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cha-melodius · 2 years ago

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Consider: Illya and Napoleon in an ice hockey AU, where they are bitter rivals who play for rival NHL teams (and national teams) and who also just so happen to be carrying on a secret affair. "It's just hate sex" they tell themselves as they hook up whenever they happen to be in the same area. "I can definitely stop whenever I want," they think in complete earnest, even as they've been doing it for years. And oops, looks like somewhere along the way the hate fucking turned into love.

Firstly, I have to recommend one of my very favorite napollya AUs, Cold Frost and Sunshine by @somedrunkpirate which is in fact a hockey AU! It's rivals to friends to lovers, of course, makes excellent use of things like news stories and sports commentators, and their treatment of what coming out for a pro athlete might be like is one of the best I've read in any fandom, realistic but still hopeful. Go read it if you haven't already!

Ok, but the further details of THIS idea, the secret affair and the hate sex, is definitely not part of that story, and I gotta admit I'm into it. I've never written that type of dynamic before but now I kinda want to. It does fit them so well. And since this is a rather spicy idea, I'm putting the rest of this below a cut. No actual smut or anything nsfw but y'know. We're gonna be talking about sex, lol. Also this got crazy long. Apparently my brain just wants to plot endless AUs instead of actually writing them.

I imagine the first time they hook up, they've just had a typically frought game, because they always end up fighting and drawing matching penalties, and somehow they end up alone together in some locker room or training area or something. The teams would have different designated areas but maybe Illya would be trying to find someone on the other team, and old friend from the KHL, but everyone else has left already. Instead he walks into the locker room and finds Napoleon fresh out of the showers, with nothing but a towel around his waist. Now, this isn't the first time Illya's seen him shirtless: Napoleon is gorgeous and a playboy and so gets a lot of press, he's done risque magazine spreads, which Illya has definitely not gone out of his way to purchase (he wanted to read a different article in the issue, honestly). Illya knows that Napoleon is hot as fuck, which is just another reason he hates him, no one should be that pretty and play hockey.

It is, however, the first time Illya's seen him like this in person, and it's more than a little distressing. Napoleon absolutely catches him staring (we know Illya has a terrible poker face lol) and is a little shit about it, having found a new way to ruffle Illya's feathers, his favorite pastime. This, of course, just makes Illya angry, but as they're snarling at each other Napoleon is getting closer until he's right there, inches away, and Illya snaps. He kisses Napoleon just to shut him up, and Napoleon kisses him back just as fiercely before proceeding to shove him down onto a bench and climb into his lap (may I remind you that Napoleon is wearing only a towel... which Illya promptly tears off of him).

Afterwards, I see Illya as more than a little distressed at what they just did. He hates this guy but they just fucked and Napoleon could out him and ruin his life (though there's something deep inside him that knows that somehow Napoleon wouldn't do something like that). The anxiety over the whole thing just festers until the two teams play each other again and he finally sees Napoleon again. Napoleon acts like nothing happened, though, so Illya thinks he'll just do the same. They are still at each others' throats the whole game, and Illya books it out of there afterward to try to avoid him. But the fates are cruel to poor Illya and they end up at the same bar. After some sniping back and forth, Illya goes to the restroom to get away from him but Napoleon follows him, and you guessed it, they get down and dirty (literally) in a filthy bar restroom with their teammates just outside.

And so it goes. They're always hooking up in back rooms and out of the way places, quick and dirty, until one time one of them (let's say Napoleon) goes back to his hotel room instead (maybe took a hard hit during the game) and Illya tries to tell himself that he doesn't care, it's fine, but ends up seeking him out anyway. Napoleon's surprised by Illya showing up, and Illya almost immediately tries to leave again, but Napoleon pulls him in and they end up having a lot more intimate sex than they usually do, having to slow down and be more gentle because of his injury. They don't talk about it, natch. After that, visiting the hotel rooms becomes a thing, but they NEVER go to whoever's apartment is local. That's not what this is, what they are.

Oh, there's so much opportunity for great tropes here. Illya being stupidly jealous when Napoleon is photographed out with someone else (who was just a friend, because Napoleon is too hung up on Illya). Them worrying about each others' injuries when they really shouldn't be. Illya's past rearing its ugly head and Napoleon unexpectedly defending him. As you say, both of them insisting "this doesn't mean anything" even as it starts to mean more and more. Maybe somewhere in the middle here there's an Olympics and for the first time they're in the same place for weeks at a time, and this is when things start to really shift. They see each other every night. They actually spend time together not just having sex or playing hockey. Napoleon secretly takes Illya on what can only be called a date. Illya enjoys it (which causes no shortage of panic).

There'd need to be an angst-filled catalyst for things to change. Maybe the paparazzi catch them together somewhere, and there's nothing really damning about the photos, it's more just unexpected that they appear to be hanging out together, but Illya flips out and tries to end things. (Side note: I think I see this AU as having Napoleon established as being openly bisexual, perhaps the first to be out in the league. However, even after the photos no one thinks to speculate about the two of them being romantically involved because it's just absurd. Everyone knows they hate each other.) We have some Sad Boys and a return to snarling at each other on the ice. I might go so far as to keep them in this angsty mess (sorry) until there's another major catalyst: a trade (such a classic pro sports AU plot point lmao).

Illya gets traded to Napoleon's team, and they have to work together now. Waverly sits them down and tells them to work out their shit or else. They manage something like a truce... not returning to sleeping together, but just being around each other. They grow closer, as friends. Illya, now with a team who's PR has dealt with an openly queer player, considers for the first time coming out (related to above I see Illya's fear about being outed as a major strain on their "relationship," such as it is, but when he does decide to come out he's not coming out for Napoleon, but for himself). Eventually Napoleon starts slyly "courting" him, doing small romantic things for him and taking him on dates, and Illya doesn't even realize what's going on at first until suddenly he does. They finally, finally admit what they are to each other, and there is much rejoicing.

God, this thing would be 100k if I wrote it, lmao. Unlikely at this point, but who knows. Thanks so much for the ask, anon! You can see I definitely had fun with it!

#napollya #tmfu aus #tmfu #the man from uncle #the man from u.n.c.l.e.#headcanons and aus #plot bunnies #fic rec #napoleon solo #illya kuryakin #napoleon x illya #hockey au #asks and answers

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autumnsart22 · 4 years ago

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A Dream Come True: Shigaraki x Dabi x Reader part 2/2

Part 2 of the fanfic my friend wrote!

Warning: SMUT 🔥

Dabi strode off down the hall and you started to work on putting the rest of the groceries away, and cleaning some dishes in the sink. Shigaraki stood up from the table and walked into the kitchen. He looked around before looking at you, raising the empty beer bottle. You opened the drawer that held the trash and recycling and he threw it in with a loud clunk. He stood there in the middle of the kitchen for a little while before you finally asked,

“Can I help you?”

“You’re standing in front of the fridge.” he states plainly. You roll your eyes and move out of the way as he grabs another beer. He makes his way back to the table and sits down.

You both pass the time in silence as he sips on his beer and you finish cleaning the kitchen. At some point Dabi comes out of the bathroom still drying his hair with a towel wearing nothing but your brother's old pair of black joggers that look slightly too big but the strings in the front were tied tight preventing them from falling any lower. Dear god what have you done to deserve this? He switched with Shigaraki who took his turn in the bathroom while you scoured the apartment for extra blankets and pillows and threw them on the couch. When Shigaraki was done in the shower he came out in a long sleeve white shirt and your ex-boyfriend's old pair of grey sweatpants. He joined Dabi who had heated up one of the soba cups from the store.

“Okay I’m gonna go shower, you can just...yea” you spoke out loud trailing off as neither of them paid you any attention, and you left to go to the bathroom. You peeled off your work clothes, just some black jeans and a black blouse, throwing them into the same pile of clothes as Dabi and Shigaraki’s. You took your time washing your hair and and shaving your legs feeling like you deserved to pamper yourself a little given your night. You weren’t that tired given that you basically turned nocturnal since working at the bar. When you felt fresh and clean you dried off and wrapped yourself up in a towel to head to your room. Once you changed into some sweats and a tank top you made your way back out to the living room to find Dabi, now wearing a black t-shirt, and Shigaraki on the couch both nursing another beer while talking in hushed tones which again halted the moment they saw you. They both looked at you.

“What?” You said confused on why they were both staring at you.

“I have more questions,” Shigaraki stated, finally averting his gaze away from you, although it seemed reluctant.

“Okay...shoot” you said walking into the kitchen for a glass of water then plopping onto the middle section of the couch in between them. If there was one piece of furniture you splurged on it was this couch. It was a huge ‘U’ shape and could fit up to 10 people if they squished side by side. Shigaraki and Dabi were both sprawled on the two sides of the couch with you sitting in the bottom of the U.

“What sort of art or shit do people create about us?”

You almost choke on your water. That was not the sort of question you were expecting.

“Why?” you said suspiciously.

“You mentioned it earlier and I’m curious,” Shigaraki said, making large hand gestures swinging his beer bottle around. He must be getting kinda tipsy.

“Fine but if I’m answering these questions. I’m gonna need a stronger drink”

“All out here princess” Shigaraki says, taking the last gulp of his beer and waving it towards you.

“Same here.” Dabi says holding his beer bottle up, as though expecting you to take it. You stand up and grab both bottles and chuck them into the recycling, then grabbing a bottle of rum from the back of your cabinet. You make your way back to the couch and take a large swig shuddering as it goes down. Shigaraki motions for the bottle and you hand it over passing it to Dabi afterwards.

“Okay so back to my question”

“Well people write and draw all kinds of shit. Everything from just realistic art or funny art to overtly sexual” Shigaraki raises an eyebrow at this.

“What you don’t believe me?” You ask laughing slightly cause if only they knew.

“People think of crusty in that way?” Dabi laughs.

“Hey like you’re any better staples. Y/N who do people like more?” Shigaraki shoots.

“That’s gotta be Dabi. He’s pretty well known as being attractive”

“Fuck you” Shigaraki pouts and Dabi smirks to himself.

“Hey it’s not my fault, and trust me there’s still a ton of shit about you. And some of both of you” You said this last part quickly while taking another large swallow of rum. You couldn’t help yourself.

“What do you mean the both of us?” Dabi and Shigaraki looked at you hesitantly.

“Well people like to put you two together. It’s called shipping, or they just pair you together as like a duo in fanfiction”

Both of their reactions looked like they were about to gag and murder the other at just the thought of what people had had them do to eachother.

“Okay that’s the most disgusting thing I have ever heard in my life” Dabi says reaching for the bottle which you hand over willingly.

“Moving on from that,” Shigaraki says, shaking his head as though to physically erase his mind. “So Y/N you’re obviously a fan. Who are your favorites?”

“I don’t know. I have a lot of people I like and don’t like. It depends.” At this point your brain was becoming warm and fuzzy but you didn’t want to let anything slip out that could be potentially embarrassing or would make the two men turn against you.

“Bullshit. Spill”

“I told you it depends”

“On what?” he said this with a sneer.

“I don’t know” You said exasperatedly. “my mood, who’s been most present in the media. It just depends on what I’m looking for.”

“What you’re looking for?” Dabi repeated confusedly.

“Next question” You state simply.

The two villains raise their eyebrows at you, curious at your evasion of the question, but your lips stay shut.

“Fine we’ll come back to that one Princess.” Shigaraki complies.“What do we look like in the show? I mean do we look different in real life?”

“Shouldn’t we be trying to figure out how to get you guys back?” you ask.

“Not much we can do about it. I’m sure the rest of the league and Kurogiri are tracking down those thugs right now, so answer my question”

“I don’t know. I guess you look kinda different, but I can still recognize you. I can show you if you want?” Shigaraki looks at you with affirmation. You get up to get your computer which you hook up to the tv screen in front of the couch. Dabi and Shigaraki turn so they can see the television, both laying down on their backs. You open your laptop (sorry I am basing it off my computer) and type in your password.

“Is that Shoto?” Dabi says disgustedly. There was in fact a fanart picture of Todoroki amongst the collage that was your background screen.

“Oh yeah. He would be in the it depends list” you say timidly quickly opening up the browser to cover up the background.

“Why the fuck did he look like some 20 year old model?”

“I told you, it’s fanart. People draw characters the way they see them or want to see them. Shoto is also really popular amongst fans if not the most I would say”

Dabi makes a noise of revulsion. You turn back to start typing in Shigaraki’s name into the browser and instantly images pop up as well as the fandom wiki and regular wiki articles. You click on images and start to scroll through.

“This is weird” Shigaraki says slightly in awe but disturbed at seeing this world's visions of his life. “Here give me that” he says gesturing towards your computer. You hand it over reluctantly.

“Seriously?!” he says grabbing the laptop.

“What?” you say hesitantly. Did you forget to close out of something?

He lifts the computer for Dabi to also see the two stickers on the sides of your trackpad.

“The anger explosion boy and pro eraserhead?” Dabi said, judgement was obvious in his tone.

“What?” you said defensively.

“Nothing I just thought you’d be a villain girl and all”

WTF, you think. What was that supposed to mean?

“Why do you think that? And who says I’m not?”

Dabi raised an eyebrow in interest but didn't answer your taunts, instead turning back to the screen. Shigaraki has been scrolling through and tapping on pictures of himself making little noises and reactions.

“This is fucking weird” He states again, the screen was stopped on a very sultry piece of fanart of Shigaraki.

“Take that down you freak. No one needs to see your crusty dusty body like that. Hand it over.” Dabi tells Shigaraki.

Shigaraki passes the computer over and Dabi searches his own name seeing all the pictures of him, although significantly more fanart pops up for him. He scrolls for a little bit but becomes weirded out or downright just bored at the photos of him. He then goes back to the wikipedia page and starts to read. While the two men continue to look at the screen and read information about their show, you stand up and head to the kitchen feeling peckish. You wander through the kitchen opening and closing all the cabinets waiting for something to catch your eye. You open the fridge and close it moving onto the freezer. Your eyes scan the contents when you spot the pint of chocolate fudge ice cream. You take it out and grab a spoon making your way back to the couch. When you get to the couch both Shigaraki and Dabi are staring at you again with intensity and amusement.

“What?” you say, plopping back into your spot, struggling to tear open the plastic and resorting to using your teeth. With both of them still staring at you as though waiting for something, you look at the screen and see that your messages are open. You take a second to read the new text from your friend.

‘Dude have you read this Shiggy Dabs fanfic? It made me 🤤🥵’

‘This ones similar to the last one you sent me, so be prepared⛓️😂’

Your heart sank as you saw the familiar logo of Ao3 underneath those texts.

“What were you saying about being a villain girl?” Dabi said, smirking.

“I––” You had no idea what to say.

“Aww is the Princess embarrassed” Shigaraki says teasingly.

You try to get up to leave but a hand roughly pulls you back down and you hide behind your hands refusing to look at the two villains. This was so embarrassing. What were you going to do? Now they knew that you liked them. That you were like the other people in this world that they had been disgusted by all night. They weren’t likely to just let this go. If only you could get to your room and lock the door maybe they would just leave.

“Come on don’t be shy. Are we on your depends list?”

They take your silence and continued evasion as an affirmation.

“Hmm…” You hear Dabi hum lowly. “What exactly are we dependent on? What are you looking for when you search for us?” Dabi asks, already knowing the answer.

“Come on tell us” Shigaraki coos. You shake your head. You could feel both of the boys drawing closer to you like school bullies cornering you in the bathroom, but you didn’t dare look up at them, too embarrassed. That’s when you heard typing. Your head whips up to see Dabi replying to your friend.

‘What exactly do you mean by similar?’

By the time you read what he wrote they were already responding.

‘You know 😂 the usual non-con threesome with you and dabs and shigs. Kidnapping, ropes, degradation, similar to all the other fanfics 😋 tho in this one you cum four times and each a dif way😳 ’

If your stomach dropped even more. It would have touched the ground.

“So not only are you a villain’s girl but you’re a kinky little slut too?” Dabi says chuckling. He was practically next to you staring at your frozen figure as you looked at the screen.

“I should have known when you walked out here with these cute little things poking out” He reached over and pinched your nipple tugging on the metal barbell through it. You squealed instinctually pulling away but he caught the top of your tank top effectively pulling it down revealing your breasts, each decorated with a metal piercing.

You motion to cover them, but your hands are once again forced behind your back, however this time Shigaraki had the pleasure of restraining you.

“Let go of me!” you yelped at the humiliating assault.

“I thought you liked this?” Dabi said in mock sympathy. “Just how many times have you gotten off to us?”

You were squirming trying to remove yourself from Shigaraki’s grip.

“Answer the question” Dabi said, pinching your nipple again. You yelped in pain but you could feel the slick starting to build between your legs.

“A lot okay. Now let go!”

Dabi and Shigaraki complied surprisingly. You regained your breath and pulled your tank top back up. The next few minutes passed in silence as Shigaraki took another swig of rum and Dabi continued to scroll through the different My Hero wikipedia pages. You got up still in shock taking your forgotten ice cream back to the freezer. You had lost your appetite.

What were you supposed to do now? You were still slightly scared of them after what just happened but you couldn’t ignore the arousal that had been sparked deep within you. You had dreamt of this many times. This wasn’t much different than the different fanfiction you had read, and honestly this would be on the tamer end, but that was just fiction. But were you really going to pass up this chance? How could you? Yet why’d they stop? You were surprised and honestly kinda disappointed they had now that you were standing in the kitchen. And with that you had made up your mind. You are not going to pass up this chance you could never forgive yourself.

You made your way back over to the couch but didn’t sit down. You stood in front of them silent staring at your feet, trying to figure out what you wanted to say.

“What?” Dabi said as though nothing had happened.

“Why’d you stop?” you asked timidly.

“Hmm? Because you said so.” Dabi said as though this was an obvious answer to a stupid question.

You looked at him surprised.

“Don’t believe me?” He said with a small chuckle.

When you didn’t seem to get any less anxious he continued with a sigh.

“Look Princess, I may be a bastard and sadistic villain but I don’t go wishing pain on everyone, especially ones with cute tits. Of course if they’re into that then I’m down” He said this so casually it seemed almost wrong, all while he continued to watch your computer screen. You assumed it was in part due to the alcohol, but still.

“you’re blocking the screen,” Shigaraki said annoyed.

“Was that all princess?” Dabi said mockingly

“Well….”

“What?” Shigaraki spat.

“Hurry up,” Dabi said flatly.

“What if I wanted to continue?” You said finally looking up at them. They both looked at you intently, then gave each other a look and were smiling when their eyes fell back to you.

“Our little Princess wants to live out her dirty villainous fantasies...huh?”

You nod. Wait did they just say our?

“Come on tell us what you’ve dreamt about?” Dabi says beckoning you over to him with one finger.

Once you’re in front of him, he pulls you down onto his lap so you're facing him. You look at him hesitantly biting your lip.

“You’re the expert of these little situations, Princess” he says holding his hands up for you to guide them. You take his hands slowly, unsure of your actions and guide them back to your breasts. He gives you a smirk and gives you a good squeeze, causing a small moan to escape your throat. You instinctually grind down into his lap feeling his member start to harden beneath you. You lean your head back as Dabi pulls your tank top over your head. You look over at Shigaraki who’s staring at you starting to palm himself through the sweats.

“Him too princess?” Dabi asks you, giving your nipples a pinch causing you to moan all the while still staring at Shigaraki “Mmmhmmm”

This was enough for Shigaraki to slide down the couch to where the two of you were.

“Tell him where you want him, otherwise he won’t know what to do, I can’t imagine he’s done this before” Dabi encourages.

“Oh shut up” Shigaraki hisses, but he focuses back on you when you grab his hand and bring it to your neck. He insticutally keeps one finger raised, but you push that finger down with the rest deep into the side of your neck limiting the oxygen flowing to your brain, enough to give you that high. Flooded with pleasure you grind down again into Dabi feeling your underwear starting to become uncomfortably wet.

Looking into Shigaraki’s crimson eyes, you could feel them boring into you just as hungry as you felt. He leans in close, lips barely ghosting over your own. You could feel both of your breaths mixing in the millimeters between you two when Dabi gives a harsh tug to both your nipples causing you to gasp. Shigaraki seized this opportunity to violently smash your lips together. Your hand reaches into his hair, gripping for support as the initial ferver and clash of teeth dies down into long passionate tangling of tongues as you explore each other's mouth. His rough lips scratching into your’s was a sensation you’ve imagined many times but none of it lived up to reality. He nipped lightly on your bottom lip making you lean into him more.

Dabi’s hands continued their exploration of your torso, moving down your sides to your hips and around to your ass. He squeezed and kneaded them with his strong fingers. Shigaraki squeezed your neck again sending another rush of euphoria to your head making you moan into his mouth before he pulled away to attack your neck and take over teasing your breasts. You look back at Dabi with hunger in your eyes.

“What now princess? What do you want?” He says with a devilish grin.

You grind down into his cock again which is now hard as ever.

“Uh-uh. Use your words.” he says giving your ass a squeeze.

Shigaraki rolls your nipples in between his harsh fingers sending waves of pleasure and pain throughout your body, causing you to roll your head again and let out a short moan. When you look back at Dabi, you speak in a low breathy tone, almost a whisper.

“Abuse me”

With those few words, Dabi smirks and slips his hands underneath the waistband of your sweats. “As you wish”

Shigaraki continues his attack to your neck sucking and biting, leaving red and darkened patches curving down your shoulder and back. Dabi continued his groping, and you could feel the rough staples scratching at your flesh and his nails digging in harsher than before. His hands slide down the curve of your ass tugging your soiled underwear to the side.

“Hmmm you’re so wet.” Dabi said, ghosting his fingers over your dripping entrance.

“You little whore. Getting so wet for a couple of villains” You shiver at the sensitive touch and degrading words. Gripping to Shigaraki’s shirt and grinding down trying to gain friction, you notice Shigaraki palming himself again. You replace his hand with your own, wrapping your fingers around his clothed cock, squeezing lightly. Shigaraki groaned deeply in your ear, sending vibrations straight to your core while Dabi’s fingers dip slightly into your needy hole but only enough to tease more juices and whimpers out of you. You try to push down onto them only for him to retreat.

“Please...stop teasing” you whine.

“So needy Princess huh? You want my fingers in that little cunt of yours?”

“Yes. Dabi. Please” you didn't care at this point how pathetic you sounded. The pressure in your core was building and you needed to be pushed over the edge.

“Go on...make yourself cum on my fingers. Show me how much you want it,” Dabi said sneering at how desperate you looked. He finally allowed two fingers to sink into you as you lowered your hips again. You were always amazed at how much deeper fingers other than your own could reach, and Dabi’s in particular could reach places you could never dream of finding on your own.

