#i know my period is coming and so things have felt exponentially Worse but. i feel like this is an all new low lol

[thebirdandhersong]

y'all I'm so out of it lolllllll truly this has been a Week and the week has just begun

[azucanela]

chapter ii

pairing: bakugou katsuki x fem!reader

warnings: cursing. mentions of a bomb.

word count: 3k

summary: the internet is enamored with the idea of y/n l/n and bakugou katsuki, two renowned pro heroes, dating. the first issue? the pair rarely interacts. the second issue? apparently, they hate each other, not that anyone knows about that bit. of course, after one night of many mistakes, the whole world knows.

series masterlist

THE MEETING WAS NOT SUCCESSFUL. AT ALL. Or at least, that’s how it seemed in Y/N’s eyes. Seeing as the only thing that had come out of it was… spending more time with Bakugou. Which was the opposite of what she wanted to do at the moment seeing as she despised him. Y/N actually had a feeling that any further interactions with Bakugou would only end in more chaos. So, Y/N decided she would set to work, as she would any other day. 

Ignore the problem until it goes away, right?

Slipping on her hero costume feels like a chore, pulling the gloves of her suit on with a grimace. They only served as a reminder of her inability to fully control her ability— though Y/N was known as someone with some of the most impressive quirk control. There was always that underlying feeling, of course that feeling never belonged to her. It had always been hard, shutting out the emotions of others, Y/N had found that those who feel the most strongly were the ones she would avoid.

Clearly she had failed.

Regardless, those emotions tended to be distracting as she went about her day. Y/N had learnt to ignore them, to block them out for periods of time, but in a career like hers it was unavoidable. The pain, the rage, the panic, the pure feeling of fear. It could get overwhelming and that often put her at a disadvantage. Emotions were viewed as a weakness, and oftentimes allowing your emotions to get the best of you resulted in unnecessary deaths. But allowing the emotions of others to do so? 

It got even worse when she actually activated her quirk to its fullest extent.  With a single touch, she could utilize the abilities of a person— all their abilities. When it came to quirks, if you controlled your quirk well, so could she. Otherwise, she would adapt the skills of a person, their intelligence, their athleticism, even their hobbies. Y/N could even the fact that she’d made it through UA to this ability. After all, she’d never been athletic, but her classmates had been. 

But her setback had always been a pain, especially in battle, Y/N felt the pain of whoever’s quirk she mimicked. If they were shot, Y/N felt it as if she had been shot as well. She’d never experienced someone dying on her. Nor did she want to. But Y/N was capable of holding as many quirks and capabilities as she could handle— and pain added up very quickly. 

It had been worse when she was younger, but Y/N had grown during her time at UA, and now she was capable of ignoring the emotions of others to an extent, and her pain tolerance had grown exponentially. 

Y/N was grateful for her success, for the agency she’d been working at. She was not grateful for the looks she got on the way there, Y/N could feel the whispers of those who watched her enter as they walked past. Though she could only hope her own staff had more respect for her. 

Her lips pressed together into a tight lipped smile as she entered, and Y/N found herself bracing for whatever could greet her. And to her delight, it appeared that everything was normal. Save for Lorelai’s presence by the entrance, her phone in hand. As though she had known Y/N had entered, the girl in question looks up from her phone before Y/N even has the chance to speak.

“We need to go over our plan, Y/N.”

In response, Y/N waves her off, continuing down the corridor. She smiles to those who greet her, mumbling back to them as Lorelai follows her. “Actually, I need to plan my first patrol of the morning.” She says, looking back to her friend momentarily.

“Then I’ll plan. And my plan includes a real nice fake dating scheme, kinda like those movies.”

Almost instantly Y/N turns around, glaring at Lorelai— who simply offers her a smile in response, clearly pleased with herself as she begins to move alongside Y/N rather than behind her. Y/N had no doubt that they would plan a fake dating scheme if it came down to it, unless she got involved that is. “So?”

“Well, the fake dating scheme was an actual option but you clearly don't like that.” Lorelai mumbles out in response, now holding a tablet as she guides them into a room. “Aside from that, basic press events together,” Lorelai looks up from her tablet pointedly, “where you actually look like you’re enjoying yourself, should amend the situation easily enough.”

Y/N raised a brow, taking a step around the long meeting table where those who worked at Hawk’s agency would soon congregate for their weekly assignments, “a little too easy if you ask me.” She looks to Lorelai, “Bakugou agreed to this?”

“I’m sure his PR team will convince him.” Came her response, shrugging as she took a seat on the table and crossed her legs. “We can do a public statement but there’s no real reason for making this a bigger thing than it already is. It would only end badly.” 

With a frown, Y/N’s eyes drift back towards the window. They’re still on the first floor so it’s not like she’s seeing much, but it’s almost astonishing, how there are people just… going about their days without a single fear in the world. All Might’s downfall had eradicated the mindset but on days like these it felt as though not a single thing had changed. As though there weren’t still dozens of underground organizations planning horrid things, and there weren’t hero agencies like her own devising ways to stop them.

Hero Society was a fragile, and corrupt thing. 

Y/N had watched as they threw children into every battle, she remembered when she’d been forced to do such things herself. She had watched her comrades, her friends, nearly die for a cause they were too young to comprehend. And she watched as civilians criticized them for not doing enough. Why did her publicity even matter? Shouldn’t that be the least of her concerns? Y/N found it funny that she needed to do well in polls to do her job well. It was the only real way to guarantee access to certain information that low ranked heroes didn’t get. 

With a sigh,Y/N turns back, brows furrowed, “so when does this start?”

Placing the tablet beside her on the table, Lorelai rests her palms against it and leans back against them, “next week probably. Haru still needs to work out the details with the rest of the PR team and Bakugou.” 

A small laugh escapes Y/N as she mumbles out, “it takes a whole team to keep that man from ruining himself.”

“Most Pro Heroes have a PR team, Y/N. You’re one of few exceptions.” Lorelai corrects, looking to her. It was true, Y/N was aware that more popular heroes often had teams of people coordinating their social media, schedules, public outings, and more. 

Y/N tilts her head at Lorelai, “why is that?” 

Lorelai raises a brow at her friend’s words, “what, you want to get rid of me?”

Y/N laughs once more, shaking her head, “no… it’s just—” She turns to face her friend, “when I hired you I couldn’t really afford anyone else. Now I can. But you do all the work by yourself.” Biting her lip, Y/N asks, “why is that? I could get you an assistant or something, easily.”

“Well you aren’t exactly the most problematic,” Lorelai responds, offering her a small smile.

Nodding, Y/N pulls out a chair at the head of the table, taking a seat, “but you also have plenty of other clients—”

The door opens, drawing their attention to the person who stands there, one of many heroes who worked at the agency., Pro Hero Telen, a simple hero name with an equally simple quirk. But his ability had saved them numerous times in battle. He pauses as he enters, “is it— is it not time for the briefing? Have I interrupted something? I apologize I can—” 

He moves to shut the door but Lorelai simply hops off the table, collecting her tablet as she heads to the door and rests a hand on his shoulder, “don’t worry— we’re done here, right Y/N?” Y/N simply nods, and Lorelai offers her a smile, “be careful today.” She mumbles out, before turning back to Telen. Y/N doesn’t know what she says, but he pales and nods before entering. Shortly after, everyone else seems to file inside, and Y/N finds herself sighing as she spins around in her chair as she waits. 

It would be a long day. A very, very, long day. 

