#but it was never meant to be that. it’s supposed to be a preventative measure and then a support. not a fallback

[nope-body]

.

[finniestoncrane]

Pornstar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader, multi-part au fic cooper howard is a former actor, novice pornstar, and current wasteland escort. reader mistakes him for a bounty hunter and ends up getting far more entwined in his lifestyle than they intended in a bid to get what they need from the first 'kind' person they've met in a long time🤎

☢️ Chapter 1: A Bombshell, word count: 3.5k exposition time!! cooper's recent divorce has hit hard, personally and professionally. vault tec have made it impossible for him to find work in any movies so he's turned his talents to porn to make some money. as horrible as he thinks his day is though, his future is only going to get worse (reader shows up next chapter) request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: age gap reference, angst, oral sex, pornography

From the corner of the small, hideously decorated set, Cooper watched the skeleton crew work to clean things up after the last movie wrapped just an hour before. His skin began to crawl, a shudder rolling through his body, as he considered the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone take away dirty sheets or bring in clean ones since he arrived. 

And he was expected to fuck in these conditions. It was a living nightmare.

Trying to lighten his mood, he murmured what was supposed to be a positive sentiment.

“At least it’s not snuff. Way my luck’s going, wouldn’t that just be the cream on top of the pie.”

Cooper looked up to the ceiling, shielding his eyes from the bright studio lights which provided a familiar, albeit less high-end warmth than he was used to. He was working though, so he couldn’t complain too much. A paycheck meant he wasn’t out on the streets, the hot sun beating down on his face instead. And he had to face facts; the snap of some powerful fingers and he could be out on his ass at a moment’s notice, fired even from a gig like this. 

No prospects. Vault Tec had made sure of that not long after he’d confronted Barb. She’d gone straight to her bosses, that panel of cruelty he’d listened in on, and their retaliation, preventative measures to ensure they could continue on their journey of annihilation, had been swift and immeasurably evil. His reputation was ruined, the earth in which he’d grown and nurtured a career scorched, much like they intended to do with the rest of the world. Any upcoming opportunities, any interest that anyone held in him, gone. 

They’d been thorough, efficient. News reports, gossip between housewives, notes passed across the desk during auditions. They’d made sure he’d never work again, not in anything worth while, of course, holding his earnings hostage. And when he thought that was all they could take from him. His life, his money, his house, his wife. They had come for more. Armed Barb with the best lawyers money could hire and then offered him the worst deal. 

His silence in exchange for some brief, supervised moments with his daughter. Something about alcohol abuse, a half-truth at most, but enough to convince the judge. 

It felt cruel to him, that he was put in a position where he had to choose between Janey and the rest of humanity. A shitty thing to do to a man, that’s what he thought of it. And a shitty choice to make. And a shitty decision when he threw altruism to the side and secured the rest of humanity’s fate. He was just as complicit as they were, really, if he thought about it too hard. Which of course, he did. Each night as he struggled to sleep in his apartment. But whatever time was left, he reasoned that he might as well spend it being as happy as he could, even if that was only for one day a month when he was allowed to see Janey.

What was it? Two days ago he'd taken her to the zoo? So almost another month until he saw her again. A month of work. Blood, sweat, and tears. So much sweat.

He let his gaze fall down, taking in his body. Wrapped in a robe, nude underneath it, primed quickly by the makeup artists who seemed to only be making sure that his body hair was tidy and he wasn’t going to sweat too much during his part. Neatly trimmed pubic hair and strategically shaved nipples wouldn’t save him from that though. This was his third film, and each time his nerves, his guilt, his unrelenting shame as he drove his cock into the expert, very formal, professional cunt of whoever his co-star was, it was certain that he’d be sweating copiously only ten minutes in. 

“Coop? Hey, Coop! Howard! Keep your head in the game. Both of ‘em, heh.”

Now he was being bossed around by the lighting guy, someone whose name Cooper had forgotten already. The snorting laughter echoed in Cooper’s mind, bringing him firmly back to reality from his daydreaming. It was more mindless worrying than daydreaming, really, but it was the only reprieve he got these days, and now it seemed he couldn’t even find a moment of peace for that. 

Daydreaming suggested something positive, thoughts filled with desires or nostalgia for days gone by. But there wasn’t a single remaining vestige of his former life that he was happy to cling to, all of it tainted with soured memories and terrifying future prospects. And knowing what he knew, he still had to keep going. He had to pretend like nothing was wrong. A fake smile plastered on his face despite the mess that he was in. 

“Howard? Come on, man. Pull it together.”

The lighting guy was calling on him again, and this time he had the gall to look at Cooper with an impatient, furrowed brow. 

“You know they used to call me Mister Howard.”

“And they used to say I looked young and fresh faced, shit changes, man. You coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m coming. Keep your pants on… at least you get to.”

He knew he shouldn’t be so flippant, but his patience had worn thin over the past few months. Now that there was nothing to be charming for it was no longer second nature to him. He was rude, cold, and found he was losing himself. Deep down, there was a voice scolding him. Telling him to be thankful that when there were no more studios with their doors open to him, that he was at least able to find some places willing to hire. And while it was a lot less glamorous, he should still be grateful. 

But it was hard to feel that way when his new profession was clouded by his own insecurities.

Cooper was well aware that he wasn’t by any means experienced when it came to the world of sex. His first foray into anything of that nature was with his highschool sweetheart on prom night. An unfortunate experience that taught him nothing and ended up igniting the spark that ended that first love. Then there was Barb. He’d met her in college and they’d been together until their bitter divorce. A single one night stand between then and his current career, and that was his sexual history summed up neatly.

It always struck people as funny when they learned about his very short list of sexual conquests. He was Cooper Howard. Charming, charismatic, handsome, famous. A verified heart throb. But he was woefully unsure of what to do with that reputation, and always had been. While other stars would flirt with fans or interviewers or even directors to get a little bit more attention, Cooper was never able to offer anyone anything but a genuine and pleasant smile and maybe at a push, a mischievous wink to accompany his signature smile. He wondered how much of it had to do with the fact that he only had eyes for Barb, but even when she had pushed him to ‘play the game’ he’d still found himself unable to. 

Now, all of a sudden and based on a perception of him that was built upon years of good PR, he was thought of as some kind of casanova, and expected to act as such. He had to act like the kind of guy who charm the pants off a woman, with very little plot to back that up, and who could fuck for thirty minutes solid in front of a crew and without cumming too soon,

Interestingly, at least to Cooper, they had told him that would be the hardest part. Stamina. The suspension of orgasms. But he found it all too easy, mostly because there was never a point where he felt any kind of deeply sexual attraction to his co-stars. Much the same as his previous acting roles, he’d always viewed it as a job. It would be inappropriate to have any other feelings. The women he worked with now were beautiful, skilled, talented. But Cooper wasn’t in love with them, and he found that made it hard to coax an orgasm out of him. Luckily, that seemed to suit his new bosses pretty well. He was handsome, a known commodity, and could last a while before they worked him up to his big finale, even if they had to cut the cameras while they waited for him to get to it.

“Alright, Howard. Robe off, let’s see that cock.”

Sighing, his eyelids closing as he tried to separate himself from his actions, Cooper shrugged off the robe that covered his body, letting it slink to the floor and pool at his feet. Despite the heat, his skin still prickled as it was exposed. Nipples hardening, hairs standing on end. 

“Can we get a little enthusiasm, Coop? Like your other movies?”

Cooper muttered under his breath.

“You can get the same enthusiasm when I’m getting the same paycheck.”

“What was that, buddy?”

“I said, where do you want me?”

“Yeah… that’s what I thought. Ok, Phoebe’s gonna be on her back, that ok, doll?”

“Of course!” 

“Perfect… so, you’re gonna be here. We’re doing missionary first, then maybe we cut to some doggy style. Remember, eyes away from the camera, and make sure that whatever you’re doing we can see those genitals. They’re the real stars!”

This was his life now. His body getting first billing above his soul under whatever lewd title this was going to be given. 

“Mr Howard? I just wanted to say, I’m a huge fan. I watched your movies as a kid, you’re like, my dad’s favourite star.”

His co-star, Phoebe, if he remembered correctly, was laying on her back on the bed, waiting for him. Her big, green eyes were wide with excitement. She’d been a fan. And when she was a kid. Looking at her now, he wondered how he hadn’t noticed how young she was. Barely pushing her early twenties, fresh-faced, keen, full of hope. 

How would her dad feel about him now? Would she mention this? Talk about meeting Cooper Howard, but skirt around the exact details? Or would she brag? Maybe it was just him who had a disdain for this line of work. He certainly didn’t judge anyone else on the set. Only himself. 

“Uh… thank you, darlin’. Always nice to meet a fan.”

Phoebe giggled, a sweet sound that made his heart sink. She spread her legs wider, eyes flitting down to his cock which he was stroking slowly in a bid to get it stiff. 

“You ready to go?”

“I’m ready! Mr Howard?”

Cooper looked down in dismay, his flaccid member refusing to play along. A stubborn diva, it turned out. 

“Is… is there something wrong, Mr Howard? Is it me? I’m so sorry, you must be used to much bett-”

Cooper’s natural empathy, at least the last reserves of it, were pulled out of hibernation as Phoebe began to blush, embarrassed at what she perceived as her inability to turn him on.

“Oh, no, darlin’. This is a ‘me’ problem. You don’t worry about it at all, ok?”

He placed a hand on her bare shoulder, all lust evaporating as he comforted her, smiling back as she beamed appreciatively to him. 

“God damn it, ok, let’s get Harv in, he can do his scene with Phoebe, that ok, doll?”

“Oh for sure! I’m good to go.”

“Perfect, you’re an angel. You, Howard. We can shoot the exposition scene just now. Go to wardrobe and get your outfit.”

Oddly thankful, even though he was embarrassed at his inability to perform, Cooper headed to the small room where they held the small wardrobe for cast members. The exposition scenes were his favourite to shoot. Of course, they were poorly written, and his co-stars weren’t exactly professionally trained actors. But it at least felt like old times. Lines to memorise, a character to portray. And limited sexual encounters for him to fuck up.

Besides, it was porn, and he was the star. Which meant there was a lot more wooing. A lot more women, various actresses playing a myriad of characters, all of whom were seemingly desperate for Cooper’s cock, whatever role he happened to be playing. Once the exposition was out of the way, he had to fuck. But these scenes? He got to be enticed, which always made it a little easier on him. He might have even been looking forward to it today. A stroke to the ego, among other things. A boost to his confidence, and a little physical comfort to stave off the looming spectre of complete loneliness.

When he sifted through the rack and found his name on a plastic covered bundle, however, his brief glimpse of joy was stolen away. 

It wasn’t exactly the same, but it was close enough. The deep blue shirt, bright, golden yellow detailing. And the hat. Not identical, but anyone watching would know that he was supposed to be portraying his old self. A cowboy, the Cooper Howard people knew and loved.

On the table behind him, he rifled through the ‘scripts’ until he found the one with his name scribbled on the top. Ten lines, some room for ad-libbing. All of it cowboy themed. Pulled directly from his movies, albeit changed a little for the sake of copyright infringement. 

He couldn’t do it. 

But then he remembered Janey. How badly he’d wanted to treat her, to spoil her. And how little money he had left after alimony. And how expensive the rent was at his new apartment, which was overpriced, disgustingly decorated, and didn’t even allow pets. 

Maybe everything would be ok in the world. Maybe he’d go on living, get to see retirement, see the world flourish, the wars end. Maybe, Vault Tec and Barb would see the light, change their ways. Maybe it was all for nothing. 

So maybe he better get his shit together and start making some money, so that what was left of his future wasn’t so abysmal.

“Put on a smile and go get your cock sucked, Cooper. Not the worst day in the world, really.”

WIth a sigh of resignation, he chose to listen to his conscience, the little voice that steered him in the right direction, and put on the suit. The material was a poor quality, some cheap polyester deal, ill fitting, too baggy for his frame. And the hat was clearly something from a cheap party supply store. But as he looked in the mirror at himself, he could push away the feeling of seeing a ghost and focus on the positives. He looked almost like himself again.

“Mr Howard? They’re ready for you.”

The polite knock and the soft voice of the only runner on set came through the door, and Cooper exited, surprising the young man in the corridor.

“Oh wow.”

“What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing, nothing. You just… you look like you did in your movies. I’m a little bit starstruck.”

“You gave me my coffee this morning.”

The runner looked to his feet, shuffling awkwardly as he tried to explain himself.

“Yeah, but that was… now you look… y’know?”

Trying not to be impolite, Cooper pushed past him, muttering under his breath.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.”

Back in what the director insisted on calling “the studio” despite it being a hastily fabricated sound stage in the middle of some tacky, shared ownership mansion in the hills, Cooper was met by a new woman who introduced herself as Veronica, before quickly telling him that everyone called her Ronnie. He smiled, clutching her hand between both of his in that confident way he used to greet fans, smiling at her as she bit her lip and smirked. It was a flirtatious look, one that gave him a bit of a boost as he subtly eyed her up and down and judged her silently.

“She definitely likes you… and she’s not too bad to look at herself. Look at you, seeing the positive side of things! Well done, Cooper. Well done.”

He made his way through the first few lines, trying his hardest to maintain a look of arousal as his co-star clumsily worked through hers, emphasis and inflections all over the place, the puns not quite hitting right the way she was delivering them. But he could forgive it all as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Well, I have to give you something for saving me from those bandits, kind sir… maybe this will be enough to repay you.”

She was adept at unbuckling his belt, repetition and muscle memory aiding her, and he could feel his erection stirring as she pulled his flaccid cock free from his pants and began to stroke it. 

“Now, ma’am… that won’t be necessary…”

Cooper’s voice trembled over his words as he took his semi-erect cock from her and began stroking it slowly himself to keep the erection building. 

“... I did what any good man would.”

“Then let me do what any good woman should.”

He cringed hard at the line, but luckily, the grimace was covered by his mouth dropping open as Ronnie took his cock in her mouth, sliding her lips over the tip with a gentle ease that made him forget momentarily how terrible his life was at that point. 

Her tongue slid over the tip, teasing over the slit and collecting his pre-cum with a satisfying moan that vibrated through him, tingling over the sensitive nerve endings. Cooper was able to sink into it, some of the muscles in his back loosening as he let himself go. Something so satisfying about the way she held him, one hand on his testicles, the other stroking his shaft as he lips puckered around his head. 

Cooper wanted to show her. Not that she was doing anything wrong, she was doing a better job than anyone else had. Ever. But he wanted to guide her, to ease her throat over his length, to breathe through her nose as he filled her mouth, to show her how he liked it. He kept himself to himself, however, putting his fingers in the belt loops of his pants so they couldn’t reach for anything before he could stop them, like the back of Ronnie’s head to down to her round, firm breasts, or even letting his fingers trail over her-

“Cut! For fuck’s sake.”

“Just as things are looking up…”

Cooper’s attention was focused on the director who sat lazily in his folding camping chair. All of him reacted to the interruption, the disruption of his genuine pleasure, finally, for the first time in who knew how long. Tense, irate. And not in the mood.

“Alright, alright… I thought this was gonna be a one take situation, but geez, Howard. If it’s not one thing, it’s the other with you! You got lines to be getting through, imbecile! How you got hired before, I’ll never know. If it wasn’t for that wife of yours, you’d-”

“Now wait just a damn minute!”

Cooper pulled away from Ronnie, his cock bouncing around as he stomped in a way that might have seemed comical to the crew if he hadn’t looked so intense, filled with complete rage as he shook a pointing finger at the director.

“I am sick of taking this from-”

Everyone was jolted into a panic as a rumble spread through the ground. One burst.

“Can’t be an earthquake…”

The runner had only just come into the room when everything in Cooper’s vision was blocked out by a bright, white light. A quick flare, like a firework, or a flashlight being turned on in a dark room. He could see it still, but smaller, and somewhere on the horizon, down in the city. 

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! Get down.”

It was perhaps the last truly selfless thing Cooper did. The glass landed on them, some people got splintered by the small shards as they fell to the ground. But they’d avoided the worst of it. And he didn’t need to help them. These were not people he cared for. They were people who were cruel, difficult, practical strangers. People who didn’t deserve what Cooper knew was coming.

He thought of that day a lot. Of how he’d had it somewhere in him, a long, long time ago, to offer himself or his wisdom in exchange for nothing, to people who these days he’d sooner shoot in the head before spitting in their cup. 

Bitterly, he indulged himself, hoping that at least some of them were suffering a fate worse than his, if such a thing actually existed. 

“Maybe the mutants.”

There was hardly any time this evening for him to satisfy his desire for revenge with fitful fantasies, however, because he was rudely interrupted by who he expected was yet another customer tapping on his shoulder. A new client who didn’t know the rules.

No touching before payment.

So he turned to politely inform them, and make sure they didn’t forget it next time.

[pastelcheckereddreams]

Sooo, I bought the Lotus Tower model kit and, of course, I went overboard making it as accurate as possible to the show. To no one's surprise, I'm guessing? 😅

For reference, this is what the completed model (sans horses) looks like without most* of my alterations:

*The awning material and decoration is my only alteration at this point, as I didn't like the fabric they included with the kit.

I had so much fun with this model! It is well-made, has moving parts, and is actually fairly easy to put together, with most parts just clicking into place. It even has furniture details inside!

Let me know what you think! Have you got the kit? How are you finding the building process to be? If you want to hear a more detailed review of it and see my progress shots and details of my own creative additions, click below:

UPDATE: I've now added even more things to Lotus Tower! Find them here.

First, unboxing!

