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journalxxx · 3 years ago

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By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

#boku no hero academia #my hero academia #Toshinori Yagi #All Might #deku #izuku midoriya

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justicebled · 4 years ago

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manifestation of justice. *

while i don’t own the yuri market nor plan to because we all have our own visions of him? i do and stand by the fact that yuri to me embodies justice / pure / true justice. it’s a running theme here since i started last year on tumblr with him. if he was being personal about his killings with ragou and cumore then he would have been emotional. he wouldn’t have soundlessly and emotionlessly killed them and had some ulterior motive. but yuri does not. it’s entirely lacking in self gain. yuri is a trope subverter. you think you’re getting a heartless asshole and yes he can totally be a jerk or a troll, but heartless? flynn words it really damn well.

“ yuri is so single-minded on protecting others. he’s willing to sacrifice himself to do it.”

the game goes lengths to show that what you’re expecting and flip it on its head, which is...an edgelord is ...not what you’re getting. it’s basically a very kind, immensely unselfish guy beneath layers of sarcasm, biting words and toughness. oh and sarcasm. it isn’t this, i’m killing and i enjoy it. i’m killing and i’m not realizing the consequences. i’m enacting what my completely broken law system in my crapsack world should be doing. and yuri literally does save people by his actions. they’re against the law and i’m not justifying, hey go do crime even if yuri has absolutely no self gain. he’s told often he’s carrying the heaviest burden kinda like atlas and he chose it with full awareness. it’s the ‘hardest job / most thankless job’ in other variations of words by flynn, by raven, by his crew. this isn’t fun for him. it isn’t an emotional / adrenaline outing.

i just think justice is very subjective and there’s flynn’s more idealistic justice imho, and yuri’s cold realistic justice, which is unforgiving and should be, because emotions could make him falter. yuri stands a single grim light in the shadows to flynn’s own light, and pure in its intentions, it isn’t trying to dress itself up. it isn’t even done in words. it’s a quick swing of the blade and justice and action is done. it’s definitely controversial because you either are ‘team yuri’ or ‘team flynn’ in terms of which you agree with. and that’s okay! or you can see both which is valid imo.

but it is a pet peeve when people think yuri is some edge lord who has no good heart and is by all purposefully done scenes, a surprisingly very good person who does insanely hard and terrifying, law-breaking things on ‘the other side’ of the promise he and flynn made.

he is not evil. he’s chaotic good / true neutral . he isn’t doing this for funsies. he literally says it might as well be me. yuri pretty much is giving up his future and honestly his life to help further along the destruction of the system.

it just isn’t pretty, purposefully heroic, or knightly. it’s cold, in the dark, and merciless. and this massive burden takes a toll on him. but he still is bearing it because he has the fortitude and the moral conviction to do so. so when the deeds are done there isn’t this personal grudge? i’m not justifying murder. but frankly knights murder too. there isn’t a difference. what i am saying is yuri has no self-gain in the pot for this. it’s entirely unselfish and he tries to be as nonpartial and emotionless about the deed as possible so he can carry it out. because he has the fortitude and strength to do it.

also yuri telling karol he doesn’t regret isn’t because he’s happy he killed cumore, ragou and alexei. it’s him literally saying, ‘you don’t have to be responsible for my actions karol.’ he knew what he was getting into. he agonizes most of part one about what he can do and he alone. and that’s an atlas level burden. for him to show any remorse is for him to be looking back and that makes the deaths pointless, and makes him only a criminal. not the anti-hero we know and love or some of us hate. do yuri and flynn contradict? yeah because they’re human. but to me yuri embodies true / pure justice, and there’s no personal feelings or this ‘power rush’ when he kills or breaks a horrifying law system that MUST be changed. it’s KILLING people. yuri has SEEN it kill people since he was born.

he knows he’s a vigilante, he knows he’s a murderer, he will never accept he’s also a hero. he’s also the guy who saved the world with his found family, and through his justice, saved myriad lives. killing is killing even if you are on the side of the law save terca lumireis’ law is a joke. but in his crapsack world where there’s no time to make decisions that are slow going especially in mantaic? he words it perfectly: " you’d rather tell those people, sorry you had to die today i promise we’ll fix things later?!”

i really don’t how it didn’t make sense for yuri to be extremely driven and willing to stain his hands to kill cumore. because how long will a law system that cares nothing about anyone take? to me it feels like a last resort action to save lives that could be uh, rotting in the desert or a mansion cell fed to monsters. children.

it won’t even probably be fixed in either of his or flynn’s lifetime. if yuri was happy to kill cumore he wouldn’t have kicked the door with no look on his face, wordlessly stalked him, and emotionlessly watched him die without partialness. sure he loathes people who abuse innocent / good people. or people who just plain don’t deserve it. but yuri enjoying killing?

yuri doing all this only because ‘lol he hates the empire’ yeah that’s not really what i think is going on. but yuri has stood the test of time as being very unique as a jrpg protag and. i really just. i’m not going to buy nor portray a petty, murder-happy edgelord who isn’t literally doing all he does and bearing the hardest job for everyone but himself. he’s hardly a saint. but he’s hardly a bad person. he’s fulling aware of his consequences to justice / actions that are pure in intent? only for other’s good ? is still taking someone’s life.

tl;dr : basically yuri is a really good surprisingly heroic guy who has no self-preservation on what it will cost him if it will help other people. hence him willing to continuously sacrifice himself willfully, not to be glorified or a martyr. he doesn’t want any credit. period. he isn’t looking to be a hero. he’s looking to help innocent people / the oppressed.

in a world where there is no justice, in my honest opinion this is the last resort while flynn works on building a system of REAL law, yuri will enact unbiased, pure justice, without glorifying whatsoever, no matter how many lives it’s saving.

i saw a youtube vid and it basically said that yuri? he’s his own judge, jury and executioner for himself. and if he strays from his sound, unflinching moral compass and unwavering convictions / beliefs? he trusts flynn to kill him and he will accept the blade if he forgets his true path.

#𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐒𝐈𝐒 ✴ —— blood pools beneath your feet; shadowed heart; ragged bone and moonglow.#tw: murder #like he literally gives flynn the spotlight for things yuri did.#because he cares about his friend and knows it's best he gets the credit because he /can/ be in the public doing his own justice.#although i feel yuri is far more realistic imo? takes of flynn are different but he always struck me as very idealistic.#which balances the two out.#and also drives them apart.#i see things more from yuri's pov bc even with evidence like...no shit happens.#with ragou in capua torim.#hero / murderer / vigilante / criminal / anti-hero he's a lot of things lmao.#which is neat.#but like miss me with the 'yuri is an awful person and isn't doing this only to save lives and help better his world'#even if his pure justice is literally....having to cut some really shitty people.

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hatterstan-shameblog · 4 years ago

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Could I perhaps persuade you into sharing something more from your wips 👀 cause I would like to see it.

They're always hilarious, such a fun read 💖

Okay alright okay alright you’re getting:

That’s an After-Breakfast-Problem: How Danma Takeru Accidentally Got a Cat

Warnings: drunkenness, drug mentions, a teensy bit of sexuality thrown in there, absolute tomfoolery

Rating: PG-13

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

It’s half-past three in the morning when Takeru stumbles through his apartment door. He’s sober enough to remember to lock it behind him, but drunk enough to trip over his own two feet and faceplant onto the hardwood floor.

“Whyyyyyyy,” he whines, head aching from impact...and definitely not the extra B-52 shot the flirty bartender gave him on the way out.

Rolling over onto his back is a Herculean effort, and he makes sure to moan and groan the entire time—just in case anyone thought he was having an easy go of it. His boots (the extra cool ones, red with the buckles on the sides) are lazily kicked off, landing somewhere by the door with two loud, hollow thuds.

Takeru has slipped halfway into sleep when he realizes that it’s really, really hot in here. Like, ‘hair-sticking-to-his-forehead-and-shirt-plastered-to-his-back’ hot. Like, ‘Satan-called-and-he-wants-his-space-heater-back’ hot. Like, ‘that-scene-in-Pretty-Woman-with-the-piano’ hot.

Hot enough that Takeru tugs the leopard-print shirt over his head and tosses it across the room, not caring that it lands in a wrinkle-inducing lump on the kitchen floor.

“Still too fucking hot,” he says with a scowl, hands now working to shimmy his leather pants down his hips. Was leather in August a good idea? No. But did his ass look incredible the entire night? Yes, yes it did, and that’s what really matters.

Left only in his underwear and socks, Takeru has started to feel somewhat better. So much better, he is able to pick himself up off the floor and drag his legs to the kitchen sink to slam back a glass of water. And then another one. And he realizes that he’s probably going to wake up like three times to take a piss in the middle of the night, but that’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make to feel the cool caress of liquid at the back of his throat.

It’s on a whim that Takeru opens the kitchen window—barely more than a crack, just enough to let in a bit of summer breeze—before trudging his way to his bedroom. He doesn’t bother changing into his pajamas, he doesn’t bother brushing his teeth, he doesn’t even take the time to moisturize—he simply flops onto the bed and lets sleep take him, fuzzy-brained and covered in drying sweat.

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Takeru starts off the next morning the same way he always does: regretful. His phone reads 8:23, which means he slept nearly four-and-a-half hours—which for him, qualifies as a full night of sleep. Despite the water he gulped down the night before, he’s still managed to earn himself a bit of a hangover; and while it’s not unexpected per se, he’s not pleased about it, either.

Well, there are few things better for a hangover than a hot shower, and Takeru indulges in turning the water temperature to near-scalding. After shaving and brushing his teeth, he feels like he might actually be able to survive the morning—provided he have a cup (or four) of coffee to help him along the way.

And it’s when he’s a quarter of the way into his first mug of dark roast that he considers the clothes so pitifully strewn across the floor—unfortunately, left there by his own hand instead that of an eager lover—and sighs. The pants will be fine, but the shirt? That’ll need dry cleaned for sure. And there’s a weird-looking stain on the one sleeve...

And then it moves. The shirt, balled up and left previously inanimate, is wiggling. Takeru jumps, sloshing a splash of coffee onto his foot and wincing at the burn.

Haunted shirt, haunted shirt, haunted shirt, his mind screams as he stumbles backwards, until he’s pressed flat against the refrigerator. If he was less terrified, he’d commend the spirit on its impeccable taste in sartorial matters, but right now? Right now, though, he’s dialing Aguni’s number in a panic.

“Please tell me I did drugs last night,” Takeru begs the second he hears Aguni pick up, “I’ve gotta be tripping balls right now.”

“Good morning to you, too.”

“Mori-chan, this is serious! My shirt,” Takeru whispers, “is moving!”

“Are you wearing the shirt? Because if you’re moving, the shirt’s gonna move too.”

“No,” Takeru snaps, “it’s the shirt I left on the floor last night. Oh, fuck, it just did it again!”

