#and when you do that to a dude the tradeoff is you have to let him call out your name its just bad practice otherwise

[roughentumble]

for the brotherhood!logan AU the thing about him and magneto is that they are fucking yes, but it needs to be indistinguishable from the outside, like no one ever catches their rendezvous, and they ARE incredibly charged but with an undefinable energy that is extremely intense and PROBABLY not platonic but also not exactly solely sexual either. like they could be mentor and mentee, they could be comrades in arms, they could be king and lionheart, they could be old friends, they could just be really bitchy about the world and enjoy playing off each other about it. they very obviously mean the world to each other but whether they just happen to revolve around each other in a nonsexual sense or they have a sexual tension that's never been resolved, no one can tell. and also magneto looks like ian mckellen and logan looks like young hugh jackman so everyone kind of assumes theyre not fucking because people dont assume guys that old fuck. so people's minds dont go there they just pick up on them being very Charged and it causes their brains to go haywire trying to figure it out

ESPECIALLY if they know anything about Erik And Charles theyre like "well obviously that is an exclusive divorce, no one else is allowed into that" not knowing that logan is the world's specialest boy and about to get dicked down by two different elderly men

[spiders-hth-is-an-outlier]

While I am fully on-record as supporting the right and privilege of every artist to write whatever weird shit they want to write, because 1) art is a completely legitimate way to explore the outer reaches of human experience in a safely contained way and B) You Can Do Whatever You Want Forever, don't let a bunch of wannabe brain cops issue you an endless stream of moral citations -- I will say it's a tiny bit embarrassing when my team gets stuck on the argument "obviously people know right from wrong, reading a book isn't going to make a good person do bad things."

Because, like, yes, sure. Movies don't create psychos, Sydney, they just make psychos more creative. You're correct, but you're embarrassing because "Hannibal might make people think cannibals are sexy" is the lowest of low-hanging fruit, the definition of a strawman argument.

The problem is you're staking it all on the notion that there are Good People who will always know how to do good things and be sufficiently motivated to do so. Therefore, if someone does bad things, well shit, their Good Person Gauge was obviously broken, nothing we can do about that. Too bad about Bad People.

And that's. Just self-evidently incorrect, right? I mean, I think there's a good argument that in general, a predisposition toward prosocial behavior is part of the standard human software, something that we recognize as a "moral instinct" toward things like keeping your word and playing fair and making friends. But beyond that, you can't possibly look at all of human history and not realize that people contextually develop their sense of what's morally acceptable and unacceptable. Obviously! Obviously a person who wants to be a Good Person is going to be receiving and processing information all their lives from the people around them, learning how to separate normal from abnormal, admirable from disreputable, virtue from vice.

I can give you an easy, television-related example (the best kind of example!) When I was in college, I like most people I hung out with watched Friends, and we all framed Ross in our minds as a Good Boyfriend. We liked that he was loyal and devoted, that he knew Rachel well and seemed to care about her specifically; we saw him as the antithesis of the kind of sleazy, dishonest users and takers that we were always anxious to identify and avoid. And yes, many plotlines revolved around Rachel's objections to Ross' excessive jealousy and his resentment of her career, but in the context of the show, she always forgives him because she -- and the audience! -- interprets this as a stressful by-product of how intensely he adores her and his omnipresent anxiety that she's too good for him. It's not that we thought he was right -- the episodes themselves don't even frame his behavior as correct! But we thought. Well. That's the normal tradeoff. Relationships are hard, right? Someone was going to love us too much or not enough, and in the end, wasn't too much better? Women always have to manage male emotions, but this particular kind of admiration/neediness/insecurity was the Good Boyfriend set of emotions to have to manage.

And I'm not arguing that the reason women put up with sad-sack dudes flattering them into curtailing their lives so they don't outgrow unsupportive relationships is that Friends was a big hit. Movies don't, Sydney, etc. But I do think that in a culture where Media is kind of everyone's common language, people really, genuinely do consume media in a way that fundamentally forms their sense of what's normal and who's likeable and which stressful invasions against our boundaries and dignity are forgivable.

Anyway, write whatever you want! It's just one example of the way that I've personally witnessed real human beings adjust their sense of right and wrong around the media that's served to us as aspirational. So I know that does happen, and it has nothing to do with "adults know right from wrong;" I don't think that's a statement that's especially germane to real conditions in the real world.

[adelle-ein]

fe engage trailer/promo thoughts

i'm moving all my stuff over here instead of twitter bc today has reaffirmed to me that i wanna get the hell off of there. so now you get to see my game thoughts on here yayyyy isn't that exciting

anyway

the girl <3 kinda surprised that alm and celica aren't sharing a ring if she and ephraim are? maybe bc they wanted to make celica a magic-based ring and that doesn't suit alm? but then again why not have chrom and lucina share? strangeness all around, maybe it was gonna be an exclusive concept for the twins and then they decided to keep using it for dlc

overall i feel like micaiah is working this look the best. where are ike's muscles. they stole them. the poor man is sickly now

also rosado's design has been one of my favorites and if it turns out their relatively practical armor is due to being a "feminine dude" character then i would not be surprised. rn seems like it's a tossup what their gender is so let's hope whatever it is it's at least done reasonably respectfully. forrest wasn't bad after all. and zelkov brings a return of the fates/awakening era Dark Gray Skin which is a shame. at least the rest of the darker skinned characters look okay

citrinne is definitely the maribelle/l'arachel/constance style character...hopefully she's good. some of the other characters revealed in this bunch also look more up my alley personality/design wise than the initial batches (although citrinne's sleeves are. a sin) so that's something. though in general the designs are...whack tbh

also there are so many cravats in the male character designs?? what is up with that

we finally got to see more of the style savvy dress up mechanics and i'm really glad that maybe i can switch off some of the worst outfits, especially the alears. seriously every alt outfit looks better than what the defaults have going on haha

but while overall i'm not really interested in most gimmicky side stuff a la fates and 3hopes, i do really like accessories and dressup options so happy for those. if i have to do a few rhythm games to get them then that's a fair tradeoff....

overall i'm surprised by the amount of really "modern" looking touches. lamps, glasses, sweatpants...fates had a couple accessories like that but nothing quite on this scale? i wonder if that's just lousy art/design direction or a deliberate choice for some plot reason?

anyway these are my favorites revealed so far although ofc will have to get to know characters in game to really know

i think this game could still be really fun, and i'm glad it doesn't seem to be aiming for "oooh what side will you pick" like fates and 3h (technically echoes was in there but overall i'm like...give us a break from the big route splits please). also less politics and drama than 3h which is welcome, i never expect a good story from FE and often when they try to do a "good" story it uh...doesn't land. it's just a shame that i really don't care for the art direction at all, the sameface and the oufits and the overall weirdness of it all :(

also they should add tms rings

[so-i-did-this-thing]

This is an important piece of fandom history, but don't let your takeaway be "wow, what a weird, shitty guy, and what a wild series of events".

Folks like Andy are not rare. I've seen people use conventions as a means to gain access to celebs and vulnerable fans. Even the "past lives" hokum crops up more than you may expect -- literally the other night, in my own tiny online corner of the historic side of the Franklin Expedition, a dude slid into my DMs with a story of how he feels deeply, spiritually connected to the dead arctic explorer I cosplay as. Dude told me he is destined to repeat the man's doomed narrative. He suggested I must be part Irish like both him and our blorbo. He talked about how much I look like the man. He bombarded me with appeals to my subject matter expertise. But despite us both feeling strong about "our guy", Dude was the one with The Big Connection. Imagine that.

Wild stuff, all crammed into a single conversation.

It was like experiencing a clumsy version of Andy's lovebombing and being pulled into an "inner circle", something I unfortunately know about.

Andy targeted me back in 2018 when my Critical Role cosplay hit a brief spike of popularity, including cast accolades. It was an intense few weeks of love-bombing culminating in an offer to be part of a secret project that would have us working directly with the cast. Sure, sounds legit. /s

Andy's tactics failed with me, but I still had a few days at the beginning where I was charmed. Once I realized who he was and how he was trying to isolate me, it was funny watching him speedrun through his playbook. But he still ended up hurting people in the Critical Role community, despite warnings going out from myself and multiple other people.

I could go deeper with details, but I don't want folks to think Andy's brand of manipulation is unique. Fandom gives abusers a lot of shortcuts to emotional intimacy, from shared cultural touchstones to all the ways we expose and explore our vulnerabilities via fanworks.

I love fandom. I met my spouse through fandom. I've become a better version of myself in part thanks to fandom. My world has gotten bigger.

Abusers in fandom spaces are desperate to make your world as small as possible. If I had been a little poorer, a little more depressed, or didn't have the industry friends I had, I could have very well been among Andy's victims.

I am always wary of anyone who tries too hard to make you or themselves a Blorbo by Proxy, like Andy's time in LotR or my weird Franklin Expedition dude. Or maybe they want to be the new Word of God, like Andy in his Harry Potter days. The end result is the same -- leveraging fandom as the only (often, secret) thing that will make your life the best it can be (or worst, if you don't perform well enough for your abuser).

The best inoculation to people like this is to cultivate relationships with folks who have more than fandom in common with you. We'll always have those fandom-only friends we love to see every year at convention meetups, but the bulk of your friends should have a variety of interests and so should you.

Be wary of people who want to isolate you from people and interests outside of fandom. Be aware of the tradeoffs you make for being vulnerable or accessible in fandom spaces. Be concerned when someone can only relate to you and the world through a fandom lens.

Never be afraid to skewer a fandom sacred cow, miss a convention, decide not to do a cosplay or fanwork.

And above all, talk to people you trust when a relationship feels off.

Abusers especially thrive in fandoms because abuse is shrugged off as "drama", silly and blown out of proportion to an outsider. It's weird fandom jargon or "kids being stupid on the internet". Abusers count on their victims not telling people for fear of looking weird, or having personal things like kinks exposed.

Its a train wreck, but don't get caught up in Andy's spectacle -- recognize the pattern and tactics of manipulation and abuse for what they are. Same with the Final Fantasy House, the Snapewives, etc, etc. You may think you are immune, but people like this operate on many different tiers and can be very adept at recalibrating their bullshit to a level you may tolerate.

One of my favorite YouTubers just did a video on Bit of Earth! It’s a great summary with plenty of primary source material, including Abbey’s blog. She also did a great job countering the transphobia in Jeanine’s book and sorting everything out in spite of its non-linear structure.

It sounds like she’s going to do a part two on DAYDverse, so keep an eye out for that sometime in the future.

[greenhappyseed]

What tech is holding kurogiri? He's just strapped to a chair in an empty room, or at least that's all the end picture looks like in the recent leak chapter.

You said the heroes might only have done this to manipulate the narrative, unless a big reason is made clear on why he's still there, that honestly seems like the only reason.

Is that what you were saying or did you mean something else?

Admittedly, I was being a bit flippant in this post (as I often am in reacting to leaks) about Kurogiri. But it does take more than an oversized seatbelt to stop him. To start with, he’s hooked up to a whole bunch of monitors.

If he’s not kept sedated, he can use his quirk to escape. The reason the police let Kurogiri wake up in Tartarus was because (1) his brain was being monitored; and (2) Aizawa was there to use Erasure.

I suspect the real answer is the heroes didn’t want to risk moving Kurogiri. They are on the precipice of the apocalypse, and Kurogiri has the power to tip that balance. The heroes CANNOT take the risk Kurogiri will escape, either in transit or from a new location, to help AFO end the world. They know he’s stable where he is and that’s the priority. There’s simply no point in protecting civilians at Central Hospital if the potential tradeoff is losing Kurogiri to AFO’s side, because AFO will end it all. The heroes decided to force a nasty fight at the hospital because it was the best option out of multiple bad options. From there, it’s just PR spin (hehehe) to say the heroes are “fighting to protect the most vulnerable” to make their cause more sympathetic. I don’t see the PR narrative as driving the heroes’ decision-making. It’s the other way around, with the heroes trying to take a small advantage when there are no good options.

Let’s switch POV though, and think about tech for the patients. I might be wrong about this dude, as I thought he was Overhaul’s boss Pops (but maybe not? See top & bottom panels…he seems familiar though?) For now, let’s say he is and use him as an example.

Overhaul put Pops in a coma with the intent of reversing it in the future. And Overhaul’s quirk was the only one (aside from maybe Eri) that could revive him because Overhaul could reverse death. But then the LOV took Overhaul’s arms and doomed Pops to his coma. (Remember, Izuku awkwardly said he’d honor Nagant’s promise to bring Overhaul to Pops IF Overhaul directed his remorse towards Eri….) Pops is an extremely vulnerable patient, kept alive only by tech. Moreover, there IS a possibility of saving him and bringing him out of the coma, if only the right tech/quirk/combo can be found. It’s not fair to risk his life to relocate him, only to keep Kurogiri in Central Hospital.

That means the heroes are stuck. They can’t move patients, and they can’t move Kurogiri. The hospital is a choke point where they can use wide range attacks to thin the overwhelming numbers of villains/PLF/angry civilians, and it gives them a PR advantage. That’s the best they can do if they want to defeat AFO. I think Shoji pointing out that heroes evacuated Jakku before the war is meant to emphasize how the heroes were forced into this position, and it’s not their normal or ideal course of action.

[ultraintrovertedgryffindor]

Sweet Pandemonium - Gally (The Maze Runner) Part 13 of 16

Posting this bonus chapter just cause y’all had to wait so long. Eat up kiddos, cause it’s gonna be even longer until the next update 🙃

~~~~~~~~~~

(Flashback)

Awakening with a sudden jolt, Gally immediately feels a sharp pain in his chest and a dark spot in his mind that he felt where memories should be, but even his strong willpower couldn’t recall anything that happened.

In fact, he didn’t even know where he was...

Gally tried sitting up, but a hand suddenly held him down. 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t. You’re still recovering.”

Gally looked to his side to see a man, no older than 20, he figured, but life and circumstances caused his face to look worn and beaten down.

“Who the hell are you? Where am I? What’s going on?” Gally roughly had a dozen more questions, but he was cut short by the male to his right abruptly covering his hand over his mouth.

“Chill out, man.” The guy said, but Gally quickly ripped the hand away, trying to sit up once more. “Seriously, dude, don’t. You’re gonna tear the wound if you keep at it.”

Gally’s defined eyebrows furrowed, looking down to realize he was shirtless, a large white gauze covering his left peck. “What...?”

“You were in pretty bad shape when we found you, a gaping hole in your chest. Good news is that the spear missed your heart, but you just have to function with one lung. But I’d say it’s a pretty good tradeoff for the price of staying alive. But hey, that’s just me.”

Gally tried to wrap his mind around what this stranger was saying. He couldn’t remember what happened to him, it was all static.

“Oh, right, you don’t remember squat. My bad.” The man laughed.

Gally had just about enough of this jokester. He suddenly grabbed ahold of the male by the collar of his shirt, trying his best to seem intimidating while still being in a lot of pain.

“Tell me what the hell is going on, piece of shuck, or I’ll snap your shucking neck!” Gally seethed.

The male smirked, only adding more fuel to the fire of Gally’s rage. But it soon didn’t matter, as the world around him started to darken once more. From the corner of his eye, he saw the man holding a syringe. Gally would’ve indeed snapped the man’s shucking neck if only he wasn’t drugged.

“Now, we’re gonna try this again later. Next time, try not to be so hostile when you wake up. Kay? Thanks.”

And next time Gally woke up, it wasn’t with a jolt, but he was still frustrated that he had no idea where he was and what happened.

“You seem more calm.”

Gally could’ve rolled his eyes, but he waited until he saw the man’s face. “Do you get off watching people while they’re unconscious or something?”

The man only smirked. Gally sensed a common theme with this guy. “No, actually. You’re not really my type.” He said, closing a book he was holding and sat it down on a bedside table. “Just doing some light reading.”

“While watching over me it seems.”

“Not like I had any choice.”

Gally scowled. He scanned the room he was in, and he definitely wasn’t in the Glade anymore. The room looked worn, but well made, obviously not made of wood. It looked like some sort of plaster, peeling off around the edges. And he was laying on a bed, but not one made of hay and stick that could easily break apart.

“Where am I? Who-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” The man interrupted, making Gally huff and lightly bang his head against the pillow underneath him. “All your questions will be answered soon...maybe. Depends on if Lawrence decides to keep you alive.”

“What?” Gally almost shouted, trying to sit up in a panic, but found that he was unable even without someone else forcing him down. He was strapped to his bed.

“Ash, shut it. You’re scarin’ the poor boy to death.”

Gally snapped his head to the door, a shadowy figure in the frame.

“What? I can’t have a little fun?” The young man, who’s name was apparently Ash, teased.

The shadowy figure stepped into the room, the lamp light on the right of Gally illuminating the other man’s face. He was older, clearly, but what caused Gally’s blood to run cold was the fact that he didn’t have a nose. He looked like something a Griever would spit up honestly.

“Something caught your eye, boy?” The older man’s gruff voice echoed around the mostly empty room. Gally quickly looked away, casting his gaze downward. But he just got even more confused when the man started laughing. “I can see why you like him.” He directed to Ash.

“Can someone please tell me what the hell going on?” Gally snapped, well, pretty much begged.

The man’s easy going attitude turned ice cold when Gally spoke. “Let’s get one thing straight. We ask the questions first, you answer honestly, and we won’t have a problem. Clear?”

Gally refrained from snapping at the older man once more, but he nodded silently.

The man smiled, clapping loudly. “Good! Good. So, first thing: what’s the name?”

“Gally.” He answered monotone, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Well, you obviously don’t know where you are. But do you know what happened before you got here?”

Gally felt the urge to cry, for reasons unknown to himself. He also felt a sort of nostalgia, he remembered Alby and how similar this felt when he first arrived in the Box.

“The last thing I remember...” Your face flashed through his mind for a split second, it was fuzzy, but he could recognize you even if he was blind. But then, he finally remembered something that wasn’t so fuzzy. “I was in the Glade, and I left...”

“And that’s all you remember, just leaving this Glade?”

“Yep.”   

“My people said they found you in a W.C.K.D. compound, a spear in your chest and full of poison. A gun was in your hand, and a kid was shot down next to ya. Remember that?”

Gally felt like he could’ve had a heart attack. “A kid?” He stuttered. “Was it a girl?”

Please don’t be her...please don’t be her...

“Some chubby, curly haired kid apparently.” The man noticed how the boy’s face fell, looking relieved but self loathing at the same time. “Knew him, I take it?”

“...Chuck.” Gally didn’t know what to think. He’d never kill Chuck, he was just an innocent kid.

The man frowned, but looked to Ash. “Fix him some water.” He nodded, quickly obeying and leaving the room. “Let’s move on, shall we?”

The longer Gally was awake, more of his memories came flooding back, even some from before the Glade. But he remembered something that put things into perspective. “I was stung...how am I okay right now?”

“Yeah, you were. But thankfully, we don’t like W.C.K.D. too much and had some of their supplies already on hand when my guys found you.”

“Who exactly is we?”

“We call ourselves the Right Arm. We’re against W.C.K.D. and their methods of doing things. We got a team that saves kids like you and take them to a safe place.”

“My friends.” Gally interrupted. “They must’ve escaped. Did you guys take them?”

“We don’t know. Word don’t spread ‘round too fast when you’re constantly hiding from those techy bastards.”

Gally huffed once more. He just wanted to know if you were safe, that’s all. But no, he was stuck talking to Voldemort.

“Where am I then?”

“Denver.”

“Yeah, I have no idea where that is.”

“It’s right outside the Last City.” The man mused.

Gally felt like he knew the name, but he was pretty shit at geography considering he only remembered living in the Glade. And enough memories had resurfaced for him to know he wasn’t all smart in general. But the Last City part made his ears perk up.

“Wait...the Last City?”

The man smirked. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid. I’m Lawrence.”

After learning pretty much everything he needed to know about the Right Arm, Gally felt he couldn’t leave, not after learning what W.C.K.D. did and was still doing to innocent kids like him.

Ben was dead, Alby was dead, Zart and countless others that were Gally’s friends who have died because of W.C.K.D. He killed Chuck, and he knew he could never atone for that. So, he couldn’t leave. He couldn’t leave to some haven when that messed up company were still making all the calls, killing kids and sending them into dangerous tests in the name of science.

He couldn’t leave without knowing if you were alive or not. 

When he finally found out that you were indeed alive, that you were trapped with Minho, he finally felt that he had a mission. Something extremely important to him. A mission that he knew he could lay his life down for if need be. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he didn’t try.

So when he finally found you again, you were safe in his arms, he felt complete. He felt happiness that he hadn’t felt in his whole life.

When he realized he had to let you go, just one more time with the threat of you getting hurt, he could’ve broke down and he almost did. He wanted a 100 percent guarantee that you would be okay, but couldn’t have one. Not even your words of almost reassurance, it didn’t ease his nerves at all.

So he held you tight, so badly wanting to keep you, but he knew he couldn’t. You wouldn’t allow it when Minho was waiting on the group.

He was forced to see you walk away from him...again.

