#can’t deal with being wrong at all except to lean into the hatred and desire to take them down multiple pegs

[astxrwar]

there needs to be more one-sided enemies to lovers content. by which i mean one person HATES and the other is like “aw you’re adorable + utterly nonthreatening to me *enrages them on purpose*”

OR!

One hates + has the power to actually make the other’s life miserable but the other one is like “well I admire you a lot and I know I can prove you wrong so *tries really hard and stubbornly shrugs off the criticism/mocking/cruelty*”

[solomonish]

The Brothers and What You Are to Them

Do you ever wonder what it is about you that keeps your demon by your side? Not necessarily the traits you have that attracted them to you (and still do), or what they think makes you you, but the reason you’ve become so irreplaceable and imperative in their life that they don’t think they could live without you.

Nowdateables: here!

To Lucifer, you feel like stability.

Lucifer isn’t an insecure man, nor does he need someone to lean on. He doesn’t find himself overwhelmed by what the world throws at him. He is capable, and he can shoulder the responsibilities expected of him and then some, no matter what they should turn out to be.

...at least, that’s what he thinks, and that’s what he says.

But he does find himself asking you to run errands for him when he needs them done correctly. He does find himself entrusting you to keep the roof of the house connected to the rest of it if he has to go away. You are the one who knows how he likes his coffee and when it should be brought to him to power him through the rest of his work without cutting into his scant sleep time. You keep things under control when everybody seems hellbent on making sure things don’t go the way Lucifer plans, and then you’re there to kiss his forehead despite his empty protests and remind him to take care of himself, too.

Lucifer doesn’t feel like the ground is shaking beneath him, ready to topple down at the slightest breath. But if he did, he knew you’d be there to keep him from plummeting down.

To Mammon, you feel like acceptance.

Mammon is called a lot of things in his life, especially by those who are supposed to hold him dear. He’s never smart enough, never behaved enough, never trustworthy enough, never good enough. And, when he gives up and decides not to make himself sick over expectations he’ll never be able to reach, he only gets worse. To everybody else, he’s scum, and sometimes he can’t help but feel it.

You should be saying those things to him, too, with the way he can’t help but hoard your time and your affections and yes, even your things sometimes.

But you don’t. You pet his head and hold him close and give him affection. You do it even when he makes it difficult on you and tries to tell you that he doesn’t want it. He does. He needs it, even. For the first time, he feels like somebody, he feels like he reaches the expectations set up for him and that he actually has a shot to be what somebody wants.

And when you tell him that you don’t have any expectations for him, none except for him to just be himself, he believes you. And it feels so, so nice.

To Leviathan, you feel like peace.

You would think that a life spent nearly entirely in a room playing video games would be easy and peaceful enough. Saying so aloud is a surefire way to get Leviathan to snap.

Envy never allows him to know peace. His video games, manga and anime are a distraction along with a passion. At least he can fend off some of the negative energy with the knowledge that he is the biggest megafan of any number of franchises and titles. Still, despite that, despite the calming water he modeled his room after, he still feels the jealousy tearing at his inside like unstoppable tumultuous seas.

But you stop that. You are the greatest thing, and even if he isn’t sure why you’d ever consider him worthy, he can find that peace in being the one that you’d rather spend your time with and give your affections to. He makes it hard, and he knows he does - but you persist, and you cast that life raft out to him and finally, he feels like maybe he won’t drown anymore.

When he does allow himself to sit and just be the person that, for some reason, you love, his waters still and he knows what it is to really be loved.

To Satan, you feel like understanding.

Satan has had to build a wall around himself brick by brick to hide the ugliness that nobody would dare approach, that he never even asked for and never would have.

He is the king of masks. For any situation, he has about twenty that he can switch between flawlessly, keeping you on your toes and creating a labyrinth so involved nobody will ever figure it out. Well, everybody except for you.

You managed to find your way to his core, sometimes when he wanted you too and always when he didn’t. Sometimes, you figured out the riddles he laid out for you like breadcrumbs, your smile lighting up and lightening his heart so spectacularly he felt like a new person. Other times, you snuck in with a wrecking ball and made your own way to his center, leaving the walls he set up in ruins. Most of them, he isn’t sure he wants to rebuild - not if they keep you out. At the end of the day, even if it’s cheesy, even if it’s unexpected (and that bruises his ego to admit), he finds that you understand who he is so intimately, you may know him better than he knows himself.

Maybe, with your constant meddling, you invented the person he’s become, or at least helped in his formation - but, if you like him that way, that might not be such an insufferable fate.

To Asmodeus, you feel like sweetness.

The life led by someone with eyes on him all the time is ferocious.

Even for somebody who can charm anybody with a simple glance, Asmo has an equal talent for scorning those he leaves behind. For every person gushing at his Devilgram and tracking his whereabouts for an autograph or a photo, there’s someone cursing his name and spewing the worst kinds of insult that will never directly reach his ear. In his life, you take the pleasure with the pain, and you don’t complain about either or you’ll lose the only good you’ve got.

But nothing about you is so vile. You don’t chase after him just to prove that you’ve met him (even if, at first, he was a little miffed at the prospect), and you’d never say something so soul-shatteringly hateful it’d make even a demon lord cringe. You give him the kindness that doesn’t come with expectations or desire for something in return, the kind that might even come unconditionally. You make him feel like he doesn’t have to prove anything, like he’d still be the most wonderful, beautiful creature in all the realms to you even if (gasp!) everybody else turned their backs on him. There’s a sort of innocent kindness in the way you smile at him that gives him a sugar high, and he isn’t always sure of what to do with it.

Once, he was a creature made to be loved and adored, and you make him feel like there was never a time where such a privilege was ripped away from him.

To Beelzebub, you feel gentle.

Beelzebub is a big guy, and he’s a well-known athlete. People don’t look at him and think he’s fragile goods.

And he isn’t. He is his family’s defender, and he’s been through battles terrible enough they still hang over those who even know about them like storm clouds. But inside his tough exterior, the uncaring aura he accidentally portrays when all he can think about is keeping himself fed, there’s a person that craves the same affections everybody else does. Beelzebub isn’t just hungry for food - he feel empty, entirely hollow, like a void he’s worried will grow too big to be distracted and swallow everything he cares about whole. Sometimes he feels so empty he could just curl up and die.

But, whatever it is you have, it fills him up so deliciously and he’s hooked. It’s even enough for him to just know that you’re around and taken care of - that staves off the worst of it, and he suddenly doesn’t feel like a beast that will be the downfall of all he loves. You give him patience with his need to eat, you give him gentleness with your touches and your smiles, and your voice doesn’t have that exasperated edge everybody else’s does. 

He isn’t a powerhouse or a bottomless pit to you - he’s a person, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.

To Belphegor, you feel like forgiveness.

Belphegor does a lot, he is a lot, and most of it feel wrong.

If he could keep himself awake for longer, he might have enough time to dig himself into a pit of self-loathing in the way Levi does. But he just feels empty, a void broken by occasional bouts of fury, or hatred, or pain of some sort. It’s hardly an existence, so he does the bare minimum, hardly passing the threshold for living because to do so would be more than he could deal with. Hell, the only time he has to think and to do things, he spends trying to inconvenience the person who (supposedly) cares most for him or hurting others - hurting you.

God, how can you look at him like that? Like he’s somebody you can trust, like he’s somebody worth an effort when he himself doesn’t give a damn? It’s weird, it’s stupid, it’s just like you humans to do, and it can never stop. It’s too much for him to deal with, but that’s a good thing. The time he spends wrestling with your forgiveness is time spent being productive, something he’s not exactly been accused of before. And sometimes, that diligence spreads to other thins: his relationship with his brothers, his relationship with humans, his relationship with himself.

You make him want to put the work in because you make him feel like he amounts to something - and you make him feel like his mistakes haven’t completely blotted out his hopes for the future the way he used to think they did.

[wingsofhcpe]

whumptober day 3- "who did this to you"

fandom: shadow & bone

pairing: fivan [ivan x fedyor kaminsky]

rating: T+

additional warnings: injury, discrimination against Grisha

you can also read here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34208404

[tagging @camilleisback upon request <3]

Fedyor had hoped he could make it to his and Ivan’s shared chambers without making too much of a fuss. It was an hour past midnight, after all- by all accounts, Ivan should be asleep. Then again, Fedyor wasn’t known for being late, and although Ivan knew he’d been assigned some errands at the Grand Palace that evening, he couldn’t have possibly thought Fedyor’s duties would last so late into the night. So there was little chance that Ivan would not notice him returning to begin with. As for what Ivan’s reaction would be when he saw the state his partner was currently in, well… That was going to be a little harder to hide.

He groaned a little, shifting his injured arm closer to his side, then wincing as it pressed against the already-forming bruises there. Great, there was no way Ivan wasn’t going to notice this, even if he hadn’t been limping from one side as well.

Fedyor let out a small sigh of relief when he finally stopped outside the polished mahogany door to their rooms. He took a deep breath -and regretted it a moment later as the movement served to aggravate the pain at his ribs and chest- and clumsily shouldered his way through the door.

The bedroom was lit only by a candle on Ivan’s nightstand, but the flickering golden glow was enough for Fedyor to detect his partner sitting up on their bed, heartbeat already spiking with frustration and worry.

“Where were you?!” Ivan asked, all but throwing himself out of the bed and stalking up to Fedyor, who only gave him a sheepish smile after carefully closing the door behind him.

“I, ah, something came up.” There was no point in trying to hide his injuries from Ivan, but he could at least gain some time before he’d have to explain them. Although it seemed like there wasn’t much point in trying to do even that; Ivan’s eyes widened, picking up on Fedyor’s erratic, pained heartbeat. Even if he hadn’t been a Heartrender, the dark red and purple bruises on the side of Fedyor’s face would have been a dead giveaway without the need of more light than what the candle provided.

“You’re hurt!” Ivan all but exclaimed, anger and concern writing themselves all over his unshaven face. He lifted a hand and lay it over Fedyor’s good arm, using his powers to examine the extent of his lover’s injuries. As soon as he became aware of it, he let out a small gasp.

“Fedyor- how?”

“It’s nothing, really. I just… need to lie down.” Fedyor murmured, blinking sudden stars away from his field of vision. Now that he was home safe, he abruptly realised how hard it really was to keep himself standing. He stumbled, and Ivan caught him and helped him stay upright.

“Fedya.” Ivan repeated his name, although this time his voice was gentle. “Tell me what happened. Who did this to you, my love?”

He led them both towards the bed, and Fedyor groaned quietly as Ivan helped him sit on it. Saints, everything hurt. “I, uh, I run into some young otkazat’sya soldiers in the Grand Palace. They were… quite inebriated, and I suppose the sight of a high-ranking Grisha at their midst wasn’t welcome at all. Especially after the devastating losses their side suffered on the Shu-Han front last week.”

“Did they dare raise a hand against you?” Ivan’s tone was clipped, and Fedyor could feel the fury that surged through him at the realisation. He winced.

“Ivan, it’s no big deal. They’re just children. They’re scared, really. I was just a scapegoat they could let their fear out on.”

“You’re not a punching bag! So they did beat you up? Unprovoked?” Ivan had leaned closer, eyes examining the bruises on Fedyor’s face. His thumb gingerly brushed over a cut below the latter’s eye. Fedyor let out a small huff.

“Well… yeah, sort of.” He shrugged, then immediately regretted it and groaned. “Ow. I tried to ignore them and just walk away but, well… one of them just grabbed my arm, turned me around and straight up punched me. The rest happened too fast.”

Ivan’s brow furrowed further. “You didn’t fight back? You could have used your powers on them.”

