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i-love-side-characters · 3 years

Text

Do You See It Differently?

Pairing: Various Relationships

Characters: Various Keeper of the Lost Cities Characters, One-Time OCs

Genre: Angst

Summary:

“Once you’ve seen there is another perspective, you can never not see that there’s another point of view.”

― Ellen Langer

TW: Death, Character Death, Injuries, Blood, Disease Mention

Word Count: 1.8k words (1,817)

Additional Notes:

You should be proud of me, this is all canon!

Or at least based on canon events

Okay you shouldn't have expected so much of me

This is terrible i am so sorry

no beta we die like nixx's happiness when me and pyro are coming up with angst

Tag List: Let me know if you want to be added/removed!

@bronte-deserves-better @councillor-bronte-is-best-boy @cadence-talle @an-absolute-travesty @bookwyrminspiration @keefeinnit @mallowmeltz @ultralazycreatorfan @everyonehasthoughts @mistythegenderqueermess @imaramennoodle @rainbowtay-11 @we-need-more-empathy @catboyruy @we-wont-dissapear @we-have-no-bananas-today @loverofallthingssmart @a-lonely-tatertot @thesandsofdawn @enbies-and-felonies @fire-sapphics @jadenightthewriter @alabestrine @sunlight-in-a-bottle @damischs @pyrokinetic-loser @pyrarayn @towishuponashootingstar

Read below the cut!

you've read the stories.

the ones with the obstacles beyond compare.

the true loves and dramatic battles.

the heroes, valiantly fighting against evil.

they're inspiring tales, to be sure.

but have you read the other stories?

the ones about the villains?

about the families?

about the kings?

about the children caught in war?

those, my dear, are the stories that truly matter.

they are the stories that go untold.

they live and die with them.

and that, is the true tragedy in this tale.

•·················•·················••·················•·················••·················•·················•

"careful!"

her lips twisted into a smirk, dark eyes tracking her daughter sprinting through the city.

"brilla! come back here!"

the little girl laughed, turning smoothly and running back into the arms of her mother. "mommy, did you see how fast i was?"

"yes darling, you were so fast!"

she squealed, wriggling out of her arms, running back into the crowded market.

"ms. sakh?"

she spun around, squinting at the amour-clad guard. the queen seal glowed brightly, it's shimmer enhanced by the golden city. "yes?"

"if you could come with me." his voice stayed even, solid. a queensguard through and through.

she didn't move, twisting to see her daughter playing in the peace fountain. two guards shadowed her, not interrupting, but keeping a trained eye on the little girl. "what's wrong? what happen?"

the queensguard shook his head. "the queen needs to see you, ma'am." he reached out, gently steering her towards the glittering palace.

she glared at him, wrenching her arm away. "tell me what's going on."

his face darkened, eyes filled with sadness. "i'm so sorry to tell you this, ma'am. but at 4:30 today, your wife, brielle sakh, was killed on duty at an elven residence in the lost cities."

the woman's eyes widened, her basket falling to the floor in a dull thud. tears spilled over her cheeks as she stepped back, shaking her head. "no. not brielle―"

"i'm so sorry." he said, reached out again, gently guiding her toward the palace. "let's go."

it seemed darker somehow. the palace. the city. it no longer shimmered bright and gold. the shadows shifted and grew, twisting darker and darker, until they lunged forward and swallowed her whole.

he stepped out onto the stone balcony, glaring out over the city.

he could feel every pulse in his body, the tattoos scrawled across his head. they shouldn't carry weight. the elder kings decided that they didn't want the weight of a crown on their heads. that's why the tattoos became what they were.

apparently their plan didn't work.

he could feel the weight of every black swirl, every black scar.

and he could see them too.

he had already visited the hospital. he watched the shamans cover another body. children's limbs mangled, mothers and fathers crying. soldiers standing stiff, black eyes watching every body leave the room and desperately trying to convince themselves that they didn't know who was underneath the white sheet.

and now he was watching hundreds, thousands of black bodies digging at the rubble, each one helping the other rebuild.

"dimitar."

the queen walked over to him, placing a rough hand on his shoulder. "you need to sleep."

"no, i don't." he twisted away from her, feet pounding down the stone steps. the cool wind thrashed his cloak back. mud squelched under his feet, sharp bits of debris cutting into his gray skin.

they bowed as he walked by, some clapping their arms to their chest, but all looking with black, unfathomable eyes. he cut through the crowd, stopping in front of their leader. "romhil― ro."

"father."

he nodded, drawing himself tall. "get back to work."

he bent over, ignoring the ache in his back as he moved the debris. he was with his people now, not with the others. and it was a sight to see. a king, shoulder to shoulder with a peasant.

and only one thought caught the king's mind.

this can't go on.

the pages felt heavy. rough.

it was his favourite book. he had memorized it's every detail. the roughness of the cover, worn after years of use. the last few pages, lighter than the others due to a lack of paper. the gold lettering, smudged where his the oils on his skin had touched. and it was the book itself too. the way the words flowed, like music, ensnaring you and pulling you in further.

he smiled and stroked the cover, noting the ink stains from over a thousand years ago. his sister had done that. he'd yelled at her for weeks.

he stood up, nearly tripping over the stack of scrolls tossed on the carpet, wincing as the document's edge tore clean off. he'd have to get it repaired.

dust flew in the air, the delicate rolls dusted in gray. they had been sitting there for ages. maybe it was time to read one again.

he reached down, shaking off the dust and settling back in the armchair, twisting himself until the lumpy chair was perfectly supporting his body.

and then he was thrown into the story again, grabbing him and pulling him in closer, until there was no world, just him and his words.

the sun rose and fell, and rose again, and fell, and time didn't matter anymore because he was safe.

and then he wasn't.

a sharp knock sounded at his door, making him flinch and drop the newest tome. it slammed onto the ground, knocking over empty cups and crushing papers.

"uh― i'm― i'm coming! just uh― give me a minute!" he yelled, hands shaking as he stacked the books as best he could. "coming! i'm―" he gulped, hurrying to the door. "i'm here, i'm― bronte?"

"fallon." the councillor said, trying to smile. "may i come in?"

"no. i mean― it's quite a mess― you probably shouldn't. councillor."

bronte nodded, his jeweled crown glowing dimly in the evening sun.

"what do you want, bronte?" he sighed, desperately trying to comb his hair back.

he sighed, running a hand down his face. "did you know about luzia, fallon?"

"what about luzia?"

"that she's been committing treasonous acts that violate several treaties and―" he hesitated, and then, much more softly. "and could put her in exile?"

his soft, dark eyes met piercing blue ones. even though the councillor was younger, he still cowed the other. he stumbled back, slamming the door closed, turning back inside. his dark eyes scanned over the room, the piles of papers, the overturned mugs, the drawn curtains, the mess, the chaos.

how the mighty have fallen.

it was a sharp sound, echoing off the walls. she smirked, throwing another stone towards the ground. and then a deeper echo, the echo of footsteps over the hard stone.

she tilted her head, her dark hair falling over her pale face.

two footsteps. one ridged and firm, the steps of a guard trained from birth to kill. the other was uneven, accompanied by the soft clink of chains.

she shook her head, shoving the sound out her mind.

but it came back.

the footsteps pounded into her brain, her mind analyzing each shift in the pattern, a click of a chain at a different time, a step falling a second too late. a breath too heavy. a rustle of armour.

a low hiss escaped her throat, pale skin breaking as she clawed at her arms. she closed her eyes, but it was still bright, too bright, loud, too loud.

and then the smell. the sweaty, musty odor, mixed with the sharp smell of blood. but something else―something different―

she tilted her head back, lips curving into a lazy smirk. the fragrance wafted inside, the salty smell of the sea, the scent of the wind. outside.

the guard appears first. black eyes, a controlled stare. near seven feet tall. deadly weapons at his side. scars ripple down his face, down his neck, two inches wide and dark against his scaly skin.

he barely paid her any attention, turning around to motion to the others. back was the click of the chains. two more guard appeared in the door, with someone else between them.

someone new.

she watched them carefully chain him to the lumenite wall. they didn't know what they had just done. what they had just started. they just stalked away, leaving just the two of them.

their eyes met. his lips curved into a smirk, nodding at her from his own little cell. it was hard to keep herself from smiling. she had grown old here. lived and died here. seen nobody come in and nobody go out.

it seemed that would change.

she gasped for air, bolting up in bed. this wasn't new. another nightmare, more fires, more sugary smells. another night without them here.

small tears trickled down her cheeks, landing on the silky sheets.

it had been a weeks.

she threw off the covers, crawling out of the bed, letting her feet sink into the soft carpet. light streamed into the dark bedroom, moving gracefully with the watery sky. the roads of the city were empty now. everyone was asleep.

"except you." she muttered, glaring at the city.

she couldn't say she hated it here. it was gorgeous, not to mention luxurious, and the people here couldn't be nicer. but it wasn't right.

she hummed under her breath, sliding down to the floor, smiling as a large ball of fur slunk over to sit on her lap.

"hey there marty." she whispered, stroking his fur. "i bet you miss home, don't ya? they don't have temptation treats over here."

he blinked his large, dark eyes at her, meowing softly.

"yeah, it's weird for me too. but we're safe." she said, sending a commanding glare the cat's way. "sophie's got us covered, alright?"

another soft meow pierced the silence.

"mhm. i completely agree. she is definitely in love with that teal-eye guy."

the lights flicked off outside, the sounds of shuffling feet echoing through the room.

she nodded, giving the animal a small kiss. "yeah, it's very interesting. and don't be scared. mom and dad are fine, i promise."

now the lights in the streets were turning off, bathing the city in a blanket of darkness. "they'll be fine."

she climbed back into the bed, pulling the sheets tightly around her. shadows danced over the gray-purple walls, fading into the darkness of the night.

she hadn't made a wish like this since she was 6. her grandma, and something called cancer. all she had known back then was that it killed people. that was 7 years ago. and now she was wishing again.

hopefully this time it would work.

so now, what do you think, my dear?

do you still think the king is a monster?

that the recluse does not care?

that the child is safe?

do you see the others in this tale?

do you see it differently?

#kotlc #keeper of the lost cities #mine #my writing #tw swearing #do you see it differently?#here take this pile of shit #and please avoid the ending its terrible #actually please just avoid this fic in general #but you gotta give me credit im living up to my url #side characters >>>>#*chokes* the q u e s t i o n m a r k s #i really said /punctuation/

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dweetwise · 4 years

Text

300 followers gift fic: beach episode

instead of taking a writing break i finally finished the crackfic i promised for 300 followers! it’s a little weird and i,, kind of make fun of frank a little too much but i hope you enjoy the silliness nonetheless!

characters: david, dwight, steve, ace, quentin, frank, julie, susie, joey ship: david x dwight warnings: mild violence, mention of blood word count: 6950 (hELP)

David feels his feet hit the ground as he’s teleported into a trial, the fog of the Entity slowly clearing from his mind. He opens his eyes—

—and promptly has to close them right after because bloody hell it's bright!

“Woah! Look at this!” an awestruck voice exclaims from somewhere nearby, and David thinks it's Steve, finally managing to squint his eyes open enough to try to make out their surroundings.

As soon as he does so, he immediately decides he's hallucinating.

He's on a sunny beach. There's waves slowly rolling onto the fine white sand and the sun is shining bright, high up in the clear blue sky.

The only thing that stops David from being sure that he's dreaming is Steve smacking him on the shoulder and uttering an excited “Dude, are you seeing this?” because if he was dreaming he sure as hell wouldn't be here with Steve.

“Where are we?" a voice that sounds much more fitting for his dream pipes up from behind him, and David turns to find Dwight making his way over. "Did—did we escape…?” their leader's tired eyes are wide with hope, and he rubs his arms nervously and—

Holy shit, he's shirtless.

Steve is shrugging and replying something to Dwight, but David's brain can't comprehend anything that isn't Dwight and his surprisingly well-defined, freckled shoulders and the adorable chub around his waist and fuck, David bets his skin feels so soft—

“What do you think, David?” Dwight asks, and David forces himself to tear his gaze away from Dwight’s torso to his face. But then he has those big, brown eyes looking up at him and searching for guidance, like David is even half of the leader Dwight is.

“Don’t seem like a trial,” David manages to get out through the mess of thoughts that is his feelings for the man. “Should look around—you stay close to me, eh?” he urges their leader, despite knowing full well Dwight is more than enough capable of looking after himself.

He takes some comfort in the fact that despite Dwight being aware of that too, the man responds with a nod and a small, if a little shaky, smile.

“Come on guys, hurry up!” Steve calls from a short distance away, reminding David that they’re not, in fact, alone. They follow the excited teen, walking along the shoreline.

As Steve prattles on about how warm it is and pesters them about whether or not they know how to swim, David tries and fails to focus on their predicament and not let his eyes wander.

He notices Dwight is wearing red board shorts with a pizza slice pattern, and tries not to smile. He wonders if it’s something he owned in the real world, or that the Entity made up just for this occasion. Either way, they’re way cuter than they have any right of being.

“Dude, I like the shorts!” Steve’s voice finally gets through to David, probably because he’s looking a little too intently at Dwight’s neither regions, but then he thankfully turns to give David the same treatment. “Yours are… uh, kinda neat too!”

And for the first time David actually takes a look at his own outfit. He hadn’t even realized he was also in swimwear, so used to going shirtless trial after trial. But sure enough, the Entity has put him in dark blue swim shorts, and he snorts upon spotting the cartoony beer pint pattern. He sure as hell has never owned a pair that looks like this, so apparently the Entity is enjoying playing dress-up with them.

“I think yours are cool too,” Dwight returns the compliment and David goes back to glaring at Steve, who grins and shows off his (really fucking ugly, in David’s opinion) striped shorts with pictures of ice cream cones.

Steve, thankfully, doesn’t have time for what would no doubt be an obnoxious reply, the sounds of an argument drifting over to the trio.

“—you should let me do it! I have Plunderers!” David recognizes Ace’s annoying voice before he spots the man, standing over what looks to be someone searching a chest.

“And I have Pharmacy, so shut it,” Quentin’s messy mop of hair appears over the chest when he offers a half-hearted glare at the gambler.

“Nobody wants a dusty old med-kit!” Ace huffs, hands on his hips. “Who knows what else we could find?”

“Too late,” Quentin snarks and finally rips the lock off, Ace sighing in defeat as he opens the chest. “What the… what’s all this?”

“Oi, what’s going on?” David walks up to the duo. “Did’ya find somethin’?”

“Hey, buddy—” Ace greets before David shoves his way past the man, peering into the chest that has Quentin so confused, coming face to face with…

“Beach equipment?” Quentin summarizes, lifting a water gun and a towel from the chest.

“Cool!” Steve has joined them and, predictably, gets excited, grabbing the toy immediately.

“Have you two seen anyone else?” Dwight asks Quentin and Ace, trailing after Steve to join them.

“Nope!” Ace chirps, grabbing a pair of sunglasses and a beach towel from the box. “Looks like it’s just us, unless the rest are… I don’t know, out at sea?”

“Half expected to run into a killer,” Quentin muses. “Guess we got lucky it’s just the five of us instead.”

“Shame it's just dudes. I bet the girls would've—uh,” Steve says, before seeming to realize how desperate he sounds. “Really enjoyed it too…?” he finishes with a sheepish smile.

“Uh-huh,” Quentin deadpans. “I'm sure that's the reason.”

“It's a tragedy the new guy isn't here," Ace sighs wistfully. “I’d pay good money to see him shirtless.”

David rolls his eyes while Dwight, embarrassed, chokes on nothing.

“Y-you shouldn't talk about Felix like that,” their leader stammers, completely oblivious to how David was ogling him earlier.

“Just saying what half of the camp is thinking,” Ace shrugs.

“I wonder if Jane's coming?” Steve seems to realize, glancing around as if expecting more people to pop up out of thin air.

“You're both disgusting,” Quentin snorts, starting to walk away from the group. “I'm going for a swim."

“But we don't know if it's safe!” Dwight calls after him.

"I mean… if I drown in Entity goo, don't come after me," Quentin merely responds, putting on some swimming goggles and making his way to the shoreline.

“I wonder why Quentin’s in a speedo and the rest of us have trunks?” Steve thinks out loud, and sure enough, David realizes he’s right, noticing Quentin’s swimwear when he swan dives into the ocean.

“Didn’t he use to do competitive swimming?” Dwight points out, because of course he would, because nobody knows any of them quite as well as Dwight, because he’s an amazing leader and friend and—

David’s train of thought comes to a halt when he glances around and notices what has to be a crime against fashion.

“I’d rather a speedo than whatever the fock tha’ is,” David snorts, gesturing to where Ace is laying his beach towel, wearing a pair of hot pink swimming trunks with a banana pattern, along with a trashy, bright yellow aloha shirt. Apparently he’s gotten so used to the man’s questionable style that he didn’t even notice the travesty until now.

“Aww, come on David!” Ace grins, taking his jab in stride. “I know you really wanted some pink shorts too.”

“It’s kinda funny that the Entity gave us shorts with our favorite food!” Steve grins while rummaging through the supplies in the chest. “I love ice cream, Dwight obviously likes pizza, and David beer, and Ace—”

“Cock,” David finishes the sentence, eyeing the banana shorts suspiciously, while Ace bursts out laughing, Steve’s eyes fly wide open and Dwight sputters something unintelligible.

“David!” Dwight finally manages to scold him, face red from embarrassment. “You can’t just say stuff like that—”

“Yeah yeah, sorry luv,” David grins apologetically, immediately cursing himself for letting the pet name slip. “’M goin’ for a swim too,” he decides, making his way to the water to try to get his thoughts in order.

David’s never been much of a beach person, not having enough patience to sunbathe and not a huge fan of swimming, either. But he can’t deny the warmth from the sun, even if fake, feels nice, and the soft sand under his feet is pleasant. When was the last time he even walked barefoot?

His toes touch the water and that’s where the pleasantness ends because goddamn, it’s cold! David can’t remember the last time he felt an actual chill, as the Entity seems determined to make sure they’re never too hot or too cold, even the snowy grounds of Ormond feeling room temperature.

But now, David has to grit his teeth as cold shoots through his system just from dipping his toes in. He glances at Quentin, still swimming around without a care in the world, and can’t imagine how the hell the teen managed to dive right in without going into shock.

David glances over his shoulder, wanting to see if someone’s looking at him freaking out over the water like a scared kitten. Steve is still engrossed in pulling out all the contents of the crate, before he hands a bottle of something to Dwight, who squirts some into his hand and starts—lord have mercy—lathering himself up with the sunscreen.

And David is helpless to do anything but stare, seeing Dwight work the creamy substance into his equally creamy skin, starting with his arms and then working it into his chest. He runs his hands down his torso, covering himself self-consciously when the softness around his belly jiggles slightly with the movement, and god what David wouldn’t give to be able to do that for him. He’d work the lotion into the skin nice and slow, taking his time and making sure to murmur how perfect Dwight looks and how good his body feels—

David’s brain does the equivalent of a record screech when his perfect, half-naked angel walks up to Ace, of all people.

“Ace, can you… uh, give me a hand with my back…?” Dwight asks nervously, holding out the bottle of sunscreen, and David thinks he's going to burst a vein from how much his blood pressure rises upon hearing the request.

Ace sits up on his elbows, before looking over his sunglasses with a smirk like the disgusting pervert he is, and David swears that if he lays a finger on Dwight's bare skin he's fucking throwing fists—

But then Ace's eyes meet his and a trimmed eyebrow raises in acknowledgement, still with that infuriating smirk on his face, and David's anger gives way to mortification because shit, what if Ace knows about his little crush?

To his relief, Ace just ends up sighing.

“Can you ask someone else? I'm kind of busy,” the gambler says, flopping back down to lay on his towel.

“Oh, okay…” Dwight says, looking so disappointed, and David’s breath catches in his throat because this is his chance!

