” He has a world view, and nd there is some melancholy and despair under his cheeriness. When the fraud of the ghost Jeff is revealed, Zeke says he wanted to believe that there was more than this life. This is a much more serious and philosophical desire than the other characters desires: to have a boyfriend, to hop on the bandwagon, or to win in a rivalry. 

 There are some other examples of Zeke thinking about big issues.  In “Ex Mach Tina,” he is excited about getting philosophical about growing up. In “The Quirk-ducers,” it is revealed that  Zeke co-founded a “women’s issues” club. He is also aware enough to know that no women signing up for the club is a problem. In “UFO No You Didn’t,” Zeke is concerned about the bees dying, and becomes the topic of his and Tammy’s science project. And it’s actually a good one idea, showing that Zeke can apply himself when he cares about what he’s doing.

Loud and Excitable

Zeke is very loud and excitable. He has has a sense of wonder about the world, and gets excited about the tiniest things. He is extremely enthusiastic. He uses colorful, creative, and evocative language. Zeke also loves to entertain others. He loves the attention, and making other people laugh.

Juvenile Sense of Humor

Zeke has a juvenile sense of humor. He loves gross out and sexual humor, as best indicated by his mad pooper stunt. He also has a lot of traits that are typically associated with teenage boys, such as his obsession with boobs.

Impulsive

Zeke is very impulsive, often acting without thinking. This can be both good and bad. It can be good because it means he is a doer; he takes action. This can be seen in "The Belchies,” when he, Tina Jimmy Jr, and Gene are stuck in the elevator. While Gene, Jimmy Jr., and Tina are just sitting in the elevator, accepting that they are stuck, Zeke is the one that gets them out by lifting the elevator door thing on an impulse. But his lack of impulse control also causes serious problems. It leads him to make bad decisions, and it gets him in trouble a lot at school. Zeke gets detention A LOT. However, he is aware of his impulse control issues. In “Thelma and Louise Except Linda is Thelma,” he explains that his many detentions is because he has a problem with impulse control.

Rule-breaker

Due partly to his poor impulse control, Zeke is bad at following rules. He also is just a rebellious person who enjoys causing trouble sometimes. He likes pranks, and often acts out.

But sometimes, his rule-breaking has nothing to due with this poor impulse control or love of pranks. Zeke follows his heart and his own moral code. He knows that rules aren’t always moral or right. He does what he thinks is right, even if its against the rules. This is best evidenced in “Midday Run,” when he steals the mascot costume in order to cheer up his grandma before her surgery. By the end of the episode, Zeke ended up teaching Tina that rules aren’t always right, and she shouldn’t always just obediently follow and enforce them without question. 

Troubled Home Life

The show repeatedly hints that Zeke has a troubled home life; it’s a running joke of the series. In the opening of "The Runway Club,” in a homage to the film “The Breakfast Club,”  Zeke plays the Bender role, further connecting him to a troubled home life.

Most of what’s mentioned or alluded to isn’t too serious or concerning. But Zeke seems to have a more adult, messy, and complicated home life than the other kid characters. His family moves around a lot, his birth mom had him when she was in high school, he has a 44 year-old brother, a clown at 7th birthday part later become famous for murdering someone. These are just some examples of things mentioned.

 In “Boyz for Now,” Zeke also tells Tina and Louise that his step-mother is an alcoholic and a shopaholic.  Although, during the play, when they are talking about how great moms are, Zeke makes a point to include step moms, and gives his step mom a shout out. So, he clearly has a good relationship with her. So again, nothing too dark, but still a bit troubled.

Conclusion

Zeke is a deceptive character. By which I mean, at first glance, and when he was first introduced, he seems simple. He’s a loud, gross, not very smart, impulsive teenage boy with a juvenile sense of humor.  But underneath these qualities, he has a lot of depth. He is philosophical, highly emotionally intelligent, and extremely kind.

And just like viewers may at first have written him off, Wagstaff and Mr. Frond have too. Zeke is the type of kid whom schools, at least American schools, routinely fail because they have such a rigid and limited idea of what a good student is. They value a specific set of qualities, and fail to value or even see others that lay outside of that set. Unfortunately for Zeke, he lacks the qualities schools value and excels in the ones they ignore and devalue. 

Zeke is labeled a bad, below-average kid. But the thing is, he is actually an extraordinary and talented kid. His level of emotional intelligence at his age is incredible, and really, rarer than the book-smarts that the “good kids” possess. He is really great with people, at dealing with them, and understanding them. That’s a real gift. But Wagstaff doesn’t value or even acknowledge these skills and qualities.

These abilities and personality traits should be acknowledged, valued, encouraged, and nourished. It is possible to create a school environment where Zeke, and kids like Zeke, can thrive.  Instead of endlessly punishing Zeke and telling him that he’s a bad kid not worth very much, the school and Mr. Frond should acknowledge and cater Zeke’s school experience to his considerable gifts

For example, Zeke has a lot of qualities that make a great leader, such as his people-oriented nature and big picture thinking. Obviously, he lacks some necessarily qualities for leadership, so Zeke works best as a co-leader or leading with a group. He needs a partner/co-leader that has the leadership skills he lacks: critical thinking, attention to detail, and long-term thinking.

In “Prank You For Being a Friend,” Zeke is put in the club ‘the Thinkgineers” as a punishment. Imagine if he was encouraged or put in extracurricular activities that actually suited his skills and interests. The Thinkginners is the absolute worst club to put Zeke in. The Thinkginners is a club about inventing. It involves critical thinking, problem solving, math, and minute details. If the goal was to punish Zeke, then Mr. Frond succeeded, but wouldn’t it be better to help help. Mr. Frond should have put Zeke a club where he can actually thrive and find purpose, like with his time as a Big Fish. So maybe a mentorship club? Or a club that interacts with a lot or helps people? Or even something with leadership? These types of “punishment” would be much more helpful to Zeke than any of the other punishments he is given. Isn’t his behavior improving more important than the act of punishing?

I imagine Zeke would me more motivated and be better able to work on his weaknesses, if his strengths were recognized and encouraged in school. If he believes that his is a capable and worthy person, he might believe in himself more and work harder on his weaknesses. He might enjoy school more, which could only be a good thing.

[fraink5-writes]

Blue Ceiling - Tablet III

Anyone else crying in the club about today’s Babylonia episode? Read this chapter to see good things happen to Kingu.

Of course, thanks a whole lot to my fantastic editor, @leio13

Summary: Expecting to become king of the merpeople as son of Tiamat, Kingu is suddenly forced to give up his tail and to go the surface to restore humanity’s disregarded respect for the Goddess of the Sea. However, he severely underestimates the Uruks’ willpower, especially that of their stubborn king, Gilgamesh.

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Kingu woke up to an unfamiliar ceiling. There was neither the privacy of Gorgon’s home nor the warmth of Shamhat’s. Once again, Kingu was without a home. The room was nearly empty save an overbearing silence.

Kingu’s legs cried out in pain as they did on the first day. They had brought him nothing but suffering. He wanted to cut them off. 

Even then, he could not be a merman again. He was stuck in a useless human body, but even the humans wouldn’t accept him. He had always been an outsider. Maybe he would live as a monster like Gorgon. Gorgon was strange company, but he found himself missing her in his isolation. They had been outcasts together, but now they were just alone.

At least, Kingu thought staring at the apathetic ceiling, he had Tiamat. He hazily recalled her sorrowful song; was she lonely like him? Certainly, she understood him better than anyone else, and that’s why she chose him. Tiamat trusted him with this mission, so he would carry it out for her. Whether he was a merman, a human, or neither, he was Tiamat’s son. That knowledge warmed his cold loneliness.

Kingu watched the shadow cast by the window as it moved across the floor until his meditation was interrupted by footsteps. A woman’s voice appeared in the doorway, “Oh good! He’s awake.”

Two people entered the room: the distraught brunette woman from the other day and Gilgamesh. Kingu closed his eyes and turned away; he had no business with Gilgamesh, but curiosity forced him to peak and see what they were up to.

The intruders had approached Kingu’s bed, and then the woman elbowed the king, an action certainly warranting the death penalty.

But Gilgamesh just grumbled to himself then spoke aloud, “Siduri requested that I apologize for yesterday.” The king seemed to struggle between his lack of desire to apologize and the appearance of his authority. 

“Ahem.” Siduri forced a cough. 

“Yesterday, I invited you to my home, but you were met with hostility instead of hospitality. That was unacceptable.” Gilgamesh’s curt “apology” was accompanied by rolled eyes.

Siduri sighed then turned her attention to Kingu. “I hope you are feeling better today.”

“No,” Kingu mumbled, not in the mood for playing at courtesy.

Gilgamesh opened his mouth, but he was preemptively silenced by a sharp glare from Siduri.