The effect was immediate. You started to roll your hips, bouncing slightly on Dabi’s fingers. You’re grip on Shigarak’s member stalls as you’re overwhelmed with pleasure. Shigaraki, displeased by this fact, guides you inside his sweats, pumping himself with your hand. You could feel the precum leaking from his slit as your fingers smear it up and down his shaft. Shigaraki continued his abuse of your flesh, moving down biting and sucking till his teeth latched onto your sensitive nipple. You whine as Dabi’s other hand had found your clit. He twirled it between his fingers letting his nail drag over it. This added stimulation drove you closer sending shivers up your spine.

“Mm close” you whimper as your movements on Dabi’s fingers become sloppy.

“Come on princess. Make yourself cum, make a pretty little mess all over my fingers”

Dabi presses into your clit and you grind down hard again. Dabi wickedly curls his fingers pressing into that soft spot inside you releasing the knot of pressure that had been building in your core.Your legs shake and you clamp down hard onto his fingers which are still moving in and out of you, prolonging your orgasm.

You weakly fall forward onto Dabi’s chest as Shigaraki releases your hand from his dick. You can feel Dabi’s fingers pull out of you and when you open your eyes you see him playing with your sticky release coating his fingers. You watch as Dabi brings his fingers to his mouth, smearing some on his lip and licking it before taking them into his mouth, sucking and cleaning yourself off of him.

“Princess you’re delicious” He says smiling down at you making you blush at the crude compliment.

“My turn to taste'' Shigaraki said, pulling you off Dabi’s lap. He positioned you on your back, your head resting on Dabi’s thigh. As Shigaraki did away with your sweats and underwear, you pulled Dabi’s mismatched lips to yours. The feeling was heavenly. You could still taste yourself on his tongue as he explored your mouth. You tugged needily at Dabi’s shirt and he pulled it off only breaking the kiss for a brief moment.

You savored the wet and slow pace opposite to Shigaraki’s fast and rough, both pleasure in their own ways. You’re breath hitched and you moaned deeply when you felt Shigaraki’s wet tongue lick the length of your core, swiping up the sticky left overs from your previous release.

You look down at Shigaraki. He had positioned himself between your thighs, knees slumped over his shoulders. He was staring up at you licking his lips before attaching himself to your clit sucking at it harshly. You could feel that ball of pressure tighten again in your stomach and you let your head fall back to Dabi’s thigh, eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of the hot wet mouth working at your sex. You’re hand threaded its way into Shigaraki’s silky blue hair, tugging lightly, only making him suck harder.

You felt Dabi’s hand on your cheek and you opened your eyes looking up into his sapphire eyes before he turned your head. You were met with Dabi’s unclothed cock. Your eyes followed the Jacobs ladder of staples up his shaft to the head where you could see a bead of precum sitting at the slit. You smile thinking how in the hell fanfic got this detail right.

“What’re you smiling at? Impressed?”

“Hmm...No piercing, huh? Guess they got that part wrong”

“You people are sick” he says chuckling before directing his dick into your mouth.

You take it gladly bobbing your head down his shaft, hollowing your cheeks before sliding back up, letting your tongue catch on each of the staples. Dabi let out a low groan, putting his hand in your hair to keep it away from your face.

You continue to work your mouth on Dabi’s cock while Shigaraki continues to swipe his tongue through your sensitive folds. You moan around Dabi’s length when Shigaraki slips a finger inside, causing you to buck your hips, pushing his tongue deeper into you.

The vibrations from your tight throat had Dabi pushing your head down taking his entire length. You gagged around his cock, choking for air but that only drove you further into your pleasure. Shigaraki added another finger and started pistoning into you violently while sucking at your clit once again. You moaned, tugging at Shigaraki’s hair, signaling you were close. You could tell Dabi was close too as he took control and started face fucking you, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust.

Shigaraki added a third finger stretching you wider and driving you over the edge for the second time as you gasped around Dabi’s cock, legs squeezing around Shigaraki. Your orgasm drove Dabi to the edge as he thrust into you again and kept your head down as your throat tightened around his length. Thick ropes of cum shot from the tip and slid down the back of your throat. You took it all swallowing until you couldn’t breathe anymore pushing Dabi away. You’re head lolled on Dabi’s lap as you recovered from your high.

Dabi was leaning back breathing deeply with his eyes closed. Your brain was still foggy but it wasn’t long until you felt something back against your sex. Looking down you see Shigaraki lining himself up with your entrance, coating his cock in your juices. Your eyes widen at seeing his length out in the open. It was not as decorated as Dabi’s but it held the same presence, being about an inch longer although not as thick as Dabi’s. Shigaraki looks up at you when he lines himself up, the tip merely resting against you, and sees your nervous expression.

“Huh didn’t think I was getting you this wet for nothing. I ain’t wasting a drop of this pussy”

He stared into your eyes as he steadily pushed into you. The stretch was almost unbearable. You squeezed your eyes shut trying to make it through the burning stretch.

“Shit you’re tight. Feels like my dick is in a vice... fuuuuuck… relax” Shigaraki hissed.

You could barely register his voice let alone his request. You could barely breath focusing only on the pain as Shigaraki continued to push against your walls.

“Hey patchwork stop sleeping and get her to breathe”

Dabi shifts underneath you and you feel his hands run down your sides outlining your torso. Even though he didn’t have his quirk, his hands were hot and soothing as they rubbed against your skin.

“Come on Princess.” You open your eyes slightly to see Dabi looking down at you patronizingly.

“You’ve been doing so well,” He said brushing your jaw with the back of his hand. “And you wanna feel good right?”

You nod meekly.

Dabi leans down so his lips are hovering centimeters over yours. The smell of alcohol on his breath tantalizing and his minty scent making your head spin.

“Breathe Princess. Just focus on me” He whispers before putting his lips on yours. You melt into the kiss doing exactly what Dabi says, exhaling through your nose and focusing on the way his cold staples scratch against your skin while his soft tongue dances with your own.

When you break the kiss for air it’s only because Shigaraki has managed to bury himself to the hilt. You can feel him pressing against your cervix deep inside you. You look at him again and find him head tilted back, eyes closed, taking in the feeling of you pulsing around him. Even though you know it’s not out of consideration but pure self indulgence, you're glad that he hasn’t started moving yet as you adjust to his length. Eventually it seems the lust of needing to rearrange your insides trumped being his own personal cockwarmer. His eyes fell on you again as you pulled out till only the tip was inside before bottoming out once again. Each time slowly pulling out only to thrust back in at full force.

You were still adjusting to his length, but soon the burning sensation of being stretched and pounded turned into addicting pleasure. You resumed your kiss with Dabi whose hands had found their way to your breast as Shigaraki increased his pace. Soon you were being knocked senseless by Shigaraki’s ruthless pace. He always has been fast on screen, so why did you think he’d be any different here. Moans and gasps escaped your mouth as the tip of Shigaraki’s cock hit your cervix. Once again the pressure began to build in your core. You began to whimper as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuckkk I’m close. It’s like you're pulling me deeper. So fucking good” Shigaraki panted out falling to his hands on either side of your hips for support. You whimper again and claw at the couch cushions as you could feel yourself just on the brink when Dabi’s hand slides down your stomach and begins rubbing at your clit. You cry out and clamp down hard on Shigaraki legs shaking and eyes rolling back as Dabi’s ministrations send you through your third orgasm of the night.

You feel Shigaraki thrust once more hard and then hot thick jets of white paint your walls. You shudder at the feeling of being pumped full, your sex still milking him of everylast drop. Shigaraki finally pulls out of you and lays back on the couch catching his breath savoring the last waves of his high falling down.

You too were recuperating and limp, unable to move. Your mind was hazy from the alcohol and the relentless stimulation. You were so tired that you didn’t even care about cleaning up but rather drifting off to sleep right there. However you were jostled from these thoughts as Dabi had rolled you off his lap and onto your stomach. You could hardly keep up with his movements as he stood and walked around you. It wasn’t until you felt a pair of hands lifting your hips that you looked back to see Dabi fisting is dick that looked painfully hard. You couldn’t fathom another round right now but you were still so weak from your last high that you didn’t have time to prepare before Dabi thrusted into your already abused hole.

He sighed once he was buried inside you. He leaned down so his chest was hovering above your back the heat making your skin prickle. He leaned down till his breath could be felt on the back of your neck.

“Mhmm… ’m so close already and you’re gonna let me pump you full, aren’t you princess”

You couldn’t respond because your overly sensitive body was already reacting to Dabi's hard cock pressing into you, stretching you wider around his girth. Even though your mind was fading in and out, you involuntarily pressed your hips back to make him go deeper, seeking out the friction your body needed to overdose on.

Dabi was the exact opposite of Shigaraki. He took his time, thrusting in and out, making sure you felt every staple and ridge of his cock dragging against your walls savoring the way they pulled him in. Overstimulation caused tears to form in the corners of your eyes only soft whimpers escaping your mouth. Dabi continued slow and deliberate, letting out low breathy grunts with every thrust. On the edge once more, never fully recovering from before, you were longing to be undone one last time.

“Please Dabi” you mewl.

Dabi snickered in your ear before snaking his hand under you and pressing his fingers to your clit which was all the stimulation you needed to moan out and squeeze around Dabi who came at the feeling of your gummy walls constricting around his pulsing length. You felt his seed fill you up and mix with Shigaraki’s inside you. Dabi dropped down next to you, rolling you onto your side so you were effectively spooning with his cock still inside you. You could hear movement apart from you and Dabi, and in opening your eyes you saw Shigaraki standing pulling up the sweats that were bunched at his thighs. He noticed you staring at him.

“Tch. I don’t cuddle Princess and I gotta piss” His tone was crude but laced with content from having a good fuck. “Don’t let a single drop out Dabi” Shigaraki stated before walking down the hall.

Dabi didn’t respond but seemed to have no intent on moving as you felt his member begin to soften inside you. You couldn’t be more concerned about the implications behind Shigaraki’s comment or the fact that you still had a dick inside you. You were just tired and groggy from the night's events and thankful that you were finally able to be comfortable and close your eyes. You didn’t think Dabi was really a cuddle after sex with a stranger kinda guy but you weren’t complaining. He was warm and made you feel safe despite knowing he would most likely kill you in any other context. You let your eyes close again, head falling onto Dabi’s arm, giving into the waves of exhaustion coming over you.

When Shigaraki came back from the bathroom he found you and Dabi still in the exact same position he left you in. Dabi opened his eyes when he heard Shigaraki come back into the room.

“Is she out?” Shigaraki asked.

“Think so,” Dabi said, finally pulling out of you and tugging the joggers back up to his hips. He slides out from behind you, but you don’t even realize, body only curling inwards at the loss of heat. Dabi stands and looks down at you with Shigaraki. You look so worn out and peaceful. Your body exposed for them, hickeys and bruises forming where Shigaraki ravaged your neck. Your ass is still red from the pounding, and welts forming where Dabi’s strong fingers dug into you. However the best part was probably the shine of slick spread on the inside of your thighs as a stream white cum dribbled from your used hole.

Shigaraki notices this and sits down by your feet.

“What’re you doing?”

“I told you I don’t want any of it out. Got a problem with that?”

“Nope.” Dabi said rolling his eyes and walking away. “I’ve learned to not try and figure out your sick mind”

Shigaraki looked back down at you.

“Good. I have plans for her.” Dabi rolled his eyes again and walked down the hall to the bathroom. Shigaraki ran a hand up your thigh and you flexed at his touch, still unconscious. Shigaraki ran his fingers down the length of your core smearing the juices there before scooping up the stream of cum still leaking out of you and pushing it back inside you. His two fingers easily slipped into your stretched whole, but that didn’t stop a small whine from slipping from your throat. Shigaraki moved his fingers lazily in and out of you pushing the cum deeper. His eyes shot to your face when your hips bucked instinctively against him, your face was scrunched and staggered breaths and sniffs escaping your slightly parted lips, but you were still out, lost in whatever continued fantasy your fatigued brain was conjuring.

Shigaraki pushed into you a few more times selfishly pressing into the soft spot inside you that had you clamp down onto his fingers one last time. You gasped and curled further into a ball. When Shigaraki pulled his fingers out you hummed, face still scrunched, but he got up and left to the kitchen to wash off his hands.

When Dabi came back he met Shigaraki in the kitchen grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter.

“What do we do now?” Dabi asked casually.

“Well I don’t know ‘bout you but I’m fucking exhausted”

“Do you really think the rest of the league will be able to figure this out?”

“Kurogiri is smart enough, even if the rest of the league is useless with this sort of thing. However I am curious what this sick twisted universe has to offer us”

“Whatever you say” Dabi says walking back to the couch, and lifting you bridal style. You lean into his warmth as he carries you to your bedroom plopping you down on your bed and closing the door.

When you open your eyes the next morning, you feel your head throbbing against your skull. The bright light streaming in through your window was enough to make you want to stab the sun till it was nothing more than an ember. You closed your eyes again trying to remember the dream you were having but as you searched your brain, pieces of your dream seemed to turn into memories. You shot your eyes open and sat up. It was just a dream right? Realizing you were naked and that your skin felt sticky and dirty was enough to make your head pound harder than before. Wasn’t the fact you were hungover proof enough that last night events had taken place? No, there was still a chance you had just gotten drunk and imagined it all, but you had to be sure. You sprang out of bed and pulled on some loose shorts and a shirt, impatiently throwing open the door and speeding down the hall to where the proof you needed would be.

The living room was lit by the bright sunlight streaming through the curtains. The golden rays illuminated messy blankets and pillows strewn across the couch, an empty rum bottle, a pair of your sweats and tank top buried on the floor, but no one was there. You felt nauseous trying to piece everything together along with the aftermath of the alcohol. You rush to the sink in the kitchen and puke up the contents of your stomach. You grip the counter and close your eyes until you felt more confident in your body's ability to keep everything inside. You slowly open your eyes and look around, mind going back to what happened last night. However you get sidetracked by a bright blue sticky note sticking up from your countertop. Walking over to it you read.

“Kurogiri is a smart man. We’ll be back Princess. PS I want the blood out of my pants.”

#shigaraki #shiggy #tomura #Dabi #shigaraki x dabi #dabi x shigaraki #dabi x reader #shigaraki x dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #smut #anime #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #spicy

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writingonesdreams · 3 years ago

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Sortinghatchats - The Bold Type

Check out @sortinghatchats and @wisteria-lodge for explanation of the system. Spoilers ahead.

I get the impression Bold Type is a very lion centric show. Its characters are constantly looking for causes, for ways to make the world a better place, to find agendas and make a point through whatever means at their disposal.

Kat seems like the easiest to sort. She is bold, unapologetic, she runs against the door and any obstacle with a lion determination, and has to be alerted to her methods being inconsiderate or even painful for others. When she thinks something is right, she is going to speak up and rage against it, no matter the personal cost to herself. She gets fired from her beloved job because she wants to make a superior pay for supporting hate groups. She goes on a rampage promoting man nipples when Instagram forbids her from making pictures of women breasts. Becoming an activist in the later seasons also reflects this. A lion primary with a cause and with lion secondary ways in how she treats problems, barges through people, and responds to her emotions. Kat can't help but say exactly what she means and feels. Rather telling Adena she is attracted to other girls than keeping it secret to spare her feelings, telling Sutton exactly what she thinks about her safe high paying job that's boring as heck, beating a guy up who insults Adena during their date. A screaming improvising lion to boot. Though she does adopt some snake ways along the way, getting creative and using different angles to get out of tricky situation, like when she finds a way to fulfill her contract to Whole Spa by promoting their products on instagram while calling them out on being racist in the same video.

Jane is a bit harder to sort, since it's her methods that are the most obvious about her character. Jane makes lists of pros and cons. She makes meticulous research for her reporter job and she loves it. Relying on facts, checking over that everything fits, observing situations. Writing for her is a assemble of tools, ways to approach a topic right. She is a clear bird secondary. While all three girls are characteristics for putting their friendship above all else - from romantic interests to jobs - Jane is as much as an cause fighter as Kat. She looks for stories to help people, especially women. She writes her Failing Feminist vertical to help vulnerable women, to tell their stories, to bring down abusive bosses, to raise awareness. Obsessing over politics and higher meanings for her articles from the early season 1, when she starts to get comfortable and confident enough in her position and talent as a writer, she enjoys taking on the challenge of difficult topics. It fires her up. Loyalty and appreciation to Jacqueline, she sees as a mother figure nor to the magazine Scarlet itself that rised her up, stop her from going after more lucrative job for herself in Incite, not realizing how important team and work environment are. When she gets invested in a story, she won't let go just cause it's uncomfortable for her sources or even to people she loves, like Jacqueline. Her relationship with Ryan is based on attraction and similarities as writers, and she doesn't mind starting with sex only, but she breaks up with him the first time, because him hooking up with others girls (which was their mutual deal) doesn't match what she wants from a relationship, wanting loyalty and love for herself. They break up again in season 4, not because Ryan cheated on her, but because he couldn't fess up, when honesty and telling hard truths is Jane's motto and credo in life and she wants a person that values it the same. A lion bird from what I can see.

Sutton might be the hardest to sort. She doesn't have a cause to follow per se, she follows her dream job in fashion, which however counts for lions. It's a hard bumpy journey to decide to pursue it though, working her ass off to keep it and be promoted, to do what she does and loves best and then to find her way in it. Sutton almost doesn't let herself think about it, needing money, trying to be practical. But she is so sad about it. She stifles her own feelings and desires in order to survive in the society she can't rely on because of her drunk mom and hard childhood. When she does come into herself at the beginning of the first season, she thrives. She glows, sparkles, finds her confidence. While being plagued by insecurities if she is enough the whole series, she truly and beautifully shines when doing what she loves in fashion, when she goes after her goals. Sutton is independent, and breaks up with the love of her life, Richard, several times because he poses a risk to her career and reputation. She won't let him pay for her and help her just cause he is 15 years older wealthy suitor, which gets on his nerves. And she chooses to be always honest about her feelings no matter how uncomfortable they are to hear to him, like when she tells him she won't move with him to San Francisco, because of her promotion and she doesn't want kids, because she loves her life dedicated to her job as it is. Sutton isn't people driven, so neither snake or badger, so her cause could be considered her dream and love for fashion, a lion primary. But her secondary looks like a badger to me. Sutton is a charming. She can befriend anyone, put models at ease, call out bad behaviour with diplomatic nuance. To get Oliver's trust she works harder than anyone, looking for ways to help and please. Integrity and showing up are her get go ways to approach problems and challneges.

The lion primary all three share would explain how they get along so well. As mentioned before, no matter their causes or dreams, these friends put everything on the line for each other. They understand and support each other, because they just get where each is coming from, they are proud at each other's fights for the purpose, for improvement, and they call each other out on judgemental or emotional choices. Their bond even shows how strong friendships can be for lions - just cause they aren't loyalists doesn't mean they can't be dedicated and loving to each other, while going after their own things. It reminds me of what @nectargrapes said about lion love yesterday in her posts.

That's my reading, feel free to suggest or discuss any improvements to the sortings if I'm reading them wrong.

Kat - lion lion

Jane - lion bird

Sutton - lion badger

#sortinghatchats #the bold type #the bold type sorting #character analysis #lion primary #lion bird #lion badger #lion lion #my sortings

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gamergirl929 · 4 years ago

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Don't Let Your Past Ruin Your Present (USWNT x Reader)

Anonymous Request: Would you feel comfortable writing a USWNT x baby reader when she’s only just turning 21 but she’s struggled with addiction for a while cause her childhood home wasn’t the best, so the media finds out and backlashes her so the team comes to her aid and supports her.

This one is pretty heavy guys, so forewarning.

Mentions of past drug use, past alcohol abuse, past abuse, addiction,

Tears wells up in your eyes as you stare down at your phone, your hands shaking violently.

You drop your phone onto the hotel room’s bed before you make your way to the balcony, the heavy falling rain not deterring you in anyway as you step out onto the balcony, tilting your head back so the rain showers down on you.

They’d found out.

The world had found out.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

***

“Where’s Y/N?” Kelley asks with a yawn, stretching her arms high above her head as she plops down in the empty seat beside Alex.

“You didn’t see her?” Christen asks, confused and the defender shakes her head.

“Guys...”

The look on Megan’s face makes everyone freeze, their eyes narrowed as her mouth opens and closes a few times before she finally speaks.

An anonymous source from USWNT player Y/N Y/L/N’s past contacted TMZ earlier this afternoon with inside information about USWNT Player Y/N Y/L/N that has never been released to the public.

Megan glances around the table, her teammates hanging on her every word as she reads the article.

The USWNT player was known to have addictive tendencies, abusing alcohol, marijuana, cocaine, ecstasy, the list goes on and on, all these addictions before the age of 18.

Christen basically leaps to her feet, along with the rest of the team, the forward leading the charge as she runs back to you room, forgoing the elevator instead taking the stairs, she had the stamina and there was no way she was going to wait for it, a number of the other players following her lead.

Christen, unsurprisingly, gets to the room first, knocking on the door hard, but gets no answer.

The keycard is in her hand seconds later, courtesy of Tobin who’d grabbed it from Mallory before chasing after Christen.

Everyone is sprinting down the hall as Christen shoves the door open.

“Y/N!?” She calls out, seeing your phone lying on the bed and you on the balcony outside, sitting in the heavily pouring rain, your face buried in your hands.

Christen frowns as she moves onto the balcony, uncaring that she’s getting completely soaked as she drops down in front of you.

“Y/N...” She whispers and you shake your head.

“No one was ever supposed to find out...” You whisper and she frowns.

“You’re freezing Y/N, let’s get you inside.”

You move to your feet with no resistance, your head down as you move into your room.

“Come on sweetie.” Ali slips an arm around you, the two women walking you into the bathroom.

“Let’s get you something warm to change into.”

***

Soon you’re back in bed, wearing dryer clothes and are significantly warmer considering you’re literally surrounded by your teammates, Christen, Tobin, Ali, Ashlyn, Kelley and Alex holding you the closest.

No one had asked you about the article, instead switching the TV on, acting as If this were any other movie night.

“It was the only way to get any sort of relief...” You finally mumble, everyone turning to you, eyes wide.

You clam up under their gaze, but Christen and Tobin’s hands running down your back, along with the others hands on you in some other way eggs you on.

“At least when I was high, or wasted I felt something other than pain.” You hang your head in shame. “It was my escape...”

“What were you trying to escape from?” Emily asks with a frown and you fidget nervously.

“If you don’t want to talk about it you don’t have to.” Carli smiles and you nod, swallowing hard.

Everyone turns back to the movie, knowing that expectantly leering at you would make you more than uncomfortable.

You lean against Christen the forward leaning her head against yours.

“My parents...” You take Christen’s hand, staring at the woman’s fingers as you nervously fiddle with them.

“They weren’t good people... They enjoyed slapping me around when they weren’t drunk or high... Eventually...”

