#I still hate her being far too petty (even for her) and reduced to almost just provoking Hürrem this half-season don't get me wrong

[mc-critical]

Come to think of it, it's namely Mahidevran's small amount of scenes in S02A that show her coming into her own and having settled down at least a little bit, emphasizing her getting used to the status quo around her to some extent and her hopes for it to change becoming more likely to be realized than ever. Because her (both gleeful and earnest) happiness in these episodes isn't as fragile as it once was, with Mahidevran getting numerous victories in succession, both new ones she wholeheartedly embraces and old ones she couldn't reach before no matter what she did alike: seemingly getting Nigar on her side [like she aimed to in S01], SS showing her favor again by giving her money for charity, Isabella bringing woes to Hürrem [and it's in relation to Isabella Mahidevran gets one of the few scenes of happiness in front of a mirror where that happiness isn't tainted but enforced afterwards] long enough for SS to even bring her to the harem [Mahidevran senses Isabella's possible danger but she's less of a threat than she would've been; her being in the harem is welcome to Mahidevran as long as it bothers biggest individual threat Hürrem, and Mahi could gain advantage while Isabella and Hürrem are fighting, even Valide mentioned that in E37], Mustafa getting Hatice's chambers [what Mahi also wanted in S01], Mahi gaining possession of Leo's diary several times and being the one to fully incite the revelation of its secrets by giving it to Valide [another S01 callback as Mahi had suspicions about Leo as well], with the biggest, most important victory of all being her seeing Mustafa grow and Süleiman acknowledging her efforts as his mother {and that's very interesting not only because Mahi obviously becomes closer to Mustafa the further into the show we get, but also because most of her interactions with Süleiman in S02A are also about Mustafa - his education, his progress and the benefits and approval Mahi gains from SS due to that, it's only due to that she could gain it now and it looks stronger than ever, fueling her hope to get SS's love back, in contrast to early S03A where Mahi gets more scenes where she interacts with Mustafa before he leaves for Manisa and her hope, her love for SS have already evaporated, along with SS's changed view of the one thing he approved from her in forever - her motherhood - post-E55, arguably even post-E48?}. And even if these victories don't last or aren't actual victories, the bad doesn't linger in Mahi's mind, doesn't impact her as much precisely due to the scarse focus she gets throughout the half-season.

The less we see her, the less detailed or possibly drawn-out reactions we witness (even SS getting mad at Mustafa in E29 isn't as much about her or even Mustafa at the moment as it is about what Valide thinks could happen with SS in the future) and the more we zoom in not only on her relation to the main protagonist's story (her even more frequent antagonising of Hürrem), but also on the main highlights of Mahidevran's own life. Mahidevran not having as many scenes points to her not getting development but the setup of one, to her being in certain stasis until that transitory period passes, and this stasis is, for once, calmness and even happiness while she's doing her own thing and she learns about the main events she is less involved with than usual, that she always returns to no matter what (instead of returning to sorrow as she did for the majority of S01; this also reverses that emotional joy vs. sorrow dynamic she had with Hürrem especially in early S01 for many episodes). Her good mood and all the reasons for her to have it last and/or accumulate before a sorrow not just for one or two episodes but for an entire half-season and even when Mahidevran gets her full focus back (arguably E38-onwards, but really in, IMO, E40-onwards) and things start to be stacked against her again, with her facing subsequent failures instead (Isabella's disappearance and that scene in the balcony in E38; Valide falling ill; Hürrem getting freed in E40), she still holds onto getting SS back (E41) and gains even more presumed victories (the recognition for her charity and Leo's diary in E39 again; Hürrem's exile,marrying Nigar to Matrakci, even Hatice's pregnancy all in E41 again; Mustafa in general again) as a compensation that only give her strength to continue (E41 as a whole is a transition between the states of pre-wedding Mahi and post-wedding, pre-Edirne Mahi).

All that, of course, is there to only open the door to the biggest sorrow for Mahidevran, the one that confirms that she can't ever get SS back, that all hope is gone for good: Süleiman marrying Hürrem (and even that happens and is announced during a victory of Mahidevran's: Mustafa's circumcision, but Mehmet is also circumcized, so the victory too is shared with Hürrem this time). The presumed victories begin to recede and center on the one and only person she always has beside her: her son (E42 directly makes the near completion of that turnaround clear through Mahi looking at Mustafa when she tells Hürrem that her hope is right here), while the sorrow escalates again as Mahidevran processes SS's marriage (E43-44 where she witnesses either Hürrem's victories or the turmoil of her closest people, namely Valide and Hatice). This is how E45 gets an even more culminative feel (with Mahi fully leaning on Mustafa at the end, the shifting of priorities on Mahi's part that S02A built to completes itself) and her infamous E55 scene with Mustafa, or rather a certain line of it, is revealed in another light: "I kept quiet for years. I've waited patiently for my punishment to end! But it didn't". Because it's become true. Mahidevran really kept quiet in anticipation of that faithful day SS embraces her again... not in S01, but in S02A. She really waited patiently for the end of her punishment...not in S01, but in S02A. So when that end never comes, when she can't wait any longer, watching as her fate is dictated by someone else, allowing it with her silence, you can really feel the years of pent-up resentment and anguish (and in E43 and E44 she even slides back to the background of the events again both figuratively and literally for everything to truly pile up). You can really feel her pain. But perhaps that would've never been entirely possible without S02A. Perhaps it all would've never been as impactful, as powerful if S02A wasn't set up the way it was for her.

[irons-enough]

I want to talk about Molly O’Shea.

Molly O’Shea deserved better. A better life, a better story, a better portrayal, and a better ending.

This is so much longer than I thought it was going to be, so buckle in. Spoilers for the whole story ahead, and a healthy mix of canon, analysis, and conjecture.

First, I can almost guarantee that all those years ago, Molly had no idea what she was getting into when she took up with Dutch. She was an aristocrat, a woman of means and breeding, who was seeking romanticism and adventure. Dutch, with his propensity for poetry and charisma, probably made the life of an outlaw sound terribly romantic. He probably made it sound like they lived like kings. She was expecting the Highwayman, the Gentleman Thief, the Lord of Outlaws, because no doubt Dutch saw himself as such. Instead, she got tents and cots, game meat stew and constant--constant--running.

Still, however, she loved him. I think that much is undisputed, no matter what your point of view. She loved him deeply and was devoted to him for as long as she could be. Too often, people convince themselves that unideal conditions are, in fact, the best there are, because of love. And so she stayed.

Molly knew Dutch’s romantic history, and was intimidated by it, feared the idea of becoming one more in a line of younger and younger women. She feared becoming Susan, a constant yet chronically underappreciated and overworked fixture in Dutch’s life; or Annabelle, who had died due to her association with Dutch. Time would take its toll on her and, one way or another, Dutch’s affections would be focused elsewhere. To combat this, she had to be--remain--the best. This explains her vanity, her constant preening, her ache for attention. Her anger and jealousy at Mary-Beth isn’t personal. It’s borne from this very real fear of being replaced, or cast aside. As a result, she positions herself as above the other women in camp. In a way, she establishes herself as Dutch’s counterpart, the queen to his king, both of them above menial tasks such as chores, petty thefts, and common entertainments.

 All of this she feels she must do, because if she becomes reduced in Dutch’s eyes, she will lose him. If she loses Dutch, she has no one.

As Dutch’s decline begins, his thoughts and attentions turn steadily inward, more focused on himself than on anyone else. With no one else to turn to, no one else who even likes her, Molly begins to feel isolated. The Molly at Clemens Point -- simple clothes, braided hair, sitting on the lake shore far away from the rest of the camp -- is trying to cope with that isolation. It begs the question: is she friendless because she is so aloof, or is she so aloof because she is friendless?

The chapters that follow are a progression of this: Dutch’s retreat into his own mind as he tries to reconcile himself as the hero in his own story, and Molly being more and more decisively cast aside. Molly is the one who notices his decline before anyone else, and tries in vain to speak to others about it before it is too late. She sees his narcissism consume him as he continues time and time again to rationalize the decisions he made which ended in disaster. His paranoia grows. He begins to alienate her more deliberately.

The Molly at Shady Belle sees a man hurtling toward disaster, and bringing everyone else down with him. When she looks at her own future, she sees nothing for herself, because she has become so intrinsically attached to him. She loves him. He’s her king. And he will destroy them all.

In the Beaver Hollow chapter, she is missing for a while before anyone finds her. She must have noticed, must have realized that she was not looked for, was not missed. Knowing that--knowing, for certain, that everyone around you would not care if you were gone--is devastating. It leads to her breakdown at Beaver Hollow. Drunk, driven half to insanity by the stress and fear she’s endured silently for weeks upon weeks, she unloads in a venomous rant of sarcasm and anger. No one cared about her. Everyone ignored her. She was gone, she was missing, and no one cared. Not even Dutch.

Perhaps she told him she snitched to the Pinkertons because she thought it would anger him, and for once she would be in control of his emotions and not the other way around. Maybe she was so drunk and delusional she really believed she confessed. Maybe she just wanted to give everyone a reason--a legitimate reason to hate her as much as they always have. We’ll never really know, aside from being aware that it was Micah who was feeding them the information, not Molly.

And then, Molly is killed savagely by Susan--the woman whom she replaced by Dutch’s side, the woman who, if Molly weren’t Molly, might have been a surrogate mother in this life that was so different than what she was promised. They burn her body, denying her a proper burial, a final insult, a final reminder that she did not belong, that she was not and never would be one of them.  Susan neither flinches nor hesitates, but says simply, “She knew the rules.”

But I don’t think Molly did. If she did, she had no reason to believe they applied to her, not anymore, maybe not ever. By the end of the Van der Linde Gang’s story, she has lived and died as an outcast.

[lorelylantana]

The Difference

I was inspired to write by some of the amazing @ghostgirl19posts‘s work for Febwhump and with permission I’ve decided to write a little epilogue for the Ganon’sChampion!Link chapters, the first of which can be found here but you should also read parts two and three for this to make sense.

Overall rating: T

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, unhealthy relationship that grows to be slightly less unhealthy.

“Did you really believe that anything would be different?”

No, she supposes she didn’t. Not really. She isn’t that stupid.

Zelda sees the dead sincerity in his eyes when he speaks, but the relief at Ganon’s fall has sparked a rebellious streak in her. She won’t let him get off that easy, so she masks her dismay with an apathetic flip of her hair.

“Just as well,” she hums, the picture of a bored princess, “As far as I’m concerned, my job is done so long as the kingdom isn’t actively on fire. I see nothing wrong with lounging about for the rest of my days. If you want to do all the paperwork, be my guest. In the meantime, I’ll be in the library. It’s been too long since I’ve read a good book.”

She doesn’t wait for permission, slipping out of his arms and breezing out the door. He stands there a moment, shocked into silence. He likely would have called after her if he wasn’t rooted to the spot by the dread sinking in his body.

“ . . . Paperwork?”

Despite Link’s insistence otherwise, Zelda did begin to notice things were different. The changes were small, incremental, but no less potent. She was not so foolish as to let her guard down, but a drop of water can cut through stone through sheer persistence.

Zelda woke up in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom. This was an increasingly common occurrence as her midriff expanded to accommodate the child growing there. She lay on her side, Link curled around her back and his hand on her stomach. The day after Ganon’s assassination his rooms were cleared and refurbished to house the new royal couple. 

The first difference. Their rooms were divided no longer. At first, Zelda assumed that he was tired of having to summon her and this unification was an attempt to streamline his path between her legs. She thought it a decision driven by lust, but she had to admit that their nightly escapades had decreased. He still took Zelda into his arms often enough, unwrapping her with painstaking, almost precious care and leaving her skin open to be devoured. But there were also nights like these, where the days were long and Link seemed to sense her fatigue and was content to simply lie wrapped around her, his hand never straying from her abdomen. Zelda wondered if he was as tired as she was, adjusting to kingship, but most of her husband’s mind was still a mystery to her.

Her husband.

There was no royal wedding. No dress. No grand feast to celebrate Zelda’s return to royalty. There was only an acolyte and a set of documents to be signed before she was once again dragged off to bed. They couldn’t find a priest, so they said their vows in front of the closest alternative. 

Zelda yawned and slipped out of bed to relieve herself. While she was washing her hands she took a moment to consider her reflection. 

Zelda knew there were aspects of her marriage that were unacceptable, she knew that.

But there was no denying the privilege afforded to her as queen, even if she was only a puppet. Her hair still shone, her eyes were bright, and her cheeks full. A far cry from the gaunt, weary state the servants were in. She shuddered to think of how her citizens looked outside the castle walls. The conquest of Hyrule was her fault. It was her failure to claim her birthright that brought this ruin upon him. Yet here she stood, safely tucked away, insulated from the Calamity’s devastation. 

Sometimes, when she was honest with herself, Zelda had to admit there was a part of her that was grateful for Link’s command that she stay within the castle. His mandate, cruel though it was, gave her a plausible excuse to hide from her mistakes. The castle walls were high and thick, strong enough to shut out the guilt that was her obligation. 

Zelda jerked her head to the side, unable to look herself in the eye any longer. She padded back into the room. Instead of heading straight back to bed, though the promise of warmth against the late fall evening was tempting, she was drawn to the window. The guardians still roamed the streets of the shattered Castle Town. They were malicious no longer, only patrolling out of ancient duty, but none dared approach. Above all the ruin, the sky was clear of Ganon’s hateful red. At least she could see the stars. 

“Come to bed.”

Zelda turned to where Link lay, staring at her. She supposed he finally lost his patience with her idling. If she were a more fanciful woman, Zelda would think he was fussing over her standing in a room that chilled when the fire died in the hearth. She returned to the massive bed Link claimed as theirs and sat down, kicking her slippers off before sliding back under the lush, heavy comforter. Link’s hand was back on her stomach before she settled, an imitation of a caring husband so convincing it was cruel.

She didn’t cry, because tears were a cry for help she didn’t deserve.

Before her growing stomach prevented it, Zelda spent most of her days firmly ensconced in Link’s lap as he looked over documents. He refused to ask for the help any of the few conquered noblemen that still lived, as he insisted such an action was beneath him. Besides, what better way to remind the captive queen of her place than to make her explain all of this bureaucratic nonsense? 

“What exactly is the point of a crop rotation?” he huffed as he read the agricultural proposal over lunch. Zelda finished off her sandwich before answering.

“Different plants require different nutrients from the land to grow. If you grow the same crop in the same field every year, eventually those nutrients will deplete. Switching things up gives the soil an opportunity to regain those specific nutrients while reducing the amount of bad harvests.”

Link hummed as he signed his approval of the proposal. All of this drivel was really giving him a headache. He reached for the last half of his sandwich, but Zelda got there first, plucking it off of his plate and sinking her teeth into it. Child crafting was a hungry business, after all. 

Link disguised his failed reach by redirecting it around Zelda so his arms circled her waist, both hands resting on her stomach. He supposed a sense of entitlement was a good quality for a queen to have.

He didn’t need that sandwich anyway.

The powers that be must have finally resigned themselves that he was here to stay. They must have given up on his downfall, and instead must have focused on encouraging what little virtue he had. They must be, for such a petty generosity to be rewarded by the baby’s first kick.

“The baby kicked!” he gasped, craning his head over her shoulder to look down at where her tummy peeked out under her breasts. 

“Yes, love, I noticed,” Zelda deadpanned, then they stilled in tandem.

Love. A word that had no business between them. Obsession, perhaps. Possession. But ‘love’?  It was laughable. Link opened his mouth to say something castigating, something harsh enough to bring back the status quo.

“Careful.”

Link’s head jerked back in surprise. She didn’t turn to look at him, ignoring him in favor of taking the apple from his plate, so he pressed.

“What did you say?” Who was she to caution him?

“Merely making an observation,” she said, turning her hand this way and that, regarding the fruit with a critical eye, “After all, what upsets the mother threatens the child.”

A chill ran down Link’s spine. Perhaps, even after all this time, he had underestimated her. He didn’t have the luxury of composing himself at his own pace, because she had turned to him. The calculating, sharp look in her eye brought him to heel.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.

Link’s hands started rubbing again, and his lips dropped to her shoulder. He had surrendered, but he wasn’t sure if the victor was Zelda or his own traitorous heart.

“Yes, dearest.”

Zelda hummed in response, bringing a hand up to comb luxuriously through his hair. He sighed, and she brought the apple to her lips, biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

After all, a marriage bed is an arena of equals.

Perhaps the statement was insensitive, but being a pregnant queen of a ruined castle did have some perks. Primarily, it was the absolute lack of regard for decorum. Despite the circumstances, Zelda felt a lighthearted thrill of walking around the palace, once a place of rigid etiquette, in nothing but a nightgown and silk robe. Link’s insistence, of course. When her corset was no longer comfortable to wear, Link inferred that her dresses would be too tight as well. He could have had new ones made, but why bother with garments that would have to be altered half a dozen times? No, it was far more efficient for his queen to lounge about in her nightgowns. 

Of course, the knee length hem had absolutely nothing to do with it. Link didn’t even notice when a knee length gown in the first trimester stopped at the top of her thighs in the third. Or the fact that Zelda stopped wearing anything underneath when putting something on became difficult. Irrelevant, all of it.

If he happened to capitalize on the opportunities it afforded to him, fine, but that was an entirely separate matter.

Zelda stretches, trying to release some of the tension in her back, before falling stiffly back into her chaise. It was absurd, but the moment he realized she could no longer fit in his lap he’d commissioned a modified chaise specifically for her and had it brought to the office. She said it was overkill, but he didn’t care. That said, her back had grown to appreciate the reclined seat and cushions.  

Still, one couldn’t help the stiffness that came with sitting for long periods of time. Perhaps she should take a turn about the room? Zelda swung her legs down, then started probing for her slippers. Surely they must be in the same spot she left them? Still, with her stomach as large as it was she couldn’t really see.

Link knelt on the floor next to her, having gotten up the moment he saw her sit up. He took her foot in his hand gently while the other reached under the chaise to pull out the missing footwear. He delicately put the slipper on one foot, perhaps wary of hurting her swollen ankles. He repeated the action with her other foot before wordlessly helping her stand, even though he knew she didn’t need it.

At least, she thought she didn’t. Turns out, fate had other plans, and Zelda felt an intense cramping in her lower abdomen, causing her to double over with a start.

“Zelda!? Zelda, tell me what’s wrong?”  

She looked him in the eyes, the same concern held in his grip supporting her arms shining in his eyes.

“Call the midwives.”

The night was quiet. Link would swear that it was the first peaceful moment since Ganon’s rise. Although, it’s entirely possible that this tranquility was an illusion born of the chaos of the day preceding. Now his lovely wife was sleeping, exhausted, in the bed while he sat in a chair next to her. 

The baby in his arms huffed, and Link’s attention was drawn from the Zelda sleeping in the bed to the one resting in his arms.

They had to name her Zelda. Of course they did. Other names didn’t seem to fit.

The people of Hyrule couldn’t be trusted to look after his daughter, they were losers! How could they be trusted with someone so precious when they couldn’t even win one war? They couldn’t, simple as that. No, the only ones who were capable of looking after little Zelda were himself and his queen, no others. 

But then who would run the country?

Link supposed he could carry on, leaving the childrearing to Zelda as he made sure any and all threats were eliminated before they even looked at the castle. Baby Zelda squirmed, one of her arms coming loose of her swaddling and slapping him in the face.

What was he thinking? Zelda couldn’t hone these raw battle instincts. She can’t even do a backflip, much less after giving birth. Besides, why should she get all the time with the baby? He’s the king! He should get to do what he wants, and he wants to raise his little girl. Zelda can handle affairs of the state well enough. Not right away of course, she needs time to recuperate, but after a few months she should be more than capable of take Hyrule’s reins while he looks after the little one.

“Come here,”

Link looked to the bed, Zelda was sitting up. He moved to help her, but she waved him away, pulling herself into a sitting position with a wince. Once she was settled he slid under the blankets. Zelda undid her nightgown, allowing their sweet daughter to latch on her breast. She winced.

“Does it hurt?” he asked with a frown. She shook her head.

“It’s a bit uncomfortable, I’ll get used to it.”

Link put an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her to him. She leaned on him, resting her drowsy head in the crook of his neck, and Link was overcome. He couldn’t fight anymore. It was time to admit defeat.

He pressed his nose into her hair, “I love you.”

When his statement was met with silence, he thought she had fallen back asleep, or perhaps his whispered words were lost in the crown of her head. Then, like a dream, she answered.

“I love you, too.” 

Outside, a cool breeze blows through the land, a sigh of relief as the first sprout pushes through the earth, marking the beginning of a new era.

[djemsostylist]

I think I posted something last week about plot vs. character, and damn was episode 34 the prime perfect example of this.  The entire episode was Plot.  Plot said “do this” so the characters did it, regardless of whether or not it made sense. 

In a way, this episode was more infuriating than all the others written by this team, and not because of the lackluster ending--that was both expected and honestly right in keeping with how terribly this entire plot has been handled.  But while previous episodes have been nothing but repeats of one singular plot line over and over (Eda and Serkan snark fight--Eda throws Deniz in Serkan’s face, Serkan throws Selin in Eda’s, there is one nice moment, Serkan is a dick again and Eda cries alone) this episode took things to the extreme with plot devices, and after nearly 7 weeks, I’m tired. 

I hate it it here. 

Everyone seems to have been excusing the Eda/Deniz mess for weeks, but I can’t.  It’s honestly far stupider to me than the Selin plot--the Selin plot is cruel on Serkan’s side and makes me want to wring necks, but the Eda/Deniz bullshit is just so completely nonsensical as to be almost more infuriating.  

I’ve seen a lot of apologizing on Eda’s behalf over this whole thing (she doesn’t owe Serkan anything, he is the one who is in a real relationship etc) but I think trying to examine any of this mess from a “what is the character thinking” angle is an exercise in futility.  The entire plot does not make any sense unless your goal is, when Serkan finally remembers, to have him think Eda has moved on and is better off without him.  Which is, I’m nearly certain, what these writers intended.  Despite Serkan’s last minute change of heart, I’m fairly sure they meant to have him NOT go to her.  So this whole plot is another “keep edser apart” thing which I hate. 

But if we are trying to make it “make sense” then Eda just appears dumb.  After her emotional outbursts in 29 (which are the last time any of her actions made sense) failed to get anything out of Serkan other than panic, her impulsively getting engaged is, I guess, sort of in character.  The problem is then that because these writers are so terrible, every single Eda scene becomes her looking sadly at Serkan (tears may appear, or may not), then actively working to piss him off, then rubbing Deniz in his face and refusing to answer any questions about their life, and then ending it by looking crushed.  If the goal was to get Serkan to fall back in love with her, the Eda we have been given for the past 6 or so episodes bears little resemblance to the woman Serkan fell in love with.  He fell in love with her heart, her creativity, her spontaneity, her love for others, her willingness to stand by and support him and those she cared for, her drive and ambition.  Eda in the last few episodes has been given almost zero chance to display any of these qualities in front of Serkan--what exactly is he supposed to fall back in love with?  A woman who repeats ad nauseum she is over him and doesn’t want him and has a far better love now?  And other than two(?) business related scenes, he’s seen little of her talent or ability, she doesn’t have any room to show her heart (you know, by say helping out Ceren or bonding with Piril or idk ANYTHING) and she certainly isn’t standing by him.  Eda has been reduced to a plot device in her own story to prevent forward story progression, and it’s annoying as hell.  The fact that the episode actually had a scene of her sobbing over missing Serkan and then still somehow maneuvered into not only going through wedding prep, but actively tricked and convinced into going through a whole fucking wedding ceremony for a man who wasn’t even present is frankly one of the more appalling things they’ve done.  The question remains--what exactly was Serkan supposed to fall back in love with?

To touch on what they’ve done to Serkan’s character would take a book, but last night’s episode took it to the extreme.  Eda claimed a few episodes ago to be “falling more in love with him” and it’s like, I’m as equally baffled by her falling more in love as I am with him falling at all in love.  Serkan has been become an asshole--snarky, bitter, annoying and entirely unlikable.  Any moments of softness are immediately replaced by a scene of him being a complete asshat, and it’s hard to remember what I found endearing about butthead Serkan of the earlier episodes.  But he has shown zero signs of actually being in love with Eda--I guess maybe we are supposed to take his pseudo obsession for love, but I found it more fascination or attraction than love.  Every element of their old relationship he found stupid and dumb, and with no opportunity to actually see or get to know the Eda he fell in love with, we are reduced to him suddenly becoming obsessed with her smell and being either jealous or annoyed over Deniz.  He literally got high--all inhibitions down, and still acted mostly giggly and confused, not smitten.  His first response after getting his memories isn’t to immediately run to Eda, it’s too joke with Engin about their youth and then mention that breaking up the wedding would be rude.  