“We’re truly, deeply sorry for what happened yesterday,” Siduri continued, bowing her head. “And, we also are here to inform you that you’ll be living here from now on.”

“Huh?” Kingu snapped out of his fake sleep.

“We’re sorry it’s not much,” Siduri bowed her head again, “but Shamhat is busy with her work, and so it would be more convenient for you to live here. We hope you understand.”

Shamhat’s job… Shamhat had been so generous with Kingu; it never occurred to him that he was inconveniencing her. Shame floated up to his cheeks.

“If there’s anything you need, King Gilgamesh would be more than willing to provide. It’s the least he could do after what happened yesterday.”

If the glower on Gilgamesh’s face was any indicator, he was not ‘more than willing,’ but Siduri seemed to have some influence over him, so maybe it wasn’t out of the question. 

“Let’s see…” Kingu shot Gilgamesh a smug look while running through the possibilities. He wanted to ask for something outrageous.

“Oh yes, one last thing,” Siduri interrupted. “To make up for yesterday, King Gilgamesh has offered to show you around Uruk, since you are still new here.”

Somehow Siduri’s offer was more outrageous than anything Kingu had come up with himself, yet he definitely wasn’t interested. Unfortunately, it did not seem like declining was an option. 

“We will be back in a few days when you are feeling better.” Siduri spared Kingu, if only temporarily.

“Don’t make me wait too long, mongrel.” Gilgamesh muttered and left.

“Please rest well!” Siduri called before chasing Gilgamesh with a look of embarrassment.

***

After a few days, Kingu was capable of walking around his barren home although not without pain. But there was not much else to do besides wander in circles—“pacing,” as the humans would call it. So when an unfamiliar knock sounded against the door, he bounded to answer it. Finally free from his boredom. “Hel—… lo.” 

Gilgamesh stared silently at him.

“Where’s Siduri?” Kingu demanded.

“She’s busy—is that a proper way to greet a king?”

“You didn’t even say ‘hello,’” Kingu grumbled. “Anyway, what do you want?”

“I’m going to give you a tour of Uruk.”

He meant that? Kingu studied the king for any tells. Surely, this was a joke.

“Don’t be ungrateful, mongrel. Who do you think has been providing your food and medicine every day?”

Well, the one who had been checking up on him, bringing food and medicine, was “Sidu… ri?”

“IDIOT! She’s only been delivering them!”

Kingu paled. To think he had fallen so low as to depend on the arrogant, human king!

“What’s wrong? Has your brain finally stopped working entirely?” Gilgamesh wore a surprising grin. “Hurry up. I don’t have that much time to waste.”

Kingu took Gilgamesh’s cue and turned back into the house to match his presentation to the king’s standards, taking the opportunity to regain his scattered composure. 

“Oh? I didn’t think you could do it,” Gilgamesh remarked as Kingu stepped out the door.

“Do what?”

“Put together a look that’s worthy of standing by my side.”

The king continued on, but the rest was lost on Kingu, who was shocked by the double-edged compliment. His face flushed a deep red.

“Anyway, let us begin.” Gilgamesh paid Kingu’s embarrassment no heed as he started his tour. “This house is on the outskirts of town, so we will head inwards, towards the center, and then back out.”

Kingu had not once left his home, so everything was new to him. It did not matter what direction they went in.

“That,” Gilgamesh pointed down the road, “is one of Uruk’s greatest prides.”

A brick wall. But it didn’t suffice to call it simply a wall. The wall was thick enough for tiny people to patrol on top. It was tall enough to cast a shadow over the nearby buildings. And it was long enough to extend indefinitely past Kingu’s field of vision.

“It is the great wall which protects all of Uruk.”

“Protects?” The giant wall was an enigma to Kingu. There was no wall which surrounded Atargata, only the endless sea. To Kingu, the wall was just a cage.

“Yes, protects. From beasts and enemy peoples.”

So the humans weren’t united? This was another shock for Kingu. To think they would fight and kill each other… How savage. Kingu could not hide his displeasure from his face.

“What’s with that face? We haven’t had a war in years. So long as that wall exists, the people of Uruk can live in peace.”

Then the wall was anything but a cage; it really was a shelter.

“Anyway, we’re heading in the other direction. There’s no point in leaving the city so soon. Come on.” Gilgamesh called Kingu and led him towards the center of Uruk.

The city of Uruk was organized very simply. Its residents were sorted into districts by occupation, which surrounded the central districts. Most remarkably, the city was crisscrossed with artificial waterways. Kingu scoffed at the sight; the humans had left the sea only to bring it right to their doorsteps. The other merfolk would have been offended by the canals—“how dare the insolent humans try to control the blessings of Tiamat!”—but Kingu was a bit grateful. He missed the sea.

Kingu would have been content to study at the man-made flow of water throughout the entire tour, but circumstances wouldn’t allow it.

“Oh, is that King Gilgamesh?”

“Your majesty!”

“What an honor!”

As Gilgamesh passed through each district, he created a commotion each time. Laborers stopped working, housewives and children appeared in the doorways of their homes, and people from anywhere and everywhere poured into the streets to greet their king. Kingu expected Gilgamesh to swat them all away, but instead, he turned towards Kingu, grinning, and proclaimed, "Look at all the diligent, loyal citizens of Uruk!" He turned back to the crowd, occasionally calling out to one person or another by name (and not the expected "mongrel")  and asking about business. By the time they reached the central districts, Kingu, as much as he learned about Uruk, was even less certain of the king's character.

While surely big enough to qualify as districts, the central districts would be more aptly called monuments. One was an enormous, terraced pyramid built from clay. At the top of the sky-reaching steps sat a white, stone building. The other was a bigger mystery, for all Kingu could see were the stone walls. The white face of the wall was covered in imagery and statues, suggesting something even grander lay inside. Simple but tall, ostentatious but flat; the two structures balanced each other.

"Are those temples?" Kingu wondered aloud.

"Relics," Gilgamesh snapped. "Relics of when people cowered before mere fantasies.” He inspected them with irritation. “They serve no purpose in my Uruk. They would be more useful torn down and rebuilt as new districts for the working population."

If these temples were really built for Tiamat, it would only advance her rage to tear them down. Then, she would mercilessly re-establish her authority. "I wouldn't do that—"

"Would you shut up about that?” Gilgamesh turned his contemptuous gaze to Kingu. “It's annoying. What were you—a priest?—before you hit your head?"

Why did Kingu even bother? The man next to him epitomized human arrogance, the reason Kingu was sent to the surface in the first place. He doubted humanity could ever get saved. 

Kingu didn’t say anything; he didn’t want to entertain Gilgamesh’s hubris anymore. It was annoying enough that he predicted what Kingu was going to say. He’s aware of the voice of reason, but he willfully chooses to ignore it—how foolish. 

“Stop gawking and come with me. Let me show you something more impressive.” After demanding Kingu to follow him, Gilgamesh headed outwards once again. They marched in silence until they had reached the base of the wall. “We’re going up.”

Although there was no practical value to this part of the tour, so long as Gilgamesh was his guide, Kingu could make no objections, so he followed the king up the stairs. Instead of looking outward, Gilgamesh pointed Kingu to the city which they had spent all day walking through. The sun, still high in the sky, was now shining down from the west. The sprawl of brick buildings radiated under its light. From above, Kingu could make out hundreds of tiny gardens which had been hidden from the street. He identified each district by their unique characteristics. With Gilgamesh out of the way, the people had returned to their work, but there were plenty on the streets: vendors, errand-runners, playing children. Tiny, swift, and graceful, the busy Uruks reminded Kingu of the fish in Atargata. 

Gilgamesh beamed as he watched his city. Without sparing even a glance for Kingu, he declared with exaggerated gestures, as though giving a speech to the people down below, "Look at the great city of Uruk! Its protective walls, its sturdy buildings! Its prosperity and its peace! Did any goddess build that? No, it was the Uruks who built this marvelous city. Look at how the little people work, content and undeterred. They don't need any goddess. They are working towards the future. Don't you see? Trembling in fear of the Goddess is the past; the future is the path upon which humanity walks, and Uruk is at the forefront.”

So that was the nature of the golden king Gilgamesh—a man overflowing with pride. His pride exceeded himself, stretching even beyond the walls of Uruk to its fertile plains, and, from it, his authority as king was born. Kingu had mistaken his remarks for selfish hubris, but it was the pride of his people. 

Kingu stared in awe at the golden king besides him. His radiance seemed to eclipse the sun. 

Finally, Gilgamesh acknowledged Kingu. "To suggest otherwise is an insult to the hardworking citizens, past and present. Don't do it again."

Kingu could only nod.