“Did what?”

“It moved, Mori-chan, keep up!” Takeru runs a shaky hand through his hair, “Fuck, man, this is not good...”

“Do you need me to come over?”

In that moment, Takeru feels his eyes well up in tears—in one eye, those tears belong to fear, and in the other, they belong to sentiment. What a beautiful thing it is to be loved by friends!

“I don’t want to trouble you—“

“Yes you do. Troubling me is your favorite hobby. I’ll be there in twenty.”

Relief washes over Takeru—for a handful of seconds, until he notices that his shirt is now apparently breathing.

“Just...try not to do anything stupid until I get there, okay?”

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Aguni stands in front of Takeru’s door and sighs. The twenty minutes he had promised his friend over the phone had doubled—partly because the line at the donut shop had been particularly long, and partly because he had taken his time, dreading whatever mess he was going to find.

Balancing the paper bag of food in one arm and unlocking the door with the other, Aguni takes a deep breath and steels himself for the worst.

“I brought breakfast,” he calls out, kicking off his shoes, “got a croissant for the haunted shirt, in case it wants something.”

“Great news!” Takeru shouts, “Shirt’s not haunted, I’m not high, and I’m a dad now!”

Aguni’s head snaps up.

“Excuse me?”

And he sees Takeru, sitting with his elbows on the kitchen table, holding his head in his hands like a love-struck schoolgirl. In front of him is...well, it’s probably a cat, lapping milk from a saucer.

It’s important to note that this...thing looks like an absolute mess. A scraggly little lump of brown and black fur—matted and tangled and patchy and just generally sad-looking—with a missing eye and half a tail.

At least it’s not an actual child, Aguni thinks to himself, dropping the bag of donuts on the table and taking a seat opposite Takeru. The cat-like shape looks up at him and blinks.

“Mori-chan, this is Ziggy,” Takeru says, petting his index finger along the cat-thing’s head, “Ziggy, this is your Uncle Mori.”

“I’m gonna be real with you with you, Takeru,” Aguni says, reaching into the bag and pulling out a chocolate-iced ring, “I was sure you were hallucinating when we spoke on the phone.”

Ziggy purrs and rubs his nose along Takeru’s hand before dipping his head back down to the saucer and settling back into his meal.

“I know, right?” Takeru leans over the feasting little feline and grabs a jelly-filled pastry from the bag, careful not to get powdered sugar on his new friend, “But, apparently, this little guy snuck in through the window last night and thought my shirt would make the perfect bed. He blended right into the fabric, and that’s why I thought my shirt was haunted!”

Frankly, it’s embarrassing to witness Takeru turn his attention to Ziggy and start cooing about how “fashionable” and “brilliant” this weird little cat is. And it’s especially weird when he hears Takeru refer to himself as “daddy” in a non-sexual context, which...well, maybe that’s not necessarily a bad thing?

“Sounds like you’re keeping him,” Aguni says with a chuckle. They make quite a pair, but he’s beginning to think that Ziggy would be good for his eccentric best friend. Something to come home to at night, something to care for...something to cough up hairballs onto his shoes and keep him humble.

“How can you say that,” Takeru chides, “when Fate has clearly brought us together for a reason? He is my son, and nothing will come between me and my son!”

“Except a bath, hopefully,” Aguni says, “he’s looking a little...rough.”

In a worrying display of language comprehension, Ziggy looks Aguni in the eye and lets out a pathetic little yelp, which sounds like someone squeezed a dog toy that is also a four-pack-a-day smoker. Even Aguni can’t help but smile a little at that.

“That’s an ‘After-Breakfast-Takeru Problem,’” Takeru says, merrily munching on his pastry.

I imagine we’re going to have a lot of those, Aguni thinks to himself, but...well. That’s an ‘After-Breakfast-Aguni Problem.’

#alice in borderland #danma takeru #hatter #alice in borderland netflix #morizono aguni #writings and such #listen guys I’m very passionate about him having a cat okay???#he’s a cat guy you can just tell #also if anyone was gonna own a haunted shirt it’d be him

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sepublic · 4 years ago

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Really Small Problems!

Honestly, the jokes in this episode were superb- I loved the carnival and all of its neat little gags, from the Molar-Coaster, to the Rotten Apples, and so forth! Also it’s hilarious how the Fun Police are literal clowns, but that’s one of the more obvious gags! I noticed that the Oracle Teacher (whom I will call Diana because she gives me those vibes) had a male voice in her brief appearance, but it doesn’t matter!

This was frankly another great episode! I’m glad the show gave us another interaction we hadn’t explored yet- King meeting Willow and Gus! It was SO adorable seeing Luz and King’s friendship, I touched on it a while back but it’s one of the best things this show has to offer, it’s just so pure because you can tell that King has never had someone who would childish indulge with him in all of his little games and jokes, and just have simple fun! Mind you, Eda is there and HER friendship with King is also great, but I think there’s a certain level of understanding that King and Luz now have that’s special to them, too!

In general, I like that they touch upon small things that only King may notice (fitting given how his issue was not being noticed, as if he was too small), and I have to wonder if him hitching a ride in The First Day was him partially missing Luz… Obviously the snacks are an incentive, but I can see him going to Hexside so he can visit in case he suddenly feels lonely! D’aww… He was like a puppy when he wasn’t sure she’d come back!

Willow and Gus were also neat this episode, and I love how Gus confirms he has puberty going on- It seems like a meta discussion at his VA’s age (15!) and also his voice changing a bit in the previous episode! Willow was also interesting… Sweet as always, of course, but it’s a bit fascinating and terrifying to see her just summon magic like THAT, no spells and all! Coupled with her glowing green eyes, which are also associated with another powerful figure, Emperor Belos, and I have to wonder… Also I’m surprised that Willow and Gus even remembered Tibbles, and vice-versa! Granted there was social media for Tibbles to learn through, and I can see Eda and King having relayed the story through Luz!

And Luz! I love this adorable, dumb little dork! Her following the cotton candy trail and all of those AU looks for her in the Hall of Mirrors, including an anime and werewolf version, that’ll be fun! She’s such a kind and sweet person- What else is there to say!

(Also, fun detail about Boscha having a pet pixie that led to the infestation at Hexside- This school just keeps getting into trouble and it’s really surprising to see Luz wasn’t involved this time! I can only imagine what adventure could’ve happened there!)

The Obvioso gag was hilarious with Tibbles and well pulled-off, I like its execution- Not gonna lie, I WAS a bit confused because the Witch’s Apprentice game listed his alias as Mysterioso, but what we actually got was funnier. THAT app had already made a mistake by using a different whistle for the one given by the Bat Queen, so I can’t be all too surprised!

And King! Honestly he was SO mature in this episode, you can tell his character development stuck around from earlier! I was a bit worried he would be super-selfish here, and he still WAS doing things in his own interest… But the way it was set up, I can understand his mistakes? He misses Luz, he’s not used to having someone humor him, and Willow and Gus fell into the same trap of seeing him as cute without listening- And yeah, so did Luz, but Luz always got around… My point is, Willow and Gus never had the chance to prove themselves as friends to King and vice-versa!

So he gets the mysterious potion- He doesn’t buy, it’s just given to King! He’s rightfully horrified at the thought of making them disappear (even if it’s only temporary and reversible whenever he wants), and it only happens by sheer accident! It’s still wrong of King to not immediately try to bring Willow and Gus back, but the whole situation is a lot more understandable- And seeing him willing to SACRIFICE himself for Luz and the others, after all their time together? Just… UGH their bond! The friendship! KING is willing to die for Luz at this point, this says so much and now he’s being friends with Willow and Gus too! Also I like his way of getting the group back to normal, that was pretty clever!

The gags with flies were hilarious in this episode (Luz snorting one, Hooty eating his friend, Gus being horrified at its hairiness), and I love how Eda was legitimately angered when she realized Luz and King were captured (and Willow and Gus too I guess)! If she didn’t already have those candied apples, I could’ve seen her doing something MUCH worse to Tibbles… But as is, the dude has canonically had his livelihood ruined twice and disgraced the family name, and is probably going to get half-eaten! AND, Eda also gets all of his snails- I’d say that’s the karmic retribution I was waiting for back in Episode 6! Good for Eda…!

All in all, this was a GREAT episode! Genuinely funny and charming as always, King’s character was well-done and the relationship between him and Luz was so PRECIOUS… I know this episode will be largely ignored in favor of Understanding Willow, and I can see why… But come on guys, don’t forget about King too! He IS one of the main cast members after all…

Anyhow- Onto Understanding Willow from here!

(Quick note- That Fun Police Chief is a DEMON?! And Tibbles is confirmed to be a Witch, I’ve got a LOT of questions now about Demons and if there are any differentiation between them and Witches at this point, Dana PLEASE answer me!)

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house king #the owl house tibbles #the owl house luz #luz noceda #the owl house eda #edalyn clawthorne #the owl house willow #the owl house gus

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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I’m slow and just realized that the “Ironwood cutting off his arm is him cutting off his humanity” was about getting his arm removed post having it in a cast. Which ok maybe he shouldn’t have but a few things. He’s want to have a functioning arm given how back thing a have escalated and how much he’s have to do. If that prosthetic isn’t just for show then it’s a functioning limb so what’s the problem.

Making an argument about what RT is trying to say is difficult - if not outright impossible - because I don’t think they know what they’re trying to say. The message about Ironwood, if it exists, is convoluted and inconsistent, so that’s always worth bearing in mind. Trying to decipher authorial meaning in a text is doomed if the authors are throwing out things willy-nilly. It’s like trying to make sense of a cookie recipe with gravel listed as an ingredient. I really don’t think the inedible bits of stone should exist in this recipe, the creator likely doesn’t realize they included it, and if they do come back with some ridiculous justification like, “Gravel adds delicious crunch!” we should not get caught up in trying to determine whether gravel is actually crunchy and whether we like that crunch in our cookies. The gravel should not exist in the first place.

That being said, we’ve got two distinct readings here:

1. The claim that destroying his own arm - doing “whatever it takes” - is representative of Ironwood losing his humanity because he’s supposedly crossing boundaries no human should cross. The problem with this reading is that Ironwood doesn’t cross any inhuman boundaries in this scene. Freeing himself from a trap and saving the city from Watts are good things. This is why, as I’ve mentioned before, if they wanted the scene to represent a loss of humanity Ironwood needed to do something arguably inhumane: kill off Watts unjustifiably, team up with him, etc.

2. The claim that cutting off his arm and replacing it with a cybernetic is representative of Ironwood losing his humanity because he is, literally, a little less human now and a little more machine. The problem with this reading is it’s ableist garbage. The answer to the question “Why does him losing parts make him less human?” is “It doesn’t.”

