#debating whether this is a punch and go or a brawl

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

What's a scene you're really looking forward to in one of your wips?

When I let Beard punch Jamie’s Dad.

[vannahfanfics]

Reckless

Word Count: 2500

Fluff, Romance, Hurt and Comfort

Summary: Natsu's started a fight in the guild hall again, and Lucy must yet again try and calm him down. But things go awry this time, and she ends up burned. Now Natsu can't bring himself to be around her. He blames himself for her injury and has convinced himself that he's too dangerous to ever be around her again. What will Lucy do?

Hello, everyone! Here is my story for the Fairy Tail Reverse Bang hosted by @ftguildevents! I had fun participating again this year. Please do be sure to go check out the art done by my partner @xfangheartx​!

Lucy honestly shouldn’t be surprised to hear clamoring bangs, resounding crashes, and vulgar swears bleeding through the grand wooden doors of the guildhall first thing in the morning. Yet here she was, her mouth twisting as it struggled to form an expression that would capture the level of annoyance she was feeling. It was eight in the morning, for crying out loud! What on Earth could they have to fight about? Lucy almost debated on turning around and going home, but she decided against it. Rent would be due soon, and she needed at least one more job to be in the clear. 

With a heavy sigh, she pushed open the doors, trying her best to mentally and physically prepare herself for the chaos. 

A flagon of milk slammed into the door beside her head, causing her to jump nearly a foot in the air with a loud screech. She was too busy trying to keep her heart from pounding out of her chest to notice that the milk had splattered over her upper arm. After that, her attention was captured by the pure and utter carnage ripping apart the guildhall. 

All the tables had been upended and their contents spilled onto the floor, forming a mush of breakfast foods, fruit juices, and wood splinters. Food and plates and cups were flying left and right—some smashed against the wall, while others smashed into people, whether it be those perpetuating this early-morning brawl or those trying their best to hide behind the overturned furniture. Master Makarov was sitting on the bar sipping at some orange juice, his weary not changing the slightest when he shifted left or right to dodge an errant bagel or muffin lobbed his way. 

Lucy just slumped in the doorway and groaned, “What could have possibly started all this?” 

“Natsu said waffles were better than pancakes, and Gray got offended,” Levy quipped from where she was ducked behind an overturned table. No doubt Gajeel was deep in the scrap; he probably had no opinion on breakfast foods, he just liked to throw hands as much as the rest of them. 

“Of course those two are at the heart of this,” Lucy sighed while running a hand over her face. Well, there was nothing for it. She would have to do what she always did—go into the thick of the fight to drag Natsu out by his ear kicking and screaming before he burned the guild hall to the ground. There were soot marks all over, and poor Juvia was doing her best to put out a fire burning on the remains of a fern that simply refused to die. Lucy rolled up her metaphorical sleeves, then stomped into the fray. 

“Natsu? Natsu, where are you?” she shouted above the cacophonic din. “Natsu, you’d better—whoa!” she cried and swiftly ducked a plate that sailed over her head, the fried egg on it flipping in mid-air before landing back on the plate as it sped away. “Ugh, I don’t get paid enough for this. NATSU!” 

“Hey, Lucy!” he cried as he appeared in front of her, his fists flaming and his grin broad. He punched away a muffin as it came sailing at its head, setting it on fire to instantly burn it into a rock-hard lump of what used to be muffin. “I got a question for ya. Which is better—pancakes or waffles?” 

“Don’t drag her into this, moron!” Gray shouted as he vaulted over a table and fell upon Natsu in a fury. Lucy just watched, her soul draining out the soles of her feet, as the two of them scrapped like a couple of toddlers—punches and kicks everywhere. “Besides, Lucy definitely thinks pancakes are better!” 

“What was all that about not dragging her into this, huh?” Natsu growled back. “And no she doesn’t! She likes waffles!” 

Lucy’s eye twitched in annoyance. She liked them equally as much, but she doubted she could tell the hot-headed boys that. Instead, when Gray and Natsu sprang apart to stick out their tongues at one another, Lucy stomped up to Natsu. 

“Natsu, that’s enough! How many times have I told you not to start fights in the—Aiiieeeeeee!” 

She reached out for his shoulder right as Natsu blasted a column of fire at Gray. The flickering flames enveloped her hand, instantly searing her skin. Though she reflexively wrenched her hand back as soon as it hit her skin, just the milliseconds of contact was enough; her skin was bright pink and blistering, clear fluid leaking all over as they burst. Lucy fell to her knees, throwing back her head in an agonized sob. Everything froze around her, everyone halted in the middle of beating one another up with their owlish gazes fixed on Lucy. Not that she realized. 

It hurt, it hurt so bad, she had never felt anything like this. She tenderly held her wrist just underneath the border of burned skin, but that didn’t stop the tendrils of pain from zipping up and down her arm. It felt like snakes of fire were searing through her nerves, burning her from the inside out. She just howled and sobbed, thick tears pouring down her cheeks like the blister fluid sticking to her hand, because she couldn’t think about anything but the pain. 

“Oh, no! Oh, Lucy, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Natsu cried. He fluttered around her, hands flapping around her body like he wanted to help but was too terrified to touch her. “Shit, shit, shit—what do I do, what do I do?” 

“Get the hell back, moron!” Gray snarled and yanked Natsu back by his scarf. “Haven’t you done enough?” 

As Mirajane and the Master rushed to her side, Lucy opened her watery eyes. Everything was a blur around her, but somehow, she could see Natsu clearly. She had never seen such an agonized look on his face; he looked like his soul had been crushed, all the life drained from his eyes as he regarded Lucy’s burned hand like it was Death itself. 

