#i debated whether to post this or not because it’s really just random background practice while i try to relearn how to finish art

[venomrot]

tyto forest

[that-spider-witch]

On “Dead” Cultures and Closed Spiritual Practices: Why Colonialism Is Still A Problem.

Let me start this by saying that, as far as my knowledge of Paganism and Polytheism as a whole goes, I’m what the internet witch community calls a “Baby Witch”. I’m stating this out of the gate because I know there will be lots of people, including witches who have more experience on the craft than me, who might decide to ignore what I have to say based on that fact alone, stating that I’m not knowledgeable enough to give my opinion about this.

Here’s the kicker: I’m a ‘baby witch’, yes, but I’m also a twenty-six year old Venezuelan woman. I’m an adult. I’m Latina. I’m a Christian-raised Pagan,but I’m also a Latinoamerican woman over all other things including that. I grew up on this culture, these are my roots. It is because of this background than I’m writing this post today.

Looking through the “Paganism” and “Witchcraft” tags of this website, I’ve seen a few posts throwing indigenous deities and spirits’ names around on lists alongside deties of open cultures. Yes, you can know better by doing your own research and not going by what just a random Tumblr user wrote on one post (as I hope its the case with everyone on this website), but the fact that pagan beginners are still getting fed misinformation is still worrisome to me.

There’s nothing like reading a so-called expert putting Ixchen (Maya), Xolotl (Nahuatl) and Papa Legba (Vodou) on the same damn list as Norse, Hellenic and Kemetic deities and tagging it on the tags aimed at beginners who might not know better to truly ruin your morning. I’m not mentioning user names here: If you know then you know.

To quote @the-illuminated-witch on her very good post about Cultural Appropriation: 

“Cultural appropriation is a huge issue in modern witchcraft. When you have witches using white sage to “smudge” their altars, doing meditations to balance their chakras, and calling on Santa Muerte in spells, all without making any effort to understand the cultural roots of those practices, you have a serious problem.

When trying to understand cultural appropriation in witchcraft, it’s important to understand the difference between open and closed magic systems. An open system is one that is open to exchange with outsiders — both sharing ideas/practices and taking in new ones. In terms of religion, spirituality, and witchcraft, a completely open system has no restrictions on who can practice its teachings. A closed system is one that is isolated from outside influences — usually, there is some kind of restriction on who can practice within these systems.”

A counter-argument I’ve seen towards this when someone wants to appropiate indigenous deities and spirits is to use the “dead culture” argument: Extinct cultures are more eligible for use by modern people of all stirpes. It is a dead culture and dead religion. It would be one thing if some part of the culture or religion was still alive, being used by modern descendants, but the culture died out in its entirety and was replaced, right? They were all killed by colonization, they are ancient history now, right?

Example: “If white people are worshipping Egyptian deities now, then why can’t I worship [Insert Aborigen Deity Here]?”

To which I have two things to say:

Ancient Egypt’s culture was open and imperialistic, meaning they wanted their religion to be spread. This is why Kemetism is not Cultural Appropriation, despite what some misinformed people might tell you. Similar arguments can also be made for the Hellenic and the Norse branches of Paganism, both practiced by people who aren’t Greek/Norse.

Who are you to say which cultures are “dead” and which are not?

Religious practices such as Vodou and Santería certainly aren’t dead, not that it keeps some Tumblr users from adding Erzuli as a “goddess” on their Baby Witch post, something that actual Vodou practitioners have warned against.

Indigenous cultures such as the Maya and the Mapuche aren’t dead, despite what the goverment of their countries might tell you. The Mapuche in particular have a rich culture and not one, but two witchcraft branches (The Machi and the Kalku/Calcu). Both are closed pagan practices that the local Catholic Church has��continuously failed to assimilate and erase, though sadly not for lack of trying:

“The missionaries who followed the Spanish conquistadors to America incorrectly interpreted the Mapuche beliefs regarding both wekufes and gualichos. They used the word wekufe as a synonym for ideas of the devil, demons, and other evil or diabolical forces. This has caused misunderstanding of the original symbolism and has changed the idea of wekufe right up to the present day, even amongst the Mapuche people.”

For context, the Wefuke are the Calcu’s equivalent of the Familiar, as well as reportedly having more in common with the Fae than with demons anyway.

This and other indigenous religions are Closed because it is wrong for foreigners to just come and take elements from marginalized groups whom are still fighting to survive and that they weren’t born into. To just approppiate those things would be like spitting in their faces, treating them and their culture like a commodity, a shiny thing, a unique thing to be used like paint to spruce up your life or be special.

I know some of you are allergic to the word “Privilege”, but on this situation there really ain’t a better word to explain it. You weren’t born here, you don’t know what it is like, you are only able to see the struggle from an outsider’s point of view.

If a belief or practice is part of a closed system, outsiders should not take part in it. And with how many practices there are out there which are open for people of all races, there is really no excuse for you to do it.

Why Colonization Is Not “Ancient History”

If you have kept reading all this so far, you are probably wondering “Ok, but what does Colonization has to do with any of this?”

The answer? Everything.

With the general context of culture appropriation out of the way, let me tell you about why the whole “dead culture” argument rubs me the wrong way: Here in Venezuela, we have a goddess called Santa Maria de la Onza, or Maria Lionza for short, whom’s idol statue I have been using to illustrate this little rant. If you happen to know any Spanish, you might recognize the name as a derivative of Santa Maria, aka the Virgin Mary, and you are mostly correct: Her true indigenous name is theorized to have been Yara.

And I say “theorized” because it is a subject of hot debate whether she was really ever called that or not: Her original name, the name by which she was adored and worshipped by our ancestors, might have been forever lost to history.

That’s the legacy of colonization for you: Our cultures were stolen from us, and what they couldn’t erase they instead tried to assimilate. Our ancestors were enslaved, their lands and homes stolen, their artwork and literary works destroyed: The Maya and the Aztec Empire were rich in written works of all kinds, ranging from poetry to history records to medicine, and the Spaniards burned 99% of it, on what is probably one of the most tragic examples of book burning in history and one that people rarely ever talk about. 

People couldn’t even worship their own gods or pass their knowledge of them to their children. That’s why Maria Lionza has such a Spanish Catholic-sounding name, and that’s why we can’t even be sure if Yara was her name or not: The Conquistadors couldn’t steal our goddess from us, so they stole her name instead. Catholics really have a thing with trying to assimilate indigenous goddesses with the Virgin Mary, as they tried to do the same with the Pachamama.

On witchy terms, I’d define Maria Lionza as both a deity and a land spirit: Most internet pages explaining her mention the Sorte mountain as her holy place, but it is more along the lines that she is the mountain. 

You’d think that, with Venezuela and other Latinoamerican countries no longer being colonies, we’d be able to worship our own deities including her, right?

As far as a lot of Catholics seem to think and act, apparently we are not.

The Catholics here like to go out of their way to shame us, to call us “cultists”, to ostracize us, with a general call to “refrain from those pagan beliefs” because they go against the Catholic principles. Yes, the goddess with the Catholic-sounding name, a name she happens to share with a Catholic deity, apparently goes “against Catholic principles”. You really can’t make this shit up. (Linked article is in Spanish)

This is just an act of colonization out of many, of not wanting to stop until the culture they want to destroy is gone. Don’t believe for a second that this is really their God’s will or anything like that, they are just trying to finish what years of enslavement and murder couldn’t. They might not be actively killing us anymore, but they still want us dead.

So no, colonization is not some thing that has long passed and now only exist on history textbooks: It is still happening to this day. It is by treating it as old history that they can keep doing it, and it is by pushing the narrative that our indigenous cultures are “dead cultures” that they try to erase our heritage.

Because we are not dead. We are still here, we are alive, we have survived and we’ll keep on surviving, and our gods and goddesses are not yours to take.

¡Chao! 🐈

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 21 - Losing My Religion

Masterlist; Chapter 20

Summary: After Tallinn, you use the opportunity and visit Neil’s apartment. What you find there, only increases the confusion, just as the pieces are set for the endgame.

Warnings: Swearing; angst.

Author’s Notes: This was a challenge, and it’s a little different too, a breather before the real fun begins... or something. After this we move onto the icebreaker... (and things). I’ll shut up now, hope you’ll enjoy and all kind of feedback are greatly welcomed! 

The clean up after TP’s little accident on the highway was difficult. And tiring. By the time you have dealt with the mess and could call it a day, you wanted nothing but to sleep. And also disappear from the face of the Earth. That second thing was rather tricky to achieve. Unfortunately. You had to settle for the slightly awkward space given by the rest of the team and the fact that you were bound to return to London the next day. That was something. Even if it meant having to debate whether those damned keys were to be used.

The journey back was uneventful. Only Wheeler seemed capable of talking to you without looking as though she has been trapped in some metaphorical web of ineptitude that the others got caught in. That was alright. At least she knew how that conversation in the container went. Her company was good enough to keep you from going insane for the time being.

The moment the car arrived at the London quarters, you practically bolted out through the door. Eager to finally have your own space to reflect, cry, and try to move on after the unimaginable. But it was not exactly meant to be given…

“Y/N, wait!” Ives’ voice rung out through the reception hall as you skidded down the corridor.

Crap.

“Yeah?” cautiously, you stopped in your tracks, facing the squad leader.

Making the mistake of glancing at the reception desk, you met Anna’s watchful gaze. Of course. Even though you knew she had no clue about anything that transpired between you and Neil, it still felt like a painful reminder.

“I…uh...” the hesitation in Ives’ voice made you frown, “I just got this, and I’m not sure…” he passed you his phone with a strange expression on his face.

A text from TP. Just like the ones you received before. Right… This one had a familiarly succinct form: “Invert for eight days with the army from tomorrow. Then get to Trondheim, awaiting further instructions”

“Is this from him?” you looked up to see the blue eyes boring into yours with confusion.

“Yeah, it must be” you nodded and handed him back the phone.

At that exact moment, you got a text as well. Hurriedly you took out the device and read the message:

“Invert along with Ives and the rest”.

Short and simple. Yet not at all. Without a word, you showed your companion the text message and stifled a heavy sigh. Inversion. Eight days. Trondheim. That most likely confirmed your worst fears. The end of it all was near, and you were needed there. You, Neil, and everyone else still had their parts to play in the most important of showdowns.

“So, I guess we’re going back” you could feel Ives’ inquisitive stare on you “Just like they are” he added, awaiting a response.

Meeting Neil after those eight upcoming days sounded like a nightmare. Because a week was never enough to fall out of love. Or to even attempt it. You were a lost cause.

“…yep” nodding halfheartedly, you could feel another weight settle on your shoulders.

“Excited?” the intensity of Ives’ look convinced you towards his intentions.

Evidently, he tried to get a clue towards your state, probably assessing whether you could endanger the mission in any way. Despite everything, you were a professional. A Tenet agent. That had to come before any personal issues you might have had. Forcing a smile, you met his gaze with sincerity.

“Not really” a shrug completed the response.

But it was enough as he grinned back and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s alright. Have today off and be ready tomorrow morning,” he ordered with a feigned sternness.

“Aye aye, sir” you saluted, enjoying the laugh it prompted.

Maybe not everything was utterly shit.

“Your edge is still intact, I see,” he commented once the laughter died down.

“At least something is then” you grimaced slightly and walked off with a wave.

A day off. What could one possibly do with something like that after everything? The set of keys in your pocket felt heavy for something that small. And insignificant (in theory).

*** It took you one hour of staring at the wall, a thirty-minute-long shower, and two coffees to decide to make use of the keys. After all, what was the harm? It was a way of spending the idle hours. And maybe to understand him a little better. Even if it was too late to save anything. You wanted to know him. To know his mind and heart. You dug out the note with the address Ives gave you and typed it into the maps app. Your hands were shaking the whole journey. Even though it was not far, it turned out to be challenging. Often you were catching yourself glancing at the phone, expecting him to call or text as he always did.  But then you remembered, making the nerves come to the surface again. You wondered whether it was because of the absolute wreckage your relationship became or because you were unable to contact him in any way. Walking the streets leading to Neil’s apartment, you realised that it was probably both. You missed him. Simple as that. And equally complicated at the same time.

Google maps led you to an old docking space transformed into posh loft spaces in two store buildings of dark red brick. The residential area was completed with a large parking lot (full of rather good cars), making the first question of the day pop into your head: Did Neil have a private car? Something that unimportant yet entirely mundane only made you realise how little you knew of his life. But this was exactly why you came here. The second thought was something you always knew yet never took time to ponder on: the fact that he undeniably had money. It did not matter, of course. Just another fact that could as a trigger for the intrusive ideas to appear.

Ignoring the spiraling thoughts, you made your way to the indicated building, keying in the code at the door and following the stairs to the second floor. The apartment door no 4 looked like any other you have passed on the way. Turning the key in the lock, you took a deep breath, gathering courage for god knows what. Perhaps just being alone with everything that had to do with Neil… The door opened soundlessly. Faint daylight from the corridor fell onto the furniture and objects gathered in the hall, helping your eyes adjust to the darkness. You closed the door and locked it. The least you could have wanted was for someone to break in on your watch. Now that would have made him hate you. If he didn’t already, that is. Taking off the shoes, you scanned the hall. Hooks with various jackets and coats on the wall. Including a slightly weathered leather one that perked your interest. With fingers ghosting the material, you were unable to block the images of Neil wearing it. That was enough to make you blush and curse out loud. That won’t help with getting over him. As though that was even possible.

Next, your eyes landed on the shoes rack in the corner showing off Neil’s questionable taste in footwear. You grimaced when spotting another pair of brogues (that would have to go… if there was any future for you) and then smiled involuntarily at something as casual as old converse on the top shelf of the rack. So, he could dress more… normally. Interesting.

The rest of the space was filled with a large mirror and a cupboard full of random objects such as spare lightbulbs, shoe care products, and cleaning supplies. On top of that cupboard, there was a succulent (practical, you had to admit), a desk calendar, and a small notepad filled with Neil’s writing. The contents ranged from shopping lists to quantum physics, making you grin fondly when looking through the pages. The latest entry was written down in haste and barely eligible. What you deciphered made your heart stumble for the first time that day. It seemed like Neil was planning to invite you over after Tallinn, prepare dinner, and apparently do all that ‘he wanted to for a while’. Brilliant. The notepad fell from your hands as the implications dawned on you. He wanted to set everything straight, to talk and potentially tell you important things… But now, it did not matter. There was no post-Estonia. Just you alone in his cold, darkened apartment, full of doubts, regrets, and worries.

