#i have this sort of internal debate literally every single time i do something like reblog from geimaiko or oldtimejapan

[centrally-unplanned]

The Swing Won't Save You

The "mainstream" account of the election results is one I generally endorse. Elections are thermostatic in the sense that they bounce around an equilibrium - these days the incumbent has a disadvantage, being blamed for the problems but not credited for the successes. Democrats lost because of things like the 2021-2023 inflation spike, or the immigration surge, and the next administration will be blamed for whatever problems the cycle of history throws upon us on top of the consequences of their own actions. That is just How It Be, and it isn't something internal reform can change.

This account is probably true, but this does not lead to some of the conclusions one is hoping it will. I see many taking this as a sort of dismal c'est la vie, assuming that you can just ride it out and win next time, then do good when you do. That therefore there really isn't any need to change all that much in the Dem party structure.

The miss here is that there are fundamental inequalities in the two parties. We just went through, quite handily, the most progressive democratic administration in decades. One that was maximally committed to the idea of "FDR reborn". And it did some good stuff! But I don't really think it lived up to the name, not even close. The democratic "win" - which occurred at the peak of the Covid Crisis in an era of nigh-unprecedented discontent against an incumbent president who was deeply unpopular - delivered a razor thin margin in the House and a literal tiebreaker Senate, itself only after a series of special elections.

The Biden administration spent its political capital on macroeconomic stabilization, one authentic Dem priority in the IRA bill, and then otherwise spent much of its time on a series of rearguard actions and failed attempts to appease coalition partners like unions (who broke away from Dems in record numbers in 2024). Bad policy ideas like student debt relief were themselves undone by the courts. They had four years to prosecute Trump for a blatantly obvious mountain of crimes, and could not get a single one of them across the finish line. And meanwhile, due to awful polling numbers, they felt forced to pursue a number of policies they didn't even really agree with to stave off future defeat. Which they, of course, did somewhat badly, for many reasons but "not really believing in them" is certainly a factor.

Meanwhile surveying the Republican Party's incoming administration, I of course cannot say what they will do with their probable quadfecta, so this is speculative. But through the dice of death they handily control the courts. More importantly, they play the dice to control the courts - we already have discourse on getting the two oldest Republican jurors in the SC to retire. Republican plans include debates around say abolishing the NLRB as unconstitutional, or mass scale deportations, and more you have certainly heard of. They will not do all of them, of course not. But "winning a court case to dismantle a regulatory capacity" is far, far easier than passing a congressional bill to reinstate it. You are not "un-deporting" anybody. The entire Republican agenda is structurally easier to pursue - tearing down is just easier than building up.

And meanwhile, the levers of power are themselves biased. The Supreme Court, of course, but more importantly the Senate, which has an awful map for the Dems. Even when you give Dems their best case scenarios where they win every competitive upcoming election, you are talking 52-48 seats up through ~2032. Meanwhile, the Republican ceiling is 60-40, and is not likely to dip out of the majority.

No one can predict the future of course - I just don't think this scenario and reality is getting the proper attention. A "swing" model where Dems win in 2028 at the same margins they won in say 2020, and then it swings back and so on, is a defeat for Democrats. Republicans will likely achieve X% of their agenda over the next two years, solidify court control, and then Dems will achieve X/2% or worse and otherwise play defense on their turn. It almost certainly isn't the apocalypse, it most likely is not the end of democracy - if you don't wanna care about politics, you don't have to, go live your life. But if you are trying to win at politics, if that is your goal - which for a political party it should be - this just ain't it.

The debate I see is over whether or not this election should be a "wake-up call" for Dems. Which is the wrong question, to me - the Biden administration should be a wake up call for Dems. Even if Harris squeaked out a win, it is a defeat to the party that they found themselves running a decaying man with sub-40 approval ratings for President, or found themselves taking a former senator in the top 1% of the leftwing voting record and running her as a centrist. It should be shameful that they took literally years to act on a "border crisis" that once they did act they found themselves perfectly capable of addressing, not because they authentically believed in increasing immigration and wanted to spend capital on that agenda (which they did not do), but because they were scared of the blowback that happened anyway. It is beyond the pale that Trump is not in jail because they think "politicizing the judicial branch" is somehow not their literal jobs as political actors. It is embarrassing that solidly blue Democratic cities are hemorrhaging population to purple and red states because the Democratic party is failing to govern them.

And I know, I am in the grand, august, tiresome tradition of using an election to repeat the same shit I always say. I have been on this beat since at least 2019. But it being tiresome doesn't mean it's wrong. It might not be right! Maybe Republicans will truly collapse into squabbling infighting and get nothing much done beyond tax cuts, their truest love. I don't know. But I think the odds matrix here is pretty ruthless - the opportunities to be a better party barely have downsides. They implement bad policy half the time even when they win! There is a fundamental disconnect between "what do we want to achieve as a party" and "how are we going to achieve that", a strategy void that infighting, paralysis, and special interest spoils-grabbing fills.

I am less confident on the solution for all this - at minimum we don't even have all the post-election data, that will take time. But the problem such solutions should be solving is that the Dems have been losing for 8 years. "Thermostatic swing in 2028" is not going to change that.

[flagellant]

me, setting down the newest book I'm reading on the history of aesthetics and textile designs from Edo to Modernity in Japan: Okay but Am I actually just a racist appropriating Orientalist fetishizing The EastTM?

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

more of tauriel’s hellfamily adventures! there’s still a couple of gaps in my conception of this au, which is why these are bullet points and not an actual fic, but i think i’ve got enough to progress the plot, such as it is. certainly got a bunch of anecdotes i think are funny

i’m not even going to bother explaining how tauriel ended up in one of the fëanorians’ boltholes being treated for mild injuries

nothing super serious, but enough that she’s out of action for the rest of the night. the palace is on fire

the bolthole opens, and celegorm (who’s doing first aid) turns his head. his preemptive scowl melts away instantly. ‘hi elrond!’

the former lord of imladris just sighs. ‘please tell me you idiots haven’t abducted tauriel’

legolas has concerns, apparently. he saw celegorm vanish into an alleyway with her slung over his shoulder and immediately started panicking

‘i've talked him into delaying his rescue mission until i had the chance to check that she was safe’ elrond finishes, sounding absolutely exhausted

tauriel confirms that she is doing fine, as much as she can through the concussion. celegorm’s like ‘if he’s so worried about her why doesn’t he just come up here’

elrond disappears, and a few minutes later legolas scrambles inside

he’s glaring at celegorm. celegorm tells him where the first aid kit is, punches him on the arm, compliments his tracking skills in a vaguely threatening manner, and jumps back out to assist with the chaos

legolas collapses by tauriel’s bedside, still clutching his bow. tauriel pats him on the thigh reassuringly

neither of them are surprised elrond knows the fëanorians - they stayed in his place in tol eressëa for a while, dude knows literally everyone - but they don’t really know why

closer to dawn, elrond’s voice drifts up into the hideout. he’s going on this long irritated rant that climaxes in an extremely exasperated ‘valardamnit dad!’

maglor cackles. tauriel’s like ‘huh didn’t know that.’ legolas makes a face like he accidentally swallowed a spider

by this point, tauriel’s known the brothers hellspawn for long enough legolas has been unnervingly close to a kinslayer way more times than he’d like

this is the longest he’s spent in proximity to them by far, but it’s not the only time he’s interacted with them. they seem to like tauriel, and he knows she can take care of herself

but like still

it keeps happening, though. as tauriel further ingratiates herself with these awful awful elves, her two separate social circles keep bleeding into each other

take the time legolas and co visited the aulendili

before they left middle-earth, gimli whipped round every dwarf they knew and assembled several volumes of complaints. they refuse to confirm or deny whether aulë is the maker, but they are determined someone’s gonna hear their grievances

and thus a small wagon train of wood elves head up into the mountains. including tauriel

tauriel offhandedly mentioned the upcoming trip to the twins, and amras was like ‘hey we’ve got family up there!’ a few messages went up and down the funicular, and now gimli and crew have a place to crash up there

they’re put up by some of the fëanorians’ less murderous (if equally loud) relatives. it’s a pretty interesting trip

half the town is redheads. several people still mistake tauriel for a fëanorian. it’s been happening a lot in the wider noldorin territory lately, it’s weird

caranthir stumbles up into town about halfway through their visit. he gets into an extremely long philosophical argument with gimli that somehow ends with a mutual dwarven nod of respect

he also ends up fighting back-to-back with tauriel in one of those debatebrawls so common among the noldor. neither of them is quite sure how it happens

that’s the way it goes, isn’t it. there’s no big official moment when tauriel becomes part of the family

she just grows closer to them over her time in valinor, as they do to her

she merges into their social world. she develops a rapport with maglor’s wife - a first age mountain sinda and a third age forest avar don’t have that much in common, but they are both looking at noldorin culture from the outside. they have so many injokes about ridiculous bling

(it goes the other way too. this childhood friend oc of hers i’m developing - pretty sweet guy, the token sane man in the legolas-tauriel-him trinity - gets along really well with celebrimbor)

this one time tauriel punches a guy out for calling elrond a traitor. it doesn’t matter that he’s like three times her age, he is babey

she gets chewed out by maedhros and tests out new devices for curufin and drops in on nerdanel for tea. even though she doesn’t permanently live in the definitely-not-fëanorian quarter, she has her own personal space in its innermost warren

she’s one of them long before anyone consciously realises it

what causes that realisation is, admittedly, partially the conspiracy theories. if you say something often enough, you’ll start to believe it, and while the tauriel origin stories circulating through the noldorin rumour mill vary a lot in the details they all agree she is a fëanorian

but that’s a gradual long-term thing. it’s one more thread that leads to the moment

because there has to be an inflection point, i think. the fëanorians have plenty of family friends within the ranks of their definitely-not-minions. some are even as close to them as tauriel’s become

something has to happen to show she’s something more. fortunately, as demonstrated by the darkening and the númenorian invasion, no matter how peaceful it seems, history never stops

shit goes down. the exact details i’ll admit i don’t know yet, but at some point some sort of massive crisis rocks all of valinor. it’s during that crisis that tauriel does stuff that makes it blindingly obvious she’s not just on her side, but one of them

what stuff? again, i don’t know yet. i have this mental image of her leading a strike team that’s half definitely-not-minions and half legolas’ people through a burning city to do... something badass, but that’s as specific as i can get atm

what i am certain about, is that throughout the unfolding of the crisis, tauriel is permanently on the fëanorians’ side, just like they’re on hers

it’s one thing to be someone’s friend in bright happy days. it’s another thing to stick by them when everything’s falling to pieces and the whole world is against them. it’s in the depths of this crisis that both parties have the chance to fully prove their worth to each other

that probably wouldn’t be enough on its own, but combined with the friendship and the conspiracy theories and just the general way she is, once the dust settles it’s blazingly clear that tauriel is a daughter of the house of fëanor

there’s a little debate about where exactly she fits on the family tree, but not much. our sample size is admittedly small, but third generation fëanorians tend to have the slightest modicum of common sense? elrond and celebrimbor both have a fair degree of self-awareness and at least a few brain cells

tauriel does not. tauriel is mad, bad, and dangerous to know, just smart enough to understand that her sheer chaoticness is something she can channel but not nearly close to regularly thinking through the consequences of her actions. she’s loud and violent and does whatever she wants whenever she wants without a single thought towards what people will think of her

and more than that, she doesn’t relate to the second generation fëanorians the way the third generation does. she’s their friend and partner-in-crime, not one of their precious perfect must-protect children. she gets jerked around and bullied and does all that stuff right back, and while she doesn’t have a solid place in the second generation’s internal hierarchy yet she would easily slot in

no, tauriel’s a second generation fëanorian, one of fëanor and nerdanel’s horrible children. the fact that fëanor is currently indisposed and unable to provide an opinion on the matter doesn’t seem to bother anyone

she gets inducted into the family in a massive group hug, and from then on out the brothers hellspawn are the siblings hellspawn

her new family doesn’t replace her old one, of course, she has a long talk with elrond wherein she hashes this out. she’s still a silvan of the greenwood

she’s just also the little sister of the most bloodthirsty elves in history

(that sound in the background is legolas screaming)

[iwa1zumis]

“i love you and i like you”: passion and burnout in Haikyuu!! 

tw: discussions of self harm, anxiety, burnout and breakdowns. 

spoilers for the whole manga!! 

okay this is probably gnna be jflkafjdklfj all over the place, but i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the difference between loving and liking something, and how haikyuu emphasises the importance of both those feelings being present when pursuing a passion. 

a quick look at google (and i KNOW my college professors are cringing away in horror victor frankenstein-style @ my use of google definitions but jflajfsdk bear with me!!) demonstrates how often the concepts of love and like are conflated, with love her being framed as a sort of deeper or more intense like: “to like or enjoy very much” to be specific. but personally i’ve always thought there’s something a bit misleading about that kind of definition, since its absolutely possible to love something or someone without necessarily liking them. to take a personal example: i love debate. i debated through middle and high school, made captain of the debate team, and was constantly travelling to and fro for different tournaments. even before i started to debate formally i’d jump at the chance to do mini-debates in class, argue with and rebut parents and friends over meals and causal conversation.... you get the idea. i loved debate, and still love it dearly, but i honestly don’t think i particularly liked it much. tournaments would always fill me with the most INSANE kind of stress, i’d barely eat or sleep in the days leading up to a meet, and i’ve had more muffled bathroom breakdowns in between rebuttals than i can count. after my final year of high school, i decided against joining the debate at university. i knew that if i were to retain ANY love for the activity going into the future, i had to force myself to take a break. 

so what does this solipsistic tangent have to do with haikyuu, you ask? well i have no doubt that a vast majority of the players in the series love volleyball. they’re dedicated and passionate about it. they hunger for the chance to be put on the court. but do they like to play? 

1. oikawa: “i forgot that volleyball can be fun” 

ofc i wouldn’t be an oikawa stan worth my salt if i didn’t start this off with the (grand) king himself!! imo one of the reasons why oikawa is such a popular and well-loved character is his constant determination to keep moving forward and playing, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable opponents and adversities (”never forget my worthless pride”, anyone?). inevitably, all the hard work and practise he put into his craft has left him with a very carefully constructed, put together playstyle-- he’s the kind of player who knows how to bring the best out of each and every teammate on the court because of the amount of time he spends observing them and playing with them. it’s an outlook and playstyle best encapsulated in his now iconic line during the second karasuno v seijoh match: 

“Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you polish!” 

in my opinion the word “polish” it super significant here-- it explicitly singles out the years and years of hard work that set a foundation for his talent and instinct to shine. 

but what happens when they don’t shine? there’s no denying that oikawa is an incredibly skilled and intuitive player (something that hinata’s acknowledgment of him as the “great king” to kageyama’s “king” immediately sets out) but oikawa himself is acutely aware of the fact that he can never quite measure up to his long-time rival ushijima or his immensely talented protege kageyama. oikawa’s self described strategy to deal with opponents is to: 

“Hit it until it breaks” 

but what happens when hitting something again and again with your carefully honed, “polished” skills yields no results? imo there’s a very clear binary mentality drawn here-- either you hit it and it breaks, asserting your superiority; or you hit it and it doesn’t break, enforcing your inferiority. with each perceived loss against ushijima and kageyama, oikawa’s internalized logic holds his own weakness up to his own face, shaking his faith in himself as a player. if you’ll pardon the on-the-nose-metaphor: the whole “hitting it till it breaks” strategy is a two-way street, and oikawa has been hitting himself, metaphorically speaking, for a very long time. i have no doubt that he loved volleyball, passionately, through middle and high school. but with his inferiority complex growing in the face of constantly refuted results, i think he slowly began to like it less and less. 

so how does oikawa get his groove back? to answer that, we’ll have to turn to the post-timeskip chapters, particularly the two chapters that deal with oikawa and hinata’s unexpected meeting in Rio (372 and 373 for anyone curious!). while reminiscing with hinata over dinner, oikawa finally reveals the event that made him want to play volleyball (as a setter, to be exact)-- as a child, he watched veteran setter jose blanco step into a game and

“... inconspicuously help[ed] the ace get his bearings again... and then simply left the court.” 

oikawa’s reaction to blanco’s playstyle might just be one of my favourite panels in the chapter for how it conveys so much with such little space: 

the stammer of “i-i--”, which suggests a sense of resolve and determination forming in real time, finally coalesces into the determined declaration of “i wanna be a setter too!” what i took from this is that oikawa’s admiration for-- and liking of-- blanco expresses itself in the agency with which he makes his choice, in this case, actively deciding to be a setter so that he can support players on the court like blanco did. the liking that oikawa has here is therefore inherently linked to the agency and freedom he feels here-- freedom to choose his position, and how he wants his volleyball career to develop. 

this recollection of his childhood memories, and the subsequent game of beach volleyball that oikawa and hinata play afterwards, essentially push oikawa back into the mental and physical space of a child or beginner, as the manga demonstrates with panels of oikawa being forced to ditch his usual carefully developed, polished playstyle to learn the ropes of beach volleyball: 

ultimately concluding with the beautiful panel transition of oikawa, as a child AND adult, celebrating after a successful play: 

“It reminds me that-- I forgot that-- volleyball is fun.”

in a different country, playing a familiar game by slightly different rules and led back into the mentality and freedom of a novice after years of careful development, oikawa rediscovers his liking for the game. 