And then he hung his head, two thin rivers of tears rolling down his cheeks. Lucy lost track of him as the guild members crowded around her, all clamoring to get her medical help. And Lucy reached out to the place where he had been with a quiet whimper of his name… 

~~~

“Hey, Lucy! It’s time to change your bandages.”

Lucy looked up from her book at the sound of Mirajane’s voice. She used her good hand to close the book and set it on the barrel that was serving as her nightstand, while Mirajane pulled up a stool to sit at her bedside. It had been several hours; lunch would be starting soon. Lucy could smell some simmering stew wafting in from the kitchen, which was not far from the back room of the guild in which she was currently resting. 

Mirajane gently took Lucy’s hand and inspected the bandages. It was saturated with burn cream, antibiotics, and fluid from Lucy’s blisters, making them a sticky, tan-colored mess. Mirajane began to unwind them, and though she was doing her utmost to be gentle, Lucy still winced and whined as little jolts of pain assaulted her nerves. Clumps of sloughed skin clung to bandages, and as it peeled away from her flesh, it felt like she was being seared all over again. 

“Sorry,” Mirajane smiled apologetically at her. 

“It’s okay,” Lucy breathed through clenched teeth. “It’s not your fault.” 

“Tch, you’re right. It’s Natsu’s,” she grumbled. Lucy quirked an eyebrow, shocked to see Mirajane slip so easily into her dark persona. She immediately switched back, closing her eyes and smiling awkwardly. “Ah, I shouldn’t say that… He didn’t mean to, and he’s been tearing himself up over it all day.” 

“He has?” The conversation was distracting. Lucy hadn’t even noticed that Mirajane was slathering burn cream all over her hand. Lucy relaxed into the pillows with a quiet sigh; it sure felt good, so cold and soothing. 

“Sure has. I’ve never seen him mope like this. Though maybe it’s good for him. Maybe this’ll finally teach him to be more careful with his flames,” she tutted with a click of her tongue. 

Maybe that’s what everyone else thought, but the idea of the normally boisterous, happy-go-lucky Natsu trudging around in a hyper-depressed state made Lucy’s belly twist. It was just an accident. She didn’t want Natsu to blame himself… 

“Mirajane? Will you send Natsu to come see me?” Lucy asked petulantly. She just couldn’t stand the idea of Natsu being sad. If she could do something, say something… 

Mirajane looked at her questioningly for a moment. Her expression was blank, at first, but it slowly softened into a smile. She took Lucy’s hand and gave it a firm pat, then held it tenderly for a moment. 

“Sure, I’ll send him in. Don’t be too hard on him, okay? He’s already heard it from me and Erza.” 

“I’m not going to be hard on him at all,” Lucy reassured with a wan smile. 

As Mirajane rose, Lucy cast her gaze down to her lap. No, she wasn’t going to be hard on Natsu at all. Even though Erza’s and Mirajane’s lectures were both legendary, there was no one in this entire guildhall that could be harder on Natsu than himself right now. And she could tell that by the way he was hovering just outside the door right now, thinking she couldn’t see him. But she could. She could see him trying to hide in the shadows, but nothing could hide the tension in his body, the faint gleam of his green eyes brimming with regret. 

Lucy’s heart shattered when he finally crept into a room—hesitant, like an animal expecting to be scolded and tensing to take off at the slightest provocation. His expression was absolutely crestfallen. She’d never seen him so crushed. The sadness was so pervasive in his expression that he didn’t even look like the same person. It brought tears to her eyes, and Natsu, who was keenly studying every inch of her, instantly shrunk away. 

“You’re hurting.” His voice was hoarse, like a ghost of the happy-go-lucky cry of joy she was so used to. “I… I hurt you, Lucy.” 

“Natsu,” she sighed and reached out her hand to him—her uninjured hand. If she offered the one swatched in bandages, he’d probably collapse right there. 

Natsu reluctantly crept forward. When he slowly, ever-so-slowly slipped his fingers into hers, they were violently trembling. Lucy crooned soothingly and gave his fingers a squeeze; it enticed him to sit on the edge of the bed. However, though his body relaxed just barely, his expression remained broken. Slowly, his gaze fell to her injured hand resting atop her thigh. 

“I… I burned you.” He fixated on her hand like he couldn’t look away, but his expression also grew more pained the longer he looked at it. “It’s because of my recklessness that you got hurt.” He tore his gaze away from her hand, and his mouth twisted into a self-deprecating scowl. “Lucy… I’m too dangerous to be around you.”

“Natsu, stop, please.” She was so desperate to banish that agonized look off his face that she cupped his cheek with her injured hand. He recoiled from the scratchy bandages with a groan, but she didn’t let him flee; she pressed her hand to his cheek again, and this time, he allowed her to gently turn his face back to her. “Please,” she repeated in a voice just as pained as his own. “You hurt me so much more blaming yourself than you ever could with your flames.” 

“Really?” He looked so pitiful, as if he were afraid to even hope. 

“Yes,” Lucy nodded. “It was an accident. Nothing more.” 

“B-but—” 

“No ‘buts,’” she asserted, poking her lips out in a firm pout. “I could have just as easily been hurt by anyone else in the guild. These things happen sometimes.” Her pout curled into a smile, one of amusement and fondness. “That’s what being in Fairy Tail is all about, right? Chaos and mayhem and craziness. Sure, someone may end up with a bump or a bruise or a burn every now and again, but I wouldn’t trade that for the world.” 

Her smile broadened, and when she leaned forward to touch her forehead to Natsu’s, he drew in a quiet breath. 

“More than that, I wouldn’t change my partner for the world.” 

He looked down at his lap. He fiddled nervously with the cloth of her blanket, then slowly reached up to peel her hand away from his cheek. He looked down at it while idly tracing circles over the bandages with both his thumbs. 

“Even if I burn you, huh?” he sniffed, and Lucy melted a little in relief when she detected a little chuckle in his tone. 

“Hey, you gotta be at least a little bit reckless to be a part of Fairy Tail, right?” she joked. “Guess my reckless bit is being with the most reckless knucklehead there is.” She nudged him with her forehead, prompting his uncertain gaze to flick up to her eyes. “But you know what? So what if he’s reckless? He cares so much that he’d worry himself sick over me. That’s still the best partner in the world, in my book.” 

Natsu blinked, and then a bashful smile bloomed on his face. He eagerly pressed his forehead into hers, then came a little closer to bump the tips of their noses together. It was such a tender and touching moment, one of so many that she had the privilege to share with Natsu. Still, she couldn’t deny that he was owed at least a little repayment for her injury. 

“Ow!” he yelped when she pinched the meat of his arm, hard. He jerked back, his green eyes wide, and Lucy stuck out her tongue playfully at him. 

“There. Now we’re even.” 

It took him a minute to register what had just happened. Then, he snorted in laughter and shook his head.

“Man. You sure are something else.” His shoulders sagged as he heaved a sigh—like he were finally letting out all that tension he was holding on to. He practically fell onto Lucy, dragging her back down into the bed. He snuggled up next to her, hooking one leg over hers, and buried his face into her tresses of blonde hair. He’d always said he loved what she smelled like—like strawberry-lemon, whatever that meant. 

“I wouldn’t trade you for the world either, Lucy,” he mumbled softly against her scalp. Lucy hummed, idly tracing abstract patterns into his arm as he hugged her around her middle. “So I’m gonna take better care of you from now on, ‘kay?” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” she said, then yawned. With Natsu’s body draped around her, cushioning her in soft, mellow heat, it was so easy to be lulled into drowsiness. Natsu was already softly snoring in her ear. She allowed herself to drift off, falling headlong into the comfortable twilight of sleep. After all… even the reckless had to sleep sometimes.

[kojinnie]

With The Exception of You

I dislike everyone in the room.

Pairing/Character: Reiner x Reader (she/her), Porco Galliard

Tags: SFW, fluff, college!au, Reiner Braun is a jock who is tired of his own friends, secret relationship

WC: 3.2K

Summary: Reiner had agreed to be in a discreet relationship with you, but after six months and with the arrival of Porco Galliard around you, he couldn’t help but to mark his territory.

Reiner couldn’t seem to fathom the butterflies wreaking havoc in his stomach. It came out of nowhere, as it often happened to be. Once in a while, he could feel his guts twisting as his chest filled with overflown emotions at odd times. Reiner hated it when it happened, because as much as he wanted to convince himself that he wasn’t self-aware of his image, those feelings could potentially strip himself off of his cool guy status.

Reiner had come to realize that such strange feeling often occurred caused by the sight of you.

It could be anything. Things so mundane, so simple. Like the way you twisted the pen in your fingers, the way you squinted your eyes at the blackboard during a lecture, and how you hastily scribbled things on your leather-bound notebook.

Or maybe it’s the way you sighed deliberately loud when someone uttered a dumb, sexist remark in class with no trace of shame, after they tried to debate your sound, well-researched opinion, and how you’d resolved it with a sarcasm that could disintegrate a man’s ego. Reiner sat on the corner of the classroom, disguising his chuckle by clearing his throat, finally coming to experience what they had called butterflies-in-your-stomach all along. 

At that point he had found himself painfully and helplessly in love with you.

He was well-aware of how different the two of you were. Reiner was the athlete, admitted to the uni through football scholarship, and you were the hard-working academician that mostly kept to yourself – hard to approach, hard to tame. Reiner hated how stereotypical he was – tall, buff, blonde, jock, with cheerleader exes and a DM full of thirst trap from his assembly of admirers. Reiner once wished he was anything but a cookie-cutter of everything you had been appalled of.

Reiner could feel every ounce of confidence he had ever had shriveled around your presence. It’s the way the two of you almost collided to each other at the campus hallway, and the way you threw an acknowledging, formal smile at him before striding away that made his heart ached. He wished you’d run to him and shriek his name with affection, but Reiner realized you were not one of his cheerleader exes, and not that he wanted you to be one. You were an anomaly he had yet to understand. A misplaced figure sticking out of his history of penchant for conformity.

“I really like you.” one day he finally said. Never had he been weak on the knees for a confession to any girl before, but this one occurrence? He did.

He didn’t know how he mustered the courage, but after hours, days and weeks he had spent trying to know you – learning your favorite song, accompanying you for book hunting, baking your favorite muffins, texting you good morning and good night – he finally got you alone, in the campus library, only five minutes before closing time.

You laughed at first, because the confession sounded ridiculous to you. The last thing you needed was a horde of girls sending you anonymous hate comments on Insta because you took the campus’ most eligible hunk off of the market. But he didn’t laugh along, and that was when realization hit you.

“So, is that why you’ve been following me around?”

Reiner furrowed his thin, almost non-existent brow, “What do you think?”

“I thought you were just bored with your jock friends,” you scoffed, “because you know, I’d be bored out of my ears too if all I ever heard all day is insecure men constantly praising themselves.” you glanced at Reiner, trying to discover even the slightest amusement on his hardened face to no avail.

“Reiner, are you serious?”

He sighed, couldn’t believe his ears. The first time ever Reiner caught you being stupid beyond recognition, “For the millionth times, yes.”

“You’ve only said it once, though.”

“For fuck’s sake,” the jock grunted, but there was a slight smile arose from his face, “I like you, really much. Times eight hundred ninety-eight thousand.”

“And?”

“So would you be my girlfriend?”

And you said yes, after three minutes of hesitation, you said yes. With a laughter. Because the absurdity of you being with someone like Reiner was lurid. Yet still, you were in no capacity to lie when his good morning text had been the most unsubstantiated text you looked forward to every day.

You wondered why? It’s just text. But maybe, you tried to convince yourself, it’s because of the effort he put, of trying to wake earlier before you every morning although he was hardly a morning person. Or it’s the way he listened to your kind of music although he was practically tone deaf, and returned to you the next week with his analysis on why your favorite band’s first album was their masterpiece and that sadly they never outdid it with any of their following albums.

And maybe, it’s the sight of the topless Reiner in the football field, after a home match. The way he was quick to run to the side of the field with his Captain instinct, lurching himself towards the start of a brawl between the two teams’ players, heated by animosity over the match result. Reiner was strong enough to break at least ten muscular jocks apart from throwing punches at each other, and with his deep, stern, authoritative voice, he commanded them to “Stop it. Fuck off.” You remembered immediately leaving the bleachers and found the nearest toilet because you needed to breathe and that you felt things simmering in your nether area. You never felt like that before to any of your exes.

Reiner knew the mutual pining between the two of you was evident, and so he was left puzzled when you said, “But please don’t tell anyone yet.” He asked why, but you only shrugged your shoulder with an answer that gave very little explanation, “I just don’t feel like having people talk about us.”

Reiner trusted you, because at first, he thought it was for modesty, you were not a fan of the limelight, evidently. Or it’s for practical reason, you don’t want to be burdened by society’s expectation on how two adults in relationship should be. Reiner could make 1,000 excuses for you that would justify your terms and conditions, so he went with what you wanted, because he was so hopelessly into you.

Nonetheless, still he enjoyed holding your hand in the dark alley of the campus – away from all the prying eyes, or the girls that’d giggle walking past the beautiful giant. Still he liked to have you sleeping naked in his embrace, making lazy circles with his calloused digits on your small back, at the emptiness of his dorm room when his roommate was home early for Christmas. Still he enjoyed teasing you at unassuming place, at the quiet library, studying together in silence for the upcoming exams, he’d be sitting next to you, leaning to his chair and slithered his right hand underneath your sweatshirt, to playfully and quickly unclasped your bra, only for you to smack his stomach in annoyance. He liked you, and he liked how you scurried to the restroom to fix your bra. He liked to be with you, no matter in silence or in noise.

However, after six months, questions started to throb incessantly inside Reiner’s mind. Even after all the time you had spent together, why must still he go alone to the football team soiree? Why would you let his team mate thought that Reiner was single, and promised him chances with girls, left and right? Why were you unfazed to see the girls sliding into his DMs? And when you put on that tight, backless black dress on New Year’s Eve, why would you put it for your friends’ party, and not for his eyes only? Why would you color your lips with the blood red Chanel lipstick Reiner gave you, and smile at other people that’s not him?

Reiner could not make sense of you. He pondered, he wondered and he became jealous. He’d look at you intently and see whether there was any trace of other man on you that he had not recognized? He’d become quiet and his friends thought he had gotten sensitive over nothing. The captain had become agitated, irritable and his head was hardly in the game – all with seemingly no reason.

Reiner began to think that he knew the reason why. He thought it’s the boy you’d met at the Academic Writing class, with stupid name and equally stupid undercut. Porco Galliard, you said his name was. In an instance his name had become a staple in your conversation. When Reiner asked you out for a dinner, it’d be like, “Ah sorry babe, I got this assignment with Porco.” A trip to the zoo? “You know, Porco have this funny experience with apes.” A night out in his dorm? By the point Reiner had a half-boner forming already seeing you in your lounge shorts, you’d be giggling and stayed busy with your phone. Reiner asked, “What’s so funny, babe?”

“What’s so funny, babe?” he asked again, because you didn’t seem to hear the first time he asked you. Distracted, you showed a stupid meme on your phone, “Porco sent me this.”

Porco here, Porco there. Reiner was sick of hearing that dumb name.

He had tried to look up for his background, and he hated to find that all that ever came up about him were amicable. His friends knew him, said he was chill, said he was smart as fuck, said he had a cool family, said he turned down a track and field scholarship for law school. Porco Galliard is a cool dude, they all said.

At certain point Reiner had grown to be furious, and the more your text messages became sparse or the more you spent your Saturday nights without him, the more he set his mind to do something about the two of you. He had become so sick of hiding and he wanted the whole world to know that you were his. Especially that guy with a name that sounded like her mother hated giving birth to him.

So came that day. You hadn’t been replying to his texts since morning, and only did so after chains of messages he left.

[you | 11.35] oh my god reiner!!! I’M SO SORRY, i left my phone uncharged all morning. i’m heading to cafeteria rn, it’s muffin tuesday 😵👅

[reiner | 06.37] good morning baby

[reiner | 07.49] you awake now?

[reiner | 08.15] sleepyhead 😪💤 see you today pretty

[reiner | 10.23] i got practice today until late. see you tonight? my room?

[reiner | 10.55] are you in class rn?

[reiner | 11.36] wanna go together?

[you | 11.45] haha noo a lot of people there

[reiner | 11.45] who r u going with?

[you | 11.55] with pockooo haha we got class together after lunch

Pocko. Is that an endearing term you came up with for the jizzhead? Reiner thought, pissed off beyond compare. He paced restlessly in his room, trying to figure out what did Porco have that he didn’t have? Thinking of how his undercut made his head looked way bigger for his neck, just like sperm; and it made Reiner mad angry. “Fuck you, Jizzhead”, he hissed, kicking the pile of dirty laundry on his dorm room.

The cafeteria was bustling busy when you arrived with Porco. The two of you immediately joined the line for lunch and the muffin. The man was busy babbling about yet another stupid thing that he had done back in high school, but your mind was darted on the muffins that were sold off fast. You looked around and almost everyone you disliked were present – mostly Reiner’s jock friends and their girlfriends. The prospect of one day going public with Reiner and having to spare days in your life to socialize with these loud people made you squirm. Not that you were completely against it, you were just… enormously reluctant to do so. Also, what would they say about you? You barely existed for them, evident by how they just greeted Porco with huge affection, yet pretended like you were invisible despite the fact that you were talking and standing close to him.

Your mind was elsewhere, between eyeing the muffin and managing your detest towards the it crowd, you weren’t even listening to the small talk that Porco was having with some of the jocks, until the mention of your name spilled out of Porco’s mouth, “Hey, have you guys known ___ before?”

You blinked with surprise, and they looked at you unenthusiastically, “Ummm, no?” one of them said.

Porco stared at them in disbelief, as if not knowing you was a big sin, “Get to know then! She’s cool, she’s really into—” but even before Porco could finish his words, they averted their attention elsewhere, pulling out their phone like it was the most important thing in the world, and talked amongst themselves. How fitting, because the first thing they talked about as an excuse for ignoring you was to talk about Reiner, “The captain’s been grumpy. Haha. That man. What’s up with him?” You cringed, because you knew there was no weight in talking about Reiner that must be done at that time, that moment. They just wanted a reason not to be roped into talking to you, obviously because you didn’t think you were cool enough or some other shit excuse only them and their bobbleheads understand. So, conveniently throwing out Reiner’s name was an effective way to basically say ‘haha look at us talking about the coolest guy in the campus so you know we’re in this cool clique unlike you’. You read them too well. You couldn’t even be amused anymore.

Porco looked embarrassed, he smiled at you awkwardly and stayed silent, until one of the girls threw their attention back to the man dirty blond undercut, “Anyway, Porco, do you know Reiner?”

“Ah, I haven’t had the chance to.”

The girl frowned rather dramatically, “Oh my god, we all should totally hang out together with Reiner, right? He’s like—super cool.” her question was obviously in exclusion of you. You rolled your eyes and turned away to see new text from Reiner appearing.

[reiner | 12.15] im going there

[you | 12.16] convenient. right in time. your cool friends are all here and you can sit with them and be cool with them or whatever I guess haha

You immediately pulled your phone to your chest; you could feel your heart thumping. Is this it? Is this it? The question became menacing in your head, because you were not sure on what Reiner was planning to do. The line to the muffin was still far away, and it would be stupid to run away.

[reiner | 12.17] idgaf about em

[reiner | 12.19] i want u

You could hear the girls were still talking about Reiner. Reiner this, Reiner that. You were nowhere to lie that you could feel your chest heat up with annoyance. The way their squeaking voice praised Reiner’s body, Reiner’s personality, Reiner’s wit. For the first time, you knew you were experiencing jealousy, vibrant and up-close.

“You know what? One time, Reiner thought that the way I did my hair was so cute that he wanted—”

Just in time, one of the boys raised his voice, “Oi Reiner!” and in unison the jocks erupted, welcoming his arrival like they were in some goddamn party.

You could see Reiner walking towards the line you were in, his face was hardened and his walk was swift. You immediately turned away to look at the opposite direction, not wanting to see him.