***

Something about Uruk changed for the remaining duration of the tour; the wall seemed grander, the people working harder, the farms more bountiful. Gilgamesh and Kingu had left the walled city, explored the farmland which surrounded it, and were drifting along the river which gave Uruk its vitality: the Euphrates. The water’s surface was remarkably different than its depths. The small ripples glistened under the sun’s rays. On top of it all floated an image of Kingu’s face. His reflection wore a small grin, which was unfamiliar to even Kingu. How he had missed the water. He reached his hand, stroked the waves, then dipped his fingers into the cool current. His fingers seemed to bend—Kingu recoiled his hand. He was sure he held them straight in the water (which was confirmed when he pulled them out), so why did they appear to bend under the water?

Gilgamesh threw back his head with laughter. “What happened? Afraid of your own reflection?!”

“No-no way!” Unable to directly fight the accusation, Kingu turned away and stared back into the water. Gilgamesh couldn’t call him a coward like this. He plunged his fingers back into the water and watched them bend again. He was determined to figure out the mystery. He repeated this several times, but while the phenomenon continued, there was no suggestion as to why. 

“Now what? Are you fighting?”

“N-no! I’m just studying it.” Kingu did not look up from his “study;” instead, he just leaned closer to the water, trying to ignore Gilgamesh’s ridicule. From such a close distance, maybe he could see the river’s contents. 

Kingu hit the water with a splash before he could realize what had happened. His body had completely submerged, and for a moment, it was tranquil, surrounded by the sea’s nostalgic embrace.

Then Kingu opened his mouth, and the scorching water flooded in. It weighed in his lungs like a bunch of bricks, smothering them.

Why? Why?! Why?! He was a merman. He was the son of Tiamat.

No, he was just a human.

The water, cold and unforgiving, crushed him like a pest to be disposed of.

Kingu needed to be free. On land. He thrashed, again, again, again. 

Then a wave of darkness.

***

Something warm wrapped around Kingu’s wrist, jolting energy into him, and yanked him out of the water. "I didn't permit you to die yet." Kingu knew that voice. Golden hair. Red eyes. ...Gil…?

Before he could fully make sense of his surroundings, Kingu doubled over, retching out the water which sat in the bottomless well of his lungs. Each draw of water was more painful than the last. 

When the coughing fit finally subsided, he fully registered Gilgamesh sitting across from him, a slight scowl on his face.

"… Why did you save me?" Kingu croaked.

"You're too entertaining to let die yet," Gilgamesh responded offhandedly, then muttered. "...besides, now you can't say that you saved my life."

"Huh?” Kingu gaped. “Are you really that petty?!"

"A king can't be in a mongrel's debt."

"But you do admit that I saved you.” Kingu would not live this down. “You know, normal people say 'thank you.'"

"Are you really that petty?” Gilgamesh gibed. “And I haven't heard you say 'thank you' yet either."

Kingu was not going to say that—not until Gilgamesh owned up to his own gratitude. 

Gilgamesh just sighed. “You got a closer look at Euphrates than expected,” he snickered, “But it can’t be helped. We should head back now.”

Kingu nodded. He couldn’t wait to be free. But then a group of men on boats caught his eye. “Wait. Are those fishermen?”

“Oh, we didn’t see them before.” Gilgamesh remarked, uninterested.

“Can I try?”

“What?” Gilgamesh stared at Kingu. “Do you want to go for another ‘swim?’”

“No. I want to try.”

“Fine.” Gilgamesh waved his hands apathetically. “But if you fall in again, you better hope one of those men is going to rescue you.” Despite his griping, Gilgamesh talked to the nearby fisherman and procured a spear for Kingu. “Show me what you can do, mongrel.”

Although incensed, Kingu pretended to ignore Gilgamesh’s provokation. He dipped the spear into the water, and as he expected, it seemed to bend upon entering the water. Nothing he couldn’t work with. He watched a decently sized fish, a barbel, swim towards him, closer, closer, closer, and then, he skewered it. 

“Aha!” Pulling the spear from the water, he beamed (somewhat maliciously) at Gilgamesh. “Hungry?”

For a few seconds, the king’s chin hung agape, and that was enough to transform Kingu’s ordinary feat into a great triumph.

“You got lucky,” Gilgamesh mumbled.

But within minutes, Kingu had pulled another barbel from the river. Then another, and another, and another. 

“Alright, enough!” Gilgamesh groaned. “I get it.”

Content with the king’s surrender, Kingu sat back down. “Here, you can give it back.”

Gilgamesh rolled his eyes. “Keep it.”

“Huh?”

“From now on, you’re going to join them.”

Kingu’s face lit up. Then he smirked. “So, I’m good, right?” Gilgamesh would have no choice but to acknowledge Kingu’s talents.

“As long as you’re living in Uruk, you need to be a productive member of society.”

Gilgamesh’s disregard of Kingu’s showing off was more crushing than Kingu wanted it to be. Not wanting to linger on it, he hastily moved on. “Man, these look good. I could eat one right now.” 

And he would have if Gilgamesh hadn’t raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

“Why?” Kingu was bewildered.

“You don’t want to smoke them at least?”

“Oh.” So that’s what the humans did. Kingu’s face went red with the realization. “Yes, of course, I do!” He bluffed. “It was just an exaggeration.”

“Well, if you don’t know how to cook them, ask someone.” Gilgamesh muttered. “You should also learn how to swim soon.” Without another word, he began rowing back towards the city. They continued in a peaceful silence all the way to Kingu’s door. 

“Mongrel,” Gilgamesh called out before leaving.

Oh, how Kingu wished he didn’t respond to that. But it was too late. “What?”

“You weren’t half bad today.”

Kingu’s heart stopped for several endless moments.

“If you want to learn how to use that spear, I will teach you.”

Kingu only half-processed the words, but they threw him into a greater panic. 

“Don’t just stand there like an idiot!” Gilgamesh barked. “Or I’ll take the offer back.”

“Yes! I would like to!” Kingu blurted out.

“Excellent. Then I will send for you when I have time.” With that, Gilgamesh left.

...What? Did Gilgamesh just praise Kingu? And did Kingu just agree to meet him again? Kingu was undeniably an idiot—an idiot for making plans with Gilgamesh of all people, and an even bigger one for getting so worked up in the first place. 

No, Kingu tried to reassure himself, he needed to be on the king’s good side to carry out his mission. But before he worried about Gilgamesh, he needed to shape up.

***

Kingu did not find the idea of raw fish to be so objectionable (he ate them all the time in Atargata), but, in an effort to blend in, he tried smoking them as Gilgamesh had suggested. They usually ended up charred. Fortunately for him, Shamhat paid Kingu a visit one evening, volunteering to cook dinner: a one-night reprieve. As expected, Shamhat’s cooking was leagues above Kingu’s. The savory flavor brought back memories of Kingu’s first few days in Uruk, staying in Shamhat’s home. 

“Um, Shamhat,” Kingu began, confidence disappearing by the millisecond. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome!” Shamhat smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

“I’ve been an interruption to your job and routine, so… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Shamhat replied as though the words Kingu had struggled to say were a simple matter. “I can take days off sometimes, you know? Besides, I have something I should be apologizing about.”

“Huh? Why?”

“About the other day…” Shamhat maintained eye contact as she spoke. “While I really appreciate you standing up for me, you were put in danger because of me. I’m sorry to have—”

“Don’t apologize!” Why did she have to apologize for what that pompous egoist did? “Someone had to stand up to that narcissist!”

“I see.” Shamhat laughed. “If you feel that way, I’m glad. Thank you.”

“Besides, I’m better now. Nothing to worry about!”

“You know, I’m glad that you and King Gilgamesh are getting along now.”

Kingu blinked. “We are?”

“Yes, he said good things about you.”

“He did?”

“Let’s see.” Shamhat tilted her head. “That you can’t swim… that you have an absurd fear of fantasies… that you have a serious attitude problem…”

“Which of those are good things?”

“Well, he said them all smiling.” Shamhat conveyed no doubt in her theory. “I think he likes you.”

“Great.”

Shamhat would have certainly known more about Gilgamesh than Kingu, but perhaps, just this once, she was wrong.

“Besides, he invited you to see him again, didn’t he?”

“...Yeah…” Kingu didn’t want to think about that incident again. 

“See? I’m sure he’s fond of you! Oh, come on! Don’t be like that. It’s a rare honor to make acquaintances with the king like this.”

Shamhat had a point. Kingu should have appreciated that the circumstances were now in his favor, but, at the moment, his mind was caught up with other things. “About Tiamat,” Kingu posed the question hesitantly, “Do you believe in the goddess?”

“Tiamat?” Shamhat pondered over the question. “I guess she could exist. It’s possible that a goddess created us people and put us on land. But you see, even if she does exist, she hasn’t done anything for us in a long time. Our ancestors built this city, and we work hard to keep advancing under the guidance of our king. We built our fortunes ourselves. So, it’s hard for me to believe.”