Frankly, I don’t know which reading RT is trying to stand behind - the destroying his arm as a representation or replacing the arm as representation - but both readings fail. Either RT doesn’t understand that the context in which Ironwood lost his arm is heroic, or they don’t understand that the need for an assistive device doesn’t have any impact on a person’s worth and morality. I sincerely hope it’s the first option. I’d much rather be watching a show with authors struggling to craft the messages they’re aiming for (we thought we were writing Ironwood doing something worthy of criticism but didn’t succeed) vs. authors who believe that if you replace enough (whatever that means) of your body with tech then you in turn become an emotionless machine (we wrote Ironwood losing another limb because he’s bad now. In our minds we equate disability with villainy). If I had to make a case on either side, I’d give them the benefit of the doubt based on Penny and Yang, given that they did attempt a (at times well done) arc with Yang and Penny’s whole thing is being real despite being made of metal... but then again, Yang didn’t choose this. It was something traumatic that was done to her. Penny also didn’t choose this. She was born an android and has no control over what her body is like. Ironwood, unlike both girls, had agency here. There’s an incredibly uncomfortable implication that his decision to sacrifice his arm is what makes him inhuman. AKA, the concept that being disabled is so horrific, so unwanted, so utterly terrifying that anyone who chooses to become that must be insane. They can’t be human because no human would willingly go through that. It’s a message that simultaneously undermines Ironwood’s heroics - look at what he was willing to do to keep the people safe! - as well as mischaracterizes disability as a purely horrible thing. I would hope that if I were put into the incredibly unlikely position of sacrificing my arm to keep others safe that I would make that choice too, both because helping others is worth the sacrifice and because losing an arm, while no doubt immensely difficult, would not be the end of my life, my potential, or my worth as a human being. Far from it.

Implying otherwise sends a staggeringly insulting message to every disabled viewer watching RWBY.

Which circles right back around to that authorial intent. I still don’t want to make claims about what RT means to say because I’m not sure they know what message they’re aiming for. I will, however, make a claim that what they are saying - regardless of intention - is becoming a problem. Conflating Ironwood’s decent into antagonism with the loss of a limb reflects badly on their disability rep any way you cut it. Things could improve in Volume 8. What we start getting on Saturday may heal or damage things greatly, but for now the talk of “Ironwood cutting off his arm is him cutting off his humanity” reads as really, really bad.

#rwby #ableism #mymetas #long post #pixie-mask

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wxldchxld · 4 years ago

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[ What is Beck's worst fear as an adult? Does her magic react to her fears and instincts or is it all purposeful? How does Beck feel about other magic users?

In our verse, where does Beck run off to from time to time when life in the Tower and the city in general gets to be too much? What is Beck's honest opinion of Nat's job? What could Nat do to make her leave, and why does Beck want to stay, aside from them being soulmates (if there is a reason at all)? ]

What is Beck's worst fear as an adult?

I’d say it’s a toss up? Beck has two major driving fears.

The first is very straight forward and that’s that she is terrified of losing a familiar again. The pain she suffered witnessing Dawnbreaker’s death is the worst she’s ever felt, and she genuinely doesn’t believe she would survive the death of another familiar.

The second is living her life in a cage or under anyone’s thumb. Beck spent half her life being controlled and locked up, desperately fighting to be herself while being brutally punished for it. So one day she learned to unlock doors and break binding spells, she learned to run, and in running she found freedom. It didn’t matter if that meant an empty stomach or a night out in the rain. And one of her greatest fears is having that taken away from her.

There’s a very finite amount of time Beck will tolerate people locking her up (like I have verses where she’s been arrested for certain periods of time). But eventually she’ll lose control of herself and find a way to escape. If she can’t escape... things will get bloody. Even toward people she knows and loves.

Does her magic react to her fears and instincts or is it all purposeful?

Her magic is very emotion and intuition based, so yes, it can happen involuntary. In a dangerous situation her effort is spent restraining herself and using her magic strategically, not in mustering up the spells themselves. As a feral witch (aka an incarnation of the Earth/Nature spirit my witches come from) the power will always come, but sometimes the control doesn’t.

I will say generally Beck is very in control of her magic in her human form. The worst you might get is like, if you startle her she might shift without thinking and then be like “oh shit sorry” or like, if you have animals around, they will naturally listen to her emotions and heed them. So you might have a trusty dog that you’ve kept for years and all the sudden he’s snapping a hand off because he is sensing her fear/anger/etc.

In other forms it is harder for Beck to control herself, therefore it’s harder for her to control her magic. And how in control she is in depends on the form. As a fox or a cougar, she can maintain the same level of control as a human, but as a horse, despite mastering the form as a little girl, she’s still very much at the mercy of her emotions. It’s kind of a running joke that you don’t jump on Beck as a horse because she will take off running, and then her magic will respond naturally, making her run impossibly fast and for way longer than a horse should. So it really depends.

How does Beck feel about other magic users?

Depends on the species and the kind of magic they’re using. Other witches are usually pretty ok with Beck, even if they aren’t the same kind of witch she comes from. From there things can get rocky. She tends to get on well with gnomes and trolls she comes across. Once she had a dalliance with a mermaid. Werewolves it really depends on the kind. Vampires are usually something she stays far away from unless they’re the sort that don’t eat people.

In like Marvel where the MCU is trying to say Wanda is an actual witch I would say Beck would be pretty ok with the premise of a witch being artificially made by an infinity stone, even if she doesn’t know what that is. But in reality she’d probably give a HARD side eye to Wanda because of the choices she’s made with that magic. Whether or not she could get past her own worries and moral qualms with mind control is---questionable.

What I will say is people like Thor or Loki in the MCU that pull that “magic is actually just like science” bullshit are not ok with Beck. Because she practices magic that is not at all like science. It cannot be wielded by anyone who learns spells or comes to an understanding of it. Witches are born or they’re made by other witches, and my magic system is VERY different from Marvel. While I’m happy to allow it to coexist with my lore system, I will not go with Marvel canon when it comes to magic because frankly it’s a mess. So I just have Beck be like “no you’re stupid and you don’t understand actual magic.”

In our verse, where does Beck run off to from time to time when life in the Tower and the city in general gets to be too much?

Ooof Nat might not love this answer. So I imagine at nights since Grani can’t/won’t be dragged into a city with her, Beck travels through the spirit realm and materializes wherever Grani is as a horse and they spend the night running around and being feral horses. It’s probably the only time she gets to really spend with him, which is a major strain on her in general because witches can’t indefinitely be away from their familiars it causes them pain. So it’s a good compromise.

But especially while they’re living in the tower Beck will probably take long trips. Like if Nat goes somewhere undercover or something and when this happens Beck will go---anywhere? You really can’t know. She disappears into the woods or the canyons or prairies or sometimes even travels north to run along the polar ice of the arctic as a snow white bear. She’ll travel to places on the Earth the non-magical folks aren’t even aware of, places hidden from maps and outside eyes since the dawn of civilization.

If we’re talking about like short breaks like “Jesus this place is too much and I need to breathe” she’ll probably turn into a hawk and fly out of the city to whatever wide open space and clean air she can find. Once her mother is no longer a threat (Idk if they’ll still be in the tower or not) she may go see her grandmother or Cora or visit one of her friends. Dori and Frankie both live in NYC itself, and so does Harper (they’ll probably be good friends by that time), and Jari lives just outside of NYC so like, visiting them and being with people who are like minded would really help.

What is Beck's honest opinion of Nat's job?

sdfgdsfgsdfg Don’t tell Nat but she thinks it’s dumb. She doesn’t get why anyone wants to risk their lives for mortals that don’t give 2 shits whether they live or die. She doesn’t trust SHIELD, she barely likes any of the Avengers, and she’d be very relieved and happy if Nat all told them to go fuck themselves and moved away with her to a farm in Montana.

Like, even if someone were to be like “well by helping protect the world she’s also protecting you” Beck would just be like “I don’t think I’d care much about dying because I’d be too dead to be bothered, but I do think being forced to live every day without the woman I loved knowing she died a horrific death of self sacrifice for people I don’t think matter would rot me away on the inside so...”

What could Nat do to make her leave?

Hmmmmm. Beck’s pretty determined to stay... But like, Beck really struggles tbh. Nat isn’t great at giving her the validation she so desperately needs from a partner. And that’s because of her own trauma, so once Beck knows that she tries to be more forgiving. But it is emotionally very hard on her to not feel like Nat is as into her as she is into Nat. I don’t know if that’s enough to make her leave.

Over all I don’t think Nat would ever say something so intentionally cruel to make Beck pack her bags and go for good, but over the years if Nat never starts to open up and reciprocate the kind of affection Beck needs she may eventually leave for someone willing to give her that (which, I’m sorry, it would probably be Harper), or also a little more likely, Beck might just go feral. Which is essentially her death. Because I feel like if she felt like even her soul mate couldn’t love her that she would truly believe she had no place with people and it would be easy just to wander off into the forest and merge with the spirit she came from. Which is, essentially the death of the individual of Beck, even if technically she lives on.

Why does Beck want to stay, aside from them being soulmates (if there is a reason at all)?

But all of that is near impossible based off of what we’ve discussed and how Nat has reacted thus far.

Nat’s big selling point is that she has no interest of taming Beck or making her behave a certain way. Her whole life has been a series of “no” and “stop” and “why can’t you just be this way.” And I think especially once Nat knows that, she will empathize personally because of all she’s been through. So while she’ll probably be like “please stop chewing up Tony’s stuff and stealing everything that isn’t nailed down” I don’t think she’s going to ever really try to like, seriously try to change Beck.

Another thing Nat has going for her is that, believe it or not, I actually think they have a lot in common? Maybe not on the face of it, but as far as like, suffering trauma as children and feeling estranged from people/displaced. I feel like they both enjoy nature and (tho Idk for certain about Nat) traveling.

It’s going to take a lot of work and compromise for them to work, and Beck knows that. I feel like the biggest reason she stays is because she believes and wants for it to work between them.

#bokketo

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dailysuna · 4 years ago

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Baki headcannons time! I'm writing a fic (it's gotten too long btw) and Baki is a key player. I characterized him as aloof to his charges with a hidden soft spot for them, but that's only because I don't think of him very much. If it's alright with you I'd like to dig into your headcannons more since I don't honestly think of Baki often... But!! I need him now! For my fic! Please send me your headcannons! Also no need to shorten your answers, I love reading them.

Yes, of course! We love Baki in this household. To be honest, I cannot quite remember how our headcanons about him started, attraction to him, adoration for Suna, blatant inability to remember exactly what happened in the first arc of Shippuden. What I do know is I researched him a ton on his Narutopedia page (that website is the Bible) and frankly they had basically nothing on him. There is also very little on Suna itself, so, all of the shaping of what we have made Suna to be came from what we did know about the characters that lived there as well as what we came to believe about those characters.