~~~~~~~~~~

Spain without the S

[anonymouscomrade]

Mid-August 2024 "Going To Your Dad's Funeral After His Sudden Death" Edition:

it's too fucking hot to be doing this. come on, old man, you couldn't have hung on until, say, october? of maybe 2050?

a lot of weird yard signs saying "JESUS 2024". you sarcastically wonder to yourself what that's supposed to be code for

there's construction work on the lane going the opposite of yours. google maps will route you this way when you go back home. this will be the second worst thing that happens to you that day

you pass through a small town. one of the first things you see is some fossilized old bat in a Trump shirt sitting on her porch with two Don't Tread On Me flags hanging on it. you suppose it never really dawned on you until now, but you're not sure how you missed it every time you came through here, with all the confederate flags and decals on trucks. you would gladly trade the life of every single inhabitant of this fucking sundown town if it meant dad got even six more months

you arrive at what's now mom's place, you guess. everything still feels surreal, like he's gonna answer the door and it'll turn out you were mistaken about this whole thing somehow

you ask how it happened, and immediately regret it. turns out it was super-sudden, at least. dude probably never even had time to realize something was wrong before he was gone, let alone time to suffer. the tradeoff, of course, is that the neighbor's six-year-old kid is scarred for life because he's the one who found him face-down on the ground

there's so much food. hams, casseroles, fried chicken, four different potato dishes, sandwich meats. if people in the south can be counted on for one thing, it's making sure the grieving family's next twenty meals are taken care of. how could one man possibly have known this many people

you and your brothers spend most of the rest of the night playing Smash Bros. the CPU easily racks up most of the wins. all three of you joke about how rusty you've all gotten at this game, rather than address the obvious distraction

it's 3 AM and you're still awake because it's tomorrow. you see a possum in the yard from the window. that's not nothing, you suppose

the anticipation is worse than the actual event, you're sure. funerals are a fucking dog and pony show designed to extract money from the ones left behind, a bullshit ceremony of performative grief that doesn't help anyone who actually knew the dead guy--

oh my god they're burying him in his overalls and baseball hat. that's genuinely funny, the man had the wardrobe of a cartoon character. he absolutely would have wanted this instead of being put in a suit or something

all of dad's old friends immediately recognize you despite the last time you saw a lot of these people in person being sometime in 1989

you don't show up until there's only thirty minutes of visitation left before the actual funeral gets underway. you tell yourself it's to keep your mom company at her place because that's when she's going, and definitely not because funerals are stressful enough when you aren't related to whoever it's for

oh god he was drafted for the Vietnam war, you completely forgot there's going to be military honors at the burial. you skip out before the burial. everyone in your family has told you that's okay, and you know he'd be fine with it too. you still feel guilty about it. but not guilty enough to turn back

people are out living their lives, going to work, eating food, paying rent. the world keeps turning. just... without your dad now.

...seriously though what the fuck was up with those JESUS 2024 signs

driving through the american south to meet the folks for the holidays is always weird because you're constantly passing by the same things:

Dollar General store out in the middle of nowhere that has to be on the very edge of a small town you've never seen because there's no way they do enough business to stay open otherwise

barn that you're 99% sure predates the civil war and nobody alive has seen the inside of

pile of gravel, lumber, or tires that's been there since before you were born

distressing number of roadkill deer carcasses, most look like the deer just fell over dead on the side of the road but there's always at least one that looks like it exploded on contact

a small town that either has five churches all named First Baptist Church or one giant church that cost more to build than all the rest of the buildings in town combined

huge factory that looks like it was built in the 50s and then immediately abandoned, except everyone in a twenty mile radius knows someone who used to work there

gas station that closed in the 90s, with 90s gas prices still on the sign

the most hideous McMansion you've ever laid eyes on, built by someone who thought having a giant house with zero function and that looks pretty cool if you're a used car dealer in a flyover state but not to anyone else is totally worth living at least a half-hour away from any store or emergency services

[tuffduff]

Rock Stars Make Bad Boyfriends (Vince Neil x Reader x Slash)

Pairing: Vince Neil x Reader x Slash

Words: 3,170

Request: anon! : “hi again! i’ve got another idea for an imagine so i came right to your blog - hopes that’s okay! i had an idea where the reader kind of has an unofficial thing with Vince Neil but he’s stringing her along - flirting with other girls and such almost in front of the reader’s face - & she ends up meeting slash when gnr and the crue are on tour. slash immediately falls for her & she falls for him too but slash sees how Vince treats her. slash eventually asks her on a date & vince ends up hearing about it & confronting the reader about it. she tells him she really likes slash and she’s done with him and eventually slash and the reader end up dating much to vince’s dismay. thank you so much!”

A/N: Yes, love; that is more than okay!! I love that y’all come to me with these ideas! I love this prompt and I think about this Motley/GNR tour a lot...even if it was short. Turned into a short fic, but hopefully y’all don’t mind that. Hope you’re all doing well!

Taglist: @ubernoxa​ @the--blackdahlia​ @reigns420​ @stradlin-cold-heartbreaker​ @rumoured-whispers​ @dustnbones​

“Vince?” The blonde kept his head turned away from you as though you hadn’t spoken a word. You felt the scowl on your face deepen as he sent a wave towards the girl working the outdoor bar of the hotel resort pool area. “Vince, are you even listening to me?” This time, your tone must’ve been enough to get his attention as he turned back to you.

“Aw, I’m sorry, baby. What were you saying?” You pushed your tongue against the wall of your mouth trying to summon patience; it’s not like you just spent the better part of the last five minutes trying to tell Vince about your day.

“I was talking about what happened earlier in the gift shop. There was a little girl who didn’t have enough money to buy this key chain, and a little old man bought it for her.”

“Mmm.” Vince’s head had turned again the minute you started talking. You frowned.

“And then the shop blew up. It was a huge explosion.”

“Mmhm.”

“The little girl and old man died.”

“That’s nice. Hey, I’m gonna go get us some more drinks, alright, baby?” Vince stood from his lounge chair without waiting for your reply. “Be right back!”

You sighed a little as you watched him unsurprisingly saunter over to the girl at the bar who was practically licking her lips.

All your girlfriends called you crazy for agreeing to go on tour with a rock star. Well, no; that was misleading. They encouraged going on tour, but expecting serious commitment from a rock star? In your dreams, they said. Rock stars don’t make good boyfriends.

You met Vince only about a month prior, so you knew it was nothing quite serious, but was it wrong for you to hope? You liked Vince. That first night neither of you could stop talking until the early morning hours, his eyes sparkling and unmoving from yours, his hand on your knee. But he was a humongous flirt. You tried not to let it get to you—after all, here you were poolside at a swanky resort in a room you didn’t pay for, going to concerts you didn’t have to buy tickets for. Tradeoffs, you supposed. Even still, you couldn’t help but glance over and over again as Vince stayed longer and longer at the bar. You tried to work on your tan and stay undeterred as you planned your outfit in your head for the show later.

That night, Vince complimented you already three times on the way to the arena, but that was only after he heard Tommy telling you that you were looking “hot as fuck, dude.” You still counted it as a win. Then you scolded yourself; were relationships supposed to be about winning?

You also heard Nikki saying something about how their new opening band would be starting tonight, kicking off this leg of the tour. Guns N’ Roses—you had never heard of them, but the name sounded cool. They must have been good if they were opening for the Crue.

Despite his sweet talking and possessive touch all the way to the arena, Vince soon abandoned you once you actually got there. You brushed it off; you weren’t a child. He did have a show to get ready for—you tried not to notice how many groupies you were already seeing walk by, though. There were more interesting things to see anyways. At least, you were determined to find them.

That turned out, again, to be wishful thinking. You didn’t have complete access to every part of the arena, and really, you felt bad about being in the way of all the crew members. That led to you finding the door outside, to the back of the arena, where you hoped to just find a quiet place for a moment.

It took two tugs with all your strength to actually pull open the heavy doors, but instead of opening a gateway to the outside, another body toppled into you. You let out a startled yelp.

“Oh, thank fuck, man!” You heard a soft voice say in relief. There was so much hair in your face that you couldn’t see behind all the black unruly coils to untangle yourself from this mystery guy. “I went outside just to smoke and like, chill before the show, you know, but the doors fucking locked—” you both finally untangled and you found yourself face to face with, well, still a whole lotta hair.

He had on black leather pants and a denim jacket with black sleeves, along with cowboy boots. You couldn’t see his eyes behind his curls, but you were sure he was staring right at you.

“Woah, uh...” he murmured. His voice never changed from the soft murmur. “I thought you were security or something.” You chuckled and watched as he pushed his hair away from his face, revealing pretty, brown, fascinated eyes that were, indeed, staring right at you. You could feel heat growing in your cheeks, but did your best to stay calm.

“No, just a lost soul.” You joked lightly. He blinked a few times at you, almost dumbfounded. He was adorable.

“What are you looking for?”

“Something fun.” A smile grew on his face at your reply.

“I can show you that. I’m Slash.”

“Slash?” You asked in amazement, and he chuckled.

“Yeah, well, my name’s Saul. But I’ve been called Slash for years.” Saul. Slash.

“Okay, cool. I’m Y/N.” You both exchanged smiles and he jerked his head, waiting to make sure you walked beside him rather than behind him.

He took you to where the rest of his band was gathered and introduced you to an eclectic group, all of whom were nice and chill. Less chaos than Motley, but still had that aura hanging in the air, that they were on the verge of destruction, that they were a gang.

Slash, though soft-spoken, asked you question after question—where you were from, what you normally did for fun, what music you liked as he strummed a guitar mindlessly. You watched his fingers in amazement, how effortless he made the action look. And then came his question, “why are you backstage?”

“Oh, well, I’m with—” Speak of the devil…

“Y/N?” You turned at the sound of the door slamming open and Vince appearing in the door frame. “Where the fuck have you been, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

“I’ve been listening to these guys jam. You guys picked a great opening act.” You replied coolly, and you couldn’t help but notice the way Slash smiled down at his guitar silently.

“Well, you’re supposed to be helping me with my makeup,” Vince didn’t hesitate to cross the room and pull you off the couch you were sitting on by your arm, giving you no chance in the matter. “Or, something more productive. Like putting that pretty mouth of yours to use.” You sent Vince a look and immediately snatched your arm out of his grip. No way were you going to tolerate being disrespected like that in a room full of people.

“If you wanted a sex toy to bring on the road with you, I’m sure you could have had plenty of other girls—that’s not what I am.” You replied, pushing around him and walking out of the room. Vince chased you down the hall.

“Hey! Y/N, wait! Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Vince cooed, pulling you to a stop and pressing his lips to your neck. “I just wanted to make sure they knew you were with me; I just get jealous. Especially when you look so fucking good tonight.” You let it go, but you didn’t forget the incident. And you especially didn’t forget the moment later, when you were watching Motley Crue perform from the side of the stage, as a hand gently touched your shoulder. It was Slash.

“Hey...you ever...want...someone...find...” you couldn’t hear him over Mick’s guitar.

“What?” You yelled at him. He laughed before leaning in close to your ear. He had to brush your hair back, and his lips were practically touching your skin.

“If you ever get bored or want to have fun with someone while you’re on tour, come and find me.”

The implication of that almost had you nervous; did all these guys just think you were a road groupie? But, sure enough, Vince ditched you once more at another show and you found yourself knocking on the Guns N’ Roses dressing room door. And there was Slash, answering the door with a smile as though you had known each other for years. “Hey, dude. Check this out, tell me what you think.” He played you a guitar riff he had been working on and waited expectantly to hear your thoughts after. And that was that, you were fast friends.

You weren’t sure how to explain the phenomenon, but you knew it was mutual. Just a special connection; even when you were both still learning about each other, it felt more as if you were remembering. It was like putting on a pair of boots that had already been worn in.

And you knew it was mutual because, according to his bandmates, Slash was pretty shy unless he was drunk. But not with you; he could talk your ear off. Somehow in just a couple weeks, it felt as if you were best friends.

That was an incredible feeling in itself; at this age in life, could you really meet another person out of the blue and grow so close so fast? But beyond that, there were little moments. These moments you quickly grew to live for, these moments made your heart race and your palms sweat.

Moments when you looked over at him, cigarette hanging from his mouth as he focused on the guitar, and you never wanted to kiss a pair of lips more. Moments when you thought maybe, just maybe, Slash felt the same. He would hug you in greeting every time he saw you, but sometimes leave his arm around your waist, effectively holding you to him until he had to let you go. When you would swear you caught him already staring because of how fast he turned his head away.

“Y/N, I can’t wait for you to meet Pandora.”

“Who’s that?” He smiled up at you, his head resting on your lap as it usually did, a guitar resting in his.

“She’s my boa.”

“Your...your snake?”

“She’s the sweetest—she’s gonna love you.”

He wanted you to meet his snake—or, snakes. You laughed, and for some reason, you felt such a wave of affection hit you at just the thought of his existence. You spent more time watching Guns open from the side of the stage than you did watching Motley—you were usually goofing off with Slash at that point. Suddenly, Vince’s continuing disappearances didn’t bother you so much. The only thing that actually did bother you was when Slash would walk you up to your always empty hotel room every evening. The both of you would drag your steps every time and take unnecessary trips to the snack machine, or stand out on the balcony to check out the moon. Just anything to prolong ending the night.

“Empty again,” you joked to Slash as you opened the hotel room door to dark and vacant room. You weren’t even sure why you and Vince kept up the charade anymore—he hadn’t even kissed you in days. At this point, you were riding to the arenas with Slash and his band.

Slash didn’t laugh like you thought he would. He was looking down, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Can I ask you something and you promise to not get mad?” He asked you. His words were almost rushed, as though he had to gather courage to even say them.

“Yeah, of course you can. What’s up?”

“Do you actually like him? Vince?” He ventured. “I mean, I know you don’t love him, but...”

“How do you know that?” You asked out of curiosity, certainly not out of disagreement. He was right, of course. Slash shrugged a shoulder.

“I would just imagine, you know...if you love someone, you would want to be around them. Tell them things first, eat with them, just kinda look to them first.” You listened to his words, realizing over the past few days you had been doing all of the above with Slash. You had given up trying to tell the nuances of your day to Vince, but Slash listened when you told him how you short circuited the electricity with your blow dryer at the hotel. He laughed at your jokes or when you tripped backstage because he was always watching you. He gave you his jacket when he saw you shiver once, he made sure you got food after the show if you were still hungry. When he was drunk and carefree, he wouldn’t chase after groupies. He would come and find you and fall asleep on your shoulder.

“I don’t love Vince.” You confirmed softly. “Vince...had me fooled into thinking he was someone else. That he cared.”

“Then why are you with him?” You stared back at him, unable to give him an answer.

“I don’t...”

“Let’s go out.” You felt your heart jump.

“We’ve...we’ve been out, though.”

“Y/N, Denny’s after midnight is hardly a date.” He said, though he was fighting a smile; that was a good memory.

“Depends on who you ask,” you chuckled, making him chuckle. “Wait, did you say a date?”

“Well, yeah. That’s what I mean.” He said softly. “Listen, Y/N. I think you’re pretty cool. And I dunno, I’ve never really...like, there’s a lot of pretty girls out there, right? But you’re so fucking beautiful I thought I was seeing things when you opened the door that day. Then, I found out you were with Vince, and I tried to let it go, but I see how he treats you, and it pisses me off. You deserve better. But you just, us, you and I, we click, you know? I know you feel it, right?” You nodded after a moment and felt your heart flip again when he smiled. “So, give it a chance. We have the day off tomorrow. Let’s fucking do something fun—I don’t know, we can go to the fucking zoo! Or go find some concert somewhere or just, go anywhere.”

“...Okay.” You agreed with a smile. He grinned back at you.

“Okay? So like, early afternoon? 4 or something?” You smiled; was he that excited to see you? Your heart hadn’t been this giddy in a long time.

“Yeah, that sounds great with me.”