“You know that’s not me. And anyway, even if I wanted to use my powers, I would only be proving their point.” Fedyor said defeatedly. “I tried to fight them hand to hand, but it was seven of them and one of me. I did pretty well though, all things considered. I think one of them may find it particularly hard to produce an offspring if he so desires.”

Ivan’s expression finally relaxed just a margin, and a small smirk played at his thin lips.

“That’s my Fedya.” He murmured proudly, bending in and pressing a chaste kiss on Fedyor’s lips. There was dried blood where a well-placed punch had split the skin, and it stung, but Fedyor didn’t mind. He kissed back slowly, enjoying the comfort Ivan’s presence brought him. He had been scared, even though he would never admit it- he hadn’t known how far the First Army soldiers had been willing to take it, and while it was rare, it wasn’t unheard of for a Grisha to be killed by an otkazat’sya in such incidents (although to be perfectly fair, the opposite was a much more frequent occurrence). But now he was home, safe, sitting next to Ivan, his Vanya. It would be alright.

Ivan drew back a few moments later, but his eyes lingered worriedly on Fedyor. “We should get you to a Healer.”

“No!” Fedyor had to restrain himself from shouting, his eyes widening with worry. “Listen, Vanya- I’ll have to give an explanation of how I ended up like that if we go. And, well, I’ll have to give the General a list of names or rank numbers or just a description. You know what they do to otkazat’sya soldiers that as much as stare at one of us funny.”

“I damn well know, but it’s what they deserve.” Ivan’s voice was harsh. “Fedya, they could have killed you. I’m sure they would have, if they could’ve gotten away with it. Why are you protecting them?”

“Because…” Fedyor looked down at his hands. “Because they’re children. They were, what, sixteen? I don’t want one mistake to ruin their lives, Ivan.”

“It would have been a mistake if they cussed or spit at you.” Ivan snapped angrily. “But they beat you black and blue. As a group nonetheless. This isn’t a mistake- it’s prejudice. It’s hatred. We can’t allow them to get away with this kind of behaviour against our people.”

“I know, I know. But… I still think they should be given the chance to learn. To do better. To become better and unlearn their hate, rather than just die for something that has probably been drilled into them by people older and stronger than them.” Fedyor said quietly. “You know… you were raised to hate the Grisha, too. You would have been a druskelle, had you not discovered your gift early enough. And when you first came here, you despised us, and you despised yourself for what you were. But you unlearned it. You realised everything you’ve been taught was wrong. Shouldn’t they be given the same chance?”

“That was different.” Ivan hissed, but his voice didn’t hold the same amount of conviction as it did earlier. “I am Grisha. I knew I was, when I unlearned this mentality. I had to, because the world would hate me whether I accepted myself or not.”

“You don’t know they won’t be facing similar issues in the future.” Fedyor countered fiercely. “Maybe one of their younger siblings will be revealed to have a gift. Or maybe one of them has went untested and they will discover they themselves are Grisha. Anyway, I’ll speak to their superiors privately come morning. I don’t want this to spread to more people on either side. I’m not excusing them and I’m not protecting them, Ivan, I’m protecting all of us, and all of theirs. There are many soldiers in the First Army that accept us and view us as equals, as human beings. You know they’ll be in danger, should word of conflict spread among the Grisha. They’ll want payback, and you can’t guarantee that their victims will be the ones responsible for what happened to me. Besides, if this escalates, more Grisha will also be endangered.”

Fedyor paused to catch his breath and steady his hands, that had began to tremble slightly. It wasn’t as if he weren’t angry or scared out of his wits- he was. But he knew all too well, that violence only bred more violence. It would benefit neither the Grisha nor the otkazat’sya, if each side’s soldiers suddenly turned on each other and began to tear at each other’s throats like rabid dogs.

Ivan must have finally understood, too, because his grip on Fedyor’s wrist relaxed, and his shoulders slumped. He let out a frustrated growl.

“Fine. I suppose you have a point.” He relented, but his features were still pinched with worry. “But, anyway. Someone still has to patch you up.”

Fedyor allowed himself a small, relieved sigh. “Well, that’s why I have you.”

Ivan snorted out a little laugh. “You’re incorrigible. Come, let’s go to the bathroom. I don’t want to make a mess of the bed and then have to clean that up, too. If that’s alright with you, I would prefer to get some sleep tonight.”

One of the advantages to being two of General Kirigan’s most favoured soldiers, was that their living quarters were a little more spacy than the other soldiers’. Unlike most of the other Grisha, they didn’t need to share the banya with everyone else; they had running water available in their room, and could clean up themselves there if they preferred to have some privacy. It was a useful thing under many different situations -such as uninterrupted moments of affection when they washed after a particularly dangerous mission- and Fedyor guessed that wanting to clean and patch each other’s wounds up without alerting anyone else, was no exception.

“Here.” Ivan led him to a stool next to the bathtub, then helped him sit. Fedyor bit his already-bleeding lip to hold back a pained whimper as he sat, and Ivan’s hand immediately squeezed his own in a silent gesture of comfort. Fedyor squeezed back feebly, then let Ivan pull away as the latter rummaged around the small room for various medical supplies; clear strips of cloth, a bottle of disinfectant, bandages and a healing salve provided by a Fabrikator friend. He set all of it down on the floor before turning the water on. He waited until it had become sufficiently warm and then soaked a piece of cloth in it, and turned to face Fedyor.

“Take off your kefta, yes?” Ivan said firmly but without the usual bite to his commanding tone. Fedyor swallowed and nodded, shrugging awkwardly and trying to take the aforementioned piece of clothing off without jostling his injured arm too much. In the end he failed, and let out a small cry as he tried to stretch his arm to the side and pull it out of the sleeve. Ivan was immediately on his feet, having temporarily discarded the washcloth by the tub.

“Let me help.” He murmured in a low, comforting tone, his hands resting on Fedyor’s shoulders. Fedyor took a deep, steadying breath and yielded to Ivan’s ministrations; he knew that if he made any further attempts to remove his clothes by himself, it would only be a waste of time.

Once the kefta, undershirt and pants were out of the way, Ivan’s eyes darkened with worry. Fedyor supposed he couldn’t blame him this time- his entire left side, his back and his chest were badly bruised, and his right arm was bent at a strange angle that didn’t look at all natural. Less extensive bruising blossomed down his shoulders and arms, even his legs, especially over and around his right knee. Ivan clicked his tongue.

“I don’t care how much of a pacifist you want to be about this, Fedya. I’m going to find the bastards that did this to you and make them regret the day they slid out of their mother’s cu-“

“Alright, alright.” Fedyor waved his good hand placatingly. “I truly appreciate the anger on my behalf, Vanya. But for now, let’s just get done with it. You’re not the only one who can’t wait to get to bed for the night.”

Ivan growled under his breath, clearly not giving up on his aspirations of revenge, and Fedyor decided that maybe that wasn’t so bad. Ivan could teach a lesson to the perpetrators without the incident spreading further behind the lines of Grisha and otkazat’sya alive. It wasn’t the best possible solution, but Fedyor had to admit to himself that he wouldn’t mind watching if Ivan decided to make true on his word. He disliked answering violence with violence (barring extreme cases, such as facing a group of druskelle), but he was only human, and most humans have a petty streak to them. He was no exception.

Still, he decided to worry about it in the morning. For the moment, he allowed himself to relax under Ivan’s care, as the latter gently wiped the blood off his nose and lips, and dabbed at the cut under his eye. Fedyor caught Ivan’s eyes and smiled thankfully, which earned him a tender look and another squeeze of the hand.

“Let me see your arm?” Ivan asked after a few minutes, during which he had applied some of the healing salve across the worst of Fedyor’s bruises. Fedyor had been unable to restrain a deep groan of relief as Ivan’s fingers had gently massaged the salve onto his injuries; the discomfort receded almost immediately, the herbs contained into the salve having a cooling effect that soothed the throbbing pain. It wasn’t completely gone, but he already felt much better, and was able to stretch out his arm for Ivan to examine.

“Ow!” Fedyor yelped the following instant, glaring at Ivan as the other Heartrender’s fingers prodded at the swollen area around his elbow. “That hurt!”

“That’s what worries me.” Ivan grunted, displeasure evident in his voice. “There’s a fracture, I think. It’s not too bad, so we don’t need a Healer. I’ll bandage it, but you’ll have to use a sling for a while, and it’s going to keep hurting for at least a week.”

“It’s okay.” Fedyor sighed tiredly. At that point he didn’t care- he only wanted this to be done so they could both go to bed. “I’m sure we have painkillers somewhere around here. I’ll take some and sleep it off.”

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to sleep for a week?”

“You know I’m more than capable.”

Ivan cleared his throat, but Fedyor knew he was trying to hide a laugh. He smiled, too. For all that had happened that night, he didn’t feel too horrible- not when Ivan was next to him. He just felt exhausted and a little crestfallen. But that was life, and life was usually tough. He had learned that lesson early enough. All he could do was shoulder it, smile and press on. He was good at it, too. He had learned how to be.

Ivan finished up a few minutes later, after taking a quick look at Fedyor’s knee. The swelling and bruising were bad, but he could detect no fractures, so he just talked Fedyor out of walking for a few days. Which, Fedyor suspected, wasn’t going to be a problem. He didn’t plan on leaving their bed, not unless Kirigan came and dragged him out by his ear.

“You deserve a few days off.” Ivan agreed when Fedyor voiced that thought. “But the General is going to ask questions. I thought you didn’t want him to know what happened.”

“I don’t.” Fedyor admitted as Ivan helped him to bed. He lay down with a groan and shuffled around, trying to find a comfortable position, where his arm and side wouldn’t hurt quite so bad. He’d already gulped down half a bottle’s worth of painkilling herbal pills, but it would be a while until they kicked in. “Just tell him I’m sick. I can pretend if I need to.”

Ivan rolled his eyes as he blew out the candle, and slipped under the covers next to Fedyor. “I know you can. You used to do it all the time to get out of training with Baghra, when we were young.”

Fedyor flashed him a shadow of his usual cheeky grin. “I was quite good at it.”

He shifted again, until he was laying flush against Ivan’s side, his aching arm stretched across his lover’s broad chest. Ivan hummed softly and pressed a tender kiss on Fedyor’s temple.

“Sleep.” He said. “Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

Tomorrow didn’t sound very far off, all things considered. It had already been late when Fedyor had first stumbled in the room, and with all the talking and the time Ivan spent treating his injuries, another two hours had gone by. Under normal circumstances, they would be waking up in three more hours, but Fedyor trusted Ivan to let him sleep in this once. So he forced all miserable thoughts out of his mind and quelled the fear that had caught fire inside of him from the moment he had first encountered the otkazat’sya in the Grand Palace. He was home now, behind high walls, nestled within his husband’s arms. He was safe. They both were. They’d always be safe, so long as they had each other.

So Fedyor told himself that everything was alright. That he wasn’t scared out of his wits, and that he wasn’t in pain. He closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him, while he clung to Ivan’s steady, familiar, beloved heartbeat as if it was the gentlest of lullabies.

[comedicreliefonlyworkswhenfunny]

I just wanna rant for a second about something I keep seeing

Bakugou losing his quirk is not going to be a good "redemption" tactic

If anything, it's a really bad plot point.

Yes, he'll understand how Midoriya felt, but people seem to forget that he already knows what it's like to be weak.

No, I don't condone any of the bullying that he's put others through. Yes, I understand that inflicting pain upon others to deal with your own is toxic, and, yes, I acknowledge that this is something his character needs to work past and overcome. However, stripping him of all his power is NOT going to "make him better;" it's going to make him worse.