You huff, a piece of hair falling in your face that Ashlyn immediately tucks behind your ear, the woman’s smile soft.

“Eventually I fell into a similar crowd...It wasn’t long until my ‘so called’ friends offered me alcohol.” You close your eyes, hoping to keep your tears at bay.

“After that it was marijuana...”

Alex’s eyes fluttered shut, her heart aching in her chest.

“And after that it as cocaine...”

Kelley leans against the forward, their fingers tangling together.

“And after that it was ecstasy...”

Tobin turns her head, leaning her forehead against your upper arm.

“And after that...” You shake your head, shrugging. “I can’t remember...”

You keep your head down, the sound of your teammate’s soft sniffles making you bury your face in your hands.

“It was easy to get. It was easy to keep going. I couldn’t feel when they were smacking me around...”

Tears run down your cheeks, pooling in your hands.

“I couldn’t feel anything.” You sob, Tobin and Christen’s arms wrapping tightly around you, as well as the other’s forming a mob around you, everyone holding each other as they crowd you.

You cry into your hands.

“Once I started shooting up, I couldn’t exactly hide it at school, I was coming to class plastered, I was sneaking sips from a flask in my locker...” You shake your head, body wracked with sobs.

You start to rock, mumbling into the palms of your hands as Christen and Tobin hold you the tightest, Tobin whispering softly in your ear.

“They eventually found out... They found out everything, about my drug abuse, about my parent’s abuse... and before I realized what has happening my parents were in jail and I was heading straight to rehab.”

You shake your head, chuckling humorlessly.

“How old were you?” Julie asks, and for the first time in a while you pick your head up, your eyes locking with her blue orbs.

“13.”

Julie’s eyes slam shut as she leans against Alyssa, the woman’s arms wrapped tightly around her.

“Rehab was the hardest thing I ever had to go through... I was sick, I had the shakes, I could barely eat, drink, sleep...”

Alex slips a hand on your cheek, thumb gently gliding across your smooth skin, you close your eyes, leaning into her touch.

“But I got better...” You sigh. “It took forever, at least it felt like forever.” You shrug. “But eventually I was leaving rehab and going straight to foster care, which wasn’t any better.”

You don’t know, but it’s almost as if every woman is on the bed with you, everyone hanging over one another to touch you in SOME way.

"I had to stay in a group home, I was never adopted so I didn’t get out until I was 18...” You smile softly.

“I started watching soccer while I was in there...”

You pick your head up, tears in your eyes as you grin.

“Watching you... And I knew I wanted to be there...”

Christen runs her fingers through your hair and you chuckle.

“I scared the whole group house when Kelley got that goal against Germany, and Carli literally destroyed Japan during the World Cup.” You grin, the two women smiling proudly.

“I talked to my social worker and I started practicing with a local team... I guess I impressed the right people and before I realized I was out of foster care and joining the NWSL.”

You turn to Christen the woman beaming as you glance at Kelley and Becky.

“Then I met you guys...” You shrug, tears streaming down your cheeks. “And you, you all changed my life.”

Becky leans over everyone to press a kiss to the top of your head, both Christen and Kelley wrapping their arms around you.

“You changed our lives forever Y/N, meeting you, playing with you... You’re just, the brightest of light in a life where you lived in nothing but the darkness.”

Kelley cups your cheeks, ridding them of tears with the pads of her thumbs.

“I knew offering you a place to stay was a rash decision, but one of the best I’ve ever made, because living with you, getting to know you, it meant everything to me.” Kelley kisses your forehead and you laugh, though moments later the corners of your mouth droop down in a frown.

“I’m sorry I never told you.” You whisper, the defender shaking her head.

“It’s okay, you were scared... You don’t need to be sorry.” She whispers, kissing your forehead again.

You swallow hard, glancing around the room, your teammates wearing nothing but smiles.

“You don’t...” You take a deep breath, smiling when Megan ruffles your hair. “You don’t hate me?” You whisper and everyone in the room snorts or scoffs.

“Of course not.” Christen turns your head so your eyes lock.

“If anything, we love you even more, because even through everything you’d been through, you’re still one of the most amazing people we’ve ever met.”

Alex brushes a strand of hair behind your ear as your eyes yet again fill with tears, the women again moving into a group hug, surrounding you in nothing but their warmth, and their love.

“We’re not going anywhere Y/N, we’ll get through this together. We promise.” Tobin whispers in your ear and you nod, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Emily leans between a few players, cupping your cheeks.

“Don’t let your past define your present, okay? You’re not what your parents turned you into, what your friends turned you into, what life had turned you into. You’re Y/N Y/L/N, a pro soccer player and baby of the USWNT.” Emily teases and you chuckle, the woman kissing your cheek as she pulls back.

“Who knew you were so articulate.” You tease and Emily’s brows furrow.

“What did you call me?” She asks and you snicker, smiling when Lindsey throws an arm around Sonnett.

“God, I love you.” She beams, the defender’s cheeks flushing pink.

You look around the room, a wide smile stretching across your face.

“I love you guys...” You whisper and everyone grins.

“We love you too, we’ll get through this Y/N.” Crystal smiles and you nod.

“Together?” You ask, glancing around the room, smiling when everyone nods.

“Together.”

#uswnt #uswnt x reader #uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines

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iphoenixrising · 5 years ago

Note

hey we haven’t heard anything from you in a while. everything good? How’s life treating you? All my love for one of my favorite batfam writers!💗💗💗

Hi babe.

Ah sorry, I’ve been super busy at work and with kiddo :( I mean, I’m still writing when I can, but it’s just time and motivation. My project has really taken off (reads as: expanded) and most nights I’m chipping away at the massive amount of documentation for not only a Java-based framework, but an entire Platform *sob* So, it’s just such a huge amount of old articles and brainstorming sessions and meeting minutes and just ugh. I mean, it’s kind of interesting to try tracking all these things down and figuring out how they’re going to work together since the developers (from 12 to 50-ish, my God and now they want me to read markdown and do pull requests for comments and shit because this is my fucking life) are still working on the platform services, the development environment, and all these fucking tools I’ve never heard of (Kubernetes, wtf is this thing??) so I’m learning a foreign language almost tbh.

Did I mention *sigh*?

ANYWAY, also some of the things I’m working on that are like Batfam are a little more...I dunno, just things that a bit harder for me I guess, but even if I write just a sentence or two, I still count it as a win.

But like...I said something about a Sentinel / Guide Au, and even though I’m at what would be a good stopping point, I’m not very happy with it :/ So, if you’d like to see kind of what I’ve been doing, I’m going to throw down what I’ve got below the cut.

Warnings:

DickTim, Angst

Sentinel/Guide Au

After he brings B back from time, send the Dark Knight back to Gotham, he gives in to things long overdue, and trains with Shiva–

–to be an effective Guide.

Years of suppressants made it literally hell without them, trying to keep his shields up, trying to push out the telepathic traffic suffocating him the second he opens up just a crack.

Shiva, of course, had been her cheerfully murderous self, plying him with the full onslaught of a powerful Sentinel.

"You will be drawn to us from now on, Little Bird. You will want to protect us, bring us back from the abyss. If you choose to allow your powers as a Guide rein free, then you must learn to fight against the urges."

The fucked-up part is–

–she's right.

If he wants to stay in the life, wear the cape and cowl under the new name, go back to the Titans (since they've been looking for him again, fly-bys and searches for his tech), then he needs to learn how to deal with what he can do and how to deal with the instincts that come along for the ride.

It's not enough that Shiva is in the middle of hunting down a few former students ("They have made...the wrong choices."

"That's rich coming from you, you know."

"We all have a code, Little Bird, and I am no different.")

but they managed to run into a few other Sentinels along the way.

He'd like to say he'd taken his ass beating like a pro at this juncture in the vigilante game, but the reality is, they'd had to take shelter in a shitty lean-to, so he could be tragically, metaphysically hung-over.

He gives up the cowl and suit, utility belt and sundries. He goes as a wrecked teenage American boy, changing it up from the last time he trekked behind Lady Shiva and took on her adversaries. He tries not to think about Dick or Jason, Dami or Alfred, tries not to think about the confused look on B's face in his safe house, drying his hair after a long shower, trying to readjust to the current timeline.

("You aren't going back to Gotham?"

"I still have things to do."

"...there's something you aren't telling me."

"There's a lot I'm not telling you."

"Come to me when you're ready, Tim. No matter what, you're always going to be one of my Robins.")

Instead, he learns how to keep himself, and the Sentinels around him, safe and sane while trying to stay two steps ahead of the next fight, the next clue, the next "training."

In Shanghai a few months later, he knows it's time to move on when people part ways for the brightly clad superheroes coming en-masse down the packed street for him.

Well, moving on it is.

Going back to the Tower, away from the Bats and Gotham and the Rogue Gallery (thinking about facing the Joker this raw and open is fucking terrifying), was the best he was going to get considering the circumstances.

Those circumstances being the pointed twitch over Kon's eye and Bart's very intense gaze.

"You were supposed to call, asshole. The OG Batman has been back in Gotham for like months and you've just been, you know, chilling with Lady Shiva?"

Tim, who is so out of bullshit at this juncture, feels better after a hot shower and some old sweats with a Superboy t-shirt, throws up his fucking hands.

"All right, fine. I never told anyone. I...I've been on suppressants since I was a kid, just like my mom. Guides..."

"It's not that bad anymore!" Cassie tries helplessly, the first to actually reach across the table for his hand.

The instant connection makes them both gasp. It’s a shallow one, just a dip under her natural shield (he knows it’s Cissy, the Guide that’s been helping her until now, bringing her back whenever she hits a Zone, recognizes the touch of their Arrowette), just a skim over her immediate emotions this thing now untried and how utterly calm he makes her just by hands lightly placed.

"O-ooh," is soft while his fingers tighten, his eyes sharpen, his shields constructing around her, his instinct to protect.

"Not necessary," Gar chimes in, still leaning against the door between the kitchen and communal entertainment room, "we're all good in the Tower, T."

Is what shakes him out of it, hastily pulling away from Cassie's hand.

"Wow." Wonder Girl breathes out, eyes soft and half-mast, looking at him dreamily.

"Nope." Because he can already feel the headache coming on, how her hand tries to grab back at his.

“We could fight better together, Tim!”

“Do you even know how strong a Guide has to be to take care of four Sentinels?”

In one terribly creepy singular move, Bart, Kon, Gar, and Cassie give him that look.

You know, aimed at his face.

"No one," Bart cuts in, eyes wide at the exchange, of Tim's aura warm and inviting suddenly stronger, reaching out... "Tim, T. No one has to know."

The flash of fear, a residual from the tunic, makes him hedge back a subtle step back.

Kon pointedly grips him by the bicep, over his shirt while Bart moves enough that his shoulder bumps into Tim’s ribs, halting the possible escape attempt.

“Okay, okay, backing off. New powers are about a bitch, not like we all haven’t been there once or twice.” Kon soothes over, taking small steps and tugging until Tim is moving with him closer to the communal kitchen where his seat is empty at the island, and they can possibly get proof the guy actually eats.

“Amen,” Cassie throws up a hand and is already digging through the fridge until she finds–

–the last grape Zesti.

Tim’s eyes narrow dangerously on that singular can, his body moving before his brain can take over because he’s sliding on his old chair, the can cold against his fingers, too thirsty for caffeine that he can’t even.

Sure, it’s a trap, but with these guys, at least he knows it.

“I’m very not ready to do anything remotely Guide-like in the field,” the soft ca-saaaa as the can opens. “You want me to sleuth, fight, and strategize, then I’m all for it.”

Bart is just suddenly in Kon’s usual seat beside him, spinning around in tight, fast circles, “you mean you’re thinking about coming back? To the life?”

“Dude, that would be stellar.”

Tim side-eyes his besties, “it was never in the plan to-to stop.”

“Can’t blame us for assuming, you know,” Gar grins toothily, “no Red Robin for a while, my dude.”

Tim goes quiet, staring down at the can between his hands, shoulders hunched over.

“At least,” Raven’s voice is smooth and soft, comforting, “tell us why now, Tim?”

“Why now?”

“Why begin training as a Guide now?” She clarifies, sliding into the seat across from her, and the coolness of her aura, not a Sentinel, but something purely Raven puts his frayed nerves at ease, makes it easier for him to find the words.

“I turned 18,” and he can’t look at them while he admits to it, “and...and I figured out who my Sentinel is after Ra’s kicked me out the window.” (I was fine going out that way. It was fine. I was saving Wayne Enterprises from the League of Assassins, I was fighting the good fight. It shouldn’t have happened that way...why did it have to happen that way?)

“Oh,” and Cassie’s eyes get huge.

“Ra’s al Ghul is your Sentinel?!” Bart fairly screams.

“No dude,” Tim rolls his eyes and finds his can suddenly fascinating. “It’s...Dick. He’s...yeah. It’s him.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Kon hurries, standing shock-still, “I didn’t hear any of that.”

“Not him,” Bart is gritting his teeth because dammit, why couldn’t Tim have been his Guide? The universe was totally, wholly unfair.

A muscle in Tim’s jaw flexes, his nose pinkening along his upper cheekbones. He blinks watery eyes, takes a deep, deep breath to try and keep himself under control.

“Yeah,” and Tim sighs a little, the ache in his chest more acutely painful when he thinks about that moment waking up in the Cave, Dick in the Batsuit without the cape/cowl combo smiling down at him, still painfully unaware of the connection drawn tight between them.

(He doesn’t need me. He’s got Babs and Dami. His Guide and his Robin.)

Getting the absolute fuck out of the Manor had been his first order of business once he’d come to, just sprouting whatever placating bullshit Dick needed to hear to let him go without much of a fight (this time).

Finding Bruce and staying the hell out of Gotham hadn’t helped the pull he inexplicably felt, or the pressure of minds around him that had sent him to Shiva in the first damn place. His Guide abilities were overcoming the suppressants, so he was out of time...and out of options.

Still, even with the training, he occasionally has the dreams at night. Not the usual array of awful nightmares from his real life, Jason shooting him in the chest at point-blank to make sure the job gets done this time, Bruce dying right before his eyes, turning into that skeleton husk Superman brought to them thinking it was the real thing, Damian sneering at him with the katana held high, spitting out how it’s time the real Robin took his rightful place just before bringing the blade down–

No, no, it’s even worse than those.

It’s shadowy hands touching him, the warm wet of a mouth over his skin and scars, gentle voice in his ear telling him how beautiful he is, how much he’s needed, wanted, how it’s not just because of what he is or what tunic he used to wear, it’s all because he’s Tim. He doesn’t wake up when his dream self realizes it’s Dick over him, those blue eyes taking him in, pinning his wrists down to look over every inch of his naked body. He doesn’t wake up when Dick starts preparing him. He doesn’t wake up when Dick kisses him hard and desperate. He doesn’t wake up when the tears dry on his face and their bodies line up.

“Mine,” his dream Sentinel doesn’t even hesitate, “Don’t ever run from me again. Do you understand me, Tim?”

Just before Dick pushes, he wakes up, panting and hard, his instincts going crazy enough that he has to meditate to calm down.

Cassie gently wraps her hand around his shoulder, making sure they don’t have skin-to-skin contact this time. “I’m sorry,” she smiles gently at his frown, “I know you and Dick have had some...issues in the past few years.” But he can read the guilt in her face. Back when everyone thought Bruce was dead and his cape had been yanked out from under him, Dick had sent Cassie to try talking some “sense” into him. She still feels awful for jumping on the same train everyone else had been riding, the ‘that guy is suffering from depression’ instead of believing he might actually be right.

(It still stings though, doesn’t it?)

He doesn’t say anything back, just looks out one of the big windows and pulls out of her hold to take a drink of his Zesti.

“But,” Gar quickly jumps in, “you’ll stay in the Tower and fight on the team again, right? Like, no more trips with World’s Deadliest Assassins?”

Tim visibly hesitates, pausing with the can up to his mouth.

Slowly, he lowers it, his eyes taking on a cold calculation that is and isn’t like their old Rob. “Like I said, I can’t be a Guide for anyone, and I mean that. Second, I told you the truth in confidence, so I expect everyone to keep my secret. Third, I’m not anywhere near ready to go to Gotham or face the Bats, so for now, I’m fighting under the radar. If those aren’t acceptable stipulations, I’ll grab some of my clothes from storage and be out of your Tower.”

“Storage?” Kon glances around at the team, “Tim, buddy, why do you think we’d have your stuff in storage?”

“I assumed Dick would already approach you about making Damian part of the team,” his tone is absolutely empty, emotionless. “And there’s no way both of us could be here at the same time, so...” he lets them put it together from there.

The look of utter devastation on Kon’s face makes him feel slightly better.

Coming back when Cassie, Bart, and Kon have his back, just like they were closer to the end of their YJ run, makes the transition easier than it realistically should have been.

And it really might just be how low the dose of suppressants are now, or that he feels comfortable stepping into Robin’s role on the team, just with a different name, a different mask. It might just be how Bart has a tendency to hover with that hummingbird energy coming off him even when he’s seemingly standing still, maybe it’s Kon’s TTK pressing at his back even if the guy is across the room, maybe it’s how he and Cassie have leadership meetings where they just binge watch reruns of Gossip Girl and eat ice cream to bemoan their woes.

But maybe, it’s how he can feel them pulling at his shields unconsciously. Maybe it’s how he can sometimes push back enough, can skim just the edges to get impressions of angry, sad, depressed and gently erect a mental shield without delving deep without permission, can give them the space they need from their intense senses and powers.

Just another way he can be the regular guy on the team, working under the radar. So much a part of his role in the first damn place.

He doesn’t realize it becomes something normal until they take the good fight a little too close to Gotham for his liking, but the choices were few and Luthor is such an incredible ass hat that Tim actually plays it down, dresses up as CEO Tim Drake to divert their baddie while the team takes apart his latest weapon of mass destruction on the down-low.

What he absolutely doesn’t expect is to leave the lobby of one of the most posh restaurants in Metropolis–

And walk face-first into Dick Gryson’s chest.

(Technically, it’s Nightwing, but really, this doesn’t make the sitch any better.)

A hand, black with blue fingerstripes, covers his mouth, and the sound of a grapple retracting is a pending oh no that he doesn’t fight the vigilante pretty much kidnapping him off the street in broad daylight.

He can only thank God it isn’t skin-to-skin contact because his inner senses are flaring this close to the Sentinel, his Sentinel, that he has to grind his back teeth to keep himself in check. He pulls away the second they land it on solid rooftop, shoving his sleeve back to check the team’s status on his hidden wrist computer.

Mission success!

“Imagine my surprise,” Nightwing growls, hand on his shoulder to spin him around, “when I find you having lunch with someone like Lex Luthor instead of taking my damn calls, Timmy.”

Stepping out of that hold is subtle because Tim is looking over the side of the roof, adjusting his tie to try putting some distance between them. “I’m undercover. Those are the things people like us do when we’re running an Op, Nightwing.”

Those whiteouts narrow on him, a trick only Dick can really pull off effectively. “None of that tells me where the hell you’ve been for the last year since you left to find Bruce, found him, and didn’t come back.”

His back straightens, eyes looking away when the irritation and heat of anger hits him harder without the nice little cocktail of suppressants and stabilizers, makes his own shields tremble at the burning sear along the edges of his consciousness.

Instead of saying something he might come to regret, Tim sucks in a breath through his nose and works through the bolt of pain, gathers his shields around himself to keep the Sentinel from unerringly lashing out at him again.

“What the hell are you even doing here? Recon on Luthor? For which nefarious plot?”

A black and blue hand slashes the space between them, “not even important, Tim. So, how about you call your team and tell them you’ve got some Bat business because we? Need to talk.”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

“You heard me. I’ve been trying to get in contact with you for weeks.”

“I sent back your case files, asshole–”

“Not about cape and cowl shit, Tim!”

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about right now,” even though he does, he really does. He just doesn’t know why it has to happen now.

Nightwing, however, has had enough of the talk and with a whip of his arm has a bolo out and thrown, his natural speed as a Sentinel might be slower than someone like the Flash, but it still has Tim wrapped up tight faster than he can realistically dodge.

The sight of the vigilante Nightwing swinging through Metropolis with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises over one shoulder would be big news in the city if anyone had been bothered to really look up.

The hotel is nice Tim thinks while wiggling around on the bed where Dick pretty much dumped him. His fingers are already getting the bolo loose from around his upper body by the time Dick has the mask off and the Nightwing suit unzipped to flop around his waist.

The Gotham Knights t-shirt underneath is a new one since the old faded one got blown up in that little explosion in the ‘Haven a few years back.

Dick lifts and sets a chair down with a pointed clack, sitting down to watch Tim squirm his way up. He’s got the bolo loose enough to brace his palms.

“What part of I’m in the middle of an OP–”

“Don’t care,” Dick cuts him off ruthlessly, those blue eyes hard and jaw tense. “I honestly don’t give a crap about the Titans right now.”

“Well I sure as hell do thank-you very much,” Tim pulls the bolo off, tosses it across the room with an angry flick, facing his former mentor, former partner, former friend with those old feelings creeping up his throat to make the taste in his mouth coppery and bitter.

“The only thing I care about right now is that I finally caught up to you. The last time I even saw you was that swan dive–”

“I’m aware. Being kicked out of a window is pretty memorable, even for people like us,” he keeps it deadpan, keeps the anger and irritation, the feelings of shit like betrayal and it must have been so easy to throw me the fuck away.

“The point is, smart ass, you left the Cave and haven’t been back. You only answer my emails about cases and bad guys. But when I ask you to come back home, which I have, Tim, I don’t even know how many times, and I get nothing! We need you–”

“Why would I come back to Gotham for you?” Is what spills out of his mouth, something bitter and foul. “You’ve already got a fucking Robin to be your little brother, remember?”

Welp, there goes playing it cool.

But watching Dick jerk back like Tim had landed a physical blow was more satisfying than he wanted to admit.

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re still angry about that? I’ve explained to you exactly why–”

The irritation in Dick’s tone, obvious disgust when he leans back and crosses his arms over his chest is just about enough.

“You explained it just fine. You made your choice, so everyone just has to deal with it, right? Yeah, that’s really being my equal.”

Tim makes himself stay deadly calm and cold, moves his legs away from Dick’s to stand and take a few steps away from the seething Sentinel to adjust his tie and try to get his hands to quit trembling.

“I can’t believe you’re acting this childish, Tim. I’m really disappointed with you right now.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, Dick, disappointed in each other,” but it strikes him anyway in the small, sad place where he held on to the hope they could still work everything out somehow and at least go back to being friends. A small part that’s been slowly dying in degrees, and that last hit is enough to make it so absurdly painful.

(All those years in the R, fighting the good fight, being brothers, having each other’s backs, and it all ends here, doesn’t it?)