“What the fuck, Ace?” Quentin emerges from the waves beside him before he can do anything. “Not everyone has your complexion. Some of us burn really easily,” Quentin scolds, walking up to the duo and no doubt glaring at the gambler. “Come on, I’ll help you,” he offers to Dwight, who returns a grateful smile.

Quentin starts rubbing the cream onto Dwight’s back, and then has the nerve to ask if Dwight can return the favor, so David grits his teeth and marches into the ocean to cool off so he doesn’t end up pile driving the teen into the sand.

He only manages to get deep enough for the water to reach his junk before he instantly regrets the decision, the cold making things shrivel up unpleasantly. He ends up just ducking his head into the water and wading back to shore, hoping that Dwight the others didn’t see him chickening out for the second time in a row.

The others are still engrossed in their own activities, Steve filling up the water gun in the shallows and Ace looking to doze off in the sun, Quentin and Dwight chatting nearby.

And nobody sees the strange group approaching from the treeline behind them.

“Oi!” David calls, getting the attention of his friends and picking up the pace to get to Dwight in case the strangers mean bad news. “Hope yer not lookin’ fer trouble,” he addresses the new group, causing the others to finally take notice of their company.

“Who’s that?” Quentin asks with a frown, taking in the sight of four people, two girls and two guys, dressed in swimwear and one of the boys even carrying a large swim ring on his shoulder. The group’s animated chatter dies down as they seem to notice their company.

“Oh my god, this is fucking typical!” one of the group, a young woman with blonde hair and a plaid bikini, scoffs in offense.

“What the fuck are you guys doing here!?” a skinny man with very questionable choice of swimwear, pastel purple board shorts with rubber ducks, demands.

“Fuck me, is the Entity pranking us?” the other man sighs, dressed in much more bland swimwear with black and white skulls.

“Aww,” the final member pouts, twiddling with her bright pink braid over her pink and black bikini. “Frank, you didn’t tell us there’d be others!”

David’s brow furrows upon hearing the name; it sounds familiar, but he can’t quite place it. Luckily, Dwight is much more of a quick thinker than he is.

“L-legion?” Dwight squeaks, his eyes going wide in fear, and David is now back to full alert because he’s right, they group is definitely the killers, David just didn’t connect the dots because of how normal the kids look.

“What, you gonna scream? Cry?” the leader, Frank, taunts obnoxiously, strutting to the front of his posse. “How about you guys go fuck yourselves and leave the beach to us, before someone gets hurt?”

Dwight takes a step back while David takes one forward, anger bubbling up because who the fuck does this prick think he is—

“Nice swimmies, Franky,” Quentin suddenly pipes up, making David stop in his tracks. “Did your mommy pick them out for you?”

“Tch—” Frank balks, his face scrunching up in anger even as redness rises up on his cheeks.

“He might have lost a small bet,” the pink-haired girl, David doesn’t recall her name, quips cheerfully in response.

“Shut up, Susie!” Frank hisses at his friend, before turning back to point at Quentin accusingly. “Of course you had to bring this waste of space, too!” he seems to direct the complaint at Dwight.

“S-sorry—” Dwight starts.

“Don’t,” David orders, placing a large hand on Dwight’s shoulder and stepping between their leader and the Legion’s. “This arsehole don’t deserve yer apology."

“Oh yeah?” the bigger guy, David thinks he remembers hearing his name is Joey, steps forward to back up his friend. Unfortunately, he doesn’t intimidate David in the slightest, especially not with only an inflatable beach toy as his weapon. “Maybe you should think twice about picking a fight.”

“Guys…” the blonde girl starts, sounding exasperated.

“Come on Jules, knives or not, we can take them. Easily,” Frank tells her, and David notices both Dwight and Quentin tense next to him, preparing himself to dodge a swing any second now—

“Ahoy, ladies!” Steve suddenly shoves his way to the front of the group, offering the two girls a cheeky grin and cocking his water gun against a hat he doesn’t have. “Would you like to set sail on an ocean of—” he falters, looking around the beach in thought. “…Water?”

There’s a moment of silence following Steve’s interruption, the tension in the air effectively disappearing as everyone stares at Steve with varying levels of amusement and disbelief.

“Um,” the pink-haired girl—Susie—comments, regarding the teen skeptically.

“Aww, he’s even more of a dork outside of trials,” the one named Jules—for Julie, right?—coos patronizingly. “Look at him with his little toy!”

“Thanks! You wanna have a watergun fight?” Steve is either completely oblivious to the jab or takes it in stride.

“I’ll shove that fucking gun so far down your throat—” Frank threatens.

“Kinky!” Quentin comments cheerily.

“Oh you’ll regret that—” Frank snarls.

“Children!” Ace’s yell snaps them out of the ensuing argument, everyone turning to face the man who has apparently finally decided to grace them with his presence.

“Ugh, it just keeps getting better,” Julie snarks sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“While apparently you guys had a negotiation with the Entity, we have no idea why it decided to put us here,” Ace explains with a friendly smile, ignoring the snide comment. “So why not try to make the most of it? There’s more than enough room for all of us. We’ll stay out of your hair if you do the same,” he says, giving a pointed stare at David and Quentin.

“Okay!” Susie beams.

“What? No it’s not!” Frank argues.

“Why not?” the girl whines. “I don’t wanna waste time fighting. This was supposed to be our day off.”

“So we gonna beat them up or what?” Joey seems to be getting impatient. “If not, I wanna go swimming.”

“Yeah, same,” Julie agrees. “Let’s just leave them be.”

“Fine,” Frank spits, glaring at each of the survivors in turn. “You’d better stay the fuck outta my sight.”

David wants to argue and he can sense Quentin does too, the teen biting his lip to suppress what would no doubt be a snarky comment. The only thing stopping David from picking a fight is Dwight’s hesitant hand on his arm, a wordless plea to not make the situation worse, and Frank would have to push a whole lot harder for David to ever deny Dwight.

“Looks like we have a deal,” Ace smiles, his shoulders sagging just the tiniest bit from relief.

There’s a silent understanding when the killers start making their way to one side of the beach while Ace motions for them to head back to theirs, and the situation looks to be peacefully resolved.

“Hey, you guys should check out the stuff the Entity gave us!” Steve suggests, inviting them right back over, most likely unintentionally, but it still makes Dwight sigh and David can even hear Ace groan in exasperation.

“I give up,” Ace sighs with a wave of his hand, leaving them to fend for themselves for when another fight inevitably breaks out.

David doesn’t really care if the killers grab some of the items meant for them, but it’s the principle of the thing, and his hands ball into fists while the teens rummage through the chest.

Susie eventually pulls out an inflatable pool toy with a unicorn that says ‘princess’.

“Oh my god, look how cute!” she squeals, holding up the toy.

“I bet it's Dweeb's,” Frank smirks smugly.

That's it, he's going down—

“You take that back!” David snarls, stepping forward aggressively.

“David, please!” Dwight protests.

“Yeah, can you guys not?” Julie sighs, rolling her eyes while procuring a pair of sunglasses from the chest.

“No one's impressed by this alpha male bullshit,” Quentin agrees.

“Not my fault this cocksucker can't take a joke—” Franks starts.

“Yer the one who's too much of a pussy to fight!” David accuses. “Let's go, right now!”

“Guys!” Joey yells. “If you really wanna butt heads, how about we play for it instead?” he asks, grabbing a volley ball from the trunk. “Our team versus yours. Winner gets bragging rights.”

“Oh, we're totally in! Right guys?” Steve, predictably, is all over the game.

David frowns. It's been years since he's played beach volley, but how hard can it be? Especially compared to his scrawny opponent; Frank probably hasn't done a day of sports in his life.

“Fine,” he spits.

“Fine,” Frank smirks.

“I'm in,” Quentin offers.

“Come on, Suz," Julie offers.

“You know I suck at sports!” the girl whines, but obediently goes to stand with the group.

Still missing one member for their teams to be even, everyone looks at Dwight.

“M-m-me!?” he squeaks.

Frank looks like he's about to say something, but is interrupted by Joey shoving the net into his arms.

“Come help me set this shit up,” Joey says with a pointed look and Frank rolls his eyes and complies.

Huh. Maybe that Joey guy isn't so terrible.

“Yeah, who else? Ace?” Steve is doing his best to encourage Dwight. “He’d probably throw his back out or something.”

“I heard that!” the gambler calls from his lazing around spot.

“And I'm sure you're better than you realize!” Steve continues, ignoring the comment.

“But I've never played,” Dwight says, still hesitant.

“You'll pick it up in no time,” Quentin encourages. “You don't even have to do much, we'll cover for you.”

“I don't know…”

“Pleeeaaase?” Steve whines and even pouts, clearly pulling out all the stops. “We really wanna play and if you don't we won't have enough players."

Dwight looks at David, and David does his best to give an encouraging smile.

“Come on, mate,” he says. “You’ll have fun, promise.”

That’s a lie, but David just really wants Dwight to be there to witness him kicking Frank's ass.

“Okay,” Dwight finally relents, looking away from David with a sigh.

Steve cheers loudly and soon enough, they’ve joined the Legion who have finished setting up the net and the game can begin.

It turns out the teams are surprisingly even. Steve and Joey are the best players by far, managing difficult serves, covering for the others and even extending to get shots David didn't even think possible.

Quentin and Julie aren't far behind in skill, not having the precision of their respective team captains but still succeeding in keeping the ball in play.

David likes to think he's better than Frank, but neither of them are doing too well, missing shots that should have hit and even causing the ball to fly out of bounds.

Dwight and Susie are the worst by far, with Dwight landing wet noodle passes at best and mostly just trying to stay out of the way. Susie is nearly actively sabotaging her team, squealing and covering her head if it looks like Steve or Quentin are going for a particularly rough hit.

Steve looks to be enjoying himself thoroughly, and David thinks he tones down some of his shots to prolong the game and give the others a chance. Quentin on the other hand is surprisingly competitive, often aiming for Susie's corner which is their opponent's weak link.

David mostly focuses his efforts on aiming at Frank's face, and from the way the teen keeps snarling and glaring at him, it doesn’t go unnoticed.

The Legion eventually turning against each other is kind of funny.

“Jesus, Frank, you suck ass,” Julie complains, watching the ball fly over the line when Frank hits it at a weird angle.

“I mean I’m not surprised that you guys know how to handle balls,” Frank snarks. “Personally, it’s not something I’d be proud of.”

“Then why did you spend three years practicing basketball?” Susie jokes, making her leader fume.

The survivors' camaraderie on the other hand is high, even as the scores are neck-to neck and adrenaline is running high. Steve takes every opportunity to encourage Dwight when he fails, and Quentin commends him when he makes a good play.

It should maybe make David jealous, but he's just happy to see Dwight smile and enjoy himself. He wishes he had the tact of the two to praise him too, feeling way more comfortable with showing off his athletic skill than actually talking to Dwight.

“Shit—” Steve dives into the sand and barely manages to save the ball after a particularly nasty serve from Julie. He doesn't get a clean hit, and the ball swerves a curve to the left instead of to the right where David was prepared to set it up, narrowly missing Quentin's head.

And then Dwight comes out of nowhere, managing to redirect the ball back into play, and David is so fucking excited he nearly misses the hit, but thankfully manages to get it over the net and Susie doesn't even seem to try to stop it.

“Go Dwight!” she cheers.

“Nice work, dude!" Steve whoops, spitting some sand from his mouth.

“I, uh,” Dwight is clearly flustered.

“That's what I'm talkin' about!” David encourages, smacking Dwight on the back and causing him to stumble forward.

"T-thanks,” Dwight smiles nervously.

“You done kissing ass?” Frank snarks, glaring at Susie.

“Yup, now we're gonna kick yours,” Quentin shoots back.

“Come on guys, 18 to 20! We can do this!” Steve encourages, and everyone gets back into position.

Julie serves again, and Quentin catches it. They get the ball over easily, and Joey raises it. Julie is in position to set it up it, and Frank jumps into the air, and David just hopes he misses the shot—

The ball whizzes past Steve and Quentin in front, and it's going way too hard to land within bounds, so that’s a free point for them—

But then David realizes the trajectory it's on, and time seems to slow down to a crawl as it hits Dwight square in the face with a sickening smack.

And David sees red.

When he comes to, he's on top of a struggling Frank and there are arms trying to restrain him from behind. The voices sound faraway and muddled because of the overwhelming sound of blood rushing in his ears. His arms are held back, so he headbutts Frank instead, and feels a sick sense of glee when he hears the crunch and Frank yelping out a curse.

“That’s enough, man! Cut it out!” a voice he doesn't recognize cuts through the haze, and David snarls, elbowing whoever it is in the gut. The restraint against his left hand gives way, and he's about to shrug out of the hold, ready to beat the living shit out of Frank—

And then he takes a bucketful of sea water to the face and it's fucking cold bloody hell—

“Merda—would you behave for two fucking seconds!?” Ace is yelling at them, angry for being disturbed again, a telling empty bucket in his hands.

The shock from the cold is the only thing that makes David resist the urge to redirect his anger in the form of his fist meeting the gambler's face.

“Steve, take David to cool off and punch a palm tree of something,” Ace commands like a frustrated mother. “And you three, make sure Frank doesn't do something stupid… well, stupider. Quentin, you’re helping me clean Dwight’s face.”

At the mention of Dwight, David snaps out of it and anxiously starts looking around to search for the man in question, soon noticing Quentin crouched by him and Susie anxiously fluttering nearby.

Seeing Dwight's bloody face breaks his heart, but luckily their leader seems to only have a nosebleed, even if the blood running down his face looks kind of gruesome. David hopes he didn't break his nose.

His anger threatens to bubble up again; if Frank ruined that pretty face—

“Okay big guy, let's go!” Steve apparently notices his shift in mood and is quick to drag him off.

David half-heartedly tries to protest but Steve isn’t letting up, and David follows him to the treeline just to get him to shut up.

Steve finds some coconuts and David takes the opportunity to punch one as hard as he can, pretending it’s Frank’s face. His knuckles sting and will probably bruise but it’s worth it, the loud crunch as the shell splits open making him smirk smugly.

When they get back to the others, Steve carrying a lapful of coconuts and David flexing his sprained hand but otherwise successfully calmed down, the others seem to be faring better too. Dwight’s face is a lot less bloody and he’s smiling shakily to something Ace says while holding what has to be a cold towel to his nose. The Legion are huddled near their leader, who’s slowly bruising cheek seems to be making him pout. Even if Joey is holding back snickers, Susie is trying to encourage Frank and Julie is patting him on the back in solidarity, proving that despite their bickering, the group does seem to care for each other.

“Hey, Frank,” David suddenly catches Quentin’s voice and sees a smug smile on the teen’s lips from where he’s approaching the killers. “I bet you can't swim.”

“Can too!” the gang’s leader says, predictably taking the bait and his pout immediately replaced by a defiant smirk. “Wanna race?”

When Quentin just clicks his tongue, pretending to be in thought, David knows Frank is in for a humiliation.

“Sure,” Quentin says, not giving anything away.

David eagerly waits for the two to get in position, a little jealous of how readily they get into the cold ocean water with barely a shiver. Steve gives a countdown, and then they’re off, Quentin effortlessly taking the lead and Frank falling further and further behind.

David doesn't feel the slightest bit bad for laughing, eager for the bastard to get any form of payback. Sadly, it doesn't really have the same impact when the rest of the Legion join in to make fun of their leader.

“You go, Franky!” Julie fake cheers between wheezes.

“Nice doggy paddle!” Joey laughs.

“You can still beat him! …If he drowns?” Susie tries to encourage.

After the race, Steve asks David for his help with cracking the coconuts, and even though David really just wants to talk to Dwight he can’t help but puff up his chest and flex a little from the teen obviously seeing him as the strongest of the group.

Later, the sun is already starting to set and David’s knuckles are even more bruised than before. The pain doesn’t bother him and the physical strain of the day has made him mellow out more than usual. When he notices Dwight sitting by himself by the shoreline, he finally gathers the courage to go talk to the man alone.

It looks like a day in the sun has done wonders for the group, lazy chatter and quiet laughter coming from friend and foe alike, scattered around the beach.

The girls have apparently ended up hanging out with Ace, Susie even wearing the gambler’s ugly shirt to protect herself from the now chilly ocean breeze.

“—and the Oktoberfest outfit, with the undercut? Swoon,” Julie says, doing a fake fainting motion into Susie’s lap, and Ace laughs and Susie giggles and bloody hell, are they still talking about Felix?

A bit further away, Steve and Joey are passing the volley ball in good camaraderie. David catches the end of a silly joke from Steve followed by snorting laughter from Joey, and it does kind of make sense that they’d befriend each other.

In the water, Quentin is still swimming while Frank lounges in the swim ring, taunting him. That is, until Quentin flips the ring and laughs, and Frank splutters and flails and hangs onto it like a lifeline.

David finally reaches Dwight, who doesn’t seem to notice him arriving, staring out over the horizon and looking to be deep in thought.

“Hey,” David makes his presence known, and as soon as those gorgeous brown eyes turn to look at him in surprise, the stupid nerves at the pit of David’s stomach resurface.

“Hi,” Dwight says with a small, tired smile. “Has everyone finally calmed down?”

A pang of guilt shoots through David’s chest at the words, recognizing his own part in creating most of the drama of the day. If he’d behaved himself, maybe Dwight wouldn’t have ended up hurt.

“Yeah,” David says, offering an apologetic grin. “Everyone seems ta be gettin’ along. Never thought I’d see the day we’d be hangin’ out with killers.”

“Hmm,” Dwight hums in though, turning back to watch the sunset. “Some of them are not that different from us.”

Seeing Dwight so calm and rational, David feels even worse for his numerous temper tantrums. He just wanted to protect Dwight.

“’M sorry ‘bout yer nose,” David sighs as he sits down next to the man.

“You didn’t do anything,” Dwight reassures. “I was just… wrong place, wrong time.”

“If I didn’t egg the wank—Frank on, it wouldn’t ‘a happened,” David argues, doing his best to swallow his resentment for the teen in question.

“It’s okay,” Dwight says, offering him a genuine smile. “I know you were just trying to stick up for us.”

David wants to come clean, to say everything he did was for Dwight, even if it only made things worse in the end. But no matter how much of a bravado he usually puts on, David knows he’s a real fucking pussy when it comes to emotions.

“Yeah,” he agrees like an utter coward.

“Thank you,” Dwight says anyway, smiling serenely like the absolute angel that he is, ready to forgive all of David’s dumb mistakes.

It suddenly hits him that Dwight always seems way more calm when they’re alone together, a stark contrast to him fidgeting and tripping over his words when they’re in a group and he’s put on the spot. Conversely, David’s confidence seems to fly out of the window as soon as he’s left alone with Dwight, desperately trying to appear casual while his heart does its best to beat out of his chest.

For some reason, Dwight enjoys and maybe even thrives in his company, and David in turn has never met anyone so understanding of his anger issues. He knows they’d be so good for each other—

Fuck it.

“Actually,” David starts, swallowing a lump in his throat but forcing himself to push through the embarrassment. “I didn’t do it fer them. I wanted to protect you.”

Dwight’s cute face twists in confusion, and David tries his best to keep unwavering eye contact despite wanting nothing more than to run away from the situation and his feelings.

“Oh,” Dwight finally says, and David thinks he catches the beginning of a blush before he averts his eyes. “I guess I am kinda weak, haha.”

“The hell ya are,” David argues. Damn, that’s not what he was going for at all, why is he so fucking bad at this— “Yer smart and determined an’ I really admire that about ya. Yer the best leader we could’a asked for, an’ even though ya don’t need protectin’, I just…”

David falters. He was doing so well, even managing to not put his foot in his mouth, but this is it. If he confesses his feelings, there’s no going back.

He looks up and meets Dwight’s eyes, and as soon as he sees the man who stole his heart look up at him with such blatant hope, he knows he has to try.

“I just care about ya,” he settles on.