BAKUGOU WAS TIRED. He really was. Working at Endeavor’s Agency meant long hours, endless paperwork, constant cases. And right now he was assigned to the current big thing; the Stain copycat that had yet to be caught. Unfortunately, this guy didn’t seem to be an amateur like the rest. Of course, whoever it was, they’d primarily been attacking minor Pro Heroes, until recently. 

Slowly working their way up the food chain of heroes until they ended up coming across someone who was relevant. It was inevitable, at one point whoever it was, they’d bite more than they can chew. Trying to take on a hero that surpassed their skills, whatever those skills may be— or they would slip up. Leaving behind some sort of evidence that would result in their capture. 

The only issue was, there was no telling where or when this would be. How many would have to die before they were caught? Bakugou didn’t necessarily want to know, and it was his job to make sure no one ever knew how many. 

A job he was failing. Alongside Deku, who had also been assigned to the case, it was a curious partnership but he had no choice to make it work. And his publicist had insisted that any presence with a hero like him would be good publicity. After all, most of the public knew about their little rivalry so it would make him seem diplomatic in a way. But Deku was…

“So… the gala, huh.”

Well, he was Deku.

“Shut up.” 

Thankfully, they hadn’t run into any reporters, though he was sure someone had caught pictures of them on duty together. Which was bound to end either ridiculously well for him, or incredibly poorly. It was always hit or miss with the press and Bakugou despised the entire aspect of the job. It was the one thing he could admit he was bad at. He wasn’t the most approachable, meaning it was rare for reporters to approach him in the first place due to his renowned temper.

The pair was making their way through the streets of the city, patrol was normal but they were currently on their way to the police station. They were supposed to be collaborating with the police to handle this copycat, and for some reason Deku was… panicked. It was subtle but the guy had been practically sweating bullets since Endeavor told them they’d need to work with the police. 

If Bakugou was honest this whole job was busy work. Why else would Endeavor’s agency be working on it? The Number One hero had to have better things to do. Maybe this was a punishment for what happened on the last mission they went on.

Bakugou frowns at the thought, electing to push those thoughts to the back of his mind as they come to stand in front of the Police Station. He finds himself bringing a hand to rub his temple. It was definitely going to be a long day. And he hadn’t even spoken to Haru about how the meeting with Lorelai went yet. Not that he wanted to know at this point, Bakugou had a feeling he wouldn’t be satisfied with any solution they proposed.

He really didn’t feel like dealing with any of this. So, Bakugou finds himself thinking that it might be time to use all those vacation days he’d been holding onto since he’d started working with Endeavor. They were piling up after all.

With a huff, he and Deku make their way up the steps up the police station, and Bakugou pushes the door open. It’s busy inside, as expected. A bustling atmosphere that reeks of blood, sweat, and tears, literally. There are some people seated, likely waiting to be processed, they’re handcuffed and Bakugou is fairly sure he recognizes one of them. Not that he has the time to dwell on it as they move through the police station.

One of the officers makes their way towards them, “you’re the heroes Endeavor’s agency sent?” He asks, looking to Deku, brow raised. “Welcome back.” 

Bakugou looks at Izuku incredulously as they begin to follow the man through the mess of a building, “the hell is that supposed to mean?” He hisses, but Izuku’s face has already flushed as he covers it with his hands, shaking his head.

“It was one time, how do all of you know about it!” Izuku cried out, and Bakugou finds himself glaring at his partner for the day, even without context.

The officer simply laughs, waving him off as they make their way into a room. There stands the police chief, Kenji Tsuragamae, and a few others seated at some of the many seats in the room, in front of white board that seems to be more of a mess than those around them. They look tired, exhausted even. 

Tsuragamae seems to notice their presence, clapping to garner the attention of the few inside the room, “everyone, please welcome the Pro Heroes from Endeavor’s agency. They’ll be assisting us with this case moving forwards.”

The officers seem rather unimpressed, and since Izuku still seems rather embarrassed for some reason, Bakugou finds himself stepping forwards, “what’s going on?”

With a sigh, he goes to answer. But he doesn’t get the chance as an explosion sounds and the building shakes. A siren goes off above them and suddenly the sprinklers began shooting out water as a woman entered, “sir! There’s been an explosion.”

Bakugou fights the urge to say, no shit, as he and Izuku exchange looks, “is it an attack?”

“On the police? That’s bold.” The officer from earlier comments as they all rise from their seats. But the fear in the room is abundantly evident as they all await her response, anticipation amongst them all. Because who would do such a thing, and so strategically placed on the day

The woman only shakes her head, and this time a man appears beside her, based on the way he’s dressed— Bakugou would have to guess he’s a plumber of some sort, but the man simply explains, “we think it’s an issue with the boiler room.” 

Bakugou finds himself rolling his eyes, “then why are you still here?” He turns to the rest of the room, “get on with the briefing and get the damn plumber down there.” He grumbles out, before taking a seat once more and redirecting his attention back to the chief, gesturing for him to carry on with his presentation. All the while Izuku is apologizing rather profusely for his attitude.

Now, crime had worsened exponentially after All Might’s downfall. It’s not that other heroes were suddenly less capable, although some were discouraged by the fall of the greatest hero. It’s just that All Might was a symbol. Even years after the fact, Bakugou could still see it. Things had changed. Although in recent times, crime had lessened thanks to the work of today’s Pro Heroes, there were still… issues.

Many had gone the vigilante route as a result of the League of Villains and Stain— and speaking of Stain, there had been several copycats over the years, people who agreed with his ideals and his actions. Which is what brought them here. The issue at hand was this most recent copycat was… decent. Most of the time it was amateurs who didn’t plan that far ahead, quick and easy to catch with minimal casualties, if any. 

Essentially, the police had nothing on him. Just a list of his victims and what they had in common. They were underground heroes, like that of his own teacher from UA, but something about them seemed off, different from what they’d seen in other copycats in the past. They weren’t like the flashy heroes you would find, the ones who seemed… fake. The ones most targeted because they fit Stain’s idea of a false hero.

And even then, there was no being sure which were the victims of this copycat and which were that of others. As the anniversary of Stain’s capture grew closer, more attacks were popping up. 

Shaking away these thoughts, Bakugou grimaces. All he had gotten from that briefing was that they knew nothing, had done nothing, and were going nowhere. Which wasn’t necessarily encouraging. So far, there were four confirmed victims of the copycat, and three additional deaths that were viewed as possible victims of the copycat. Technically, one of the copycats, but that wasn’t something he necessarily wanted to think about. 

Yeah, he would definitely be taking those vacation days.

[thestyleswritings]

Fix You

"We talked about something you said to me a while ago." She says, tone short. He couldn't tell if she was angry or if she was being shy about something.

 "Well? I'd love to hear what I said that you're still thinking about months later and talkin’ to your therapist about, baby." The hand that lay stationery on her thigh squeezed a bit, encouraging her to talk to him.

 "You said something about making a baby with me. Haven't been able to stop thinking about it." She muttered, biting her lower lip. His whole body went rigid beneath her at that.

Or - The one where you have depression and Harry leads you in the right direction, and then some

(6.1K)

Warnings: Mentions of Depression, Mention of Mental Health Issues, VERY brief mentions of suicide, Language, Possible Breeding Kink(??), Smut (at the end)

Masterlist

I wrote this in one night,,, shout out to mania.This isn’t even what I was working on. I don’t know if this is something that many people will want to read but it definitely brought a smile to my face to write. Do I need therapy? Probably. Will I ignore that and continue to escape my own mind through fiction? Absolutely. Reblog/Like if you enjoy!