Gilgamesh had said the same thing the other day. The Uruks had long been independent. It was no surprise then that they couldn’t remember anything Tiamat had done for them. More than that, the Uruks were proud. They believed in their capabilities as humans and that they could advance through those abilities and willpower alone. There was no room for a distant entity like Tiamat in their tale of success.

“You’re a believer, right?” Shamhat continued. “I don’t think it’s wrong to believe. But just, maybe don’t mention it in front of Gilgamesh.” She winked.

That was for certain. The king took pride to a whole new level. 

“But King Gilgamesh is right. There’s something weird about you.”

“What do you mean?” Kingu demanded.

“Well, you appeared suddenly without memories and without basic knowledge. You couldn’t even walk. But nevertheless, you have strangely specific beliefs, skills, and knowledge. Just who were you before?”

Kingu frowned. Maybe Shamhat would believe him. No, he couldn’t tell her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you!” Shamhat rapidly changed tones. “Don’t worry about it, okay? There’s no use in fretting over what you can’t remember. What’s important is that you’re here now and what you do with that. You know, people don’t have a lot of time on this land, so we must make the most of it!”

Kingu had not given a single thought to the human lifespan, but it truly was short—lamentably so. Nevertheless, they were undeterred. The humans must have done more work in their lives than any of the complacent merpeople had done in the past two hundred years. They built Uruk, which must have taken generations to reach its current state (the founders were certainly dead). In fact, they were still working on it, even if they would die so soon. So that was the future they worked for, not only for themselves, but for their offspring too. It all seemed so foreign to Kingu, yet he felt deeply ashamed for not having realized it.

“Kingu?” Shamhat had inched forward to inspect Kingu’s hidden face.

“I’m sorry,” Kingu mumbled.

“Huh? No, no, I am the one who’s sorry. I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Kingu curbed his regret before looking up. “No, it’s fine. You’re right, Shamhat. It’s good to keep moving forward.”

[asimplesimmerson-blog]

Broken People

I had a feeling when I saw her that she was the one. The exact everything I’d read about. A few differences here and there: the facelessness wasn’t well documented, that was certain. And neither had I imagined her corporeality to be so ill defined; a thrill of red to the right, a soft quaking of steel tremors to the left; flitting restlessly in the humming darkness. I suppose she was the darkness. The stony silence was suddenly a full-throated sigh. The rocks clutch at the brim of her skirt; cover their nakedness behind her buzzing hips.

              And here I am, hundreds of feet below surface level. My lamp slowly dying; overwhelmed by this viscous darkness that keeps tearing through its light like a hand through smoke. Little particles of it dance across the floor and vanish, like a living thing with its guts being pulled from their casing. And as I watch this bizarre phenomenon taking place, I realize it isn’t just dying. The light is being eaten; swallowed in ravenous gulps.  

As this is happening, I feel in me that pang of hunted horror that every hungered after thing dreads. Cold scorched nostrils reel in the terror and thrust it out in cloudy gusts, growing ever larger as the panic leaps between the gaps in my teeth. My mouth opens; someone should hear me. If anyone, God. One last shout into the world just to let it know I lived. But nothing comes.

But there is also in her a shuddering grip of something else. Survival is comprised of two very important factors: fear, the driving force of life, and sex, which ensures the continuation of life. These are two inherently distinct survival mechanisms that very very rarely, if ever, get conflated. I’ve had a girlfriend or two that liked a handprint left on her ass that she could admire the next morning, but that is a very peculiar type of fear-sex situation. Not often when a man is lost in the woods with his heart glued to the roof of his mouth, pupils dilated to manic proportions, does he stop to consider that whatever is lurking just out of periphery is there to slip its tongue between his teeth.

But right now, I feel it. I feel that rising heat in my gut; a quickness to my breath. That feeling of expectancy; like the dry chill across the front of my tongue the first night I saw Rachel, standing there at the bar with lips pursed wryly at the corners like it knew a delightfully dreadful secret that the rest of her face didn’t. Rachel. I am thinking about Rachel. But no, I’m not? I can’t be. Not the love I felt for her the first time she fell into my arms, sobbing into my chest, while I kissed the crown of her head. Not the heavy pressure of her sleepy head on my chest when she stayed with me that night; the sound of rain catching in my gutters, lulling us to sleep. In fact, I’m not thinking of Rachel at all, I realize. The memories are surfacing as the thrill between my legs grows, but this is just a desperate attempt to rationalize; to latch onto something familiar when a situation so undoubtedly alien occurs. No, I’m feeling her legs wrapped around the back of me; hot breath against the hitch in my throat. The slick unknown tangled in my fingers with a belt buckle banging against my wrist. Rachel is here, but only for the convenience of knowing what I want. The horror of this realization chokes me senseless for a moment

until I realize this is exactly what I’ve been looking for.

I’ve found her. The huldra. The Siren. The Medusa. There are a thousand names for her. Every myth just a bit different, but all so inherently the same. I also know that I need to leave. Self-preservation demands that I turn on my heel and run. It’s the only way to deal with this kind of monster. I know that too well. It’s how Rachel finally got away from me.

But I’m here in this stinking pit for a reason. Decades of research have prompted this meeting: Late nights in haunted forests. Years and years of smelling like the underbelly of a rotten log. Fear driven all-nighters in places where I couldn’t scream for help even if I wanted to. The stakes had always been high. I wasn’t about to walk away now.

So I speak to her instead:

“Hello?” that seemed a reasonable enough introduction to a hungry, swirling mass of sexual energy, but it was met with silence. I step forward and try my luck again.

The darkness recoils somewhat, but still no response.

“I just want to talk. I’ve—”

“LEAVE.”  The stalactites rattle. It isn’t a voice. Just a rush of air escaping the cave.

“I’ve been looking for you. For a long time.” I take another step deeper into the darkness. Still she retreats from me; presses herself into the walls. The cracks between the rocks shimmer with veins of her. My lamp is still breathing low, but somewhat easier now that she’s backed off, “I’m not here to make you do anything. I honestly just wanted…to see you.”

“w-woman?” the breeze that whisks by me is coarse, unrefined, but distinctly incredulous.

“Yes, I’m a woman. And are you…woman?”

“d-doesn’t ma-atter. Leave!” the wind is shrill. Scared perhaps? I’m not too sure. There isn’t enough inflection in a rush of air to determined nuanced emotion.

“please,” I gently lower myself to the ground, groaning slightly as I realize the floor is about three inches deep with water, “I just want to talk.”

Silence. I accept it as acquiescence.

“How long have you been down here?” I ask, fishing for my camera. She might not show up on tape, but I can at least bring something back home. For who? For Rachel? She doesn’t ever want to see me again. But I’m already filming.

“Al-ways.” She answers curtly. Bits of her ooze from the little nooks she’s crammed herself inside.

“Why? Why are you down here?”

“Wh-y you uuuup?” the sound of her makes the water ripple around me. My teeth chatter. The water is quickly seeping through my jeans, surrounding my most delicate areas. For a moment I regret not pursuing a more tropically situated monster.

“well, for one, it’s warm up there. I like that—”

“warm yyyyessss!” the sudden rush of wind takes my breath away. I pull my coat closer around me, but it isn’t doing much good. “L-ike warm!”

“What are you?” I ask, hoping to tempt her with a warmer topic.

“c-cold.” She sighs.

“I can relate to that.” I feel icicles forming around my nostrils. Rachel always said you can tell if the temperature is below zero when your snot freezes inside your nose. I had asked her if she’d consulted the scientific method for that theory. I feel her laughter; taste her tongue. The warmth of her hands as they slide up my arms.

“Is this you? Is this you making me think about…” I stop to suck on my teeth, trying to decide if an amalgamous sex monster actually has any reference for what constitutes human sex. I decide that it probably doesn’t, “this feeling?”

“yes.” She replies. The lack of hesitation takes me by surprise.

“Why? What are you? What does this accomplish?” The water has risen past my thighs at this point. My entire lower body is engulfed. I’m outright fitfully shaking but only partially from the cold.

“Did you know,” Rachel narrows her eyes, and I lean forward to hear what she has to tell me. Girls like Rachel aren’t necessarily out of my league, but you must approach them with the utmost caution lest they be of a…straighter variety. She hadn’t recoiled when I leaned up against the bar beside her, which is always an excellent sign. She takes a delicate sip of her drink; just the tips of her dark lips wetting the straw which allows a small stream of soda water to trickle out the side of her mouth. She tactfully wipes it away with the edge of her thumb. In the same, calculated movement, she catches my gaze and smiles, just ever so slightly. I swallow. Hard.

“Did you know,” she continues, mildly clearing her throat, “Medusa is a story about feminism.”

I scoff. “I mean, I took a gender studies class, but that doesn’t change the fact that medusa gets her head cut off.”

She shrugs and turns back to the bar.

“Not saying you’re wrong in any way,” I stammer, backtracking. I’m not about to lose her, even if she is bringing up basic third wave feminism at a fucking monster-con, “I’m just saying it’s a shame that we lose all the good ones.”