2. kageyama: “when you get strong, someone stronger will rise to meet you” 

moving on to the king of the court himself!! i’d argue that kageyama’s childhood memories and experiences of volleyball function almost oppositely to oikawa’s-- while oikawa has to re-access the sensation of being a beginner again to like the game along with loving it, kageyama’s process of coming to like and love volleyball come from moving away from his early experiences and into a new phase of playing-- specifically, his partnership with hinata. 

one of kageyama’s defining features is his individualism-- he’s both skilled and solitary enough to prefer to, as he puts it, “play every single position on the court”. notably, he wants to become a setter because: 

“[it’s] the one that touches the ball the most.”

in fact, i’d argue that kageyama’s “king of the court” attitude that he was known for in middle school is an extension of this individualistic mindset: he holds himself to extremely high standards, and expects his team-mates (as extensions of himself) to meet those very same standards. the similarities between his internal monologue and his commands to kindaichi in these two panels, for example, are strikingly, visibly similar: 

there’s that near-identical intonation of “move faster, jump higher!” that implies that the way he treats his teammates is just an extension of how he treats himself-- a deeply self-critical, miserable way, as it turns out. it’s telling that for the first few chapters of a manga in which characters’ eyes literally light up when they’re happy, passionate or excited, kageyama’s eyes are drawn as pitch black, even while he’s playing. 

imo the reason why hinata’s appearance, and their later partnership, is so significant for kageyama’s personal development is because he can’t treat hinata like an extension of himself. hinata challenges him and his preconcieved notions of the sport at every turn: first with his lightning-fast reflexes and raw intuition, and then with his determination to hit kageyama’s toss no matter what. in fact, the first time that kageyama’s eyes light up in the manga is, you guessed it, when he and hinata first pull off a successful “freak quick”: 

during the post-timeskip chapters we’re introduced to kageyama’s backstory in much greater detail: the way in which his grandfather fostered his passion for volleyball and the timing with which his grandfather’s illness and later death left kageyama increasingly alienated, thus further enforcing his individualist mentality. but what the chapter also gave us was an explicit confirmation of a theme that had been built up from the very beginning of the story, when kageyama’s grandfather tells him: 

“when you get really strong, i promise someone stronger will rise to meet you”

i’ve seen translations of the line that use both “meet” and “challenge”, and personally i’d have to say that i prefer “challenge” for what it implies-- even before hinata got strong enough to actually meet kageyama halfway he challenged him to move away from his pre-established mindset of doing everything himself, and into one where he actually comes to enjoy-- and like-- volleyball. 

3. hirugami: “maybe you’ve just had your fill”

hirugami’s case is kind of a strange one-- unlike oikawa and kageyama he’s not a major character, and his relationship with volleyball only gets a single backstory chapter as opposed to a series-long arc. but i personally ADORE his mini-arc for the things it has to say about burnout, passion and moving on. 

hirugami is introduced as the youngest member of a volleyball family-- his parents, older brother and older sister all play the sport. when explaining how he began to play himself, hirugami says: 

“... naturally, i started to play too. because i was good at it, and it was fun.” 

imo there are a lot of really interesting things to pick apart with this phrasing: the “naturally” implies a foregone conclusion but also a degree of passivity, like he himself recognises that he was swept up in his family’s influence. the “it was fun” coming AFTER “because i was good for it” also implies a degree of correlation, as though if he didn’t have the aptitude, he wouldn’t enjoy the game (a mindset markedly different to both oikawa and kageyama). as hirugami gets older, this correlation of being good ----> having fun ----> being able to play begins to reverse, and therefore manifest in increasingly self destructive ways: 

the main impetus for hirugami has now become not wanting to lose, which therefore requires a degree of heightened practise and self discipline in order to achieve. notably, having fun has been reduced to an afterthought, a state that might be achieved if he wins. 

the correlation of “winning” and “being good” is a slipperly slope to go down, though, something that becomes especially apparent after hirugami’s team lose a game. the frustration of being unable to reach his goal of winning manifests itself as not being “good enough”-- acting on this, hirugami seeks to punish himself for “messing up”: 

the close up panel of hirugami’s “confession” after hoshiumi confronts him hits particularly hard because it taps into a feeling that i’m sure almost all of us have felt at one point or another-- the realisation that something you once both loved AND liked is now only bringing you misery: 

ironically, it’s actually this acknowledgement of “not really liking volleyball that much” that acts as a catalyst for hirugami’s recovery from burnout. hoshiumi’s acknowledgement of, and reply to, hirugami’s state is seemingly simple but deeply freeing: 

and honestly, why not just quit? there’s nothing tethering hirugami to volleyball, certainly nothing as serious as life or death. personally my favourite part of this panel is hoshiumi’s description of volleyball as food from which hoshiumi has “eaten his fill”-- a lovely metaphor that re-contextualizes what could be seen as “time wasted” into something productive and indeed nourishing. 

when we check up on hirugami post time-skip, we find out that he has indeed quit playing volleyball in favour of going to veterinary school, but he’s seen watching the game between the jackals and adlers on his phone with an eager, fond smile on his face, implying that it was the act of moving away from the table (so to speak) after eating his fill that let him still hold on to a love and passion for the game, even though he is now interacting with it as a spectator instead of a player. and indeed that might just be why i love hirugami’s arc so much-- with it, haikyuu tells us that sometimes passion’s don’t need to be re-ignited in the same way. while oikawa and kageyama rediscover their love for, and liking of, the game through a return to childhood and the arrival of a new partner respectively, hirugami’s journey away from burnout comes from recognizing that he can step away from the volleyball court, and that the love and like will still remain. 

[makeste]

I just wanna enable you to talk more about Katsuki so. top 5 (or 10, or however many you feel like) Bakugou romantic ships? not like number 1 will be a surprise but hey ;p

ah, shipping. the perfect topic with which to take a breather from leg puns and the quirkless!Bakugou debate. nothing controversial about ships lmao.

disclaimer: these are literally just my favorite Bakugou ships, as asked. I have few to no NOTPs, and I’m not anti-anything, nor do I have any opinions on whether or not any of these will or should become canon (as it really makes no difference to me, since I ship them all platonically as well). basically I have no skin in the “shipping somehow has winners and losers” game. I’m just here for the emotional energy and the lulz and the character development.

anyways this is a top six because I couldn’t bear to leave either of my two favorite rarepairs out whoops.

BakuDeku - like you said anon, not a surprise lol. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; for me, these two are the core of the series. honestly it sometimes strikes me as ironic that this ship is so often written off as abusive or unhealthy or toxic, because I often find myself thinking that roughly 90% of all of Bakugou and Deku’s problems could be sorted out just by them communicating with each other. and I don’t mean just their own specific relationship problems -- I mean all of their problems. Bakugou is having an emotional crisis about something? have him talk to Deku. Deku’s overwhelmed by a problem and way overthinking it? have him talk to Bakugou! they balance each other out, is the thing. when one of them veers off course, the other is the compass to steer them back on track. that’s the power of rivals!! and aside from that, this relationship is just so complex, and I am weak for absolutely all of it. it’s just this perfect blend of push and pull and friction and trust. it’s the type of ship where the two of them have such a strong connection that it’s like gravity; they can’t help but orbit the other, even when that orbit is sometimes unsteady. it’s just such a powerful bond and just... guh. I have way too many emotions about it so I am just going to STOP NOW and move on to the next ship.

TodoBaku - so by now we have reached a point where pretty much everyone in class 1-A is an expert on handling Bakugou, and ngl, it’s my favorite thing ever. but what makes the TodoBaku relationship so especially appealing is that Shouto is completely unafraid to just step right up and declare his friendship to the entire world. Todoroki “I’m calling it like it is” Shouto, who, after giving the matter careful consideration, correctly judged himself and Bakugou to be the closest of friends, and thus decided that they should intern together and he should introduce him to his family and get his sister to cook his favorite foods. and the entire time, Bakugou is all “please no one listen to this delusional freak, we are not friends at all,” even as he proceeds to get himself involved in all of the Todoroki family drama, and saves Shouto’s brother’s life, and learns all of his sister’s recipes, and presumably cries himself to sleep at night wondering how he could have let this happen.

Kacchako - what I like about Ochako’s relationship with Katsuki is that she’s one of the few people who’s not afraid to call him out on his shit. she’s not just warmly tolerant of him like some of the others; she has expectations of him, and will unabashedly express her sound disappointment if he fails to be the person she knows he’s capable of being. I feel like Ochako has no patience for him taking his sweet time with his character development, and is just “goddammit young man, just sort your shit out with Deku already and go back to being best friends like you both so clearly want, and while you’re at it please try to treat other people less like garbage”, and various other things that are all true but that he of course hates to hear, but TOO BAD lol. anyway so I love that, and I love that she’s just as stubborn as he is. and I also love that there’s genuine, mutual respect between the two of them as well. never forget that Katsuki is the one who first brought out Ochako’s homicidal badass side. anyway so they basically complement each other very well, and I have my fingers crossed that one of these days Horikoshi will decide to actually have them interact with each other again because damn.

KiriBaku - Kirishima, on the other hand, is warmly tolerant of Bakugou, and openly admiring of him even, but it tends to be in a way that brings out Bakugou’s best qualities. Kiri just has this way of bringing out Bakugou’s confidence in himself. like, he’s very good at saying precisely the right words to make Bakugou grin that smirky little grin of his, the one that’s all “oh yeah, that’s right, I’m a badass.” and seeing as Bakugou, for all his pride and bluster, is surprisingly prone to having mini crises of confidence, this is a valued skill that I’m very grateful to Kiri for having! and what’s nice is that Bakugou is very good at returning the favor, since Kiri is prone to crises of confidence as well. the little flashback right before Kiri unveils Unbreakable for the first time is one of my favorite moments in the series. when this ship is firing on all cylinders they really bring out the best in each other. and also they are both dumb bros which is an extremely undervalued dynamic. I love it when Bakugou is all “HEY KIRISHIMA LET ME BLOW YOU UP A BIT” and Kiri is just like “YEAHHHH!” heh.

KamiBaku - and now for the first of the two rarepairs! first of all I would just like to state that I absolutely cannot fathom why KamiBaku is a rarepair to begin with, unless it’s simply because everyone is already too obsessed with the previously mentioned ships. but at any rate it’s a damn shame, because the cuteness of this ship is off the fucking charts, and right now it’s all just going to waste. what I adore more than anything about this ship is the way Bakugou tolerates every single fucking thing Kaminari does and LETS HIM GET AWAY WITH IT. he lets him call him “Kacchan.” he lets Kaminari manhandle him into various getups (the A Band shirt; the Santa outfit) on multiple occasions while putting up absolutely no fight. he basically allows him an almost unprecedented level of closeness, which Kaminari proceeds to BLATANTLY TAKE ADVANTAGE OF at every turn seemingly unchecked! and he is the all time champ at tricking Bakugou into participating in social interactions (tying the ribbon to his foot during the Christmas gift exchange, telling him he won’t get any food at the New Year’s feast if he doesn’t help cook, etc.). he just loves him and wants him to be included. honestly this one of the most adorable relationships in the entire goddamn series and I am tired of it being slept on. the people deserve more KamiBaku dammit.

IidaBaku - last but not least, a relationship between two people who I’m pretty sure have only actually interacted with each other a handful of times, and most of those times involved them shouting at each other! ah, yes. the stick in the mud and the delinquent. god’s natural enemies. except that in this case the “delinquent” is a star student who tutors other kids and goes to bed every night at 8:30, and the stick in the mud once hatched a legitimate plot to kill a man. what I am trying to say is that these two are actually WAY more alike than they would ever care to admit, and I’m kind of obsessed with it?? this is one of those ships where all it would take is one well-applied trope and the possibilities are endless. you could literally just pick one out of a hat. fake dating, roommates, only one bed, undercover as lovers, WHATEVER. and not only does this have the potential to be the most hilarious ship in the history of time, but it also has potential to be disarmingly, shockingly sweet, I shit you not. there are a couple of little moments in the light novels that I absolutely adore, where they’re each taking care of the other with the other having absolutely no idea. Iida makes about four attempts to tuck Bakugou in during the forest training camp arc because his covers have fallen off and he doesn’t want him to catch a chill, and Bakugou unknowingly returns the favor by preventing Iida from stumbling across the preparations for his own surprise birthday party before the others are finished getting ready. by shoving Iida into an elevator and ordering him to go back to his room with absolutely no explanation given lmao. anyway, but the point is the potential is definitely there for cuteness and chemistry and mutual respect while arguing nonstop like an old married couple.

so there you go! honestly Bakugou somehow has chemistry with just about everyone in his class, which is super impressive for someone with the personality of a rabid wolf spider. god bless him.

[merakiui]

i don’t remember actually sending a request, sorry about that- anyway, how about the noctu team realizing they’re crushing on the manager? make it like a puppy crush for aiyachi bc the baby is only 14

(Here are the hcs! Please forgive me. I don’t know why they took so long to post. :< But I’m happy with the result! I hope you’ll like it too. Thank you for requesting! These are really cute to think about.)

Noctu Team With a Crush HCs (Aitachi, Kirr, Nine, and Day)

🎯 Aitachi 🎯

Aitachi looks up to a lot of people. He’s not bothered by the fact that most of them might be older and taller. That just means they’ve got more years under their belt and plenty of wisdom to share with him.

He’s so used to being around adults that your presence doesn’t faze him in the slightest.

Intimidation? He knows no such thing! Aitaichi hardly considers fear when you treat him with the same respect as everyone else.

Just don’t baby him. Aitachi may be the smallest and youngest out of the group, but that doesn’t mean he’s a child. He’s a mature Reaper with the courage and strength of a true, pure-hearted warrior!

That’s why he’s always willing to put his life on the line if you’re ever in danger, which is extreme and illogical considering he’s already died once and is now immortal.

He means well, but you’ll still clarify that he doesn’t need to go to such lengths to ensure your safety.

“I’ll be fine,” you told him after a vengeful spirit tried to attack you. “You don’t have to worry so much. As long as no one’s hurt, we can continue with our work, right?”

The very next morning you find a talisman on your desk, along with a small note telling you to keep it close whenever you’re in danger.

Since then, you’ve kept it as a good luck charm, knowing that as long as you’re careful you won’t fall prey to any wandering spirits.

Aitachi takes up the role as your unofficial errand boy ever since he discovered the special spot on your desk for the doll he made. He insists on bringing you every important document because it’s a warrior’s duty to provide for those in need.

His fellow Noctu Reapers think it’s quite charming that he does this, especially Day, who makes all sorts of comments doting on how his “little brother” is so helpful and sweet.

You’re grateful that Aitachi’s so willing to lend a hand without a single complaint, and you make sure he knows just how thankful you are.

Even if the gesture is reserved for that of a child, you still pat him on the head. Aitachi pouted about it at first, saying that head pats aren’t suited for warriors.

Now he just blushes at the contact, proud to have gotten your recognition.

He’s almost like Day in a sense, unintentionally following you around like a lost hound.

It’s quite obvious that he’s got a case of young puppy love.

He’s making another talisman doll for you when he comes to the realization of his wholesome feelings.

Are warriors even supposed to feel this way?

He’s stuck thinking about it the whole day, and he’ll probably be less confident to admit to it.

In the meantime, though, he’ll continue helping you to the best of his ability, secretly doing everything he can to be considered your number one. Almost like a teacher’s pet, but in this case it’s manager’s pet.

All of those talisman dolls are starting to pile up on your desk, as well as his innocent adoration for his hard-working manager.

🏹 Kirr 🏹

Having a crush is such a foreign concept to Kirr.

When he first heard the word, he took it quite literally, wondering why anyone would want to crush another person. That should only happen in a survival scenario where life and death is at stake and you’re facing an enemy with negative intentions.

Yet as he learns more about what it means in a romantic sense, it gives him more confusion. So a crush is a strong sense of admiration for another person?

In that case, wouldn’t it be his manager who he holds in high esteem?

He doesn’t really know how to bring this topic up with the others, so he’s debating it internally. It’s definitely a struggle for poor Kirr, who can’t seem to figure out whether or not what he’s feeling is a crush or just simple respect for his colleague.

So he ends up watching how the Reapers act around you. They’re so kind and sociable. And he acts the same, albeit at a serious level where most jokes go over his head.

Kirr is so busy troubling himself with these inner debates that he doesn’t even register when someone’s trying to talk to him, and it’s a bit concerning.

One afternoon he’s sharpening the arrowheads on the ends of his arrows when he sees you crossing the field. And you look serene as you walk, not paying any mind to the wind that rustles your clothes.

He’s shared plenty of conversations with you before, but during those times he never had a chance to appreciate you in all your astounding form.

It’s almost too much for him, and a slew of feelings catch his heart in a vice.

Maybe he does have a crush after all.

But where are all these emotions coming from? Based off of what he’s heard from the Department, Kirr knows that a crush is normal for everyone of all ages. It’s a sign that you’ve taken romantic interest in someone.

He wonders what one does with feelings like these. Obviously he could confess or get to know you more, but something’s holding him back. Suddenly, he’s become indecisive.

Normally, when he’s hunting, it’s easy to rely on logic and instincts. Now he’s not so sure which will help him out in this situation.