“What? I did everything I could do for you! I–”

“If that’s what you want to believe, then that’s fine. I don’t have any reasons to argue with you,” staring at his own reflection in the mirror, seeing the red start to creep over his cheeks, his eyes get overly shiny, Tim Drake straightens his spine and flexes his own shields.

He keeps himself together enough to turn on a heel and walk calmly to the door.

“Tim, just...okay, just wait. Let’s talk this out–”

He doesn’t even turn, hand already on the knob, just pulls open the door and takes a hasty step through. It’s only the first step, but Dick is still just suddenly there, trying to snatch at Tim’s wrist with a bare hand, managing the brush of fingertips over a pulse.

“Don’t leave like this,” Is the last thing Dick says before the electric shock slides up his spine, the pull to all his senses almost has him on his knees.

The touch has Tim lurching away, jerking his wrist up to cradle against his chest, the red burn of Dick’s emotions beating at his shields harder with just a simple graze.

It ends with Dick still in the doorway, braced against the frame, gaping, and Tim leaning heavily into the wall across the hall, a wince on his face.

Stupid metaphysical connections and shit.

The touch hadn’t been enough to, you know, like bond them or anything, but it’s widely believed True Pairs didn’t even have to touch to get impressions from one another.

“You asshole,” he seethes at that shocked expression.

“You feel like I betrayed you,” is low and thick, Dick’s eyes a little dazed with what he picked up through the momentary connection, “it hurt you so much when I made Dami my Robin because I didn’t even talk to you, I didn’t trust you. You think I just threw you out of my life. How could I ever do that to you...?”

If Tim was a better Guide, on a higher dose of suppressants, he would have been able to keep himself closed off enough that if they did manage to touch, he could have kept Dick out of his shields, wouldn’t have given him the ability to skim over shitty emotions.

If Tim was a better Guide, he wouldn’t have the urgent need to run.

But welp, here they are.

As the thought takes shape in his brain pan, that he’s in his civilian day-ware and can run down the hall while Dick –still half in Nightwing– is trapped in the doorway, his knees firm and his eyes dart wildly to the side, giving himself away.

And since Dick was Batman, is Nightwing, is a Sentinel, he sees the writing on the wall and absolutely refuses to let it happen. Dick shoves with his arms, darts out into the hallway, makes his suddenly weak knees work enough to shake up Tim’s plan, seizes the apparent Guide, his Guide, in a princess hold and get back before the door even starts to close.

“Put me–!”

But Dick folds his legs to sit with his back against the door, and wraps both arms around the struggling third Robin. He can hold onto Tim better than a bolo anyway.

The push at Tim’s shields is a pressure he isn’t used to dealing with, and it’s painful to fight against it rather than just let the tentative connection open. His hands curl into fists in his lap, trying to strain against the arms pinning him while concentrating on strengthening his shields.

He doesn’t realize he’s whispering, “no, no, no,” under his breath.

“Please,” Dick lays his forehead down on top of Timmy’s head, “please don’t go. Not now. I’m finally...Tim, I get it now. I swear, I get it.”

“...doesn’t matter. Too late.”

“That isn’t fair,” the smallest shift and Dick is breathing against his throat, making him shiver, “I just found out you’re...a Guide. My Guide. We haven’t even started yet. It can’t be too late if we haven’t had a beginning.” It gets worse when Dick breathes in his scent deeply, a noise coming out of his chest.

“We have had a beginning,” he bites out, fists tight, concentrating on keeping his shields strong but flexible, “we’ve had years–”

“And I’m not ready to throw all of that away.”

The pressure against his mental shields finally eases up as Dick raises his head, gives him a little shake to make him look up.

“You already did, remember?”

“I didn’t... I never threw you away. That’s not what I meant or wanted. Yes, I should have handled things better. I know that now, and I’m sorry I hurt you. I was sorry before, I just didn’t know how to tell you, how to make it better between us.”

Tim’s eyes narrow, and he doesn’t let up in case this is one of those diversionary tactics to put him in a false sense of security.

(They fight bad guys. Sometimes, they have to cheat, and he wouldn’t put it past Dick to do just that.)

“I don’t know what you think is going to happen here,” he finally tries, staring up into those blue, blue eyes (I trusted you once, and fuck if I’m going to let you do this to me again). “But whatever it is, you’re wrong. I’m not going to come back to Gotham and be your Guide. I’m not going to bond with you because the universe says I’m meant to be some kind of magical counterbalance.”

Dick’s expression crumples, his arms go a little slack.

“Tim, we’re...we’re a True–”

“I don’t give a fuck about True Pairs, Dick, not anymore. Babs has been your Guide since you both presented. She wants the job, she can damn well have it.”

It’s not a fight to push against Dick’s arms the second time and stand up out of his lap.

“You’ve loved me since the moment you put on the cape, Tim. I know you have.” When what he means is I know now.

“I loved you before that, you asshole, and you betrayed me. You don’t get that chance again.”

Turning away shouldn’t be this easy now that Dick knows the truth, but it is, and the very last parts of him still hoping, still craving, are just as easily–

–wiped out.

Dick’s eyes are watery when the door hisses and creaks upon opening, and it’s an automatic thing, reaching a hand up just expecting Tim to take it.

“Tim. Timmy, please.”

“Good-bye, Dick,” is already fading with rapidly retreating footsteps. At least he can keep some of his dignity because Dick will never know he falls the fuck apart as the elevator goes down.

Author’s notes:Here’s why I don’t like this: 1. I want to talk more about why Tim chose Shiva as the Sentinel to teach him how to be a good Guide. Like, I want to explore that dynamic more because I’ve never really had the time or space to write Shiva as we see her in Tim’s Robin run.2. I wanted to go more into the expanded senses of Sentinels and how to - hell, I dunno, make it seem to be a little closer to cannon maybe? Like point out some of Dick’s greatest escapes and be like part of that is due to his Sentinel power. 3. Dick says some shitty things, and I don’t give him any context. Like, at that point, he legit believes he did the right thing at the time, and look! Tim’s Red Robin so everyone wins! But yeah, once he got under those shields, the truth shakes him up. 4. I dunno, this au might not be for me. It doesn’t feel very different from some of my other angsty things I guess but meh. Who knows, I might fix it someday :D

#winter answers #with angst #and frustration #sentinel!au #Tim Drake #Dick Grayson #the titans!#my fics #my writing

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gronjon44 · 4 years ago

Text

My thoughts on WONDER WOMAN:1984

⚠️⚠️⚠️SPOILERS⚠️⚠️⚠️

I wanna like this movie, and there are parts of this film that I genuinely do like.

There are some funny moments and I like some if not most of the themes.

And I want to be as critical and non political as possible with this analysis as possible.

But, speaking not as a Center Republican and as an average movie goer,

The political refferences in this just ruin the film for me, on top of other issues.

Max Lord is too blatant a Trump reference, the big business persona aside; I read an article by NBC News (I'll link it at the end) says the director used Trump as "one inspiration for the character".

Yeah no, that wasnt one reference that was all reference I looked up Max Lord in the comics and frankly it looks like Trump was the only reference the director used.

The article goes into detail about how the director steps around Trumps more controversial policies and essentially whitewashed Trump with Lords character which, i can see what they mean when they say that.

I won't get into all the details, as I don't agree with everything in the article but you can read for it yourself at the end.

Now getting past the Trump refferences and whatnot I'd like to say that most parts of this movie are actually really enjoyable.

Diana Prince/Gal Gadot are a joy to watch as always, Barbra was a joy to watch as a villain, Steve Trevor was fun to see and ⚠️⚠️⚠️SPOILER⚠️⚠️⚠️the invisible jet was a fun twist that I was genuinely surprised to see.

But some complaints I have involve the ending, a few in-between bits, and some minor details that just stuck with me.

So again, ⚠️⚠️⚠️SPOILER⚠️⚠️⚠️ for anyone who hasn't seen it yet.

The ending was very mcguffined and frankly, kinda cheap.

I get that, yes, the point of the end was to show Max Lord what he was doing was truly wrong and to have him undo the wishes that followed his bad decisions, I get that.

But for there to be no real consequences for what he did? And that he gets to run free and return to his son without being reprimanded for what he did (outside of a few minor ass beatings) It feels cheap and unsatisfying, at least in my opinion.

Something that the article brought up (that I disagree with frankly) is that film ⚠️⚠️SPOILERS⚠️⚠️ treats Barbras choice to become more like Diana as a bad thing then a good thing, saying that Wonder Woman is meant to show Woman that they can be like her, and that some woman do want to be like her. They go one to say that (quote) "Instead of congratulating Barbara, the movie presents her as a warning. Gaining power and beauty makes her cruel and violent and selfish — a villain, not a hero. It's like the film has included its own cranky superhero-film hater to tell fans they're doing it wrong." (end quote)

Now, heavy spoiler talk incoming so be warned.

The stone acts like the monkeys paw, where in when you wish for something, you get it but at the cost of losing something (i.e if I wish for a million dollars, but when I get the million dollars I lose my house and prized possessions)

Now, if someone is inspired by Wonder Woman and wants to be like her, then great! Be like her! If you can strive to be like Wonder Woman then hey be like her.

There's nothing wrong with wanting to be like those you admire. But here's the thing that I think this article misses. Barbra didn't strive on her own to be like Diana, she wished it. She didn't earn anything that was given to her.

She was a good person before yes, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to be like Diana. But the problem that this article misses is that she was given these gifts and opportunity, she didn't earn them.

She never had any of these things before, and being given these things so suddenly may have gone to her head; so much so that she was quickly consumed by her new gifts that she lost touch with her old self.

And let's think about that a moment. The stone takes as quickly as it gives. What did the stone take from Barbra? Well I think its meant to be pretty clear that, in return for becoming "strong, sexy, cool, and special," she had something taken away from her.

When she had nothing she was a kind person, yes she was ignored but she wasn't lashing out about it, she was her own personal. When she was given her wish she slowly became consumed by it, focused not on others or her work, but on herself and her own greed. She wanted to be admired and to be seen, and there's nothing wromg with that.

But she did not earn her beauty, strength, or popularity. She was handed them on a silver tray at the cost of losing touch with herself. She was consumed by a lie she wanted to believe.

This film has a heavy theme about accepting truths and seeing past veiled lies; Diana used a shortcut to get ahead in the contest as a child, Max Lord used the stone to lie to himself about how shitty a person/father he was, Barbra used it to lie to herself and make her something she wasn't, hell Diana lied to herself twice thinking she could keep Steve Trevor and stop Max Lord together, even while her powers were being taken away.

And there's another example of having what you hold close taken at the cost of what you want. Diana's powers at the cost of having Steve Trevor back in her life; Diana wanted nothing more then to have Steve Trevor back in her life and to be with him, but he was dead.

Until the stone heard her internal thoughts/wish and made it come true, but at the cost of her powers. But Diana didn't care. Diana knew Steve was someone else and she knew her powers were being taken away to have him back in her life, she knew this was all a lie (the stone was even created by a God of Lies)

All in all the accepting truth theme is fine I like it, but I think it gets overshadowed by all the politics and wonky CGI.

And on to that side of my thoughts.

You can really see the CGI in this film. Some parts aren't that bad but others are just... really noticeable.

Like, there's a scene where Diana is running down a street and she's speeding up down the road. You can see the CGI in her legs and how they try to make her run faster then she is.

You know how Chris Evans has that unique running style that can't be easily recreated? Yeah they try to have Diana run like that and you can see the CGI they used to make it.

And there are other little moments that you can't help but notice (a body flies too fake here or a hand grabs at the ground too smoothly there) little moments.

I know CGI is useful for some scenes and I have nothing about extra CGI in a film. But this felt like those scenes in Horror Movies where you can really see the CGI blood and just how cartoonish it really looks.

Also just, jumping on after this, can we talk about the acting?

Gadot, Pine, Wig, and Pascal all perform amazingly in this film (while I don't like his character I will commend Pascal for putting in a solid performance as Max Lord) But when you focus on some of the side characters and their acting its just really cringy.

The initial jewelry heist scene starts off fine I liked it, but when the guy drops his gun it all just gets so cheesey and corny.

Now, I like cheesey and corny acting I do. But honestly this film felt like it was trying way to hard to be in the 80s.

Stranger Things does this well with its 80s setting (the background, the characters, small moments throughout the series)

Wonder Woman 1984 tries to act like the original Wonder Woman from the 80s, and it doesn't hit that mark.

Now, I didn't grow up with the 80s Wonder Woman, but my dad did. He knew the references and he could tell what they were trying to do. But even he thought it was a little too much (he said that she fought the villain the exact same way and the acting of multiple characters reminded him of that cheesey 80s acting)

In short, most the acting was fine, but alot of it was... also not fine.

This next bit will be my last complaint and then I'll be done (its minor but its does bug me)

Why did they even make the wishing stone?

Now, I'll admit I'm no expert on DC comics, let me be the first to say that. But this stone is a magical artifact that can grant wishes at the cost of taking something valuable to you (like a monkeys paw) They even refference the Monkeys Paw on several occasions in this film, basically acting like the stone is the paw itself.

Now just, here me out for a minute.

The stone acts like the monkeys paw-

It has the same rules as the monkeys paw-

They even reffer to it like the monkeys paw-

Why not just use the monkeys paw?

Legitimately they treat this thing more like the actual Monkeys Paw rather then a mystical genie rock that it actually is. Yes they try to make the rock interesting (it destroyed the Mayans, it brought down multiple Roman Emperors etc) but I just can't get past how useless it all is.

You could replace the stone with a real monkeys paw, give it the exact same origins, and even still have Max Lord bond to the monkeys paw-

And it would still work.

There is no thematic purpose for the stone to be a stone when you can just use the paw. When Max bonds to the paw make his own hand turn into the monkeys paw, and now it has more thematic purpose for why he needs to actually touch people.

Just, its so small a thing that it technically doesn't matter but at the same time I really think that it does.

Thats the last of my complaining/ranting. Like I said I want to be as neutral and genuinely critical of this film.

I wanna like it but I just... there's alot issues that I think should've been addressed before this film was released. I have nothing against referencing current politics or making something pro-this or anti-that, but if your gonna do it at least write it in a cohesive way.

If I had to rank this with the other DC films in the last Decade (I haven't seen Birds of Prey yet and I don't remember much of Man of Steel so bear with me)

Wonder Woman 2017

Shazam

Wonder Woman 1984

Aquaman

Suicide Squad

Justice League

Batman V. Superman

It isn't the greatest film but its still better then DC's worst, so I'll give them that. I rate it a 6/10

#wonder woman #wonder woman 1984 #ww84movie #ww84 spoilers #wonder woman 1984 spoilers #spoilers #dc comics #dc movies #man of steel #birds of prey #batman

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babygirlkiki1016 · 4 years ago

Text

The Hunt Begins

When we got to Stanford Dean told me just to wait outside by the Impala. About twenty minutes later I hear voices coming from the building. I see Dean take a glance at me to see if I was still there. Sam was saying something but Dean just rolls his eyes.

"The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors." I heard Sam say as they cross the parking lot to the Impala.

"So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?" Dean growls.

"No. Not normal. Safe."

"And that's why you ran away." Dean looks away.

"I was just going to college. It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing."

"Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it." Sam is silent.

"I can't do this alone."

"Yes you can." I joke, making both of the boys look at me.

"Yeah, well, as Y/n pointed out earlier which you weren't here for, I don't want to."

"Wait, that's Y/n? Y/D/N's kid?" Sam asked surprised. "You brought his kid here?! Do you know what he's going to do to us when he realizes she's missing!?"

"Uh I believe he already knows." I interrupt.

"Look, she wanted to come so I didn't stop her besides she's eighteen." Dean points out. Sam sighs and looks down, thinking, then up.

"What was he hunting?" Sam asked as Dean opens the trunk of the Impala, then the spare-tire compartment, it's an arsenal.

"Holy crap this is cool!" I exclaimed as Dean props the compartment open with a shotgun and digs through the clutter.

"I know right? All right, let's see, where the hell did I put that thing?"

"So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?" Sam asks.

"I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans."

"Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?" Dean looks over at Sam.

"I'm twenty-six, dude."

"And then you went to Y/D/N for help?"

"That's about right, she offered to help cause her father wouldn't." Dean pulls some papers out of a folder. "All right, here we go. So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy." Dean hands one of the papers to Sam, I look over his shoulder to see. "They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA. The paper is a printout of an article from the Jericho Herald, headlined Centennial Highway Disappearance and dated Sept. 19th 2005; it has a man's picture, captioned Andrew Carey MISSING." Sam reads it and glances up.

"So maybe he was kidnapped."

"Yeah. Well, here's another one in April." Dean hands me a Jericho Herald article for each date he mentions. "Another one in December 'oh-four, 'oh-three, 'ninety-eight, 'ninety-two, ten of them over the past twenty years." Dean takes the article's back from us and picks up the rest of the stack, putting them back in the folder. "All men, all the Same five-mile stretch of road." Dean pulls a bag out of another part of the arsenal. "It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough." He grabs a handheld tape recorder. "Then I get this voicemail yesterday." He presses play, the recording is staticky and the signal was clearly breaking up.

"Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger...and if you can...Y/D/N's kid." Dean presses stop.

"Wait...he mentioned me." I say silently.

"What does dad want with Y/n?" Sam asks.

"I don't know that's why I went to your dad. So whatever is going on, obviously your part of it."

"Well other than the creepy message involving me, you know there's EVP on that?" I said.

"Not bad, Y/n. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?" Sam shakes his head. "All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got." He presses play again.

"I can never go home..." Was the voice that was heard, Dean presses stop.

"Never go home." Sam comments, trying to think what it could mean. Dean drops the recorder, puts down the shotgun, stands straight, and shuts the trunk, then leans on it. "You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing." Sam looks away and sighs, then looks back. "All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him." Sam submits, Dean nods. "But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here." Sam turns to go back to the apartment but turns back when Dean speaks.

"What's first thing Monday?"

"I have this...I have an interview."

"What, a job interview? Skip it."

"It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate."

"Law school?" Dean smirks.

"So we got a deal or not?" Dean says nothing, Sam turns back around and heads back into the building.

"Your brother is certainly...not happy." I look over at Dean who shrugs.

"Eh he'll get over it." Dean smirks and gets back in the car, Dean maybe be smiling but I have a bad feeling about this.

Dean comes out of the convenience mart carrying junk food. Sam is sitting in the shotgun seat with the door open, rifling through a box of tapes as I was sitting in the back with the window down. I don't know what he's looking for but it must be important.

"Hey!" Dean says with a smile on his face. Sam leans out and looks at him. "You want breakfast?"

"No, thanks."

"Y/n? I got you coffee, along with some biscuits." He hands me the food.

"Thanks...." I say and take the food from him. "So how'd you pay for that stuff?" Sam asks. "You and Dad still running credit card scams?"

"Yeah, well, hunting ain't exactly a pro ball career." Dean puts the nozzle that he left running while he went inside back on the pump. "Besides, all we do is apply. It's not our fault they send us the cards."

"Yeah? And what names did you write on the application this time?" Sam swings his legs back inside the car and closes the door.

"Uh, Burt Aframian." Dean gets into the driver seat and puts his soda and chips down.

"And his son Hector. Scored two cards out of the deal."

"That's pretty smart, man I wish I thought of that. Then I wouldn't have had to get a job." I joke as Dean closes the door, Sam looks back at me then at Dean.

"Only a few days and your already a bad influence on her." Sam chuckles. "I swear, man, you've gotta update your cassette tape collection." From what I could see there are at least a dozen cassettes in the box on Sam's lap; some have album art, others are hand-labeled.

"Why?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, they're cassette tapes. And two." Sam holds up a tape for every band he names. "Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica?" Dean takes the box labeled Metallica from Sam. "It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."

"And that's probably why he has them." I interrupt while sipping my coffee.

"Well, house rules, Sammy." Dean pops the tape in the player. "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole." Dean drops the Metallica box back in the box of tapes and starts the engine.

"Wait." Sammy looks back at me as Dean drives off. "Why does she get coffee?"

"Well I asked her what she wanted and she told me."

"You didn't ask me...."

"Suck it up Sammy." Sam made a pouty face, I look down at my coffee then back at him. I reach forward and politely offer him some which Dean notices.

"Aw look at that she's willing to share."

"Shut up." Sam said with a blush on his face as he slowly took my cup.

Sam is talking on his cell phone. "Thank you." He says then closes his phone. "All right. So, there's no one matching Dad at the hospital or morgue."

"Well at least we know he's ok." I said, making Sam nod in agreement.

"That's something, I guess." Dean glances over at us, then back at the road. At a bridge ahead of them, there are two police cars and several officers.

"Woah, I wonder what happened." I wondered as Sam leans forward for a closer look, Dean pulls over. We take a long look before Dean turns off the engine. Dean opens the glove compartment and pulls out a box full of ID cards with his and John's faces. Visible ones include FBI and DEA. He picks one out and grins at Sam, who stares.

"Let's go." Dean gets out of the car and me and Sam follow pursuit. On the bridge, the lead Deputy, leans over the railing to yell down to two men in wetsuits who were poking around the river.

"You guys find anything?" He yells.

"No! Nothing!" The other man who was below us replied. The deputy turns back to the car in the middle of the bridge. Another Deputy, is at the driver's side looking around inside the car. The three of us walk into the crime scene, I felt out of place but the brothers acted like they belong there.

"You fellas had another one like this just last month, didn't you?" Dean asks as the first Deputy looks up when he starts talking and straightens up to talk to him.

"And who are you?" Dean flashes his badge. "Federal marshals."

"You three are a little young for marshals, aren't you? Especially the girl." Dean laughs. "Thanks, that's awfully kind of you." Dean goes over to the car. "You did have another one just like this, correct?"

"Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that."

"So, this victim, you knew him?" Sam questioned, Jaffe, as it says on his name tag, nods.

"Town like this, everybody knows everybody." Dean circles the car, looking around.

"...And that is why I hate small towns." I state. "Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?"

"Uh N-No. Not so far as we can uh tell."

"So what's the theory? I'm thinking insane hitchhiker." Sam goes over to Dean as I keep the deputy busy.

"Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?"

"Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys." Dean insults, Sam stomps on his foot.

"Thank you for your time." I say and the three of us head back to the Impala. Jaffe watches us go but I could the two talking.

"She's a pretty one ain't she?" Jaffe mentions, I ignored him, pervert I thought. Dean smacks Sam on the head, catching my attention.

"Ow! What was that for?" Sam grumbled.

"Why'd you have to step on my foot?"

"Why do you have to talk to the police like that?" Dean looks at Sam and moves in front of him, forcing Sam to stop walking.

"Come on. They don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're going to find Dad we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves." Sam clears his throat and looks over Dean's shoulder. Dean turns to see a Sheriff and two FBI agents.

"Can I help you boys?" The sheriff asks.