“A real shame.” She turns back to me; a coy half-smile poised at the edge of her mouth. I have a feeling she knows my game, but I’m not about to let that eat me up inside. You do what you have to do to keep a pretty girl’s attention and I’ve always been good at turning situations in my favor.

“Men ruin her. Then they blame her for being ruined. Then they kill her. Classic patriarchal scheming.” I speciously muse, taking the opportunity to soak in the heavy curve halfway down the middle of her blood red dress.

“It’s just a real shame nobody simply asked her to give her head away.” She replies, ignoring the weight of my scrutiny.

“Give her head away?” I stifle a quick laugh, “I’m…not sure that’s…I’m…I don’t think that’s how things work.”

“You’d be surprised what broken people will give away if someone just asks,” She brings her drink up to her mouth, but this time she holds the straw ever so gently between the points of her teeth. Like a wolf bitch with her marrow-loving jaws around the neck of her pup.

“That’s…” I furrow my brow, “an interesting take on the story. I suppose?” I’m not sure what to make of that turn in conversation, so I steer back to something I’m more than comfortable navigating: small talk.

“So what do you do?” I ask cordially, waving down the bartender so I can preemptively buy her a new drink before she sucks the one in her hand dry. That’s always the excuse they use to leave you.

              She bites down on her straw with an almost excited snarl; peeling her lips back from those sharp teeth.

              “I hunt monsters.”

 The memory breaks. My arms shoot from water. Newborn crystalline sculptures of what they once were. I want to scream, but I’m gasping; floundering in the darkness. The cold surrounds me like a vice. Tugging my limbs down into the tenebrous lake that has now risen well past my shoulders. I try to stand, but the muscles in my legs are useless against this cold. The wind is whipping past my ears; slapping me across the face; digging into my eyes.

“Stop!” I’m hoarse, barely able to shape my mouth to form the words, “I’m not here to hurt you!” The wind slows enough that I can open my eyes. Not that it matters. Without my lamp, I’m blind.

“Th-en wh-at?” The voice sounds closer; more like a voice than just the scraping of air against the cavern.

“I just,” I gasp as the tears come. Without a hand to wipe them away, they freeze halfway down my cheeks just to sit there and burn, “I needed to find you. I’m not a fucking monster hunter! I just needed to show her that I found you. That—so that she—she’d love me again. This is the only way. You can do that for me. Please, just let me get her back. Please. I don’t know what you are, but surely you understand this. I fucked up and I need her! I fucking need her! Give her to me! Please! Please!” And my pleading transcends to a raucous squeal without shape or intelligence. I’m wailing senselessly with the ever-rising water lapping at my open mouth.

And I feel her rather than hear her. The capricious lilt in her voice. Her soft bottom lip gently sliding along the base of my earlobe.

“Yes, I can do that for you,” She pulls away from me. Her! Rachel! There in the darkness with me! Soft light, something reminiscent of moonlight, streams from the pores in her skin, setting the cavern ablaze. Her long red hair ripples like a throng of garter snakes around her shoulders; writhing all the way down to the small of her back. She stands, and in the dim light I can see every curve of her naked body. It’s her.

But The darkness I’d been conversing with begins to pour from the cave walls; thousands of little rivulets slithering up the back of her. They bury into her joints and soft points, working her muscles like fingers beneath a table cloth. She sways from side to side like a marionette. I’m both horrified and transfixed as I watch her hands grope her newly formed body. And all those sinewy little ropes hanging from the wall begin to detach. They slither through the holes they’ve made in her skin and disappear.

The water is also beginning to recede. It isn’t until its nearly gone that I see the stream of it traveling up her legs; twisting around her kneecaps, across her rounded belly. Her mouth is unhinged at a startling angle, waiting for the water to pour in. All the while she stares at me; hands groping at her breasts like an animal; yellow eyes gaping like two hungry mouths in the dark. I’d never seen anything so ineffably horrifying in my entire life as the rebirth of Rachel, my loving bride.

She takes a shaky step in my direction; heels buckling like a toddler who’s learning to walk. The vile lurching motion elicits a fearful moan deep from inside me. But still, I’m locked in place; my limbs still buckled with cold. Her legs are too new to take her more than a few steps, and she lets herself fall with a sickening slap against the slab of rock below. Apparently unfazed by any sort of human understanding of pain, she starts crawling toward me. The sides of her mouth are wet with water and spit as it’s pushed back up from her stomach. Hand over hand, she’s dragging herself toward me; fingernails digging into the rock; ripping from their beds. Instead of blood, water seeps from the delicate skin underneath. I manage to skitter back a few feet, but not fast enough to outpace her. She’s upon me in a second; her leaking face sliding up my pant leg and into my lap. Her hand slicks around my wrist. And then I scream. I fucking scream loud enough to tear my throat. I feel the trickling blood running down into my lungs, but I continue to scream. There’s no fucking reason not to.

“let me be warm again?” She purrs, resting her head on my chest.

Still screaming. No stopping on that front.

She lifts a hand to my face. I whip my head away, but her hand follows. It wasn’t wet like I imagined it would be. In fact, it’s more like velvet; like she is covered in a soft layer of fur. The fingernails she’d lost look like watery little globules now, clearly in the process of regeneration. Soon they’d be just as solid as they once were. I chance a glance at the face I’d found so terrifying only moments before. The yellow eyes had simmered to a gentle hazel. My heartrate falls just a bit. And I start to cough as I let my guard down. Blood bubbles over my chin. She wipes it away with that same thumb she had used to wipe her own mouth the first night I met her.

“Shh Shhh.” She cradles me. Pulls me into her chest. And I sob there, still too cold to make sense of any thought. Everything is too cold. I’m so fucking cold. She pulls my face up to hers. Kisses me. I let her. Warmth returns to her lips as she presses them against mine. I start to kiss her more fervently. The taste of her. It’s the exact taste. I reach my hands to grip the back of her head; to tangle my fingers in that soft, familiar down at the base of her neck. She smiles into my kiss and I know. This is her. This is Rachel. Without a doubt, this is Rachel. I laugh and draw her closer to me. We tumble back onto the black stone, banging our heads and laughing even harder because of it.

“You’re so cold, Rachel.” I pull her even tighter to my chest.

“I’m not that cold,” she giggles, struggling to free herself from my embrace.

“I didn’t mean for you to end up here. But I found her. I found the Medusa. And she brought you here!” I can barely form the sentence. Again, I pull her closer. My hands keep slipping for some reason, like they’re e losing their grip too quickly. It must be the shock of it all.

“It’s the cold,” she remarks, noticing my frustration, “Just give yourself a second.”

“No, it’s too cold for you to be down here,” I’m panting, pawing at her, “I have to keep you warm. I’ll be fine. I made it this far.”

“You made it this far,” she repeats, giving me a quick peck on the cheek, “so let yourself rest.”

“I can’t. I have to keep you warm.” The room is starting to get dark again. I know we need to start heading out soon. Though, I’m unsure how to attempt that without a lamp.

“We should go before the light fades,” she starts to get up, but I yank her back down into the safety of my arms.

“There’s time for that. Let me give you my coat though. You’ll need it in here.” I quickly slip out of my coat and drape it over her naked body, “There. That’ll keep you warm. Let’s lay here for just a second. Let our body heat warm it up before we head out.”

She rolls her eyes, typical, but obediently sidles up to me. I take her again in my fumbling arms; relish the steady rise and fall of her chest. God, it is so cold.

“You ask nicely, and you can get anything you want.” I whisper, teeth chattering so loud I doubted she would hear me. But to my surprise, she whispers back,

“Only if you ask broken people.”

I shrug, “details.”

She’s beginning to feel so much warmer the longer we lay here. That’s great because we should really head out soon. God, it’s cold. I am so cold.

[snazzysnaz]

BNHA Fanfic “You’d Be Surprised” (4/??)

Summary: Midoriya Izuku was born with a quirk that let’s him see the future. Or at least, that what he would tell anyone that asks.

(AKA, Izuku have a quirk that let’s him rewind time for 15 seconds. Also some other stuff.)

Rating: M (But just because Katsuki swears a lot.)

Also posted on DeviantArt, FanFiction.Net and AO3.

<-- Previous || Next -->

Chapter 3: Troublesome

Today was a good day. Or at least it should have been, if not for a certain blonde menace who seemed to have made it his mission to be as irritating as humanly possible.

Tenya sighed into his hands, exasperated. U.A. was supposed to be a school for elites; he couldn’t believe they’d let a delinquent like this attend! It was a disgrace, it was.

“Please remove your feet from the desk!” he tried for what was probably the third time, waving his hands furiously. “Not only is it bad manners, but it is also disrespectful to all students who have used this seat before you and those to come!”

They boy just grinned cruelly at him. “Make me.”