It was barely 3 in the afternoon and you were towel drying your wet hair, fresh out of the shower, when your hotel room slammed open. Vince appeared for the first time since you’d last seen him before the concert the night before, staring at you with what you could only describe as fury. You stared at him silently.

“Can you fucking tell me why all the Guns N’ Roses guys are hyping up Slash for his big date tonight with Y/N?” He demanded. You looked down, waiting for the shake and guilt to hit you, but it never came.

“Vince, it’s not like we were in love with each other.” You said with quiet bluntness. Vince’s eyes grew wide.

“I brought you on fucking tour with me!”

“And ever since then you’ve left me night in and night out to go and sleep with every groupie that comes your way! We haven’t slept in the same bed in weeks! There are fucking lipstick stains on your neck right now, Vince!” He glanced in the mirror quickly before he cursed under his breath.

“Y/N...it’s just, the way it is, you know? That’s the life we live.”

“You just fuck other girls and have me waiting for you too? That’s the life?”

“Alright, I fucked up. I do care about you, Y/N, baby. I do. I’m trying. I’ll do better.” Vince’s voice was soft and sugary, and he walked over to you, grabbing your hand in his, holding your eyes with his. “Just give me another shot. We’ll have some fun.” This time, his smooth talking did nothing for you; your heart was already taken by someone else. You slipped your hand out of his and silently began gathering up your things.

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Vince laughed as you shoved your clothes in your luggage. “C’mon, baby, just calm down. You’re not even dressed.” You sent him an incredulous look.

“I am more than calm. Goodbye, Vince.”

“Where are you going? Y/N, seriously! Oh, what—are you just gonna jump onto the next rock star? I thought you weren’t a groupie, huh? He just wants to fuck you and then he’ll drop you, just you fucking wait! That’s all we do!”

“No, that’s what you do. You don’t speak for him or me.” You snapped over your shoulder at Vince’s childish yelling. The door slammed behind you and you smirked a little.

You made your way through the hotel in your towel, barefoot and hair dripping, and knocked on the door you knew to be Slash’s. He opened it slowly in confusion, and felt your heart expand at the sight of him already dressed and ready to go much too early—clean hair swept out of his eyes, a flannel that was barely buttoned, and leather pants. He took one look at your bag and towel.

“It’s not 4 yet.” He said, the hint of a smile on his lips.

“Speak for yourself.” You said, fighting the urge to smile back. He leaned against the door frame, now smiling outright. “…You know, I think I just lost my backstage pass.” Slash laughed.

“It’s all good; I’ll sneak you in in my guitar case or some shit. And besides; this leg of the tour is almost over. We only have a few shows with them left. Next month, we’re opening for Alice Cooper.” He paused a little, his voice turning serious. “You know you can come, if you want.”

“I don’t know,” you murmured, looking down. Some of the things Vince had said were sinking in; you didn’t want to be known as just some groupie that jumped from band to band. Slash touched your shoulder in an effort to get you to look at him.

“I want you to come.” Your heart fluttered again, and threatened to soar out of your chest entirely when he leaned forward and gave you a light and sweet tender peck on the lips—your very first kiss together. He pulled back too quickly, laughing. “You look ridiculous.” You glanced back down at your towel again and laughed. Slash took your bag from your shoulder and stood aside. “You know, I’ve only got one bed in here.”

“That sounds good to me.”

[consumeconstantly]

If at first you don’t succeed... just live with your mistake

“My mommy’s the Style Queen.”

“Well my mommy’s an Italian Ambassador.”

Chloe scoffs. “So? My dad is the Mayor of Paris.”

AKA Chloe and Lila have a dick measuring contest.

______________________________________________________________

“This is your fault, Audrey! She acts exactly like you when you’re jet lagged and caffeine deprived. She definitely got it from you.”

“Excuse me?” Audrey delicately slams her iced mocha down on the imported Rosewood table. “She got it from me? I’m not the one whose name Chloe has dropped in every one of her little school fights.”

“I just don’t understand.” Gianna Rossi nurses her head in her hand. The whiskey  that was delivered to her didn’t have the opportunity for water to condense on the sides, so the table remains free of stains. “How did Lila end up this way? I’ve always tried to lead by example, and I spend as much time with her as I can!”

Audrey pats Gianna’s forearm with a gloved hand. “Maybe it’s just teenage rebellion, darling.”

“I wish,” Gianna says, glumly. “Do you think it’s because she grew up without one of her parents?”

“Nonsense,” Andre waves his hand, still wearing the pretentious ribbon that proclaims he is the mayor of Paris. “Chloe grew up with a mother, and she turned out exactly the same way.”

He mutters more quietly, “Though a mother that was gone so often she might as well not have even been there.”

Audrey smacks Andre on the arm. “You know very well that you were gone more often when she was a baby. We agreed that we would rotate focusing on our careers every few years.”

“Yes, honey, but I’ve been on Chloe duty for the past eight years. You only took care of her when she was a toddler.”

“Who was the one who had to change diapers Andre? The one who woke up at 3 AM to feed her? The one who taught her the goddamn alphabet? Tell me that, Andre, tell me that.”

Gianna motions for another drink to be brought over by the butler that Andre and Audrey employ. Audrey holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Don’t do it, Gianna. It’s almost 4:30. School is going to get out soon.”

Pressing her head up against the lacquered wood, Gianna sighs. “All the more reason for me to drink.”

“You don’t want to be inebriated when you have to deal with Lila, do you?”

“I do,” Gianna wails. “I have to be! Do you know that Lila makes me drink more than my job does? And I’m the one who has to file all of those awful akuma attacks that always end up targeting Italian tourists because some people are still not over what we did in World War II!”

“Italy did do a lot of awful things back then,” Andre mutters.

“Shut it! Whether it’s right or wrong, one akuma attack out of every twenty five deals specifically with the prejudice against Italy. Italian tourists get caught up in seven attacks out ten. I’ve had to issue so many incident reports that I think I’m going to get carpal tunnel soon.”

“I can’t believe you have the statistics on those.”

Gianna’s voice shoots up two octaves. “You’re the mayor of Paris. Shouldn’t you be keeping track of statistics like these?”

“Ah,” Andre laughs awkwardly. “Of course I am. But back on topic. Who do you think it’s going to be this time? Chloe or Lila?”

A moment of silence. Then, in tandem, all three of their phones buzz.

“You just had to jinx it, didn’t you, Andre?” Audrey pulls out a pocket mirror, reapplies her lipstick, then stands. “Let’s go see what our girls did this time, non?”

Placing her sunglasses over her eyes, Audrey continues, “A hundred euros that the Dupain-Cheng girl will be one of their targets.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, honey. That girl has too much of a spine for either of them to get her involved.”

Gianna sobs for the umpteenth time that afternoon. “If Lila was just a little bit more like Marinette, so many of my problems would be relieved! Do you think if I pay her enough, she’ll be friends with my daughter?”

Audrey and Andre exchange glasses. Andre shakes his head. “Friendship won’t work. We tried to get our Chloe to play with Adrien. He’s still as well-mannered as ever, but Chloe… In any case, I’ll raise your hundred euro bet to one fifty and say that Sabrina will be involved.”

“That’s no fun,” Audrey complains. “You always take the obvious bets.”

The three parents make their way to Andre’s limo. Gianna may or may not take two shots of vodka on her way there.

#

“Chloekins!” Andre stretches his arms out to his daughter. His bad knee pops twice as he gets down to kneel.

“I don’t know why he insists on playing good cop bad cop when it hasn’t worked once in the past five years,” Audrey says to Gianna. 

“At least you have a significant other to make that work. I have to be the good cop and the bad cop, all in one person, and it hasn’t worked ever. Maybe I should try looking for other single parents. Adrien’s father is single, right? And Adrien is such a sweetheart. Maybe I should try--”

Audrey waves her clutch slightly in the air to cut her off. “Trust me when I say that is an awful idea. Not only does the man still believe Emilie is alive, but he also keeps an obscene amount of iconography of her in his bedroom in his manor. And even if he somehow gets over Emilie, wish isn’t going to happen anytime soon, that snake, Nathalie, has been waiting in the wings even before Adrien was born.”

Gianna’s shoulders slump. “I thought ‘the good ones are all taken’ is only a phrase that’s supposed to be used by students.”

“Daddy!” Chloe stomped her foot. “I demand that you deport this-- this miscreant from Paris at once!”

“Daddy’s so proud of you for learning a new big word.” Andre continues to fawn over his daughter while Chloe and Lila’s classmates look on disgustedly at the dual display of affection and undermining Chloe’s intelligence. Nino lets out something that sounds suspiciously like, “Sick burn, dude.”

“Daddy!” Chloe’s voice gets even higher, and Audrey counts at least five of Chloe’s classmates cover their ears and wince. Andre glances back at Audrey, clearly expecting her to come in and lay down the law. Audrey doesn’t even bother raising an eyebrow in disbelief, She just stays completely still until her husband gets the point and turns back to their daughter, shoulders slumped.

“Sweetheart, we can’t just deport Lila for no reason,” Andre tries to placate Chloe, unsuccessfully. Somehow, the classmates and the teacher have gotten a hold of popcorn, and are now sharing it amongst themselves. 

“I told you. It’s not for no reason. It’s because she’s a miscreant!”

Andre falters. He’s always given into Chloe’s demands, and Audrey has always been the one to fix things after. He gives in. “Okay, sweetheart. Then we can--”

“Hold on.” Gianna steps in between Andre and Chloe. Audrey smells alcohol coming from her mouth. Gianna’s cheeks are slightly pink. Audrey, herself, doesn’t believe in midday drinking, or really, drinking at all-- she thinks that it ruins skin and that inebriated people simply aren’t attractive-- but perhaps if Audrey wasn’t so involved in the fashion world, she’d be a little more similar to Mme. Rossi. “How about we hear both sides of the story before deciding what needs to be done?”

Lila and Chloe lock eyes, then immediately turn away with each other, crossing their arms at the exact same time. If Audrey didn’t remember every detail of Chloe’s birth because it was so painful, she’d be inclined to believe that the two girls were twins, or siblings at the very least. They’re just too similar in their mannerisms to believe that they’re completely unrelated.

Fluttering her eyelashes and playing up the image of a false saint that precisely nobody in the school believes anymore, Lila, looks at Andre and Gianna through watery eyes. “Chloe was bullying people! I simply had to intervene.”

“That’s not true! She was the one who started it!”

Gianna sighs. If she were any less of a woman, she would immediately buckle to the ground. But she’s been dealing with the Italian-Parisian politics, which are often fraught with tension, for nearly three decades, and with one Lila Rossi for thirteen years. “Why don’t we hear from an impartial third party?”

The three parents turn on the rest of the classroom. Sometime during the chaos, Caline Bustier fainted, and was promptly escorted to the nurse’s office by Mylene and Ivan. No matter. Caline isn’t the most… impartial or intelligent person they have to choose from. Audrey does feel slightly responsible for her lack of intelligence, as Chloe beaned Caline in the head with objects of various size and weight throughout Ecole, which is why the woman isn’t out of a job. 

“Marinette and Adrien. Why don’t the two of you tell us what happened?” Audrey points at the two teens that are whispering to each other. They certainly have an interesting dynamic. If Marinette was taller, she’d love to have the two of them model for some of her shoots, together. No matter. She still has time to grow, and she has it on good word that Sabine is doing all she can to make sure her daughter grows to at least Tom’s height.

Chloe gasps. “You remember Maritrash’s name, but not mine?”

Beneath her sunglasses, Audrey rolls her eyes. Really, she makes one attempt at the younger generation’s humor, and it backfires on her horribly. She fired the intern who recommended that joke to her, so there’s really nothing more to be done. This is why it’s just so much easier to be harsh. 

Luckily, Adrien deescalates the situation before Chloe starts on a second tangent that will likely end in tears instead of a fit of rage. Audrey wonders if she’s really that emotional when she’s jetlagged and in need of a pick-me-up. She’ll have to ask her assistant, next time.

“Well, it really started as two seprate issues at first.” Adrien rubs the back of his head and looks down at his feet. Maybe there’s a tradeoff. Indiscriminate rage in exchange for common sense. Confidence exchanged for timidity. “Chloe was… upset because she didn’t get a perfect on the last assignment Sabrina submitted for her.”

Audrey rolls her eyes again. What, there’s a reason she wears sunglasses everywhere she goes. She simply can’t deal with people’s stupidity, or when people make clearly exaggerated-- or in this case, very, very, almost criminally under exaggerated, judging by the bruises forming on Sabrina’s knees-- claims.

“And Lila was spinning another lie about Jagged Stone to Nino. Something about her being his lovechild,” Marinette finished. Now there’s a girl who has confidence, is more than confident at her craft, and is pretty. Really, the only negative things that she’s heard about the girl is that she’s sort of a clutz and rather bad at getting places on time, but both of those can be remedied. Etiquette class and a personal driver, and everything will be fixed. 

There’s also the small matter about her apparently having the capability of picking locks and hyper fixating on whatever she likes, but Audrey has been trapped by men trying to get a ransom from Andre at least four separate times, and she wouldn’t be here today if she wasn’t a bit of a daredevil of lycee. As for the hyperfixation, so long as she’s able to move onto a new area of interest in time for each new collection, Audrey sees no reason why Marinette can’t excel in the fashion world.

“Lila Rossi! You know you are not the daughter of Jagged Stone! You’re going to be grounded for two weeks!”

Marinette nudges Adrien. “Excuse me, Mme. Rossi. Why don’t we finish the whole story before issuing any punishments? There’s… more.”

Adrien is associated with that good boy next door kind of aesthetic, but he pulls off unintentionally mildly ominous like he was born to do so. 

“The short of it is that Chloe pushed Sabrina, Sabrina fell onto Lila, and that made Lila and Nino kiss. After that,” Marinette eyes Nino, who is wiping his mouth with his eighth wet wipe and being soothed by Alya with an arm on his shoulder. “Well, things kind of devolved from there.”

“You mean,” Chloe hisses. “That this wannabe pulled my hair, scratched my face, and knocked me to the ground!”

“You made me bleed!” Lila pulls her sleeve up. There aren’t actually any marks, but there aren’t any marks on Chloe, either. 

“They did roll around on the floor for a while,” Alya admits, “But both of them were so up in each other’s business that it's difficult to make out who actually landed a hit on who, if either of them did manage to hurt each other. I have the footage, but even after we watched it a few times, it really just looks like the two of them are bear hugging each other on the floor.”

“Are you guys forgetting the real victims here?” Kim half shouts. “My beautiful face!”

Alix slaps him on the back. “Don’t worry about it. If it scars, it’ll just make you look mysterious. If it doesn’t… well I can’t say that your looks were ever good to begin with.”

Sabrina shuffles her feet. She’s definitely less injured than Kim’s nail scratches, with only bruising on one arm and on both of her knees. 

“Chloe didn’t do anything bad,” she defends. “She’s perfect just the way she is!”

“That’s right, servant.”

Marinette turns to Adrien with a question in her eyes. He nods. 

She bangs her head against his shoulder.

“Sorry about that, Chloe’s voice just really grates on me sometimes. I need to knock my head in order to get the ringing to stop.”

Lila shoots a smug look at the blonde girl. “See?”

“Lila’s too,” Marinette says, then bangs her head against Adrien’s shoulder one more time for good measure. “Adrien, Alya, do either of you want to continue?”

Adrien pulls Marinette into his chest. Alya steps forwards as the Champion of the Truth. “After their catfight, Kim and Sabrina broke them up. Sabrina took Chloe, Kim took Lila. After the two of them were separated, Mlle. Bustier went to M. Damocle’s office so all three of you were contacted. Chloe tried to go at Lila again once Sabrina loosened her hold, but Marinette geupplexed her.”

“Seriously,” Marinette stares at Chloe’s completely unruffled appearance. “What kind of hairspray does Chloe even use? Her hair is made of steel.”

“Her hairspray is made from venom and spite, dude.”

The tell tale sirens of a police car approach. “Oh, by the way, did M. Damocles not tell you that the police were going to take both of them in for questioning?”

“No,” Gianna Rossi says, curling in on herself. “No, he most definitely did not.”

Chloe and Lila are led away in handcuffs while the parents stand in a group, almost numbly.

“Why are our children like this?” Gianna pulls her hair. She’s had to take off so much time from her job this month alone in order to accommodate Lila’s ridiculous behaviors.  

“Be comforted by the fact that they’re not working together. Can you imagine the kind of plans they’d think up?”

“Actually,” Alya interjects. “They have. Were you never contacted for the time they sent Marinette flying out the window?”

“WHAT?”

[fapangel]

>need to make our primary CAS aircraft heavier and slower | So it's doctrinal then. >heavier; fair enough it IS a gigantic cow >slower; It's literally faster than both Apache and Viper and if my memory serves well Operation Mount Hope III was motivated largely by that.

Okay, since I’m awake I can say a little more about this. Rotary wing isn’t really my thing but I have some general thoughts derived from a wider familiarity with (combat) aviation, the physics and the engineering trade-offs that result from it to hazard some guesses. 

Welcome, to Brainlet Theater. You have been warned. 

First off, there is some obvious utility in having attack helicopters with some small passenger capacity, and we know this... because we’ve done it with our own Apaches: 

Them dudes sitting on the outside of the chopper? They’re secured to the machine with a short purpose-made strap. This is mainly useful for getting a downed crew out of dodge in a hurry, but it’s also been used operationally and offensively; some Royal Marines (the absolute mad lads) rode into a Taliban compound on Apaches to provide a small ground presence while the gunships did most of the blasting. 

So the capability is definitely useful. But, generally speaking, the point of a gunship is to optimize for the guns, not the ship. With that said, however, infantryman are heavy; esp. once you’re done adding body armor, guns, lots of ammo and their packs. Easily 300~ish pounds a man, and you want to lug at least 9 of them in there (the average squad) on one transport, and hopefully more. 

So, intrinsically, a transport chopper has a big strong engine and a lot of lift capacity, which means a passenger transport and an ammo/cargo transport are basically the same aircraft, with the difference being a few lightweight bucket seats most of the time. 

Now keeping this in mind, consider that one thing every attempt at airborne cav has learned is that inserting while people are trying to shoot you down is very goddamned hard. Because of this, it’s always very, very good to bring as many damned guns as you can to shoot back and cover your own approach and the landings of your wingmen. This job is, of course, ideally suited to gunships... but the nature of combat means that the best gun you can possibly have to return fire is one on your own aircraft. Whoever is shooting at you, personally tends to be very obvious to you, and even in the modern era, with the nascent age of Information Warfare upon us, it is still almost always quicker to point your own gun at the guys lighting you up and hose them down than to call the gunships and hope that 1. they see the dudes without you playing 20 questions while you’re getting lit up and 2. have ammo left and 3. aren’t already busy trying to save someone else’s ass. And the more guns all of you bring to shoot back with, the better - simple as. 