Baki is described as someone extremely loyal to his village, but knows how to set priorities and is willing to go against what the council has said if that means benefiting the village. This is seen after Gaara is kidnapped and he goes to Chiyo and Ebizo (we stan these two in this household) for their help in saving Gaara. I read into this, a lot, because it was pretty much the only personality trait given to us. Baki recognizes the importance of Gaara, and the rest of the council basically agreed it might have been a blessing in disguise for the village because they still did not like Gaara. Why would Baki, someone just as dedicated to the village as the other council members, not believe the same they did? Its basically a known fact Suna shinobi are willing to sacrifice their friends, family, and lovers if it is required for a mission to be successful. They are willing to make sacrifices, so even if Baki cared about Gaara he would be willing to sacrifice him if that meant saving the village. Honestly, he may not even know Gaara that well in a case such as that. Thinking of that, I knew Baki had to be different from the rest of the council, but how?

I had absolutely all the freedom in the world to develop Baki how I wished, which is actually more terrifying than having no freedom, but when I looked at him, all I could think was that he looked perfect. His skin? Flawless. His makeup? On point. His body? Oh man that dude is so muscular and we all know it. Baki is just walking perfection looks wise so I said why not make him an actual angel? Why not make his personality just as good? Of course, this needed to be justified and I found a way to make that true (I will post the backstory I developed for him some other time).

Because he is the epitome of perfect, he would have thought letting their kazekage die for the village was awful, right? Actually no. Baki's flaw in his perfect persona comes from the fact that he would have grown up in Old Suna, so he would possess the same mindset as the old geezers in the council. He wouldn't think sacrifice was bad because he grew up thinking it was necessary. Then there had to be some other reason he thought saving Gaara was the answer, some way he knew the boy was necessary. That decision would have to come from knowing Gaara and what he was capable of, aka being close to him. Baki would need to know Gaara's motivation, Gaara's skills, just Gaara in general to think that he needed to be saved. How else could Baki have known this unless he got close to Gaara? As I have stated previously, I believed Baki would not pursue getting to know him had he not had a specific type of personality and Gaara would never reach out to make them become familiar with one another as we know.

This led me to develop Baki as I have. A village oriented angel man, who cares deeply for those he once lead. Baki had to be the type of person to be kind and open minded for the 3 siblings to even accept him in the first place. Yes, in the chunin exams arc we see him only ever act seriously and only ever look like he could kill someone with a single glance, but that is because they were on a mission. He went serious murder Baki mode because that's just what Suna shinobi do. What we don't see, is much of any interaction between the siblings and Baki. The way I read this was yes, there was no heartwarming interaction or something to make us believe Baki was an angel, but there was also no disrespect or disregard towards Baki. To me this meant they sre on a mission so they all need to be serious, and because it was still Old Suna they would have been more serious anyways, but that Baki and the siblings had a mutual respect for one another anyways so as not to say anything bad towards him (we do see Gaara was kind of awful to his siblings at the same time so he totally would have said something to Baki if he wanted because little emo baby Gaara doesn't respect authority).

To me, this meant Baki and Gaara, and Temari and Kankuro, had to have built up that respect somehow. This is something I will go into more depth later, but for now I shall simply state the following sentences. Gaara was feared by everyone because of Shukaku so it was clear his siblings, the ones less afraid to stand next to him, were the only option for his team. For their sensei, I'm sure many ninja were given the task but quit it not long after because ALL three siblings were being brats (none of them respected authority). After going through numerous other shinobi, Rasa would have turned to Baki, someone he knew was more dedicated to Suna than most and would have given him the task, stressing that this would highly benefit the village. Baki is someone who serves the village, thinks only of the village's benefits, and only goal in life is to be of use for the village. This would have been a task he recognized was highly important and him quitting as others had would only mean he hadn't lived up to his only goal in life, he would have failed Rasa and Sunagakure. In desperate attempts to not let that happen, Baki would make the best of the situation. After dreading his new job for the longest time but still trying his best to connect with the three so it was more bearable, I believe the siblings would have started recognizing he wasn't planning to leave and despite suffering from their punches and kicks was still trying his best to be educational and supportive. I think that, even if they weren't super close or caring towards Baki at that time, each would, at their own pace, begin to recognize that and respect him, meaning they would slowly stop being as bratty as they originally were. This would make Baki relieved and happy because his job wouldn't be as much of a hellhole as before and he would try even harder to be there for the three even if they did nothing in return or acted as though they didn't like it. The siblings lost their mother at a young age and Rasa was too busy or pressed to spend much time with them so they had likely never had the support Baki offered, and if they did it never lasted long, so they likely would have at least been decent towards Baki until all grew and realized that he had become a wonderful role model and shoulder to rest on for them.

Baki's character has so little development and his actions can be read so many ways, but this was what I chose and both D and E grabbed it up like little goblins. Personally, I believe that unless they were a caring and kind person someone would not be willing to get to know Gaara, who was feared by literally everyone, and thus would not believe he was necessary for the success of the village. So basically, we all see Baki as a relatively open and caring guy who eventually learns to love the siblings unconditionally and becomes their parental figure because they have no one else to turn to, for he is the only willing one and their actual parents are dead.

#dailysuna #naruto #naruto shippuden #sunagakure #asks #headcanons #mod k

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henshengs · 4 years ago

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Hunger Games AU, part 3

Warning that this part gets a lot darker. Specific content warning for disassociation and violence. But hey, the third corner of our love triangle’s finally here!

part one

part two

His prep team is impressed with him, with his smooth skin and soft long hair and rounded nails. They wash and trim his hair and paint his face and exclaim over his beauty, and Meng Yao focuses on breathing, on breathing and drifting away from his body because control is everything but sometimes the only way to maintain a shred of it is to let go, to not be present. He smiles at them, his automatic smile, his mother’s smile, his servant’s smile, his whore’s smile, and they hook their fingers into his dimples and tell him he is so pretty, such an interesting change from Chifeng-zun.

He knew that this was coming. He reminds himself that he would sacrifice far more, to get what he wants. That he will in all likelihood have to sacrifice everything, before the end. He lies on a pallet and its softness and comfort leave him horrifically vulnerable. He lies there and he is not in Nightless City and he is not in Yunmeng. He is nowhere, he tells himself. He is no one.

They give him a gray robe to wear that is soft and warm, and he wraps himself in it, and he is left alone for an entire luxurious minute before his stylist enters. She is a sharp woman, professional, and she looks him up and down like a cattle broker examining a potential purchase.

“I wasn’t expecting a Nie competitor like you, but I’ve had a few hours to adjust,” she tells him frankly. “The girl will be echoing Chifeng-zun. Beast head pauldrons, powerful silhouette, platforms in her shoes. For you we’ll be going for a contrast. Feminine, delicate, but still dangerous. Seductive.”

It’s what he’s been expecting to hear- what he’s even been hoping to hear, because it’s something he can work with- but it still hits him with a wave of nausea and panic. He breathes through it. Nods. He should be establishing a rapport with her- cajoling her into revealing information about the political situation inside Qishan- but instead he’s useless, crippled by his fears.

“Well,” she says. “I already knew from the cameras that you could do wide-eyed. Can you give me something with a bit more spice?”

Meng Yao breathes out, and hears his heartbeat thud in his ears. Then he slides a sly smile onto his face. Tilts his head up slowly, looks sidelong through his lashes.

“Very good,” the stylist says approvingly.

They paint his face with white powders, and paint his lips with red rouge as dark as dried blood. They wrap him in tight robes of dark gray, with snakeskin panels, and they take out the braid Nie Huaisang plaited that morning and redo it coiled tighter against his topknot. When they show him a mirror he’s terrified he’ll see his mother’s face in it. To his relief he doesn’t. His mother always played the role of the refined noble lady, a pearl cast into the mud. She was never an alluringly dangerous seductress.

The most disturbing part is he almost likes it. The face in the mirror is a mask, but it’s a mask that won’t be expected to bow and scrape and meekly accept abuse. In that sense it’s a better mask than the one he wears in Qinghe.

Meng Yao also likes the expression on Nie Mingjue’s face when he barges into the room. It’s half rage and half desire, and the combination makes Meng Yao’s heart race. But then he remembers that this mask is not his creation, that it is not meant to serve him.

Too bad. He’ll take it and make it his own. That’s better than wanting to peel off his own skin.

“What are you doing with him,” Nie Mingjue growls.

The stylist, apparently a brave woman, glares at him. “Making him desirable,” she says. “It’s his best chance at winning. You say he’s not high in cultivation or physical aptitude.”

Meng Yao feels his cheeks burn, though it’s the honest truth.

“People will sponsor him because they want the pretty one to win,” the stylist says. “I guarantee it. And sponsors are his only chance in the arena.”

They aren’t. But Meng Yao isn’t going to let anyone know that until he has to.

“You never needed to do this to me,” Mingjue says angrily.

“I made everyone afraid of you,” the stylist says. “They liked that. People like being a little afraid of things that can’t really hurt them. But they like being aroused even more.”

“Nie-zongzhu,” Meng Yao says quickly. He reaches out and puts his hand lightly on Mingjue’s arm, looking up at him through his lashes. “I don’t mind.”

“You should,” Nie Mingjue says, snorting. “You shouldn’t let yourself get taken advantage of like this.”

She’s helping me, Meng Yao wants to shout, which is more than you’ve done so far. Instead he smiles, not the smile he will use tonight at the parade but the nervous smile he uses as punctuation.

“You trusted me with your look, last year, and you won,” the stylist says coaxingly. “Trust me now. You want him to survive this, don’t you?”

Nie Mingjue grunts. Meng Yao can see, on his face, the great weight that he is wrestling with. The reality it will break him to accept: that doing everything in his power to help Meng Yao win will mean leaving Zonghui to die. Of course this breaks him; he’s a man of honor, that’s what Meng Yao has always- what Meng Yao admires about him. But right now Meng Yao wants to scream at him, beg him to choose me, tell me you want me to win, tell me I should kill everyone if it brings me back to you.

Mingjue says nothing.

Zonghui looks good, when they’re both hustled into the swooping glass elevator together. Meng Yao allows himself a moment to be impressed. He and Zonghui are about the same height and almost the same shape, but the team has managed to make her look bulky, strong, intimidating, the muscles of the Qinghe beast where Meng Yao is the claws. The Red Blade Master wore shades of gray, as Meng Yao does now; Zonghui is dressed in black, and it gives her an extra edge, makes up a little bit for the killing aura she lacks. Her face is stony, cold as ice. Meng Yao practices his smile in the dark reflection of the elevator glass. Outside the night is just a blur of colors as the elevator slides down.