This is how the box arrives. I ordered it from CPOP Universe and it arrived well-packaged and undamaged within a matter of weeks.

Along with the kit itself - which as you can see consists of a stack of laser-cut sheets coded from A-Q, and numbers detailing the specific parts - you receive a coaster (ceramic, backed with cork, and very pretty), little standees of difanghua, a letter styled after the ones difang recieve from Li Lianhua, and a replica of the booklet of yangzhouman techniques.

The process:

The first floor came together pretty quickly:

Glue is provided, but isn't necessary for a lot of the pieces, as I found the measurements for a lot of the joints to be pretty snug and able to hold together themselves. Glue is necessary for some parts, though, particularly for areas such as the step up to the rear sleeping area. Strong glue. Here is what the fist floor looks like:

Fitting on the ceiling turned out to be the hardest part of most of the build. All of the holes on the second floor had to line up with every joint on top of the walls and doors.

The next big step I encountered was a curiosity. How to make the rear wall work? There was a curious piece clearly meant to anchor the rope, and a round hole that - much like the doors - meant that this piece was supposed to rotate - and even lock. But I received no instructions on how to achieve that. I found this puzzle (which I like to think was an intentional challenge, given the gadget-orientated FDB) to be a fun challenge. So I won't show you the inner workings and spoil it, but I'll show you the working product:

Next was the rather fiddly job of creating the sail awning. I imagine this will be quite difficult for some as there's no clear indication of how to fix the material in place.

My instinct was to sew it as that is also a craft I have practice in, though granted not everyone who buys this kit will be as comfortable with a sewing needle. The two swatches of fabric provided is also quite prone to fraying, and is quite thick and canvas-like. So, knowing that the awning is a big feature of Lotus Tower, I decided I could do better:

On the left is the provided fabric, and on the right is my own material (an old blouse that I never wore, with patches dyed with my promarker pens).

After that, things should've been an easy home run, as all I had to do was affix the wheels to their axis points and put the horses together. However, quite unfortunately, one of the wheels hadn't been cut out in my kit. I had to cut it out myself with a coping saw, a Stanley knife and much patience😅

It came out looking rough, but nothing a little sanding and a touch up with my promarkers couldn't fix. I also eventually glued the wheel caps to the axis to prevent the wheels popping off every time I touched it, and they all still spin fine (minus the one I had to cut myself, that one's a little sticky😅). Then came the horses, and I was done!

Or so I thought. "Don't you think it looks a little too brown?" said my detail-obsessed brain. "We could do... more...."

And so I did.

My additions:

I used scraps coloured by my blue marker to create the beams of the house, and later coloured the fence posts red.

I made a second sail to hand under the stairs.

I created a second planter box (again, from the scraps and coloured with promarkers - two sets of flowers were included in the kit, so I could put one in each planter.)

And I even created a rain chain using old earring backs, jewellery findings and a chain, spray painted matte black and then painted blue-grey.

To colour the roofs, I likewise painted them a light blue-grey (/brown for Hulijing's kennel), then used a darker blue promarker to roughly add in texture.

I painted the weather vane, and used scraps to add in its missing two cardinal points.

And then finally, I made a winch for the rear wall! It's also easy to turn with the roof on, so I'm very pleased even though it's a little rough looking 😅

Had to gif my video clip because tumblr said boo no to more than one :(

And that's it, that's my latest build! I found this kit very fun, loved the process and seeing Lotus Tower come to life. I also loved adding in all the details to make it just that bit more accurate to the show. My only true criticisms are 1) small design oversights with the base wood colour being a tad too dark imo; the missing arms on the weather vane; and no second flowerbed (although I may be being a tad too pedantic about it 😅). 2) The fact that one of the wheels in my kit didn't get cut out properly (a quality check issue).

Obviously, I made the choice to use a different material than the fabric included so I can't speak to how satisfactory it is. However, if I were ever in the position to give IQiYi direct feedback, I'd suggest they include thinner fabric, and paint (or paint suggestions, as I know model paints aren't usually allowed through customs in these kinds of kits) for the roofs, because (by way of how they're constructed) they're just raw edges of the reinforced card parts - completely uncoloured, despite being a very visual element of the piece.

Thank you for reading this far lol Keep an eye out for more art and craft posts! (I have a Siji Manor set update coming shortly 👀)

[hussyknee]

International news outlets are predictably parroting whatever they see the government-run news media propagandizing, so the foreign commentators who have never met a Sri Lankan even by accident are announcing that we have elected a Marxist leader. We have not. It's a coalition of mild social democrats lmao. Even the main JVP entity hasn't really been Marxist in decades. It's all neoliberal hysteria.

Here's some necessary context for what's going on, and by far the best summation of the situation as it stands. I've highlighted the parts that the leftists of other countries will probably find salient and deeply relatable lmao.

It was always going to come to this. The first Sri Lankan election in generations where even a remotely leftist party stood a chance of winning was always going to end with an almighty Red Scare. So it is that the presidential campaign of National People’s Power (NPP) candidate Anura Kumara Dissanayake (AKD) is inspiring lurid visions of an impending violent, dystopian regime, splayed across news and social media. This is the prophecy of the Sri Lankan elite establishment, a select cross section of the country’s businesspeople, policymakers, professionals, journalists and academics who have been proximate to state power, especially in the last two years. Scrutiny of them and their crescendoing hysteria reveals much about how power and privilege work in Sri Lanka, and what happens when their wielders are threatened. Mythmaking

The pre-election Red Scare is the culmination of a two-year-long project by the elite establishment to sustain the regime of Ranil Wickremesinghe. This project is founded on a number of myths which rewrite recent history, chief among them the idea that the Aragalaya suddenly turned violent due to its ‘infiltration’ by the NPP’s lynchpin party the Janatha Vimukthi Peramuna (JVP) and other leftists. This myth, just like the one that Wickremesinghe stepped in to become Prime Minister then President “when no one else would”, only serves the elite establishment’s attempts to justify and sanitise Wickremesinghe’s power-hungry scheming.

Wickremesinghe was the only person shameless enough to accept Gotabaya Rajapaksa’s offer to become Prime Minister without any conditions. Likewise, the question of violence only became a problem after Wickremesinghe used the Aragalaya to manoeuvre himself to the Presidency. As always for elites, the spectre of left-wing violence is more serious than actual right-wing violence. Thus, NPP politicians standing on the banks of the Diyawanna is apparently far more alarming than the security forces ruthlessly dismantling GotaGoGama and brutalising its inhabitants on the very same day Wickremesinghe was selected as President by Parliament.

In the mythologisation of Wickremesinghe, we are further meant to forget that he has presided over a striking series of rights violations and undemocratic measures. Recounted partially and briefly: arbitrarily detaining multiple Aragalaya activists; violently repressing numerous protests by student and trade unions; passing the Bureau of Rehabilitation Act and Online Safety Act; deliberately preventing scheduled local authorities elections; continuing to obstruct memorialisation events by Tamils; and the ongoing Sinhala colonisation of the north and east.

As Wickremesinghe completed his transformation from supposed champion of liberal democracy to illiberal autocrat, establishment elites, especially the self-styled liberals among them, found themselves tongue tied about these issues for more than two years. If Ranil Wickremesinghe violates a human right, does a Sri Lankan liberal make a sound? ‘Stability’ and ‘Recovery’

It is not that these establishment elites merely promote Wickremesinghe’s government; it’s that they have been deeply and intimately involved in crafting and enforcing its policies, whilst often passing themselves off as impartial commentators. This particularly pertains to the Government’s economic agenda, and the idea that it has created ‘stability’ and rescued the country from the abyss to lead it to ‘recovery’. From the start, ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ have been built on the backs of working class and poor Sri Lankans, who have literally paid for it with increased taxes, deteriorating public services and severely slashed welfare under the extravaganza of austerity mandated by the IMF.

The elite establishment’s espousal of this ‘stability’ and ‘recovery’ turns on a rabid, evangelical belief in neoliberal economic ideology. This tethers the unconditional acceptance of the IMF and its dictates, with any deviation from them held as ruinous. Similarly, neoliberalism manifests as identity through a strict belief that all wealth and success within a capitalist economy is gained through personal virtue (discounting inheritance, aid or luck), and inversely, anyone who is unsuccessful must be lazy and stupid. Such thinking is an apt glaze for the naturally patrician worldview of most establishment elites’ social class.

As a result, establishment elites are indignant that working and poor Sri Lankans are not grateful enough for the ‘recovery’. In truth, the only real inconveniences they suffered were the fuel shortages and power cuts of 2022. So, they cannot and do not genuinely contend with suffering of many over the past two years—including the still unbearable cost of living, rising child malnutrition, falling school attendance and millions still disconnected from electricity to name but a few ongoing calamities. Consequently, working and poor Sri Lankans must be too stupid to understand the ‘recovery’, the necessity of the IMF’s ‘bitter medicine’ forced upon them and to even vote. In the same breath, of course, these elites ignore and obscure the fact that corporates and the wealthy—which is often to say they themselves—are spared any similar medicine, and get to freely evade taxes, enjoy generous state subsidies and concessions and hoard their wealth offshore.

Contours of a Scare

All this exposes such deep contempt by establishment elites for working and poor people. This is what fuels their wholesale disgust at anyone voting against Wickremesinghe, or not even settling for the Samagi Jana Balawegaya’s Sajith Premadasa (to the great dismay of many elites, the two could not set aside their blood feud and combine forces). Buried within this is a deep fear of a political reality they do not know and cannot control. Thus, the maniacal scaremongering about how democracy would be subverted by an AKD regime due to the internal intricacies of communist parties—as if the JVP and particularly the NPP qualified as such. (And as if Premadasa and the SJB, and especially the unelected, election-cancelling Wickremesinghe, were paragons of democracy.)

The Red Scare is also founded on bringing up the JVP’s violence during the two insurrections it led, particularly the second. Certainly, there needs to be a complete accounting for the horrendous violence the JVP instigated, which the JVP has failed to do itself. But it cannot be done in any honest sense by the elites who ignore or deny that the UNP government and its death squads (under Premadasa’s father) killed and disappeared far greater numbers of people than the JVP (by estimates of three to up to ten times as many), or that Wickremesinghe oversaw an actual torture camp.

In addition to these many hypocrisies, the Red Scare is also founded on the elite establishment’s striking political illiteracy. Words like ‘Marxism’, ‘socialism’ and ‘communism’ are thrown about with wild abandon without any serious evaluation of them against the NPP. Elites regularly conflate the JVP and Frontline Socialist Party, despite them actually being mortal enemies; and believe all trade unions are controlled in hivemind-fashion by the JVP, despite the wide range of trade union political allegiances. Acknowledging spiralling social deprivation in the country is “cosplaying poverty” and any critique of the government’s economic agenda and neoliberal dogma in general inspires a virulent derision for “commies”, in dizzying, barely-coherent invective and memes imported straight from the US and the gutters of far right social media. These ignorant, imbecilic displays would be amusing if they weren’t being bandied about by actual adult journalists, lecturers and professionals, speaking to the country’s depressing level of intellectual discourse. The Endgame

The real irony here is that the NPP does not warrant any of the elite establishment’s hysteria. Certainly, it stakes out an actual difference with the existing political hegemony by physically embodying change. AKD, just like his government in waiting, promise a halt to the endless game of musical chairs that characterises government-making in Sri Lanka. This contrasts with Premadasa and Wickremesinghe’s politics which evince more of the same, in the latter’s case even more nakedly and shamelessly with the most corrupt and criminal figures on offer. (This, too, is another inconvenient fact shrugged off by establishment elites as necessary realpolitik.)

Of course, many of those prospectively voting for the NPP to “give them a chance” reveal the Sri Lankan predilection to go with the ‘rella’ or wave. But embedded in there, too, is the idea that this chance is being given in desperation, against a political system which has brought them nothing but economic ruin. That system could not be characterised more effectively than by Wickremesinghe himself, who makes little attempt to hide his disdain for ordinary people.

Yet it’s easy to overstate such change. In substance, even a cursory glance at the NPP’s manifesto reveals not a plan to usher in full-throated communism but a milquetoast, deliberately vague social democratic program. Most tellingly, it promises to maintain the country’s economic settings, including the current IMF program, as well as its deeply majoritarian state structure. The establishment should in fact be thrilled that the supposed biggest threat to its existence accepts the very core tenets of its modus operandi.

What this also means is that if and when any substantive change fails to materialise for many people—particularly in living conditions, as will certainly be the case under continued adherence to the IMF program—any NPP government risks spectacular collapse. That will leave ample space for any new, reactionary force to step in, including Wickremesinghe who will be waiting, cockroach-like, or another dispiriting shuffling of the current deck. In such a scenario, the elite establishment could find multiple avenues to attach their hooks to, for they are nothing if not the most talented grifters.

This election is unlikely to spell a definitive end to the political establishment or the deranged elites who uphold it. But for anyone sickened by the elite establishment’s hypocrisy and degeneracy, one night of them losing their collective minds over the Red Scare they have convinced themselves can only be a fleeting, pleasurable treat.

[hanibalistic]

#6F417E | EARTH-42 MILES MORALES.

genre | fluff, faint angst / reader is gn

synopsis | miles found you fainted in an alleyway one day, except you died two years ago.

word count | 8175

warning | briefe violence / use of spanish phrases translated from the internet :( let me know if i'm wrong about anything! / everything i know about e-42 miles morales is from the movie / this part deviates from the movie 

parts | one, two, three, four

There were four things you learned from what happened at the bank. 

One, Gwen's finishing touches to your glitch-prevention bracelet saved the essential parts of your body—neck down and hip up—from getting injured. Upon detecting the incoming air pressure released from the explosions, which the bracelet mistook as the effect of a glitch, it surrounded your torso with a protective shield that would have covered you fully if the blasts did not cause it to malfunction.

Two, the loyalty Rio has for her son was extraordinary. After Miles called her out to the back alley of the hospital building, she did not hesitate a second to sneak you into a vacant room and take from the hospital the medical supplies needed to treat you as best as she could. She did not ask any questions. It was one look on Miles’s anxious face, and she was on her feet, taking charge. Because of the safety measures Gwen placed in your bracelet, you did not sustain any fatal wounds, making it much easier for Rio to help you. The only problem you encountered was pain, a lot of it.

Three, Miles has done terrible things. He was the prowler, whatever that meant. The explosions were one of the significant steps in a bank heist that he, Uncle Aaron, and Gwen took up as a side project. Most of the time, they work on lucrative commissions offered by the likes of Kingpin, whoever that was. Kidnapping, assault, and even murder were not irregular to him. He confessed that he had killed someone before, and you asked him to stop it at that.

Four, after shutting yourself out from everyone, except for letting Rio bring you food occasionally, you realized you couldn’t care less about what Miles has done.

The thought haunted you, leaving you in an endless debate with yourself. How dare you let go of your conscience? How dare you treat a criminal with kindness? How dare you look a killer in the eyes and see someone different than their dirty past? To say you were distraught would be an understatement, as the accusations your mind kept throwing at yourself were the least troublesome hurdle to jump through. The most teeth-rotting matter was that you were guilty. You avoided seeing Miles because you knew once you did, the outrageous truth would hit you harder than the bomb blasts did. The fact that you still looked at him with love.

“Can I sit next to you?”

“Yeah–yeah. For sure.” 

You climbed on his bed and sat cross-legged next to him. Miles sucked in a breath when you touched knees, and suddenly, all his senses were focused on that particular contact spot. You picked at your fingers sheepishly, feeling rather silly about your week-long silent treatment. But you needed it for self-reflection and to come to terms with your conclusion. Miles waited for you to speak. He didn’t know if this was only a spur of the moment, and he wasn’t willing to take any risks that might chase you out of his room. 

“I thought about what you told me at the hospital,” you started, rubbing your hands. 

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” he said, turning his head ever-so-slightly to gauge your reaction. “I would never hurt you on purpose, [Name]. I really had no idea you were there.”

“I know,” you nodded with a faint smile, “I forgave you the night it happened.”

You felt he didn’t accept your forgiveness and supposed that was only natural. If you were in his shoes, the mental gymnastics you would do to keep yourself occupied with blam could rival his. The only thing that could get him to treat himself kinder would be time, specifically having you pass through it with him. Licking your lower lip, you rubbed your nose and hummed a soft, audible grin. He turned fully to you then, feeling less anxious.

“Miles, I don’t judge you for what you did or what you plan to do,” you said, your head mildly gesturing in emphasis. Concentrating in deep thoughts, you rubbed your eyes, sniffed comfortably, and faced him with a knowing upside-down smile. “Be it you have a reason or not, I don’t think I will ever–how do I say this? I don’t think I will distance myself from you, ever.”

He felt breathless, but it came from the incongruence between his mind and heart rather than the supposed relief that you accepted him. He was too accustomed to anticipating horrific reactions that he forgot people could be open-minded. You were not supposed to be okay with what he did. You couldn’t be okay with what he did!

“[Name],” he heaved out with an uncontrollable shake of his head, “my hands are bloody.”

You looked down at where he rested them on his lap. Were they? Miles’s hands may be bloody, but they were also a multitude of other things. They are a mother’s secret financial support; they peel the skin off fruits, stroke your hair when you cry to sleep and dance across your love handles in a ticklish haze. You reached out tentatively to hold them, finally realizing he was trembling. Was he scared? You didn’t react to it. His hands fit cozily in yours, as they always have, and suddenly, Miles didn’t fear the atrocity they were capable of. You broke him down, mellowed him out, rinsed him off all he’s ashamed of, and he—

“Mine will cover the stains for you.” You held up your interwind hands with a tight-lipped smile. “See? Can’t even see your palms anymore.”