"No, sir, we were just leaving." I smile at them, giving them some reassurance and walk past the three men. Dean and Sam head past the Sheriff, who turns to watch us go.

Later we decided to go talk to this young woman, the second deputy's daughter I believe. As we walk up the street the marquee on the Highland Movie Theater reads in big bold letters: EMERGENCY TOWN HALL MEETING SUNDAY 8 PM BE SAFE OUT THERE. Below that a young woman is tacking up posters with Troy, the missing boy's face and the caption "Missing Troy Squire". The three of us approach.

"I'll bet you that's her." Dean says

"Well no shit sherlock, if course it's her." I joke, the boys turn towards me.

"Listen sweetheart you may be helping us, but that doesn't give you the right to curse."

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say shit, fuck, crap. Sorry!" I giggle, making Sam smirk. Dean ignores me and walks up to the young woman.

"You must be Amy." Dean points out.

"Yeah." She says as she looks towards us. "Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles. I'm Dean, this is Sammy and that's-" Dean was saying, trying to think on what I should be. "-my girlfriend Y/n." I give him a weird look and so does Sam, girlfriend? I thought. He couldn't have gone with sister or something?

"He never mentioned you to me." Amy walks away as the three of us tag along.

"Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto."

"We never really talk to Troy much, teenager's these days. Never wanna hang out with the adults." I chimes in as another young woman, comes up to Amy and puts a hand on her arm.

"Hey, are you okay?" She asks, while eyeing the three of us.

"Yeah." Amy replies.

"Do you mind if we ask you a couple questions?" I asked. "You probably know my nephew to be better then I do."

"Woah trying to get married already babe" Dean jokes as he puts an arm around my shoulder. "I thought the man asks the woman?"

"Well, 'darling' technically I am the one who is the man in this relationship." Sam and the two girls try not to giggle.

The five of us are sitting in a booth, Dean and Sam opposite Amy and Rachel while I'm sitting at the end of the table with a normal chair. The chair was turned away from the table as I was facing the four if them.

"So...Amy." I start. "What happened the night Troy disappeared?"

"I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did."

"He didn't say anything strange?" Sam asks, Amy shakes her head.

"No. Nothing I can remember."

"I like your necklace." I state, Amy holds the pendant she's wearing, a pentagram in a circle, and looks down at it.

"Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents-" Amy laughs. "-with all that devil stuff.

"Do you know where he got it?"

"Um...no actually."

Sam laughs a little and looks down, then up.

"Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing." Sam says.

"Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries."

Dean jokes, takes his arm off the back of Sam's seat and leans forward. "Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything..." Amy and Rachel look at each other. "What is it?"

"Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk." Rachel, the other girl says. Dean and Sam speak in chorus. "What do they talk about?"

"It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago." Dean looks at Sam, who watches Rachel attentively, nodding. "Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever."

"So let me guess you believe in this so called legend?" I ask.

"It's a possibility, you never know." Sam and Dean look at each other.

Considering that Rachel mentioned this legend, we made a trip to the library. Dean was in the computer with a web browser open to the archive search page for the Jericho Herald. The words "Female Murder Hitchhiking" are typed into the search box. Dean clicks go; the screen tells him there are "(0) Result". Dean replaces "Hitchhiking" with "Centennial Highway" with the same response.

"Your not gonna find anything in the internet. You gotta go old school." I point out.

Sam sighs, who is sitting next to him, watching.

"Let me try." He offered, Dean smacks Sam's hand.

"I got it." Sam shoves Dean's chair out of the way and takes over. "Dude!" Dean hits Sam in the shoulder. "You're such a control freak."

"You two are definitely brothers." I giggle, the boys just shake there heads. I push both of them out of the way "If you want to find a spirit, you gotta go dark. Angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?"

"Yeah." Dean agrees.

"Well, it's not murder." I replace "Murder" with "Suicide" and find an article entitled "Suicide on Centennial". Both if the boys seemed surprised. I open the article, dated April 25, 1981, I read what the article had to say. "A local woman's drowning death was ruled a suicide, the county Sheriff's Department said earlier today. Constance Welch, 24, of 4636 Breckenridge Road, leapt off Sylvania Bridge, at mile 33 of Centennial Highway, and subsequently drowned last night. Deputy J. Pierce told reporters that, hours before her death, Ms. Welch logged a call with 911 emergency services. In a panicked tone, Ms. Welch described how she found her two young children, 5 and 6, in the bathtub, after leaving them alone for several minutes. I continued to skim the article. " Here this is what the husband said, What happened to my children was a terrible accident. And it must have been too much for my wife. Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it. Now I ask that you all please respect my privacy during this trying time."

"So she committed suicide." Sam says. "Good job Y/n."

"Quiet there's more. At the time of the children's death and Ms. Welch's subsequent suicide, Mr. Welch was at the Frontier auto salvage yard, where he works the graveyard shift as associate manager. Connie might have been quiet, but she was the sweetest, most caring girl I ever knew, said Deanna Kripke, a neighbor. She just doted on those children."

Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Hm. The bridge look familiar to you?" Dean asks.

The three of us walk along the bridge, then stop to lean on the railing and look down at the river.

"So this is where Constance took the swan dive." Dean states.

"So you think Dad would have been here?" Sam asks.

"If your dad was here then he would've stopped the spirit right?" I wondered.

"Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him."

"Okay, so now what?"

"Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while." Sam stops and looks at Dean.

"Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday-" Dean turns around.

"Monday. Right. The interview."

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some Lawyer? Marry your girl?"

"Maybe. Why not?"

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?" Sam steps closer, I could tell a fight was about to break out.

"No, and she's not ever going to know."

"Well, that's healthy. You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are."

Dean turns around and keeps walking, Sam follows.

"Guys c'mon we got more important things to do." I state.

"Stay out of this Y/n!" Both of them say at the same time.

"Who am I really Dean?" Sam says.

"You're one of us." Sam hurries to get in front of Dean.

"No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life."

"You have a responsibility to-"

"To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like. And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone. And she isn't coming back." Dean grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge. Instantly I push Dean back, he begins to protest.

"Y/n-"

"No enough out of both of you. Focus, look if San wants out if this life then so be it. You can't change that, I may not know much about what you guys do for a living but I know damn well I wouldn't want to be hunting monsters all the time."

"What do you mean don't know much about what we do?" Sam questioned, clearly aggravated. "You brought her into this!"

"She decided this not me! I gave her the offer to walk away!"

"That wasn't her decision to make! If Y/D/N kept her out if this then you shouldn't have brought her with you!"

"She's eighteen! She can do whatever the hell she wants!"

"No Dean she's not eighteen! She's seventeen! She doesn't turn eighteen till (your birthday)." Dean looks at me, clearly surprised that I lied. However I wasn't paying attention, the spirit of Constance was standing at the edge of the bridge.

"Uh guys." The boys forget there argument and stand infront of me, like I'm something to be protected. Consance looks over at them, then steps forward off the edge. We run to the railing and look over.

"Where'd she go?" I asked.

"I don't know." Sam said, then behind us, the Impala's engine starts and its headlights come on, catching our attention.

"What the-who the fuck is driving your car!?" Dean pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. The car jerks into motion, heading straight for them.

"Run!" I yell. The car is moving faster than we are, when it gets too close, the boys dive over the railing but it was to late for me.

The New Hunter Masterlist

#dean supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester imagines #sam winchester #sam winchester imagines #dean x y/n #dean x reader #sam x y/n #sam x you #sam x reader

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redrobin-detective · 5 years ago

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Having trouble with MGM so here’s the tea on Tododeku in TLWA. Pro Hero Shouto is everyone’s dream: handsome, powerful, kind, rich. He’s on everyone’s ‘Superheroes I would Bone’ list. The public goes wild speculating on his love life which is surprisingly lacking. He’s been paired with most every major hero out there, Bakugou/Shouto is one of the most popular ships out there bc two hot, powerful guys with emotion issues? nut. But Yaoyorozu/Shouto, Iida/Shouto and Red Riot/Shouto are also popular. Shouto, meanwhile, is oblivious to all this having been pining for Deku for a solid decade.

Deku has always been too busy for romantic relationships, his only notable one was his short fling with fellow hero, Uravity during their second year of school. Magazines pity speculate its because no one would want to actually date a quirkless partner. Still, Deku is a popular subject for submissive ships making him so laughingly ooc it’s basically a separate character sans the name. Izuku has long stopped reading mainstream tabloid articles about himself and, again, is so obnoxiously busy half killing himself to feel worthy of All Might’s legacy that romance is so far from his mind.

At the end of Rise Up, once Izuku is the Symbol of Peace and he’s feeling a bit surer in his own skin, he and Shouto finally start edging towards the gravitational pull they’ve always had. Shouto stays on long term at OFA and that leads to late night work sessions, dinner dates, nights spent crashing on the agency couch discussing their deepest fears at 2:48am which is turn leads to hand holding and cheek brushes and gentle kisses. Uraraka thought she was going to die of old age before those two stopped. messing. around. The first time she sees them kiss she almost passes out on the spot. Theirs is a slow, soft, utterly comfortable romance that has absolutely no pretense.

Now Shouto is shy (also jealously wants to hoard Izuku to himself) and Izuku is still busy af so they decide not to go to press immediately, wanting to savor the peace of their relationship for a little while. The world spins, Shouto takes time off to teach Intro to Heroics at a local (non hero) high school, Uravity and Ingenium have a world stopping wedding that everyone cried at and thirsty middle schoolers write inaccurate Shoutogou smut fics. Life is good.

As time passes, Shouto and Izuku stop being so shy about their relationship. They slow dance together at the Uraraka/Iida wedding, Shouto gushes about his partner to his embarrassed students, Izuku (finally) moves out of All Might’s apartment and into Shouto’s larger townhouse. They’re not even close to hiding but all the newspapers talk about is “how nice that Shouto is so close to the Quirkless hero” and “Deku still without love, luckily former classmate, Shouto, was willing to accompany him to orphanage opening”. Shouto still is asked if he’s secretly dating Number One Hero, Explosion aka Kacchan and they can’t decipher his incredulous and slightly disgusted expression.

Shouto talks at length about great his BOYFRIEND is and how much he LOVES him in a GAY way and they’re so happy TOGETHER and the media just... slides over it. “Sure is nice Shouto supports quirkless rights, how come he’s still single.” Shouto is at his wits end, Izuku, more than used to the double standard by now, still enjoys watching his partner just go off on romantic tangents when asked about his love life. Aro Ace Bakugou is also asked about his secret attraction to Shouto and responds “You idiots are stupid and prejudiced as fuck not to see Deku and Half and Half have been mooning over each other since Deku whipped his butt in the Sports Festival.”

Every now and again, someone in 1A tries to explain that no, they’re not just good friends but actually really, properly in love. It never sticks as the media and fans frantically try to deny that the nation’s most desirable hero could be dating the chaotic quirkless hero who’s always doing cheesy public message ads. There are, obviously fans who understand and respect the relationship but it really is funny how many other people who ‘support Deku’ deny his love when his relationship with fan favorite Shouto comes up. And by funny I mean infuriating.

“Sure is nice to see platonic love being expressed so openly,” a reporter says, sweating as Shouto and Deku kiss passionately after a hard won battle.

“Shouto is such a good friend to help babysit Deku’s adopted son,” a lovestruck Shouto fan says in denial when Toshirou calls both him and Deku ‘dad’.

“It’s too bad Deku couldn’t find real love but I guess it wasn’t meant to be,” bitter, quirkist fans say to themselves, turning their eyes at how achingly fond Deku looks at his partner. “Shouto is too nice to put up with him all the time.” Even if the world refuses to acknowledge their relationship, it doesn’t make it any less real, any less strong.

#fic: the long way around #fic: rise up and hear the bells #I need to actually come up with a tag for TLWA verse #whoops I ended up dropping like 7 plot threads I want to address in future fics #anyway shouto and izuku are disgustingly in love and half the world just refuses to acknowledge #'sure I support Deku doing advocacy' a fake fan says 'ew but no way would someone cool and powerful like shouto actually DATE him'#1A is horrified and infurianted #Izuku who has dealt with this is whole life and is actively fighting this bullshit: do u finally understand why Im *like this*#its a painfully slow but lovingly steady romance gentle and unbreakable #petty whispers and jealous denials cant even come close to chipping the bond they've forged together #i took a nap and woke with *massive* TLWA tododeku feels #so here ya go

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akfanficlove · 4 years ago

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“Double Feature” - #SeblaineWeek2020

Written for Seblaine Week 2020 – Power Couple

Check out all of my other Seblaine-stories here at AO3 :)

Blaine getting his first feature on Broadway.com and Sebastian being part of the interview. Also, since Santana was one of my favorite characters on Glee and Naya Riveras sudden death and the thought of her baby boy really breaks my heart, in honor of Naya I gave her character a special place in this fic. I hope she feels the love.

“Sebastian, I can’t find my other shoe! Have you seen my other shoe?” Sebastian sighs and puts his phone down. He has been ready for a good 15 minutes, waiting for Blaine to get dressed.

“Sebastian!”

He gets up to go their bedroom where he finds Blaine frantically searching through his closet, shirt still unbuttoned and halfway tucked into his pants. And right there, next to their bed, the missing shoe. He goes over and bends down, grabbing the shoe and handing it to Blaine. There is a nervous energy bouncing from his boyfriend that he hasn’t seen since they moved in with each other six months ago, a year after he came back from Paris.

“B, it’s only an interview, you’ve done this before, remember?” He sees Blaine’s eyes widen in shock.

“Excuse you, it’s not only an interview, Sebastian! It’s my very first feature for Broadway.com, it is huge to get this at my age!”

Sebastian holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean it like that, I know it’s a big deal. But didn’t you say you talked to the journalist on the phone and she seemed rather nice? Isn’t she even kind of a fan?”

Blaine frowns. “She seemed very nice. Very familiar and impressed with my work, yes. But she’s not a fan, I think if she was, she would not be allowed to do that interview in the first place. Some kind of journalistic standards or something…”

“Makes sense”, Sebastian agrees. “You ready now?”

“Yes!”, Blaine beams at him and starts to make his was down the corridor while he buttons up his shirt. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go, we have an interview to give, Seb!”

When they arrive at the hotel, there are a few fans outside. They still have a few minutes and Blaine usually goes out of his way to take care of his fans – signs t-shirts and Playbills, smiles for pictures and accepts compliments with a shy smile. Sebastian is usually pretty annoyed when strangers approach him. He doesn’t get as much attention as Blaine, his bit of modeling for fashion magazines more a hobby he gets paid for than a career path he wants to follow full-time. No, he is really happy with his position at the advertisement agency he started with Hunter and Beat four months ago. It had taken a while to get everything worked out, their personalities clashing in more than one way, but in the end they each found their places in the general construct of their firm.

Still, Blaine always seems to have a soft spot for his admirers, his smile big, his eyes sparkling with gratitude and awe that someone recognizes him and likes him enough to want to talk to him.

After the small group of people seems satisfied for the moment, Blaine makes his excuses, turns around and grabs Sebastian’s hand. Together, they enter the hotel and look around. On a table in a quieter area of the lobby two women, one of them with short brown hair, olive skin and a camera bag in her lap. The other woman has long, dark red hair and silver rimmed glasses, pen and paper sitting in front of her on the table. As if she feels Sebastian’s gaze, she looks up and her face breaks out in a genuine smile. He pulls Blaine closer to the table when he sees the redhead get up and take a few steps in their direction.

“Blaine Anderson! It’s so good to finally meet you, I really am happy that we could both make this work”, she says shaking Blaine’s hand. Then she looks at Sebastian. “And you must be Sebastian Smythe, right? I loved your latest shooting for Vogue, you look very great in black and white – or, well”, she looks him up and down, “in color, too, obviously.” She smiles at him. A little superficial, Sebastian thinks, but he’s not one to turn down a compliment.

“I’m Alexandra – Alex is fine – and this is Chiara, my photographer. Please, sit down, guys!”

They both sit down on the table as Chiara gets up to adjust the setting for the pictures later.

“I’m well aware that you are kind of a pro by now in giving interviews but just let me talk you through how I do it: I have a colorful bunch of questions prepared for you but if you can’t answer one of the right away, take your time or let me rephrase it – this isn’t television and we are not daily business, we have a lot more time than my colleagues in the news usually do”, she says and smiles cheekily. “I try to take notes during our conversation, so there might be some pauses in between when I finish writing after you finished talking and I say this because it’s okay and it doesn’t have to feel awkward. It should take about an hour, then I’ll hand you to the very talented Chiara for some photos. As soon as we are done with the article and everything is approved by my bosses and ready to be printed – which should be in, I don’t know, 2 or 3 weeks, probably– I’ll e-mail you the quotes I used for fact checking. We have limited space to I’d be very grateful if you wouldn’t use that to rewrite the whole story”, she laughs, “but if there is something I didn’t get right or where you have the feeling I misunderstood when I tried to make sense of my thousands of pages of writings – please let me know. Oookay, that’s it, I guess. Any more questions before we begin?”

Alex looks at them expectantly. She has light blue eyes, framed long lashes that can be seen through her glasses and Sebastian thinks, maybe she really is different from all those more-paparazzi-than-journalists-bimbos that try to turn everything into a scandal who Sebastian meets occasionally.

“Okay, then. First of all, Blaine – wait, is it alright if I call you by your first name? Good, great. So, Blaine, your first big Broadway-show just came to an end for you – is there a way to describe how that feels?”

Blaine sits up a little straighter. His nerves might have calmed down when Alex explained how this things would go but Sebastian sees his fingers fidgeting with his sleeves. Sebastian grabs his right hand and slips his fingers through. He receives a thankful smile.

“It’s definitely hard to put it into words. I’m incredibly sad to leave the cast and I loved the role of Ryan. But there is also this side of me that wants to explore and try new things and is excited for what’s to come. Both sides are fighting a war inside of me, seriously, and the jury’s still out on who will win”, Blaine laughs nervously.

“Talking about new things: Rumor has it your newest project reunites you with one of your old friends from Ohio, TV-star Santana Lopez?”

“Yes! I guess, it’s official now, so I can finally talk about it. Santana and I will work together for a short film and she’ll actually come live with us for the 2 months which are planned for shooting. She usually lives in LA and we all know, New York rents are high, so we offered. It will be…” Blaine hesitates and shoots a look at Sebastian. “It will be interesting to live with her, I think.”

Alex’ head peaks up and she stops scribbling. “That was a very meaningful look there. What’s the story? Not so happy with your decision anymore?”

Sebastian smiles. “No, that’s not it. Santana is just a wild ride and some people – “ He looks at Blaine. “Some people might dare to say that we are very similar in certain ways and that together we can be quite a lot.”

Blaine sighs and grins. “Seriously, we both love her, she’s so much fun but Santana and Seb have a special kind of relationship founded on deep respect for each other’s wit and snotty remarks. And when they really start with their banter, they can be a lot to take in and you better get out of their way.”

“Yet”, Alex says, “you offered her to stay with you. So, there must be something you like in her?”

“Oh, there is so much I admire about her! I mean, she’s fierce, she doesn’t take crap from anyone and she really taught me to advocate for myself. When we went to school together, we weren’t extremely close but she was always there, you know? No matter what. Maybe with a loving insult on her lips but deep inside she really cared. I think, that’s probably why we stayed in touch even when I transferred back to my old school.” With each phrase Blaine had gotten more excited which ended with him now sitting on the edge of his chair, leaning in and supporting himself with his elbow on the table.

Alex seems amused by this sudden outburst but she doesn’t say anything. “Since we’re talking about your school life, you transferred three times in four years of high school, right?”

Blaine nods.

“That seems like a lot…”

Blaine blushes lightly but holds her gaze. “Yes, I guess it does when you see it written down on a paper. To be honest, I don’t think about it like that. For me, it was the right decision every single time I made it. I spend most of my high school time at Dalton Academy in Westerville, though, the same school Seb attended and the school were we fell in love with each other. After a lot of high school rivalry and Sebastian being a stupid brat – “, he smiles, “and me being stubborn and a little careless, maybe, but in the end, we found each other and that’s what matters.”

“A stupid brat, huh?” Alex laughs.

“A stupid brat. You may quote that”, Blaine confirms with a cheeky glance to Sebastian. Sebastian just huffs. He still feels uncomfortable when his asshole-actions of his lesser glory high school days are mentioned.

“So, what about the other two schools? When Dalton obviously seems to be so important to you.”

“It is. Well, I attended William McKinley High School in Lima between Dalton and Westerville Central High before I went to Dalton. It’s not easy for me to tell this but I transferred to Dalton after some stupid people decided that being openly gay in Ohio was obviously something that could be punched out of someone and they tried that theory on me, so to speak.” Blaine lowers his gaze. He sounds angry more than still hurt. Sebastian squeezes his hand and slides as close as he can in his chair.

Alex stops scribbling and looks at Blaine with wide eyes full of empathy like she understands what Blaine is admitting out of a sudden. She puts down her pen and paper. “Blaine, if you need a minute…? And remember, you can just say, you don’t want to answer and we’ll go on.” She looks genuinely sorry that she touched such a delicate subject by accident.

Blaine takes a deep breath and sits up straight again. “No, it’s okay. Please, I want to tell this story.” Alex takes her pen again and nods. “Okay. So, what do you mean when you say that someone tried to punch being gay out of you?”

Sebastian feels Blaine’s fingers tremble a little but his voice is strong when he tells Alex the story of the Sadie Hawkins dance.

It was one of the little secrets Blaine whispered to him years ago in the comfort of the dark when they were laying squeezed into his small bed in the Dalton dorms. Back then, he couldn’t see but feel the tears rolling down Blaine’s cheek silently when he told him about the flashbacks he kept having for weeks afterwards, how he flinched when anyone touched him and about Dalton’s strict bullying-police that made him feel secure for the first time in forever when he actually saw it executed 2 weeks after he started at the school. He told him about the Warblers, the brothers who took care of his fractured mind and heart after his broken bones were already healed, about Wes and David who Sebastian had never met, about confidence and unconditional support he was given when he finally started singing and playing piano again. And if Sebastian felt a little more shitty than the already did for how he used the grief and hurt of exactly those brothers after Blaine left, well, he tried to make up for it by tugging Blaine a little closer, holding him a little tighter and brushing away stray tears with his thumb.

Sebastian shakes his head to push the thoughts away just in time as he’s asked “And then you met Blaine and fell for him on first sight? Because, seriously, I could get that, I saw pictures of him in that cute navy blue uniform. Although, the hair, Blaine…?” Sebastian laughs and ruffles through Blaine’s curls with his right hand. Blaine dips his head and glares at him, trying to smooth it down again.