At the bottom of the pavilion, in a dark garage that stinks of oil and manure, the carriages wait. Meng Yao has not seen horses this close before; the Nies keep some, as one of their many traditions, but they’re purely ceremonial and Meng Yao’s duties never brought him close to the stables. The horses that will pull the Qinghe carriage are black as Zonghui’s leather and huge, monstrously powerful-looking beasts. They are beautiful. He has a frivolous and inappropriate momentary desire to get closer, to stroke their smooth skin and braided manes. He folds his hands across his stomach and looks around, instead, squinting into a hot draft blowing from somewhere. The lighting is low in the garage, and most of the illumination comes from the burning torches affixed to the carriages. Most of the other sects’ carriages have already exited the pavilion garage and joined the parade. In front of the Qinghe carriage, he can see the Jiang one, and something about it grabs at his attention. It’s hard to tell in the colorless dark world of the garage, but one silhouette is very pale and the other very dark, with a blood red streak of color. The figures are clinging to each other, and that makes him uncomfortable enough to turn away and look behind him.

And he feels his eyes widen and his jaw go slack, because after Qinghe comes Lan, he knew this, but he didn’t expect to see-

In the darkness it’s hard to make out details, but the Lan carriage looks as beautifully wrought as any other year. The figures being forced onto it, however, are unusual in the extreme. They’re both very tall; this is apparent even though one of them is clearly limping, moving with the stiff control of someone in intense pain. Despite the injury, both move with a sense of dignity and command that screams at Meng Yao to pay attention.

And his instinct is right, because behind him he hears a hoarse, “Xichen?!”

Meng Yao lunges for Nie Mingjue, but he’s brushed off like one would bat away a fly. The Wen disciples prodding the Lan competitors (prisoners, Meng Yao’s brain insists, as though they’re not all prisoners), are not so easily pushed aside. They have electroshock weapons. They have batons. Baxia has been chained in a locked box ever since Nie Mingjue exited the competition arena. His cultivation has been sealed since he entered Nightless City. He is armed only with his fists.

Meng Yao watches Mingjue go down. Stay down, he thinks, but he knows that Nie Mingjue won’t. He can’t see the faces of the Wen disciples but he can see their arms lifting to deliver another blow, another shock. Is it Nie Mingjue on the ground, spitting defiant blood, or is it his mother, cowering from another blow? Is it a Cultivation Competitor standing here in this dark garage, or a child frozen at the foot of the stairs?

Later, he doesn’t remember deciding to move. It simply happens. He is simply on the ground, Mingjue somewhere behind him, and pain is happening. There’s almost a weird relief to it. He is familiar with pain. He is practiced. He doesn’t struggle, doesn’t think, just lets it happen as his body seizes and something cracks.

Someone is screaming. Someone is lifting him gently off the ground. He recognizes the hands holding him by the shoulders. “Nie-zongzhu,” he murmurs, eyes still screwed tightly closed against assault, but the attacks have stopped, though the pain has not.

“Meng Yao,” Nie Mingjue mutters, and it sounds so- so heartbroken, as though- as though he didn’t know- how could he not know? How could he- Meng Yao’s thoughts skip on a loop-

-the two Lan heirs are here, the two Lan heirs are competitors, and they are obviously not willing volunteers, and competitors have never been obviously injured before a competition before. The Wens don’t care any more and that means that things are starting and he is hundreds of miles away from Qinghe, away from Huaisang, with no way of finding out what might be happening there- Qinghe isn’t ready- he thought he was doing the right thing-

-if the Wen disciples have broken something serious inside him, staying alive in the arena is going to be problematic-

-the person screaming is his stylist, his brain finally tells him, she’s shouting something at the thugs about his face being worth a thousand of theirs-

-two years in Nie Mingjue’s bed and Nie Mingjue didn’t know that Meng Yao loved him-

-one of his rival competitors is Lan Xichen, and Nie Mingjue will never, ever tell Meng Yao that he wants him to win, and mean it.

#nieyao #the hunger games au #my fic

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the-darklings · 5 years ago

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—𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝒖𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒉;

pairing: quentin beck x reader

word count: 2.8k+

summary: “He could spin you a thousand dreams, a thousand realities, but it would still end the same. With him.”

notes: Strap in lads, we’re going on a ride. Beware spoilers for far from home. Enjoy!

‘unravelling’ miniseries: | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | . . | 06 |

gif credit (x)

“Should I be concerned?”

“No, sir.”

“Good,” Fury intoned flatly, his visible eye scrutinizing you carefully, shrewdly, “Cause the last thing I need right now is to be worrying whether you’ve been compromised. Have you?”

Your gaze focused on a spot just above his head, and you kept your expression empty of any emotion when you answered. “No, sir.”

Fury peered at you for another long minute before his expression lightened somewhat. “Beck is a good man,” Fury said slowly, watching you just as closely, “The type of good we could really use more of around here. I respect that you may have formed some sort of...connection. But right now, I need you both focused on handling this threat. Think you can do that for me?”

Your clasped hands tightened into fists behind your back, the warmth of Quentin’s ring warming the skin of your palm. “Yes, sir.”

. . .

“Whatever happens, I’m glad we met.”

What was he doing? Oh, god no.

The ring in your hand felt like it was scorching through your skin and you held it so tightly, you had no doubt it was going to leave an imprint.

The Fire Elemental roared its fury, and from where you stood next to Hill and Fury, you could just make out Quentin’s head turning in your direction for a moment. He must have said something that was lost to the roar of the monster because the next moment familiar green glow started surrounding him. His body convulsed, and you just made out Peter’s terrified shout before Quentin drove straight for the Elemental.

You didn’t realize you were running till the blinding green light took your sight, causing you to stumble against the debris. You knees creaked as you braced against a fallen chunk of a fallen building, scratching your palm on the coarse stone. Spots danced in your vision and you shook your head a few times, trying to locate Quentin or Peter in the leftover chaos.

The Elemental was gone.

Not even a trace of it remained—only the mayhem the fight with it had left behind. It was while taking in the damage that you spotted Peter—now clad in all black—rushing towards a lifeless figure on the ground.

Your stomach sank at the sight, and you dashed forward too, your fingers still impossibly rigid around the band of metal in your palm.

“Beck?”

Peter’s voice was small and thin in a way that told you he was barely holding himself together. It was clear that this struck too close to the memory of having to kneel in front of Tony as he faded away.

You rushed to them, falling hard on your knees next to the motionless Quentin. His face was covered in dust and dirt, small beads of sweat still clinging to his brow as he lay unmoving on his back.

“Quentin?” you whispered thickly, hovering your hand over his burning cheek. “Quentin, can you hear us?”

Your fingers started to tremble the longer he remained unresponsive, and you heard Peter’s breathing pick up in panic.

“Quentin?” you repeated with more force, your fingers coming to rest against his cheek.

A raspy groan filled the still evening air, and his head turned slightly to nuzzle into your hand, his eyes fluttering open weakly.

“(Name)? Am—am I dead?”

A gust of relieved breath escaped you and you laughed weakly, shaking your head, “No you’re not. Quentin, you did it. You destroyed it.”

His expression softened with wonderment and he exhaled softly, eyes shutting briefly, “You’re safe then.”

“Oh, thank god,” Peter exhaled shakily and you chuckled, nodding your head at him in reassurance.

At least for tonight, you had avoided more casualties.

You looked back at Quentin only to find him already gazing at you, his eyes half-lidded. It was hard to find appropriate words to say to him after what just happened, and especially after the bombshell he dropped on you before the battle.

Married.

Some version of you had loved this man. And you could see why.

Swallowing thickly, you pulled back your hand from the warmth of his cheek, already missing the scratch of his heavy stubble against your skin.

His expression fell slightly when you drew back but he schooled his features within seconds, grasping firmly onto the hand Peter eagerly offered to him.

“You okay, Peter?” you questioned as you navigated Quentin’s weakened body into a sitting position. “No injuries?”

“Yeah—no, I’m totally okay,” Peter quipped back right away, still sounding a bit frazzled. It was hard to keep your composure under these circumstances, so it was understandable. “Just peachy.”

When Hill and Fury found you moments later, you weren’t surprised to hear about Fury’s offer to Quentin. He would fit in, and Fury was right, this world needed someone like him.

Someone who would be willing to sacrifice themselves to save the world. Someone who would not only be a good leader but also respected and liked. The team needed that—now more than ever, and Quentin could be that missing link.

You fidgeted with the ring in your hand, stiffly standing to the side when Fury turned his attention to Peter.

“The choice is yours.”

Your bones almost groaned from how hard you were clenching your jaw. It was only respect and sheer force of will that stopped you from opening your mouth and snapping at Fury that what he was doing was not only unfair but also cruel.

Fury had always been a ruthless man—he lived a world where he had to be one, but he was always fair too. That’s why you worked by his side for all these years. Not because he went around putting psychological pressure on grieving teenagers.

“C’mon, I’m treating you both to drinks,” Quentin spoke up and you blinked yourself out of your stupor, your fidgeting fingers stilling for a moment.

“I can’t,” you said softly, ignoring the way Quentin’s eyes drilled into you at your reply. “You two should go ahead though.”

“What, why?” Peter spoke up, turning his doe eyes your way, “It—it might be fun. Just like the old days,” he added, a touch softer and your heart twisted.

The old days.

Yeah. You still remembered those. How Peter used to come to Stark Industries under the guise of his “internship” which always ended up being either training or you two crashing Tony’s private lab.

Peter hung onto every word—and actually understood most of the theory—behind whatever Tony was rattling on about on the day.

Tony acted like having you two crash his space was the worst thing in the world—often reminding Peter to stop drooling all over his workbenches—but you knew he secretly enjoyed having attentive guests who at least got the gist of what he was talking about.

The memories of those visits—the pizza and the laughter and the science you rarely understood—were precious to you. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how much they meant to Peter now, having lost Tony the way he did.

“After heroes do battle, us mortals have to do the cleanup, kiddo,” you told him with a wry half-grin. “And in case you haven’t noticed, the square is literally on fire.”

It was Quentin’s voice that cut through the night next. “Peter, can you give us a minute?”

The boy glanced slowly from you to Quentin before bobbing his head repeatedly, “Uh, yeah. I’ll just be—I’ll just wait...over there somewhere.”

The stretch of silence that fell around you wasn’t uncomfortable but it wasn’t tranquil either. Tension laid thick over you both, and you absentmindedly rubbed the smooth edge of his ring.

“If you’re angry at me—”

You laughed; an exhausted, almost disbelieving sound, “For what? Being willing to die for a world that’s not even yours? For being brave? For saving everyone here?”

“For scaring you.”

His words were soft, kind, and you felt your lips tremble before you pursed them firmly. He outstretched his hand towards you, and your eyes fluttered shut when you felt his hotter fingers on your face.

“It’s fine, you don’t owe me anything, Quentin,” you told him frankly, turning your face away and letting his hand drop. “Take care of him for me, will you? I think he admires you a lot and he could use someone like you in his life,” you requested with a nod in the general direction Peter had wandered off to.