This is why the Chinooks that the Special Forces use to insert have a big-ass minigun on each side, and why even the Osprey - which doesn’t really have many good places to put a gun and not much weight allowance to carry one - ended up finally working out an articulated arm to get a machine gun useable from the back ramp, and they’re still working on installing a minigun in a forward firing belly mount for the pilots to use when entering hot landing zones; much like the nose-mounted miniguns found in some LOH’s and Hueys in Vietnam.

In short, between the very strong need for more guns and the extra lift capacity transport choppers require, bolting more guns onto them is something that almost every military ends up doing. And once you have some “defensive” guns on there, it’s not a big stretch to shrug, pull all the troops off, and use that aircraft to build a dedicated gunship out of. Many Hueys in Vietnam were built like this, and in the modern era the Russian MI-8 “Hip” (and the many successor choppers which more or less share an airframe and appearance, but sport vastly upgraded engines) are much the same. The difference between a Hip or Huey transport and a Hip or Huey gunship, in both cases, boils down to - are you using your load capacity for troops, or for guns? The ultimate example of this in practice was the ACH-47A, Chinooks that were modified into very fucking big dedicated gunships. 

However - gunship helicopters like the Cobra and Apache exist for a reason. If one looks at the Cobra, you’ll note how very thin a profile it presents from the front - a stark contrast to the w i d e Huey. Then there’s the seating arrangements, the gimballed, turreted gun, and of course the significant change in flight characteristics, maneuverability, and of course efficient use of armoring. A purpose-built gunship is always going to be better at being a gunship than a transport or general purpose chopper loaded down with ordinance. 

The point of all the above is this: guns are always good. Troop transport capacity is very useful. So gunships tend to either be general purpose/troop transport choppers that evolve into gunships, or gunships that finagle some way to sling a few passengers if need be. 

So - which one do you think the Hind is? 

Well, take a look at an early A model and have you a guess: 

Compare and contrast this to a civilian MI-8 HIP, the aforementioned ubiquitous general-purpose chopper: 

Yeah. In point of fact, the MI-24 was based off a fucking MI-8 (if Wikipedia is to be believed.) The Hind stands out, however, because just from what I got skimming the MI-24′s Wikipedia article, it seems that Mikhail Mil, the Hind’s designer, anticipated that the air cav concept would end up mirroring the armored personnel carrier’s experience - to wit, once one is armoring a vehicle to directly insert troops into a fight, one also discovers that firepower is as crucial as armor in keeping the troops alive until they can deploy. Hence he was thinking of a chopper as a “flying infantry fighting vehicle.” In practice this simply means that Mikhail Mil was smart enough to add some stubby wings and hardpoints onto his design to begin with. America’s air cav concept didn’t have nearly as much focus on armed helicopters to begin with - perhaps not unjustifiably, as US forces knew they could count on some very, very thorough fixed wing air support to cover landings. Once they found out just how hard air insert was, they started taking Hueys and packing them with firepower. 

The Wikipedia article says “the early 1960s” so there’s no strict dates involved, but if I had to guess, I’d say Mikhail Mil was going around talking to Soviet brass and pitching his hybrid aircraft - a transport that traded half it’s troop transport capability to carry some boom boom to get them down alive with - at roughly the same time the US Army was packing Hueys full of miniguns to turn them into gunships to cover the troop transports (”slicks.”) Thus, the wisdom of Mil’s tradeoff was immediately apparent. 

Hence my comments on the MI-24 before - given that it was based on a transport chopper, and envisioned as a hybrid platform, you can see how dedicated gunships would have an advantage at being a gunship. 

H o w e v e r - this is not to say that the MI-24 is necessarily bad. 

Let’s take another look at it. 

Using the cockpits (and thus the pilots) for scale; compare and contrast to a Cobra: 

And the Apache: 

You’ll note right away that the Hind is a fucking big helicopter. Empty weight of almost 19,000 pounds to an Apache or Cobra’s 11,000 pounds. This is neither good nor bad; more weight makes your aircraft more ungainly, slower to maneuver and a bigger target, but also gives you more room for guns, missiles, armor and fuel. Wanting more is why the ACH-47 gunship was built, recall. 

Now look at our Hind again: 

Since it wasn’t just a transport chopper with guns bolted on, but was originally envisioned as a hybrid platform, it has a good, purpose-built seating arrangement for the pilot and gunner, and stubby wings that both provide a place to mount munitions and provide lift in forward flight. The Hind’s excessive size - and the large size of the stub-wings - work together for the Hind; that longcat fuselage and weight will work against it if you want to do helicopter things like drifting sideways and strafing and such, but with those big-ass engines and sizable wings it should handle pretty damn well flying in a forward direction; if you were to handle it more like a fixed-wing aircraft. 

Now note, especially, where the passenger compartment is (with the windows.) If you were to redesign the machine with no passenger room whatsoever - what would you put there? Fuel tanks, perhaps? The passenger accommodations don’t actually cost the Hind that much weight; they’re just empty seats and some empty space. The engines are above that compartment; if you eliminated it it’d just look goofy, like a hollow-bellied Skycrane with nothing (much) taking up the space intended for cargo: 

To actually utilize that wasted volume you’d have to redesign the entire goddamned chopper to position the engines, fuel tanks, stub wings, etc. To make something skinny and efficient like a Cobra, or a lot shorter and more evenly distributed like an Apache... and at that point, you may as well make the chopper smaller, lighter and more nimble, as well, and make up the difference in munitions by just building a few extra choppers. 

In other words, it seems to me that for a chopper of it’s weight class, the Hind doesn’t actually suffer that much from having passenger capacity. The need for that capacity is what determined its weight class to begin with; but once you move into bigger, heavier choppers like that, engineering and aerodynamics considerations means that even a purpose-built gunship isn’t going to get all the advantages that smaller gunships do, but you’ll still be copping some of the disadvantages of a big chopper. IN general, the more mass you are throwing around, the harder it becomes to start and stop on a dime, and if you’re using the extra power from bigger engines to carry as many munitions as you can, you don’t have that power available to course-correct - at least, until you expend that ammo and fuel. 

Much like a modified MI-8, the Hind always has the option of leaving the troopers at home so it can carry more ammo - hell, sometimes MI-24s use their passenger compartment for door gunners, helping to compensate for the lower maneuverability! Fire arcs to the rear are restricted a bit by the wings and weapon pods, but given that you’d be handling a big, heavy, fast chopper like that more like a plane - making strafing runs instead of trying to play peek-a-boo from behind ridgelines - that’s less of a concern. 

In sum; the defining characteristic of the Hind, to me, is that it’s just a big helicopter; and an integral capacity for more payload is part of a big helicopter’s intrinsic nature, just as limited maneuverability is. And those tradeoffs translate directly to how they do gunship things; bringing more firepower (good) but less maneuverability (bad.) Whether or not that tradeoff is a net benefit or drawback rides heavily on whether or not the operator’s overall force structure and doctrine is suited to take advantage of the platform’s strengths and mitigate its weaknesses. For instance, if you’re a Soviet successor state operating Hinds, you may well purchase some Little Birds; when not being used for Little Bird things, they would very neatly complement your Hinds in combat; being fast, nimble little monsters that can turn and pounce on pop-up threats like Rikki Tikki Tavi on cocaine. 

So America doesn’t have a straight analogue to the MI-24 because, doctrinally, we don’t have a need or desire for a big gunship helicopter... but that doesn’t mean that big gunship helicopters are inherently bad. 

[ariyadaivaris]

- oh god vic please come back. where have you gone. we miss you

- NEW GEAR! NEW GEAR FOR TONY the track jacket is obviously new (its very cute i like the rolled up sleeves+tape up to wrists look a lot) and his new goofy lil emblem on his kneepads. also its the same candy red as ariya's. unbearable! i can't stand them. good for him

- "a red wedding of sorts, if you will" HUH? YOU CAN'T SAY THAT. WHY DID HE SAY THAT

- ARIYA DID THE SLASH ACROSS THE THROAT THING!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IT FEELS LIKE LIFETIMES SINCE HE'S DONE IT i love him. terrible. awful. scary <3

- the windup on ariya's elbow drops <3 he is a delight to watch...

- god i wish wish WISH 205 had some fucking storylines again!!!!!!!!!! i love tony and ariya and i love the bollywood boys, you know this, but if i have to watch another mostly directionless tag match that won't go anywhere or lead to anything because the cw division's plot-important stuff is relegated to nxt with an entirely different group of people and none of these guys are considered in high enough regard to reap the rewards of a division they built and carried on their backs for the last 5 years with NO fucking help or faith in them at all i'm going to go off the deep end. i would take an in-ring promo at this point. anything at fucking all   - commentary keeps pushing the "they're working harder than ever to get a title shot" thing and it's just so. i'm insanely depressed about it. does ANYONE genuinely believe, watching this, that they will ever be given a title shot? do the four men in this ring right now have any hope that they will ever see that title on their show again, never mind get a chance at it?   - ariya really isn't ever gonna be a champion is he. the division gets some steam and he's never going to be a part of it. i'm so mad all the time. lol

- its...a struggle to watch 205 recently. it is a struggle to do fucking anything recently but this especially is hard because 205 is like. My Thing. that is the one thing that i am in it for, this is the one thing i have to look forward to on a weekly basis, to mark the passage of time for myself. and i just can't keep doing this! watching alone, having to sustain interest on my own, ignoring the parts of the division that have things going on because its dudes ive never seen on 205 and have no interest in and because its a lot of miserable shitheels and predators that dubya considers relevant for reasons i will never understand (their loyalties have always been clear but given how little anyone cares about like, devlin, who has never done anything in dubya at all even if you ignore That, its like what tradeoff could possibly be worth this unless you want to just signal that you will protect abusers which EVERYONE KNOWS ALREADY), watching and desperately finding scraps of character development in reruns of the same three match configurations over and over and over again involving more dudes that you don't really care about even after all this time because they joined post-plot-or-character and its all with no build, no leadup, no EXCITEMENT, while everyone has already kind of moved on from it for reasons that seem better and better all the time. i don't want to let go of it or stop hoping because i WANT to see if anything happens, i care about ariya and tony's weird fuckin story arcs that much if anything and honestly i think letting go of it at this exact point in time is admitting a loss that i could not withstand at the present moment, but its so...i have to force myself to watch it at this point. and i know it all sounds sooooo pathetic because it is, but i'm just. im so tired!!!!!!!! im so fucking tired of it all

- OHHH SAMIR'S SAVE INTO THE NECKBREAKER OWNS

- ITS FUCKIN SUNIL TIME BABEY!!!!!!!!!! SUNIL SINGH EPIC MOMENTS COMPILATION!!!! GOLD STANDARD DOESNT STAND A CHANCE LETS FUCKING GOOOOOOOOOOOOO

- ariya tagging tony in and just kind of collapsing and rolling through the ropes to have a little lie-down on the apron. sunil singh unstoppable, undefeatable, cannot be survived

- ARIYA KNOCKED HIMSELF OUT ON THE POST. ARIYA

- TONY TWO KNEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- TONY GET CLEAN PIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARIYA WIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- oh my guy ariya's not lookin too good lol

- he’s fine <3 (he IS okay if you are worried)

- oh now lorcan cares about the cruiserweight division again huh! interesting ^_^

- legado del fantasma should be allowed to do that. i think its okay

- i don't really care about him besides going huh, fun aesthetic i guess, but i like grey's entrance music a LOT. maybe it's just the vocals making it distinguishable from whatever new team is doing the themes and making them all the same boring generic hinting-at-metal pop punk instrumental shit. oh well

- commentary making suuuuuuuch a big deal over grey doing things The Right Way to beat mansoor and IF I DO RECALL CORRECTLY tony as well and ignoring that he cheated to beat ariya. ariya gets cheated out of the recognition he's earned once again i see...pretty sure grey wasn't doing it The Right Way when he put his feet on the ropes against the BACKBONE, the BLOOD, the SPINE of the cruiserweight division but whatever............

- you know what i miss? high flying. that thing that 205 was originally about showcasing in a lot of ways? where did that go (to the corner to sit through timeout for being too good apparently) god i miss lhp i miss cedric i miss babyface moose i miss angel and humberto and AKIRA!!!!...i even miss buddy...wails and gnashes my teeth. i miss alicia and kenta and lio and the kanellises though i am glad they are out of dubya. some of these people aren't high flyers which was the original point whatever i still miss them. i need to rewatch 205 so i can try to have fun and not freak out over just how much of it i have to skip over

-  he is so handsome <///3

- ariya is both very VERY interested in august cheating to beat him and furious that he's not cheating to beat anyone else. why WOULD he do that? he didn't care about it when he had to beat ariya. ariya's not the ONLY heel in the division, and not the only person who would cheat to win. august can position himself as righteous--he's doing things HIS way, after all--and noble, but ariya knows better. august is losing by doing this, too! he's not WINNING! he cares more about his principles than about the win, which is CERTAINLY news to ariya. turnabout is fair play against him, apparently, because It's Daivari and anyone can do anything to him and get off scot-free. ariya watches grey refuse to cheat against anyone else, and he listens and he is commended as a hero for it, and it is driving him up the wall to watch. of course, ariya getting humiliated and treated like shit by people who then get lauded as clean babyfaces who continue thinking of him as a dirty cheater beneath them as they do the same things is uh. he’s encountered it before

- "YOU blew it! you let your pride get in the way! YOU blew it! don't ever forget that!" HM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

- this is so fucking juicy. ariya ranks winning through any means above his pride! ariya would rather win dirty than lose clean. he's disgusted that grey won't use his brain to see that a win is better than a loss. ALSO! ariya going "you let your pride get in the way" is SO interesting! self righteousness as arrogance in his eyes feels very illuminating. NO he's not exactly PROUD of the shit he's done but it's the smart thing to do. he's survived, hasn't he? how many other cruiserweights could say that? did mustafa survive? did cedric? did akira? did their principles help them survive? did akira having his arm ripped off just to outlast ariya The Right Way do anything to help him in the long run? what good is doing things the right way when it is so so so fucking hard not to die in here already? on the other hand, ariya is also kind of proud at times! ariya's pride being wounded is what led to the huge character shift he went through to begin with. his pride got in the way of joining drew and tony on the same level and it got in the way of fixing things properly between him and tony until they had to grow back together, and when i say grow i mean it in the sense of...like...a tree. slow and deliberate and taking fucking forever. and it's still never been addressed out loud, really. when ariya says grey's pride got in the way of somethig, he has some idea of what he's talking about ugh. UGH!!!!!!!!! this is all so fascinating. ariya daivari top five characters of all time

[cruddyborderlandstheories]

Debuff Zane Build

i am tired of not seeing this build in all the zane build videos i watch so im sharing it here because its stupid fun bc u run fast and kill faster. it’s not meta, but its fun as fuck and u have a lot of damage and survivability with it. I’ve completed M4 Slaughter Shaft with it- haven’t tried on M10 yet but i have faith. p.s its 4 am pls have mercy if there’s spelling mistakes.

what ur gonna need is a band of sitorak, zheitseiv’s eruption, a seein’ dead, and the piss grenade. everything else is fair game, whatever u want. try to get it to have the sntl cryo anoint bc good. but u must have the 4 main items for this to work perfectly (it also somewhat works with a low level Frozen Heart bc best shield in the game but you will die a lot more)

also i need a fucking name for this build help

oh god oh fuck i forgot i was playing through the handsome jackpot dlc again

oki im ready to party

this is my current loadout

sometimes i switch the reg Q-System for a kaoson or a nighthawkin if i need ammo (OP QSystem is... OP but not as fun as a tracking grenade QSystem so i don’t care for it) and maybe the brainstormer for a reflux if many shielded enemies (i prefer the brainstormer over the reflux atm. so try for a brainstormer!!)

3rd slot, that’s a monarch which used to be a dictator b4 it got a straight upgrade. I actually don’t use the bipod unless im in a boss fight and don’t need to move fast. usually violent momentum and violent violence cover the dps loss

ur first 3 gun slots honestly don’t matter much. I have my reasons for using them, but you can use whatever u want i think, so long as its a strong weapon (bc unfortunately a lot of weapons are not scaled for m10). u dont HAVE to use the monarch or the Q system or the brainstormer. I recommend them, cuz theyre fun, but u don’t gotta if u wanna swap em out for a a kaoson or a yellowcake or a sandhawk or smth

the last gun is my zheitsev’s eruption. This bad boy, when u reload, shoots out homing balls of debuffery. So every enemy that gets hit with these gets a debuff. I have tried this with the needler but I prefer Zheitsev’s bc it can hit more enemies and once and takes less time. this gun only goes to Blane (ur clone). 

for the skill trees we have no points in under cover even tho brainfreeze is the best skill in the gaaaaame

explanations: 

really the hitman tree is p self explanatory, u wanna go fast as fuck boiii. My band of sitorak does not have the +15 movespeed while zoomer is active anoint (it has the break shield amp anoint, which is p okay. want movespeed, but a nice human from the reddit gave me this sitorak so i didn’t have to farm). u want drone delivery bc Blane will NOT be throwing grenades. If you try to make him throw grenades with the seein’ dead he will ONLY throw grenades and never fire his gun, meaning he’ll never reload. it’s a nightmare. anyway. u want the piss grenade (ideally with the +25% damage on thrown anoint). im not looking forward to regrinding this when they finally mayhem buff grenades.

we put one point into playing dirty because we want those extra shots and honestly with the amount of times seein’ dead can proc ur kill skills you’ll have it more often than not

we also have points in good misfortune for that sweet sweet uptime (which btw can be infinite using the brainstormer/reflux bc it is essentially a redistributor without the need for ur barrier) the monarch/dictator also does it justice

for Blane u DON’T WANT praemuntis. we want blane reloading as often as gotdamn possible. now unfortunately my seein’ dead gave me a +weapon mag size roll (im actually not sure if this affects blane, but im assuming it does) but it does have the amazing +5 donnybrook so I’m taking it anyway. I am so not looking forward to regrinding a good class mod when they finally release action skill buffs for them. i cri. i actually hear 3 points in donnybrook and 2 in violent violence is p good (or 1 in violent violence 1 in playin dirty) so maybe grinding won’t be so bad. maybe i’ll finally get a +weapon damage roll

u can grab 1 point in ducttape mod and put 4 points into borrowed time if you want. it doesn’t really matter. i current have 5 in borrowed time and 3 in pocket full of grenades (for some reason??? usually i only put 2 in.). U can do that and use those extra points for either ducttape mod or more points in playing dirty. 

u NEED quick breather. This skill has a STUPID interaction with the band of sitorak shield because of how quickly it recharges. I’m talking, the instant you swap with Blane, you have full shields and so does he. It’s dumb, I love it. Use it to get out of trouble.

so im probably gonna need to explain why i have 3 points in trick of the light: im a cryo slut. That’s it. put those wherever you want, just make sure you can get Double Barrel. i’ve seen builds where people actually go for brainfreeze, i might try that next time i respec.