“Yooo Reiner! Where have you been? We’ve missed you dude,” one of them said. You cringed at how they all tried so hard to sound cool, “have you met Porco, by the way? And his friend—”

“—hey, what’s her name again?” one of the girls chimed in, asking Porco instead of asking you directly, as if you were not there. At that point, Reiner was standing not too far behind you, and you pretended like you were too busy with your phone, hoping the floor would engulf you instead.

“Is she like, deaf or something?” the girl whispered to Porco with a jeer, before getting back to Reiner, “So, Rei, I’ve got this party—”

“—yo Capt, do you know that—”

“—have you heard about the news, dude? Like—”

The way all these people tried to suck up to Reiner was so pathetic and incessant, they all chirped like hungry birds all in a matter of couple of seconds. You hated them and you hated the situation.

“—come on, Capt, that would be awesome—”

“—oh my gosh, Rei—”

“—you must try it, Rei—"

“Shut the fuck up,” Reiner said. Rather abruptly. His voice was cold and deep, like he couldn’t give a damn in this world about any of them. Surprised, they all dropped quiet in an instance. You looked over your back at him. Reiner was staring at you, and at you alone, not even at the Jizzhead he had grown to hate so much, “you all talk too fucking much.”

You snorted, suppressing a laughter to escape from your mouth. Clearly, it was too audible, that the girls were now looking at you with complete disdain.

“Babe,” Reiner said, staring at you, while you were still facing the opposite direction, “babe, what are you doing with this Jizzhead here? I can bake you muffins remember? If you want it so much.”

Your surrounding fell deep in silence. Everyone was either confused or surprised. Murmur started to sweep over the crowd, most audible was: ‘Who is Jizzhead?’

You scoffed, finally turning your back, although still closing your mouth trying to prevent the laughter and the embarrassment to display itself.

“What the hell?” one of the girls asked in dismay, obviously she was one of the girls sliding into Reiner’s DM and sending him bikini photos by the pretense of ‘Rei, you should join us for summer holiday!’ when all she wanted to do was to show her tits.

“Shut up,” Reiner said to her, baffling the girl to complete silence, “and stop sending me your beach photos. They’re ugly.”

An uproar of restraint laughter was heard throughout the cafeteria.

“Babe,” Reiner said again, this time extending his arms toward you, gesturing for you to come closer, “now you know why I need you, right? My friends are fucking whack.”

Few laughter was starting to break. Yet Reiner was unfazed.

“Reiner, what—”

“—yo dude, what the hell?

“—who is she?”

“—are they dating?”

“And listen here, you hag,” Reiner now turned his attention to the girl who called you deaf, “she’s got a name. Her name is ___, and she’s my fucking girlfriend.”

Embarrassed yet amused, you finally let out a small chuckle, “Reiner, please you’re humiliating me.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged off. Reiner now turned his attention to Porco, “and listen here you, Jizzhead. You can be nice to her but keep in your fucking mind, she’s mine.”

Without hesitation, Reiner pulled your hand and yanked you closer to him. You stared at him for a second, eyes broadened and heart thumping, “Reiner, what are you gonna do—”

“—shut up.” he said, cupping your face with his gigantic hands, and pulled your face roughly to him, before landing his dry, chapped lips to yours. He had gone sick of pretending, and doing things in secret. So there Reiner Braun was, hungrily, longingly, sloppily devouring your lips with his mouth, so deep, so thirsty of your taste. He finally showed the world who the true owner of his heart was. You.

[kuroos-moon]

Mistaken Kisses pt. 2 

☾ pairings: atsumu x reader, sakusa x reader, kenma x reader

☾ part one | oikawa, tsukishima, sugawara, kuroo

☾ scenario: they see you kissing someone else (not intentionally though)

☾ warning/s: v tiny bit of angst for atsumu’s

Miya Atsumu 

Growing up as a twin, he’s used to people mistaking him for Osamu and the other way around. Now that they have different hair colors though, those occasions came down to rare if not none. 

You’re innocent, you swear. Briefly calling out his name as you enter their gym, his back to you with his hood on— and you grab him slightly by his arm, shifting him a quarter so that you could stand on your toes and plant your lips on his. 

He smells a bit different, tasted quite different too, but who cares? This was your boyfriend— or so you thought. Pulling away as his hood falls off his head, your eyes widen and your heart skips a beat. Is that gray hair? Is he seriously not blonde? 

Realization hits you the same time you hear him. “Ya treacherous pathetic excuse of a brother!” You blink once and they’re already on the ground after Atsumu lunged at Osamu, fists, kicks and swearing thrown here and there. 

“Stop it!” You hiss, about to grab Atsumu but Aran stops you, afraid you’ll accidentally get hit in the process. 

“Y/n is the only thing I can’t and will not share but ya sneak in a kiss on her when I’m not around!” Another fist lands on Samu’s cheek, and that had to hurt. Atsumu was genuinely enraged. This wasn’t their usual brawl. 

“Ya have eyes, Sumu,” Osamu knees his back before turning to his side, throwing Atsumu to the ground. “Y/n kissed me!”  

“It’s true Tsum, I was the one who kissed him.” That halts their actions in an instant, tension suddenly thick in the air as he remains lain down on the floor, recovering his breaths as he struggles to process what you had just said. 

“It was an accident, I thought he was you,” you say in a small voice, dreading what was going to happen next at the way he scoffs at your words. “Get off me,” he shoves his brother off him, standing up and brushing off his clothes. 

He coldly looks at you and you squirm inside. Profoundly intimidated by his stare, you look away, eyes landing on whoever or whatever else that wasn’t your boyfriend who looked so spiteful and disgusted. “One of me ain’t enough, is that it?” He bitterly says, glaring at you. 

You immediately look back at him, surprised at his words. “I told you it was an accident, Tsumu, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, ya kissed for quite a while, was there no tellin they weren’t my lips?”

“He was wearing your hoodie,” you try to say, but he looks away, disinterested.

“Atsumu,” you sigh as you step closer to him but he turns on his heel, walking away from you.

“Don’t want ya nymore, have fun with my brother,” he clicks his tongue, unable to erase the image from a while ago. It was painful—both what he saw and what he said to you after. He knows it wasn’t your fault, but that didn’t really do much to change how he felt. 

It was his typical defense mechanism, masking his hurt by hurting you back and putting up a show of indifference. His sharp tongue, the hostile words he had said to you were filling him with self-resentment the second he let them go— never does he want to hurt you but he did so anyway; simply because he got hurt first.

“He’ll come around,” Osamu places a hand on your back reassuringly, “though I doubt he’ll make the first move to fix things.” 

Sakusa Kiyoomi

Oh, what a lovely day to be standing outside the restroom, waiting for your boyfriend to finish washing his hands; especially when out of nowhere, you’re yanked and kissed. Oh, for your boyfriend to have such lovely timing of walking out the restroom the moment the stranger’s lips touch yours. 

You push the guy off immediately, eyes meeting Sakusa’s in a panic, fearing he might misinterpret. However, your worries should come to an ease, he saw the whole thing and he trusts you completely anyway. But his eyes aren’t on you, they’re sharp and glaring at the guy who had kissed you. All he sees is dirt. Pure filthy garbage, worthless and far too shameless—having the audacity to taint you. 

Clasping your hand in his, he securely pulls you to his side. “You okay?” He asks, looking at you and you nod. He’s possessive and territorial, that’s a surprise to none. What he had just done equated to a life-ending treason, but he’s never really one for violence. 

“Call the cops.” 

“Wait, no, dude, I’m sorry it was an accident. I thought she was my girlfriend.” He frantically says, bowing repeatedly before the two of you. “I’m really sorry,” he says again, looking at you, making Sakusa glare at him as a warning to not even breathe the same air as you. 

A girl walks up to him, clinging to his arm as she asks him what was going on and now, he has fallen at your mercy; his girlfriend didn’t look anything like you at all—hair and height especially. You’re not even mad, you’re much too preoccupied worrying about what Sakusa might do next. 

“Do you have any colds?” He asks the guy, who like you, was shocked at his sudden question. 

“What?” 

“Are you blind and deaf too?” Oomi narrows his eyes, making him gulp. “Uh, no, I’m perfectly well.”

“Any infectious disease? Tell me even if its minor.” 

“None.” 

“Y/n I thought I told you to call the cops,” Sakusa timidly looks at you and you flinch, a nervous chuckle escaping your throat. “Do we really have to?” 

“His excuse was pathetic, he’s clearly some pervert, a cheating one at that.” 

“Please, I won’t do it ag-

“If not the cops, would you rather I destroy you right now? I’m not one to be forgiving when it comes to my lover.” That wasn’t even directed at you but you feel your body shiver, he was scary and domineering; his narrowed eyes and heartless expression screamed that no one should take his threats lightly. 

Other than the intensity of his words though, you felt your heart melt at the way he called you his lover. You’re practically looking at him with heart eyes, touched by his sentiment, butterflies going wild in your stomach as you admired him. 

It took a lot of your nagging and attempts at pulling him away for the both of you to actually be alone in his car—now on your merry way home. Contrary to the butterflies earlier on, you’re now silent in your seat, stealing glances at him warily. 

If you’re mad, say something, you try to tell him with your eyes but they remain set on the road.

“Yoomi?” 

“What?” 

“I’m sorr-

“Save the apologies for when you’ve done something wrong.” He coldly cuts you off and you close your mouth immediately. 

After a few seconds, you try again, “are you mad?” 

He finally looks at you, and though it was subtle, you did notice how he glanced down at your lips a second too long. “I’m not.” 

“You could at least try to be convincing; your face says it all,” you pout, “you’re mad and disgusted.”

“I’m neither of the two.” 

“Prove it.” 

He looks at you incredulously, like ‘tf am I supposed to do??’

Sighing, he slightly nods, “fine.” 

“I’ll kiss you until you drop after you brush your teeth.” 

Kozume Kenma     

Kenma is multiple cats in one easily-exhausted human body. He could be a soft domestic cat, allowing you to love the hell out of him while you cuddle—or he could also be one with sharp claws if he’s aggravated, not really one with specialized attacks but still terrifying. 

Right now though, he’s debating whether he should be a dejected cat who’s ready to leave its owner (which is you) or a level-headed laid-back one. The latter was easier said than done, how could he remain calm when you’re being kissed by someone else? It’s a heavy pang on his chest and an excessive blow on his insecurities—but oh, wait, you pushed him off. 

“What the hell?!” You shout at the guy. It all clicks, of course you’ll never do that to him. Okay, he starts seeing red and no it’s not his Nekoma jacket. He could almost imagine his legs sprinting disgracefully towards the guy and attacking him in any form. Biting, punching, scratching, he doesn’t care, he’s going to unleash the sharp-clawed cat within him—the same one that quarreled with Yamamoto. 

But before he could, you’ve marched away, and he catches a glimpse of your teary eyes. He follows you shortly, glaring daggers at the guy who was totally creeped out. Kenma could be terrifying. 

He’s mad and frustrated, but that could wait. You are far more important than his anger and he’ll always put you first. He patiently waits outside the girls’ restroom, sending you a quick text to let you know he was waiting to walk you home like he always did. 

As you head out of school, you remain silent beside him. Your irritation was gone but he could easily tell you were worried about him and about how he felt. “Y/n?” He meekly says. You look at him. This time, you note, he wasn’t on his phone which he would normally be using right now. 

“Wanna hang out in my room?” He offers you a rare soft smile, and you smile back at him. 

You both laze off on his bed, his head on your stomach and your fingers running through his hair while he plays with his switch. He looks unbothered, but you’re just struggling to find the right words and time to talk to him about what he saw earlier. 

He may have looked unaware of your silent distress, but he was just waiting for you to be comfortable enough to talk to him about it. He’s ready to assure you it was fine though he was actually really embittered—of course he would be after seeing someone else kiss his beloved kitten. 

“Ken… about earlier in the classroom, aren’t you mad?” You softly glide your fingers across his cheek. 

“I don’t care much for it, y/n,” he sincerely says. “See, you’re lying,” you pinch his cheek causing him to look away from his game. 

“I’m only concerned about you, you must’ve been mad,” he says, tossing his console to the side and turning to face you, his cheek pressed to your stomach. “I’m fine, Ken, I was only worried you’d be mad.” 

“Then rest easy now that you know I’m not,” he smiles before taking your hand to cover his face. You look at him in surprise as he groans, and you didn’t have to take your hand away to know that his face right now was rather expressive. 

“I’m still super ticked about it though,” he huffs and you chuckle at how adorable he was as he alternately kicks his feet up and down his mattress in a mock tantrum.

General Taglist [Open]: @noyasbitchh @dinablossom @haru-the-secret @strayczennies @lalisbitch @tinymidgetsstuff @animebs @astrealia @kittykitkatstrawberry @hajimesbbygrl @kellesvt @24hr7dysdizzy @arnxldss @elianetsantana @vicassa @floraraine @beanst0ck @leinnah @kageyamasgirl @deafeningart @minibobabottle   @franko-pop @moonlightaangel @throughtheinterstices @micasaessakusa @dixonsbugaboo

[thinkingaboutitalittle]

ｔｉｇｈｔｒｏｐｅ

summary: “It’s capital, this tightrope that the two of you walk between harsh discipline and sweet indulgence.” 

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

warnings: mentions of violence, red room, implied age gap-ish, it’s a little angsty?  kinda hurt comfort but there’s plot 

a/n: hi again! I really like the concept of this one! I hope you like it too, feedback is definitely welcome 

word count: 2.2k ish 

When he’d first met you, you were the antithesis to what he’d expected. Prepped with the information that you were a recruit found in one of the last scattered branches of HYDRA’S Red Room and trained to have the strength and endurance of a skilled olympian, when you’d been introduced all wide-eyed and with a bright smile that had a smear of peanut butter at its corner, Bucky was floored. Fresh from Wakanda and losing his best friend, he didn’t think it’d work, the two of you running together. 

And at first he was right, things were rough. Technically, you were and still are his apprentice, obligated to attend general training and conditioning sessions with him as your guide. You’d had an impeccable persistence and the skill set that HYDRA engraved into your physicality was more than enough to get you through, but Bucky had the experience. You were strong and good at taking direction, but HYDRA had trained the instinct and critical thinking out of you, and the process of finding your footing with your newfound freedom was difficult. 

There were arguments over the ungodly hours that he’d chosen scheduled for sparring sessions (“Are you shitting me Barnes? You want me to wake up at five in the morning to get decked in the face?”), about whether or not certain techniques were viable in fighting situations (“Biting into someones arm while they’ve got you in a headlock isn’t reliable option doll, especially if the arm is made out of vibranium”), and when the two of you were extra frustrated, eating habits were also up for debate (“You cannot only eat pop tarts the week before a mission!” “I’ll stop eating pop tarts the day you give Sam a compliment,”).

But eventually, when the two of you’d finally realized that your distaste for each other may have stemmed for a repressed attraction towards one another, you made it work. You Learn to fight without actually aiming to hurt the other person and you manage to communicate with one another with the exclusion of screaming matches and elongated lectures. (You also learn how to sneak into each others rooms without waking up other shield officers on your shared floor in the middle of the night, but that’s something neither of you care to define)

The two of you are sparring together late this afternoon after you’d convinced him of the fact that you’re far better suited to give him your focus after you’d fully awakened and consumed a healthy portion of your daily allotment of junk food.

“I already told you your elbows are too loose, don’t give me that shit again,”

You tighten your stance against the previously acclaimed Winter Soldier, and throw another, albeit cleaner, punch. A grunt of approval from Bucky and your movements continue to present themselves with precise stability.

“Christ, Barnes you’re stricter than my babysitters at camp HYDRA,” He smirks, appreciates the value of making light of a shitty situation, and then retorts, 

“I’m prettier to look at though, huh?”

It’s capital, this tightrope that the two of you walk between harsh discipline and sweet indulgence.

You square your shoulders and dip your head in an attempt to seem more menacing, “Only in the dark, baby. I’m gonna kick your ass,”

Again he responds with a practiced snort, “Good fighters don’t reveal their strategy before they’ve done it, keep that chin up or I’m going to knock it next time you come near me,”

Somehow, amongst all the near misses and successful jabs to the stomach, a small smirk manages its way onto your face. Before you’d started to train with Bucky, fighting was a commitment you had no choice in deciding. You’d go through endless hours of getting beaten down, only to be forced back onto your feet and beaten again; bulldozed into compliance. Training with Bucky is different; dares you to test the boundaries and willingly push yourself to your limit, not because you have to but because you want to.

You solidify your strategy in your head before moving to deliver a swift kick to Bucky’s ankles. He dodges it, as expected, and plants himself on top of you, restraining your legs between his own and digging his enormous forearms into your biceps.

“I already told you, this shit won’t fly on anyone bigger than you, princess, you’re going to have to tap,” and boy, if only you’d had a body camera to record the way that his face slackens when you retaliate with, “C’mon Buck, you’re telling me it doesn’t get you off to be on top of a dame like me?”

It’s a low blow to use your unspecified status outside of the gym to your advantage, but what was it that he’d told you in your first training session? Ah yes, use whatever advantage you have to your benefit.

You were only following directions.

Quickly, you move his practically limp limbs from your body and force yourself onto his front, resting your knees atop his flesh and alloyed forearms (because goodness knows you wouldn’t be able to hold them down with your hands) and the rest of your weight on his torso. And he looks so helplessly confused in this position you can’t help yourself from speaking through a smug smile, “Never took you for a bottom, princess.”

Buckys going to crack your head like a walnut. He jerks upward to catch your head between his fists, but a sudden rush of alarms stops him in his tracks. All of the sudden, the shield compound is doused in red lights and an automated voice is eerily repeating there has been a breach in the compound, agents follow evacuation protocol. However, the warning comes late because only a few seconds after you and Bucky have detangled yourselves from each other, the doors to the training hall are bursting open with what has to be a group of wanna-be HYDRA affiliates demanding information and files about some secret mission that neither of you were a part of.

Regardless, Bucky is on his feet immediately and ushering you to stand behind his immense form, his tone gritting out a stiff, “Y/N. Behind me. Now.”. Though your developing sense of instinct is telling you that this situation is one that Bucky shouldn’t be handling alone, your feet move before your brain can catch up, eager to comply with his demands instead of challenging them.

The infiltrators are small in number but waste no time zeroing in on Bucky as soon as they realize his presence as the Winter Soldier. He pushes you into a locker, spitting out something about staying there until he handles them and direct orders, agent but you can’t help but crack the door open, fearing Bucky’s well being.

Surprising no one, Bucky can mostly handle himself against a group of middle-aged men who are scarcely trained and even more scarcely armed. However, in his struggle with one of the larger men in the group, Bucky fails to notice that one of the other Hydra members has managed to snatch a particularly large knife from his belt loop and is getting ready to dig it into his back in an attempt to save his comrade.

Emerging from the locker, you move to kick the knife out of the enemy’s hand, knocking it somewhere across the gym, and landing yourself in the middle of the brawl. In your haste, the agent swings a punch to your jaw, but you recover quickly. You knock the agent twice and before you can move to disable him further, Bucky finds his way to you and heaves the man a generous amount of yards away. 

Before either of the chance to say anything to each other, the room is rushed by Shield agents searching to apprehend the HYDRA men and to find out any information regarding the infiltration.

-

It’s a couple of hours before you get to see Bucky again.

Between all of the shield officers asking painfully specific questions and their obnoxious insistence that things like this never happen, by the time Barnes finds you sitting in the compound kitchen, legs dangling from the center island and fingers wrapped around a lukewarm cup of tea, you’ve both had enough time to sit with previous events.

You’re ambivalent, a tricky mixture of guilt and pride making a home in the form of a lump in your throat. Part of you knows what you did was the right thing; if you’d have let Bucky get hurt, the other offender would have used the advantage to gang up on him and you’d’ve had to take on the both of them instead of just one. But there’s still a lingering part of you that feels an immense sense of shame for not wholly complying.

Maybe it’s just leftover conditioning from your time with HYDRA, the remaining indents from the ideals they’d ingrained into your mentality, but disobeying direct orders, no matter how irrelevant they may have proven themselves to be, left you with a bitter taste in your mouth and frustrating tears in your eyes. Even after training with Bucky for so long and recognizing the difference between appropriate and inappropriate times to act on your own volition, you still maneuver on a fine line between overwhelming shame and practiced action.