—loves you, in a frightening way that it seemed like you felt the same way too. 

“[Name],” he hushed, his head dipping in exhaustion. “I’m not gonna stop berating myself.”

He wouldn’t, and it would hurt you less than it would hurt him.

You let go of his hands and watched him desperately scramble for you. It was a heartbreaking sight, even for a split second, to see his longing ragged out like an unwatered plant reaching for the faintest taste of rain. Getting your arms out and open, you refolded your legs into kneeling to pull him into a proper hug. Miles gritted his teeth to silence the screeching voices as he returned the hug immediately. When he closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling the usual crank of it because your neck was sensitive and ticklish, he began to calm down.

Feeling you pat his back, he supposed this was all anything should feel like. Love—a word capable of expressing an emotion of its terrifying caliber. What else could it be? True love is the inability to abandon, in the same way Miles waited for you even after you died, and you refused to let go of his cold-blooded hands made warm by holding yours. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I would never hurt you on purpose.”

“I know.” You nodded with a sudden thoughtful hum. “Hey, you know what you can do to make it up to me?”

Miles perked up slightly and pulled away. He raised a brow when he saw the bashful smile on your face. You’ve got an idea, and he might not like it.

The pressure in your stomach dropped whenever Miles was pulled back to the ground by gravity. Not a second after reaching the floor, he was up in the air again, his boots allowing him to reach a much greater height and distance when he jumped. As the chilling air hit your face and hair, you realized Miles was right to bundle you up after he finally agreed to take you on a stroll high up in the air. 

When you raised the idea to him, his reaction was as he suspected: he did not like it. Or, well, he did not understand it.

You had told him about the faint memory of a floaty feeling the day of the bank accident, which, after he told you about him being the prowler, you could deduce had come from him taking an unconventional shortcut to the hospital. He made the mistake of admitting that he was hopping from roof to roof to get you there because the next thing you asked was for him to do it again, but this time you would be conscious of experiencing it. 

Perhaps he has possessed the convenience his prowler suit gave him for too long. He couldn’t understand being fascinated with the ability to be in the air. You briefly mentioned Spiderman and his interesting web-shooting function as an argument to get Miles to understand you, but how could he? He wasn’t even sure if Spiderman was real! Still, he caved into your wish, grabbed the boots he kept hidden in his closet because he refused to go anywhere with the risk of bumping into him for now, and brought you on a rooftop stroll. 

What was originally a safety hazard forcing his claws to wrap steel tight around your body soon shifted into something of ease. His heart grew in size at how much fun you were having, and for once, he reverted to the boy he was the first time he experienced the thrill this well-made suit gave him. He kept his eyes forward to map a path across the buildings, his claws helping him move closer to the sky. He heard your uncontrollable laughter, he wished he could see your eyes light up brighter than the moon above, and he envied the wind that brushed your face and hair. 

This was a good idea. This may be the single best thing he has done.

“Where are we going?” you whispered, tightening your arms around his neck.

“You’ll see. Hold on tight.”

Miles kicked his feet against the brick wall to hoist himself a good distance upward before forcing his claws through the concrete. He pressed the hand on the low of your back into his body, keeping you steady in one arm. You couldn’t bear to look around at the height you were stuck in, but the arm strength Miles has to support two weights while climbing up a tall building with one arm was surprising and, dare you say, attractive. 

The skyscraper was a place Miles hadn’t visited since ‘your’ death. Being here with you now did not make him feel better. He was careful where he stood on the edge of the highest point of the building; he wanted you to look over the bright borough.  

“Oh, no way! You brought me to the skyscraper?” you exclaimed, looking up at him. “You always said no when I wanted to come here.”

“I got reasons,” he huffed out quietly. Upon your silence, he peered down from the night view and saw you staring at him expectantly. He barely rolled his eyes in defeat. “You died here. You fell.”

The high-pitched hum you let out was comedically timed. Rigidly turning your head to face out, you could only imagine the exact height of this skyscraper as you could not see below the horizon. No wonder he didn’t let you on the ground—this would be one hell of a fall if history repeats itself. Miles chuckled lowly when you curled your arms tighter around his neck and slumped your weight further into him. You echoed his chuckle.

“Well,” you muttered, “definitely not letting go of you anytime sooner.”

“I’m not gonna either,” he said.

A sudden gust of wind blew at your face. You leaned closer to his neck for warmth, your eyes squinting at the building lights. It was too late into the night for the borough to remain bustling as in the morning, but the illumination from apartments, stores, and other high buildings made an equally homey view. The silence was enjoyable, too; just the open air and the inner sound of you counting your breath. 

“Was it embarrassing?” you asked suddenly, your voice hoarse.

“What is?”

“Me falling? I don’t know–“ your body shifted upward, forcing Miles to adjust to your new position–“did I look weird when falling? Did you see me fall? Did anyone see me fall–oh my god, were the police here?”

“I’m sorry. Where is this coming from?” he asked with a confused deadpan. “What are you even saying? None of that matters?”

“It actually does matter because I feel–“ you sucked in a deep breath dramatically–“I don’t like having too much attention on me, and if the police came, I feel that would be very awkward.”

“You trippin’.” He rolled his eyes.  

“What? That’s very valid!” You knocked your fist on the back of his shoulder. “Did I look weird when I landed? Did you see it? Did my brain splatter–“ You quieted down with an opened mouth when he flashed you a pointed look, but several suppressed giggles periodically left your lips as you moved your hands from his neck to cup his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put that thought in your head! Don’t think about that!”

Miles’s eyes softened. He wanted to kiss the laugh lines around your mouth. “I wasn’t thinking about that.”

You breathed out the last of your giggles and then stared at him. He was thinking about you even with you here—you knew, you knew very well. Your fingers grew timid at his stare, but they refused to leave the curve of his face. They could only ghost across his skin in freckled spots, treating him with the care he has given you. Miles barely leaned into your touch. He tested the water first, afraid that you would pull away at his immediate engagement, and he fully pressed his palm to your hand when you kept it where it was. 

You brought his face to yours. “Hey!” you whispered with a soft grin when your nose touched. 

“Hey,” he returned. He was soft. You’ve made him soft, made him a messenger of affection. “Your hands are cold.”

“I know.”

You pursed your lips at the feeling of his nose scraping past the bridge of yours. He was leaning closer, inviting you to something more intimidating than standing on the edge of a skyscraper. 

“Miles.” your voice was hushed. “Miles, I’m shy. Can you kiss me first?”

He leaned forward to kiss you after dropping a relieved sigh. You closed your eyes at the sheer force of his desperation, your hands mustering up the courage to grip his face tighter and bring him to you. The taste of your lips cascaded over his conscience. You hit him, like a ton of bricks, like the feeling of flesh wrapped around a blade, like being in the center of a firework explosion. It was a feeling he would trade anything for; one could ask him for a lifetime in return for a second of your lips on his. 

“Woah! Did you forget you’re on the run, Miles?”

“Oh, jeez! Mayday, don’t look!”

You two broke away immediately at the uninvited voices. Miles puffed air into his cheeks with an eye roll, not even attempting to hide how irritated he was at the interruption. Still heaving from the kiss, your brows furrowed when you came face to face with four outrageously different-sized figures, all dressed in a variation of a Spider suit, with a literal toddler wearing a Spiderman mask too small for her head. 

“Who…?” you started slowly. “Spidermen…? Spiderman’s sidekicks?”

“Now that’s just disrespectful,” the one with spikes on his head commented.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you muttered in response.  

“Who are you guys?” Miles asked defensively as he took a few steps back. He held you closer to him, his knees barely buckling in preparation to run. 

“How could you forget your mentor, Miles?” The man took off his mask and opened his arms as an introduction. “It’s me! Peter!”

“Oh my god, it’s Spiderman.” You slapped Miles’s chest to be let down on the ground, but he refused. Although his hair color changed, and he looked relatively scruffier than you remembered on the news, those features could not be mistaken. That was the face of the superhero you grew up seeing. “I thought you died. It was all over the news!”

“How could I be standing here if I died?”

“You know him?” Miles questioned. “I don’t know him.”

“Apparently not?” you mumbled. “Maybe he faked his death somehow?”

“Wait, what about me? You remember me! It’s Pavitr? We fought together! You saved my girlfriend’s dad, Inspector Singh?” He pointed over to his friends, his hair bouncing lusciously. “With Gwen and Hobie?”

“Gwen?” you and Mils exclaimed in unison. Her eyes widened at the sudden collective attention.

“Dude, what are you wearing?”

“Gwen, you’re a Spiderman–err, woman?”

“Okay, you’re seriously playing up the Spiderman jokes?” Miles deadpanned as he arched his neck to look at you.

You pulled a face before swinging your arms to gesture at five newcomers. “They’re literally here. Spiders, all of them!”

“I’ve never seen spiders stand on two feet.”

“Clearly, you haven’t seen a lot.” 

Miles sniffed with distaste. “Right. I’m gonna listen to someone with spikes on their head.”

“Miles!” you exclaimed with a harsh pinch to his cheek, then you turned to apologize. “I’m sorry. I think they look super cool.”

Taking a step forward, Gwen promptly eliminated the ongoing conversation by taking off her mask to reveal herself to you both. You tilted your head. She looked nothing like the Gwen you knew, and from her furrowed brows and darting eyes, she knew too. After a prolonged stare between you and Miles, the puzzles in her head piecing together, her relieved sigh was barely noticeable as realization hit her. She turned to her team with a shake of her head.

“This isn’t the Miles we’re looking for,” she said. “This is Miles from this Earth.”

“I knew that already,” Hobie smirked, hands in his pockets. “With the braids and all.”

Pavitr gasped with widening eyes. He pressed a hand to his chin and nodded. “Oh wow, I didn’t even register that. You look good, Miles!”

You punched Miles’s chest when he kept a brooding silence. He scoffed, smacked his teeth in dismay, then slurred out, “Thanks.”

“Okay, wait! Hold on, hold on!” Peter yelled without having gathered his thoughts. He shifted the weight of his legs, leaning on one hip, and pinched the bridge of his nose as a monotonous thinking noise churched out of his throat in a flat line. “But how? Our watch told us he was here. It gave us the signal that someone from Earth-1610 is here.”

“Someone is,” Gwen said. She turned around slowly, a look of uncertainty, then she pointed at you. “It’s them.”

None of them explicitly explained what they were talking about, but using your experiences and the confusing context clues, you could easily decipher the problem's gist. Something was happening on a multi-universal level. You didn’t know what exactly, but this felt to be a problem regarding that.  

“Gwen, I know you thought you explained the issue but you didn’t,” Peter muttered. He whipped his body around to you and held both hands in the air in a chopping motion. “Are you a Spiderman?”

“No.”

“Not you, big guy. You!”

“Oh, me?” You pointed at yourself for clarification and shook your head. “No, but there is one where I came from. Technically there are two, but the original one died, and he looked almost exactly like you! Just different hair color and… ski–never mind.”

“First of all, I had a feeling you were gonna call me fat. I’m not. I just look like a dad now, which I am. I have to clarify, okay? This is all dad weight, and this cutie-pie is my daughter, Mayday!” Peter said as he gestured toward himself and at Mayday. Then, he burst into a fit of confused noises. “Second, where you came from?” he repeated after you incredulously, paused for a brief moment, and then turned to Gwen, his eyes rolling. “Okay, yeah. I think I know what you’re talking about.”

“Psst… what are they talking about?” Pavitr whispered from the side, unknowingly having inched closer toward Hobie, who leaned down to his height for an explanation.

“That lad is Miles’s lookalike from this Earth. The one he’s clutching to him like a madman is from our Miles’s Earth, which is bonkers 'cause how did they even get here?”

“They’re not from here?” Pavitr widened his eyes. “That’s not good!”

“How so?” Hobie stood up straight.

“Oh, you know, with Miguel and everything,” Pavitr said as he twiddled his thumbs. “Actually, maybe not! I’m sure Miguel isn’t that obsessed about all of this.”

Just after his voice dropped, a portal emerged from behind where Miles stood. The second he noticed the faint glow flashing over his shadow, he jumped away to stand with the newcomers he was still wrecking his brain to familiarize himself with. You stared at the portal with wide eyes. Not once in your life have you seen technology like this, and when you glanced over at the others, you could see a certain dread on their face that peaked your heart rate. What got a bunch of Spider-people so agitated? It must be a real threat.

“Won’t you look at that,” Miguel appeared from the portal, his eyes looking as dead as usual. Following behind him were Jessica and Ben. “The whole gang is here.”

"How did you even find us?" Peter exclaimed in annoyance.

"Your watch, obviously." Miguel pointed at Peter's chest. "Your daughter took it.”

Peter gasped as he looked down at Mayday. He didn't notice it before, but sitting loosely around her wrist was the watch Miguel gave him that he took off before Gwen came to find him. He squeezed his eyes shut—shame on him for letting the same thing happen twice, even though neither was technically his fault.

Hobie breathed out a chuckle at Mayday before he elbowed Pavitr. “Do whatever you want, but I’m telling ya, you got to watch out for the things you say. You’re gonna jinx up the whole place like this.” Bringing his leg up so he could march over to Miles and stand behind him, he bent forward until his face was within Miles's earshot. "I suggest you run home now."

"What? Why?" Miles whispered, stepping away from the proximity. His attention shifted when Peter's obnoxious voice rang through the air.

"Jesus, Miguel! What do you want now?"

"The same thing you all want," Miguel said as he rubbed his wrist. He snapped his head over at Miles, who gulped when his gaze averted to look at you. He stared for a bit too long. "People who are not supposed to be here."

You. That man was talking about you. Miles didn't know what business he had. If anything, he thought himself a much bigger threat. But Miguel was looking at you when he spoke, so it must be.

He bolted the second he made that conclusion. He would deal with it if he later discovered he had come to the wrong one. For now, with the warning from a man whose words he could barely understand and a bunch of context clues he haphazardly strung together on the fly, he was unwilling to take any risk that would make him lose you. Wrapping his arms around your body to hold you into a hug rather than a carry, he instructed you to hang tight and took a few bold steps backward to the skyscraper edge so he could drop off its height.

"Wait, hold on, Miguel!" Peter shot his arm out to squeeze Miguel's shoulder when he saw that Miles would be followed. "You're after the wr–"

"Peter!" Gwen shot out a web aimed at Peter's back and immediately pulled him away from Miguel, preventing the man from telling the truth. Taking the slipping chance, the three slipped past in pursuit of you and Miles.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked incredulously, his eyes following the fading backs of his once colleagues.

Pavitr and Hobie approached them to catch up on their conversation. 

"Let Miguel chase him," she said sternly, her eyes fixated on Peter. "It works in our favor that he is occupied with the wrong Miles. It buys us some time to find our Miles."

Peter opened his mouth to speak, but no thoughts leaked out. Gwen's logic was sweet and sound. It would make everything so much easier for them if Miguel was temporarily out of the picture. But there was a pierce he felt, through his supposed moral compass, not at the blatant lie of omission he has to tell but at the fact that he would willingly send a grown man after two children, one of whom was just an ordinary civilian.

"Gwen, I don't feel like that's the right thing to do," he sighed.

"Maybe we can try to help both of them?" Pavitr suggested. "We can find Miles as fast as we can and then help the other Miles."

"They won't last," Peter said. "I don't know if that Miles has superpowers, but he's definitely not like us. I don't think their friend is capable of anything, either. Miguel will get to them before we can be done."

"You're saying if we want to help, we ought to do it now," Hobie sniffed.

"That's what I just said."

"I know. I was just repeatin' it."

"We can't afford to be distracted!" Gwen argued, her tone releasing from being firm to a pathetic, exasperated plead. "Don't forget, you're the one who exposed Miles's location in the first place. And now you've exposed ours!"

"Woah–Gwendy, calm down," Hobie said with a light pat on her shoulder. He spun to face Peter, humming at his distraught expression, then turned to meet in a general direction. "We're wasting an awful lotta time arguing about nothing. How about we get a move on, yeah? Pavitr's plan might work if we go now.”

"Yeah! I agree!" Pavitr clapped in agreement. “We just need to go in quick and come out even quicker!" 

“That made no sense,” Peter mumbled. 

“Maybe not to you.” Hobie shrugged.

“Focus, you guys!” Gwen hollered over the wind, catching everyone’s attention. She pursed her lips, her mind filled with a singular goal: save Miles Morales. “I’m going regardless of what you say," she said as she stepped to the edge of the skyscraper. Before she tipped over, she added, "I'm gonna save my Miles."

"Dramatic," Hobie chuckled with big strides forward, seemingly to follow after Gwen. "Better catch up, lads." He clicked his tongue confidently and mocked a salute as he fell off the edge. 

Miles was on the run. You already knew, but that fact punched you in the guts with even more velocity when you realized how quickly your surroundings were passing through. He was no longer holding you in an embrace-like position. After he made it down the skyscraper, Miles hoisted your upper body over his shoulder with his arms circled around your waist so he could better run at his regular speed, which you learned was abnormally fast, much different than the speed he picked when he was strolling around the area. 

Closing up behind you was a man in a Spider suit furiously galloping on all fours. You didn't even know they ran like that. You thought all Spider-people swung with their webs. Running like this may be faster than swinging around. Or perhaps the man's sheer will to catch the two of you amped up his speed. The only reason why Miles was able to periodically distance from Miguel was that he knew this Brooklyn like the back of his palm; all the detours and shortcuts were mapped in his brain, and he knew how to properly mix and match their usage. 

"Miles, he's crazy," you whispered, clutching his shoulders. "He's running like a wolf."