Dwight swallows and his eyes search David’s face, and David doesn’t even dare breathe—

“Like… like a friend…?” Dwight croaks out, his voice now unsure and shaky, but he’s not looking away.

“Nah,” David says, shaking his head for emphasis. “Never saw ya as just a mate.”

Dwight’s cheeks flare red and he ducks his head, but David catches the dopey little grin before it disappears from his view.

“I—um, wow,” Dwight chuckles, fidgeting with his hands and not quite seeming to know how to react.

“Whaddaya say, luv?” David pushes, resisting the urge to pull the adorable geek into his arms and snog him silly. “Wanna do this?”

Fuck, hopefully he’s not being too forward. Dwight doesn’t seem like the type to have had plenty of relationship experience, but then again neither has David. Usually, he only had to flex a bit after one of his fights and wait for a bird or bloke to stroll up and make it clear they fancied him.

But those were easier times, and now he’s in a strange world within another dimension with a ragtag group of friends and confessing to a man he’s fallen for harder than he ever thought possible.

“Of course I want to do this,” Dwight mutters, sounding almost offended as he finally looks up at him with a smile. “I just never thought you’d go for someone like me.”

“Wha’, someone as perfect as you?” David smirks, nudging Dwight in the ribs with his elbow and causing a cute chuckle to escape the other’s lips. “Don’t sell yourself short, luv; I got high standards.”

“If you say so,” Dwight relents.

Despite Dwight self-consciously covering the cute rolls on his tummy with his arms, his smile is the brightest David has ever seen. They stare into each other’s eyes in silence, David with a dumb grin and Dwight with a bashful smile, and David feels so stupid that he didn’t see it before.

“Gonna give me a kiss?” David’s mouth says without his permission, the filter between his mouth and brain even more flimsy than usual because of the fluttering in his gut.

“I m-mean, my face is pretty busted up," Dwight stutters and turns his face away. “You probably don’t want to—I look even worse than usual, haha.”

“Bollocks,” David scoffs, leaning to nudge his forehead against Dwight’s temple. “Yer the cutest thing I ever seen.”

Dwight glances at him but still looks unsure, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth in a nervous habit.

“We don’t gotta if ya don’t wanna,” David reassures. “But don’t hold back on my behalf—”

And that’s all he has time to say before a surprisingly eager mouth crashes against his own, the rest of his sentence muffled against Dwight’s lips.

Wholeheartedly on board with the sudden turn of events, David’s arms wrap around Dwight as of their own accord while he hurries to reciprocate. Dwight’s lips are chapped but so incredibly warm, and the enthusiasm with which he goes at it is making David’s heart swell—

“Shit,” there’s a pained hiss against his lips when Dwight tilts his head and bumps their noses together.

“Easy, luv,” David murmurs, tilting his head at more of an angle to avoid Dwight’s injury. He gently coaxes the inviting lips right back in and Dwight makes a sound of approval low in his throat.

Every fantasy David has had about this moment can’t compare to the real deal. Granted, his imagination has always been kind of shit, and there was no way he could have pictured just how amazing it is to kiss Dwight and how perfect he feels in David’s arms. He tastes a tinge of blood when he licks into Dwight’s mouth, but it doesn’t bother him in the slightest, if anything it just eggs him on—

A loud wolf whistle carrying over the beach suddenly reminds him that they’re not alone.

Dwight pulls away much faster than David, turning to face their companions with a sheepish grin and a deep flush, while David lazily turns around to glower at the group.

Steve is still whistling from where he’s joined Ace and the girls, not threatened by David in the slightest. Then, to his annoyance, Julie starts clapping sarcastically and Susie hides her giggles into her friend’s shoulder.

“Ugh, finally!” Ace comments, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation, making David redirect his glare to the gambler.

“What,” David barely hears Quentin’s incredulous voice mutter nearby, still swimming with Frank and with Joey now having joined them.

“Uh. Congrats,” Joey offers, giving them an awkward thumbs up.

Frank, predictably, says nothing, only scoffing in disgust. Which, to be honest, is much more polite than David would have reacted if the roles were reversed.

“What are you—when did you—?” Quentin keeps going, looking so confused it makes even David snort out a half-laugh.

“Well, at least someone didn’t figure it out before these two idiots,” Ace sighs melodramatically.

“Seriously, doesn’t take a genius to notice them eye fucking each other all the time,” Steve grins, and holy hell, David really has been living under a rock if even Steve had figured out Dwight’s feelings before him.

He tunes out the others’ teasing as soon as a warm hand gently grabs his.

“Come on,” Dwight encourages with a playful smile. “Let’s go get it over with.”

His mood instantly elevating, David pulls them to their feet and rejoins their friends with his hand still clasped in Dwight’s. There’s some good-natured banter on their expense but that’s to be expected, and even though David half-heartedly threatens to clock Ace in the face for a questionable joke, he feels calmer than he has in years.

Dwight doesn’t leave his side for the entirety of their remaining time on the beach or when they’re teleported back to the campfire. And even if they have to go through the playful teasing and looks of disbelief a second time, David takes it in stride because he has the person he always wanted right by his side.

It takes way too long to get a moment alone from their nosy friends, but eventually, David manages to pull Dwight away from the camp to pick up where they left off at the beach, this time uninterrupted.

When Dwight breaks the kiss only to look up at David, with his bruised nose and some wetness in his eyes, murmuring that this is the best day of his life, David can’t help but agree.

#dbd fanfic #kingfield #dweetwrites #david king #dwight fairfield #dbd #dead by daylight #steve harrington #ace visconti #quentin smith #dbd legion #frank morrison #julie kostenko #dbd susie #dbd joey

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xmint-conditionx · 3 years

Text

☆ flanked ☆ ch2 | knj

(verb) flank -

guard or strengthen (a military force or position) from the side.

attack down or from the sides, or rake with gunfire from the sides.

☆ pairing: soldier!namjoon x widow!reader; namjoon x fem!reader ☆ word count: 3.1K ☆ summary: you’re a recently widowed military spouse who is stationed at camp walker, south korea. you’re dealing with the tragedy of your husband’s recent death, and in the process, you accidentally meet a k-pop idol you’ve had a crush on for years. who knew you’d both be at the same post while he’s doing his compulsory service? who knew he’d be so damn nice? who knew it would be impossible to get him out of your head? ☆ warnings: angst, mentions of death, grieving, lots of fluff in this chapter tbh and you might die because dork namjoon has come to the party ☆ a/n: hey everyone c: sorry this repost is a little late; i've been sick the past two days and holed up in bed for the last one. i'm so excited to release this for you and start on the next chapter.

It is 6:05 in the morning, and you are awake. Not wide awake, but awake. You can’t believe you let Namjoon convince you to get up this early, because frankly, nobody has ever convinced you to get up this early. When he said that you’d have to get there first thing in the morning so you can see everything, you really didn’t think he would mean you’d have to get there at 7 AM. It’s always been your philosophy that it’s wrong to wake up before the sun, and you’re finding that getting out of bed in your pitch black room isn’t easy. You’re gonna have to make sure to clarify everything that man says in the future. Ugh, military men, you think.

You groan, muscles stiff as you finally manage to get yourself out of bed.

Bananas is obviously not getting the memo, the only sign of him being his fluffy tail poking out from under the covers. He’s never been into early mornings either.

Namjoon sent you a text yesterday and told you that the exhibit that he really wants to show you requires tickets. He then told you that because they only sell 100 tickets per day on a first come first serve basis; getting in line any later than 7 AM would surely be entirely too late, apparently. The Daegu Art Museum opens at 10, tickets go on sale at 9:30, yet you need to be in line no later than 7? Sure.

He seemed really excited about the exhibit, though, saying that Yayoi Kusama, whoever that person was, was a genius. So… you couldn’t exactly turn him down. Her works were deep and breathtaking and spoke so much about life, according to Namjoon. He had promised it would be worth it, and you thought about that promise as you groggily did your morning routine. Yeah, you thought, it had better be. If only he hadn’t sent too many pleading-eye emojis.

You grabbed your over the shoulder bag and gave Bananas a good belly rub before heading outside.

Despite being almost non-functional this early in the morning, you beat Namjoon to the museum. Gawking at the massive modern building, you walk up to the front doors, where a decent line has already formed. Okay, maybe he was right.

You find yourself a place at the back of the line and just as you reach in your bag to grab your phone to text him, you see Namjoon walking in your direction, long legs making short work of catching up to you. You catch his eyes lingering on your bare legs as he approaches, and for just a moment, you’re glad you chose to wear this skirt.

“Morning, Namjoon,” you groan, leaning up against the museum’s outer wall. More people start filing in line after you, and you’re thankful Namjoon wasn’t too late. “I guess you were right. Look at all these people.”

“Morning, peach,” he says with another one of his dimpled grins, “Glad it’s warming up out? It’s supposed to hit 20 degrees today.”

“Okay, it is entirely too early for you to be this happy,” you say, voice groggy. Namjoon just shrugs.

“Guess I’m just excited.”

You look around the small crowd that has formed and notice that a lot of the people are sitting up against the wall while they wait. You decide to do the same.

“I am too, trust me,” you say, back resting against the cool stone, “I’m just not usually up this early.”

“I see. Maybe conversation can keep you awake. Are there any other places in Daegu you want to see?” Namjoon inquires.

“Well, there is that aquarium I keep hearing about. One of my coworkers on post says that there are mermaids that do a little performance with the fish.”

“Oh! I know which one you’re talking about! I’ve actually been there a few times. I love it there! Fish are so cool.”

“Before I went into veterinary science,” you say, “I was originally planning on being a marine biologist.”

“You’re a vet? I didn’t know that! No wonder Bananas looks like such a happy pup!”

“Yeah,” you say, letting your head fall back, “he really is. But, I really want to go check it out. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to an aquarium.”

“The mermaid performers swim around with a bunch of stingrays. Stingrays are actually not that dangerous, especially if they have the barbs removed from their tails.”

You feel your eyes growing heavy.

“Wow, I didn’t know that.”

“A lot of people think they’re really dangerous because Steve Irwin died from a sting from a stingray, but his injury was a result of the barb piercing his thoracic wall. Most stingray injuries are actually very mild.”

“That’s interesting,” you say quietly, eyes fluttering closed.

“Some people think that cutting down their barbs is abuse, but it’s like cutting off a fingernail to humans. They don’t feel it at all and it grows back over time.”

“Mhmmmmm,” you say as you feel yourself slipping back into sleep.

“It’s the touch tanks that can be a little problematic,” Namjoon continues, oblivious, “Stingrays have a type of mucus that covers their body that protects them from bacteria. If that gets rubbed off, they become vulnerable. A lot of zoos and aquariums are taking plenty of precautionary measures though, like making sure the guests wash their hands before and after they experience the touch tank. In fact, I think that given the proper precautions, touch tanks…”

______________

The warmth next to you feels like home, and threatens to pull you back to sleep. You feel yourself holding onto something... firm and yet so soft, but it’s comforting, so you tighten your grip and nuzzle further in. You then feel a gentle breeze run across your legs and wonder where your blankets have gone. Bananas has probably hogged them all. You breathe in and smell laundry detergent, a little musk and… men’s deodorant? There’s the quiet chatter of birdsong, and an unmistakable trickle of water, and you instantly remember where you are.

Your eyes snap open to find yourself snuggled up to Namjoon, arms hooked around his bicep and cheek against his shoulder. He seems un-bothered by your lack of respect for his personal space; he doesn’t even look up from his book. Like it’s the most natural thing for you to be attached to him like this. Embarrassed, you quickly distance yourself from him and apologize profusely while he just chuckles a bit. He puts his bookmark in to keep his place and turns towards you as you blink yourself awake, tasting the dryness in your mouth. Oh god, you must have had your mouth open.

“It’s fine, peach. I didn’t even realize you were asleep until you started snoring.”

You gasp. “I did not!”

“Oh, you did,” he says, eyeing you playfully, “It was only a little though. And it was really quiet. Kind of cute, actually.” You play hit him in the arm that you had just been latched on to.

“Hey, don’t be mad at me. I bought your ticket!”

“You what?! What time is it?” you ask, scrambling to look at your phone. It was 5 minutes until open. “Namjoon, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I was going to, but you were sleeping so hard...”

“Well, at least that means I wasn’t all over you this entire time.”

“Oh, no," he says, "you were.”

You groan. “How did you get up and buy the tickets then without me knowing?”

“A man has to have some secrets, you know. Come on, let’s go look at some art.”

The inside of the Daegu Art Museum is stunning. The lobby is bright and open; the sunlight pours into that first room through the large windows, casting a lovely morning light on all of the bright and cheery visitors. Some of the larger pieces are displayed in this grand lobby, some towering ten of feet above you.

“Namjoon, this is beautiful.”

“Just you wait, Come on, first we’ll do classical, then lunch, then modern art. The best one we’ll save for last.”

Classical art wasn’t your favorite, but Namjoon got absorbed in just about every piece. When he saw one that really grabbed his attention, he would sit there gawking at it, mouth open as he read from the little plaque next to it. The way his eyes filled with wonder and widened with discovery at the newly rotated paintings was absolutely adorable. He almost had this child-like wonder about him, eagerly looking back and forth from the plaque to the painting and back again. You almost enjoyed studying Namjoon instead of the art.

You let him take the lead, showing you some of his favorite pieces as you navigate through the galleries. He is definitely in his element here. After he finishes his embellished tour of the classical works, you both decide it would be a good time to break for lunch. The museum has a little cafe, so Namjoon takes care of waiting for your orders while you are tasked with finding a nice spot to spread your blanket outside on the grounds. You see a spot beneath a tree offering up a little shade, so you spread the blanket over the soft grass and take your place, closing your eyes and breathing in the fresh air. Namjoon soon arrives with your food, and settles down next to you.

Before you start to eat, you remove your cardigan, exposing your chest and arms to the air, hoping to enjoy some of the new warmth in Daegu. You hear Namjoon take a sharp inhale, and thinking something’s wrong, you quickly look over at him. He’s got his eyes trained on you, and he swallows hard before he realizes you’re looking at him. He jerks his gaze away, finds something else to look at and shakes his head, as if to clear it. Was he… checking you out?

“Sorry, I thought I uh…” he trails off, “thought I saw a bug. It was, uh, just a shadow.”

“Uh, thanks for uh, looking out,” you say, before a thought strikes you, “Hey, Namjoon. I brought my painting stuff with me today. I was hoping to paint a little while we eat, is that okay? I don’t want to be bad company.”

He perks up, “Oh, yeah, sure. I can just keep reading my book. Hypervelocity stars aren’t going to learn about themselves!”

You set about getting out your watercolor palette, planning on using some of your bottled water to wet your paints. For some reason, you glance back over at Namjoon. He’s sitting with his back against the tree, legs crossed at the ankles, book in one hand, and bao in the other. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed together in concentration, and he lazily takes a bite, not even looking at the bao bun. You hold back a giggle when you see he got some sauce on his mouth. You can’t help but point it out by getting his attention and tapping your own bottom lip. Namjoon studies you for a minute, and slowly licks his bottom lip, almost too slowly. Before you can register what he had just done, he just smiles at you innocently and goes back to reading his book.

This man is going to kill you, so he might as well be the subject for your art. The way he’s positioned himself is just too adorable to ignore.

After getting the basic shape of his outline done and halfway through the details in his face, he stirs from his place under the tree. You watch him as he places his book down carefully on the blanket and walks toward your back, steps ever so gentle. You turn your head and see a little bird hopping around on the grass, and Namjoon is after it. He breaks off a piece of bread from his second bao and extends it towards the bird, who eyes him suspiciously. To your surprise though, it hops forward and takes the bread, chirping up at Namjoon. He goes to sit cross legged on the ground, but doing so ends up startling the bird, who then flies a short distance away on the lawn. Namjoon sulks and pouts a little before getting up and walking after the bird. This is the craziest thing you have ever seen. You love animals so much that you’ve dedicated your career to helping them stay healthy, but this is on a whole other level.

You go back to refining your art, throwing some color into the sky and on the tree, seeing as your main subject has wandered off.

You’re startled when he comes back from behind you.

“How’s the art coming?” he asks, looking over your shoulder at your book, “Hey! Is that me?!”

“Well, it was going to be until you started playing Snow White.”

“Yeah…” he says, looking down at what’s left of his sandwich, “the little guy ate all my bread.”

You laugh a little at him as he frowns at the char siu pork filling barely being contained by the thinnest bun dough you’ve ever seen. Widening his eyes, he downs the rest of the bao bun in one bite.

“Dind youh whanna fhinish youhr phaintingh?” he says, covering his full mouth as he speaks.

“I can finish it some other time. Let’s go see the modern stuff before I want another nap.”

Stepping into the large room that houses the modern art, you take in a sharp breath with how absolutely full it is. Sculptures, paintings, installations; and in the back of the room is a line leading to a small door. You don’t know where to look first, so thankfully your personal tour guide is there to show you the way.

You’re reading the plaque on a minimalistic piece when Namjoon comes and grabs your wrist, excitedly ushering you to follow him. He leads you to the other side of the room where he stops in front of a section of blank wall, gesturing for you to look at it. You sit there and wonder what in the world he could be talking about when you see it. A piece of bright pink gum is stuck to the pristine white wall.

“This wasn't here last time!” he exclaims in a whisper. “I can’t believe this.”

“Yeah, kinda sucks that someone did that.”

“No, you don’t get it. This is an installation.”

“... are you sure about that?”

“Yeah! Look, it's about how such a simple thing can ruin something so large. Like finding a fly in your chardonnay, or there being a hair in your food, or one small imperfection in a person ruining your whole view of them.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s actual trash, Namjoon.”

“Of course it’s actual trash. I don’t think the artist could have gotten the point across without using actual chewing gum. It says so much. It might also be depicting the actual process of tainting something too! Like, how long did the artist chew the gum before they stuck it there? How much time and effort did it take them to ruin this whole wall with their gum? Where’s the plaque?”

As Namjoon searches the nearby walls for a plaque, a janitor comes by and scrapes off the gum, smiling gently at the both of you. You send Namjoon a pointed look, one that’s screaming “I told you so,” and then you both start laughing, having to hold back most of the sound in the quiet of the viewing space.

“Okay, last but not least. You ready?” The two of you were next in line to enter that small door you had seen at the back of the room when you first entered. The lady taking the tickets had already informed you that you would have five minutes once the door shut. You still had no idea what to expect.

“Yeah, I guess I had better be.” The door opened, letting out the museum goer who had just been in there.

Namjoon leaned up to your ear from behind and gently said, “Close your eyes.”

You were about to protest when he continued speaking, placing his hands on your shoulders, “I’ll walk you in there and tell you when to open. Trust me?”

You answered him by letting your lids drop. You felt him guide you by your shoulders as you walked gently forward and then to the right. You could tell that the floor texture had changed from the concrete you’d been walking on all day to something more plastic. You heard the door softly click shut behind you.

“Open,” he commanded softly, and you complied.

You could not make sense out of what you were seeing. The view went on forever, but you could tell that the actual room was so very small. Directly in front of you and on all sides were mirrors, infinitely reflecting off of themselves into the horizon. You were both completely surrounded by them. Scattered around the part of the room that wasn’t the black platform that you were standing on were delicate fairy lights in a cool white tone. It felt like you were floating in a void, so endless and empty. There were specks of brightness, but they did nothing to change the darkness enveloping you. Though it felt infinite, there was a nagging sense of being trapped. Surrounded on all sides. It was beautiful and terrifying to look at. Consumed by everything and nothing. You forgot Namjoon was there until he spoke quietly against your ear.

“This is what I think grief looks like. If it could take a physical form, this would be it.”

He’s right. He’s so right. You’re being swallowed by emptiness. You both are.

You both stand there in silence for the next few minutes, Namjoon’s warmth radiating onto your back, his hands still on your shoulders. Occasionally, his breath would brush against the nape of your neck.

“You really get it, don’t you?” you ask quietly.