People seem to forget that he's been dealing with shit for just as long as Midoriya has. Whether you focus on the constant praise that was pushed onto him- the EXPECTAIONS he was given- or the smaller fact that there was always someone out to get him. We don't know too, too much about him growing up, but he had an amazing quirk. From then on, he had a legacy; he had a duty to live up to those. He was constantly bombarded by the fact that he HAD to be strong ("because it's what everyone wants from him"). There are several issues that stem from this- one being his inability to show/acknowledge his own weakness.

When they were on the log bridge and he fell, Midoriya was the ONLY one who went down to help him. Everyone else brushed it off ("It's Bakugou, he's fine!"); he wasn't allowed to acknowledge how much pain he was in. Shit, man, did you see how high up that log bridge was? Water or not, that had to fucking hurt. Yet no one batted an eye (other than Midoriya). He was on his own, and that had a lasting impression on him.

He's not ALLOWED to lean on others, because- like everyone always told him- he's strong. This led to him pushing everyone away- this led to the idea that other people made him weak.

In addition to that, life was always against him. The show focuses a lot on how the world is always out for the weak- Midoriya, being the once quirkless main protagonist, was constantly mocked for his dreams of becoming a hero (if we're speaking honestly, those were very unrealistic dreams. While he poured every ounce of his being into studying and had the determination of an ox, he was a toothpick. He talked a lot about being willing to do anything for his dreams, but he did little to actually chase those desires- (but that's not what this discussion is about)).

When he was a first grader, a fifth grader bumped into him, and his friend group wanted Bakugou to apologize for it. Bakugou refused, and they tried to over power him. He ended up beating them (while Midoriya watched from behind a tree). Now, I can't really say for anyone else, but, when I was in first grade, the fifth graders in my school were scary, man!

But he won. He proved that he was stronger than them.

And you know what? No one was there for him. No one helped him fend them off. No one offered him a band aid or anything to help with his wounds. Of course, we can't say for sure, but (knowing any normal household) he was probably scolded for getting in a fight.

Another big event. The Sludge Villain Incident.

There were HEROES surrounding him within minutes of it happening. There were crowds of people WATCHING him squirm and suffer. They did NOTHING. They sat back and waited. The heroes got push down once, and said 'I can't do it. I'm going to wait for someone who can.'

Bakugou almost died.

He would have, if Midoriya hadn't rushed over.

If he had been weak, he could have lost his life. This event was just a staple telling him that he had to fend for himself in life, or he was going to crumble. Can you imagine being a child, VIOLATED AND SUFFOCATED in the middle of a CROWDED STREET, surrounded by people who were SUPPOSED to HELP others doing nothing?

And what happened after that?

He was praised.

He had to struggle for his life while everyone sat back and watched. And on top of that, they weren't concerned for his well being; they weren't asking him if he was okay. The heroes have him a blanket and a bottle of water, and showered him in praise for lasting so long. (Imagine if we treated r*pe victims like that. Instead of focusing on their humiliation and how wronged they were, imagine if we just told them they did great by enduring it. Does it help give you an idea of how this must have felt for him?) They told him that the only thing that mattered about him was his strength. The person that rushed in to save him- the ONLY one out of tens of people who didn't hesitate to act- was being scolded. Because he was weak (and shouldn't have rushed in).

Do you see the difference there?

Bakugou knew fully well that if Midoriya hadn't jumped in, he would have died. That was why he felt the need to chase him down after the incident and yell at him. He was so disgusted and upset with himself that he felt the need to prove himself- to say that "I didn't need your help!" Because he was so afraid of acknowledging his own weakness, he would rather look like a bully and an oppressor than the scared child he was.

Furthermore, the Sports Festival. A lot of people overlook it when it comes to Bakugou's growth and development, but it is quite important.

Todoroki used his fire against Midoriya (of course, Midoriya specifically plays into the impact for a couple of reasons, but I'm not going to go over them because this isn't the post).

Regardless of why, he went full out; he was determined to win the match.

Then, he entered the Final match with Bakugou, and refused to use his fire. From the point of view of someone who doesn't know the complicated Torodoki past, Bakugou only sees the fact that Todoroki isn't going all out. He's refusing to use the full force of his power in the FINAL match, despite being so determined in the past match.

Bakugou sees this as Todoroki looking down on him. Logically, who wouldn't? He used the full force of his power the match before, claiming that he wanted to win, but, suddenly now that he's up against Bakugou, winning doesn't matter enough for him. This is a major shot to Bakugou's pride (you know, the one that has been pushed on him for years, to the point where he has developed a hatred for weakness).

People get mad at Bakugou all the time for the Sports Festival arc, because of how his fight with Uraraka and Todoroki. However, they neglect to acknowledge the world they are in. Villains aren't going to go easy on Uraraka because she's a girl, and Bakugou going easy on her would be an insult. Same to Torodoki! Beating him at less than his full power isn't really beating him! Bakugou manages to prove to Todoroki that he doesn't need a handicap to win their match, and that Todoroki shouldn't look down on him. Even so, he doesn't step it up a notch. He doesn't kick it into full gear. Bakugou knows that he probably could have won if he had used his fire (at the very least, he had a chance), but he didn't.

He would rather lose than go all out against Bakugou.

He was so determined to win in the previous match, but all of that fire suddenly died out (literally ha)-

Bakugou was confused, hurt- angered. Why? Why was Todoroki so fired up against Midoriya *of all people (this has a specific impact given their history together, but, even without it, this has a major push), but refused to fully acknowledge Bakugou? He, no doubt, felt like it was an elaborate way to mock him.

But more than that, he didn't feel like he deserved first place. He didn't earn it. His opponent didn't go all out on him.

UA had NO RIGHT to force Bakugou to accept that medal, and I will take this to the grave.

What they did is basically like a sports team going up against their rival's injured star player. Their team's ace in the hole was limping the whole match. Of course, your team won! Except... it wasn't a fair match to begin with.

The people on Shinsou's calvalry team were allowed to just drop out, because they didn't feel like they deserved to move on after not being able to remember the event.

But Bakugou was CHAINED UP and FORCED to accept a medal he didn't think he earned?

Which led to him getting targeted by villains.

Villains who told him that they didn't think he'd make it as a hero.

Why? Because he didn't want to accept a medal he didn't think he earned.

Not just the kidnapping, the sheer scalet's of their operation- they gassed several students, injured several pros, and burned down an entire chunk of the forest- to get to Bakugou. (Yes, they would have done that with or without the goal of capture, but there's still the 'if they weren't after him... would they have go through the trouble?')

And then the rescue.

Bakugou probably didn't think the heroes were going to come get him. No one helped him during the Sludge Villain Incident, and that wasn't his fault. This one, however, he felt like was. He's massively conflicted by the fact that he should have just accepted the damn medal and the fact that he didn't truly earn it; he's pushed into a situation where neither options are good.

Then they did come to help him, no doubt, to his surprise.

The look on Bakugou's face after seeing All Might is priceless-

He wants to be happy that his mentor, his idol came to his rescue. They cared about him enough to save him.

But also

He was weak and needed saving.

Despite all of the people who pushed their broken dreams and shattered weaknesses onto him, he failed. Everyone was mad at him or disappointed in him when he was doing everything that he could to live up to the expectations they FORCED on to him. He was refused the ability to come to terms with his own weakness as a child- because of society pushing down on him- and now those same people are getting upset with him.

He was relieved to be rescued. When he saw Kirishima and the others, he didn't have to think about how it was impossible for him to take on so many villains. He was relieved to be safe.

And then he saw All Might fighting All For One.

He saw his idol bloodied up and barely standing- a shriveled form of himself.

And none of this would have happened if not for his weakness.

Yes, he has always seen weakness as something bad, but making him completely powerless isn't going to just make it all better. He KNOWS what weakness feels like. He KNOWS how much it fucking hurts. Rather than that, why dont we focus on getting this kid some kind of fucking therapy or closure?? Teach him that it's okay to be weak rather than trying to throw him into yet another fucked up situation.

Idk. Maybe I have too much of an attachment to this issue, but stripping Bakugou of his quirk is a terrible plot point and does nothing to further his character OR point out the societal flaws that made him that way.

[braveclxrke]

Malex fic: Between hello and goodbye there was so much love.

I’ve now uploaded chapter 8 where cracks start to appear in the boy's relationship as Michael tries to deal with his guilt alone effectively shutting Alex out and pushing him to a decision he thought he'd never make.

Chapter under the cut 

Alex sat at the kitchen table, flicking through a book he was reading, not really reading them, just scanning through the words. Things at home had taken a turn in the last few days, his father's desire to make Alex join up had increased, becoming an unmoving pressure on Alex's chest making everything difficult. Alex had run out of plausible excuses to not join up, having caved and agreed to meet with a recruiter the next day. Alex still had no intention of signing up but he needed to keep his father happy or satisfied at least, knowing he was on thin ice as it was. "Your meeting with the recruiting officer is tomorrow at 7:00AM," Jesse said walking into the kitchen. "I'll drive you there and back," He declared, standing across the table from Alex.

"I can drive myself," Alex said, keeping his eyes on the book.

"No, I want to make sure you go, don't want you missing out," His fatherly coldly said, leaning on the table to look at Alex, "Have you got everything prepared?" He asked.

"Yes," Alex quickly said, he'd helped all three of his brothers with the process he knew what was expected of him, Alex noticed his father was silent, he looked up to see dark eyes staring back at him, his shoulders tense and hands gripping the edge of the table hard. "Yes sir," He said this time.

His dad walked around to table coming to standing next to Alex, he reached down and slammed Alex's book closed, pushing it away from him, "Alex, this is a very important meeting, one that could possibly save your future," Alex wasn't aware that his future needed saving, and he was certain joining the army was not going to save anything. His dad leaned closer to Alex's face, causing Alex to hold his breath, "Take it seriously, I will not be disappointed," Jesse's voice was severe and steady, it was a threat disguised as a statement, Alex gave a small nod, pulling his eyes to look at the table.

His father walked over to the island in the kitchen taking a cup of coffee, sipping it. "Once you've passed the pre-screening then in a few days you'll go to the entrance processing station," His father continued. Alex just sat and listened. He hadn't thought past attending the meeting tomorrow to keep his father happy, but his father clearly had. Alex knew what the recruiter wanted to hear, and knew what to say to throw the meeting but Jesse was smart, he knew Alex would know what to do, if he failed he'd know Alex had done it on purpose, "I'm sure you remember the process from when your brothers did it, all of which are heroes now," The implication as plain and clear; their heroes and you aren't. "We'll put you on the quick ship list so you can get to basic training as quickly a possible, away from this town,"

The pressure on Alex's chest grew like someone had a hand around his neck and was pressing down on his chest. Alex knew what that meant, that meant instead of waiting months to go to basic training it could be weeks, maybe even days. Alex thought he could use those months to try and get out of his contract or come up with a plan but if he was on the quick ship list... "Can't I just be on the normal list, go to basic training in a few months?" Alex asked, standing up from the table heading towards his father who was leaning against the island.

Jesse placed the cup down on the table, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why?"

Alex swallowed, he knew why he wanted to stay, but there was no way on earth he could tell his father, not without digging his own grave. He shifted on his feet, "I mean Maria's still here and after everything that happened with Rosa and Liz-"

Jesse pushed himself off the island, coming closer to Alex, his voice low and frosted, "Rosa Ortecho got herself killed, she and her family will face the consequences of their actions, you are not to get involved," Alex opened his voice to defend his friend, his eyebrows pulled together. Then Jesse tilted his head to the side, stepping closer; he was daring Alex to talk back. Alex slowly pressed his lips together, he wouldn't be bait into talking back, he wouldn't give his father a reason to punish him, "As for Maria Deluca she's a bad influence," His father said, going to turn his back.