He moves in front of you, between your legs, and when he notices your refusal to look him in the eyes, Buck slips his thumb and forefinger under your chin lifting your misty eyes to his worried gaze. There’s a rush of bile rising in your throat that you know can only be remedied by a salve of words, “Bucky I- I’m so sorry I didn’t l-listen to y-,”

“If you finish that apology, I’m going to give you another shiner, princess,”

He stills you, maneuvering the hand that’s not holding your face to shift the tea out of your hands and then to rest on your bicep. Save for a handful of your sniffles and the soft noises Bucky makes in the back of his throat when his eyes focus on a particularly darkened or swollen segment of skin, the two of you maintain a quietness as he looks you over.

And - no matter how long he’s been fighting with you by his side and no matter how many times he’s scolded himself for feeling self-pity when others, you are in pain - this part never get easier; swallowing his pride and accepting the fact that not everyone can make it out unscathed.

He moves away from you to fish an icepack from the door of the fridge, holding it in his hand for a few seconds before setting it back in its spot and pressing his now cool metal palm to the side of your face. You sigh in relief, starting to come down from your thoughts, leaning into Bucky.

Finally, he speaks, “You didn’t do anything wrong,” you suck in a breath and he knows you’re preparing to refute his claim, so he cuts you off swiftly, “I know you think you fucked it up because that’s what they want you to think, but you acted on your instinct doll, you did good.”

Your breathing slows back down to its normal pace, and his thumb moves to wipe the tears off of your cheeks. It’s almost laughable how easily he gets you calm; how he’s managed to keep you from falling off of the tightrope and now  rests on it with you, an unspoken in equilibrium.  He nudges his nose to yours and smoothes a kiss to your lips, a final attempt at calming whatever stray nerves remain.

When he pulls away, you can’t help but chuckle. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Recovering with a weak smile you respond, “I get knocked twice for your ass and all I get is a little kiss?”

His smirk is cheeky as he presses another to your lips, this time deeper and more intentional, “You’re telling me this isn’t enough to get you off, princess?”

[incarnation-of-victory]

“He doesn’t take himself into account...”

I was contemplating how Deku’s fatal flaw of “not taking himself into account” is going to be resolved, and, assuming that it’s going to be in the form of some kind of talk with his friends/family/peers/mentors, here are some of my ideas on the problem itself and how some characters might approach it (A.K.A. 80% of this is in regards to Bakugou and then there’s a paragraph at the end about how Shouto relates to Deku, because I haven’t thought enough about the other characters yet. There is no cure for “Head empty, just-Bakugou” syndrome):

*Manga spoilers up to ~295*

I've seen debate over whether or not Deku does indeed have a self-worth problem, and while I do agree that it is a factor, I also think it’s a little more complicated than that. The way I see it, Deku is a lot like Bakugou: he hinges his self-worth on whether or not he can save everyone, much like how Bakugou hinges his self-worth on whether or not he can achieve a perfect victory. They both have unstable egos which fluctuate depending on whether or not they can fulfill their ideals.

So I don’t think it’s quite as simple as Deku thinking: “Everyone says I’m worthless so they must be right,” but it's more that he’s constantly trying to challenge that label. He has the confidence/perseverance to think, “Everyone says I’m worthless so I have to constantly prove them wrong—and more importantly, I have to prove it to myself so I don’t actually succumb to the even deeper fear that maybe I actually am worthless after all.” So essentially, Deku’s constantly under the pressure of people’s expectations of him. And this pressure comes from more than just society once Deku is bestowed with OFA. Sound familiar?

Well, it’s a lot like how it was for Bakugou. Deku came into the world graceless and unskilled, even before being diagnosed as Quirkless, so the world formed that perception of him accordingly. Deku was deemed worthless, so he feels the need to surpass that designation out of fear that he will regress to it if he doesn’t meet his goals. Bakugou was a natural-born talent, even before getting his Quirk, so the world had high expectations of him to be good at everything, always strong, and never require help. So for Bakugou, if he fails to meet those standards, his self-esteem drops and he feels similarly weak (though he's now outgrown this to some extent).

More specifically, Deku now has one of the most powerful Quirks in the world, OFA, which comes with very high expectations—not unlike how Bakugou’s Quirk, Explosion, is very powerful and as such comes with a similar expectation that he must be the strongest and better than everyone else. In Deku’s case, however, it’s a little different because OFA is tied to a kind of legacy-driven destiny: it was created for the sole purpose of defeating AFO (the person, and the Quirk, I suppose—the two are so entangled, reasonably). Deku has gotten to the point that he feels the full weight of this expectation, and that he’s desperately afraid he won’t meet it. So in his mind, he has to fulfill the goal of OFA, even at the cost of his own life. Not just so All Might, who chose him, won’t regret his decision, or that others will be disappointed in him, but also because the fate of the world & people’s safety very much hang in the balance. Furthermore, as a OFA user, he feels that it’s his responsibility to deal with AFO and nobody else’s, which is probably part of why he’s reluctant to rely on others’ help.

Deku pledged to Bakugou that he would make OFA his own, and Bakugou often checks up on his progress for that reason, so I think it makes sense that Bakugou would be involved in trying to remind Deku that he is his own person outside of OFA’s own goals. It’s a bit like how AFO quite literally possesses Shigaraki to pursue his own goals: OFA (the person/the Quirk?) does the same by overriding Deku’s dreams and well-being, even if it’s for a noble cause. I think Bakugou very much recognizes how OFA is cursed in this manner too (though at the same time, he’s acknowledged that it’s done a lot of good too and has the potential to do even more).

Additionally, Bakugou also benefits from Deku making OFA his own: so they can finally settle once and for all, who the better the hero is (he also wants it for Deku’s own sake too, of course). A “Deku vs. Kacchan 3” is in order for that reason, but I don’t think it’s going to be in the conventional format of a brawl, because at this point, it’s clear that raw power alone is not enough to become the best hero. So we’ll see how that goes.

Despite all of this, would it still be valuable for people to remind Deku of his own inherent self-worth? Perhaps. I think Deku could benefit from relating to Bakugou most on how failing to meet your own expectations doesn’t automatically make you weak/worthless/a loser. 

Because I feel that there’s a fine line between feeling motivated to get back up again after failing vs. having your self-worth plummet if you fall just below the standards you’ve set for yourself. And Deku and Bakugou toe that line a lot. How would you reconcile this issue, you ask? Well, I wouldn’t personally know, because:

I still feel that Deku & Bakugou’s tendency to fall into that pit of self-negativity is a little unhealthy… but that could just me. I think Bakugou having a similar guilt complex, where he pins a lot of blame on himself for his mistakes (which is sometimes overly harsh/misplaced), is also not the best mentality. I’m still of the opinion that Bakugou’s continued sense of responsibility (read: guilt) over All Might’s end is somewhat misplaced/misguided, even if well-intentioned, but again, we have yet to see the narrative confirm this as a lasting issue or not.

Which brings me to Bakugou’s sequence of thoughts/recollections in 285: Bakugou Katsuki: Rising. Again, I think it’s important to keep in mind that Bakugou has a tendency to be a little harsh on himself, so his own perception of his culpability in influencing Deku may be a tad overblown (this also applies to any narrator when we see the story from their perspective: they’re always going to have their own biases).

I’ve read and re-read Bakugou’s flashback sequence as he begins to rise, and because Bakugou is such a visual thinker and less of a linguistic one, his flashbacks, without proper wording, can be vague. I think there’s multiple ways you can interpret this sequence, and while at first I was confused by it and found it disjointed, I then tried looking at it as a kind of thematic, three-act structure, where the images all sorta build on each other.

When Bakugou thinks of OFA as a “cursed power,” he flashes back to middle school when he mocked Deku’s desire to apply to U.A. in front of the class.

And then when he thinks about OFA in a positive light, as associated with All Might, he focuses on All Might’s face and then flashes back to Deku’s hero notebook that he blew up and tossed in the pond, which is again, another rejection of Deku.

And then he remembers Deku pushing back against him instead in Deku vs. Kacchan 1, when he tells Bakugou he won’t be his “worthless punching bag Deku forever,” pledging that he’ll from now on be “the Deku who always does his best.”

Except the next image we get of Deku in place of the past, positive one, is one of him destroying himself in real time, where he appears ominous, haunting, almost kind of mad or possessed. And Bakugou is not pleased by it.

So one way the pattern here could be read: Bakugou recalls all the times he put Deku down, only for him to get back up again, which parallels how Deku reacted against society’s "worthless" perception of him. This also kind of works in conjunction with another pattern: 1) Deku (while in possession of OFA) is conflated with AFO/OFA, 2) Deku (while in possession of OFA) is conflated with All Might, 3) Bakugou’s conclusion: Deku isn’t quite either of those and is instead, his own person. OFA is his own and exists to serve Deku’s goal of being “the Deku who always does his best.” The only problem is that the Deku here hasn’t quite realized that yet.

Either way, it seems like Bakugou feels he at least partly contributed to this marginalization of Deku. Maybe a part of him thinks, "If only I'd been supportive of him from the beginning… then maybe he wouldn't be like this now… that he wouldn't be in this position…" 

While, as compared to where he was at during DvK1, Bakugou does now accept the new meaning of “does his best” Deku, at the moment, this Deku isn't currently matching up to that version. The distinction here is that this current image of Deku isn’t a positive one, it’s negative.

It’s a picture of Deku destroying himself for a dream which isn’t his, perhaps out of a sense of obligation. Because as Deku puts it, he feels blessed for all he currently has: for being at U.A., having All Might as his mentor, and being able to have a normal-ish conversation with Bakugou.

But he still has this imposter syndrome way of thinking that he got this all through luck, that he’s undermining his own virtues and skills. Possibly because he does have low self-worth. I think of it like this: Deku is probably aware on some level that OFA comes with risks, that it has a lot of baggage and is probably kind of cursed, but Deku’s so grateful for the chance to become a hero, and desperately so, that he’s willing to accept even the worst of consequences to himself.

Here’s a good comic from a Japanese artist on Twitter that encompasses this idea of OFA taking advantage of Deku’s hero ambitions, before Bakugou stops him: https://twitter.com/j_nobu4/status/1344244583148863488?s=20 (rough translation in the replies, but you get the gist from the images). I think it’s a surprisingly accurate depiction of canon events, and partly inspired a lot of my ideas here!

Either way, it probably doesn’t help that All Might conveniently forgot to mention all the warning labels and side effects that come with OFA before giving it to Deku, but I digress.

And I think it’s also possible that, because he’s so grateful and feels like he’s been gifted with this new, privileged life, a part of him is afraid that he might lose it all—his friends, his life at U.A., All Might’s approval, OFA itself—if he fails to meet the expectations set out for him. That maybe he won’t deserve it anymore. I mean, hell, he already tried to give Mirio OFA once before—it’s probably no coincidence his “better” showed up to the Shigaraki fight to make him feel inadequate again. Not only that, Deku never expected to be able to speak to Bakugou again. And yet, in a sad kind of way, it was only after finally getting a Quirk, OFA, that the two are given a means to reconnect again.

I admit all of that is a bit convoluted, but either way, I feel like Bakugou does feel guilty for belittling Deku, and that it could be helpful for him to remind Deku of his own inherent worth outside of OFA, even more than just as a hero, but as a person. Because someone’s worth shouldn’t just be based solely on how many people they save or how many battles they win. Every human being has value simply for existing. And that’s mainly why Bakugou jumped in to save Deku at the end of 285. It wasn’t because he was consciously thinking about OFA getting lost/stolen, or reconciling with Deku, or Deku losing his dream, or his even own ambitions. At that moment, he simply had that instinct to save someone who was in trouble.

I think the person whose words would have the most effect on Deku in this case would be Bakugou. Firstly, Bakugou was one of the main people in his life who constantly belittled him and made him feel worthless (obviously not the ONLY cause, but one of the major ones). I think, in one sense, not only does Deku highly value Bakugou’s opinion, it would also be quite validating to have the person who used to think you were worthless tell you that you really aren’t. It’d mean a lot if Bakugou, who gave Deku his deprecating nickname in the first place, revealed to him that he now acknowledges the new, positive meaning of it. Of course, it’s still unclear, from Deku’s perspective, how much he holds Bakugou accountable for how he treated him, so whether or not this would mean much to him is still in the air.

Anyway, on the note of Deku making his Quirk his own, an abrupt segue: I feel that Todoroki can also quite relate to that dilemma. After all, Deku was the one who had to break Shouto out of the mentality that his fire was an extension of his father, rather than his own. So a similar “It’s your power, isn’t it?” moment would make sense here. Both Deku and Shouto have this legacy that’s thrust upon them, but they shouldn’t necessarily be beholden to upholding them. 

I think one of the main themes of BNHA is about legacy, and the trend, to me, is that the current generation can learn a lot from the previous generation, but ultimately, the heroes of now have to form a new, improved legacy, however that may be. After all, the current hero society is very flawed, and heroes like All Might and Endeavor contributed to its state (for better or worse), even if they also had merits at the same time. OFA and AFO, too, mimic that concept of legacy, in that the Quirks started as a feud between two brothers, and that it shouldn’t be Deku or Shigaraki’s responsibility to resolve it. Rather, their Quirks should be used to fulfill their own visions, regardless of what they are. So there’s something they could bond over, among other obvious things...

Obviously, there’s probably going to be more people and other various moving parts involved, but Bakugou and Todoroki were the ones I thought most about in regards to Deku’s development here (the former more than the latter, clearly). Maybe I’ll make a continuation later or probably not because I don’t care about the other characters nearly as much. Jokes aside, I do think the final battle is going to require more than Deku and Bakugou’s efforts, because I think this one showed that they certainly can’t do it on their own.

[alison-anonymous]

flawsome bandits pt. 3 ♡ sonic

Flawsome Hotel-Bound Feelings

Warnings: some sad feelings, but mostly a lot of bonding fluff 

Welcome to part 3!!! I've been so excited about this fic that I've been writing every night so if you're reading, please let me know if you think I should keep uploading parts! I love hearing from you guys!! Love you all, darlings, enjoy😘💙

♡♡♡

“Did you see how much toilet paper I used?” Sonic gushed as he jumped up and down on the bright red motel bedsheet. “The next time someone goes in there, they’re going to have to use their hands!”

Y/n giggled, standing up on her knees and turning her hands into a finger gun, pointing it at the lampshade while Tom scooped up some homemade ice packs. “The brawl was intense, hands being thrown in every corner of the bar. The odds were against us…”

“But no one could best the Blue Blur, Star Chaser, and Donut Lord!” Sonic finished for her. “Scratching another one off my bucket list!” He flopped down to the nightstand and scratched off the one labeled “start a bar fight.”

“Very ambitious of you,” Y/n joked, flopping onto her back and letting her hair dangle off the side of the bed. Tom made his way over to the other bed and sat down on it, handing Sonic and Y/n each an ice pack while pressing his own against his face.

“You are one weird little dude. You’ve got a lot in common with Y/n,” Tom sent her a smug smile. She brushed some loose strands of h/c hair back and pressed the ice pack against her throbbing temples. Y/n had been one of the lucky few to have not gotten punched in the face, but she did get hit in the head by some airborne nachos. Sonic watched the two for a little bit and mimicked Y/n, pressing it against his cheek. 

“So what are we going to do now?” He asked excitedly, his ever constant adrenaline still pumping and ready to jump at whatever was next. Tom began taking off his shoes and plopping them on the floor as he glanced over at the TV set.

“I’m going to pass out watching TV, and the two of you should, too.” 

“But it’s my last day on earth!” Sonic protested, leaning against Y/n’s stomach. She slowly pushed herself up to sitting position and glanced over her shoulder at her dad. 

“I mean, he has a point,” she nodded. He sighed.

“Alright, well, anything the two of you can find in this room that might be noteworthy, have at it.” He plopped down onto the bed and in a couple of minutes, Y/n and Sonic could already hear the soft snores coming from his mouth. And he didn’t even have to turn the TV on. Sonic took this as his opportunity and flew around the room, tossing toilet paper like confetti, screwing with the TV guide, and doing… something in the bathroom. In a matter of seconds, he was already back on the bed next to Y/n, wearing a towel on his head and no shoes.

“Good times,” he smiled. The girl couldn’t help but giggle, leaning back against the headrest of the bed and staring at the TV. Sonic had left it on the news, and just as she concentrated on it, she suddenly saw two photos float across the screen.

Her stomach dropped.

“Y/n and Tom Wachowski have been accused of committing acts of domestic terrorism. They are to be considered armed and dangerous. Any information of their whereabouts must be-” She quickly shut off the TV before she could hear any more. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared blankly at the spot where she had seen her mugshot. 

“Hey, N/n, you okay?” Sonic’s voice snapped her back into reality. She glanced down at the hedgehog sitting cross legged in front of her, looking into her e/c eyes with pure concern. 

“I’m fine,” she offered him a half-hearted smile, running a shaky hand through her hair. “Just a little nervous… hey, what is this new planet you’re heading to like?” Sonic’s expression grew solemn as he began messing with the fabric of his gloves.

“It’s pretty horrible really… it’s a world full of nothing but mushrooms and breathable air, no humans. No friends. No Donut Lords or Star Chasers…” He drew off. Y/n felt her heart ache for him. She felt horrible knowing that her one new friend was now being forced to live on some planet with no other humans on it, and all because of what? Because he was different? When it came down to it, Sonic was probably one of the greatest, funniest, kindest people she had ever met.

“I’m really going to miss it here… I know I have to leave earth to keep everyone here safe, but what if Longclaw was wrong? What if I could have a life here on earth?” He closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. Y/n felt her heart deflating in her chest. It was so sad, so heart wrenching to watch this little blue ball of excitement become so dejected. All that he wanted was a home, someone to hang out with and love. People who wanted him to be around. 

“I don’t want you to leave either,” she spoke slowly, almost as if she were afraid to say the words. "It isn't just because of the deja vu, I swear. You just… you're the only true friend I've ever had. And I hate seeing you unhappy…" His emerald eyes widened to the size of saucers as he stared at the girl before him in shock. The whole time he was on earth, he had to stay a secret. The only friends he had ever truly had were himself, no one even knew he existed until now. So the fact that this beautiful girl was sitting her in front of him, telling him that she didn’t want him to leave and that she hated to see him so unhappy? Well…

"That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Sonic breathed. His heart pounded against his chest so loud he was scared that she would be able to hear it. Luckily, his fur was able to hide the blush that was rising on his cheeks. What was happening? Why did he feel like throwing up rainbows? 

Y/n smiled warmly at him, her eyes glittering from the faded light of the lamp. “You’re the only friend I’ve ever had, or that I can remember having anyway. That’s what friends are for.” Sonic leaned back on his hands, eyes scanning Y/n’s thoughtfully.

“Has anyone ever told you that you are insanely easy to talk to? I don’t know, I just feel like I’ve known you all my life,” he chuckled softly, being serious for a rare moment. Usually he was all hyped up and sarcastic, but right now was one of the times where he was completely and utterly serious. Y/n pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them, resting her chin on her knees.

“I mean, maybe we did at one point. Who knows? I don’t remember a thing of my life up until I was twelve and got found in the woods.” Sonic went quiet for a moment, debating whether or not the question he wanted to ask would come off as offensive. But finally, he decided to put on some big boy pants and ask.

“...What is it like?”

“What’s what like?”

“Not remembering who you are,” Sonic spoke softly, terrified to hurt her feelings. But luckily, Y/n simply gave him a small smile and looked down at the rough bed sheets, collecting her thoughts in her head. She grew silent for a moment before she finally lifted her head up once again.