Double barrel will make it so blane can use the zheitsev’s eruption and debuff your enemies for you. it’s worth it.

so the augments u want are these:

SCHADENFREUDE. because band of sitorak has such a tiny capacity, ur shield is constantly up. If its not, it’s constantly breaking from full capacity. this does have a fun effect with the amp shield break anoint, but mainly i like it for the 25% damage buff whenever it breaks. its a tradeoff for damage, ur constantly swapping between max shields and more damage, so its actually p constant survivability and damage over the long run.

i grab doppelbanger bc blane sometimes gets stuck in the floor and/or i don’t feel like running all the way back. i wouldn’t recommend getting which one’s real or digital distribution only bc u want him alive as much as possible. u can also get binary system instead of doppelbanger, its up to you

for Zoomer u want bad dose for the movement speed and (sometimes) static field (only if the enemies have shields). this is so if blane goes down or he isn’t taking damage, zoomer can refill ur shields. if the enemies won’t have shields usually i grab winter’s drone or boomsday depending on how i feel.

im actually gonna try to see if i can’t grab brain freeze. hang on. i know trick of the light is frowned upon for most people so lemme just respec. (im sorry i just love the vibes it gives me it’s like HAHA you thought that was me? no!!! boop. and then they’re ice sculptures and man i love h2o i wish emma had frozen more people the only people she really freezes are Greg and Miriam and honestly she doesn’t even kill Greg smh. (Greg is dr denman’s assistant. greg is highkey god.) I do like what she did to Mirami, the fucking implications that YES these teenage girls ARE powerful enough to instakill people, they just don’t out of the kindness of their hearts. Rikki was badass that episode too. actually i love the episode where rikki almost boils a dude alive for making a fool of her with ILLEGAL F I S H and burns people using steam from a pipe. rikki is my favorite mermaid- she knew what was u p. I wish mako mermaids was as badass as h2o was. and the cartoon. god imagine the cartoon violence. sigh. let them use their op superpowers to be SUPERHEROES. like in h2o au i have baron flynt puppeteer people to their deaths from Thor bc he has cleo’s powers like why couldn’t she do that to someone. Like dr denman “lmao bye bitch” or even charlotte (who imho wasn’t bad until cleo started being rude to her. cleo was 100% at fault that season). it wouldn’t have killed her!!! ... instantly. probably. ive never seen avatar in full but i did watch the blood bending episode as a child and as i understand it that’s frowned upon but hey. CAN BELLA TURN PEOPLE INTO JELLY?? harry potter 🅱oneless arms... my god.)

anyway, respeccing. 

there goes all my money. rip.

so i think im gonna have to live with the slower reload speed (sob) but yes u can in fact get brain freeze with this build. lemme show...

so ye in the event u just can’t live without freezing people (i know the feeling) feel free to do this. imma play with this for a bit and see if i can live with slower reload. I actually depend on the 100% cryo with zoomer active for all my cryo damage. i also use an ice breaker so they freeze fairly easy (but only on mobs. on bosses u want the snowdrift or something else)

this build isn’t really meta and u might have trouble doing a solo run of true takedown on m10... bc its true takedown on m10, but honestly it’s fun as F U C K. you CAN do it, but it’s not no thoughts head empty like barrier-redistrubutor/yellowcake zane can be so u gotta be on TOP of ur SHIT. i love it. running around killing stuff. it’s fun. i also love teleporting. it’s my FAVORITE THING. I STILL GET GIDDY OVER IT BECAUSE IT’S SO FUN. ask my friends, they will tell you, sometimes i’ll just start gushing over how much fun it is to teleport even though i’ve played zane since release. just. GFDGHKJGDFK so much fun. i just... b o o p. god i love this game. i took a break to play assassin’s creed odyssey (fun sneaky beaky game, pretty awful dialogue) so DAMN i missed this. 

here’s a link to a video I took on athenas (my favorite area to run. it’s this game’s bloodshot stronghold!) this is the playlist i listen to while playing Zane. i keep swapping songs during play bc sometimes they don’t fit my vibe or i get tired of them lol (spotify control is hooked to my 4th and 5th mouse buttons so i don’t have to stop playing) i forgot where my shock sandhawk was in my inventory, is what i use to demolish traunt. i was so scared i threw it in my bank earlier on sanc-iii lol (also yes i still slap blane’s ass. it’s to encourage him to kill)

and here’s a link to the save + everything I had on me at the moment (including the stuff i picked up in the vid in case u want it lol) cuz im lazy and don’t feel like clearing out my inventory. some of these are only m4-9. which ones? it is a mystery. you’ll know when the new update releases ;) (no but actually im so hype for mayhem level on the item cards. finally. FINALLY!!!)

why is this video taking so long to upload. hynnnggggg

oh god is that the sun

[luminousbeansarewe]

4, 1, and 19, if you want?

oh yeah let's goooOo

1. do you find force-users or non-force-users more interesting?

ok so, i honestly can’t answer this question directly bc what i find the most interesting is when these two interact with each other. because focusing on just Force users is... well... not that fun. it turns into OP characters slinging shit at each other 90% of the time, so if they don’t have an important relationship outside of their Force use, like Vader and Ahsoka as fallen master/big brother to defected apprentice/little sister, their Force powers become the focus and that’s only cool for like a fight scene or something. which is one drop in the ocean of what makes interesting stories or even good fight scenes! for example Vader’s fight with Ahsoka in Rebels is way more interesting than Yoda’s duel with Palpatine or Anakin’s first duel with Dooku or...

this isn’t as long as i was afraid it would be but ima throw it under a cut just for the sake of the mobile users lol

the best interaction between two Force users that focuses on the Force itself is Kanan and the Bendu, because the Bendu is so unlike every other Force user we’re aware of that finally something is interesting again. it’s no longer about good/evil or light/dark, it’s about transcending your own limitations and seeing everything for what it truly is. it’s about the real power of the Force, how it connects nature and the senses and the cycles of life and death. it’s about finding peace in yourself within that chaos that will always surround you, rather than trying to control the chaos (either by wielding it like the Sith, or by subduing it like the Jedi). it’s the objective and impersonal wisdom that can only come from radical acceptance in lieu of believing that a thing “should” or “should not” be a certain way, which is what Kanan is struggling with. i also hate how passive the Bendu is, despite also loving him a lot, but that’s a whole ‘nother essay lol

otherwise my interest comes from non-users and how they interface with users. you already addressed this re: vague and/or cultural notions of the Force (seeing users as religious zealots or practitioners of magic, etc) and how that would or, perhaps more importantly, would not influence a non-user’s life or choices politically or personally. but when mundane life comes up against those who use the Force, the friction is absolutely fascinating

the thing that irks me is that we don’t get enough of this in the canon. it might have been explored more in some of the legends (i am still wading around in the old EU, so i don’t know all the nuances yet) but what i wanna know is: why did Leia think that raising her son (kids, if you go with the old EU) and leading the New Republic was a tradeoff with being trained by Luke? would her non-Force sensitive allies and peers in the NR think her use was an asset or a threat? was Han Solo afraid of his son’s Force powers (which would be totally reasonable)? how did the parents of the kids taken by the Jedi Order actually feel about that, and what happened if they resisted? how did the fucking janitors of the Jedi Temple feel about it? if you live on an impoverished world where black market trade is the only reliable source of regular income, do you just think the Jedi are cops? we know how the Mandalorians felt about the Jedi, but they’re the only non-Force users (at least mostly, seeing as there are a few Mandos who are sensitive after all) that we know have a mostly unified and negative opinion of the Jedi mostly bc they were the only non-users who dared to stand up to them and they got fucking wiped out for it- and the Jedi had to fall back on ethically dubious means to accomplish that. so what was Satine’s opinion of having a Jedi escort before she went all uwu over Obi-Wan? what about the other species and cultures? how would they handle becoming close to (either emotionally or out of some necessity) a Force user? THESE ARE THE THINGS I WANNA KNOW

4. what headcanon will you defend to the death?

this is a struggle for me bc there are so many good ones, some of which conflict with each other but are still good so i will entertain either, and i have some of my own. i will defend someone’s right to their own headcanon even if i don’t fuck with it personally.

but i gotta say... Mace isn’t dead tho

if Maul can get cut in fucking half.... ijs

19. what’s your opinion on legends/expanded universe?

there is a lot of really awesome shit in the legends. i have no reverence for one over the other unless it’s important in the context of whatever i am writing/reading. i enjoy having two canons to pick from when i write tbh. i like that legends Thrawn is actually kind of a ruthless and feral dude, but new canon Thrawn is an antivillain (don’t get me started on the continuity problems between Rebels and the novels, that was pure lack of communication on the part of the creators and is just annoying same as the entire sequel trilogy). i think the new canon should have drawn more on some of the good stuff from legends; for example i wish Ben Solo was even remotely as cool as Jacen Solo, the character from legends that he’s very loosely based on. i think without the expanded universe stuff, Star Wars would not be what it is, and that is the most important thing about it.

plus it includes KOTOR I & II and that is obviously VERY crucial lol

[amaranthinecanicular]

hero worship

And now for our main story: a sudden and potentially devastating attack in Downtown Tokyo last night was thwarted by pro hero Red Riot of the Ground Zero Agency, in a feat of heroics so miraculous, it may have to be seen to be believed.

That’s right. Some experts are already predicting a dramatic shift in the Hero Billboard Chart, and after watching this footage, I think my antennae might be detecting a change in the wind, wouldn’t you say?

Ha ha, I think I’d say that pro heroes Deku and Ground Zero better watch their backs if they don’t want to lose their Billboard slots. Please be warned, this footage may not be suitable for young audiences.

[I didn’t realize it was @krbkweek2020, but now that I know, this fic’s perfect for Day 3: Tragic Love. Continue under the read more or on ao3. Warnings in the tags.]

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one.

He dreams of things that happened. He dreams of things that didn't. He dreams about Kamino, and he dreams about hands reaching for him, and hands and hands and hands, and he dreams about falling, about his fingers not reaching Kirishima’s fingers, about reaching Kirishima’s fingers and watching them disintegrate.

It’s two in the morning. Bakugou is sweating cold. He is staring at his hands. They light up the dark with twitching firecracker-pops and they won’t—stop—

And then Kirishima, through the door: “I have them too.”

Bakugou’s hands lie still and quiet.

He gets out of bed. Goes to the door. Stares at the thin line of gold spilling in from the hallway, split in two by the person on the other side. He considers telling him to fuck off. He doesn’t.

If Kirishima is surprised when Bakugou opens the door, he doesn’t show it. There are sleepless purple smears beneath his eyes. His stupid hair, his stupid crocs. His jaw is set, and he doesn’t flinch away from Bakugou’s gaze.

“Well?” growls Bakugou.

“I could hear you through the wall,” Kirishima says. “I just wanted to let you know that I have them too.”

“Why the fuck should I care?”

Kirishima doesn’t blink. “I just wanted you to know.”

Then he does blink. “Wow, do you always sweat so much in your sleep? Dude.”

Bakugou tries to slam the door; it bounces off of Kirishima’s croc. He laughs, and Bakugou scoffs in disgust, but when he heads back into the room he lets Kirishima follow.

They—talk. That’s all. Kirishima is a fucking idiot, but he’s easy to talk to. They talk about school, and the new moves they’re perfecting, and the test next week Kirishima will need extra tutoring for. They talk about their plans to go hiking on the next break, and the prank Mina pulled on Kaminari, and can Bakugou recreate that one thing Lunchrush made on Monday? Yes, and he’ll do it better.

Around three thirty they’re still talking. They talk about the ash on the walls. They talk about Kamino. They talk about nightmares. I have them too, that was what Kirishima said, and it was like he was offering his hand all over again. I have them too. No pity. No accusations. I have them too—setting them on equal ground. That was why Bakugou opened the door. That was why he took his hand.

Kirishima dreams about the same things he does. Grasping for each other and failing to reach. “It’s never that you’re too weak,” he says. “It’s always that I’m not strong enough.”

Bakugou doesn’t know when he falls asleep. All he knows is that when he wakes, with sweat on his brow and shadows in his skull and his hands sparking and unable to stop, Kirishima is still there. He’s holding Bakugou’s hands. Nothing is burning. Nothing is turning to dust.

“You’re going to be okay,” Kirishima says. Like it’s certain. Like it’s fact. Like it’s already happened, and Bakugou wonders if he missed it, somehow, between the kidnapping and the rescue. Between the loss of All Might and the start of the nightmares. As though Kirishima can still see a future that Bakugou himself has lost sight of.

He hates himself for that, and he hates Kirishima too, except for how he doesn’t.

You’re going to be okay, says Kirishima, and when he says it Bakugou believes him. He promises himself that he’ll never tell Kirishima exactly how much he needs to hear it, but he suspects he knows already. Usually Bakugou would resent that. He doesn’t.

:

And now for our main story: a sudden and potentially devastating attack in Downtown Tokyo last night was thwarted by pro hero Red Riot of the Ground Zero Agency, in a feat of heroics so miraculous, it may have to be seen to be believed.

That’s right, Joho-san. Some experts are already predicting a dramatic shift in the Hero Billboard Chart, and after watching this footage, I think my antennae might be detecting a change in the wind, wouldn’t you say?

Ha ha, I think I’d say that pro heroes Deku and Ground Zero better watch their backs if they don’t want to lose their Billboard slots, Matagiki-san. Please be warned, this footage may not be suitable for young audiences.

:

Aiko-chan today at 10:14 AM DUDE GUESS WHERE I AM

Me today at 10:19 AM i think you have english rn??? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Aiko-chan today at 10:20 AM English can suck it my contact gave me a tip that the convenience store by my house has a very exclusive back door item so I’m waiting on a line that goes around the block

Me today at 10:25 AM oh you have a “““contact””” huh

Aiko-chan at 10:25 AM Stfu you know it’s hanakawa now do you want to know what the exclusive item is or not

Me today at 10:27 AM yes pls

Aiko-chan at 10:27 AM Red Riot limited edition winter costume figurine

Me at 10:27 AM JFKSJ HOLY FUCK

Aiko-chan at 10:28 AM Do you want me to get you one

Me at 10:28 AM GET ME TEN

:

Posted by Uwasa K. | K.O! Magazine | June 18

For the first time in a long time, (since the end of All Might, perhaps?) the future of our heroic society is uncertain. That’s why Knock Out! Magazine sat down with our favorite statistical analyst on all things hero, Takei Kazu! Join us as we get the scoop on the hot hero must-haves of the season, Ground Zero’s fall from grace, the future of the hero industry as we know it, and of course, everyone’s favorite hero, Red Riot!

K.O!: As always it is an honor to speak with you, Kazu-san!

KAZU: As always it is 100% a pleasure for me as well.

K.O!: For those unfamiliar, would you please tell us a little about your quirk?

KAZU: Of course. My quirk, Statistic, allows me to determine the statistical likelihood of any given outcome, in any given situation.

K.O!: You’re famed for your shockingly accurate heroic projections, but what put you on the map was your legendary prediction of All Might’s meteoric rise, would you say that’s correct?

KAZU: I would. And at a time when he was overseas and most others considered him an outlier at best, mind you.

K.O!: How could we forget! With that in mind, we have to ask: what insight can you give us to the future of our beloved heroes?

KAZU: Regarding the most recent UA sports festival, I’d say there’s an 80% chance that Aizawa Eri is the hero-hopeful to keep an eye on. Over in the professional hero world, I predict that Real Steel will rise one slot in all official rankings, while Deku’s rising star shows zero chance of falling any time soon. But these statistics are mundane—odds are you want my take on higher-stake situations.

K.O!: I’m sure our readers agree with you! Please enlighten us.

KAZU: Let me just say this: if Ground Zero continues on the warpath as he has, the country’s crime rate will see a dramatic decline. However, his approval rating will likewise plummet, as will the statistical likelihood of his surviving the year. I leave the public to decide if the tradeoff is worth it.

K.O!: I see! And can you put a rest to our readers’ fears of Ground Zero turning villain?

KAZU: In this case I’d rather abstain from giving any specific percentages, as I have no wish to cause a panic. All I will say is that though the likelihood is not 100%, it is not 0% either. On a brighter note, I can say with 100% confidence that the value of all Red Riot merchandise will dramatically increase.

K.O!: You heard it here first, folks: the gift of the season will be any and everything Red Riot, so you better get your shopping done now! Kazu-san, do you have any thoughts regarding the rumors that Red Riot’s heroism on May 14th will earn him the coveted No. 1 spot at the next JP Hero Billboard Chart event?

KAZU: That would be unprecedented given the circumstances, but as of right now I’d say chances are around 30%, and rising every day.

K.O!: Many of our readers are worried about the state of the hero industry. What do you have to say to them?

KAZU: Given Ground Zero’s current behavior, I can see how the future might seem bleak. Find comfort in the knowledge that if the Ground Zero Agency keeps turning out heroes of Red Riot’s caliber to counteract the Ground Zeros of the world, the future of the agency, professional heroes, and Japan looks bright indeed.

:

An excerpt from Echoes of All Might, by Tokuda Taneo:

Of course no analysis of All Might’s lasting influence would be complete without discussion of his successors. Many scholars, heroes, and experts smarter than I have drawn parallels between All Might’s famed debut and any of several incidents in Deku’s youth and professional career; just as many publications have compared All Might’s debut to heroic moments throughout Ground Zero’s life. These positions have been well-argued and well-defended. It is not my intention to detract from the accomplishments of either of these heroes, nor am I suggesting that either of them are undeserving of the title of All Might’s successor. Rather, I propose that there is a third hero who is equally worthy of the mantle of Symbol of Peace, and, in this specific instance, more worthy of the rank of Number One Hero: Kirishima Eijirou, otherwise known as Red Riot.