“I can’t say I understand what it’s like to lose a spouse, peach. But I understand grief in my own way. I know this sounds crazy, because I don’t believe in any higher power, but I think we were supposed to meet each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean... “ he starts, “I just feel better when I’m around you. I feel like a… better person. You don’t treat me like... “ he stops himself.

“Like what, Namjoon?”

“You don’t treat me like other people do. In a lot of ways. That’s... the easiest way to say it.”

You just nod, wanting to soak up these last few moments in this room with him. In this dark space, it’s not so scary to get close. You allow yourself to lean back into him, and he stiffens up for a moment before circling his arms around you.

“We’re gonna get through all of this together,” he says against your ear, “I promise. Together.”

#bts smut #rm smut #namjoon smut #namjoon x you #namjoon x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #namjoon imagine #namjoon fanfic #rm x you #rm x reader #xmint-conditionx #flanked

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cosmicjoke · 4 years

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Further commentary on the ending of Banana Fish (Spoilers):

Look, I understand the controversy and upset surrounding the ending of Banana Fish. My last post on this topic seems to have pissed some people off, which was never my intention. But I think maybe I could have worded things a bit better, so I’m going to try again to explain why I feel like the ending of Banana Fish was so perfect.

It’s not a happy ending, and I don’t think anyone, anywhere, will try to tell you that the ending was meant to make anyone happy, or satisfied. That’s the point. It’s not MEANT to please the reader. It’s meant to remain true to its narrative realism. And in that realism, it’s meant to break the readers heart. And boy does it do both.

I don’t think anyone would tell you, anyone with any ounce of feeling in their heart, anyway, that Ash didn’t deserve a happy ending, or that he deserved to die after all the awful shit he went through. I think we can all agree that we would have wanted, if we had a choice, to see Ash have a happy, hopeful ending with Eiji in Japan. We all agree that Ash DESERVED a happy ending, because he was a good person who was dealt about the shittiest hand in life a person can have. And despite all that shit, he retained that innate goodness of heart that made him who he was. He never became a monster, like the people who used him up and abused him over and over again. That’s what makes him such an extraordinary character that’s deeply loved by so many people. He absolutely deserved to be happy.

But that’s the thing. Banana Fish is a story that deals in reality. Everything that happens in the story, despite the often extraordinary, larger than life circumstances, is dealt with in a way that is, very often, brutally, painfully honest and realistic. It doesn’t give us what should be, it gives us what IS. And that makes perfect sense in accordance with its relation to writers like Hemingway and Salinger. They wrote stories that dealt in brutal honesty and reality too, and both writers are referenced throughout Banana Fish. And it’s Banana Fish’s commitment to that brutal honesty and reality that makes it an authentic piece of art. People want a fairy tale ending, where Ash gets to ride off into the sunset with Eiji and live happily ever after, but at no point in Banana Fish are we given any indication that the story is, at any point, going to delve into the realm of unreality and fantasy, and give us such an ending. To do so would have been a betrayal of the genuine nature of the narrative. It would have ultimately robbed it of its authenticity as a piece of art, and the story, as a result, would have been left hollow and lacking.

Banana Fish, throughout its narrative, shows us that terrible things happen to good people, and that good people are often forced into doing terrible things. It never shy’s away from that cruel, heartbreaking reality, and the ending is no exception.

It affects us so deeply, and leaves us so upset, because it’s so REAL. It feels genuine to us, it feels real, because it refuses to betray its honesty for the sake of a happy fantasy. It remains loyal to the harsh truth of reality, and the harsh truth of Ash’s reality in particular. Ash is a deeply damaged, broken person, who’s experiences in life are the very definition of cruelty. Here is a boy who, since the age of seven, has experienced sexual, mental, emotional and physical abuse repeatedly and on a scale truly unfathomable to almost all of us. A boy who was forced into a life of prostitution in order to simply survive on the harsh streets of an unforgiving city. A boy who, again out of a necessity for survival, has had to kill other human beings. A boy who, out of a desperate situation in which he was forced to choose either to save his soulmate or watch him be murdered by his best friend gone berserk in a mad, drug induced insanity, had to kill his best friend by shooting him straight through the heart. A boy who, each time in his life that he’s tried to build real and meaningful relationships with other people, Griffin, the girl he liked when he was 14, Skip, Shorter, Eiji, he’s had to watch those people he allowed himself to grow close to either die or almost die, over and over again. All of that combined creates a level of trauma that’s so far beyond the normal scope or understanding of a regular human being, so far beyond any discernable mechanism for coping with trauma, that to expect Ash to just get over it, for it all to magically be okay just because he moves to Japan with Eiji, is the height of unrealistic, and, again, would be a betrayal of the authenticity the story marries itself to from start to finish.

Ash’s death is a tragedy, as his life was a tragedy, and the story is a reflection of that. It stays true to that narrative, and never compromises on it. That’s the point. Life doesn’t always have a happy ending. People that have suffered severe, irreversible trauma don’t always recover, and can’t always heal from it. People who have suffered in the obscene and brutal ways that Ash has aren’t always going to be alright. Sometimes it’s just too much. For Ash, it was just too much. Too much damage. Too much heartache. Too much pain. Too much loss. Sometimes we can’t overcome our damage, and that reality presented in this story scares people, I think, because it’s so nakedly honest and unapologetically expressed.

The ending is so god awful painful too because we see, in that moment after Ash reads Eiji’s letter, hope bloom inside him. For an instant, this belief that maybe he can have a happy ending, when he thinks he’ll catch Eiji at the airport, and maybe go with him. And in the next instant, he’s mercilessly reminded of that hope’s falsity. Hope springs eternal, but not always true. Hope and happiness were never meant for Ash. The chance for that was taken from him before he could even understand what those concepts were. The thematic arc of the story was telling us from the start that it was going to end in tragedy.

People weren’t meant to LIKE this ending. It wasn’t meant to make them feel good, or okay with what happened, or fulfilled. In fact, I’d say, it’s meant to make you feel completely devastated. As the story reflects reality, so often too does real life end in a way that leaves us feeling lost and confused and heartbroken. Banana Fish is so good because it stays true to that sense of reality, right until the very end.

The ending doesn’t leave us feeling happy, but it sure does leave us FEELING. Like any real piece of art would. The emotions it conjures are immense and, for some I guess, too real. That sense of loss and hopelessness and pain it leaves us with is so effective because, again, it’s so honest. And I guess that because those emotions are so real, and felt so deeply, and with such intensity, it leaves some readers and viewers feeling angry. Lashing out at a reality which they don’t want to accept. The irony, of course, is that their hatred and rejection of the ending is testament to just how deeply the ending touched them. It didn’t leave them feeling nothing, it left them feeling too much, and they then go into a state of denial, which is really just a stage of grief. A refusal to accept. You know Banana Fish is a true piece of art for that, in how it conjures sincere feelings of grief and mourning in us for its lead character in Ash. We CARE about him, deeply. We want him to be alright, because we love him.

But real art isn’t concerned with placation. It’s concerned with truth. So many great pieces of literature have unhappy endings, because that’s the truth of the human condition, and the condition of life in general. Real art won’t shy away from those painful, awful truths, nor is it afraid to conjure the feelings which go hand in hand with those truths in its audience.

With all that said, the tragedy of the ending doesn’t demand a feeling of meaninglessness or desolation at all.

Eiji’s love for Ash and Ash’s love for Eiji is still so pivotal and, ultimately, essential in how the story ends. It’s what allows, maybe not a feeling of hope, but a feeling of peace.

You sense throughout the story that Ash knows he’s going to die. Like he senses that his life is too fucked up, that he’s been through and had to do too many horrible things for it to last very long. It’s like the saying of he who burns brightest burns twice as fast. Ash is burning, and he knows it. He’s already accepted it as an inevitable conclusion. He doesn’t actively seek death, but he doesn’t fear, nor fight against it. At points throughout the story, even, he asks for it, when the horror of what’s happening to him becomes too much. He knows death is coming for him. The only thing keeping him from giving in so easily I think is his lack of agency in how he will. Everything has been taken from Ash, and he doesn’t want to give this last thing away. This choice in how he dies.

Eiji’s love is what finally gives him agency in that decision.

Ash died knowing Eiji loved him, and that knowledge, that certainty that he was loved, genuinely loved by another human being, without any strings or conditions attached, simply loved for himself alone, is what allowed Ash to finally find the peace in death which alluded him in life. He no longer feels like he has to keep fighting, or struggling on through an endless malaise of misery and pain, because he’s finally found the calm and acceptance which comes with knowing he has this one, pure thing for himself, which nobody, none of his abusers, can ever touch or take away. With everything else that’s been stolen from Ash, his innocence, his sense of agency, his own body, his own mind, Eiji’s love for him is the one thing nobody could ever steal away. And that’s, I think, why Ash dies smiling, because it’s that knowledge, that he was worthy of another human being’s true love, that at last shows him that he was a human being himself. Not an animal. Not a monster. He was a human being worthy of love.

Ash’s death is heartbreaking, and brutal, but there’s deep consolation to be had in knowing he spent his final moments with the feeling of Eiji’s love for him alive inside his heart, allowing him at last to feel like a person deserving, worthy of love.

It’s that which allows Ash to finally let go of his struggle, and let’s death’s embrace take hold of him. It’s his own. Eiji’s love, and his choice to let go of life.

It doesn’t make the ending any less heart wrenching or brutal. It doesn’t make us any less devastated by Ash’s death. But it gives us a sense of peace, in knowing, even if we are left feeling lost and heartbroken, Ash himself left life with the fulfillment of knowing he was loved.

#Banana Fish #Commentary #Meta #Ash Lynx #Akimi Yoshida

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grandducktale · 4 years

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“All Yet Seems Well” - Game of Thrones, Dexter, YGO, and the legitimately troubling trend and implication of “the problem play’s” re-emergence in pop culture

So first off, spoilers, naturally. Gonna be talking tragedy here. Also, cringe warning. I’m going to use mostly anime here. Kid cartoons, even. But there’s a point to all this. If you were fans of Dexter or the television series “Game of Thrones”, any show that had more than anything an “unsatisfying finale” you might be able to pick up what I’m putting down.

What is a tragedy? The definitions vary, but it is a troubling or melancholic story with an unhappy ending.

A Tragic Hero is easy enough to define. Hamlet from Hamlet, and Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop. These two men are tragic because they pass away, and are unable to fully protect what they hold dear. But... I wouldn’t say they’re truly tragic. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to be either of them, but Spike Spiegal and Hamlet do to an extent accomplish some of their goals, and go out in a blaze of glory, score a moral victory, something.

(Pictured Above: Spike saying “Bang” as he bleeds out after killing his nemesis and destroying half a criminal empire in a wild one man blaze of glory)

This post is not about those characters. This post is not even about tragedy, necessary. This post is about problems. Problem plots, problem characters, and problematic implications. The title of this post is “All Yet Seems Well”, because the shows and the characters I am about to discuss are highly reminiscient of Shakespeare’s “Problem Plays.”

To start, let me bring up the character of Shouzu Hiiragi from Yu-Gi-Oh Arc-V(a cartoon about children playing competitive card games Konami makes to sell trading cards). Arc-V is basically the “problem play” of YGO, if said play had a caged gorilla break out and steal the spotlight for the last third of the performance. “Problem Play” is a vernacular used to refer to three of Shakespeare’s plays that couldn’t quite be pegged into tragedy or comedy, that provoked discussion either about the plot’s structure, the means used to resolve the problem, or both. For those not even slightly into Shakespeare, I’ve always viewed the operetta The Yeomen of the Guard as Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Problem Play”, so to speak, though Yeomen might as well be a straight up tragedy relative to Gilbert and Sullivan’s other works.

But what makes a “Problem Play” a “problem play”, precisely? Well, since we’re talking about YGO Arc-V, lets go to Act V of one of Shakespeare’s “Problem Plays”, All’s Well That Ends Well. Act V, scene three, to be precise.

King: Let us from point to point this story know, To make the even truth in pleasure flow: If thou beest yet a fresh uncropped flower, Choose thou thy husband, and Ile pay thy dower. For I can guesse, that by thy honest ayde, Thou keptst a wife her selfe, thy selfe a Maide. Of that and all the progresse more and lesse, Resoluedly more leasure shall expresse: All yet seemes well, and if it end so meete, The bitter past, more welcome is the sweet.

So to understand the “problem” with the above(besides finding a more contemporary translation and supplementing that with sparknotes, tvtropes, and google), one must understand the gist of the plot of “All’s Well That Ends Well.”

Basically, the protagonist of the play, a common girl by the name of Helena, has just prevailed in her desire to marry the love of her life, the highborne Ward of France, Bertram. The audience and the reader should in theory rejoice in such a moment. Helena was given the ability to choose her husband as a reward for saving the ill King, and though she picked Bertram and stipulated that he did not have to marry her, and though Bertram did not directly reject her but instead provided her with two nigh impossible tasks that required guile, intelligence, and strength to prevail, something just seems off. (Perhaps this is why the King says “All Yet Seems Well)

What is it that is off? Is it that Helena was for whatever reason the only one in France capable of curing the King? Is it that for someone as skilled and cunning as Helena, telling Bertram he doesn’t have to marry her is pointless? Is it Bertram’s own psychological manipulation, to the point that even if these two people married and truly did love each other, that their happiness is a righteous person’s misery? That doubt, that uncertainty, the vague feeling that runs contrary to the overt, happy plot is what makes up a “Problem Play.”

Shozu Hiiragi is tragic not because of a vague sense of malice or villainy inherent in his character like Helena. No, in fact, he is an authentic version of the “Noble Commoner” facade that makes Helena so problematic. YGO Arc-V is about a kid named Yuya trying to make it as an entertainer after his father left him at a very young age, vanishing into thin air. Yuya was bullied severely, and his father was supportive and this larger than life figure. Naturally, his abrupt disappearance was a traumatic event for Yuya.

Yuya compensates for this disappearance and his past by playing Pagliacci, a sad clown. The Pagliacci thing aside, the show makes it quite clear in the first three episodes that Yuya holds on so tightly to his identity as an entertainer because of the absence created by his father’s disappearance

Now before I get to Shouzu Hiiragi, I have to talk about Yuzu. Yuya’s childhood friend and sweetheart is a girl named Yuzu Hiiragi.

Shouzou Hiiragi is a lifetime friend and operator of Yushou’s entertainer school. To summarize without being too spoilery, the audience eventually finds out that both Yuya and Yuzu are alot more important than they seem, and that they sort of just... appeared one day as babies. This is where Shouzu starts to become tragic, since we learn that not only did he raise a child that wasn’t his, he did so as a single father

So Shouzu was second banana to Yushou, but he was an entertainer of some renown. He gave it up so he could raise his adopted child, and later on, act as the operator of “You-Show Duel School”, a school named after Yusho but ran by Shouzu since Yushou disappeared.

Now there’s a lot of issues with Arc-V. A lot, a lot, a lot, a lot. I am focusing on Shouzu but there’s so much to talk about with how this series has a lot of problems that its tone clashes far too hard with. But I’ll show a meme image out of context for the heck of it.

I focus on Shouzu because he is the legitimate avenue towards Yuya and the show’s main conflict of balancing entertainment with legitimate hurt, dangerous conflict, and immense suffering and pain. He is a man who does good and puts his ambition aside out of alturism to start, but more than that, he is a genuine father figure to Yuya despite all that is on his plate.

Like his costume of flame suggests, Shouzu is hot-blooded and passionate. As the plot progresses, Yuya struggles with doing what is right, being a good entertainer, preserving his father’s legacy, and a whole bunch of things. The advice of his father, Yusho, and the advice of his mother, Yoko, is to “smile when he feels like crying”

This advice isn’t bad, but it is a crutch and a mantra for Yuya, one the direction of the show itself portrays as unhealthy and stunted. (When Yuya cries, he tends to wear his goggles so as to not let it show). So let’s analyze a sequence near the beginning of Arc-V’s 140+ episode. Yuya had obtained a special power like any Campbell Hero, but his rival, Reiji Akaba managed to copy said power in a duel against him(Which Yuya won, anyways albeit due to Reiji having bigger things to deal with)

Being bullied and having a traumatic past, then obtaining a special power unique to him that allows him to win duels, and then LOSING that special power, gets to Yuya a lot, even if he is plenty competent as a duelist.

So he runs away in tears.

Shozou hits Yuya with some facts about how naturally, if a technique or special ability in a game was discovered that gave someone an edge, it would only be a matter of time before other competitors used it too. But Shouzou then challenges Yuya to a duel, and instead of telling him to smile instead of cry, instead re-frames Yuya’s situation of losing his unique ability in a postive and constructive manner

A lot goes on in Arc-V, but the pendulum that Yuya swings back and forth on is the legacy of his father and becoming his own person. Shozou, who is Yuya’s de facto father, provides a path towards the latter.

But... to make a long story short, Shozou is forgotten about. Yuya keeps chasing after his father, and the lesson he learned from Shozou is forgotten. Arc-V, which if you haven’t been able to tell from my essay on the main character’s girlfriend’s dad has an amazing ensemble cast, and spends 50 episodes developing these great ensemble characters.

But in the next 50 episodes, the ensemble characters fade into the background, and Yuya takes center stage only to repeatedly just smile and want to be like his father.

And in the last 50 episodes, the show gets downright mean spirited. A likable ninja character that has the design of a generic henchmen is killed off unceremoniously, an unlikable legacy character manages to shrug off that fate with ease.

All the while, the show keeps this upbeat tone of optimism and Yuya triumphing.

And Yuya does triumph, he does save the day, but it’s all wrong.

I am only skimming the surface here, but the reaction I saw and was invoked in me about Arc-V’s ending was the same reaction I saw with Game of Thrones’s ending.

Something along the lines of “I don’t mind a bad ending, so long as it is tonally consistent and not a confused mess!”

Were this sentiment unique to Arc-V that’d be it. But it is applies to the end of Game of Thrones, Dexter, Netflix’s Watchmen, damn near EVERYTHING that was popular this past decade. This trend of something having a strong beginning and then fading into tonal nonsense, to the point that the viewers either speculate on finding the “true” “hidden” meaning of a piece

, or worse yet, an active desire for a bad or evil ending, so long as that evil at least makes sense

So I have a bad feeling about all of this. Not just because a series I liked went down the toilet, but because, well, remove all these other mainstream series with promising beginnings that nosedove into the ground and crashed and burned, and what’s the most recent universally acclaimed show left?

That’s it. Breaking Bad. A nihilistic story of personal triumph at the destruction of everything else. Which has its place. But with Arc-V, with Game of Thrones, with all these shows, I see a trend of the absurd entering and ruining a show, which leaves people craving order, even if that order is horrible.

I mentioned Gilbert and Sullivan before, so I’ll end this rambling essay with a quote from a song from the Mikado that was allegedly almost cut from it.

“ My object all sublime I shall achieve in time — To let the punishment fit the crime — The punishment fit the crime; And make each prisoner pent Unwillingly represent A source of innocent merriment! Of innocent merriment!”

The Mikado is a tale about the absurd and chaotic, the same absurdity that seems to be turning audiences to darker, more orderly, things. But the Mikado showcases both the trouble of the absurd, and the genuine opportunity and chance for grace the absurd provides.

In my opinion, Problem Play Plots are actually tragedies more tragic than regular tragedies. Borderline horror, even. They bring up problems, and the easiest solution to those problems seems to be that of tragic selfish scheming. But perhaps that needn’t actually be the case. That a benevolent and convincing solution to these problem plots exist - one people can accept, and be inspired by, in a good way.

And if that can’t be done, if the trauma and chaos of these shows serves no point, then the Gordian Knot of problem play plots must be cut. The damage they have done must be acknowledged, the mystery boxes resolved or done away with entirely.

#spoilers #Game of Thrones #Yu-Gi-Oh! Arc-V #Arc-V #Dexter #Breaking Bad #Shakespeare

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monikafilefan · 5 years

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Mulder teaches Scully to ride a bike (or Scully teaches Mulder)

This was so fun to write and I’m happy I was finally able to break through my writers block with this gem. I hope you like my attempt at humor!