When you catch his staring and wave, a smile on your face, Kirr holds up his arm, returning the gesture. You really are a great person; your personality glimmers underneath the glare of the sun, and he’s glad that someone so amazing is his manager.

Logic might fail in this case, and instincts won’t get him anywhere as he has no idea where to begin. So maybe he’ll settle on his heart, following it like it’s a searchlight in the blurry haze of confusion that’s overtaken his reasoning.

Kirr’s definitely going to gravitate towards you more as he tries to navigate his newfound feelings. He’s doing his best, so please encourage him.

🎼 Nine 🎼

He catches you slacking off one day, absorbed in the videos on your mobile device.

Nine isn’t one to snoop, but he does happen to catch the swish of a colorful pen against a sheet of unwrinkled paper. He knows what it is at once.

You’re watching calligraphy videos.

“Do you enjoy that, Manager?” he’ll ask, awaiting your answer.

Once you confirm that you do like it, Nine’ll be happy to know that his manager shares similar interests with him.

Since then, the two of you have bonded over calligraphy, and Nine’s even showed you what his skillful hands can do. Just give him a pretty pen and some paper and he’ll be scribbling all sorts of gorgeous words.

He finds that the best word to write is your name, which is a tad confusing, but you seem honored.

Before he can even register the extent of your relationship, you’re already inviting him to places. Whether it’s in your office talking over paperwork or rendezvousing in the human world during a successful mission, Nine enjoys your presence.

Nine realizes that every day spent in your company is fun, albeit a dangerous erosion to his heart, which is beginning to wear at its foundation.

He manages to stay composed, but there’s something strange in how he hopes of eventually surpassing the border known as friendship.

He’s not used to getting so close to others; usually he keeps his distance, only upholding a conversation when needed. But now he feels as though he’ll lose you if he doesn’t stick around, and the idea of that is crushing.

You’re already such a ray of sunshine, a soothing force against the hectic work days, so he wants to ensure that you’re also content.

He’s writing down the remnants of a composition he recalls, testing his memory of his distant past life, when everything starts to click into place. The stars align as he writes in the final notes, reviewing the completed composition with tranquil eyes.

If he’s right, it should be played slow and steady, transitioning between notes of melancholic hope and satisfied bitterness. Quite a tragic piece, if he’s being honest, but maybe that was his intention. Or his memory might be faulty. Either way, he’s certain that this composition describes his inner turmoil perfectly. Bittersweet like chocolate and uncertain like his intuition.

Nine can’t remember the name to this particular composition, so he writes the first thing that comes to his mind.

The moment he finishes writing your name is definitive proof of what he’s feeling.

Some would say it’s a crush, and others would say it’s unfiltered endearment. Regardless of what it is, it holds the same implications.

Nine’s in love.

Though his previous life was cut short and he refuses to sort through his cracked past, he has all the time in the world to start anew. And that’s all he needs to act upon these feelings that have blossomed.

It’ll take time, but he knows that he’ll be able to confess when he’s certain that his love isn’t completely one-sided.

In the 14th Department, Nine seems to wear his smile purposefully, and there’s a bright shine in his gaze.

🍦 Day 🍦

He’s with you 24/7. At least, that’s what it feels like to you.

Realistically, it’s because of your role as manager. But at some point he just starts to forget that that’s your job and he begins to consider you a friend.

He’s in your office all the time, sitting on a swivel chair or trying to lounge on your desk while you’re writing up reports.

In the beginning, you would always kick him out, lightly advising him that work hours are not play hours—even if there aren’t any ongoing missions.

But Day is so loyal, constantly flitting around you like a butterfly. He seems to smile even brighter when you address him, and despite his carefree demeanor he wants to provide as much help as he can.

“Let me carry that, Manager!” or “Hey, hey! We should get ice cream to celebrate your hard work. I want to take you to the best place. You have to try the new flavors with me!”

You give up pushing him away and start to welcome him into your office.

The other Reapers begin to suspect something’s up, especially those who are more perceptive than the others. Day’s own team members can’t help but wonder what’s got him so fascinated with you.

He claims he can never be bored when he’s around you, which proves to be true because this man can talk about anything and everything.

All it takes is for you to mention that you’re in the mood for something sweet, and he’ll be on that topic faster than a moth to a light.

Without meaning to, he memorizes all of the information he learns about you, accidentally mentioning some facts during a conversation.

It makes you realize just how close he pays attention to you.

Even Nyang Lead Manager has noticed his attachment, but he’s uninterested for the most part. As long as Day doesn’t let himself get distracted from work, he’s not bothered.

But it makes things harder for you. Your focus diminishes whenever he’s near, so much so that you begin to take in different aspects of his actions.

He rarely blushes, but when he does it’s usually whenever you do something that warrants bashfulness. And he’s started to compliment you a lot now, always recognizing changes to your fashion.

Day happens to be relaxing in his dorm, reading an ancient tome about magic and its connection to the heart, when it finally makes sense.

Wait. Hold on.

He peers at the symbols with undeterred intensity, recalling memories of you and him. Eerily, his feelings fit the exact description in the book.

He really does spend a lot of time with you, and you’ve been occupying his thoughts day and night since he first got to know you. Some would say it’s too much, but you can never have enough of something you love.

Love. That’s the word he was looking for.

He’s in love. True, real, authentic love.

Day pops up from his sitting position so fast it almost throws him off balance. The other Noctu members look at him in confusion, but he’s too busy to even give them an explanation.

Now wired with too much excitement to feel worried, he rushes through the 14th Department, completely shirtless and in a hurry to get to your office so he can give you a rambling soapbox speech about his inner thoughts and feelings.

Someone give him a shirt before he gets himself in trouble with Nyang.

[sxvxrxssnape]

Snolidays/Snapemas: Day 2

Chestnuts & Christmas Cards // pre-PS/the years between. Minerva & Severus friendship aka Minerva McGonagall’s personal mission to make Sev love Christmas part 2. 

Yesterday’s snowfall had turned to ice overnight. It crunched underneath their boots, leaving behind a trail of sunken footfalls as they crossed the stone bridge and moved towards the tall, wrought iron gates that secured the ancient school. 

The wind wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but Severus still took a moment to adjust his hat, pulling it down over his ears to keep his hair from flitting about in his face. Beside him, Minerva had her hands tucked into the pockets of her woolen cloak and together they made their way towards the waiting carriage that would take them into Hogsmeade. 

Hogsmeade was a special little town that sat nestled between crashing ocean waves and giant boulders, an endless expanse of pine trees, and the outline of an antiquated castle perched high above the cliff sides. It was home to a quaint collection of little shops and taverns, and judging by its newly renovated state, a smattering of wizards who seemed to love Christmas just as much as the deputy headmistress standing beside him. 

“December literally just started.” Severus groaned, as he stepped out of the carriage and looked around the main street that stretched out before them. 

Bundles of garland and red ribbon decorated every light post and rows of twinkling lights and colorful baubles hung from all the nearby trees. Even the air smelled festive and Severus’ lips thinned as he made out the scent of warm cinnamon and ginger - out of contempt or poorly hidden delight, he would never confirm.

Minerva chuckled softly beside him as he eyed the snow-covered rooftops with their dripping icicles that couldn’t be intentional - it was the weather’s doing, for Merlin’s sake - but still seemed intentional against the decorated storefronts that it made him think of gingerbread.

“You don’t have to look so put out,” Minerva teased, leading the way further into what he was now seriously debating was even Hogsmeade at all, “If you want, we can start decorating the castle as soon as we return. I’m sure Albus won’t mind.” 

Severus glared at her in return,

“I’ve changed my mind,” he decided, as they passed the stone statue of the town’s founder confirming this to, in fact, be Hogsmeade and not an asinine Christmas village Minerva had secretly tricked him into going to, “I can just owl-order the things I need, from the safety of the castle.”

Regardless, he continued towards the waiting apothecary because he could not - would not - owl order potion ingredients. He couldn’t trust the shopkeeper (or the blasted school owls for that matter) to fully understand why it was so important for his bicorn horns to be the exact shade of pale yellow he needed or the fragility of bursting mushrooms. 

And contrary to his current attitude, Severus Snape didn’t hate Christmas. He could appreciate a finely decorated tree and he found himself looking forward, and dare he say, a little excited about the upcoming staff holiday party. He wasn’t the bitter, old man inside that Minerva seemed to think he was, all bah-humbug and scowls when it came to anything remotely festive, he just didn’t understand the point of overdoing it and turning the whole town into a fragrant - wonderful smelling - gingerbread village two days into December. 

For Merlin’s sake, he was only twenty-five. That wasn’t enough time for him to turn resentful of the holidays, even if almost every single year had been...less than stellar, by all accounts. It wasn’t like he had never tried to have a good Christmas either, but after so many spectacularly failed attempts, he had decided he was better off not celebrating it at all. 

In fact, he had been quite content the last four Christmases working at Hogwarts and only acknowledging the aforementioned holiday party and maybe the changes to the menu, because yeah, he might feel a little indifferent towards the holiday but he also wasn’t a heathen who didn’t gladly indulge in rum-spiked eggnog and fresh baked gingersnaps. 

Severus shook his head, trying to dislodge the sudden influx of thoughts. His inner dialogue was beginning to sound a little bitter, even to himself.

“Coffee?” he asked loudly, speaking over the first syllable of whatever Minerva had been about to say, no doubt inferring something too close to accurate about his innermost thoughts from the look on her face, and stopping in front of the smiling wizard standing behind a market stall. 

“Afternoon,” the portly man tipped his head at the two, gesturing towards a charmed menu that was currently rewriting itself with the daily special. “What can I get you two?”

They ordered the special at Minerva’s insistence, and handed over a pair of sickles each before continuing on their quest. The coffee was strong and hot, tasting of dark chocolate and peppermint and Severus grimaced at the realization that she had inadvertently (advertently?) found another thing for him to like about Christmas. 

Minerva one, Severus zero. 

He shook his head again; he wasn’t trying to hate Christmas. He didn’t hate Christmas! He was just stubborn to a fault and after Min’s declaration that she would make this year the best yet, a small part of his mind was determined to rebel against it. 

Their time inside the apothecary was quick. The shopkeeper was used to Severus’ particularities and kept to herself as he sifted through bins of precariously piled ingredients and filled his basket with perfectly selected bicorn, jobberknoll feathers, and no less than thirteen jars of things he definitely hadn’t come here for. 

After he paid - and thank Merlin he had secured a position that provided room and board - Minerva led them into the paper and quill shop next door. She had a Hogwarts-sized order of parchment and spare quills to put in, so Severus went to browse the new display that had been erected in front of the store window. Red fabric was spread over the round table laden with gaudy, ribbon-trimmed quills and pots of glitter-infused calligraphy ink. He reached for one of the plastic-wrapped bundles stacked in the center, adorned with all sorts of festive symbolism and sighed as he realized what they were. 

“You should purchase some,” Minerva suggested, coming up behind him and making him jump. He hated when people snuck up behind him. It had once meant certain death and while the threat of an evil, megalomaniacal wizard behind his shoulder was no longer tangible, the sharp tendrils of fear that spiked into his chest had yet to go away. 

He forced himself to relax. 

“Christmas is all about spreading cheer, you know.” Minerva continued, thankfully ignoring the way his breath had seized, but clearly not unaware of it given the way she took a step back and appraised him carefully. “By making others happy, you make yourself happy. Perhaps you’ll benefit from it.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that all my traumatic childhood Christmases can be attributed to the fact that I’ve never sent out Christmas cards?” he asked dryly. 

“Yes.” Minerva deadpanned. 

He blinked, taken aback by her frankness before he noticed the glint in her eye that indicated she was mostly joking. He looked down at the packages of cards and selected one with a more wintery scene - painted snowflakes and white-dusted evergreens over the eclectic mix of colorful baubles - with a look of feigned resignation, “I guess I’m sending Christmas cards this year.”

“Excellent.” 

They left the stationary store after that and headed for the Three Broomsticks. It was a new part of their routine that Severus had found himself looking forward to - Hogsmeade trips used to be rather anxiety-inducing, lonely and quite dull affairs without anyone to quip with, but now they promised good company and a quiet meal away from the bustle of students. Part of it was due to the genuine friendship they were forming, but another part of it was self-serving - for both of them. 

They were both aware of it, they just elected not to mention their unique combination of post-war trauma and newly created grief that kept them confined to the safety of the castle and feeling more than a little discombobulated in the small town just outside of it. 

The Three Broomsticks was nestled in the midpoint of Hogsmeade, a cozy-looking tavern made from polished wood and frosted windows, that boasted a warm bed and a strong drink to any desiring witch or wizard. The inside was just as quaint and rustic looking, but now it displayed a cascade of twinkling lights and a modestly decorated tree next to the wiped down bar. 

“Afternoon, Rosmerta!” Minerva called out to the barmaid and landlady who was topping off a stein of butterbeer with a healthy splash of firewhiskey for a waiting gentleman. They took their seats at a small table in the corner that Severus had long since dubbed their table and shrugged out of their cloaks.

“Afternoon, you two.” Madam Rosmerta greeted them as she approached them. Her strawberry blonde curls were gathered at the top of her head in a loose bun pinned in place by her wand and Severus internalized a scowl at that. He had seen a few witches - and wizards - use their wand for a quick updo, but he had yet to figure out how it was done and he absolutely refused to ask for help. She was carrying two ceramic mugs filled to the brim with a deep burgundy drink.

“Mulled wine,” she announced, setting them down and Severus noted the orange slice and cinnamon stick steeping in the red wine. “Made it last night.” 

“I really do believe the drinks are the best part of the holiday season.” Severus mumbled, picking up the warm cup and taking a long sip. 

“Come now, they can’t be the best part.” Rosmerta scolded, summoning a menu from the bar and setting it down on the table. “There’s so much more to Christmas than just good wine!”

“Nothing worthwhile.” Severus said simply, picking up the menu and skimming it. He always ordered the same thing, found comfort in stability, but he also couldn’t resist holiday menus when the time arrived. 

Minerva looked apologetic as she ushered the barmaid away after a quick scan of the menu and turned to glare at the now scowling potions professor. “Severus!”

“So, do you have a list you’re working from?” Severus asked mildly, picking up his wine and focusing intently on the red-tinted pulp of the orange floating in his drink. “Or are you simply making things up on the spot?”

“Pardon?”

“Your mission to make this year the best Christmas ever.” he specified. “Are you working from a list? Is there a schedule we’re following and can I be made privy to it, so I can plan my potion brewing around it?” He picked up the package of cards. “Or are you just forcing me to take part in things as they come up?”

Minerva eyed him carefully, picking up her own cup. “A little bit of both.”

“Do I get to hear what you do have planned?”

“Some of the classic activities I suppose - decorating the tree, going to look at the lights, maybe visiting Christmastown, baking cookies, go caroling -”

“Caroling?!”

“- maybe decorate a gingerbread house.”

Madam Rosmerta returned before Severus could say anything else, guiding bowls of butternut squash soup and a plate of cheese toasties onto the table with her wand. “There you go, dears.” she smiled, setting down a smaller plate piled with iced gingersnaps. “These are on the house - first bake of the holiday season. Should help get those spirits up.” She sent Severus a pointed look that he deftly ignored and Minerva glared at him again.

“If you’re going to glower at me every time we go out this month, I might just stop going out with you.” he bristled, picking up a toastie and dipping the corner into his soup. 

“Maybe you should stop being so bitter then.” Minerva returned.

“What, because it’s Christmas?” he asked, pausing to take a bite. “Oh, such a joyous time of year! Look how absolutely delighted I am to share a room with wine-drunk wizards,” he gestured a hand towards the bar, where a pair of cherry-faced dwellers were singing the words to A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love, “and a goddamn tree!”

“Severus!” Minerva admonished again and this time, Severus hunched his shoulders at the tone. He had gone too far, he could tell from the way her face had smoothed out entirely, giving her a look of cold indifference. 

“I’m sorry.” he muttered, swirling his spoon through his soup. 

Minerva didn’t say anything and they ate their food in awkward silence. At one point, a pitcher floated over to their table and refilled their mugs before making its way back to the bar. When they were done, Severus eyed the gingersnaps and wondered if it would be considered poor etiquette to reach over and help himself. The mood at the table didn’t feel particularly deserving of cookies. 

Then again, he had once attended dinners at the Malfoy’s with The Dark Lord sitting at the forefront and the ambience of those days didn’t stop anyone from helping themselves to an extra piece of focaccia bread. He winced; it felt wrong to compare past - genuinely traumatic - dinner events to the silence before him. Minerva wasn’t an enemy, he was simply a bastard. 

“I don’t hate Christmas,” he finally broke the silence. “I just find myself wondering over the point when every Christmas I’ve tried to celebrate properly has ended in disaster. I’m perfectly content with not bothering over it anymore. The lights are pretty and the food is good, and I look forward to watching Rolanda drink everyone under the table later this month, but I’ve stopped putting merit in the holidays. It’s less disappointing that way.”

Minerva pushed the plate of cookies towards him, like some sort of reward for  opening up. Which, he supposed, it sort of was. She picked one up and took a bite and only then did he grab one too.

“I don’t get why you’re so determined to fix that.” he added, shrugging. 