You couldn’t quite pinpoint the expression on Quentin’s face as he peered at you, but you did know that it was making you feel exceedingly flustered the longer he did. The burning intensity that had warmed his eyes was impossible to ignore or escape.

“And what about you?” he asked, his words so soft it felt more like a silky caress against your senses. “Could you make space for me in your life too?”

Shaking your head with a light laugh, you peered at him with narrowed eyes, “That’s dangerous talk Mr Beck,” you pointed out idly, but you still reached out and brushed a spot of dirt just above his brow. “But I think I might be a little fascinated with you as well. Just a bit though. Can’t have that head too big for the fishbowl just yet.”

Yeah, you liked his laugh a little too much.

. . .

After Quentin and Peter left, the cleanup work began in earnest.

It was a slow slog because the authorities were asking one redundant question after another but thankfully Hill usually dealt with the authorities, leaving you with the management of the actual cleanup. Fury was simply overseeing the process as a whole and was already busy making plans for the trip to Berlin.

It was fine.

The mission was over.

After tonight, you could finally go home.

Home. You weren’t sure it could even be considered as such anymore.

After losing your dad, Tony and even Nat, nothing felt real anymore. In your line of work, you didn’t have a home of four walls and a wooden door. Instead, you had a band of unlikely people banding together to achieve something greater. For you, a family had been disgruntled arguments about breakfast every day with people made of flesh and blood.

Family had been the Avengers.

But then came Ultron, and Siberia, and finally Thanos.

And now with three graves and memories that you tried your best to bottle down, nothing had felt safe, familiar, since.

Except…

Your fingers slid into your jean pocket, brushing against the ring that sat safely tucked away and you smiled faintly.

Ironically enough, you knew what all three of them would say to you in regards to Quentin.

“There you are.”

Your gun was out of the hostler faster than the figure in front of you could react. Quentin’s face slackened with shock, hands flying up, familiar green vapour curling around his fingers.

“Woah, just me.”

The breath inside your lungs rushed out all at once and you suppressed a groan. “Not...the best idea to sneak up someone like that. Can your mist even stop a bullet?”

His lips parted but he hesitated in answering, making you drop your arm in disbelief, and slip your gun back into its hostler.

His hands lowered as well, the green disappearing from around his fingers and you eyed each other silently for a prolonged moment.

“Were you waiting for me?” you wondered jokingly, your eyebrows arching upwards when you realized he was standing right outside your room.

Quentin didn’t seem to share your humour, however. His expression was drawn, lips tight and shoulders tense.

“Fury told me. About you flying back to the US in the morning.”

“Oh.”

Quentin took two controlled steps towards you, and it was hard to determine if he was more angry or annoyed. His expression kept dancing between minute twitches that indicated from one to another.

“Why—”

“Because we won,” you cut in before he could get more upset. “Because we won, Quentin. You avenged your world—had almost died doing it too. You were going for celebratory drinks with a kid who needed it just as much as you did. Because we won and Fury as good as offered you a position with the Avengers. And I...I wanted to just enjoy it and not think about it.”

“Don’t go.”

It sounded like a plea with sharp edges of steel wrapped around the syllables, almost making them sound like an order.

Quentin took a step, and then another, till there was barely any distance left between you at all. “I know I have no right to ask you this. I know. I don’t ever want to pressure you into anything, but come with me. Come to Berlin. I need you by my side.”

“Quent,” you soothed and noticed how his gaze heated at the nickname. “It will be a few weeks—maybe months—at most. When Fury makes it official you can stay at the new Compound with others and maybe then...then we can get to know each other properly, without all this madness.”

Quentin cupped your face, the warmth of his hands sinking into you and momentarily hitching your breath.

He gazed at you with a tilt of his head and an odd little smile on his face.

And then he kissed you.

It started out soft; a gentle, silky brush of his mouth against yours. It was the type of kiss every girl and boy hoped to receive from their crush—the type of kiss that made butterflies explode in your stomach and your toes curl.

Then Quentin’s head tilted and he became a black hole.

A devouring, dangerous thing whose gravitational pull was proving to be impossible to escape.

The switch was so sudden you could only gasp against the intensity of his lips, tongue and teeth, exploring and marking every inch of your mouth. His mouth was hot, his teeth eager to nibble and claim, causing you to muffle a groan of pleasure every few seconds.

The only offset to the hardness of his kiss was the delicate way his thumbs traced over your cheeks and jawline. The softest, most delicate touches that made heat bubble in the pit of your stomach.

You hadn’t even realized you hit the corridor wall till the new level of support registered. There was hardly time to force air into your lungs before your fingers reached for him, tangling eagerly in his hair.

Tugging on the rich strands, only seemed to urge him further, a subdued groan vibrating through his chest with every jerk. It was like he wanted—but couldn’t—hold himself back. And that was just fine by you.

Pressing even closer, you sank your nails into the back of his neck, a near desperate moan slipping from your mouth when he grunted in appreciation again, hips pressing into yours. Harder.

When he finally pulled back for air, it was like seeing Quentin for the first time.

A wild, hungry thing stared back at you. His perfectly neat hair was in disarray and his pupils were so dark it was hard to tell his eyes were blue at all.

His stubble scraped intently against your cheek when he trailed his lips up your jaw, his words like molten honey against the shell of your ear when he whispered, “Stay with me.”

You may have been a moth, but he wasn’t just a flame.

No, he was a star going into a supernova, and you no longer minded the idea of burning and unravelling in his arms.

. . .

Quentin was going to buy Peter Parker a fruit basket.

The biggest, most colourful one he could find.

The kid had truly gone above and beyond the call of duty and played his part to perfection.

EDITH was his now.

Finally, after all these years, the key to everything was under his control and he could already see his victory in sight.

The battle was won, Fury had welcomed him with open arms and…

There was you.

You, you, you.

Peter had done everything Quentin had wanted him to do. So easy.

It should have been easy with you after this too. He had practically been on cloud nine after his toast speech, venturing back to the base to find you. There has been a grin on his face and a pep in his step before Fury had to go ahead and ruin it.

You were leaving. Going back to the Avengers HQ back in the US because the threat was officially terminated and you were no longer needed.

As if he could have that. As if the thought alone didn’t make him bristle with anger. Fury had picked up on his immediate irritation but did Quentin care? Not really. After London, it won’t matter anyway.

But with you, it wasn’t so simple. He wanted you to be there when he became an Avenger. He wanted you to want to be with him. He wanted to tell you the truth and convince you that he had to do this.

He could make you believe whatever he wanted. But—

He could spin you a thousand dreams, a thousand realities, but it would still end the same. With him.

But—

He wanted, he wanted—

Fuck.

. . .

an: uh-oh, doc. seems like the bastard man is catching the disease called “human emotions”. on a serious note, thank you so much for the love. you guys amaze me every day. strap yourselves in, we only have 2 more parts to go.

tagging: @val-kay-rie @t-swizzle-owns-me @sorryyoureoutofmyleague@songofcosplay @rooftopexy @leilei-draws @go-commander-kim @kusooi @bishop-bxrnes @donkeyshrong @antisocialshipper @whistlingwillows @dumbshittydoodles @fvckjamesbarnes @kittyv @qhbr2013 @cccecilia77 @bunnie-kookie @sataninhighheelz @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @tired-night-owl @crimson-knuckles @bees-are-more-important (thank you, everyone! hope you liked it!)

#quentin beck #quentin beck x reader #mysterio x reader #marvel #marvel imagine #quentin beck imagine #marvel fic #spiderman #spider man far from home #mysterio #spffh spoilers #ffh spoilers #fic: unravelling series

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dangermousie · 5 years ago

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I did not need my heart, first half of episode 28, thanks for asking

This will be epically freaking long, so the bulk of it is behind read more for your and my sanity.

Stop breaking my heart, sibs!!! Seriously.

Also, when I say it’s mega-long behind the read more, you have been warned, it’s word vomit and cap vomit for miles.

The confrontation between WWX and JC hurts my heart - because ultimately what is at the root of all of JC’s anger and desire for WWX to dump the Wens is terror for WWX and what sticking up for the Wens would do to him. Trauma made JC turn inward in a sense, and to draw his circle even tighter and for WWX it did the opposite; probably because for both it just exaggerated existing tendencies. And honestly, I admire WWX but I understand where JC is coming from - he doesn’t have amnesia, he remembers the Wen siblings helping them, he is just worried about his own sibling more. WWX is a damn Hero with a capital H but JC is not. He’s just a little brother worried his older brother will self-destruct.

(and oh, WWX really is trying to stay out of trouble insofar as he can square it with his conscience. He just wants him and Wens to be left alone, dammit!)

“No one will speak for you.” OH MY HEART MY HEART MY HEART MY HEART! All of this is because JC is freaking terrified for his brother and my HEART, I can’t take it. (Also, I have to give huge props to the makers of this because while JC and Yanli are blood siblings, WWX is adopted and yet I never see anything more or less than a total sibling bond and WWX being nothing more or nothing less than a full sibling.)

Oh, WWX.

And JC moves to kill Wen Ning and WWX grabs his sword with his bare hand to stop him and ultimately, JC cannot do it even after the path is clear, and I love that so.

This is the most clear-headed understanding of their world and their rules and the perils and impacts of groupthink I have seen any character in the drama set out - WWX is an optimist and an idealist, and JC is neither. He is bleakly clearheaded and it leads him to self-preservation above all (if someone showed on his doorstep under the same circumstances he showed up at the Wen siblings, he may have taken them in if there was merely some risk, but he’d have never risked it if there was a certainty of being caught, to WWX it would make no difference.) But the thing is - he is most accurate in predicting the outcome of this, the way nobody else is, and it has got to be driving him nuts his brother will sacrifice himself for strangers but WWX - to WWX, the consequences of his actions do not matter, what matters is the innate morality of them. One is utilitarian and the other one is not. I loved so that the drama had him explicitly say that even if it weren’t the Wen sibs, who are both personal friends and people he owes, but random strangers, he’d do the same. And you know he would. (Somehow, WWX manages to come across as amazing without being cloying or annoyingly saintly, or whatever, and I love that.) What JC and WWX have is a fundamental difference in worldview and priorities. If it wasn’t for these crises, it would boil over the way it has, but they’d always have it.

(the crux of the matter, right here.)

And of course WWX chooses to martyr himself but what I really hate is JC taking hi up on the offer next day. The hell is wrong with you, man!

(the fact that he has to ask means he can never truly understand)

I kind of love that pretty much right before expelling him from the sect, JC admits that WWX is living their motto more than anyone else.

Don’t cry, stop it, it’s bad for me!