Consider All Might’s debut. That impossible, miraculous feat of heroism. Over one hundred civilians saved, single-handed. Do you remember the first time you watched it? Do you remember how many times you hit replay? Do you remember the feeling of hope it evoked? In this post-All Might age we find ourselves in, it may be difficult to imagine just how monumental a moment it truly was. No one had ever seen anything like it; it was unprecedented. It shouldn’t have been possible, but he did it.

This is what you must understand about the events that took place on May fourteenth of this year: what Red Riot did shouldn’t have been possible.

An alumnus of the UA class forged through particular adversity, Red Riot cofounded the Ground Zero Agency and proceeded to rise to number eight on the Hero Billboard Chart over the course of the next decade. He was well known for his close personal relationship with Ground Zero, and perhaps less well known for his exceptionally well-rounded performance in all factors contributing to his prestigious Billboard rank: an admirable number of resolved cases, an approval rating below only Lemillion and Nejire-chan, and an underappreciated record of social contribution, which included hundreds of hours of community service. Among fellow heroes he was noted for his friendliness and his straightforward personality. It would not be an understatement to say that he was widely admired, even beloved.

By all projections and statistics, Red Riot was an excellent hero, but let it be clear: what he did on the fourteenth of May should not have been possible. He was outranked by two of his teammates. His quirk, though undoubtedly strong, was not flashy, nor particularly versatile. If even one professional says they thought he could hold off four of the best heroes in the country, on his own, in addition to the rookies Axis turned, in addition to the civilians Axis turned, for three quarters of an hour, without a single casualty—to be quite honest, they’d be lying. This should have been a tragedy of epic proportions. The Ground Zero Agency should have painted Tokyo red long before anyone could stop them. This should not have been possible.

But he did it. And he gave us hope.

Does that remind you of anyone?

:

More reports this morning of Ground Zero allegedly assaulting fans. While Red Riot’s popularity continues to skyrocket, the current Number One hero’s approval rating continues to plummet.

Personally I think his behavior is a real insult to Red Riot’s name, Matagiki-san.

I agree, Joho-san. Maybe someone is getting a little jealous of the shift in spotlight?

Ha ha, your words, not mine. Let’s go live with Izumi-san on the streets of Tokyo to hear what the people have to say. Izumi-san?

:

Aiko-chan today at 10:28 AM Are you sure about 10 tho they’re like triple the usual price

Me today at 10:29 AM T E N ILL KEEP ONE AND MY BROTHER CAN SELL THE REST ONLINE FOR $$$$$

Aiko-chan today at 10:31 AM … :/

Me today at 10:31 AM wat

Aiko-chan today at 10:33 AM Nbd just. Isn’t that in poor taste??

Me today at 10:34 AM no way dude red riot was the people’s hero he’d want us to make bank

Aiko-chan today at 10:37 AM Ye I guess you’re right. Hey aren’t you in history right now shouldn’t u be paying attention

Me today at 10:37 AM fuck history this is LIMITED EDITION WINTER COSTUME RED RIOT

Aiko-chan today at 10:37 AM I KNOW!!!

:

GroundRiot Touching Moments Compilation ENG SUB 504k views - 1 month ago rred_zer0 20.6k followers

A little softer compared to my other compilations, in the wake of everything that happened yesterday. Red Riot, you’ll be in our hearts forever. TW: BLOOD, GORE, FOUL LANGUAGE

102k likes - 1k dislikes Share Download Save 11k comments Add a public comment

pastel gal 1 month ago Thanks @rred_zer0 for coming into my home and punching me in the heart 4k likes • dislikes • reply view 13 replies

gzrrrr55 1 month ago The joy and heartbreak this awakens in me is just *chef kiss* the perfect combination. @rred_zer0 you’re doing the lords work 2.6k likes • dislikes • reply view 33 replies

RazzleDazzleDeku 3 days ago honestly FUCK ground zero 2k likes • dislikes • reply view 12 replies

riotwaifu 1 week ago 4:16 do you SEE those abs UNF the world lost so much on May 14 T.T 324 likes • dislikes • reply view 9 replies

Lemonllion Ok i’m not the only one who thinks some of these clips are really personal right??? Like,,, is it just me?? Who else thinks this is kinda inappropriate??? 3 likes • dislikes • reply view 64 replies

Hana Spring 2 weeks ago ive said it before and ill say it again, these two are soulmates. fight me. 2.4k likes • dislikes • reply view 15 replies

sirthatsmyemotionalsupportbastard 1 month ago rip red riot long live groundriot 599 likes • dislikes • reply view 6 replies

:

In defense of Ground Zero Posted by wtrhse1212

So a lot of people have expressed disapproval over how Ground Zero has been handling and reacting to the May 14 incident. I don't usually like to get involved in this discourse bullshit, especially where it involves Ground Zero, because full disclosure: I think the guy’s a prick. If you follow me or know me from the boards then you know how I feel about him and his alleged treatment of Deku in the past. Those feelings haven't changed, but come on. The guy doesn't care for popularity and public opinion so he's not going to say it. Fine. I will.

Leave him the fuck alone.

First of all, reports have been exaggerated. Do a little research (and because most of you are lazy assholes I’ve included sources below) and you’ll find that he didn’t “assault” anyone. The worst he did was a threatening light show. And if that counts as going overboard to some fans, well, honestly? They deserved it.

I don't talk about this much but I've got some skin in the game. My parents were pro heroes who died on duty, and for most of my childhood, I hated the whole institution. I couldn't understand why people told me I should be proud of my parents’ sacrifice instead of being allowed to mourn. Why my family tragedy was celebrated instead of discouraged.

Thanks to Deku, most of my opinions regarding heroes have changed, but this one stuck. What happened to Red Riot was a tragedy, and it should be treated as such. That's not to say he wasn't heroic, and that his actions shouldn't be honored. It's to say that right now is a time for solemnity, not celebration. It's to say that it is a major flaw in our society that martyrdom is so encouraged. It's to say that Ground Zero shouldn't have to deal with rabid hero fanboys coming up to him and asking for a play by play of Red Riot’s death, as though he were a character on a saturday morning cartoon instead of a real person with real loved ones who are just trying to get by in the wake of his loss.

I don't blame Ground Zero after all the shit we've put him through. Leave him alone. Let him grieve.

TLDR: We shouldn't be encouraging our heroes to die for us. And we certainly shouldn't condemn our heroes for mourning.

View 4,337 replies 2,314 likes 16,554 dislikes

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:

two.

An excerpt from HERO Tonight’s interview with Chargebolt and Cellophane of the Ground Zero Agency:

HERO Tonight: Joining us now are pro heroes Chargebolt and Cellophane. Welcome heroes, and let me start by thanking you, of course, for all you do.

CHARGEBOLT: Ha ha, you’re welcome!

CELLOPHANE: All part of the job.

HT: This is the first interview anyone from the Ground Zero Agency has given since the incident on May fourteenth. Would you mind if we get right into it?

CELLOPHANE: Fire away.

HT: Can you tell me about Axis?

CHARGEBOLT: Ooh, I wish Deku were here, he’s the one you want to talk to when it comes to hero and villain stats.

CELLOPHANE: Yeah, but his fanboyism is part of his charm, right?

HT: I think we all want to hear from you two. The villain?

CELLOPHANE: Well, as far as his history and personality goes, I can’t say much. I know a lot has come out about him in the past few weeks, but honestly I haven’t really been paying attention. I think all of us at the Ground Zero Agency have been a little… preoccupied.

CHARGEBOLT: Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Look, I don’t know where he came from or why he did it. I can’t tell you about his tragic backstory because I just don’t care. You want me to talk about what it was like fighting him, what it was like being under his quirk’s influence, that I can do. But he wasn’t the star of that night. That was Red Riot.

HT: Of course. In that case, let’s go back to the beginning. When you responded to the call, did you have any idea the night would turn out the way it did?

CHARGEBOLT: Hell no. They tell you to prepare for things like this, say it's inevitable, but I don't think anyone ever can. Not really.

CELLOPHANE: Yeah. Any inkling of how bad things were going to get only started when I saw the villain with my own eyes. Until then it was just another night on the job.

HT: Can you elaborate on what tipped you off?

CELLOPHANE: It was a couple of things, I guess. Not the report itself, that was vague, a villain with a personality affecting quirk that—supposedly—required skin-to-skin contact to activate. He had taken down a few local heroes. No casualties reported. But when we got there, the atmosphere—the movies like to put the big villains in downtown Tokyo, but the truth is, most of them know better. And the few who risk it usually don’t understand the lay of the land yet, so they get taken down pretty fast. Of course there are cases like the League of Villains, but—

HT: Those are few and far between?

CELLOPHANE: Exactly. So civilians treat it like a spectacle. You come to expect that. But that night…

CHARGEBOLT: Silence.

CELLOPHANE: Silence. No one. The few civilians we saw fleeing from the scene—they didn’t speak to us, they didn’t look at us. They didn’t even scream. Just blind terror.

CHARGEBOLT: Their heroes had turned on them. What else would you expect?

:

There are different videos. Different shots and angles that capture different moments and perspectives and emotions. Each of them have millions of views.

But the video, the one the news pulls clips from, the one everyone has seen and seen again, goes like this:

There’s a civilian hiding in an alley. The video opens with a shaky shot of her face, tear-streaked and wild-eyed. Her quirk is a thin film of slime that activates as a fear response; experts will agree that this is what protected her from Axis. She says that the heroes have gone wrong, that everything’s gone wrong. She apologizes to her mother if she doesn’t make it out of this.

Heavy footsteps. The camera swings around. The mouth of the alley offers a perfect view of the Ground Zero Agency landing in full force, fog billowing dramatically as they stand in such a way that will be ripped and framed and sold on posters for months to come. The Ground Zero Agency, the posters will say, in bold, dynamic letters across the bottom. Some will include the subtitle: Founding Members. Or: Together for the last time. None of them will be approved by the agency itself.

The civilian whimpers the name, Ground Zero, a perfect little sound bite of relief and joy and fear.

Ground Zero himself shouts down the villain. The man who will later come to be known as Axis is no more than a shadowed silhouette half a block away, saying nothing. The heroes ready themselves to spring into action, and then they go wrong.

The resolution isn’t high enough to tell whether the effects take in Chargebolt or Alien Queen first. A shiver seems to ripple through them at the same time. Then Alien Queen swings around and her hand melts right through Cellophane’s visor.

There’s shouting. Cellophane writhing, screaming. Red Riot and Ground Zero in tandem: Ground Zero setting off localized explosions to force Alien Queen back, while Red Riot ducks in and barrels her out of frame. In the background, the darkness lights up all at once, and the flash of electricity blinds the camera. The civilian yelps as the electric wave rolls out to shock her feet. The camera drops. More screaming, and Ground Zero’s voice: "It’s the fucking mist, keep clear of it—"

When the civilian picks up the camera again, Ground Zero is fighting off both Chargebolt and Alien Queen while Red Riot drags Cellophane to the mouth of the alley and speaks to him urgently. Steam drifts out of the melted ruin of his visor.

There’s no warning. Cellophane moves with unnerving, spider-like efficiency, and in seconds Red Riot is mummified. In seconds more Cellophane rigs a noose from the roof, winds it around Red Riot’s neck and levers him six feet off the ground, kicking wildly.

Ground Zero roars Red Riot’s name. He tries to close the distance but Alien Queen and Chargebolt are unrelenting, and his movements are backlit and blurred. He’s on the defensive.

“Riot!” he calls again.

A tearing sound. The camera refocuses: Red Riot, his body sharper than before, bulkier, geode. He goes Unbreakable and shreds through every layer of tape at once. His boots crack the ground. Red Riot roars, and beneath it is Ground Zero, howling with laughter.

“You are fucked,” he snarls, maybe to the villain or maybe to his teammates, just as Red Riot launches into the fray.

For thirty seconds: Red Riot and Ground Zero, fighting back to back. Thirty seconds: fans and specialists alike will narrow in on these moments with wistful nostalgia, this maneuver, that combo move, just look at how well they knew each other, how evenly matched they were, look at the breathtaking intuition, practically premonition, the country isn’t likely to see another superhero teamup of that caliber anytime soon. For thirty seconds, it is Ground Zero and Red Riot against the world.

Cellophane catches Ground Zero’s ankle in a loop of tape, and he hits the concrete hard. The mist sweeps over him. He rises a second later, still swinging, and in the background Axis tilts his head. It’s barely a warp of shadow, the resolution is so poor, and then Ground Zero goes wrong.

It would take a few replays at half speed to see what happens, that’s how subtle the shift is. He doesn’t even twitch. One moment Ground Zero is holding off Cellophane, and the next he reaches over his shoulder and engulfs Red Riot in heat and flame.

:

CHARGEBOLT: Axis wasn’t a big guy. He wasn’t flashy. He was just—a guy. Nondescript. Suit off the rack. Kind of scrawny. But there was menace coming off him. This oppressive atmosphere of bloodlust just, pouring out of him, weighing everything down. You could taste it. But we deal with a lot of villains like that, right? No big deal. But his eyes—

CELLOPHANE: They were dead. There was nothing in them. Just this flat certainty that he was going to kill us. He wasn’t happy about it, or sad, just—certain.

CHARGEBOLT: I tried to shake it off, but by then his quirk already had me, though I didn’t know it yet.

HT: Let’s discuss his quirk. It has become synonymous with his villain name: Axis. Would you call that an accurate title?

CHARGEBOLT: As accurate as a snappy buzzword can get, I guess.

HT: Our reports say that the bloodlust you mentioned was part of the quirk. The fog on the streets that night was coming from his body, and if absorbed through the skin it switches the morality of the intended victim, by the villain’s choosing. What was it like being under the influence of a quirk like that?

CELLOPHANE: Horrific.

CHARGEBOLT: You don’t know it’s affected you at first, is the thing. You still feel like you. Some—switch flips inside your head and you have no idea. You turn and attack your best friend and it’s the most natural thing in the world. And that little voice inside you that tells you right from wrong, that voice that you learn to trust the most as a hero—it only starts screaming after it’s over, and you see what you’ve done. After it’s too late.

:

Alien Queen tackles Red Riot past the mouth of the alley. Offscreen there’s the sound of hissing, audible even over Red Riot’s roars of pain. He’s already taken down the first responders, and Chargebolt, and Cellophane. The civilian is still clutching her phone, though she doesn’t seem to realize it.

Red Riot and Alien Queen swing back into view as Riot crashes into the side of a car. He double takes, turns, and tears one door off; a father and son tumble out. He tells them to run, and when Alien Queen tries to follow, he throws the door at her. A second skin of acid shimmers over her body and then the door is shearing in two, each half blasting into the building behind her. He doesn’t give her time to recover, follows up like a rocket, and if you slow down the video you can see them reach for each other, see them make contact at almost the same time. Alien Queen claws at his face, burns him from hairline to chin. Riot drives a fist into her nose, melting his knuckles down to the bone. She drops, and Riot turns and leaps and tackles Ground Zero out of the air.

At this point, the civilian’s phone has been recording for twenty seven minutes. It will record for nineteen minutes more. All of it is devoted to Red Riot’s fight with Ground Zero.

:

HT: From start to end, the fight went on for forty three minutes. That’s forty three minutes of Red Riot holding off his teammates—fellow Top Twenty heroes—as well as amateur hero first responders and hostile civilians. How is it that in all that time no one came to provide back up?

CELLOPHANE: There were a lot of different factors. A big one was poor communication. There was no one immediately in the area—the villain had already taken over the local heroes, and no one thought the Ground Zero Agency wouldn’t be able to handle it. By the time our call for backup got out, the closest hero was ten minutes away, and the closest hero with a quirk actually suitable to combat Axis was even further. Two poorly informed heroes did actually jump in, and Riot was forced to handle them too.

CHARGEBOLT: Hell, we said the original report was vague, right? If communications were better from the get-go, if we had known what we were walking into, everything would have been different. We were led to believe that the Axis quirk required skin-to-skin contact. Red Riot fights most often in close quarters, so we suggested he take the night early.

CELLOPHANE: It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, or that he’d be a risk or a liability—he said he wouldn’t let the villain touch him and that was that. It was just… he’d had a great week, you know? Look back at that week’s stats, he was killing it. He deserved a break. We said we could handle it. But he just did that signature move of his—that fist bump thing, you’ve seen it, right? And he insisted.

CHARGEBOLT: And we just… let him.

HT: And thank goodness you did.

CHARGEBOLT: Right. Thank goodness.

:

As the fight goes on Red Riot’s skin chips off in fractals, from his arms, from his chest, slivers at first and then in great shattered chunks. He never stops. The wet red flesh beneath crystallizes before the fog can touch it. He never stops.

:

HT: In the weeks since the incident, Ground Zero has become something of a phenomenon. He was the only party involved not to take a leave of absence after the fact. Crime rate is in an exponential decline, due directly to his involvement. But his approval rating has declined as well, and he refuses to give a statement.

CELLOPHANE: Ground Zero has always cared more about doing good work than looking or sounding good doing it. It’s something we at the agency have always admired.

HT: Speaking of, the Ground Zero Agency has recently received criticism for its response to an incident involving Ground Zero and a handful of fans. Do you have any comment on this?

CHARGEBOLT: Comments. Oh, we have comments—

CELLOPHANE: As Alien Queen said in the agency’s official statement, we apologize for any emotional distress those involved may have experienced, but we stand with Ground Zero.

HT: There are rumors of the suspension of Ground Zero’s license. Would you care to comment?

CELLOPHANE: No comment.

CHARGEBOLT: Yes, comment. Put aside the fact that Ground Zero did nothing wrong and consider the fact that this world needs Ground Zero, now more than ever. Anyone calling for his license—the Hero Public Safety Commission, the public, the media—is just stupid.

HT: And what of the recent statistics stating that Ground Zero’s chances of survival have decreased dramatically?

CHARGEBOLT: Kazu is a hack, and so is K.O. Those reports aren’t official.

HT: But it is a compelling report.

CELLOPHANE: An unofficial report. No comment.

HT: Of course. And what of the leaked reports that the villain rate of survival has decreased dramatically when apprehended by Ground Zero?

CHARGEBOLT: That’s not…

CELLOPHANE: Those reports aren’t official either. We have no comment.

:

The young civilian woman leans out of the alley, the phone leaning with her. She’s looking for an opening to run. There are six minutes left. She takes one step. Then another. Ground Zero drops before her on the third, and she yelps, stumbles back; the camera focuses on advancing boots and then the video smears into hot color as the civilian is lifted off her feet. There is one long, nauseous second filled with nothing but screaming, and screaming, and screaming--

Riot charges into the alley, and Ground Zero drops the civilian to spin and fire two Howitzers at point-blank range.