“Yeah, the hair was something. And in hindsight, you might be right, maybe I did fall for him the minute I saw him standing in that Dalton common room door. But to be honest, I wasn’t very fond with the idea of love back then and Blaine was ridiculously in love with someone else. So, as much as there may have been a certain spark or something, we weren’t really ready then. When Blaine came back to Dalton – per my insistence, I might add, there might have been an impromptu song accompanied by a not so impromptu performance – we started becoming friends again. But it took us months to finally admit that we were more than that, to be ready to be more than that.” Sebastian smiles at Blaine and when he sees that mushy expression on his boyfriend’s face he gets every single time when Sebastian tells the story on how they fell in love, he leans forward and kisses him softly. Wow, okay, that was a first, they’re usually never that affectionate in professional settings.

“Gosh, you guys are too cute… Umm, talking about being ready and cute: We talked a lot about your past today, what about your future? Any romantic news?” Alex smiles sweetly and bats her eyes. It takes everything in Sebastian to not roll his.

“If you’re asking if there will be any wedding bands decorating or hands any time soon, I have to tell you… who knows, we’ll see.” Sebastian smirks at her and she smirks back: “That’s not a ‘No’, so I guess I’ll keep an eye out for any rings.”

Blaine intervenes. “What Sebastian means is that we are very happy how things are right now. Seb is starting his own business, I’m very lucky to be in that short movie with Santana and we’ll go from there. I mean… marriage is definitely on the agenda at some point, so sooner or later, yes, you’ll see wedding bands.”

Little does Blaine know about the small velvet box in Sebastian’s dresser, buried in socks and burning a whole in Sebastian’s mental pocket because, yes, there will be a proposal. He just has to work up the courage to actually ask.

#seblaine week 2020 #seblaine #thank you naya #naya rivera #glee #in memoriam #sebastian smythe #blaine anderson #sebastian x blaine #a little hurt #tiny bit #gifs

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ilikecowsnstuff · 4 years ago

Text

CHAPTER 18!!!

SUMMARY: UA Hero Course - Third Year. Shigaraki Tomura and Dabi have been classmates and rivals since their very first day at UA. But with new feelings developing how will they cope given their history of fragile and often violent encounters? Their dance begins after a partnered training exam goes wrong, leaving Shigaraki wounded and Dabi feeling guilty. AU.

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For AO3 – Click Here

For FanFiction – Click Here

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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - YOU NEED A BREAK

It was 12:35 AM. Shigaraki yawned as he stretched and then went back to staring at the computer. On it was the file of the villain from the agency's latest case, one that Fourth Kind had recently detained and who Shigaraki was supposed to be filling out the report for. But he wasn’t really focused. Instead, he played with the pen that was in his hand, tapping it in a rhymical beat against his bent knee, until somehow it escaped his fingers. He looked up and saw that the pen had landed on Fourth Kind’s desk.

The Pro-Hero slammed his hand down over the pen and levelled a stern gaze at Shigaraki.

“Sorry.”

Fourth Kind grunted and then sat back, steepling his fingers in front of him.

“Is this work not stimulating enough for you, Shigaraki?”

“Oh, no sir. This is great. Really.” Shigaraki replied sarcastically, shrinking further down into the couch and bringing the laptop closer to his chest.

The Pro-Hero chuckled deeply.

“You know, Hero work is not always playing outside and catching the bad guys.” He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and extracted a small cigar box as he spoke. Cubans. “Sometimes, you have to fill out paperwork.” He picked up a gold-plated cigar cutter and snipped off the cap of one of the cigars before placing it between his teeth. “Fortunately for me, I have you to do that.” He grinned and then lit up the end with a flick of a match.

Shigaraki looked at him deadpan as a cloud of white smoke rolled upwards before disappearing at the ceiling.

“You asked for the hours, Shigaraki. This is what I need from you.”

“To do all your paperwork and fetch you an espresso on command?”

“Watch your mouth, boy.” He narrowed his eyes and took another puff from his cigar. On the outside he looked perturbed by Shigaraki’s attitude, however, the small curl of his lip suggested Shigaraki amused him, to a small degree anyway. “You are young, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to put your life in danger after you graduate.”

Shigaraki breathed a quiet sigh and returned his attention to the task at hand, plugging in details of the arrest as Fourth Kind had described earlier.

He knew he shouldn’t be complaining, he was grateful for the work and really it was easy money, but after a week of coffee runs, organizing files, and writing up reports he was eager for something more. Something a little more interesting. A patrol even. But Fourth Kind refused to send him out onto the streets. It was Summer break, he wasn’t even supposed to be working. That was the same argument that came back at Shigaraki every time he asked for just that bit more responsibility.

Shigaraki worked silently for the next half hour, diligent, completing the report and helping Fourth Kind in planning the next day without so much as a fuss.

It was getting late and they were both preparing to wrap up a long day, when an alarm and motion sensor detected someone coming into the office through the front entrance. It wasn’t unusual for people to stop by the agency - concerned civilians, police, heroes - but considering the hour it was somewhat out of the ordinary.

“I think there’s someone here to see you.”

“Hm?” Shigaraki lifted one brow and closed the lid of the laptop before powering it down. He dropped it carefully onto Fourth Kind’s desk. “Why would you think that?”

“Just go.” He waved Shigaraki off.

Shigaraki offered him a speculative glance before leaving the office. Down a hall, he entered into the foyer, and turned a corner to where the reception desk was located. Standing at that desk was the last person he ever thought he would see in the Fourth Kind agency.

“Dabi?”

“Hey, Mop Head.” It took just a few long strides for Dabi to reach Shigaraki and when he did, instinctually reached out for some affection.

Shigaraki took a step back avoiding the impending hug and glanced up towards the concealed security cameras he knew were watching them. Dabi stopped and the initial enthusiasm left his face, replaced by something more akin to disappointment.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re not happy to see me?” Dabi asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“No… I am. I just…” Another quick glance around and Shigaraki tentatively stepped closer to his boyfriend, wanting to appease him while also simultaneously keeping up an appropriate professional front. He smiled in reassurance, though it was somewhat tense, and took up a lax position beside Dabi, leaning casually back against the reception desk. “I thought you were away with your family. I didn’t expect to see you.”

The corner of Dabi’s mouth curled up into an amused grin and then he leaned forward and kissed Shigaraki’s cheek. His lips lingered, and Shigaraki heard him inhale a deep breath before Dabi was nuzzling his jawline. Unbelievably, he managed to keep his hands to himself.

“I told you I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, you did but…”

Dabi snickered, “But you didn’t think i’d be able to get away from dear old dad?”

“Obviously.”

Dabi pulled away and straightened up. “Well, luckily for me, Endeavour prefers to spend his precious free time with his favoured child. Getting out of there really wasn’t that difficult. He probably won’t even notice that I left.”

Shigaraki snorted a laugh and watched as Dabi strolled around the reception area, looking at the various photos, and framed articles and accolades hanging on the walls.

“Don’t hate me, but I kind of called ahead.”

“Huh?” Shigaraki said, his nose scrunching a little.

“Here.”

Shigaraki’s mouth formed an understanding, “Oh.” Fourth Kind knew their late-night visitor was Dabi, that’s why it hadn’t disturbed him to hear someone calling on the agency so late.

“You need a real Summer vacation.”

“No, I need money.”

“Well, tough shit. I’m taking you away for a few days.”

“I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. It’s all sorted out. You’re good.” Dabi grinned, quite proud of himself. Shigaraki didn’t look half as impressed. “Actually, funny story. Fourth Kind seemed pretty keen on the whole idea of kicking you out of here for a bit.”

“Tch.”

“Shigaraki needs to relax and have some fun.” Dabi said, mimicking Fourth Kind’s deep voice. “Those were his words, not mine. Though, I completely agree.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s great and all but don’t I get any say in this?”

“Nope. We’re leaving now.”

“No, we’re not.”

“I’m not asking. You need a break. Come on.”

“Dabi.” Shigaraki sighed and scrubbed a hand roughly over his face. “Can we please just be serious for a moment. It's almost two in the morning.”

“I am being serious.” Dabi said, his brow pinching together. “I want to spend some time with you. What’s so bad about that?”

Shigaraki searched Dabi’s vibrant blue gaze for a moment, looking for a hint of dishonesty or humor but couldn’t find any. He really was being serious about this. “Okay.” He started, resigned to the fact that he was probably going on a little vacation with Dabi somewhere. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

“So, you’re not going to tell me?”

“No.” Dabi grinned, “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“How will I know what to pack then?”

“Well the thing is… I kind of already did that for you.” Dabi said quickly, ending it with a cleverly timed cough.

“You went into my room? By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And went through all my things so you could pack a bag for me?”

“Yes. And I only checked, like, all of your drawers so...” He chuckled when Shigaraki pulled a face. “Honestly, you’re really not that hard to pack for. And where we are going you won’t need too many clothes.” Another devilish grin and a wink, he ambled back over to Shigaraki and stepped right into his personal space.

“That’s not funny.” Shigaraki grumbled.

Dabi lifted his hand to frame the side of Shigaraki’s face and his fingers slowly swept his jaw. “It’s not what you think. I wouldn’t purposely put you in a situation you would be uncomfortable with.”

“I know.”

Dabi leaned in, and this time Shigaraki didn’t move away. Dabi brushed his warm lips over Shigaraki and their breaths mingled as they exhaled soft matching sounds of pleasure from a long-awaited kiss. Dabi licked Shigaraki’s lower lip and the lighter haired boy groaned, parting his mouth to allow Dabi to touch the tip of his tongue down against his. Dabi withdrew a fraction, teasing, encouraging Shigaraki to lean forward in search of a deeper kiss and when he did, Dabi delved deeper, exploding with a sudden urgency. His mouth was restless, lips moving over Shigaraki and drawing him closer with ambitious hands that slipped around his boyfriend's waist. But it wasn't enough, he wanted more. They had only been separated for a week but for Dabi, who was in an almost constant state of yearning for Shigaraki, it felt like a lifetime.

They broke away seconds later, in desperate need of some oxygen, and Shigaraki pressed the palm of his hand to Dabi’s chest to prevent them from getting carried away by another ardent kiss.

“So, should we go?” Dabi whispered, his voice low and laced with lust.

Shigaraki cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Let me get my... things.”

Dabi reluctantly stepped away and Shigaraki quickly moved aside, though he motioned for Dabi to walk with him.

Back inside the agency, Shigaraki found Fourth Kind still in his office, though it looked like he was getting ready to call it a night too.

“Ah. There you are.” He placed a gentle hand down on Shigaraki’s shoulder and handed him his cellphone, which he had left behind on the desk. “So, I won’t see you for a few days. Correct?” He grinned, a smile full of large perfect white teeth, and then nodded his head in greeting to Dabi. “Toya Todoroki. All grown up. Wow.”

“Sir.”

“Thanks for taking this one off my hands for a few days. Not that I don’t appreciate having him around, but he needs a break. You’re a good friend.”

“I am.” Dabi grinned. “A great friend.” He said with a huge emphasis on the word friend.

Shigaraki huffed, his face flooding with heat. “You’re not that great. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Dabi snickered.

Thankfully, Fourth Kind didn’t pick up on anything beyond their being a friendship. Though, all he had to do was check the security camera footage and he would quickly find out just how friendly they were. Shigaraki internally scolded himself for the impromptu make out session in the reception area.

“And for the record, I didn’t need either of you to decide that I needed a break.” Shigaraki interjected, grumbling.

Fourth Kind laughed, loudly, completely amused. “Get out of here.”

Shigaraki huffed again but nodded.

“Oh, and Toya, if you ever feel like a change in… scenery, the Fourth Kind Agency is always open.”

“It’s Dabi, actually.” He amended, “And yeah, i’ll keep that in mind.”

“Dabi. Give my regards to Endeavour would you.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes and then turned away. He was the first out of the office, with Shigaraki following closely behind. They walked silently and when they cleared the entrance and were out on the sidewalk, Dabi immediately took Shigaraki’s hand, carefully linking their fingers together. Shigaraki did not fight it.

“I’m parked just down here.” Dabi motioned with a jerk of his head.

“We’re driving?”

“Yeah. Car courtesy of Endeavour.” Dabi grinned, and then lifted a key fob. He pushed a button and the sound of a car unlocking with a double beep could be heard just a few yards ahead.

“When you must tell him the story about why his car has a few extra miles on the gauge and an empty gas tank, leave me out of it.”

Dabi laughed and propped open the passenger side door of a blacked-out luxury sedan, inviting Shigaraki to get inside. “I don’t know what you are talking about Old Man. Forgetting things. Must be your age. It’ll go something like that.”

Shigaraki shook his head. All joking aside, he was concerned about what would happen to Dabi if Endeavour found out. First, leaving their family summer vacation, and then hijacking his car to go on a vacation of his own, and with his boyfriend who Shigaraki was sure Endeavour did not know about him or their relationship. That was three strikes.

Dabi closed Shigaraki up inside the car before joining him on the driver’s side. “Look, don’t worry. Really. It’ll be fine. Fuck him.” He pressed the auto start and the engine hummed to life. He then fiddled with the GPS until a map showing the route they would be taking popped up on the display screen.

The back of Shigaraki’s head hit the headrest and he slowly rolled his cheek to the side to face Dabi. He hadn’t noticed it until then, but on Dabi’s face, right by his ear where there was already extensive scarring, was a new wound - a small cut, surrounded by some purple bruising.

Shigaraki’s brow furrowed and Dabi jerked his head over to him. Shigaraki wanted to ask about the injury but thought it best to maybe wait until later - after they had finished their roadtrip.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… wondering what you actually packed for me.”

Dabi grinned and then returned his gaze forward so he could pull the car out from the curb and get them or their way. “You know, all the essentials. Socks, shampoo… lube.” He joked.

“Right. The essentials.” Shigaraki scowled and looked over his shoulder to the backseat where two packed bags were sitting. They seemed full enough. “Sounds like your plan is to jerk off into a sock later. Fun vacation.”

Dabi snickered. “I did forget your toothbrush though. Unimportant. You can use mine.”

“What?” Shigaraki drawled, unamused. “So, you remembered to pack lube but no toothbrush?”

Dabi laughed again, “We’ll stop somewhere on the way. You know, we might need more lube.”

“I hope you packed enough socks.”

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Chapter One – Accidental Attraction

Chapter Two – After Care

Chapter Three – Dazed and Confused

Chapter Four – I Like You

Chapter Five - Friends and Enemies

Chapter Six - Confrontation!

Chapter Seven - Transfer Student

Chapter Eight - A Period of Learning

Chapter Nine - Work and Play

Chapter Ten - Friday

Chapter Eleven - Extraordinary Day

Chapter Twelve - The Problem with Relationships.

Chapter Thirteen - Will You Go Out With Me?

Chapter Fourteen - A Not So Innocent Birthday Request

Chapter Fifteen - The Morning After

Chapter Sixteen - His First

Chapter Seventeen - Summer is Coming

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cllynchauthor · 5 years ago

Text

On Aspie Supremacy and the Aspergian

CW: bullying, suicide, aspie supremacy

I feel the need to talk to you guys about what has been happening on autistic twitter lately surrounding the autistic website The Aspergian. I write for The Aspergian. Here are some of my articles:

https://theaspergian.com/2019/05/04/its-a-spectrum-doesnt-mean-what-you-think/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/04/19/person-first/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/04/05/7-cool-aspects-of-autistic-culture/

While I am white, cishet, and speaking, I am in the minority at The Aspergian.

The majority of contributors are mostly either LGBTQIA+, BIPOC, or high support needs.

Here are some of their contributions:

https://theaspergian.com/2019/10/10/stopping-the-stigma-against-people-with-disabilities-interview-with-sbsk/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/09/09/10-signs-i-was-transgender-but-didnt-know-it/

https://theaspergian.com/2019/08/08/the-cage/

Despite this, the name The Aspergian makes many autistic people uncomfortable. Several ASAN members have spoken out condemning the name.

In these days of #AltAutism, the autistic dark web and other aspie supremacists have turned the word Aspergers into a borderline slur.

Aspergers and “Aspergian” are becoming dog whistles for function labels, white supremacy and incels.

The founder of The Aspergian knows that. That’s why she named it The Aspergian.

With every pro-RPM, pro-Neurodiversity, feminist, intersectional article The Aspergian publishes, it gets left wing values all over Aspergers. If you google Aspergian now, all you will find are social justice articles.

And the AltAutism folks HATE IT.

But so do a lot of autistic advocates, for whom “Aspergers” conjures up a lot of trauma.

The founder has trauma from it too, though.

https://twitter.com/theaspergiancom/status/1185068296636375040?s=21

Image Description: screencap of a tweet from @TheAspergianCom reading

When I first told my closest living friend about being autistic, it was the first person I'd told other than my husband. This was her response:

Below is a screencap of a text conversation. The friend is talking about her autistic son saying “at this point I’ll be fucking happy if he ever calls me mom and stops trying to attack me.” Then she says “I think your autism is fucking bullshit.”

Image description: screencaps of more tweets reading:

Though she knew I was going to be tested, she'd continued to use the word Asperger's. I'd been helping her through the process of understanding her son and autism. I loved her deeply. I still do. But she blocked me on social media and told everyone before I was ready to come out.

So instantly all my social media was flooded with all these speculative and veiled comments I could only see portions of, and I was humiliated. I was a new mother struggling and lost my support system. She thought it was sinister I used the same label as her son. Minimizing.

Autism was my diagnosis. She didn't know that I was made to believe I was possessed by demons in my youth or all the hell I'd endured and all the struggles I had like being the last person in my school who learned to read six years late. She knew an articulate adult.

Image description: the next person I told, things went even worse. She outed me in local Facebook groups where I was the admin and parent groups. I had postpartum anxiety and severe breastfeeding aversion but my child wouldn't eat food. So it was BF constantly or a feeding tube. And no meds for me.

So I thought maybe the problem was me saying autism instead of Asperger's. My husband was aspie and always identified that way. I'd been a teacher with largely autistic classes for years. Those with that diagnosis were often intellectually disabled.

Image description: My best friend and one of my oldest and closest friends, both autistic, had committed suicide, and the two living best friends I had blew up my whole social circle. I was afraid to seek help, afraid to go in public, and brutally reframing my whole life and reliving traumas.

I needed help. I joined about 20-30 autistic groups and made the mistake of saying that I was aspie. I didn't want to be insulting and have another incident like what happened the first time I told someone. It didn't go well. I had no idea of the stigma at the time.

And I had no idea why I was being called a supremacist, shiny, a Nazi, ableist, etc. I argued against those claims because I'm definitely not those things. I thought I'd entered a den of extremists. I got booted. Then another group I entered started with, "Oh, there's the Nazi."

In that tweet thread, Terra goes on to say that it occurred to her that her best friend who had recently committed suicide might have sought out the autistic community before he died. And she went to look and found that he had posted and been dogpiled in the same manner. The day before he died.

Terra Vance is desperately anti supremacy. But she is also desperately anti bullying. And she felt that if people couldn’t say “I’m autistic” without losing loved ones and “I’m aspie” without being called a supremacist, then autistic people were being put in a very tight corner.

Especially since Aspergers is still an extant diagnosis pretty much everywhere but North America so people are getting shunned from the autistic community because of their DIAGNOSIS.

That’s why she named it The Aspergian.

And you know what?

The aspie supremacists HATE IT.

They hate that their dog whistle is now a popular and booming hub of Neurodiversity, anti-ABA, and intersectionality.

They hate that The Aspergian is republishing deleted Wikipedia articles of autistic nonspeakers, which the autistic dark web worked hard to get removed.

They hate that we promote FC and RPM and other AAC. They hate that we keep claiming that autism and Aspergers are the same thing.

They don’t want to share space with nonspeakers and black women. They’re a bunch of altright white incels and The Aspergian is getting autism and neurodiversity over their shiny high functioning boots.

Worst of all, we’re reaching PARENTS.

Our most popular articles are not aimed at fellow autistic people. They are aimed at NTs, parents, laymen, trying to educate them about autism.

My article on ABA went viral and made so many ABA therapists angry. It was beautiful.

Imagine description:

“And by some strange magic, we took off suddenly, going from like 100 views per month to over 100k, then 200k, then more and more. We heard a lot of stories that were not being heard. There are parents who read our site to learn about their children posthumously after suicide.

One mother told me that if she had found our site earlier, she would have known that her son's "aspie" diagnosis meant that he was fully autistic. She is filled with regrets. We hear from lots of people who had no idea that they were supposed to have these autistic struggles.

We hear from people in lots of non-white majority countries where autism acceptance and awareness is years/decades behind what a difference our site has made because they had no idea. They weren't reading other blogs and now they are. Now they are understanding autism.”

Understanding autism from a neurodivergent, autism-acceptance, Autism-Speaks-Is-Bad, anti-ABA, pro-AAC website.

The ADW HATE that.

So what do they do?

They stir up shit about the name. The autistic dark web have a bunch of sock accounts which they use to deliberately stir up shit among the #ActuallyAutistic tag on twitter so they can screenshot stuff and repost it out of context to further discredit autistic people.

So they know the ND crowd resent Aspergers. So they deliberately stir up crap about The Aspergian’s name and everybody eats it up.

They also spread lies like that we are racist and don’t have any contributors of colour (they block the BIPOC contributors who argue against this lie).

Image Descriotion:

Tweet from Riah Person (a black autistic advocate) saying

“The .@theAspergianCom has writers

• with I/DD

• that are nonspeaking

• with research background

• that are deaf

• that are blind

• with physically limiting disabilities

• that are autistic BIPOC

• that are autistic LGBTQ+

• with no formal writing skills

The list goes on”

They claim that we plagiarize. But in fact each contributor owns their own content and is free to publish in other places and often they do.

But mostly they bitch about the name.

And I get it. I do. Aspergers brings up a lot of bad feelings and associations, especially since the anti-ND movement started pushing the “Asperger was a Nazi” stuff in order to discredit Steve Silberman’s book Neurotribes.

But we can’t make Asperger’s a slur. It’s still an existing diagnosis all around the world. Happily it IS being removed from the ICD 11 in 2022 but it’s going to take decades to change the assumptions around that word.

Terra wants “Aspergers” to become synonymous with autism. No difference. No barriers. No judgements. Not because she loves or even identifies with Aspergers. Her diagnosis is autistic and she calls herself autistic. But she doesn’t think autistic people should be bullied over a label. It smacks of exclusionism.

The founder of The Aspergian feels that no autistic person should be bullied to the point of death or near-death because of their diagnosis, or because they have been trained to say they have Aspergers so NTs won’t pull the whole “you don’t look autistic” crap.

The autistic community, of ALL communities, should be the most understanding of misunderstanding. We should be the most able to understand that people don’t always mean what it sounds like they mean.

“Aspergers” is not a slur. It is not a supremacist term. At worst it is an outdated functioning label. At best it is a synonym for autism.

And it won’t become a dog whistle. Because The Aspergian won’t allow it.