He bit into the cookie, savouring the meld of flavors - ginger, molasses, warm vanilla. He couldn’t imagine a more perfect gingersnap and he found himself raising the cookie in a gesture of appreciation as he made eye contact with Rosmerta. 

“Elphinstone loved Christmas.” she said simply, taking another bite of her cookie and shrugging as if she hadn’t just dropped a bombshell of emotional manipulation by invoking the name of her dead husband over a plate of cookies on what had started as a pleasant Monday afternoon of running errands after class. 

“I-” Severus began, but then stopped. 

“We weren’t married for long, I know, but I knew him for 23 years.” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. Her eyes seemed a little faraway now. “We would always make the most of his vacation days - see the lights, visit the Christmas market, decorate the tree, roast chestnuts and drink hot cocoa. He loved carolling, had a good voice for it.” 

Severus looked down at his cookie, scraping at the white icing with his thumbnail and effectively crumbling away the hand piped snowflake. 

“I’m not making you celebrate Christmas with me because I’m lonely.” she clarified, eyeing him sternly. “If you don’t want to do anything else on this list, I won’t make you. I just don’t want you going through life thinking it’s all bad and that good things can’t happen to you.”

“I don’t -” 

“Yes, you do.” Minerva scolded. “Don’t think I don’t see you wallowing every time you catch sight of yet another reminder that this is supposed to be the happiest time of the year. You don’t have to be the cheeriest person to ever walk the earth, for Merlin’s sake, Severus, but you’re letting bitterness take a hold of you and I won’t stand for it.” 

Severus tried to scowl back, but Minerva could see right through him. 

“Do you know why I accompany you to Hogsmeade?” she asked and Severus grimaced. They weren’t supposed to talk about it; this was one of those stones better left unturned things. 

“Don’t say it please.” he whispered, feeling dread curling in his stomach. He hated to think himself as weak and his inability to enter Hogsmeade alone - any bustling wizard town, at that - was only utter proof that he was. 

“Your paranoia is valid.” Minerva said quietly, saying as little as possible and yet too much at the same time. “Don’t be ashamed of having trauma, but don’t let it turn you into a bitter, shriveled up, old bastard either.”

“Are we still talking about Christmas?” he asked ruefully. 

“You know we aren’t.”

Their empty plates and half-filled mugs suddenly got up and floated away only to return as a pair of traveling paper cups topped with more wine and a splash of something stronger. They nodded their thanks at Rosmerta and shrugged back into their cloaks. They kept a tab at the Three Broomsticks, so paying wasn’t a concern as they exited the building and headed towards the castle in silent agreement to skip the carriage ride. 

“So, roasted chestnuts?” Severus brought up, as they crunched over the dirty ice that coated the path back home. “Like, in the song? That’s a thing?” 

Minerva nodded. 

“Can we do that, then?” he asked casually, trying to make amends. “I noticed the apothecary had a basket full of them. Perhaps we could return and pick some up.”

“Already taken care of.” Minerva replied, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small burlap sack bursting with its lumpy contents. “You were too busy holding jars of lacewing flies to the light you never even noticed.”

“Roasted chestnuts then.” Severus nodded, ignoring the jab towards his particularness. “And uh, thank you for accompanying me to Hogsmeade,” he added, trying to sound indifferent to it, like it wasn’t such a difficult thing to admit aloud. “I know it's hard for you too.” 

The witch smiled softly, as if being reminded of her - what, only three months now? - deceased husband and her old life living in the small town was a pleasant memory. And perhaps for her, it was. Perhaps he was letting grief turn him bitter. What did the deaths of his only friends and both his parents have to do with Christmas? Years had passed since both and yet the newly-created widow walking besides him was coping far better than he could ever hope to. 

“I think we should talk about Christmas present shopping.” 

“I was just going to -”

“And don’t say you were going to owl-order them.” Minerva interrupted, narrowing her eyes at him. “There’s nothing personal about circling a few things in a catalogue.”

“What do you propose then?”

“We’ll go gift shopping together. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” Minerva confirmed, taking a sip of her drink. “It’s too early in the month for most people, so Diagon Alley won’t be crowded at all, let alone on a Tuesday. Shouldn’t make you too uncomfortable, yes?”

Severus offered a smile at the unexpected accommodation and nodded. He cradled his paper cup of mulled wine close to his chest, feeling a warmth that came from more than just the hot drink. 

--

a/n: oops maybe got carried away with this one? it would mean the world to me if you told me what you think of this bc im v proud of it. 

[lavieenblancetnoir]

Blind Dates

summary I Kageyama realizes that he is the last of his friends that is single. Yearning for something more than just volleyball, he goes on a series of not-so great blind dates in an attempt to attain a relationship. Will he find the one?

genre: ?

pairings: implied y/n x kageyama

word count: 1.5k

a/n: i hope you all enjoy my first haikyuu fic! i opened up my asks so please send in some requests, it can be anything!- i'd love to write some stuff up for you guys :)

“ I cannot believe this is happening “

Kageyama Tobio thought as he sat in complete and utter silence, his hands pressed tightly together in front of him. He was attending a reunion dinner of sorts with his former Karasuno teammates- or that’s what he thought it was supposed to be. Much of the old team had come, with exception of Nishinoya-who was out fishing somewhere in the world, however what he did not expect was for almost everyone to bring a “ plus-one ” or in other words: a significant other.

Surprisingly, Tanaka had gotten married first and even more surprisingly was that he got married to Kiyoko. And not too long after it had been Daichi tying the knot, to the previous captain of the girl’s volleyball team- Michimiya. Kageyama had scanned the table even further noting that every previous member had brought or at least had a significant other, all except for one. His eyes had then landed onto Hinata, realizing he didn’t know if the short wing spiker had someone or not. 

Not realizing how much he had been leering, Hinata snaps him out of his thoughts, “ Kageyama, are you okay? “

“ Y-yes.. ”, he continued to leer at him. Should he ask? After another round of silence, he finally asked, “ Hinata… ”

“ Yes? ”

He internally cursed himself, “ Do… Do you have a significant other as well?

Hinata tilted his head to the side curiously before his eyes brightened and he confidently responded, “ Actually I have a date next week! “

Kageyama snapped, grabbing Hinata’s shoulders to violently shake him. “ You?! Of all people--How?! ”

The whole table gawked at what just happened, instantly remembering the interesting dynamics between the two. It’s been three years since highschool and they seem to not have outgrown these petty fights of theirs. 

Slam!

Almost instantaneously the quarreling has ceased with Kageyama easing his chokehold on Hinata. Daichi had stood up from where he had been sitting with an all too familiar glare gracing his face. “ What..  Do you think you’re doing?! ”, he roared, immediately berating them for their behavior. Tsukishima began to snicker in the corner, drawing the table's attention to him. Kageyama glared at him knowing what’s about to come next. 

“ Kageyama is just jealous that the shorty got a date before he did!,” the blonde laughed.

——

Kageyama idly stood outside the café, waiting for the date that Hinata graciously set up. He groaned, he still seriously cannot believe that Hinata got a date before him. The setter thinks he’s handsome? Or at least pretty alright looking, he had never given it much thought. For a male, he was definitely tall, driven, with a stable career -- those were all things attractive right? To be fair girls were never much of a concern to him up until now, he had volleyball after all. However as of late, he’d been seeing so many of his friends get into serious relationships. Seeing them have someone to support and cherish seems to be different..?

He sighed and looked down at his phone. Whoever Hinata set  me up with is late.

 Scanning around the area he saw no one in a hurry- maybe he got stood up. Looking down at his phone again, he debated whether or not he should just leave. Not soon after, a timid looking girl with glasses appeared, “ K-Kageyama? “

The date was awkward. Sato Aoi was a girl of few words, much like himself, though this led to a very uncomfortable date. Aoi was just shy whereas he was socially-awkward, not to mention that they literally had nothing in common, making their outing difficult to say the least. Now- she was definitely a nice girl, it was just literary theories and all that mumbo jumbo simply does not process and never will in his poor head.

Kageyama absentmindedly walked into the locker room, leaving his team wondering what exactly is wrong with their setter. Maybe dating is just not something for him right now and, as much as it pained him to think, maybe it would never be. He quite visibly shook his head at these thoughts. Briskly walking to his locker to change, he saw Ushijima begin to do so as well. Even back in highschool, Kageyama observed that they both were similar in some ways from their stoic nature to their desire to dominate in volleyball. One difference unfortunately, was that Ushijima was very much engaged. He let out an exasperated groan.

“ Kageyama-kun. ”

“...”

——

He found himself yet again waiting for another blind date set up by none other than Hoshiumi- who listened in on his conversation with Ushijima. Kageyama grimaced at the memory as he remembered the outside hitter’s loud voice piercing through the locker room as he exclaimed stuff about “ finding him a hook-up. ”

Kageyama looked up from the table he was sitting at, his eyes wandering the lobby of the lavish hotel. It was a rather odd place to have a date, he couldn’t fathom what exactly is so appealing about having a date here. Lost in his thoughts, he almost missed the woman who traced a line across his back before she waltzed in front of him.

“ Kageyama Tobio? “

He nodded stiffly, his eyes widening at the woman that had appeared in front of him. She was a looker, he’d give Hoshiumi that much. Sitting up straighter he couldn’t help but notice how well fitting her attire was, everything she wore to how she did her hair perfectly accented every feature. Conversation seemed to flow better with this Watanbe Yume, mainly due to her outgoing nature. There was not much they had in common but it was much easier to grasp and far more interesting than literary theory. He found her to be sure of herself, well-versed in many things, and a woman of culture from what grasped from her stories of travelling the world. Though he did notice she was a bit too touchy, finding her constantly playfully nudging him and such. 

A flirtatious smile graced her face as she placed a hand on Kageyama, drawing him out from his thoughts.

“ Let’s go upstairs Tobio? ”

“ What? ” 

“ Don’t you want to have some fun? ”

——

Kageyama must have been desperate, really desperate. He found himself waiting yet again for someone--except this time it wasn’t a date. The setter had begrudgingly sought out help from the infamous Oikawa Tooru-- a talented setter who was just as talented with the ladies. He chugged his beer, knowing all too well for what’s to come. Luckily Oikawa seemed to be mindful of their tense relationship and opted for a lax bar setting rather than a restaurant to reconvene.

“ Tobio-chan~ ” Oikawa waltzed in with his nephew, Takeru, in tow.

Kageyama stared at him and did not say anything. Did he just bring a 13 year old to a bar with him? Picking up on his silent judging, and instantaneously igniting the hate felt before.

“ What? Have you never heard of a designated- ” Oikawa stopped to look at an equally judgemental Takeru before reasserting, “ Designated person to take care of you when you’re drunk! ”

“ Sure… ”

With that, both took swigs of beer before Kageyama divulged his failed blind dates. 

——

Kageyama scowled. This was far from the “ perfect date ” that was promised. He knew he shouldn't have trusted his former upperclassmen. He should've known all the girls he knew were a part of his " fanclub. " How Oikawa kept a steady following since highschool and while he was in Argentina was beyond him. 

“ And then Oikawa- ”

If Kageyama learned how to do anything from these blinddates, it would be how to tune someone out. He was tired, the poor guy had gone out on three consecutive dates, and still no luck. At this point, why even try?  Soon enough the date was over and while Kageyama had the decency to stay for the whole duration of it, he wanted to claw his ears out hearing that much praise for Oikawa. He stayed within the tiny restaurant that he just had his date in, thank god he suggested it.

This time Kageyama had picked the place out instead of allowing his so-called date. He thought perhaps that the quaint nature of his favorite spot to eat would bring some level of comfort or some type of luck- or bring him the one. He found that groaning and sighing was a constant action the last couple of days. And of course, all of this was ranted to the waitress he often saw working there. Being a regular, Kageyama had naturally grown to know some of the workers especially (y/n) who was similar in age to him.

You were around the same age, a college student pursuing a music degree. The two of you got along quite well especially since you both had much of the same views and drive towards your respected goals. He took a sip of his drink and sunk back into his chair, watching you giggle at his dilemma. 

“Maybe you’d enjoy going out with me instead,” (y/n) joked before picking up his empty cup and walking away.

His eyes widened. Oh shit, you were there the whole time. 

Kageyama then stumbled to his feet after you, knowing that you were the one he should have been asking out.

[highlifesupernova]

A Tale of Two Lockdowns

For the second time in what scarcely feels like a year and a half, I am bored in the house while a pandemic rules my country of residence.

This time, though, instead of my one-bedroom apartment in Seattle, I'm bored in a rented house in a remote area of New Zealand, where I'm temporarily living for work. We've been under level 4 lockdown, the country's strictest pandemic containment protocol, for two weeks, and Auckland is looking at two weeks more. This was a near-immediate snap reaction by the federal government to a single case of the delta variant of COVID-19 being detected in the country.

At surface level, this means many of the same things that "lockdown" and "quarantine" have come to mean in the US: gatherings, sporting events, in-person classes, and nonessential trips are canceled. Here, however, it also means no nonessential businesses are operating -- we have access to groceries, gas, the hospital, and local outdoor areas for exercise, but there is no other activity allowed. No takeaway, no liquor stores, no warehouse workers tirelessly dispatching the conveniences of modern life without taking pee breaks (I too was surprised to learn that man can quarantine without Postmates and gin, but I have lived to write this post). Construction has stopped. Offices are empty. I can count the number of cars I see traveling past my window each day on one hand.

Every day, the Prime Minister and Minister of Health address the public directly, providing updates on case numbers, the anticipated end date of the lockdown, the process for review, and information on testing and vaccines. Only data and plans are given a platform.

Like any pandemic-weary American might, I expected this process to feel familiar. We've been on a roller coaster of coronavirus cases for so long that the whiplash has rendered me numb to new lockdowns. It hasn't felt familiar in the least.

Perhaps most obviously, watching the New Zealand lockdown in action has highlighted just how deficient my home country's governmental reaction to the pandemic has been. Because of Prime Minster Ardern's straightforward updates, I've been hyper-aware of the community-spread case count in the country, which is currently hovering around 600. All of these can be tied back to a single case that managed to leak out of a quarantine facility for international returnees. While these 600 cases may pale in comparison to the hundreds of thousands of daily infections in the United States, I now see this small number as a large one; a single case that was rapidly contained indirectly caused 600 people to fall ill. It's not difficult to understand how. People implicated in the cluster of cases were going to school and work, having nights out, and going to casinos. To stop the spread, New Zealand simply stopped those activities. In the United States, we do them every single day, at a much larger scale, unchecked.

I've spent the last twenty minutes trying to find numbers on noncompliance and protest in New Zealand to support my anecdotal claim that nearly everyone seems to be willing to follow the rules, and I can't. Parliament is actively debating the lockdowns on the national equivalent of CSPAN and public dissent is certainly allowed, but unscientific rhetoric is not given a platform. If there are mass anti-mask protests happening in Auckland, I don't know about them, and I don't need to. I'm getting the information I need to inform my decision-making from data. Data speaks for itself. Coverage of this disease, itself an instrument of nature alone, has been so bereft of data in so much of the media I consume that this has come as an absurd surprise to me. Doomscroll-baiting with story after horrifying story of the antics of truth-averse malfeasants is not a productive way to report on a public emergency.

This all begs an oft-repeated question of this global mess: what the hell is wrong with the United States? There are, of course, practical differences between implementing an effective lockdown in relatively small New Zealand and the vast USA. It would be incredibly difficult and expensive for the US to match New Zealand's Managed Isolation and Quarantine program at scale, which places all travelers in a two-week isolated hotel stay upon arrival in the country. The power entrusted to states renders almost impossible a nationally unified approach to any given problem. Our legislature has been stuck in ideological gridlock for my entire life.

Are these excuses to let Americans die on ventilators, though? I don't think they are. New Zealand enacted new legislation to carry out their response, because unprecedented times call for unprecedented measures. In comparison, American legislators have played a juvenile game of keep-away with the lives of individuals. There's a legitimate argument to be made that the American economy might have suffered more with a stricter lockdown, but to this I pose the same response. Why didn't we use this as an opportunity to create an American economy that doesn't require the safety and sanity of our countrymen as collateral? New Zealand has managed to come up with a plan for a robust economic response to eliminate a choice between safety and staying afloat for businesses and workers. It seems like something the richest country in the world, which has been known to spend billions of dollars on military equipment only to literally burn it to the ground, should be able to pull off.

If there were ever an issue that demanded bipartisanship, one might think it'd be a life threatening disease that does not give a shit which letter is on your voter registration card. What started as some fear mongering for attention by our former president has ballooned into the right stoking every anti-science conspiracy theory they find in the dark corners of the internet to maintain their batshit following while the left desperately tries to appease the same batshit following to get them to take a vaccine.

Where New Zealand has worked to mandate responsible behavior, the United States has, at best, gently suggested it, and at worst, actively discouraged it. I concede that there is no way the United States could have curtailed the pandemic to the extent that New Zealand has, but we could have done something.

I've been contemplating the meaning of freedom in the context of this pandemic since my own stay in an MIQ facility upon my arrival in New Zealand in July. MIQ was not fun. I was confined to a hotel room alone for two weeks, delivered airplane-grade mystery meals, and occasionally allowed to go for a walk in the parking garage or to have a cotton swab stuck up my nose. If I were a very different sort of person, I could've engineered an escape out the window or made a scene in front of the New Zealand defense forces running the hotel. But I did my time, and so did all of my fellow travelers, because we knew that what awaited us on the other end was collective freedom. It was well worth a short period of personal inconvenience to keep what was at the time a very open country safe.