The smoke clears. In frame, on a sharp angle from the ground: Red Riot’s ravaged back, wet muscle exposed and blistering in the heat. But he’s standing, and his hands are gripping Ground Zero’s hands. Muted explosions discharge between their palms. Neither gives ground.

“You’re going to be okay,” Riot grunts. He is speaking to the civilian. “You’re going to get out of this, I promise—”

“Worry about yourself,” barks Ground Zero.

Riot grunts, and then he inhales, a slow, scraping, shuddering sound. The blistered flesh hardens, and he roars, and slams Ground Zero into the wall with such force that the gauntlets smash cavities into the brickface. Ground Zero thrashes and snarls but Riot holds fast.

“Wake up!” he shouts, in a voice like gravel. “Snap out of it! You’re the number one hero, aren’t you?”

Ground Zero bucks; Riot keeps the gauntlets pinned with his weight. The camera can’t catch their faces. There is only Riot’s head bent low to Ground Zero’s ear. Only Ground Zero’s wild blond hair over Red Riot’s shoulder.

“Come back to me,” Riot says, low and urgent. They are the last words anyone but Ground Zero will ever hear him say. “Wake up. Come back to me.”

Ground Zero’s hands, twitching and sparking. His snarling shouts become snarling breaths. The thrashing slows, then stills. Riot’s voice drops in volume and rises in intensity; the phone can no longer pick up the words. One of his hands drops from Ground Zero’s gauntlet to brace on the juncture of his shoulder and neck, pull himself closer. His thumb is pressed into Ground Zero’s jaw. There are wispy, barely-there sounds of the civilian trying not to breathe.

Ground Zero’s arm comes free of the wall with barely a whisper of brick and mortar. His head tips to rest against Red Riot’s, temple to temple, and when he speaks, he sounds very tired.

“AP Shot,” he says, and the light is blinding.

:

HT: Since the incident many have lauded Red Riot as the rightful Number One Hero. Others argue that one act of heroism, however exceptional, does not outweigh a career of heroics, as in the case of All Might, current top hero Deku, and your very own Ground Zero. Where do you stand?

CHARGEBOLT: Are you kidding me?

CELLOPHANE: Chargebolt—

CHARGEBOLT: No, I’m sorry, are you kidding me right now? You’ve seen the footage, right? Of course you have, you all have. How is this even a question? Deku and Ground Zero are top notch, no doubt, but when it comes to being a straight up hero? Everything that entails? That’s Red Riot. The full package. A career of heroics, what kind of bullshit—try a lifetime of heroics, and half of it no one remembers because it happened before he even got his license and the other half no one knows because, what, it wasn't flashy enough? No one cares about how he helped old people with their groceries or found missing pets or spoke at schools about self confidence and bullying or, or how he encouraged everyone he ever met to be better. Just—better. He was my hero before that night and he better be everyone’s hero afterward.

CELLOPHANE: Charge…

CHARGEBOLT: I'm fine! I'm fine. Sorry. I got a little—I'm fine.

HT: …Well, I can’t speak for everyone, but Red Riot definitely is my hero. Thank you both for speaking with me today. Please continue to take care of us.

CELLOPHANE: Thank you for having us.

CHARGEBOLT: Yeah. Yeah, thank you.

:

The light fades. The cracked lens focuses. There is Ground Zero, and there is Red Riot. They’re holding each other. There is a crater in Red Riot’s chest.

“No,” says the civilian. “No.”

Riot’s body is slack in Ground Zero’s arms. Smoke trickles from the entry wound and plumes from the exit wound, and below them, at their knees, the mist is lapping. Ground Zero scrapes a breath into his lungs. He clutches Riot close with one arm, and raises the other against the civilian. Her breath catches.

Two hands come up to frame Ground Zero’s face. Ground Zero falters, and Red Riot cracks their skulls together.

Ground Zero collapses in a nerveless plummet. Red Riot catches him. The hollow in his chest is ragged, seared flesh and bloody red stone. He lowers Ground Zero and then reaches for the civilian, and when they finally leave the alley he curls around her, but there’s no need. There is no one left to fight.

On the other end of the street, like a smear of ash against the burning city, stands Axis, in exactly the same place he’s been all night. When Riot takes a step toward him, the civilian grabs his hand.

“Red Riot,” she says, a warning, a plea, but he just smiles at her. He tries.

He staggers over. Axis doesn’t move. The civilian doesn’t move. Riot is barely standing—when he reaches Axis he almost falls, and has to brace against Axis’s shoulders. Axis watches him. He watches him cough and cough and crumble all over. He watches him draw back a fist and he keeps watching, and he keeps watching, and Riot sinks the fist into his solar plexus, and then it’s done. Axis crumples. The mist dissipates. All that’s left is Red Riot, standing against the sky.

“Riot,” the civilian whispers.

Red Riot falls.

The civilian slips to her knees. There is the sound of movement off camera, a groan, and then an animal cry. Ground Zero blasts past her. His body blocks Red Riot from view, and he’s shouting, he’s screaming, but the civilian’s voice is closer, clearer, and drowns him out:

“Riot,” she whispers. “Riot. Riot.”

The phone slips from her fingers. The lens shatters, and the video ends.

:

:

three.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Kaminari’s eyes are a little too wide. His fingers are twitching, sparking. Bakugou is on patrol because he’s always on patrol. They’re working out a schedule to keep him company.

Kaminari says, “Like, everything, obviously, but specifically do you ever think about the fact that we killed him? Everyone decided to scapegoat Bakugou, but we did that. We all did that. And they still cheer for me in the streets. Do you ever think about that?”

:

The first time Izuku went to Kacchan and Kirishima’s apartment was for a housewarming party.

It was a private thing, only a handful of their closest friends. Izuku bought them a toaster. Kacchan blew it up because he decided he liked the toaster from Sero better. They had champagne, and Kirishima handed out spare keys. When Izuku teared up, Kacchan snatched the key back and detonated it, and Kirishima, without missing a beat, pulled out another.

Izuku turns the key in his pocket now. He knocks again—again no answer. The neighbors keep to themselves, one of the main reasons Kacchan liked the place so much, and no one ogles the number one hero loitering out front. Izuku waits for five minutes. He waits five minutes more. Then he pulls out the key and opens the door.

It’s a crime scene: something that could be an accident if not for the subtle clues that point to arson, the things that so carefully escaped unscathed. A pair of red plastic crocs sitting by the door. The workout weights. A framed poster of Crimson Riot. The alarm clock with two flexing arms poking out.

Everything else is melted or charred or black. There are holes in the walls where fire chewed through. The refrigerator is sad and slumped over, forever drooping where the stainless steel melted and cooled into its new position. The television is smashed and the chairs are ashy splinters. Most of the doors have been blown off their hinges, and the oven is a husk—if the stove still works, which Izuku doubts, it would probably just light the place up all over again. Not that he thinks it could do much damage.

He should leave. He should come back when Kacchan is in. His feet carry him further inside, to the wall of photographs, and his boots leaves footprints in the soot. Most of the photos are gone now, but Izuku remembers there was a subtle pleasing aestheticism to them, proof that Kacchan excels in interior design, as he does in everything else. There were snapshots from high school, their class and their teachers. Kacchan and him as children, brandishing nets and stag beetles. Individual candids of Kaminari, Ashido, and Sero. Beautiful landscape views that balanced out the portraits—Kirishima and Kacchan liked to go hiking together—and most of them are on the floor, now, glass shattered and paper warped and blackened.

Izuku reaches for one of the survivors. It’s blurry, tilted and off-center. Half the frame is taken up by Kirishima’s laughing face, while the other half is crowded by Kacchan’s wild grin flashing over Kirishima’s shoulder. Between them: Kacchan’s middle finger, flipping off the camera. They were the hero community’s best and worst kept secret: the pros all knew and the tabloids suspected, but no news outlet worth their weight could scrape enough evidence together to print a story. They didn’t wear rings; there was no PDA. They took painstaking care to ensure that no one knew they lived together. Eventually the hurricane eye of the hero newscycle moved on, but now they’ve picked it up again, determined to wring as much drama from the story as possible. Izuku’s eyes feel hot.

The smell hits him like a fist: smoke, chemical, gunpowder. It’s a taste on the air, oil that won’t wash clean. He spins around.

Kacchan is standing in the doorway. He’s staring.

:

“We didn’t kill him,” Sero says. He is patient and smiling. He’s always smiling. Mina doesn’t think he’s stopped smiling since the day the world imploded, and she doesn’t think he’s ever looked so tired.

Sero says, “It was a villain. It was a quirk. That wasn’t Bakugou and that wasn’t us.”

“We did though,” says Kaminari. “We killed him. We did. It didn’t even feel wrong.”

Mina lays a hand on the back of his neck, and he looks at her, desperate in a way she can’t define.

“They’re still cheering for me,” he says again.

“I know.”

“We did it, Mina. We all did. But they’re still cheering.”

“I know.”

:

Mina is on patrol with Bakugou.

It’s not the way it was. Of course it isn’t, everything is changed, but how do you prepare for the loss of a best friend? It’s the kind of thing heroes spend their whole lives failing to anticipate. And once you’ve failed, how do you prepare to cope with the living?

There was something equal before, between her and Bakugou. In how they fought, how they conducted themselves in public, with villains, with fans. She didn’t realize she’d taken it for granted--she didn’t know she’d miss it. Now Bakugou apprehends villains before Mina realizes a crime has been committed. He moves on before she can follow. He is machine, and she is left to be human, comforting the victims, dealing with police, running damage control, signing autographs and answering questions and smiling when they cheer for her. She smiles. Why won’t they stop asking about Kirishima? She smiles. She sees what Kaminari meant now. She smiles. How can Sero do this all day?

She catches up to Bakugou on a rooftop, perched like a gargoyle, glaring down at the street and waiting for something to go wrong. He doesn’t blink.

Her smile drops. She slumps against his side. His skin is slick with soot and sweat; the chemical smell of him burns the inside of her nose. He doesn’t push her off. He barely seems to notice she’s there.

Sero says he hasn’t seen the video. His therapist doesn’t recommend it, he says, and he doesn’t want more memories than he has already. Mina thinks she believes him. Kaminari admits that he watched it, though he claims only the once. He also says he’s getting regular counseling. She doesn’t believe him on either count.

She wonders sometimes if Kaminari isn’t the one they should be most worried about. She wonders if she can bring that up with Bakugou, or if that’s one of the things that have changed. She wonders if he will ever allow her to grieve with him--she wonders if the public will ever allow her to grieve at all. She wonders if she’s coping how Kirishima would have wanted.

She wonders if Bakugou has seen the video.

“You don't have to stand fucking suicide watch,” Bakugou says, without taking his eyes off the street. “I'm not that weak.”

“We're not worried about that,” says Mina.

She’s seen the video. Of course she has. There’s a scar on Sero’s face in the shape of her hand. Kirishima’s body, acid-burned and raw. She had to watch it. She had to.

She says, “We just don't want you to be alone.”

Bakugou stares at her. His eyes are hollow.

“Eijirou’s dead,” he says. “I am alone.”

:

“Deku,” Kacchan says, and that’s all he says. Ash falls from his fingers. Izuku didn’t hear him come in.

“Kacchan,” he says, and Bakugou brushes past him into the apartment, without a backwards glance. He doesn’t ask what Deku is doing there. Deku tells him anyway.

“Your mom called my mom.”

Bakugou grunts. “She called me too.”

“She said she couldn’t get ahold of you.”

“I didn’t pick up.”

He moves from room to room with machine efficiency. The kitchen: he wrenches open the busted fridge and sweeps a few water bottles and energy bars into his bag. The bathroom: the shower runs for six minutes. He emerges with wet hair, water steaming off his skin, back in his tattered uniform. It was barely enough to rinse off the oily residue of the smoke; the acrid scent keeps clinging. Now into the office. Izuku follows, feeling helpless, feeling six years old on the playground and unable to reach him.

“All Might has been looking for you too.”

“Who gives a shit.”

His voice lacks its usual venom. It lacks—anything. The words rattle around like he’s hollow, like he’s empty.

All Izuku can give him is the truth: “It wasn’t your fault.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer. He doesn’t give any indication that he heard at all—moves around the apartment with eyes that are at once intent and unseeing. Replaces his gauntlets. Replaces his mask. Izuku is sure others have told him the same thing. Did he hear any of them?

Into the bedroom, where Bakugou bee-lines to a dresser. He pulls out a blue muscle shirt and finally takes pause. Lifts it to his nose and breathes deep. There’s a moment of perfect stillness that Izuku couldn’t break even if he wanted to, even if he tried.

“I know it wasn't my fault,” Bakugou scoffs, when the moment passes. He even rolls his eyes, and for a moment he seems so very like himself that Izuku feels an urgent sympathy for the yawning space at his side where Kirishima should be.

“We got bad intel. There was no way for us to anticipate it.”

It’s exactly the right thing to say. Izuku wants to cry. “Kacchan, when is the last time you slept?”

The blue shirt goes into the backpack, an orange shirt is dug out and dumped on the floor. Bakugou starts for the door.

“Kacchan, wait!”

He claps a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder and removes it just as fast, because the palm is raw, the first layer of skin burned away by microscopic explosions, the flesh beneath sizzling. Bakugou stares at the steaming, five-fingered imprint left on his shoulder, blank-faced, rooted to the floor as though by a psychic quirk. The thought makes Izuku feel ill.

Bakugou says, “I keep thinking about the sports festival. The one on one matches. Our first year at UA.”

“What?”

“I was horrible to him. I had him dead to rights half a minute before the match was called and I could’ve stopped but I didn’t. I kept going. I wanted to hurt him just because I could. I never said sorry.”

He blinks, once, slowly. Then he heads for the door.

“Lock up when you leave or don’t. Later, Deku.”

Izuku can't think of a thing to say. It doesn't seem Bakugou wants to hear it either. He’s already gone.

:

:

four.

Three months after Kamino, Bakugou is woken by a nightmare. It is not his own.

Kirishima is sitting up, one leg flung over the side of the narrow twin bed. He’s gasping, hiccuping. He’s clutching at his forearms. The livid red scars are smudged pale in the dim.

“Hey,” Bakugou says, and sits up too. “Hey. Kirishima. It was just a dream.”

He reaches for him, and under his palm flesh ripples into stone and then into flesh again.

“Dream,” says Kirishima. “Wow, right, dream. Right. I had them before but not like—I can’t believe you dealt with this shit for so long. How did you do this?”

He laughs, and Bakugou hates the sound of it, half-hysterical and breathless.

“Shit, man, you’re so manly, how the hell did you do this—”

“Of course I am,” Bakugou grunts. He seizes one of Kirishima’s hands. Knocks their foreheads together.

“Deep breaths. Slow.”

“I don’t—”

“Stop talking. You’re going to pass out, you moron. Like me: deep breaths.”

Kirishima takes deep breaths. He tries. They’re shuddery, but he holds them in his lungs as long as he can, and then lets them go in a long stuttery sigh, over and over. His quirk activates in fits and starts like a jumping muscle.

Bakugou doesn’t know what happened at the internships. The raid. The girl. There are rumors, of course there are rumors. He knows a thing or two about those. But Kirishima’s not allowed to give him details, and in the end all Bakugou knows for certain is the pattern of the scars on his arms, how they map the exact striations of his quirk.

And the nightmares. He knows about the nightmares.

“You made it out,” he hears himself say. “You survived, you won, you’re fucking strong.”

Kirishima presses close, and Bakugou presses his hand, presses his thumb into the scar over his pulsepoint, counts the thumping as it slows. Things would have been different if he’d just gotten his license. He could have been there. He could have fought Kirishima’s nightmares instead of soothing them, he’s always been shit at comforting—

“I’m really happy you’re here,” Kirishima says. His breath fans against Bakugou’s cheek. “I’m really happy I woke up and you were here.”

Bakugou swallows around a dozen false starts. This thing they do, or have, this thing he can’t name—he thought it was a one-time thing after Kamino, but they never kicked the habit. Kirishima kept coming around, and they kept falling asleep, and they kept waking up. What can Bakugou say? He’s glad too. He wants to always wake up beside him.

What he chooses is: “It’s my room, dumbass.”

—which is a stupid thing to say, so he adds in a huff, “Do you always sweat so much? That’s fucking gross.”

Kirishima laughs, and Bakugou relaxes in degrees. That sounds better. That sounds right.

Kirishima lies back down when Bakugou shoves at his shoulder, and he rolls onto his side when he’s elbowed in the ribs. Bakugou lies down too, and then they watch each other. They’re close enough to share a pillow. Kirishima’s quirk has settled. His breathing evens out.

He’s smiling. Bakugou can see the faint outline of it, and abruptly he wants to be asleep, just so he can wake up and see that smile in the daylight.

:

The apartment is just a place to go, impersonal, ravaged. Bakugou goes back because it’s convenient. He restocks on food and water. He downs an energy drink. He replaces the shirt in his pack for a red threadbare tee. He goes to work.

He never took the leave the commission offered him. He didn’t see the point. Maybe it’s ironic that he’s a better hero now than he ever was; in one month he’s put away more villains than he has in the past five. He doesn’t give a shit. Maybe he’s barreling into an early grave. He doesn’t give a shit about that either. It’s not that he has a death wish, not like everyone thinks. And everyone thinks something. They all tell him what they think: He should be proud of Red Riot. He should be ashamed. It was his fault. He’s a villain, Axis only brought it out. He loved Red Riot. He hated Red Riot. He was jealous of Red Riot. Red Riot wouldn’t treat civilians this way. Red Riot wouldn’t treat villains this way. Was he dating Red Riot? What was it like fighting Red Riot? What were his last words to Red Riot, because I’ve watched that video like a million times and my friend thinks you said you’d kill him but I told her you wouldn’t have said that, because you loved him, so if you could settle this bet—

No, it’s not like everyone thinks. It’s just that Eijirou is dead and he stripped all the softness from the marrow of Bakugou’s bones, softness he didn’t even know he possessed. What’s the use of grief, now, or of mercy, what’s the use of anything without him? He looks inside himself and all he sees is the lack.

:

Bakugou can map out this city with their lives together. This four way intersection where the gridlock was so bad that Eijirou gave in to road rage for the first and only time in his life. He swore a blue streak and Bakugou was so delighted he kissed him hard enough to make his own mouth bleed.