"Maria's my friend," Alex proclaimed, his voice loud. Jesse froze mid-turn,  shit  Alex thought, he'd taken the bait.

Jesse slowly turned back around to Alex. Alex held his position, standing up straighter and trying to look taller. Jesse slowly walked over to where Alex was standing, pausing a few inches away from him, "You've lost the right to choose who you associate with," His father spat, he looked Alex up and down, disgust on his face, "Clearly you cannot make good decisions," Alex wanted to look away, not wanting to see his fathers hatred. Alex turned to walk away when Jesse grabbed his bicep, harshly pulling him back to his spot, making Alex stumbled for a second. Jesse kept his hand on his arm squeezing tighter. Alex tried to cover the pain in his face, not wanting to give his father the satisfaction. Jesse reached up with his other hand, jabbing Alex in the chest. "You will be put on that quick ship list and you will not argue," Alex gulp, he could tell his father was reaching his limits, a few words away till things got physical. Jesse tilted his head to the side again, "Or is there another reason you want to stay?" He said, goading Alex to tell the truth.

For a brief second Alex thought about telling him. Telling him he didn't want to leave Maria, didn't want to say goodbye to Michael but he just shook his head, biting his lip, "No sir," he whispered.

Jesse squeezed his arm even tighter, Alex gasped a little at the pain, clenching his teeth, "After what you did..." Jesse spat, shaking his head with loathing. Alex ducked his head, closing his eyes. Jesse leaned forward close to Alex's ear, his voice low, "You're lucky all I'm doing is putting you on that list, be grateful," He finished. Alex glanced up at his father who was staring at him with piercing eyes. He let go of Alex's arm, walking past him. "Go prepare for tomorrow," His father called as he entered the living room. Alex stood frozen in the kitchen, for a second he thought about going out to the shed but then the crashing of the hammer began to ring in his ears and Alex felt the sickness start.

Instead, Alex turned and headed up to his room. Alex walked into his room closing the door behind him. He walked over to his desk and grabbed his phone of it, leaning against the desk. He looked down at it, he quickly opened it and pressed his most recent called. The phone rang for a moment when Michael answered, "Hey," Michael said, and Alex could also picture the smile on his face. "I thought we weren't meeting till later?" Michael said, the phone was clearly on speaker, Alex could hear the radio playing music in the background.

Alex felt a small amount of comfort travel through his body, letting out a sigh of relief. "Yeah I know I just..." Alex let out another large breath, noticing how it trembled slightly.

"You okay?" Michael quickly asked, the music on his end going quieter.

Alex went to say he was fine, it was his default answer when someone asked him. But he stopped himself, he trusted Michael, cared about him, he didn't want to lie to him. Then Alex thought about their conversation in the truck the other day when Alex had told Michael about Rosa. It was almost like Michael had shut down. Normally when they spoke Michael was full of advice or comfort but that day he just sat in silence. Alex told himself he'd been overreacting, Michael was just listening. Alex took in another large breath, "Not really..." he finally answered honestly.

The music stopped completely, Alex heard as Michael took him off speaker, bring the phone closer to his face, "What's wrong?" He asked, his voice serious. He heard Michael shuffling on the other end, it sounds like he was moving in the back of his truck. "Did your dad do something?" He asked, "I can come and get you-," Michael started to ramble, Alex shook his head even though Michael couldn't see.

"No, no it's fine he didn't do anything," Alex said, using his free hand to rub the bruise that was definitely starting to form on his arm. "You know except being him," he tried to joke, but there was no humour in his voice, he just couldn't muster it. Alex sat down on his bed, sitting with his back leaning against the wall, his legs stretched out in front of him. "He's just been on my case lately, he doesn't trust me so doing anything now requires a 10-minute integration." He admitted.

He heard Michael settle down on the other, the movement stopping. Michael sighed, "I'm sorry Alex," He said.

Alex could tell Michael wasn't just sorry his dad was being a dick, but that Michael was part of the reason that Alex's dad no longer trusted him. "It's not your fault," Alex reassured. "Just been...just been a shitty week," Alex said, his head hitting the wall behind him was a small thud. "After I saw you, the next day I got a call from Maria, apparently Liz skipped town," Alex admitted. He blinked up at the ceiling, "Just packed her bags and left, before Rosa's funeral," Alex said, his voice wavering as he mentioned Rosa's funeral. When Maria had told Alex he was sure he was mistaken, that she'd got it wrong but she'd spoken to her dad, been to the diner and it was true, she as gone. "I don't get why she'd leave without telling no one, I mean Maria had to find out from her dad," Alex said, some of the anger he had buried away starting to creep through. Alex noticed that Michael was silent, just heavy breathing on the other end, "Michael?" Alex asked,

After a moment there was a noise, "Sorry sorry I'm listening," Michael replied. Alex waited for more but Michael didn't say anything, he heard Michael take in a large breath, "Maybe it's for the best you know?" He finally said.

Alex's head fell forward, a frown on his face. "What do you mean?" He asked, struggling to understand how Liz leaving everyone could be for the best.

"I mean, maybe having some space from this town will be good for Liz," Michael tried to assure, but even Alex could tell Michael didn't completely believe it.

"There's having space and then there-there's running," Alex returned, "I just, don't understand why'd she miss her sisters funeral, I can't imagine what Arturo is going through," Alex said, trying not to think of the pain Arturo must be dealing with, effectively losing both daughters in two weeks.

"I'm sure she has her reasons, Alex," Michael said. Alex was taken aback by Michael's response, his voice sounding irritated.

"Then why didn't she tell them to us," Alex continued, throwing his free arm out to the side. After a moment he let his arm drop, his head once again going back to look at the white ceiling. Alex felt his eyes starting to well again, he slowly shook his head, "Didn't we deserve a goodbye?" he quietly said.

"I'm sure it wasn't personal," Was all Michael said. Alex wasn't sure if it was talking about it or Michaels defence of Liz that was making him angrier.

"It feels it," He snapped. Alex didn't mean to snap at Michael but it seemed like Michael just wanted to defend Liz. Alex couldn't help but think about when his mother left, gone in the morning without a reason or goodbye. "I'm sorry," Alex sighed, taking Michael's silences that he was hurt by Alex's words. "Ugh it's just...then my dad started talking about Rosa and and-" Alex clenched his hand tighter around the phone. "I just...this whole thing is so messy and horrible I just...I just don't get it, I just want answers," Alex said, his voice getting more and more annoyed as he spoke. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore, everything was changing, and everyone was leaving. Right now Michael was the only thing that Alex still had that hadn't changed or left.

"I wish I could give them to you," Michael sighed, his voice sounding heavy.

Alex internally cursed himself, he didn't mean to just unload on Michael but he just needed to talk to someone and he didn't know who else; he didn't really have anyone else. Alex tried to smile as he looked up, tears still gathered in his eyes, "Well instead maybe you could pick me up an hour earlier, not sure I can stay in this house much longer," Alex tried to joke, trying to keep the smile on his face.

There was silence on the other end and Alex felt the smile on his face starting to drop again, he heard Michael sigh before taking in a deep breath. "Umm actually I completely forgot I've got to do something tonight," Michael quickly said.

Alex felt his chest tighten again, his eyebrows scrunching up together as he spoke, "I thought you were free?" Alex asked, trying not to sound too disappointed or upset.

"Yeah, yeah so did I but, I'm uh not, sorry," Michael rushed, his voice sounding distracted.

Alex frowned hard, they'd had this evening planned for days and Michael hadn't mentioned having anything else to do. "Is everything okay Michael?" Alex asked, Michael didn't say anything else, Alex started to panic, "I didn't mean to yell at you-"

"I'm fine Alex I'm just busy," Michael snapped, cutting Alex off. His voice was stern and distant. Alex felt the ball of anxiety on his chest expand more, pressing against his lungs making breathing hard.

"Okay," Alex quietly said, hating how pitiful he sounded.

He heard Michael let out a deep breath, "I'll-uh, call you later okay," Michael said, his voice softer than before, but still distant.

Alex nodded his head, pulling his head back from the wall. A stray tear made its way down his cheek, "Yeah," he said, his voice even quieter this time. Both were silent for a moment, neither speaking but still holding onto their phones. Alex went to say something else when the line clicked off; Michael was gone.

Alex gulped, placing the phone down next to him. Alex started to move off the bed, noticing how tense his shoulders were. He stood in the middle of the room unsure what to do, what had just happened. Had he said something? Was something wrong? Alex was pretty sure that there was something happening in Michael's life that he wasn't telling Alex about. He no longer hung out with Max or Isabel, he was more closed off. Sometimes if Alex looked at him long ahead he could see something behind his eyes like he was lost in some other thought or place, his eyes shrouded in darkness and pain. Alex just wanted Michael to talk to him like Alex talked to Michael. That's what people did, they shared with one another right.

Alex walked over to his desk, slumping down in the chair, on the table was a booklet his dad had given him to prepare for the interview tomorrow. Alex reached forward, opening the book and looking down, starting to read the information. As he tried to take in the information all Alex could think about was Michael's angry voice, Alex concentrated harder on the words on the page, for the first time this week feeling some excitement about leaving Roswell tomorrow to go to the recruitment meeting, needing some distraction and being able to do something he knew he was good at and could succeed in.

Michael held the phone in his hand for a while, resting in his lap. Michael was scared that if he moved his legs wouldn't be able to support him. Michael's entire body was raging with energy that wanted to escape; a mixture of anger, shame and guilt. Micheal had known that Liz was gone having heard from Isabel and he had been naive enough to think Alex wouldn't talk about it.

As soon as Alex had mentioned it he had felt himself starting to shut down but then he heard the hurt in Alex's voice, the betrayal. He had tried to make Alex feel better but he was pretty sure he had made it worse, just wanting to give Alex a good reason, maybe to make himself feel better but it hadn't worked. Alex just wanted answers, answers which he deserved and Michael had them, but he couldn't give them...ever. The guilt had doubled, following him around like a shadow he could never lose or like a stone in his shoe. He just wanted to tell Alex, to comfort him, explain that Liz hadn't abandoned him but that she had no choice. Michael knew he couldn't, that Alex would never be able to know the truth.

Michael didn't have plans for the night, his plan was to lie out under the sky with Alex but Michael couldn't handle watching Alex's heartbroken face and hearing his questions knowing he could answer them but was powerless to. Michael stretched forward, grabbing his backpack dragging it towards him. Michael reached into his bag pulling out a large bottle of whiskey, holding it in his lap. After dropping Alex off the other night, Michael had swiped the bottle from a convenience store nearby. Michael just wanted to be able to speak to Alex without the weight of guilt overwhelming him, he'd promised Alex that this town wouldn't break him but as each day went by that seemed harder and harder.

If Alex knew the truth, what Michael had done-Michael pulled the top off the bottle, taking a swing. The dark liquor burned his throat, the heat spreading through his body. Alex could be so betrayed and sickened if he knew the part Michael had played in his friend's death and leaving. Michael took another sip, trying to drown out the voice in his head that wouldn't leave him alone. He could feel the effects of the alcohol coursing through his body, mixing together with the familiar energy he felt when he was angry. Michael noticed that another truck pulled up a while away in the desert, he watched as some kids, probably a bit older than him jumped out, laughing obnoxiously. Michael watched as they pulled out a cooler, and started cracking open beers. One of the guys noticed Michael looking at them,

"Got a problem partner?" One of them yelled, the others around him laughing and now looking at Michael. He knew what he should say, he should say no, put the drink away and just go to sleep.