Beyond the failings of our government, the refusal of individual Americans to give up a single luxury in the face of this pandemic is a belligerent affront to our collective freedom. "Freedom" is constantly invoked as a reason to spurn calls for masking and social distancing, but the freedom of our communities to enjoy healthy, long lives is somehow never as important as one's individual right to not wear a piece of cloth to 7-Eleven. In this sense, although the coronavirus disaster in the United States can be in many ways concretely linked to the failure of a bloated government to act, it is also ultimately a failure of rugged individualism. The snake has begun to eat its own tail, and we're watching it happen.

I never felt truly free from March of 2020 until the day I stepped out of my MIQ facility and re-entered blissful, normal life in New Zealand. I don't feel less free in lockdown, because I know we're in it together. We could have this freedom too, if only we could embrace that our true freedom lies with one another.

[k-liight]

important (?) life update

to cut to the chase, my life has been and is gonna be changing real fuckin quick. we're finally selling the rental house my dad's owned for years instead of continuing to rent it out to people, and he's gonna be moving in about 3 weeks like he's been planning to for a few years, but now the time has come. he actually caught the ✨c-word✨ a little over a month ago from his boss, who had it way worse and almost died, but he miraculously made it, though because of how rough it was to his body he's probably never going to work again, which leaves my dad out of a job. guess that might be part of the reason why my dad's leaving now and not even later, but I suppose things are finally falling into place for him, especially now that he's recovered. so that means my mom and/or I will have to find employment soon enough. and I guess that's all the most important information said and out there, but there's more to this ultimately, which I’m putting under the cut if you don't feel like reading a wall of text because it's more me just getting stuff off my chest than anything

unfortunately things haven't yet fallen into place for me like they have for him. I was hoping that I could have been out of here myself long ago, but of course, ✨the c-word✨ kinda ruined all those plans for me and threw them right out the window lol. thing is, this whole entire bullshit has put even more strain on my parents' already rocky relationship with each other and my relationships with the both of them, even well before he caught it himself. like as soon as shit started shutting down my mom practically forbid me from being anywhere near him- six feet my ass, we'd be on opposite sides of the fucking house or accidentally pass each other for half a goddamn second and she'd scold me like I just committed a felony; I didn't know he was there and I had to pass him to use the bathroom, whadaya want me to do, piss my pants? she'd make me fucking. go into HER room and keep me there whenever my dad wanted to use the kitchen just to keep us separated. she thought us both too much of dumbasses to not stay apart from each other, but like... fuck, man. and looking back, this isn't even all, she practically had this mentality for my entire existence. my parents used to have really terrible and verbally violent fights when I was a child, and I specifically remember one time overhearing my mom say something along the lines of her having the right to basically deny him of taking any part in raising me at all, and that he was only there to work to support us. what the fuck? my support goes out to single moms whose baby daddies (for lack of a better term) are absent or were obviously shitty/abusive, but if a child has two halfway decent parents I believe that they should both have equal effort in raising the child. I dunno if her views have changed since then (I was only in second grade or so) but it still stuck with me. that paired with her overprotectiveness makes it clear that she wanted control over me in a way right from the start. last night, I had a conversation with my dad after months of hardly being able to talk to him for various reasons. we had a talk about what we're both going to do once he moves, and he expressed his disdain at how my mom has more or less sieged control over my life and hasn't let him have much say in it. and while there were a few things he said I didn't agree with, they weren't the points of the conversation so I didn't find any good in causing unnecessary arguments about it. but there was something he said that struck me. I was saying how I'm gonna have to learn how to do shit for myself whether she likes it or not, and he simply said "and you have learn to think for yourself too." in any other context, I would have scoffed internally at such a thing. I have a mind of my own! I disagree with her on lots of things! the fact that we happen to share similar values that he does not share with us is just a coincidence the way I see it. but I realized that wasn't what he meant. it's nothing to do with politics, and it's not me having a preference for her over him (cuz I have no real preference). it's about me literally not knowing how to live my life for myself. almost every single decision I make, it's never about me even if it's supposed to be. "I'd do this or that thing, but what if Mom [insert negative reaction here]?" "I and everyone else needs permission from my mom to do anything with me because otherwise she'll get mad at us." "I know she doesn't like it when I ask too many questions, but what if I get this thing she wants me to do wrong? I should ask just in case." and, as wrong as it may feel for me to say this, this sort of behavior is exactly the kind of thing that someone who's been abused will do. my dad was under the assumption that I was simply prioritizing her wants and needs until I clarified that it's actually out of fear that I behave in this way. since becoming an adult, I've realized more and more things about how my childhood I considered normal was actually pretty fucked-up, and relating to more and more signs and symptoms of emotional abuse, but this realization... pretty much confirms it. it still feels weird to say though, because it implies that I hate her or that she knew what she was doing to me. I do love her, and appreciate all the good things she's done to help me, and I know damn well she cares for me. but the way she's raised me and continues to treat me to this day have had some obvious effects on my psyche. my dad said that the only way for this to end was for me to get away from it. unfortunately, that's not exactly possible right now because I'm financially dependent on her. so the next best thing is to set up my boundaries and demand she let me to learn all the shit I need to know in order to make it on my own, because I sure the hell won't learn anything from continuing to be sheltered. as for finding employment, I'll be restricted to in-town jobs without a driver's license (unless I can get ahold of the local transportation services, but I wanna work on my driving anyway, but THAT might become difficult because it'll be winter before I know it and winter driving is a whole nother hassle lmao) and I'm still debating on whether or not I wanna continue any more college, but yeah. I may continue to be sporadic depending on what happens after dad moves out, but hopefully now that I've been able to more accurately pinpoint all the shit in my life that's affected me today, I'll be able to work on fixing what should have been taken care of years ago and get a step closer to healing 💚

[intjmd]

Types of INTP

As many of you may have noticed, INTPs come in different flavors. Some of my closest friends are INTPs, and I have noticed some differences between them that I have not spotted in other types (ENFPs seem more homogeneous to me, I know a bunch and they have basically the same values, outlooks on life and even similar (or the same) interests). In consequence, I have decided to classify my beloved INTP to see if we can understand this better (or even arrive to the conclusion that some of my friends are mistyped). After thinking for a while, I have decided to keep it simple and describe only two different types or INTPs. I know it’s not enough, but I don’t have all the information that I would need to make an accurate description of other subtypes of INTPs (I think there might be at least another one). Feel free to comment, add or correct anything you may find here. Let’s go.

INTP 1 - AKA Chill INTP :

Looks/vibes:

This INTP looks like the most carefree person alive. Seriously. They are often cute and definitely have their style. Why do they say that INTP have a horrible fashion sense, then? Well, it’s just that their style is not the conventional style. They can be obsessed with certain parts of their bodies (e.g. perfect nails) and completely neglect others. Or they can aspire to look in a certain way (kawaii, really kawaii) that could look inappropriate in someone their age. They don’t care. They dress as they want, ignoring other wishes and advice. And sometimes it works out. 

In general, they look rather sociable and happy. Try approaching them and you may be surprised. Sometimes, Chill looks even dreamy and you can tell they are fantasizing about having a dragon pet or whatever.

Habitat:

They dwell in their rooms and when they go out, they wish they were on their room. This type of INTP has watched more than 50 TV shows this last year, and probably reads a lot of fanfic. Their room is their sanctuary and is often filled with the interests of the owner, packed with action figures, tech, their clothes or maybe some painting that they did years ago and didn’t want to throw out.

Personality and interests:

Chill INTP is curious. He/She/That thing over there is an INTP after all. They remind me of  an ENFP (Ne here) because the way they talk about about their passions and dreams. To put it bluntly: they can’t talk about a single topic for more than five minutes before changing the subject to something different. They do this with a bubbly/excited look and act like everything is possible for them (but then they are “too lazy” for achieving said dreams) (this has literally been said by two of them so it’s not an insult). 

This Chill INTP loves series, fanfics, memes and the Internet as a concept. They have mastered every single shortcut of their computer and act like it’s part of their bodies.

Although Chill INTP looks approachable, they hate small talk and are very shy and private. Above all, they have trouble initiating conversations. If you befriend them, though, they will open up and flood you with an unending stream of ideas.

Academics: Chill is smarter than the average person, but also lazier than the average person. What’s worse, they know that they are smart and sometimes (only with their closest friends) can brag about it. While it’s true that they are bright and have no trouble understanding complex topics (actually the more abstract, the better), they lack motivation and often procrastinate. Sometimes, usually in hight school exams, they are able to successfully wing it and get good grades with almost zero effort. They will still whine a bit after getting an 8 in some subject that they didn’t even read, though. However, this “luck” (talent, actually, it’s raw intelligence plus a little bit of rhetorics and an innocent look) doesn’t last forever.

In the end, no matter how academically talented Chill may be, after missing a thousand classes and studying for maybe ten seconds, Chill fails. Hard. Usually for the first time in University. But it’s not that they can’t do it, it’s just that they don’t want to put in the effort right now. Maybe later.

Personal opinion:

This INTP is reaaaally fun to hang out with (I’m an INTJ, maybe we click because of that). They are witty, punny and can cheer you up with their innocence or random remarks. In addition, they get sarcasm (THANK YOU) and are not afraid of saying something regarded as “insensitive” if it’s true. This Chill INTP can be a bit stubborn, and will not change their behavior even if they admit it’s damaging them. 

Overall, they are nice and don’t ask for much attention.  

P.S: Chill INTP is NOT chill all the time. They can have breakdowns where all of their frustration gets out and they can cry in disappointment because the are not living up to their own standards. The agony disappears after a while, and they come back to their laptop and keep scrolling with a smile on their faces.

INTP 2 - AKA  NERDY INTP:

Looks/vibes:

Nerdy INTP does not care at all about how they look. It’s a practical question, not a fashion contest, and they are going to pick anything as long as it covers the parts of their body that can’t be publicly shown. The plainer, the better, this way they can combine anything in their wardrobes.

Also, this INTP does not look “chill” at all. It’s more like a quiet fragile serenity that could explode anytime. There is a difference there. Chill INTP is very comfortable anywhere, even in the midst of a crowd, they just do their own thing and ignore everyone. Nerdy INTP is watching over you, analyzing your patterns and thinking, always thinking. This INTP is full of anxiety and is shyer than chill INTP. And when they are looking at a wall they are either thinking hard about the wall itself (colour, texture, design) or totally lost inside some theory inside their mind. The thing is that you know that they are questioning things.

Habitat:

Their rooms, but with zero clutter. It’s not minimalism, it’s a prison cell with the occasional coffee machine. They have a laptop, books and a bed, but that’s all. This INTP lives in his head, not on Earth. That’s why they don’t mind going outside, but they do this to think elsewhere, not to be elsewhere. Their heads are a mystery, I would describe them if I could.

Personality and interests:

Nerdy is not merely curious, Nerdy is utterly obsessed with knowledge and the truth. This means that they can research a single topic for like 40 hours nonstop and speak about it too, getting deeper and deeper and finding internal contradictions between the different sources until you (random listener) can no longer know anything. But they really understand it, and it just comes easy for them. They can keep their concentration forever and ever until their body stops working and they get into a random nap. Then they jump to the topic again.

Nerdy likes talking about different subjects. Unlike Chill, once Nerdy chooses ONE topic, he will remain in that area until nothing more can be said (which is approximately never) or until the other person changes the topic. Nerdy also strongly prefers one to one conversations, while Chill can manage up to four/five people at the same time. 

In short, Nerdy seems much more focused and driven than Chill, but they are not natural achievers (#goalz #checklists) like an INTJ. Instead, they seek pure knowledge for the sake of it, to deepen their understanding of the world. They don’t need to change it, they just think that it’s interesting to dive into the most obscure and complex topics and master them. Their thirst is not for power but for wisdom.  

Nerdy is as Internet addicted as Chill but it’s easier to find them looking for papers than watching Netflix on their own. They have three or four series that they love but they are usually complex (picture high fantasy) and the things they read are not the cliché YA novels in which Chill tends to indulge more.

Academics:

If Nerdy has chosen a career that sparks his interests, he will do great in his knowledge field. At least, Nerdy will spend hours and hours reading about this topic and becoming an expert. They will understand EVERYTHING and create a sort of “mind map” in their minds (just a map, then) with concepts and their connections. Nerdy is a bit lazy too, but their curiosity and intellect alone if directed towards the adequate career can take them to the top (or at least they are not whining at the bottom as sometimes Chill does).

Even if both Chill and Nerdy feel incompetent, Chill actually puts 3/10 effort and ends up getting a 5. Nerdy studies a lot (maybe not the most important things, they will probably get lost in the interesting bits) and try to do their best. Even if their results are great, they will feel as if they had failed because they are too perfectionistic. 

To sum up, they work harder and get more results than Chill, but also set higher standards for themselves, which leads them to often overexert themselves and have higher levels of anxiety. This is why they do nOT look so chill.

Personal opinion:

For me, Nerdy feels like a caffeinated, stronger, sharper version of Chill. Maybe a little more hopeless and cynic, maybe more concerned with astrophysics than the newest One Piece episode. If Chill was fun, Nerdy is a hundred times funnier. However, Nerdy is also incapable of small talk (Chill knows how to, he just doesn’t want to do it and tries to avoid it) and has more trouble meeting new people. This INTP is only capable of speaking logically, and will destroy you incoherent arguments in seconds (yeah, every conversation feels like a debate). If you show any weakness, they will show no mercy.  This side of them can bore or get tiresome for the more dictatorial (Nerdy will call out your bullshit, authority means nothing), harmony loving (debates are just debates, no feelings involved) (however, if you think that disagreeing equals hating each other, you are so fucked here) or happy-go-lucky (”Don’t think and be happy”) types. 

If you are not ready to do some mental exercise, then leave alone Nerdy and go back to Instagram. If you go, try to chatter with Nerdy and then disregard all his ideas/hypothesis/arguments and it gets upset, you are a mere asshole. I actually love Nerdy INTP and think that his brain should be protected as World Heritage.

Things both (I think all INTP) subtypes have in common:

Curiosity about the most random things.

They hate small talk and initiating conversations.

They are so much fun for an INTJ.

They can be very insensitive when talking to other people (not a big bother for an NT)

All energy is redirected to their heads, their bodies are nOT fully operative.

They are always up for: COFFEEE, films or going to a new restaurant. 

People love them and they don’t want to admit it.

They feel different but never complain about it (and never flaunt it as a virtue).

They have meltdowns and they saw them coming.

They love the Internet.

Kinky. Very specific kinks and you can’t kinkshame them. It’s better to join them.

They look innocent, like sweet cinnamon rolls but they are not.

P.S:

Maybe these two types are not well described and some of you think that Chill is just more well, relaxed Nerdy. Or that Nerdy has more willpower than Chill. I don’t know. I honestly think that both have different manifestations of the INTP functions and they are true INTP regardless of their differences. I also think that both are fun, smart and can become great friends. 

P.S2:

@intp-the-thinker​ @intpmd this is for both of you, feel free to abort this unborn theory/hypothesis.

[breezeinmonochromenight]

Does it ever bother you that Sephiroth always has his hair down, cause like that's such a safety hazard, what if your hair gets stuck somewhere while fighting??? The man needs some hair ties and if I have to I'll break into the fucking training room myself and tie it up for him.

It’s funny you ask, because I’ve had this internal debate going since I first laid eyes on him 634 years ago, as a kid.

On one hand, you’re 1,001% + right, and I personally couldn’t agree with you more — my practical side also just starts screaming internally every single time I look at him. Because look at this:

^ there’s absolutely no way in hell this doesn’t fucking suck.

And it’s only become way, way more apparent how impractical Sephiroth’s hair is as I’ve grown up because A.) I also have really impractical, long, plat. hair of my own that gets in my way; and B.) I’m an engineer that works both in the field and in a lab, and there’s like 20 different ways within reach at any given moment for my hair to get snagged and cause me some form of horrific injury and/or a permanent case of the deads if it’s left loose. So, I keep it up at all times during work hours in like a tightly secured sock bun or something. So uh. Yeah! I’ll bring the hair ties; I’m totally down to help with the break in — it’s totally a noble enough cause lol.

On the other hand, holy shit it still just looks so majestic though??? So I can’t get mad if he’s doing it for the aesthetics — it’s a look that still holds up incredibly well, to date. Long hair, longer sword, no shirt, tiddie straps, and comes standard decked out in h2t black leather. He’s literally one Gerard Way comparison away from sounding like a My Immortal OC, but somehow, it works.

And that would have been fine, had the Compilation never happened. OG/Vanilla FF7 Sephiroth was a lot more cold/perfect/mechanical/‘alien’ in behavior in the brief flashback he’s seen in leading up to the Nibelheim Incident. So it’s just sort of an ‘yeah, of course he would 🙄’ type response when I’d see it…

…but the Compilation did happen, and Crisis Core, in particular, seems to be confirmed canon. So like. With my own work experiences + seeing a much more calm/polite/graceful-but-socially-awkward, mostly normal Sephiroth acting as General of SOLDIER… I can very clearly mentally picture that man’s hair getting stuck in like a desk paper shredder or a printer/fax machine or something as he does Genesis’ reports in order to get Angeal to just shut up with his 12th honor-themed harangue this week directed at their friend’s laziness goes through the motions of a normal work day. All while wearing BDSM gear.