THE COMB HE KEPT THE COMB WEN QING RETURNED TO HIM UNDER HIS PILLOW OH MY GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

I loved the flashback to WQ giving him the comb back. And her answer when he asks why she didn’t find him - she knows that he may have protected her and stood up for her in front of the sects (he attempted in that counsel meeting) but he would not have gone to save her brother or protect the Wens. JC is probably the most personal-relationship-oriented in all of his decisions out of the mains - he will only rock the status quo for someone he feels intensely for (and frankly, even that would have its limits), he’s not WWX, willing to fight the world to save strangers because it’s right, not LWJ, who is on that continuum in the middle between WWX and JC. The number of people who he will risk angering their society for can be counted on fingers of one hand with fingers left to spare. And frankly, I don’t even blame him for that - it’s not the same as blind proud greed of the Jins. But it makes him and WQ or any possibility of him and WQ as doomed as his sibling relationship with WWX. He cries when she gives him the comb back. He sleeps with it under his pillow. But you know if given a chance to redo it all, he’d make the same choices. I ship this hard as hell but it could never work out.

The duel, dammit, you boys need your older sister so you would stop to literally bloodying each other WTF!!!!

First of all, that cape swish is hilarious, JC is such a drama king. Second, WTF did you take WWX on his offer. I love you, but you are dead to me. Lovingly dead. I hope you never get over throwing your brother to the wolves, prick!

#cdrama #the untamed

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floosies · 5 years ago

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bury a friend: The Story of Noctua

pairing: steve rogers x possessed!oc x mcu!au

summary: there have been sightings of a dark creature who vanishes with night and in the mornings only remains of once living people are found scattered in open fields or forests nearby.

warnings: mentions of abuse, mentions of attempted suicide, violence, gore, cursing, mentions/scenes of sexual nature.

Please read with discretion. 18+ content.

A/N: This is my first attempt at something more dark. It’s been in my brain since hearing some of biilie’s works and quiet frankly I want to venture into new territory. However, I understand the severity of some topics that I will write about. If you or someone you know is in need please look at these resources.

tags: @indecisivedolly

Part 4: The Seven Wonders (2 of 2)

She wanted to lash out, to drag him into the nearest body of water and drown him. Disrespect was something she had no experienced in so long, it made her burn brightly. Tenebrae wanted to intervene on the matter, but higher powers were unraveling truths to the old being. There were rules that came along with the new found information, one of most importance, it could not kill the boy. There was a greater purpose for his soul.

Dreams are often either ones forgotten by morning light or drag one’s soul through hell. This was the latter, she was witnessing a horrible moment of her childhood. Her rabbit was being killed by her cruel step father, who found the poor creature in her small room. Each time she tried to stop it, the scene would become farther from her grasp. She could hear the cries and screams of agony from her younger self. The dream shifted and distorted to a different scene, her first witnessing. The birth of a lamia, who had recently given up her virtue. An older warlock possessed by Tenebrae was the sacrifice. It was a beautiful scene, but the face of the warlock became the face of the boy who’d tried to take her virtue from her when she was a girl. He was burning in the fire pit as she and other lamia’s chanted old latin spells. They danced and laughed as he charred, a true haunting justice.

Cold sweat covered her face as she awoke, it was still dark out. She couldn’t go back to bed however. The adrenaline from what she had to relive was terrifying her. Taking her robe, she went in search for a library or entertaining room hoping to distract herself from the resurgence of images from the harrowing dream. She was due to preform the seven wonders in a matter of hours. How could she preform if there was any sort of fear in her being, “daughter those were dreams. They cannot hurt you, unless you let them become real for a moment.” She found a room filled with spirits and fine wines from different years. Taking a red wine dated from 1893, she filled a glass to the mid part. There were comfortable seats with crushed velvet upholstery.

Taking a shaky drink, she narrowed her eyes at the ceiling knowing it was present. “I have to present my gifts on command and you choose this time to remind me that I can make my horrors a reality? How unforgiving,” The being then took the form of an elderly man, “I apologize my daughter. I only remind you as you will need me there for certain things, or am I wrong?” Of course it was correct, to teleport through time required a certain stamina only Tenebrae possessed. “You’re right, but you don’t have to egotistical.” She laughed softly, the elderly man smiled. They were interrupted abruptly though, “this is Stark’s private bar.” It was James.

Bucky saw her sat next to some old man. The old man’s stare made him feel uneasy, “relax. It’s simply Tenebrae morphed into an elderly man for some reason.” He was still unsure of this girl demon or whatever she was. “You should go back to your room,” the elderly man sighed. “I will let you talk to this boy, I have other matters to see to. Call for me when I am need Noctua,” she nodded and it disappeared into a small gust of air. “James, I do hope I don’t frighten you.” She said almost mockingly. “Don’t ever call me that name again. Bucky will do, and i’m not scared of some little girl possessed by some demon.” She finished her wine and stood up, “little girl? I have lived life times in decades. I have seen far greater reaches of life and the afterlife. I am not possessed I was blessed with my gifts because I earned them. Tenebrae is not some demon, Tenebrae saw the creation of all you know that exists today. It even molded the ground you step on. You will respect me, or I will not hesitate to truly show you fear. Bucky.” She snarled his name, walking off to her quarters once more.

He wasn’t just angered, he felt embarrassed. Who did she think she was? She killed people for sport, she lived like a savage before they retrieved her. A little girl with an attitude and some words that rhymed, that was all she was to him. Fear her? He could destroy her if he wanted to.

A shining sun filled the training room created for, it was quite large and empty. Steve had taken her to it, “do you think this will be good enough for you to display your powers?” She smiled, “of course it will be. Thank you,” he nodded and then those who wanted to view began entering. Tony of course had to see it, “hope I made it in time. Did we start yet?” She looked at Steve, “this is Tony Stark, he-” “I’m the billionaire who created the Avengers-” “He did not create the Avengers, he just complained his way in.” A third person said, “I’m Nick Fury, I formed this group, years ago.” She nodded, “is there anyone else who is coming today?” The men shrugged.

With that, they began. First was telekinesis which was easy to show. The video camera that was recording her suddenly was dragged to her grasp without anyone moving it. Concilium or mind control was also fairly easy, she made Steve do a fox trot with Tony. It was quite amusing. Vitalum Vitalis or the balancing scales of one life with another, was difficult to master, but she had and she proved it by bringing a dead hummingbird back to life. Divination was interesting, “in a room somewhere on the compound is Steve’s compass, in it a picture of his old love. Which room is it in?” A glance at her palm was all it took, “he usually keeps it in his office. You’ve chose to throw me off, it is in the bar room on the third floor.” Tony took his computer pad and showed the compass placed on the table of the bar room. It was impressive.

They had gone through almost all without realizing that Bucky was watching. Pyrokensis was interesting, he watched as she set half the room on fire in the shape of a swan. He listened as they reached the final wonder, “transmutation?” She nodded, “it’s teleportation really. Watch,” she suddenly disappeared. “Hi Bucky,” he screamed punching the wall behind him, but she was gone. Now she was in front of Steve laughing. Fury rolled his eyes, “okay you had your fun, but now show us the teleportation between realms, time, and alternate universes.” She became serious again.

The air grew cold for a moment, the entity was now in the room. “This is Tenebrae, it gave me the ability to travel through all those different dimensions. It must help me-” “you mean possess you?” Bucky scoffed, “yes actually. It is the only way I’ll remain conscious through the travel.” Fury nodded, “can you take someone with you?” She never had, “I- i’m not sure.” The being spoke then, “she can. My strength allows me to take many-” “just one, to assure this is true.” Reading Steve’s mind, she found him actually afraid to do it. “Stark?” He shook his head, “sorry it’s a risk I’m not willing to take. My will is still being rewritten.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “i’ll do it. To prove it’s a hoax.” A thunderous laugh echoed through the room.

It was simple really, one artifact from the past, as well as alternate pasts/futures., and something to prove she went to a different realm. Tenebrae waited for it’s daughter to signal for it to begin the take over. She warned them first, “it isn’t pretty. You may want to look away.” Bucky thought she was lying, but then she began to contort. Her eyes were pitch black for a moment, he had never seen the human body twist and turn in such horrifying ways. He couldn’t look away, she was in mid-air, bones cracking, and eyes still filled with black. Then she wasn’t, her pupils went from gold to olive green. “Let’s go, you can all look now.” She grabbed his hand in hers, “we’ll be back!” That was the last thing she said before they traveled to a different time.

A home, a small house with vintage- these were not vintage. He looked down, the floor was checkerboard and he was wearing a suit. She had on a mini dress, this was the sixties, something felt off though. “Who’s home is this?” She didn’t answer, instead she led him to the front door where a newspaper was waiting to picked up. it read 1967 and John F. Kennedy was on his second term, civil rights movements were dying down as he’d made good work of ending the segregation era of the nation. Charles Manson had been arrested for his cult, this was the alternate future. The one where the good guys lived. Before he could get a second to enjoy it, they were gone.

It all looked like the present except for the way some words were written. She lead him to a magazine, the date read 2058, they were two decades into the future. This future had no mention of the avengers or heroes. “What’s going on?” She looked at him, “in this universe heroes never existed. There was never a need for them. Everything was resolved without the creation or need for them. They hide their powers or are allowed to exist as is and use their powers as a way of earning wage.” Again as she said that, they were else where.

He was wearing a leather coat with fringe and denim jeans. She was dressed in a long white dress and sandals. “This is our 1970s, ya know with the super heroes and all that.” He followed her through someone’s garden, “Stephanie!” He heard her call out, and then a blonde woman appeared from the house, “little owl, you’ve come back.” The two met in a hug, “this is my friend Bucky, he’s a vet.” The blonde woman nodded leading them inside the home. They drank tea and she sang to them, her husband playing the guitar. He hadn’t even noticed that she’d disappeared for a moment. She apologized for them having to leave so soon, but thanked her friend for the kind welcome.

Their own future. He knew it was theirs because Tony was on a billboard and people recognized him. She bought coffee’s for them and kept the receipt knowing it had the date and with that they left. He couldn’t believe it was real, that he was experiencing this. The last stop was this odd planet with odd fruit, she grabbed one quickly and sent them to present.

Once in their present she dropped all the proof on the ground and ran to the back of the room. He went after her, “please stay back.” Her voice sounded pained. Soon the contortions and black pools of nothingness came back. It was leaving her, he felt awful for her pain. When it was gone, her eyes were gold again, her body fell to the floor. “Noctua!” Steve ran to her side, she looked feeble.

Tenebrae felt awful for causing her pain. It never aimed to do so, but it was a long trip through space and time. She knew it would not be a fair toll on her body. It had to be done though, the boy was showing care for her. It’s work so far was going well. Quickly and smoothly it spoke to her, “rest my child. I must go, you will awaken in the morning.” As the medics came and took her to the hospital bay of the compound, Fury and Stark examined the artifacts.