Shivering from both the chill and the anxiety, you ventured into the living room. It was an open space with a large leather sofa, TV, record player with shelves full of albums and vinyls. There were also bookcases filled to the brim and a dining table for four. Once your gaze fell onto the black piano in the corner, you did a double-take. Obviously, Neil was musically talented. All those times when he has been desperate to annoy you by singing various corny love songs in public were an indisputable example. A moment like that from Tallinn flashed before your eyes…

You and Neil sat in a restaurant on one of the ‘dates’ you had managed to fit into the schedule before TP arrived in Estonia. Cozied up in the corner on a comfortable sofa, you felt perfectly at peace. Instead of taking the seat opposite, Neil got as close as it was possible without raising eyebrows of the fine clientele. You were chatting about everything and nothing, occasionally taking sips of the coffees and letting your hands rest on each other’s knees. Other times they would be interlocked on the table between the plates, showing to the world that this was no platonic meetup. Using the natural break in the conversation, you finished the remains of your latte and watched as Neil focused on the radio somewhere in the background. By this point, you should have known better, but still, the second he started singing took you by surprise.

‘Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth No one could look as good as you, mercy’

His gaze settled on you without that mercy, awaiting a response. His lips curled into a deadly smirk, making the matters worse. For a moment, you wanted to ignore him, to deny him the satisfaction. But the way he stared, enunciating the song lyrics with precision and aiming them at you, triggered the familiar desire to stake your claim. To make him (and everyone else) understand that he was yours. Especially with a voice that beautiful and eyes that looked at you with boundless affection.

‘Pretty woman that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me’

It was the cheesy growl at the end of that stanza that did it. Combined with the huskiness of Neil’s voice and his hand appearing on your thigh underneath the table, it was enough to convince you to shut him up the best way you knew. You leaned in, placing your palm on the inside of his thigh, just close enough to remind him. Capturing his lips in a kiss, you did not have to wait long for Neil to invite you closer. You began the intimate dance, getting lost in the moment entirely. With him being in public did not matter. Especially not when he was giving you everything he could on a silver plate. Those days every kiss threatened to evolve into a full make-out session as you tried to get ever closer to him. That is why when you heard an awkward cough followed by “Miss, Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave” you could only start laughing. That was two days before your walk, which ended in the alley. The rest was history.

Shaking your head slightly, you let go of the memory. Has it gotten even colder? Shivering, you spotted a sweater draped on the side of the sofa. Crossing the space, you glanced at the instrument that caught your attention. A simple black Kawai piano with a Chopin music score opened on the fallboard and the stool underneath. If there even was a future, you wanted to hear him play something. You could almost picture it. Those long, elegant fingers on the black and white keys, hitting every note with perfection and the flourish he applied to every single task. His gaze focused. Golden hair falling into his eyes carelessly. Lips parted, tongue poking out in concentration. He was bound to be a sight as usual.

Ignoring the waking up flutters that always accompanied every thought about Neil, you picked up the sweater. It was the colour of dark red wine, simple and yet sophisticated in its simplicity. Cashmere. He really is posh. Giving in to the sudden whimsy, you breathed in the smell. That was a mistake. The moment Neil’s essence overwhelmed your senses, you felt a surge of feelings. The musky scent, the hints of bergamot and lavender that always brought comfort. Before you could second guess everything, you put the sweater on, letting the smell envelope you like his hugs always did. It was another thing that you missed. The ability to rest within his strong embrace, safe and wanted. The feeling of his arms cradling you with care. Without the solidity beneath your hands, it was hard to remember how it felt. The sweater had to do. You rolled up the sleeves and approached the large window, drawing back the curtains to see the view and let in light. The sight certainly was not disappointing with the lookout on the Thames and the docking ships. The area looked peaceful, like the place you could want to go out on walks and spend the rest of your life… No, stop. That was a dangerous line of thinking. After all, you only came here to satisfy the curiosity. And because you could, with nothing left to lose. Well, maybe apart from your sanity.

With the day shedding some light onto the furniture and objects in the room, you could more closely assess the type of person Neil was. The décor was rather posh (nothing surprising there) with leather, dark wood, and refined fabrics gracing the space. But upon a closer look, you could see the hints of Neil’s personality shining through the bounds of the stereotypes. It was visible in the chaos of the little details. Billy Idol album discarded on the CD player making you smile. The dying plants on the windowsill. The opened book on the coffee table right next to a bar of chocolate and some bullets. What even… 

Looking around the space, you could easily picture him there. It was like entering a museum of Neil’s life and heart, and you were just a mere visitor. A trespasser even though you had the keys. Lost in the thoughts, you approached the bookshelves, looking over the titles. Young and Freedman’s University Physics with Modern Physics with a worn-out spine and a library stamp on the title page (a theft?). Griffith’s Introduction to Quantum Mechanics with scribbles on the margins, making your head hurt. More Quantum Mechanics but only getting increasingly complex. Spacetime and Geometry. In between the textbooks, there were classics of English and American literature, proving your theory that Neil knew the canon well. All those quotations had to come from somewhere… You looked over the further titles relating to the nuclear area of Physics and relativity of time, only to be thrown out of the moment when your eyes landed on a photograph in a wooden frame. A grinning young man with warm brown eyes and curly dark hair sat on the bench in the park. Alex. Picking up the photo, you took a closer look, feeling inexplicable heaviness in your chest. He looked just like Neil described him – an essence of goodness and understanding. The lump in our throat was strange. He still loved Alex that was a fact and something you took for granted. For a second, you wondered whether you could ever be half that important to him. But that was selfish. And wrong.

Swallowing hard, you put down the frame, focusing on another one nearby. In that photo, you recognized everyone. Ives with slightly longer hair grinning widely, next to him Wheeler with her practical bun and amused eyes, TP relaxed like always when in the company of friends. And then… You would recognize those eyes and sharp jaw anywhere, but… He’s not naturally blonde? You stared at the man who was undoubtedly Neil but with light brown hair, just as messy as usual. Interesting. You did suspect he dyed the hair but still having confirmation was unexpected. Staring a little longer at the photo, you already knew that it did not matter. He was a work of art, full stop. The rest of the photos depicted the Tenet crew, apart from the one you assumed was a family snapshot from years ago. Two happy boys with mundane looking parents and a Labrador retriever (Charlie!). Upon a closer look, you could tell that Neil got his blue eyes after his mother and the smile after his father. It was an interesting discovery. Other objects littering the shelves included postcards, trinkets from travels, and a strange collection of obscure coins. Also, more notebooks with Neil’s equations and theories and music scores. There was no order, just fate, and fancy. Just like him.

Wandering into the kitchen, running your fingertips over various instruments and surfaces, you wanted to soak in the atmosphere of the apartment. So far, the new information was almost overwhelming. But also fascinating in the fact that you already felt like you knew him better. Glancing at the fridge in passing, you froze. Among the cheap promotional magnets and old shopping notes attached to it, there was a rather familiar writing visible. A note you made Anna pass to him many weeks ago. “I’ll be at the shooting range. Meet you for dinner after 5” signed with your initials for practicality. Why has he kept it? It did not make sense. You forgot about the existence of something that inconsequential, yet here it was. Kept in place with a blaring orange magnet from Sainsbury’s. Suddenly feeling a little faint with the implications of the moment, you poured tap water into the glass and sat down on the stool by the kitchen island. You could still remember Anna’s offended stare when you gave her the note with the instruction to pass it to Neil later. That memory triggered another one, much more recent…

In the days leading up to Tallinn, you went out with Neil for a lunch and walk under the guise of planning the logistics of your journey. Sure, there was some planning being done over the tea and sandwiches. But there was also a lot of hand-holding, kissing, and gazing shamelessly. It was during those days, and then the idle hours in the safe house, that you have allowed yourself to love him. The feelings were there for months (most likely), but only after Oslo and the candid conversations in your room, you felt more at ease with them. So far, that PDA was not all that terrifying. And so, when you came back to the London quarters that afternoon, your fingers intertwined, you only realised how it looked like from the outside when Neil tugged you in the direction of Anna’s desk.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, hoping the woman was too busy to see you.

“I told you, need to get that ID sorted,” he explained, matching your conspiratorial tone, completely oblivious to your struggles.

“Yeah, but…” you raised your joined hands as if to show him the issue.

Neil grinned, waving his free hand dismissively.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not like that’s against the rules” ending the sentence, he took the final step separating you from the desk.

Great. Plastering on the most pleasant of smiles, you met Anna’s accusatory glare. You could not blame her.

“Anna, hi” Neil’s bright grin got met with a cold face of stone.

You vividly remembered that first day at Tenet, when you were filling in the paperwork, observing him flirt with the woman behind the desk. Back then, you were baffled by her reaction, the fluttering of eyelashes and lovesick smiles. Now you wondered how you got to that point and why you were seemingly luckier than she could ever be.

“Yes?”

“My ID is expiring soon. Was wondering if you could give me the form for the new one?” Neil’s chirpy tone made you hide a smile by looking at the floor “I want to get this sorted for after we’re back” he added, with that hopeful gaze barely anyone could ever say no to.

Anna was not any different.

“Naturally,” she spared you a final spiteful look before turning around to use the computer.

Glancing around the empty lobby, you hoped to survive the rest of the encounter without any additional awkwardness. But Neil had other plans. He stepped in closer, nose brushing over your ear, tearing down any illusions about the nature of your relationship. You stifled a sigh when his lips placed a small kiss over your temple.

“Shall we go to yours after this?” the whisper complemented with a ghost of his fingers on the side of your neck made you shiver.

“Maybe…” you cast a wary glance at Anna, but her back was turned.

Thankfully.

“I thought we could resume the planning…” upon the suggestive tone, you turned to meet his gaze.

Surely enough, the playful sparks were there. And the smirk too. Of course. Planning, in this case, most likely meant more cuddling… and potentially kissing. His hands getting accustomed to your body, leaving countless promises for the future. The thoughts alone made you blush. Before Neil could get any closer, Anna’s voice interrupted the moment:

“Here’s your form,” nothing but ice and fury.

So, she must have noticed…

“Thanks” the polite nod made you snicker.

During the next few terribly long minutes, you did your best to avoid looking at the other woman. Or at Neil. Your gaze roamed over the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. Reading the same fire evacuation instructions for the fifth time, you felt a gentle touch on your arm:

“Can I put down your details as my emergency contact?” you looked up straight into those inquisitive blue eyes “I’ve had Ives the last two years, but I think you’re a more accurate option these days,” he explained as though it was obvious.

Emergency contact? You always assumed those were for best friends and spouses. You were not sure which fitted the criteria.  

“How so?” blurting out the only viable question, you met his perplexed gaze.

“… because I’m with you and not with him” the bluntness of the reply made your heart stumble.

“Right”

Of course, you agreed. As a ‘thank you’ that afternoon, Neil kissed you until there was barely any breath left for either of you. Now you missed the feeling of being that desired.

And yet, that stupid note was right there, in your eyes a bright red spot that you could not ignore. Because surely, he must have cared at some point? You finished the remains of water and washed the glass. Then, just for the sake of a distraction, you went through the kitchen cupboards. Nothing surprising. Appliances that looked barely used. Canned food every Brit would be expected to have. The amounts of frozen meals in the lower fridge compartments confirmed another thesis - Neil did not like cooking. That was fair not everyone could be Jamie Oliver. Not that you would prefer him. Certainly not. Shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the thoughts, you opened another cabinet. Wine and glasses, triggering the memory from your date night in Oslo. The way Neil tried to emulate his swank further by pretending to be a sommelier, making you laugh with his fake French accent and sparse knowledge. Upon the efforts to name something else than tannins (that Sauvignon Blanc had little of), you stepped in, shutting him up with a fingertip tracing the outline of his lips, collecting a stray droplet of wine. And then licking your finger clean, much to his shock. The strange snapshot from one of the most eventful nights in your life was a good cue to leave the kitchen and trod down the corridor.

You stepped into the bathroom, curiously glancing at the contents of the cupboards and around the sink. Nothing remarkable. Giving in to the temptation, you sprayed the cologne he used on your wrist and inhaled deeply. Closing the bathroom door, your eyes landed on the room at the end of the corridor. Neil’s bedroom. Involuntarily, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Bedrooms were always a sacred space. The most private of places in the house. The stage set for life’s crucial events. Love, life, and tragedy all began to play out (and end) in there. If there was a room closest to the heart of the owner, it would be the bedroom and its contents. With a shaky hand, you pressed down the handle and opened the door. The interior was almost too mundane. The bed with dark grey covers and decorative pillows. Some artworks on the walls and drawn curtains, forcing you to turn on the ceiling lamp. A small bedside table with a night light and books. A walk-in closet with the sliding doors partly opened. That was what drew you in first, crossing the space you peered inside. Only to be overwhelmed with that Neil smell that made sure to make your heart rate pick up. Gently, you ran your fingers over the suit jackets and sweaters hanged on the rails. He had a multitude of those, in different colours. Eyeing a suit in dark blue, you could imagine how it would bring out his eyes. There were a few sweaters in different shades of green, confirming the suspicions that he liked the colour. Further along, you found a drawer with ties of various patterns, making you grin at one olive green with Labradors on it. Now that was a classic Neil accessory.

Just when you were about to end the ‘snooping’ your gaze landed on a more casual part of the wardrobe. Jeans folded on the shelves, t-shirts, and polos. Even a jean jacket somewhere in the back. In the drawer, you found socks with questionable patterns, only increasing the fondness you felt for the owner of such an eclectic wardrobe. And then you made the mistake of letting your curiosity get ahead of you. Another drawer. Underwear. Your face got warm as you slammed it shut. Enough. Thinking about that could lead to the dangerous territory you would rather not venture out to. At least not when alone in his apartment, overwhelmed with memories and feelings. There would be time for this too later… Hopefully.

Sliding the doors shut, you took in the room again. The pile of books on the bedside table caught your attention. Gingerly, you sat down on the bed, doing your best not to think about the specifics of that moment. You, alone in his bedroom. This was certainly not how you expected to end up in there for the first time. But that too was beyond the point. Sighing, you picked up the stack of books only to drop them onto the covers with hands shaking. You would recognize the cover everywhere. Your favourite book. The exact copy you had last seen in Oslo when you gave it to Neil. That memory was rather unforgettable…

Hanging out in the hotel room, waiting for Mahir and TP to come back from a small errand, you did your best to ignore Neil’s piercing gaze from across space. That was the day after your careless dancing and that evening’s developments when he asked you out. Just before the mission. And Neil was staring, shamelessly so. It was getting on your nerves.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” putting down the itinerary, you broke the silence and faced him.