"He asked if you got a problem buddy?" Another guy yelled, his voice slurring with drink. Michael clenched the bottle, taking a swig. They were clearly looking for trouble, someone to fight.

"So what if I do," Michael provoked, feeling the energy in his body growing. The guys all looked at each other before starting to walk over to Michael. Michael chugged more of the drink, placing it next to him. He stood up in his truck bed, narrowing his eyes at them. He should stop this, he told himself, just go to sleep. Then the energy surged through his body again, Michael jumped over the edge of the truck, landing on the ground with a thud, small vibrations going through the ground. They had started it Michael told himself, he was just defending himself. Michael balled his hands into a fist as the group appeared, he just needed to blow off some steam, and these guys were clearly dicks Michael said. Michael felt a sinister smile grow on his face, a part of him knew it was wrong, that he should back down, but the part that wanted to forget about the shame and guilt and was filled with whiskey pushed that thought down, suffocating it.  It was just this once , Michael told himself, the part of himself that knew that was a lie also currently being smothered.

[loopy777]

in your version of republic city, how would you have rewritten the sato family to fit into it? would asamis dad dislike his roots(secretly or openly) and how would that have affected his daughter(i know he essentially started from the streets too, but i cant really say i ever got the impression he was a low class man who rose up to become the highest of the high)? there seems like there was a lot of potential in his backstory and how it would affect his life, but its never really fully used.

For the record, Hiroshi describes his own backstory as, “I, too, came from humble beginnings. Why, when I was your age, I was a mere shoe-shiner and all I had to my name was an idea: the Satomobile. Now, I was fortunate enough to meet someone who believed in me and my work ethic. He gave me the money I needed to get my idea off the ground. And I built the entire Future Industries Empire from that one, selfless loan.“

That’s a fairly textbook version of the Ideal American Success Story, so I don’t think there’s a lot to change with it. But I agree that he’s little more than an archetype, and his rather extreme belief in the Equalistsnever seemed to reallymesh with it.

Let’s see how we can improve things.

Regardless of my new vision of the character, I think it’s safe to say the he dislikes his roots. I mean, who wouldn’t dislike being poor? All those dumb “There are some things money can’t buy!” and “Money is the root of all evil!” aphorisms ignore the fact that being poor is a bad thing, and no one likes it, and all the nice things it’s still possible to have while poor – like family and love and purpose and health and whatnot – are even better with a good income.

So, yes, I think Hiroshi dislikes being poor.

I’m not sure what you mean about getting the impression of him being low-class.  To me, “low-class” is more a state of mind and behavior not tied to actual income class. Plenty of poor people know how to behave or can be taught, and lots of people who start out on the top of the world and get the best education all their lives still somehow wind up behaving like neanderthals.If you mean things like HIroshi having a taste for hotdogs over caviar, I consider those kinds of characteristics to be pretty superfluous.

If you mean that his accomplishments don’t fit with his education, I think it’s safe to say that he’s both a genius and got himself either a formal or informal education. Perhaps he used that loan to take some classes, or maybe he just hung around places where professionals were building things and picked up enough to design a car in his head. I expect he also employed some engineers with degrees, and made sure that Asami got the best education money can buy, and he himself probably picked things up as required to fulfill his vision. Him being a visionary seems to be what made him such a success, and that’s the type of thing that a disadvantaged background can aid; if you have a close-up view of difficulties in people’s lives, you’re well-poised to come up with ideas to solve those difficulties.

I think there was an attempt on the part of the storytellers to portray Hiroshi as not being a snob because of his past, but that was with Mako, and unfortunately that got eaten by his Equalist alignment. Still, no one acted like it was out of character for Hiroshi to give help or opportunity to the disadvantaged. Although I do think poor people who become rich are certainly able to develop into snobs, I think the idea is that Hiroshi isn’t entirely lying when he says he remembers his big break and wants to pay it forward. One could even say that his Equalist involvement, which at least paid lip-service to empowering the disenfranchised, is partially motivated by his desire to help lift up people like him.

So I don’t think the Satos need to be rewritten much to fit into my vision of Republic City; I had Hiroshi’s backstory in mind for it. I do think some more could be made of his savvy; he was portrayed in LoK as being of use to the Equalists mainly as an arms-supplier, but I think more could have been done with him being a Man Of The City, able to advise Amon and make connections on all levels of society. In fact, I could see Hiroshi being at the root of the Equalist movement’s rhetoric. It’s revealed at the end of Book Air that Amon is mainly about self-loathing and a death wish, so perhaps all that stuff about equality and opportunity for nonBenders came from Hiroshi. Hiroshi is the one who wants to transform society, and Amon went with it as a cynical way to lash out and drag people into misery with him.

Something I would change, though, is making the root of Hiroshi’s evil the death of his wife via A Firebender. It’s minimally plausible, but there’s no way to keep it from sounding stupid. At the same time, baking a nonBender resentment into his whole life would make his double-life a little more implausible; racists are usually bad at hiding it.

I think my ideal origin for his hatred should be the organized crime in Republic City, especially the Bender-based gangs. Hiroshi rose up through the ranks of the city the ‘right’ way, and I can see him as being resentful of the criminals who rig the system against honest people. The thing that makes those gangs so powerful is their muscle and money, and their Bending makes both of those things a lot more attainable. It’s a bit less random than A Firebender, because any single criminal can punch above his weight by acquiring a deadly weapon, whether it’s Firebending or a good knife, but a whole underground society of such people who were all born with built-in weaponry is a worrying trend, and I think that would be more likely to inspire the kind of systemic hatred that Hiroshi showed.

So, I think Hiroshi’s origin should be changed so that, when he refused to bow to some demand of the Bender gangs, his family became their target. Perhaps Lightning Bolt Zolt tried to lean on Hiroshi to allow his workers to form a (super corrupt, fully infiltrated by mob stooges) union, adding a little ambiguity to Hiroshi’s supposed commitment to helping the disadvantaged. So Zolt or whoever ordered Hiroshi’s wife killed. Nothing could be proven, but Hiroshi knows what happened. He arranged, by donating to the police and politicians, for the guy who did it (a low-level Firebender gang member) to go to jail for something, but he couldn’t get the bosses. Hiroshi only has money, while the bosses have both money and a ruthless tendency for violence. And that’s eating at him. Society is too corrupt to deal with those fiends. They claim to help the poor, but really they oppress anyone who doesn’t pay and serve them. And it’s all brought about by the power they’re born with, power they wouldn’t have if they had to deal with the same circumstances as Hiroshi. Their Bending gives them an advantage, and they use it to build a city-wide system designed to hurt good people.

Then Hiroshi meets Amon, they inspire each other, and the Equalists are born.

The nice thing about this is that it also lays the seeds for Hiroshi’s redemption. Because if Korra and Mako and Asami take down crime boss who had Hiroshi’s wife killed, while he himself is in jail for his part in Amon’s grand attempt at suicide-by-cop, then what does that say about his prejudices? Hiroshi is smart, and he’s an engineer, so he can’t completely dismiss evidence like that. Perhaps it eats away at him for a few years, combined with his guilt at how he fought against Asami, and then he realizes how wrong he went. (Perhaps the story should be changed so that he didn’t consciously try to kill Asami? That always seemed a bit much to pair with his easy off-screen conversion.) He realizes he went about things all wrong, and the people he tried to kill did what he originally wanted better than he could. Power isn’t what corrupts; it’s hate. And so he relinquishes his hate, devotes himself to love, and winds up sacrificing himself to save Asami out of love.

Except I wouldn’t have it happen against a giant robot. That thing looked stupid, as deliciously ironic as it was for Hiroshi to lose his life against a bigger version of stuff he made for Amon. Perhaps he dies going up against Amon II, some dude who took up Amon’s name and cause.

[uglypastels]

True Reflections // Tom Holland

request: how about something with Tom, where his girlfriend is insecure about her body and he comforts her and just tells her how beautiful she is (idk if you do smut, but add some in if you want)

(a/n) It’s late, I’m tired and emotional. I have no idea if this is actually any good. also, as I said, it’s really late so I can’t be bothered with editing (will probably regret this later whoops) 

word count: 2098

warning: angst, light swearing, self-consciousness, mention/indication of smut, indication of self-harm, depression. but it's not all that bad, there is a lot of fluff. I promise. 

One more kiss. That’s all he needed. Just one more to seal the deal. Her soft lips pressed against his as his hand supported her neck lovingly. Her hot fingertips grazed his chest and to his dismay, she pulled away. He tried to lean into her but she giggled: “Hmm, babe, I really have to get up now.” 

“Fine, but get back here quickly, I’m not done with you yet.” He smirked as he watched her scoot out of the blankets that were wrapped around their naked bodies. She put on her underwear and walked to the bathroom. While she was gone Tom let out a deep breath with a smile. His hand behind his head, chest still glistening in sweat, head spinning. 

All his senses were overthrown. He could only smell her sweet scent mixed with his. He couldn’t feel anything except for her lingering touch. When he closed his eyes, he only saw the image of her beautiful eyes looking up at him. His ears were ringing with the little moans and curses she let out while his lips were burning with the desire to taste her again. The boy was going crazy and he was fine with it. Being in love did that to you after all. 

Some time passed and she still hadn’t come back. The space in the memory foam next to him regaining its normal shape as the covers started to get cold. Tom hadn’t bothered to check the time but he knew it was longer than she usually took. Something was wrong. 

“Babe,” he called out, “I miss you.” It was a reoccurring joke in their relationship but when he didn’t receive any response he really started to worry. “Babe?” Still nothing. Tom sat up and picked up his boxers from the ground. He threw them on and jumped over the bed to the open door. 

The cold wooden floor sent shivers down his whole body but it was nothing like the anxiety he was feeling as he jogged through the small hallway to the bathroom. He knocked on the white door softly. “Love, you okay in there?” No response. He tried spinning the knob and to his surprise, it was unlocked. 

Carefully, preparing himself for anything that might be facing him on the other side, he opened the door. The hinges creaked as usual. What he saw broke his heart. There she stood the most beautiful girl in the world, looking at her reflection. One of her arms crossed over her chest, as the other rubbed her neck. She was slowly turning from left to straight ahead to right and back. Any time she turned too far she would strain her neck to see the rest of her body in the mirror. 

Her face was showing disgust. Hatred towards what she saw. Shame at her own body. She didn’t turn around when the door opened behind her. Her eyes didn’t even glance up in the mirror to look at her handsome boyfriend walk in and stand next to her. So handsome. Too handsome for her. 

“Why do you love me?” It wasn’t supposed to come out. She meant it as a silent thought. Not to be heard by anyone except for her own demons. To be left in the dark corners of her mind forever. But he heard it… and it wasn’t a pleasant thing to hear.

“Is that a serious question? You know why I love you.” He made sure to remind her every minute of every day. It was the first thing he told her when they woke up. He told her at breakfast, at lunch, and at dinner. He told her no matter if he was sitting right next to her or on the other side of the world. It wasn’t always with words. Sometimes it was as simple as letting her pick out his outfit when they went out because she had much better taste than him. Or buy her those cookies she liked so much because they reminded her of Christmas even though it was July. Or let her screw up the lyrics of his favorite songs because he loved to hear her sing.

“I’m serious Tom.” she sighed, finally turning around. He noticed how she was holding in her stomach. Looking back up to her eyes, she said with the most serious tone he could form: “So am I. But fine, let me remind you.” He walked up to her, placing his hand right above her hip and the other on her cheek. Her eyes were glistening in the yellow light of the bathroom. He could feel how her skin had turned cold from standing naked in the bathroom for so long.