"Tu puta madre–" he spared a glance back and widened his eyes–"why is he chasing us? What did we even do?" 

Hopping off a building and into an alleyway, Miles slipped to the side and hid behind a wall. He pressed his back against the concrete wall to hide behind the shadow. 

The more he ran, the more he saw how it only delayed the consequence of getting caught. He could run home as suggested, but bringing trouble directly to his mother wasn’t ideal. On top of that, it may expose his prowler identity, which was the last thing he wanted. He could keep running, but eventually, he would get tired. He wouldn’t overestimate his ability to escape; a man that size running on all fours has the kind of stamina he could not rival. He had to fight with gimmicks to win, and his first option was to hide.

Taking the time to reposition you on his shoulder, apologizing with amusement when you shivered at his hands gliding past your hips to your waist, Miles carefully placed you back on the ground. When your feet hit the ground, he reached for the crown of your head, squeezing your head and trailing both hands down to your face. He pushed your face together, forcing you to pucker your lips. This was supposed to be a fun night. He felt terrible that this was how things led to. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, smoothing his thumbs over your cheeks. “Are you okay?”

For the time being, you felt like you could be. His hands were warm, and his touch even warmer. 

“I’m sorry. This is my fault.” You smiled bitterly once he let go of your face. “He’s here for me, but I don’t know why.”

You haven’t done anything. Even arriving on this Earth was not a purposeful doing. You made no significant changes to this Brooklyn; even if you tried to, you would not have succeeded. You regularly lived as you would have in the universe you came from; staying at home, doing house chores, learning how to cook, getting groceries, watching movies, maintaining a good friendship, and falling in love. None of those were criminal activities! You have done nothing remarkable for a random Spiderman to get so upset with you!

“Be honest, [Name],” Miles started, touching your shoulders. He took a deep breath before squinting. “Are you secretly a world-class criminal?”

“If jumping universes is a crime, then–“ You hummed thoughtfully before shaking your head in disagreement. “Yeah, no. I’d just be a regular criminal because I only jumped once, and it’s by accident, too.”

“Actually, I never asked, but how did you get here?”

You suppressed a burst of laughter. “Are we seriously gonna talk about this now?”

“My bad,” he held his hands up in mock surrender, “is now a bad time?”

“A super bad–“ You screamed when a figure abruptly slid upside down beside you. Instinctively, the hand initially reaching for Miles’s face deflected from its path to punch the intruder in the face.

Ben swung slightly on his web, a curse pushed out of his mouth at the impact of your fist. He hadn’t registered you to be a big enough threat that he failed to block your sudden attack. If it had been Miles’s gloved claws swinging at him, he likely would have reacted. Miles smirked, almost feeling a sense of pride at the sheer strength of your punch. While you profusely apologized for doing something you didn’t mean to do, he grabbed your hand and ran down the alleyway. Mid-way through, he tugged harshly at your arm to bring you in front of him so he could scoop you up as he picked up his speed.

“I can actually run pretty fast,” you complained lightheartedly.

“For sure, baby,” he mused, his feet screeching for an abrupt right turn when he heard Ben’s voice calling after you both. 

However, just as he turned a corner, he was met with the wheel end of a motorcycle. Miles raised a hand up to grip the spinning tire. Before he could dig his claws through the material and pop it, he felt himself being pushed back by the heavy force, so he, tensing his arm muscles, attempted to deter the bike's path before the millisecond of him getting thrown back. His back hit a brick wall, knocking his senses everywhere for a brief moment as he haphazardly reached to cover your head. When he looked up, he was only met with the yellow shades of a woman in red. He huffed; if there was any indication that these people were getting fed up, it would be hitting him with a motorcycle.

“Jessica. You caught them!” Ben exclaimed as he emerged from the shadow, a hand massaging his chin that was pulled into a sneer. His voice was weirdly raspy as if he was playing up a character. “That stupid kid punched me. How dare they.”

“You showed up out of nowhere!” you retorted with an accusing finger pointed at him. “Also, shouldn’t you be able to block my punch? You’re Spiderman! You can’t block a punch from a teenager?”

“This kid is talking back to me. I feel a little distraught. I don’t know how to talk to children.”

“Shut up, Ben.” Jessica waved her hand before she turned to you both. She observed as Miles hopped back to his feet and glared at her. You looked less menacing, but your furrowed brows spoke caution and ready disobedience. She sighed. Another pair of moody teenagers. Miguel would not be happy about this. “Look, we don’t have time for this. You need to go back to where you belong.”

You pursed your lips in dismay and shook your head. Miles pushed you toward him when you circled your arms around his neck, and you slightly averted your gaze from the woman to avoid confrontation. Jessica squinted her eyes at the way you two held each other, a sudden inkling developing that she desperately wished to be wrong—you fell in love with someone from a different universe. She already felt bad enough about what had to be done to Gwen. There was no wrong in sticking to what she believed in. It was just unfortunate that she had to treat teenagers mercilessly to do so.

“You two can write letters to each other,” she said after gathering her thoughts and reverting to professionalism. Her job was to return all anomalies to their world, not limited to villains. Getting off her motorcycle, she slowly walked over to Miles, who didn’t get the sense of running away because of her regular speed. When she was within an arm’s length, she grabbed your arm. “We’re leaving.”

“No!” you refused and tried to shove her off, but she was persistent. 

“Dude, stop!” Miles attempted to step out of reach.

“Dude?” Jessica repeated with wide eyes. “Your mama taught you no manners?”

“His mom is great!” you exclaimed as you snatched your arm away from her grip. Your irritated eyes turned into a glare.

Miles nodded. “Yeah, she doesn’t throw a motorcycle at people’s faces.”

“Okay, I’ve had it.” Jessica laughed in disbelief. “I was trying to be nice, but that’s out the window now.”

Deciding to ignore her harsh tugs at your arm, you resorted to making sure you never let go of Miles instead. You intertwined your fingers that met at a point of his neck and buried your face to his shoulders, tuning out the world. Fear lingered in your chest like a haunting ghost, and it dimmed somewhat when you zeroed in on the feeling of Miles’s grip on your body. You were still here. He was still with you, holding onto you with a death grip. And you thought this might resolve itself eventually. Maybe these people would let you go if you two struggled enough together. Or perhaps it wouldn’t end well, but at least you held on as best as possible. At least you tried.

“Miles Morales.” Everyone paused to look behind Jessica’s shoulder. Miguel stood tall and alarmingly brutal just a few feet away. His dead eyes shifted from the boy to you, and he tipped his head into a brief greeting. “And you.”

Jessica took a deep breath; the real threat finally showed up. She released her hand from your arm and turned to face Miguel. There was something she wanted to say, not to deter Miguel from his plan to take you back to your Earth, but rather a few trying words to prevent him from executing any more brutality, especially when you were as harmless as a dove. The last thing Miguel should have on his conscience was inflicting injuries on a regular civilian. It would be good for him in the long run. Before she could open her mouth to speak, though, Miles buckled his knees and jumped up high. He was making a run for it again, but before his feet even touched the top of the wall separating the streets, his body barely turning away from anyone, a red string caught onto your wrist and snapped you out of his arms.

“¡Mierda!” 

He caught onto your ankles, engaging in a tug-of-war with Miguel that did nothing but put a strain on your limbs. Clicking his tongue, he gave one final hard tug at your feet before letting you go. You screamed, your body swinging toward Miguel at full speed while Miles, fully utilizing his boots, ran to sneak up behind the man and shoved him forward so Miguel would collide with your flinging body. Letting Miguel stumble in confusion and, out of instinct, reaching his arms out to catch you from a hard fall, Miles jumped forward and did the job for him. He secured you in his arms, wasting no time to bolt away. But Miguel was phenomenally quick to regain his senses, and his eyes glowed a bright red once he realized how difficult Miles was being.

He leaped forward, fangs and claws out to grab Miles by the back of his neck. As he swung the boy around, you dropped to the floor and knocked your forehead against the dirt. Miguel slammed Miles into the closest wall, denting the red bricks. He squeezes the poor boy's neck, not entirely cutting the air out of his system but suffocating just enough to make Miles feel outrageously uncomfortable.

"Ay, would you stop that, big man? You're gonna kill the kid!"

White webs shot out and attached to each of Miguel's wrists. He could recognize that godforsaken voice anywhere—Hobie Brown. Noticing the webs on his wrists, he groaned lowly in irritation. He might just snap (if he hasn't already, this madman) if he has to come across one more obstacle. Not allowing Hobie a second to pull him away, Miguel squeezed Miles's neck tighter to pull him out of the dented wall and threw him across the alleyway to the other side. The collision collapsed a hole through the bricks, creating an unnecessary ruckus.

"Now you've gone and done it," Hobie muttered, looking at the destruction. 

Your jaw dropped anxiously. You could faintly see Miles under the debris, showing no signs of getting up. He couldn't have died. Not only would that become a personal problem, you simply refused to believe a childhood superhero figure would kill someone you know and love. Scrambling to your feet with quickened breath, you took a weak step forward, his name hanging quietly at the tip of your tongue. When he didn't respond still, you tried to run towards him only to be pulled back at your wrist.

You looked behind your shoulder to find Miguel facing away from you. His grip on your wrist was firm, almost bone-breaking, to serve a warning. The same portal you saw him arrive in opened up, creating a gust of unnatural wind, and he was pulling you toward it. You attempted to break away, but he was much stronger. Nobody around seemed to be able to help you, not even Punk-looking Spiderman, so the only thing left to do was to hyperventilate for sympathy. This felt like an impending doom, where doom was actually just a few steps away on the other side of a portal. 

"Wait, please don't do this. I don't want to go home. I want to stay here!" you cried, a migraine developing from how you kept turning back and forth to look at Miguel and Miles. "Why are you doing this to me? Please stop, please!"

Sympathy rested in the hands of those who couldn't help. Miguel was as stoic as a rock to your pleads, and you somehow expected him to be. It was just heartbreaking to be proven right how difficult things could get. You kept sucking in deep breaths and forgetting to release them, causing your chest to expand awkwardly. You didn't know what to do, but you've got to try something! Anything! 

"Wait–I haven't said it! I haven't–" a deep breath–"I haven't said goodbye! I haven't said I love you! Let me say goodbye, and I promise–" another deep breath–"I promise I'll leave with you. Please. I promise, I cross my heart."

Miguel paused, and that mere action took everyone aback. He pursed his lips, a flicker of remorseful nostalgia showing in his eyes as he recalled the sudden death of his daughter. You didn't remind him of himself, but your wish was similar to what he would have asked for if he ever could re-experience the tragedy—he would want to say goodbye. He would like to tell his daughter he loved her. Heaving a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. At least you were cooperative; he felt he could be kinder in this case.

"Do not try anything stupid."

Once Miguel released your hand, you ran and fell on your knees next to Miles. Pushing the debris off his body, you scooped him onto your lap and caressed his face. Sniffing away a tearful voice, your voice ended croaking anyway when you called his name, "Miles?"

He opened his eyes meekly to see doubles. It took him a good minute to concentrate on your face, and he smirked when he did. The first instinct to take you and run away was defeated by a pained back and exhausted legs. He would not overestimate his ability, even through immense desperation. He wouldn’t get both of you far enough to not get served something worse. This appeared to be it.

”Mi cariño. Hey."

You laughed; you still had no idea what that meant. Miles refused to tell you, and he also got his mom in on it. But you figured it was a term of endearment. Miles took off his gloves to hold your hand, pressing your palm to his face as he stared at you. Somehow, he couldn't muster up the courage to cry despite the continuous drops in his chest. It could be a pride issue, or he didn't want you to see him suffer in your last minute together. Last for now, at least.

"You're going to leave me," he acknowledged.

"Not on purpose," you replied.

“I know,” he hummed. “You love me too much to do that.”

He had thought about it before. There must be people you were dying to go back to in your world. Not a classmate, no. Not even a friend. But a parent, perhaps? Family members? A pet, certainly? There has to be something waiting for you back in your home. There was no method for you to jump universes yet, but Miles figured if you were raging to go home, it would show. The fact that you blended into his life so casually and permanently, to a point where you memorized his schedules and knew where little trinkets were located in his apartment, told him you chose him over the life you used to have. Every day you woke up, you preferred a life with him in it rather than what you had before.

“You do love me, right?” Miles asked for assurance, his brows furrowing. “I didn’t hallucinate that.”

You squeezed his cheeks—gentle palms over bloodied skin, gentle palms over gentle skin. No more violence, not more crimes. He was but a boy you loved. He doubts your affection, and you would go home with him burned in the back of your head, finding his touch trapped beneath your flesh once stripped naked. From a universe away, Miles was all you would remember. Smiling, you peppered kisses over his brows, his eyes, his nose, and finally his mouth. When you pressed your forehead against his, you scrunched your nose and nodded. 

“I do love you, Miles.”

“Yay, score.” He chuckled, then his voice quieted down to a low hum only meant for you to hear. “I love you too, okay? Aqui y allá, mi corazón es tuyo.”

“Time to go, kid!”

You smacked your lips and puffed an exhale. Running your knuckles down the side of Miles’s face, you nodded to yourself as an encouragement to get on your feet. Your feet budged, then your knees, but instead of standing up, you only shrunk your body closer toward Miles. You willed your voice to say a farewell, but it couldn’t under the threat that this goodbye would be your absolute last one, so you cried instead. Fat tears silently rolled down your chin, caught on your tongue, and forced you to choke on them.

Jessica rubbed her eyes as soon as her voice dropped. She shouldn’t have let Miguel talk her into breaking the moment. Instead of moving, you only leaned your body down and pressed Miles to your chest, hugging him. A passive protest, perhaps. You were not directly struggling but weren’t listening to them, either. She eyed Miguel when he sighed in defeat. He wondered which one was worse—chasing a rebellious kid with Spiderman powers or this. This one sure made him feel like the bad guy if anything. 

He reached for a portable trap box and threw it toward you without hesitation. Before it could reach you, though, a web shot out and pulled it backward, causing the gadget hit Miguel in the face.

“You need to reconsider your morals,” Hobie said in a scolding tone as he walked up from behind everyone. “Trapping a kid in a box. Are you mental?”

He has been watching everything unfold from the shadows, and clearly, he realized the differences in how he saw you and how the other three saw you. Your lack of cooperation was a sign of rebellion, which could be considered so to a certain degree. But Hobie knew to consider other factors; he looked at the bigger picture. There was nothing you could do here, literally. One web shoot and you’d be caught, and you probably already knew that. Your so-called sign of rebellion was less chosen and more forced by the hands of emotional turmoil. You were about to be separated from the boy you were in love with. It would make sense that you were physically unable to be the person to walk away.  

If you were going to leave Miles Morales, you must be taken and nothing else. You stood by not leaving him intentionally. Miguel was going to do that for you, but Hobie decided to take a much gentler approach. Trapping you in a box when you’ve done nothing wrong was, as he said, fucking mental. 

“Don’t struggle, yeah? It makes me uncomfortable,” Hobie muttered as he reached for your waist and pulled you up. He slapped his hands on your shoulders dramatically and turned you around. “The portal is gonna feel doozy. You might vomit. If you feel like you’ll vomit, do it when we arrive at HQ. Preferably all over the floor. Just splatter it around like a sprinkler.”

“Huh…?” You did a double-take at what he said. “That’s disgusting.”

“Vomiting? Yeah. Vomiting on an establishment?” He hummed and tilted his head. “Debatable.”

“I’m sorry, but I really am having a hard time understanding you, Spiderman,” you said, your sobs increasing because you thought Hobie might take it as an insult. 

“Why are you apologizing? You haven’t said anything you shouldn’t,” he said, the panic in his voice unnoticeable. “Also, call me Hobie, not Spiderman.”

“I’m sorry,” you squeezed your eyes as if to produce more tears, “I know that’s your name. I just didn’t use it because we’re not close.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hobie mused, a hand slipping from the top of your head as a makeshift pat. “I’m more friends with you than those three over there.”

You let the faintest giggle of disbelief escape your lips and turned back to Miles. Hobie continued to pull you away from the floor and toward the portal, not taking a moment’s rest. You didn’t struggle against him; eventually, your hand slipped from Miles’s.