  Harry knew she'd been struggling for a long time. It wasn't like her depressive periods lasted very long when they happened, maybe around a week or so, but when they hit, they hit her hard. He'd asked her when they first started dating, years ago, why she never invited him over and why she always went to his place, and at first she didn't want to tell him. It was embarrassing to her that she sometimes got into these periods where she didn't even want to lift her head from the pillow, let alone tidy up her flat.

  Harry eventually went over to her place once she felt comfortable enough to let him. She knew he wasn't going to judge her, and she knew all he wanted was to help her feel better. He stayed at her flat for hours the first time he came over, helping to fold the laundry she had done days before, dusting the bookshelf, clearing out the refrigerator. He'd joked they were a perfect match since he loved to clean up while listening to music they both loved; it relaxed his mind. His love language was acts of service anyway, which he constantly had to remind her of. He didn't mind doing anything and everything in his power in order to alleviate his lover's stress. She had sworn to Harry she'd try her best to keep the place in tiptop shape, but he didn't actually expect her to.

  He'd lost more than one friend to severe depression and he knew it was nothing to take lightly. Unfortunately, he also knew the signs to look for in suicidal people all too well. He could tell she had become moodier and spent a good bit of her day in bed either sleeping or just staring off into the void. She texted him that she was at home more and more, opting out of seeing her close friends for drinks or dinner. He hadn't seen her, either. It was all beginning to worry him deeply. He knew she'd have bad days, he'd signed up for that, but this was bigger than just a rough day. It had been going on for nearly two weeks and he knew he couldn't wait to address it any longer. He wanted to approach her tenderly. He was fearful that if he misspoke, she would shut down.

  That's how he ended up at her door one evening, unannounced. He brought along two sunflowers, one significantly taller than the other. He'd seen them at the florist's downstairs and they made him smile to himself. They were her favourite flower, and the posture of them reminded him of both of them. He hoped they would make her smile, too.

  He didn't bother ringing the bell, fishing out the spare key she had made up for him from his jeans pocket. When he stepped through the threshold, his heart sunk. There were empty cups on the coffee table, and he knew that meant she wasn't eating. If she were, there would've at least been a bowl or two. In that regard, her untidiness was helpful. He could assess the situation before even having to talk about it. 

  He sighed deeply as he gently places the sunflowers down on the kitchen island, walking over to clear the short table in front of the loveseat. He could practically feel the pain she was in and he hated.  He hated the fact that she had to be stuck with the short end of the stick. He walks the cups over to the sink, running the water over them for a moment before grabbing the sponge on the ledge of the sink to scrub them clean.

  As he washed the cups, he thought of what he could say to her that would actually prove to be helpful. It wasn't easy to always have the right words when the person hearing them didn't care if they lived or died. He knew if he told her outright how upset he was seeing her this way, it would only serve to make her feel worse that she couldn't help it. He didn't want to force or therapy on her, but he really wasn't left with many options. He wouldn't lose someone else to this. He couldn't live with himself, nor without her.

  He shuts off the tap and dries his hands on the cute yellow kitchen towel that was always draped on the cabinet next to the sink. With the flowers in hand, he cracks open her bedroom door. There are a few small piles of clothing around, t-shirts and sweatpants carelessly discarded based on the look of how everything was inside out.

  The sight of her breaks his heart. She was curled up tight beneath her fuzzy blanket that he knew she only pulled out when she was missing him and his snuggles, facing the wall while her arm hung limply over the stuffed dragon he'd gotten her ages ago. He could tell she hadn't gotten up all day, that much was evident. All the lights in the apartment had been off when he'd arrived and there was a stillness to the air. She hadn't even answered his messages sent hours earlier. He thought the worst for a moment, frozen in place with wide eyes trained on her unmoving body before hearing a soft snore coming from her, easing his breathing exponentially.

  He sits on the edge of her bed, placing the flowers with a shaky hand in a cup of water that had been sitting on her bedside table. He brings his hand up to the dip of her waist, gently rubbing up and down the length of her torso to soothe her awake.

   "Wake up, bug. S'me. Brought ya a little present." He coos at her once he heard her intake a large breath, reaching up to tuck her thick hair behind her ear. He could tell she hadn't washed it in a few days and made a mental note to encourage her to shower with him. She stirred under his touch, like she could tell it was him even when she was deep in slumber.

  "Harry?" She calls out quietly into the dark, feeling the warmth of his palm against her cheek. Had she been more awake and alert, she might've even been sheepish at her disheveled appearance. She already knew he saw all the empty cups on her table that had once been full of tea and coffee. She felt ashamed.

  "Yeah baby, it's me. Can you turn around and let me see that pretty face?" He croons, removing the hand that had been stroking her hair.

  She sighs deeply before turning over in her full sized bed, eyes focusing on the plush faux-down blanket beneath her. His hand slowly approaches her face again, this time grabbing hold of her chin softly to have her look at him. He smiles sadly at her. She knew that look. It's the same way her mother would look at her when she came into her room as a teenager. Pity, almost. It made her feel weak. 

  "Hello, my angel. Have you been in bed all day, lovie?" He dotes on her, running his thumb across her cheekbone. He knew the answer, he just wanted her to acknowledge it.

  "Mhm. What time is it?" Her voice is hoarse, as if she'd been crying the night before. The sound of it deflated Harry's heart in his chest.

  "S' a quarter til six, lovie. What time did you fall asleep?" He asks, leaving his hand on her face to cradle her soft cheek.

  "Dunno. Seven, eight? This morning sometime." She replies, sighing at her own erroneous sleeping schedule. Harry presses his lips together silently, taking in her words.

  "Alright. Well, I'm here now, so up you get." He requests softly. Softly enough where she doesn't find it demanding. He stands from her bed, holding a hand out to her.

  "Did I hear you say you brought me something?" She asks as she sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. He chuckles at her, knowing that a huge part of her mental illness caused her to crave buying material possessions, only for them to mean nothing to her the very next day. It was something she was truly trying to work on.

  "Yes baby, I did. S' on the bedside table." He informs her, waiting for her to turn and see them before he walks closer to her. She caresses the vibrant petals of the yellow flower, biting her lower lip between her teeth.

  "I... I love them, Harry. Thank you." He can hear the tightness in her throat and he worries that he should've just not gotten them at all for a moment before he sees the genuine smile across her lips.

  "I saw them and thought of you. Well, us, really. Don't they look like us?" He beams at her, and she sort of thinks she can see what he means. He looks like a sunflower when he smiles. He brings light and beauty into her life. Maybe that's why she found herself wanting to cry. Because she felt like she wasn't worthy of the human sunflower standing in her room.

  "Yeah. They do look like us." She offers a smile, smaller this time now that she's thought about it. She wraps her arms around his middle, allowing the overwhelming feeling of warmth and comfort to consume her for a moment before pulling away.

  "I should probably go clean off the coffee table, huh?" She says humorlessly, walking the way of the door before his voice stops her.

  "I did it for you, baby. Why don't you come with me to have a nice warm shower? I want to talk to you about some things while we're in there anyway."  Panic strikes her still; what did he want to talk about? Was he finally fed up? Did he find someone else, someone who could take care of themselves properly? Was that why he was being especially sweet on her? She felt like she could throw up. She didn't know how to do this without him anymore, and that alone scared her. It wasn't to say she didn't adore him for all that he does for her, she just wished he didn't feel like he had to. She wished she could get her mind well enough to care to do even the simplest tasks.