The satisfied smile was enough to make you groan. He knew exactly what he was doing, as though waiting for the moment to strike when you were alone.

“Actually not, no” the grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly “Plus you’re quite the sight. As usual” propping his chin on his hand, he kept on gazing.

The bastard was impossible.

“Jesus…” sighing, you rummaged in the bag at your feet “Do you want a book or something?” you took out a worn-out paperback “Because all that staring makes me want to…” trailing off, you met his inquisitive glare.

Want to kiss him. For starters. But he need not know that.

“What? Tell me” Neil spread his legs casually, leaning back in the armchair. An object of pure poise. And the challenge, aimed at you only. That was Neil at the top of his game, sure of what he wanted and how to get it. But you were not going to give it to him easily.

“Better not” the slight shock in his eyes gave you confidence “If yesterday taught me anything, it’s that your ego is big enough” offering him a sly smirk, you took a sip of the water.

When you looked up again, Neil was staring at you with an exaggerated pained expression on his face.

“I’m wounded” he put the hand over his heart like the drama queen that he was.

Scoffing, you laughed at the spectacle. Two could play the game.

“Good,” the offended whine only increased the satisfaction “So do you want that book?” you picked up the paperback, showing it to him “I’ve got my favourite one with me. Could kill some time”

“Yes, please” he got up and crossed the room, taking the book from you “I’ll have a chance to see what’s in that head of yours” Neil leaned down to your level and kissed you on the forehead “Apart from the desire for me, of course” he added, once he moved out of your reach once again.

Fucking hell.

“Neil”

At least there were some fun memories to come back to, you thought, looking through the copy you borrowed Neil. Then you noticed another thing. Under your book, there was another one of the same title. Brand new. Pages filled with Neil’s scribbles on the margins and underlined passages, highlighting the exact same quotations that made this book become your favourite. My god. The realization hit you with a gasp and a shiver. He read it. And not only that, but he also tried to understand you through something you held so dear. Reading the notes he made, you knew he was listening to every word you said. No matter the moment, the stage of your ‘relationship’, evidently, he cared enough to be interested in your thoughts and feelings. You were holding the proof in your hands. In some margin notes, Neil even referred to you using your initials, pointing out why it could resonate with you so much. The more you read, the more it felt like you have encountered his diary, in some form. That would be it when it comes to getting over. Putting down the books, your head was spinning. Too much.

You needed food. And sleep. It was at that moment that you decided to stay. It got late enough to make the journey back inconvenient. And everything was right here. Feeling like Goldilocks personified, you made use of Neil’s frozen food assortment and put on the music. Once you got over the initial shock of the afternoon, it was almost too easy to pretend that Tallinn never happened. That you were still alright. That he still potentially loved you. With the somewhat soothing sounds of Billy Idol and The Darkness, you went over Neil’s notebooks with equations. You understood nothing but the possibility to read his notes and theories was as comforting as it could get. Then, feeling your eyelids get heavy, you cleaned up and moved to the bedroom. Lying down in Neil’s bed felt like sacrilege. But the moment your head rested on the pillow and you inhaled the scent, it was all excused. At least in your eyes. Giving in to the foolish daydreams, you could almost imagine him next to you. The warmth and comfort the cuddles always provided. But you were alone, still wearing that sweater that smelled too good to be given up. It had to be enough. You fell asleep thinking about those damned blue eyes and the man that took the ownership of your heart for good.

*** Upon waking up in the cold apartment the next morning, you wanted nothing but to leave as soon as possible. In the daylight, with dreams of happiness haunting every corner of your mind, the feeling of loneliness was more persistent. You made sure to get rid of any signs of your intrusion, cleaned the kitchen, and made the bed. The only keepsake you could not deny yourself was the cashmere sweater that you stuffed into the bag. Even if he would not want anything to do with you, you could give it back along with the keys. Surely he would understand… right? After everything that you found in his flat, nothing seemed certain anymore.

You made it back to the HQs with just enough time to shower and pack for the next week of sitting in the inversion chambers in the sealed off part of the complex. That did not sound good as it meant more time with too many people in the cramped quarters. You had enough of that at this point. But then that was the prize of getting the most incredible of jobs. That and getting your heart broken. Again.

You joined the rest of the army by the larger turnstile, used purely for long-term inversion, instead of training. Accepting friendly nods from both Ives and Wheeler, you took your place in the queue. No one knew exactly what the purpose of this was. Just that you were supposed to go back eight days and then travel to the Norwegian coastline, awaiting instructions. The intuition that was rarely wrong told you that you were in the endgame from this point onwards.

And so, the next week was restricted to trying not to lose your sanity locked within the four walls. The only escape from the small room was the kitchen (always full of people that wanted to know too much), bathroom (that always had lines of people waiting by the door), and the small courtyard, where you could not step out without the oxygen tank and a mask. Overall, it was not the most pleasant of experiences. Especially when most days you wanted to curl up in bed and contemplate the mess that your life became. And to marinate in pain that became a constant companion. The sweater could only help so much. Accompanied with nerves and worry, you felt objectively shit and did everything to preserve the solitude. That is how you found yourself in the small kitchen at 2 am, eating toasties and drinking tea. Earlier the compound was too busy, and you preferred starving than facing the others. Only with everyone asleep, you could catch up on the meals missed. Well, almost everyone…

“How are you doing?” a voice interrupted your brooding.

You turned in the seat only to see Wheeler enter the room with a small smile on her face. Her you could tolerate, as an exemption.

“Bad” the candid answer seemed only appropriate “But I don’t mind the company, so please… stay” you added upon her hesitation.

She just nodded and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The silence stretched, but for once, it was rather pleasant. Finally, she finished the task and took the seat opposite you, giving you a quick once-over. You knew what she saw. Tangled hair, reddened eyes from lack of sleep, and hours of tears. The sweater that became the only comfort in those early morning moments when nothing seemed real and yet everything was too much.

“Is the sweater his?” she asked plainly, and you could only nod.

At this stage, surely, nothing was bound to surprise her.

“Yeah… Maybe it’s silly, but I took it from his place just to have something… tangible” you explained, consciously running your fingers over the material. Instead of judgement, you got a smile in return.

“No, I understand” Wheeler took a sip from the mug before asking, “Did the apartment give you any answers?”

You have not shared the story with anyone, unable to process it all even in the quiet of your mind. But maybe this was a chance to let it out…

“Mostly whiplash,” you let out a bitter laugh “It’s like… he cares… or cared,” you stumbled over the tense “But then in Tallinn after the shoot-out, he just closed off completely, and I don’t know why” raising your hands in defeat, you planted on your face on the table.

Anything goes. After a moment of utter frustration, you met Wheeler’s inquisitive eyes again. She did not seem bothered by your antics. Just a little concerned by the picture you were painting.

“Maybe it’s trauma” the seriousness of her expression made you think.

You did consider that option. But even knowing what happened with Alex, his reaction seemed too violent. You were alive, and yet he was trying to push you away. Plus, that way of thinking implied something else. Something you did not dare consider.

“That would mean he… loved me” getting the words out was a challenge “And I don’t think he does” you stared at the table, giving in to the thoughts once again “Whatever is going to happen now, I think I need space. Some distance. Trying to get over this won’t work otherwise”

Formulating the feelings that were overwhelming your heart and mind felt somehow relieving. Even if the prospects were anything but good.

“Is that what you want? To let him go?” the straightforward attitude of your companion was helpful.

“I don’t know,” sighing, you met her gaze, “I want… him, but if he doesn’t feel the same then…” with reddened cheeks, you let the sentence trail off.

She would understand, you were sure of that. And, if the slightly suspicious look in Wheeler’s eyes was anything to go by, she had her ideas about the topic.

“You should probably try talking to him again” she spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Last time that ended terribly,” you replied, arching your eyebrows, begging her to remember how bad that container conversation went.

“I know,” Wheeler patted your shoulder reassuringly, “But I also know that sometimes Neil needs a proper kick in the ass before he sees what’s right in front of him” she got up and went to the sink, picking up both of your dishes.

With the soothing soundtrack of the washing, you could feel almost sleepy. If it was not for that never-ending chatter of your thoughts.

“If you say so…” you murmured when she turned the tap off.

“Go to sleep. It’s just two days more of this torture” giving you a final smile, Wheeler left the kitchen.

You could survive two days. After that? Who knows. But it had to be alright.

[ct-multifandom]

MLB ideas/hopes/predictions/prompts

Bunnix using her umbrella to fly like Mary Poppins

Ladybug coming up with an overly convoluted Rube Goldberg machine type plan with her lucky charm, but not having some of the components, so she just sends Pegasus to the store in the middle of a battle

Characters who are close slowly finding out about each other’s superhero identities in funny ways

Pigella picking up something massive and like 10x heavier than her and chucking it

I really want one of these heroes’ tools to be a comically large anime-style weapon, but alas I don’t think they’d do it

Season finale boss fight featuring all the new heroes, which is totally gonna happen at some point, but it would look really busy on screen to have them all running around at once, so I’d split them into smaller teams based on their skills to carry out specific parts of Ladybug’s Epic 36-Step Plan™️. It would make for a satisfying “oh yeah, it’s all coming together” montage and also give us some unique character interactions.

Ladybug picking unique combo teams of new heroes based on their skills to fight specific strong villains

Alya starting a school paper and getting the whole team in on it. I love the episodes where the class does one big project together, they’re so cute.

Someone/a group getting akumatized on purpose to disobey Hawkmoth and take advantage of their akuma’s power for a noble goal

Episode from the POV of a boring background character detailing how the life of the average Parisian is affected by LB and CN. Unreliable scheduling, monster traffic jams, the sheer embarrassment of getting got by an akuma...

I want an animal to get akumatized. Someone’s dog who feels lonely when their favorite human gets a new, demanding job and turns into a terrifying Cerberus beast or something.

Mayor Bourgeois allocates some taxpayer dollars into a LB bank account to support her, and she has to make the very important decision on whether to save it for a real emergency or buy 17 hamburgers.

Okay part of me doesn’t want to make kwami/future hero predictions in case I accidentally come up with something way cooler than what will really happen and then be disappointed, but the other part of me is like hee hoo predikshun. So don’t expect these to actually happen lol.

I won’t talk about Multimouse because we kinda know everything about her, but she looks cute and it’s nice to see two heroes who aren’t super skinny.

The silhouette of Minotaurox in the intro doesn’t offer a lot of insight other than his epic horns. I have no idea what his tool might be. His costume looks to be pretty simple/practical, though, which is in line with Ivan’s character. I heard a theory that his power will be increasing in size, and it makes sense looking at Stoneheart and the pattern of flipping the characters’ flaws on their head, but that sounds kind of boring to me, especially compared to all the other creative abilities.

Tigresse’s silhouette makes me think her design will be awesome. Her tail looks like it might be her tool. It kind of resembles Amethyst’s whip from SU so maybe she can use it to grab things like Ladybug does with her yo-yo. I heard a theory that her power will be invisibility which I support because it takes the flaw that turned Juleka into Reflekta (wanting to be invisible out of insecurity) and makes it powerful like the stealth of a tiger.

From the silhouette, Caprikid looks a bit like a beginner’s Trollhunters cosplay, but I’m sure he’ll be cool. I’ve seen people argue whether he’s Nate or Marc and I’m positive he’s Marc (making Nate CC) so if anyone asks for an explanation I’ll make the comprehensive post on why. He’s holding his tool, and I’ve seen debate over which direction it’s in. If he’s holding it pointed up it looks like a giant calligraphy brush, but I think he’s holding it pointed down and the “brush” is just a decoration on the end. I’ve heard a theory that it’s a shepherd’s cane which is my favorite one. Personal idea here: I’d make his power telekinesis. Pretty basic, but I can imagine it being very useful for the type of scenarios we see in the show without it being OP. I like the idea of using a cane to “shepherd” something through the air. This could reflect Reverser’s desire for control, but flip it to be more collected and useful.

I fully support Coq Courage’s ninja pants, they are simply Correct. It’d be cool if his tool was a bow and arrow, and that seems like a pretty popular theory. The shape to the left of his torso looks like it might be a quiver but it’s probably just his other arm. Thumb rings are used in archery, but what little we’ve seen of the miraculous (disguised on Marinette and Chloe) shows a different type of ring. Still tho. Also get ready for my crazy never-gonna-happen idea: the bow can turn into a hang glider. Roosters can fly, but not super well/freely, which could translate to gliding. It’d add some versatility to the way the heroes move around since a lot of the temporary ones can only run, and it would let him reach places LB might not be able to. I’ve heard a theory that his power will be supersonic voice which could contrast how Nathaniel is bad at communicating and quiet until he gets mad and blows up.

Orikko might be the kwami of illumination. Roosters are associated with the sun and Evillustrator’s power was sourced from light. At first I thought his transformation words might be “sunrise” and “sunset” but someone said the activation code could be “rise and shine” which sounds awesome.

Traquemoiselle, believe it or not, is actually in the intro, she’s just hidden at the very top and only a snippet of the head is showing. All we know is that she has round dog ears. Barrk is surprisingly one of the more fleshed-out kwamis as of now, having a few solid lines of characterization in Furious Fu. Kwamis are usually yin-yang to their holder, so Barrk fits Sabrina perfectly, being loyal yet independent while Sabrina is loyal and an absolute doormat. No clue about her tool. Her power is kinda in the name: tracking. Maybe she can track down some one specific thing of her choice, but maybe she can sniff out akumas. As seen in Dark Owl and Gang of Secrets, Hawkmoth can be creative with akuma placement, so she can probably save the team from some close calls.

I have no theories for the transformation words of the other kwamis. Ziggy or Stompp could include “horns” or “charge” and Roaar “stripes” but I can’t think of any phrase including those words that isn’t too similar to an existing one. There are some phrases based on powers, though, not the animal. Or maybe they’ll just give up and give us another iteration of “Sass, scales slither”.

I think the theme for one of these remaining new heroes might be “assertion”. A lot of them struggle with that as their civilian selves, and the animals that are left can all be associated with independence/dominance, not that the animal traits always play into what the heroes are.