Fhsjfsjjff sorry I’m completely fried mentally and rambling endlessly today! lmao. But yeah. It does bother me but I’m also like. Who am I to question bishōnen logic? 🙃

[lost-n-stereo]

Hallie - “I love when you talk that nerdy shit. We’re in our 20’s talking 30’s shit. We’re making money but we’re saving it. Cause talking shit is cheap and we talk a lot of it.”

He’s got a bottle of expensive tequila tucked under one arm and a stack of textbooks in the other. 

There’s a white board on her dorm door door that reads “Knock and perish” and he chuckles, knocks because he’s an asshole and likes to push her buttons. Seconds later she pulls open the door, her mouth open as if she’s about to chew out whoever is on the other side, but she hides a grin when she sees that it’s him. 

“What are you doing here, Bingham?” 

He holds up the bottle of alcohol. “Thought you could use a study partner.” 

Allie narrows her eyes, looks over the bottle in his hand that he spent well over two hundred bucks on. “Mhm. Just to study, huh?” 

It’s not a secret that he’s been crushing on this girl hard for a couple of years now. The way he sees it, he’s twenty-two and headed towards graduation. She’s twenty-one and a little fucking hellion he can’t keep his eyes off of. No time like the present to finally shoot his shot.

He smirks, nods towards the textbooks in his arm. “I brought books, isn’t that proof enough?” 

“We’re not in the same major, Harry. We’re not taking any of the same classes.” 

He doesn’t wait for an invitation, just sidesteps her into her dorm room and leaves her to huff and close the door behind him. Allie’s room is like an extension of herself, he can see that right away. She has no roommate, for starters, which doesn’t surprise him in the least because she’s kind of a loner aside from her very close knit group of friends. There are some posters on the walls, obscure bands he’s never heard of and set lists from live shows. A worn teddy bear sits on top of a bookshelf and stacks of textbooks are piled on every surface. One wall is dedicated to photos of her and said friends, surrounded by a single row of twinkle lights. 

“Like what you see?” 

Allie’s annoyed voice rings from behind him and he grins, looks at her over his shoulder with a cocked eyebrow. “Very much, so.” 

She rolls her eyes, those bright blues that he can’t seem to get enough of. Her hair is a mess, piled on her head in a giant top knot, and her black and grey striped sweater is falling off one shoulder. In a word, she’s gorgeous. 

“You can stop staring any time, Bingham,” she says, her cheeks a little pink as she shuffles from one foot to the other. He doesn’t hate that he makes her a little nervous, he can see that she’s internally debating whether to throw him out or let him stay. 

He fucking prays it’s the latter. 

“So what are you working on tonight?” He asks, stealing a peek at the textbook open on her bed. Allie is pre-law and that impresses the fuck out of him. His parents encouraged him to get a political science degree, as if he wants to go into politics like his mother. Honestly after grad school he might just end up on a beach somewhere with a degree in something he hates and no immediate plans for the future. 

He picks up the book and tilts it so he can read the cover. “Psychology? I thought you were pre-law?” 

Allie scoffs and grabs the book from him, being careful to not lose her place. “Shows how much you know about practicing law. Understanding how a person’s mind works is a very important tool.” 

“I love it when you talk nerdy to me,” he says with a chuckle that makes her scowl. “I’m just messing with you. I took a psych class my freshman year. Interesting shit.” 

Allie shakes her head at him like he’s an idiot as she sits down on the bed again with her book on her lap. She’s not telling him to leave so he takes that as an invitation to stay. He drops down in the chair in front of her desk and moves aside a couple of notebooks and a binder so he can place his own books down. He doesn’t really have any intention of studying, he’s pretty far ahead in almost every one of his classes, but he can crack a book or two if that’s how she wants to spend the evening. 

“Got any shot glasses?” 

She snorts without looking up. “Do I look like I have shot glasses just lying around?” 

“Got any medicine? You know, one of those bottles with the little plastic cup on top?” 

There’s no mistaking the fact that he’s annoying her but her little frustrated huff is so adorable that he can’t help but piss her off. “Can’t you just drink it straight from the bottle?” 

“Allie, this is two hundred and fifty dollar tequila. One does not simply drink from the bottle, we’re not heathens.” 

“But taking a shot out of a Pepto Bismol lid is going to be classier?” Allie leans over the side of her bed and searches under it until she pops up holding a bright pink bottle. “You’re lucky my sister has acid reflux.” 

“That’s gross,” Harry says as he takes the bottle from her. He uses his finger to wipe dust out of the top of the cap. “Judging by how old this bottle is I’m going to say it’s been awhile since she’s visited?” 

Allie’s silence makes him think that maybe he’s hit a nerve. He’s about to apologize when she shrugs. “She’s busy. Not a big deal.” 

“I’m going to let that statement go,” he says as he opens the bottle of tequila. “For now. Here, ladies first.” 

She eyes the shot, which looks fucking ridiculous in the little cup with dosage lines marked on the side. “I’m supposed to be studying.” 

“Who says you can’t study and be buzzed at the same time?” He wiggles his eyebrows at her and she rolls her eyes, takes the shot and then looks at the cup in surprise. 

“Holy shit, that’s good! Is that what rich people drink?” 

Harry laughs, pours his own shot and throws it back. “Technically you’re supposed to sip this but it shoots all the same.” 

“I really do need to study,” Allie tells him as she settles back on her pillows again. “Feel free to do the same.” 

So that’s what they do for the next forty minutes. He tries to focus on the political economics textbook that makes his eyes bleed and they trade shots every now and then again until Allie sighs heavily. 

“I think I’m drunk,” she says as if it’s the worst thing in the world and he laughs. 

“You’ve had three shots, featherweight. I highly doubt you’re drunk.” 

“Well, beyond buzzed then.” She lays down so her bare feet are up on the wall next to her bed and her head is hanging over the side. “Tell me something about you that no one knows.” 

Harry chuckles, gets off the chair so he can mirror her position next to her. Their hands are dangerously close to each other in between them and when he turns his head she’s only inches away. “Why do I feel like part of your psychology homework?” 

“Maybe you are,” she whispers. “Maybe I want to know why a guy like you randomly shows up to my room in the middle of the night to ‘study’”. She makes air quotes around the word which looks pretty funny to him upside down. 

“A guy like me? Also, I showed up at nine p.m., that’s hardly the middle of the night.” 

Allie rolls her eyes, something he’s wondering if she does a lot or if it’s just something he brings out in her. “You know what I mean, Bingham. And yes, that’s exactly it. A guy like you. Someone rich and good looking and cocky. And, sorry not sorry, but a total asshat like ninety percent of the time.” 

Harry grins and runs his pinkie finger along her thumb. “All I heard from that was you think I’m hot and you can stand to be around me ten percent of the time.” 

She groans and he laughs. “You’re impossible.” 

“I’m also a bit of a hypochondriac,” he says quietly and she looks at him with a confused look. “You asked me to tell you something that no one knows. I’m always assuming the worst about something stupid. Like, one time I found a mole on my side and almost had a panic attack.” 

She doesn’t laugh. He’s glad that she doesn’t. 

“I got bit by a spider when I was twelve and had to be rushed to the emergency room,” she says absently as she stares at the ceiling. “Turns out I’m allergic to this one really common spider where I’m from so now whenever I’m home for the summer my parents bomb the entire house from top to bottom.” 

They spend the next hour passing the bottle back and forth, no longer caring about looking classy or shooting from a shot glass. Harry sort of loves the way she looks when she lets her hair down, both figuratively and literally because she’s taken out the bird’s nest of her bun and let her curls loose around her face. 

“I don’t want to go into politics,” he admits after she tells him that she wants to go into environmental law. 

“So what do you want to do?” 

“Honestly?” He asks and she nods. “I have no fucking idea.” 

They both laugh as Allie sits up with her back to the wall and her knees up in front of her. She puts her chin in the little space between them and hugs her legs as she looks at him. “You’re young, Harry. It’s crazy to think we’re supposed to know in our twenties what we want to do in our thirties and beyond.” 

“I think that’s what college is for, isn’t it?” He asks, reaching out to rub a curl between his thumb and forefinger. “Figuring out the future and all that?” 

“I just want to help my family,” she says so quietly that he almost doesn’t hear her. “My sister Cassandra has a lot of medical bills and my parents work so hard.” 

She doesn’t elaborate on why her sister has medical bills and he doesn’t think it’s his business to ask. “Fuck, Allie. I’m sorry.” He feels like an asshole for not knowing this about her but then before tonight he didn’t know anything about her at all. Not like he’s starting to now.

“I work,” she tells him. “I don’t know if you know that but I have a job bartending at that little pub on Eighth. It’s not much but it helps to pay for shit I need so my parents don’t have to.” 

Damn, there’s just something about this girl that makes him want to put his entire trust fund at her feet. Not that she would ever accept any kind of handout, he can tell she’s way too proud for that. 

“I didn’t know that about you,” he says softly, reaching over to hold her hand where it’s sitting on the bed beside her. “I’m glad that I do now.”

She lets out this little breath that absolutely steals his right from his chest.

“It’s getting late,” she whispers and he knows what she means. He’s not mad about it either, he got a few hours with this amazing girl and that’s really all he wanted. A chance to know her.

“I’ll head out,” he says, picking up the almost empty bottle. “Rich people know how to buy tequila, hmm? Guess that ten percent of the time isn’t so bad after all?” 

Allie walks him to the door, her body swaying just a little. He may have been wrong about her being a lightweight because she’s doing pretty good at standing upright. 

“Have a good night, Bingham.” She says at the door, her blue eyes clear as she looks up at him. He bends down and drops a kiss to her cheek. 

“See ya around, Pressman.” 

He’s almost to the end of the hall when she calls out his name. 

“You’re up to thirty percent now,” she says with a grin. “Maybe next time we hang out you can change that.” 

“All I heard from that is that you want to see me again,” he calls out and she rolls her eyes, shuts the door and leaves him standing alone in the hallway. 

He’s grinning when he walks through the door of his apartment and he flips off his roommate Grizz when he asks him what he’s so damn happy about.

[bakugaykatsukii]

I Talk About Bakugou Because I'm Bored

Bakugou. He's best boy. My son.

No, actually, I'mma explain in as few words as possible why I absolutely adore his character.

Oops this got long.

Okay, so it's the first chapter/episode (I'll go off the anime because it's practically identical and more widespread) and it opens with Deku narrating. This is to establish an immediate connection between the audience and the main protagonist; it conveys how important Deku is. Plenty of shows do this so it's not really a big deal, just common practise. HOWEVER, the second character we hear speak is Bakugou, who is insulting Deku.

This is framed in a way that's supposed to make us dislike him, and continues all throughout the first episode. He's presented as a four year old trying to beat up our main character, and then his next scene is being ten years older and Still Trying To Beat Up Our Main Character. This makes him seem rotten to the core, as his character hasn't changed whatsoever in that time, and as an audience we know very little information about him.

On top of that, within this first episode he is deliberately made to have no redeeming qualities, nothing that could make him sympathetic in any way. The Sludge Villain fiasco isn't until ep2, and in this one he literally tells Deku to kill himself, reaching peak middle school bully. He destroys something the Main Protagonist clearly treasures and is privelaged in every conceivable way, even his (later obviously intense) desire to be a hero is simplified to monetary gain, with "I'll be even richer than All Might himself!!!" (or something to that effect). Later on I'd explain such a line to be a result of young Baku trying to quantify his future success, something he never mentions again after the Sludge Villain.

In these first twenty minutes of the anime, he's been absolutely dragged through the mud. Not only is he this arrogant, selfish, mean bully, he's also the sort of bully we can all relate to having, making him even more dislikable! It's so easy for an audience to write him off as irredeemable almost immediately.

But then comes ep2. Seasoned anime watchers likely brush over some small details, but the fact that the Sludge Villain attack happens when Bakugou is 14? Wow. At this point no one likes him, and to many people seeing this happen could come across as a sort of karmic punishment, deserving and therefore less sympathetic. And so Horikoshi succeeds in continuing to make him dislikable but also adding depth to this character who so clearly believed he was invincible.

However, any such depth is pretty much ignored by the audience. I've watched many reactions, and, at this point, due to Bakugou's sub par personality, most people don't care about what happened upon first viewing. To be fair, it's treated as background until Deku steps in and proves himself a hero, at which point he's promised a quirk and That's all anyone can think about.

(also there's some symbolism in this ep because Bakugou and Deku were both attacked by the Sludge Villain and saved by All Might, showing they are actually equals in character and have a lot in common.)

Anyway, so for the first few episodes no one gives two shits about Bakugou because he's meant to be dislikable. He's set up to be as bad as possible without needing to be arrested/never being redeemable. Yet, he's also not clearly set up to be redeemed whatsoever. Let me explain:

Quick break from bnha to head over to atla, Zuko is the perfect redemption arc. And some of that can be attributed to his presentation in the first few episodes: where he's portrayed as antagonistic but still honourable, and has a tragic past. He's the sort of character you know isn't actually bad at heart. But Bakugou hasn't got any tragic back story to speak of, and certainly isn't honourable, so we don't expect a redemption.

That's so interesting to me, because it basically means his character could go in any direction but most shounen fans expect him to be the typical rival. He's mean now and will be mean later, nbd. Will probably betray Deku in order to gain more power. That sort of stuff.

But, as the first season progresses, we're shown that Bakugou (on top of all of his anger issues and cruelty) is also so incredibly determined, to the point where it's harmful. A lot of people, even in season three, expect him to accept the LoV's offer, but as early as ep7 he's shown to be dedicated to being the best on his own. He utterly fails at pretending to be a villain, and doesn't manage to work with his "villain" teammate. When the USJ attack rolls around, he fights alongside Deku.

I feel like I've just word babbled for a while so here's a picture:

Isn't that adorable? Anyway, I continue.

Okay, recap: Bakugou is presented initially as bad and in no way sympathetic, but throughout season one some of his good qualities do get highlighted.

The Sports Festival is probably when I was most on edge about who my favourite character was. Todoroki vs Deku vs Bakugou was a whole internal debate. We all know who eventually won though. Point is, this is the first time Bakugou is supposed to seem likeable.

Like, yes, he helped out at the USJ, but he was still reckless and angry about it. In this arc his flaws stop seeming so antagonistic (even though he's now more at odds with 1-A than he's ever been) and are framed humorously; if you think about it, the only times you're not rooting for Bakugou in this whole arc is when you're laughing at his antics. He stops seeming like a massive unforgivable bully and becomes a secondary threat behind Todoroki, even though he ultimately wins the Festival.

One of the first things he does in the season is tell people messing with their class go away, albeit bluntly, and is then complimented for it by Kirishima, who is the nicest guy in the class! No longer are we supposed to necessarily dislike him, as he's being developed after all of season 1. Him saying "I'm gonna win" as his speach is expected by the audience and laughed at- absolutely nobody watching was scared he'd hurt Deku in some terrible way due to it.

The cavalry battle demonstrates that he can work in a team after some adjustment time, and he gets his own antagonist (Monoma) who we all root against! This makes us closer to his character, as in a way we have a common enemy.

Then obviously the single battles are super interesting, his one against Uraraka especially turning people to his side. Since Aizawa, who as an audience we trust after his actions at the USJ, backs up Bakugou's actions, we accept them as the right thing to have done. Especially since Bakugou later calls Uraraka "not fragile", demonstrating that he can respect people and actually isn't as discriminatory as his earlier actions against Deku might lead one to believe. Everything about this fight is pure gold.

The rest of his fights are also very interesting, so let me go off on a little tangent. He's the only person to 1) be uninjured by the end of the festival (he did win tho so...) and 2) he's the only person to win all of his fights by forcing his opponent into submission. He knocks out Uraraka and Kirishima, goes to knock out Tokoyami but has him give up instead and then knocks out Todoroki! His fights are so much more violent than the others, who are primarily trying to win by pushing their opponent out of the ring or by immobilising them, which could make him come across as more aggressive (which he is). But it actually works for his character considering the way he demonstrates respect is by giving his all, therefore in order to show he cares about these fights he has to go for absolutely decimating the person against him.

Also, interesting side note to all that, out of our main three festival contenders, Bakugou is the only one who actually needs to use the festival for its intended purpose: impressing scouts. Todoroki, as the son of Endeavour, is already known throughout the hero community as a promising young talent, and could even get the No2 hero to coach him if he so wished. Deku even says himself that he doesn't necessarily need to get scouted when All Might is already teaching him. Out of the three Bakugou has the most incentive to actually show off here, no guilt/baggage required.