  She nods her head and thanks him quietly for straightening up before walking into her bathroom and stripping down to nothing. She reaches into the shower to turn on the water and waits for it to get warm, as well as Harry. She didn't like the sound of wanting to talk, even if he hadn't necessarily said it in a menacing way. When he joins her, he follows her lead by taking everything he wore off. He didn't want to look at her body for too long and become distracted like he often did when he saw her, especially when he really saw her. She had soft features and her body was always so pliant in his hands. Though, he couldn't allow his mind to wander right now.

  He gets in first, testing the water and making sure it was around the temperature they both liked before reaching for her hand and pulling her in gently. She expected him to keep some distance, so when he wrapped his arms around her from behind as they stood under the steady stream of water, she was a bit taken back. Was he being overly affectionate as a way to say goodbye? He places a few kisses to her shoulder before peeling himself away and grabbing her peach shampoo off the built-in shelf. She leans her head back to make sure her hair is all wet before allowing him to lather her hair with the sweet smelling soap for her. She always loved how he massaged her scalp with it.

  "So, I know you might think I wanted to talk about something bad, but I promise it's nothing bad. I just want you to know that before you start making scenarios up in your mind." He speaks softly, matching the pressure of his fingertips in her hair. He sees her shoulders sag and he feels awful. She'd already started thinking of potential issues he may have wanted to talk about. He carries on by rinsing the shampoo out and repeating, creating a much foamier lather the second time around. He rinses it out for her by guiding her beneath the waterfall, following up with the peach conditioner.

  "What do you want to talk about?" She whispers, enjoying the feeling of Harry's hands moving lower with her wash rag, scrubbing her limbs delicately as to not harm her skin.

  "Well... you. You know how much I love you, yeah? Can't fuckin' live without you, you know? Hurts me when we're apart for too long, or when we have to sleep alone. I, um... I just want you to be happy," he sighs. He prattled on a bit; his thoughts were jumbled and he didn't know how else to tell her this.

 "I want to be able to know you're okay when I'm not with you, even if I want to be with you always. I know you're going through a rough spot right now, and I want you to have help. More help than just me," he's as gentle as he can be, and she appreciates it. It doesn't mean she wants to cry any less, of course, but she knows he has the purest intentions.  

  He wants her to thrive, not just survive. He knew he could only do so much for her before she had to start doing things for herself. He loved to baby her and take care of her, but not when he had to. He wanted to help her shower sometimes and feed her because he wanted to, not because she wouldn't do it herself if he didn't.

 "Are you saying you want me to find a therapist?" She asks softly. She's not opposed to the idea, she just never found the strength to actually care enough about her own mental well-being to make an appointment. 

  "Are you okay with that? Would you be open to it if I helped you find someone to talk to? And maybe try medication? I know it's a lot at first, but it helps so many people. Just can't keep seeing you so sad. Hurts my soul, since we share the same one." He turns her around now to look at her property while they spoke. He could see the furrow in her brow, like someone was pinching them together with their fingers. 

 He saw the tears welling up in her eyes and his heart nearly explodes at the pout forming on her face. This isn't what he wanted to happen. He didn't want to make her cry. Her chin trembles as she tries her hardest to look anywhere but at his face.

  "Oh, baby," he coos, wrapping her up in his arms once more, "I didn't mean to upset you. I'm so sorry, m'love," he kisses the top of her head, peppering them all around wherever he could reach. "M' just worried, baby. When I came in earlier it looked like you- I just, I can't imagine what I would do if-" he's slightly panicked now, she can feel his heart picking up it's pace. She didn't know that was something he worried about with her and it made her whole body ache.

  "You didn't. It wasn't that. I would really appreciate if you could help me find someone to help me further. I'm crying because I'm hurting you when I don't deserve you in the first place," she sniffles, pressing her face further into the slippery skin of his neck. "You deserve someone who's whole, someone who you don’t have to worry about."

  "Hey," he pulls back from her, holding both her shoulders so he can look her in the eyes, "I love you. So much that I'd die without you at this point. Just told you that. Please don't put thoughts and words into my mouth. I mean everything I say to you, don't let your brain fool you into thinking it's not true. When I tell you I love you, please know I mean that with everything I have and everything I am. I'm not whole without you. I worry because I love you so much that it would kill me to lose you," His voice is soft yet firm all at once, conviction filling his tone.

  "Promise?" She asks weakly, knowing what he's telling her is the truth. Her brain tended to sabotage her.

  "I promise." He kisses her lips, backing her underneath the water once more to rinse her off before reaching behind her to shut off the water. He steps out before her, grabbing her towel and wrapping it around her short body.

 "I'm going to make something for us to eat, angel. Come sit with me at the counter so I don't get lonely?" He asks once they're both dressed. He wore her sweatpants and t-shirt while she wore his Christmas themed pyjama pants with his Spice World hoodie.

 "You want me to?" She can't help but wonder why he wants her to be around him so much. She knew he loved her and they'd been dating for almost four years, but she found herself to be a buzzkill. She just exuded sadness, she thought. Harry scoffs at her playfully, rolling his eyes. He knew she couldn't help but doubt herself, but he still found it absurd. Of course he'd want to be around her all of the time. She was so accepting and loving, even if she didn't think so. She was good.

"Obviously, angel. Always want you within two feet of me. As a matter of fact, I wish you were pocket-sized so I could bring you everywhere with me until you got sick of seeing my big dumb head." He smirks at her, making her genuinely laugh. She hadn't done that in a while.

 "You're such a dramatic nutter." She laughs, pushing him away from her so she could walk into the kitchen to find a stool to occupy.

 "Me!? Were you not the one that cried because you couldn't stop thinking about The Hunger Games?" He comes in behind her, smacking her ass playfully in retaliation of her push before quickly walking at least an arms distance away from her.

"That's literally not fair? Finnick deserved so much better than that. You cried when we watched it together too, fucker!" She explains even more dramatically than he had been in the first place, as if he hadn't been there too. He chuckles as he opens her refrigerator, kissing his teeth when he finds nothing defrosted to cook. All she really had was oat milk, a bottle of homemade cold brew and a few cups of yoghurt.

"Fair enough. I'm going to take this chicken down so we can make it tomorrow, but since there's nothing else, do you wanna do Japanese?" Kicking the door closed as he walks closer to her with two water bottles in hand.

"You know I can never say no to Japanese. I'll order it," she offers, but he's already shaking his head with his phone in hand.

"It's on me. We're eating food you bought tomorrow, s'only fair. I wanna know what else you could never say no to? Like maybe... moving in with me?" He says without looking up as he places the order, already having her favourite meal saved on his phone, along with his own.

 At first, she doesn't react. She doesn't move a single muscle, not even her eyes. He doesn't take her stunned silence personally, waiting for her to process what he'd just offered. He can practically see the cogs turning when he looked at her.

"You want me... to live with you... in your big beautiful mansion of a house..." She says slowly, turning her gaze to his own. He exhales a laugh at the flabbergasted expression on her face.

"Yes, baby. Told you I'd bring you everywhere with me, and we've been together almost 4 years, known each other 6. I don't know about you but I'm ready to wake up to your face every day." He smirks once more, reaching out to tucker her hair behind her ear like he always did. He just wanted to see more of her pretty face.

"You- I... Harry. You know what? Yeah. I will." She had began to refuse before catching herself. This was a normal next step in a long term relationship. She wouldn't sabotage this. She was a better version of herself when she was with him, and they made each other happy. 

"Yeah? You will? I'm so happy baby, thank you. I'm tired of waking up alone and missing you every day. It's dumb." He tackles her in a hug, attacking her with a million kisses. He doesn't bother holding back the few happy tears he sheds, he doesn't care and he knows she doesn't either.