Ok last one, long one: in season 3, Luka’s main traits were “cool and nice” which doesn’t make for an interesting, complex major character, and at first he seemed like the perfect love interest, but from an outside perspective the extent of his kindness is kind of disturbing. I’m hoping they can flip this around and turn it into a character flaw where he has practically no boundaries, and it turns into a problem. Maybe he could agree to run random errands for the background characters for nothing in return, and at first it’s just him being nice, but later people start seeing his help as an obligation. They get peeved when he’s unavailable one day and get akumatized into a “boss rush” of classic akumas, effectively trapping and forcing him to help them. Then Tigresse Pourpe comes and helps save the day, expanding on Juleka and Luka’s relationship. The resolution can teach kids that putting yourself first isn’t necessarily selfish, and that sitting back and letting people take advantage of your kindness isn’t heroic.

There’s probably some stuff I forgot which I can put in a different post later, but lmk if you want a separate post about any of these things in more detail! This was just me rambling out all my new hyperfixation thoughts. Also if anyone uses any of the hypotheticals/scenarios as a prompt I’d love to see it.

[tsukikento]

Empathetic Chapter 11

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

Summary: After your mom, the number 1 hero in America, gets offered a teaching position at U.A., you two pack up your things and head to Musutafu, Japan to start a new life. Pressure for you in America was at an all-time high, and now you’re in Japan, where almost no one knows you, or your family’s past.

This tale starts on your first day of class where your new teacher decides the best way for you to fit in is to fight against the strongest person in your class: Bakugou Katsuki.

Warnings/Genre: This piece will feature some angst and reference to an abusive parent, if you are ever worried about other tw’s feel free to send me an ask and I will let you know. There will also be fluff, slight angst, pining, and slowburn.

A/N: Despite how long it might take me to make these chapters, I promise you I have not forgotten about this fic. School is...a lot. Anyways, please send me messages to keep me motivated, I love y’all!

(masterlist)

After a decently long walk full of quips and sarcastic comments that made time go by much quicker, you and Bakugou arrived at the nearest subway station.

“Do you have a card or are you that new?” Bakugou asked as you passed by a help desk.

Quickly, you swung around your bag and grabbed your wallet out of your small pocket. You pulled out a small blue card and showed it at Bakugou with a wide smile on your face. “It was one of the first things I did,” You exclaimed, reminiscent of your second day here when you and your mom went from task to task, only stopping to eat delicious food when necessary.

“You want a medal or some shit?” Bakugou asked while pulling out his own card. He pressed the reader up to the machine and it dinged to signify he could go through.

You pushed on after him, using your own card to get through. “You know, I don’t think I need a whole medal,” You shrugged, “Maybe just a golden sticker.” You chuckled at your own joke and Bakugou just groaned and went off to find the correct station.

You followed closely behind him, feeling rather nervous because of your unfamiliarity with the area. As you brushed past a group of large ment, you unknowingly grabbed onto Bakugou’s jacket, putting your pointer finger into his pocket. It was something you always did to your older siblings as they lead the way.

Immediately, Bakugou turned back to look at your hand and brushed you off of him. “What are you doing?” He questioned, squinting his eyes at you.

“Oh,” You shockingly shoved your own hands into your pockets. “It’s just a habit when I get nervous.”

Bakugou looked at you for a couple beats before turning around and not saying anything else. Silently, he led you as he weaved through the crowd. Eventually, he stopped in front of a yellow line and pulled out his phone to check the time.

“The train should get here soon,” He mumbled. Bakugou stood fairly still, the only movement being his thumb gliding across his phone as he scrolled through social media in his pastime.

What social media would Bakugou even use? You questioned as you tried to peak over at what app he may be on.

Eventually, you gave up and pulled out your own phone, pulling up a random app to occupy your time and you primarily focused on the blond standing next to you. You glance up from your phone and take a peak at him every now and then, admiring the soft curves of his muscles. The visible sunkissed skin paired well his dark clothes and deep vermillion eyes.

You turned back to your phone, knowing your face was just as red as the eyes you were admiring.

You took in a deep breath.

Don’t think about him that way.

He’s just a normal guy, You reasoned as a subway rushed through the tunnel, eventually coming to a stop. When it finally screeched to a halt, you and Bakugou were located just to the left of the opening door, something you believed Bakugou did on purpose.

He put his phone away, you followed quickly after, and watched as crowds of people filtered off the train. The station wasn’t as packed as it was the weekend you ran errands with your mom, but it was still packed enough to make you slightly worried.

You concentrated on Bakugou, knowing he could handle himself in a busy environment like this. When he stepped forward, you stepped forward.

You followed close behind him onto the train, you two being some of the first people entering. There was a handful of seats inside the small compartment and Bakugou led you to one immediately.

“Sit,” He mumbled while motioning towards the seat. You happily listened and posted up on the plastic yellow chair. Despite the empty seat next to you, Bakugou remained standing, his right hand grabbing onto the fabric loop attached to the ceiling.

You pouted up at the blond, jutting out your bottom lip and furrowing your eyebrows. “Why aren’t you sitting?” You asked, patting the chair next to you.

Bakugou was pushed forward, much closer to you, with the masses of people piling in. You tried your best not to become flustered from having his hips pushed to your face. He looked perfectly nonchalant during the whole predicament and simply shrugged his shoulders. “I’m leaving the seat open for people who need it,” He answered.

Before you could retort his argument, a younger teenage boy slid into the seat. He looked like he might be about thirteen years old. He snickered like a hyena as he squeezed in next to you, his friends who were only feet laughing just like him.

You glanced up to Bakugou, trying not to look at the boy who was very obviously dared to sit next to you. The blond accompanying you today was clearing glaring down at the younger boy. His piercing, merlot-colored eyes were glaring daggers at the kid.

You just couldn’t tell if he was dared to sit next to you because of your looks or because he wanted to see if Bakugou would kill him. You would argue for the latter though.

The train doors closed and your journey kicked off, the low hum of the wheels and engine creating a rather peaceful white noise background. You went to pull out your phone to distract yourself from the silent fight going on right next to you. However, before you could even reach into your pocket, Bakugou spoke.

“Beat it,” He growled at the kid, who immediately rushed away like a scared dog with a tail between its legs.

Bakugou immediately took his spot, moving slightly to find a relaxed and comfortable position. His eyes stayed on the group of boys for a bit longer, watching as they whispered to each other and looked occasionally over to you.

“Idiots,” He mumbled, while nudging you and pointing at them.

You laughed lightly, “Come on! They are just harmless kids.”

“Harmless?” He doubtfully replied. “Anyone of them could have a quirk that could kick our ass.”

You laughed louder. “You trying to tell me you weren’t just like them in middle school?”

The blond scoffed, “No way!” He left it there, rather silent for his usual self. You would expect him to try and spend this time boasting about how naturally skilled he was or how he trained everyday. Except…he didn’t say any of that. 

“What were you like in middle school?” You tentatively asked, playing with your thumbs to calm your nerves.

Bakugou cleared his throat and adjusted his seating position so he was more upright. “So focused on being a hero that I was blind to everything else,” He practically whispered. His voice was eerily calm and quiet. You almost didn’t hear him speak.

The loud sound of the subway filled your ears as you carefully debated your next words. You didn’t want to start an argument, but it was tempting to tell him that he still was.

At least to some degree.

You didn’t know him in middle school, and from how Ashido talked about Bakugou, you were sure he was a much better person than even just a year ago. Despite this, he was still clueless and not as in control of his emotions as his peers.

Quickly, you backtracked, and chuckled at Bakugou just before the pause went on one beat too long. You nonchalantly slapped his shoulder and replied, “Are you kidding me? So you really didn’t do anything fun or risky? Not even like skip out on a class?”

“Nope,” He grumbled in response while making sure to pop the ‘p’ in his comment. “I may be strong, but middle school was when I needed to prove myself good enough to go to U.A.”

You hummed in response, wishing you could relate to his struggle more. “Unfortunately, I don’t know what that feels like,” You reasoned, “But I do know how it feels to come from a strong family.”

“Sounds pretty nice,” Bakugou scoffed, almost offended that you tried to compare his strife and your benefit.

“Trust me,” You mumbled, “It is not all it is cracked up to be.”

Bekugou looked at you from his peripherals, noticing the small opening to learn more about you. He was not one to care about people’s past and he definitely did not try to hide his lack of care. However, after your tantrum the other night, he had been slowly getting more and more intrigued in your family and their past.

What could be so horrible that you refused to answer why you were so unlike your mother and siblings?

After debating for the rest of that night, Bakugou ended up typing your mother's name and ‘family history’ into a search engine. Just before pressing ‘search’ he stopped himself, realizing how this could invade your privacy.

Bakugou was not one to care about others, but he did respect his own privacy and knew how annoyed he would be in your same position. He closed the tab on his phone and huffed, realizing he could only feel good about getting his answer if he had you answer it yourself.

“Care to elaborate?” He suggested, tugging at the possibility of learning about your past.

You turned your head to look at the blond and debate whether or not to answer. You were brushing shoulders with him, allowing his emotions to rush through you. You knew his heart beat faster and the prospect of you. Although you couldn’t tell why he was so excited, you knew he was tentative and yet unavoidably curious.

Something you studied throughout your adolescence was communication and specifically relationships. Your quirk revolved around knowing people and understanding them, making this aspect of your quirk rather niche, but still valuable.

When forming relationships, it is important and natural to slowly reveal information about yourself to enhance a possible friendship. Despite this analytical thought process, your heart raced and craved for you to rely on Bakugou emotionally and test your relationship with him.

“Well,” You began, “I obviously don’t have a quirk similar to my mom or siblings.” You crossed your arms and tried to maintain a stoic face. “They are so strong and my quirk is so hidden. To me, we are on different scales, but I am always compared to them. They know my quirk so well from training me when I was young that I can literally never win against them. No matter what element they use, they are able to use noise to block out my ability to hear thoughts and keep me at a far distance to make sure I don’t put them to sleep.”

You exasperatedly sighed.

“I just wish people wouldn’t compare me to them or expect me to be as amazing as them when my quirk is so different!” You exclaimed, your voice drowning out fairly well because of everyone else on the subway.

You and Bakugou looked at each other for quite some time, you waiting for him to speak and him having no clue what to say.

Bakugou hummed and looked down at his hands. Your eyes followed and saw him picking at his nails.

You didn’t need Bakugou to respond, and you realized you shouldn’t expect him to. While some people would rush to comfort you, Bakugou would ruminate on your words.

“I’m sure you will kick all their asses one day,” Bakugou mumbled, giving you more than you expected.

You didn’t bother to reply and simply nodded, appreciating the small words of encouragement.

A few silent minutes passed before the train came to another slow stop. “This is our stop,” Bakugou explained while he got up from his plastic seat.

You stood up after him, your two seats immediately being filled. When the doors opened, the natural stream of people exiting guided you and Bakugou out. Despite this, you carefully kept close to the blond, not wanting to lose him in the crowd.

Bakugou guided you through the underground subway station until you finally came to a bright opening. Walking up the stone staircase, you were greeted by the bustling city of Musutafu. 

“This way,” Bakugou mumbled, drawing your attention away from the scenery and back to him.

“Ah,” You exclaimed, rushing to catch up to the blond. “How far is the office?” You asked, finally walking next to Bakugou.

With the streets as crowded as ever, you were forced to walk rather close to the blond, your shoulders and arms delicately brushing as you took long strides to keep up with him.

“Just a block,” He explained, while grabbing his phone from his pocket. You saw the screen turn on for a flash, just enough for him to check the time, before shoving it back into his pocket. The large text had read 12:42pm, meaning it took you about 40 minutes to get here.

It didn’t take long for you to arrive at the tall building full of small businesses, but the walk was quiet. Bakugou was taller than you and his strides were long and quick. You were much too focused on keeping up with him and monitoring your breathing to actually hold a conversation.

“It’s up here,” He commented, pointing to the brick building about 5 stories high. This part of the neighborhood was older than much of the city, meaning the architecture utilized more brick and clay than metal and glass.

It was quant, sweet. Not something you would associate with the uptight Bakugou. You would assume he would go to a top-notch, modern company. Then again, he did say Kobayashi was a family friend and old employee of his family.

“Hoo,” You exhaled, “Okay.” You shook your hands and stared up at the building, trying to calm your nerves. You lightly jumped from one foot till the next, hoping the excess of energy and nerves you currently had would go away. You gulped down the lump in your throat and went to step forward before you were stopped by the muscular arm of Bakugou.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bakugou questioned as he recalled your weird and awkward nervous dance.

Wide-eyed and innocent, you looked up to the blond. You cleared your throat and mumbled out, “Nothing.”

Bakugou scoffed, “That was definitely something, you idiot.” His raised eyebrows and wide smirk made the pit in your stomach enlarge.

You stared back at him, watching his intense gaze. It was practically begging for you to confess, and it was honestly working. “I’m nervous, okay?!” You exasperatedly explained.

“Why?” Bakugou asked, his voice more critical than he wanted it to be. However, instead of correcting himself, he kept silent and let you talk.

“I don’t know!” You replied. “I’m meeting a new person, he’s making my hero costume, which is a big thing! Like, this is how people will know me, really know me!” You groaned out, gesturing in a random direction to show your frustration. “On top of that fact, my mom doesn’t even know I’m changing it! My family has a themed costume and I am about to change mine.”

“Jeez,” Bakugou grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “You sure do have a lot of family problems.”

“Don’t we all?” You groaned, rolling your eyes at him.

Bakugou barked out a laugh, a genuine laugh. “I guess so,” He shrugged, before reaching forward to grab the door. “Ready?”

You nodded, also trying to convince yourself. You stepped inside and Bakugou followed closely behind you. Close enough that you could feel the heat of his chest. 

“We are going to the third floor,” Bakugou mumbled. He raised his arm and pointed around your shoulder, pointing at the elevator to your left. Ignoring the body heat that was exuding from Bakugou’s arm, you stepped forth to change a major factor in your future.

~~

The meeting went great.

You checked in at the desk, was brought in almost immediately, and Kobayashi guided you through every step.

Meanwhile, Bakugou sat in the waiting room, on his phone. The young lady at the front desk knew better than to try and start an attempt with the son of Bakugou Mitsuki.

When you exited the room, about an hour later, Bakugou immediately got up from his seat and tucked his phone away. He bowed at Kobayashi, albeit only slightly.

“Thanks for bringing her in, Bakugou-kun,” Kobayashi greeted as he opened the door for you to exit into the lobby.