[saintsenara]

Forgive me, this is probably a completely stupid and utterly out of left field question. But, I noticed you mentioned something about Harry being like a feral cat and it got me thinking. We use animal descriptions as characterizations of characters—some of the most common ones being Lucius as a peacock, McGonagall as a Lion and Umbridge as a toad (which is incredibly disrespectful to toads, if you ask me)—and I wanted to ask, what animal characteristics do you think the characters possess?

thank you very much for this, pal, which i am going to use to indulgently yap about one of my favourite incidental character descriptions in the entire series...

dumbledore's comment in half-blood prince that tom riddle is like a magpie:

"And lastly - I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Harry - the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behaviour, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later."

dumbledore's choice of language here is significant. in britain and ireland, as in many places in europe, magpies - alongside other black-feathered corvids, like crows and ravens - are associated with various negative superstitions.

they have a reputation for liking - and, indeed, for coveting and stealing - shiny objects. they are said to be unlucky - and, in particular, to bring sorrow and foretell death. they are said to be malicious and petty - they were, i remember being told as a child, the only creature not to mourn while christ was crucified, and you also sometimes find the belief that they sat on the top of the ark and laughed as the floodwaters rose and drowned the world - and they are frequently associated with the devil. they are also said to be tricksters, who should never be trusted and who seek to deceive you.

many of the measures you are supposed to take to appease them are [and this fascinates me] pretty similar to those you're supposed to take to appease fairies - such as the widespread belief [which persists to this day; i was raised, albeit only half-seriously, to do it] that you must say an effusive hello to any solitary magpies you meet in order to prevent bad luck coming after you:

dumbledore's description of tom riddle as magpie-like is meant to call the long shadow of this superstition to mind. it adds a sinister subtext to his cache of objects, turning them from toys pinched from fellow orphans into macabre trophies and, of course, associating them with the horcruxes.

and it also - as the rest of dumbledore's memory of first meeting him does - serves to emphasise that the series views the eleven year old riddle as inextricable from the adult voldemort. even as a child, the only things he should be associated with are cunning, cruelty, misfortune, and death.

but magpies - again like crows and ravens - are greatly and unfairly maligned by all this folklore.

all three types of bird are extraordinarily intelligent. they perform elaborate rituals. they mate for life. they are territorial. they appear to feel emotions - and have even been observed appearing to mourn. they make a lot of noise and seem to like to talk to each other [lots of dialect names for magpies relate to the idea that they chatter, for example]. they like being treated well and hold grudges if they're treated unfairly [ravens, for instance, seem to be able to recognise if they've been cheated, and they sulk about it]. they're very stubborn. they are highly curious. their tendency to hoard objects is theorised to be because they want to show off their collections to fellow birds. they play. they can be quite affectionate in their own little ways. they give gifts.

crows and magpies are extremely common where i live - and ravens are fairly widespread in the surrounding countryside - and i'm enormously fond of them.

just as i'm enormously fond - even if dumbledore would prefer otherwise - of wee tom, in all his magpie-like, crow-like, raven-like glory.

by which i mean... he's clever, inquisitive, funny, a certified yapper, strangely loyal [one of his traits which really doesn't get enough attention in this fandom], prone to sulking, capable - in his only little way - of profound emotion, someone who conceives of himself as a gift-giver [he frames his relationship with several death eaters as a mutual gift-exchange, for example], prone to jealousy, a hoarder of special objects, and so on.

[he would have loved to go through his box of things one by one and tell dumbledore about them at length, and i'll die on that hill.]

there's also something quite bird-like in how several aspects of his quality of movement are described. while a lot of the language used for how he moves or talks is - unsurprisingly - intended to make the reader think of a snake, there's a slightly frantic, bouncy edge which comes into his movement when he's agitated - the eleven year old riddle leaps; the adult voldemort paces - which calls to mind the way birds move when not in flight, and his repeatedly-mentioned habit of observing people with his head tilted to the side - while it's undoubtedly intended to be snake-like - is a similarly avian mannerism.

these corvid vibes make it into everything i've ever written about him. i'm wedded to the headcanon that his patronus/animagus form would - much to his horror - be a magpie rather than a snake. and whenever i pair him with harry, their way of interacting always ends up having the exact dynamic seen here...

[terrence-silver]

Hey could i make a request please. Terry X fem reader, her former abuser comes back into her life to torment her all over again and Terry buts them in their place and destroys them physically, mentally, financially and when it's all over they'll thank him.

Jerry and Terry.

A story of disproportionate revenge; Terry Silver x Fem!Reader in the background (with an appearance from John Kreese).

---

Jerry is a man with a common office job and the accidental assonance of their names never fails to amuse Terry.

Infuriate him some.

Jerry and Terry.

Well, Jeremy, in actuality, just another information in the long mosaic line up covering everything he discovered about this schmuck, as much personally as through his sources, not that it was tremendously difficult seeing as how none of these common civilians were ever too much of a mystery anyway, granting him immense satisfaction in the hunt nonetheless — but the punk’s name might as well be worm or cockroach, because that’s in effect what he was, leaning over Colorado Street, in Pasadena, a two hour drive from LA, the July summer air after midnight still hot, the asphalt seeming to let off steams of a searing, stifling sensation, the cool breeze blown in from the Arroyo barely reaching the isolated steel ledge secluded from the buzz of the traffic; the city long since planned to put to preventive nets over the bridge — Terry should know because he personally funded the project with a generous donation and it was hilarious how life had a weird way of falling into place and connecting in the most bizarre ways on a bridge of occasional suicides where your ex was standing, hands in pockets, staring down into the dark depths of the river below, no such net in sight just yet except for a couple of signs issuing a warming that it was dangerous to lean over the railings, nothing separating him from the flowing abyss below. Him and the Mayor shook hands on the business venture two years ago. The news even reported on it with all the adulation in the world. Terry’s picture was in the paper. He was all over the news — long enough to distract from all his other ventures. But, it was one of those urban landscaping deals that would dawn on the news and then take years, perhaps decades, to be actually realized. Meant that Jerry could jump — and there would be nothing to save him from doing so. No cameras installed for security measures just yet either. Maintenance. Terry knew, because this was Terry’s city.

Terry’s country and State.

Nobody in sight right at this moment.

Merely a narrow concrete path along the bridge for pedestrians.

Terry, the stranger, snug in his leather jacket, not minding the heat, pretending to be an innocent bypasser.

Truth of the matter was, he ruined this man’s life and he developed the progression of the slow decay all along the way with great interest and like a cat eagerly eying a moving red string, Terry’s effortlessly led him here, deliberately, right to this very place, this very spot, on this very night, on this very bridge and the guy never even realized he had no say in any of it or that none of it was an accident. Jeremy got let off of work. Accused of embezzlement. Embroidered in schemes. In debt. Reputation ruined. Social circle gone. All that jazz. All the classics. And Terry did it all. Weaved it all. And it culminated in this. Do a flip, he thought to himself, approaching the man under the headlights, leisurely, acting like someone who accidentally stumbled upon a scene he wasn’t supposed to stumble upon, en route to somewhere else, haunting the city, stopping in his tracks, behind a steel pillar, watching Jerry climb over the ledge; He could say something now. It would've been expected. A hastily thrown in 'Hey, you there! Stop!' or 'Hey, you! Don't do it! Lets talk, man! Life can be good, actually. It can be good when you're not crossing Terry Silver, that is.' Something faux-poignant. Something mean. Something mocking. Something distracting or even infuriating to bait the man into arguing rather than hurting himself. Anything, so long as it distracts and causes the man to hesitate and think twice, but it’s only once Jerry’s heel is slipping over the edge of the pipe he was perched up on does Terry act, allowing himself to smile from where he's standing, seamlessly, feeling his mouth twitch upward, watching the shadow disappear over the railing into the darkness of the night. The next day, there's a suicide report briefly on the news and you never even catch it in the whirlwind of all the other crime circulating in the media. Your asshole ex, identified by his wallet and the documentation found in his soaked interior pocket, fished out by the loading docks. Just another statistic.

-"So, what he’d do?"-

John asked him on one occasion when Terry told him of his plans.

-"Nothing much."- Terry slings his arm over his driver seat leisurely, chuckling. He didn't treat you as well as you deserved? Tried to occasional get in contact with you again and stay on, quote-unquote 'good terms'. What did that even mean? Good terms? Wasn't that enough to warrant execution? Terry thought it was. It was a crappy, mediocre relationship and nobody had to put their hands on you for Terry to be convinced that deserved payback. Not to mention --- the said entanglement wasted your time. Time that would've been better spent with him if you weren't busy wasting it with some Jerry. Revenge. Reason for revenge, right there. They were parked near Griffith Observatory, in the embrace of a forested path, all zig-zags and steep rocks, the skyline of the city visible from a nearby slope, offering them both a view and sufficient privacy to talk. -"I just want him to die."- Terry confess bluntly, nearly cackling as the words rolled off of his tongue, sensing something exciting coil around in his gut like so many butterflies, seeing no reason to hide these things from his Captain after everything they've been through together and John gives him a lopsided, paternal smile, halfway critical, halfway entertained, like he was about to throw in the talk.

-"Terry…"-

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and Terry instantly protests.

Show mercy!? Why!? Since when were they the mercy-showing types!?

-"What? What!?"-

He finds himself whining slamming the palm of his hand against the backrest of the leather seats, feeling his own face furrow up. -"C’mon, Johnny!"- He sighs profoundly, rolling his eyes, annoyed and exasperated. This was some prime-time bullshit. -"Don’t you dare tell me that you never wanted anyone someone you loved loved before you to just, you know…"- He starts, trailing off, digging his teeth into his lower lip. Savoring the moment. -"Drop dead?"- He says it then, and it tastes so sweet, like caramel coated candy dipped in white powder. Terry knew all about Johnny nearly beating his beloveds Betsy's then-beau halfway to death on the parking lot of the Deli he worked in before the army. They were exactly the same, him and John Kreese. A Cobra doesn't tolerate competition. It's not in it's nature to. John says nothing. Almost as if contemplating that memory himself, looking off into the distance, pulling up the collar of his brown vest jacket on the passenger seat beside him, his face crinkling into a grim smile, not saying yes but not saying no either. Terry has the odd impulse to kick his feet up in the air in a flash of euphoria. -"We could always rough him up. Scare him. Hurt him, make him piss his pants and call it a day. I'm available for that."- John murmurs, the deep rumbling sound emanating from his throat recognized only as a suppressed chuckle. Terry grabs John by the shoulder and shakes him in excitement, halfway hugging him in joy. While kicking that Creature to a pulp did sound exciting it wasn't part of the plan. -"My man! Now we're talking! But, that would only martyr him!"- Terry lifts up his hands, engrossed in his own imagination. He felt more comfortable and content if this guy was just wiped out of existence altogether. Like, hit by a moving bus, perhaps. A guy that put his dick inside of you before being alive and well out there? Yeah. Unacceptable. -"No."- Terry says with a sense of looming doom. -"This is so final. There’s no coming back from it. And what’s best?"- He pauses slightly for dramatic timing, presenting the whole picture to John the way a storyteller would describe the synopsis of his newest magnum opus.

-"I’ll ensure he’ll do to himself."-

Six months into this special project and Terry never once put his hands on Jeremy. Could've. Itched to. But, he didn't. If Jerry deteriorated, it's because he ruined himself. With every drink, every cigarette and every sleepless, stressful night in tow. All Terry did was set events in motion and brought about the right environments for someone to start feeling profoundly unhappy.

-"I've put him through enough pain and now it's time to go to sleep."-

There can be only one, he almost halfway desires to add but he withholds at the last moment once he spots a shift on John's face --- that he didn't need any more convincing. Maybe it was an old habit --- an army habit --- but whenever Terry seriously wanted to end someone, he always came to Johnny first. To discuss the matter. Strategize. Get his greenlight from his Captain to go out into the field and terminate with extreme prejudice. That's how the hierarchy worked. Terry would do whatever he wanted anyway irregardless of John but he supposed he wanted to let him know. For old times sake. Reason why he invited him to meet here today. That and to gloat. -"Alright, Terry. If you say so."- John smiles that gruff smile of his, finally capitulating and Terry finally allows himself to breathe again after what seemed like an eternity of anticipation, letting himself be as jubilant as he wanted, turning the key in the ignition along with the steering wheel almost immediately, ready to get a move on, wasting not a second longer. There was a five star restaurant just down the road with their name on it. -"Of course I say so, Johnny! What I say is best!"- He exclaims, one hand on the wheel and another on the back of his John's neck, patting him triumphantly. Enough talk. Time to crack open the bottles before the big bang. You knew he was out with his oldest friend. You merely didn't know the context, is all. -"Reservations at five. Lets go grab that chow and celebrate!"- Terry practically shouts in euphoria, throwing a joyous glance at John, making a sharp U-turn. -"Ever ate a turkey stuffed with a chicken that's stuffed with a quail!?"- He snickers, knowing for a fact that Johnny would probably need everything in him not to roll his eyes at the option of orders, but regardless, he lived for treating his Captain to the finer things, just like he lived for removing each and every person from your past until nobody but him remains. Him, representing the future. -"I'd prefer plain good old bacon and some beer."- John mutters with a small, fox-like grin just like Terry knew he would, taking a relish in poking and prodding at him anyway. His Captain's wish is his command. They'd have so much to toast for today.

-"Done, baby!"-

Is all Terry says, laughing as he speeds away, down the woodland highway.

---

When you discover the news because he effectively tells you, deciding to control when and how the information reaches and that it might as well reach you from his own mouth, naturally, as expected, your mood turns gloomy. For days. Weeks. More time wasted and he despised it, deciding to immediately take you on a cruise of the Bahamas to distract you from it, but deciding tactically that you just had to ride it out. And you did. Week two on the deck of his yacht, eventually, slumped, looking out to the ocean, knees against your chest sitting on deck, you decide to speak. -"Terry, this will be such a weird thing to say."- You stutter, unsure of yourself and yet he's there, tracking your every movement and expression like a sonar radar. -"Maybe even meanspirited."- Will it now? Good. You were about to get whatever useless thing was still lodged in your system out of yourself. He's by your side, sitting beside you, looking at you intently, not wanting to miss a thing. -"But, I'm oddly glad I got out on time. That I met you."- You confess, holding back tears. Wasn't easy discovering that your ex was practically six figures in debt and wanted on several charges and that if you stayed with him, it would've reflected on you as well. Dragged you down with him. To the bottom of river Arroyo. That's what your pretty little head thought and Terry coos, massaging the edge of your scalp in gentle motions with his fingers, letting that beautiful brain below think whatever he wanted it to think. Oh, he loved you so. You were made for the greenest of pastures. For him. -"He would've destroyed his life as well as my own and I'm relieved the universe moved me out of the way when it did. That it brought me you. Thank you."- Ah. There it was. There were tears in your eyes flowing freely and you were thanking him, never even realizing you were unknowingly expressing gratitude that he effectively crapped all over your ex's life and led him to suicide. Stood by and watched while he did a triple Salto off of a bridge. The blood and the heat shoots down into his cock. How could it not? In any other situation he would've dragged Jerry's waterlogged swollen carcass fished out of the river at your feet and present it to you like a cat presents its owner a dead mouse. -"He was never bad towards me, exactly. But, he was never fully good either, you know? But, definitely not bad enough to deserve this."- Oh, Terry knew alright. It is just that he considered that your ex not being fully good towards you was a capital offense that found it's equivalent payback only in death. So, yeah. Punk deserved it.

Had it long time coming.

-"Is that fucked up and evil of me? To feel relieved I left on time? I feel so awful it's crazy! A man died!"-

A weak, nuisance man died, Terry wants to correct, but instead he settles into the act of collecting your tears with the tip of his fingers, letting none of them escape, feigning outrage, yet partially feeling said emotion in it's most genuine capacity; Jeremy died! Fuck sake, who cares! This guilt would evaporate and you'd find it fading overtime, because he'd be here to ensure it fades; there was almost nothing meaningfully positive for you to vindicate or romanticize and far too much crappy and mediocre to actually mourn or remember fondly. That was the good thing about measly, middle-of-the-road, middling, lukewarm individuals; too grey to be turned into saints and too grey to be turned into devils. The only thing one could do with them, whether one wanted to or not is to forget them. Where he could easily replace them and everyone else you ever trifled with, usurping their very vacancy and every emotion sent their way, be it good or bad. All of it. Only his. -"Fucked up!? Huh!? No way! It's not! Are you even listening to yourself!?"- He shakes his head vigorously, letting his disapproval grow visible, pulling you close, until the side of your body melts with his and you're effectively there, drying up your tears in his embrace, the open sea breeze against you. Terry grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him. -"You wanted a normal, stable life! Of course you did! Who wouldn't!?"- Terry explains, separating his gaze from you for but a second to point the tip of his nose out towards the blue expanse of the sunlit Atlantic.

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 29 (Final)

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Throws some fluffing feels in your face and then closes the door like a boss. 

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​​​​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

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“Wearing a hole in the floor isn’t going to make the time go by any faster,” Y/N reminded Dean as she sat on the counter, nibbling on a saltine cracker, and watching her boyfriend literally pace the kitchen in front of her. 

“Sorry,” Dean grumbled as he forced himself to stop pacing, and after a brief moment of deliberation, decided to just take a seat at the kitchen table.

Not fifteen feet away, in the bathroom that adjoined the hallway, were two pregnancy tests sitting snugly under a box on top of the sink. The test took only three minutes to show the results, it had so far been exactly 1 minute and 34 seconds since she placed the boxes over the top of the test once she’d taken them, and honestly, it felt like it had been one year and 34  days instead. 

Especially to Dean. That much she could tell. He wasn’t exactly hiding it very well at the moment.

“Dean, don’t get your hopes up, okay? It could just be a stomach bug, and I don’t want you to get disappointed,” Y/N said as her gaze wandered back to the red reamed clock on the wall; checking the time for what felt like the hundredth time in about 40 seconds. 

It was true. All signs and symptoms pointed to pregnancy. They’d stopped all preventative measures that could deter conception, but that didn’t mean she’d gotten pregnant yet. She was prepared to have to try for quite a while to even get pregnant. She’d taken birth control for years, and only God knows how long it was going to take for her body to hormonally be ready to conceive. 

“Trust me sweetheart, my hopes aren’t up,” Dean assured her, reaching for her to come and sit down in his lap.

Carefully, she pushed down and off of her perch and made her way over to where he was sitting, slipping into his hold with ease. 

“It will happen when and if it’s meant to. This is kinda one of those things we have little control over. We can do things to help it along, and there are multiple avenues to try, but after everything in life we’ve been through, I’ve learned nothing ever comes easy, or right away; so I have no expectations, other than making sure you’re okay,” Dean continued, placing a kiss to the top of her forehead. 

She melted into the warmth that seemed to always radiate from Dean’s body. Home, no matter where they were in life, no matter where life would take them, this was it, Dean was home. Not a roof and four walls. 