“It’s… complicated. Every morning I wake up. I can hear the sound of my mom cooking breakfast downstairs. It’s gotten to the point where I can guess what she’s making by the sound of the utensil she’s using. I get up out of my bed, and leave my room, and walk down the stairs and give my dad a hug just before he leaves for work. And then I have breakfast with my mom and we talk about anything and everything. And… for a little while, I feel like I actually belong there. I feel like they are my actual family. But then I go outside, and things… are different,” she sucked in a shaky breath though her lips. “Everyone else knows exactly who they are. They know what weed killer works the best for their plants, they know where they were born, who their parents were, what they looked like when they were babies, what their favorite midnight snack is… what their last name is…

“And then I’m just standing there, not knowing any of that. There aren’t any records of me in any of the hospitals or law agencies. It’s like I didn’t even exist on this planet. And while some people can be patient and loving with me, others… can’t. My heart is still beating, and I’m breathing and I’m here. But for what? What purpose could I possibly have when I can’t even answer basic questions about myself? Tom and Maddie have been the only people to make me truly feel welcome… and then you came along.” The smile slowly returned to her lips at the mention of him. He waited patiently for her to continue, hooked onto every word she was saying. “I’ve never met anyone like you before, and not just because you’re a hedgehog. It’s just… you. You make me feel like I belong somewhere, and, god, I’ve never laughed harder or had as much fun as I have with you with anyone else. You make me feel like I’ve known you my whole life and yet I’ve only known you for a day. It’s insane,” she chuckled, shaking her h/c locks. 

Her laugh was contagious as Sonic found himself chuckling before long too. 

“Well, I still made a promise to you that I plan to keep,” he began. “I will find a way to help you remember. Everything will be okay in the end.”

“How do you know?” Y/n asked curiously. Sonic simply shrugged, smiling.

“I just have a feeling.” A moment of comfortable silence floated between the two as they stared at one another. Y/n felt her stomach become full of butterflies, then finally giving up their hesitance to fly around freely in joy. The feeling of nostalgia had become something that she enjoyed experiencing as it helped her feel like she had a closer connection with the bright blue hedgehog. Maybe they did meet sometime in her life and she just forgot about it for whatever reason. Perhaps Sonic could help her find a way to remember, though she had no clue how he planned to try and accomplish it. Sonic hadn’t the slightest clue either, but he did know that he would be willing to run to the ends of the earth in order to make her happy. 

No, it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t make any sense! Were they… falling in love? 

“Um,” Y/n cleared her throat, the time suddenly becoming very apparent to her as she glanced down at her snoring father. “We should probably get to bed. He wants to leave by eight.”

Sonic nodded rapidly, tossing the towel off of his head and onto the floor. Y/n chuckled, not having even realized he was still wearing it. “Right, I can take the floor.”

“Don’t be silly, you can sleep in the bed too,” Y/n moved the comforters down and slid her legs underneath the sheets. “I’m not going to make you sleep on the floor and my dad tends to be a cover-hog.”

Sonic scrunched up his features in slight uncertainty, not wanting to make things awkward between him and his new friend. However, she had already made up her mind.

“Sonic. Get in bed.” She ordered. He quickly nodded and dove under the covers, snuggling up on to the pillow and letting out a surprised sigh. Back in his cave, he had only ever had a bean bag chair that he absolutely adored to sleep on. But a bed? It was like what he imagined sleeping on a cloud to be like. The pillow molded around his head and the blankets kept his body warm. It was like being wrapped up in a hug by a marshmallow. Y/n couldn’t help but giggle at his reaction.

“Never slept in a bed before?”

“It. Is. Amazing.” He slowly lowered his face under the covers until only his eyes could be seen, staring straight at Y/n. She laughed, getting comfortable in the bed as well after turning off the lamp next to the bed. As they settled in the darkness, staring at one another (hopefully without the other knowing), their breaths began to slow down as the drowsiness finally kicked in. But just before they nodded off, they were reminded of each other.

“Goodnight, Y/n.” Sonic whispered.

“Goodnight, Sonic.”

♡ a.a.

[dershloopmain]

How Each Of The Boys Would React To Splinter’s Death (Raphael)

Raphael let out a long, loud groan of frustration, punching the punching bag as hard as his arms would allow him. He hated feeling like this. So empty yet so emotional. So energetic yet so drained. He wasn’t sure if he could cope with this for much longer. He needed to punch something harder, something that wouldn't just swing back and forth every time he hit it. His eyes panned around the lair when he finally realised. Why didn’t he punch a wall? That had helped him to let out his frustrations before, so why wouldn’t it work now?

He stepped around the shredder dummy and reeled his arm back, punching the wall as hard as he could. It sent shivers up his arm as his nervous system dealt with the sudden onset of od pain and shock. Pulling back his arm, he made a fist and inspected the damage on his knuckles. Nothing too bad. The skin had split over his knuckles, leaving cuts that were leaking with blood. Not too heavily, but enough so that he felt inclined to ask Donnie if he could wrap it up for him. Apart from that, the damage was minimal, to the wall and himself. Nothing that wouldn’t heal, and the wall had escaped the brawl unscathed, bar some crumbs of the bricks which now lay on the floor and in Raph’s knuckles. He brushed out what he could, wincing at the sharp pain that accompanied it. Letting out a sigh, he walked over to the beanbag on the floor by the TV and sunk down into it, staring at the dark screen.

2 weeks was a long time, Raph was realising. It’d been 2 weeks since Splinter had died, and never in the past 17 years had the lair been this quiet for this long. No one slept, no one particularly ate, even Mikey seemed to have lost his appetite. He crossed his arms, being careful to not disturb the wounds on his knuckle. As much as he wanted to go see his brothers, hug them and tell them it would be ok, he couldn’t. He couldn’t lie to their faces like that. It wasn’t going to be ok, nothing was ever again. At least not in the way they were all hoping it would. Life couldn’t go back to normal, or at least their way of normal, again. After everything that’d happened over the past 2 years, they couldn’t be expected to. All the trauma, having lost Splinter twice, having to defend the earth. They were kids yet all the lives they’d taken or ruined… it didn't bear thinking about. Raph knew if he did, he’d spiral yet again and end up hurting himself or someone else again. He couldn’t let that happen.

Then, his phone buzzed, causing him to look over to where it lay face down on the ground. Stretching out, he snagged the T-Phone off the floor, the already exponential number of cracks covering most of the screen. It was a message from Leo to their group chat.

Leo: We’re done being ninjas. We’re done playing vigilante and protecting New York. They can protect themselves.

Raph took a deep breath, trying his hardest to not get angry. He knew where his brother was coming from, and he agreed. He didn’t want to protect the stupid city anymore. But part of his brain flared up, yelling and yelling. Why should he be the one to make that decision? Shouldn’t they all at least talk about it first? No. Raph scolded himself, gently putting the phone back onto the floor. Leo was right. For once he wasn’t going to fight or argue or disagree. He couldn’t. He wanted to. He wanted to jab and poke at his older brother until he finally snapped. Just… something to fight. Something real that wasn’t a wall or a stupid shredder doll hung like a punching bag.

The other part of him wanted to curl up in bed and cry. It wanted to call Mona and just stay on a call with her and just forget everything for an hour. It wanted to see Mona and to just curl up in bed with her and cry to her. She had said to call her if he was struggling or needed anything… But no. He couldn’t do that either. She couldn’t just drop everything and come to earth, it was unrealistic. She was out there, being all cool and badass while he was on an old beanbag in the living room debating over whether he should call her and cry or antagonise his brother until he attacked him. He grabbed his headphones off of the floor near him and picked his phone back up, plugging the headphones into it and putting them over his head. Heavy drums and bass-filled his ears, aggressive lyrics about starting riots and overthrowing the government blasted through. He let his body sink into the beanbag, feeling himself relax finally. Closing his eyes, he ignored the world and got dragged into his own, where everything was normal and fine.

[ruminativerabbi]

Looking Forward/Looking Back

And so a new era begins in our nation! Will the Biden years, whether four or eight of them, lead to healing in a nation so riven that many of the chasms that divide us—some racial, others political, still others ethnic or economic—feel truly unbridgeable? Will they feature an end to the COVID-era that has so radically altered the way we live and do business in our land? Will they bring a rededication to the kind of environmentally sound public policy that could possibly head off the crises that will otherwise visit the planet with increasingly frequency and ferocity if we choose to put blinders on and then recklessly to barrel ahead into uncharted waters without any clear sense of how to address even the issues that threaten us the least overtly, let alone those that are the most prominent? Will the recent hopeful developments in the Middle East serve as the prelude to the kind of complex reconfiguration that will, at long last, make Israel into a nation tied at least as profoundly to neighbors and local friends as to distant allies in North America and, when the wind blows in the right direction, Europe? (And will such a rebalancing of alliances lead finally to a just resolution of the Palestinians’ plight in a way that both serves their own best interests and Israel’s?) All of these questions are in the air as we pass from the Trump era to the Biden years, definitely from the past to the future and ideally from a period characterized by unprecedented (that word again!) incivility and fractiousness to one more reminiscent of the nation in which people my age and older remember growing up.

To none of the above questions do I have a clear answer to offer. But I do feel hopeful—and that hope is born not merely of wishful thinking (or not solely of it), but also of a sense that we have come to a point in our nation’s history at which the task of re-dedicating ourselves to the bedrock notions that underlay the founding of the American republic in the eighteenth century is crucial. But no less crucial is ridding ourselves of some of the fantasies we have been taught since childhood to accept as basic American truths.

There are lots to choose from, but today I would like to write about one of my favorite American fantasies, the one according to which Americans have always treated dissent graciously, enjoying national debate without acrimony and finding in principled dialogue the most basic of American paths forward. According to that fantasy, Congress exists basically to house friendly co-workers whose disagreements can and do yield the kind of dignified compromise that in turn serves as a path forward that all their constituents can gratefully travel into a bipartisan future built on our collective will to live in peace and learn from each other. Hah!

We have had in our past instances of violent altercation, including some in the very halls of Congress that were besieged by insurrectionists on January 6. Forgetting them won’t necessarily condemn us to reliving them. But keeping them in mind will surely help us find the resolve to avoid them. As we enter the Biden years, we need to look with clear eyes on that part of our history and, instead of ignoring it, allow it to guide us forward into a different kind of future.

First up, I think, would have to be the 1838 murder of Congressman Jonathan Cilley (D-Maine) by Congressman William Graves (Whig-Kentucky). This one did not take place in the Capitol, although that’s where the party got started. The backstory is so petty as almost to be silly, yet a man died because of that pettiness. Cilley said something on the floor of the House that irritated a prominent Whig journalist, who responded by asking Graves to hand deliver a note demanding an apology. Cilley declined, to which principled decision Graves responded by challenging Cilley to a duel, which then actually took place on February 24, 1838 in nearby Maryland. Neither was apparently much of a marksman. Both men shot twice and missed. But then Congressman Graves aimed more carefully and shot and killed Congressman Cilley.

To their credit, Congress responded by passing anti-dueling legislation. But that only kept our elected representatives from murdering each other, not from behaving violently. For example, when Representative Preston Brooks (D-South Carolina) wanted to express his disapproval of the abolitionist stance of Senator Charles Sumner (R-Massachusetts), he brought a walking cane with him into the Capitol on May 22, 1856, and beat Sumner almost to death. The account of the beating on the website of the United States Senate reads as follows: “Moving quickly, Brooks slammed his metal-topped cane onto the unsuspecting Sumner's head. As Brooks struck again and again, Sumner rose and lurched blindly about the chamber, futilely attempting to protect himself. After a very long minute, it ended. Bleeding profusely, Sumner was carried away.  Brooks walked calmly out of the chamber without being detained by the stunned onlookers.” The rest of the story is also instructive: Congress voted to censure Congressman Brooks, whereupon the latter resigned and was almost immediately re-elected to the House by his constituents in South Carolina. He died soon after that (and at age 37), but his place in history was secured! Sumner himself survived and spent another eighteen years in the Senate.

I’d like to suggest that all my readers who felt totally shocked by the events of January 6 to read The Field of Blood: Violence in Congress and the Road to Civil War  by Joanne B. Freeman, a professor of history at Yale University, that was published in 2018 by Farrar, Strauss, and Giroux. I read the book when it came out and thought then (and still do think) that it should be required reading for all who imagine that, as I keep hearing, the use of violence and, even more so, the threat of violence “just isn’t us.” It’s us, all right. And Freeman’s book proves it a dozen different ways. As readers of my letters know, I read a lot of American history. But I can hardly recall reading a book that so thoroughly changed the way I thought of our government and its history.

And then there was the brawl in the House in 1858 that broke out when Laurence M. Keitt (D-South Carolina) attempted to strangle Galusha Grow (R-Pennsylvania) in the wake the latter speaking disparagingly about of the Supreme Court’s decision in Dred Scott v. Sanford to the effect that Black people were by virtue of their race excluded from American citizenship regardless of whether they were enslaved or free. The House was, to say the least, riven when Keitt went for Grow’s throat. And what happened next, Freeman writes, “was a free-for-all right in the open space in front of the Speaker’s platform featuring roughly thirty, sweaty, disheveled, mostly middle-aged congressman in a no-holds-barred brawl, North against South.” Keitt, who threw the first punch, was already known as a violent man: it was he, in fact, who took out his gun and threatened to kill any member of Congress who was part of the effort to save Charles Sumner’s life in the attack on him by Preston Brooks mentioned above.

These are the thoughts I have in my heart as the nation enters the Biden years. We have a history of violence, incivility, and public rage. What happened on January 6 was, yes, an aberration in that no one supports—or, at least, supports openly—the use of violence to make a point in the Congress. But that was not something new and shocking as much as it was a return to an earlier stage of our nation’s history, a kind of regression to the days in which violence was the language of discourse, an age in which it was possible for one member of the House openly to attempt to strangle another and then to suffer no real consequences at all. And just to wrap up the story, Representative Keitt later joined the Confederate Army and was killed on June 1, 1864 at the Battle of Cold Harbor near Mechanicsville, Virginia.

That we can renounce violence, embrace civility, listen to opposing viewpoints carefully and thoughtfully, debate with courage and respect for others’ opinions, and behave like grown-ups even when we are unlikely to have our way in some matter of public policy—I know in my heart that we can do that. Last week, I wrote about three different instances of armed insurrection against the federal government. This week, I’ve written about the use of threats of violence, and violence itself, at the highest level of government. I could go on to note that, of our first forty-five American presidents, there have been either successful or unsuccessful assassination attempts against a full twenty of them…and that that list includes every president of my own lifetime except for Dwight Eisenhower. We cannot renounce our American propensity to settle things with our fists by making believe that violence is not part of our culture. Just the opposite is true: it was part of our past and it certainly part of our present. Whether it will be part of our future—that is the question on the table. The insurrectionists who entered the Capitol on January 6 were convinced they were acting in accordance with American tradition. There’s something to that argument too…and that is why it is so crucial now that we all join together to renounce that part of our past and then to move ahead into a future characterized by mutual respect, respectful debate, and a deep sense of national unity born of pride in the best parts of our past, confidence in the present, and hope in the future.

[britishassistant]

But I Like One Piece (6)

It has to come to a head at some point.

She knows something bad’s going to happen when the teacher tells them they’re going be fighting one another in pairs in the center of a taped-off square. Winners either force their opponents out of the square or put them in a position where a killing blow could be struck.

Their classmates stand around the edge to watch and cheer.

Chopper’s Rumble Balls. This couldn’t scream “blood sport” any harder if they were in a cage arena and betting on the matches.

Though she thinks she does spot some money changing hands...

First up is Shikamaru vs Chouji. Shikamaru promptly declares it a drag and flings himself out of the square at Chouji’s first blow. Chouji looks worried right up until Shika rolls onto his side for a nap. Then he just looks exasperated.

Then Chouji’s set against Hinata. They’re both too hesitant to really hit each other, but eventually Hinata manages to get him to step out of the square through speed and disorientation.

Hinata versus Kiba. Kiba versus Ino. Ino versus Fuuka. Ino versus Shino. Shino versus Sasuke. Sasuke versus Sakura. Sasuke versus Mori, Ami, Yosuke, an endless number of civilian kids he effortlessly beats in one or two blows, using moves that don’t look like the Academy kata they’ve learned.

Sasuke versus Naruto.

She shoots him a thumbs up and a grin as he goes into the ring. He beams back, returning the gesture before focusing.

The pair of them make the silly-looking “Seal of Confrontation”.

Naruto takes up the opening position for Strong Fist style.

Sasuke, with his hands in his pockets, snorts dismissively.

“Begin!” The teacher yells.

Uchiha fakes a punch like the one that dropped Mori, before going for the sweeping kick that knocked Ami and Junko on their backs.

Naruto doesn’t balk at the feint and neatly hops over the sweep (Gai-sensei’s training makes you good at dodging), jabbing a quick palm strike into Uchiha’s chest.

Sasuke stumbles. He’s frowning.

So’s the teacher.

This isn’t the way they expected this to go.

She grins, fiercely proud. Good.

Uchiha’s style is fast. The teacher is right that it’s technically flawless, leg perfectly straight with every kick, stance perfectly solid for every punch. He’s clearly been trained in this from a young age.

But he’s skinnier than he used to be, and his lunchboxes are pathetic. It’s simple, easy-prep foods, under or overcooked rice and ragged tomato slices, which aren’t bad, but shouldn’t be the only foods he’s eating if he wants to have strength and energy.

Naruto’s still got some kinks in his form he’s got to work on with Gai-sensei, overbalancing here, not defending there. But he can take his opponent’s blows, and his own land with all the force of a freight train, mixing up Strong Fist, Academy style, and what looks like street brawling.

Naruto’s also been eating well-balanced diet for as long as he’s known her, which may not count for much in the long term, but it’s counting here.

Because, as much of a prodigy as Sasuke is, it’s slowly becoming apparent that he’s on even ground in this fight, and may even be losing.

“Come on, Naruto!” She yells, as he manages to kick Uchiha’s ankle out from under him and—

FWEEEEEEET!!

Kiba and Akamaru yelp as the teacher keeps blowing a whistle until he’s red in the face, yanking Naruto away from his opponent by his collar.

“I said we would be sparring WITH ACADEMY KATAS, Uzumaki!” He roars. “If you can’t keep to SIMPLE INSTRUCTION, you’ll be spending the rest of the MONTH in DETENTION, do you hear me?!”

Naruto’s looking stunned and frightened, like he’s not sure what he did to merit this reaction. “B-but—”

The teacher drops Naruto with a dismissive, “Disqualified. Match default to Uchiha Sasuke.”

“But that’s not fair!” She howls. Chouji’s holding her hand tight, probably so she doesn’t do something stupid like try to break this hypocritical farce of an educator’s kneecaps.

Kiba points at Uchiha. “He’s been using non-academy techniques since his match with Bug-boy! How come you haven’t pulled him, huh?”

The teacher sniffs. “Sasuke is advanced in taijutsu and can be trusted not to seriously damage his opponents. Uzumaki is too violent and out of control to be trusted—only once he masters the Academy Three will he have the discipline to avoid reckless stunts like this. And if you’re done shrieking, Ketsugi, get your behind in the ring.”

Her ears burn hot. She wants to hurt somebody. She wants to hurt them badly, for even being witness to Naruto’s ill-treatment. It’s not a nice feeling, hot and roiling in her belly like bile.

Don’t act out aggression violently. That’ll just give the masks ammunition and they’ll hurt you. Remember what Okaa-sama said. If calming down is impossible, escape the situation.