Kobayashi’s fashionable black clothes outshined both of yours, but it seemed only appropriate. His hair was dyed a dark auburn and his skin was clear and tan with a slight pink flush.

“Of course, Kobayashi-san,” Bakugou replied with the smallest smile on his lips. “Thank you for seeing her.” His posture was much more appropriate and formal than usual, but his hands were still in his pockets, giving him an overall nonchalant appearance.

“Anything for a Bakugou,” The costume designer grinned, his gentle features making him look much younger than a 32 year-old designer. He turned away from Bakugou and faced you once more. “I’ll send you that email within the week, sweetheart,” He explained while casually waving goodbye to the both of you and walking back into his office.

“Thank you!” You exclaimed, bowing at him before he could no longer see you. You then turned to the receptionist and bowed as well, mumbling a small thank you. 

“My pleasure,” She smoothly responded, fairly surprised that Bakugou would bring along such a kind person.

You gingerly smiled and turned away to look at the blond boy accompanying you. “Ready?” You asked, watching as Bakugou followed your actions.

“Yup,” Bakugou replied, leading you into the hall by opening the door for you and back to the elevator. The walk was pleasantly silent during the short trek. “How did it go?” He finally asked while pressing the button to the elevator.

“Good,” You nonchalantly spoke. 

A bell dinged and the automatic doors opened. You stepped inside first and Bakugou was soon to follow. He pressed the ground floor button and casually leaned against the back wall. You had positioned yourself towards the back wall too, meaning you were within only a few inches of him.

You cleared your throat, trying your best not to focus too much on how close he was. “I showed him my old costume,” You continued to explain, “ and what I want for the new one. He made a couple rough sketches and then took my measurements. He said he would email me some more sketches and we would talk from there.” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding in, additionally tired from rushing through your explanation because of how distracted you were.

Why didn’t I bring water with me today? Why is it so hot?

You fiddled with one of the earbuds in your ears, careful not to take it out. Despite being tempted, you were sure that Bakugou was not thinking about your current proximity. That knowledge would just disappoint you further. You consciously removed your hand away and tried to open up your posture to make yourself more confident.

“Damn, you got a lot more than I did,” Bakugou snorted. “Literally sent him my measurements and a detailed list of what I wanted. Got to say though, I got the perfect costume.”

“Oh yeah?” You remarked, a slight seductive tone to your voice.  “I haven’t even seen your hero costume yet.” The tone of your voice was more flirty than you expected, but you attempted to roll with it.

“I’m sure you will soon,” Bakugou barked back, a smirk gracing his lips and a glint in his eyes that made your insides turn.

That was something you couldn’t help, but obsess over for the next few milliseconds. “And you will mine,” You choked out, trying your best to stay calm, cool, and collected.

The elevator doors once again opened and Bakugou motioned for you to exit first. You felt a slight heat on the small of your back, but no touch.

Was Bakugou going to touch me? You questioned, making sure not to look behind you. Better not embarrass him by letting him know I noticed.

You heard Bakugou clear his throat. “The restaurant is just a few stores down,” He explained as you opened the tinted door to the bright outside.

You stepped aside and held the door open to allow Bakugou to come out into the warm sun. “Lead the way,” You offered, gesturing for Bakugou to move much like he did in the elevator.

Bakugou nodded and began walking, this time slow enough to you to easily walk beside him.

“So,” You began, not sure how to approach this topic. “What is good at this restaurant?”

Bakugou shrugged, “All of it. You can read the menu when we get there,” He suggested.

“Yeah,” You paused, “I guess.” You bit your lip, wanting to ask more questions but knowing he didn’t want to answer.

“What?” Bakugou questioned, looking at you with a more teasing expression. When you didn’t respond, he elaborated, “I know you want to ask me something.”

“Huh?” You looked back at him with a surprised face. “I’m don’t--”

“Just because you can read minds, doesn’t mean I can’t know something is bothering you from your awkward as fuck body language,” Bakugou explained.

Although flattered that he noticed, you still couldn’t help but laugh. “What even is that sentence?”

“Shuddup, idiot! I am the native Japanese speaker here!” He yelled back over your giggles.

“Okay, okay,” You sighed while clutching your stomach. “Sorry, Bakugou,” You rather teasingly apologized.

“Tch,” Bakugou snickered. “First off, remember your honorifics,” He held up one finger and looked at you with a serious face. However, you still knew he didn’t mean anything rude by it. “Secondly, you don’t need to apologize,” Bakugou quickly added, “Even if I can tell you don’t really mean it.”

“No, no! I do!” You emphasized. A few beats of silence and you laughed again, unable to keep a straight face.

“Ugh,” Bakugou groaned, and increased his speed.

As you jogged to keep up to the red-eyed teen, you saw a small smile grace his face. Not a smirk, but a genuine smile.

You tried your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you finally fell back into step with the blond. He had significantly slowed down his pace and eventually came to a stop. You looked up and saw a large sign reading “Greek Pizza” in katakana.

You grinned at the blond and he guided you into the restaurant. It was cute and quaint with 2 waitresses immediately greeting you both.

“Reservation for Bakugou Katsuki,” Bakugou spoke once close enough to the front table.

You didn’t pay too much mind to the waitress as she brought you to a table, because you were observing the interior design of the restaurant much more. It looked so much like a typically greek home, with uneven white walls and gorgeous photography lining them.

It was so bright and cheery that you did not expect Bakugou to be interested in a fusion of Italian and Greek food.

You sat down across from Bakugou at a small boothe. The waitress left menus and excused herself as she went to grab glasses of water. You spent the next minute glazing over the menu while you waited for the waters.

The main section of their menu was greek themed pizzas, but they also had a few sandwiches and classic greek bowls that focused around Greek and mediterranean veggies with some Italian additions. Your mouth was practically watering from the select photos they added.

“The family that started this place are a married couple from Greece and Italy, but they hire Japanese staff to make the customers more comfortable,” Bakugou commented. “I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.”

“I can tell,” You smiled as you read over a pizza. “So,” You looked up to Bakugou over your menu, “Explosion of Flavor?”

Bakugou snorted at you just as the waitress arrived with two glasses of water. “Call me over whenever you are ready,” She spoke before bowing and leaving you two to continue looking over the menu.

“I don’t know if I can deal with all that spice,” You commented.

“I’ll get it,” He explained, “So you can try some.”

You looked up at him, but he was simply looking over the menu. You couldn’t read him, but you knew his ability to share was a good sign. “Thank you,” You simply replied, a sweet smile gracing your lips. You continued to look over the food and settled on something you thought would pair well with a spicy pizza.

It was a classic styled pizza with meditteranean toppings, such as artichoke hearts, black olives, and spinach. However, it was topped with a swirl of a fig balsamic glaze. “I’m thinking of getting the Balsamic Classic.”

Bakugou hummed, his lack of complaints making you hope it was an overall good choice. “I’ll order,” He mumbled while waving his hand for a waitress to see. One, who was currently dropping off plates for another customer, smiled towards you.

“Yes!” She exclaimed before finishing up with the people in front of her. Afterwards, she rushed to you. “Ready to order?” She asked, pulling out a paper and pen.

“Yes,” Bakugou began. “Could we please have two glasses of ice, a bottle of blood orange italian soda, the veggies and hummus, the Explosion of Flavor, and the Sweet Classic.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back with your drinks and hummus,” She replied. “Anything else?”

Bakugou shook his head and she swept herself away towards the kitchen.

You not only noted that Bakugou was surprisingly polite, but also realized that he ordered more than you expected. “Drinks and an appetizer?” You question, looking at him quizzically.

The blond simply shrugged and looked up at the wall away from you. “To celebrate you getting a new hero uniform,” He mumbled, clearly avoiding eye contact.

You smiled at his explanation, but didn’t speak, not wanting to tease him or make him upset. You did, however, very much appreciate this more chill and kind persona Bakugou had. You watched the blond look around the restaurant as if he had never been here before, all the time admiring his looks. His jawline and neck muscles grabbed your attention in particular.

After a few moments, you were interrupted by the waitress approaching with your drinks and hummus. You gladly accepted the glasses so she could easily place the platter of food in the center of the table.

She then placed the bottle of italian soda on the table and bowed before leaving.

You cheerily grabbed the glass bottle to pour two drinks while Bakugou grabbed a carrot stick and dipped it into the hummus. Once done, you passed one of the glasses onto his side and took your chance to also eat some of the platter.

“Mmm,” You hummed, noting how great the hummus tasted compared to store-brand containers you’ve had before.

Bakugou chuckled at you as he dipped another veggie stick into the bowl.

“What?” You pouted, looking at him while pushing out your bottom lip.

He laughed even hard, “You are such a child!”

“Am not!’ You shot back, scrunching up your nose is disbelief. 

Bakugou smirked at you and picked up a carrot stick, dipped it in hummus and took a bite. He then proceeded to wiggle and wave around the rest of the carrot stick while humming. He was clearly mocking you.

“Ugh,” You groaned, rolling your eyes, despite knowing this was all lighthearted fun. “Am I not allowed to enjoy good tasting food?”

“Guess not,” He shrugged before finishing off the carrot stick in his hand.

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, while he remained cool and simply leaned back into the booth. “You’re so mean!” You exclaimed through your laughs.

“I could be meaner,” He retorted, smirking at you while crossing your arms. It was as if he was just begging for you to challenge him. You, however, were much more focused on his flexing arm muscles. His milky skin had a beautiful golden tint to it and the shirt he was wearing on made it look better.

A little too late, you eventually snorted at his joke and shook your head to refocus yourself. Once done, you looked up to Bakugou and smiled brightly, not wanting to tear your own eyes away from his vermillion ones.

Beats of time passed as you smiled like an idiot at Bakugou and he simply looked back at you, a small smirk on his lips. It was Bakugou who broke the longing gaze first. He blinked, cleared his throat and rotated to look almost completely behind him.

You widen your eyes, not sure why you stared at him for so long. You extended your arm forward and grabbed the ice cold glass of water. You cautiously sipped on it, worried that if you gulped it down, you would choke. The cool water soothed the heat you felt on your face, but you were sure you were still noticeably red.

What can I talk about? You thought, craving something that would make you both completely forget this moment.

“Um,” You mumbled, struggling to make eye contact with the blond. “Kobayashi wanted me to let you know, by the way,” You took another sip of water to try and help swallow the lump in your throat. Bakugou, whose face was very faintly red, looked at you. “He has a new intern that is a student at U.A. He said that once he’s done with me, the intern would be who we could both go to from now on.”

Bakugou nodded, not bothering to vocalize a response.

The air was awkward and you both knew why. You, however, doubted that this would help your relationship with him. It honestly might hinder it.

A few more moments passed before Bakugou finally spoke. “So,” He began, “Is your offer to train with me still on the table?”

You looked up from your lap to meet Bakugou’s eyes.

This looks promising.

“Of course it is,” You replied while smirking, “I’m always up for kicking your ass.”

“Hah?” Bakugou exclaimed, loud enough for multiple other restaurant goers to look over at your both. The fury in his eyes was evident and it made you laugh even harder than you already were. “What makes you think you will beat me again?”

“Maybe because I beat you before?” You suggested.

“Tch,” He scoffed, tearing his eyes away from you. “I was going easy last time,” He explained, practically grinding his teeth as he spoke.

“Ahh,” You replied, “Of course you were.” You raised your eyebrows and slowly nodded before grabbing a carrot stick and dipping it into the hummus.

Bakugou silently eyes you, his furrowed eyebrows and red eyes making him look terrifying. You were determined not to get scared of him.

Eventually, Bakugou was forced to look away as your pizzas arrived. The two gorgeous and ooey gooey pies were placed in front of you, the platter of hummus and veggies being pushed to the side.

Avoiding Bakugou’s eyes, you grabbed one of the small plates they provided you and immediately grabbed one of your own slices.

“Stop being an ass or you won’t be able to try my pizza,” Bakugou pouted as he grabbed his own slice.

You laughed at him, “Although I would love to try your pizza, I, for one, feel like I am not being and ass, and two, feel like you are being a baby.”

“Am not!” He retorted before tearing into the baked dough.

“Are to!”

“Am not!”

“Are t--” You stopped before finishing. “You know what?” You questioned while grabbing one of Bakugou’s slices of pizza. “I am not going to argue with you. I will let my own fighting do the speaking for me.”

Bakugou smirked and you wondered if he possibly was proud of your quick retort. “Clever,” He mumbled before grabbing one of your pizza’s slices.

You smiled, happy with the little praise you were receiving. You didn’t bother continuing the conversation and you dove into admiring the amazing food in front of you.

~~

You and Bakugou ended up spending another hour and a half in the restaurant, meaning you didn’t get home till 4pm. You still had much of the day ahead of you, but spending hours with Bakugou definitely took a lot out of you.

You were glad that your conversation for the rest of the not-so date was pleasant and humorous. You walked into the door with a smile on your face and Bakugou told you about a time when Kaminari spazzed out after only 3 minutes of training.

You immediately saw Midoriya and Iida sitting at the dining table, Sato and Koda in the kitchen, and Hagakure and Ashido on the couch. The smile on Bakugou;s face disappeared and he immediately ushered you to the elevator.

You felt a pang in your heart, wondering if Bakugou didn’t want people to see you together. Then again, Bakugou also seemed like a very private person, maybe he just didn’t want to flaunt around like other people would.

You let him lead you into the elevator where you watched as he sighed and leaned against the elevator wall. You looked at him curiously, not outright asking for him to explain.

“Sorry,” He mumbled, something you did not expect him to say at all. “I just didn’t want to get caught in a conversation with anyone, especially considering the look Pinky was giving me.”

“That’s okay,” You replied, flashing him a kind smile. “I don’t always feel like being around people either.” You felt your phone vibrating non-stop. You were sure it was all texts from Ashido as she has clearly seen you with Bakugou.

“Cool,” Bakugou quietly replied.

The elevator singed and you walked out before Bakugou. He immediately caught up to you and held his phone out to you. You eyed it questionably, not wanting to take it from him without knowing what for.

“Your number, dumbass,” He explained.

You smirked at him before taking it and beginning to put in your number.

“Tch, so we can plan a fight, obviously,” He added in response to your knowing smirk.

You nodded and sent a text to yourself so you would have his number. “Have a good rest of your day, Bakugou,” You spoke while giving his phone back to him. “See you later.” You waved goodbye and walked to your door, knowing full well that he was watching you.

[imagine-docx]

the cute barista and his crisis.