“I’m feeling a lot better,” Y/N admitted. “I’m sorry I scared you earlier.”

Dean’s grip tightened around her waist, attempting to hold her as close to him as humanly possible. “It’s okay, it’s my job to take care of you when you’re not feeling well. I just wish you would have told me you weren’t feeling great sooner; I would have never gone into work this morning. I didn’t know this was something that had been kinda going on for days. You’ve got to communicate with me sweetheart.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Y/N said, burying her face in the crook of his neck. 

Here she sat with the tables turned, what felt like not so long ago, she was the one telling him that HE needed to communicate with HER when he wasn’t feeling well. God they had come so far, especially Dean. 

Just since his accident, he’d proven not only friends, family, but doctors and even himself wrong. He’d far surpassed any expectation any of them set for him. He’d done the one thing Chuck and the universe had tried so fucking hard to not allow him to do -  he’d created a life for himself. He’d created a home. He was doing what it was he always wanted to do. He was happy. An ending he never thought he’d deserve, and one Y/N didn’t really feel that she deserved either, but here they were. He should be dead. By all rights, accounts and reasons, Dean should have never lived to see the outside of that barn, but here he was, alive and well. Scared, battered, broken in some ways, but still here. Still alive. 

“Did you ever think we’d be here?” Y/N questioned, and Dean swallowed thickly above her. 

“No. No I didn’t. I thought I’d be dead by now. I never saw life the way it was not. It was just a distant dream. It still feels like a dream some days,” Dean admitted, and he wasn’t wrong, it did feel like a dream some days. If it weren’t for the hard days, the days that tested the both of them on every emotional and physical level, she’d think they were both dead and in heaven, just playing this thing out, but nope, this was real, this was their life. As fake as it felt, it was real. 

“Me either,” Y/N voiced after a moment. “I had given up on anything even remotely similar to this. Never even tried to achieve it.”

“Do you regret it?” Dean asked, his deep rumble barely above a whisper in the silence that hung heavy in the kitchen. “Do you regret giving up your life as a hunter for this? For me?”

Y/N sat up straight as he would allow her with his firm grip on her waist, and placed a gentle kiss to his lips before leaning her forehead against his own. “Not even for a second. I’d do it all over again, no matter how many times I had to live through everything we both went through, I’d do it with a smile on my face as long as it ended right here, right now.”

“Me too,” Dean agreed. “I’d walk right into that barn every time, go through every ounce of pain and suffering, just as long as we ended up right here in this kitchen at the end.”

The sound of her alarm going off seemed much louder than it was -coming from her phone in the  pocket of her sweat pants;  she’d have jumped off of Dean’s lap had he not been holding onto her. But as the shock of the sudden loud sound waned, the heaviness set in with a rock of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Here it was. The moment of truth. There were only two answers waiting on the other side of that door, but one would change their lives forever. Suddenly, she found herself too scared and nervous to move. 

“Do you want me to go and look for you?” Dean questioned when she didn’t move, just sat up ramrod straight in his lap. 

“No, no I wanna do it, just… stay here, okay?” 

Dean nodded as she stood on shaking legs, and even though she didn’t turn around to see him, she could feel his pale green gaze on every step she made towards the door. 

A million and a half memories flooded her mind as she opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, looking at the boxes that were still set on top of the little tests. Memories of pain, so much pain. Pain of Dean never even noticing her. The undesirable pain she felt as she stood there and watched him stuck to that goddamn poll, his life quickly bleeding away. Pain as she watched him struggle to recover. The fear that he’d never be the same again, if he ever woke up at all. The pain of learning how to let him go, so that he could recover on his own, and move from caretaker to partner. The moment they moved in this house. Every step that they made that led them to this moment. She could still see it. It was all still so clear. A horrible ending that they had taken, and rewritten for the good. What could have been a disaster, now could possibly be the start of a whole new life. One that Dean had always wanted. One that she had always wanted. 

She felt as if she was having an out of body experience as she lifted the box off of the text, eyes closed; breath held, almost too afraid to open her eyes and see that they were negative, which she had convinced herself that they were. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered to herself. “It’s all gonna be okay. No matter what the results are, we’re gonna be okay.”

With every ounce of courage she had left in her body, Y/N forced her eyes open, and her focus to shift down to the counter, where the sticks were. 

At first, she thought she was hallucinating, surely she had to be, because one test stood proud and pink with two lines on the result screen, and the other the word YES + . She was pregnant. 

Subconsciously, her hand fluttered down to her stomach as shock quickly made way for disbelief, and disbelief to something that she could only describe as pure joy. She had a little life, a little piece of Dean Winchester, the man she loved more than her own life, growing right now inside of her. A piece of him that no matter what, she’d get to keep forever. 

Grabbing both tests, she quickly made her way out of the door, and back towards the kitchen, where Dean was still waiting at the table, his head buried in his hands.  

Most people would have probably wanted to ‘surprise’ him with something cute. Some way of telling him that he was gonna be a Dad, but not her. They’d waited long enough for this moment, and she wasn’t going to make him wait a minute longer for the sake of theatrics. 

Dean’s head lifted as he heard her footsteps approaching, and he was on his feet reaching for the test before she could even make it to him. His hand shook as he took the two test from her hand, and looked down at them. The same emotional turmoil running over his face as had hers only a moment ago, which sent a flood of emotions streaming down her face, or maybe it was the hormones?

“You’re pregnant?” he stated after a while-  as if he needed to say it to make it real. 

“You’re going to be a father, Dean Winchester,” she said, her voice choking with emotions, as he wrapped his arms around her squeezing her tightly as his own emotional dam broke, and years of pain, rejection, doubt, and fear of never having a life of his flooded down his own face, all while he clung on to her like she was his lifeline. She was honestly, and he was hers. 

Life as they knew it would never be the same. Things had forever changed. Dean had a family of his own now. A real family. This was the first day of their forever. 

Y/N’s eye’s lifted to the doorway of the kitchen, where had Dean not been holding her up, her feet would have given out from under her as the clear ghost of John Winchester and Mary Winchester stood, arm and arm watching the pair. Jack and Cas stood not far behind in the hallway, along with Bobby, beaming proudly at him. 

“All of Heaven had to come and see this moment,” Jack said as both stood there in shock at the faces of family and friends long gone. 

“We’re all so proud of you son, and when that boy of yours is born, he’s going to do great things,” John said, pride beaming from his face. “You did good.”

Just as suddenly as they had appeared, in a blink of an eye, they were all gone. Leaving nothing but an empty room, and the promise of a son that Dean had always wanted. She couldn’t think of a better, more fitting ending for Dean Winchester. The righteous man that might have saved the world on multiple occasions, and he saved her. He’d saved her in way’s she’d never stop thanking him for. He was her constant. Her comfort, and now, the father of her child, and the man he could finally call himself proud of. Scared. Battered. Bruised. Broken. But proud of the man, father, and one day husband he’d become. 

The End.

Forever:

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[darkonekrisrewrite]

Something I've noticed is that MHA and MLB (miraculous ladybug) is that they are similar in how their protagonists are blamed for the wrong things.

Like Deku constantly injures himself because no one taught him how to use his quirk, and is over a decade behind his peers, gets blamed for that. Or how the series seemingly gives him equal responsibility for him and Le Million not saving Eri right away, when he wanted to, Mirio overruled him, meaning he wouldn't get the support needed to push this and he's supposed to listen to his upperclassman.

Yet he isn't given any blame for his lack of critical thinking skills when it comes to heroes and morality. If they are a hero they must be good, and villains must want to be perfect heroes for the law, to be redeemable.

Endeavor says to his face that he only took him and Bakugou on to manipulate Shoto, after Shoto has told him he bought & abused his mom, and himself. Deku "oh it's so good that you are working on forgiving your dad," right in the same room as Natsuo who isn't. Then tells Dabi "Endeavor is such a good hero and mentor, you have no right to be upset"

Let me know if you want me to go more into the parallels of this

Yeah, Deku getting blamed for not knowing how to use his (very new) Quirk was wrong.

At that time, it made me feel bad for Deku, because anyone could see that those circumstances weren't really his fault.

It was the fault of UA and All-might for not giving Deku extra time and help in mastering OFA, even if there was some attempts at instruction, none of them ever cut Deku any slack for having completely understandable difficulties.

Not a very logical line of thinking...

The Eri situation was a little different because while Deku is supposed to listen to his senior for what to do, he did let a clearly scared little girl go off with overhaul, a man they knew was very dangerous.

Basically putting his orders above the little girl's safety, I didn't like that.

(Because Deku could have run off with Eri and Mirio could have taken overhaul out by himself if there was a fight.

Because if Mirio was able to fight for a while against overhaul in a fully enclosed space (something that heavily compliments overhaul's quirk), while he was quirkless...Mirio could have curb stomped overhaul while protecting any civilians that may or may not have been close.)

That was where my problem with Deku started I think.

Because Deku doesn't have anything to criticize about hero society or the victims it creates.

He says that he needs to extend a helping hand, not giving a single thought to the idea of preventative measures to stop people from falling to villainy in the first place.

And apparently, not giving them any real mercy or help either, other than a fist bump at their death.

All for the sake of protecting the "innocent" people who created the villains and who would have laughed at Deku's own suffering as a quirkless less than a year ago (canonically).

These are meant to be the ideals of the "World's Greatest Hero" btw...

So I guess it makes sense that Deku wouldn't be blamed or called out for this, since he's just doing what hero society needs to be "Normal" again.

Deku didn't even save the world technically.

Because if the same problems that created the Lov still exist, then all Deku really did was beat at a rising Ocean Tide, no different than what All-might was doing during his time.

As of yet, nothing has actually been accomplished or achieved.

All the endeavor and Dabi stuff ties into this too.

At this point, I don't think Deku will ever have any real negative feelings towards hero society, and thus never change anything.

(Despite all this, I'm still hoping shigaraki is alive and Deku conflicts with him more to prove me wrong 🤞🍀)

And yeah, more parallels would be cool 👍 thanks for the ask!

[delawaredetroit]

Hi! I love your BNHA analyses! But I do have to say one thing about the licensing exam.

Your points about Todoroki would hold up... If most of what the manga is trying to communicate about his character hadn't already been resolved.

Todoroki already learned a) not to underestimate his opponents and b) to respect his teammates and fellow hero students. He learned the latter during the Sports Festival when his move against Sero drained him and during his fight against Midoriya. Not to mention the incident with Stain showed him (through Ida's situation) the importance of relying on and trusting others. And for the latter, he learned during the final exam. He took charge, messed up, and had to face the reality that someone else (Yaoyorozu) knew better and that he had to follow that someone's lead.

These faults were already acknowledged and addressed. There was no reason to do so again during the licensing exam. In fact, I would argue that it kept his character stagnant. His character didn't improve from the remedial courses- only Bakugo's did because that entire arc was about him, not Todoroki- and was left out of a major arc. This is also supported by him and Inasa- the reason he failed- barely interacting during the remedial courses. The only reason he failed was so that Bakugo wasn't the only one to do so. Because Horikoshi can never let Bakugo be the worst or fail at something/face consequences on his own.

(I would also point out that the way he failed and what you listed had nothing to do with one another. The only reason Todoroki failed was because Inasa held a grudge. He didn't actually do anything wrong except for engage with him for a little too long. And who wouldn't? This kid he barely knew and doesn't remember him is attacking him for nothing. How is he supposed to do the task at hand when another participant- that would irl be a fellow hero- is purposely sabotaging him?)

I agree with most other things you say, but Todoroki failing was something that shouldn't have happened. He was already humbled and learned better

I knew one of these would end up in my inbox eventually after I wrote this post.

Shouto has had a problem with cooperating with others since the beginning of the manga. An established character flaw like that doesn't go away over night just because he starts to address it.

It's true that he learned not to look down on his peers in during the sports festival. And he was able to work with Izuku and Iida during the Stain Arc, but Izuku was one of the closest relationships he had and Shouto trusts him with his life. After much handholding and being told directly what he was doing wrong, he was able to work together with a classmate who deeply respected him (Momo) during his midterm.

That's improvement for sure. But it in no way meant Shouto had the ability to work with people he didn't see everyday or who were hostile to him in particular.

As I've said, Shouto likely would have failed the midterm if he had been paired with someone else who also had difficulty with teamwork like Bakugou. That's likely the only way Shouto would have learned this lesson early enough to prevent a failure at the provisional licensing exam.

2. Whether Shouto's character improved from the remedial course arc is a separate question. I'd be inclined to agree with you that that arc was mostly for Bakugou and Inasa's sake.

3. On the issue of the reasons I listed and the reason he failed having nothing to do with one another.

Shouto made a series of mistakes during the licensing exam.

First, he immediately rejected cooperation in the first stage of the exam and bulldozed through it without thinking about what the purpose of this test was and what they were measuring. Because he is quite skilled, he still passed the first round anyway. But since he didn't consider the big picture at all in the first half, it put him at a disadvantage in the second half of the exam.

Second, he stirred up conflict between the tests by confronting Inasa (this was unintentional obviously, but this was the effect of his behavior).

Third, he rejected cooperation with Inasa during the second phase of the exam from the second he appeared, though that was a mutual error for both himself and Inasa.

Fourth, he was significantly distracted by a personal matter and got into an argument with another hero in the middle of a fight with a villain.

Fifth, Shouto and Inasa almost severely injured a fellow examinee who was incapacited and was in need of help during a rescue exercise.

To some extent, it feels unfair because the HSPC changed the scoring of the exam to weigh cooperation more heavily after Kamino and because UA doesn't value this as highly (see Bakugou not failing after attacking his teammate in the midterm), but there is an internal logic to it. Shouto was lacking in a main skill they were testing.

4. On how anyone would react to Inasa's provocation

It's not that Shouto's reaction isn't understandable, but he was in a licensing exam to become a type of first responder. People say and do dire things in emergency situations, and sometimes they make it personal. Yes, he shouldn't have taken the bait and he should have continued to focus on the task at hand because that was his job in this exam. He was asking for a license to save people's lives, so more can and should be expected of him. What Shouto demonstrated here was that he prioritized arguing over a personal matter over rescuing the civilians in this exercise. Of course they were going to fail him.

Again, Shouto is one of my favorite characters in BNHA, but he earned this L.

[mania-sama]

Trick or treat!!! 😁

hello, dear! welcome to my humble abode! dig into this bowl to get some candy… ah! you’ve got a fanfiction line explanation! a rare gem indeed.

this excerpt is from if you need me, dear, i’m the same as i was:

He’s on the court before Sakusa is. He’s across the net before Argentina can celebrate their victory. He’s grabbing Oikawa’s shoulders tightly before anybody else can get to him. Iwaizumi stares into his estranged best friend’s glassy, confused, uncomprehending eyes. He’s shaking Tooru’s shoulders, desperate as he yells: “You are having a heart attack!” And Hajime is fifteen and three-quarters, learning emergency CPR for his new part-time job as a lifeguard. He thinks that it could come in useful. He thinks that saving people isn’t a job he would mind. And Hajime is sixteen, watching Tooru recover from his surgery, and he realizes he will never play professional volleyball. He wants to help people like Tooru forever — people who want to dedicate their whole life to a sport but have a body that strives to prevent their goal every step of the way. He can’t do that as a player on the court. And Hajime is seventeen, trying to convince Tooru to eat a sandwich even though he is adamantly insisting he isn’t hungry. He discovers sports medicine isn’t just about the physical ills and pains. To be a good athletic trainer, he has to see every aspect of a player’s well-being, and that includes their mental health. And Hajime is eighteen, standing alone in the airport and experiencing loss for the first time. In order for Oikawa to grow as an athlete, he has to cut away the weed strangling his roots. Hajime lets him without complaint. This is part of his new career, after all; if he helps athletes succeed, they would all, one day, leave his medical care. And Hajime is twenty-seven, losing his best friend for a second time at the end of the first set of chest compressions. At least three ribs have cracked under his pace and pressure. He pinches Tooru’s nose, pries his jaw open, and breathes air into his lungs twice. His ring and pinky finger automatically find his pulse point. Nothing. Seeing that no medical equipment has arrived, he starts the second set of chest compressions. Oikawa’s bones creak and give way under his desperation. He knows CPR like the back of his hand; if the ribs are breaking, that means it’s working. It doesn’t get rid of the panic and pain at the thought of how much damage he’s doing to Oikawa’s body. The paramedics are a second too late with their LUCAS device at the end of the last compression. He dives down for another round of mouth-to-mouth, recognizing, faintly yet viscerally at the same time, that Oikawa’s soft skin is pale and rapidly cooling. At the junction between his neck and jaw, Iwaizumi searches for a heartbeat. Breathe. Nothing. Breathe. Nothing.

this entire segment, as i intended, is meant to be read completely out of breath, gasping and choking on every single word. it’s meant to feel like the world is rushing and crumbling around you. it’s meant to be read at the speed of lightning, each word cackling and breaking. the periods in the paragraphs are merely suggestions; every paragraph starts with an and because the last sentence, the last paragraph never really ended.

it’s meant to be, in all intents and purposes, to be one continuous run-on sentence. unfortunately, that would be rather bad form for me as a writer. i don’t have the skill to pull it off just yet.

when you get to the “breathe. nothing. breathe. nothing.” it’s not supposed to be a gentle breathe. it’s supposed to be a gasp, panicked and hurting and desperate. it’s a cry, a sob of pain. medically, he’s doing a very measured recovery breath to force oikawa’s lungs into the action of breathing. mentally, it’s everything but measured. the “nothing” is crying. the actual sob with tears. nothing! he is screaming, knowing that his best friend is fucking dead, but he is saying nothing as he dives into another breath.

it should be read, more accurately, as: “gasp. please, please. don’t leave.”

and this all really stems from the line directly before this excerpt:

“Holy shit,” Iwaizumi whispers, all of the air leaving his lungs.

everything just rushed out of him. he has nothing left. and then, the buzzer sounds with this:

Sixteen to fourteen. Team Argentina wins Olympic gold.

that’s the last line of clarity before everything shatters. literally, the sound breaks with the buzzer as the entire world falls away and rushes at the same time.

this is probably my favorite part of the entire fic, one of my favorite things that i have ever written to date. i put a lot of care into this. everything i wrote came from the heart, and i hope how i intended it to be read translated well.