Bucky was kept as he was the witness, Steve promised him with updates on her. The men listened as he explained everything, including the vinyl he didn’t know she stole off her friend, apparently it was a rough cut of some popular album. It was terrifying, that she could do such things. He was wrong, she was capable of more than he thought.

#sorceress #witch #oc!female #Steve Rogers #bucky barnes #tony stark #nick fury #stevie nicks #1960s #1970s #chris evans #sebastian stan #robert downey jr.#mcuedit #mcu #time travel #seven wonders #ahs coven #bury a friend

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politicaltheatre · 4 years ago

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Standing By

Well, it’s only seven days away and we’re all holding our breath. Some of us have been doing it a lot longer than that. Some of us can’t even remember a time when we weren’t.

The thing is, we shouldn’t be holding our breath, not for any election and most certainly not for this one. Doing so tells us lies and undermines us, and it does so in so many ways.

One way it does is to suggest that by the end of that seventh day all will be done, either fixed or ruined, success or failure, victory or loss. It will be none of those things and, for too many of us, all of them.

Should Donald Trump somehow win, his supporters will be emboldened to continue and expand their vision of America, one in which government and the law exist purely and exclusively to help those who help themselves, like pigs at a trough.

Should Joe Biden win, that vision won’t entirely be erased - it can’t be so long as the deeply grown roots the right wing has planted in our government and our culture over the past half century remain - but the damage it has inflicted on this country in just four years will have to be. That will take time, perhaps even longer than a single term.

That work will be made more difficult by the rise in right wing violence, which will surely increase whether Trump wins or loses. The justifications will differ, slightly, but those seeking to change this country from its long legacy of inequality will be targeted and threatened, perhaps even killed.

Those capable of such violence have been encouraged, both actively by Trump and passively by silence and inaction on the part of everyone else, which only ever leads to escalation. That reality, we cannot and must not ignore.

Which leads us to another way “holding our breath” lies to us: It places us at a distance from what we see. It makes us an audience watching a performance. It gives us license to be passive and, we hope, less accountable. It is a lie we tell ourselves more and more as the stakes get higher and higher and the threat grows closer and closer, and we keep telling it because all too often it works.

Until it doesn’t.

In truth, we are not innocent, powerless bystanders to everything going on around us. There is no amount of distance capable of separating us from what we see. We are involved. We are complicit. We take part, and no attempt to tell ourselves that we aren’t and that we don’t can change that.

Still, we tell ourselves the lie. This is our nature. As a species, we are risk averse. There are no exceptions. Even those of us who are driven most by an aggressive selfishness - the bullies - or a defensive selflessness - those drawing our attention to the bullies and at least trying to stand up to them - we all have this instinct inside us.

Stand aside, it tells us. Stay out of danger. Don’t risk yourself. Don’t risk. This motivation we can call “defensive selfishness”, and it drives most of us in most of our decision making in most of our lives.

We look to others to see what is safe to do, what is safe to eat, what is safe to wear, who is safe to read and listen to, what is safe to voice our pleasure or displeasure about, and what is safe to believe.

Bullies love that. They depend on it. They thrive on it. They assert themselves as leaders and they just, plain assert themselves, and, oh, how we find that attractive, even if it’s just for the short term.

Who are we kidding, though? We want the short term to go on just as much as the bullies do. It’s when we’re getting the best part of our relationship with them. Nothing’s gone wrong yet. No one’s suffering yet. It’s all promise, all promises. It’s all an unknown and unknowable future.

As short term inevitably grows to long term, however, we find ourselves trying to apply those short term solutions to longer and longer term problems. We take the burden of this on ourselves. The bullies certainly won’t. They’re counting on us to do it, and we don’t disappoint. We don’t dare.

And the ones trying to draw our attention to the threat this poses? We don’t listen. We don’t act. They’re ruining our fun. They’re ruining the fantasy. They’re reminding us that we’re complicit in the suffering of others, that we’re complicit in the suffering of ourselves, and that we have the power not to be. That makes us feel bad about ourselves.

We don’t want that. We don’t ever want that. So, we push them away. Not too far away, just enough that we can hear them. That way we know when the threat is too close, when the threat has finally become “real”.

The bullies know that this gives them time and license to abuse those outside the main group, those who lack defenses, those who we, standing by at what we tell ourselves is a safe distance, have decided are acceptable to abuse in our place. Time and the space to do it, that’s what we give them. We are complicit.

We pity the victims. We offer them our thoughts and our prayers, but, again, this is to place ourselves at a distance, as spectators to and not participants in their suffering. “What can we do?” we ask. “What could we have done?” We make ourselves feel powerless and we make it so.

If we suffer as they do, we have to recognize that they are the same as us. That much is clear, and it terrifies us. If we recognize that, we must act. We cannot not act. We know there will be a time when standing by is no longer possible. We know that day is coming. It always does, but knowing that is part of what allows us to allow the abuse to continue as long as it does.

So, we wait for that time to come, and it has, right now.

We’ve reached the point where the question we ask is, “How did we get here?”, as if we hadn’t asked those other questions and had instead woken up one day and found ourselves in this mess. Yet again, it is a passive question, one that distances us from our own part in what is wrong, how is became so wrong, and what we must do ourselves to fix it.

Obviously, we didn’t just “get here”. Obviously, this all developed over time, over years and decades and in some cases even centuries, all in plain view, all on our watch. We have been its enablers. We still are.

We don’t like to hear that. Why would we? It would mean accepting accountability. It would mean accepting all that comes with that: the guilt, the shame, and the overwhelming obligations, moral, social, and financial.

Better to point at others, to tell ourselves that it’s someone else’s fault, maybe an individual or maybe a whole other group. As long as they’re outside our group and acceptable for scapegoating, that’s all that matters. We go from defensively selfish to aggressively selfish. We go from siding with the bullies to being the bullies ourselves.

This is also part of our nature. It is that last, bargaining step we take before we give in and accept accountability for what we have done.

Have these others not suffered as we have? Have they not suffered as we imagine that we have, or as we want to be able to imagine that we have?

We all do this. Some of us do it more than others, some a whole lot more than anyone should, but we’ve all taken pleasure in seeing some person or group suffer for no better reason than they aren’t us, all the more so if they seem to have enjoyed life when we were in misery. Better to take the bullying we would otherwise turn inward and take it out on them.

We’re vulnerable right now. This isn’t just a tipping point, it’s an inflection point. Things are going to change, but we don’t know in what direction. There will be solutions to problems, but we don’t know what they’ll be or if they’ll work. There will be sacrifices, but we don’t know by whom. Nothing is certain.

This is what makes the right wing such a threat. It feeds off of this. When we talk about “sowing distrust” and “cultivating violence”, it isn’t just metaphor. The more we distrust each other, the less certain we are and the more power those with easy answers have. The more we normalize violence as a means to an end, the less safe we feel and the more power those willing to use violence stand to gain. We’re frightened, and the deeper we get into this more frightened we become and the more frightening we become to each other.

And this is why Donald Trump has been running the four-year re-election campaign he has run. He never stops scapegoating - Lesley Stahl and the media last week, “anti-fracking” Joe Biden this week - and bullying - like when he and other Republicans deliberately mispronounce “Kamala” - and with that he is able to bind together his loyal base. He has them stuck in a loop of scapegoating and bullying, and they’re more than happy to stay there. They’re grateful for it.

This is the trouble with electing a man because you think he succeeded as a businessman. Don’t forget, George W. Bush was elected for the same reason. He worked in the Texas oil industry and owned a baseball team, right? Before he was governor? Well, yes, the oil business failed and he was a figurehead for a consortium that bought the team. Oh, and he had a big family name. When he was elected president, people talked about “a corporate presidency”, about how he would delegate to competent men and women around him.

How’d that go? Yep. The thing about electing a corporate man is you the corporate mentality, and what is that?

Corporatism is a system built on distancing oneself from accountability. In short, the ends justify the means. The Boss wants something, that something gets done. A goal is set, that goal is achieved. The how isn’t important. In fact, the Boss doesn’t want to know the how. Knowing the how means accountability; not knowing it means deniability. If you want deniability, be the Boss. If you want to be the Boss, you get things done. If people get hurt, they got in the way. It wasn’t personal. It never is. It’s just how the world works.

This is the presidency we have gotten from the past two Republican presidents. Frankly, you could make a case for the two before that, and the Democrats in between, but you get the point.

Do you, though? Get the point?

When Trump tweeted “LIBERATE MICHIGAN”, he didn’t have to be specific. His supporters knew what he meant. Well, they “knew” what he “meant”. They knew the end result he wanted, and that’s all that counts, right? That a group of white supremacists interpreted what he “meant” to mean kidnapping and murdering Michigan’s Democratic governor, Gretchen Whitmer, can’t be put on him, right? Right?

That’s deniability. That’s being a Boss. That’s why his supporters support him, even as they claim to hate corporations, even as they scapegoat minorities and women and anyone else weak enough to allow themselves to be scapegoated.

So, when Trump stood at that debate and told the white supremacist group, the Proud Boys, to “stand back and stand by”, that “stand by” was all they needed to hear. Wait for the election. Wait for the results. Wait for the call to action. Trump wasn’t giving them explicit instructions. He doesn’t have to. He never has to, and that’s the point.

This, in a president, is the imbalance of power given the weight of law, and that should terrify us because we have all seen what happens when the bully has gotten all he can get from his victim: he turns on the rest of us. He is never done feeding.

It shouldn’t have gotten this far. We elect politicians who are supposed to stand up for us. We support journalism because they are supposed to stand up for us. For decades, both have failed.

The politicians’ failures, well, that’s easy. Things seemed stable. There was a lot of money being thrown around. Anyone rocking the boat found themselves out in the political wilderness. The system just needed a tweak here and a nudge there. And just like that, systemic rot begins to collapse good governance like a thousand still-unrepaired bridges.

The journalists’ failures, well, there was a reason they called it “Access Hollywood”. Washington isn’t so different than the film and television industries. Journalists in the 60s and 70s hit politicians and corporations hard and gained our trust, but the 80s and 90s saw the politicians and their corporate backers turn the tables. Access could be denied. There were more voices now, cable network voices, who could easily take their place. If you had no access, no newspaper or network would hire you, so the journalists fell in line.

Which left it to us, and we’re terrible at it. That’s why we pay all of those other people to do it for us. Our job, we tell ourselves, is to hold them accountable so they can hold each other accountable, but we do so without reminding ourselves that we must be accountable, too.

We have done our best to push accountability away, but it has arrived like a wave arriving to a shore. We must act. We must be active. We must stand by those most vulnerable among us. We must recognize them as equal to ourselves. We must recognize ourselves as vulnerable. We must understand that that’s okay.

And we must understand that we will be okay once we do at long last what we have known we must do and stand up to the bullies in our midst without becoming them. This will take time. This will take effort. This will take patience, with ourselves as much as anything.

Here we are.

- Daniel Ward

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