Tagging @today-in-fic

——

“Mulder, I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“But you haven’t even tried it yet,” he states the obvious as her hands unclench the handlebars. His supportive grip slips away from the curve of her waist and he can’t hide his disappointment.

He watches her suck her plump bottom lip between her teeth and shuffle away from the wheel. She’s nervous, he notices now, and can’t fight off the instant surge of affection for his strong and fearless partner.

“Come on, Scully, I promise I’ll be right here to catch you,” he assures with a smirk.

She scoffs with fists on her hips and glares up at him through the gleaming summer sun. She’s wearing an old Bureau tee that accentuates her fit, sinewy frame and her jaw-length russet hair is pulled back in a low pony, punctuating the seriousness of this moment for her. She’s prepared - and though Mulder will never admit it aloud - he finds it utterly adorable.

“I’m not incapable, you know. I just… have trouble getting started once I’m seated is all.”

The playful stakeout conversation of childhood quirks leading up to this event was one that had both shocked and tickled Mulder. Learning that her rainbow tasseled bike with the banana seat and training wheels still attached was the last one she’d ever ridden, had him promptly tucking that golden nugget of information away for a perfect day such as this.

He nods with hands up, surrendering to her annoyance. “I have never once thought of you as incapable, Scully. Quite the opposite, in fact,” he confesses and feels the truth of his words coloring his golden skin.

“Well, that’s comforting, I suppose,” she says softly, arching a brow while allowing one of her rare, toothy smiles of appreciation for him to light up her sun-kissed face. “I have been known to save your ass on occasion throughout the last six years.”

“You won’t hear me disputing that fact, partner. I’d shout it throughout the bullpen if I thought anyone would care enough to listen to what ole Spooky had to say.” He watches her flush and turn her face into the breeze to calm it. If Mulder were bold enough, reckless, he might just lean down and press a kiss to each bronze-colored freckle peppering the apples of her cheeks. “It’s just that tomboy Dana Scully not being able to ride a bike seems like such a shame.”

“Mulder…” she huffs, facing him curiously. “I’ve never told you I was a tomboy growing up.”

Logically, Mulder already knows why she hasn’t mentioned this fun fact about herself. One, they only share personal details of their past when confronted head on. For self-preservation, most likely. To keep the professional status quo when their deeper feelings begin to bubble too close to the surface.

At least that’s what he does.

Two, he finally understands that even a strong, serious woman who chooses to fight ferociously as an equal among peers in a male dominated profession, might also want to be seen as feminine as possible when more personal opportunities present themselves.

“No,” he agrees, “you haven’t.”

“My mother.” Her statement is one of realization for Scully. He can tell she doesn’t know what reflective moment spurred on by tragedy in which her mother may have divulged childhood details to him, but the wistful look on her face leads him to believe she’s silently grateful for it. “Okay, then. Show me how it’s done, Yoda.”

He chuckles. “Oh, Scully, you hit me with a Star Wars reference and I’ll do just about anything for you.” Something flickers in her gaze that sends heat churning in his gut. He clears his throat as she runs the tip of her tongue across her rosebud lips and adds, “but Star Trek is more up my alley.”

“I’ll write that down for next time.”

Mulder waves her closer and nudges her hip playfully. “Come young Jedi, there is much to learn, there is.”

Scully grins, rolling her eyes and urges him on. He straddles the center bar of his old mountain bicycle he’s had in storage for nearly seven years, and pops the kick stand. With one sneaker on the pedal and the other pushing off the paved bike path, Mulder’s long legs whirl in a tight circle.

And he’d be lying to himself if his ego weren’t beginning to take over and push him to impress the woman he loves.

“See, you just shift your weight like this...” he hollers over his shoulder and pumps his legs harder with a sway of his hips, watching Scully in the distance as she points at something ahead of him. “...and then keep your balance as you—ah, oh shi—”

His words are cut off with a sudden jolt thrusting him toward the front wheel wedged within a pothole, handlebars twisting inward. Before he can catch his balance, his knees buckle, careening his hips down to connect with the only thing separating him from the pavement: the metal bar jutting out between his legs.

His crotch connects with force, sending a full 176lbs of meat, muscle, and bone down on his manhood.

“Mulder!”

Searing pain shoots up through his balls and into his groin. “Ah, fuck!”

His vision swims with burning tears as he slumps forward, breathless. He tentatively raises himself off the offending bar and appropriately crumples into the grass with a whimper.

He barely registers the clang of metal and aluminum hitting the hot pavement.

“Mulder,” Scully breathes out next to him. She’s here; touching him, soothing his pride. She caresses his cheek with what he’s deciphered over the years as sympathy as she needlessly asks, “Oh, Mulder, you took a bar to the groin, didn’t you?”

His gut clenches as a wave of nausea washes over him like a tidal wave in response.

Mulder swings his head away from his partner’s crouch to gag and spit pathetically on a nearby ant hill. Scully has shot him; seen his body and mind exposed; watched him bleed; held him as he cried; talked him out of shooting himself with holes in his head; and had taken vigil at his hospital bed too many times to count. But she has not and will not witness him lose what’s left of his breakfast all over her pristinely white Keds as he writhes in the dirt.

“Just take a deep breath for me,” she encourages. “That’s it.”

He groans deeply after swallowing back the precursor for puke. Carefully cupping his balls and penis, making sure the three important things currently thrumming with pain are still whole and intact between his thighs, he croaks, “I think broke my… my lightsaber.”

He hears her huff out a laugh and cluck her tongue. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Mulder.”

“Maybe we’re better off if you teach me how to ride the Scully way,” he jests, meeting her soft, baby blue gaze as she hovers above. “I think we work best together that way, don’t you?”

She shrugs. “Oh I don’t know, Mulder.” Her warm hand slides around the back of his neck and helps pull him up to his knees. “I kind of like the way you ride, too.”

Mulder winces with a hand still awkwardly soothing the pang in his balls and his stomach roils. “Ugh…”

“Okay, let me take a look.” He gives her bug-eyed expression. She seems to wrestle with a decision in her mind and then gives him a determined nod. “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

“Wh-why? They're still there. Trust me, I feel them.”

She sighs and knee walks around to face him. He’s hunching slightly on his knees, gripping both his crotch and his waist in intermittent agony.

Scully gives his arm a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s rare, but if you have serious damage to your testicals or penis, then I’ll be taking you to the hospital instead of home.”

“Sonofabitch.” His face flushes with embarrassment. He cannot believe his attempt to do something remotely sweet for his best friend will end with him icing his nuts on his couch alone tonight.

“Come on, just a peek,” she smirks, and he can’t help but grin in return. If he has to endure a shot to the boys in order for her to offer up her own innuendo, he’ll gladly take it every time.

With no one else around, Mulder reluctantly nods and slowly removes his hand, gesturing that it’s okay for her to slip into doctor mode.

Her slender fingers curl around the elastic, tickling the fine hair line above his groin, and helps him shuck down the front of his boxer briefs.

A cool, gentle breeze sweeps across his genitals and he hisses at the exposure. He looks down to see Scully’s red head poised just inches above his dick. Suddenly, a thought he’s completely neglected to consider during his bout of pain slams into him. Her proximity alone can make him hard. And this… this will be bad.

“Sc-Scully?” he rasps, feeling himself twitch to life. “Um—”

“—are they usually… uh, are you usually this… engorged during activity, Mulder?” Her voice is thick, honeyed, and it sends a tsunami of blood rushing downward.

“What?” You… well I’m not sure,” he shrugs, desperately attempting to think of anything that will salve off the rapid growth of an erection.

A puff of warm breath blows across the swell of him and fingernails gently scrape at his thigh.

Frohike. Skinner in a skirt. Byers wearing an apron…

When her soft fingertips graze the underside of his swelling cock, it’s too late. Mulder’s harder than he’s ever been, and the pain in his balls now is instantly gone.

The pain is gone.

“You’re fine.” Scully clears her throat, rocks up to her feet and quickly motions for him to pull up his shorts. He obeys, dumbstruck and too aroused to speak.

Risking a glance, Mulder notices that her once sun-kissed cheeks are now tomato red, and her sweat dappled chest is heaving.

“Thanks…” He stands, chagrined at the large bulge protruding proudly through his shorts. He mumbles, “I appreciate it.”

“Well,” Scully starts with a smile pulling at her mouth, “don’t say I never did anything for ya.”

“You… you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

She picks up the bike and wheels it over, grinning. “I am a doctor, Mulder. I was just hoping it would work, you know with me being… well me,” she says shyly, attempting to mask her uncertainty of his physical attraction for her.

“Of course it worked. In fact, you work far too well far too often if you must know.”

Their eyes dance coyly together in the sunlight. Something new and simmering passes between them. Another golden nugget of intimacy to save for later.

“So...” She breaks the gaze and swings a leg over the bicycle seat. “Am I riding this death trap back to the car, or are you?”

Mulder laughs, slipping his hands back around the dip in her waist, fingers grasping at the velvet skin peeking out beneath her shirt, and leans in close.

“Teach you, I will.”

“Don’t push it, Yoda,” she tosses back with a smirk. “I’d much rather have my partner teach me to ride the Spooky way. Lightsaber and all.”

——

#msr fanfic #humor i think #UST #thoughtful Mulder #Scully has tricks

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rutilation · 5 years

Photo

I have some Hot Takes about some Icy Floes. And also chapter 83, I guess.

But before I get to the ice floes, I’m going to work my way back through this chapter.

I find it interesting that Phos seems to balk at the idea of being repaired. On the one hand, you can read it simply as them being too impatient in their current state to wait for repairs, but on the other hand, insofar as Phos’s augmentations represent something about their state of mind, it makes sense that their body is going to be fractured for as long as their mind is broken. A new body part signals moving on, and Phos is in no state to do that. Thus, we may be looking at gremlin-Phos for a while. Or maybe I’m getting ahead of myself and next chapter will see the Lunarians tying Phos down and forcing some replacements on them.

Phos’s nightmare speaks for itself, so the only thing I have to note is that those magic words, “If only you were never here,” have reared their ugly head again. Even if they’re using Antarc and the others as a mouthpiece, it seems clear that they’re really talking to themselves.

Like pretty much everyone else, I’d like to believe that Antarc would never say something like that to Phos… but it’s not like I foresaw Cinnabar rallying the troops to bury them alive either, so who knows. On one hand, Antarc loved Kongou the most out of all the gems, and would likely be pissed at Phos’s shenanigans. On the other hand, they are a sweetie. But, even if they could be repaired, their memories are gone, so we’ll never know how they would have reacted.

(Well, you know, they’re probably space dust. But it sure is suspicious that Aechmea just so happened to have a fake piece of Antarc on hand when Phos got to the moon. And what a coincidence that the aforementioned piece happens to be the exact same shape as one that broke off the actual Antarc.)

(…)

(He’s totally got Antarc sequestered away in a jar somewhere, doesn’t he?)

There’s something I find interesting about the conversation the gems have in the middle of the chapter. They all express an easygoing acceptance regarding the gems on the moon, aside from Zircon who is (rightfully) worried about Yellow. But, you’ll recall that Euclase suggested ice-breaking duty for any gems who were too rattled to sleep, and everyone present is someone whose partner/frenemy left for the moon. So, what does that imply? On that note, Bort is the only one who lost a partner to Phos’s rebellion that isn’t present. (Also, it’s nice to see that Morga has grown to be more confident.)

Jade’s interpretation of what happened, along Red Beryl/Obsidian’s unquestioning acceptance of that explanation, is so galaxy-brained that it makes me wonder if they all suspect that Kongou let Phos out, but are unwilling to admit that to themselves. Naturally though, Euclase seems to know what’s up. I wonder if they’ll confront Kongou about it.

I had wondered how Kongou would react after nearly starting third impact, and it seems he’s entered conceal-don’t-feel mode. It’s interesting that he’s keeping the fact that he let Phos out a secret; as far as I know, his programming wouldn’t compel him to withhold this information. What is it that he thinks would happen if the earth gems knew he was unwilling to keep antagonizing Phos, and not just unable? Another thing I noticed is that, while Kongou is sporting his usual stiff upper lip, the way his neutral expression is drawn seems just a bit more upset than usual. I might be imagining it though.

I’m not sure if Kongou’s line here is an obtuse way of saying that spring is on the way, or if he’s saying that global warming is still a thing even after the death of humanity. Though I must say, on a metaphorical level, his comment gels quite nicely with my observation from last month that reading this series is like being a frog in boiling water. Anyway, if he’s not referring to the change of the seasons, it brings up a topic that’s been on my mind for a while: namely, what are the gems going to do if they lose their island?

The subject has never been broached, but eroding away into nothing or being submerged by rising sea levels is the eventual fate of your average tiny island. And when that happens, and the gems are forced to live underwater, they’d lose their immortality for all intents and purposes. The saltwater would gradually wear away at them, and they’d have no way to harvest or even use the paste with which they repair themselves. It strikes me as a bit of a glaring issue, but I’ve seen no acknowledgment of it, aside from a throwaway line about a document measuring erosion rates along the shore. That said, ignoring uncomfortable truths is the gems’ favorite hobby, so I can’t say it breaks my suspension of disbelief.

If the island is revealed to be a volcanic caldera, then maybe they can hope for an eventual eruption which would bring forth new land for them to live on. Unless of course the island is sitting on top of a strato-volcano, in which case an eruption would blast the island and everyone on it to smithereens.

Anyway, I’ve grown weary of talking about things that aren’t ice floes, so let’s get to it. I’ve been having thoughts about them for a while now, and since this chapter features some ice floe action, I might as well take this opportunity to talk about it. It seems to me that the ice floes function as something of a metaphor. I think they serve to illustrate both the grief and despair that the gems endure, as well as their inability to reckon with such emotions.

I first made this connection when reading another user’s meta, which pointed out that in chapter 39, Phos’s head broke into the shape of the ice flows, thus showing that they see themselves as a sinner, which is what the ice floes apparently are. (I can’t for the life of me find the post in question, but if I do, I’ll edit a link to it onto this post.)

There are lot of unanswered question about the ice floes, and we only know a handful of things about them:

They are the same type of being as the gems—inclusions inhabiting a crystalline solid.

They have no will of their own, but can reflect the negative emotions of those around them.

They speak a language that Kongou understands which the rest of the gem do not, aside from Phos and their vore-induced powers of translation.

But, there’s reason to believe that we haven’t gotten the full truth regarding the ice floes. If they have no will of their own, then why do they specifically reflect negative emotions, and not just any thought that passes through someone’s head? Why do they menace and break the gems with what seems like malicious intent? Why are their screams so otherworldly compared to the sounds an actual ice floe would make? Why are shaped so strangely? Why are they “sinners?”

Here’s what I suspect is going on: The ice floes are just sentient enough to be upset about their cursed forms, but since they have no recourse other than to direct their misery at others, they resort to impotently screaming at anyone in earshot, and trying to consume the gems in order to integrate them into the ice—perhaps they feel that if they can’t be happy and whole, then no one should, which is certainly a sentiment that has cropped up a few times in the series. The way Kongou stares at the screaming ice floes in dismay as he clutches Phos’s eye makes me think that the two are being equated, that Phos’s wretched state is how the ice floes feel all the time. It also makes me wonder what Kongou is hearing at that moment, seeing as he can understand them. (And can I just say that this moment made me tear up a little? Even after all the awfulness that just transpired, he’s worried about Phos, and is hiding their pieces in his sleeve for safekeeping. The society he created may be flawed, to put it lightly, but I just can’t dislike anyone who chugs that Phos-loving juice.)

And in typical fashion, the gems are entirely incurious about the ice floes, and are only annoyed with them for disturbing their beauty sleep. Their solution is simply to shut them up, with nary a thought to the meaning of their actions, and, as Morga so aptly put it, to cheer louder than the ice floes can scream.

So, like I said, it kind of seems like the ice floes are an extended metaphor for both human suffering, and a failure to reckon with it. Man, remember how Phos’s first impulse upon learning that the ice floes are alive was to try and make friends with them? Even if it was dangerously naïve, I kind of find myself wishing that they had tried.

Have any of you guys ever read Ursula K. LeGuin’s short story, The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas? It’s a great, quick read. You know who really needs to read it, and take its lessons to heart? The entire cast, except maybe Ventricosus, or something. Because if someone, anyone doesn’t start walking away from Omelas, then this can only end in tragedy. (Phos tried to, but on their way out, they slipped on a banana peel and broke their neck.)

Which brings me to my thoughts on Cinnabar. Two of the things they said this chapter seem to subtly imply that they haven’t made peace with the idea of being happy at another’s expense. There’s their line about how Dia’s probably having more fun than they should be, and then there’s the moment when, after Kongou calls their happiness a blessing, they smile for only a moment before growing forlorn. They don’t extend that sentiment towards Phos—heaven forbid anyone show basic decency towards the local scapegoat—but I do think these moments are subtle indications that Cinnabar is more thoughtful regarding their place in the world than the others. You’ll also recall that the other gems didn’t spare much thought to Antarc after they were taken, so it’s nice to see Cinnabar pick up a bit of slack there. Now that I think about it, if my musings about them in the last chapter were correct, they might be assuming that they’ve done Phos a favor, and that they’re perfectly fine now that they’ve made it back to the moon. After all, they said themselves that they believe Phos is beloved there.

The only other thing on my mind this chapter is how, in much the same way the text has been preoccupied with both the joys and horrors of change, these last few arcs have concerned themselves with the act of moving on—the sense of freedom and relief it brings, but also the agony of being unable to let go, the futility of mere escapism, and the desolation of being the one who is left behind.

Finally, I said in my last essay that I’d be posting my crackpot Cairn theory in the near future. Here’s a link to that for any interested parties who may have missed it the first time around.

#houseki no kuni #land of the lustrous #well that chapter was mildly not unpleasant #can't wait to descend back into hell next chapter

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freewithyourtempo · 5 years

Text

Don’t speak to the bartender

Logan swore lavishly.

Bartending was not what the movies made it out to be. He didn’t have the paycheck nor the emotional stability to nod and “mmmh” congenially while some poor bastard poured their hearts out on his newly swiped counter. He didn’t give advices that one would consider morally decent, he didn’t condone feelings that found themselves on either side of “mild annoyance” and “bone-cracking anger” in his (frankly constricted) sympathy spectrum, and he sure as hell didn’t carry around embroidered handkerchiefs to wipe tragically snotty, heartbroken noses.

Apparently, someone hadn’t gotten the memo.

Logan swore again in the vague direction of the rug he was rubbing violently on some chipped mug.

All that sighing on his left was starting to get on his nerves.

Not to mention the seriously creeping half-glass-of-scotch-staring that was being performed behind the alcohol shelves on the other side of the counter.

Those two dudes didn’t even see each other, and they were driving him nuts.

The rug in his hands screeched painfully against the glass.

“This is our anniversary,” sighed the irritatingly posh men on his left. He then proceeded to chug mournfully at the last swig of alcohol in his glass.

He swayed dangerously on his stool.

“Ah,” said Logan.

“Well, it would be,” the man corrected himself, completely unsolicited. “If we didn’t break up.”

Logan glided on the counter and refilled the man’s glass as if his sideburns depended on it, almost dropping the whole bottle of whiskey in his haste. The man flashed him a broad smile. “Thank you, my friend.”

He wasn’t Logan’s friend. Logan didn’t have British friends. Logan didn’t have friends period. He occasionally made a mental list of people he wouldn’t beat up willingly. Or for less than twenty bucks. It was a short list.

“Ugh,” said Logan.

Then the frown returned: the man had probably realized he had come to the bar to sulk, not to smile at strangers who were encouraging his unhealthy coping mechanisms. “It would have been our fifteen-month anniversary.” He stopped and stared pensively at the sticky trail one drop of alcohol had left on his glass. “Did you know that fifteen months is the average gestation length of giraffes?”