Summary: You spent the night at home, while your roommates were out partying. Suddenly, a random number called you ranting to you about how much he hates life. [college!barista!]

Warnings: hella sexual jokes and references, swearing, and hating post-secondary, as per usual.

A/N:  hope you guys are still doing well and i hope you guys are staying safe! 💛 - Amanda

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday consisted of either early morning classes, midday classes, and the occasional class that ran past 8 pm. Fridays were the only day you can claim as yours, but of course, you had to work.

It was Thursday and the cool New York air was engulfing you and your roommates as the three of you made your way to the usual coffee shop that was a little bit off campus. “Gonna ogle the cute barista again?” Wanda nudged.

“Ah yes, young love,” Nat snickered. 

“Shut up,” you felt the heat rise up to your cheeks, “I think he’s cute, but he probably has so many girls fawning over him.”

“Remember, we are the one cute girls in the coffee shop,” Nat said, opening the door, “After you, m’lady.”

That resulted in you and Wanda letting out a laugh, “Okay incel,” Wanda responded. The three of you glanced up at the menu, “I’m feeling tea today, but what kind?” Wanda said.

“After that comment, poison flavoured,” Nat muttered.

You let out a laugh, “You’re quite spicy today, go for a spiced tea.”

Wanda stuck her tongue out at Nat, “That’s why she’s my favourite roommate,” Glancing back at the menu, “Is Russian spiced tea good?” 

“I don’t know, ask your favourite roommate,” Nat said.

“Bitch.” 

The cute blond barista came up to the register, “You ready? Or do you need another minute?”

You felt Nat pinch your left ass cheek, and you nudge your elbow into her ribcage, “Yeah. Can I get a caramel iced coffee?” 

“Of course, what else?” He asked.

“Can I get a cinnamon dolce latte?” Nat spoke keeping her hand near your ass cheeks.

“Of course, and for you?” He indirectly asked Wanda.

“Russian spiced tea please.” She spoke.

“That’s $17.60, here or to go?” He asked.

“Here,” Wanda said, while digging in her backpack for her wallet, “Credit please?”

“Aww, we love it when our sugar daddy treats us,” You snickered, resulting in a laugh from Nat and the barista.

“It’s only because she bought dinner and you bought dessert last night,” she grumbled.

“Go take a seat, and I’ll bring the drinks over when they’re done.” He spoke, which resulted in a hums of thank you from the three of you and you guys walked over to the usual booth you guys inhabited when you were here.

“Is there a reason that my poor ass cheek got abused?” You asked.

“He was checking you out,” Nat bluntly stated.

“No he wasn’t, he was doing his job.” You stated. 

“And I am a natural redhead,” she sarcastically said.

“Wait, it's dye?” Wanda practically cried out.

The three of you laughed, and went over your plans for the next weekend. Nat had work and was doing rehearsal for the Russian dance competition that was happening in a few weeks. Wanda had to work and was also seeing her brother Pietro on Sunday. You on the other hand had to work, and had to have a comparative essay done by Monday. 

“You’re so lucky you’re done your midterms,” Wanda said, “I’m still struggling trying to wrap my head around platyhelminths.”

“But see, you watched me and laughed at me for only surviving off of coffee and fruit snacks for three weeks straight. Now I am prospering and living my life and you have a midterm on Monday,” you said.

“You looked like death around the apartment,” Nat laughed, and the cute barista brought over your drinks.

“Russian spiced tea, cinnamon dolce latte, and caramel iced coffee,” he said, passing around the drinks, “And a tiramisu square.”

“Uh, we didn’t order this?” Nat asked. 

“The table over there sent it,” he responded, pointing his head over to where a group of boys were sitting.

“Thank you,” the three of you hummed and there went the barista.

“You know,” Nat leaned into you, “He has a nice ass.”

“Nat,” You hissed.

“America is proud of that ass,” Wanda snickered.

Suddenly the group of boys that sent the dessert got louder, trying to get your attention. You rolled your eyes, “God, I hate men.”

“Except for the pretty blond one with a nice ass,” Nat said, digging into the tiramisu. 

“I second that,” Wanda said, taking a bite of the piece on her spoon.

Suddenly the frat boy cult got even louder, Nat rolled her eyes, and moved your hair from the base of your neck, “What are you-” Then came a long lick from the base of your neck to your jawline. Suddenly the frat boy cult shut up, “Jesus Christ, warn a girl.”

“Why are you acting all shy now? You weren’t this shy last weekend when I was doing body shots off of you at the back of the apartment,” Nat said, nonchalantly.

“You may have shut up the frat boy cult, but the cute barista is so red you can confuse him for a bottle of ketchup.” Wanda stated.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

Two weeks have passed, and you would go into the coffee shop whenever you had over an hour worth of a gap, or before work. Today is one of those days. It was Friday, and you were due to start your shift in forty-five minutes. 

Walking into the shop, there was the cute barista working the front. You didn’t catch the way his eyes practically lit up upon seeing you. “Just you today?” He asked.

“Yes sir,” you said, giving him a smile.

“Caramel iced coffee?” He asked.

“Of course,” you said, digging in your bag for your wallet. 

“Don’t worry, it's on the house.” He said, “Here or to go?”

“To go, please.”

“You got it doll,” and with that you stood off to the side and waited for him to make your drink. 

“Caramel iced coffee,” he called out.

“Thank you, have a good day,” you called out before making your way to your shift.

“You know you look like a lovesick puppy,” Bucky said to Steve.

“That obvious?” Steve asked. 

“Yeah. Also, remember, Happy is gonna take that coffee out of your paycheque,” Bucky said patting Steve’s back.

“If it’s for her, Happy can have my entire paycheque.” Steve responded, going to clean up.

“Ugh, teenagers and their hormones,” Bucky spoke.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

You, Wanda, and Nat sat on your shared living room floor eating the steamed dumplings and sushi that you ordered for dinner. “So you saw the cute barista boy today,” Wanda said, “Soy sauce please.”

Nat handed her the sauce before taking a california roll for herself, “His ass still thick?”

You nearly choked on the dumpling you were eating, “Fucking Christ, Nat.”

“You can’t miss that ass!” Nat tried justifying, “He walks in, and his ass walks in five minutes later.”

Wanda choked on her iced tea, “He wore this white shirt that was way too tight for him, God that left nothing to the imagination,” you said recalling the way his muscles moved when making your coffee.

“Someone’s having a wet dream tonight,” Wanda said.

You threw a soy sauce packet at her head, “No! I don’t even know his name.”

“See that’s a problem, she can’t moan his name if she doesn’t know his name.” Nat laughed.

You threw a soy sauce packet at her head, “The both of you need to get laid.”

“So do you sweetheart, and by the big muscular blond with the thick ass who works at The Petite Bean.” Wanda said, nearly dodging another soy sauce packet.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

The next Friday night you were at home by yourself eating a sandwich from the bodega that was next to your building. Wanda and Nat went to this party, you wanted to go, but after your shift, you were exhausted and just decided to call it a night. 

Taking the last bite of your turkey sandwich, you got up and threw everything out, and decided to go and take a long hot shower. You stood at the tv debating whether or not you should turn off the documentary on whales, but you decided not to as it helps serve as background noise.

You showered and threw on a massive NYU hoodie and some pyjama shorts. Getting out of the shower, you headed back to the kitchen, dug around in the cabinets for a snack of a sort, and headed back to your position on the couch. 

You were scrolling through your Instagram, when a random number called you. You answered because you never know it could be Nat or Wanda in trouble. “Hello?”

You heard a shaky breath from the other side, “Oh sorry, I have the wrong number.”

“Hey, before you hang up, are you okay?” You asked.

“Not really-”

You cut him off, “Did you want to talk about it? I have the time.”

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna bother you,” the man from the other side of the line said.

“Of course, shoot,” you said.

“Midterms got the worst of me. I’m practically failing chemistry, why did I take chem? Like I’m an art major, the fuck am I doing in science? Then the girl I dated for a little keeps coming by the place I work at with the man she cheated on me with, and that shit still stings. Then, there’s this cute girl who keeps coming by the place I work, and I can’t seem to talk to her. She’s like this ball of sunshine, and I don’t think I can talk to her. Do you have anything fucked up happening in your life? Or is the lord hating on me?” 

You laughed, “Unfortunately, no. With the chem thing, don’t be so hard on yourself. Courses get to the best of us, we are so reliant on a GPA, when it doesn’t even guarantee a job after practically killing ourselves for this degree. Failing one course isn’t so bad, just don’t fail more than three, that might result in academic probation. Honestly, if she cheated on you, fuck her. She doesn’t deserve any of your attention, if she was the one who gave you up. And with the other girl, just slowly ease her into it, ask her how her day has been, ask her about the weather, if she’s holding a book or something, try to bond with her about that.”

“You sound like a psych major,” he joked.

“Psych minor,” you corrected, “Socio major. From what I know you can’t be a science major. So what do you major in?” 

“Art history, and minor in regular history.”

“Oh, we got a huge history fan don’t we?” You joked.

“Biggest nerd in Brooklyn.”

That same night the two of you stayed talking until 4:30 am, before he heard you yawning and telling you to get some sleep. You both bidded your goodnights and the moment your head hit the pillow, you knocked out.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

The following morning, or afternoon at that point. You stumbled into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, and heard Wanda and Nat groaning about how they need Advil. You opened the door to Nat’s room and saw the two of them practically cuddling. You threw two bottles of water, and the bottle of Advil at them before heading to the washroom to brush your teeth. 

Once you were done, you sat on the counter of the kitchen drinking your coffee, you heard stumbling from the hallway. Suddenly, a disheveled Nat appeared, she was sporting bedhead, smeared makeup, a black lace bra and some random sleeping shorts that looked like they belonged to Wanda. “Good morning sweetheart,” you cooed.

She flipped you off before making herself a cup of coffee, “Never drinking again.”

“Nat,” Wanda whined, “Please I need a cuddle buddy.”

“You have another roommate,” Nat reminded her.

Wanda nudged your legs open and curled up into your frame, “My favourite.”

You laughed while patting her head, “What happened?”

“So much booze, free booze.” Nat stated.

Free booze to university kids was like feeding candy to a toddler. “Alright cuddlebug. I have errands to do, I gotta go shower.” You said trying to push away Wanda.

“No, please don’t.” Wanda latching onto you harder.

“She’s gonna make her way down to Manhattan to see the cute barista,” Nat joked.

“Harhar, I’m going to the bank and I need to mail out this return. The green dress was too big, had to order a size down.” You said, finishing off your coffee, finally pushing off Wanda, “Also why the fuck would I go to Manhattan to see the barista.”

“Dick makes you do crazy things baby girl.” Nat said.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

While you were getting dressed your mind ran onto the man who called you last night and ranted to you about his life. You decided to call him back and check up on him. After three rings he picked up, “Hello?”

“Hey, you called me last night and we talked for an hour and a half about some super deep stuff, you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks for checking up on me.” He spoke.

“Not a problem, if you ever need to rant, you can always text me.” You said shoving your wallet into your bag.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna burden.” He asked.

“If you need a friend, I am here for you.” You said.

You two exchanged names, before both of you had to go. And that started your texting relationship with a man named Steve Rogers.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

You came back home from your errands trip and brought bagels for the two hungover disasters you call your roommates. You walked back in and saw Wanda and Nat under the pink fur blanket watching the whale documentary you were watching last night. “My baby is back,” Wanda said excitedly.

“I bring bagels, because bagels make us happy when we are hungover.” You said placing the bag on the table, “Two rainbow bagels with strawberry cream cheese. Two poppy seed bagels with tuna salad on both.” You said handing each of them their own bagels. 

You grabbed your own two before plopping next to them, “If barista boy doesn’t domesticate you, I will.” Nat said.

You laughed before you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you got a message from Steve asking about the bagel place you usually get your stuff from. “Who’s Steve?” Wanda asked.

“New mans?” Nat exclaimed.

“You’re replacing barista boy before you could even dick him down?” Wanda cried out.

“No, Jesus. I haven’t even met Steve-” Wrong phrasing you used there.

“You’re back on tinder?” Wanda asked, “I thought we were doing it together.”

“No, he accidentally called me last night and we talked for an hour.” You said nonchalantly taking a bite out of your bagel.

“A threesome with barista boy and Steve? Wow someone’s getting some,” Nat said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Jesus Christ Nat.”

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

As per usual, you made your way into the cafe getting coffee before your shift. Noticing the barista, you again missed the gleam in his eyes when he saw you. He mustered up the courage, “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m doing good,” You smiled.

Steve felt his knees weaken at your smile, “The usual?”

“The usual,” you said, paying and going to message the roommate group chat about the tight light blue shirt barista boy was wearing today.

“Alright, here you go.” He said sliding you the coffee and a straw.

“Thank you, have a good day,” you said before slipping out of the shop and heading to work.

“So you took the girls advice and asked her about her day, look at you making big moves.” Bucky nudged Steve.

“One step at a time Buck,” he said, going to clean up his station.

“Hey, you better have not given her another free coffee,” Bucky called out.

┍━━━━━♥♠♣♦━━━━━┑

After several weeks of messaging Steve, you learned he also attended NYU and both of you worked around your schedules, trying to meet up. The two of you finally decided to meet on campus. You picked a morning where you, Nat and Wanda had a two hour gap just in case something happened and he was in fact a 50 year old pervert with a thing for third year students.

You: hey i’m in the student centre

Steve: Hey, I’m sitting, I’m wearing a black jacket and a white t-shirt

You looked up and almost screamed, as if the gods were playing a joke on you. It was your cute barista boy. Okay, being rational, he could happen to be here at the same time, wearing the same out- nope, no way. “Steve?” You asked, approaching the table.

Looking up from his phone, he was shocked as well, “H-hi,” he stuttered out.

“Can I sit?” You asked.

“Of course.”

“So I guess you were helping me, try and talk to you,” he finally spoke out.

“Wait, what?” You asked, confused.

“The girl I was messaging you about, was you,” he sheepishly said.

You didn’t know how to respond, “Really?”

“Yeah, if you don’t feel the same that’s okay.” Steve said looking down at his fingers.

You took his hand in yours, “No, I like you too.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah, Nat keeps trying to get me to ask you out. But I kept talking myself out of it.” You said.

“How about I treat you to the finest thing this campus has to offer and we can talk about how we both are idiots,” he offered.

“It better be the Wendy’s,” you joked.