Then he kicked at the table for emphasis, loosening flakes of dirt from the soles of his brown shoes that rained down onto the surface below. Tenya opened his mouth to protest at this rude and shameful display of blatant disrespect, but before he could voice his thoughts he was interrupted by a cheerful voice calling out “Good morning, Kacchan!”.

Tenya and the blonde hellion turned around at the same time to address the newcomer and found a pair of large emerald eyes staring back at them.

“Deku,” the rowdy teen said, giving a small nod of acknowledgement. The new boy smiled, but when he noticed Tenya his expression fell.

“Oh,” he uttered, shifting his gaze back to the blonde. “You aren’t causing trouble already, are you Kacchan?”

‘Kacchan’ snorted. “I don’t need you scolding me, mom. ”

Tenya observed the freckled and curly haired boy for a moment. He thought he recognized him from somewhere.

That’s right, he remembered now! He was the boy distracting all the other participants with his incessant muttering during Present Mic’s introduction to the U.A. entrance exams! Great, more trouble.

“Looks like my seat is behind you,” the small boy addressed his delinquent friend. “Isn’t that great?”

Tenya wondered if this boy was a delinquent too. He didn’t look the type, but appearances could be deceiving. A wolf in sheep’s clothing, as the idiom goes.

“You think I care?” the troublesome blonde dismissed his friend with a scoff. The other boy payed no mind to the biting comment, instead focusing his attention to Tenya.

“I’m sorry if Kacchan is causing you any trouble,” he apologized with a timid smile. “But please don’t think any less of him! We’re all here to become heroes, right?”

The blonde reacted at this. With a narrowed eyes aimed at his friend he said: “I don’t need your help, Deku. Ignore shitty glasses; I didn’t come here to deal with some prissy, stuck up elitist.”

Tenya was taken aback by the insults, shocked by the boy’s rudeness. He furrowed his thick brows deeply and was just about to retort, but before he could get a words out he was interrupted for the second time today.

“It’s you!” yet another cheerful voice joined them, but it belonged to a female this time. “I’m so glad you got in, Midoriya-kun!”

“U-Uraraka-san!” the green haired boy, Midoriya, greeted the round faced girl sporting a brown bob haircut. “You got accepted too!”

“Yup!” she replied with a big smile. Tenya eyed her critically, praying that she wasn’t here to cause trouble as well. “I look forward to being friends with you.”

“F-f-friends?!” Midoriya stuttered as his face turned increasingly red. “O-of course! It would be an honor!”

He bowed deeply and Uraraka giggled. His blonde friend meanwhile looked on in mild annoyance while Tenya was left completely ignored.

“The hell are you bowing for, stupid Deku? You’re embarrassing yourself,” the delinquent said, the corners of his mouth turned down in disapproval of the freckled boy’s actions.

“S-sorry, Kacchan…” Midoriya apologized after he returned from his bow.

“And stop apologizing so much, it’s annoying.”

“R-right!” the emerald eyed boy nodded with his fists raised in the air. Finally Tenya found a good moment to chime in and prepared to speak—right before the classroom door slid open for a third time in this short span of time and a tired voice spoke.

“Alright, simmer down, take your seats and be quiet.”

The previous jovial chatter of the class (and watching the drama unfold between Uraraka, Midoriya, Tenya and the blonde boy) died down into complete silence as they all saw the prone form just outside the door to their classroom. Tenya stared in disbelief, taking in the appearance of the man—their teacher?—laying on the floor, wrapped up in a bright yellow sleeping bag. His shaggy appearance and unshaven stubble made him looks like a homeless person. Sufficed to say, the blue haired teen was not impressed. Was this really what U.A. had to offer? Delinquents and faculty member’s who looked like they belonged on a park bench more than they did in a classroom?

But the bespectacled teen did not voice his thoughts aloud. Instead, he quietly took his seat, but not before casting one last distasteful glance at the blonde menace for good measure, who narrowed his red eyes just as fiercely in response, before concentrating on his new teacher’s words.

He introduced himself as Aizawa Shouta, before he announced their class would forego the opening ceremony in favor of a quirk evaluation test. Tenya did not know whether he should respect his teacher for focusing on their education rather than waste time with unnecessary customs, or disapprove of him breaking tradition.

The quirk evaluation test was just what it sounded like. Students would go through a series of different physical exercises in which they were allowed to use their quirk as they saw fit to obtain the best result. One of the students—Bakugou Katsuki, the troublesome delinquent from this morning—was called up by Aizawa to demonstrate.

It was a ball throwing test, and with a shout of “DIE!!!” and a bright explosion, the ball was sent flying, becoming an increasingly small dot in the distance before eventually disappearing. Tenya had to admit, the boy’s quirk was certainly impressive, but his attitude needed some severe adjustments before he could be called hero material.

With a blank expression Aizawa displayed the results: 705.2 meters. Several hushed whispers of amazement ran through the class. “So manly!” someone whisper-shouted from somewhere behind Tenya.

“Oh, and whoever gets the lowest overall score is expelled,” their teacher announced after the whispers finally died down and Bakugou returned to the fold, which only caused the commotion to immediately start up again, only this time much louder than before. The large grin that accompanied Aizawa’s words did little to calm the students down.

“Expelled?”

“What does he mean expelled?! Can he really do that?”

“And I just barely got in!”

Tenya stayed quiet. He was confident in his abilities to pass, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t at least slightly nervous. This is what I’ve been training for, he reminded himself. He came from a family of heroes; he was born to do this! If he failed now, he could never look his brother in the eyes again.

He did feel some preemptive sympathy for whoever wouldn’t make the cut—not that he didn’t understand his teacher’s reasoning to expel someone with no hero potential, but it did seem a bit harsh.

He shook his head to dispel the distracting thoughts. He couldn’t worry about that now, he had to concentrate on himself and make sure he got a result he could be proud of! There were many impressive quirks here and while he was very proud of his Engine, he knew it wouldn’t be able to measure up to some of his classmates. He couldn’t afford to slack off.

He pushed his quirks to it’s limits, only stopping short of revealing his Recipro Burst—he didn’t want his classmates to know about that quite yet. He could tell everyone else were giving their best as well—almost everyone, at least. From what he could tell, the Midoriya boy hadn’t used his quirk once, and he was falling behind.

Was his quirk not applicable for these exercises? Or was there something else? How did he get accepted to U.A. in the first place?

His musing were cut short when they all finished up the last exercise. The whole class was a bundle of nerves while they all waited for Aizawa to announce their scores and ultimately decide the fate of whoever ended last.  Midoriya was practically shaking and his troublesome friend slapped a hand on his shoulder to keep him still.

Class 1-A all took a collective deep breath as the scoreboard was displayed, projected as a hologram by the device their teacher had used earlier to measure their scores, and released it simultaneously once it was clear they didn’t place last. Well, aside from one students of course.

Midroiya face was beginning to turn red when he still hadn’t expelled the air in his lungs and his friend had to slap his back a few times to remind him to breathe. Now he was just staring dumbly at the last name on the scoreboard. Midoriya Izuku.

The small boy was already garnering sympathetic glances from the rest of the class as he seemed to deflate on himself and finally ceased his shaking. His blonde companion however didn’t even so much as look at him, his gaze to busy focusing elsewhere. Namely, on Aizawa.

He was glaring. It wasn’t the same kind of glare from this morning, the kind who looked at Tenya as if he were little more than a bug to be stepped on. This glare was much more intense, the red eyes seemingly aglow from the heat contained within. Tenya was ashamed to admit he was glad it wasn’t directed at him, but Aizawa didn’t look like he even noticed the blonde who was currently trying to set him on fire with his eyes alone.

“Bullshit,” the agitated blonde ground out, effectively drawing everyone's attention from the unfortunate boy who would be expelled on his first day of school to the explosive quirk user. His hand, which was still gripping his green haired friends shoulder, tightened dangerously and Tenya could tell by Midoriya’s soft grimace that it must hurt.

Aizawa just looked at him blankly, unimpressed. One eyebrow raised questioningly, but it seemed more of a formality than anything. “Do you have any complaints, Bakugou?” he asked in a too tired, too bored voice. Bakugou’s eyebrow twitched.

“Damn straight I do. What the hell is this bullshit? Just because Deku’s stupid fucking quirk is useless for your stupid fucking tests, you’re gonna throw him out?”

“That’s the idea, yes,” Aizawa answered, looking like he wanted nothing more than to go take a nap in a corner somewhere. But Bakugou wasn’t finished.

“What kind of logic is that?!” he roared, letting go of Midoriya and taking a threatening step forward. His friend looked surprised by the outburst and wisely cowered at a safe distance from the blonde’s twitching fingers.

“Kacchan…” he tried, but Bakugou just turned his heated stare to him instead.