[the-haunted-office]

It's a strange thing, walking up all these stairs and never feeling tired. Never running out of breath. Never feeling hungry or thirsty or any kind of fatigue.

Never reaching the end of the stairs, either.

Thursday had been at these stairs for at least the last two or so hours - by her estimate, which, admittedly, had never been her best skill, estimating things, that is, there's a very good reason why she never "eyeballed" recipes or tried to guess her clothing size without getting out the measuring tape - and not so much as a hint had made itself known to her. By her best guess - again, not her best skill - these stairs went on infinitely, which would not have bode well for either her back, knees, lungs, or her patience back in the living world.

In this world, though? This dimension? Whichever dimension she was in. Assuming it was anywhere but "The Narrative". In this place, everything felt fine. She felt fine, And she felt like everything was going to be fine. Even climbing these endless stairs was going to be fine. Sure, she might be climbing them forever, but it was all going to be fine, for one simple fact:

She was here, and not there.

She didn't hurt anymore. Her pain was gone. All of it. Not just the pain in her knees, her back, and her lungs. But the pain in her heart, her head, her soul. All gone.

Well. Not gone, but sort of... soothed. Like having aloe gel spread over it. Some kind of gentle touch laid over top of it saying, It's going to be okay. So long as you keep ascending these stairs, you will be okay.

And so, that is what she did. She kept ascending these stairs, in pursuit of that promise of no more pain.

She'd been in pain for so long. It had settled over her like a heavy blanket, weighing her down, preventing her from even getting out of bed on some days. Nobody seemed to notice. They only saw the happy, smiling Thursday. That's all anybody wanted to see. And what's worse - whenever anyone caught a glimpse of the pain beneath the smile, nobody seemed to care. They'd see it, but they'd all turned away. Even her closest friends would turn away. I didn't see that. Anyway, let's get back to focusing on me! You're my funny friend! You're supposed to be making me laugh, not worry about you! That's how it all felt to her, anyway.

None of them are here now, though. It's just her, this staircase, and no pain.

How are you... doing... Thursday?

Thursday looks up, and smiles. "Good. I feel good. Better," she says, and for once - perhaps for the first time in a long time - she means it. Actually means it.

Good... We are... pleased... to hear that...

Thursday doesn't answer. She just keeps walking, and smiling. This is nice. This tower. These stairs. The Narrative. How could she have ever thought They meant to harm her? To make her miserable?

How would you like... to stay here... with Us?

She stops walking, pondering over the question. Stay here? With The Narrative? What all would that mean?

"What all would that mean? If I stayed here with You?" she inquires, shifting her footing on the stairs so as not to slip on all the brick dust coating them.

You would become... a part... of Us... A part of something... greater than... yourself... but also... something... that is simply... yourself...

Thursday blinks. She definitely did not understand a word of that. Or rather, she understood the individual words and all their individual meanings. She even understood all the words put together and the sentences they formed. But the meaning that was meant to be conveyed there? Nada.

The Narrative must have seen this in her expression, because They clarified.

Thursday... do you really... not recognize... who you are... speaking to...?

She blinks again.

...Look outside... Really look... outside...

Having no choice but to obey, Thursday skips up the next few stairs to the nearest hole in the wall and pushes a few bricks out of her way, widening the hole a little more so that she can fit enough of herself out of it to get a good enough look. She briefly notices how the bricks she pushed out float there rather than falling in one direction or the other, but what really grabs her attention is not the bricks, nor the swirling rainbow, color-changing clouds, nor the finite needle of the tower threading the sky in both directions...

...but all the staircases... staircases everywhere... utterly filling the sky, everywhere, in all directions, up, down, sideways, in loops, inside out, in impossible ways she can't even describe.

And walking them, walking all the staircases... her... herself.

"What the fuuuuuck..." she mutters in breathless gasp to herself, taking it all in.

It's too much to be taken all in.

"Where..." she rasps, clears her throat, tries again. "Where are they- me- we- you know what, where is everybody going?"

Ascending... Becoming a part... of Us... Your Narrative... That is who... and what... you are... Thursday... And who... and what... I am... Didn't you... know?

"This-..." Thursday says, biting back her confusion and her brain exploding long enough to sit down on the brick dust-covered stairs. A minute ago she'd been feeling at utter peace. Now she was feeling in utter pieces. "...I need a minute."

Take your time... dear Thursday... We have... the rest... of... eternity...

[warriorofdragons]

Way To A Man’s Heart

Word Count: 1.5k

Cole wraps his arms around you and rests his chin in the crook of your shoulder, “MmHm! This smells good already!” You laugh as you continue to brown the meat in the pan, “Well, I know how much you love pasta.” It was date night and you were cooking Cole’s favorite food for the both of you at your place. “Have you ever made spaghetti for me before?” he asks. You’re thoughtful for a moment, “No, I don’t think I have. Usually you’re the one to cook pasta.” “Well, I do love pasta,” Cole chuckles in your ear. You giggle, “I’ve noticed.” You set the spatula aside for a moment and pick up another utensil and stir the pasta you’re boiling the next burner over. Cole sidesteps with you, still glued to your backside. You turn your head to look up at him as best you can, “Cole, if I trip-“ you laugh. “Well, I’ll be here to catch you, Sweetheart,” he says simply. You laugh again and set your utensil back down and then pick up one of your spices and season the meat again. Then you start to turn away from the stove, but Cole’s embrace prevents you from getting very far, so you gently pat his arms, “Okay, I’m going to need you to let go of me for this one,” you say. Cole relinquishes his hold on you and you turn towards your counter where you already have your other spices, a tomato sauce can, and a glass bowl waiting for you. You open the can of tomato sauce first and pour it into the bowl and then you measure out your spices and add them to the mix. Cole leans on the counter and watches you work, a lovesick grin on his face. You stir the seasonings together and then you take out a small cutting board from your cabinet drawer and grab a knife, “Hmm…Cole could you get me about a dozen Oregano leaves?” “Oh, sure,” he says striding towards the fridge and opening it. “Oh no, Cole, I meant from my Oregano plant, it’s in the windowsill,” you direct, pointing toward the other room. Cole’s eyes widen and he turns to you with a smile on his lips, “You’re growing Oregano?!” he asks both surprised and delighted. “Mmhmm,” you nod, “I need you to pluck them and then wash them for me, please?” Cole leaves the room to find your Italian Oregano plant and you take down a bowl and then fill it with cool water from the kitchen sink. Next, you turn the meat over and chop it into finer pieces and that’s when Cole returns with the requested Oregano leaves. “I don’t know why I never thought of growing my own Oregano myself, seeing as how much pasta I eat,” Cole says. “Fresh Oregano definitely makes it taste way better,” you say. “Oh man my mouth’s all watering just thinking about it,” Cole says placing his left hand on his stomach. You hold up the bowl of water for him and Cole drops the leaves into it. “Now, what am I supposed to do here?” he asks looking to you for instruction. “Just give them a rinse and swirl them around to make sure there’s not any dirt or anything on the leaves,” you say. Cole does as you say and then you take the bowl from him and drain the water and remove the leaves. Then, you place the leaves onto your cutting board and proceed to chop them into tiny pieces. Once you’re satisfied with that you brush them from your cutting board with the back of your knife into your sauce bowl and then stir them all together. You check to make sure your meat’s cooked all the way through and then turn down the heat slightly and stir in the sauce. You bring all of it to a boil and then turn the heat down to simmer and cover the pot with a lid. You check on your pasta again and it’s almost done.

“Want me to set the table?” Cole asks. “Yes, thank you, Cole,” you say. Cole takes some plates from the cabinet and begins setting a place for you both at your little table while you clean up your counter space. Cole also sets out a couple of glasses for you both and even fills yours for you after he asks what you want to drink from the refrigerator. You hear a subtle click and turn to glance over at him and realize that he’s also lit the candles on your table with his lighter. Your timer for the spaghetti finally goes off and you don the oven mitts and remove the pasta from the stove and then step over to the sink where you have a colander waiting. You pour the hot water out of the pot and into the colander until only the spaghetti noodles remain. Then you turn to look for a place to set the pot down, but find that you didn’t set a pot holder down on the counter yet. Cole sees your struggle and swiftly finds one for you in the drawers and sets it down in front of you. “Thank you, Sweetheart,” you say after placing the pot down and giving him a kiss. You turn off both burners on the stove and then set another pot holder down and move the sauce pan to it. Cole more than happily brings his plate to you and you fill it with spaghetti noodles. “Is that enough?” you ask. “A little more?” he asks. You give him another scoopful of pasta and then pour the sauce over the pasta. He returns to the table and then to your surprise brings you your own plate on his return trip to the counter. You fill your plate and set it back down in your spot and then you uncover the plate of garlic bread you’d made earlier and move it to the table between you and your boyfriend. You take your seat as Cole immediately digs into his spaghetti, twirling his fork in it and shoving it all into his mouth. You laugh and then take a bite of your own food. “Mmmhm!” he exclaims, mouth still full. He takes another huge bite before finally getting any actual words out, “Darlin’, this is so good! Your spaghetti’s even better than mine,” he praises. You blush, “I don’t know about that, Cole, you make some pretty good pasta.” “Mmm, I’m serious,” he says taking another bite. You giggle at him, “Slow down, Cole, you don’t need to eat so fast, there’s plenty more where that came from.” He continues to chew and even closes his eyes savoring it. And when he finally swallows and opens his mouth to speak again, “True, and this is so good I’m definitely going back for seconds.” You laugh, “That’s sweet, but you always go back for seconds.” “Only when it’s your cooking, Sweetheart,” Cole says. You raise an eyebrow. “Okay, your cooking And pasta,” Cole relents. You turn your attention back to your dinner and take a couple of bites of spaghetti  yourself before breaking off a piece of garlic bread. “It’s just you know what they say?” Cole says letting the question hang in the air. You look back up at him as you munch on your bread, waiting for him to finish. But you only find him smiling fondly at you with a soft look in his eyes. “No, what do they say?” you ask. “That the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Cole says sweetly. You smile and shake your head, “Oh, you,” you say and reach out across the table for him. His right hand meets you halfway and he takes your hand in his. You stare up into his eyes as his thumb strokes over your knuckles, you then lean forward over the table and Cole rises to meet your lips. You hum as you part from him and Cole settles back down into his chair. “Hmm, garlicky,” he says licking his lips. “Oh, sorry,” you say covering your mouth with your other hand. “Oh, Honey, you’re fine. In fact it’s reminding me that I haven’t had a chance to try the garlic bread you made yet,” Cole says. He then picks up a piece of garlic bread from the plate in front of you both and bites into it. “Mmm,” he hums in approval once again. You laugh lightly, “Well, I don’t know about food being the way to someone’s heart, just that I know you’re already in mine.” Cole gasps quietly and his face softens to a look of awe, before he smiles so wide it crinkles his eyes, “You’re in my heart too, Honeysuckle,” he says, “And it didn’t require you making me pasta.” “Although I’m sure it didn’t hurt,” you tease gently. Cole reaches up and cups your face in his hands and then he leans over the table and kisses you again.

[balkanradfem]

Sharing what I've learned in my neck (recovery) journey!

I've been trying out lots of exercises, and I mean, I've been through every youtube video showing any kind of neck-related thing. The most exercises hurt so much I would often end up curled up on the floor crying in pain after trying once, so I didn't want to try those anymore.

Then I thought that, since I've been eating very poorly this summer (bad garden year) I very likely am lacking some minerals in my body, and maybe that's making the pain worse. It actually is getting worse, I can't turn my head sideways anymore without pain. I watched a few videos on nutrient deficiencies, and decided that I probably lack magnesium, which helps muscles relax; my muscles are incredibly stiff and upset at all times. I also watched a video on how a person can end up paralyzed without enough b12, and I've barely been taking any, despite my plant-based diet, so I quickly got that too.

Then I saw a video on vitamin D deficiency, and I had, every single symptom, just all of them, spot on. So I got a packet of that too. And then next day I found a video saying that supplemental D vitamin is BAD and I need to get some from sunbathing instead. It's winter?!?? And I can't walk outside for long because of the neck pain??? Like what am I supposed to do about this.

I've also gone back to taking nettle infusions to get enough calcium! I was hoping supplemental vitamin D would help me absorb calcium, but we'll see about that, I guess? I'm so mad at all the conflicting information but I don't now enough biology to make a reasonable guess to what's right.

Okay so I also, finally, found some exercises that are meant for neck pain that don't hurt, and I'm sticking to them, I've done them twice and did not come close to passing out in pain so I'm just gonna assume these are correct and do them. I also found out that a specific pain I had in my back, for about 5 years now, is called rhomboid pain, and there are exercises to fix it! And I can do most of them. Which is amazing, I'd be happy to fix any type of pain right now.

I've wanted to go and do a blood test to see just what nutrients I'm lacking, but apparently you can only check calcium levels if your bone density is measured, and I know my doctor won't do that, and for lots of other stuff like potassium (which I lack for sure), the body maintains normal level even when you're extremely out, because it draws it out of your muscles and bones so you'd have normal levels in your blood because otherwise you'd die. So you can't efficiently check, you can only notice your body deteriorating from the lack of it. Fun!

Another 'fun' info I've found was about ibuprofen, I had to take quite a few because I was sick, and I'm not used to taking pain medicine, so I went to check what it does, and it's like, cool stuff, it prevents the creation of hormones that cause your nerves to be sensitive, and also those that cause inflammation, so you're basically less sensitive to all the pain going on in your system. However, those same hormones are responsible for creating a layer of mucus in your stomach, and you need that mucus, in order to be protected from your own digestive acid. Taking ibuprofen for 3-4 days will not do you harm, but if you take it for longer, or if you have a chronic stomach issue, it is very likely that you will expose your own stomach tissue to your digestive acid! Which will damage your stomach and hurt a lot. So be careful with the ibuprofen ladies! I know she's a good friend of yours but I never knew how serious it was to take it too often.

[theinternetisaweboflies]

Gates to Heck Chapter 6

Shigeo didn't bother to explain the blackmail. Joseph was a smart man. He worked for the government. He seemed to understand that Shigeo was ready to blow that secret government agency wide open, if it meant saving his best friend from a life of vigilante justice.

He could do it. If Mezato helped, but he was pretty sure she would.

"Calm down," said Joseph, when he finally answered Shou's phone. "I was already looking for Shiro-san."

"Then why didn't you say that?" asked Shou. He had put his cellphone on speaker so he could make the introductions, which he did with what Shigeo felt was an unnecessary level of formality.

"You're not supposed to make promises to civilians, Shou."

"That's cops, not government assassins, Joe."

Joseph met them at Shou's apartment, where he informed them that one of the in-custody members of Final Dog had identified their missing esper as Shiro-san. Joseph assured them that he had done so willingly.

The informant had described Shiro-san's aura as "kind of ozone-y, but with, like, a hint of mint." Shigeo concentrated hard and extended his psychic scan further than last time. Eventually he found it just beyond city limits.

He still couldn't feel Teru's aura, but it might have simply been too weak.

Shiro-san was northbound, moving faster than the speed limit, which meant he was using his powers to fly. Shigeo couldn't fly that fast without swallowing a lot of bugs.

Shiro-san stopped in a rural area called Furikake Village. Shigeo used side-along teleportation to bring everyone there, and then promptly threw up in a rice paddy.

In addition to Reigen, Ritsu, and Shou, he had used side-along teleportation to bring Joseph from the government. Shigeo needed someone to take Shiro-san into custody while they took care of Teru.

Shigeo had never carried that many people at once. He thought that might also account for his aim, which had not been as accurate as he would have hoped. They were lucky for the rice paddies. Their feet got wet, but Shigeo didn't want to think about what would have happened if he had teleported them into a cow.

It was much easier to sense Shiro-san's aura now. He could sense Teru's aura too, although it was still concerningly faint.

Reigen patted Shigeo on the back, and Shou offered him a handkerchief with only a little Cheeto dust on it. Ritsu backed away a little, clutching reflexively at his hoodie.

Shigeo wiped his mouth and flew in the direction of the two auras. He identified the corresponding figures before he could make out any of their details, and it took him a moment to realize why one of them looked wrong. It was upside down.

Teru was suspended in midair with his face underwater. Shiro-san was holding up his hands, which were glowing ice blue. A matching aura restrained Teru's arms, preventing him from saving himself.

There was a moment where Shigeo wasn't sure who he was. He didn't seem to be himself anymore. His feelings were muted, but in a different way than usual.

His head was full of TV static.

Shigeo fought against it as hard as he could. He couldn't hear anything over the buzz of the static, but he felt his mouth move over familiar words. A familiar name.

The next thing Shigeo knew, he was on the ground, and Teru was in his arms for the second time that day. It was difficult to believe that basketball practice had only been a few hours ago.

Shiro-san was wrapped in an aura of much richer blue than his own. In addition to pinning his arms and legs, Shigeo had apparently gagged him. His muffled protests were still audible.