“Only the finest for the finest,” he winked at you, resulting in the blush staining your cheeks. He stood up and put his hand out, upon standing up you took his hand and was about to exit the student centre. 

You heard Nat speak loudly to Wanda, “She’s getting dick, I’m so proud of her.” You wanted the ground to create a blackhole and swallow you whole. 

Until you heard another voice, “BuckBuck! Our baby Steve is all grown up and getting pussy.”

You looked to see Steve blushing, turning back and flipping him off, “Fuck off Sam.”

Of course, both of your roommates were the worst.

[arilies]

Mercury and Learning Style

*Survey Results*

The four main learning styles are Visual, Aural, Read/Write, and Kinesthetic. There are different systems for learning style, but most seem to be some variation of these. In terms of these, I don’t think that there’s any strong trend in regard to where one’s Mercury is placed by sign or house. There were, however, a few signs who seemed to struggle with a certain learning style, and I’ll make note of those. There were also interesting little idiosyncrasies that I noticed, and I’ll be making note of those as well. I decided against doing a post on learning style for each element, and I’ll be writing about the Fire Mercuries again here. I’m literally just going to copy and paste what I wrote before.

Just because I don’t mention a specific learning style with a sign doesn’t mean that they can’t learn that way. Every sign mentioned every learning style, and it’d be redundant to rewrite that for every sign.

There were responses for every sign that said they learn best when they’re interested in the topic. 

If you want to know why it is that I have come to some of these conclusions, or if there is anything specific you wanted to know regarding this question on the survey, feel free to ask and I’ll let you know! For the sake of making the writing smoother I’ll be mostly making statements. 

Aries Mercury

♈︎ Aries Mercuries have trouble with listening and auditory learning. Only one respondent stated that they learned in an auditory way. Many others said that they have difficulty listening; it goes in one ear and out the other.

♈︎ They generally prefer independent learning, but there are a few exceptions. One being that they like having someone demonstrate what they are learning. Another is that they do well with one on one learning, such as tutoring.

♈︎ They like things to be short and to the point. If you take too long to say something you’re going to lose them.

♈︎ They enjoy hands on learning and learning by doing

♈︎ They learn best when information is presented in a fun, unusual, or exciting way.

♈︎ Writing things down helps them remember information

Taurus Mercury

♉︎ Taurus Mercuries like repetition, whether that means writing something down repeatedly, saying something out loud repeatedly, hearing something repeated, etc.

♉︎ They like “practical” learning, which I think means hands on. They aren’t the only ones to write practical, but I thought it was an interesting choice of words. If you’re one of the people who told me that they learn in a practical way, Taurus Mercury or not, I’m very interested in hearing what you meant!

♉︎ They learn slowly, but they’re effective. In other words, it may take them a while to learn something, but once they’ve learned it, they’ve learned it.

Gemini Mercury

♊︎ Gemini Mercuries like to be able to fiddle with things or move around while they’re learning or studying. They have a much harder time if they have to sit still.

♊︎ Saying things out loud helps them.

♊︎ They like discussion and debates, and they find it valuable to hear others’ points of view. Talking about different approaches really helps them learn.

♊︎ They like seeing examples before trying things, or trying things and working them out on their own before working with others.

♊︎ They like quiet music in the background

Cancer Mercury

♋︎ Cancer Mercuries learn best when they can connect emotionally to a subject, or when the subject gets an emotional reaction out of them. It doesn’t matter what the emotion is.

♋︎ Cancer Mercuries also like repetition

♋︎ They flop like fish 

♋︎ They like to write while listening to something, but they don’t like to learn by just listening.

♋︎ They benefit from seeing an example before trying it themselves

Leo Mercury

♌︎ At least 6 Leo Mercuries specifically said that they learn best with a mixture of auditory+something else concurrently. For example, listening and writing at the same time, or listening and doodling. I know that doesn’t seem like a lot, but it’s just so interesting to me that that many had such a similar answer.

♌︎ Leo Mercuries like hands on learning and learning by doing.

♌︎ Many Leo Mercuries also stated that they like repetition when learning.

♌︎ Like Aries Mercuries, they write to remember information.

♌︎ They repeatedly specified that they need to be interested in the subject matter if they want to learn it.

♌︎ Leo Mercuries are very visual learners. One or two in every house stated that they learned best visually.

♌︎ 8th House Leo Mercuries expressed more of a desire and/or tendency to throw themselves into research than other Leo Mercuries. I noticed this trend with the other Mercury signs as well.

♌︎ 1st House Leo Mercuries wrote that they specifically like learning and working alone than the other Leo placements. Again, I noticed this trend with other Mercury signs.

Virgo Mercury

♍︎ Virgo Mercuries don’t like deadlines. They like to work at their own pace, and in a low pressure environment.

♍︎ They also like graphs, diagrams, spreadsheets, etc. They’re very visual learners in this way.

♍︎ More than one noted that information just comes to them naturally and without them having to put much effort into it. One of those was a 12th House Mercury, and the other was a 1st House Mercury. That was not the norm for Virgo Mercuries, but it was very interesting.

♍︎ If they’re in the right mood, they can go for marathon study sessions.

♍︎ They like knowing the “why” behind things

♍︎ They ask lots of questions in general.

♍︎ They are detail oriented

♍︎ They like seeing examples and observing

♍︎ Some like music while studying, and some like total silence.

Libra Mercury

♎︎ Like Virgo Mercuries, Libra Mercuries are visual learners in the sense that they like charts and graphs.

♎︎ They really like writing their notes in different colors, color coding in general, and highlighting things.

♎︎ They like to immerse themselves in the learning process

♎︎ They like discussion and debate as well as teaching or helping others

♎︎ Sometimes they like learning/studying with other people to stay focused

Scorpio Mercury

♏︎ Scorpio Mercuries are very aware of the environment that they’re learning in. They prefer casual, comfortable environments where they feel safe making mistakes.

♏︎ 3rd House Scorpio Mercuries liked learning things step by step more than other Scorpio Mercuries.

♏︎ Like Aries and Cancer, they generally aren’t the best auditory learners.

Sagittarius Mercury

♐︎ I had 68 responses from Leo Mercuries, and 50 from Sagittarius Mercuries, but the responses to this question for Leo Mercury took up about a page and a half, whereas the responses for Sagittarius Mercury took up nearly five pages. So that should tell you something.

♐︎ Sagittarius Mercuries like having examples. It seems to really help them to have someone to watch while they’re learning.

♐︎ Their learning style is more auditory than Aries and Leos

♐︎ Interaction while learning is important to them. It would be hard for them to sit back and not ask questions.

♐︎ They like hands on learning and learning by doing.

♐︎ They also like learning with repetition.

♐︎ They prefer to be shown an example of how to do something instead of having it explained to them.

♐︎ They like to ask questions and understand “Why”

♐︎ They like teachers that are entertaining and funny.

♐︎ 5th House Sagittarius Mercuries have trouble with math. They were the only Sagittarius Mercuries who made note of this.

♐︎ They like to experience things to learn them. Walking through things step by step, and really getting to where they understand those steps and the point behind them helps. Expanding on this, figuring out how to apply the information helps them understand the information itself.

♐︎ The trend of 1st house Mercuries preferring to work independently continues here.

Capricorn Mercury

♑︎ They like to work with or learn from experts. They were the only sign that said anything like this!

♑︎ They like to engage, whether it’s with a teacher or a group of friends, if it’s worthwhile. Other than that, they prefer doing their own thing.

♑︎ Repetition

♑︎ They like manuals, textbooks, workbooks, etc. 

Aquarius Mercury

♒︎ Interestingly, they also learn through emotion. More than one mentioned it, and other than Cancer and Pisces, no other signs mentioned emotions, so I’m counting it. To the Aquarius Mercury who wrote that you learn best through emotional hurt: Are you okay? I’m honestly a bit concerned about your school experience.

♒︎ Aquarius Mercuries like having someone or something to hold them accountable. For instance, studying with a friend might keep them focused. They may doodle or take notes to stay engaged in class. I’m not an Aquarius Mercury, but I switch between print and cursive while I’m taking notes to keep myself from zoning out, and that reminds me of this.

♒︎ They also want to know “why”

♒︎ Although it was only one response that mentioned it, this was the only sign to have someone mention the internet and apps with learning style.

♒︎ They also like feeling immersed.

♒︎ They like diagrams, drawing, and visual learning.

Pisces Mercury

♓︎ Every sign had people who said that they had to be interested to learn something, but Pisces Mercuries gave the most consistent reason for this. They really have a hard time paying attention/staying engaged/not drifting off when they don’t have an interest.

♓︎ They also learn best when they can connect emotionally to or empathize with the topic at hand

♓︎ They have a tendency to remember random or extra information

♓︎ Immersion

[alwaysspeakshermind]

Varchie Appreciation Week~Day 7: Free Choice

I didn’t really know what to do for the free choice, so I decided I might as well just go ahead and talk about why I love Archie and Veronica together so much. This sucker wound up being longer than intended though so, oops, my bad, and without further unnecessary ado, here’s three quick(ish) reasons why I love the Varchie relationship:

(1)  It’s like a fairytale, but for people who don’t believe in fairytales

I’ve seen a lot of shows/movies and read a lot of books in my life, and I don’t ship easily. As a rule, I tend to gravitate toward fictional relationships that deal with the messiness of reality but also showcase how much fun things can be despite life’s general crappiness and, comics history aside (Riverdale is a TV show so it’s technically as though we’re being introduced to these characters for the first time), Archie and Veronica are like the love story that was never supposed to happen. He’s a small-town guy from a lower/middle income family; she’s a New York socialite born to rule the 1%. He’s the Sweet Kid with a hidden wild side; she’s the Wild Child with a hidden sweet side, and if life went according to plan, their paths would never intersect. So much of them even meeting is random chance, and it’s kind of amazing—if Hiram weren’t crooked, Veronica and Hermione wouldn’t have had to leave New York, and they wouldn’t have met. If Archie had moved to Chicago with Mary, they wouldn’t have met. (And both those scenarios would have been tragedies of epic proportions.)

To me, their story really resonates because in spite of the glorious, jaw-dropping, Love At First Sight scene, it feels more real-life than storybookish. I mean, hey, they meet randomly in a restaurant. They take a look at the other person and think “Hmm. I could potentially be interested in this.” They don’t mean to make out, but the attraction is strong, they succumb to temptation, and they handle their natural but immature slip-up as maturely as possible and deal with all the immature fallout as best they can. They don’t have to apologize for something they had every right to do, but they do it anyway because it makes a friend uncomfortable, and they then try to stay away from each other, but they can’t do it. The thing they wrote off as attraction is too strong because it’s actually something else, and they accidentally fall in love.

Now. 

It may not be everyone else’s cup of tea, but to me…that’s pretty cool. That is a fairytale, except it’s a fairytale that’s grounded a bit more in reality, so it’s easier for me to get invested. It’s cute, but it’s not Disney, singing-birds cute. It’s more like...cynically cute, and thus more my jam.

(2) They’re each other’s first choice, their goals align, they’re a natural match

In the comics, Archie has always been the guy all the girls want, therefore he is also the guy all the guys kind of hate. Similarly, Veronica has always been the girl the guys all want, and thus the girl the girls all hate. The question constantly asked by everyone who hates Archie for dating Veronica is “Why does Veronica date Archie when she could have any other guy in the world?” and the question asked by everyone who hates Veronica for dating Archie is, “Why does Archie go out with Veronica when he could date any other girl in the world?”

Funnily enough, for all the flack Riverdale catches for ‘deviating from its source material,’ it has, if all the over-the-top Varchie complaints are any indication, done an amazing job adapting that particular aspect of the comics. In Riverdale, both Archie and Veronica have multiple people ready and willing to date them, yet they keep focusing on each other.

So, let’s consider that question again: why does Veronica want to date Archie when she has all these other (equally hot, debatably smarter) options? Why does Archie want to date Veronica when he has all these (debatably equally hot, debatably with less-dangerous-family-drama) options?

Spoiler alert: it’s not because of sex. 

I have an entire sermon I’d like to preach on this particular subject, but since it’s far too long to include in this already-too-long post, I’ll just reiterate that last part...it’s not because of sex.

It’s because they love each other. (You know, kind of like they and their actions have been suggesting since the very first season?) 

In the end, it doesn’t matter to either of them how much crazy baggage comes with the other one; the love’s strong enough to outweigh the rest of it, and they’re both the type of people willing to do whatever they can to help those they care about. That’s the thing I really love about them—they take care of family, friends, and neighbors first, because that’s something they can actually do to help. They don’t get hung up on widespread social injustices or the problems of the world at large, because there’s no way to fix all that. They just do whatever lies in their power to help, and spend the rest of their time trying to stick together and have fun in a world that pretty much sucks.

Is that a noble ambition? Eh, maybe not. But it is a practical one, and it’s also one that makes sense for Archie and Veronica as characters. They’re both only children, they both grew up valuing family, they both thought their parents were totally solid units until they found out they weren’t, and they both prefer dwelling on the good things in life rather than the bad. They are a young couple, same as Bughead et. al., but the way they function as a couple really isn’t because they’re both very attractive people with just enough prior experience in life and romance to complicate things. 

Also, their personalities balance each other out: Archie’s hotheaded, Veronica’s coolheaded. He acts on instinct, but can be indecisive. She thinks things through, but is very decisive. He’s trusting, she’s suspicious, he’s optimistic, she’s realistic, etc. etc., but they’ll both punch someone’s lights out if necessary. It’s an adorable combination.

(3) They work at making it work because they want it to work

In essence, Varchie has what I always call the Married Couple dynamic—their primary focus is less on “How do we move forward together,” and more on “How do we juggle pasts, present, and future, because we know we want to be together, but we also know we’ve each made a lot of mistakes, and we don’t know what to expect because we’ve never been in a relationship this high-stakes before.” They’re not discovering how love and sex works, or figuring out how to handle a relationship transition from friends to dating, they’re discovering how love and sex works with a person whose background they don’t share and whose family they know nothing about. That’s the kind of thing that tends to show up more in a post-high school/college setting with twenty-somethings and older, and that’s why, I think, it’s so compelling a dynamic to me—it’s interesting to watch the Meet The Family/Meet The Ex/Let’s Just Be Friends storylines play out with kids for a change.