“I love you because you are funny, smart, kind, loving and so much more. A day with you feels like an eternity because I can’t help but cherish every single moment. Every little thing that you do in your own special way. I love it how you always stay up all night on Halloween just to play a Christmas song the moment the clock strikes midnight. I love it how you scrunch your nose when I say something you don’t agree with,” he chuckled when she did what he just explained, “Just like that.” he gave her a small kiss on the tip of her nose.

“I love it how unique you are. Every inch of your body is covered with nothing but love and care for others and you are beautiful… absolutely divine.” She had been beaming but when he spoke his last sentence the smile faded and she scoffed.

“You don’t have to lie to me.” She pulled away from his grip and looked into the mirror just to leave him standing there, mouth agape and eyes wide open.

“Excuse me? Have I ever lied to you?”

“I’m not beautiful Tom.” her words came out strangled. “I’m hideous.”

“Darling, please don’t say that.” He wanted to reach out for her hand, to turn her around from that cursed looking glass. She just stepped away.

“But it’s true. I’m- ugh!” she groaned in anger and frustration. “My hips and stomach make me want to vomit. I have saggy boobs and rolls…” tears were forming in her eyes, “my legs are short and stumpy and so are my fingers. I have acne and stretch marks all over the place,” her eyes fell on her hips and thighs. “Not to mention the scars.” She moved around so the light would hit all the marks she was talking about. Suddenly, her lower body was covered in thin pale lines, some accentuating her body shape with the purple-red tinge in them, some even thinner and parallel to each other, Tom had memorized all of them. Sure to kiss every spot of hatred away from her when they were in bed.

“My nose and forehead are huge, while my eyes are tiny. My smile is horrendous and don’t even get me started on my eyebrows.” Her hand went up to smoothen the hairs in her left eyebrow, the one with a little scar going through it. Tom knew she despised it but to him, it was one of her finer details. Just like anything else on her body.  

“Darling-” he couldn’t listen to it anymore. She was killing herself with her own words and he was dying alongside her.

“And my hair, god, my hair. Always a mess, I don’t know how you can live with me… how you can even look at me. I don’t deserve you. Everyone else knows it. All of those people are right. I am just a waste of space and I should just let you go. I shouldn’t keep you away from something better. You can do so much better than-”

“That’s enough!” Tom didn’t mean to yell. He just wanted to pull her out of the trance that she put herself in. He should have seen it coming. It happened every time. Her mind would subconsciously wander off to the darkest place and she would start to say all of those horrible things. Just staring in front of her. Eyes blank and unfocused. She turned her head in shock when he shouted out. Tom lowered his voice.

“Love, you are breaking my heart. I can’t listen to it anymore. For the love of god, please stop.”

“But it’s true Tom, all of it. I’m hideous! I am a disgusting, piece of shit, that doesn’t deserve you or anything you have ever given me.” The tears were now streaming down her face. She looked broken. The last few pieces only hanging off of their corners to each other. Ready to fall apart.

Tom took a step forward and she took a step back. Even though the floor was clean and smooth, every time she back away from him it felt like stepping of lego and shards of glass. Only when her back hit the tiled wall could he finally close the space between them. But before he did take that final place, the last pieces fell apart. The little cries turned into sobs as she put a hand over her mouth and slid down to the floor. Her forehead leaning on her raised knees. Tom immediately slid down the wall next to her. She fell to her side, her cheek on his bare chest. Tom could feel the tears trickle down his skin as he stroke her hair. That all he did. He didn’t say anything. He just let her cry.

They stared there for a while. Her sobs softened but her breathing stayed uneven. Tom was looking up at the ceiling, recounting the panels over and over again, holding back his own tears.  He only looked back down when the grip on his arm loosened, when her breathing finally found its rhythm again and faucets in her eyes ran out. He pulled her close and leaned in to kiss her forehead.

“Darling,” he whispered, “You are the most beautiful girl the world has had a pleasure to have created. Everything you see in that mirror is exactly the reason why I love you. I love every inch of your skin and yes, that includes every blemish, spot, scar or mark you got. I love each and every hair on top of that pretty head of yours as tangled or messy it might be sometimes.

“You are the love of my life and you make me the luckiest guy in the universe just letting me be with you. Not to mention to see you, to touch you, to love you...It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. We got each other and that’s what’s important. I can’t thank you enough for that.”

“Tommy,” her voice was still shaky. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling. Now let’s get you to bed. You’re freezing.” She nodded against his chest and like that he helped her get up, not letting go of her for a second. His arms snaked their way around their favorite place in the world, her hips. Like that, they were walking back to their bedroom. Before they stepped through the doorway though, she turned around in his arms and kissed him. It was a long, passionate and sloppy kiss. Tom’s grip on her hips tightened and he heard her whimper just the tiniest bit.

They simultaneously pressed deeper into the kiss. Her small hand now on his jaw, her thump right under his bottom lip. He smirked into the kiss and at that moment her lips started to make their journey sideway. Beginning at the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw to his neck. Tom rolled his eyes in pleasure when he realized what she was doing. When he felt her suck on that sweet spot of his, adding on to the purple mark she had left him as a present just two hours ago.

It was all the motivation he needed to grip her tightly and pull her up bu her legs up to his hips. Her legs wrapped themselves around him as her arms did the same around his neck. Their lips connecting again. As he lead her back to their room, Tom hoped she would never let go of him. That she would let him stay in her life. To let him love and cherish her. To show her how truly wonderful and beautiful she was. Let her be there for her. Help her piece herself back together. Let his kisses be the glue that she needed to be a whole again.

The End 

> check out my masterlist (link in bio) 

> please leave comments, feedback anything. I love reading it 

tagging (sorry): 

@andwhatdostarsdobest   @tomhollanders2013 @thelazypangolin @spiderrrling @merryspidermas @tom-holland-and-textposts @lovelyspidey @hazsterfield @nerdraging4point0 @hey-its-grey @winterwondholland @tominachristmasjumper @rachramblesstuff @theprincesofasgard @fratboievans @musiclover1263 @peter-parker-life @moonkissedtom @christmas-marvel  

[mattzerella-sticks]

Lollipop (a Dean/Cas Halloween fic, inspired by nerd!Dean in 14x04 “Mint Condition”) (ao3)

Dean Winchester isn't the most popular boy in his school. In fact, you couldn't get lower on the totem pole than him. But he's come to accept it, even if it means dealing with people like Gordon every time he tiptoes out of the status quo. Making first impressions is hard given that he's known most of his classmates since the beginning. But besides Charlie, he doesn't have anyone in his corner.

Except for Castiel, the school's quarterback who transferred to their school last year. But he'd never go for someone like Dean...

           Halloween was Dean’s favorite day of the year, no matter what Sammy thought. Dressing up in fun costumes, watching scary movies – not to mention all the candy! It might have been a few years since he stopped trick-or-treating, but the magic of the holiday still captures him. And even though Dean is in school, he still managed to add a little flair to his outfit. Right now he pulls at his already-loose tie, trying (and failing) to show the rainbow-colored S-symbol on his shirt that’s peeking out from behind his unbuttoned button-down. Luckily he’s not too absorbed in his wardrobe, able to spot the blur of red before it pounces on his back.

           “Happy Halloween!” Charlie shrieks, arms tugging tight on his neck. He chokes out a “Charlie” while he pries her off of him. She doesn’t budge at first, but lets go after a few more seconds of his choking. Dean whirls to face her, red as a bloody corpse.

           “Were you trying to kill me?”

           “Pfft what? Why?” she giggles, “If you died I’d have no friends!”

           He pouts, but accepts her answer. “So, if murder wasn’t your main goal, then why the strangling?”

           “It’s Halloween!” Charlie shouts, oblivious to the stares of the other children, “I thought you might like a good scare to get the day started.”

           Dean rolls his eyes. “I already got that when Sammy forgot to lock the bathroom door.” It was the one time he regretted remembering his glasses on the way to the shower. Seeing Sam reminded him of that one scene from Sleepaway Camp, and Dean wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. “Anyway, where’s your costume?”

           “I’m wearing it,” she says, pulling the pointy-eared mask down and tugging her red-and-black cape out to match her wingspan. “I’m committing more than you, Clark.”

           “Shut up,” he mumbles, pushing her lightly, “Ma said I couldn’t wear my Batman costume to school. Said something ‘bout it bein’ too distracting.” She didn’t say that. When Dean told her his plans for his last Halloween as a high schooler, Mary sighed and forbade him from wearing it. Dean argued with her, but she laid the law in their house. “I just don’t want people to say anything about you,” she told him after Dean stormed into his room, pillow held tight against his chest. “Your costume is so nice, but it’d be too… much for a classroom. And you wouldn’t want something bad said about it after you put so much money into it, now would you?”

      ��    She had a point, but he still wanted to dress up as something. His day-costume earned him a sigh and a long hug when she saw it, but that’s all Mary said on the matter.

           “Mary,” Charlie groans, falling against the row of lockers next to Dean’s, “Why must you break up the Bat-Duo?!?”

           Dean smiles at her. “Hey, ease up alright? I’m still DC – and I even managed to add a touch of gay.” He pulls at his shirt in a classic Superman pose, cocking his hip the extra inch to Charlie’s delight. Dean lets her laugh wash over him, happy to bring joy to his friend.

           It’s short-lived.

           He’s shoved into the lockers, knocking his head against the metal. His glasses fly off his face from the force, and he bites down the pain.

           “Well, looks like I found Superfag’s kryptonite – locker!” The grating laughter clued him in on who caused stars to dance around his vision.

           “Gordon,” Dean hisses, squinting at the blurry shapes in front of him, “What do you want?”

           “Just stopping by to say how much we love your costume,” Alistair tells him, the voice coming from his left, “Really captures the whole lonely, gay nerd vibe you send out.”

           “Although if you’re gonna be trick-or-treating, you’ll need something better,” Brady jeers, “No one’ll let you touch their Twizzlers looking like that?”

           Charlie huffs from next to him. “Why don’t you jerks leave us alone, all right?”

           Gordon mocks her with a pity laugh. “No one asked you Bat bitch, so why don’t you step off, huh?”

           “Leave her out of it,” Dean says, drawing the focus back to him, “Just because you can’t deal with your massive crush on me doesn’t mean you get to take it out on her.” He knows he hit a nerve by how the air shifts, the energy tensing and pricking his skin. Gordon grabs his collar and slams his head back against the locker once more, then leans in close.

           “What’d you say to me, Winchester?”

           Dean doesn’t back down. “You heard me. Get any closer and you’ll regret it.”

           “Oh, right – because I’m so scared of the gay kid with the dead dad.” Dean flinches – because of Gordon’s words and the fist that smashes next to his head. Charlie gasps, and he notices more than sees how silent the hallway has become. A fuzzy wall surrounds them, an indecipherable sea of colors and features – as if the blow to the head sent him into a Picasso painting.

           “Now,” Gordon continues, his hushed voice cutting across the silence, “You wanna apologize while you still can?”

           Dean knows he’s not walking away from this without a bruise, and only hopes it’s not bad enough that Mary has to call off work, again, to pick him up. That being said, he chooses to not make it easy for himself. “I’m sorry,” he wheezes, smirking, “Sorry I won’t let you suck my dick.”

           “That’s it,” Gordon rears back another fist, “I hope you like jawbreakers.”

           He braces for impact – only it never comes. Dean opens an eye, letting the air whoosh out of him when he sees Gordon’s fist inches from his face. Something stopped him before his punch could land, and even with his poor eyesight he can tell his savior has dark hair and broad shoulders.