I know I’m probably in the minority, but I hated last night’s episode.  I can’t get joy out of a cute scene that was pretty much just H&K having fun with a script when it has literally not bearing or affect on the plot.  I can’t get enjoyment out of a dress unbuttoning or a shirt buttoning when it has no bearing on the plot.  And when Eda is wearing another man’s ring and standing at the wedding table with another man and wearing a dress for another man and presumably saying evet to another man while Serkan is stubbornly refusing to breakup with a woman he barely tolerates and all their friends (except Ferit) seem to be either stupid or mean (I love Melo but encouraging her to keep up the game was horrible fucking advice, especially when Eda is a sobbing mess), I can’t like it.   Yay, Serkan got his memory back, but this has to be collectively the worst bunch of 7 episodes culminating in what might be the world’s stupidest plot I have ever seen.  I’m sorry, crap is crap, and I’m not gonna call a shit sandwich delicious for a glimpse of the actors having fun.  If I wanted to watch H&K be cute, I’d go watch a bunch of their old lives.  I watch a show for the characters, and until they are back, I just simply don’t care.  

I am a Salt Queen, on a throne built of Bitterness and Pettiness and Bile.  

[whenihaveyouromione]

When I Have You - Chapter 35

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3 if you’d prefer!

Follow whenihaveyou.romione on Instagram. 

----

Chapter 35

“I’m going to miss this little place,” Ron said. 

“It was a good place,” Harry agreed, using his wand to lift the final suitcase into the pile of things that needed to be sent to Nottingham. “Small, but nice. Nice and cosy, I’d imagine.”

Ron nodded, looking around at the still-furnished flat he would be leaving behind in a few short minutes. He really had liked living here — not so much for the place itself, but because of what it meant. It was the first place he and Hermione had shared together. The first place they could call their own, even if it never truly belonged to them. They didn’t even own the furniture, yet… it had felt like theirs. 

He remembered the nights falling asleep with Hermione in his arms or waking up with her beside him. Or waking up to find her already up — on weekends still in her pyjamas and a pot of coffee already made; on work days, dressed and showered and nudging him to also get up lest he be late. 

There had been times where they had curled up together under a blanket on the sofa, talking and laughing, sometimes getting into petty arguments about one thing or another. Sometimes their talking would become intimate, and it’d lead to kissing, sex, or just straight up romance where they would fall asleep holding hands. 

The kitchen was where they cooked food — Ron learning how to cook out of necessity with Hermione’s crazy work hours. 

Even the bathroom held some memories — especially the times (as rare as they were) where Hermione wasn’t in a rush and she’d let him jump in the shower with her. 

Of course, he knew these things wouldn’t change in their new place, but there was something special about it being their first. 

But he also knew that their new house would create so many more memories over so many more years, and he was looking forward to the rest of his life living there — with the absolute love of his life. 

“I’m also keen to see what you’ve done with the new place since I saw it last, though,” Harry added. 

“Not much,” Ron confessed. “It didn’t need much work. Just the protective enchantments, really. So no peeping neighbours wonder why we never have to garden, or why there is smoke in the chimney all year round.” 

The biggest change they’d made in the last month of owning the house and not living in it had been purchasing all of their own furniture. They now had their own bed, their own sofas, their own table, their own kitchen appliances (which Ron was still getting the hang of). They’d gotten the keys in December, slightly before Christmas, and had spent the last six weeks preparing to move into it, all at the same time trying to enjoy their short break away from work, and spending time with family. 

But everyone had volunteered to pitch in to help — Harry and Ginny helping with the packing, Hermione’s parents even making the two and a half hour drive to help them with the furniture deliveries. Molly had cooked them a week’s worth of meals so they wouldn’t have to worry about it. 

And today was the day. January, and finally they were moving into their new house. 

“The two of you are taking a lot of huge steps together,” Harry said after a moment, and there was an element of pride in his voice. “You’re in this for the long haul, huh?”

Ron turned to Harry, about to ask where he’d been for the past almost three years, but stopped himself when he saw Harry’s mischievous grin. 

“Ha, ha, very funny.” 

Harry shrugged, and then put his arm across Ron’s shoulders. “It really is great. I love you guys, you’re my family, and as much as you drive each other crazy, it’s a good kind of crazy. I swear you argue less now that you're together than you did when you weren't. You really love each other.”

“More than anything,” Ron said. Over the years, talking about his feelings to Harry had become slightly easier. In fact, talking about his feelings in general had become easier the moment he could admit them to Hermione. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been forcing himself to keep quiet, terrified of the consequences were he to admit that his feelings for one of his best friends really crossed those boundaries of friendship. 

But then she had kissed him, and his barrier had been dropped, completely punctured through. She loved him, too, and all of a sudden, he could tell her, and he could tell the world — including Harry, who really didn’t want to hear about it to begin with.

Now, Harry felt like their biggest supporter. As if he really did want them to last.

Ron laughed lightly. "You should have heard us the other day. Arguing about what sheets to get for our new bed. We couldn't agree and it took us an hour to decide. They thought we were mad, the people in the shops."

Harry also laughed and shook his head. "I'm not really surprised. You ready?"

Ron nodded. Everything was packed now. Hermione and Ginny had taken Crookshanks and their owl, Arwen, over to the new place already, along with some other things. All that was left were the suitcases filled with clothes and other little things that wouldn't fit anywhere else. 

"It'll be sad to have you guys a little further away," Harry said as they both lifted their wands at the remaining stuff.

"You're only a Floo call away,” Ron said. "And we've set up Apparition boundaries too, not too far from the house — we thought it would be weird if any neighbours saw you exit the house but not come in, so that way you can at least look as if you walked."

"You moving has made me think about it a bit," Harry said.

"What, move out of Grimmauld Place?" Ron asked, not entirely surprised by that news. Harry had always said it was temporary because he’d always hated it there.

Harry shrugged. "It was never a long term arrangement. And it's already been longer than I planned. And it's huge for just me and Ginny." He hesitated a moment after that, looking uncertainly at Ron. "You'd, um, be okay if I proposed to her soon, wouldn't you?"

"What?" Ron asked.

Harry suddenly looked very uncomfortable. It had been a long, unspoken agreement that small details of Ron and Hermione's relationship were allowed to be shared, but Harry and Ginny's was taboo. Ginny may have been okay gossiping with Hermione about her brother's sex life (even though Hermione was adamant that never happened), but it was not something Ron even wanted to think about, let alone hear about.

But that wasn't even what shocked him… or annoyed him. It was the fact that for once, Ron had hoped to be the first. 

"I mean… soon?" Harry said. "You'd be okay with it, right? If I asked her?"

Ron didn't say anything for a long while, his wand hanging limply in his hand. 

No, let me ask Hermione first, he wanted to say. For the love of Merlin just let me have this one. 

But who knew when that was going to be. With the house, and then the furniture, and then the probability of that damn car neither knew how to drive (granted, Hermione had decided to learn) he'd had to reduce his payments to fortnightly and with fewer Galleons. 

"Well," he said, keeping the bitterness from his voice as best he could, "I don't really have a say, do I?"

"But you're my best mate," Harry said, "and her brother. Your opinion matters."

"I'm okay with it," Ron said. "I mean, it's not like I'm surprised anyway. You just caught me off guard."

Ron thought he'd handled that very well. He smiled, genuine. Harry mistook it as an approval smile. 

"I know it weirds you out," he said.

"Not nearly as much as it used to," Ron said. "As long as we continue with the whole need-to-know basis, then it's all good. When do you plan to ask?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't actually know. It is only a recent thought I've had. Not for a while, I guess." 

Ron nodded again, smiling. "Well, congrats, mate. I'm happy for you. Hermione will be too. We'll have a celebration once it's over with."

"Over with?" Harry chuckled. "You make it sound like it's some lengthy procedure you want to get out of the way."

"Well… the thought of it is kind of terrifying, isn't it? I mean… there's always a chance they'll say no. They'll change their mind even if they’ve assured you they’ll say yes. That they'll say they don't actually want to get married."

Harry didn't say anything for a long while. Suddenly, he looked mildly terrified, causing Ron to feel guilty. "Obviously, that's not going to be your case!" he added hastily. "It's just… a thought."

"I guess I never thought about that," Harry said. "I mean, she is playing Quidditch, she's rarely home… do you think she'll have time to even get married?"

"I'm sure it would be a top priority, mate."

But Harry didn't look overly convinced, and the guilt hit Ron like a slap to the face. He hadn't meant to worry Harry. He'd just been expressing his own internal fears he'd been too uncomfortable to admit to himself until now. 

"Just ask her," he said after a moment. "It's not going to go badly. Trust me."

"I've never done this before," Harry said. He turned to Ron. "How do I do it? How do I ask?"

Although he’d never admit it, Ron felt rather put out that their conversation had turned to Harry talking about how he was going to ask Ginny to marry him. 

"I don't know," he said after a moment. "I would have told you if I'd done it, don't you think? I can’t even afford a stupid ring, so you’re asking the wrong person.”

"Ring?” Harry asked, looking at Ron with a stunned expression. “I'm sorry, what?" 

Ron went red. He hadn't meant to say that. "Nothing," he said quickly. “I mean… forget I said that.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and folded his arms over his chest. “You have a ring?”

“Well… no,” Ron said, realising he’d already said too much. He may as well tell Harry the whole story. "That’s the thing. I went to… get one last year. In April. I was going to ask Hermione, but the ring I wanted to get was ridiculously expensive, so I've been paying it off each week. Well, fortnight since we got the house."

"You were going to ask Hermione to marry you?" Harry asked softly, apparently now more interested in Ron's story than his own romantic plight. 

"Yeah," Ron said. "I really wanted to do it right, too. But the shopkeeper won't give it to me until it's all paid off. It was supposed to be a year, so I'd have it this April, but with the house and everything, I've had to delay it a little longer. I probably won't get it until the following April at the rate it's going." He sighed again. "I was so ready to do it and everything; I'd even organised a whole romantic evening that I had to cancel because it was pointless otherwise. She was so confused. I think she realised what I was planning, and then I cancelled and… I don't know. She hasn't said anything about it. She hasn't said anything to you, has she?" 

Harry shook his head, shrugging. “Not a word. You mean to say, you’ve put it off for almost a year now?”

Ron nodded. 

Harry watched him for a moment. Then,“You're the biggest idiot I've ever met.” 

"Thanks," Ron muttered. 

"You're telling me you've been planning to marry her for almost a year, and the only thing holding you back is the fact that you decided to get her an engagement ring that is far too expensive?"

Ron shrugged. 

"She doesn't care about a stupid ring, mate. I can tell you that much."

Ron shrugged again. "It was the only one that felt right. I didn’t want to just get her any old one because it was cheaper. I chose that one before I knew the price and I knew it was right for her."

Harry laughed. "You're an idiot," he said again. "But while you're being an idiot, will you at least help me come up with a plan for Ginny? Seems you have some idea on what to do, which is more than me."

"Yeah," Ron sighed. "I'll help. Just don’t tell me the intimate details, will you? One of us may as well be getting married while the other is being an idiot."

Harry shook his head, still laughing. "I wonder if Hermione realises she's moving in with the biggest prat in the world."

Ron stuck out a leg to kick Harry.

"Is that any way to treat your future brother-in-law?" Harry asked.

"Careful," Ron warned. "I might just tell you I'm not okay with it."

"And I'd have to tell you that you were right — it's not really your decision, is it?"

They grinned at each other, and Ron felt glad that his friendship with Harry had stood the test of time and many, many obstacles. And that his best friend would one day be family for real. 

“We should actually get this stuff to the house,” Ron said, nodding at the pile of things they’d been tasked to transport. 

Harry nodded, and together, they Vanished the stuff to what would hopefully be the new place. Hermione had shown them the spell, becoming frustrated when they hadn’t managed it first go, muttering something about them going to make useless Aurors if they couldn’t manage a simple Vanishing charm. 

It felt like old times, like when they were back at Hogwarts and studying for exams. The only difference this time was rather than telling her to lay off them, Ron had pulled her towards him and kissed her. It had been the most effective measure in silencing her for the past few years. 

“Ready?” Ron asked, gripping Harry’s arm. Harry nodded, and Ron spun from the living room of the flat, landing a moment later in the living room of the new place…

...to a pile of suitcases and bags which had crash landed on the brand new coffee table he and Hermione had bought, causing one of the legs to snap.

Ron grimaced at the mess, and then looked up to where Hermione and Ginny were muttering about their uselessness in moving things.

“Well, how were we supposed to know where exactly it was going to land?” Ron argued as Hermione repaired the coffee table. “We couldn’t see.”

“I managed to get the other stuff in the correct places,” Hermione retorted. 

“Yes, well, we already know we aren’t as accurate with magic as you are. Rub it in, why don’t you?” Ron grumbled, shifting the bags and suitcases into the corner of the living room. “Where do these go, anyway?”

“Upstairs,” Hermione said. For a moment, Ron thought she was going to Vanish them up there herself, but when she didn’t move, Ron realised she wanted him to drag them up himself, probably as punishment for destroying their brand new table before they’d even officially moved in. 

“I’ll levitate them, at least,” Ron told her, to which she only raised an eyebrow. 

“A little help?” Ron said to Harry, who had been standing back slightly. 

Harry nodded, and they began levitating the objects, guiding them through the doors and upstairs. “She has a point, really,” Harry said on their way up. “We should be able to do that spell.”

“She’s just stressing as Hermione stresses in situations like this,” Ron said. “Everything has to go perfectly to plan.”

They let the bags fall onto the floor of the bedroom, where all that was there was a bed — made up and looking fresh and clean, and ready to be slept in. 

“Hermione?” Harry asked, nodding toward the duvet. It was a pale blue and white cover, which was one of the many small arguments they’d had about the decor of the house. Ron had not liked it, but then she had won the argument by stating she didn’t like the idea of Quidditch hoops in the garden, but she wasn’t telling him no to that.

So they had bought that one.

“Yeah,” Ron said. “I get the Quidditch stuff, she gets everything else in the house, and I’m okay with that. I really want the hoops.”

Harry chuckled. “Married life, I guess.”

“Not yet,” Ron reminded him. 

“As good as.”

“Yeah,” Ron said with a small smile. It was.

A moment later, Hermione and Ginny came into the room as well, laughing at the sight of Ron and Harry staring at the bed. 

“You moved a few bags and you’re contemplating taking a nap, are you?” Ginny said. 

“No,” Ron and Harry said together. 

“We were just commenting on the duvet,” Harry added. “It’s… nice.”

“A good thing you don’t have to sleep there then, isn’t it, Harry?” Hermione said. “Ron doesn’t like it either.” She looked at Ron, amused. “Mum and Dad just got here with a few extra little things we realised were missing this morning. Is everything gone from the other place?”

“Yep, it’s just the keys to pass on now. Where’s the cat and where’s the owl?”

“Crookshanks is exploring the garden, and I told Arwen she could stretch her wings.”

They made their way back downstairs and into the kitchen where Hermione’s parents were both standing by the bench. A pile of small bits and pieces sat atop it, and a bag full of groceries.

“We thought you might need a head start,” Jane said, smiling. “So you don’t go hungry. Though, I hear Molly has you covered for that as well?”

“Mum would never let us starve,” Ron said to Hermione’s mother. He took the bag from the bench and looked at Hermione. “I may need some help with what goes in the refrigerator,” he added.

“If it’s cold, it goes in, if it’s not cold, the pantry,” Jane said. 

“Thanks,” Ron said, and he began unloading the butter, some milk and eggs into the refrigerator. Arthur had spent a good thirty minutes admiring it when they’d put it in a week ago. 

“Fascinating,” he had kept saying. “And, Ron, you’ll be living with elektisity. Amazing!” Much to the amusement of Hermione’s parents, who had also been there.

Ron had to remind him that Percy was also living in a house with electricity with a gentle nudge to go and bother him. 

Now, Ron continued unloading the groceries. Hermione’s parents had bought some vegetables as well, which stumped Ron. Harry had to help him sort them out. 

“Merlin, that’s going to take some getting used to,” Ron said. “The flat was all magic. We didn’t need one.”

“You’ll figure it out, I’m sure,” Jane said kindly. 

“You’ll be fine,” Hermione added, smiling at him. 

He returned her smile. Anywhere with her was home. 

“Well, perhaps we should go to our hotel for the night,” Jane said after a moment. “Check in. We’ve decided to stay in Nottingham, just to see the two of you settled in. In case there’s anything else you need.”

“Thanks,” Ron said, and he didn’t just mean for the food. Ever since getting the house, they had been so busy that he’d not had a chance to really thank her parents for the help they had given for the house. “I mean… for everything, not just today. For… the house.”

Both of her parents smiled. “It is the least we can do, Ron,” her dad said. “To get the two of you set up.”

Sixteen thousand Galleons equivalent wasn’t a small thing, but Ron didn’t push the matter. He was grateful for the help, because without it, they wouldn’t be standing there right now. 

“We’ll go back, too,” Ginny said. “I’ve got tomorrow off, but training starts again on Monday. We’re going out for dinner tonight, me and Harry.” She beamed. “It’s been forever.”

“Enjoy,” Hermione said. “Maybe try the Floo back to your place. Make sure it works. It was a hell of a lot of paperwork to get it connected, so you may as well use it.”

“Will do,” Ginny said, grinning at them. “Enjoy your first night in your new place. Try not to break any more furniture.” She turned to Hermione’s parents then, and added quickly, “I do mean literally. Ron broke the coffee table earlier.” She looked back at Ron and Hermione. “We’ll drop by again tomorrow. See you.”

The four of them left after that, Harry and Ginny Flooing back to Grimmauld Place, while Hermione’s parents drove back down the driveway toward the city of Nottingham where they were staying. 

Ron threw his arm around Hermione’s shoulder as the car disappeared down the road and they closed the door behind them.

“Tomorrow we give the key back, and then this place is truly ours,” he said. “Just you and me.”

“How do we spend our first night in our new place?” Hermione asked. 

…

It was nearing ten o’clock at night, and just as Ron had imagined all those weeks ago, they sat on the sofa, curled up together with a blanket thrown over them. It wasn’t even that cold, but it was comforting and the romantic in Ron had insisted. 

“This is nice,” Hermione said, and her voice sounded faraway, as if she was almost asleep. 

Ron drew her closer towards him, his thoughts wandering into something resembling pure bliss, only interrupted a few moments later by an intrusive memory that he’d brushed aside until now. 

“Apparently I am helping Harry figure out a way to ask Ginny to marry him.”

“What?” Hermione lifted her head off Ron’s shoulder and sat up. “Since when?”

“Since this morning, apparently,” Ron said with a shrug. “He asked me if I’d be okay with it, which… well, yeah, I am. Then he asked me if I could help him do it. I mean, I assume he meant helping him find a way to ask her that doesn’t seem ridiculous and cheesy.”

“That’s great news!” Hermione said, and she sounded genuinely thrilled. If there was any thought in her mind about when she’d be getting engaged, she hid it very well. “Oh, I’m so happy for them. Do you know when he’s planning it?”

“No,” Ron said. “You know Harry — if it’s something that involves even a small plan, then he prefers to dive right in, head first.”

“Ginny did say they were going to dinner tonight…” Hermione began.

“Yeah, but he asked me for help,” Ron said. “And I haven’t given him the slightest bit of help.” He thought back to earlier that day, and Harry’s amusement over the whole ring situation. “Except, I guess, what not to do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione asked. 

“Nothing.” Ron shook his head. “Just something that happened while we were packing up the stuff at the flat. You think Ginny will say yes?”

“Certain of it,” Hermione said. “Though, with the Quidditch season starting up again soon, I can’t imagine when they’ll find the time to get married. They’ll have to squeeze it in between a game, I guess. And that all depends on whether the game has actually finished before the next one is due to start.”

Ron laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Hermione asked.

“Well, I’d hope — and correct me if I’m wrong if I’m assuming too much — that Ginny would actually consider missing a game or two for her own wedding.”

Hermione flushed, and it was obvious that the thought hadn’t actually occurred to her. “I… I suppose you’re right.”

Ron watched her for a moment. Now he knew she definitely was thinking about their own potential wedding. She had an air of guilt about her. 

“If you and Harry find you’re struggling, I can offer some suggestions, too,” Hermione said after a moment. “I do think, considering it’s Harry and Ginny, something simple. Or something Quidditch related.”

“Maybe at a Quidditch game?” Ron suggested.

“Harry wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself like that,” Hermione argued.

“Good point.”

“A dinner is a little cliche, but nice and simple, and if it’s in the house, then there’s no one else around.”

“Wouldn’t that be boring, though?” Ron asked.

“I think it’s romantic,” Hermione said. “I think it would be nice for them to become engaged just at home, no one else around…”

Ron smiled at her. 

Hermione flushed a little, and added quickly, “But I mean, if, um, Harry doesn’t want to do it that way then there’s other options. Start by asking him, I guess. You’re good at that kind of thing, Ron. Better than he is. I’m sure you’ll think of something. It’s so exciting for them!”

Ron’s smile widened. “I love you,” he said. 

She responded by kissing him. 

…

There was a cool breeze floating through the window the following morning. Ron shivered. What was it doing open in January? It was far too cold for such a thing. 

And then he remembered. 

Their first night together in their new place had become heated, especially when they’d decided to come to bed. They’d needed to open the window after a bit, just to cool themselves down. 

And now it didn’t help in the morning that he’d fallen asleep without any clothes and the blankets were tossed down around his waist. 

He groaned and rolled over, drawing them back up to under his chin. “Morning,” he said groggily, reaching out an arm to place around Hermione. She didn’t respond, but he could feel that beneath the blankets she also had forgotten to get dressed. He snuggled into her, partly for warmth and partly because he was still very much remembering how he had fallen asleep and wanted to be as close to her as possible.

Her even, gentle breathing lulled him back into a sleep. He didn’t know for how long, but he was woken again by Hermione shifting against him. She rolled over and before he could even open his eyes, her lips were on his again. 

“Good morning,” she whispered, snuggling into him. Her skin was so warm and soft against his. 

He grinned, still through closed eyes. “Very good morning,” he said, moving his arm under the blankets and drawing her closer towards him. “You’re so warm,” he added, suppressing a shiver. “Dumb idea, leaving that open all night.”

“I was going to close it, but then I fell asleep,” Hermione said, keeping her voice low. 

Ron drew her even closer to him, sinking lower under the blankets. A moment later Hermione pulled away. His eyes sprung open as she reached for her wand, pointed it at the open window and then snuggled back in under the covers.

“We don’t have to get up today, do we?” Ron asked. 

“I’m okay to stay here,” Hermione agreed, and she kissed him again.

And they would have gladly stayed in bed all day, enjoying their new house (and each other’s company), but at some point (Ron didn’t know and didn’t care what the time was) there was an annoying disruption.

A rush of flames, and then a shout that sounded a lot like Ginny’s from the bottom of the stairs. “You two up there?”

“Great idea linking the fireplaces,” Ron groaned, pulling away from Hermione unwillingly. “Your best idea yet.”

Hermione, also looking rather annoyed at the interruption, sat up in the bed in a very flustered state. “I don’t think we’re in any state to go down just yet,” she said. 

Ron definitely wasn’t, so they laid back down, Hermione flicking her wand to open the window again. 

“I doubt they’re sleeping,” Ron heard Ginny say, probably to Harry. “It’s midday. Honestly.”

And then there was silence, with any luck the two deciding to go back home. Though, Ron knew that was wishful thinking. 

“I suppose we should get up,” Hermione said after a while, once the cold air began to become a nuisance again, and not a relief. 

“Annoying little sisters,” Ron grumbled as they both sat up and attempted to find something to dress into. Nothing had been unpacked yet, and by the time Ron had found a shirt and a pair of jeans to throw on, Hermione was opening the door in her pyjamas that she definitely had not worn last night.

Harry and Ginny were waiting in the kitchen, both with a mug of hot tea in front of them. 

“Sorry, should have sent word when we were coming over,” Ginny said, and to Ron’s surprise, she actually looked a little embarrassed. 

“Yeah,” Ron replied, unable to contain his annoyance at their unwelcome intrusion. “Also should have used your brain.”

Hermione gave him a whack across the chest.

“Ow.”

“It’s alright,” Hermione said, accepting an offer of tea that Harry had just poured. “We were just about to get up.”

That was so far from the truth that no one believed her, but no one said anything. 

“So, how’s the place?” Harry asked. “You’ve settled in alright?”

“Yep,” Ron said. “There’s a lot more space than we’re used to, but that’s alright. We’ll get used to it, I’m sure. It already kind of feels like home.”

“I’m glad,” Ginny said with a smile. 

They moved into idle chat after that, Harry and Ginny talking about their date night, and then moving onto work, and the new Quidditch season. It wasn’t until Hermione jumped up from her seat and said, “Harry, can I see you in the next room?” that the conversation died.

“Is that some secret work business going on in there?” Ginny asked. 

“I dunno, maybe,” Ron said, though he had a feeling that Hermione was sharing all her sudden ideas about how to propose to Ginny in the next room. He repressed a sigh.

“Harry told me what you said to him yesterday,” Ginny said after a moment. “About the ring. You’re an idiot.”

Ron glared at her. 

“I’m serious,” Ginny continued. “You. Are. So. Stupid.”

“I’m not getting into this discussion with you,” Ron said. “It’s too late now, anyway. I can’t back out, and I don’t want to.”

Ginny stared at him for a moment, then shook her head again, stating, “You’re an idiot.” 

“That’s what George told me when I told him what I did.”

“Yeah, well, he’s right, too.”