“Sorry.” She can’t stop herself from snapping. “I’m not disciplined enough to avoid breaking your sheltered little prodigy.”

She stomps over to Naruto and helps him up. His palm is trembling in hers as she leads him away, ignoring the Uchiha’s insulted look and the teacher’s yells.

They’ve both had enough of the academy for today.

Bread is excellent for venting anger.

She’s probably overworking the dough, but better that than doing something she’ll regret later. Like kicking the stupid teacher as hard as she can between his stupid legs.

Naruto’s despondently fiddling with Habu-san’s leaves.

“I wouldn’t have hurt him.” He murmurs. “I’ve done it with you an’ Lee an’ you two haven’t been hurt, right?”

“No, we weren’t. But you would’ve beat him. Pass me a bit?” She washes the rosemary off, muttering darkly as she pats them dry. “He didn’t want you to win and make his little teacher’s pet look bad.”

Naruto’s brow furrows as she folds the rosemary into the dough, placing it in a bowl and covering it with plastic wrap and leaving it aside for the first prove, setting the timer for an hour.

“You’re really mad, aren’t you? You’re not even doing the singy thing.”

She stops in the midst of washing her hands. “Singy thing?”

Naruto shrugs. “Yeah, when you cook normally, you do this thing. Like you’re singin’ but there’s no words an’ the sounds are all weird. Like this.”

Then, in quiet, heavily accented English he croons, «An’all the roads we have to walk are WINDing, an’all the lights that lead us there’re BLINDing, THERE are many THINGS that I Would LIKE to SAY to YOU—»

She covers his mouth with a wet hand, because if she has to hear Naruto sing any more of that song she’s gonna either crack up or melt into a little puddle of shame on the floor. “Yes, I get the idea, thank you Naruto.”

Then she shrieks because he’s licked her hand and seizes his shirt so he can’t escape as she wipes off the saliva off on his cheek, before he grabs her other arm and rubs his face on it.

They end up wrestling until the timer shrills that it’s time to take the bread out and knead it again.

She has to rewash and dry her hands before she can touch the dough.

“D’you wanna talk to Gai-sensei about it? He could always go and kick the teacher’s a—butt until he lets you use Strong Fist.”

He shrugs, gaping at how the dough has doubled in size. “I’unno. Maybe I’ll ask him to drill me on the Three?

She blinks, eyebrows raised.

Naruto shoots her a cheeky grin. “He did say I could do whatever I wanted once I mastered it.”

She snorts gleefully. “Do it. See if you can beat everybody using just that.”

There’s a comfortable silence as she kneads, then stretches the dough to see if it has the proper consistency, before folding in more rosemary and putting it back in the bowl for the second prove.

“He felt really light. When I was fighting him.” Naruto says slowly. “I think he could...y’know...”

He wraps his hand around his wrist, where his thumb and pointer finger can no longer touch.

She hums. “You think I should feed him.”

Naruto nods rapidly, giving her his damn puppy-eyes again.

Technically, Uchiha’s got food in abundance. She sees it when they run by the worn down compound on Gai-sensei’s laps in the morning, bags of rice and fruit and vegetable baskets and freezers waiting outside the complex for its sole occupant to collect them.

The problem is that he obviously has no idea what to do with all of it.

And despite said lack of expertise, he still refuses all of his fangirls’ offers of lunchboxes made with their feelings and lives off of rice and tomatoes. It’s probably a pride thing. Sanji would—

Wait. Pride.

She removes the dough from the second prove, scores its top and sprinkles some salt over it, covering the baking tray with foil and sliding it into the hot oven. “I have an idea to feed him.”

Naruto cheers, leaning forward eagerly.

“We’re going to have to eat the ‘fire curry’ tomorrow.”

Naruto slumps down, exuding betrayal from every pore.

She makes four servings of chicken tikka masala.

Three for their plan, and one for Lee.

She’s not going to make one of his favorite foods and then not have a portion ready for him. That’d just be cruel.

He’s horrified when Naruto recounts what happened in the spar, puffing up in indignation when he hears of the stolen victory and baseless favor bestowed on his opponent.

She’s never seen Gai-sensei look so stony-faced as when he hears what the teacher said about Naruto being violent and lacking discipline.

He does his usual tears of joy when Naruto asks about drilling in the Academy Three, yelling for all and sundry to hear about, “the BLOSSOMING of your YOUTHFUL WILL OF FIRE!!”

But they’re close enough to see it’s more playacting than his usual dramatics, his expression subtly determined and scheming as he makes them run through Academy kata.

Otou-sama makes them both promise to come to him or Gai-sensei if the teacher tries anything like this again, drumming his fingers on the hilt of the bokken he always carries.

This is despite the on-again off-again debate he’s been having with Okaa-sama since last night over whether Hokage-sama and the Village Council will take it poorly if he attempts to intercede on Naruto’s behalf.

At least they both agree to trust Gai-sensei to act for them if they can’t intervene, even if they both end up blushing that deep beetroot shade and staring off into the distance at the mention of him.

The teacher glares at them when they walk into class.

She glares right back, and it’s only because Naruto’s holding her hand that she doesn’t immediately flip him off again.

Surprisingly the teacher doesn't make any mentions of punishments for their skiving yesterday, though he looks like he wants to.

The Uchiha is also glaring at them, but in a slightly more considering fashion.

They need to play this carefully—too little, and he may not even approach them, and Hinata might end up with a competitor for her stalking. Too much and he’ll wise up to what they’re doing, which will probably make him deliberately avoid them because he feels slighted.

So she leans over to Naruto and whispers, “His hair looks like a duck’s butt.”

Naruto snorts a little too loudly, glancing over and away not-quite-quickly enough not to be obvious, snickering as he takes his seat for class.

She mentally fist pumps as the Uchiha catches the looks and laughter but not the words that caused them, bristling like a wet cat.

Ino sends her a calculating look, and she smiles innocently back before focusing on the lesson.

At lunchtime, Naruto waits until after they’ve carefully reheated the curry and are on their way back to the classroom to begin complaining loudly about how it’s too spicy, and she and Lee are secretly robots for being able to eat it.

She falls into the swing of the argument, projecting her voice so anybody could easily hear her say that this isn’t even the spiciest curry she can make (it isn’t), and that Naruto doesn’t really have anything to complain about with the huge serving of sour cream she brought along for him, dulling it down for his delicate tastebuds.

They’ve no sooner re-entered the classroom than the Uchiha stands, striding over to them.

“Fight me.” He says to Naruto.

Naruto blinks, the picture of bemused innocence. “Now? But it’s lunch.”

She rolls her eyes dismissively. “Leave it Naruto. He’s just a sore loser who’ll run to the teacher when you win again. Let’s eat.”

He steps in front of her, blocking her path. “I am not.” He grits out, brows furrowed. “I could’ve won yesterday, if not for the interference.”

Oooh, someone’s bitter.

She pretends she’s Sanji looking down on Zoro, channels that disdain into every aspect of her posture. “What? You and your basic white rice lunches? Please.”

“Yeah, everyone knew I was gonna win yesterday.” Naruto boasts, cocky façade not quite hiding the slyness in his eyes. “You’re just lucky Mizuki-sensei likes you too much to let you lose.”

“I bet he couldn’t even stomach my curry.” She says, faux-conspiratorially.

Naruto shoots her an affronted look. “Only robots can eat your curry.” He says. “Even I can’t handle it.”

“Sasuke-kun could do it!” Ino improvises, flouncing over uninvited. “He can do anything better than you can, Naruto, isn’t that right Sasuke-kun?” She flutters her eyelashes at him.

She holds her breath. This wasn’t part of the plan. If this tips him off...

Uchiha Sasuke eyes Ino, then turns away from her with a dismissive huff. “Whatever. I bet it isn’t even that spicy.”

“Care to prove it?” She challenges sweetly.

“Gladly.” He growls back, ignorant of the discreet thumbs up Naruto flashes Ino.

Turns out Uchiha actually can handle spice a little more than Naruto can.

That’s not saying much to be honest.

His face has turned a healthy pink as he eats, despite the face that she gave him the portion with rice.

He’s refused all of Naruto’s offers to share the sour cream so far, intent on finishing it as is.

He’s also picky, pushing the red peppers and onions to one side as he eats.

Maybe she should feel bad for pointing that out and telling him it sounds like he’s trying to say he can’t do it when he grudgingly admits that he doesn’t like them, but she’s on a mission here.

He’s not going to get his vitamins by leaving anything behind on his plate.

Plus this way when they plot their next avenue of attack, she can tailor the meals a little more so he doesn’t fuss as much.

Eventually he finishes his meal.

He then seizes Sakura’s juice box and chugs it without so much as a by your leave. Not that the girl seems to mind, given how she promptly swoons and collapses into Hinata’s lap.

Ino pouts, despite sitting in the coveted next-to-Sasuke-kun spot.

“There.” He says, panting like he’s run a marathon. “I did it. Fight me.”

“Okay.” She replies. “But if I win, I get to look in your kitchen.”

He squints, a look of offense crossing his face that’s so comical she has to fight not to laugh. “Not you. Naruto.”

“Okay.” Naruto says. “But it’s gotta be on Monday after school—it’s Ichiraku’s night tonight and ‘m seein’ Jiji this weekend. Also if I win, Mayu gets to look at stuff in your kitchen.”

Uchiha Sasuke shoots him a look of profound betrayal. “...Fine.” He eventually concedes. “When I win, Ketsugi’s not allowed to force me to eat her cooking again.”

The poor boy, she muses to herself, as she and Naruto shake on it with him.

He could’ve stood a chance if he hadn’t stipulated that.

[itsclydebitches]

During your run through of The Witcher 3, did you come across the "Where the Cat and Wolf Play" sidequest where The Witcher from the School of the Cat snapped? If so, did you let him live or did you kill him?

THAT QUEST ugh I agonized, anon. I did end up sparing him because: 

From the perspective of playing Geralt, I’d be a bit of a hypocrite to put too much weight on, “You killed people therefore you deserve death as your punishment.” Granted, my Geralt has never killed people not directly involved in a conflict, but I’ve still killed a lot just because of how the game is set up. Do you know how many times I died while starting out because I kept un-equipping my sword, hoping that winning via punching would result in knocking my opponents out instead of killing them? Many, many times. Sadly, that’s not allowed. So I’ve slaughtered hundreds, many of which it’s VERY debatable whether they “deserved” that death or not (such as lopping off someone’s head for starting a bar brawl...) Ultimately it didn’t sit right for me to execute him and then go off to, you know, keep killing people.

They did cheat him. Obviously I’m not saying that action deserves death (especially when I’ve just acknowledged that I’m not even convinced killing deserves death) but this isn’t a case of someone screwing you out of a normal sale. Not only are witchers poor enough that not getting paid is the difference between whether you eat or not, but the job, by default, involves risking your life. They’re monster hunters, not cobblers or smiths or something. The job they had him do is a pretty damn big deal, no matter how everyday it might be for the witchers themselves. When he invites Geralt to guess as to the amount he was paid it’s clear it’s low. That’s the whole point. Guess precisely how low it was and then you’re offered the choice of 100 and 50 crowns. If you choose 50 the response is “if only” because it was actually 12. So Geralt’s assumptions about what would be the lowest, most insulting payment for going after something as dangerous as a Leshen is 4 times the amount the guy ended up with. 

Not only did they try to cheat him they then tried to kill him too. Might have managed it even given what we know about Geralt and pitchforks. Obviously the ethical issue is him slaughtering the rest of the village, not defending himself against attackers, but I think it’s worth noting that our Cat School witcher didn’t start all this nonsense. He’s not a ticking time bomb killing anyone he pleases. He took an incredibly dangerous job, fulfilled it, was cheated, almost murdered, and then snapped. Everyone has their breaking points. That’s obviously not an excuse or a justification, just a fact. You can only push someone so far until they lash out. 

In a world like this (obviously different than in the real world) I’m not a big vengeance person. Or a justice person, if we want to put a more noble spin on it. I think people should be appropriately punished for their crimes but, as established, the witcher world isn’t exactly a fair and balanced place. We don’t have the option of putting him in prison or something. It’s death or nothing. Which to my mind doesn’t really accomplish anything. We know the world still really needs witchers, we know his school in particular is pretty much gone, so what good does it do to take him out? Make a bunch of dead villagers happy if they happen to be ghosts and happen to hear about his demise? I’d rather make more active decisions that do some good---like helping the girl---rather than murdering a guy out of a sense of duty to the dead. It was the same perspective I took regarding the guy Lambert wanted to kill. What does murdering him accomplish other than your own peace of mind? For me, the self-righteousness of knowing I avenged the village doesn’t outweigh the practical good I assume that the witcher will do moving forward.  

Probably the most important factor and very connected to the previous point: I didn’t get the sense that he was still a danger to people. Guy knows he fucked up big time. If I thought he was likely to go off the deep end like that again I would have put him down, so to speak, but I didn’t get that sense based on our conversation. If you visit his little hideout you’ll see that he’s clearly been cheated before (trophies on the wall) but there are no more slaughtered villages around. This feels like a one time tragedy that, I hope, will never be repeated. 

Perhaps a strange comparison, but witchers remind me a bit of fae-like creatures. Or something similar. Incredibly powerful. Not quite human. Feared or despised by others, yet everyone still desperately wants their help. If you’re going to enter into a contract with one... don’t try to screw them. To my mind there’s something to be said for conducting yourself respectfully and not trying to fuck with something that much more powerful than you. If you’re gonna desecrate the fairy ring, don’t be surprised when you walk back home and find your whole family gone. We know that the ealdorman is the one who orchestrated the plot to try and kill the witcher and I believe that a leader holds at least some responsibility for the safety of their people. He endangered his village by trying to cheat and then kill a witcher, instead of just a) giving him what he was owed or b) trying to come to another arrangement if they truly couldn’t make the payment. I feel the same way about the Dettlaff and Anna Henrietta situation. Dettlaff is absolutely responsible for attacking the city---witcher dude is absolutely responsible for that slaughter---but I think Anna Henrietta is also partly responsible for choosing to hide her sister away and ignoring the experts’ warnings of, “If she doesn’t meet with Dettlaff in three days bad things will happen.” She chose her personal happiness of keeping her sister safe over the safety of her kingdom. The ealdorman, living in the witcher world, likewise grew up with the understanding of, “Don’t cheat/attack a witcher or bad things will happen.” He chose greed over the safety of his village. It can be interpreted as a kind of blackmail or as basic common sense, depending on your perspective, but ultimately I think there’s enough gray here that the simple solution of, “You die now” doesn’t sit right with me. So he lives. Though, as said, NOT without a very long pause and much agonizing over it lol 

[blackmissfrizzle]

A Match Made in Hell

Title: A Match Made in Hell

Summary: The reader has been having some anger issues lately and decides to take a trip. Her trip lands her in the bar where Demon Dean is hanging at and trouble ensues.

Pairing: demon!dean x black!reader, Crowley

Word Count: 2113

Warnings: Light smut (18+), Violence, a little racism and body shaming

A/N: I’m so glad to get back to writing a Supernatural fic. I got another one plan and hopefully I can get it out soon.

A/N: This is for all my black girls who love Supernatural but don’t get the chance to see themselves in the show or in the fandom.

Dean and Crowley were taking body shots of whiskey from the blonde bartender when Crowley first noticed you. “Oh, bloody hell! Its time to go, the She-Devil is here,” Crowley complained.

Dean lifted his head from the bartender’s toned stomach to find you. His eyes searched the room until he followed Crowley’s finger and you were finally in his eyesight. This was the first time he saw you since he became a demon. The last time you were together was right after he got the mark and you coincidentally ran into him while checking up on Garth.

He was mesmerized by the way you looked. You walked with a gracefulness that was curated by your privileged upbringing and years of ballet training. Despite the lighting in the bar you were beautiful, although he preferred looking at you in the sun, because he loved how the light shined on your brown skin.

However, there was something different about you tonight. It wasn’t your appearance; it was your demeanor. One of the things Dean loved about you was, regardless of all the bad shit that happened to you, you always remained sweet, open, and kind. So, when Dean saw you looking closed off and highly irritable, he knew something was going on and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

“No, I’m staying. Something’s off with Y/N,” Dean said.

“Are you serious right now, Dean,” Crowley screeched. He pulled Dean to the side trying to convince him to leave, “I don’t know about you, but I am in not in the mood to get murdered by that half-breed.”

Dean snarled at Crowley and backed him into a corner, “Call her half-breed again and you won’t like what happens next.”

Crowley raised his hands in surrender, “Okay, okay. No calling your ex-girlfriend a half-breed. But how do you know she’s not here to help Sam bring you back home?”

“Because, I know how she looks when she’s hurting versus how she looks when she pissed off or worry. Trust me, Sam wouldn’t call her. We made a pact to keep her out of hunting and Sam’s too much of a wuss to bring her back in just for me,” Dean attempted to calm Crowley.

“I still don’t like being near her,” Crowley professed in a bratty manner.

“I don’t care,” Dean bellowed out. “And by the way, don’t bother coming back to the room, me and Y/N will be busy.”

Crowley shuddered in disgust and then teleported out of the bar. Now Dean could focus on you.

You don’t know why you stopped at this dive bar. Something just pulled you towards it. Honestly, you rather be home snuggled up in your boyfriend’s arms, but you couldn’t do that. For the past couple of weeks your powers been out of wonk and you were unable to control them, also you found yourself with a short temper. The last straw was when you were in a meeting with your board members and your brother had to ‘accidently’ spill water on your hands to stop you from throwing a fireball at one of the board members.

Now here you were in some podunk ass town with no clue on what to do and not feeling any better. You felt someone sit in the seat next to you and the lean towards you, putting their hand on your thigh. This had to be the boldest attempt since you got there, and you were tired of this shit.

“No, I don’t want you to buy me a drink and if you don’t remove your hand from my thigh in  the next 10 seconds you’re gonna have to learn how to jerk off with your left hand,” you lowly threatened the intruder.

He didn’t remove his hand and laughed instead, “Aren’t I lucky I can do it with both hands?”

You tensed up at that laugh and voice. It belonged to the one person who broke your heart. You swiveled your bar stool to confirm it was Dean Winchester and you were right. His hair was different; it was longer and combed over to the side, but he still looked attractive. There was something off about him, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Dean, what are you doing here?”

He raised his beer, “Day drinking, you?”

“Running away from my problems,” you confessed. You turned your head in search of his brother, “Where’s Sam?”

Dean took another long sip of his beer before he answered, and you were entranced by the way his Adam’s apple bobbed while he drank. He smacked his lips that were glistening from the beer and sighed, “Me and Sam decided to take a little break.”

Automatically you accused Dean, “What did you do?” You knew it was a crap thing to accuse him so rashly, but every time Sam and Dean separate its because Dean was either too pissed at Sam and wants to get away from him or Dean did something to piss Sam off and Sam was the one to leave.

“Why does it have to be my fault,” Dean asked as his voice got higher since he was offended that you judged him so quickly.’’

“Because it always is,” you doubled down.

Dean licked his lips and observed you, “Forget about me and Sam. What are you running from?” You were fiddling with the edge of your jacket, which Dean knew it was your tell of being nervous.

You bit your lip and had an internal debate on whether you wanted to confide in Dean. Since you had no one to talk to you informed Dean of the changes that occurred lately. You let him know about the incident at your board meeting and the time you unjustly snapped at your boyfriend when he asked if you were cooking dinner.

Dean raised his eyebrows at the mention of your boyfriend. “Boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. We decided to take a break, because I’ve been so damn moody,” you rambled as you messed with the zipper of your jacket.

“Well, since you’re on a break. How about you and me go to my room and alleviate some of all that pent-up anger you got, sweetheart?” Dean seductively growled in your ear.

For some time, you stared at Dean. This was your chance to finally have sex with Dean Winchester with no strings attached. Even though, the two you dated for almost a year, you never had sex because you were a virgin and you were trying to wait for marriage. You decided not to wait for Dean, but it was too late because he cheated on you with that damn angel, Anna and your relationship was never the same after that.

You kissed Dean on those plump lips of his instead of using your words to tell him yes. He grabbed your hand and slammed down two twenty-dollar bills to take care of both of yours tabs, and was pulling you through the crowded bar.