“Shut up Deku,” he ordered before he turned back to face their shaggy looking teacher. “I’m not gonna let Deku get expelled after I spent months training his useless ass, just because of some flawed ‘quirk evaluation’ test,” he declared boldly, challenging any who dare oppose him—which in this case would be their teacher.

“Oh?” the person in question replied. “So you think Midoriya has what it takes to be a hero?”

Bakugou was silent for a moment. He glanced back at his freckled friend as if sizing him up. Then, he turned his gaze to roam over the rest of their class and spoke.

“More than these extras do.”

The audacious comment sparked cacophony of sound. Each student was protesting his claim, in varying degrees of loudness.

“Hey!”

“Extras?”

“You could have just said ‘yes’!”

Tenya was tempted to chime in himself to scold the brash teen for his insolence, but decided against it. Especially after their disgruntled teacher glared at them all. He was only looking more tired by the second, and no one aside for Bakugou wanted to test his patience any further, lest they all get expelled.

Or not.

“Um,” a timid voice spoke up, belonging to Uraraka Ochako, who looked somewhat unsure of whether she should continue or not once everyone’s eyes turned to her.

She did anyways.

“I don’t know about ‘extras’, but I believe in Midoriya-kun as well!” she smiled, pumping her fists in the air. “If it weren’t for him, I’m not sure I’d be here now.”

Tenya quirked an eyebrow at that. He didn’t know what the girl was talking about; what did Midoriya do that was so important? He had to make sure to ask her about it later.

But that proved to be unnecessary as Aizawa answered his unasked question in his next sentence. “Ah yes, he pushed you out of the way of a falling pile of debris during the entrance exams, correct?”

Uraraka nodded in confirmation. Tenya perked up at this new bit of information and glanced over at Midoriya in surprise. The boy was currently chewing on his lip anxiously and glancing between Bakugou, Uraraka and their teacher. He jumped when Aizawa addressed him, who was still wearing the same expression of boredom that seemed to be permanently affixed to his face.

“And is this how you plan to become a hero?” he asked. “You think you can save people by injuring yourself in their place? If it weren’t for Uraraka’s quirk, would you have been able to free yourself?”

“Um…” Midoriya hesitated, lowering a his gaze to the ground and tugged at the hem of his gym uniform nervously. Apparently realizing that his teacher was right, he hung his head in shame and answered negatively. “No.”

“And I hope you realize you can’t expect a civilian or other heroes to come to your rescue whenever you hurt yourself,” the sleep deprived teacher continued, mincing no words to spare the freckled student's feelings. Midoriya just nodded in defeat.

“I understand,” he sighed in agreement. He looked frustrated, biting his bottom lip and furrowing his brows deeply. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but refrained, just nodding solemnly at his teacher’s words.

But Bakugou wasn’t satisfied. “Yeah, Deku fucked up as usual. But it’s your job to teach him how to not be so useless, isn’t it?”

His green haired friend glanced toward the blonde while their teacher adopted an expression of complete unamusement. They held a silent staring contest for a minute. Aizawa was the first to blink.

“...you’re right. But there’s no point in teaching someone with zero potential,” their teacher spoke, breaking the silence. Something flashed in Bakugou’s eyes for a moment hearing those words, but it was gone just as quick as it came, and his face settled pointedly.

“Deku isn’t weak,” he declared. His tone and expression left no room for argument and people were quietly glancing from him to Midoriya. His green haired companion lifted his head to stare at his friend, his big green eyes opened wide in wonder. He still looked nervous, but a small smile now graced his lips instead of his previous deep frown.

Aizawa didn’t answer immediately, but eventually spoke as he reached a decision. With a deep sigh and muttering something about “not being paid nearly enough to deal with this” he responded.

“Fine,” he said, even if he still didn’t look completely convinced. But there must have been something in Bakugou’s eyes or voice that convinced Aizawa to let the freckled boy stay. “Midoriya will get another chance to impress me, but if he fails to deliver, it won’t matter how much you curse or yell at me. He’s out. Is that clear?”

Midoriya nodded his head frantically, grateful tears springing up in the corners of his eyes. Bakugou scoffed dismissively, but did give a curt nod of confirmation. Uraraka smiled in relief and gave Midoriya a quick thumbs up, while the previously tense atmosphere of the class dissipated and everyone began chatting animatedly with each other about what just happened after their teacher dismissed them. Aizawa sent one last meaningful look towards the green haired boy who gulped nervously in response.

Tenya decided that now would be a good time to approach the freckled teen. The boy startled at his approach and looked nervous as he addressed him. “Can I help you?”

Tenya took a deep breath before bowing deeply. “I would like to apologize!”

“H-huh?” Midoriya looked startled, face painted in surprise at the blue haired teen’s sudden apology. Tenya continued.

“I seem to have misjudged you,” he admitted as he straightened his back, returning from the bow. “I thought you were just here to cause trouble, but I admit I may have made a mistake.

“A hero’s first priority should be to protect others. I was not there to see it, but from Uraraka-kun’s and Aizawa-sensei’s words, it sounds like you sacrificed your own safety for someone else's. Is this correct?”

“Um, yeah… I guess,” Midoriya scratched the back of his fluffy head awkwardly. Tenya nodded.

“I initially had my doubts, but by that information I can tell you are serious about your convictions to become a hero. Again, I apologize for judging you so quickly.”

The other boy finally seemed to relax and his round face melted into a soft smile. “It’s fine. I thought you were kind of scary at first, but now I see that you are just very earnest.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud voice shouting at them. “Hey Deku! Get your ass over here, or do you want to get late to class?”

Unsurprisingly, the voice belonged to no other than Midroiya’s blonde friend. His gaze lingered on Tenya for a moment and frowned, but didn’t comment any further. Just motioned with his head for his green haired friend to follow.

“Coming Kacchan!” Midoriya replied before turning back to Tenya. “See you in class!” he smiled.

Tenya nodded. He looked to Bakugou, and before Midoriya was out of earshot, he spoke. “I have to say though, I’m surprised that you are friends with someone like Bakugou-kun.”

The freckled boy paused in his step, turned, and looked at Tenya with his brows furrowed and mouth set in a frown. “Pardon?” he asked.

“It’s unexpected, is all. A troublemaker like him is hardly befitting of becoming a hero,” the bespectacled teen answered honestly. “Besides, he should treat people with more respect. His friends, especially.”

Tenya gave the boy a pointed look, but Midoriya’s expression didn’t relax. He eyed the blue haired teen watchfully before he spoke.

“Kacchan will become a great hero,” he said, and his frown deepened. “And you shouldn’t talk about things you don’t understand.”

Then he turned on his heel to catch up to the spiky haired blonde. Tenya was fixed in place, taken aback by the seemingly timid boy’s sudden hostility. Did I say something wrong?

He stood there, honestly not sure whether he should apologize to Midoriya or not. Shaking his head, he began walking back toward the school building, not wanting to be late for class. He passed by the gravity girl, Uraraka, who was staring after Bakugou and Midoriya walking side by side, a thoughtful look on her face. She smiled at Tenya when she noticed him and fell in step beside him.

“You spoke to Midoriya,” she stated simply. Tenya raised a thick eyebrow questioningly.

“Indeed I did,” he answered. He let out a small sigh. “But I’m afraid I might have offended him.”

“Yeah, I saw,” Uraraka responded. “You did kinda speak ill of his friend right in front of him.”

Tenya let out a frustrated huff of breath. “I was only being honest. Forgive me, but I don’t think friends should call each other useless or tell them to shut up.”

“Maybe,” the small girl said. She worried her lips with her brows pulled together for a moment, before relaxing. “Or maybe that’s just how Bakugou-kun communicates?”

She spoke aloud, but Tenya had the feeling the question was directed more to herself rather than him. Not that he had an answer to give her either way.

The rest of the trip back to their classroom was spent in silence.

Deku was humming happily, a soft smile on his face.

“What?” Katsuki snapped after the constant droning noise was too much for his frazzled nerves to take; he was still in a bad mood after the whole ordeal with Aizawa. Deku just smiled wider.

“Thanks, Kacchan!”

Katsuki stared at his beaming face for a few seconds. Then he scoffed, pushing Deku’s face away with the palm of his hand.

“Whatever.”

AN: Boy, I hope I made Iida justice. I felt like I wrote him a bit to mean, maybe? I dunno.

Well, maybe not the most exciting chapter, but it had to happen. I've decided in what direction I want this story to go; basically, I'll be following canon as much as I can, and see how much Deku's new quirk will change stuff.

Also, people correct me if I did any mistake with the honorifics. It's kinda hard to keep track of what everyone calls each other. I actually looked up an episode to see what honorifics Aizawa use when talking to his students, but I didn't notice any? Granted, it was just one name I heard, so...

And I hope I did Aizawa justice too. I feel like he's very stubborn so it's hard to win an argument with him, but I also feel like just doesn't have the energy to deal with an angry Katsuki. (Seriously, who would?)