Ron couldn’t say anything, for Harry and Hermione returned, Harry looking rather overwhelmed. 

“We should head back,” Ginny said. “I have to be back in Holyhead at seven in the morning tomorrow.”

“Good luck for this year,” Hermione said. “We’ll try to get to some games to see you play.”

Ginny smiled, giving Hermione and Ron a hug each. “Thanks. We have a pretty strong team. I’m just glad to be playing this year at all.”

“You deserve it,” Hermione said. 

“Thanks. See you guys, and enjoy the rest of your afternoon. We’ll remember to Apparate next time, or send word first. Sorry.”

Once they had gone, Hermione turned straight to Ron and said, “You need to help Harry. He’s clueless.” And she took another sip of the freshly brewed tea. 

[saiilorstars]

Rise Up

Ch.11: Black Orchid

Previous Story: It Had To Be You || Current Masterlist

Pairings: Barry Allen x OFC

Chapter Summary: Following a tip from a time travelling friend, Belén starts the endeavor to find a way into the Green: a world for all botanist metahumans. She goes in search of a potential ally from another botanist metahuman, Black Orchid, who seems like she would rather work alone.

Pronunciation of OC: Bell-en. The last syllable has an emphasis so it’s not pronounced like ‘Helen’ would be.

Taglist: @ocfairygodmother​ @anotherunreadblog​​ @maaaaarveeeeel​​ @stareyedplanet​ @perfectlystiles​ [If you’d like to be part of this OC’s taglist, let me know!]

"So...Mom knows about you?" Maritza watched her sister's uncomfortable form on the other side of the glass. Belén gave a silent nod of her head. She'd told Maritza about her mother finding out, in the worst way possible, she was the Azalea. "Gosh, Belén...she didn't take it well, did she?"

Belén shook her head. "Nope. She's moved on from the 'I'm ignoring you' phase and she's onto full fledged anger."

"I think the word 'metahuman' is just tarnished for her after everything that's happened," Maritza said, though in no way did she mean to give their mother a pass on her behavior. "I'm sorry."

"No, this one's not on you. It's on me," Belén sighed. "I thought that maybe after telling her my secret, things between us might start getting better again, but…"

"I'm sorry," Maritza felt the need to say again. After everything Belén had told her, going from their mother's challenging personality to the metahumans hunting them down...Maritza could only say 'sorry'. She wished, wished, that she could do something to help Belén but her past choices have prohibited her from. "I really wish I could help you out there."

Belén found it in her to smile. She didn't know how, or when, but coming to see Maritza had stopped being a chore and more like...a way to relieve stress. She could tell Maritza everything that was going on and not be judged. She hadn't quite forgiven Maritza for everything she did last year, but...Belén could say she was getting there.

Feeling her phone buzz inside her pocket, Belén gave it a quick check and found a text from Iris. She had to say goodbye to Maritza in order to meet back at STAR Labs.

~ 0 ~

Iris had done her job as best as she could and when she wanted to, she could almost be like a spy the way she found information on people. She had pulled up a profile of a woman dressed in a black and magenta suit with an over-sized jacket. Soon as Cisco saw the picture he let out a wolf whistle, along with questions about her specific clothing choice.

"This is why I do the suits, just saying," he raised his hands to show he was just making a statement...a true statement.

"Who are we looking at, Iris?" Belén asked, brown eyes already scanning the woman's picture till it burned in her mind.

"She calls herself Black Orchid," Iris began. She rose from her seat and zoomed in on the picture of woman. "As far as anyone knows, she's a meta with - take a guess - plant-based powers who usually appears in the lower parts of the city."

"The slummy parts?" Barry figured that would be the best place to lay low and still make a name for themselves.

"She's not known for always appearing when needed, but she's still known enough to have search engine results," Iris scrolled through some of her pictures, stopping at a familiar tab. "This is actually from my old blog. People still send me stuff and take a look at the date for this post."

Belén walked up to the screen to find the date stamp. The picture was of Black Orchid holding up one, no doubt, petty thief in her arms in front of a crowd of people. "That's last month." She turned sideways, one finger pointed behind her at the picture. "She's an active meta, then."

"It's been weeks since her last appearance but do you know what's interesting about that too? It's right around the time Datura and you fought for the first time."

"Could it be that's she's scared of Datura, then?" Caitlin's theory made sense since pretty much everyone in the room feared the siphoner.

"It also means she's keeping up with the news and thus still very much in the city," Barry crossed his arms.

"So, why exactly are we looking for this girl?" Cisco made the question he'd been dying to ask ever since Iris made them gather in the cortex.

Belén walked back to the main desk and put her arms over them, nervous for some reason. It wasn't like her friends would call her crazy for what she wanted to do, after all. "Graciela mentioned a place to me - the Green - that I could use to contact other metahumans that are like me. It's a place like the Speedforce, if you will, where I could train and...meet metas like me. Meta who could help me get better so that I can fight Datura and actually stand a chance."

"And you think Black Orchid will be that meta?" Cisco languidly pointed at the picture on the screen.

"With any luck, she's got a better handle on her powers," Belén shrugged. "And I can pretty much use any help I can get."

"It's worth a shot," Barry agreed with her. "We just have to find her and bring her in."

"Like...here?" Caitlin blinked. She hadn't made that connection until now. "Do we think that'd be a good idea? Revealing where the Azalea and the Flash work?"

"She's obviously taking on crime already," Iris gestured to the pictures she'd collected. "She could be a good addition to the team."

"Black Orchid was a villain on my Earth before she disappeared," Harry startled the group from behind. He'd come in as quiet as usual and strode down the room with purpose. He came to a stop in front of the pictures on the screen and gazed at them for a few seconds. "You should be careful. She's as toxic as you, Belén."

"But she's not a villain here, clearly," Belén said. "And I actually need her to be toxic, okay?"

Harry turned sideways, giving them all a look that said 'you're all idiots and are going to get killed'. "Bringing in more metahumans into this is only going to blow up in your face. You want to take Datura down? You kill her already."

"Easier said than done," Belén folded her arms. "And I'm not exactly looking to kill her."

"She is with you."

"Okay," Barry cut in before Harry's imprudence got worse. "Thank you, Harry, for your input but this is something Belén wants to do. I support her and so does everyone else."

Harry scoffed lightly. "Course you do. Cos you're all idiots."

"Do you have a better idea?" Cisco called from behind. "No?" he let a few more seconds of silence pass by before saying, "Then hush!"

"Thanks guys," Belén sent her friends a warm smile. "And thanks Iris for searching. My head's been all over the place, so…"

Iris nodded at her. "Any time. I can keep looking if you want."

"I say we focus on Black Orchid right now," Belén glanced at the screen. "We need to find her, so...yeah. Let's focus on where she appears most."

As the group made plans to continue searching for Black Orchid, eventually dispersing from the room, Harry inched closer to the super suits left on display. He looked over his shoulder to make sure he was alone in the room then yanked off Belén's suit tracker. He then gingerly planted a decoy in its place. For Jessie.

~ 0 ~

Datura swiftly caught Belén's suit tracker with both her hands and squealed with genuine delight. "Finally!" She held the small device between her fingers and clicked her tongue. "Now the game can finally start!"

Harry stood across her in the alley, his face blank of any expression. "My daughter is safe, right?"

Datura lowered her hand and offered one sneaky smile. "Sure. I do remember to feed her once in a while." She waited for his reaction but he stood frigid. "Don't like my joke? Fine. So-" she tucked the suit tracker into her pocket, "-what's my dear Belén up to now?"

Harry stayed quiet for a few minutes. He hated this so much. A snitch. That's what he was reduced to by some 25 year old in a leather suit. Not just that but a thief and a traitor.

"Wells?" Datura's voice darkened, as did the part of her face Harry could see with her mask. "I need to know what Belén is up to. I might just forget to give Jesse some dinner today."

The mention of his daughter made the man finally move from his stance. "She's looking for the metahuman, Black Orchid."

Datura snorted. "Killed her off a while ago," she mumbled. Her dark eyes met his surprised gaze and caused another sneaky smile to spread across her face. "What? You didn't know that one? Offed her months ago."

"Why?" Harry asked wearily. He would love to finally know what she was planning, what Zoom was planning...but learning that would mean he'd die seconds later.

"She was in my way and I thought she would be the one," Datura's cryptic answer was almost like she hadn't answered at all. All Harry got from that was it just another fight between criminals. "Anyways," she played with one of her long curls, "Let Belén find the doppelganger. No matter how hard she trains she'll never be better than me. It's just impossible." She turned to leave but stopped to give Harry one more warning, "By the way, Zoom might be requiring something from you soon."

At that, Harry gulped.

~ 0 ~

"I think we got a pretty good location, don't you think?" Iris glanced back at Belén to see the woman staring down at the kitchen table that held all of their information on Black Orchid.

They were in Belén's apartment, scouring through every last detail they could find of their meta. Together, they'd found more pictures of Black Orchid, some even when she was in the middle of some pretty gruesome fights.

"She's pretty much all over the slummy streets but, if I counted right, she's appeared at this intersection more than the others," Belén picked up a picture of an intersection that happened to hold a pretty cruddy-looking bar. "I bet you that bar is where we'll find out more about her."

"You want to go there?" Iris made a face at the picture. It was only a picture and it already scared her.

"It's okay, I can go by myself," Belén's reassurance didn't exactly help Iris because she didn't want Belén going there by herself either.

But someone knocked on the door, preventing Iris from voicing these opinions out loud. Belén let the picture back on the table and went to go open the door.

"Mom?" she blinked in surprise to see Veronica. Of course, when the surprise faded she was pretty relieved - and perhaps partly excited - to see her. "Come in!"

Veronica, in her part, still looked pretty unsure of herself. She walked in and gave a brief, small smile at Iris. "You're busy…"

"Yeah, but, don't worry. You wanted to talk?" Belén's excitement did not go unnoticed by Veronica.

With a sigh, Veronica shrugged. "I would like to, but...I don't know if it'll change things." She walked towards the kitchen and noticed all the papers sprawled across the table. "Were you two working?"

Iris didn't know what to respond with. She looked to Belén for some help, or clues, as to what to say. Would Belén want to disclose what they were actually doing or keep it away from Veronica?

"Yeah, we're looking for someone," Belén came to stand beside her mother, looking pretty unsure herself.

"A meta?" the distaste in Veronica's tone was clear for anyone to pick up on. She picked up a photograph of Black Orchid and frowned. "So you're really deep into this metahuman world."

"I have to be, Mom. I'm one of them," Belén said quietly and with eyes boring onto her mother's face for a reaction.

"Don't…" Veronica seemed to shiver at the reminder of Belén's metahuman side. "I wish you wouldn't say that so openly."

"Why not? It's the truth."

"Yes, but…" Veronica stopped and glanced at Iris. Just as the reporter was about to announce her departure, Veronica caught her off guard with a question. "How do you let her do this? How can you just let Belén go into this dangerous world and be okay with it?"

"Mom!" Belén exclaimed disapprovingly, but Iris was good with quick responses thanks to her line of work.

"Because it's her choice and, to be honest, she's a perfect fit for the job," Iris crossed her arms. "She and Barry are the perfect people to protect us. And people like us-" she pointed at herself then Veronica, "-have a duty to help them wherever we can. That includes being supportive."

Veronica's face was indescribable. On some part, she seemed impressed with the response...but then another part was angry Iris wasn't taking her side. "Well...you would say that," she said in the end in a low mumble, "Barry's your brother...does Joe know about this?" Iris didn't have to say or do anything for Veronica to know. "Course he does because he's your father."

"Mom, I thought we were going to talk…" Belén inwardly sighed. She should've known that Veronica would not get over this so quickly. At least there was no shouting this time.

"Belén, I just don't understand why you are so fixated on this...this world!"

"Because it's my world, mom. And I can't abandon it when there's so many people that could get hurt if I do."

Veronica shook her head. "I-I think we need to continue this another day because…"

Belén didn't want to keep pausing this argument because every time they did, it just dragged on the feelings more. But she also feared that if they kept going in one go, they really would just end up shouting at each other like the other times. At least this case seemed to be so grave for Veronica that she wasn't shouting. She was thinking. She may be thinking the wrong things but at least she was thinking…

"I'm here...whenever you want to pick up on things…" she said quietly.

Iris sympathized for her friend while Veronica walked out. "Bells, I'm so sorry."

"No," Belén sniffed and turned back for the table, eyes flickering from one picture to the other. "I need to focus on this."

"Yeah, but-"

"-Iris, I have to focus on this first. Maybe my mom just needs some more days to process this." Belén wanted to believe this so badly.

~ 0 ~

The pictures of Central City's slum parts did no justice to its reality. There was a lot more graffiti on the walls, a lot more trash on the streets. A lot of people were ruder and definitely looking for something to pick-pocket. Belén kept her arms crossed over her chest as she walked down the street. She found the bar from the picture she and Iris were looking at and went directly inside.

There was a foul odor at the entrance that she wished she could forget.

"Take a seat with me sweetheart," she heard a man say as she walked in.

"Screw off," she spat without sparing him a glance. She came up to the bar counter, which was pretty empty save for two more customers at the end. She pulled her phone out and left it on the counter in front of her, just in case she needed to snap pictures or look at one of the ones she already have.

A tall Asian woman with long, dark hair came by a couple minutes later. "What can I get you?"

"Um…" Belén wasn't that big of a drinker, and much less during the day so she just asked for a mimosa. While she waited, she began to look around the bar with more searching eyes. She didn't see anyone that would necessarily stand out. Everyone seemed to be doing their own things, whether it was legal or not.

"Here you go," the bar tender returned with the bright orange drink in her hand. As she put the glass down, her eyes lingered on Belén for a few seconds. "You looking for someone?" her tough voice startled Belén. When the woman nearly fell off her stool, the bartender smiled. "You're not from around here."

"That easy to tell?" Belén bit her lower lip.

"Yeah. Don't walk alone in these parts."

"Is it really that bad here?"

The bartender nodded her head. She popped a bubble from her bubble gum and smirked. "Not if you know how to take care of yourself."

Belén saw some odd marks on the side of the woman's neck. She was sure there were some stitches poking up from her blouse. "Are you okay?" she pointed at the injuries, startling the bartender for a moment.

"Yeah. Just got into it with someone, no big deal." The bartender seemed to shift from friendly to brief. "My name's Shivhan if you want to leave a tip," she said before walking away.

Belén picked up her mimosa and had a couple sips from it. As she was putting it down, she heard a familiar voice behind her that nearly made her spill the glass.

"You are beautiful but crazy," Barry stood behind her and not too pleased.

Belén turned her stool sideways so she could see him. "Hey, what are you doing here?"

"Iris told me you were coming here! Belén!" he whisper-hissed as he sat down next to her. "This is a shady place to be at on your own, Bells. How could you come here alone?"

"Um, because I'm a big girl who can take care of herself?"

Barry deadpanned her. That's not what he meant and she knew it. "It never hurts to have backup. Besides, do you even know what you'd say to Black Orchid if you found her?"

"No, but...I'm a reporter. I'd wing it," Belén picked up her mimosa again and smiled.

Barry shook his head at her. "Alright, so what do have? Any clues?"

"Not really. I was just kind of scoping the area out," Belén shrugged and briefly looked back at the room. "But there's barely any people here and those who are, are definitely not Black Orchid."

Barry could agree with that since almost every customer in the building were men. "Maybe we should try later."

"I'm hoping something will happen that would make Black Orchid appear."

"Bit cynical," remarked Barry.

"Desperate." Belén sighed and forgot about her glass as she turned her stool to face the room. "I don't know, maybe we could speed things up or something."

"Like how?"

"Well...Black Orchid seems to appear whenever there's trouble, so…"

Barry was giving her a strange look. "You want us to stage a fight?"

"Something like that."

"I don't know about that Belén...I think we need to come up with a good plan and then-"

Belén was about to cut him off with the fact they didn't - or rather she didn't - have time to sit down and plan, when they heard a loud crash from outside. At once Belén jumped off her stool and tried to peer out into the street from her spot.

"Fight! Fight!" a crowd sitting near the door started to chant, prompting some delirious laughter from the room. It was only a matter of seconds before they rushed out into the streets.

"Creeps," Shivhan, the bartender, spat while she continued to wipe down the counter.

Barry got up as well and sprinted up to the window to see what was going on. Belén soon followed and saw with him that there were a couple of masked thieves making out of a shop with some valuables. Two of them had guns.

"We gotta do something," Barry rushed out the door but just as he was about to leave the sidewalk, Belén yanked him to her side.

"This is our chance!"

"Belén, someone could get hurt!"

"They won't because you'll intervene if she's not here in 1 minute," Belén promised then faced the street.

The thieves were trying to make an escape but there were being confronted with another group intending on taking the stolen valuables. Just as they were about to fire, something purple swooped down and punched the two gunmen from the first thief band.

"I told you…" Belén sounded breathless as she gazed at none other than Black Orchid. Barry had to hand it to her and her precise thinking.

Black Orchid was a feared presence by most of the people outside, judging how they stepped back. From what they could see, the meta had long, dark hair and dark eyes hidden behind a black mask that covered half her face. She wore a one-suit in the colors of black and violet. It was the same one Iris had shown them earlier.

Black tendrils sprouted from the woman's back and captured three of the men. She threw them halfway down the street without regards of where they hit or how hard they hit. She then ducked to avoid being hit by one of the men behind her. She jumped back up and kicked a leg up to knock the man down. As bullets fired towards her, she used her vines to create a shield where the bullets embedded themselves. Once she disbanded the shield, she sent the bullets right back and injured two more men. The last two remaining were from each of band and they both looked equally terrified.

"Drop it and go," she ordered in a rough voice.

The two instantly dropped their stolen things and made a run for it. Black Orchid raised three fingers and when she'd pulled them down, her arm did a boomerang action and released two different black masses that attached themselves to the men.

"Barry, we gotta get her alone," Belén spoke quietly to the speedster next to her.

"But how?" Barry looked around and saw that while the thieves had been taken down - killed, really - the crowd around them was still watching Black Orchid like hawks.

"I brought something with me," Belén admitted. Barry looked down at her and saw her reaching into her purse. She showed him the tip of a syringe. His eyes widened at it but before he could say something she said, "It's a sedative."

"Belén, we can't really do-"

"-I need her, Barry," she told him like this was already decided with or without him. "Datura is going to kill me if I don't up my game. Black Orchid can help me do that."

There was some questionable tactics Barry saw Black Orchid far too comfortable with, but he knew that he could stand there and argue with Belén without making a difference. "Fine." He took the syringe from her and disappeared. A minute later, so did Black Orchid.

When Belén felt a set of arms pull her as well, she smiled. She found herself in an alley where Black Orchid was already down with sedation. "Thank you," she said to the speedster.

Barry gazed down at the unconscious metahuman. "I don't think she'll be thanking us for this."

~0~

Team STAR Labs was never one for kidnapping. So when Barry and Belén brought in a guest, kidnapped and unconscious, they had much to say over the matter.

"This is not legal," Caitlin was the first to say, or scold, at the two metas. Barry and Belén stood in the middle of the cortex, listening to everyone having their go at them. "You kidnapped someone!"

"Well, if I asked she wouldn't have come," Belén argued. "You guys didn't see her out there. She's tough."

"And you think you need to be the same?" Cisco's doubtful stare made her roll her eyes.

"I need to change something and she can help me figure out what."

"Least she's taking initiative," Harry inputted his own opinion, surprising Belén that he was actually siding with her since he originally didn't agree with the plan of finding Black Orchid. "You can't always be soft. Especially when someone's trying to kill you."

"Uh, thanks Harry," she offered the man a small smile before looking at Caitlin and Cisco. "I'm not hurting her. I just needed to get her here so I could talk to her."

"And if she doesn't want to help?" asked Cisco.

"Let's hope she does."

"Well…" Caitlin has looked up from a computer, "... now's your chance. She just woke up."

~0~

Black Orchid was a woman who could be scary. Her balled fists repeatedly pounded against the pipeline pod. "LET ME OUT!" She screamed and screamed the same thing.

Cisco honestly thought the pod wouldn't last if this kept going.

Black Orchid only stopped when she saw someone coming into the pipeline. She straightened up and raised her head to judge if this person was going to help or not. "Who are you?" She didn't have to wait for a verbal answer since she saw clear as day who was on the other side. "The Azalea? Hm. That's a shocker. Would you let me go? I didn't do nothing wrong."

"You did kill people…" Belén reminded, though not as a way to punish her.

"They're thugs! It's kill or be killed!"

"Look, I'm not here to talk about who you killed or how many you killed. I need your help."

Black Orchid dropped her arms to her sides. Her chin raised again and though she had a mask on, Belén swore she was being judged. "Why would the Azalea need my help?"

"Because Datura is a dangerous metahuman that I cannot stop if you don't teach me how to get into the Green."

Black Orchid lowered her head. "Excuse me? The Green? You know about that?" Belén nodded her head. "But you don't know how to get in?"

"Have you ever seen me in there?" Belén made a good point.

Black Orchid crossed her arms and looked around the pod she was trapped in. "And you thought the best way to get me to help you was to lock me up?"

"Not my best idea but I really needed to have a minute with you."

"Here's the thing, I don't trust you. And, let's be honest, you don't trust me." Black Orchid inched closer to the glass wall. "I'm not training anyone. In this world, it's all about yourself. I need to look out for myself."

"Well, that's a pretty way of looking at life," Belén remarked. "But look, I really need your help. Datura is coming back-"

"-then you fight her off. She's your fight, not mine. Why do you think I've hidden for a month now? I'm not looking to get killed."

"But if you don't help me a lot of people are going to die!"

"Better them than me," Black Orchid said so plainly, so flatly, that Belén's mouth almost fell to the floor.

"How could you...how could you say that?"

"Because it's the truth. Self preservation."

Belén was flabbergasted to hear such a thing.

~0~

"I cannot believe she said that!" Belén stormed into the cortex, looking ready to kill someone herself. "How rude! How...selfish!"

"Sorry it didn't work out, Bells," Cisco meant as a true apology but she scoffed at him.

"Are you, though? You weren't even on board with the idea in the first place!"

Cisco made a face but, knowing she was just upset, he kept his mouth shut. He, did, however, give a look at Barry and Caitlin. Someone else needed to step in.

"Belén, maybe we just need to give her some time," Barry's suggestion was also responded with a scoff.

"I don't have time!" She groaned and turned to leave.

"Where are you going?" Caitlin called after her.

"Out! Don't follow!"

"She's m-a-d mad," Cisco whistled then quickly looked back to see if Belén had heard.

"She's upset, and with good reason," Barry rubbed his forehead. "Let's just keep an eye on her. She took the suit so-"

"-she's really mad," Cisco blurted and received a disapproving look from Caitlin. Barry just sighed.

"She turned off the tracker in her suit," Caitlin informed a few minutes later.

"Not surprising," Barry mumbled and moved over to see the screen himself. "She couldn't have gotten far. I'll go get her. See if I can talk to her."

He zipped out of the cortex with his suit, intending on finding Belén and bringing her back. However, it turned out Belén was very good at hiding. It'd been at least an hour of him scouring through the city before he gave up and asked for some additional help. Caitlin and Cisco were monitoring as usual, but, like Barry, they didn't have a clue where Belén went. It was like she disappeared.

"I've gone through all the places she usually goes to, I'm starting to get worried," Barry admitted. He stood at the top of a rooftop overlooking the busy streets of the city. It was fine that Belén wanted to have some time alone but two hours of no contact felt wrong.

"Uh, we got something, Barry!" Cisco exclaimed.

"Did you find her?" Barry quickly asked, ready to go as soon as they gave him a place.

"Yeah, um…looks like some warehouse off on Third and Carson street."

"That's weird," remarked Caitlin. "That whole block is for warehouses. What could Belén be doing there?"

"Don't know but we're going to find out," Barry said before speeding down the building he was on. He followed the instructions from the two and didn't bother coming in cautiously. He skidded to a stop and looked around the empty warehouse. "Belén?" he called out and received no answer. "Belén!"

"What's going on, Barry?" Cisco asked after the third failed call for Belén.

"She's not here," Barry ripped the cowl off his head and started walking down the left. There was something making a light noise coming from that direction. "But I...I don't think this warehouse is empty…"

"Belén's tracker says she's there, dude," Cisco insisted, though he was going through the tracker's ping just to make sure.

"Well, I don't see her," Barry kept walking forwards, now spotting something silvery round the corner. "Belén?"

"Barry, be careful," Caitlin warned. She was beginning to think there was something wrong with this entire situation. As if the world was reading her mind, she got a different type of alert on her computer screen.

Barry reeled back when a redhead swung from the side. "Hi there pretty boy," Poison Ivy showed off a smug smirk before firing at the speedster with a high-tech gun.

"Barry!" Cisco shouted as the computer stopped getting readings from Barry's vitals, his entire suit's actually. "Everything's gone offline." Cisco leaned back against his chair and heaved a heavy breath.

"Caitlin!" they both heard Belén's voice shriek from the other end of the line.

The two in the cortex did a quick double-take at each other before calling out their friend's name.

"Where are you!?" Caitlin demanded while she worked to figure out how the meta alert was coming from one part while Belén's tracker was pinging from another.

"Downtown! And I'm -" Belén shrieked again.