Logan fled to the other side of the counter and found solace in the hiding-place provided by the bottles of alcohol.

Brief.

He found a brief solace.

The other Romeo was still staring at his glass of scotch with the desperate face of someone who had just seen the waiter dropping his long-awaited creme-brulee.

God have mercy.

“Do you want anything else?” Logan asked, because he needed to justify his impetuous arrival on stage, or maybe for his compulsive need to punish himself.

The man lifted his gaze and settled it on Logan. He opened his mouth, frowned, and finally said: “How do you move on from someone who used to smile at you like… Like you are at the train station, and you have been away for God knows how long, and you are trudging through the crowd with your luggage slamming on your ankle, everyone is running, everyone is shrieking. And then you see him, and he turns. And he smiles and doesn’t say anything, anything at all, and it’s not your mother tongue, it’s not the buildings you know so well, or the streets, or the flavor of coffee at your favorite bar that you missed. It’s him. And now you are back home and everything is steady again. How do you move on from someone who smiles at you like that?“

Logan was kind of jetlagged. “Shit,” he said profoundly.

“Yeah,” said the man.

Logan poured himself a drink because he was starting to feel feelings and he didn’t like it, then drew a battered cigar out of his pocket and lit it. The smoke soared gracefully in front of the “DON’T SMOKE” sign plastered on the wall.

The man arched his eyebrows, but returned without further comment to his brooding.

The screeching and wailing that always signaled the arrival of a large group of barely-legal jackasses forced Logan to go back to the part of the counter occupied by the previous helpless bastard. He served drinks that were half ice and half Gatorade, content to be finally doing what he was paid for.

“I don’t even know why we broke up, you know?” sighed the aspirant retired Oxford professor on his left when the mooing crowd had left. “I guess we were too different. Or maybe we were too similar, but wanted different things. You know?”

“Ugh,” said Logan, and puffed wildly on his cigar in a good impression of a locomotive.

“It all seems so insubstantial, now,” the man dragged on. “I can work on my thesis all night long without feeling guilty for not being home, but I still put all of my clothes only on the lower shelves of the wardrobe so that he can use the others without bending.”

“Shit,” said Logan.

“Yeah,” said the man. “I miss him especially when it’s Sunday evening and it’s raining, and my feet are cold under the covers.”

Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the smoke, but Logan felt something tugging at his chest as if a worm had crawled its way into his heart.

He dragged another puff of smoke to suffocate the worm.

The man became thoughtful and appeared to have come to a resolution. “Would you be a good chap and refill this,” he shook gently the glass in his hand, “so that I can get drunk and call him?”

To Logan it seemed a reasonable request as any, so he shrugged and poured the man another drink.

And refilling he did.

He went to the other side of the Shakespearean stage another couple of times, because if that tragedy was in two acts then he might as well start following the plot.

Creepy-lover had almost finished his tired whiskey, and spoke to Logan again while he pretended to gather some ice for a margarita. “I obviously miss him, but most of all I miss being that person he saw when he looked at me. I don’t even fit in my skin anymore.”

Half an hour later Logan was starting to miss a boyfriend he never had.

And then everything really went bananas.

The act that triggered the fuse was blurry and wet.

Well, it was for Logan, who was chugging pure vodka right from the bottle and saw Posh-Professor pawing the screen of his cellphone through the glass.

After a few moments, a cellphone rang.

On the other side of the counter.

Logan spat out the whole content of his mouth like a spray fountain.

He heard a crash, a curse in German, something hollow banging against the counter, another, consonanter curse.

He saw Posh-Professor’s jaw open and swing like the seat of an abruptly stopped funicular. “Erik?” He asked, in a soft voice.

There was a pause, then a tentative: “…Charles?”

Six months later, Logan saw a creamy envelope land on his counter.

He frowned. “What’s that?”

The waitress shrugged. “A man came by earlier and left it for you. Said it was important.”

She went away, and Logan poked at the envelope in distrust and building annoyance. He poured another beer and finally decided to open it.

It was a wedding invitation.

He handed over the beer to the customer, and saw him gaping.

“What do you want, Summers?” Logan grunted.

“Are you smiling?”

“No.”

“You are, you are actually smiling. I didn’t know your face-muscles did that.”

“It’s a grimace of pain.”

#cherik #cherik fic #my fic #erik lehnsherr #charles xavier #it is supposed to be funny #please don't hold it against me if it isn't #logan howlett

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bananafishmetas · 4 years

Text

Further commentary on the ending of Banana Fish (Spoilers):

cosmicjoke

With all that said, the tragedy of the ending doesn’t demand a feeling of meaninglessness or desolation at all.

Eiji’s love for Ash and Ash’s love for Eiji is still so pivotal and, ultimately, essential in how the story ends. It’s what allows, maybe not a feeling of hope, but a feeling of peace.

Eiji’s love is what finally gives him agency in that decision.

It’s that which allows Ash to finally let go of his struggle, and let’s death’s embrace take hold of him. It’s his own. Eiji’s love, and his choice to let go of life.

cosmicjoke

Thinking more on the reasons why Ash chose to let himself die, I haven’t seen anyone mention how really, it’s probably a combination of all the reasons stated, not just a single one. Ash’s wish to protect Eiji, Ash’s own weariness at his constant struggle to survive, Ash’s overwhelming trauma, and Ash’s contentment at finally finding true unconditional love and acceptance from another person, immeasurably grateful for the chance to know how that felt, even if just for the briefest of time in a life otherwise burdened by suffocating pain and sadness. All of these factors no doubt contributed to his ultimate decision in the end.

One thing I was thinking about too was that, given how we see Eiji’s letter prompt Ash to try and make it to the airport, whether to see Eiji one last time, or to actually go with him to Japan, I think once Lao’s attack happened, Ash was brutally reminded of the danger that followed him everywhere he went, how it would never end, that he would never be a safe person to be around, and that reminder, taken with the realization of what he had been about to do, how his vow never to see Eiji again had crumbled in the face of Eiji’s love, and his love for Eiji, Ash probably felt fearful of his resolve cracking again. With the reinforcement of his conviction of the danger he would put Eiji in were he to be in his life, he decided then and there, in that moment, to eliminate that possibility by letting himself die, rather than risking his resolve once more abandoning him. I think, as well, Ash understood that Eiji himself wouldn’t be able to stay away from him, were he to come back to New York, that Eiji WOULD come back to New York, and it would be the same dilemma, with Ash putting him in danger simply by being near him. So, then, Ash letting himself die was his final act of sacrifice for the one person who had given him true unconditional love and acceptance. His final act of love for the one person who had made him feel human. His final gift, for the one person who had let him be the boy he truly was.

There’s also the concept of, if you love someone enough, you let them go. Ash had always understood that sometimes, in order to protect the ones you loved, you had to hurt them. Sometimes, in order to protect the ones we love, we have to be willing to push them away. We have to be willing to hurt their feelings. “Tough love”, as it’s called. Sometimes needing to be harsh, even unkind, in order to help, in order to protect. Willing to sacrifice feelings and sentiment for the practical safety of another. We see this with Ash trying to always send Eiji back to Japan. Even knowing it would hurt Eiji, in the long run, he knew it would be better for him, and so he’s willing to incur Eiji’s anger and maybe even hate, to take that burden onto himself, in order to help Eiji. I think the same applies to letting himself die. Ash could only ever see himself as bringing Eiji pain and as endangering Eiji’s life, and he was willing to sacrifice Eiji’s love for him to keep Eiji safe. He doubtless knew Eiji would be hurt by him dying. That that hurt might even turn to hate. Ash was willing to sacrifice the love Eiji had for him in order to ensure Eiji had a long, well lived life. I think it also ties back into Ash’s inability to love himself, or to ever see himself as deserving of Eiji’s love, even as he knew he had it. Because Ash was unable to see his own worth, it’s likely he felt Eiji would eventually come to the same realization, and be able to move on from him. That Eiji would eventually realize Ash hadn’t been worth his love after all, and get over his death. Again this comes back to Ash and the best way he knew how to express his love for others. He was always willing to let someone hate him if it meant keeping them safe. He was willing to let them think he was a jerk, or an asshole, as long as it meant they would be okay.

To Ash, Eiji’s hate or anger would be worth keeping Eiji safe. When you’re willing to let someone hate you because you think their lives will be better if they do, pushing them away from you for their own good, taking on the burden of their anger and hate so they can be alive and free. When you think you’ll only hurt someone by letting them love you, the way Ash felt letting Eiji love him would, then it makes all the more sense why he was willing to let himself die. In some ways, that’s the ultimate sacrifice, the ultimate show of love, when you’re willing to sacrifice someone’s love for you because it’s the only way to keep them safe. I think this, too, probably played a part in Ash’s decision to let go. He never wanted to hurt Eiji, and I don’t think he ever knew just how much his death would, ultimately, again tying into Ash’s inability to see his own worth. He was only doing what he thought was right, expressing his love the only way he really knew how, by sacrificing himself.

Ash needed Eiji to live, and if that meant he had to die, then that was okay.

#Banana Fish #Ash Lynx #Eiji Okumura #Meta

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winterromanov · 5 years

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she’s the sunset (in the west) - thasmin fic (2/?)

Yaz doesn’t make promises lightly. It’s one of her things. A promise should be taken seriously, carried out. If she’s promised to bake a cake for the school summer fair even though she can’t bake for shit, she’s still going to do it, layering the burnt bits in slightly sloppy buttercream. If she’s promised to take her parents to the airport at 3am on a school day, she’ll set an alarm and turn up to work the next morning on with a coffee stapled to her hands.

If she’s promised to find Poppy Smith some friends, she’s one hundred percent going to do that too. She remembers the warmth in Joanna’s eyes at the thought of it—this feels important, like she could actually change something. It might not work. It might be that in less than a year’s time Poppy will move up into year one and nothing will have changed, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try.

She brainstorms ideas at her tiny kitchen table as soon as she comes through the door. Ryan’s not home yet so she violently clatters all his dirty crockery into the empty sink, dragging her flipchart paper down the stairs (which she saves only for special occasions). An hour later, her whole kitchen wall is covered in bright pink post-it notes, like she’s attempting some spontaneous redecorating.

“What the—“

Yaz almost jumps out of her skin, black marker sliding out of her fingers and onto the floor. She’d been so absorbed in her new project she’d never heard the front door creak open—and that’s quite a feat considering Ryan’s just come in from football practice, the studs of his boots usually clicking on the laminate like a herd of women in stiletto heels.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she exclaims, heartrate slowly easing back to normal. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“I literally didn’t, but okay,” he huffs, refusing to look away from the chaos she’s created. He squints as he expertly manoeuvres his dirty kit from his bag to the washing machine—if only he could do that with the socks he leaves stranded in the hallway, she muses. “What the fuck is duck-duck-goose?”

“You’ve never heard of duck-duck-goose?” Yaz asks, open mouthed. Ryan bemusedly shakes his head. “Did you even go to primary school?”

Ryan shrugs. A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Not if I could help it, no. Mum was a pushover but Nan never believed me when I told her I had the Japanese flu or whatever.”

“I bet she didn’t,” Yaz hums, because Grace never took any of Ryan’s shit. Not even at the end.

The two of them stand in silence for a moment, like every time Ryan mentions the lost women of his family. Yaz has never felt the pain he has. She can see it in his eyes, sometimes, how it lingers like fog. Dense and dirty but fading, eventually. Slowly.

But it’s okay, he has her. He’s always got her.

(It makes her think of Joanna Smith, again. About the dad that’s not around.)

Ryan snaps out of wistful reverie first, grabbing a beer out the fridge and snapping the lid on the kitchen table. Yaz throws him a look. He knows she hates that, which is probably why he does it. “What’s all this for anyway? Because if you’ve volunteered to lead another year six team-building weekend I’m going to be seriously questioning your sanity. Especially after last time.”

“No,” Yaz tuts, as if she’s going to make that same mistake twice, “There’s this kid in my class who is finding it hard to make friends. I’m trying to…think of something to solve that.”

Ryan takes a long sip of beer, studying more of her responses. “So you think a trip to the aquarium will fix it?”

Yaz shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? Nothing gets five-year-olds talking more than jellyfish. That, and what they’re going to get at the gift shop on the way out.”

“I guess,” Ryan offers, but he doesn’t look too convinced. “Just… some kids don’t want to make friends, Yaz. As long as they don’t seem too unhappy, what’s the harm in it?”

“This kid is four, Ryan. It’s a very important stage in her social growth. If she doesn’t start developing those skills now when she’s little it could be a really big problem later on.”

“That’s a bit dramatic,” Ryan says, “All I’m saying…this is a lot of effort for just one kid. As far as you’re concerned, as long as they can count to ten and know most of the alphabet you’ve done your job. And don’t, uh, stick their fingers into plug sockets or something.”

Yaz just about resists the temptation to go off on just how wrong that is and just how Ryan could possibly understand anything about her job, how it’s never just one kid. Yes, she needs to teach them how to read and write and count. But she also needs to teach teamwork, conflict resolution, gratification. How you can’t hit someone with a building block or steal somebody’s sausage rolls at lunchtime. How you must listen to the people around you and acknowledge that sometimes you can’t win, whether that’s the star of the week accolade or someone’s forgiveness, straightaway. How you must be kind, always, forever.

The day she sees a kid in her class that’s struggling to fit in and she thinks it’s just one kid is the day she’ll walk away from teaching and never look back.

“Are you hungry?” Ryan asks, after a moment, “I haven’t eaten yet. Pizza?”

Yaz’s hand relaxes, flexing from a fist to loose. On an outtake of breath she runs a hand through her hair, before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

“Cool,” Ryan already has his phone out, scrolling through the options on Dominoes. “Hey, Yaz, if you went through this much effort for a bloke maybe you’d finally get laid.”

It’s meant as a joke but—ha. Yeah. Maybe.

-x-

As it happens, it doesn’t matter how many neatly written post-it notes and mind maps you make. Children will always be ridiculously unpredictable, like they’re wired completely different to every single other person aged eighteen or over. She tries class games, seating plans, even outdoor learning in the summerhouse on the grassy quad near the upper school playground—but nothing will encourage Poppy Smith to talk to the other children, or the other children to talk to her.

Instead, Poppy becomes incredibly attached to Yaz. And that is really, honestly, the last thing she wanted.

“You know, it’s really sunny outside today, Poppy,” Yaz says, as in a new turn of events, Poppy refuses to follow the other children out onto the playground during lunch break. Instead, the little girl stays in her seat, taking her dark blue starry-patterned pack lunch box out of her draw and unpacking it onto the table. “I think some of the other girls were thinking about playing with the new skipping ropes. Wouldn’t you like to play with the skipping ropes?”

Poppy shakes her head decidedly. Silently, she removes a small peanut-butter and banana sandwich from her box and places it in front of her. Yaz watches as she nibbles round the corners first before eating the filling.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to go outside?” Yaz asks, somewhat weakly, because she has a feeling Poppy won’t give in to her hints easily. “It’s so dark in here and I have to mark your handwriting worksheets!”

“I want to stay with you, Miss Khan.”

When two little eyes blink innocently back at her, Yaz finds it very hard to resist. Technically, as long as she’s not on her own, it’s not breaking any rules. It’s just—this is not in the plan. It’s not good to let a kid become too attached. It goes against every instinct she has as a teacher, but she knows if she forces Poppy outside she’ll go back to silently stalking the edge of the playground with her book about space, lost in a world of her own.

If she’s in here—just for today—at least she’s in her company. Talking to someone.

“Okay,” Yaz smiles tightly, “As long as you promise to go outside tomorrow, yeah?”

Poppy nods happily and returns to her sandwich.

-x-

Quite by chance, today just so happens to be the day that Joanna is late. As one-by-one the kids spot their parents or guardians in the playground and head off back home, rain splattering off bright red wellies and raincoats, Poppy stands on her tip-toes and peers into the murky outside. The weather has turned somewhat since lunchtime.

Yaz looks at her watch. Quarter to four. The playground is mostly empty, other than a group of mums nattering by the gates, restless kids hanging off their arms or in pushchairs.

It’s the second time she’s been left waiting for Joanna Smith, Yaz ponders, and wonders if it’ll be the last time. She sighs, looking at the back of Poppy’s head, watching as the little girl’s eyes lock on to everything and everyone walking past the school.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, Poppy,” Yaz says, gently smoothing Poppy’s hair. Poppy looks back up at her, eyes wide and concerned.

“What if she’s gone to the moon without me?” Poppy asks quietly. Yaz shakes her head with a smile, crouching down so their faces are level.

“Your mum wouldn’t do that, I promise,” Yaz says, “She’d always wait for you. I’m sure of that.”

Poppy frowns. “My daddy didn’t.”

Oh. Oh. Yaz freezes for a second, like she always does when a kid says something like that. You know—something unbearably sad, something hanging and poignant, one of those things that just slips out because kids don’t hide anything. Kids have sad stories too. They carry tragedies in their reading folders, hidden under exercise books and friendship bracelets and constellations of gold star stickers.

Yaz takes one of Poppy’s tiny hands in her own. Notices the stars she’s etched on her palms in blue biro pen. “Look at me, Poppy. Your mummy isn’t going to leave you behind. Ever.”

(It’s a big, big promise. She doesn’t realise it at the time, but it’s the biggest one she’s ever made—because sometimes, sometimes people don’t come back. Or you don’t go back to them. Maybe it’s the first promise she’s made that she won’t be able to keep. Sometime.)

Poppy’s disgruntled expression shifts into a smile, and Yaz can’t help but grin back. When she stands, still clutching onto Poppy’s hand, she can see through the raindrops on the window a shaky, grey figure running towards the door. Against her better judgement, she can feel her heart do something she doesn’t want to put a name to.

The glass door opens and Joanna emerges from the cold, her anorak dripping rain onto the floor in mad, abstract patterns. She pulls down her hood and her blonde hair is a chaotic mess of drenched natural waves—it reminds Yaz of tides and sea-salt and white-sand beaches, somewhere cluttered and rugged like the Northern coast. The kind of water that leaves you freezing but dazzlingly awake, shivering in clean, white towels with piles of seashells in your pockets.

Joanna blinks and catches eyes with Yaz. Grins. “I’m making a habit of this, aren’t I?”

Poppy replies first, dashing towards her mother excitedly. She grabs Joanna’s legs in a hug and Joanna laughs, ruffling her hair.

“Oh, baby, you’ll get all wet,” Joanna murmurs, before clearly deciding that Poppy is going to get wet going outside anyway. She scoops her up into her arms and kisses Poppy’s cheek messily, Poppy’s hands looping round her neck.

“You didn’t go to the moon without me,” Poppy says matter-of-factly.

“Of course I didn’t,” Joanna answers, before looking confusedly back at Yaz, forehead scrunching. “I would never leave you behind. Never ever.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Yaz reassures, “Your mummy was just late, Poppy. Nothing to worry about.”

Joanna grimaces, shifting to bring Poppy further up her hip. “Yeah—I’m so sorry about that, I…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yaz responds, smiling comfortingly. Joanna seems to take it, smiling back. “No harm done, eh?”

“No, I suppose not,” Joanna’s eyes seem focussed on Yaz’s face for a second or two, and her heart is doing that thing again, that ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum that she’s only ever really felt when Harry Styles winked at her during a One Direction concert fucking years ago.

(Was it really that long ago, huh? Have men really been that disappointing since?)

“Well,” Joanna says, breaking the silence, “I think you deserve a treat, ay, Pop? Ice cream?”

Poppy looks excited but Yaz laughs, glancing at the deluge outside. “You’ve certainly picked the perfect weather for it.”

“Mummy,” Poppy says pointedly, playing with Joanna’s wet hair, “Can Miss Khan come for ice cream with us?”

“Oh, uh—“ Joanna looks at Yaz expectantly, “I mean, of course she can, if you’re allowed…?”