#actuallyautistic #autism #suicide #bullying #advocacy #aspie #aspergers

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kanasmusings · 6 years ago

Text

[Translation] TsukiPro Yaminabe Drama CD Vol. 1 Track 2 - “Talk Show With Two Bad Talkers”

What an unusual but really cute pairing~! Dai and Ren really make for a cute older bro-younger pro pair XD Also, “Honey and Darling” make a brief appearance here, really brief but, super funny! I really love Shiki’s slightly quirky personality when he’s making fun of Tsubasa wwww

Oh yeah, the lines where it’s just Ren talking is just him narrating or talking to himself.

Anyways, thank you to Deea for sharing with me the files~! Please don’t ask her for them as per her request, thank you ^^

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission. Please just like/reblog them instead ^^

Under the cut, enjoy~!

[TsukiPro Daily Life Small Talk – Yaminabe Drama]

Track 02: [口下手二人のトークショー] “Talk Show With Two Bad Talkers”

[0:00]

REN: Ever since I was young, I was called things like, “behaved”, “reserved”, “try to stand out a bit more” and other such stuff.

REN: I am aware of those and even though I was thinking about what to do about it, I ended up not being able to do anything and am presently here right now.

REN: Elementary school, middle school… I tried imitating a lot of speech and manners in order to improve myself and I even asked my teachers for advice.

REN: I planned to train myself during kendo practice and even at piano rehearsals.

REN: But in the end, trying to stand out more and more was difficult…

REN: By the time I got to high school, I just accepted that this was the kind of person I am. I sort of half gave up and half convinced myself that it was like that.

REN: But… I think that it would have been better if I exerted more effort rather than just giving up and convincing myself this was okay…

REN: At least… that’s how I feel.

REN: And also because… it felt kind of suffocating staying like this.

REN: (sighs) Wh-wh-wh-wh-what should I do…? (takes a deep breath)

DAI: Hm?

REN: (to himself) With Dai-san… A talk show with the SolidS’ Murase Dai-san who exudes such a vigorous aura…!

REN: (to himself) This is bad…!

REN: This all started after I popped in to the agency on my way home from school.

REN: It was the formal meeting at the end of the month. I knew that we would be having a meeting with the office workers.

REN: SOARA typically does meetings one by one at least once a month.

REN: They’re courteous with us about our private matters or school schedules as we discuss our work and lesson schedules for the next month.

REN: Of course, the schedules are not completely permanent.

REN: The advertising part and the work we’re supposed to do need to be coordinated properly so, it’s not impossible that meetings would be stretched to a few days.

REN: But, most of those plans and responsibilities are generally resolved in these meetings.

REN: And now, even I started coordinating with the office workers about my activities that I received from a call and a note just 10 minutes ago.

REN: Well, it was peaceful until that moment.

REN: Yes… Until that moment.

[02:51]

STAFF: Lately, requests for SOARA to appear in news and articles has increased, huh.

STAFF: I’m sure that it’s all thanks to your hard work (smiles).

REN: Thank you very much!

STAFF: Looking at how things are going… It won’t be long before you have your exclusive manager!

REN: An exclusive mana—You mean, our own manager, correct?

STAFF: Yeah. SOARA still doesn’t have an exclusive manager, right?

STAFF: Since you’re fairly new, the agency managers take turns managing you depending on who’s free, right?

REN: Ah, yes. We haven’t had an event in a really huge place yet and we’ve only been doing interviews for magazines and ladies’ magazines, too.

STAFF: I’m sure that you’d get more jobs where you’ll perform soon, too~

STAFF: I heard that the photo-book that was recently published was selling well. The President was happy about it, too!

REN: The President was…?

STAFF: (chuckles) It doesn’t look it but that person really watches over everyone and gets information about his talents quicker than anyone else.

STAFF: He also has a lot of mysterious info.

REN: (chuckles nervously) H-he’s as mysterious as usual, huh…

STAFF: (chuckles) You got that right.

STAFF B: Ah, Ren-kun! Perfect timing.

REN: Eh?

[04:07]

REN: (to himself) Honestly speaking, I felt that bad things would happen during this incident.

REN: “Perfect timing,” hearing those words before the actual conversation doesn’t really mean that the outcome would be “perfect”…

REN: I’ve learned that already despite being alive in this world for only a short while.

REN: I think a lot about how I’m the type who doesn’t like pushing people around but rather, I’m the one getting dragged along most of the time but…

REN: At times like these, normally… I feel like I’ll get assigned to do something difficult or worrisome…

REN: My intuition is most of the time correct when the conclusion comes around.

REN: That is because… that “conclusion” is the current situation I’m in right now…

REN: It was a live radio broadcast where a host asks different male talents different questions about a lot of things.

REN: Today’s guest was an artist who was scheduled to return from his first tour in America.

REN: However, because of some engine trouble in the air, the airplane had to make an emergency landing somewhere else and he couldn’t make it to the recording.

REN: Then, while looking for replacements to go on the radio show, they went and asked the people who were already in the building with them. That was me and Dai-san.

REN: A talk show where we were suddenly called…

REN: And to top it off, it’s with this pairing who don’t talk much and have never had much interaction before.

REN: I think that… it’s not unusual for my face to look so scared… Right…?

[05:55]

REN: (to himself) Ah… Why did it have to be this pairing of all things?

STAFF: (pats Ren’s back) R-Ren-kun, good luck…! Just think of this as a chance to promote SOARA…!

REN: A-ah… Yes, you’re right. (Ren takes a deep breath) Alright…!

(Ren walks over to Dai)

REN: Da—

DAI: Hm?

REN: Is Dai-san, u-um…

DAI: Ah…

REN: Were you called over by the Producer too because you were in the agency building?

REN: I was talking with the office staff when I was caugh—Ah, no… When I was called over.

DAI: I see. I was doing dance lessons at the studio downstairs when I was caugh—When I was called over.

REN: Eh? Is that so?

DAI: Yeah.

REN: (nervous) Ah…

DAI: Hm?

REN: (takes a deep breath and sighs) The dance…! Was it difficult…?

DAI: No, not so much. I’ve always loved moving my body a lot after all.

DAI: I did swimming before, too.

REN: Ah! I knew about that. You participated in competitions, too, didn’t you?

DAI: Though I injured my shoulder and I couldn’t continue competitively anymore.

REN: Ah… Th-that’s right… I-I knew a little about that as well…

DAI: Really?

REN: (to himself) I’m so stupid…! Just when we were finally having a decent conversation…

REN: (sighs) (to himself) Awkward… This is extremely awkward… I’m sure that Dai-san thinks so, too…

REN: (to himself) Something… Is there something we can talk about…?

REN: (sighs) (to himself) This is so unnerving…

[07:57]

REN: (to himself) Why was I scheduled for a meeting today of all days…?

REN: That’s what I honestly thought.

REN: If I had been with Nozomu or Sora-senpai, or Mori-senpai, or Sou-nii then…

REN: In other words… If I were partnered with anyone else except for SOARA…

REN: I might become better at conversing…

REN: “Plus, isn’t this a chance to make them remember my name and face?” is what I say to motivate myself…

REN: “I was lucky. It was good timing.”

REN: Maybe I should promote SOARA just like the staff said… was what I wanted to think.

REN: But, before anything could begin, my own frustrations set me back… I’m so pathetic…

[08:53]

REN: (sighs) (to himself) What should I do?

DAI: You…

DAI: You do sports too, don’t you, Ren? Kendo, right?

REN: Eh?

REN: (flustered) A-ah, yes! I did! Ah, no—I still do!

DAI: I know. Even now, you train every morning at the practice room, don’t you?

REN: Yes! But, I’m surprised you kne—Ah, I see… Dai-san and Rikka-san go running early in the morning, right?

REN: Do you always run?

DAI: Yeah. On days when we don’t have anything scheduled. We feel like it’ll help us wake up if we go running.

REN: I see!

DAI: Also, I really love how the morning feels.

REN: I know what you mean! I love the morning’s relaxing atmosphere and it feels good for some reason.

DAI: Right? I love it, too.

REN: Ah…!

DAI: Is there someone from SOARA who’s weak with mornings?

REN: Sora-senpai and Nozomu are, I’d say.

REN: Sora-senpai stays up late because of song writing so maybe that’s why. Nozomu’s weakness is of his own fault though.

REN: He stays up late surfing the net or playing games. He plays a lot of things (chuckles).

REN: What about anyone from SolidS?

DAI: I’d say Tsubasa’s probably similar.

DAI: He’s the type who does a lot of different things until he’s—no, even when he’s sleepy.

DAI: He has a lot of places he wants to go to or things he wants to do but since there’s not a lot of time, he feels like going to sleep is a waste.

DAI: In a way, that’s powerful, right?

REN: Ah, Tsubasa-san seems like he has a lot of interests, huh?

REN: (chuckles) He’s well-informed, he’s light on his feet, and he seems like the type who’d discover a good shop before it became mainstream.

DAI: Exactly. That’s why there are a lot of times he goes home late.

DAI: Oh yeah. That reminds me of when he called me at a very weird time and Shiki and I had to go pick him up.

REN: Eh? Picked him up? Was he drunk or something?

DAI: That’s what you’d think, right? It was unexpectedly not so.

DAI: That guy knows how to drink and he holds his alcohol well.

REN: I guess it would be rude to say if I said that was my image of him. Everyone in SolidS can hold their alcohol, right?

DAI: Actually, yeah. I think I’m the weakest one in SolidS.

DAI: Even so, if compared to your average person, I’d probably be normal or a bit above average [with holding my alcohol].

DAI: The other three are way above that.

REN: Eh~? Everyone in SolidS is so amazing~

REN: Oh? Then, why did Tsubasa-san—

DAI: Call for me?

DAI: That was after that guy went out drinking after not noticing he forgot his wallet.

DAI: He noticed it when he was at the register and he tried paying using his phone but it didn’t work.

DAI: He called me way past midnight when the trains weren’t running anymore and…

(flashback to Dai and Tsubasa’s conversation)

TSUBASA: (over the phone) Hello, Dai-chan?! You picked up. I’m so relieved~! I’m saved!

TSUBASA: (over the phone) Where are you right now, Dai-chan?

DAI: Huh? Sleeping in the dorms, of course.

DAI: Tsubasa, you… What time do you think it is—

TSUBASA: (over the phone) I’m really sorry! Really, I am!

TSUBASA: (over the phone) I’ll treat you to how much you want and I’ll do anything you want after so… Please come and save me!

DAI: Huh?! You… What are you doing, really?

TSUBASA: (over the phone) Uh… Dai-chan, I’m sorry. Actually, I—

[12:44]

SHIKI: Hm? Dai, where are you going at this hour? An emergency?

DAI: Ah, no. Well, I guess you can call it an emergency but… not really for me. Tsubasa is…

SHIKI: (excitedly) Tsubasa?!

(Dai and Shiki walking over to Tsubasa)

TSUBASA: Ah, Dai-chan, you came—UGH!!

SHIKI: Rejoice. I have come to pick you up personally, my careless honey who forgot his wallet at home~

TSUBASA: Eh? Oh my, darling~ Thank you for picking me up~…

TSUBASA: (nervous chuckle) M-man, I—I really am loved, huh~…

SHIKI: (sighs) How unsightly for a TsukiPro talent. Had you made one more mistake, you’d have left without paying your bill.

SHIKI: Ah, how truly unsightly.

TSUBASA: AH! I’m sorry! I just forgot to check if it was in my bag before I left!

SHIKI: Okui Tsubasa. You are not to leave the dorm after curfew for two weeks.

TSUBASA: WHAT?! A curfew?! What’s with that? Am I some kinda middle schooler to you!?

TSUBASA: That doesn’t apply now, does it?!

SHIKI: It may or may not but, it certainly should apply to you who bothered his brother so late in the night to help save his butt because he wasn’t aware of his standing after he debuted professionally even after he was told to be careful.

TSUBASA: You’re lecturing for once…! But it’s so annoying!

SHIKI: Still, there is no doubt that this is a lecture. Are you defying me? Are you defying me, hm~?

TSUBASA: (groans) Damn it…!

SHIKI: That’s it, that’s it. I’ll say these lines to make it concrete.

SHIKI: This is an order from your Producer!

TSUBASA: AAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

DAI: You guys… I’m surprised that you can fight so loudly this late at night.

DAI: I’m really sleepy, you know?

(flashback ends)

[14:40]

REN: Th-that was… It was fortunate that you were there, huh, Dai-san?

DAI: Right? In the end, Tsubasa had to obey curfew for two weeks.

REN: (chuckles) He can’t defy the Producer’s orders after all~

STAFF: Murase-san, Munakata-san, the preparations are already over so can we ask you to go on stand-by, please?

REN: Ah, yes!

DAI: Yes.

(Dai and Ren take their seats)

STAFF: I’ll arrange the mic, okay?

REN: Ah, yes please.

DAI: (whispering to Ren) A talk show really makes one nervous, huh?

REN: (chuckles)

==END==

※ Please don’t re-post the English translations without permission.

If you like this, please consider buying me a ko-fi here to support my work. (o^▽^o)Thank you!!

#tsukipro #drama cd #tsukipro yaminabe drama cd #soara #solids #murase dai #munakata ren #takamura shiki #okui tsubasa #soara translations #solids translations #my translations #queued post #shiki finding it a great chance to torment tsubasa the moment dai said tsubasa's name #lmao solids never ceases to amuse me #and ren is just this really cute little bean who's a nervous wreck~

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insanechinaman · 5 years ago

Text

To hell with Amber Alerts (because no one wants to fix it)

There are a lot of things in this hyper-modern world and day and age that gets shoved in your face and down your throat. Cell phone notifications. Personalized advertising. Donald Takeadump's tweets. And Amber Alerts.

It used to be that Amber Alerts are something you only hear about when you tune in the news, or maybe even on a highway digital sign (as if we need more driving distractions). Now with advancing mobile technology you can not just have a TV or radio broadcast interrupted with an obnoxious buzzing noise to alert the whole world of a missing child along with a horrible electronic voice reading the alert message, you get them shoved straight through your smartphone. Not everyone likes the latter idea when they see how terribly it is executed.

Whatever happened to missing child posters on milk cartons? (To be honest, I have never in my life encountered a missing child poster on a milk carton, this is something I only seen on TV.)

I don't know if Amber Alerts are something other countries besides Canada and the US have. And as a matter of fact, the "Amber" in Amber Alert is an acronym for "America's Missing: Emergency Response Transmission," although it is also named after a kid from Texas whose abduction and murder somehow inspired this idea of issuing emergency alerts in the event of a child abduction. Which makes me wonder why it's called Amber Alert in Canada, other than because we like to borrow and adopt so much from the Americans to match what they are doing—at least we do not capitalize all the letters ("AMBER Alert") like they do in the States.

I sure do not want to have something like this named after me.

But going back to the main point of this: having Amber Alerts pushed onto everyone's mobile devices not only means everyone is force-fed the messages with no opt-out as per government order, which comes with a very obnoxious buzzing noise, they get pushed at all sorts of times. Even in the middle of the night when many people are in a deep sleep and have their phones still on. Which meant a lot of people got pissed they were rudely awoken to the news of a missing child. Some of those folks called 911 to complain about it. The authorities then have to go on the news to defend the practice of push-notification Amber Alerts.

Ever since sometime in 2018 when Canada implemented the practice of mobile Amber Alerts, we've had at least 5 of these push-notification incidents in Ontario alone. One of these cases tragically the girl was found dead and her non-custodial father was charged with her murder. The rest I believe the child was found safe, including one where the father picked his daughter from school as usual and ends up being treated as a child abductor but released without charges, and most recently with two boys and their grandfather, as if the granddad is the abductor (turns out he was quite confused). Like, wonderful, right? Let's all pat ourselves in the back and masturbate to each successful Amber Alert, whoopie-fucking-do.

The implementation of these mass force-fed alerts in its current form begs a lot of questions to be asked about its nature. One of these Alerts concerned a missing child from Thunder Bay, where people as far away as Toronto got phone alerts for. Why are people in Toronto being force-fed an Amber Alert regarding a kid thousands of kilometres away? What do you expect the average person to do, head over to the airport with pitchforks waiting for a flight from Thunder Bay to land so we can save a child, capture the abductor and be the fucking hero? That is, even assuming they would be flying to Toronto, as if that's what an abductor would be doing.

Hell no. Let's be realistic here. If I was consciously abducting a kid, and wanting to fly far out of town, I'd get the hell out of the country quickly even if it meant leaving everything behind! I know what I am doing is wrong and I do not want to be caught by national authorities, am I right?

There are other questions that need to be asked about the mass force-fed approach to Ambert Alerts and the concept itself. Like, why in fuck's name are people receiving alerts in the early morning hours? Who is the fucking retard who think it is appropriate and effective to issue an push-notification Amber Alert at 3 in the morning? (Oh don't tell me an algorithm is behind that!) If these alerts are intended for a general public audience, why would anyone think 3AM is an okay time to send an alert out? Who is responsible for getting these alerts out and how it is done? Why are Amber Alerts (at least in Canada) being treated with the same level of "presidental level" alertness on your smartphone as something that is a big major apocalyptic national threat, like a nuclear bomb heading our way?

These incidents of direct-to-phone Amber Alert messages have quickly established a pattern of where news stories about people calling 911 to complain about being disturbed by the alerts quickly accompany the incident itself. It's to the point of a predictable cyclical script, just like how mass shooting incidents in the States have become a script. And it goes like this: an Amber Alert is issued, child is found (or not), endless news reports of people complaining to 911 makes the rounds as authorities justify the system and remind people not to clog 911 with complaints, wash rinse and repeat.

We can all agree we should not call 911 to bitch about an Amber Alert. Absolutely not in the middle of an active Ambert Alert when authorities want the 911 lines free to be able to collect tips on the fact. You want to fine people who take up valuable 911 time with their anger? Go ahead. But then where should we voice our frustrations? Facebook and Twitter? They're great for bitching about anything, terrible at being heard with the goal of getting something accomplished. Heck, if you read these articles about the complaints, you'll notice no one ever says anything about where more appropriate to leave a complaint. It's like they do not want to hear them, and that is probably the case, that the authorities behind the Amber Alert schema are content with the way they have it set up.

But the complainers do perhaps have a valid point. Why on fucking earth are people being awoken by an ill-timed Amber Alert on their phones? What do you expect people to be doing once awake, run out in their pyjamas and roam the neighbourhood looking for a missing child in a half-asleep stupor, going only on a vague text description of the child? "Amber, Amber, where are you?" Or why are we getting alerts about a kid who is so far away as to be of little concern?

I get that each missing child case needs to be evaluated by police before they resort to publicizing a missing child, or even issuing an Amber Alert. After someone first reports them missing, cops have to make sure the kid is truly unaccounted for, that they are not somewhere lost in school or at a friends or relative's place. They have to quickly investigate reports that someone else may be behind their disappearance. By that time, it's possible that several hours has passed, it's possible the child in question is far away from town. By the time an Amber Alert goes out, it is possible indeed, as with the case of Riya Rajkumar, the subject child is dead. Yet we still credit the Amber Alert a success because it brought in attention and tips that helped locate the deceased child. The system works again.

Gotta admire the blind optimism of the pro-Amber Alert folks.

Or why is EVERYONE being forced to receive these alerts? This is something I surely did not agree to nor signed up for. Why is this responsibility—a civic duty, perhaps?—being shoved and downloaded to us all? What do they expect us the general public to do in these cases? Seriously though, no one has ever explained to us what to do or equipped us with necessary skills in the event of an Amber Alert. What do you want me to do, seriously? You may think it's "obvious," that is to keep an eye out for the kid and report to police, but it's not that simple (will get to that later on).

It is pathetic on the part of S-ociety as a whole that no criticism of the current system will be entertained. In fact, critics and whiners are quickly villified by defenders of the Amber Alert as heartless horrible selfish narrow-minded assholes. They think it's sad and unfortunate many others feel differently about mass Amber Alerts than they do. News agencies entertain themselves much with such punditry and op-ed pieces in response to the 911 complaining phenomenon in support of our holy Amber Alert system. "Shame on you," writes one person in a half-assed column (as if anything in the world has ever gotten accomplished by screaming the statement, "shame on you"—the truth is: no). And apparently we need to "be more educated" about these force-fed alerts. One guy on the website of a New Jersey radio station even writes, "Suck it up."

Suck it up? FUCK YOU! How would you like it if you were rudely waken up in the middle of the night by an Amber Alert? Maybe I should have you locked up in a room and be tortured with that distinctive Ambert Alert buzzing noise (they really could not have chosen a less obnoxious tone?) over and over, see how you like it.

And that is the thing with authorities and supporters including the mass media (who always love a good missing child story to sensationalize): they are clearly incredulous and in denial of any problems with the way Amber Alerts are currently deployed. They beat the drums of the party line with their rhetoric, always congratulating themselves and proclaiming the Amber Alert a success because it works once again as expected, always pulling the "what if it was your child" card. They are so full of themselves, they do not see anything wrong with mass force-fed Amber Alerts in the middle of the night, refusing to see the absurdity and ineffectiveness of such a scenario from the perspective of the opposition. They are content with the status quo, everyone else be damned. Nobody wants to acknowledge a problem exists.

"Wake Me Up Everytime!," proclaims the title of one news opinion piece in support of late-night Amber Alerts. Such joy!! It really is as if the defenders and supporters have never ever been in the experience of being awoken by a 3am Amber Alert. It seriously makes me wonder what those people who don't see an issue with 3am Amber Alerts would really do when they themselves are rudely awoken by a 3am Amber Alert. Look at their phones and then fall back asleep? That would be ironic and just as useless as those who make angry 911 calls about this when a child is supposedly out there in danger. Of course there are people out there already awake at 0300h for whatever reason (graveyard shift jobs, travelling around, just left the bar after last call, etc.), but most people are like deep asleep, and expecting the sleeping majority to be able to act upon a late night Amber Alert is seriously retardedly delusional, let's be real here.

A conclusion can be made of all this: criticizing and suggesting improvements to the Amber Alert system is a new social taboo. Even in this so-called democracy of ours with freedom of speech and all that jazz, we are only allowed only one approved opinion of many issues, even something as petty as the way the Amber Alerts currently work. So much for freedom. And that is troubling. And unacceptable. And backwards. Taboos and stigmas are retarded social concepts/mechanisms anyhow and has no place in a modern sophisticated society that likes to regard itself as advanced and progressive.

I have no tolerance for mass stupidity. I have even less than zero tolerance for willful ignorance. It is sad that a topic like Amber Alerts manages to combine the two: the stupids who complain via 911, and the willfully arrogantly ignorant defenders of the system who themselves get angry over the idea that others don't want to be subjected to Amber Alerts. That combined with the emotionally driven irrational logics that informs the subject and how it is being shoved in our faces without consent, really makes it hard to accept being on-board the scheme.