As it turned out, she was nowhere near close Barry's location. She didn't know how it happened, to be honest. She'd been sulking on her own for a while when she started to see some familiar red energy from a distance. Trained or not, she was not planning on giving Datura a pass. She chased after the energy until it led her downtown…

Datura had sucker-punched her from behind. She seemed to be on a different plan because even though she had a clear, open path to hurt Belén again, she walked past the woman on the ground and moved towards a street pole. Her eyes glowed an orange before shooting lasers at the street pole.

As Belén turned on her stomach, she saw the bottom of the street pole begin to steam as the acid from the lasers melted it away.

"Better, run, run, run!" Datura sing-sang to the people around when the street pole started creaking and leaning on its side.

"Oh, dammit," Belén muttered and scrambled to her feet. She started throwing vines to pull away the people in danger of getting squashed.

Datura boredly rolled her eyes as if saving people was a waste of time, and to her it was. When Belén pulled the last person out of the way, Datura rubbed her hands together and created a sword from her red energy.

"Uh oh," Belén had the good sense to back away. "Caitlin!" she started to call but for some reason, no one answered her. "Caitlin!"

"Where are you!?" Caitlin demanded so suddenly that, if Belén had been more focused, she would've picked up on the fact something was wrong.

"Downtown! And I'm -" Belén shrieked and ducked when Datura threw her sword at her. "It's Datura! She's back!"

"And ready to win," Datura said with a proud smile. Her eyes glowed silver, as did her hands. She radiated in Lunar energy, something Belén hadn't quite seen before and was therefore a little scared. "The power of Eclipsa-" Datura's smile widened, but Belén once again noticed there was a different voice speaking with Datura's, -is mine. Here's a little taste of what I can do!" She drew her hands back and started firing consecutively with lunar bolts.

Belén whipped her hands in front of her and tried doing what she saw Black Orchid doing earlier. She created a makeshift shield in front of her but Datura was going nonstop. "Caitlin, I really need Barry right now!"

"I - we thought he was with you!" Cisco exclaimed. "We lost contact with him!"

That made Belén automatically drop her shield in shock. "What!?" A series of lunar bolts hit her square in the chest, knocking her back on the ground. She shook her head in an attempt to rid her ears of the warped sounds. "Caitlin...where's...Barry?"

"We're working on it!"

"Oooh, are you looking for your partner?" Datura started walking towards Belén who was sitting up. "Yay-high?" She made a gesture of Barry's height over her head, "Red suit? Admittedly good looking?" Belén openly glared at her, making the woman laugh. "Don't be jealous. But, I do know where your Flash is."

Belén paused and gave Datura a look. "What?" She quickly got up and, to Datura's surprise, she swung a vine to throw the Earth 2 meta into a bus stop bench. "If you hurt him-"

Datura raised a hand and delivered a shock of electricity Belén's way. The brunette screamed as her body convulsed with the electric shocks.

Datura slowly got up and felt something over her lip. She took a drip of blood off her skin and scowled at herself. "Great." She walked towards Belén, admittedly feeling wobbly on her feet. "Listen up Azalea, here's the deal. I've got your Flash all nice and unconscious thanks to a speed gun I swept from Earth 2-" she bent down in front of Belén, smirking at the weariness in the woman's face from being attacked, "-and if you want to see him again...you're gonna have to drop this. Poison Ivy doesn't do patience."

Belén blinked rapidly from the electricity still lingering in her body. "I...want to...see him."

Datura smirked. "Thought you would." She raised a hand, making it seem like she was going to wave goodbye when instead she fired one last energy beam to knock Belén out.

~ 0 ~

In the cortex gathered at the cortex after realizing their two leading metas had been taken right under their noses.

"It was a trap," Cisco said quietly, and defeatedly, at his chair. He had his hands put together to the bridge of his nose. "It was a trap and we didn't see it."

"But it doesn't make sense how Datura got Belén's suit tracker in the first place," Caitlin hated the fact she couldn't figure that mystery out. "We didn't even realize it was gone."

From the corner of the cortex stood Harry, still and silent. His jaw was clenched with guilt but he still could not say anything.

"We know where they are," Iris reminded them. She looked at the screen on the wall, displaying the last known whereabouts of Barry. "Let's just go get them."

"First of all, we don't even know if they're still going to be there," Cisco pointed out, dropping his hand to his lap. "Second of all, even if they are still there...what the hell are we supposed to do?" he made a quick gesture at their members. "They'd kill us."

Caitlin set a hand on Cisco's shoulder and gave a smile at the rest. "I think what Cisco's trying to say is that we do not have the...meta-skills to take on Datura and Poison Ivy at the same time."

"Well, we have to do something," Iris walked up to the desk and set her arms over the top. "Can we call in Nina?"

"Even then, taking on these two metas…" Caitlin gave a shake of her head. "She'll need back up."

"Where do we get that from?" Iris looked at the trio expectantly.

Cisco looked up at Caitlin, both apparently thinking of the same thing.

"Wait here," he pushed himself up from his chair. He exchanged a nod with Caitlin before the two walked out of the cortex.

~ 0 ~

After hours of screaming to be released, Black Orchid resigned herself to the fact she may never be getting out of the pipeline. She picked herself up as soon as she heard the pipeline door opening.

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded when she was face to face with Caitlin and Cisco.

"Manners," Cisco pointed at her. "We have a proposition for you."

"And why the hell would I care?"

"Because it involves your freedom, smartass," Cisco snapped. Caitlin inwardly sighed. This would definitely infuriate Belén but right now what mattered was bringing her and Barry back.

Black Orchid leaned on her hip. "I'm listening."

"The Azalea and the Flash have been kidnapped by Datura. We need you to help our friend, the Tempest, get them back."

Black Orchid unceremoniously snorted. "You want me to go up against the siphoner this entire city is talking about? She's the reason I stopped showing my face."

"What do you mean?" Caitlin's eyebrows knitted together.

Black Orchid didn't like the fact she'd unintentionally admitted that. "It's clear that this Datura wants to kill anyone in her path. I've seen what she's done to the Azalea. Imagine what she'd do if she found another botanist metahuman? No way!"

Cisco wasn't in a particular mood to remind the woman she was a human being. So, like Belén, he did first and would apologize later. "Fine, then I guess you'll stay here forever. Or at least until you die."

"You wouldn't let me die," scoffed the meta.

"Have you seen any other prisoners here?" Cisco's question made the metahuman pause. "Yeah. What do you think happened to the others in here?"

"You can't do that!"

"Then please help us," Caitlin pleaded. "C'mon. You're afraid and we get that, but if you don't do anything then Datura will kill the Azalea. And, if there's no one left to fight Datura...you're not going to be safe anywhere."

"If I go up against her I'll die right there and then," Black Orchid countered with.

"You said you were hiding from Datura so you didn't show your face," Caitlin reminded. "But the Azalea said you showed your face today after a store got robbed. That doesn't sound like self preservation to me."

"...that was my favorite store," Black Orchid rolled her eyes, attempting to make it all casual.

"Cut the crap, girl!" Cisco exclaimed. "Your freedom's on the table and you're gonna seriously waste it?"

"We can help you," Caitlin added. "We can make sure you're well prepared. We could even help you heal from your past fights." Black Orchid visibly stiffened. "The Azalea told us about some of the stitches she saw on you. And like my friend said, your freedom is on the table."

Black Orchid's dark eyes flickered from one scientist to the next. She knew what her position was and how far she could actually get. It wasn't good. "Fine," she huffed and reached a hand to the back of her head where her mask's tie was. "But I need some stitches to be re-done. So, who's the medical doctor here?" she tore the mask off to reveal a familiar face, though not familiar to Caitlin or Cisco.

Bartender Shivhan Jang stared at the scientists.

Author's Note:

So, first of all, this is a disclaimer for the fact that while I am writing in the character of Black Orchid, I am doing a different VERSION of the character. Black Orchid belongs to the DC world.

Now, the reason I decided to write this character in was because I felt it genuinely wrong she was written and barely got recognition. I never heard of Black Orchid until I started doing research on botanical metahumans for this precise arc. It amazed me she was such a complex character that I just had to write my version of hers.

And a visual reference of Black Orchid, aka Shivhan, would be the Korean singer Sunmi.

[gxdsetmxnsters]

You’re the One Thing I Can’t Let Go

Originally posted on both Wattpad and Ao3 ; Vent fic ; Scriddler ; mentions of  domestic violence : unhealthy relationships : alcohol : sex : unhealthy coping mechanisms

"I dunno what happened," Edward blubbered before angrily wiping his runny nose.

He was slumped against the chair he was sitting at with Selina sitting across from him with a concerned look on her face. It wasn't every day that Edward Nygma, aka the Riddler, dropped in for a visit, and it was much less common for him to come to her apartment in the beginning stages of a breakdown. Scratch that, it was something that'd never happened before, and she considered Edward a close enough friend to be concerned for his general wellbeing and current state.

"Try to explain," Selina said soothingly, unsure if reaching across the small kitchen table and putting a reassuring hand on Edward would help calm him down or cause more problems than it was worth.

"Dunno, dunno," Edward whined softly. He drew up his knees and balanced on the chair, hugging them to his chest. Selina almost asked if he wanted to move to the living room as the couch was more comfortable than a chair, but refrained. If Edward wanted to move he'd either do so himself or ask if he could.

"Was it Jon?" Selina asked carefully, knowing she had guessed correctly with the way Edward stiffened and sniffled loudly.

"Iddint always," Edward said, his current state making his words sound nasally and pinched. "It's always that prick."

"What happened?" Selina pressed, leaning forward and eyeing Edward, concern growing for the man in front of her.

She was well aware of the relationship between Edward and Jonathan, as was the majority of the other rogues, but only she, as far as she knew, was fully aware of how dysfunctional the relationship truly was. Sure the relationship itself was dysfunctional at best but it went deeper than just the simple assumption that it was dysfunctional.

The fact of the matter was the relationship bordered on being nearly as bad as Joker and Harley's relationship, but granted for different reasons. Selina had learned of this when Edward had shown up on her doorstep nearly a year ago with a busted lip and the clear signs that he'd been gassed with Jonathan's Fear Toxin.

Having managed to pry information out of Edward then, Selina had been mildly horrified by the behaviors and actions Edward and Jonathan took out on each other. She'd learned that such fights happened at least two to three times a week from arguments that often started out being petty.

Edward had confessed that he was at much of fault as Jonathan was for their "domestics", having given the other man more than one concussion by hitting him with his cane, and even the one time occurrence of breaking the man's arm, of which Jonathan had returned in kind.

"Jon didn't gas you again, did he?" Selina inspected the still crying Edward in front of her, relieved to see that there were, at least, no outwardly signs of Edward being, or having been, affected by the Toxin.

"Nuh uh," Edward shook his head and sneezed, easing his legs down so he was sitting normally.

Selina sighed before getting up and grabbing Edward the box of tissues that was sitting on the kitchen counter.

"I'm glad to hear that at least." Selina skid the box of tissues over to Edward who grabbed a few and wiped his nose. "I still don't understand why you're with him though."

"Not... Not all his fault." Edward hiccuped and looked at Selina with his red watery eyes. "I'm just as... just as at fault..."

He blew his nose again and Selina waited patiently for him to continue, sensing that he wished to.

"Sometimes... sometimes I wonder why I'm with him myself," Edward confessed. "I... I know it's not the best but I... can't stay away. I know it's probably bad, but I care about the bastard. Probably too much..."

His eyes lost focus as he zoned out, an odd detached look on his face a stark contrast to the emotional one he'd had moments before.

"Edward," Selina reached over and gently placed a hand on his to bring him back into the moment.

Edward jumped and yanked his hand away from Selina's, yes wide and wild looking before he calmed himself down. "Sorry 'lina."

Selina smiled slightly and waved a hand, "It's ok Ed, your reaction was to be expected."

Edward nodded before looking down at his hands which were now resting in his lap.

"Edward?" Selina prompted. "What happened tonight if Jon didn't gas you?"

"I..." Edward glanced up briefly before looking back down at his hands. "I don't know... I think it was another fight but... I don't know. All I remember is... All I remember is that Jon somehow managed to... confirm and deny something in the same breath and I..." Edward hiccuped again as fresh tears slid down his face.

"You're doing great Ed," Selina soothed again, "tell me what he confirmed and denied at the same time."

"I..." Edward sniffed and Selina fought the urge to make a face at how disgusting it sounded.

"Y-You know that for the past... two years Jon and I have... b-been a thing b-but it was never... anything official..."

Selina nodded slowly, "I'm aware of the fact, yes."

Truthfully she understood that part. Labeling someone as your partner, of the same sex or not, had its own set of problems in their line of 'work' so it was often not something that actively happened, or was made known, the majority of the time.

"W-Well," Edward's voice wavered as he started to subconsciously tear the tissue in his hands to shreds. "Somehow Jon and I... we got into a fight again and I thought... I thought it was gonna get bad 'lina, like real bad."

His forlorn eyes met hers again and Selina felt a tug on her heart strings. She hated seeing Edward like this. Whatever had happened to the normally upbeat and arrogant rogue must've been extremely bad if he was reduced to this, but Selina also knew the skills and talent Jonathan had at picking someone apart psychologically. It was one of the things that made him one of the more dangerous of Gotham's criminals.

"But... I don't know what happened," Edward continued quietly, shoulders hunched forward. "I don't know if Jon picked up on... what I was think of asking him or if it was something else but... he effectively acknowledged that I was his boyfriend before he..." Edward's voice cracked as a new wave of sobs wracked his body. "Before he broke up with me. Who does that? Who acknowledges after two years of being together that they're actually a couple before breaking up with them?"

His tone was laced with anger now, and Selina knit her eyebrows together, trying to formulate a response.

"I don't know," she confessed, deciding to be honest with him.

"Jon does, that's who." Edward bit out his words before he stood up and started pacing. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. "Fuck I need a drink. Do you have anything?"

"No," Selina said, "and I don't think you should be drinking either. It won't help anything."

"Fuck if I care!" Edward turned on his heel and glared at Selina. "I don't care if it'll help anything in the distant future, what I do care about is getting rid of this damn pain I'm feeling because I was emotionally hurt!"

"I know you were," Selina said, backing up slightly as Edward advanced on her. She slowly reached for the knife that was sitting on the cutting board. She'd been in the middle of fixing dinner for herself when Edward had interrupted her.

"Don't you dare," Edward growled, noticing the movement.

Selina sighed and raised her hands up in surrender. "Ok Edward, but you have to listen to me. Drinking away your problems will only make things worse. I know things hurt right now but you're stronger than this. You're better than this."

"Am I?" Edward's voice softened but it held a touch of bitterness. "Am I better than this? Stronger than this?"

"You are," Selina said, "don't end up like your father."

Wrong thing to say, and Selina realized her mistake too late.

"DON'T YOU EVER SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT AGAIN," Edward yelled. "I AM NOTHING LIKE THAT SON OF A BITCH."

"I'm sorry," Selina said, wincing at the raised volume in her small kitchen.

"I'm fucking leaving," Edward bit out, stalking towards the door that led to the hallway. "And I'm going to drink."

"Oswald won't take kindly to you getting drunk at his bar," Selina warned.

"Does it look like I'm going to go to that place?" Edward snapped. "I don't need the whole fucking city to know about what happened. No, I know of somewhere else that I can get drinks."

Edward let out a huff of annoyance as he left Selina's apartment, slamming the door behind him. He could careless if she was going to be mad at him for that later or not. The only thing that was on his mind right in that very moment was the idea of getting very, very drunk. A small part of him knew that Selina was right, getting drunk wasn't a solution to his problems but it would sure as hell numb the feelings he was going through and that was enough to convince Edward to do it.

Stumbling through the back alleys of Gotham, he found his way to the seedy bar he'd discovered years ago when he'd just been starting out on the criminal scene. The place was horrendously dirty but had good cheap liquor for those looking to get drunk quickly, as well as... other things. Yes, Edward mused to himself, perhaps tonight he would drown himself in liquor and sex, there was no other options that sounded appealing to him in that moment.

Edward failed to notice that Selina had followed him and that she was frowning deeply at his chosen place to self destruct. She may not have been able to stop him from going, not at least without getting hurt in the process, but that didn't mean she still wasn't going to stop looking out for him. She opted to leave him for the time being, expecting to find a very angry Scarecrow at her door demanding answers. Perhaps she'd give him one, after she finished carving up his face with her claws.

Feeling considerably more cheerful at the idea, Selina made quick work of heading back to her apartment and not a moment too soon. Not even five minutes after getting back there was a pounding on her door and Selina rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"For fucks sake Jon, I'll be there in a minute!" She hollered, taking her sweet time getting up from where she'd settled herself on the couch and walking over to her front door.

Jonathan paused mid knock as Selina yanked open the door and scowled at him.

"Where's Edward?" Jon had the gall to have a guilty look on his face, which only made Selina madder than she already was.

An indignant hiss came from her before she reached up and slapped him across the face.

"How dare you!" She raged as Jonathan took a step back, eyes wide with shock as he raised a hand to his stinging cheek.

"How dare you come here asking for someone that clearly wants nothing to do with you right now, and how dare you have the nerve to ask me where he is as if you didn't hurt his feelings!"

"So I did hurt him," Jon said in a low voice, a flash of guilt crossed his face.

"Of course you did!" Selina snarled. "And you're lucky that I have enough restraint in me to not claw your eyes out."

"I'd like to see you try, child." Jonathan's face darkened as a hand slipped into his pocket.

"Don't you go all Scarecrow on me," Selina narrowed her eyes. "Ed's not here. He was, but then he left."

"You didn't try and stop him?" Jon mimicked her by also narrowing his eyes.

"No." Selina huffed, "I tried but I didn't want to fight him. That would've been like kicking a man already down and while I normally love doing something like that, I don't do it to people I care about."

She put emphasis on the last few words and smirked inwardly as a look of guilt crossed Jonathan's features again. So the good doctor could actually feel emotions.

"Where is he if not here?" Jon glanced around distractedly. "I need to apologize. It hasn't occurred to me that something mattered that much to him."

"I don't know," Selina crossed her arms.

"You're lying." Jonathan's eye's snapped to hers. "Where. Is. He."

"Like hell I'm telling you if you're going to barge in on him with threats," Selina growled. "Especially since I know how you treat him."

"I-" Jonathan open and shit his mouth. "You know about that?"

"Yes I know about That," Selina retorted. "I know quite a lot more than you think I do, so don't go around acting like I don't."

"I see..." Jonathan thought for a moment. "You're still lying about knowing where he is. You do. Tell me. I promise I won't say or do anything to harm him when I do find him. I just want to make sure he's safe."

"Should've thought about that before you went and fucked shit up," Selina said darkly.

"Selina, I will only ask nicely one more time," Jonathan said. "Where. Is. Edward."

Selina eyed the man in front of her and quickly assessed whether or not if she should tell him where Edward was. There was genuine concern in Jon's eyes as well as worry. She also knew that Jon would not leave until he'd gotten an answer and while normally Selina could wait such behavior out, her greater concern was for Edward. If she was engaged in a stupid dominance battle with Jon, Edward had no one to make sure he was ok after he was done with whatever self destructive binge he was currently on.

"Fine." Selina relented. "But I'm only telling you because I'm worried about Edward, I don't care about anything else, much less how you feel."

"Fine by me," Jonathan said with a shrug. "So?"

Selina told him the address and Jonathan gave a quick nod and a short word of thanks before leaving. Selina shut the door and leaned against it, giving a short prayer that things would go smoothly.

Jonathan eyed the building he was approaching with disgust. It was shabby and barely looked like it was holding up. How on earth had Edward discovered a place like this? He stalked up to the door steeling himself to enter before the door fling itself open and Edward came stumbling out.

Jonathan was quick to grab him before he face planted and he screwed his nose up at the stench of alcohol and sex that clung to the man in his arms.

Edward made a sound of protest and wiggled out of Jonathan's grip, a slurred apology falling from his mouth as he realized who he'd ran into.

"Jonathan!" Edward glared at the other man and took a drunken swing of which Jonathan was able to easily side step.

"Edward darling," Jonathan tried to soothe as he continued to side step Edward's attempted swings.

"Don't 'darling' me," Edward scowled as he took a step forward but misjudged his foot placement and ended up tripping.

Acting on reflex, Jonathan caught Edward and wrapped his arms around the genius that was now struggling to break out of his grip.

"Edward, listen to me," Jonathan said quietly. "I wanted to apologize for what I had said. I was not aware that such things held actual meaning to you as we've been moderately happy with how things had been for the past two years. It was my mistake."

Edward paused in his struggles and peered up at Jonathan's face. Even in his drunken state, he was aware enough to where he knew Jonathan was being sincere.

"Reeaaalllllyyyy?" Edward slurred, still not completely convinced.

"Yes, really," Jonathan said. "Now then, why don't we make it back to our apartment so that I can put you to bed and make you something that'll help with the unavoidable hangover you'll have tomorrow?"

"Can't walk..." Edward muttered, all too happy to be slumped against Jonathan's body. Perhaps he was too quick to accept Jonathan's apology, but he was drunk after all, and apologies were few and far between where Jonathan was involved so even hearing one was enough for even Edward's currently inhibited mind to realize Jonathan was genuinely sorry for his actions.

"Don't worry my dear," Jonathan smirked as he picked Edward up bridal style. Edward yelped and wrapped his arms around Jonathan's neck, causing the taller man to chuckle softly.

"Don't worry, I won't drop you," Jonathan said. "In fact, I don't think I'll be letting go of you for a long while..."

He started to make his way to their shared apartment which he realized wasn't too far away from where they currently where. Interesting, he'd have to make note of it if Edward ever ended up running off to sulk again. Speaking of which... perhaps once he settled Edward into bed he'd pay a visit to whom ever had slept with his partner and touched what was his.

He busied himself with the thoughts of what he'd do to them as Edward let out a snore, completely passed out.

"As expected," Jonathan sighed quietly.

He passed under a half open window, the music drifting down to the street below.

I'm wondering why do all the monsters come out at night? Why do we sleep where we want to hide? Why do I run back to you, like I don't mind if you fuck up my life?

[spookyceph]

Peace Offering, a Shigadabi Fanfic

The first in a series of Shigadabi fics. Because why not?

WARNINGS for mention of destructive/depressive thoughts, language, and unabashed self-indulgence.

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 3,378

Also, find it on my Ao3 account @ CarlyChameleon.

For someone who hated to drink, Tomura spent a lot of time sitting at the hideout’s bar. He couldn’t have done it if the place were still in business—some unlucky server would’ve had several drunk assholes to mop up off the floor before the night ended. But with it sealed off from the outside world the atmosphere suited him fine. It was quiet. Clean. Both adjectives that applied to his room upstairs, but locking himself in there too long gave him the urge to start climbing the walls. Even he needed to get out of his own head once in a while, whether that involved speaking with Sensei or just watching Kurogiri dust the glasses.

The open space of the bar never threatened to close in and suffocate him. All the different sizes and shapes of the bottles occupying the shelves, glinting in the low lighting, gave him something to look at while he thought besides a glowing screen or blank ceiling as he laid in bed. Or, like now, he could simply trace the swirling grain of the bar top with one finger and think nothing. Or what passed for nothing in his case—his mind churned and surged as relentlessly as the sea grinding away the edges of the land. He’d only learned how to roll back the tide enough to allow for some sleep or brief breaks that kept him from throwing himself off the roof and quieting his brain for good.

The Internet had fished up terms like rumination and obsessive compulsive and thought loops when he’d done a search once. Psychobabble for being his own worst enemy, in other words. Tracing patterns in fabric or wood or pictures or whatever did help sometimes like a few of the articles had suggested, though. Listing colors or items in his surroundings too when he became overwhelmed and started to flounder. (Breathing exercises, however, could fuck right off—all those did was cause him to hyperventilate as he counted each inhale and exhale faster and faster.) The tricks allowed him to hit reset and go back to a previous save point, in a way. The level didn’t get any easier when he returned to it, but the momentary respite allowed him to regroup and adjust his tactics.

He’d been doing an awful fucking lot of both ever since Giran’s first two finds had moved in. Tomura’s nail scraped against polished wood, digging in while his mind replayed the conversation with Kurogiri the evening before, clear as a cutscene.

We cannot further our ends without skilled support, Shigaraki Tomura.

I know, damn it. He couldn’t have even said what his party was fighting on-screen. He’d just kept selecting Attack each round. That doesn’t mean we have to take in every stray Giran drags in from the gutter.

True…yet please recall why we hired the man in the first place: to scout for promising candidates. He wouldn’t present us with anyone he considered beneath our notice. Each point had been spoken with the polite but unwavering logic that had won him the job as Tomura’s handler to begin with. Drifting over to the computer desk, Kurogiri had warped two manila folders onto it. At least skim their profiles before declaring your ultimate decision.

So, Tomura had. And he’d seen beyond a doubt that the fucking walking Rorschach test had been right, as usual. The description of the brat’s quirk had been particularly surprising. Tomura’s mind had roiled with all the possible uses for her. The smartass’s, on the other hand, didn’t boast as much versatility, but it did promise the kind of ranged and wide-area attacks needed to control a battle.