Anyway blah Stain arc blah. Bakugou picks Jeanist to intern with, which many might think makes him shallow. Their quirks are in no way similar and their images are almost diametrically opposing, and Bakugou only chose him because he's such a highly ranked hero. However, I believe the creators crafted this pairing in order to convey how good of a future hero Bakugou promises to be. BJ, in these episodes, is all talk. He's such a superficial hero that, in order to rectify Bakugou's foul personality, he gives him a haircut. He demonstrates the arrogant nature that Stain hates so much. Meanwhile, Bakugou ignores him and is still arrogant in his own way, obviously, but not for anything other than his own pride. He, when you break it down, spends all of his time working towards a genuinely good goal, just to prove to himself that he's worthy- no desire for fans or fame in there, he wants success but isn't actually looking for any of the perks that come with it. This, imo, makes him better than BJ. Also, Bakugou never actually says he is working with BJ due to his rank and could be doing it because their quirks botha require so much time, practice and effort.

Okay, so, now for the final exams. This is where I decided he was my favourite. He works with Deku etc and proves to the audience that he can work with him and won't necessarily become a villain, plus All Might lets loose a little and proves he too can be violent and mean.

What I really love is about ep24 s2 is actually the bit that makes a lot of people chuckle: where Bakugou bites AM's hand. This kid has been giving his absolute all, putting every ounce of strength into beating his idol, because, lbh, his self worth depends on his success here, until he literally cannot raise his arms to punch anymore. And yet, he still refuses to go down, despite every odd against him. Something about that tenacity is just so incredible to me.

It's almost 1am, let's have another break, shall we?

Idk I thought it was funny when it came onto my dash.

Btw, it's now I wish I knew how to hide most of a post lololol.

Season three is just Baku's season, ngl. Like,,, so many of his Stans got their start here, and it's not hard to tell why. A big reason why Bakugou felt irredeemable was because he had no reason to be so mean, but the narrative makes up for that by then putting him through so many bad experiences.

There's been a million metas on why he's so perfect in this season, and this is already abhorrently long, but ah well.

Okay so he's captured by the League through no fault of his own. As the audience when we find out Bakugou is missing we immediately think he's done the dumb thing and gone off on his own, but it's quickly revealed that he's already been kidnapped. Tokoyami is also taken, cementing that the LoV are looking for kids with some villainous feature, but also showing that their perception of what makes a child villainous is skewed, since we know Tokoyami is good.

At the hideout Baku is entirely restrained and silent, so clearly against his will. If we remember every other time he's been restrained (so goddamn many) we'll think back to the Sludge Villain, finding out Deku had a quirk, after his *win* against Todoroki and his internship with BJ. In this way, it's obvious to tell that this is all a Bad experience for him, as those were all very negative times in his life. There's no way he'll join them.

None of the pros even consider it a possibility. Aizawa defends him against the press (and, once again, we like Aizawa! So we trust him) and none of his classmates think he could be evil, they're all primarily concerned for his safety. Even BJ, who insinuated that Baku could easily become a villain, doesn't appear to believe he'll turn down that path.

Also Baku is pretty cool when he fights of the villain like I'm ngl.

And then, when he sees All Might? And his face screws up? With his lip trembling? It's undercut with a joke but he's so obviously just a scared/relieved kid in that moment and it's gut wrenching to remember that.

It's really getting late and I'm at 11% here so speed round through the provisional licence exam.

He can tell Shindou is two faced

Even though he's blunt he's still got the instincts and smarts of a hero

The class looks up to him

Aizawa has a lot of favouritism for this child, y'all, how did I not notice this?

His failure here is intrinsic to his character growth as it means he hits absolute rock bottom and we can move onto:

Deku Vs Kacchan 2

Where to even start. The guilt and pain he experiences has made me tear up several times just from thinking about them, and that GODDAMN VOICE CRACK AS HE YELLS nope it hurts too bad.

It's sort of the culmination of every emotional issue Bakugou has exhibited throughout the series. He can't find self worth without constant praise and pressures himself to be unimaginably perfect, to a self destructive point. He has no support system in place to help him with these issues. His anger stops being repetitive/funny/annoying and is finally, clearly shown to be more damaging to himself than to anyone else, as he feels the only way he can deal with his stress and hurt is by lashing out at those who try to help him.

In this fight we also learn why Deku, even though he's Baku's victim, still looks up to him so much. And the whole dynamic is so perfect I might cry rn.

I am annoyed, though, that further than that Baku's mental health has been pretty much entirely ignored for 200 manga chapters. Probably my only complaint about him.

.

.

.

At an entirely selfish level, I can relate to Bakugou. Obviously I'm not a teenage boy with explosion powers who bullies people in order to feel any self worth, but the high standards for himself? The pain at any failures? Being told through childhood how great you are only for it to be torn away in your teens? That's all so painfully relatable to me, and so I feel an even deeper connection with his character.

One last picture to finish off:

[fullstop-official]

A Hellish Freak Disaster with Burning Rubble and No Survivors

AKA: Chapter One - July 18

In three days, everything will change.

But right now, Travis Longfield is swatting his free hand at my shoulder as punishment for having my feet up on the space above the glovebox in the Gator – his Wrangler nicknamed aptly for its military-appropriate paint job. I have to laugh a little at his feeble attempt to keep straight on the road and hit me at the same time, more to mock him than anything else. But I finally give in and give up my recline before he takes his chance at the next stop sign to go for the ankles.

“You care about this thing too much, dude,” I tease, “I’m not allowed to sit comfortably – Jesus, I can’t even eat in here!”

“Do you want her to end up like Cole’s car?” The Gator, of course, has always been a her. “He wrecked that Cherokee. It can’t be saved. They should write it off for internal damage.”

“Yeah, okay. Sorry I upset your girlfriend here. I won’t dirty her up.”

“I’m not really worried about that,” he says with a smirk. “You’re not even the one dirtying up your own girlfriend.”

His comment makes my mood immediately plummet, and, as we pull into the Mechis’ driveway behind a sleek, black Lexus, my mood suddenly becomes a satellite that drops from the stratosphere, falling down, down, down toward the earth at thousands of miles per hour and on fire. Travis parks the Gator and we both climb out. He takes a moment to pull his guitar case from the back seat before we go about picking our way around the aforementioned Lexus and Cole’s hopelessly-stained, wrapper-littered Grand Cherokee to reach the side door to the garage.

We enter, and we’re the last two to arrive. Cole is sprawled out on the duct-taped loveseat by the wall that’s way too tiny to fit all of him. He looks over and his shaggy and badly-highlighted hair flips naturally as his head turns. Still, our appearance isn’t enough to steal his attention away from loudly strumming a progression of power chords on his guitar in order to mess with Matt. Matt is attempting to tune his bass on the other side of the room in spite of the noise, but probably isn’t having an easy time without anything that resembles quiet. Bryson is on the beat-up couch opposite of Cole, scribbling in a binder that’s full of schedules, sets, general to-do lists, and other notes that he says are necessary and need to be kept – though the entire thing is so crammed with papers that it will explode one day.

My satellite mood fails to brace for impact and crashes against the ground, colliding in a hellish, freak disaster with burning rubble and no survivors when I see the Lexus’ owner practicing the screeches that she calls “vocal warmups” by her mic stand, front and center. Saying she’s my mortal enemy undoubtedly makes me sound like some sort of comic book supervillain, but I’ve never come up with anything more accurate and less theatrical and childish to describe what we have. Our rivalry would probably take an entire war map with battalions and flags to comprehend.

I met Selena Walton when we were in seventh grade – briefly – but truly got to know and dislike her the following year when our feud officially ignited. It was just shortly after that, during the same year, that the rest of us really jumped on the idea of forming the band and, by the end of eighth grade, we’d seen it through.

There was just one problem. I play the drums. Travis is lead guitar, and Cole is on second. Matt plays bass. Bryson covers keyboard when we need it for certain songs, but otherwise acts as our manager. We were good on our own, just the five of us, but when things started getting more and more serious, we had a debate about lyrics.

Cole is an incredible singer – when he’s singing unclean vocals (the screamo parts). When it comes to singing regularly, he may as well just strangle a bird on stage; the sound it would make is more or less the same. Our preferred genre of punk and its “close-enough” offshoots (we’ve found that a healthy mixture brings in a bigger audience) are starting to blur the lines a little, but we all agreed that we wouldn’t be a full-fledged screamo band. We resolved to use his talent conservatively. The rest of the guys couldn’t carry a tune to save their lives.

I can sing, but drummers stay at the back of the stage, and squishing the two roles together makes the show lose a certain kind of energy. The audience generally likes to see the singer while they’re singing. I can sing backup, but there needs to be someone up front. A hype man.

Enter Selena Walton. Unwelcomely welcomed to the band after our first five months of minimal lyrics with a three-to-two vote.

And whom I hate more than anyone else in the universe.

And maybe it would be slightly better if she didn’t front our band. I have nothing against female punk singers, or really just female singers in general. Many of them are good, even pretty great. Selena, however, is an exception. She hates the vast majority of the music that we perform. And, though what she does is technically considered singing, she is an alto who thinks she’s a soprano, which is the worst kind of alto and does not make for a spectacular – or even subpar – show. Her signature style is going up a few too many notes at the end of nearly every line, regardless of whether or not she can hit them, and it is such a pain to listen to that I’m surprised my head hasn’t shattered like glass, or exploded like Bryson’s band binder is going to do. This is all in addition to her entitled, annoying, spoiled brat attitude which is all wrapped up into one short, oblivious, bitchy, brunette package.

I wish that was the end of it, but, devastatingly, having Selena as our lead singer isn’t even the terrible part. I can deal with that. But about a year ago, band practice went from being the few hours a week that I had to tolerate the fact she exists to my own, personal hell.

Bryson’s managerial skills are sharp, but PR-wise he tends to run things like a scripted reality TV show in order to make us stand out from other local acts so people can invest in our “personal” lives. I don’t know what celebrity dating scandal gave him the idea, but a fake inter-band relationship was proposed and, by some weird misfortune, not immediately vetoed. After a ton of arguing, I literally drew the short straw.

Selena Walton is my fake girlfriend.

And I hate her.

At the very least, after a year of playing pretend (and having her hang off of me during shows after spitting in my face behind the scenes), I haven’t actually been forced to kiss her or anything yet. I think I’d have to tear off my lips and cauterize the wounds if that happened.

Bryson still sticks to his delusional claim that having us fake date is a good thing for the band, even though it causes more drama when we’re alone together than it ever does when we’re out in the public eye. I’m not sure how much longer we’ll be able to keep it up because Selena only acts like she’s staying faithful to me when, in reality, she’s probably slept with every guy who’s ever looked at her for more than five seconds. Pretending that I tolerate her is a tough challenge, but I deserve an Oscar for acting like I love her.

And so, when Travis and I walk in, she pretends to ignore me, but I watch her in my peripheral when she thinks I’m not paying attention. She gives me a look; it’s a spiteful, almost disgusted scowl. For what it’s worth, I’m glad she can just barely endure my mere presence. It’s the one thing about this entire situation that makes me feel all happy and light inside.

Travis sets his case down to take out his guitar, and I go sit on the arm of the couch next to Bryson. Since we cleared out his garage to act as our rehearsal space, my setup has lived here permanently and I’m the only one who ever touches my drums. They only move for gigs, and I don’t have much to prepare before practice.

Cole gives me a subtle nod, but doesn’t stop strumming one of our originals. “S’up, Scott,” he greets me. He uses my last name instead of my first. Bryson, Matt, and Cole have all done that as long as I’ve known them – apparently, the single syllable of my surname is easier than having to waste energy saying the two in Morgan.

I glance over Bryson’s shoulder after nodding back. The paper he’s mentally wrestling with has July twentieth – Friday’s date – and the time of our show at the top. The rest is the final setlist he’s been compiling that has only just been finished. It takes us a long time to decide which songs we’ll be playing, and in what order. (I blame Selena.) The one thing that Bryson has left blank is the space after encore:.

We always do an encore. And it’s always a Paramore song because they’re the only non-objectionable option Selena likes. Paramore is an amazing group, and I do like their music, but if she doesn’t learn to like literally anyone else, I’ll start to lose my goddamn mind.

Bryson taps his pen against the paper for another minute, and then grabs the list and, leaving the space empty, shuts the binder. Our logo is on the front of it, slipped into the plastic cover. It’s just a black circle with our band name, Full Stop., inside of it in an all-caps, blocky, white font. We let Cole design it – we’d said we wanted something simple, and, though it looks like something that was created in Microsoft Paint (and it probably was), he’d delivered. Selena thinks it’s too plain, which is why I think it’s the most wonderful graphic in the world. I wear one of our T-shirts as much as possible and I’m met with her judgy glare each time.

I watch Bryson set the binder aside and look over the setlist another time before rising. “I guess we can start,” he announces. Cole’s instrument abruptly stops. The garage, however, is not entirely silent. Matt and Travis use the absence of guitar riffs to actually tune their instruments. At the very least, Selena shuts up.

I proceed over to my kit, and purposefully bump Selena’s shoulder with my arm as I pass. She’s about five-foot-four – about a head shorter than me – and it irritates her when I “accidentally” run into her. It makes my whole day. I sit on the stool and the others slowly start to claim their positions. Cole drags his amp over from the loveseat, and Travis pulls the elastic from his hair so it falls just to his shoulders. He claims having it loose helps him rock harder. I fail to see the correlation, but he’s a damn good guitarist, so I try not to question his methods.

As Matt takes his place, and Selena taps her microphone to make sure no one (me) has muted it behind her back again, I put my earplugs in and grab my sticks. They feel like an extension of my body when I hold them – like having just a little bit more to my arms. My nerves begin to hum with anticipation. I saw the first song and I’m pumped to play it.

Bryson gets started and reads the set from the paper like always: song title, and then the artist for Selena’s music-illiterate benefit. He only skips the artist if it’s one of our originals – at least she knows the titles of those. And she seems to tolerate singing them. Sometimes.

“Okay, open with This Could Be Anywhere in the World – Alexisonfire. Selena will take a sec to introduce everything, then Silver Bullet – Hawthorne Heights, right into Bring Me To The Light. Selena can improvise something after that. Green Day’s Holiday smoothly into Boulevard of Broken Dreams, then You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid – The Offspring, and this is the working title for the story of two crazy kids.”

“We never really found a title for that, did we?” Travis says teasingly. He throws a small smirk my way.

“No,” I agree in a similar manner, “We really didn’t.”

If he’s going to make fun of me, I’m taking it in stride. I wrote that particular number, and a fair chunk of our other originals. I think that sometimes my titles are pretty good, even when they’re just chorus lyrics. But sometimes – well, they’re that.

“Selena improvises something, and then we go to the Red Block,” Bryson continues without missing another heartbeat. I’m pretty sure I hear his voice raise a little to grab our focus again. “Red Flag – Billy Talent, Red Sam – Flyleaf, and Something Different – Red As Dusk. Selena says stuff. Changing – Saosin. Pressure – Paramore. Selena talks. Be Like The Zeros. Kiss Me, Kill Me – Mest, and Selena introduces the final song. Strong finish with Postcards – Amber Pacific. Got it?”

Four of us nod, or make our brief sounds of agreement. Selena ruins the unanimous confirmation.

“And my encore?”

“If I keep thinking about that, I’ll have a fucking aneurysm,” Bryson says with a straight face. He passes her the setlist. He knows if we start having that discussion now, this won’t be a rehearsal, it’ll be a homicide. “Just run through what we’ve got. We can look at that when I know this set is okay.”

She mutters, “Well, for once I’d like to know what we’re doing before the night of the gig.”

“Yeah, then maybe we could do something other than Misery Business, or Still Into You, or Rose-Colored Boy, or – no, wait. That’s about it, huh?”

She doesn’t turn, but she does stick her middle finger up at me. I hear Travis try to softly suppress amused laughter; a small, entertained huff escapes him. She hates me. It’s so great.

“Please just practice the damn set.” Bryson’s voice has shifted to something like exhausted pleading. He’s not in the mood to break up a fight today. I mean, he’s going to have to anyway – there’s not a single doubt in my mind there – but he doesn’t want to. He always gets this way so close to a show. The stick doesn’t come out of his ass until the stage lights go off.

To ease his stress a little, we do as he says.

This Could Be Anywhere in the World is one of Cole’s favourites to perform because nearly half of it is unclean vocals. This means that it’s one of my favourites to perform because Selena’s unstable wailing only has to pierce my auricular space half as much.

And it’s a ton of fun to play on drums.

Once she’s butchered her way through Silver Bullet and one of our originals, I’m introduced as the representative from California by one of Travis’ very few spoken contributions during Holiday. Even though its absolutely necessary, Selena hates the fact that I’m the best she’s got for clean backup vocals that won’t make our audience’s ears bleed. She especially despises this brief part Matt and I share – my voice and drumming and his iconic bass line – simply because it takes the attention off of her for nearly a full bridge. I sing the rebellious lyrics with a smirk shot her way. She flips me off.

Selena hates singing You’re Gonna Go Far, Kid, and sings this is the working title for the story of two crazy kids terribly in an attempt to annoy me. She makes it painfully obvious that she’s suffering through the Red Block, and gets a smidge better during Changing because a Paramore song follows. She always complains that I use too much cymbal during Pressure. I wonder if she’s actually listened to the song, or if she’s just deaf.

I watch her reach for the list again as it comes to a close and beat her to it.

“I Love How You Say We Can Be Anything But Treat Us Like Shit.”

“That’s not what it’s called!” she snaps.

“Sorry. Be Like The Zeros, parentheses: I Love How You Say We Can Be Anything But Treat Us Like Shit.”