—

  He had proposed to her the day she moved in, after she unpacked her last bedroom item and found a place for it. It was the silly green dragon, who now lived between two puffy pillows on their shared bed. He'd had the ring burning a hole in his dresser for over a year and he couldn't stand it anymore once he saw how at home she'd made herself. That, and he wanted to make love to her while she wore the sparkling diamond.

Something about the visual prompted him to drop to his knee behind her instantly.

  It had been a year since she moved into Harry's “big beautiful mansion of a house”, and they were happier than ever. She was seeing a therapist that she enjoyed, someone whom she felt comfortable with. She had also begun taking medication. The first few prescriptions weren't right, but Harry encouraged her to keep trying different things and held her hand along the way. She finally found the one that matched her chemistry, and it worked a treat. She could focus on things better, and she had the energy to do so many things that she would even go on the occasional run with Harry. It was amazing for him to see her in such high spirits. It was like the her that only he could see was finally free, brightening up the world around her. More importantly, she could finally see herself that way, too.

A few months after she said yes, he had said something to her that she couldn't shake.

"Wanna make babies with you."

  He'd said it to her in passing, staring at her with hearts in his eyes as she sat on the grass in the garden. The sun was hitting her skin so beautifully and she just looked so radiant. He couldn't help it. It had just slipped out.

  She brushed it off at the time, but now it was all she could think about. She had even told her therapist about it. While the older woman seemed excited for her, she still asked if that was something she'd want. If she'd even thought about it.

  And truthfully, she had thought about it before. A lot. She's thought about Harry rubbing her tummy, kissing it and singing. She's thought about them falling asleep together when the baby is finally born. She's thought about how much of a daddy's girl they'd have, if it turned out to be a girl. She's thought about how if he babies her this much, she would love to see how much he'd baby their real baby. She's thought about how much she and Harry would love their shared creation. She’s thought about how much more love it could bring into their lives.

  She'd arrived home from a session one day after work to find Harry peacefully reading on the couch in the soft yellow light of their living room. She took a moment to admire him from this perspective before making her presence known. Jingling her keys a bit harder than usual, making his head turn in time to watch as she hangs them up before shedding her coat and walking over to the back of the couch.

 "Hello, my love." She coos, rubbing her flat palms against his chest. She kisses the side of his face a few times and he grabs hold of her hands, clutching her closer and enjoying her warmth.

 "Hi, lover. How was today? Work was alright?" He lets her hands go with a kiss so he can dog-ear's his page before shutting his book, giving her his undivided attention. She rounds the couch and decides to sit on his lap, looping her arms around his neck. His hands automatically shift to hold her waist.

"Work was the same. People are obnoxious and rude. What can I do? Session went well too. Talked about something I've been thinking about a lot." She looks down at him, tracing her finger subconsciously against the silver chain he never took off. She can't help but smile at how pretty her lover is, making him reflect the same expression.

 "Want me to go down there and give them a talking to? You know I'd do it." He glares playfully, furrowing his brows and puffing his chest. She laughs softly at his silly demeanour. It's one of the things she loves the most about him.

 "Shut up. Annoying," She laughs, hiding her face in his neck. He laughs with her, dropping a hand to one of her thighs to smack it lightly for her comment, ultimately choosing to leaving it resting there.

"That's you. Anyway, what did you talk about? Is there something bothering you?" He asks, ignoring the way her brow raises at him for calling her the annoying one. They had such a lighthearted relationship. It filled them both with joy.

 "We talked about something you said to me a while ago." She says, tone short. He couldn't tell if she was angry or if she was being shy about something.

 "Well? I'd love to hear what I said that you're still thinking about months later and talkin’ to your therapist about, baby." The hand that lay stationery on her thigh squeezed a bit, encouraging her to talk to him.

 "You said something about making a baby with me. Haven't been able to stop thinking about it." She muttered, biting her lower lip. His whole body went rigid beneath her at that.

 "You've been thinking about it this whole time and didn't say anything?" He questions softly, looking up at her with loving eyes. She nods her head, looking off to the side to gather her thoughts.

"Yeah. I... I really want that, Harry. I already promised to love you forever when I said yes, and you make me so much better. I can't imagine how amazing you'll be as a father. I, um, I also stopped taking my birth control a few days ago." She spoke with confidence. She knew this was what she wanted, and she could tell he did too. There was something in the way she spoke about it that made him stand with her in his arms.

"Let me get this straight. You want me to put a baby in you?" He speaks boldly, almost matter of fact. He wasn't asking, he was confirming. She says nothing, choosing instead to nod furiously.

 He beams at her, bringing her all the way to their bedroom before sitting her delicately on the bed. She rolled her eyes at that; it's not like she was already pregnant. He catches the look and reaches to her shoulder to shove her on the bed with an eye roll of his own.

"Better?" He mocks, grinning from ear to ear at her shocked expression. He takes his shirt, that was actually her shirt, off along with his joggers before clambering on top of her.

"You're such a knobhead." She laughs, taking off her own shirt. She didn't feel like waiting.

"A knobhead that you want to come in you. A knobhead that you want to father your children!" He exclaims jokingly. She can't help the grin on her face, pulling his chin until their lips met. Her grin evaporates when she feels him practically rip her skirt off, alongside her flimsy thong. She gasps at the feeling of his fingers on her, rubbing over her slit ever so gently. Feeling how wet she was for him.

"Were you thinking about this on your way home? You're fucking drenched." His voice had lost all sense of humour, acquiring a certain gravel to it that only served to make her wetter. She only nods, kissing his lips in a pleading sort of way.

"You want my baby this bad, huh? Want me to make you a mummy? Want to make me a daddy? S' that it, angel?" She couldn't take it anymore. The sound of his voice was driving her insane and she had checked if she was ovulating this morning and found out she was. It was like her body was demanding for him.

  "Yes! Yes, lover. Please? Want it so bad," Harry felt his heart warm at the tone of her voice. He knew they called each other lover in bed when they were feeling too romantic, too lost to the moment. In a good way. She was truly desperate to try for a little person with him. Quickly, he rolls them over so she's sat atop him once more. He kisses her immediately, bringing his hand down to dip his fingers into her now sopping wet hole.

  She choked on a gasp as she felt him slide two in, curling them at the joint to apply pressure exactly where he knew she needed it. He took advantage of her head falling back, attacking her neck with tender love bites and kisses. His other hand roamed around her stomach and back for a bit before reaching for her chest, tweaking her nipple between two slender fingers. Her jaw dropped when she felt his thumb land on her clit, circling hard and fast.

  "God, Harry! Fuck," she could hardly breathe at the efforts her lover was putting in. "Yes! Yes," her praise was quiet, but it fuelled him regardless.

  He was always an attentive lover, but something about his actions were nearly feral. Like he couldn't get enough, no matter how much she gave him. He would always want more of her. More sound, more taste, more feeling. He wanted her to always evade and overwhelm his senses. He moans at her noises, along with the feeling of her clenching around his fingers.

  "C'mon, lover. Come so I can put our baby in ya," he breathes against her neck, licking any patches of skin he can reach. Her eyes roll back at his words, crying out for both him and God.

"Tha's it, lover. Good girl," he whispers huskily, slowing the movement of his fingers and moving the other hand to hold her body even more tightly against his. When he can feel her body shuddering, he pulls his fingers from her and sticks them in his mouth, sucking them clean in a filthy way.