Giran had brought him an illusionist assassin and a black mage. With them, he’d have a better chance at clearing higher level quests. He hated the facts, but that didn’t change them, as he’d been taught in no uncertain terms during the little excursion to UA’s training facility.

Thus, Toga Himiko and Dabi, whoever he really was, had been granted permission to move what worldly goods they possessed into rooms of their choosing upstairs. Tomura hadn’t bothered to learn which. He figured he’d reduce the chances of murdering them in their sleep if he didn’t know.

His hand left the bar and relocated to his throat. The fingers didn’t scratch, but they flexed in the familiar pattern. Letting those two move in might have been a mistake—yet another in a growing string of them. He shouldn’t have given in to Kurogiri so easily because of rattled confidence. He should have insisted all recruits stay somewhere else until they proved their worth and loyalty. To hell with Giran’s professional instincts. What if they were spies for some hero agency? The Toga brat especially, with a quirk like hers. Barring that, they still hadn’t made it past basic introductions without trying to kill each other. How could they be expected to follow orders or not botch a mission because of their own petty goals? And anyway, both of them were just fucking weird.

A sound barged into Tomura’s thoughts from the outer world. Only the small, metallic click of a door handle turning, but it made his head snap in the direction of the hallway. Kurogiri never used the door. He didn’t need to.

Sure enough, there slouched a tall, ragged figure. The zombie. The one name wonder. Dabi.

The skin of Tomura’s throat stung as his nails finally found purchase. Of course the last person on Earth he wanted to see would show up at that very moment. Of course. Because the universe fucking hated him and the feeling was very much mutual.

For a minute, Dabi just filled up the space in the doorway, watching and being watched. When Tomura didn’t move to attack, he finally stepped into the room. His ugly boots clomped on the floorboards as he approached. Still wary, still keeping an eye on where Tomura’s hands rested, he paused at the far corner of the bar. Kurogiri must have had a chat with both newcomers, oh yes. Now they had to be aware of just how close they’d come to never annoying the shit out of anyone ever again.

“So.” Dabi nodded toward the shelves. “We gotta pay for booze or is it included in our membership?”

Even while asking a simple question he couldn’t sound anything less than full of contempt. Putting on an air of boredom despite the knot of tension between his shoulder blades, Tomura shrugged. “Knock yourself out. None of this shit comes out of my pocket.”

No further invitation was required. Dabi strode behind the bar and started examining labels, back turned. Tomura’s fingers twitched. Patchwork asshole. Like he’d fall for a trap that obvious.

Dabi settled on a dark blue bottle with a foreign label. Turning around, he grabbed a glass from beneath the bar, twisted the cap open, and poured without restraint. Fumes wafted over, crinkling Tomura’s nose. Great. Wonder-fucking-ful. The reek of alcohol made his stomach tie itself in knots just as much as it had after his first and final hangover.

He’d thought that drinking the toxic shit might help shut his brain up. And, after choking down an acidic gulp—he’d chosen something a deep gold because he’d just liked the color—it had, sort of. His thoughts had softened, stretching out and slowing with a new elasticity. So, even though his chest and nostrils had still been full of napalm he’d knocked back another swallow. The volume of his mental chatter had faded with the third. By the fifth it became benign background noise. The alcohol’s chemical burn had faded away on the seventh. Memories slid into blank blackness sometime after the tenth.

Kurogiri must have warped him to bed that night because when Tomura woke, sweaty, shaking, sicker than a lab rat, the man already had a bucket at the ready. He spoke not a word while letting Tomura puke his guts up. Or when he brought miso broth, umeboshi, and tea after the dry heaves stopped. He didn’t have to. Tomura hadn’t drunk a drop since.

“You look like you swallowed a bug.”

Tomura’s gaze leapt up from the bar to find Dabi staring at him over the rim of the now empty glass. A little riff of unease jangled his nerves. He’d never seen eyes such a deep blue. They caught and glinted in the low lighting the same way the selected bottle did. The patches of ruined skin sagging beneath just made them more striking.

“Must be the company.” His tongue moved too sluggishly to be sharp, turning the comeback into little more than a mumble. Another jolt of realization lanced through Tomura: Father wasn’t shielding his own face. There wouldn’t be much to see with his hair hanging in a messy curtain…but he still had to repress the urge to fidget on the stool and shift away.

Dabi smirked. Tomura couldn’t tear his stare away from how the smooth skin of his upper cheeks and the trauma-purple scar tissue of his jaw pulled in opposite directions against the surgical staples—the fuckmothering staples—binding them at the seams. The smirk only grew under the attention.

“Yeah, about that…” Dabi reached into his raggedy jacket and Tomura tensed. Then mentally cursed when not a weapon but a small jar was produced. Dark glass, unlabeled, it looked utterly boring in the other man’s palm (also stapled, also intensely weird) as he offered it across the bar. “For you.”

“What…what’s in it?”

“A gesture of goodwill.”

The scarred corner of Tomura’s upper lip peeled back just enough to show a glimmer of teeth. “You couldn’t have given me one in the first place by introducing yourself properly?”

Those disquieting eyes almost glowed. “Sure. But then I wouldn’t have seen who you are. People always show their real selves when they’re pissed.”

A fine tremor infected Tomura’s hands. One swift, short lunge. That’s all it would take to disintegrate Frankendick’s face for good. There would be no Kurogiri to play referee either… “So, what? That was just part of some elaborate test? You going to amaze me with an in-depth character analysis now?”

“Nope. I’m not feeling that generous.”

Right. That did it for his quota of fucks to give for the day. If he stuck around for another thirty seconds there really would be a murder in progress. Tomura turned away from the bar with a scoff.

“Hurts, huh? The stuff around your eyes.”

He froze with one foot on the floor, one still hooked on the bottom of the stool.

“Itches like a sonuvabitch too when it’s humid probably,” Dabi continued, sensing the hook had set. “What’s in the jar helps with that kind of thing.”

“Nothing helps.” The words hissed out of Tomura like a jet of steam.

“This will. I make it. Look how good it works on me.”

For the next solid minute, Tomura could do nothing except grapple with the question of how this staple-faced fucker could even be for real.

Dabi, for his part, let his smirk soften into something that almost resembled an actual smile. Unscrewing the jar’s lid, he set it down on the bar and dipped two fingers into the contents. When he reached forward, Tomura’s hand shot up and captured him around the wrist. Only his index finger didn’t touch, pointed at the ceiling and ready to clamp down in an instant.

On the verge of being reduced to bloody slush staining the floor, Dabi just cocked his head. “Jumpy, are we?”

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” It came out entirely too high and strained to spare Tomura’s dignity.

“I told you. Showing goodwill.” A pause. “Are you touch averse?”

“Am I what?”

“You know. Like, being touched gets you nervous or grosses you out. That sort of thing.”

“The fuck would I know? It’s not like I ever let anyone try!”

Okay. That hadn’t come out quite as intended. Tomura dug his fingers into Dabi’s wrist, deep enough to leave marks even through the sleeve of a jacket, daring the bastard to laugh or make a crude quip. Instead, said bastard quit smiling. His strange, stained-glass eyes only observed, absorbing details while giving none away. Contrary to the lack of mockery, hot blood rushed straight up Tomura’s neck and flooded his face.

All he had to do was flex one finger and Dabi would be dead. Every scenario that played out in inside his mind showed him having the clear advantage at such a close range. So why, why, why had the pulse in his chest and temples kicked into hyper mode?

“Think of this another way,” Dabi said, as if reading his thoughts and causing another spike in blood pressure. “As a show of trust.”

“T-trust?” The word tripped up Tomura’s tongue like it came from an alien language. “We tried to kill each other yesterday.”

The response was a shrug. “That’s yesterday. Like I said, you showed me what I wanted to know. Now I’m returning the favor. That’s why you were so pissed, wasn’t it? When I didn’t make an introduction? You wanted to see if you could trust me. Well, here I am, close enough for you to use your quirk on without much chance to dodge. Still not gonna tell you my name, though.”

All valid points. And having Dabi at his mercy did make for a strong show of dominance. It still didn’t explain why Tomura was the one on the edge of his seat. He eyed the pale goop coating Dabi’s fingers. Sensei had educated him on a wide variety of poisons used for killing or incapacitating victims, but he held few suspicions from that angle. Another crackpot personality test sounded more plausible. For cowardice? To see if he’d flinch if confronted? The only thing Tomura knew for sure was that he couldn’t back down without proving both. He could do nothing except follow the limited dialog and action choices to see what ending he got.

Gathering his will, he eased his fingers from Dabi’s wrist. “Fine. I accept.” A little forethought went a long way; the words came across as gracious rather than sullen.

Dabi continued to study him for a few more heartbeats. When he caught no hint of a trick he reached out and closed the gap.

The warmth came as a shock. It radiated off his fingers just before they made contact with Tomura’s cheek. Against skin they bordered on searing. Despite the extensive training in muscle control and pain tolerance Sensei had drilled into him, a twitch from his jaw betrayed him.

Raising his eyebrows a fraction, Dabi pulled away a few centimeters. “All right?”

Mismatched ass rag. He’d probably raised his body temperature with his fire quirk to provoke a reaction. Rather than Decay his hand and snap it off at the wrist, Tomura said through a snarl, “I’m fine.”

Dabi’s hooded stare declared his doubts on that, but he reached out again. Tomura didn’t falter a second time. The ointment, whatever it was made of, glided onto his cracked skin hot, clingy, and stinging. The fingertips applying it, though, did so with gentle strokes. After a minute or so the sting fizzled into tingling and the heat turned tolerable. It seeped into Tomura’s skull, his jaw and neck. The pinched muscles of his face slowly relaxed. Not so terrible after all. Weird to the nth degree, and he had no clue what he’d do if Kurogiri warped in on them, but not awful. Maybe he’d order Dabi to do this again in the near future. See how much the fucker smirked when his plan worked too well.

Fingers sliding into his hair scattered all petty plans of revenge. Tomura jumped and jerked his head away, blinking, startled.

Dabi’s skin pulled at the seams slightly from a small smile. “Your hair’s covering the other side of your face.”

“Oh.” The only way he could have sounded stupider was if he’d fried his brain like the UA kid with the electricity quirk. A possibility, given how his cheeks and neck were burning up. How the hell had he wound up on the defensive—again? This was why he liked games: whenever a dialog option or approval interaction went wrong he could backtrack and do it over until he got the desired result.

He should kill Dabi where he stood. Eliminate such a major factor of uncertainty. The League needed members to grow, yes, but it also needed stability. Kurogiri would come to see that eventually. Even if he didn’t there wasn’t shit he could do about it in the end. Tomura’s fingers curled on his thighs, ready to leap up and grab any bit of exposed flesh.

A gentle, stitched up hand beat him to it. Dabi brushed aside Tomura’s hair, tucking it back behind his ear. The tickle of the messy strands and strokes from warm fingertips sent fireworks sizzling and popping along the bundles of nerves in his neck and shoulders. Instead of going in for an easy kill his fingers dug into his legs. He barely managed to swallow what would definitely have been a humiliating noise in his surprise. He didn’t even want to consider what his expression had betrayed in that instant.

Was this why people hugged and held hands and all that? Because contact gave them a high? Somehow, Tomura doubted it. Novelty and his inexperience were probably heightening the sensations. Every touch he could remember had been a threat, either given or received. This would turn out no different. He raised his eyes from the bar, intent on finding some shred of evidence to support the suspicion.

Instead, he caught Dabi watching him. Not focused on rubbing the salve in. Not gauging reactions. Just…staring straight at him, irises as bright as the hearts of candleflames. Brain upended, Tomura shrunk in on himself a bit. Seriously, what the blazing fuck did this guy want? Why not spit it out already? The game didn’t have a point without a clear objective.

Tiny sparks spat across the network of nerves in Tomura’s scalp as fingers slipped into his hair again, combing through it. The sharp, involuntary breath he sucked in had nothing to do with the few strands that got caught and pulled by staples. Dabi took his hand away only to let it settle against the curve of Tomura’s cheek. The mildly calloused pad of his thumb caressed soothing heat into the peeling skin.

“There. Better?” His voice was almost as soft as his touch.

Against his will, Tomura realized it was. Not just his face either. For several glorious seconds, his thoughts stayed silent, at rest. There was nothing but warmth and blue eyes and strange feelings he had no names for.

Then the last possibility he would have considered for the whole bizarre encounter breached the calm surface of his mind, churning it back into chaos.

The stool tipped precariously under Tomura as he lurched back from Dabi’s reach. He latched onto the bar’s edge in the nick of time, keeping a finger on each hand away purely by the grace of reflex.

“You really are jumpy. Like a damn stray cat.”

If looks could Decay, he would have given Kurogiri something to sigh about in the form of sixty-eight kilograms’ worth of dust sprayed all over the immaculate shelves and cabinets.

Willfully oblivious, Dabi pushed the little jar across the bar top. “Here. Keep it. Should last awhile.” The smirk returned to his mismatched face as if it had never left. “Don’t expect me to share my chapstick, though. You’re on your own with that one, creep.”

Nothing but a strangled sound of outrage managed to escape Tomura’s constricted throat while the unbelievable bastard grabbed his chosen bottle and sauntered away. He considered flinging the empty glass after him. Using his quirk to bring the entire building crashing down on everyone inside. Crawling into the nearest hole and never coming out too. By the time Dabi was halfway across the room, Tomura had made his decision.

Slowly, his hand went to the jar. One finger touched the lid.

Dabi stopped in front of the door.

A second finger touched the dark glass.

The handle turned.

Three points of contact now.

Faint light spilled in from the hallway.

Tomura’s thumb wrapped around the jar in fourth place.

The door swung shut behind Dabi just as Shigaraki Tomura made his gesture of goodwill disappear, not in his grip but into his pocket.

[vicisse]

on the darkling

listen. i totally understand the mixed opinions on this guy. i’ve pretty much resigned myself the fact that my opinion is and should be mixed. the darkling is the kind of character that is equal parts despicable and almost relatable—relatable and not redeemable. 

the man is a walking contradiction, and so is my opinion of him: i love to hate him, and i hate to love him. 

this post is meant to take a crack at the utter enigma that is the darkling and really break down his character. 

“The Darkling is a manipulative person, so why do so many people like him?”

i can’t speak on behalf of the whole fandom, but for me personality, i like TD in the sense that he is a complex character. does that mean i excuse the atrocious things he did? absolutely not. he is still an abject and detestable character. but i can still analyze and delve into the intricacies and reasoning behind his actions and find it interesting. 

(and besides, from a purely leisure-based perspective, TD is an entertaining character! i mean, he’s awful, but he’s also awfully petty. for a supposedly intelligent character with a vast amount of experience, he sure gets tripped up on the words and actions of a mousy teenage girl.)

some people, though, like to reduce TD to the bad boy/asshole who goes “soft” after meeting the girl of his dreams. not only does that trope grate on my nerves, it is also a far cry from the actual dynamics at work. 

not only has leigh commented on how she wanted to subvert the trope that a female love interest can make a bad man better (in regards to the relationship between alina and TD, at least), but she has also made it clear that TD would not change for alina. 

for all the times he reveals a little bit of truth to alina... well? it’s just that. a little bit of truth. it’s really another manipulative tactic: lies mixed with a little bit of truth, a classic TD move. he knows that alina is lonely and preys on that loneliness, talking on and on about how she isn’t like her friends, how none of them will ever understand her the way he can. 

“I’ve seen what you truly are,” said the Darkling, “and I’ve never turned away. I never will. Can he say the same?”

another reason why TD is fascinating to me is because he is so good at what he does that he manages to manipulate readers, too. they think he’s good for alina, or that alina will change him, that she was stupid for turning down a chance to step into power. 

(i beg to differ, though that is a whole other meta—on alina. this is about TD.)

TD is a compelling character because his very existence elicits so many questions: 

Why is he so obsessed with Alina? Does he actually feel anything for her? If he wants her so badly, why doesn’t he stop his quest for world domination and have a little more compassion for humanity?

Why did he make the Fold?

Why is he—well—Like That?

let’s go backwards, starting with Why is he Like That? well, the answer is easily: Baghra. 

her parenting is questionable, to say the least. i don’t doubt that she loves her son and genuinely wants the best for him, but “the best” gets warped with the times. in the early years, “the best” meant heeding her lessons, accumulating fear and power so no one could hurt them—hurt him. 

it isn’t until after the whole shadow fold debacle that baghra’s all “maybe the best is seeing my son come home,” because the monster who was peeling away strips of his humanity year after year is no longer her son. i mean, TD spent a good part of his formative years learning at her knee, truly heeding her words:

“I taught him that he had no equal, that he was destined to bow before no man. I wanted him to be hard, to be strong. I taught him the lesson my mother and father taught me: to rely on no one. That love—fragile and fickle and raw—was nothing compared to power.”

at the time, the latter certainly holds true. TD scarcely made friends, as baghra also warned him to be wary of touch (they’re amplifiers, after all), which is a pretty big part of socializing and human interaction. what does he need love for?

in order to make a difference, make the impact he desired, TD would have to climb a lot of rungs to step into a position powerful enough to commit to reality the dream he’s carried: to make a safe haven for grisha. 

but now his dreams have since been warped by time. 

it’s hard to fathom just how long TD has lived because we don’t know how long he’s been around. still, factoring time into the equation is helpful when it comes to understanding TD’s motivation. 

anger is certainly a huge motivator, and something that only festers on and grows with time, twining itself with resentment and bitterness and underneath it all: loneliness. anger, directed at a world that spurned him and people like him. anger, at a world that always, always took from him—because he must have loved someone at some point. he tells alina, 

“I have lived a long life, rich in grief. My tears are long since spent. If I still felt as you do, if I ached as you do, I could not have borne this eternity.”

and the loneliness, the burden of immortality, the curse of it. to watch the people you love taken by a world that spurned grisha, or worse: to watch them live long enough to die of old age while you remained unblemished by time, to repeat that cycle over and over again and bear the brunt of loneliness each and every time. 

“But wait,” you might be thinking, “doesn’t he have his mom?”

well, yeah. there is baghra, but... you have to understand: she’s the one who taught him to be that way. she was the one who taught him to rely on nothing and no one but himself. and also? who would want to spend eternity with a cold and distant mother? 

“Boo hoo, poor immortal character is stuck being lonely. Is that supposed to excuse the horrors he committed? I get lonely, too, but you don’t see me annihilating a whole town.”

no, not at all! this is just providing a reason behind it, not excusing it. understanding does not equal tolerance. TD is despicable, true, but i’m just pointing out:

a life in isolation + immortal life + grand ambition to change the world = disaster

it isn’t enough just to be grisha; TD is also an amplifier, so he was hunted by other grisha. that isolating existence combined with the long stretch of time he can live is already enough to strip you of what little humanity you have. add on the fact that TD once dreamed of changing the world, to make a safe haven for people like him, grisha, and the fact that baghra essentially raised him to rely on power and believe that the world is his birthright... yeah. disaster. 

of course, the real disaster here is TD, but apparently, disaster spur more disasters because he also made the shadow fold. so, Why did he make the Fold? honestly, it confuses me, too. 

see, when alina asks that, baghra tells her that the fold is no accident, which leads me, the reader, to believe that TD planned on splitting ravka in two in order to sanction fold crossings, which would get the king to rely on his second army, his grisha. buuut, leigh has also said in a couple Q&As that the fold was merzost gone wrong... to be honest, it’s probably both?

like yes, TD tried his hand at merzost and failed on a scale of epic proportions, but leave it to him to figure out a way around his mess. like sure, he wasn’t able to make his own amplifier (though why he would need more amplifiers when he is himself is an amplifier is beyond me), but he probably figures, hey, i can use this, and does. which brings me to the last stretch of questions:

Why is he so obsessed with Alina? Does he actually feel anything for her? If he wants her so badly, why doesn’t he stop his quest for world domination and have a little more compassion for humanity?

he’s obsessed with alina because she’s literally his answer. to everything. 

if he wants to cross the fold? alina. if he takes over ravka for many centuries and the people start to protest? alina, the revered sun saint, will subdue them.

so what if alina isn’t as powerful as he is, won’t live as long as he does? he supposes now is as good a time as any to whip out old grandpa ilya’s journals to get his set of amplifiers on her. 

she’s the amalgamation of everything he has ever searched for, ever wanted. and maybe that’s why a lot of people conflate those strong feelings for love, but the thing is... TD? loving someone? feeling anything? i have to laugh. 

that’s another thing about TD. when it comes to emotions, he’s not as emotionally stunted as some people make him out to be. 

he strikes me as a very introspective character. it doesn’t make sense to me that someone who’s lived so long is so out of touch with their emotions. he is, in a way, but i also think he is aware and merely chooses to ignore, push down, or disguise it as something else entirely. he’s not emotionally stunted, he just thinks some emotions are inconvenient. unpleasant. annoying, even.

the thing is, TD has lived a really loooong life. he doesn’t feel loneliness the same way any of the other non-immortal characters do. no, his kind of loneliness manifests itself without feeling, numb from the centuries of having nothing and no one to depend on but himself. 

i’m not saying that TD doesn’t love alina—though honestly, i could never imagine a world where he acknowledges he does. besides, it doesn’t look like what is the ideal definition of love as we see it, but it’s as close as he’s gonna get.

love is a tricky, flexible thing; and it isn’t always good or bad. ideally, love should be good, but. it’s like a friend pointed out to me: a controlling mother can tell her child, “i love you, so you have to do what i say,” but she isn’t necessarily lying. she does love her child, but she uses it as leverage to manipulate—another classic TD move. 

now, i never quite answered why, then, if he wants alina so badly, doesn’t he stop his quest for world domination and have a little more compassion for humanity? short answer is: it’s impossible. 

i’ve answered an ask before, on TD and the possibility of a redemption arc, but again: it’s impossible. i mean, imagine holding onto a grudge for years. years. at some point, it’s not just a grudge, it’s just you, holding onto your anger, some kind of injustice you feel but can no longer identify. 

it’s like that with TD, but x100000000000000000000. i might even be missing a few more zeroes, to be honest. 

TD is many things. stubborn, selfish, arrogant. arrogance plays a big role, because his ego is, frankly, the size of the shadow fold. someone who’s as self-righteous as TD isn’t going to readily admit he was wrong this whole time. 

the fold is one thing—but that mistake he could rectify, work around. if he were to admit that he was wrong for doing all this grand planning, plans he spent centuries building up to and waiting for, it would all go to waste. it would all be for nothing. at the very least, he has to see some follow through. 

and another thing: he’s not about to give up a centuries��� long ambition for one (1) mousy girl who is too stubborn to acknowledge her own potential. forget it! 

he might love alina, but he will always love power more.

[kendrixtermina]

You seem like pretty knowable about Edelgard lore and motivation, so I've been meaning to ask. What exactly was the catalyst that made Edelgard hate the Church of Seiros so much? I know they've done a ton of shitty stuff in general, but what made Edelgard dislike them personally? I looked on the wiki and it either wasn't on there yet or I just didn't understand it. (I want to be able to eventually explain it to my sister who so far thinks Edelgard is evil, she hasn't finished the AM route yet).

IDK if this is something one can be “knowledgeable” about I just played the same game everyone else did, I’m no authority I just like analyzing fictional works for fun.

And whoever added that recent lengthy edit to the wiki article… let’s just say their opinions are discernible.  But they might say the same about me. 

Good vs Sympathetic

First there are some interesting premises hidden in this question - why would a personal motivation be more convincing that a net negative impact on the world at large? It’s the latter a much better reason? 

Like there’s a big difference between saying “they had legit reasons for their feelings/actions” (you could say this even about rhea) and saying that someone’s a force for good. Being understandable and consistent isn’t goodness; IT’s just good writing, and “they can’t help it, of course they acted like this, look at what happened to them” is more an argument for someone being sympathetic/understandable than good. Murder or manslaughter? How much can we blame them for their bad deeds. 

You might have very good personal reasons to hate someone or something, and pursuing that hate at the expense of others could still be a very selfish thing. There are your feelings, and then there’s how you act on them. There are many ways to act on the same feeling. 

Conversely, it is possible to be repulsed by evil or mismanagement just because of its own wrongness/stupidity. If you read about how some evil deed happened to total strangers in a foreign country, you would still be angry and you might even vote, sign petitions or attent protests so it doesn’t keep happening. 

If the Church of Seiros is doing objectively bad stuff, is that not enough to oppose it? Not only does Seiros/Rhea rule everything from the shadows, she’s accountable to no one, and she’s doing a bad job at it. TWSITD are her enemies too but they’re running rampant under her nose and in the recent past, deposed the Emperor and assasinated the king of faerghus to install their own agents.

Rhea may not have intended to let xenophobia, inequality, corruption, obsession with crests and instability to fester but that’s still what happened - and people can’t file complaints because she’s ruling in secret and anyone who complaints in branded a heretic. Almost everyone in the cast has been affected by those issues - the “peace” at the start of the story is illusory. Also, this whole shadow war between Seiros and Agartha is being carried out on the backs of the ordinary people who have no say in anything. At least if you know who the king/lord is you know who to rebel against if there’s no bread.