           It’s when he hears a familiar rumble that he realizes who saved him.

           “Walker,” Castiel says with his cool, ‘I-gargle-rocks-for-breakfast’ voice, “what do you think you’re doing?”

           “Back off Novak,” Gordan snaps at the other kid, “Just teaching this nerd here his place.”

           “You seem to be doing a shitty job, then,” Castiel tells him, “Because his place is as far from you and your neanderthal friends as possible.” The chorus of ‘oohs’ and ‘burns’ is nice.

           ‘But where were they before Cas stepped in?’

           Gordon doesn’t let go. “What’s it to you if we rough up Winchester here?”

           Castiel takes a step back. “Go ahead, then. Do it. But you wouldn’t like the consequences.”

           “You think you scare me?” Gordon chuckles. He puts up a brave front, but even Dean can hear the warble in his response. “What’s a tight ass like you gonna do?”

           “It’s funny,” Castiel says, “how easy it is people write off the things they see on Halloween. They might see a bunch of bruises and blood and think it’s a costume. Would you like to test this phenomena?”

           Gordon doesn’t waste any time dropping Dean. He steps back into his cluster; enough that his features start to soften into indecipherableness. But he can sense the hatred in his words. “You’re lucky Winchester,” he spits, “But not that lucky.” He and his friends break through the crowd, dispersing them and forcing them on their way.

           “Dean,” Charlie comes to his side, rubbing his back, “Are you okay?”

           He musters up a false smile. “Yeah… nothing I’m not used to.”

           “Excuse me, these are yours… right?”

           Dean turns to see Castiel standing a little too close. He’s holding his forgotten glasses in his tan blobs. Getting tired of looking through wax paper, Dean takes his glasses back with a small ‘thanks’. Although not seeing Castiel in crisp definition might have made the following conversation easier.

           The blur takes clear form now. Castiel’s once soft jaw hardens, and Dean can make out the small cracks on his dry lips. Notice how the blue in his eyes seems to match the color of his varsity jacket. And his hair, as always, looks as neat and tidy as the storylines on Dr. Sexy. Dean swallows around his heart, and hopes he isn’t blushing too bad. The other boy has been an object of his desires for some time, now, ever since Charlie convinced him to attend one of their school’s football games last year. He didn’t get a good look at him on the field, but after the game was another story.

           Dean was waiting for Charlie, shivering in his dad’s old leather jacket. “Damn Charlie and her tiny bladder,” he muttered, rubbing his hands together, “Why she couldn’t hold it ‘til we got to the pizzeria…”

           “You look cold.”

           He rolled his eyes, and had a smart retort on his tongue. It died there when he got a good look at who said it. “Huh? Oh… yeah. I’m just… waiting for my friend.”

           “Have you been waiting long?” Castiel asked, bundled in a puffy jacket and fuzz-ball hat. Dean realized he had only played football when he did a full-body scan and noticed the grass on his knees.

           “I’m not sure,” Dean said, “But… shouldn’t you be with your team?”

           “Pardon?”

           “I just always thought,” Dean babbled, teeth chattering, “After games a team always stayed together or… something.”

           Castiel cracked a smile at that. “Then I must not have gotten the memo,” he said, “But maybe that’s because I’m still getting used to how things are done here at Carver Edlund?”

           “Oh, you’re new?”

           “Transferred in this year,” he nodded, holding a hand out, “Castiel Novak.”

           “Dean Winchester.” Dean shook his hand, and felt the other boy leave something in it. “Oh, look buddy – I’m the wrong guy to give drugs, too.”

           “What?” Castiel gaped, eyes wide, “No, no – you misunderstood – it’s a Hot Hands.” Dean opens his hand to look at the orange packet Castiel dropped into it. “My mom always seems to give me more than I’ll need and… you looked like you could use it.”

           “Oh, um… thanks.”

           “It was nice meeting you, Dean,” Castiel said, stepping away, “I’ll see you around.”

           “…Yeah.”

           They’ve shared a few more conversations after that, but tend to stick to their social circles. Not from lack of trying. Dean thought about going up to Castiel one day in the cafeteria, but he had took to long and was scared off after Bart called him on ‘staring’.

           “I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Castiel says, shocking him back to the present, “Gordon shouldn’t be allowed to walk the halls without a muzzle.”

           “It’s fine, Cas, really,” Dean tells him, “Gordon’s like a big teddy bear… with teeth and claws and anger management issues.” Neither Castiel nor Charlie laughed at his joke. “I could have handled it?”

           “Before or after he broke your nose, Dean?” Charlie scoffs. Dean casts a wry glance in her direction.

           Dean curls in on himself, pocketing his hands, “Nothing I wouldn’t have dealt with before…”

           He feels Castiel’s fingers tilting his chin up, putting the other boy in his line of sight. “Even so,” he whispers, “Doesn’t mean you should be okay with how they treat you.” Dean’s throat goes dry at that; unable to come up with anything that won’t make the situation even more embarrassing.

           The silence drags on, and soon enough Castiel takes a step back. He scratches at his neck, and now has trouble meeting Dean’s eyes. “By the way,” he continues, mumbling his words, “I – uh… really like your shirt.”

           “What?”

           “Superman?” Castiel points out, “Not my favorite hero but… he’s really cool, too.”

           “Oh.”

           He’s saved by any more awkwardness by the first bell’s ring. Castiel puts even more distance between them. “I should,” he nods his head to the left, “I should get to class. Stay safe, Dean!” Castiel darts away before he could say goodbye.

           Dean barely moves, even when Charlie takes Castiel’s spot. “Well if that didn’t flash me back to Love, Simon…”

           He blinks at her. “What?”

           “Oh don’t ‘what’ me you disaster gay,” Charlie chuckles, “He’s got a thing for you.”

           Dean blushes at the notion. “That – that’s crazy,” he stammers, “How could you – he’s not – it can’t be –“

           “Dean, why do you think he doesn’t?”

           “Because!” He glances around and leans close to her, whispering. “Because… he wouldn’t be interested in me.”

           Charlie sighs, and then tosses her arm over his shoulders. “We gotta get your confidence up one day, otherwise we’ll never conquer the seven kingdoms of Moondoor, my dear Handmaiden.”

           “Charlie…”

           “Let’s just get to class.”

           He lets Castiel and his haunting, blue eyes drift towards the back of his mind.

           “No! But we…we killed you!!!”

           Dean laughs as the girl screams her head off and rushes down the hallway from Hatchet Man – albeit not far in those heels. He sticks his hand into candy bowl and pulls out a bite-size piece of chocolate, unwrapping it and popping it in his mouth. Dean smiles around his as Hatchet Man’s victim trips over nothing in her haste. “God,” he chuckles, “They don’t make ‘em like this anymore.”

           Just as she starts to make her way towards the elevator, the doorbell rings outside. Dean sighs and looks towards the door in annoyance.

           He knows he’ll have to answer it. There’s no one else but him at home. Sam had been invited out with a few friends, and Mary was dropping him off before going to a costume party at the Mills’.

           “Are you sure you don’t have to go anywhere?” Mary asked him before she left, pulling her coat tight around her cowgirl outfit, “No special plans with friends?”

           “Charlie said she had to finish a project for her Coding class, so she’s too busy to hang.”

           “And there’s… no one else?”

           “Ma, it’s okay – I mean, someone has to hand out the candy, right?”

           “We can leave the bucket out with a sign if you’d rather be doing something else?” Mary tries one last time, “Maybe if Sam asks his friends…”

           Dean winces. “I don’t wanna crimp my baby bro’s style. Besides, if I show up they might kick him out because he’s the less awesome Winchester.”

           Sam walks into the room at that comment, and levels Dean with a flat look. “Yeah, because I’m the one in the replica superhero suit.” Dean crosses his arms, or as best he could in his Batman costume.

           After the rough day at school, which only felt worse since everybody stared at him and whispered behind his back more than usual, he traded in his button-down for the Kevlar and spandex. It’s a special costume – hand-made for him by a person down in Texas. The cost wasn’t thatmuch – in fact, he managed to pay Mary back after a full summer down at Singer’s Auto Repair Shop. It was worth it, since stepping into Batman’s boots made him feel cooler, more badass, and most importantly – safe.

           Although there’s probably nothing cool about a teenager in a Batman costume lounging on a sofa.

           The doorbell rings again.

           “Alright, alright, I’m coming!” he grouses, pulling himself up. He tosses his glasses off and tugs the cowl over his face before opening the door.

           On the other side of the door is a little boy dressed as Luke Skywalker, gaping up at him, with his bag’s straps loose in his little fingers. Dean fights back a grin, not wanting to ruin the act. The other reason Dean had wanted to stay home was because the suit always got him compliments. Little kids figured he was the real deal, and their guardians always flashed him a smile or nodded as he played along with the children. He’s even recognized a few kids from school give him compliments.

           Dean’s not sure they knew it was him under the mask, however. If they did, they might not have said anything nice.

           “Hello, Luke,” Dean starts in a low growl, “Are you here because you sensed something in the Force?”

           The question snaps the boy back into focus, and he remembers what he came here for. He giggles, and holds out his bag. “No Batman,” he says, smiling with three-fourths a smile, “It’s Halloween!”

           “Halloween? Ah yes… that makes sense,” Dean smirks, looking away, “And you want me to go out and stop criminals! It’s about time I start patrol…”

           “Noooo…”

           Dean bends down as much as he can, to meet the kid on his level. “Then what should I do?”

           “Give candy!” the kid pushes his bag out once more, “Trick-or-treat!”

           “Candy? But candy is for good little boys and girls who uphold the law,” Dean offers the boy a stern look, “Do you promise to do just that?”

           “Yes Batman!”

           “Then here is your candy.” Dean grabs a generous amount and drops it into the boy’s almost full bag before standing to his full height. He watches the boy search his bag with a bright smile. The boy shares it with him.

           “Thank you, Mr. Batman!”

           “It’s no problem,” Dean says, “Just a hero doing his duty.” He’s about to return to his movie when a deep chuckle draws him out longer than he intended. Dean sets his sight on the bright, red blur standing a few feet away from Luke. He squints, making out a yellow lightning bolt on his chest. The symbol clues him in that the guy’s supposed to be the Flash, but it’s his next words let him in on who’s behind the mask.

           “You seem to be very good at your job… Batman.”

           ‘Holy shit,’ Dean thinks, mouth falling open slightly, ‘Is that… Cas?’

           “What can I say,” Dean grimaces, “Batman’s good with kids.”

           “As he should be,” Castiel chuckles, “To have raised four…”

           “Yeah, um…” he clears his throat, “is Luke here your brother?” The younger boy is oblivious to the conversation, chomping his way through a full-size candy bar.

           “What? Oh, no,” Castiel looks over at the boy, “Jack’s my nephew. My brother Luke is laid up with a cold so he couldn’t take him trick-or-treating so… here I am.”

           “Ah.”

           “You know, you’re the first person to guess brother?” Castiel continues, “People kept asking me if he was my son…”

           “Yeah, well… you don’t look old enough to have a kid,” Dean chuckles, “but you do sound like you would.”

           “That might be true,” Castiel says, “My brother says I have the voice of a chain smoker.”

           “Luke?”

           “No, Gabriel.” He pauses. “What about you?”

           “What about me?”

           “No other plans besides manning the door.”

           Dean bristles at that. “It’s not glamorous, but somebody has to do it. I’m sure there’s probably tons of parties you could be at right now, too.”