She turns a bit just so I have the luxury of seeing her roll her eyes.

“What? Do I need to say it backwards too?”

I can visibly see the rage manifest inside of her head and, with another smirk that I can’t help at this point, and that I can’t say is innocent, I launch into a hidden talent that frustrates her to no end. I don’t know exactly how I came across it, I just know that I’m able to do it and she’s not. Travis can do it as well, and he watches me with amusement as I drive Selena up the wall. I picture the smoke coming out of her ears as she glares at me.

“Tihs ekil su taert tub gnihtyna eb nac ew yas uoy woh evol I,” I recite. “Bryson knows the title – he wrote it!”

“Just start the damn song, Scott,” Bryson sighs rather than taking a side, even though I’m right.

I don’t give Selena the chance to have the final word. The crash cymbal screams beneath my stick in the intro. Thankfully, Bryson purposefully wrote this song in the right key for her alto voice, so I don’t have to hear her try and fail to sing outside of her vocal range.

 “My mind is clouded like a smokehouse / I think I need a light to find what I was gonna say / My body’s numb and feeling funny / Lost here in a strange place / Just another average day.”

 I’m sure Bryson is relieved when we finally make it to the end of Postcards without another interruption. The first hour of practice ends with our finalized setlist played in full and no unstoppable brawls.

“Can we talk about my encore now, Bryson?” Selena demands at the final note, ever the princess.

Bryson starts to look as if he would rather eat his own hand than discuss the encore and incite her wrath, but also that he knows if we don’t talk about it beforehand, we’ll have to pick ten minutes before the show and we’ll end up doing Let The Flames Begin again.

“Okay, fine,” he relents. “Band meeting.”

I set down my sticks and pull out my earplugs as the guys put their guitars on the assorted stands. Selena leaves her mic and goes to take a seat. She hates sitting on the furniture because everything in here is a relic too shitty for a thrift store; it’s all either tearing, patched with duct tape, or just too stained or dusty to be used by anyone other than a semi-successful garage band in LA. Selena’s in one, but she doesn’t act like it.

We make it a habit to sit as far away from each other as possible. Matt and Bryson take the loveseat where Selena’s perched herself on the one not-duct-taped arm that’s probably going to need a layer of the stuff in about a month. Travis, Cole, and I take the couch.

“Thoughts?” Bryson asks. I can tell he’s bracing himself.

I am too, but I keep my mouth shut and wait for Selena to get her terrible idea out of the way first.

“We should do Ain’t It Fun,” she pitches. “It’s always a crowd-pleaser.”

“It would be if our regular crowd hadn’t already heard you sing it a hundred thousand times.”

“What’s fucking wrong with that?” Her angled eyebrows raise, and I can already see her pupils filling up with fire. If anyone else had said it, she wouldn’t be as pissed off, and that simple fact alone is why I argue in the first place.

“Should I say it forwards or backwards?” I demand. She scowls. “They’re getting bored! If we lose the audience at Underground, we won’t get gigs, and Full Stop. is just fucked! Back me up here, Bryce.”

Selena whips her head around to glare at Bryson so fast that I expect her to break her neck, and I’m almost disappointed when she doesn’t. Bryson’s biting into his cheek, not wanting to say that I’m right in order to avoid her fury, but not denying it either. The others show their agreement plainly – Matt’s mouth takes on an uncertain slant, eyes bright, and Cole can’t stop himself from nodding subtly. Travis wears a smirk. He always takes my side in this war.

“Oh, fuck you guys!” she spits. Her defeat is a delicate sound. It’s like music to my ears.

“What do you want to do, Scott?” Bryson asks. His voice is calm, a mediator.

“We already have a Paramore song in the set. We can’t do another. We need to try something new this time. An original, or–” I rifle through my mental music library. I know which songs we’ve done, and all of the options we haven’t ever tried because Selena is a brat with bad taste. “Maybe actually try some My Chemical Romance for once? They’re a fucking staple to the punk-pop genre.”

“Ew, no,” Selena interrupts. “Veto.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Where do I start? They’re terrible.”

“First of all, how dare you.”

“Here we go,” Bryson sighs. He goes unheard.

“Second, do you have a better idea?”

“Yeah, like fifty! We should do something by The Chainsmokers.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“What? They’re good!”

“No, they’re overplayed! The crowd will be asleep before we even start. They’re not even punk!”

“You’re such a fucking snob!”

“Wow! Look, everyone! The pot is calling the kettle black!”

“Guys! Holy fuck – calm down!” Bryson’s voice cuts through us both. He’s rubbing his temples to curb the migraine Selena’s clearly bringing upon him. “Can we all remember that music is subjective?”

For a moment, the silence rests. Travis is clearly entertained and firmly stuck on my side. Bryson’s trying to fight off that brain aneurysm he promised himself. Cole and Matt are somewhere between rolling their eyes and coming up with an excuse to leave.

Selena is on the brink of completely detonating. Her jaw is set, posture disturbed and rigid. She doesn’t remove her beady, flaming eyes from me, and looks like she’s trying to murder me with her sheer force of will. In her imagination, she’s probably stabbing me with one of my drumsticks. Her tiny fists are clenched.

“Marianas Trench,” she says through her teeth.

“Are you joking? You’d need a church choir just to sing half their crap,” I say. “Dead Kennedys.”

“Veto. Ed Sheeran.”

“Worse than The Chainsmokers. Jimmy Eat World.”

“What? With their one fucking song? Vance Joy.”

“Who?”

That one really makes her mad, so I grin as I say it. She knows I know who Vance Joy is – if only because she’s mentioned him four million times and butchered one of his stupid indie songs over and over again with her shrieking.

“Good Charlotte,” I suggest.

She rolls her eyes. “Twenty One Pilots.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Really?” For a brief moment, I watch her little, round face light up.

“Yeah, as soon as you can rap, feel free to buy us all synths and ukuleles. I’m sure your Daddy can afford it.”

She’s so angry that I can nearly see her brain boiling. There are a few Twenty One Pilots songs I would willingly relent to adding to a Full Stop. setlist, but at the moment I know she’s too pissed off to even name one. I almost want to laugh.

“Taylor. Swift,” she hisses, enunciating every single syllable with a seething staccato. She knows I would never agree to it and that’s the only reason why she suggests it. Everything she ever does or says is designed to make me mad. In this way, we’re one and the same.

So, I mimic her tone. “Fuck. No.” And I’m just about to throw out The Gits – not that Selena could ever dream to live up to Mia Zapata’s legacy – when–

“Wait!”

The single word from Cole breaks our staring contest. I still feel my blood thundering from the rush of adrenaline that comes with pushing Selena to her breaking point, but I turn my attention on him. Cole’s straightened up from his lax slouch and, even though he’s sitting, he’s still a human tower – it’s no wonder the football coach spent nearly two years trying to recruit him. His eyes are stretched wide with an idea.

“What?” Travis asks.

He takes the question, but turns to me. His massive hand is slapped against his forehead, an indication of an epiphany. “Punk Goes Pop.”

“Excuse me?” Selena demands. Her teeth are clenched, and her brows are high.

Cole doesn’t need to explain it to me – I’ve caught onto his idea the second my mental music library dredges up the collection. He elaborates for everyone else.

“Yeah, okay, so Fearless Records has this series where they have punk bands cover pop songs, and, like, they’ve done some Taylor Swift stuff. Uh, You Belong With Me, Trouble – oh!” – he claps abruptly as the next idea enters his head and, again, his eyes turn on me, full of excitement and what appears to be an ego boost due to his own perceived genius. He’s gesticulating with the approximate energy of a German Shepherd – “Blank Space from the volume six rerelease! Dude, I Prevail goes so fucking hard on it! I had it on repeat for a month, and I can do Eric Vanlerberghe’s parts no problem!” He’s practically already playing air guitar.

“There. See? It’s a compromise,” Matt agrees.

And maybe it seems too good to be true…

Because it is.

“Yeah, too bad we can’t do it,” I object. Bryson sighs audibly and mutters under his breath. “If we let her sing the clean vocals, it won’t sound anything like a punk song! She’ll just try to sing it exactly like the original and fuck it up!”

“Fuck you!” Selena fires at me.

“Then you sing it, Morgan.”

I give myself whiplash turning to look at Travis, and the energy of the garage turns palpable – a thick, stunned tension that I could slice through with a razor blade and a ton of effort. Arms crossed over his chest, Travis shrugs, completely relaxed and completely, unbelievably serious.

In an instant, the initial surprise melts away, and I’m more confused by his proposal than I am shocked – or maybe it’s just an intense mixture of both. But the point is that I can’t sing it! I’m a drummer! That’s the only reason she’s even here in the first place!

“What?! No!”

“Yeah! ‘What?! No!’” Selena parrots me. For once, we’re actually in agreement on something.

“Why not? You’ve got a good voice, and I know you know the song.”

“Who’s going to play the drums?!” I reason. “That’s why she’s here!”

“I suggested Taylor Swift! I don’t want him singing it!” Selena protests.

“Exactly! Then she can’t hog the stage and be an attention whore and has to settle for being a regular–”

“Morgan,” Travis interjects (scolds), still calm despite presenting me with an insane idea just a moment ago. Selena flips me off with a look of pure hatred. I generally don’t like to push it that far, but I stand by what I was about to say. Her name is synonymous with it.

“I’ll find someone to drum for you,” Bryson says.

I scoff. “What? Am I that easily replaceable?! You’re all fucking ridiculous!”

“Scott,” Bryson starts in his middleman voice. I look at our manager and lift a brow. He seems to wait until everyone has copied me and all eyes are on him.

And then he supports Travis’ idea.

Using some of the most glorious words I have ever heard in my life.

“If we can just get this over with – pick the cover of Blank Space with you on clean vocals so this discussion will fucking stop – you can dump Selena.”

I have no idea what to say.

So it comes out unfiltered.

“Oh, screw you, Bryson.”

Not meant to be hurtful. Just… I can’t even explain it – just some sort of instinctual, astonished reaction.

I would be free of Selena Walton. And I would get to steal her encore.

But I would have to sing front-and-center. Even though it’s a cover, it’s still a Taylor Swift song. I wouldn’t have to sing all of it – about half the vocals in I Prevail’s version are unclean, so Cole would take them. But it’s still a tough debate.

I can’t really feel my body. I guess the shock is still settling in. Or it has settled in pretty deep and fried my nerves or something. But, while I’m internally wrestling against my own opinions, I dare to steal a look at Selena that ends up lasting longer than just a glance. Her eyes are narrowed, her jaw is tight, and her back is rod straight. She’s still inconsolably pissed at the idea that she could end up without an encore even though she’s had plenty already, but I see something else underneath that.

She wants me to take it. She doesn’t want to have to pretend to be shackled to me any longer. The feeling is mutual.

They’re all staring at me as I weigh the pros and cons a few more times.

In the end, I look Bryson dead in the eyes using what I can only describe as a defeated, cold glare.

“I want it in writing.”

Chapter: 2

[timeandspacelord]

Even though I want to yell at you to pack, I won’t and instead I submit this prompt: “I look at you and I think, ‘sunshine. Literal sunshine.’ It’s annoying.” with any ship pls? 💕

Thank you so much, this was very fun to write!

She walked in to find Matthias glowering at the wall of their shared room. They were sharing the room by necessity, not choice, and, for a moment, Nina thought their predicament was the cause of Matthias’ apparent distress. When he turned his dark look on her, however, she saw a depth of conflict that clearly went beyond the pains of an unfortunate rooming situation.

Nina took an involuntary step back as she became the object of her travelling companion’s disconcertion, steadying herself on the doorway.

“Are– are you alright, Matthias?” she asked. Her voice wavered in a way that made her wince internally, but the way he was staring at her, like a hungry wolf, made her remember the first few days on the ice, when she’d been sure he would kill her in her sleep.

Matthias’ brow furrowed and his gaze softened into something closer to confusion and unease. He blinked and turned his head away, allowing his lip to curl the way it usually did when he saw her, though Nina suspected it was more an act now than it had been when they’d first been forced into each other’s company.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice thick. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Nina frowned and stepped further into the room, her composure returning. She hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, before taking a few more tentative steps towards the bed where Matthias sat. She stalled a few feet away from him and debated whether she really wanted to risk incurring his wrath by pushing the subject. You are a Grisha soldier, she reminded herself, a member of the Second Army, and you can handle asking a boy a question, even if he is a drüskelle.

She wetted her lips, swallowed hard, then asked, “Are you sure? You don’t seem fine.”

She barely had time to prepare herself for the force of Matthias’ glare before it was turned on her.

“Don’t you know when to let something go, drüsje?” he snarled. “I said I’m fine, and that means to keep your meddling drüsje-nose out of my business!”

Nina flinched away, even though she’d expected some sort of outburst. “I was only trying to be kind,” she muttered, “although I suppose such things are a foreign concept to members of the distinguished drüskelle forces.”

Matthias’ glare hardened even more, but Nina glared right back. She resisted the urge to stick her tongue out. Now was not the time for childishness, even if Matthias was acting like an upset toddler.

Instead, she said, “You wouldn’t know kindness if it bit you on the ass, Matthias Helvar, so I don’t know why I bother trying to treat you like a human being when I know any of your friends back in Fjerda wouldn’t show me the same decency.”

He opened his mouth, perhaps to rebuke her, but Nina kept going. “And in that case, it’s only fair for me to revoke my kind invitation to let you open up to me and vent, and instead let you wallow in self-induced misery the way you so clearly want to. No, don’t mind me, you can brood over there, and I’ll just be over here, keeping my meddling drüsje-nose out of your business,” she said, crossing over to her own bed without looking back at him. “But, because I know how to take the high road, if you change your mind and want to talk,” she glanced over her shoulder as she fluffed the sad, uncomfortable pillow on her bed, “my invitation still stands.”

Matthias was gaping at her, all the malice gone from his face, and Nina had to quickly turn back to the pillow in her hands to keep him from seeing the smile spreading across her face.

“Do you ever shut up, Zenik?” Matthias asked, though there was little anger in his tone now, just a sort of stunned awe.

Nina set her pillow down. “No,” she decided, flipping her hair over her shoulder and sitting down on the bed in one fluid motion. “I do not.”

Matthias shook his head, and Nina thought she could detect the barest hint of a smile. She decided to press her advantage.

“But,” she drew the word out, “if you were to, say, confide in me what could make such a stoic drüskelle seem so perturbed…” She let the sentence hang for a moment. “Then, I might be inclined to shut up. Just for a bit.”

Matthias glowered at her, but she could tell his anger had faded. The look contained more self-doubt and confusion than venom, and Nina was struck by how uncharacteristic it was on him.

The tense silence crept towards unbearable, and though there seemed to be some sort of internal battle in Matthias’ eyes, he had yet to even open his mouth. Nina blinked at him and leaned ever-so-slightly forward.

“So…?”

Before she could process his movement, Matthias reached behind him, grabbed his pillow, and whipped it towards her. It hit Nina square in the stomach and she let out an “Oof” of surprise that turned quickly into a breathless chuckle.

“You know I’ll just keep pestering you until you tell me,” she said when she got her breath back.

Matthias sighed. “Yes, I do know that,” he conceded. “You’re probably the single most persistent person I’ve ever met.”

Nina smiled. “Thank you. Does that mean you’ll tell me what’s bothering you?”

Matthias threw his hands up, which just made her laugh again.

“Please? You never know, I might be able to help.” She winked for effect, although Matthias’ suddenly flustered expression wasn’t quite the effect she’d been going for. Not that it wasn’t an effect she liked; making the Fjerdan blush was turning into one of her favourite pastimes.

He groaned and dragged a hand down his face. “Fine. Fine. But you have to promise to shut up for the rest of this Djel-forsaken trip.”

Nina stifled her victorious smile under a sombre look. “On my honour as a soldier, I will do my very best to not pester you until we part ways.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, then, evidently deciding she was being as serious as she could be, he took in a deep breath and made a face.

“It’s you,” he grumbled. “You, Nina Zenik, are the cause of all of my current distress. Everything about you is contrary to what I believe, everything I feel about you goes against my teachings. I look at you and think ‘sunshine. Literal sunshine.’ It’s annoying. You are supposed to represent my enemy, everything I work against, and yet you’ve saved my life, you’ve shown me kindness. You have been nothing like how you should have been. You do not seem like a drüsje, and you’ve made me question all the things I know. I feel that I am going mad, because every time I look at you, I do not see an enemy, a witch, someone who poses a threat to all that I hold dear. I see you, Nina, and I see a friend.”

He paused, unable to meet her eyes. Nina stared at him and couldn’t, for the life of her, even come up with a teasing remark.

She cleared her throat. “If– if it makes you feel any better…” She swallowed. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ve been struggling with the same dilemma.”

It was Matthias’ turn to stare at her while she kept her gaze resolutely fixed on her hands bunching up the fabric of her skirt in her lap.

“We’ve been taught to see each other as enemies,” she began, her heart in her throat, “but we’re both just people. We’re people who have been through a lot, who have saved each other’s lives, and that counts for more than what we were taught. Our experiences are worth more than the prejudices we were made to learn. And I think,” she raised her head to look Matthias in the eyes. “I think that it doesn’t matter what we were taught, if we can both look at someone who should’ve been our enemy and see a friend.”