It’s no good. And as the heir to the largest territory, Edelgard is one of the few people who have a chance to stop it. It’s not easy for her either, given that the empire is thoroughly infiltrated by TWSID agents who would never have let her butt touch the throne if she didn’t play ball, or at least not without a bloody fight that might well end with the empire in splinter factions, aafter all, her father had already been reduced to a puppet ruler (see what happens to Dimitri when he returns to faerghus - Arundel is said to mantain his own personal army)

And since it was one of her ancestors who sold out Fodlan to seiros for power, she might feel that it’s her responsibility to put it right.

The real power isn’t with the people or even the nobles and the rulers of the three factions - it’s with Rhea and TWSITD. They keep burning up people without end for their own causes that have nothing to do with the people themselves, they both see humans as “beasts”… Shouldn’t that be stopped? 

To stop evil is a much better motivation than petty personal grudges.

Edelgard’s thinking

The first thing to understand with Edelgard is that she’s a big picture thinker through and through. For better or for worse she looks at and decides everything based on how it will look in a history book a few centuries down the line. (For prime examples of evidence look at the Dorothea support or some of her lines after fighting Dimitri)

This isn’t to say that she doesn’t have bias or personal influences like everyone else, but she values and strives for objectivity. That means questioning herself alot (something you wouldn’t see that much on routes other than her own as she keeps the tough leader face on in public), it means putting what yields the best results over what she wants or likes, and it means looking at the greater whole. 

She doesn’t just want to get revenge on the specific people who wronged her; She wants to ensue that it never happens to anyone else. She wants to undo the whole situation that allowed for it to happen - even if that means postponing her own revenge and working with those she hates the most. This is very much her putting efficiency and the end result above her own feelings. 

It may well have been Thales and his henchmen who cut her open, but they couldn’t have done it without the cooperation of the corrupt imperial nobles. (likewise, they worked with xenophobic kingdom nobles who didn’t like Dimitri’s dad making peace with the foreigners to orchestrate the Duscur nonsense)

Why were they in power? How were they convinced to allow for such a thing and give Thales the ressources he wanted/needed? Because of the social system that Seiros set up so that crests are equated with power.  

There will always be assholes and evil people, but how much damage they cause depends on wether the system they operate in lets them get away with it.

Also, even when you look just at TWSITD’s involvement, Edelgard’s siblings were butchered to make her a mighty tool for the shadow conflict. Just as Rhea in turn did her own experiments to revive sothis and “regain all that she lost”

So even on the most direct level, what happened was a result of the shadow conflict. 

And it is instrumental to keep in mind that Edelgard wants to remove both shadow factions. 

Her beef’s strictly with them - she knew that the Kingdom and Alliance would probably fight her if she went against the church and was fully prepared to pay that price, but that’s a side effect of going where the enemy is - she handed out letters and pamphlets informing ppl of the church’s evils and asking them to choose sides. 

TWSITD have fearsome power and have infiltrated the empire, but they’re few. The Church got its claws in most local governments. Why not throw the power of the former at the latter, to take down the stronger enemy, and then take out the Agarthans when your power’s consolidated? It’s a decision not about whom to fight, but about whom to fight first. 

Also because of her big-picture thinking she looks at the absolute numbers. In her own words, she’s going for the path of least casualties. 

PPl tend to judge harm caused by action stronger than harm caused by inaction but actually the harm is the same. Acting to remove the two shadow factions will have a cost (the war) but not acting also has a cost - that the dysfuction goes on and on forever. 

She doesn’t particularly want power if it were up to her she’d have chosen a normal ordinary life and she says so on many occasions. But she can stop it, stop the endless sacrifice and dysfunction, so she can’t just let it continue and do nothing. 

Of course with that sorta logic you always have to consider how each action impacts the end result so you don’t destroy all you want to protect because you tell yourself that it will pay off later, after all ‘the many’ are just an abstraction for a lot of individuals. But Edelgard’s not really losing sight of that, she keeps looking to minimize the casualties where she can, she offers people a chance to surrender, you get some lecture questions where she’s genuinely considering what do with rhea if she DOES surrender. 

It’s worth noting that on her route, the war ends the quickest and only the Kingdom lands get significantly wrecked (and the Kingdom always gets wrecked even if it gets rebuild afterwards, it was already in a lot of chaos before the war even started). You have to fight the peeps you don’t recruit but that’s no different in the other routes. Claude manages to seize control of the Church without going through the knights so he manages to pull off an at least equivalent end result (both shadow factions removed, society permanently changed) while offing fewer of the named characters, and lets not fail to give him credit for that,  but he might not have, if Edelgard hadn’t conveniently removed Rhea and just generally blazed a convenient trail for him to, in his own words, “finish the job for her”. Taking in the church with Rhea still in place didn’t work out too well for poor Dimitri, I seem to recall that she used the poor man as a meatshield and set his capital on fire - which is why Claude wisely didn’t touch that hot potato in any route where he doesn’t have Byleth as a bargaining chip. 

Of course that said, going too hard on the comparison would seem to miss the point. While Claude’s and Edelgard’s routes are about their respective grand visions for the future and their badassery as great inspiring leaders, the Church and Kingdom routes are more about people coming together to weather difficult circumstances. Dimitri isn’t really cut out to be a good ruler; but the beauty of his story is how he eventually does his best to become one anyways through the aid of his loyal friends. It’s an underdog story. 

If your sister prefers that sort of story (or just Dimitri himself, as a more emotional, relatable type of hero and a well-crafted, compelling and memorable character) that’s just her personal taste/ good right. 

Edelgard’s personal biases

She surely has a bit of “broken pedestal syndrome” going on, the very human tendency to absolutely reject things you once idealized once they’re proven to be flawed, to assume that if you were lied to often enough, then everything must be a lie… she sure reads what she learns of Seiros’ past actions in a bad light and assumed that Seteth & the others are guiltier/ more complicit than they actually are. 

The problem with Rhea is that she’s selfish, not that she’s a dragon. But if she were the only example you know for what a dragon is like? You might not be too fond of dragons. It’s not like she protests if Byleth spares Flayn and Seteth. 

She doesn’t really know Rhea’s motivation so she has to judge her by her actions and the results of those, and her actions, for all that they come from fear and loneliness, are indistinguishable from power lust by the time that Rhea’s subjugated 30 generations of humans for something their remote ancestors did 1000 years ago. Would she ever have let them go? 

So it doesn’t matter that she only got the partial story on the relics, it’s not the relics she took issue with, but the current state of the world. also Rhea is the one who erased the true records. So the 10 elites totally had it comming, fine - but Rhea’s the one who disseminated the myth that they were heroes in the first place. 

Claude only gets the truth by squeezing it out of Rhea and even then only at the very end, ppl who say that Edelgard “acted on false information” act like Claude just stumbled across the truth with minimal effort. That’s actually more unfair to Claude than to Edelgard if you ask me.... he’s a man who has gathering info as his top priority 24/7

Edelgard’s certainly more steeped in the perspective of her home country where the church is awarded significance and if it turns out to not be good then it’s utterly vile.  Claude has the sort of more detached perspective that he has because he happened to come from another country. Edelgard’s aiming for detachment but that’s only possible to a certain extent when something ruined the lives of nearly everyone you know

At the same time whatever her personal sentiments may be (and im not gonna deny that she does hate the Seiros religion), as far as her actions and decisions go, the engage conversation she has when you have her fight Rhea at the battle:

Rhea:

No matter your reasons, I cannot permit you to go on living any longer!

Edelgard:

The feeling is mutual. I must put a stop to your reign of tyranny!

Rhea:

You must know what a fool you are. The greatest of sins is to make an enemy of the goddess herself!

Edelgard:

I have only made an enemy of the church, not of the faith.

She says in several supports that she personally considers relying on the goddess to be an overly dependent attitude that doesn’t do people good, but that’s just her opinion, she’s not stopping anyone from praying in the privacy of their homes cause thats none of her business and she’s not a tyrant (see what happens if you recruit Marianne or Mercedes, her support with Manuela or the Marianne/Ferdinand support on the CF route, which reveals that he’s actually a believer.)

She just wants the Church, and Rhea specifically, out of politics… exactly what we have in any modern-day country that isn’t Saudi Arabia or the Vatican. 

Megalomania seems the most likely or politically expedient thing to claim but in the end her beef’s not with Rhea’s reasons but the results of her actions which is stagnation, mismanagement and repression. 

Your Actual Question/ Personal Reasons and Catalysts

Honestly? If we’re talking on a strictly emotional/personal level? (As much as that’s an incomplete picture with such a reason-driven character)

She probably bawled for the goddess to save her and her family down in the dungeons, again and again, and no one answered. 

She spent much of her early life just being dragged around, first being kidnapped by Arundel and held captive in the kingdom, then she was thrown in a filthy dungeon where she endured relentless pain and could do nothing but watch as her siblings died one by one. 

She was utterly helpless, a passive plaything of destiny - and then she decided she was done being passive and letting the universe kick her around. She was going to be proactive and do all she could to be in control of her own fate. 

See also the inspiring speeches that she gives to Petra and Lysithea at various points - “Don’t surrender yourself to your fate!” 

Blind reliance on the faith, to her, represents that very surrender, so she rejects it. 

This fear and rejection of being helpless and having zero control is also one of the reasons why she consistently chooses death on her own terms over life on someone elses’. 

That would still not be a valid justification if she wanted to, like, stop everyone from praying, but that’s not what she’s doing. 

[looking-for-wisdom]

It had begun with the standard political dinner, as if Zoya hadn’t already had enough reason to hate them. Such was the trouble of being an important person— there was no hope in slipping away undetected. Nikolai had insisted she’d come despite the fact he was bargaining for sponsorship. Zoya had never found finance particularly interesting, especially when it was a matter of wooing the rich. She’d had quite enough of wealthy men for one lifetime.

Unfortunately, she didn’t trust anyone else with the job of Nikolai’s partner. So she’d gone, and faked a smile and laughed at mediocre jokes and whispered silly secrets to Nikolai.

Men were horribly stupid that way. They blinded themselves with their assumptions of her and she never failed to be amused at their shock when they found out the King’s giggling arm candy had been speaking their demise into his ear the whole time.

It’d been going so well. The Count had done everything but vocally promise his support. It would have only taken a few more moments, but for perhaps the first time ever, Nikolai had decided to put his feelings before the state’s affairs. Zoya had always called him a fool but she’d never once believed it until then.

“If I were so inclined to agree to your terms,” the old man said, a mirth in his voice that suggested Nikolai had already convinced him, “perhaps you’d be grateful enough to allow me a night with your general. I’ve heard only good things.” 

He said the word “general” as if it were a title only put before her name to justify her spot as the king’s whore. That was the rumor, after all, and why would he believe she was a threat when he’d never seen her play that role. She could have gutted a man in front of him and he still might have made excuses for her. How could a woman so beautiful have room left for cruelty, men like him would wonder, as if cruelty and beauty hadn’t always gone hand in hand.

She’d inhaled sharply, barely keeping her rage in check, but bit her tongue. The insult to her intelligence was more infuriating than his poorly hidden lust. She was used to the latter. The former was almost as common, but she allowed less people to get away with it.

Juris had taught her the importance of biding her time, though, so she smiled stupidly all the while thinking of how she’d destroy him when he’d least expect it.

She’d been about to answer with a regretful excuse when Nikolai had jumped in, mistaking the way her body tensed for fear rather than anger.

“She is not a gift of mine to give or, for that matter, a prize of yours to take,” he’d answer with coldness in his voice that sucked any trace of humor from the room. When no one spoke he opened his mouth again as if to further scold the Count, but Zoya didn’t give him the chance.

She placed her hand on his knee. To an onlooker it might have looked like an act of comfort, sweet, even. But Nikolai knew how tightly she was gripping him. They’d worked together far too long for him to miss recognize her threat.

She hummed gingerly and broke the silence. “Now, now,” she cooed, relying on the one rumor that could save them, though it was a more dangerous one now that Nikolai’s fiancé was in the picture, “there’s no reason to be jealous. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

She winked at the Count from across the room, becoming more irritated by the second that she was the one forced to clean up this mess. The King could afford the gossip of being territorial of his lovers— his father had survived such rumors. He would not, however, endure being painted as the enemy of all disgusting men. They were a needed enemy for the time being— they held 70% of Ravka’s wealth.

Zoya felt him strain even further beneath her hand, but he got the message. She didn’t want his help.

The Count still seemed on edge, but he at least seemed to understand the explanation. Encroaching on another man’s property was frowned upon. Doing so to a king was just foolish.

“Unfortunately,” Zoya continued when she was sure the situation had been diffused as best as possible, “I fear I’ve had a bit too much to drink. Perhaps we can finish this discussion in the morning when our minds our fresh?”

The Count nodded though there was still a hint of strain in his face. Nikolai offered him a half-hearted thanks, though Zoya didn’t count doing the bare minimum as coming to his senses. She wanted him out of there as quickly as possible, before he could completely ruin their chances.

“Nikolai, would you be a dear and walk me to my room?” She asked, her voice honey sweet but her eyes assuring it wasn’t a request.

They weren’t two steps from the dining room when Zoya’s facade dropped, but she waited until they were behind closed doors to truly let lose.

The guest room she’d been allowed to stay in was large, albeit tacky, but with sun gone from the sky the room’s only source of light was the fireplace in front of the bed. It was there that she finally stopped and turned to meet Nikolai’s eyes. His expression was unreadable and sent a fresh wave of anger through her.

“What was that?” She snapped, finally, like a predator pouncing on its prey.

Any evidence of that impulsive, stubborn anger was gone from his face. It was almost enough to make Zoya think it’d never existed in the first place. Outbursts like that were rare from Nikolai— no, unheard of. Not once had she ever seen him lose his temper so suddenly. Not once, at least, before that dinner.

When he spoke, he did so with nonchalance, as if there had been nothing strange about it. The act made Zoya want to steal the breath from his lungs just to stop his words.

“You are a member of the Grisha Triumvirate, appointed by the King of Ravka. The Count knows you rank above him. Such behavior is completely unprofessional and a disrespect to the crown itself. To be completely honest I’m surprised you hadn’t torn him limb from limb before I had the chance— we both know your perfectly capable of it,” he answered with a half smile as if he expected her to return his banter.

Zoya was in no such mood.

She should have expected he’d know exactly what to say. Nikolai always did, and yet she was still taken aback by his approach. Leave it to him to appeal to her logic and pride of her position. When he said it like that, it almost made sense. But she had been in the room with him, and the distain in his voice had not been that of a cleverly worded warning. It’d been the distain of a man playing the part of the noble hero. He had come to her defense not because they both knew damn well she had more than earned the Count’s respect. He’d done it because she was Zoya— a human being who deserved to be treated like a person, not an object.

Zoya knew it with every cell in her body, because if he’d really been driven by the former she would not be feeling a long buried hope rising in her again. There would not be a part of her who was grateful to him, despite the stupidity of his actions, because she was convinced that no other man would have even thought to call the Count out that way.

She forced that feeling deep inside herself and directed her focus on more practical things. His kindness meant nothing when Ravka couldn’t afford a king who picked reckless battles.

“We don’t need some crusty old man’s respect, Nikolai,” she retorted, once again shocked that he of all people needed this reminder. “We need his money. Have you forgotten our country is broke or are you simply that stupid? If wasn’t going to have to sleep with him before, I certainly do after the stunt you’ve just pulled. But, of course, you’re right. Enjoy your petty fights, Ravka be damned.”

Nikolai paled and Zoya thought idly that her last comment might have been a tad unfair before he answered.

“No.”

“No, what?” She demand.

“No, you don’t have to sleep with anyone,” Nikolai answered, face fierce, leaving no room for dispute, “that is not your job. No one would ask that of you.”

She stared back at him, incredulous. This was not the usual assumption she could be softened and taught feelings. This was the assumption that she already had them— that she need not change in order to avoid being asked to sell herself. Zoya wasn’t sure which was the bigger insult.

“No one is asking anything of me,” she said sharply, “I am willing to do whatever it takes to save my country. In fact, the point of this conversation is to remind you that you have always done the same.”

There was a pause as she watched him straighten and shift, mouth set in a thin line. She knew this persona well, but she couldn’t remember the last time it had been used on her. This was Nikolai the King, not Nikolai the colleague.

“You will give that man nothing,” he stated, “that is a direct order from your king.”

Zoya’s eyes narrowed. She spoke slowly so he would understand what she was saying.

“Nikolai, I chose to follow you all those years because I thought you would be good for Ravka, but do not mistake me. I am not some pawn to control as you please. I have acted on your former requests because I have found no reason not to trust you. I suggest you do not make me reconsider that decision.

The room was silent for a long moment and Zoya found herself feeling sick. This was not the Nikolai she had come to know. This was not the boy she had saved from the thorn wood and fought along side in the war. The incident at dinner was perplexing, but at the end of the night she could have reduced it to a simple fluke. This was different. This was like seeing the old king out of the face of a boy she’d grown to depend on. This felt desperately close to losing him.

But then his face softened and Nikolai was himself again. Zoya felt herself let out a breath, though she hadn’t realized she’d ever started holding it.

“That is the Zoya I know,” he said finally, “I don’t understand where she went tonight.”

Zoya searched for words as a new anger rose in her chest. The hypocrisy of it was almost laughable. Just a moment before he’d had her thinking she had lost him to his own power. The grief of the prospect was still fresh. And now he asked how she could possibly act the part of something she was not?

Before the thorn wood perhaps she might have reacted the way he expected, before the civil war there was no doubt about it. But since she and Juris had become one she found that vengeance could wait. Patience was no difficult thing when she could feel lifetimes coursing through her. She almost thought it rude that he saw her as such a liability.

“I would burn down cities for this country. Enduring one evening of ignorance is nothing if it means we will be able to pay for the upcoming war. You know that as well as I.“

This time, Nikolai didn’t argue. Zoya relaxed with the knowledge that Nikolai’s oddness at dinner had been just that: an oddity. She still didn’t understand what cord had been struck to trigger such an uncharacteristic reaction, but she took comfort in the reassurance that it would not happen again. Besides, it was an equal trade, she supposed. He could not comprehend the reasoning behind her actions either.

“You know, I have dealt with the Count’s brand of stupidity for 13 years and have yet to stumble upon a new insult to rile me. You, on the other hand, have quite the knack of finding new ways to spark my frustration whenever I think I’m immune,” she teased allowing the conversation to fall back on more familiar banter.

“You give them too little credit,” Nikolai retorted, following her lead, “Surely you weren’t nine when it started— maybe when you really hit year thirteen they’ll find some clever way to spite you.”

Zoya quirked an eyebrow at that. He thought she was exaggerating the disgusting tendencies of men?

“If anything it’s been longer. Nine was simply the first time they put me in a wedding dress,” she said, feeling as if she’d won this round.

His next words kept her from feeling too smug, though. “That’s not legal.”

Only three words and yet they conveyed a whole world of naivety— a trait she’d never associated with him. Too late she remembered the incredulous look on his face as she’d suggested possible suitors. She’d thought it was a personal standard— she could understand refusing to wed a fifteen year old. Teenagers were beyond irritating. But the prospect that he truly thought it a universal belief that taking a child’s innocence was wrong? It was a moral she shared but knew most did not.

A sharp laugh was all she could manage. It might have been a bit cruel, but she couldn’t decide whether to be impressed by his horror or simply annoyed by his ignorance on the matter. “That’s not legal,” he’d said. Zoya wished that statement had been true for the nine year old her mother had tried to marry off.

“Your pampered upbringing is showing,” she commented, knowing how much effort he’d put into understanding the life of commoners but not caring as long as it wiped that pity filled look from his face.

Once again he said nothing and Zoya thought absently of all the times she’d wanted to put him at a loss for words. This was much less satisfying than she’d hoped. She knew she’d never mentioned it before— to be frank she hadn’t meant to let it slip out— but she’d never expected such a reaction.

“Quit looking at me like I’m an injured doe. Nothing came of it. I was discovered as grisha and brought to the little palace before I could go through with the wedding.”

“And if you hadn’t been grisha?” He asked eyes cold with an anger that wasn’t directed at her.

If she wasn’t grisha? Zoya didn’t want to think of that. Would she even be herself without her power? Would she be alive without it?

“What does that matter?” She snapped, not wanting to consider it any longer.

He stared at her for a moment, a silent conversation transcending between them. His gaze seemed to analyze her for any hint of pain left over from an incident over a decade before. Perhaps she would have had something to offer if he’d been there thirteen years ago. If Nikolai had been there... it was an interesting thought. If they’d known each other back then when she’d had Liliyana and unhampered ambition. If they’d known each other when she’d been cruel, a pawn in the darkling’s plan. Would things have been different? Would the grief in her be any easier to bear?

If she’d known his warmth during the worst of her life would she be able to give him up to Ehri in a few short months?

She was shaken from her wondering when Nikolai finally spoke. “Do you have any parchment here?” He questioned.

It took a moment to process the odd shift in subject, but Zoya gestured to her right. “In the desk.”

He nodded and settled at the poorly lit table. He didn’t speak for a long moment, focusing on whatever he was writing. Zoya watched him from her place by the fire, confused but not willing to start another conversation.

After what seemed like hours he stood and turned to face her, paper in hand. “We return to Os Alta tomorrow morning. Upon our arrival I begin the process of declaring this law.”

She took the page from his outstretched hand. It was a legal document— a bill amending the legal age of marriage thirteen.

It was obvious that he wasn’t completely content with it— if he’d had it his way he probably would have gone so far as sixteen or eighteen, but change was slow in Ravka. Zoya, however, did not share his disappointment. At thirteen she would have understood what the marriage entailed. She would have fought back. It was a step in the right direction.

She felt an aching gratefulness go through her body as she thought of the little girls who would be saved from her past. This time, Zoya was the one without words. She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing her impulsive temptations down with it.

Still, she could not chase away one realization: she had not known him all those years ago. She could not change that. But somehow having him with her now made the tragedy a bit easier to handle. He gave her suffering hope.

She wanted to do something, anything, to tell him that. But in the end she knew she had no such luxury. There had once been a time where they could spend entire nights spilling secrets. Nights where she could watch him in guarded wonder as his kindness prevailed despite Ravka’s often infectious despair.

Those nights had ended when he’d taken her advice and chosen a bride.

She handed the decree back to him, before replying. “It’s late. You should leave before people are given any more reason to believe you aren’t taking your engagement seriously.”

He pursed his lips and for a moment it looked as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he only nodded.

“Good night, General Nazyalensky.”

Not trusting herself with an apathetic reply she stood on her toes and planted a small peck on his cheek. She hoped it might say what she could not.

After he’d left Zoya had laid in bed for hours, cursing him for being impossible to stay angry with.

[thenightling]

The reasons I don’t like the Ghostbusters remake

This morning someone in my Gothic Horror Facebook Group suggested and implied I’m not a “Real” women. The reason?   I revealed I don’t like the Ghostbusters remake.  Unfortunately Chris Hemsworth (whether accidental or not) helped restart the narrative the only sexist manbabies don’t like the Ghostbusters remake and it’s because of them that there is no sequel to it.   Here’s a list of things I don’t like about the Ghostbusters remake.   And hopefully I won’t have to reply to this with a picture of myself to prove I’m a woman (like I had to when I wrote something similar in 2016.)

1.  Queef jokes do not equate to feminism despite what some comedians want you to think. A fart joke is still a fart joke.  One of the first things you see with our protagonists is a queef joke.  For those who might not know the term.  This is a vaginal fart.  Is this empowered?  Is this revolutionary?  No.  It’s just a fart... from a vagina...  it wasn’t funny. It was crude and it felt like a joke from a raunchy 90s teen comedy. 

2.   I didn’t like the atmosphere or ambiance of the film.  The original film was part comedy and part horror and had some nice Gothic elements this remake lacks.  The original had some legitimately scary moments.  This one was cartoonish and bright and all the ghosts looked like CGI effects you might see in Casper.  No.  I dare say the ghosts in the 1996 Casper movie were more ghostly. This was more like the live action Scooby Doo in regard to visual effects.  Bright, weirdly neon, and cartoony.

2. Part B.  I don’t like the aesthetic of the costumes.  I hate that weird stripe across the chest in the uniform.  It’s ugly, it serves no practical purpose other than to make the uniform different.  And Just never liked horizontal stripes.  This is petty but I find myself staring at it and thinking how much I’d prefer the costumes without that damn stripe. 

3.  I like practical effects.   This is just a personal preference but I really do like practical effects.  When it’s cheap CGI (Computer generated imagery) you can really tell.

4.   This is something I never see anyone complain about but it bugs me.  The parapsychology is bad.   The original ghostbusters used real parapsychology terminology and theoretical physics.  I realize Parapsychology is a pseudo-science but the first film treated it as something legitimate and made it feel valid.   As someone who has studied parapsychology the remake bugged me because of it’s very bad false science.

4.  Part B.   They had a device for “destroying” ghosts.  If we acknowledge that most ghosts are human souls (as the film actually does) than you are saying they have tech for soul-destruction.  That’s (as a role player would say) too OP (over powered).  No one should have that ability.  That is ridiculously complex and teetering on dark magick even The Devil isn’t supposed to have. But somehow that came easier to them than capturing spirits?   Not to mention destroying ghosts contradicts real thermodynamics if we are to believe ghosts are made of psychokinetic energy like they say.  (“Energy cannot be destroyed.  Only changed or transferred.”)