           He doesn’t see the look on Castiel’s face, but Dean notices the red get closer. “I… I didn’t mean to offend,” Castiel says, “It’s a good thing you were here… the past few houses were just bowls of candies and signs. You, answering the door… it’s brings a human element back to Halloween.” The words send a chill up Dean’s spine no horror movie could ever accomplish.

           “Yeah, well…” Dean fumbles, holding the bowl up high, “thanks. Want some candy?”

           Castiel reaches forward and rustles through the candy before pulling out a lollipop as red as his costume. He takes his time unwrapping it, slowly pushing it past his lips. Dean’s suit, made to fit him perfectly, feels uncomfortable.

           “Cherry,” he says, “My favorite. Thank you, Dean.”

           It takes a few seconds for Castiel’s words to register. He almost drops the bowl. “Cas you – you recognized me?”

           “Of course,” Castiel grins, “There’s not that many boys our age who would invest a lot of money in a suit like ours.”

           “Like ours?”

           “Oh – you aren’t wearing contacts?” Castiel asks, “I figured with the suit…”

           “I mean, I don’t wear the mask indoors,” Dean explains, “And I don’t usually get into conversations with the people I’m handing candy, too.”

           “That’s fair…” Dean squirms, unsure what the next step in the conversation is. He’s not good at this, and doesn’t want to say something that would be like walking into quicksand. Castiel takes the decision from him.

           “You know, I like this costume better than your earlier one.”

           “You do?”

           Castiel hums. “Indeed. Batman is one of my favorites.”

           Dean cocks his head to the side. “Then why’re you dressed as the Flash?”

           “I said he was one of my favorites, not my favorite.”

           “Oh,” Dean says, rubbing at his neck, “Yeah… Flash is pretty cool, too.”

           “Yes…” Castiel pulls his lollipop out and takes a step closer. “Hey, Dean, have you ever heard of Batflash?”

           “I… I don’t think I have?”

           “It’s the romantic coupling between Batman,” he gestures to Dean with his lollipop, “and Flash,” he points back to himself. “Some people like to think that the relationship is strictly platonic but… well, I would say otherwise.”

           “You would…” Castiel’s intention strikes Dean in the back of the head as if it were a baseball bat. “Oh.”

           The other boy leans fully into his space, enough that he can see Castiel’s pink-tinged smirk. Castiel pushes the lollipop into Dean's mouth, and moves towards his ear. “I’ll be bringing Jack back home soon, and after that I don’t have anything else planned.”

           “No… no parties?”

           “None that’d make me want to be anywhere but here.” Dean softly moans around the candy. “So, if you’d like… I could come by and teach you the finer points of the ship?”

           He nods.

           “Very well,” he says, stepping back, “Keep that safe for me. Jack?” The smaller boy looks up with chocolate-stained cheeks, and offers another goodbye to Dean.

           Dean watches them fade into the fog of the night as he tries to process what happened.

           The house is dark and quiet, the television screen long since muted. Now teens from generations ago silently scream as they face down their doom. Mary opens the door slowly, stepping into the darkness, boots in hand. “Dean? Dean, I’m sorry I’m late but Donna wouldn’t let me leave without showing off her pictures from her trip to Aruba last spring.” She turns on the light. “Dean – oh!”

           Mary can barely contain her grin at the sight on her couch. Dean, still in his Batman costume, has fallen asleep, nestled in the arms of another boy. She thinks he’s dressed as the Flash, but she’s never been as good at the superhero names like John was. The other boy has his nose pressed firmly into the crown of Dean’s hair, and there are candy wrappers scattered between them.

           “Oh thank you all that is great and merciful,” she sighs, tearing up at the sight of her boy’s contented smile.

           The warm feeling fades, replaced with a more mischievous thought. She takes out her phone and snaps a quick picture. “Sam’s going to be so pissed he missed this.”

           Mary forwards it to her youngest son before heading off to bed.

           ‘A great Halloween indeed.’

[travelagentforguilttrips]

It’s only me, it doesn’t matter

Whumptober: Prompt 7

I’ve got you | support, carrying

——

Thinking back over the years, Peter can’t figure out how he’d gotten to this point. He thought he had been smart about it for the most part. But now, hunched over the cabinet calling for May with a roaring in his ears and black vision he realizes he may have been a little stupid.

—-

Over the years he’d done it off and on. He started when he was about ten and it had seemed smart, it made him feel better about himself. It started as a punishment for what he’d deemed as his own less than desirable behavior. When he’s upset about something he’s done, he takes the razor and makes a couple cuts. It always seemed to be fine so he just kept on doing it.

He wanted to improve himself. He was too weak and flawed. He lasted a couple years too before he broke down one day and told May all about it. Sometimes he regrets it a lot but he just couldn’t take it anymore, all the thoughts and the feelings and the guilt of all the bad things he’s done.

He was being a disappointment to May by doing this, he was being a bad person by doing that. So he had stopped, for a little while at least.

He only did it a couple times after that, when he got really upset. He wouldn’t have access to a razor and just grabbed broken glass or a kitchen knife and cut into his leg, watching the blood run all down his leg. He didn’t mean to do it so hard but he’d been so angry with himself that he hadn’t even felt any pain in the process. But seeing the cut well up and bleed had felt good.

Then about four years later, the stress and thoughts may have gotten to him a bit. Being Spider-Man, then not being Spider-Man and the warehouse falling and his thoughts-

Well, it got to him a little bit. He broke down crying one day so angry with himself and his stupid anxieties(as he’s been told they’re called) that he just couldn’t stop, scratching at his arms hoping to break the skin. Only making himself more upset while he fails and trying to stay quiet in the public bathroom. It had been a pretty low point, but he figured out how to deal with that.

He could start again, it used to make him feel better so it should now. Right? And he has wanted to do it, he just didn’t because of May and May won’t know. Thinking about how badly he had wanted to make himself bleed back in that bathroom he decides to plan ahead. At least that’s kinda what he thinks he’s doing. It was a good idea.

So now when Peter gets upset he goes and grabs his razor. Even when he’s not necessarily upset and has a spare moment he gets the razor, just in case. That way if he’s not home when he’s angry, he can just reopen the old wounds.

And this is making new scars, and Peters not sure why but he loves giving himself new scars. The old ones that never faded and the new ones that were serious enough to stay and turn into a pale white. And Peter loves when after he’s done there’s all the open wounds on his skin-

But that’s not what got him here, calling for May’s help.

It was that everything was going okay. He’d never had any issues with it. And then the hatred of his weight started.

Peters not sure when it started to bother him. He never really noticed until it had gotten really bad, bothering him to the point of wanting to not eat just so that fat on his stomach would go away. And people always tell him oh what do you mean your so skinny or why would you want to lose weight you don’t even need to lose any like that makes him feel any better about his weight. Or makes it easier to look in the mirror and see all the fat all over his body.

Of course he would never not eat, too many people would notice. And he needs to be able to perform his duties as Spider-Man and not eating would hinder that. But he’s thought about it a lot, considered it.

Until one day he has enough, he completely changes his diet. He cuts out any extra food and most sugary foods. If he’s hungry at all he eats fruit or eggs or chicken, not eating as much spaghetti and sandwiches and other foods like that. He sometimes eats a burger or a muffin every once in a while but that’s it. Sometimes May will bring home Thai or donuts and he’ll eat some, then hate himself because he knows he’ll gain some weight because he ate all that fat.

And it works for a little while.

The scale starts to drop and he feels a little happier about himself. And then the scale stops dropping except for maybe half a pound or it rises.

Peter had looked into all sorts of diets and fasting techniques, so when he sees that a 48 hour fast helped someone lose some weight he decided to try.

He thinks that that’s where he didn’t think things through enough. He didn’t do enough research. He didn’t count it as starving himself because it was a fast, it was different. May ends up thinking differently later on.

Peter goes about his routine for the first day; eating nothing, drinking water, going to school and being Spider-Man. It goes great and he doesn’t even feel too bad, so he decides to go for the second day.

That day at school turns out to be hell, patrol goes horribly and he just gets so angry with himself for being so stupid. He picks up the razor and makes a couple cuts but things are different this time.

He starts to feel a little light headed, which confuses him because it had never happened before.

Then his vision starts to darken-

He starts to hear a roaring in his ears-

And Peter realizes if he doesn’t get someone to help him he will pass out on the bathroom floor with a razor and open cuts. He needs to get to May, he can’t let her just find him like this.

Peter stands, dropping the razor to the floor. He’s swaying and using the wall for support as he walks slowly to the door. When his vision goes completely black and he can only hear the roaring he starts to panic. I’m not going to make it there!

. . .

Then May’s there and he’s leaning against the table and now he can hear a little and- someone is calling for May? oh wait that’s him. May will help him, he needs help.

“Peter! Peter, what’s wrong!” May grabs into his arm and he looks towards her, vision clearing enough to make her out.

Peter can feel his throat burn and tears filling his eyes as he whispers, “I messed up.”

May’s looking at him and she grabs his arm and starts to help him back to the bathroom, Peter leaning heavily against her. “Ok let’s go back in the bathroom, easy, I’ve got you.”

Peter sits down on the toilet, pulling his shorts down revealing the cuts on his thighs and why did I do that I could have hidden it-

“Honey, I need you to tell me what happened,” May asks quietly kneeling down and rubbing her hand down his arm.

Peter blurts out everything, the weight loss and starting again. Luckily May doesn’t say anything, just nods and leaves for a moment and returns with a box of pop tarts in hand.

“You need to eat some,” May says while pulling one out and handing it to Peter.

Peter takes it with a shaking hand and slowly breaks off a piece and puts it into his mouth. He still feels a little light headed but it clears up enough for him to fully realize what he’s done once he’s halfway through the pop tart.

His eyes and throat burn, making it difficult to swallow the pastry pieces. When a tear starts to drop down he hastily raised his slightly shaking hand to wipe it away.

“You don’t need to tell me anything if you really don’t want to, but you have to talk to somebody,” May stops and clears her throat. “This can’t happen again, you could seriously hurt yourself doing something like this.”

May looks down blinking rapidly, “You know you can talk to me about anything. I’m here for you, I will never judge you but, maybe we need to think about going to see Sierra again.” May suggests quietly looking back up at him.

Peter shakes his head tears starting to fall faster than he can wipe them away. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you,” Peter puts his hands in his lap trying to cover his thighs why did you do that you idiot, she never would have known about the stupid cuts- “It’s a lot and it doesn’t make sense unless I tell you everything and you’ll think I’m disgusting-“ Peter cuts himself off scrubbing his face with his hands roughly.

“No, I could never be disgusted by you, Peter. And no matter how long of an explanation it is I’ll listen, I’m not judging you I’m just worried. I just want you to be happy and you know I’ll always be here to help you no matter what.” May looks sincere and Peter nods.

And he finally gets it all off his chest, he feels a little better afterwards. May holding him tightly to her chest while he talks, running her hands through his hair or rubbing his back. Then May takes his razor and leaves Peter to get into the shower to clean up.

After he gets out of the shower he goes and sits on the couch next to May, leaning his head on her shoulder while she wraps her arm around him. They watch movies the rest of the night and Peter feels more relaxed then he has in awhile.

He won’t try the fasting again, he did learn something from this whole mess. But in the future he can’t say the same for the cuts. May doesn’t have to know and then it won’t matter.

As long as he’s only doing it to himself it doesn’t matter, it’s not like he’s hurting anybody. He’ll take care of them, that way there’s no chance of infection or any way for anyone to find out.

And the cuts weren’t what he wanted to go away, he wants the new ones and the scars they create. But you never know what the future holds, he may grow to hate them as Sierra told him he could.

Guess he’ll see when he gets there. After all, if May doesn’t know what harm does a couple of cuts really do?