  "Please put our baby in me," she requests in a small voice with a smile, tears streaking down her cheeks. She was so overwhelmed by him and by the prospect of what they were doing that she started crying happy tears. His smile is worth everything to her in that moment, pulling his face up for a kiss.

  "Yeah, lover. I'll do that," his voice is tender, like his touch. He kisses her as he lays her body beneath him again, stopping for a moment to take in her form. Her body was so gentle and relaxed after he'd made her feel good, and he couldn't help but kiss her tummy. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and her hair was starting to frizz, but she'd never looked better.

  This wasn't by any means the first time they'd had sex without a condom but it was, however, the first time they'd done it without her taking birth control.

The rational part of their minds knew it wouldn't physically feel any better, but they couldn't help the buzz around them at the thought.

   He kisses her neck lightly as he grasps himself, tugging a few times to make sure he was nice and hard for her. He knew he was already rock solid, but he wanted to be extra sure. This was important. When he pushes into her, his eyes roll to the back of his head. She grits her teeth at the feeling of being so full of her lover, digging her nails into his side.

  He pushes the rest of the way in, taking a pause there for a moment. He could tell he was pressed against her in a delicious way from the look on her face. His hips started to create a rhythm they could both enjoy; deep and hard, slow and passionate. They were making love, after all.

  "G'na be the best mum, fuck, I know it," he pants into her ear, leaning his body further into hers. She whines into his hair, lifting her hips off the bed to get closer to him, even if it wasn't possible.

  "You're- oh my god, fuck! You're gonna be the best dad, you already take, oh shit, take such good care of me. Such a good lover,” she can tell her voice sounds fucked out, but hell if she gave a fuck. He squeezes her hand in response, kissing her neck again. He felt himself get hotter at her words. The way their bodies collided could be heard in the thick air around them, filling their ears with beautiful music.

She could hear it in the way he moaned in her ear that he was so close. She was, too, just at the thought of him filling her up with possibly more than just nut. They could get a baby out of this. Her eyes roll back as she practically howled in pleasure.

“Please come, please I wanna feel it,” she begged as she lost her mind, repeating her chant.

“Oh my fuck, yeah, baby. Finish for me first, lover. Good fucking girl,” he praises her, kissing along her collarbones as he fucked her through her orgasm. He was so close he could practically taste it, but he had to say something first.

“I love you, angel. I’m gonna love you forever.” His words are broken up between moans in her ear, making her cry out with him. She was so sensitive that when he let go and shot into her, she came again.

  He could barely move once he was spent, dropping his weight to his elbows and laying on top of her chest, which was moving rapidly along with his own.

  He kisses the skin beneath him as she plays with his hair, both too dazed to say anything.

She’s the first to break their silence when she tells him she loves him too.

“‘M bloody glad you love me too, or else it would be pretty awkward for us to have a baby together.” He mutters sarcastically, not even having the energy to lift his head. It was like she sucked out his soul and he needed 2 to 5 business days to get back to being functional. She’d have to call Jeff and let him know the bad news.

“You’re a dork. But, I wouldn’t choose anyone else to do this with. You helped me through the worst days and showed me what I could be. I owe you everything.” She cards her fingers through his hair, speaking softly.

“I resent that, firstly. But I’m proud I get to be this person for you. You’re everything to me, so you don’t owe me a thing. I’m just happy that you’re getting help for yourself. It’s not an easy thing to do, and I’m proud of you. Extremely fucking proud.” He had turned his head to where his chin was poking at her tummy so he could look at her face.

“I’m happy I took your advice. Outsourcing help doesn’t make you weak, it makes you strong. It shows that you can pull yourself up and realise you have a problem, you know?” She tries to explain it, but he knows. He’d been telling her all along. He even went to therapy.

“Yeah, baby. I’m happy you’re here with me.” He says, and she knows he meant here, alive, not just here with him at that moment. She holds onto him a little bit tighter.

“I’ll always be here. I need you too much to go anywhere”

~

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[scripttraumasurvivors]

Hey hey! So I heard a lot about PTSD symptoms getting worse once a victim gets out of an abusive situation - I was wondering what kind of symptoms would be repressed during the situation, if I can say that. For context - it's a kid, was being physically abusive by his father, he got arrested, now he's with his mom but she's emotionally abusive so it's not like he's quite safe. Thank you for the hard work!! Take care!

So that’s complicated!

Let’s chat about what ‘symptoms getting worse’ can mean before we dive into character conversation.

Symptoms getting worse can mean

a) ‘a person goes from short term survival state, to shock to having symptoms’

Given the ‘short term’ there, I do mean for single (or ‘short term’) traumas versus say, someone in an abusive home. People can go through natural disasters/car accidents and seem fine for a period afterward only to have symptom issues later once what has happened has ‘sunk in’ so to speak. 

b) ‘a person goes from a long term survival state in an unsafe place to being in a safe place with maladaptive coping’

This one isn’t so much about ‘getting worse’ though it can appear that way on the outside. When someone is in an abusive situation there’s things they do to try and control the damage, both consciously and unconsciously- or to try and reclaim ground- both consciously and unconsciously.

Sneaking around the house at night to get food is a coping skill for a kid who is being neglected. Their hypervigilance of whether or not other people can hear them or see them is needed for their safety.

Sneaking around the house at night to get food as an adult in a non abusive household- maladaptive. Freaking out at their partner who got up to check on them? Maladaptive. It’s the left over fear response from when someone hearing them eat was Dangerous.

c) ‘survival state to break down’

Way back when I was in college- I was a multi-trauma survivor who had just left an unhealthy situation who was the retraumatized. As someone who had a life time of trauma experience, it didn’t stop me immediately.

But the body can only exist in a survival state for so long. I went from ‘here is a small handful of symptoms that really, aren’t obvious that they’re symptoms’ to full body break down. I know from the inside and looking back at that time that to me it /felt/ like I went from 0-100 in 60 seconds but the truth is it had been a slow simmering issue that suddenly hit an exponential curve. ‘Having issues sleeping’ escalated into ‘skipping nights’ went to ‘being awake for 70 hours straight’ (and do not argue with me about that not being possible- I fully accept that micro sleeps happened- that’s half the story. I would blink and fall over on a bus, I would blink and be in a plate of food. But that’s not *really* sleeping in a healthy sense, now is it?)

I went from food being a little bit hard to people asking when was the last time I ate and me telling them ‘but I ate lunch with you?’ only to find out that had been the day prior. 

And then I broke. Pink eye. Something that looked like mono. Double ear infection. And an infection that had made it’s way to my blood that almost was found too late. You can’t survive without sleeping and eating without wrecking your immune system.

d) Symptoms changed

Symptomology is complicated. And they don’t always stay the same. Nightmares come and go out of people’s lives. Flashbacks experience different phases of intensity- or change forms all together. Dissociation can range from ‘I feel a bit odd and spacey in my body’ to straight up ‘I attended the wrong class and didn’t notice, I only know a few days later because the notes are about a different subject entirely.’

If someone who is used to say- having a bit of a rough time falling asleep, being depressed and having trouble experiencing joy, and having nightmares-

ends up going through a shifting period where maybe they start getting 2-4 hours of sleep a night tops but no nightmares, and food issues they didn’t realize were a problem end up triggered, and they can feel joy but it’s super unstable and their emotions are on 10 all the time-

that can be seen as getting worse. 

And vice versa.

It isn’t that one set of symptoms is actually worse than the other- it’s that to the person experiencing them, the set they have more coping skills for is probably going to feel more stable. Or seem more stable to their friends and family.  After all, a lot of symptoms and coping skills aren’t seen as symptomology- they’re seen as ‘just the way that person is.’