Oh, and one more important thing... so, I talked about how I might turn this into Bakudeku before. And while I do love that ship, I'm not entirely sure any more. Please don't be too disappointed! :( It's just... I have no clue how to write romance. Bakudeku is still not completely off the table, but just a warning. But even if their relationship won't turn romantic, they will still grow very close! That's like the most important aspects of this fic: Deku's time manipulation quirk and his relationship with Katsuki.

And this information isn't really important, just some behind the scenes stuff that I thought might be interesting. When I was first coming up with Izuku's quirk I, I had this idea that Izuku could only rewind time on the world around him. But when he does, people wouldn't notice when he "teleports". Basically, their memory of watching Izuku use his quirk would "correct" itself to whatever the mind deemed most logical. So if Izuku used his quirk to teleport a short distance, to any spectators, their mind would correct it to Izuku just being a really fast runner, or something along those lines.

However, this only works in person. If someone were to record Izuku teleporting and rewatch the footage, they would notice that hey, that dude just teleported! I thought that would have been kinda cool (and really scary!) and Izuku would have been more free to use his ability but would eventually be discovered through a recording of him teleporting, but I decided against it for different reasons. But hey, if you wanna use this idea, go ahead. I still think it would have been really cool.

[kaytoko]

Still Our Keith, a Voltron Oneshot

A/N: Just a quick version of how I think the Galra!Keith reveal to the group went. Still bitter they didn’t show it in the show itself. This follows the canon (or what we know of canon) responses from the characters. And just so that we’re aware SEASON 2 SPOILERS. (I mean, duh) 

----

The heavy silence that followed Keith’s nearly whispered confession was almost worse than anything the Red Paladin could have imagined. Almost immediately, tension set in their shoulders and clenched in their hands. Shocked expressions quickly turned from surprised to judgmental. But most of all, it was the sting of betrayal in the eyes of his friends that really twisted the knife in his heart. He didn’t want this to be real any more than they did, but the shame coursing through him felt worse than anything he could have ever said. Only Shiro, standing tall and protective by his side, made him feel any better about any of it.

“Now,” the Black Paladin said. He stood with his shoulders back and his feet set, like he was trying to look authoritative while still preparing for a fight. “Before you say anything, you have to know that Keith being a Galra doesn’t change anything--” 

“Doesn’t change anything?” It was Allura who broke Shiro’s attempt at preemptive peace, which didn’t surprise Keith one bit. She was the least likely to just sit by and let something of this magnitude slide by without an argument. “Are you mad? He’s Galra. In case you’ve forgotten, that’s the race of our enemy!” 

“Allura.” Shiro practically sighed her name, trying to keep the patience in his voice. “He’s only part Galra. He’s still--” 

“Our enemy.”

A chill fell down Keith’s spine at the soft words spoken by Pidge. It was only two words, but it was two words so seeped in hurt and betrayal, Keith could hardly breathe. He didn’t want to look up at them, but it was a knee-jerk reaction to the blow to his fragile state of mind that caused him to. The deep sadness in the youngest Paladin’s eyes was enough to make him want to tear the Galra part right out of him. 

“How could you keep this from us...?” Their words were whisper soft and like daggers to his heart. “After everything they did? After what they did to my family?” 

“N-No-- I didn’t--” 

“Sure. Now, you care about what other people think?” Lance inserted then. “I thought you were better than Keith. I thought we were a team!”

Keith warily looked at him, expecting to see raging anger. But it wasn’t there. Lance stood with his hands on his waist and his feet wide as he stood next to Pidge; a protective stance, Keith recognized. But there wasn’t any malice in his voice or in his eyes. It felt more like he was just saying what he thought needed to be said in the moment rather than what he really felt. It was confusing, but also relieving at the same time. Keith wasn’t sure what he would do if Lance came after him with a real sense of anger. Only Hunk looked truly concerned and somewhat sympathetic.

“I’m not your enemy...” Keith hardly recognized his own voice. It sounded hollow and weak, even as the desperation began to rise in his chest. “I’m not your enemy!”

“Then why did you run that night?” Allura snapped. He hesitantly looked at her, wary of the acid practically dripping in her voice. “You must have known you were Galra. That’s why you wanted to leave. Because you thought Zarkron was tracking us through you!” 

“No!” Keith responded. “I didn’t even know I was Galra till I took on the trial. I thought it was the knife!” 

“Oh, sure, blame it on something other than what you are--”

“I’m not--”

“I bet you were just waiting for the right time to betray us to Zarkron!”

“I wasn’t--!”

“ENOUGH!” 

Shiro’s voice boomed, effectively silencing them all. They all looked at Shiro warily, Keith more hesitant than the rest. He knew just how terrifying Shiro’s anger could be when he was pushed too far, and he could tell from the barely checked rage in his voice that this was close to being one of those times. The Black Paladin leveled a look at every one of them before speaking.

“Fighting between ourselves will get us nowhere. And I’m not going to just stand here while you all rain down on Keith for something that was out of his control. We’re supposed to be teammates, but we’re acting like a bunch of spoiled children!” Everyone looked away at that, ashamed. Shiro huffed slightly and put his hands on his waist. “So, unless somebody has something remotely decent to say, then we’re done here.”

Silence followed Shiro’s lecture. Keith lowered his eyes, feeling the hole in his chest grow just a little bit bigger.

“Well, I don’t have a problem with it.” 

Keith’s head snapped up so fast, he nearly gave himself a concussion. Apparently, so did everyone else, judging from the looks the group was giving Hunk. 

“What?” Hunk looked genuinely confused from their reactions. “Are you guys serious right now? This is Keith we’re talking about! You know, the guy who saved our butts countless of times before! Like the time when he got Blue back from those two rebels I told nobody to trust? Or the time he risked himself to sneak deeper into the Galra base to find the information about the Quintessence? Or any of the other times our plans wouldn’t have worked without him? He was part Galra back then too, so what’s the difference now? Unless he plans to jump ship now that he knows he’s all purple and bat-eared inside. But I don’t think he will.” 

Lance wasn’t convinced. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because. Just look at him.”

Six pairs of eyes turned his way. Keith swallowed nervously, but tried not to let it show. 

“Does that look like the face of someone who wants to betray us to Zarkron?” Hunk asked. “He wouldn’t have told us if that was true. Cause then we’d be doubtful of his actions and could prepare a potential counter attack to his inevitable betrayal. But seriously. He just wants to be accepted and told that everything is going to be okay by the people that matter most to him. It’s not fair of us to turn him into an enemy when he was never one to begin with.” 

Keith looked at the floor and bit his lip so hard, he could taste blood, just to keep the smile from breaking across his face. Leave it to Hunk to say everything he couldn’t get out on his own. He wanted to cry. 

“You make a good point.” Lance’s voice was a bit begrudging, but there was a smirk on his face when Keith glanced up at him. “Though, I still think he would have told us anyway. Cause Keith isn’t that good at thinking ahead before he does anything. Typical hothead.” 

He shook his head disappointedly, but the teasing tone was familiar and strangely warmed Keith’s heart. He kind of wanted to hug Lance, but he quickly squashed that thought the moment it came into his head. 

Pidge was the next to speak. They prologued their response with a sigh and an irritated hand through their hair. “Well... I’m still a little disappointed that you didn’t come to us when you first started suspecting that there was something up with your heritage,” they said. “Cause I could have answered that question for you in like two seconds and saved you months of self-torture, but yeah.” They shifted a little on their feet before glancing down at the floor again. “Sorry for what I said. I know you’re not a bad person, Keith.” 

Keith looked around at them, overwhelmed. The tears were already making his vision blurry, but he wasn’t about to let them see him actually cry. Eventually, he looked over at Allura again, but the Altaean princess still wasn’t looking at him. She glanced at him for a short moment when the silence drew too long and she crossed her arms. 

“If you think that just a few sugar-coated words are going to make me trust you after all this then you’re wrong,” she said. “The Galra are evil. My father trusted Zarkon, trusted the Galra, and look what happened to them. He’s dead. All of my people are dead. Because of them.” The happiness in Keith’s heart cooled from the hurt in her voice. He could see the tears beginning to glisten in her eyes as well. “Galra are evil. They cannot be trusted. No matter which side they claim to be on.” 

Her words hung in the air between them for a moment before he turned on her heel to stalk away. Coran, who had been mostly silent through most of the exchange, looked after her sadly. He glanced back at Keith once before lowering his gaze. 

“I’ll go talk with her,” he said softly, before following suit. 

Keith let them go, allowing that residual sadness to swell in his heart again. It wasn’t until Shiro’s hand fell on his shoulder that he looked up again. The Paladins had all moved closer to him and gave him various expressions of support. Shiro squeezed his shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Keith,” he said. “We’ve always got your back.” 

And for the first time since finding out about his Galra side, Keith finally started to believe it.