What makes it even better: they still feel young. They still make young mistakes, like thinking they can stay “just friends,” or that they have to do things on their own to keep the other person safe. But they handle their young mistakes maturely, and that’s frankly remarkable for a couple on a show aimed at teens. I personally love the way they’ve been written, even though it involves a bunch of storylines that made me mad in S3, because whether they’re dating or trying to pretend to be just friends, Archie and Veronica’s connection is strong and obvious. Even when they’re not supposed to, they end up looking at and to each other, so it’s just kind of pointless for anyone else to try and get in the way—from the second Veronica walked into Pop’s, she’s had Archie’s attention, and vice versa.

To me, that’s not a boring, predictable love story—that’s a freaking classic.

“Archie...you’re so good. It’s like you’re filled with it. And I know that I need goodness in my life. I need you in my life.”

“Ronnie, when I first met you...you were it for me. Everything I could have ever wanted.”

[rupertacton]

The Oak Leaves and the Acorns

I'm currently somewhere on the southern side of the Thames Estuary. The pylons stretch for miles across the semi-marshland. I seem to be left alone here. My pursuers must have realised I have no intention of carrying on my campaign. I don't doubt that they will find me at some point but for now I am no longer a priority. This gives me a chance to think. I know there are other people resisting. Pockets of dissent. I am under no illusion though. We have lost. They have won. All I can do for now is try to explain to myself, and anyone that finds this, how we reached this point. Soon there will only be official accounts. Well presented lies on information boards. Something for The Members to file past with suitable reverence. Watched over by The Volunteers.

Like many people of my age my first encounters with The Trust were benign. Boring even. A long drive out of the city. A weekend away. My parents would exit the motorway, turn onto the A and B Roads and follow the familiar signs. A driveway, carpark, a formal garden, an impossibly huge house or castle. The sticker in the car window, the Oak Leaves and the Acorns, granted us access. A vision of how the other half used to live. An aristocracy before the democratisation of extreme wealth caused the cash poor and asset rich to gift their little slices of heaven to us mere mortals. Of course, as a child, I had very little grasp of how, and why, these buildings and their well maintained grounds became part of a very particular holiday for a very particular type of people. These endless houses, infinities of lawns, the never ending tours, were nothing but a preamble to the real action of the gift shop and cafe, an ice cream as a reward for good behaviour or to placate a tantrum. This was The Trust to me.  As well as the houses there were vast expanses of coastline, countryside, even whole villages, that we visited, the oak leaf and the acorns in the window bestowing it's privileges upon the Volvo and it's inhabitants.

At this time membership was voluntary of course. My parents were both left-leaning academics in London universities. They had a strong professional interest in the built and natural environment. As I moved into my early teens I developed similar interests but expressed in slightly different ways. Graffiti, skateboarding, breaking into the derelict social housing being decanted as London emptied itself of undesirable elements. Warehouse parties. I still sometimes had to go away with my parents.  We sometimes rented a cottage from The Trust, often out of season for the cheaper rates, I hated school so didn't mind being pulled out for a week or two. I was generally left to my own devices. Able to walk, listen to music, read, develop a deep relationship with super strong strains of marijuana. Although we were undeniably culturally middle class we were financially precarious. More like my friends whose parents worked at supermarkets and call centres than my friends whose parents worked for banks and advertising agencies. This was hidden from me but I understood. Academia was falling apart. Especially the serious, radical, unprofitable academic practice my parents were involved with. The initially stable professorships and lecturing positions they held were becoming increasingly unpredictable. The work was different. The students were now mainly extremely wealthy, often from the continent, or further afield, expecting a certain level of service for the huge fees paid by their parents. I only give this background information to contextualise what was happening before things got to where they are now. London had become a playground for the mega rich. Vast swathes of Not-London were post-industrial wasteland, stockbroker belt housing, big sheds, strip malls, badly managed farmland, grouse moors, sheep afflicted pseudo-wilderness, brick clad housing developments, dead shopping precincts, violent town centres.

I'm just old enough to remember pre-Separation Britain. The forces that shaped post-Separation Britain, or what remained, were already working their dark magic. The latent fascism, racism, xenophobia, hatred of difference, this was all here. Dormant but here. The force that really brought about what we have now, though, was the money. Large parts of the country relied on the money siphoned from The Continent, directly or indirectly. Whole counties became unsustainable. Services were slashed, central government had nothing to replace the subsidies, young and old were pitted against each other, the rural and urban, the poor and the rich. You could argue it was forever thus. You could. I'd probably agree. But there were moments of hope, consensus, belief in a better future for everyone. This was over. An almost endless wave of civil disorder, protests, street battles, increasingly violent terrorist incidents and heavy handed government clampdowns by an increasingly underfunded police force helped by an increasingly more influential military, was in motion. Life was still the same, but very different. I managed to finish school, my parents still just about scraped by on teaching jobs. I had become very active politically and had developed a taste for confrontation that would later serve me very well. Or very badly depending on your perspective.

The money ran out. Britain was broke. The government had nothing. Certain far sighted, or some would say complicit, businesses, corporations, NGO's, QUANGO's and other interested parties had seen this coming. There is circumstantial evidence that they had a lot of help from individuals within central and local government but the electronic paper trail for this is complicated and despite, or because of, numerous leaks, counter-leaks and counter-counter-leaks I doubt the full story will ever be told. From the convoluted and contradictory evidence on offer there has been some sort of narrative pieced together by people who are now dead, exiled or living like I am. I was never part of any organised resistance as such, I preferred leaderless cells, random actions, so I was never privy to the inner machinations of the various movements against The Trust but I can tell you what I think I know.

A few years before everything got very bad, when things were merely bad, The Trust appointed a new chairperson, and like most people in positions of power within The Trust, this person had a strong establishment background. As well as being a gifted academic who attended one of the ancient universities, becoming one of the foremost experts on antiquities and classical architecture and becoming something of a celebrity, they also had little side hobby. This side hobby was what the more paranoid among us called The Deep State. The Deep State, for the uninitiated, is the liminal space where the security services, the government, the Monarchy, the civil services, big business, the military and other good guys all meet. We could debate how much actual influence they really have and how much of what has happened is down to a carefully planned conspiracy and how much is down to luck and infighting but there seems to be little doubt about the fact this was key to The Trust becoming what it is today. This new chairperson realised the Trust was in a very strong position, it was financially secure, with donations rolling in from reactionary old people, progressive young people, entrance fees, holiday lets, memberships, grants from businesses, philanthropic donations, even the final dregs of pre-Separation Continental money. The upkeep of the land and buildings it owned was expensive but it's workforce was augmented by countless volunteers doing their duty to preserve the history and heritage of this great country. I can't say whether the chairperson was placed there by people who saw this, or whether it was pure coincidence, but there is strong evidence of a huge funding drive, and a massive program of extra land and property acquisition in the years leading up to the Government declaring bankruptcy and forfeiting all payments on the massive loans taken out from China, the USA, India and the World Bank. There are minutes of high level meetings between ministers, representatives of the Trust, high level military and civilian intelligence officers and various CEO's of banks and businesses, where the idea of The Trust taking over the day to day running of the country seem to be floated, with the strong backing of the Armed Forces.

Along with the extra land and property there had been a marked shift in the way The Trust was run, and the way it recruited and trained volunteers. They started to target serving soldiers, police officers, TA reservists, the Sealed Knot, various far-right affiliated groups, even football hooligans. There was still traditional volunteers, retired people, young people trying to get a foothold in the increasingly important heritage sector, history buffs etc. These two streams were kept separate. Whole portions of forest and uplands were given over to training camps for the new Volunteers. These were explained as survival courses, retraining, back to the land, outward bound, food foraging workshops. The close combat and weapons training were kept secret from the majority of Trust members at first. The recruitment drive at universities and colleges was upped, even primary and secondary schools. I was too stoned to join in with anything, and I had my own solitary wilderness pastimes that took up most of my time, but large numbers of former friends joined up. The Welfare State was falling apart, jobs were increasingly hard to come by, highly trained graduates were working nightshifts in petrol stations for minimum wage, I couldn't blame them for taking what must have seemed to them good opportunities for some kind of purpose in their lives.

As bankruptcy was declared the welfare, health and social care budgets were cut to beyond anything seen so far in the almost constant “austerity” which had been the norm since the Separation. Vast numbers of people who were already poor, hungry and angry became poorer, hungrier and angrier. Huge demonstrations were called all over the country. I went on what turned out to be the last one, in London, with my parents, countless friends, some who were Trust members, the feeling, at first, was amazing. So many people were united in anger at how things had been allowed to get to this state. People from all classes, races, backgrounds, professions, leftists, moderates, centrists, liberals, even old style conservatives, people with no political views, they were all out on the street. This lasted for most of the day, it was mainly peaceful, there were scuffles, bad policing, the treatment of protestors had got consistently worse but because of the make up of the crowd they had seemed to reign it in a bit, there were even police joining in as policing budgets had been cut and many hadn't been paid for months. This “carnival atmosphere” carried on throughout the night in cities and towns throughout the country. This was a mass shutdown, spontaneous, angry yet joyful. Some people thought that was it, the moment when “the people” were going to win. I'm a very cynical person but even I had a small amount of optimism that this had to make some kind of positive difference to the situation we were facing. I'd already been on countless demonstrations that achieved very little but this felt different.

Unfortunately for us some very important people in The Deep State thought it was very different as well. They viewed this as the start of something they couldn't tolerate. A loss of order. They had people in the crowds. In many ways they were right to be worried. A mass of people can do a lot of damage to the state, institutions that seem timeless can be torn down in hours to be replaced by who knows what. There were groups, and individuals, within the crowds who were really up for this. I'm not going to pretend I wasn't one of them. I must already have been on some files due to some actions at previous demos, even my, now elderly, parents were probably in some kind of dossier somewhere due to words they'd written. I'd not dismissed political violence, but I had also seen it's consequences, and it's not something to be entered into lightly. Some people do love any excuse for a fight, and doubtlessly there were people in the crowds who were there for that reason, and also, as an added bit of spice, the very people who so loved order had their own people there, ready to spread disorder for the greater cause of restoring it in a stronger form.

Which is what happened. There were a solid group of police and army personnel who hadn't joined in with the protests or been sympathetic in any way. There were some stand offs and violent incidents which were building in intensity as the protests lasted into a second and third day. Numbers of protestors were down but it was the dedicated and the dedicated provocateurs left. On the third day everything kicked off. A group of about 40 what I initially thought were plain clothes policeman stormed into the crowd in Parliament Square. I was there, my parents were still there. The sheer intensity of the violence was awesome. Then more and more of these people flooded the square. Armed with coshes and sticks, and obviously trained at fighting, they targeted people, some people from the crowd joined them, they were followed by the police, arresting the people who had been beaten up, subjecting to them to more brutality. I was running, confused, I lost my parents and the friends I'd spent three days with. All around me people were getting their heads cracked in. People were fighting back but the sheer speed of the attack had left everyone shocked. I got cornered and punched in the face, drawing blood, but I managed to run, and escape the square. I still feel guilty today but what could I have done then? I'd been in fights and confrontations but I wasn't used to this. These lot must have been military or something I thought. I kept running. Runners weren't pursued. The break up of the protest was the main aim. People who stayed and resisted, even peacefully, took the most punishment. Including my parents. I never saw them again. Officially, at the inquest, the verdict was open, but they were murdered. They were too old to handle that level of violence. Heart failure and a brain haemorrhage.

It was only when I'd managed to clear Parliament Square and sit down that I started to think. Every single one of the thugs that had stormed the crowd were wearing some version of the Oak Leaves and the Acorns on their clothes, whether it was a pin badge, or a knitted jumper, a scarf, they all carried that motif somewhere on them. I made some phone calls, trying to find my parents at first, then friends, then started calling people round the country, comrades on other protests, local organisers. The same thing had happened. I started asking about the Oak Leaves and the Acorns and they were everywhere. I had a sinking feeling. The rumours I'd heard, the vague murmuring on underground message boards, were they true? I thought it was the usual conspiracy bollocks at first. Deep State plans for a coup. This sort of stuff was always talked about and the wackiest one involved a well known heritage organisation, it's new Volunteers and an offer to bail out the country in return for absolute power and a return to order.

The wackjobs were right. I have a lot more respect for them now. The break up of the protests were the first in a string of favours that The Trust did for the government over the ensuing months. No one was really sure what was going on. Education workshops sprang up in every school, staffed by Volunteers, some of them clueless, teachers were happy to have the extra resources after years of being starved of funds. Outreach work was conducted, streets were cleaned, more and more people were recruited. Work was provided for the unemployed whether they wanted it or not. Groundskeeping, compulsory tea room volunteering, etc. The Trust were thanked for their benevolence by politicians who knew they were on borrowed time, who needed to make a good impression on their new masters. I was in mourning. I was now convinced The Trust murdered my parents, and now they were taking over the country. One year on from the last protest and parliament was dissolved for the last time. The Monarchy, of course, were fine with what was happening. They were to be kept on. Prime heritage assets. Everyone was issued with a membership card to The Trust. The Oak Leaves and the Acorns flag flew in every town and village. Tourists loved it. Finally the country they had seen for years on television was here. Everyone was assigned a position, from children, to adults, to the elderly. Everyone had something to do within the organisation. Everyone had to learn the official history. Heritage as a secular religion with the founders of The Trust as saints and the current board as a kind of Papal council. A Caliphate where we pray facing to the past. Of course, you probably know this already, you are probably a Member and you are probably happy. You have won. Bunting is hung from every tree and streetlight, and traitors are beheaded in the Tower Of London.

I was never happy with this and neither were a large minority of the population. We resisted. Some peacefully. Some not. Some tried to reform from within. Some people were just scared. I don't blame anyone. We all had to make our own choices. I chose to plant bombs in the same country houses I visited as a child. To wait overlooking volunteer outpost with a sniper rifle and murder Volunteers. To splatter brown signs with red blood. I'm not proud. I wanted revenge. I also wanted a country that looked to the future, that understood it's heritage, and could be honest about the good points and bad points, that wasn't perfect, but strived for something beyond conducting tours of a past that never really existed. I still hope for this but my hope is almost gone. So many of my comrades have been killed, or turned to betrayal after the worst torture, and are now guiding people around a theme park version of the country I used to love.

I'm here, out on the marshes, in a building of little architectural interest, hoping I won't be found, knowing I will be found. I know there are people sympathetic to the cause amongst this nation of Volunteers, and Members, and I hope you find this and carry on the fight to destroy Heritage, The Past, and The Trust, and avenge the blood of the fallen.

Anon, The Future, the Thames Estuary