Almost out the door you felt a tug on your bicep, it was the bartender who let Dean take a body shot off of her. “You sure you can handle that sweetie? We all know its gonna be a pity fuck, because why would he ever want to be with someone as dark and big as you,” she sneered.

Typically, those comments would get her a classy comeback, because your mama raised you better than that, but in the recent weeks it seems you forgotten what she taught you, and you punched the buxom blonde in the face instead, effectively knocking her out.

You should have known better than to do that in this hick town, because now you had rednecks surrounding you and Dean, trying to protect the ‘innocent’ white woman. He smirked at you and the two of you began to fight the crowd. You broke a pool cue in half and fought off some attackers while Dean was punching and flying his victims across the room. At one point in the fight you thought Dean’s eyes turned black like a demon, but you dismissed it as the blur of the fight.

Within ten minutes everyone in the bar was either incapacitated or they ran away. Still feeling the high from the bar brawl, you and Dean were tearing each other’s clothes off once you got to his motel room.  When you were naked, Dean had done this inexplicable thing with his tongue while he was eating you out that it caused you to levitate both of you off the bed when you reached your orgasm.

Dean was pounding into you, balls slapping against you when your demon eyes came to the forefront. You instantly covered your face and murmured an apology to Dean. He pulled your hands from your face and tried to assure you, “Its alright, I got a pair of my own,” Dean’s normally green eyes transformed into demon eyes.

You weren’t tripping earlier; you did see Dean’s eyes turn black during the brawl. Surprised at this revelation you twisted your body so that you were on top and grabbed your knife and put it to Dean’s neck. Just as quickly you pulled your knife to his neck, Dean put a strange blade seemingly made of teeth and bone to your neck.

“Uh uh, sweetheart. You don’t wanna do that,” the demon cautioned you.

“How the hell you get into Dean,” you asked as you pressed the knife harder into Dean’s neck.

Getting tired of being in a vulnerable position, Dean rolled your bodies so that he was on top now. He had to admit that you were sexy right now. Your hair splayed across his pillows, breasts uncovered wit puckered nipples, and the anger that caused your eyes to heat up with more passion.

He leaned down and licked the shell of your ear and whispered into it, “Oh honey. This is all Dean, there’s no demon riding me. Remember the Mark of Cain. Well, it turned me into a demon when I died.”

You thrashed under him and screamed “Impossible! You’re a lying piece of shit!”

“Lying, nope. Piece of shit, yes.” A new voice entered your conversation. It belongs to your father. You peered over Dean’s shoulder to see Crowley and your dad standing behind you.

Dean got off of you and threw his shirt at you, indicating that you get dress. At least he was still thoughtful. “Crowley, I thought I told you not to come back here!” Dean bellowed at his new best friend.

Strictly looking Dean in the eyes until he put on some pants, Crowley answered, “I wasn’t. I went back to the bar for another round when I saw the fiasco you and your girlfriend made. So, I went to her dad for help and guess what he told me?”

Both you and Dean grunted at the same time, “What?”

Crowley stared at the two of you before he continued, “That dear old Y/N has been acting more aggressively and unable to control her powers at the same time you died and were reborn as a demon.”

You ran your hands through your hair, “And how does that all connect,” you snapped at the King of Hell.

“You remember when Dean got out of the pit and you started to share his nightmares about his time there,” your dad asked, speaking for the first time since he announced his presence.

Clearly exasperated with this long explanation, you questioned your mother’s killer, “Yeah, but what does that have to do with this?”

“Its similar to this. Its obvious I’m no cupid, but we believe you and Dean are soulmates,” your dad explained.

“Soulmates!?” You and Dean echoed. It was so absurd that you two doubled over in laughter.

Crowley waited until you two were done laughing before he began his line of questioning. “Did you two feel a peacefulness overcome you once you got near each other?” Uncomfortable silence. “When you fought together did everything feel just right, as the universe was steady?” Uncomfortable silence. “When you got to this room was the sexual attraction through the roof?” Uncomfortable silence. “Did either one of you had the intention of going through stabbing the other one when you had the knives pressed against the other’s neck?” Again uncomfortable silence.

You stood there and pondered everything Crowley and your father just said. You came to the conclusion that Dean is your soulmate and right now he was a fucking demon and your demon half was dangerously attracted him. Great, you two were the perfect match made in hell.

TAGLIST: @meishaabae @dannixchristian @cosmicmelaninflower @mml232 @1000roughdrafts @httpchxcxlateapple @eidetic-spencerreid @blacknthemix @stu-recs @forgetthisbull @blackdepressoexpresso @titty-teetee

[jackblankhsh]

A Blood Red Reindeer Knows:  Part 2:  The Wood-Burn Clue

Geppetto's is a trashy club on the Southside.  It's where all the puppets hang out.  By the time I get there night is in full swing.  Marionettes are hanging from the roof dancing on air.  Ventriloquist dummies are signing to each other, debating whether to buy time with misfit toys pedaling ass across the street, and hand puppets are well on the way to raging brawls about nothing.  

 "Fuck you Judy!"

 "That's what I want. Fuck me Punch, or I'll beat you with this stick."

 "That's a dildo."

 "It can be two things!"

 Neon Jumpin' Jacks flank the entrance, and as I try to step inside a glance from them sends a giant chocolate éclair into my path.

 "We're full," he says.

 Looking up at the towering figure I say, "One for a short bit.  Can't hurt."

 He folds his arms across his chest.  

 Throwing my hands up I saunter off.  Sometimes a subtle approach is necessary.  Trouble out front might send who I'm looking for out the back.  So the second I'm out of sight I double back. Sneaking around I find the backdoor locked.  Fortunately a busboy happens to step outside to get cinnamon toasted.  Promising not to rat him out gets him to hold the door, and I'm in.  

 Geppetto's is a place full of glitz, but not enough to hide there's zero glamour.  It's the kind of spot folks go to pretend they aren't bottom feeders sucking the dirt for gold.  

 Grabbing a waitress by the string I gently pull her over to ask, "Where's Collodi?"

 She points to the bar. Surrounded by a swarm of sycophants, the prince of puppets stands basking in their admiration.  Head designer in Big Red's workshop, Collodi is the elf to see if someone wants refurbishing, a second chance to go out in the world.  When it comes to toys what stays here is often the overstock.  Promised a good life -- tomorrow, always tomorrow -- like teenage orphans they soon find nobody wants them.  It's all about the new shit.  The best they can hope for is a dead end job so they can buy a fistful of butterscotch barbiturates that let's 'em die in their sleep.  

 Closing in on Collodi I overhear him say, "Sure baby, I can remake you.  It's a simple procedure, you'll be the latest doll, but what are you going to do for me beautiful?"

 I say, "She'll tell you there's something big 'n' creepy lurking behind you."

 Collodi slowly turns. Swallowing hard he puts on a smile that isn't fooling anyone.

 Throwing his arms wide he says, "Rudy!  When did you get to town?"

 "We need to talk."

 He nods, "Okay. In private though."  Turning to the puppet he says, "I'll be right back."

 Something about that doesn't make me feel good.  Fortunately, I've got the gun in my pocket.  I just hope he can tell by my face tonight is not the night to screw around.

 Collodi leads the way to a private booth.  Once inside I pull the curtain shut, while Collodi slides to the other end of a crescent seat.  I watch his hands, half expecting him to reach for a gun underneath, but he keeps them in plain view.  

 Sitting across from him I get right to it, "You know about Vixen?"

 He smirks, "Do you?"

 "What the fuck does that mean?"

 He shrugs.  I pull out the gun.  The cherry goes out of his cheeks.  

 Milk white he says, "Take it easy Rudy.  You don't want to do anything stupid."

 "Then tell me something smart."

 He says, "Okay, but you might not like what you hear."

 "So sugar coat it."

 "Vixen..." Before he says anymore the curtain flaps open.  In steps two nutcrackers sporting red and green Uzis.  

 I say, "Make a move, and he's dead."

 Collodi frowns, "Where the fuck've you been?"

 One nutcracker says, "Making a phone call."

 "Phone call? Do what you're paid for."

 "Yes, sir," the nutcracker replies.  Next thing I know the cracker is emptying his clip into Collodi.  It catches me off guard, though no one's as surprised as Collodi. As the nutcracker fires I notice a wood-burn etching on his wrist.  Before I fully recognize it, he tosses me the empty Uzi, and like an idiot I catch the damn thing.

 The other nutcracker throws open the curtain, and shouts, "He's got a gun!"

 The whole nightclub goes into a panic.  Seems they were all hesitating, hoping the gunfire somehow might've been part of the music -- EDM is like that.  The nutcracker's holler, that's all anyone needs to stampede.  Puppets are pulling themselves into the rafters, or charging for the door.  Meanwhile, the nutcrackers are riding the flood to a nearby exit.

 Dropping the Uzi I look at Collodi.  His eyes are rolling, but he isn't dead.  Taking a chance I go over to him.

 Quick as I can I search his pockets.  I find a book of matches, but not much else.

 Suddenly Collodi grabs me by the wrist.  Eyes staring vacantly he says, "I's s'pposed to see her change... everything."

 Then he died, blood glistening on his lips.  Turning I see the éclair pushing his way through the surging mob.  Pocketing my gun I exit.  Bursting out the back door I hoof it to my bike faster than I've ever run. I'm roaring away from Geppetto's thinking none of this makes sense.  Then I remember the matches.  

 Glancing at them is a hint.  Purple cursive on a black background reads Sugar Plums.  No other options I head there.

 #

 The giant clock at the center of town is tolling midnight when I arrive.  Sugar Plums is a gingerbread brothel in a part of the city I could get arrested just for being in.  It's the kind of place the rich like to have close at hand, though they always pretend it isn't there.  A fountain out front of the joint is bubbling with lemonade, orangeade, orgeat, and currant syrup.  The cobblestone driveway is made of hard candy, and the whole building smells freshly baked.  I can hear a celesta playing within alongside the sound of rowdy laughter.  

 An elf valet sneers at my motorcycle as I roll up.  

 Parking I say, "Don't touch it."

 "Wouldn't dream of it," he says, "Filthy."

 I can't really be sure if he means me, or the bike, but I take it as a compliment either way.

 Marching through the entrance it's immediately clear I don't belong here.  Everyone is wearing some kind of evening get-up, except for the hookers.  Fairies in lingerie escort teddy bears in tuxedos through ribbon candy curtains to private areas.  A plush doll in nothing but a thong sashays by a leering group of rabbits in top hats. It isn't long, however, until eyes are coming my way.  Something about the reindeer in a leather jacket, his blood red nose, and ripped jeans doesn't fit.  Their obvious discomfort makes me smile.  

 I feel an arm gently coil around mine, and a luscious voice whispers in my ear, "This is not your scene."

 "No shit." Glancing over I see a fairy in a red dress, the edges trimmed in white fur.

 A gentle pull suggests I let her take the lead.  There's an authority to her, subtle but tangible.  Not wanting to cause a scene, not yet anyway, I follow her.  Making our way through the mansion we chat softly.

 "What brings you here?" she asks.

 Taking a stab in the dark I say, "Vixen sent me."

 Smiling and waving to customers she says, "I doubt that."

 "Why?"

 "Because she knows better than to send someone like you here.  No offense."

 I nod, "None taken. This isn't my usual hang out."

 "Then let's not play games," she says.

 "I've never been one for games."

 We go through a chocolate door into a cozy little office.  She takes a seat behind a large desk.  She blinks, and the softness is gone from her eyes.  

 She says, "I'm Ostergren, and you must be Rudolph."

 Tapping my nose I say, "What gave it away?"

 Setting a cigarette in a long filter Ostergren says, "So why are you here?  Really."

 I get a feeling lying to her is a waste of time, so I lay everything bare.  From start to finish I give her the whole story.  Along the way I recall that wood-burn, though I keep it to myself.  Some cards need to be kept secret.  Still, by the time her cigarette is finished she knows most everything I do.  

 At the end I ask, "Do you know what Collodi meant?"

 Nodding Ostergren says, "I'm afraid I do, though I don't know if I should tell you.  How should I put this?  You see, I don't like to take sides unless I'm sure who's going to win.  Do you follow?"

 I say, "I think so. Vixen got mixed up in something. Whatever it is, folks expect it to change things.  Those same people probably asked if you'd go with 'em down whatever rabbit hole they're planning for."

 Ostergren softly claps, "Bravo.  The only question left is who those folks are."

 "I don't suppose you want to tell me."

 She raises an eyebrow, "You already know one."

 I frown, "If you mean Vixen, I got a bad feeling she's dead."

 "If I've learned one thing running this place it's that looks can be deceiving." Rising she says, "Now, if you please, a fellow like you makes my customers uncomfortable."

 I smirk, "And when they're uncomfortable they don't..."

 "Spend," she cuts in.  Coming around the desk her wings flutter letting loose a shower of purple sparks. The glittery rain fades as it sinks to the floor.  For a moment I think she's cruising in for a kill, but then in a blink the softness is back in her eyes.  Still, that doesn't mean I'm safe.  So when she smiles warmly, gesturing at the door, I take the hint and leave.  

 Getting on my bike, however, I keep thinking about that wood-burn.  The nutcracker owned an etching of a reindeer.  Maybe if he hadn't been unloading a clip into Collodi I'd've recognized it right off the bat.  It's a design usually sported by flier guards.  

 Flier protection is a high level position.  Some nutcrackers spend their whole lives aspiring to get it, and only those in the detail sport that etching.  If he got reassigned to watching over a puppet maker that can only mean a demotion -- fallen from grace.  

 Glancing back I can see the fairy madam watching me from a window.  I nod, she waves, and with that I'm off.  Motoring along I figure there's one person who might know about a disgraced nutcracker.  

 I'm not out of the driveway five seconds before lights are flashing behind me.  The old familiar flare of red and blue.  Just for spite I take my time pulling over.  

 Looking over my shoulder I don't know why I'm surprised to see Elfberg and Milkshake.  Detective Elfberg emerges from the passenger side.

 As he saunters over I ask, "Something I can help you with detective?"

 He replies, "If you'd be so kind, Rudy.  We got a few question we'd like to ask."

 "Down at the station?" It's practically a rhetorical question.  The answer's yes, but I need to stall, time to figure what to do with my gun.  

 "It won't take more than an hour, or two.  Tops."

 "You promise?"

 He spreads a smile full of butter yellow teeth.  I've seen it before.  Nothing good is coming, but unless I want a legion of cops chasing me all over the city there's only one choice.

  Revving my engine I ask where to go.  He says to simply follow them.  So I do, and sooner than I want we arrive at the station.

[mayhemproduces]

Jon Moxley vs Kenny Omega- Night 11

The final match of the Heist is also the most personal one. Mickey's attempt at staying undefeated during the Heist is on the line, sure, but it goes deeper to that, to the last time Moxley shared the ring with the Best Bout Machine. Kenny Omega took the AEW World Championship from Moxley, and tried to end his career with a dangerous explosive.

If Kenny actually knew how to hook it up, Moxley might not be standing here now.

Whether that was a blessing or a curse is up for debate, but Kenny may soon regret his faulty wiring. Moxley charged out here with an intensity that we've yet to see in MPW, muscles tight and lips curled in disgust. His eyes stayed locked onto Omega as he walked to the ring, confident, and unphased by the eyes boring into his back. He even gives Moxley a genuine smile, as if he was happy to be in the same ring as Mox again, before disrobing his entrance jacket, and this match kicks off!

They don't circle much, already familiar with each other, and Moxley moves right out into an arm lock, twisting it around, and turning it into a waistlock. Omega grabs an arm off of his way, trapping Moxley in a wristlock, but Moxley rolls through, trapping Omega's wrist in a wristlock! Going move for move, hold for hold, until Omega breaks it by tripping Moxley up. Jon scrambles to avoid falling, still capturing Omega in a side headlock. Omega rolls back, unbalancing Moxley and throwing him off. Kenny jumps to his feet as Moxley rolls back to him, coming eye to eye again, before both men move to circle the ring. Perhaps they knew each other too well, and the only way to come out on top would be to pick the perfect spot. Slowly, they lock up again, struggling for a bit longer before Moxley transitions into a side headlock. Omega reaches under him, grabbing Moxley's left leg, and pulling it out from under him! Omega whips around, but two feet to the chest has him stumbling back. Moxley jumps to his feet, getting a double leg takedown on Omega, but Omega swivels his hips to throw him off! Omega answers everything Moxley throws at him, and Moxley punches the mat in frustration!

Trash talk is thrown between them as the two come face to face, Moxley getting as into Kenny’s personal space as he can get, before shoving him back! Omega smirks before shoving Moxley back as well, and Moxley shoves him to the mat! The somewhat playful look Omega’s worn since coming out here is gone in a second, as he stares up at Moxley with the familiar disdain. He jumps up and starts swinging at Moxley’s head, Mox doing the same! Neither man looks to be backing down from this brawl, until Moxley’s had enough, and breaks it with a headbutt! The shot has Omega stumbling all the way back to the ropes, where he bounces off, throwing a clothesline at Moxley, but Mox grabs it, taking Omega down with a backslide!

1… 2 - Kickout!

Omega quickly puts Moxley’s arm in a hammerlock around his foot, before pinning him with la Magistral!

1… Kickout!

Omega blocks the clothesline Moxley throws, nailing a forearm instead, and Moxley responds with an equally powerful forearm. Moxley hits a second before Omega can respond, Kenny throwing two as well, as this match delves into what we expected this match to be from the get go. Two wrestlers with beef to settle, duking it out, putting everything they have into each shot. Neither has the advantage as they go forearms for forearms, even knocking each other back to the ropes, but they bounce off it, using that small bit of momentum to power their forearm shot. Moxley lands two more forearms, before nailing a slap! He turns to run the ropes, Omega trying to catch him with a superkick, but Moxley side steps, trying to lift Kenny up for a Death Valley Driver. Omega slips off and behind Moxley, rolling backwards as Mox whips around, Omega trying another superkick, but the result is repeated a second time! This go-around, Omega hangs onto the ropes for dear life, until Mox chucks him off. Omega tries to charge him, but a vicious back elbow to the teeth knocks him down. Mox is quick to straddle, raining down fists, elbows, and forearms, pounding Omega into the mat, before he suddenly jumps up, and stomps on the right bicep!

Kicks are thrown along Omega’s bicep, some bruising already beginning to blossom as he’s backed into a corner, Moxley landing a kick, then a headbutt, before dragging them away from the ropes and into a hammerlock. Omega’s forced to the mat, laid on his stomach as Moxley pins him there with a knee to the back, grabbing the arm and twisting and turning it, raking his nails down the agitated flesh. All the while, Omega howls in agony, trying to get Moxley off of him, but there’s not much he can do in this position besides take it, and hope for an opening. Tongue hangs out of Moxley’s mouth as he moves in with the elbow, using the pointed tip to dig into Omega’s bicep. Hyperextending it and bruising growing deeper, more ugly, by the second, and Moxley looks to end this here with the Kimura lock - but Omega still has fight left in him, and starts punching at Moxley’s head! Moxley forgoes the Kimura lock, but trips Omega up, and steps on his upper arm! He gets more shoulder than arm there, but the damage down is all the same!

The arm is coddled against Omega’s chest as he tries to pull himself up with the ropes, but Moxley quickly pummels him into the corner, trying to beat Omega into submission. The injured arm is grabbed as Moxley moves them away from the ropes with an arm drag, holding on, and pulling Omega into a Crossface Chickenwing! He wrenches back on the back arm, simultaneously choking Omega and trying to topple him over, but he only gets Omega to a knee before meeting resistance. Omega’s able to push him off entirely, looking to break free and run the ropes - but Moxley grabs the tights, and pulls him back in! Using his expert footwork, Omega uses his feet to break Moxley’s grip, now allowing him to turn around, and hits Moxley with an enzuigiri! Moxley’s severely wobbled, his top doubled over but legs holding him up, and Omega backs up into the corner, both finger guns locked and loaded - when Moxley suddenly cuts him off with a running corner clothesline! Moxley rolls back, looking to do it again, but lightning doesn’t strike twice here, as Omega moves and hits the ropes. Looking to put Moxley down with a V-Trigger, and catches him square in the temple! Moxley’s dazed, barely holding himself up in the corner, and Omega’s found his opening!

Using the ropes as extra leverage to get Moxley onto his shoulders, Omega charges a foot steps ahead before shouting,

“YOU! CAN’T! ESCAPE!”