Which is all to say-

I can’t tell you what symptoms your character wouldn’t have in an abusive situaton.

Some survivors of childhood abuse don’t experience flashbacks to abuse until they’re out of the abusive situation, but others are actively dealing with flashbacks while still in the traumatic place. 

Some survivors of childhood abuse have maladaptive experiences related to the kind of abuse they experienced. Someone who had food withheld might binge, someone who wasn’t allowed to sleep as much as they needed might start sleeping all day. Someone who wasn’t allowed to show emotions in the household may struggle with managing emotions outside of it- and seem to have ‘too many’ all the time.

And other simply follow the patterns that were already being bult- continuing to starve because eating feels wrong. Struggling to sleep or viewing sleep as for the weak, refusing to feel emotions.

It isn’t as simple as ‘here are the symptoms that can exist while trauma is still occuring and here are the ones that exist later.’

But I do think you’re right to have the change reflected in your writing. Your character is going to have to shift their coping mechanisms from one abusive situation to another. There are going to be ‘misfires’ and maladaptive moments (and possibly patterns.) There are going to be complicated emotional feelings about ‘why do I still feel like this- I’m not experiencing _______’ anymore and possibly guilt or feeling like they’re making a big deal out of nothing. Or maybe the opposite- where instead it’s ‘I’d rather get hit than this.’

Both happen in real life.

So it isn’t offensive to write one over the other. You just have to decide what you’re going to portray.

Hope that helps a bit!

TS

[davidmann95]

sooo... the snyder cut's out

I liked the Snyder Cut. This sucks.

Me thinking about this movie, apparently

Do I think it has revolutionized superhero cinema forever? Nah, if nothing else it mostly plays it too unexpectedly safe for that. But this was evidently always going to be his version of a straight take superhero teamup adventure after BvS, and as it turns out, he’s really good at that? There’s a better version of this that trims at least half an hour of pure bloat - and I don’t mean ‘inessential’ character beats, strictly redundant exposition - but by and large this is a terrific meat-and-potatoes superhero flick realized with the sweep and style Snyder brings to his work. There’s a ton of stuff I could nitpick, and its biggest sin is it loses momentum over time because Snyder clearly used literally every single thing he had filmed regardless of utility, but by and large this was a fun time. Assorted notes (where I get into spoiler territory) below:

* Why wasn’t the weird Motherbox opening credits sequence kept? They showed it off just a few weeks ago!

* This is very Morrison JLA in that only the junior members of the group get character arcs, and fairly bare-bones at that, but everyone gets their Big Iconic Stuff. Except oddly Batman, who shockingly gets short shift here while Superman in his minimal screentime is as much a sudden 180 “hey here’s just regular ‘ol Superman now” as what we saw in 2017.

* Flash’s opening setpiece was the best of the movie by miles, a jaw-dropping realization of that power and the necessary delicateness that comes with it that’s one of my favorite moments in any superhero media period. His big time travel moment was nothing to sneeze at either. They never explain where his powers come from though?

* Steppenwolf is actually pretty damn fun in here as a guy who’s in-universe a fake final boss who’s really a put-upon self-loathing failed lackey.

* (Darkseid meanwhile sucks and is nothing but that isn’t surprising.)

* This looks better all around, obviously the action and composition is gorgeous and even Flash and Cyborg’s dopey looks are considerably more tolerable, while Superman’s black suit helps cover a bunch of the noodly nonsense.

* Yes, this is better than Whedon’s version. Not exponentially so, at least for my tastes - Batman of all characters felt like he had a lot more going on in that - but I’m loathe to give it much credit, and I think a lot of relative strengths it had were purely due to it keeping leaner.

* I’m not clear at all why WB felt the need to damn near remake the thing when this was so very much Snyder playing nice, other than maybe no one could figure out how to wrangle down the runtime comprehensibly? I certainly can’t fathom how the assembly cut was reportedly declared ‘unwatchable’ by producers.

* No, the Martian Manhunter stuff makes no fucking sense whatsoever, but it’s worth it because his presence means that the last words in Zack Snyder’s Justice League are Martian Manhunter, which is incredible.

* At heart it’s no more a sequel to MOS or BVS than what Whedon did beyond the raw fact of progressing the plot: this isn’t a meditation on power or politics or duty or vengeance beyond the thinnest of notes with some of the side characters, it’s a bunch of cool superfolks putting aside their personal problems and learning to believe in themselves/each other to save the world from a big bad thing, even if it still operates in the broad thematic realm of “life snatched from death” prevalent in both versions.

* It’s consistently at its best when it’s Snyder getting to go buckwild with the powers, imagery, and pure vibes; the character work is fine and the actors all do well enough, but the point here is this is Snyder setting up Space Superhero Lord of the Rings with impossible beings operating on a grand scale.

* I kind of wish it had the manic unselfaware energy throughout of the opening Wonder Woman sequence where she saves the kids as in the theatrical cut, but the head terrorist says fuck, Wonder Woman’s clearly killing them all...and at the end she smiles and gives an earnest girl power line to one of the hostage kids right after disintegrating a fool in front of them. It would be a worse movie, but an even more entertaining one.

* The Batman/Joker scene is perfectly fine, and while it would have been better for this movie unto itself if the reshoots had been used to tighten some stuff up instead I don’t begrudge Snyder for going that extra mile to ensure folks absolutely fucking demand he get his sequel (I know he says that’s not why he did it; he is transparently lying). Affleck sells his f-bomb.

That’s pretty much that! I think the purpose of this movie as Snyder conceived it was to win over rubes like me without alienating the true believers to get the leeway to do JL 2&3 however the fuck he wanted. And god help me, especially with the worst possible avenues closed off to him I do want to see what those would be, all the absurd operatic bombast of BvS as applied to a big cosmic superhero epic functioning from what we’ve heard in the more straightforward mode of operation established here. The fandom force of will both joyful and horrific will be there in spades, so I guess it’s a question of what kind of numbers this does.

[3pirouette]

Fic: An Experimental Design (7/?)

Title: An Experimental Design By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette Disclaimer: They're not mine. Word Count: Distribution: AO3 Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts.  Takes place about a week after that fic.

Chapter 7: We Have a Plan

A/N: Sorry it’s taken so long to get this out. RL has to come first, and it has been busy and stressful leaving me little time to write. Story will still be continued AND finished, just not on a regular timeline, though I will TRY for a new chapter every weekend going forward.

~*~

“We have a plan,” Howard said, sitting across from them in his lab the next morning.

“We?” Peggy asked, a single eyebrow raised. She grasped Steve’s hand tight, both excited and concerned.

Howard frowned. “I had to reach out to a researcher in California. It may be hard for me to admit,” he stood, rounding the table and shoving his hands in his pockets as he leaned against it, “but I’m out of my depth.”

Peggy dropped her head, closing her eyes tight. “Yes, well, I’m sure we’re quite the medical oddity.”

Howard dipped, waiting to catch her eyes before he spoke. “If you think, for one second, that I’m taking any of this lightly, Peg…”

“No. I—” She took a deep breath, looking at him, brown eyes full of sadness. “It’s just quite the turn for a spy to feel so exposed. I feel like everyone on this base knows all my business now.”

“Not from me, they don’t,” Howard replied, stern. “And I told my colleague in California only what he needed to know, no more.”