4.  Part C.  Holtzman licking her proton blaster.  If we go by the science of this movie, Extreme Ghostbusters, The Real Ghostbusters animated series, and the original 1980s Ghostbusters movies than a proton pack is a portable particle accelerator.  You are blasting out fragments of split atomic particles making a powerful energy beam.  You lick the end of the blaster used for that right after it was active, you probably won’t have a tongue left.   I know this is fake science but this scene (which was used heavily in the advertising) always made me cringe.

5.  The lie that Ghostbusters and Ghostbuster fans were always men.  First a little background.  I’m a woman.   (Duh.)  When I was a child, my little brother and his friend George and I would play Ghostbusters.   Since I could “do the technobabble” and also really loved the character, I was the one who usually played Egon.  I loved Egon.  No one ever told me I couldn’t play him because I’m a girl.  There were plenty of other girl fans.  Which brings us to part B.

5. Part B.  Contrary to what the producers of the 2016 Ghostbusters reboot would have you think there were female Ghostbusters.  In the Real Ghostbusters animated series (successful cartoon spin-off of the Ghostbusters movie) Janine had to save the guys multiple times and even had her own uniform.  

5. Part C.  In 1997 there was a spin-off of The Real Ghostbusters called Extreme Ghostbusters.  it had its flaws but one positive was the new team was not only diverse (made up of a woman, a Latino man, an African American, and a disabled jock) but the team leader was the woman. Her name was Kylie.  She was a young and very intelligent college student whose intellect was equal to Egon’s (if not smarter as she was at an earlier stage in her career than him while matching him intellectually).  She was also a Goth and practicing Wiccan.   Why does everyone forget Kylie existed?   I’d much rather (if I had to choose one) compare myself to Kylie than Holzman but that brings us to part D.

5.  Part D.  The narrative that “Now Little girls can be Ghostbusters too” suggests little girls shouldn’t relate to or like male heroes.  I don’t mind there being female Ghostbusters.  I never minded Kylie, but I felt like this was a strategic effort to invalidate those of use that related to the male characters and liked them.  I feel a closer kinship to Egon than I do Kylie and Holzman (I love nerds) and that’s okay.  That should be okay.   There’s no reason a girl shouldn’t be able to look up to and relate to a male hero just as a boy should be able to like a female hero like Wonder Woman.   

 6.    I thought the humor in the Ghostbusters remake was stale.   A lot of the jokes in the Ghostbusters remake weren’t very fun and in fact were very old and tired.  Example: The Crowd surfing scene when the crowd scatters to allow someone to fall face down to the floor. This is a very old joke that dates back to at least the 1960s. 

7.   I know this was a comedy but certain scenes were taken far, far too lightly.   For example Bill Murray‘s character is obviously dead and no one seemed to care about that.   It’s like the film didn’t know when to be serious.  

8.    There was too much improv.  Some improv is good in a movie.  There was just enough improv in Roger Corman’s The Raven with Vincent Price and Peter Lorre but in this film it detracted from the story and was very distracting and obvious when it happened.  It felt like stand-up comedy routines going on too long.

9.     When they defeat the big bad it’s by shooting him in the crotch.   This spoils what could be a fun action sequence and reduces it to poop joke level humor of “Hehe, the ghost got a groin.”  Are we feeling empowered yet?

10.     Chris Hemsworth’s character is over-the-top stupid.  I know there are some arguments that women have been portrayed this way in movies many times but no, not really.  I can only think of maybe three women in all of cinema this stupid and one of them is actually TV, Kelly Bundy from Married with Children.  This is almost an insult to Janine from the original Ghostbusters who was snarky and smart.  And made it very clear she was attracted to Egon for his intellect and what she believed to be his secret kindness.   She wasn’t attracted to his looks and I liked that.   Now we get to Chris Hemsworth’s character who... covers his eyes when a noise is too loud...

11.  Bonus: The marketing.  I brought this up before but I really hate that even now those of us who didn’t like it are dismissed because “only sexist MRA incels don’t like it.”  I’m tired of feeling like my opinion is invalidated just for not liking a movie.   And last time I tried to explain my actual reasons for disliking it here on the Internet I was told I was a “self-loathing misogynist” and told “Just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you’re not sexist against women so check yourself.”  But... but I love Wonder Woman and I like the premise of Underworld, and I liked Mulan, and Innocent Blood, and She-Creature (2001 version), and countless other female driven stories.   I’m tired of being dismissed and labeled.  And having my own gender and or feminism questioned all because I didn’t like a cheap remake.       

And there you go.   My reasons for disliking the Ghostbusters 2016 film AKA Ghostbusters: Answer the call.      

[mittensmorgul]

Hi, the “why didn’t Cas go with them to save Dean” anon here. When I said “Cas went with them after Lucifer” I was also referring to s12 like in 12x07 and 12x08. Thank you for clarifying that Michael is just established as more powerful, but why would Lucifer be weaker than an AU archangel when their only difference is what universe they’re from? Why are AU archangels more powerful? Sorry if I made this too complicated, I just struggle with following the canon for magical powers sometimes.:P

I think you’re expecting a deeper canonical reasoning for some of this stuff that canon itself is basically just laying out in concrete terms here. Sometimes canon just Does That. Canon is not required to explain or justify itself when the explanation or justification is just... irrelevant to the larger narrative. This is a really difficult thing to explain, because this isn’t a value judgement on a character or a plot point or viewers who headcanoned something very different before canon laid down a New Fact. This is just... objectively what canon does sometimes. The trick for viewers is to use these new fact to readjust previously held headcanons and perceptions to fit with what canon is telling us is actually reality.

Why are AU archangels more powerful? Because canon said so. Because 13.07 hammered that point home. But okay, even if you accept that, and you still want an explanation as to why? Well, sorry, canon hasn’t given us one.

We can apply headcanon to this, look at the canon we already have in the past about archangels in our universe, and attempt to deduce the reasons for the difference, but honestly we don’t have enough information about the AU to say for certain. We know that universe is different from ours in fundamental ways. Sam and Dean were not the end-all, be-all apocalypse vessels for that universe, you know? Or else the angels would’ve made sure John was resurrected to father them into existence with Mary one way or another, and the apocalypse as it was prophesied in OUR universe would’ve marched on the same way.

(we know both Zachariah and Lucifer threatened to just keep bringing Sam and Dean back to life when they threatened to kill themselves to stop the apocalypse, so if Sam and Dean were the destined vessels in the AU it seems like the angels would’ve just... done the thing and MADE it happen, you know? Something is fundamentally different there on a cosmic level)

Not to mention the way AU Michael, in direct contrast to OUR Michael, has this disdain for God. Our Michael was trying to be the dutiful son despite God’s abandonment, but AU Michael made his own plans instead, almost as if his experience with God was very different. Which is interesting in its own right, bringing up the notion that maybe God really is absent in their universe, and what that might mean on a cosmic scale. Even if these thoughts don’t lead us to a concrete, absolutely solid explanation for why AU Michael is more powerful, they give support to the notion that if canon unequivocally states that is a fact, we’re given leeway to accept it as fact.

Sometimes canon requires us to apply critical thinking skills and make these sorts of leaps of faith, to fill in the gaps however we see fit in the moment. Just because we’re being asked to build the mental bridge and trust it’s solid enough to cross the divide doesn’t mean the bridge doesn’t exist.

But this does bring me to one of the dangers of the viewer attempting to fill those narrative chasms in with concrete, rather than just trusting the invisible bridge. I’m gonna call it Headcanon Fatigue. Bear with me, because one of my favorite things to do with canon is to attempt to explain it all with one Grand Unified Theory of Everything (which, heck, is why s11 is still my favorite meta-wise, because it DID solidify at least the cosmic-level Grand Unification via Love Theory, which honestly is still playing out in aftereffects). But often canon isn’t ASKING us to fill in all the canyons yet. It WANTS us to slowly construct a latticework of intricate bridges and stairways to navigate the canyons and explore all the nooks and crevices, but to not become so distracted by what we find to assume we’ve actually explored the entire canyon as a whole or understood the tiny fraction of what we’ve explored correctly, you know?

Like the whole Angel Vessel Consent Issue floating around a lot of the speculation I’ve seen about Michael and Dean lately.

A lot of that speculation was based on the single case of possession of Donnie Finneman in 5.03, and I think it leaves PLENTY of questions and like... a grand total of zero answers. So the fact that Dean wasn’t rendered comatose by Michael’s possession? NOT BREAKING THAT OLD CANON, because what we saw back then was unreliable at best, and an outright deception at worst. Deception that’s only been compounded by years of headcanon being built up around a single incident in canon that we never got a real explanation for.

Let’s compare the actual FACTS of Donnie Finneman’s case with easily misconstrued opinions versus various headcanons I’ve seen solidify into concrete, inflexible assumptions over the years:

Donnie, the vessel of Raphael, was the mechanic at a gas station where a skirmish between angels and demons had broken out”

FRAMINGHAM: Would not have believed my eyes if I hadn't seen it myself. We're talking a riot. Full scale.DEAN: How many?FRAMINGHAM: Thirty, forty, in all-out kill-or-be-killed combat?

So there was a generalized riot, then a sudden pure, bright white explosion, and the only one left alive in the middle of that was the mechanic, Donnie, who Cas immediately identifies as Raphael taking his vessel.

But... what led to Donnie saying yes? And WHY were those angels and demons skirmishing at that specific gas station? And WHY did Raphael chose that time and place to take his vessel?

Because we have to assume that Donnie was in the middle of that battle, you know? Can you even imagine just being at work doing an oil change or something, and suddenly there’s this all-out riot between supernatural beings all around you? Like, seriously, that would probably be enough for ME to want to say yes to a cosmic being offering me protection or whatever in exchange for a yes there...

So was that entire scenario arranged by Raphael specifically to secure consent from his vessel? I mean, that’s one logical possibility.

Now let’s look at Raphael for a moment, throughout canon and not just at this one episode. Let’s remember what he thinks of humanity in general, and what his reasons for wanting to restart the apocalypse in s6 were. He HATED humanity. He was TIRED of playing that role of watching over them. He was BORED with humanity, and just wanted it all to be over. He wasn’t passionate about remaking the world in his own image the way Lucifer was, or the way AU Michael seems to be now. He’s just done.

So with that knowledge, why would Raphael even care about taking a vessel at all? What was his purpose? Why did he bother to arrange to have Donnie reduced to the ready and waiting “open phone line” of a practically empty vessel Cas and Dean saw in the hospital? What exactly was that entire situation about?

Because that’s what makes no sense with the rest of canon, you know?

So I suggest that rather than break your brain trying to resolve all of extant canon with that singular anomaly, you look at the entire scenario from the opposite perspective. Canon has been repeatedly inviting us to do this, after all.

It’s like... we aren’t so petty as to insist that the mission Dean and Sam set out on to kill Lilith at the beginning of s4 was actually the true mission they SHOULD have been going on to stop the apocalypse, you know? The entire season was a misdirect focused around the goal of killing Lilith under the assumption that SHE would start the apocalypse and they needed to stop her from doing that, but in reality she WOULD start the apocalypse-- with her carefully planned death at the exact right time and place. Sam and Dean (and Cas) were played for fools in the end, and everything they thought had been true had been overturned and the truth was only uncovered at the last minute, when it was too late to change course.

And I think a lot of the assumptions about archangel possession are based on those early (and deliberately misleading) assumptions based on Donnie Finneman’s case. Like... we take Cas’s word that Michael would leave Dean in a worse state than Raphael had left Donnie... but why do we accept that as a literal, surface-level assessment based on concrete fact? Because Cas said so? Cas also said they needed to kill Lilith at one point in order to stop her from breaking the final seal, but we later learned he’d been lied to about that, as well. I mean, Cas asked DEAN for help in uncovering Raphael in 5.03, because CAS DIDN’T HAVE ANSWERS AND NEEDED DEAN TO HELP “TALK TO PEOPLE” TO GET THEM. So assuming Cas’s guesses there, or Cas’s warnings to Dean about worst case scenarios of what MIGHT happen if he said yes to Michael can be seen on just that level-- since we know Cas is willing to lay down EVERYTHING in order to stop Dean from saying yes in the end. I mean, hello 5.18.

But now that we have that said, let’s go back and try and guess what happened to Donnie in the first place. Was he somehow gravely injured during the skirmish that led to Raphael showing up and coercing a yes out of him? I mean, we just learned the sorts of torture Zachariah was willing to impart on Dean in order to coerce a yes out of him in 5.01, and in 5.03 we also learn the sorts of trickery Lucifer will resort to in order to coerce a yes out of Sam, and in 5.04 we learn the lengths Zachariah is willing to go to get that yes again, and we learn again in 5.16 just how far Heaven will go... so why not apply that to Raphael, as well?

What if Donnie’s semi-comatose state was a direct result of injuries he sustained in that skirmish? What if Raphael had arranged that just so he could make Donnie into his notion of a “perfect vessel?” I.e. one not encumbered with an annoying human consciousness he’d have to deal with? Like Michael securing that yes from John in 5.13 (and in 1978), waiting until he was gravely injured and promising to make everything right? To save his wife and heal his body in exchange for that yes?

Why do we assume Raphael used any different tactic to secure Donnie’s yes?

Like... “I can relieve your suffering, deliver your soul to eternal rest and peace where your pain will end, if you allow me the use of your vessel.” If I’d been Donnie in that state? I’d have been tempted to agree.

So why do we headcanon that Donnie was Fine And Dandy before Raphael possessed him? And that the results in that hospital were only the result of Raphael’s possession? Because of that one offhand comment from Cas?

DEAN: I take it that's not Raphael anymore.CASTIEL: Just an empty vessel.DEAN: So is this what I'm looking at if Michael jumps in my bones?CASTIEL: No, not at all. Michael is much more powerful. It'll be far worse for you.

But we assume Dean was referring to the physical state Raphael left Donnie in here. So... why do we assume that Castiel, an angel, was also referring to the physical state of Donnie’s empty vessel with that comment?

Nothing in canon is suggesting that’s the correct interpretation of that scenario. In fact, current canon is actively refuting it. And it HAS been actively refuting it since Sam first said yes to Lucifer and was not rendered a blubbering vegetative lump of sasquatch in the aftermath, you know? NONE of the canon between 5.03 and 14.03 has supported that assumption that it was only Raphael’s power that rendered Donnie in such a state.

So that’s like... the opposite problem to the one you’re having making that leap onto a solid surface that canon is insisting is real, even if we can’t see the support structure holding it in place. We’re not being asked to pave over everything between point A and point B here. In fact, I’d suggest that attempting to pave that road could be as misguided as assuming that all the archangel possession canon post 5.03 must somehow support the headcanons that formed around Raphael’s possession of Donne Finneman. Because that’s not how canon works.

Sometimes it’s asking you to build bridges, and sometimes it’s just telling you the ground is solid, and going poking under your feet for the support structure is just gonna lead to you toppling headfirst into the ravine. Not fun at all. :P

*scrolls back up to reread your original question and wonders where the heck I took a wrong turn... probably Albuquerque...*

[desktopgargoyle]

The Road Trip Series - Chapter 3

AN: so this chapter is super duper late....but better late than never?

ff.net link

Chapter 3

“Nino really needed some rest, huh?” Marinette looks over her shoulder at Nino and Adrien, who are both curled up against each other and snoring in the back seat of the car.

“Yeah, he’s had some pretty crazy shifts lately. I barely get to see him awake anymore.” Alya laughs somewhat sadly. “He works late and sleeps late, I leave early and end up asleep before he gets in. You know how it is.”

Alya’s tried not to make a big fuss over Nino’s working hours because she knows that he’s doing a job he loves and excels at. But she will admit that it’s difficult for her to not see him as much as she used to. She misses Wednesday Spaghetti Nights on the sofa watching old horror movies with awful special effects and she misses making pancakes at midnight on Breakfast for Dinner Fridays. She misses going on dates and she misses lazy Sundays just hanging out in pyjamas with hot chocolate.

They’ve have talked about it a couple times and Nino hates their reduced time together as much as Alya does. The difference is that he also loves his job, and Alya is not about to try to tear him away from it just because she misses him. Besides, it’s not like she never sees him, it’s just that she sees him less than she’s used to and –

“Alya, you know it’s okay to miss him, right?” Marinette has been watching Alya chew on her lip and furrow her eyebrows for the last couple minutes. She knows exactly what Alya is thinking. “You don’t need to feel bad about it. Your feelings are what they are, you can’t help it.”

At the back of the car Nino stirs slightly, moving so that his head lolls just above Adrien’s shoulder as his hat falls off his head. Alya looks at him fondly in the rear-view mirror and a small smile creeps onto her face.

“Okay then, Miss Relationship Guru,” Alya smirks at Marinette. “How about we talk about your love life instead of my petty issues? A certain someone has totally got it bad for you!” Alya cackles as she watches Marinette’s face turn beet red in embarrassment.

“Nobody has anything bad for me, Al! Don’t make that kind of stuff up.” Marinette squeaks, sinking into her seat. She’s just glad that Adrien is a heavy sleeper and will (thankfully) hear none of this.

“Come on, Mari. I thought he was meant to be the oblivious one here, not you! The boy has been dropping so many hints and you have thus far failed to see every single one!”

Marinette shakes her head vehemently. Alya’s been saying this for years and trying to convince her that Adrien likes her back. Marinette knows he doesn’t. If he did in fact like her, wouldn’t he attempt to ask her out or at least drop some more obvious hints? God knows she’s been so obvious at times that she might as well wave a massive flag saying ‘hey there, just so you know I am a little bit in love with you so would you please love me back?’ in his face. With sparkles. And all-caps writing. In neon colours. Actually, scratch that. Flashing neon colours.

“I’m not oblivious!”

Alya cocks an eyebrow at her. It’s her ‘are-you-freaking-kidding-me-right-now’ look and Marinette has found herself on the receiving end of said look more and more in the last few years.

“Remember the school trip to London?”

“The one where we lost Juleka and Rose for about three hours and later found them in M&M World?”

“Yeah, that one.” Alya laughs.

It had been an eventful trip, they could say that much at least. Aside from the Juleka and Rose thing, there had also been an incident in Harrods where Chloé got into a fistfight with some rich brat over a pair of Valentino pumps that resulted in her eventually being escorted out of the building, screaming that her father would hear about it. On their third day in London, Adrien was stampeded by crazed fans as the class left the Natural History Museum and then on the fourth day, Max and Kim somehow ended up stranded in Piccadilly Circus while the rest of the class was at the National Portrait Gallery. Needless to say, there had been no abroad trips for the class after that.

“It was such a great trip, right? I love London so much, even if we were stuck with all the tourist trap locations.” Marinette smiles.

“Yeah, and the four-hour Eurostar journey wasn’t too bad either.” Alya shoots Marinette a sly glance.

“I mean, you and Nino sure had a blast. You guys were being so mushy I wanted to gag!” Marinette snorts.

“Oh, and you and Adrien weren’t being equally as mushy?” Alya retorts. Marinette flushes.

“We weren’t being mushy, we were never a couple! And the only reason we were sat together is because a certain couple couldn’t bear to be apart for four measly hours and it was a toss-up between me and Chloé!” Marinette pulls a face at Alya and slumps down in her seat.

Alya rolls her eyes. If she remembers correctly, she and Nino had video footage of Marinette and Adrien tangled up together and snoring. Of course, neither of them has ever seen this footage because she’s keeping it a secret until their wedding.

“Believe what you will, Mari, but my boyfriend knows his husband very, very well and, from what we saw, Model Boy’s intentions were a little more than just platonic, if you catch my drift.”

Marinette groans and leans her head against the cool glass of the window. Over the years there were a couple moments in which she’d let herself indulge in the idea that the attraction was mutual. The Eurostar trip was one of them. Adrien had all but dragged Marinette into the seat beside him and immediately began chatting away as if it were no big deal.

One hour into the journey he decides that he has to take as many pictures together as possible with as many stupid faces as possible, claiming that he rarely gets to do things like this and he needs to document it. He almost sounds like Alya. He saves every single one, even, much to Marinette’s horror, the photos in which she looks like a complete and utter idiot. Of course, he looks great in Every. Single. Damn. Photo. (Marinette’s theory to this day is that a life of modelling has made him permanently photogenic and there will never ever be a bad photo taken of him.)

Two hours into the trip, he gets up to go stretch his legs.

“I don’t think you get it, Mari, I’m too tall for these seats. My legs need freedom. We didn’t have, like, a million revolutions and behead the king just for me to endure this kind of oppression!”

“Are you calling me short?” That’s all she could think to say because holy-nickname-Batman he has just called her Mari. This is the first time he has ever in the history of their friendship called her that and Marinette is having a minor breakdown.

“Seriously? That’s your concern?”

“I’ll have you know that I am 5’6” and I am not short.”

“Mari, you’re 5’5”.” Crap, he did it again.

“Shut up, I’m still above average.”

“Only by an inch though.”

“I thought you were going to stretch your legs, you freakishly tall person?”

“Mari, I am a very average height. If you think I’m freakishly tall then you kinda just proved me right.” This marks three times in one conversation. Perhaps you could call it overkill, but Marinette doesn’t care.

With that, he flashes her a grin and saunters (he’s such a model) down the aisle toward the onboard café.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta Update 1: I’ve changed ur contact name from Alyyyybuggg to Al dente pasta Update 2: there’s a toddler behind me who keeps kicking my seat

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg Al dente pasta? Really? Is this because of the journalism competition? Because I swear if that is a fucking pun about my year’s supply of pasta prize I will kill you. Was this Adrien’s idea? It was totally his idea. Never mind. You are in the clear. I know you love him but I swear to God I will bake his head into a lasagne.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta u didn’t let me get to update 3 also leave Adrien alone and don’t bake the love of my life into a lasagne

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg Ooooh what’s update three?

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta Alya. he cALLED ME MARI

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg WHAAAAATTTTTT GIIIIIRRRRLLLLLLL

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta wait for it THREE TIMES IN ONE cONverSATION

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg HOLY SHITTTTTT (babe I love you but your grammar is killing me)

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta I DONT CARE ABOUT GRAMMAR ADRIEN CALLED ME MARI THREE TIMES

From: Ninbro To: Maribro dude I’m trying to nap and all I can hear is alya squealing wtf happened

From: Maribro To: Ninbro adrien called me mari three times in one conversation

From: Ninbro To: Maribro shit dude thrice mari-d congratz anyway tell alya to shut up bc she won’t listen to me goodnight

From: Al dente pasta To: Mariiiiibuggg Did Nino just tell you to tell me to shut up?! I’m gonna kill him.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta let the boy sleeeep

From: Adrien To: Mari Hey, I’m in the queue at the snack bar. You want anything? It’s kind of a long queue so you have time to decide :)

From: Mari To: Adrien oh, um. Idk, depends on how expensive because I’m kind of broke at the moment.

From: Adrien To: Mari Nah, don’t worry about that. I’m paying :)

From: Mari To: Adrien WHAT? NO!

Marinette stares at her phone. He isn’t responding. She stretches up slightly to scan the carriage and spots Alya and Nino a couple seats ahead. She hazards another glance at her phone but still nothing. Hopefully he’s taken her somewhat panicked caps lock texts as a ‘No thanks, I don’t want anything’. Hopefully.

“Right so you didn’t specify so I grabbed you a hot chocolate and this sweet and salty popcorn. Best of both worlds, right?” Adrien throws the bag of popcorn at Marinette and slides into his seat next to her. He places the hot chocolate down on the folding table in front of her and opens the lid of his coffee, adding two sugars. Marinette stares at him.

“What? I know you’re trying to cut down on the caffeine so I figured hot chocolate was a step in the right direction. Unfortunately, I am nowhere as motivated as you and I have no intention of kicking my caffeine intake.” Adrien takes a sip of his coffee before suddenly wincing. “And there go all of my tastebuds…ouch.”

Marinette opens the lid of her cup and blows some of the steam away. “Thanks,” she smiles. “But seriously, how much did this total? Let me pay you back, seriously.” She leans down and begins rummaging around in her bag. Adrien grabs her hands and pulls them away from her bag, completely stunning her into stillness.

“I said I’d pay, and I paid. It’s no big deal, what are friends for, am I right?” He grins. She watches him intently as he eyes his drink cautiously, attempting another sip while simultaneously looking terrified.

From: Mariiiiibuggg To: Al dente pasta you know that stupid cliché about how you fall in love with someone more and more each day? I don’t think it’s stupid anymore. Alya I’m so totally screwed.

Alya still has the screenshot of that last message. She’s saving that for the wedding too. She elbows Marinette in the ribs lightly, telling her to stop looking like a lovesick chihuahua.

Once again, they’ve hit traffic. Alya takes the opportunity to stretch her arms and roll her neck; driving for extended periods of time is not necessarily her favourite thing to do but she’ll sacrifice comfort to let Nino sleep. She would let Marinette drive except Nino has henceforth banned Marinette from the driver’s seat following the Crash of July 19th (which, in Marinette’s opinion was actually not a crash because I only scratched the car slightly, Nino).