That BBQ restaurant where Bakugou got food poisoning. Eijirou laughed and laughed, but he took care of him even when Bakugou spitefully threw up in his hair. There are dumpsters in the back, so he drops behind the building and tucks his backpack between two of them.

The alley where they almost got caught making out on patrol. The other alley where they did get caught, and by Deku, no less. It’s been a long time since Bakugou so sincerely tried to kill him.

That block where Eijirou almost died.

That block where Eijirou did die.

That’s usually where he loses Kaminari, when Kaminari is tailing him. Sure enough, ten minutes later he’s hunting down muggers halfway across the city, and his chaperone is gone. It’s amateur hour—none but the desperate and the stupid are out when Ground Zero is on the prowl. They aren’t worth the sweat it takes to put them down. Maybe he hospitalizes one of the muggers. Maybe he kills the other. Maybe the victim is crying. It doesn’t matter. Eventually Kaminari will catch up and deal with it, or he won’t. He turns to go.

There’s a scuffling behind him—a third villain, how the hell didn’t he notice—Bakugou pivots with a Howitzer already loaded up, and then his knee gives out and his vision goes dark—

It’s only a second, and when he comes to, the victim is wailing and the villain is missing his legs. There’s steel in Bakugou’s ribs. Some cheap goddamn butterfly knife. It’s shallow, treatable, but it shouldn’t have happened. Amateur hour.

Options: go grab his bag and patch himself up on-site, or go grab his bag and give himself proper treatment back at the apartment. Either way step one is the same.

But the bag isn’t there.

Bakugou’s vision swims. It swam when he got food poisoning, when Eijirou helped him stumble out through the back door and he threw up between the dumpsters. Where the bag should be, where Eijirou’s red shirt should be, but it isn’t, and he isn’t, and Bakugou wants to be sick but Eijirou won’t be there to laugh at him and take him home.

Blood pulses in Bakugou’s ears. It fills up his head like a brain hemorrhage until all he can see is red. The thief could be across the city by now, but it doesn’t matter. He could be anywhere in the world and Bakugou would find him. He’ll blacken his bones. He’ll crush his skull.

He does find him, of course. He’s less than five miles away, trudging along a crowded street without a care in the goddamn world. Bakugou combusts the concrete in front of him, grabs him by the collar and then has to grab him by the arms because the clothes sear to ash in his fists.

This fucker thought he could steal from Ground Zero? Bakugou laughs. The thief is going to cook between his hands. Bakugou laughs and laughs.

“Ground Zero, stop!”

Bakugou whips his head around. Kaminari is there, knees bent, eyes wide. Electricity is arcing off his body. Ha. As though he could take Bakugou down. As though the gathering crowd could deter him. As though anything in the world could keep him from roasting this piece of shit villain alive for even thinking he could take Eijirou away—

This—piece of shit villain—

The red bleeds away. Bakugou turns back to the man, and—and he isn’t a villain. He’s homeless. Whimpering. Rattling in Bakugou’s grip. I’m sorry, he’s saying, I thought it was thrown away, I’m sorry, don’t hurt me—

Bakugou drops him. He tears open the bag. Pulls out the red shirt. Presses it to his eyes and holds it. Holds it. His hands are trembling.

When he picks up his head, everyone is staring.

“Keep the rest,” he mumbles, and tosses the bag at the man’s feet. The crowd is stirring, and now there are voices: You should be ashamed. Why can’t you be more like Red Riot? Villain!

A soft drink comes arcing in his periphery and Bakugou vaporizes it without thinking. He ties the shirt around his neck.

“Bakugou,” Kaminari croaks, and Bakugou—goes. And goes. And goes.

:

“You’re going to be okay,” says Bakugou. Like it’s certain. Like it’s fact. Like it’s already happened, but Eijirou missed it, somehow, didn’t get the memo that these wounds will not kill him. There’s too much blood for him to speak but his eyes are sad and his hands are desperate, he presses them to Bakugou’s face, just holding him there, and holding him, and holding him.

“You’re going to be okay or I’ll kill you,” Bakugou sobs, and he hates Kirishima for this, hates him for leaving, hates him for dying, hates him, hates him, no, no wait, don't go, I love you, god, fuck, don’t leave me alone, please—

:

He lands—he crashes. He doesn’t know where. A park. There are flowers. What time is it? Three? Five? No one is out to snap pictures of the number one hero, bone-weary and aching. His legs threaten to give out from under him; his head threatens to roll off his shoulders. He snarls, shakes himself like a dog. Landmarks. He needs a landmark to orient himself. The watery grays and blues of pre-dawn warp familiar sights into eerie ghosts of themselves, but he knows every inch of this city, and if he can just—

There. Yes, he knows exactly where he is. They walked here two years ago, on Christmas Eve. No flowers then, but the park offered a good view of the lights, braided in the trees, frosting the buildings. The bench where Eijirou nodded off on his shoulder is across the park. It wouldn’t take long to get to the apartment from here. Clean up. Sew himself back together. Crawl into bed and close his eyes, just for a minute—

And then he’ll wake up.

Bakugou doesn’t go back to the apartment. He doesn’t bother making his way over to the bench he knows. He collapses into the nearest seat and sears shut the gash in his side, and once that’s done he unknots the shirt and lifts it to his nose. Smoke. Nitroglycerin. He breathes and breathes but Eijirou isn’t there. He isn’t anywhere.

His hand thuds to his lap. He stares at nothing.

A long, thin shadow falls over him.

“My boy. I’ve been looking for you.”

“You found me.” He doesn’t look up.

All Might lowers himself to the bench with deliberate care. He has a cane that he uses to steady himself; there’s a stoop to his spine. It used to infuriate Bakugou, seeing him so fragile. It took him a long time to realize that he wasn’t.

Silence settles softly. They watch the flowers.

“It’s not the same,” All Might says, “Losing a mother or a friend, and losing a life partner. It’s not the same. In the ways that we are different—I can’t speak to that. I won’t try to.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer.

“But I know what it is to lose someone you would have given your life for. There’s nothing that can compare.”

“You didn’t kill Shimura Nana with your own hands. Nighteye either. Don’t pretend we’re the same.” The words are flat as the side of a blade. All Might does not flinch.

“No,” he agrees, after a time, slow, and heavy. “No, I didn’t. But I know it wasn’t my fault, like you know it wasn’t yours. Not really. And I know how it is to blame yourself anyway.”

Bakugou opens his mouth, but can’t find it in himself to reply. He wasn’t lying to Deku. He knows it wasn’t his fault. There was nothing he could have done, and there's a special kind of torture in being so helpless anyway. Sometimes shit happens and the only person you've ever unselfishly loved dies.

His vision is swimming again. He squeezes his eyes shut and forces them open.

“My boy,” All Might says. “When was the last time you took a rest?”

“Don’t need it.”

“I don’t think young Kirishima would have wanted—”

“It doesn’t matter what he wanted. He’s dead.” The fight drains out of him. “None of it matters.”

All Might shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. Just because they’re gone, it doesn’t mean they cease to matter.”

“Why should I give a shit what you think?”

“You don’t have to. You have no obligation to me, my boy. I’m just a rambling old man,” and he lays a hand on Bakugou’s shoulder, “who loves you both very much.”

Very suddenly Bakugou wishes he’d sat on the bench he sat on with Eijirou. The line of his mouth trembles. He sets his teeth, and grinds them until they ache. “I know what they think of me,” he snaps in the hand’s direction, “None of it’s true.”

“What’s that?”

He snarls. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. They either think I’m sating some newly awoken villain tendencies or I’m a fucking suicide risk. Well, I’m not a villain, and I’m not out here trying to get myself killed. I’m not out for revenge. I’m not running from the fact that he’s dead. I know he’s dead.”

Smoke. He looks down. His hand is wringing the shirt—he unlocks his fingers, stares at the singed fabric. Eijirou has had this thing since he was twelve. He would wear it to bed in the winter, when Bakugou would insist he put on a shirt. The color’s washed out and the seams are stretched to hell. There’s a flaking graphic of Crimson Riot on it.

“I just—”

That stupid shirt. His stupid face, half asleep. His awful morning breath. His smile. You’re going to be okay.

“I just…” Bakugou’s voice splinters. “I just hate waking up without him.”

All Might is watching him; Bakugou can’t bear to meet his eye. It sounds absurd, now that he’s said it out loud. All the sleepless nights. All the desperate hero work. Just to avoid— A laugh barks out of him. It’s hoarse and hot in his throat. All Might’s hand moves from shoulder to neck, grounding, anchoring, folding over the top knob of Bakugou’s spine. Bakugou laughs, and he laughs, and it’s ugly, and it’s wet, and he laughs and it catches and it tears and he curls around it and he cries.

:

:

:

end.

Bakugou has a dream where he wakes up.

It’s morning. The light is smeary and peach-colored. Eijirou is there.

“Mornin’, Katsuki,” he says. He’s fifteen. He’s twenty eight. They’re in the apartment. They’re in the dorm. It doesn’t matter where they are, or when, because Eijirou is here, with his stupid hair and his awful morning breath. He’s smiling.

Bakugou tackles him into the pillows, and kisses him when he laughs, and kisses him, and kisses him, and he says I’m sorry, and Eijirou says for what, and Bakugou says for the sports festival. Our first year at UA. I had you beat and I could have stopped, I should have stopped, but I didn't and it was fucking rotten of me, I just kept hurting you and hurting you and—

Eijirou knocks their foreheads hard enough that Bakugou swears. The pain is clear and sweet.

“Are you done being stupid?” he says. “You never have to apologize for treating me like an equal. You’re mine and I’m yours. It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay.”

Bakugou reaches up to hold his face. Eijirou reaches up to hold his hands. Nothing is burning. Nothing is turning to dust.

“Shit, yeah. We’re gonna be okay. Dumbass.”

“We’re okay?”

“We’re okay.”

:

[doodle-scrapyard]

i am knocking on your window PLEASE do tell us more abt the demon au it looks so epic,,

watch out bro u hav unlocked: a lot of talking (stolen directly from me rambling to andy in dms w/some additions & edits)

Basic concept behind it is that demons will form pacts w/people to get stuff/favors/stronger/just for fun/really depends on who you're asking 

There's 3 main distinctions of demon with a bunch of subclasses that are self explanatory once u hear em so I won't really elaborate on individual powers w/exceptions. ANYWAYS 3 main distinctions are elementals(your lights, your fires, your waters, your winds etc), animalistics(birds, dogs, cats, sheep, etc) and our lovely exception, the Unmentionable(who's only got 2 subtypes: void, who are unstable and usually violent, and undead, who are bad to be around bc they're breaking nature more than everyone else). Generally labelled as unmentionables bc you're Not Supposed To Make Pacts With Them, reason being that they usually have dangerous tradeoffs no matter what you're looking for. 

That's not to say that animalistics and elementals are exempt from asking for some serious stuffs in their pacts, it's just that unmentionables have a high kill rate on whatever human they make deals with. 

Then??? The benefits??? You get to borrow powers from your pacted demon (and take on some of their characteristics temporarily) nd go wild. I'll figure out the logistics of this later just know it's a thing mostly fr me going hoghgoghgohgo design....

OKAY NOW FOR HERMITS. I haven't written about everyone but so far so far, stress is an ice elemental who partially wanted a bestie and partially wanted to get stronger so she traded iskall an literal eye-for-an-eye so they could travel together and do sparring w/hermits. They're like the model elemental example djvdksbdkdg 

Mumbo is a birdie animalistic boyo. Grian won't say why he pacted w/mumbo but says mumbo is a big fat liar bc mumbo always says it's bc grian needed a smart person around. Grian doesn't call up mumbo often to use his abilities but when he does it's for flying. We love these idiots. 

REN. Ren. First problem child. He found Doc one day on the verge of turning into stardust and made an impulse decision pact. Here's the catch: Doc is an unmentionable. Specifically a voidy* boy. Doc wasn't always an unmentionable, he was caught up in a whole mess and (of course it's nho backstory) lost the rest of his friends. Doc asked ren to help him find the nho again, and ren gets to have cursed forbidden powers. Hooray for severely unfair trade offs! *void unmentionables are extremely unstable and prone just, falling apart completely. v powerful but basically held together by duct tape & staples without an anchor point (like how doc has ren)

Joe is also a problem child. He likes collecting things and undead unmentionables tend to bind themselves to objects and spring a pact on whoever picks them up. So of course Joe finds cleo in a shipwreck and she's like "pact motherfucker" expecting him to be japed into doing crazy shit and he's like "only if you help me with writing" and so now Joe just casually has access to one of the most dangerous form of demon magic and uses it to make narrative poems.

now onto new stuffs I didn't ramble about to andy!

zedaph is fully aware that youre not supposed to pact w/2 demons at once bc uh, the toll it takes on ur body in relation to energy output+having to deal with 2 promises hanging over you is Kind Of A Thing. zedaph said “okay but now I have TWO friends” and he only regularly passes out. impulse is an elemental electic boyo & tango is a fire elemental. impulse has cool dragon wings and zedaph borrows that OFTEN for funsies. zedaph is barred from formal sparring because he double dipped on pacts and is frankly kind of op

 wels… welsy also double dipped on pacts . its rly funny tho? for him its actually hilarious. he wants to become this really epic fighter who has a bunch of power & clout but hes more like a glass cannon who immediately just drops the moment a fight is over. it also doesn't help that jevin(who is a lovely water elemental) is viciously apathetic abt fighting. like yeah sure dude I will lend u my power but ur not gonna be able to do anything cool about it. biffa on the other hand wels almost never wants to ask for bc 1 biffa b koala animalistic & is asleep 90% of the time and 2 he goes ham cazy cazy and tends to destroy everyone in a 5 meter radius even if they were an ally. of course this isn't biffas default but how would YOU feel if you were sleeping and someone was loudly shouting for you to start being violent . I would make wels go sicko mode as a revenge. that's what you get for not letting me nap motherfucker

xisuma. xisuma never pacted with any demon according to everyone, but false kinda knew a bit more? xisuma was obsessed with trying to CREATE a demon. of course, what ended up happening was him doing a lot of dangerous deals with unmentionables, before disappearing completely. falsie kinda watched him spiral into nothing but a demon himself. who knows where he is now

anyways false is pacted w/python and theyre an exploring duo & false always comes back to home base w/a bunch of cool shit to trade with the others

uhhhhhh (does a lil dance) yeah yhats what I got

[lanottedellastrega]

So this was a thing that happened last night.

My M&G experience (as best I can remember it at this point) and a few other impressions of the evening behind the cut.

The photo op is set up in a 10x10 pop-up with curtains that don’t quite go all the way to the floor. I was about halfway back in the queue when I looked up to the front and thought “...wait, are those the burgundy monk straps?” When I got a little closer, the assistant pulled the curtain aside to let someone ahead of me in, and I saw him there in the red suit. @copias-little-lab-rat​ had already warned me that any coherent thoughts I might have had before walking in were likely to depart as soon as I walked in, but that suit was enough to render me incoherent all on its own.

Finally it was my turn, and I walked in. Even allowing for the fact that I was ignoring the eye with the white contact lens, that man has the single most intense gaze I have ever encountered in my life. I had brought him gifts - an amigurumi rat I had crocheted and a copy of Space Opera by Cat Valente - and I was totally babbling at him as I handed them over (“I made you this and I...bought this”).

“Ah, yes,” he said, looking me in the eye, “this is a mouse.”

My brain was equal parts “...I can’t correct him!” and “Jesus did I really do THAT badly with the pattern?”, and I wish the photographer had gotten a shot of that, because I can only imagine what my face must have looked like.

Right up to the point where he said “...I’m fucking with you.”

GODDAMN YOU TOBLERONE FROSTBITE

Amazingly enough, I managed to rub two brain cells together, and came back with “Maybe later.” A pause from him, and a thoughtful “...maybe later...” in reply.

NO REALLY GODDAMN YOU RIGHT TO HELL YOU IMPOSSIBLE FUCKING MAN

He went to hand stuff off to the assistant...then pulled the rat back and said “I will keep this for the picture.” Thanks, dude, I’m really dead now. We stepped into position, I put my arm around his tiny-ass waist - he stopped, pulled back, and darted his hand under my arm. “I have to...” No idea what that was about. (I had a couple of theories, but then I saw the other photos from Reno and none of them remained plausible.)

We posed (he “spooked” the photographer with the rat for the second one - I actually think the rat was the only thing in focus in that shot!). I thanked him again, trying once more (and failing) not to drown in that sea green eye, and floated out of the tent.  “Enjoy yourself,” he said as I departed. Can’t remember now if I said “I will” or “I plan to” in reply.

Other details I can recall, in absolutely NO particular order:

Aether no longer “loses” the duel at the beginning of Cirice! They trade a few licks, then go into the song.

Swiss was feeling some kinda way last night...he shimmied at Copia during Dance Macabre, then did it again, and Copia was so completely overcome he had to crawl back up the stairs to stand up.

Speaking of DM, Aether slapped his cheek (...on his face you dirty fuckers) on the first “a sting in the way you kiss me.”

Cirrus’ keytar solo in Mummy Dust was 🔥🔥🔥 - and she got so into it she was down on her knees by the end.

Speaking of fire - OMG PYRO. Actual flames for Year Zero. A couple of cannon pops elsewhere in the set, and a rain of fireworks along the proscenium at the end of the show.

“Is it too hot for you, Reno? I know I’m going commando, but...” COPIA PLZ

The juxtaposition of the White Suit of Sex with The Fucking Tricycle was exquisitely ludicrous.

I was sorry to see the red cassock go, but getting the red suit in exchange was a worthwhile tradeoff. The Cape is still there (and I stand by - no pun intended - my previous theory as to why he only wears it for one song...).

He does not do the groan from the end of the studio version of Kiss the Go-Goat - which is probably just as well, because the cleanup after that if he had would’ve been a nightmare.

TWO confetti cannons, not just the Mummy Bucks. (And the pile of confetti I picked up this morning from where I took off my corset last night was loltastic.)

Speaking of Mummy Bucks, a nice security guard picked up all of the ones that landed in the moat and was handing them to folks at the railing, so I now have one I acquired at a show in addition to the one I won in a FB giveaway. (I’ll put that and the confetti in the frame with my photo.)

Said nice security guard also took the crocheted roses I’d made for the band (with tags reading “Made with love [and a few swear words] by $MYREALNAME”) - he initially offered to hand them up to someone during curtain call, but his supervisor stopped him, so he said he would take them backstage for me. Now I just have to hope they actually got them...

I do NOT want to go back to work tomorrow.