Yaz pauses, because this is not a situation she’s encountered before, and she’s not sure what she’s supposed to do. It’s probably important to keep a professional distance from the kids in her class and their families. She knows she can’t show favouritism, but… this isn’t that, is it? This is just going for ice cream with a woman that she can’t help but want to get to know better. There’s a magnetic quality in Joanna. A one that makes all her wiring stutter and restart.

“You know what,” Yaz answers, after a moment, “That sounds like a lovely idea.”

(Oh, and this is when she discovers that she’ll do anything for a smile from either of the Smith women.)

#doctor who #dw #doctor who fic #doctor who au #thasmin #thasmin fic #doctor x yasmin #thirteenth doctor x yasmin khan #thirteen x yaz #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #thasmin au

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firebirdsdaughter · 5 years

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Okay, so...

... Now that I have a clearer Raw I can pause...

LONG POST

Ryusoulger Episode 1 reactions! Aka, the episode that decided to come for my life.

In no particular order:

Okay, so maybe it’s a little ‘hm’ that Kou pilots the mech entirely on his own. But it’s not the first time anyone has piloted a mech alone--including non-Ranger allies. The first person who springs to mind is Commander Aya from Jetman. In GoGo V, the robot assistant Mint piloted the robot alone once. And besides, it’s only the first episode. We’ve got plenty of time for the others to get in there.

I’ll be honest. I knew the Masters were probably going to die. At the very least, I knew something bad was going to happen to them.

What I was NOT expecting was THAT.

Ryusoulger scores one for on-screen death and incineration.

First fight of the new Robo Suit Actor (I feel so bad I forget his name). Thank you for your service Kusaka Hideaki, I wish you all the best.

But let’s go back to the beginning!

Dramatic ceremony that apparently no one else is around to witness.

Wait, so if Mynasouls/Minusouls are already being made/Druidon already showing up, and just have never reached the tribe before... Does that mean Touwa and Banba have just been doing a really bang up job of fighting them off? I mean, I expect the stakes are raising sharply now, but... Could cause tension in the team if there’s a ‘the only reason you guys had a peaceful life for so long was us’ sort of thing.

Also, Kou having a little bit of prankster in him is super cute. Are you and Touwa going to get into prank wars that drive the others nuts?

Random fact I didn’t notice before? In the opening, when the others are flying all over the place and Banba is just sleeping? He’s holding two RyusoulKen. The boy is freaking holding his brother’s sword for him, that’s so cute.

I’ll see if I can’t use this video to get a shot of the pendant looking like it’s changing colours and put it at the bottom, okay?

It has since come to my attention by rewatching this that Mystery Scarf Person is standing next to a torch that looks similar to the ones used in the ceremony scene this episode, which could indicate that he is Gold. Or... Related to the tribe, at the very least.

But the most important question to ask as to whether he’s Gold... Does he has Chainsaw?

I am never going to get over that chainsaw thing.

Also looks like we may have Druidon we haven’t seen yet, which doesn’t surprise me. Tank dude is clearly going to be Kou’s rival, but maybe one of the other Druidon was responsible for what happened to Banba and/or Touwa’s Master? (assuming Touwa had one and wasn’t solely trained by his brother)

I’m loving that little shot where it’s Ui sitting alone and then the others come over to her and it looks like they’re encouraging her (well, Banba just stands in the back bc he’s a grump but also solidarity) and then they all look at the sky. I live for the implications that there’s going to be a theme of companionship in this series bc I LOVE FRIENDSHIP. I LOVE FOUND FAMILY. And given how they trio (and possibly the brothers, too) lost people so important to them at the start, I think they’re all gonna need it.

I like them cutting the logo free. I also like the way it looks like stained glass for a hot second before becoming the usual red and yellow.

Sentai mooks continue to be distracted by pretty lights and it remains their downfall.

Kou! Don’t break the camera!

Dan seems pretty fussed that Druidon showed up. But... If he knew that the other two had gone to fight them, shouldn’t he already know that?

Hey, look! There’re other people!

Aw! Kou is trying to be comforting!

And... Gets shoved into the mountain. I love these three.

Oh my gosh, he tries to tackle Ui, but she just bops away, I love her.

Well, we’ve found the source of the bananas.

I love Melt hiding the banana behind his back like it’s incriminating evidence...

I think Kou is looking to the other two for help here and they just abandon him. God, he’s so adorable, though, I just wanna pinch his cheeks.

Also that fraction of a second ‘I got myself into this’ face right before the cut to commercial. XD

WHY DOES HE HAVE A HAMMER? WHAT DOES THE HAMMER SAY?

The Masters are on a nature walk!

No, I’m kidding, they’re probably on patrol or something. But it looks like they’re on a nature walk.

Wouldn’t it be funny of one of the other Masters, if they exist, was played by the Ichimonji of the KR NEXT films? Is he even still acting?

Not the ankles!

Do the Masters have other names?

Why does Tank dude being in the temple cancel their transformations?

What I love about this fight is that Master Red and Kou are clearly worried about each other. Red yells for Kou when he’s thrown, and Kou tries to protect his mentor. It’s cute!

Until tragedy strikes.

Is Kou ever gonna be able to hear ‘Tata Soul’ again w/out thinking of this?

God... It was a gut punch when Red got hit by those slashes, but I was not expecting Pink and Blue to get fire breathed.

Also, yeah, there were better ways to do that, but that’s always true w/ diving saves. Maybe they didn’t thank they could pull them out of the way in time?

The complete silence was a good choice. IS this the same director responsible for that scene in Build where Misora tells the others Kazumi is dead? Bc this reminded me of that. If so... Man, you do ‘characters losing someone indescribably important to them’ very well.

I’m still not entirely convinced we’ve seen the last of them. Maybe only in flashbacks or as spirits, but you’re telling me you hired Sailor Moon, Tuxedo Mask/Kamen Rider Ibuki, and even an alternate version of Hongo Takeshi/some other dude from Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (?) to kill them off in one episode? After those press announcements? Maybe they were trying to cover up what was gonna happen, but I’m not convinced. I mean, maybe their previous parts aren’t that big a deal, but it really seems like the went for a bit of name-recognition there... Are they gonna throw that away after one ep?

I will not deny I was emotionally encouraging Kou to get up and kick Tank dude’s ass right there. You can do it, sweetie!

Tank dude gives a speech while Mushroom creature is greatly distressed in the background.

See above for my feelings regarding Kou piloting the mech alone here.

Also the first time I watched I wasn’t thinking about that I was too busy crying.

Also I guess Tyramigo does talk, but... He seems fairly... Well, he doesn’t talk much. He’s got, like, two lines. I’d kind of like a serious, more ‘stern’ red rex. Hmm... Maybe the personalities of the Kishiryu reflect the predecessors’?

So here’s the jam. Doe you predecessor have to die for you to be the ‘true’ inheritor of the RyuSouls? Did Elder know this? If so... You dickwad.

Kou giving Tyramigo pets on the nose was super cute. I think I would kill for Tyramigo.

Also pretty sure I would kill for Kou, he’s very cute and now I love this actor.

Still very distracted by the way the Elder’s wig does not match his beard. What the hell, costuming?

So here’s my question. Do the special coloured Souls absorb the souls of the Ryusoulgers who die while tied to them? Are gonna have an ep where the team have to go ‘inside’ them or, like, summon the souls out of them, AtLA style? Are we gonna meet the original Ryusoulgers at some point?

Okay, but... The Elder uses the word ‘nakama’ when telling the trio about Touwa and Banba? At least, I think he does... Doesn’t that usually have ‘friendly’ connotations? Makes it seem like the two are less straight up ‘deserters’ and just... I dunno, went through the apparently necessary rite of passage of having your mentor/predecessor die before the others and were allowed to leave? I’m confused.

I don’t know why we needed to transform here, but I love the dancing mechs.

Also they did do a ‘three swords’ version of the ‘swords of justice’ thing. I am literally going to start crying--for very different reasons than this time--the first time all five of them do it together.

Still sad I didn’t get to see my boys in the preview, but at least I know they’re coming soon.

Also still can’t get a read on whether we’ll be hiding our identities this season. I kind of like it when they do do that, it adds another layer of tension to things, but it’s fine if they don’t, too.

Looks like Pink is gonna be yeeting her boys.

I’m liking this so far and I can’t wait for all my children to get together.

On the ED: I live for the dancing mechs. I could spend hours analysing everyone’s reaction to the cartoon Soul meteors. That was adorable. Still don’t know why Banba has different dance choreography, but it’s cute.

Digital french toast and pancakes for anyone who read all that.

All in all, I’m enjoying myself. I don’t usually cry at shows, but I just... I wasn’t expecting it to go that far. This is someone who directed some of Build, I suppose. I think we’re in for more agony.

And I love it. XD

Okay, so... (Ignore my boys screaming in the background please--not the most flattering picture of Banba I know, but leave him alone he’s sad DX)

So... It’s definitely just the way it disappears, but... The other three colour don’t do that? So either it was just a style choice bc there’s only two colours on this side and three on the other and I’m overanalysing, or...

Also. I. I just noticed the water bubbles. Or are those meant to be tears.

WHAT DOES ANY OF THIS MEAN BUILD MAN?

#Kishiryu Sentai Ryusoulger #Ryusoulger Spoilers #my precious Dino Children #wow what an opening #well I'm excited #ready to see where this goes #hope it keeps tearing my heart apart actually #I don't usually cry at tv shows #and I was expecting MOH (Mentor Occupational Hazard)#but...#I was not expecting it to be that rough #oof #...#......#.........#GIVE ME MORE #Birthday Sentai #Dino Dragon Knights And Their Cat #Long Post

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wellhellothereboys · 5 years

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BF Episode Names + Work Summaries (Part 1)

These summaries are my OWN and WILL contain spoilers. Some, but not all works will be related back to the show. Thank you!

Click episode names for links to online versions of the works by the way :D And please let me know if you think I made an error, I’m more than willing to fix it

I literally read all of these in three days so I’ll be posting for eps 13-24 in less than a week (I hope)

E1: A Perfect Day For Bananafish by J.D. Salinger

Muriel and Seymour, her husband (who Muriel calls “see-more”), are staying at a hotel near a beach. Muriel calls her mom to reassure her that everything has gone well, but her mother is anxious about Seymour’s state since he returned from war. Of course, Muriel says everything is fine and that Seymour is down at the beach. The reader can assume that Muriel takes a nap shortly after the call with her mother. At the beach, Seymour talks to a little girl (Sybil) and goes to swim with her and just play around. He proposes that they try to look for bananafish. He mentions that these fish eat bananas (strange) in spaces between rocks that they are then unable to escape because of weight gain from the food and they die. Sybil eventually says that she saw a bananafish, which for some reason prompts Seymour to kiss her foot (something you wanna tell us, Seymour?). Sybil runs inside when they get out of the water, and Seymour goes up to his and Muriel’s room. In the elevator, he claims that a woman is staring at his feet (honestly Seymour, what’s with the FEET?). When he gets to the room, Muriel is asleep. Without much further explanation, he grabs a gun and shoots himself.

We can obviously see the correlation between the drug in the show and the fish in the story, as both of them prompt the victim to cause harm to themselves. Seymour was also affected by mental illness after being at war, which could relate to Griffin’s character.

E2: In Another Country by Ernest Hemingway

During a war, Nick (the narrator) is in a hospital with Italian soldiers. Nick can be interpreted as an extension of Hemingway himself within the story. Nick meets three soldiers at the hospital that have earned medals for brave actions. This makes Nick feel bad, because his medal was awarded to him simply because he was an american fighting in the war and was accidentally injured. Nick also meets a younger soldier who wears a cloth over half of his face (an injury that he got BEFORE the war). Because this soldier is the only person who hasn’t gotten a medal for bravery, Nick finds ease in talking to him. Oh! I should probably mention that this story is supposed to be a reflection of Hemingway’s war experiences as well. Anyway, during physical therapy one day, a major is quite rude to Nick and tells him not to get married (Nick brought up the topic) because his wife would leave him. Later, the major apologizes and says that his wife passed away not long ago. For the rest of the story, the major looks out the window instead of focusing on his therapy.

E3: Across The River And Into The Trees by Ernest Hemingway

This one far easier to explain. Essentially, a middle aged man named Cantwell can feel that he’s going to die soon and has a relationship with a 19 year old girl in his last few months. As is typical with Hemingway, there is mention of war happening during this time. However, war is not the focal point of the story (this time). The young girl, Renata, is referred to several times during a flashback that tells the reader of Cantwell’s time in World War I. Apparently, Cantwell knew Renata for a while and was romantically involved with her. Cantwell’s friend, Jackson, urges him to stay with Renata for his final days. Cantwell decides to do just that, and so his final days are spent having sex with a girl less than half his age. Renata seems like she doesn’t give half a crap about it either so that’s... better? Idk all of this is nasty. Anyway, as you can tell, Cantwell ends up dying. He has a heart attack in the back of a car. He quotes Stonewall Jackson before he dies and leaves a note along with his body that basically just says to return a set of guns to someone. ALSO I feel like I should mention that Cantwell literally called Renata his DAUGHTER and she didn’t mind it, even though they were also getting drunk and having sex like all the time.

Obviously, the pedophilia relates to Dino and his whole category of people in BF. That’s about all I can get out of this one.

E4: This Side Of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald

This one is a LONG boy but the concept can be shortened so that’s what I’m gonna do. Basically a guy named Amory goes to Princeton but he’s SUPER lazy. He doesn’t pay attention in class but he still learns from friends/books. World War I starts and of course he joins. His mom dies while he is away. When he gets back he falls in love with a woman named Rosalind. She loves him too but she doesn’t want to marry anyone poor (and Amory is kind of broke). She breaks off their engagement and marries a rich guy instead. Amory drinks to forget until alcohol becomes illegal. Later, he has a fling with a girl named Eleanor. Then, his friend gets caught with a girl but Amory says it was his fault to keep his friend from having to deal with the consequences. Amory finds out that a his last close family friend has passed away. He runs into one of his dad’s other friends who gives him a short life lessons before he keeps walking back to Princeton. Amory is still not over Rosalind, so he thinks about her on the way home. The book ends with a really emotional (but kind of overdramatic) scene of Amory looking up at the sky and reflecting on his life, saying that the only person he really knows is himself.

E5: From Death To Morning by Thomas Wolfe (this link is kind of a pain sorry)

This is NOT a single work, but rather a collection of many. It’s a whole book of short works of fiction, so rather than explain each and every one of them, I’m just going to give you some major themes so you get the idea. Thomas Wolfe was admired by William Faulkner, who’s works are used later in Banana Fish. In From Death To Morning, all of the 14 stories featured have a theme of loss. Even the titles themselves make that clear. A majority of them involve death, and a solid amount take place in different parts of New York.

Death happens a LOT in BF. Loss is also a powerful motivator for Ash (because of his dead brother) and Eiji (because of his pole-vaulting career). Other characters are also motivated by losses of their own.

E6: My Lost City by F. Scott Fitzgerald

This is a nonfiction essay written by Fitzgerald. It talks about his life in New York, and has a depressing approach. There isn’t necessarily a flowing plot, but some very important points are made throughout the story. The author discusses his expectations of New York (celebrity life, luxury, freedom) and then moves to mourn the loss of such dreams. Real life in New York was not as great as he thought, to no one’s surprise. He leaves the city a couple of times, in hopes that he’ll regain his appreciation for the city. Most people have heard of The Great Gatsby, Fitzgerald’s most famed work. The exciting parties mentioned in the book, along with the tragedies and the melancholy tone of some parts is a reflection of his feelings towards the city. In My Lost City, he is connecting the New York of his dreams to reality. However, he also feels that he cannot part with the city. Every time he plans on getting out of the situation he’s found himself in, he finds himself coming back to where he started.

Honestly, I see one of the largest BF to Lit connections with this one because of the way Eiji saw the city. He came to New York with a certain mindset, and he was being sort of a “fanboy” of the city. He was SO excited about everything, but then every expectation was ruined within the first few hours of his stay. Though he came in with an image of a movie-like city, he ended up being introduced to the world of violence, drugs, and just about every crime you could imagine. And yet, like Fitzgerald, he stayed and kept hope for happier times. (And as we know, he found happiness with Ash.)

E7: The Rich Boy by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The rich boy in the story, named Anson Hunter, believes him to be sort of above other people because of his money. This is basically a projection of how Fitzgerald thought of the upper class. Anson, however, is not the narrator. This will be important later. In the beginning of the story, Anson is in love with a girl named Paula (whom he met when he was in the Navy), and believes he has control over her. This arrogance causes her to become frustrated with him and she leaves him. Anson then moves on to be in a relationship with a girl named Dolly. She is a lot more playful and does not let Anson control their relationship, but he tries to anyway. They’re a very good match, honestly. He is playing with her feelings but she’s playing him right back. The problem, however, is that Anson still loves Paula. So, he leaves Dolly and goes on to fuck up other people’s relationships like he fucked up his own. He hears that his aunt is cheating on his uncle with someone, and he makes a big scene out of it even though it wasn’t any of his business. The man that she was with kills himself soon after. The next time Anson sees Paula, she says she never loved him. Obviously, he’s saddened by that but apparently it isn’t enough to make him change his ways. Paula dies when giving birth to her second husband’s child. At the end of the story, Anson drinks with the narrator (his friend for all this time), but leaves as soon as he sees an attractive woman nearby.

E8: Banal Story by Ernest Hemingway

In this story, the narrator is not named. He sits and eats an orange in the beginning, while he reflects on past events that don’t really have anything to do with him (Mesopotamia, cricket games, etc.). He reads a magazine as he reflects. Then, the story shifts and all of a sudden it’s talking about a dying bullfighter’s funeral. Apparently, people come to the funeral basically just for clout. He’s pretty popular, so everyone wants to be able to say they knew him. A bunch of people buy pictures of him but don’t actually care about them. Hemingway says the people basically just shove them into their pockets and don’t pay much attention to them. While this happens, other bullfighters are glad that this guy will no longer be a part of the competition. Essentially, this famous dude dies and no one seems to give half a crap. I think this might be related to the beginning of the story in some way. My personal theory is that the bullfighter’s death may be portrayed as unimportant to people, but in the future someone may think back on it? I’m not exactly sure, but it could be a sort of loop to the man thinking about the past in the beginning.

E9: Save Me The Waltz by Zelda Fitzgerald (yes, F. Scott’s wife)

This is vaguely an autobiography about Zelda’s life, divided into four sections. The main character is named Alabama Braggs, even though she technically represents Zelda. There’s a lot of content, so I’ll give you the most important parts of each section instead. Part one involves Alabama’s life until around the age of 20. Alabama sees her older siblings experience heartbreak while she lives a life trying to act older. She begins to act spontaneously. She drinks excessively, sleeps around, and woos as many men as she can. She eventually falls in love with a man named David. Alabama had always dreamed of moving to New York, and David was planning to do so. She doesn’t like the idea of being tied down, but she loves David. In the second part, she is engaged to him. They soon get married. He doesn’t have much money, but Alabama is unaware of this. Although the family runs out of money a lot (which makes Alabama realize her husband is poor, but she loves him regardless), they still live luxurious lives. They irresponsibly spend money on parties and such. When Alabama gets pregnant, her parents visit her. They are unhappy with her life, but Alabama does not seem to pay any mind to this. David and Alabama become bored of NYC and decide to go to France. Alabama is anxious on the way there and spends most of her time on the boat in their cabin with her daughter (Bonnie) while David drinks. After they get settled in France, Alabama has an affair with a guy who later moves to China, leaving her lonely. When David has an affair after they move to Paris, Alabama takes up dancing with a famous ballerina who is willing to teach her. In part three, the couple’s relationship becomes more strained when Alabama chooses to commit to ballet instead of her relationship with David. They stay in Paris a while longer before splitting apart. In part four, Alabama lives in Italy, where she performs for a ballet. David sends her flowers, but does not visit. Bonnie visits once, but doesn’t like her mom’s life. Eventually, they all go back to America to see Alabama’s dying dad. She gets to spend time with him before he passes, and the book ends with them throwing a party (like the good old days) and her cleaning up the mess afterwards. The family decides to all move somewhere together afterwards.