It really should not be taboo to suggest that Canada's current mobile phone Amber Alert schema needs adjustment, nor should people feel ashamed to suggest they have the right to opt out of receiving direct Amber Alerts. The latter idea sadly is surely to invite much the same opinionated disgust from Amber Alert supporters who believe alerts MUST be pushed onto every single person on earth and that it will not be effective without that stipulation. Just another way S-ociety shoves itself into us all.

Let's face it: 99.99% of the world population, or even 99.99% of a city, are in NO position to be able to do anything about an Amber Alert. They are too far from anywhere, too busy to be allowed a chance to act, asleep(!), etc. Just receiving a message about a missing child and thus knowing there's a missing child out there somewhere is good to know, but it accomplishes nothing. There are those who do care enough to take the trouble to keep an eye out and report when they think they see something matching the alert description. Good for them. The rest of us however, we should be able to not be subjected to such alerts if we do not want them. Since when the fuck did Amber Alerts become a social obligation?

What evidence exists to suggest mass alerts are effective anyways? Besides, force-feeding Amber Alerts onto everyone's faces and ears is asking too much of us all, especially considering that much of S-ociety is full of stupid people. Much of us are too lazy to properly toss an empty soda can into the recycling bin instead of the trash pile, and yet we're expected to help find a missing child at a moment's call? (These are the same dumbasses who call 911 to bitch and whine about Amber Alerts, after all.) I know all this sounds heartless, especially to the pro-Amber Alert crowd, but that is the reality that perhaps they do not want to accept. Lest to join the Donald Takeadump parade and make up your own "alternative facts" on the matter, I guess.

People behind force-fed Amber Alerts are concerned that the public's annoyance to these alerts will nurture a dismissive "boy who cry wolf" situation where we all learn to ignore them. You damn bet that concern is real. It's like car alarms: they are most often false alarms triggered by mundane events like someone bumping onto a car and suddenly the whole neighbourhood is disturbed by an obnoxious blaring noise that won't shut up, such that we have learned to ignore them and do nothing because we all have figured no one is really trying to steal a vehicle (and car alarm makers have done nothing about improving their products). When you shove Amber Alerts onto the phones of literally everybody, with a disturbing loud blaring noise, and these alerts are of no concern to most of us, you damn shall bet we will learn to do nothing except be annoyed by yet another new modern society nuisance. Besides once again, what the hell can we do?

I can appreciate why the Amber Alert scheme exist, no really I do. If I had a child and my kid went missing one day, of course I would want all the resources available to have my child return home safely. But personally I would not want to subject literally everyone to the search effort. That honestly seems selfish to me. Pro-Amber Alert peoples like to argue that those bitching about unwanted Amber Alerts are selfish, but I like to spin that around. Frankly, why is one kid in one moment considered that much more valuable than everyone else? Why does that not sound selfish?

Which leads me to want to take this opportunity to discuss another thing about Amber Alerts and child abductions cases in general at a more deeper sociological kind of level, generating even more questions and thoughts no one else has the balls to openly present and discuss. Likewise, seems like nobody else in the world thinks and see the way I do on this topic in my typically socially cynical nature; I really do feel lonely about it.

S-ociety's preoccupation with missing children is a uniquely capital-W Western obsession. I don't think there are other societies in this planet that cares so much about missing children as does Western nations. I have a friend from another country who is perplexed with all these Amber Alerts, commenting that where he is from, missing children is a common occurance, that they wouldn't be able to have an Amber Alert system. Indeed, there are plenty of countries out there where kids go missing all the time, where child abductions happens more often than not, and the authorities do not have the resources to go after every case, or even care at all. So yes indeed Western society should really count its blessings and consider itself lucky in this regards that it has the resources to even obsess over missing children and come up with something like Amber Alerts. You may even want to think of this as a "first world problem."

And why obsess over missing children anyways? To me, Amber Alerts is a product of western society's child innocencism, which is what I refer to this idea or myth that children are inheriently innocent and thus must be protected at all costs from all harms of the world, real and perceived and ficticious. Innocentizing children contributes to their objectification in S-ociety. Children lack agency, for the inexplicable reason why they are referred to as minors and are treated as objects—chattel, essentially—in child custody cases, where usually the children have no say whatsoever on the matter, that someone else—the courts, lawyers—is making critical decisions on what's best for them on behalf of the children. We speak of children in objectifying terms, treat them as if they belong to someone like any other property. When missing children cases make the news, it's easy to feel like they are not persons, but rather characters in an ongoing story.

The mass media LOVES missing children cases, it's no wonder why they latch on quickly with Amber Alerts. Cases involving abductions and even murder at the hands of complete strangers—the Elizabeth Smarts, Tori Straffords, Jonbenet Ramseys, etc etc.—are very sellable and engaging to a very dumbass audience, and the press are happy to sensationalize these stories to death. (You think people who follow these stories closely are going to do anything about helping to solve the cases? Hell no!) It is to the point to dangerous exaggeration, of making people think stranger abductions are a common threat in western society, which in turn reinforces our mass preoccupation with missing children, justifies Amber Alerts and other such measures, and pumps up moral panics and fears that our precious innocent children are always in danger.

Stranger danger is overrated. In fact stranger abductions are very statistically rare. A kid in western society is much more likely to be abducted by someone within their own family, usually a non-custodial parent. It should not be a surprise that most, if not almost all Amber Alerts involve a parent or other relative of the subject child. Which now begs the question of whether a kid at the centre of an Amber Alert is truly literally always in danger. The recent Riya Rajkumar case was an exception (and if convicted, seriously the father should be given the death penalty, but we don't have that in Canada anymore). I mean, why would a parent kidnap their own child and then kill them? It is a very difficult question to answer as the motive is unique to every case. But statistically I would doubt that a kid is in any alarming danger. In most cases I bet the non-custodial parent snatches their own kid simply to have that kid to themselves. They care for the kid just as much but do not trust the other parent, don't care what the custody agreement says because it's not in their favour, let's get out of here. It's still kidnapping, but should we really be exaggerating the danger factor of the situation?

(Heck, it's pretty pathetic how exaggerated any fears concerning children is. We fear the stranger pedophiles and equally sensationalize sellable news stories of arrested pedophiles. However likewise, a child is more likely to be sexually abused by someone within their own family than by anyone else—or by R. Kelly for that matter. Sad but true, but we don't much about that in the news right?)

Child abduction/disappearance cases conditions the populace to fear the worst every time. Another thing I have a problem with regarding Amber Alerts and missing children cases: it lacks perspective. The topic is so irrational and emotionally driven, facts and data have no place when all you care about is the safe return of a child no matter what. Nobody wants to listen to anything else. The lack of perspective easily leads to why there is such a quickly developing institutionalized bias against naysayers of the current Amber Alert implementation—those in support are so full of themselves on the topic, so emotionally driven, that they shut out any facts and arguments, pulling guilt trips and drawing rebuttals that are only about visceral emotions. Amber Alerts have become a polarized topic, institutionally rooted in "think of the children!" mentalities.

I'd like to as well question who gets to be granted the Amber Alert treatment, because it is quite telling about the nature of our obsession with missing children, and also because no one else seems to be asking or seeing it my way. People like to say that missing children are in danger, thus why we need Amber Alerts. Okay then, why is it that only certain cases of people gone missing gets the Amber Alert treatment? If an old lady with advanced dementia wanders out of her house and doesn't find her way back, do I get awoken at night by an Amber Alert? NO. Should we? Is my example lost old lady not just as in danger as an abducted child? Or how about this: a young kid barely wearing much clothing, somehow wanders outside in the cold winter. Does this child get the Amber Alert treatment? NO as well. Even though this kid is just as much in danger—of possibly freezing to death, never mind being snatched by a stranger on the streets heaven forbid—the most we the public will hear about this kid is a breaking concerning local news story of plenty, but not an official Amber Alert. These two examples do not pass the main criteria of an Amber Alert, which is that they are not a child who is possibly abducted.

Or how about this: recently we had the case of Wanzhen Lu, some Chinese guy who was kidnapped by some thugs from the parking garage of his Markham condo, and found days later in the Muskoka region. That incident, perhaps because of the high level of unusualness and shock, generated a lot of media attention throughout Toronto and even the whole of Ontario, along with the usual appeal to the public to keep an eye out for him. But it surely didn't generate an Amber Alert. Why? Because Lu is a grown man, not a child. What if he got hurt and murdered by the disguised thugs? Sure was a real threat, but apparently he is not as worthy as an innocent child for a kind of Amber Alert treatment.

Why is it only certain kinds of missing people—kidnapped children—gets the Amber Alert treatment, even though we may as a society genuinely be concerned for all kinds of missing people? Why is it that we think all missing children are precious and at risk, and only a certain kind of them get the Amber Alert treatment? We may be absolutely concerned for the well-being and safety of a kid who wanders off in the dead of winter, but our phones do not go off making noises and receiving messages about such a kid. It is to me unfair, and honestly borders on hypocrisy, because it is as if we only value certain kinds of missing kids more than others, enough to warrant an Amber Alert. Why is one kid more deserving of our attention than others in this heightened, exaggerated manner? The social values we ascribe to missing children and Amber Alerts needs to be questioned.

Anyways, it frustrates me that S-ociety as a whole is in denial that the Amber Alert system we have now established in Canada is flawed and needs improvements. I can understand why you would want to have an Amber Alert scheme in place, but when you subject these alerts to literally the whole population at the most intimate level—ie. through their personal mobile devices—you better expect some backlash and critiques. If Alerts are getting pumped out in the middle of the night as if there is nothing wrong with that, you better stand back and evaluate the process and effectiveness thereof. It is NOT wrong to suggest we can make this system better.

Equally it should not be a taboo to insist we have the right to opt out of getting force-fed Amber Alerts. What is wrong with that? Did I or you consent to these types of "emergency" push alerts that we are told concerns us all even if it really doesn't? Amber Alert maniac defenders like to make you think you are heartless for wanting to not receive Alerts, that the system only works best if EVERYONE gets them. Bullshit. One theme that keeps coming up when reading these articles and columns on the Alert backlash, is that we should all know that there is a kidnapped child out there in immediate danger, even if we cannot do anything about it and it's 3 in the morning. What do you expect us all to do, fucking thoughts and prayers? What good will that do? Honestly, knowing there is a missing child out there is just as good as doing nothing, which of course both is not helping the situation at all. Knowing there is a kid out there doesn't mean much to many of us, any more than having to hear about traffic reports that do not affect us at all. Again, 99.99% of people are in no position to be able to assist in any way. It is counterproductive to cast a very wide net to catch a needle in a haystack, to evoke two Western cliches in one. I honestly cannot be bothered to keep an eye out for license plates or a kid that matches the vague description of the Alert, this is asking too much of us all. Those who do believe we all ought to make an effort to act on an Amber Alert even when it's late out as if it's an obligatory civic duty, I will place at an incredibly high standard, that is to say I expect those who believe we all ought to make an effort to act on an Amber Alert to themselves better be out there looking for the damned kid. You want to save on receiving angry 911 calls? Make it possible to opt out of Amber Alerts. Those who do care about Amber Alerts are free to preoccupy themselves and act accordingly, just don't force this onto everybody. There's nothing wrong with not having to give a shit about a situation that you cannot do anything about.

If there is one thing society/civilization/humanity likes to do, is impose itself onto everyone else and the world around it in whatever ways. And quite frankly it pisses me off when S-ociety forces everyone to concern themselves with matters that don't concern or affect them or may not be in their own interest (amongst other imposed upon social norms like being told how to eat, what to do, what to think, what goals to have, how to look like, etc., all of which pisses me off—S-ociety itself pisses me off), imposing upon everyone an expectation of being able to relate to the situation, especially in irrational ways where mass emotional tugging and guilt-tripping are exploited, to the point where I honestly don't give a shit about missing children. Besides, Amber Alerts is a mass Western anxiety/panic I can do without. It contributes to the exaggerated nature of how we irrationally interpret cases of missing people, and the disenfranchisement of children and youth in S-ociety due to its preoccupation with child innocence myths.

#society #amber alerts #rants #ontario

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berniesrevolution · 6 years ago

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You will not be surprised to be told that Tucker Carlson’s new book, Ship of Fools: How a Selfish Ruling Class Is Bringing America to the Brink of Revolution, contains a series of attacks on diversity, immigration, feminism, and “identity politics.” You may, however, be surprised to be told that the book contains high praise for Ralph Nader, quotes from Studs Terkel, laments the disappearance of the anti-capitalist left, and presents Jeff Bezos as one of its central villains. Carlson has written a book that is as staunchly nationalist as one would expect. Yet it’s also a little bit socialist.

Carlson’s basic framework would commonly be described as “populism.” There are the people, and then there are the “ruling class” elites. The rich and powerful care only about themselves. They do not care about Middle America, and have presided over the opioid epidemic, the hollowing out of industrial towns, and exploding inequality. Meanwhile, ordinary workers suffer. At times, he almost sounds like Bernie Sanders. His analysis is persuasive, well-written, and often funny. It’s also terrifying, because elsewhere in the book, Carlson makes it clear: he wants a white-majority country, thinks immigrants are parasitic and destructive, misses traditional gender hierarchies, and dismisses the significance of climate change. Carlson’s political worldview is destructive and inhumane. Yet because it has a kernel of accuracy, it will easily tempt readers toward accepting an alarmingly xenophobic, white nationalist worldview. Carlson’s book shows us how a next generation fascist politics could co-opt left economic critiques in the service of a fundamentally anti-left agenda. It also shows us what we need to be able to effectively respond to.

First, let’s look at the parts that are most right, and perhaps most unexpected. In an analysis almost identical to that of leftists like Thomas Frank, Carlson says that Republicans and Democrats are now both beholden to corporate power. Sometime in the 1990s, Carlson says, he began wondering “why liberals weren’t complaining about big business anymore,” and had started celebrating “corporate chieftains” like Steve Jobs, Bill Gates, and the Google guys. Ralph Nader should be a hero to all liberals, spending his days “greeting a parade of awestruck liberal pilgrims” from a retirement home. Instead, he is “reviled,” even though “every point Nader made was fair” and “some were indisputably true.” Suddenly “both sides were aligned on the virtues of unrestrained market capitalism… left and right were taking virtually indistinguishable positions on many economic issues, especially on wages.”

The “prolabor” Democrats, Carlson says, were “empathetic and humane” and “suspicious of power.” But today they have disappeared, and the party of the New Deal is now a party of Wall Street. Carlson points out that Hillary Clinton won wealthy enclaves like Aspen, Marin County, and Connecticut’s Fairfield County (the hedge fund capital of the country). “Employees of Google, Facebook, Apple, Microsoft, and Amazon donated to Hillary over Trump by a margin of 60-to-1,” and while “Seven financial firms donated 47.6 million to Hillary,” they gave Trump “a total of $19,000, about the price of a used pickup.”

As a result, Carlson says, Democrats are now largely silent on labor issues: “When was the last time you heard a politician decry Apple’s treatment of workers, let alone introduce legislation intended to address it?” Corporations make vaguely “socially liberal” noises, like decrying gun violence and being pro-LGBT, and as a result escape criticism for mistreating their workers or contributing to economic inequality. Carlson cites Uber, which has prominent liberal Arianna Huffington on its board and has had to commit to reforming its “bro culture.” And yet it still treats its drivers like crap:

“[Uber is] running an enormously profitable business on the backs of exploited workers… An obedient business press [has] focused on the ‘flexibility’ Uber’s contractors supposedly enjoyed. … [But] Feudal lords took more responsibility for their serfs than Uber does for its drivers… Uber executives weren’t ashamed… They sold exploitation as opportunity, and virtually nobody called them on it.”

What happens, Carlson says, is that corporations “embrace a progressive agenda that from an accounting perspective costs them nothing.” They are, in effect, purchasing “indulgences from the church of cultural liberalism.” Sheryl Sandberg published Lean In and Mark Zuckerberg is floated as a possible Democratic presidential candidate, but Facebook is an evil corporation to its core. Sean Parker has admitted that Facebook was engineered to be addictive, that its designers thought: “How do we consume as much of your time and conscious attention as possible?… We need to sort of give you a little dopamine hit every once it a while.. To get you to contribute more content.” Carlson notes that the company commits “relentless invasions of the public’s privacy,” and that epidemiologists have linked the product “with declining psychological and even physical health.” Carlson writes:

“Evidence has mounted that Facebook is an addictive product that harms users, and that Zuckerberg knew that from the beginning but kept selling it to unknowing customers. Those facts would be enough to tarnish most reputations, if not spark congressional hearings. Yet Zuckerberg remains a celebrated national icon.”

We know Facebook is manipulating people’s emotions to sell advertising, and yet we still get headlines like “How To Raise The Next Mark Zuckerberg.” Or look at Amazon. Jeff Bezos supported Hillary Clinton for president, yet “no textile mill ever dehumanized its workers more thoroughly than an Amazon warehouse.” Carlson asks: “when was the last time you heard a liberal criticize working conditions at Amazon?… “Liberals and Jeff Bezos [are now] playing for the same team.” Successful businessmen “pose as political activists,” and pitch their products as woke. That way: “affluent consumers get to imagine they’re fighting the power by purchasing the products, even as they make a tiny group of people richer and more powerful. There’s never been a more brilliant marketing strategy.” He goes on:

“The marriage of market capitalism to progressive social values may be the most destructive combination in American economic history. Someone needs to protect workers from the terrifying power of market forces, which tend to accelerate change to intolerable levels and crush the weak. For generations, labor unions filled that role. That’s over. Left and right now agree that a corporation’s only real responsibility is to its shareholders. Corporations can openly mistreat their employees (or “contractors”), but for the price of installing transgender bathrooms they buy a pass. Shareholders win, workers lose. Bowing to the diversity agenda is a lot cheaper than raising wages.”

Carlson mocks the “socially liberal” Davos elite who hand-wring about inequality while reaping its fruits. He points to the example of Chelsea Clinton, who talked nobly about her values (“I was curious if I could care about [money] on some fundamental level, and I couldn’t… That wasn’t the metric of success that I wanted in my life”) before buying a $10 million, 5,000 square foot apartment in the Flatiron District that spanned an entire city block. Chelsea Clinton’s career, for Carlson, shows how contemporary believers in “meritocracy” benefit from an unjust and nepotistic system: Clinton was paid $600,000 a year as a “reporter” for NBC despite appearing on the network for a sum total of 58 minutes. The bubble of privilege that many elites inhabit was exemplified in Hillary Clinton’s 2016 campaign, which suggested that “Things in America are Fine.” (The slogan was actually “America Is Already Great.”) Carlson is not wrong here: Hillary Clinton herself was so out of touch that she is still saying things like “I won the places that represent two-thirds of America’s gross domestic product… So I won the places that are optimistic, diverse, dynamic, moving forward.”

Carlson also says that there has been a troubling tendency for both sides to embrace the military-industrial complex. Key Democratic figures supported the Iraq War (e.g. Feinstein, Kerry, Clinton, Biden, Edwards, Reid, Schumer). It was New York Timesreporters who contributed to scaremongering about Saddam in the leadup to the war, the New York Times op-ed page where you can find contributions like “Bomb Syria, Even If It’s Illegal” or “Bomb North Korea, Before It’s Too Late,” and New York Times columnist Thomas Friedman who said that Iraq War had been “unquestionably worth doing” because it told Middle Easterners to “suck on this.” Barack Obama (who was given the Nobel Peace Prize, Carlson says, for “not being George W. Bush”) killed thousands of people with drones, including American citizens, prosecuted whistleblowers, kept Guantanamo open, and failed to rein in the vast global surveillance apparatus. Hillary Clinton pushed aggressively for military action in Libya, which destabilized the country. There is a D.C. consensus, Carlson says, and it is pro-war. Some of the book’s most amusing passages come when Carlson flays neoconservative hacks like Max Boot and Bill Kristol, who have now become allies of the Democratic Party in paranoia about Russia. Boot’s career, he says, publishing articles like “The Case for American Empire” and advocating invasion after invasion, shows us how “the talentless prosper, rising inexorably toward positions of greater power, breaking things along the way.” The hawkish consensus is no joke, though, and Carlson says he misses the liberal peaceniks, who “were right” when they warned that “war is not the answer, it’s a means to an end, and a very costly one.”

To many on the left, everything Carlson says here will be familiar. The phenomenon he’s pointing to, by which Democrats and Republicans both became free market capitalists, has a name: neoliberalism. Larry Summers was quite open about it when he said that “we are now all Friedmanites.” Carlson’s point about how corporations whitewash exploitative practices by appearing socially progressive is one leftists make frequently (see, for example, Yasmin Nair’s essay “Bourgeois Feminist Bullshit” and Nair and Eli Massey’s “Inclusion In The Atrocious“). The foreign policy stuff is a little off: it’s not that Democrats used to be pacifists, since the Vietnam tragedy was initiated by JFK and expanded by Lyndon Johnson. Empire has always been a bipartisan project, antiwar voices in the minority. Aside from the suggestion that this is new, it’s accurate to say that American elites have largely embraced the projection of American military power.

But Carlson is not going to be joining the Sanders 2020 campaign. His book has a dark side: a deep suspicion of cultural progressivism, inclusion, and diversity. Carlson believes that liberal immigration policies have been imposed because they serve elite interests (Democrats get votes and Republicans get cheap labor for Big Business). As a result, the fabric of the country is fraying. He writes:

Thanks to mass immigration, America has experienced greater demographic change in the last few decades than any other country in history has undergone during peacetime… If you grew up in America, suddenly nothing looks the same. Your neighbors are different. So is the landscape and the customs and very often the languages you hear on the street. You may not recognize your own hometown. Human beings aren’t wired for that. They can’t digest change at this pace… [W]e are told these changes are entirely good… Those who oppose it are bigots. We must celebrate the fact that a nation that was overwhelmingly European, Christian, and English-speaking fifty years ago has become a place with no ethnic majority, immense religious pluralism, and no universally shared culture or language.

To some people, what Carlson writes here may not seem racist. And like many conservatives, he resents having what he sees as common sense treated as bigotry. I don’t think there’s any way around it, though: Carlson’s problem is that the United States looks different, that it’s not “European” any more and has no “ethnic majority.” He’s explicitly talking the language of ethnicity: it’s destabilizing that we’re not a white-majority country anymore. This isn’t simply about, say, the “Judeo-Christian ethic” or embracing the “American idea.” If that were the case, then it would be hard to make a case for why we shouldn’t let in the Catholic members of the migrant caravan, who love American culture and want to march across the border saying the Pledge of Allegiance. The problem is that they are not European, that they change the look of the place, that they disrupt the “ethnic majority.” Europeans are the real Americans, the ones that hold the fabric of the nation together, and minorities, people who are different, threaten to undo that fabric.

(Continue Reading)

#politics #the left #current affairs #tucker carlson #white nationalism #neofascism

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