Omega rolls forward to plant Moxley on the ground, before jumping up to the second rope, and landing a beautiful moonsault! Omega lands flush on Moxley’s midsection, but unfortunately, he can’t take advantage, or even go for the cover, as the landing jolted his injured bicep. He looks down at the deep purple that’s spread over it, holding it up for the crowd to see, as Moxley rolls out of the ring for a reprieve. Omega isn’t sure whether to be impressed in his own abilities to keep functioning, or if he should be pissed at Moxley for handing him this injury, but either way, he plans to take it out on Moxley. Running the ropes, Omega doesn’t let the Terminator rise, but he does flip over the top rope, and wipes Moxley out with a Tope Con Hilo! That’s one for the highlight reel, and Omega may look to add to it as he throws Moxley in the ring, before ascending to the top rope. He won’t have much time to situate himself, though, before Moxley meets him up there, grabbing Omega for a superplex - but it’s blocked! Omega holds on with his left arm, refusing to go down! He slips out of Moxley’s grasp and lands a SICK headbutt! Moxley’s stunned, doubled over onto Omega, but stays on the ropes with him for now. Omega’s looking to change that for both of them as he moves his footing until he’s standing up, flipping over Moxley, and pulling them off the ropes for a sunset flip powerbomb - but before he can deliver, Omega’s ARM GIVES OUT! Omega couldn’t hold Moxley up, and Moxley grabs the bad arm, quickly whipping it to the mat with a NASTY arm wringer!

Omega hits the mat hard enough to, literally, pop right back up, while Moxley runs the ropes, flipping Omega inside out with a clothesline, causing him to land on the bad arm! Moxley can taste the victory on the tip of his tongue, and wants to ensure there’s no way in hell Omega’s going to kick out, and throws him shoulder-first through the corner, and into the steel ring post! Omega’s deep inside a world of agony, and Moxley finally puts him out of his misery, spiking Omega with the Paradigm Shift! Moxley flips him over, folding Omega up!

1… 2… 3!

“Here is your winner, Jon Moxley!”

[smashingatsonicspeed]

Returning Franchise/Groups Thoughts

Before I start talking potential newcomers (Though I will at least touch on it a little here) it’s time I give my thoughts on what could happen with each of the series that were in Smash 4 and if anything changes in representation. I’ve said before that I don’t expect too many cuts so most of this is mainly that franchises are keeping where they are but I’ll still try to make a special note with each one

Mario

I don’t really expect anyone in the Mario series to get cut. They’ve pretty much nailed the representation for the most part with the original characters they’ve gotten. Maybe Dr. Mario has a shot at being demoted to alt, but depending just how much ported over the roster ends up. He might stay anyway.

I also suspect that unless Captain Toad (Or any variation of Toad) is a Newcomer in this Smash. We won’t be getting any more Mario characters. No offense to supporters of Waluigi, Paper Mario, or Daisy. But I don’t think it’s time for them.

Yoshi

Yoshi’s probably going to remain solo. The only candidates that could feasibly be a 2nd Yoshi rep is the Baby Mario Bros. and Kamek. Neither of which I think are that popular really

Wario

I also think Wario’s going to remain solo. There’s going to be some hope for Ashley thanks to Warioware Gold. But realistically I think the only chance Wario gets a 2nd rep is if they decide to cheat the system a little and count Waluigi as a Wario rep.

Donkey Kong

Obviously both DK and Diddy will return. And this is also one of the franchises I suspect will just have to get a rep in this game. Whether it be King K. Rool, Dixie Kong, or even both

Retro (That is Mr. Game & Watch, Duck Hunt, and ROB)

I assume all 3 retro characters will return. With a good chance the Ice Climbers take their long awaited return assuming 8 Player Smash doesn’t cause trouble with them. As for any new retros, who knows. They seem to pop up one each new game. So maybe Takamaru will get to join this time around or something. But who knows what Sakurai will have in mind here

Zelda

Everyone from the previous game should return here. Only questions is if Shiek will return to being a transformation or not. Link is obviously going to be BOTW styled but will that mean any moveset changes? We won’t know until we see actual footage of Link. Zelda will probably also be BOTW styled. Though Ganondorf didn’t have his Gerudo form in BOTW. So either they stay with his Smash 4/Twilight Princess design, make a What If BOTW styled Ganondorf, or even make him in Hyrule Warriors style. As for any new characters, I think by now any chances of a character that isn’t some alternate version of the trio isn’t going to get playable. Those hoping for any of the guardians will probably get the same disappointment that those people hoping for Skill Kid, Midna, or Impa got.

Metroid

Samus and Zero Suit Samus will obviously return. Though like Shiek the question is if they remain separate characters. But of course what is always going to be a big topic discussion is if anyone’s joining. Obviously Ridley’s going to be debated once again. But I think a dark horse (no pun intended) could be Dark Samus given Metroid Prime 4 is coming. Dark Samus would definitely be much better received then Dark Pit was. Even if Dark Samus turned out to be somewhat cloned from Samus. It’d at least be something. Even if it’s not the big bone that Ridley would be.

Kid Icarus

I don’t think they’ll be adding more. Much like Dr. Mario, maybe Dark Pit gets demoted to Alt. But as much as I’d like that there’s an equal chance they’ll keep him around anyway. I suppose another question would be about Palutena’s Custom Moves. We don’t know if Custom Moves will return. Given the DLC characters were not given any, that may be a sign they’re on their way out. And if Palutena’s stuck with her default Smash 4 moveset? That’ll suck for Palutena players, because some of her actual good moves are hidden in those.

Fire Emblem

Ah yes the franchise almost everybody complains about their representation. I think for the most part everyone in the previous game will return. Yes even Lucina, Roy, and Corrin. If Dr. Mario and Dark Pit get demoted maybe Lucina does too but I just don’t know. Lucia’s actually kinda popular. And they bothered to bring back Roy from Melee so I don’t know why they’d leave him out again. And I feel Corrin’s a bit of an early bird. He/she would of probably been a newcomer for this game, but instead he got into Smash earlier then we thought he/she would. I think that because I suspect everybody comes back, we may get no more additional Fire Emblem characters this time just to give it a break. Maybe the next Fire Emblem’s protagonist gets in through DLC but otherwise I don’t expect any new Fire Emblem characters from the get go.

Kirby

All Kirby Characters should return being Sakurai’s pride and joy. Don’t know if it’ll get a 4th character or if it’s even necessary to have one, but if they do. It’s probably Bandana Waddle Dee

Punch-Out!!

Little Mac will likely remain solo. Don’t see them suddenly adding another. That is unless… Mike Tyson enters the ring O: (Nah, I’m kidding. Though it would be hilarious)

Star Fox

This one’s going to be a little difficult to figure out. I think both Fox and Falco are safe. But the question is if Wolf will finally make his come back after missing out on Smash 4. Star Fox Zero didn’t do as well as some hoped, so there’s ground for maybe Star Fox remaining where it is. That said maybe they’d save Wolf for DLC to have that hype return like Mewtwo and Lucas was for many. Any other choices likely already missed their chance. Including Krystal.

Pokemon

Pokemon is the franchise that has historically had the most cuts within Smash. So this is incredibly hard to predict. The Pokemon company has been said to be actually a little difficult for Sakurai to deal with. For now I think everyone that was in Smash 4 should return. With the likeliest newcomer being Decidueye to complete the fire-grass-water trio that has left a hole ever since Pokemon Trainer being cut down to just Charizard. Possibly a Gen 8 newcomer for DLC.

Earthbound

Ness and Lucas should be here to stay. Don’t think there need to be any additions from here on out

F-Zero

Captain Falcon without any new games still will remain the only F-Zero character. And that’s just fine.

Animal Crossing

I think Villager stays solo. Though a small chance that maybe Tom Nook, Isabelle, or even Mr. Restti comes into the picture.

Pikmin

If there was any chance Pikmin was going to grow beyond Olimar. It’s too late as Alph is simply an alt. So other then maybe other Pikmin characters also being Alts. Olimar will be solo. Though the real question is how many Pikmin will he have this time. He could have only three at a time in Smash 4. But up to 6 in Brawl

Wii Fit

If there’s any chance at all that for the first time a new series is cut for a reason other then 3rd party issues (Metal Gear) and technical problems (Ice Climbers) then Wii Fit would probably be first on the chopping block. But I doubt they cut her out as much as some will probably be clamoring for it.

Xenoblade

I highly expect Shulk to make it back. And a good chance he’s joined in with Rex from Xenoblade 2. Shulk will likely be the Marth of the Xenoblade franchise I feel.

Miis

I think they are more likely to return in some way. Though admittedly custom moves at least leaves them a little bit in Limbo. But I just don’t see why they’d cut them. The Miis allowed for those who are young (or young at heart) to include real-life characters, impossible ones, or extremely unlikely ones to at least kinda satisfy them. It’d be kind of disappointed to go to this game without that option to create your fighter. Even if Custom Moves is largely removed, I hope the Mii Fighters still return and maybe they’re the only characters with Custom Moves. Even if that comes into conflict with Palutena.

3rd Parties

Now this is the interesting part. I think Sonic, Megaman, and Bayonetta are absolutely safe. All 3 of them have had significant releases or upcoming releases on the Switch. Plus they’d all risk alienating the fanbase should either of them be dropped because they were all included by fan demand of some sort. I think Pac-Man and Ryu are in the middle in they probably will return. I think even if Namco isn’t helping out as much as they did with the last one Pac-Man may stay anyway and if they get Megaman might as well get Ryu again too but they have some degree of doubt compared to the 3 I already mentioned. Cloud’s probably the most likely 3rd Party to leave only because I heard Square can be stingy (I mean we did only get two songs for Final Fantasy. Which is kinda ridiculous). But given that Square isn’t at odds with Nintendo right now and the Switch is selling well. I don’t see why Square wouldn’t love the free promotion for Cloud whether or not the FF7 Remake comes to the Switch. While the risk is always there, I think we’re slightly more likely to actually keep everyone along only because 3rd Parties have gotten huge. Heck, I wouldn’t even be surprised if by the time development has finished and all the DLC released. We have 10 or more 3rd Party characters playable. As for likely newcomers? I think the most likely BASE GAME 3rd party is probably Rayman. While Crash Bandicoot might be a strong DLC candidate.

And that’s all for now, if there’s something that’s announced that leaves some evaluation I may do another post like this. Probably at least a post based on this when the base game’s roster has been revealed when we know who’s returned for the base game and who didn’t. Coming next I will start covering potential newcomers and/or veterans that weren’t in Smash 4 in posts of their own soon enough.

[keptin-indy]

7th Sea: The New World 3

Piracy!  Betrayal!  Blood!  Exotic fruits!  [Bluebooking!]

Previous installments

All the Duelists boarded the enemy ship (Ansgar by swinging over on his retractable chain).  Etienne was easily overlooked in the melee and crept up on the captain to stab him from behind.  Mariandl, watching from the Dream, noted the other officers all had mundane prosthetic limbs of their own and one of them seemed to be quite new to his peg leg judging by his iffy balance.  She called this weakness across to Misha, who promptly kicked the man right in the peg, knocking him into another officer.  Ansgar swung himself into the third officer, nearly pulling down the spar he had hooked onto, which sent the crew under it running for cover.  Stortebeker spun around to backhand Etienne with his armoured fist, but the blow connected only lightly, and Tamara stepped in to fight him captain-to-captain.  Stortebeker retrieved the sword Brandt had forced him to drop only for Gwendolyn to immediately shoot it out of his hand and into the ocean.  Misha punched the last standing officer in the face while the crowd of panicking seamen stampeded over one of the unfortunate officers on the ground and the other officer reconsidered his life choices.  Brandt lightly ran up the fallen yardarm after Stortebeker and pitted his sword against the captain’s panzerhand.  The first mate finally managed to get to his feet only to be tackled right back down by Ansgar and the second mate doggedly continued trying to punch at Misha’s tree-trunk of a leg to no effect.  Tamara shot a bolt of lightning from her hand at Stortebeker, pushing him off the side of the ship as he cursed them all to the Devil Jonah.  In the water, he bit one of his own fingers off as a sacrificed and called to Jonah to save him.  A swift current picked up, taking him away from the boat, but not before Brandt drew a bead on him with a pistol, hitting him in the head as he floated off with a bloody wake, apparently dead.  One of the officers managed to pull Ansgar down with him, but didn’t factor in the heavy metal contraption on his back and was subsequently crushed by his success.  Etienne struck the ship’s colours and Tamara declared a general amnesty for any crew who cared to join her.  The first mate threw down his sword and declared he wouldn’t die for a captain who’d abandoned them, but the other remaining officer spat at Gwendolyn in disdain and carried on fighting until the first mate himself kicked the man’s sword away and told him to be sensible.  The first mate introduced himself as Hans and asked who he should offer his sword to.  He was pointed to Tamara and asked her what would become of them now.  She told him it would depend on the crimes they had committed, and he told her that they used to be proud Eisen privateers until the captain had gone mad when the Imperator had committed suicide and he had begun sacrificing to the Devil Jonah - first his own body parts, then unwilling crew members’.  Tamara offered places to any of the regular crew, but put the officers in ransom quarters to await “pirate court” in Aragosta.  Brandt asked if he could claim the ship for the Avalonian Navy, which Tamara didn’t mind so long as she was paid for its capture.  Tamara also took the captured flag to the maindeck of her ship, where several others were arranged as a trophy hall where the crew messed.

With a prize crew following in the Eisen ship, Tamara asked Gwendolyn which route into the Atabean she wished to take.  Gwendolyn called in Khofi to direct them and he said that the location of the island changed, but he expected it to be somewhere in the southern region at the moment.  Mariandl thought this sounded suspicious and accused him of trying to get himself to that area rather than actually finding the island.  Khofi conceded that he had never been to Soryana himself, but insisted that he spoke with spirits who had told him the way.  With his story getting thinner and thinner, Gwendolyn demanded he tell her the truth; he knew how much this quest meant to her and she backed this up by transforming her face again.  Caught out, Khofi admitted that he was not a Seeker of Soryana, but instead worked for the Jaraguan government and needed to get them vital information about the Atabean Trading Company.  Gwendolyn asked why he couldn’t just have told her that and Khofi said that his time in Theah had led him to believe that no Thean sympathized with the plight of the Jaraguans in their fight against the ATC, which was, after all, a Thean company.  He’d since seen that Lady Gwendolyn and her party were good people willing to help even a troll like Inge, but by then it was already too late to back out of his lie.  He promised, however, that he knew people who could get them to Soryana if they would take him to Jaragua.  Gwnedolyn and her escorts debated whether they could trust Khofi at all, especially given the rumours of the Jaraguan government pirating passing ships of any nation, but Khofi insisted that was propaganda spread by the ATC, who was illegally enslaving his people and trying to cover it up by isolating them from the rest of the world.  Ansgar said that sounded plausible for the founder of the ATC, George Rourke, who had managed to get himself kicked out of the Vendel League for being too unethical even for them.  Tamara also said that the Brotherhood of the Coast made it a point to take ATC ships purely because they disliked Rourke so much.  While this debate continued, Etienne slipped out of the room and into Khofi’s cabin, carefully looking through his papers for anything that might shed light on the matter.  He found only financial papers related to the ATC, which he took notes on, but considered the briefcase they were inside to be more important for his purposes.  He rolled up one of his sleeves and made a small cut on his arm, using the blood to draw a small mark where it wouldn’t be noticed, then carefully replaced everything to where he had found it and rejoined the conversation in the main cabin with none the wiser.  Tamara had come back to the question of routes and suggested that they put in at Aragosta in the northwest because their other options were riskier, including going south to Jaragua.  Khofi was no longer asking to be taken home, still not entirely sure he was escaping the ship with his life and doing his best to avoid further offending anyone.  Brandt asked if he had any exciting stories from his homeland and Khofi told him about the time he’d pretended to be a slave to sneak onto a plantation to pass information about an uprising.  Brandt told him that was less exciting and more awful and Khofi responded that all the stories out of Jaragua were horrific thanks to the ATC.  Brandt pointed out that slavery was illegal in all the countries of Theah, but Khofi told him the ATC practiced it anyway.  He’d been sent to Theah as a diplomat to try and secure support for their cause of freedom, but he’d found the Theans too poisoned by Rourke’s lies or blinded by his profits.  Brandt promised that he would help when the time came.

In the remaining time at sea, Inge gave Brandt a rune for defending him from the seafoam wolves on the island and told him that it might be magic, but he wasn’t sure.  In return, Brandt made him a pocketwatch that chimed shortly before sunrise to warn him to get to cover.  Unrelatedly, Brandt also asked to look at Ansgar’s winch apparatus, as he wanted to design something similar, but when he found that the winch was slow to retract, he set about designing a different version for his own purposes.  Misha, Brandt, and some of the crewmen started a fairly brutal boxing club, though all in good humour.  Several friendly ships approached, drawn in by Stortebeker’s ship following the Dream sedately, and all were overjoyed to hear that the mad pirate had finally been taken down.  [Brandt brought a bottle of brandy to Etienne’s cabin and asked what had happened to his wife.  Etienne told him how and why she had been killed and Brandt offered to help him take vengeance.  Etienne didn’t think direct vengeance would help unless it was against the man who had given the orders rather than the ones who had done the deed itself, and anyway, he’d been sent to the Atabean to remove him from the game.  Brandt insisted that when they got back, he would help Etienne in any way he could.]

Before reaching Aragosta, Tamara tried to explain the chaos that was the pirate “capital” of the Atabean Sea, warning them that it may or may not matter that they were officially under her protection as a Brotherhood captain.  No explanation could prepare them for the anarchy of the bay, however, and the ship was immediately beset by a local merchant boats, hawking their tropical wares over the side.  Etienne bought a pineapple, fascinated by the varieties of fruits he’d never even heard of before.  The shore was no less chaotic and the nominal dockmaster suggested they sell their extra ship at the Bucket of Blood, which Tamara explained to her passengers was the unlikely name of the Aragostan capitol.  This turned out to be a three story tavern which apparently hosted a pirate congress in addition to its normal trade, though it was hard to tell the two apart, if indeed there was a difference.  Tamara went about selling ship to a Highlander claiming to have ties to Avalon and turning over Stortebeker’s officers to Queen Bonaventura for trial, though she did put a word in for clemency.  After the mandatory celebration for reaching the Atabean in one peace, the others split up to explore the town while Tamara took care of the ship’s business in port, resupplying and giving the men leave with their prize money.  Misha stayed in the tavern and made friends via bar brawl, but his performance evidently caught the eye of a local big shot and he was firmly invited upstairs to meet the Queen herself.  He was escorted upstairs where a dashing middle-aged Castillian woman offered him a position on her crew, and when he said he was already employed, offered to buy out his contract.  When she heard that Misha’s employer was a noble, she requested he bring her by.  Misha found Gwendolyn exploring the city and brought her back with him (after explaining that he did not, in fact, want to leave the crew, he was just being polite) to Queen Bonaventura, who told Gwendolyn she had balls for coming to Aragosta and bought her a drink.  She asked Gwendolyn about the possibility of buying out Misha’s contract, but Gwendolyn declined, pointing out that they would be in port for several days, as Bonaventura’s interest in him seemed notably physical.  Gwendolyn also took the opportunity to ask about Soryana, but Bonaventura just wished her luck and said it was probably in ATC territory before turning her attention back to Misha.  Brant immediately started looking for traces of Captain Turnbull, the man who had marooned him on the island, but instead found some other sailors who had a beef with him.  After an initial misunderstanding about why exactly everyone was looking for him, they exchanged information and Brandt promised to punch Turnbull for the men once he caught him.  Mariandl asked around for more information about the ghosts of Soryana and found out that there were two kinds: ancestor spirits that were green and transparent, but otherwise acted like normal people, and mad, violent ghosts that possessed people.  She was referred to Ruhuri Captain Oka Rupsaree for more information on his people’s customs, but he told her that any Seeker she found would be unlikely to take foreigners to the holy island unless they had already gained the trust of a Cacique, the head of a village.  He couldn’t help her and suspected no one could, though he was deeply amused at her wide-eyed tourist curiosity.  Ansgar roamed the town sketching buildings and mapping out the streets and occasionally cooking one of the large native crabs.  He too received a summons from the Queen, this time because she had heard about his mapping efforts and wanted to make sure he didn’t draw their defenses too closely or accurately.  He promised her he would not, and further that he wouldn’t sell any of his maps to the ATC, but refused to sell them to her, either.  Etienne disappeared for the day without telling anyone his plans.