“Kinda busy today, isn’t it?” Marinette yawns. She checks her phone. No new messages. No updates. No alerts. “Weren’t we supposed to be halfway there already?”

“That was the original plan. From what I can tell, we are currently an hour and a half behind schedule.” Alya groans. “You know, I had this entire trip planned down to the minute! And now look at us!”

Marinette nods sympathetically. “I know, Al. On the plus side, at least it’s not – ” Thunder cracks in the darkening skies above before Marinette can finish her sentence. “ – raining.” Alya shoots her an ‘are you serious’ look and lets her head drop against the steering wheel with a loud thud, hitting the car horn in the process.

“Shit!” Alya starts up in surprise as Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

The rain starts out as a light drizzle, the droplets scattering across the glass like constellations as it beats softly against the cool windows of the car. The sky turns from a crystal blue to a pale grey as the rainclouds stretch across, moving slowly and heavily. It remains this way for about fifteen minutes before the rain begins to fall harder. It pelts down aggressively, hitting the window panes and rolling down in streams. The gentle patterns formed earlier on the glass blur together until it becomes difficult to see properly.

Alya runs a hand through her hair and turns the window wipers up to a faster setting. As much as she loves the rain, she’d really rather not drive in it; slippery roads tend to make her nervous.

The traffic gradually begins to move again, although at an agonising pace, which both frustrates and relieves Alya. On one hand, she really wishes they could get the hell out of this nightmarish rut in their journey and just make it to Marseille already but, on the other hand, the sluggish speed means that there won’t be any asshole drivers trying to force her to speed up in the freakish downpour. She supposes that, in some ways, the positive cancels out the negative so she’ll just have to make do and be happy for now.

Adrien stirs slightly in the back seat. He groans slightly as he stretches his arms out (he whacks Nino in the face in the process); he’s starting to believe that he is, in fact, too tall to nap comfortably in such a cramped space.

“Are we there yet?” he mumbles groggily as he rubs his eyes.

“Sorry, cupcake, we’ve hit some more traffic.” Alya’s really not sure why she feels the need to christen Adrien with these ridiculous pet names. It’s just become a Thing she does, despite his being over a foot taller than her. The list has only increased over the years and now includes sunshine, buttercup, sweetie, My Son, kitty-cat, jellybean and, Alya’s personal favourite, Mon Petit Cantaloup. Nino has started to use My Son and buttercup, which makes Alya prouder than it should.

“If it makes you feel better, you managed to nap for almost two hours.” Marinette chirps.

“Yeah, you and your husband, who is supposed to be my boyfriend, looked pretty cosy back there.” Alya snorts. “I’ve got to ask, what is your secret? He doesn’t snuggle with me like that anymore.”

“Nino likes to be the little spoon,” Adrien says sagely. “It makes him feel secure.”

“Too bad you’re like three feet tall, Al.”

“Shut up, Mari! You’re only three inches taller than me!”

“Actually, I’m five inches taller than you.”

“Well, I have a foot on both of you so I win.”

The two girls turn to face him and Adrien is certain that if looks could kill, he would be dead twice over. He grins sheepishly in response and rubs the back of his neck. Thankfully, the traffic starts moving and Alya is forced to turn her attention back to the road. Marinette narrows her eyes at him once more before she too turns to face the road.

Adrien can’t be certain but he swears that there is something in the way she looks at him, even when annoyed at him, that surpasses everything. He’s only really started to notice it recently, but for a fleeting moment he is sure of it. Upon reflection, he decides that he is deluding himself. There’s no way. Marinette is just a really good friend. That’s all.

As she turns back to the front of the car, Marinette gulps slightly. There was something strange about the way Adrien has been looking at her recently. Not strange in a bad way, but strange in a new way. His expression seems softer and there’s something different reflected in his eyes. For a second she thinks – no. In her head, she laughs at herself. She’s just projecting her own feelings onto him, she rationalises. He just sees her as a friend. That’s it.

[hachibe]

thoughts on The Legend Of Korra season 3:

for the amount of ranting in this you wouldn’t believe this to be my favourite season ^.^

- oh look! it’s almost as if Korra decided to keep the portals open without thinking of the consequences.

- i’m gonna be upfront and say that i hate that 1) people now just can airbend 2) Bumi can airbend. about #1 i think is kind of stupid, there was no need for more people to be able to airbend (if you disregard Zaheer). and i have this whole rant about the air nomads being reduced to airBENDERS in tlok. and i’ll rant about it when the time comes. what really bothers me is #2. because the whole essence of Bumi’s story is that he thinks he is not good enough because he can’t bend, because he is a regular guy, so instead of giving him a story where he learns his value they decided to just give him bending! like, srly!!!? because people only have value if they can bend? and it’s almost like, did s1 even happened? yes, Amon was a hypocrite but the issue with the non benders were/is still real. but the narrative refuses to acknowledge this! they are all like “what, no! i don’t know her” to this whole issue.

- and i still don’t understand how the spirits prowling the world should fit (or not) with this modern world. that’s a freaking awesome story right there to be tell but the narrative just refuses to deal with it because look! there’s airbenders now so let’s focus all the season on that. and like we did with s1 let’s forget that whatever happened that season had any consequences whatsoever! Korra was just like “fuck this, let’s search more airbenders because fuck this city, who cares anyway?”

- (me from the future: yes, i agree that tlok did a disservice to the portrayal of spirits that we had in atla. instead of unknowable creatures beyond our comprehension we got fluffy cute little creatures who could be good or evil. in a very black and white christian reductionist take. and i should have talked about this in the s2 notes. BUT the spirits are still here, this is something that is happening in the time of s3 but the narrative refuses to deal with it. it shows the audience that the spirits are there, they did caused some disturbance, there are vines in the city and people’s lives are getting disturbed by it. but this is the maximum of what we get from this. (i haven’t started s4 yet, i think there is some talk about it there, i’ll revisit the subject if it’s necessary.) and not once the narrative spends time exploring the implications of living in this modern world, that is constantly changing, that sees technologies and innovations as monoliths of good. we don’t get to see the spirits having to deal with this world. nor the humans having to deal with the spirits and reconciling it with their new modern life. and we never see the consequences in the lives of these people, or of this nation as a whole; or the contrast of the life in this nation as opposed to the other ones. and atla did such an amazing job of showing the world entrenched in colonialism and it’s consequences, not only to one nation but every nation. we saw what colonialism did to the southern water tribe, but we also saw what it did the fire nation. but tlok just drops a bunch of ideas and story lines and then just go focus on other things)

- should i talk about Zaheer? I love Zaheer. s3 is my favourite one because of him. I know, i just spend 2 paragraphs complaining about it. But i think Zaheer is fascinating. To me, with all the writings shortcomings he is still the best villain tlok had. his potential, ma man? i live for that. 

- i want Mako’s job btw, i want to just call my boss and say “hey, so, i’m gonna go on a trip with ma friends, idk when i’ll be back, see ya. don’t forget to mail me the paychecks!!!” ALSO, Mako is such a COP™! Let’s threaten this 13 yo orphan kid that had to rely on a life of petty crime in order to survive. it’s not like Mako himself isn’t an orphan and hadn’t gone through basically the same thing.

- the writers might not have given the red lotus a deep and meaningful story  and a rewarding narrative arch but they look COOL AS FUCK! SRLY, all 4 of them are the coolest looking characters in this whole series.

- the kid runs away in BA SING fucking SE and they send 2 people to look for him. yes!, i’m wasting a comment on this.

- (i saw someone implying that Mako and Bolin’s grandma is that girl Zuko went on a date once. do we know that for sure? note to self: remember to check that later)

- ok, so before we meet Suyin i think i need to talk about why i don’t like this “you’re an airbender, you’re an airbender, everybody is an airbender now” story line. the only real reason for it that i see is that the narrative needs Zaheer to be a airbender. and i get it, they really need it. i guess you can’t explain why only one guy can now suddenly airbend, so a bunch of other people now can too. so i think my issue is not that opening the portals brought back airbending to the world. is more on the fact that so far the narrative acts like airbending is the essence of being an air nomad. Tenzin has lived his whole life with this HUGE burden, trying to hold the single torch of an entire culture, god knows if he only ditched Lin to be with Pema because Pema could get him kids so he had a chance of passing his blood and bending skills to a next generation.  but this is kind of stupid, man! Tenzin is the only of Aang’s kids who can airbend but Kya and Bumi still carry airbending (and air nomads) genes! Idk how genetics in the avatar world works but i think is not that different from our world. Kya and Bumi’s kids could still be air benders. Kya and Bumi are still half air nomads, in the same way that Tenzin is half air nomad. and in tlok is like the whole air nomad culture is reduced to air bending.

- like, take the water tribes for example. Sokka didn’t bend, his parents and the rest of his family aside from Katara didn’t bend. that didn’t make them less water tribe. being a water tribe was not only about water bending. Toph’s parents couldn’t earthbend either, that didn’t made them less influential citizens of the earth kingdom. Mai’s parents all normal people, still powerful fire nation politicians. each nation had their own culture and that wasn’t reduced to their specific bending. so why it is not the same with the air nomads?

- Aang had being collecting “fans” since one of the first comics (i don’t remember which one). actually, i might say he’s being collecting those fans (that later became the air acolytes) since Kyoshi’s Island episode back in atla s1. and we see in the comics how he had being teaching them the air nomads philosophies and life style. and i understand that bending is important and that air bending is in a brink of extinction but i don’t understand how all these other people (the air acolytes) can’t be considered air nomads. let’s say, i move to australia, learn the local language, eat the local food, have kids and raise them in australia, we all have the same costumes as any other australians, why can’t i be consider australian as well?

- and sure, they are not the “real” air nomads, but i wouldn’t be picky if you are all facing extinction. and to be honest Tenzin is not “real” air nomad either because he is MIXED! he is still half water tribe, he didn’t born out of Aang’s forehead! Tenzin’s kids? All not “real” air nomads either, if we are going to ignore Tenzin if half air nomad, we still need to assume Pema is earth kingdom (or is she fire nation? since her eyes are golden. her eyes are golden, right?) And not only Aang could have had his two other kids be good leaders for the air nomads, could have taught them their history, life style, culture. instead of leaving all the burden on Tenzin’s shoulder. why couldn’t Aang have choose good leaders from the air acolytes? instead all we get from them is stupid servants. Pema included. i refuse to believe that anyone who was ever interested in air nomad culture and seeked Air Temple Island (and whatever other places) were all simpletons who never had any critical thoughts on their heads. they were all taught in air nomad culture and history (we see one of them answering all of Tenzin’s questions) but they are treated as servants. as a matter of fact we see Tenzin treat them as inferiors. and i guess this is the whole non benders issue from s1 back again. 

- (me from the future here: i just watched a video essay on youtube about genetics and bending in the avatar world and they said that is mentioned that all air nomads were air benders, the reason being that they were all more connected to their spiritual side. and OKAY, but i still think that most of my points still stand. if you are breeding sky bisons for a while now and you have a bunch of people willing to connect to their spiritual side and follow air nomad culture and life style, why can’t you have them learn air bending from the original air benders, the sky bisons, again? why did it have to be given for free like that? it’s so reducing! and poor! and if you wanted Zaheer to be able to air bend have him learn from the sky bisons! have him be an air acolyte who took the teachings of a air bender Guru to an extreme)

- idk what to say man. I will admit that all this don't piss me off as much as Suyin's story line, that’s for sure.

- so let's focus on Zaheer pretending to be an innocent new airbender seeking knowledge. He is a natural! And why it is that? Because that's a guy who is interested, who learned, who likes and admires and tries to live by air nomad philosophy. a lot of people critique this season because they thought it was stupid to have this guy who never bended before be so good ans skilled in airbending. and okay sure, but it always made so much sense to me because he is a guy who admires the life and teachings of the air nomads. that’s a guy who studied, and not just studied but lives his life according to those teachings. and that makes him a beautiful foil to Tenzin, who is this nerd bookish man, who is a scholar, who knows the teachings but don’t really live by them. ii don’t want to minimize Tenzin or call him a bad air bender (or air nomad. at this point what’s the difference?). but i love to see this contrast of this guy who struggles every step of the way and this other guy, who is a natural but will never be consider a master. their fight gives me the chills.

- I can't even talk about this because Suyin is getting in the way and this whole story just makes me. 

- i don’t resent her existence. in my head she is Sokka’s child, no one can convince me otherwise. but the way they wrote her is just awful. 

- did she just said that the idea of having an Earth Queen is outdated? While she rules a city of her own? AS THEIR QUEEN? and she's harbouring Varrick! "Sure he made a few mistakes in the past but that doesn't mean he should pay for it the rest of his life" sure let's not address the fact that he is only in her house doing business with her because he has business to do (if Varrick was a poor fellow who committed a crime and escaped prison he for sure wouldn’t have the same treatment. and i’m flabbergasted that Lin didn’t arrested him right there). Let's bring in the maglev and forgive the crimes he committed and lives that were lost because of him. Capitalism don't exist in the world of Avatar. Who da fack wrote this? (Oh this particular episode was Michael Dante DiMartino, so there's that)

- i’m not even gonna talk about the disrespect that this whole story does to Lin. This woman don't deserve this . FOR REAL!

- look, I get it, I agree people shouldn't be paying for mistakes or crimes they committed and have being repenting for 30 years. But the thing is, instead of apologising to Lin for what she did she just says "oh you should get over yourself, it's been 30 years, that's why you're an old bitter lady, no wonder Tenzin broke up with you!" and everyone treats Lin like she’s in the wrong. BITCH WTF!!!!????? (Suyin later apologises but not for the right things, she says “sorry i gave you grief when we were young” and honey, that’s not it!)

- and then Lin is like "cured" having kale juice and wearing those silly Zaofu clothes. Honestly! WHO DA FACK WROTE THIS?

- the fight scenes are all bloody impressive tho. the red lotus knows how to work together and they are all amazing.

- and P'Li? I would die for that woman.

- Ming-hua and Ghazan naming the constellations and coming up with stories about the guards ❤️ Also, 2 out of 3! so which one we think is the wrong one? Of course the unspoken attraction between the two is true. So that leaves us with ‘raised by sister’ and ‘had moustache by age of 10′. Place your bets fellas!

- that thing with the Earth Queen? That thing shook people. We were shooked™️ with the s1 finale and we were unearthed when she died. I still can't hardly believe.

- wait a minute, are you telling me that Tonraq, Korra's father, fought together with Zuko and Sokka and managed to imprison all 4 members of the red lotus but never learned what they were called? You are telling me that Guru Laghima fanboy Zaheer that can't shut up about it never dropped his spiel about caos is the natural order of the world? He never mentioned to every single guard who went to feed him that they are called the red lotus? And that this never reached the ears of Tonraq?

- fuck Zaheer but I'm different

- I find it very homophobic that even uncle Iroh we get to see several times, but Sokka only once in a flashback :(

- this fight with the cloudbabies and the red lotus? I get chills every single time. And Tenzin never stopping? Never giving up? 😭

- let go of your earthly tether, enter the void, empty and become wind.

- did you think that the Earth Queen's death was horrible? I present to you P'Li’s.

- i do love the fight scene at the end. i love and it breaks my heart that Korra fights every single second of it, with the poison and with Zaheer. and in the end she remains broken. 

- i love the moment when Tenzin decides that the new air nomads will be roaming the earth trying to bring balance. even if we can later debate the morality of it, i love that he takes this decision out of his own desire to help. he finds a meaning for his people based on the needs of the world right now and not trough a guideline he learned from his father. i really love Tenzin in that moment, and Jinora’s ceremony may or may not have brought tears to my eyes.

- overall i do love this season, mostly because of Zaheer and the red lotus. the writers made a huge mistake in making Zaheer and his philosophy so hypocritical. the same happened with Amon. in order to make them the villains the writers wrote them so hypocritical that it invalidates what they were fighting for. the non benders and benders issue is still big and present, the story just refuses to talk about it. the tirany and the corruption of the systems of government are still very real and still very there in Korra’s world, but the narrative don’t discuss it, or when it does it gives the most bland simplistic take. I do love Zaheer tho, as a character, and what he represents to air nomads and air benders culture, and the role he plays in Tenzin’s arch (even if it’s in a more covert way). i also think that by the standdars of his philosophy he was justified in trying to it makes sense for him to try and kill Korra, she is somehow a world leader and afterall an authority figure. i do resent that the writers made him a bad anarchist. for all the talk he had of freeing the earth kingdom people of their tiranic ruler he did fail in giving the people the means of taking over the government. you don’t simply dismantle a system by killing a monarch. that is a very simplistic view of anarchism and social revolutions for that matter.

- (little note in the finale, that i just realised now: wasn’t the poison made of platinum or something? a metal metalbenders can’t bend? how come Suyin can just bend it out of Korra’s body? is this going on the list of countless things Suyin can do because she is PeRfEcT ? also, the guy putting the poison in Korra’s body, wasn’t him bending the poison? is he just a nameless dude who miraculously can bend a metal no one else can? or is he a waterbender and was only able to bend the poison on Korra’s body because it’s a liquid? if so, why was it Suyin the one to take the poison out and not Kya, a waterbender AND someone versed in healing bending? make it make sense tlok!!!)

[miraimisu]

Oh boy, what do we have here, I WANT ALL OF THEM jk can i request a 30 for kacchako? You're the best 💖

I think this is gonna be the toughest and shortest one out of them because this is too tight as plot-wise and… idk? It turned out to be a bit clumsy. I’ll just let my imagination fly. And you are the best hon, where did your creativity come from? WRITE ME A FIC TOO.

Bakugou Katsuki hated libraries.

This was general knowledge among all students that dared come near the blonde– which reduced the count to, like, a pair of people? which was a bit sad actually. But Bakugou didn’t mind having a lame social life as long as nobody took him to a library. He had actually tried some tutoring with Kirishima some months ago and trust him, being kicked out of the quietest place on Earth was everything but pleasant.

Today, however, he had no other option but stay there, in the jampacked library full of nerds listening to music or reading books like their life depended on it. All tables were taken around him: shelves were surrounded with people swarming for tons of emboilled wording, tables were packed to the brim with bags, sheets and notebooks. There was this lingering scent of wood, pine, and closeness around him, silence that tried to be silent but ended being composed of hushed murmurs.

He knew why,

It was because of his table.

His table had the best spot in the entire library. It was near enough to the entrance, but not as close as to let winter breezes reach him. There was a big window by his side, letting night snow be seen, but cars weren’t heard this late in the evening. It shows that Yuuei was going through it’s final exams– Bakugou had, no joke, been there from sun to sun and he was too tired to deal with people.

They whispered.

They whispered because his table was completely devoid of any people but him, everyone too scared to approach him lest he threw a tantrum over personal space and threw them off the window. The fire king was fierce, had possesion of the best table around and was undeniably untouchable.

Bakugou, again, hated libraries. They weren’t as silent as they preached to be, there was always this subtone of hushed voices that spoke no pragmatic matter, only petty gossiping that brought no good to his ears. He was easy into focusing, and quirk to do his homework, but that little toneless chatter was pestering him– hell, if he couldn’t stand Deku’s mumbling for a living, how was he going to condone such generalized murmuring all around him?

Another of his pencils broke in twain when he heard his name being pronounced among a pair of girls. Maybe his pencil breaking business was what got him so isolated. There were people sitting on the floor, as if truthfully fearful of the explosion boy.

Suddenly, a low voice came beside him.

“Can I sit here?” oh, he could recognize that voice anywhere. “All other tables are full.”

He pulled the chair out for Uraraka to take, and she gladly jumped in with a stack of hero law books tucked in his arms. She silently tidied her place with a little smile– people could only stare at her, mouths agape, as if she had dared to cross a forbidden threshold for all humankind. His response to her presence was almost inmediate and utmost unkind. “Don’t make any fucking noise, Uraraka. I can sniff your chatter urges a mile away.”

She rose an eyebrow to him. The first thing he noticed was the lack of spark in her brown pools, a evident sign of exhaustion that he had learnt to tell apart from other ocular displays of her– blinking ‘I need your help’ eyes, doe eyed ‘you’re so cool’ eyes, or the now ‘please I am tired don’t be too hard on me’ eyes, devoid of shine and only full of the brown color of her soul. Drowning in them was the only pathetic way he was willing to die

“I have better stuff to do other than talk with you, you know. As I said, I only sat here because there are no other tables available.”

“You can sit with all those fuckers down on the floor.” he stiffled in a yawn. “I don’t give a damn.”

She decided not to answer that and decided to focus on her books. Uraraka had decided to come to the library mostly because she was too tired to make her way to the dorms without getting some rest. Admittedly, she had expected to find the place empty so she could nap for a pair of minutes in a corner– her plan obviously backfired when the library ended up being full and she had no ther option but sit by Mr. FireHell Blondelocks.

As far as she was concerned, Bakugou’s dorm was being repaired due to some of his angry fits being thrown towards a wall, making his dorm look creepily open. That huge hole by his bed was all but tranquilizing. She should have known he would be in the library while his dorm was under repairations, because he couldn’t stand noise while studying and the crew taking care of his room would sure make too much of it.

Brief story: she was stuck with Bakugou until she finished her homework. And time was passing by way too slowly to her liking.

There was a moment when people started leaving the room. Stars twinkled outside the building and threw some shadows across the wooden floor, and lamps lit up the cozy place with a dim, orange light. Uraraka found this to be a bit too pleasant for her tired senses– there was a second in which her head fell a bit too down for Bakugou’s liking, who had been watching her silently as she started to doze off.

“Oi.” he nudged her rudely, and her head snapped up again. “Don’t go falling asleep on me.”

She started messing with her hair sheepishly, making Bakugou fidget uncomfortably in his seat. That antic of hers drove him insane: she was always doing it in front of everyone, in front of teachers, in front of fucking Deku. And he sometimes wondered what the fuck did that bastard have to make her so nervous when he couldn’t wake a single of her hairs up while being by far the most fearsome boy in their class.

“I’m sorry.” whispered she. He saw her grimace, keeping a yawn in– and it made him outwardly yawn, hand covering his mouth. “It’s been a rough day, today. I’ve been going from one place to another and I just couldn’t wait to crash the bed.”

And Bakugou understood the struggle. He was also fighting the exhaustion away, barely keeping it at bay and the fact that the staff had decided to royally mess with him by turning on the heat was not fucking helping. He had already removed his jacket and he was still a bit too warm to his liking. Knowing Uraraka and how sleepy she was, the fight must be tougher for her.

He shuffled a bit closer to her, feeling himself more tired than ever. “There’s not much people around.”

Her head rested on her palm now, looking at him with an interested gaze. “Mhm.”

“You can have your damn sleep, now.”

This– this startled her. He could have a heart, too? What was the world coming to that night? “Are you suggesting to keep watch on me… and actually let me have a little nap?”

“I am not gonna be your fucking babysitter.” spat he, crimsom eyes glaring at her despite the kindness within his flames. He eyed her unkempt hair and the dryness of her pretty stars, and her skin suddenly seemed paler than usual. “You look like a car ran over you. If you can’t take care of yourself I’ll have to show you how to fucking do it.”

He legit slammed her head against the wooden table, making a loud terrifying noise. Somebody could have mistaken that with a murdering attempt. Uraraka, however, laughed at his antics while watching the snowflakes drop before her. “I could use… some sleep.”

Bakugou almost didn’t catch what she said, as she was inmediately out of commision the moment her head crashed against the table. “Stupid woman.” mumbled he, taking a last glimpse at his diagrams and summaries while keeping an eye on her. Her hair was a mess, and he could tell it was bothering her.

Bakugou caressed her cheek with his fingertips and quickly brushed some strands away, the notion inmediately bringing him close to rage with this newfound feeling of intimacy. “Fuck this girl, fuck her!” he glared at her. “Fuck her in hell…”

But the way she was sleeping was kind of cute, too. Her head rested atop her hands, even breaths fanning some locks away and her face in peace for the first time in a while. He had never seen her so relaxed until now, and the image filled him with a sense of peace that he didn’t know he could feel until he stumbled with her.

His back was throbbing. He bet hers wasn’t right now.

She must be… comfortable, too.

Bakugou looked away and started cursing colorfully as he took his jacket from his spot on the chair’s back, and put it on top of her quiet body. The thought of her scent impregnating his clothes wouldn’t occur to him until midnight clocked by– and he would fall asleep thinking about her, too.

The blonde blushed, and all he could think about now was about how good a nap would be to him and how nice her warmth would be– he was half a meter away from her and he could already feel her whole self lulling him to sleep against his will.

That had to be illegal. His heart shouldn't be racing as hard as it was.

Eventually, Bakugou gave in and his head ended up on his arms too, both teens closer together than they had ever been– and Bakugou had taken her sweater as a paid back, he thought tiredly and without much logic, and draped it across his back. 

Uraraka shifted closer to him in her sleep, and he was only drawn to her scent. The sound of snowflakes melting against the windowpane made him remember that he hated libraries, but he would never hate this spot and he could forget about this hatred for a while as long as Uraraka was by him all the time, too.

She had had tons of space to sit at– floors and on top of shelves. But all tables had been full and, at the end of the day, he couldn’t find the heart to complain.

Aizawa eventually found both kids fast asleep on the table and sighed. “Man, kids these days. They grow up so fast.”