Shigeo ignored them. He could feel the static start to come back when he looked at Shiro-san for too long.

Teru was coughing up an alarming amount of water, but he didn't seem to require any additional lifesaving measures, which was good, because Shigeo didn't know any. He vowed to learn some. Teru got hurt a lot.

They were both on the ground, but they were up on a bund, so at least it was dry ground. Shigeo unzipped his hoodie and wrapped it around Teru's shoulders, which were shaking too hard for it to be from the cold alone, but Shigeo didn't know how to help with anything else.

The others caught up to him while Teru was still coughing. Ritsu dropped Reigen in the rice paddy before he got a good look at them.

Reigen was asking increasingly high-pitched questions, but Shigeo had gotten pretty good at tuning him out over the years. Something in his mind had just clicked into place.

"Is that the man who showed you how to do that?" he asked. Maybe it wouldn't have made sense to anyone else, but Teru nodded.

"Do what?" asked Reigen. "What did he do? Why are you wet? Was he waterboarding you?"

"Not technically," said Teru. His voice was raw, like he'd been screaming for hours.

Reigen approached Shiro-san and rifled through his jacket with expert fingers. He pulled out a wallet, removed the driver's license, and returned the wallet to Shiro-san's pocket.

He read the license, "Ochinko Manabu. Yeah, I can see why you would want to change that. Well, Ochinko-san, we're going to be handing you over to the government assassin in a moment, but just in case you're considering another jailbreak, I want you to know that you have a Reigen Arataka Special Restraining Order against you now." He pointed a dramatic finger at Teru. "If you come within a thousand kilometers of this boy or attempt to contact him in any way, I will find you. That's only if you're lucky. If you're unlucky, Joseph from the government will find you." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at Shigeo. "And if you're really unlucky, Mob will find you."

Reigen was just joking, but it gave Shigeo an idea. It was the only thing he could think of that would silence those muffled shouts without giving him a crisis of conscience, and the more of them he heard, the closer the static came. Shigeo wasn't sure what he would do if it took over completely, but he could guess.

Shigeo shifted his body slightly to block Teru's view. Then he turned Shiro-san upside down and held him over the water. The muffled protests became significantly more frantic.

"Nice," said Shou.

"Didn't know you had it in you, Bowl Cut," said Joseph.

"Mob-"

"Shut up, Shishou," said Shigeo.

He lowered Shiro-san until the water was up to his eyebrows.

Shiro-san passed out.

He didn't realize Teru had been peeking over his shoulder until his head dropped onto it, where he hid an only-slightly hysterical giggle in the fabric of Shigeo's gym T-shirt.

Shigeo removed Shiro-san from the water and handed him off to Joseph.

"Aw," said Joseph. He let out a dramatic sigh full of cigarette smoke, then hardened the smoke into cuffs around Shiro-san's wrists and ankles. "Goodbye, Bowl Cut. See you around Kaijin. Shou."

"Bye, Joe!"

Shigeo felt Teru's shoulders tense under his hands.

"You aren't going to try to recruit Hanazawa-kun now, are you?" asked Shigeo.

"Are you kidding?" Joseph took to the air, dragging a weightless Shiro-san by his ankles. "He's clearly under some heavy protection."

He took off and into the night.

"Damn, Mob." Reigen had always made an effort not to swear excessively around Shigeo, but he seemed to have decided these were exceptional circumstances. "I mean, of course I knew you weren't going to kill him, but I really thought you were about to violate the Geneva Conventions for a second there."

"It's not a violation of the Geneva Convention unless it occurs during wartime," said Ritsu.

"I knew that," said Reigen. "I was testing you."

"I was only applying inversion therapy," said Mob. "I thought it would help Ochinko-san calm down. Inversion therapy is very useful for easing stress and reducing the harmful effects of gravity. Onigawara-san told me about it during club last week."

There was another one of those rasping giggles against his shoulder, and Shigeo felt the static finally start to recede.

"Well," said Reigen, apparently without knowing what he was going to say next, because he floundered for a moment before finishing, "he's certainly calmer  now."

[goldenempyrean]

Paying The Price

〚 Day 5 - Preventative Measures (Not Taken)  〛

〚 Pairing - Sanvers 〛

〚 Summary - Alex ends up paying the price when she doesn't take preventative measures at work. At least she'll have maggie to look after her. 〛

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“Do you not think you should take a coat love?  It’s meant to get a little chilly later on according to the weather.” Maggie called out as Alex finished making her to-go cup of coffee into her flask, “Pretty sure its gonna rain too by the look of those clouds.” 

The agent shook her head and waved her off with a reassuring smile, “It’ll be fine, I’m on roll to do a clinic shift anyway so it’s not like I’m gonna be out in the field or anything like that. I’ll just end up carrying it if I take it. 

That was true. The DEO had recently got wind of a small clinic on the east side of the city which was specially made to treat aliens and offer things like vaccines and just provide general care to those individuals which didn’t feel comfortable in a regular clinic. As such, when the DEO found out, J’onn offered to provide agents as a form of security there as well as to keep things in order. Alex liked her shifts at the clinic, after all, the waiting room chitchat often inadvertently provided inside knowledge to help with ongoing issues, not only that but the environment itself was warm and friendly and the people there seemed to trust her too – she’d even made some friends. 

“Alright then, have a good day at work darling.” Her girlfriend smiled, giving Alex a small kiss before she left, “Don’t forget you’re on food pickup duty tonight too.” She added playfully before beginning to make her own coffee, “I’m thinking pizza?” 

Alex smiled as she picked up her bag and turned to leave, “I won’t forget, don’t worry! Pizza sounds good, alright I’m gonna head off, see you later, have a good day at work babe.” She said before leaving the apartment and making her way out to her car. 

It wasn’t a long drive, about 40 minutes or so. When she arrived, Alex stepped out of the car and involuntarily shivered at the icy chill of the air nipping at her arms, maybe she should’ve brought a coat after all she thought, shaking her head with an eye roll knowing her girlfriend was right. At least she’d be inside for her shift though. As Alex walked through the clinic doors, she immediately noticed the bustling atmosphere. Aliens of various shapes and sizes filled the waiting area, patiently waiting for their turn to be seen by the doctors. It was definitely a lot busier than usual. 

As the agent made her way to the small security desk to clock in, she couldn’t help but inwardly groan at the sight of the other agent on shift. Agent Wilson was one of those guys who never failed to get on her nerves. Something about his cocky, nonchalant attitude always seemed to rub her the wrong way. 

“Agent Danvers it’s always nice of you to show.” He turned around upon hearing her footsteps approach, “I suppose you’ve got the delight of my company, how lucky.” The agent smirked before rooting around in his side pocket before pulling out black surgical mask and putting it on. 

"I'm here to do my job, just like you," Alex replied, choosing to ignore his sarcastic remark, "What’s with the mask?” Wearing a mask wasn’t required or was it advertised so she couldn’t help but question it especially considering no other agents had chosen to wear them in the past. 

  Agent Wilson chuckled condescendingly. "Precautions, Danvers," he said with a hint of mockery in his voice. "You know, to protect myself from any alien bugs. I don’t want my immune system being invaded by foreign bodies." 

She raised an eyebrow, feeling a sense of annoyance creep up within her. She was well aware of the potential risks of working in close proximity to sick aliens, but she had always trusted her strong immune system to keep her healthy. She prided herself on being cautious and responsible when it came to her work, but in this instance, she had overlooked the possibility of catching something.  

"Well, that's your choice," Alex finally replied, her voice laced with a hint of annoyance. "But I'm not here to alienate anyone or treat them like threats. These beings are just seeking medical help, same as any human. And besides, I've been doing shifts here for months without any issues." 

Shaking off her annoyance, Alex walked past him and made her way to the clinic's staff room to change into her uniform, the clinic preferred them to wear their own brand of gear, just as an extra precaution which was understandable.   

As she made her way to one of the smaller lockers, she put down her bag and began changing. It was only then she noticed the slump attitudes of the attending staff. The ambiance of sniffles and coughing, like that of the reception, seemed to fill this room too and spotting one of the Doctors she was familiar with Alex decided to ask what was wrong. 

"Morning," Alex greeted with a friendly smile. "Is everything alright? I couldn't help but notice that a lot of people seem to be under the weather today." 

The doctor sighed tiredly and nodded, confirming Alex's observations. "Yes, unfortunately, it seems that there's a flu-like bug going around. We've been seeing an increase in patients with respiratory symptoms over the past couple of days. We're doing our best to provide care, but it's definitely keeping us busy." 

Alex's concern grew as she processed the information. "Is it affecting the staff too? You don’t look too good yourself Doc.” While most of the staff were aliens themselves and did have a little bit more protective, there was still a good number of human employees. 

Dr. Ramirez nodded again, a hint of weariness in their eyes. "Yeah, a few of our staff members have fallen ill as well. It's a bit of a challenge, this strain is appearing to be highly contagious, but we’ll get through it. We have some people on stand-by to cover if need be.” 

Alex's eyes widened a little. The flu was bad news, especially in a clinic where a diverse range of alien species sought treatment. She couldn't help but wonder if Agent Wilson's decision to wear a mask was more justified than she had initially thought. 

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Alex asked, her determination to assist in any way she could shining through. 

Dr. Ramirez's weary expression brightened a little at her offer. "Actually, there is something you could do," they replied gratefully. "Since we're short-staffed due to many doctors and nurses falling ill. If you could lend a hand with triaging patients and assisting in basic medical procedures, it would be a tremendous help." 

Without hesitation, Alex nodded, her sense of duty and compassion driving her forward. "Of course, I'll do whatever I can. Just tell me what needs to be done." 

For the remainder of the morning, she continued to help out where necessary, leaving security down to the other agent. It was definitely a lot faster paced but with her background in biochemistry she was well within her depth. By lunchtime it seems her efforts were paying off as the clinic seemed to slow down a little and she was given the go ahead to return back to her position. 

  As Alex made her way back to the security desk, she couldn't help but feel a wave of exhaustion wash over her. The adrenaline and determination that had fuelled her earlier were slowly waning, replaced by a growing fatigue. She attributed it to the increased workload and the emotional toll of seeing so many sick patients. 

Agent Wilson looked up from his desk as Alex approached, his expression filled with surprise. "You're back already? I thought you'd be stuck over there forever, playing doctor." 

Ignoring his snide remark, Alex mustered a weak smile. "It was a bit chaotic, but we managed to get things under control. The staff appreciated the help." 

Wilson raised an eyebrow, a hint of grudging admiration in his voice. "Well, I guess you're not completely useless after all." 

She huffed, shooting the agent a dirty look, “Look if you’ve got a problem with me, leave it at the door. Don’t bring that attitude into- wor- Hh'iishoo! Huh’tshoo!” She quickly bent to the side to catch her sneezes into cupped hands, sniffling at the feeling of subtle pressure rising in her sinuses. 

“I don’t think that’s hygienic Danvers.” He shook his head, as the agent went to go grab some tissues from a nearby box. 

She sighed, realising that Agent Wilson was somewhat right. Sneezing into her hands wasn't the best practice, especially considering the contagious nature of the flu-like bug going around. She quickly discarded the used tissues into a nearby bin and reached for a hand sanitiser bottle on the security desk, squeezing some onto her palms and rubbing them together. 

"You're right, my bad," Alex admitted, her voice slightly muffled by her stuffed nose.  

Agent Wilson's mocking wavered slightly as he observed Alex's tired appearance or maybe it was the fact that Alex Danvers actually apologised to him, "Wow, an apology from Danvers. You have a fever or something?” 

“Just leave it.” Alex's voice was tinged with exhaustion and frustration. She didn't feel like entertaining Agent Wilson's sudden concern. The fatigue that had settled over her earlier was now accompanied by body aches and a growing headache. She had been so focused on helping at the clinic that she hadn't noticed her own symptoms creeping in. 

As the day progressed, her energy waned, and she found herself struggling to focus. Her body felt heavy, and she was occasionally having to turn away to muffle raspy coughs into her elbow which only led to her throat becoming sore. But she tried to ignore it. She had blamed the AC at first, it was just turned up too high... yeah. That was it. 

But with each passing hour, her condition deteriorated further. The fatigue intensified, making it difficult for her to stand upright. Her head throbbed with every movement, and the touch of a fever began to set in, leaving her feeling alternately hot and cold, as beads of sweat lined her brow all-while chills ran up her arms. 

“Don’t you look healthy.” The male agent had commented snidely the next time Alex had learnt her head back against the wall. 

Alex's patience was wearing thin, and she shot him a glare. "I'm not feeling well, okay? So can you please just lay off with the comments?" Her voice was tinged with irritation and exhaustion before giving in to the burning at the back of her throat as she gave a few chesty sounding coughs into her elbow. 

Agent Wilson seemed taken aback by her response, his mocking demeanour fading momentarily. "Oh... I didn't realise you were actually not feeling good." he mumbled, his tone softening, “Sorry.” 

Unbeknownst to her, a kind-hearted doctor, Dr. K'ora, had been in earshot and had noticed the agents declining condition. She approached her with a warm smile, "Excuse me, Agent Danvers, may I borrow you for a moment?” 

Alex nodded, looking over her shoulder to confirm it was okay with Wilson and he waved her off. She felt a sudden tickle in her nose, a telltale sign that a sneeze was imminent. She quickly turned away, covering her face with her elbow, and let out a series of forceful sneezes. "Huh'kshhoo! Huh-choo! Huh'tshoo!" she sneezed, her body shaking with the force of each. 

Dr. K'ora  gestured towards a nearby tissue box, concern evident in her eyes. "Goodness, bless you. I think it’d be a good idea to let me take a look at you, Agent Danvers. You don't look well at all." The doctor commented as she escorted the agent towards a small side room. 

"Thank you," Alex said weakly, her voice hoarse and barely audible. "I didn't realise I was feeling this bad until now." She reached up to rub her temples, trying to alleviate the pounding headache that had settled in. 

Dr. K'ora placed a gentle hand on Alex's shoulder, her touch comforting. "It's not uncommon for people to push through and ignore their own health when they're focused on helping others," she said kindly. "But it's important to take care of yourself too. Let me check your symptoms and see what's going on." 

Alex nodded, grateful for the doctor's understanding. She sat back in the chair, allowing Dr. K'ora to examine her. The doctor felt her forehead, noting the warmth radiating from her skin, and listened to her lungs with a stethoscope. After a thorough examination, Dr. K'ora stepped back, a concerned expression on her face. 

"I'm sorry to say, Agent Danvers, but it seems you've caught the flu that's been going around," Dr. K'ora explained gently. "Your symptoms—fatigue, headache, body aches, coughing, and sneezing—are all indicative of the flu. It's important that you take some time off and rest." 

Alex's heart sank. She had hoped it was just a passing illness, but it seemed she was in for a rough few days. "I’m sorry, is this going to cause a problem with staffing? My shift isn’t due for end for a few hours yet.” 

Dr. K'ora smiled kindly. "It happens to the best of us. I will inform your superiors and arrange for someone to pick you up. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable here." 

As the doctor left to inform the necessary personnel, Alex settled into the small room, grateful for the opportunity to rest. She curled up on the examination table, wrapping herself in a blanket provided by the clinic. The fatigue weighed heavily on her, and her body felt achy and weak. 

Time passed slowly as she lay there, her mind wandering through a haze of fever and discomfort. She thought about Maggie and how she would react when she found out. She hoped her girlfriend wouldn't worry too much, knowing that she had a habit of being overprotective. 

As if on cue, a soft knock on the door interrupted Alex's thoughts. She weakly called out, giving permission for the person to enter. To her relief, it was a familiar face—Maggie. Alex's heart skipped a beat at the sight of her girlfriend, a mix of worry and tenderness evident on her face. 

“I heard you weren’t feeling well, poor thing.” She soothed, letting her hand come to rest over the warm forehead of the agent as she came to sit beside her. 

Alex leaned into Maggie's touch, finding solace in her presence. "Hey," she whispered hoarsely, a weak smile gracing her lips. "I didn't expect you to come all the way here." 

Maggie brushed a strand of hair away from Alex's forehead gently. "Of course I would come," she replied softly. "You're not feeling well, and I wanted to be here for you. How are you holding up?" 

Alex let out a weak chuckle, followed by a cough. "I've been better," she admitted. 

"You always put others first, Alex. It's time to let someone take care of you now." Maggie’s voice was filled with concern and affection as she offered her arms out to her girlfriend, pulling her into a warm hug. 

In that moment, Alex realised how lucky she was to have Maggie by her side. She buried her face in Maggie's shoulder, feeling a mix of gratitude and vulnerability wash over her. Maggie's presence provided comfort and reassurance, reminding Alex that she didn't have to face this illness alone. 

As they sat there, wrapped in each other's embrace, Alex's fatigue started to catch up with her. The weight of her eyelids became heavier, and her body begged for rest. Maggie sensed her exhaustion and gently guided Alex to lie down on the examination table, adjusting the blanket to keep her warm. 

"Should we get you home, hm?" Maggie whispered, her voice filled with tenderness. "We can stop on the way and pick up some soup from that takeout you like, that might help you feel better. Whatever you need I’m sure we can get it.” 

Alex nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering closed. "That sounds... nice, but what about your pizza?" she murmured, already feeling the pull of sleep tugging at her, “’Mm tired Maggs.” 

“Pizza can wait, what you need is something easy right now. I know you’re tired baby, you can go to sleep in the car alright?” 

“Thanks.” 

Maggie sat by her side, gently stroking Alex's hair, a soft smile on her face. "Always, love. Now, let’s get you home.” 

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