E10: Babylon Revisited by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Oh great, another complicated one. This summary will explain the general progression of events, but I WILL be leaving out some things that you might think are important so I strongly encourage you to read this one. As the story opens, Charlie is coming to visit his daughter, who greets him with excitement. The other people in the house seem to dislike Charlie. He used to drink a lot and act recklessly, but he’s stopped engaging in that lifestyle a long time (~1.5 years) ago. Others still seem to keep that impression of him. While Charlie does not specifically try to regain trust from the others in the household, he continues to cherish his daughter throughout. He does everything that is expected of a loving father. After a lot of convincing, Lincoln (an adult in the household) tells Charlie that he can live with Honoria (Charlie’s daughter). Marion (the other adult in the household) continues to hold a grudge against Charlie because his wife was her sister and she died after cheating on him. In the end, Charlie is separated from his daughter because of something that affected Lincoln at the time. He decides to continue to send Honoria gifts even though he knows he should be doing more.

E11: The Beautiful And Damned by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Anthony Patch is the main character in this. His grandfather tried to get him to start a career in writing for a very long time, but Anthony has not paid much attention to it. He claims he is working, but does not (big mood). He falls in love with a girl named Gloria who uses her looks to get anything she wants. Gloria likes a movie director for a period of time, but drops him and gets with Anthony as soon as Anthony expresses his interest. They start out happy together, but soon realize their differences and struggle in their relationship. When they realize they do not have enough money, they push that problem off to the future and throw parties instead. His grandpa shows up to one of these parties without warning and scolds Anthony for his behavior. He disinherits him and dies shortly after. The grandpa’s secretary writes Anthony out of his will, so Anthony is left with little to nothing. Gloria and Dick (Anthony’s friend) go to fight in court for the money. This whole time, by the way, Gloria gives no shits about her own life. She doesn’t fear death at all. She is sad, however, when her old interest tells her that she is too old to be a lead actress. Anyway, Anthony goes into town and tries to find someone who could loan him any money. No one agrees, not even his best friend. After being tossed around because of his lack of money, Anthony makes it home. A few weeks later, Gloria and Dick come home to Anthony being emotionally nostalgic on the bathroom floor (he’s drunk, too) declaring that they had won the case. At the end of the novel, Anthony is described in distant 3rd person. He is said to have been physically and mentally drained by a family friend’s suicide. His money has also been taken away from him.

E12: To Have And Have Not by Ernest Hemingway

A man named Harry Morgan is a smuggler and takes money to do jobs for people. He agrees to help a Chinese man named Sing smuggle people across the border. Once he does this and gets the money, however, he kills Sing instead. Almost a year later, he is smuggling alcohol but becomes injured by Cubans. Harry and his friend decide to sink the alcohol and come back for it later or have another ship take it. A U.S. official sees this happen and reports the action. Harry gets his boat taken away and his arm is cut off as a result. Harry steals his boat but then gets it taken away from him again. He visits his family one last time and his wife gives him a loaded gun to take with him. Harry leaves, but is hurt by Cubans soon after. He gets away while his friend is killed. Eventually, Harry gets to a rich area that takes him in to a hospital where he dies during surgery. He gets to know these people a little before he dies, and their lives contrast the way Harry lived for the whole first section of the book. Among these rich families is a gay couple (because Hemingway is what the kids call, “woke”) and a bunch of people with various backgrounds, both good and bad. Marie ends up not going to his funeral because of guilt.

Harry’s wife reminds me of Jessica from BF honestly because she cares a lot about him and is also really badass while trying to protect him.

#banana fish #ash lynx #classic lit #eiji okumura #why did i do this #this is so self-indulgent

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

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Villainous Heroics - Chapter 4

Hm. So. It appears I've accidentally dropped some plot into what was supposed to be a silly little slow burn story. This is where we start to really deviate from what @corndog-patrol's AU has already shown, but hopefully you guys enjoy it and I can find out where to go from here because the last scene here was certainly a surprise!

Enjoy!

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Summary: Eraserhead is an underground hero who is constantly busy and doesn’t have time to be dealing with new villains - even if they aren’t all that villainous and make the night interesting.

Present Mic is the latest up-and-coming villain in the world and he has a point to prove to everyone out there - as long as he doesn’t keep getting distracted by Eraserhead.

Aizawa Shota is someone who soon learns that there is more to someone than the mask they show to the world - especially when it comes to playing heroes and villains.

Yamada Hizashi learns that there is more to heroics and villainy than he could have ever thought - especially in a world where some heroes still care about those lost in the shadows.

(Inspired and dedicated to corndog-patrol’s Villain!Mic AU on Tumblr.)

<<First/Chapter>> <<Last Chapter>> <<Next Chapter>>

Chapter Four

“Do you think Eraserhead is just a tsundere?” The simultaneous realization and question came to Hizashi in a fit of brilliance as he laid on his apartment floor and thought about his last few fights with the hero on his mind. “I mean, his smiles kind of make me think he’s about to kill me, and all, but he fits the personality type, don’t you think? He doesn’t care what anyone thinks, but then he worries when he breaks my glasses and jokes around during fights, sometimes.”

Hizashi had known from the start that Eraserhead hadn’t had the best of public images - if any public image at all. He had known because he had known Eraserhead before he had set about becoming a villain. Aizawa was an underground hero, yes, but he was still a hero. The world always had its eyes trained on heroes - hidden or not.

“Maybe he really does like me back and he’s just playing it cool until the right time. But then when would the right time be? I mean, it’s not like anyone would know if he started dating a villain, right? Barely anyone knows about him besides people like me!”

That, at least, was the utter truth. Eraserhead was a name known only to those who lived in rough areas like where Hizashi did, and it didn’t matter if the person was villain, thug, or civilian. When forced to live in the shadows and always watch your back, it was hard to not know about the ones who did good.

The area Hizashi lived in was utter shit with old buildings, poor funding, and a police station that didn’t care about any of them unless they had to please some higher up. The news always started with the latest tragedy that happened overnight and ended with a list of those missing. It was depressing and once someone lived in these types of areas it was near impossible to get out.

Then the news had one day started with a story about how two women had been saved by an unknown hero who dressed in black clothing and used some kind of scarf as a weapon while hiding behind yellow goggles.

“‘S not fair that no one knows about the good he does. I get that he’s underground, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help give him a good image! If that takes three different fan accounts, making my own hero merch, and making stupid online videos, then so be it!” A lot of what he did was just to give him a distraction when his thoughts became too loud for even him, but Hizashi liked to think that his constant social media presence screaming about the good of pro hero Eraserhead was at least doing some good.

“Hey, I didn’t start all this villain stuff just to meet Eraserhead, you know. I did it for more reasons than that.” He had been waiting for some uncaring, high-on-life pro hero to show up that night of his debut so he could make a point, but instead of anyone he had expected, he had been captured in a heartbeat by a scowling man who had made sure all civilians were safely out of the way before giving ‘Present Mic’ any attention. “I can still multitask, though, don’t you think?”

Tilting his head back to face the one he had been talking to, Hizashi frowned as a small, white paw landed on his forehead, a loud meow echoing around his dingy apartment. There was a moment of silence, and then Hizashi felt the hint of claws against his skin.

“If you claw me, then it’s dry food only for the next week, Snowball, and you know I’ll keep my promise.” The claws receded and Hizashi gave a light grunt as his cat, far too large for having been such a tiny, half-drowned kitten a few months ago, jumped onto his chest and settled down. “Thank you for your wise words.” The meow Snowball gave sounded smug. Hizashi both hated and loved it.

“Maybe I’m thinking about this too deeply… Do you think I’m focusing too much on Eraserhead?” It had been a couple months now, after all, and Hizashi had yet to see another pro hero in his area - underground or otherwise. As wonderful as Aizawa was and as much as Hizashi wanted a date with the man, he had to remember his goal. He had to prove just how broken this system of heroes and villains was.

A buzz from his phone had him startling out of his thoughts, Hizashi digging it out before seeing that it was an update on the underground Eraserhead forums he had joined. After a moment of debate, he unlocked his screen and tried not to grin.

It wouldn’t hurt to take a bit longer of a break, and, considering he had nothing pressing to do, Hizashi supposed he could stand to think about Aizawa for just a bit longer.

“Welcome to Lovely Coffee- Oh, wow, you look awful.” Hizashi had seen Aizawa dozens of times since that first day he had wandered into the shop he worked in, but he hadn’t ever seen him look this bad. The man always looked a few moments away from falling asleep, but right now he looked like he was on the verge of total collapse.

“Aren’t you supposed to be nicer to your customers?” Yes, but what they had was special. Of course, Hizashi couldn’t say that without being found out as Present Mic and, not only would that get him fired, but that would mean he could never hide from Aizawa again. Mostly, though, he just needed to make his rent, this time. “I’ll have my usual.”

“I think I’m legally obligated to stop you from having so many espresso shots. You look like you died and then someone with a Reanimation quirk brought you back to life.” There was a half moment where Hizashi saw Aizawa almost smile before he was glaring at him. Thankfully, Hizashi was near immune to those glares after so much exposure. “Will you at least please order something to eat with your coffee order this time?”

“No. I don’t like eating in the mornings,” Aizawa grumbled, words quieter than they normally were. The man was a pretty quiet person, of course, but this was too quiet.

“You used to always order those cute cat muffins we made here before we stopped making them,” Hizashi complained, starting on the coffee anyways as Aizawa dug his money out.

“Yes. Then you stopped making them.” Yeah, because the boss and owner of the store was an utter cheapskate. “I’ll be fine.”

“No offense, but you really don’t look like you’ll be fine.” Hizashi added only one espresso shot this time, knowing it would be enough to get the man through until lunch and then maybe, hopefully, he would collapse somewhere and get some sleep. “Did you take on too much work or something?”

“You’re nosy.” Ah, his dear Eraserhead was blunt as always. Hizashi supposed it probably did look strange in how curious he was. “And no. It’s just been noisy outside my apartment.” Aizawa must have sensed he was ready to start up a new line of questioning because he snorted as he took his coffee. “Construction work. They’ll be done by next week.”

“Oh, well, I was going to offer my help, but I can’t really do much about that.” He couldn’t, at least. Present Mic, on the other hand… “Are you sure you don’t want a blueberry muffin or anything? They’re my favorite, personally, but the apple cinnamon is pretty good- Oh! The banana scone is great with black coffee-”

“You talk a lot.” Once again, blunt as always. At least the words were familiar ones in his life. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“Oh- Yeah! Of course!” Hizashi did his best to not swoon, but that was the first time Aizawa had ever actually thanked him like that. He was absolutely in love.

Hopefully Aizawa would be, too, once Present Mic showed him just what he could do and, thankfully, that turned out to be a lot.

It had taken a night of careful following – not stalking - to figure out where Aizawa lived, of course, but it had taken no time at all for Hizashi to steal all the keys to the construction vehicles and hold them hostage from the workers. Half of them had seemed to want to beat the shit out of him, but Hizashi was amused by the older ones who just took an early lunch.

There were spare keys and other types of equipment to deal with, of course, and running anytime the police were brought in, but Hizashi prevailed in the end. Well, really he supposed he ended up delaying progress so much that management agreed to stop in the late evening and pick back up in the morning. The workers looked pleased enough to hear that they would no longer be working nights, though, and Aizawa wouldn’t have to deal with loud noises anymore, so Hizashi called it a success.

His attempt to bring back his coffee shop’s cat muffins was also a success - in a way. Present Mic had threatened his boss, which had felt wonderful, but Hizashi himself was the one who had to show up an hour or two early each shift to now actually make the muffins. At least they sold well to people besides just Aizawa, he mused.

It had all worked out wonderfully well and Hizashi was sure he had gotten away with it all until he found himself hanging upside down from where he was tied up with Aizawa’s capture scarf and dangling from a lamppost.

“Eraser! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Hizashi greeted cheerfully, trying not to let himself get motion sickness as he swung back and forth. “I’ve missed you.”

“Stop it.” Before he could speak again, Aizawa was talking over him. “Why did you stop the construction?”

“C’mon, now, Eraser, you know as my greatest enemy you have to be at the top of your game to defeat me!” Alright, Hizashi may have put a bit too much force and cheer in his words as he swayed in the hold, entire world moving around him. He was finding that he didn’t like being upside down. “Could you at least put me on the ground, please?”

“No. Did you follow me home? Don’t answer. Of course you did. You could have cost a lot of people their jobs, you know.”

“And I should care? I’m a villain, you know.” There was no need for Aizawa to know that Hizashi had worried about that and had upped his presence at the construction site so management would have no excuse to blame the workers for the delays. “Besides, the sounds annoyed me whenever I wanted a nightly stroll.”

“You threatened a coffee shop.” Yes, well, he supposed at the core of it all, he did threaten a coffee shop. Before he could defend himself, he squealed as he fell a few inches in the air, Aizawa stopping his descent just before his head hit the ground.

“Was that necessary?!” Hizashi winced as he could hear his quirk at the edges of his words. He quickly forced it down, trying to keep his words even. “And I just had a friendly chat with them!”

“No more friendly chats. The workers there actually make decent coffee and it’s on my way to my other job.” Aizawa sounded uncaring, but Hizashi knew that he was complimenting his coffee skills. His heart could tell.

Besides, it was all worth it where Aizawa was seeming a lot more perked up and well rested - or at least, as close to it as he could get. His eyes were still bloodshot and there were still bags under his eyes, but he looked better by leaps and bounds since the first time Hizashi had noticed. He supposed the constant exhaustion was explained by the reveal of his other job, Hizashi mused.

“Tell you what, hero,” Hizashi cooed out the last word in English, grinning at the glare he was given in return. “I’ll make you a deal.”

“You’ve been trying to capture me for months and I’ve punched you more times than you could probably count,” Aizawa grumbled, voice irritated. Hizashi let the silence sit, trying not to grin when the man sighed. “What deal?”

“I won’t do any villainy for the next week in exchange for a kiss from you,” Hizashi said simply, almost laughing as he saw shock on the other’s face. He had seen Aizawa surprised, of course, but he had never seen him shocked. “What do you say, hero?”

His answer came in the form of a sudden loss of gravity, Hizashi shrieking as he hit the ground and landed on his back, groaning as the world settled down around him and Aizawa walked up to him without quite making eye contact, “As if I would ever kiss you.”

Hizashi had been right. Aizawa was a tsundere. Cracking his eyes open, Hizashi felt his pain lessen when he saw the edges of what could have maybe been a smile on Aizawa’s face. It disappeared, of course, but it had still been nice to see.

Aizawa shook his head with a heavy sigh before speaking, “And what villainy? You aren’t even a real villain.”

“What? Yes I am! I pull off heists and crimes all the time!” Just because he didn’t recklessly attack people didn’t mean he wasn’t a villain.

“Oi, oi, do you even know how to get labelled as a villain?” Aizawa knelt beside him, not worried about Hizashi fighting back considering he was still wrapped up in the capture scarf. He couldn’t even wiggle. “A villain is labelled after repeated use of their quirk in public spaces for nefarious purposes.”

“I do nefarious things in public spaces,” Hizashi defended as quick as he could, knowing it was a losing battle as all the others had been.

“You don’t use your quirk,” Aizawa said simply. Hizashi… Well. Aizawa had a point. He didn’t use his quirk, at least, not in his villain work. He used it in self-defense when he needed too, but he couldn’t just go around using his quirk all the time. It was dangerous.

“Who says I need to use my quirk to cause trouble?” Hizashi shot back. While Eraserhead may have been the only hero he liked and Aizawa was a decent person, he didn’t get to sit there and lecture Hizashi like he was some misbehaving kid. “I can be just as dangerous without it.”

“Dangerous?” Aizawa raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “You’re just loud.” No, he wasn’t. “It’s noisy, but it’s not that bad.” Liar. Hizashi knew what his quirk could do. It was dangerous. It was dangerous. It might as well have been a villain’s quirk. “C’mon. Police station.”

“I didn’t even do anything tonight!” Hizashi whined, not fighting as he was pulled to his feet and properly cuffed.

“Disrupting construction work and threatening the owners of stores is a crime, you know, and those two you haven’t been charged for, yet.”

“Didn’t even get my kiss,” Hizashi grumbled to himself, not fighting too much as he was dragged away. As nice as it was of Aizawa to try and ‘save’ him, there was little point in it.

Hm. Hizashi would have to prove just how pointless it was and show Eraserhead just how much of a threat Present Mic could be. First, though, he needed to remember to call his boss and let him know he’d be running late for work.

Being a villain was exhausting, he was finding.

“So, I hear you’re the new villain stirring up trouble around here!” Startling at the hand that touched his shoulder, Hizashi carefully glanced to his left to see a man who looked entirely unassuming and had a polite, neutral smile that would be well suited to someone in business marketing.

“Nice to see my name is getting out there!” Spinning around in his chair, Hizashi put on a dazzling smile as he took a quick second to scan the room. The club he was in that night was a busy one and so the music was covering up their voices nicely, drowning them out to anyone who would be trying to listen. The path to the door was obscured by a crowd of moving and dancing bodies and at least three people were casting glances over at them. All of them looked like they could fight. “Oi, oi, if you know I’m a villain, shouldn’t you be running away?”

“On the contrary. You see, I’m someone who likes to help aspiring people such as yourself reach their lofty goals.” The man’s voice was average. Everything about him was average and it was so wrong. This man was dangerous, and that much Hizashi knew for certain. “Tell me, Present Mic, what are you in the business for?”

“I need a reason to have a little fun?” Hizashi laughed loud and bright, trying to keep his posture loose and relaxed even as he shifted his weight around so he could run if he needed to. “I got bored.”

“No one becomes a villain by just being bored, Present Mic.” This one was too smart. He didn’t like it. “I have an offer for someone with a quirk like yours.”

“You need someone to do some screaming?” Hizashi said, tilting his head in feigned cluelessness as he tried to calm his racing heart. Not many knew what his quirk was - and for good reason. “I’m pretty sure there’s a lot of people out there who can scream.”

“Not like you can. Your quirk would be… advantageous to those I work with if you’d be willing to hear more.” Ah… A villain’s quirk, huh?

“And what makes you think I want anything to do with those you work with?” Hizashi hid his fear as he had always done, putting on a pout and pitching his voice into something whiny and childish. He had a feeling his masks didn’t work in front of this man.

“Let’s just call it… belief.” The words were near lost in the thrumming of laughter and singing and screaming in the air, the bass pumping out a rhythm that Hizashi mirrored in the tapping of his fingers. “We’d be willing to help you in return, of course.”

“Help, huh? Who says I need any help?” Before he could move away, a business card with something attached to it was slipped inside his jacket pocket.

“Well, we could all use a little help. How would you like to make that quirk of yours stronger?” Stronger? Like hell he wanted that! His quirk was already strong enough to bring down buildings if he wasn’t careful.

“Look-” A wild scream from behind him had him turning around quickly, Hizashi sighing in relief when he saw it was just someone who couldn’t hold their drink and had fallen to the floor. Looking back to the man, Hizashi blinked as he saw he and the people who had been watching them were gone.

“Help, huh?” Turning back around in his chair, Hizashi carefully pulled out the card with the napkin his drink had been resting on, wary of touching something that could be laced with who knew what.

It took a few moments, but he managed to see that it looked like a plain old business card that was white enough to shine in the dim lights of the club. On one side was a number and on the other was a single word, along with what looked like a sealed piece of candy at first glance.

Looking the word over, Hizashi frowned as he shoved the card back into his pocket. A stronger quirk…

“Trigger, huh?” He had a bad feeling about that.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #erasermic #corndog-patrol #villainous heroics #hA so the last scene was on complete accident i was just thinking on some reviews i got #anD THEN THAT HAPPENED #this was originally suppposed to be short sweet fluff #and now it might end up swerving into plot #goddammmit #why do i have so much fun with drama!!!

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