Howard watched her square her shoulders, her ability to compartmentalize and focus her energies at will always somehow so astounding to him. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Synthetic hormone injections.” Howard pulled his hands out of his pockets, moving them around frantically as he explained. “Somehow, they’ve been able to force your bodies to regulate your hormone levels through touch, specifically touching each other. I’m not even sure if this is what they intended to do, or if it’s just a side effect, but touching,” he gestured to their clasped hands, “keeps them on an even keel.”

Howard shifted, sitting on the table. “Once you stop touching, your bodies loses the ability to regulate. Now- we had some of the samples of Peg’s from while Steve was away, and I compared them to what we took yesterday and today- and I think…” he shook his head, sliding his hands across an invisible timeline in front of him. “What we actually know is when you guys were rationing how much you touched, it came on quicker, but built up slower.” He made a gentle slope in the air, their eyes following. “But after you shacked up and were touching all the time, it took a lot longer to come on, but the pain increased at an exponential rate.” His hands bounced through the air, trying to show them the competing graphs from his mind.

“And that means…?” Steve led, hoping for more answers.

Howard shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know if this is how they intended it to work of if this is a side effect. Phillips has half the battalion out now looking for more small bases we’ve ignored hoping they’ll have something, and the other half pawing through old boxes of Hydra contraband for anything referencing Anchor or Winter Soldier.”

“So, when do we start?” Peggy squared her shoulders, ready to move forward.

Howard moved back to his chair, sitting heavily. “As long as the lines hold, we’ll have a batch of hormones here tomorrow.”

Steve’s shoulders fell at the thought of having to wait much longer for a solution. “And until then?”

The scientist shrugged. “You guys know what happens. You touch a lot, no pain for a while but it goes up quick. Not a lot, a little pain but longer until it gets bad.” He looked back and for the between them. “You pick. Six of one, half dozen of the other. At this point I don’t have any evidence that one approach is better.”

~*~

He sat apart from her in the car on the way back to the apartment, his hand close, but not touching in the backseat. They sat in silence for the first few minutes, Howard’s driver very carefully indifferent towards them.

“I’m starting to get used to the apartment,” Peggy muttered, her eyes on the military barracks they were passing through the window. “It’ll be a shame when we have to go back to cots and tents.”

He could feel her vibrating next to him, full of emotions and energy, concerns and questions, none of which either of them wanted to voice in front of a stranger. “There will be a lot of difficult things about going back.” She kept her head turned, not looking at him as he continued. “What do you think about Howard’s… options?”

She found his eyes in the refection in the glass, but didn’t say anything. Peggy simply crept her hand to the side, finding his fingers and holding tight.

Steve felt like he could breathe again.

The thought of holding back, of trying to avoid touching her seemed like a monumental task. He tried to keep his fingers still as the car trudged on, moving through bombed out husks of neighborhood and back through apartment buildings that had fared better. He tried to build a plan of keeping things to small, little touches, to holding hands and pecks good night with walls of pillows built up between them.

It would be so much better, in the long run, if she could fare for longer periods of time without him.

And yet he hated the idea of being so close yet so far. Despite the circumstances, despite the pain she felt and the scrutiny they were under, their quiet morning, lounging naked together and indulging in soft touches, had been a glimpse into paradise. Their days before that, in the apartment, had been a peek into the future he so desperately wanted once the war was over.

He’d never meant to let it go that far, to let Hydra take that last little bit of private intimacy away from them. He hadn’t been in control, though, and admitting that was more frightening than he thought. He was feeling less and less in control as the days passed. The more Peggy got of him the better she was, but the more he was around her, the worse off he was. She was like a drug: the more he had, the more he wanted and there didn’t seem to be any satiating his hunger.

Steve wanted to believe that, based on everything they’d already been, the desire between them was real, that it was only enhanced by the hormones, only morphed and twisted by the chemicals coursing through their bodies. He wanted to believe that eventually all of the hand holding and stolen kisses would have led to the same, blistering desire he was feeling now, if only farther in the future. Knowing her, seeing her, tasting her, had left an indelible mark on the slowly simmering desire he’d felt. He wasn’t sure how he was going to avoid touching her as casually as they had been before, how he was going to avoid pressing close to her in the kitchen or cuddling up with her at night in bed, without making her feel like he was upset with her or avoiding her.

He almost jumped out of his skin when her fingers started stroking over his, her hand pulling away and stroking at his wrist before it fell heavily on his thigh, all the while her eyes still looking out to the horizon.

~*~

She hadn’t meant to let it go that far. They’d never lost their heads like that. If she had thought it would have been a true possibility, she’d have prepared better.

She wasn’t upset, precisely, but rather disappointed that a moment she’d tucked away and looked forward to had been squandered so uselessly.

She could barely even remember it. It was a jumble of legs and arms and bodies and pain and passion.  

She wanted to know what his face looked like when he pushed into her the first time, to memorize the way it felt, to know what his eyes looked like when he lost control, and how he sounded, spent and lying next to her.

But she couldn’t remember, and they’d never have this for the first time again.

It seemed so silly to her, as she looked out at the passing houses, to put such big meaning on such a little barrier. They’d come so close so many times and she knew him so intimately. She knew how he breathed when he was close to losing control, what his lips felt like on her nipples, how his hands palmed her ass and squeezed when he was spurring her on, what his stubble felt like along her inner thigh… For over a month they’d learned each other in the most intimate of ways and yet, she held this one little thing so high…

She just wanted one thing that wasn’t touched by this war. One.

She tried to focus. She hadn’t decided, not really, about how she wanted to proceed when they got back to the apartment. The idea of staying away from him until she started to feel the tingling seemed insane to her, but she feared dependence. She feared they’d touch so much, drunk on each other’s skin, that eventually she wouldn’t be able to exist away from him.  

Her body hummed, vibrating on the same frequency as his, so aware of how stiff and tired and frustrated he was, as well.

They were all each other had in this.

Peggy moved her hand to his thigh, never turning her face, keeping quiet for the benefit of the driver.

She’d made her decision.

~*~

Before the door to the apartment was even closed, he had her pushed up against it, his lips running down her neck, leg hitched up over his hip.

“Tell me to stop, Peg,” he murmured, kissing across the exposed skin at her collar bone.

“I won’t.” She ran her fingers through his hair, holding him tight to her. “I can’t.”

He pulled away, breathless, looking into her eyes. “This is a bad idea.” He shook his head, letting his forehead gently fall to hers. “You gotta be able to exist without me. What if--”

She moved her hand fast, covering his lips. “Don’t even,” she reprimanded harshly. The thought of them being separated, permanently because of the war or any other reason, was not something she wanted to contemplate right now.

He sighed, eyes closed tight as he pressed a kiss to her fingers. “Peg…”

“Tomorrow, Howard is going to pump us full of god knows what in the hopes that something might help. But we don’t know. We don’t know if it’ll make it worse or better. If it will help or hurt or do nothing.” She shifted, her leg falling from his hip as she cradled his face in her hands, waiting for him to look at her. Her voice fell to a tremulous whisper. “What if, after tomorrow, I can’t touch you without it hurting?”  

His heart seemed to stop at that one possibility, a thought that had never crossed his mind. He’d been so focused on the hell she was enduring now that he hadn’t imagined there could be others. Peggy had. She’d probably imagined more tortures than he could ever fathom.

Peggy moved her hand to smooth over his furrowed brow. “I’m not waiting and hoping, Steve.” She kissed him, full and alive and passionate, sliding her arms over his shoulders and down his back. “I’m enjoying what we have, right here, right now.”

In one smooth move he grasped her under her thighs and lifted her off her feet, her hands holding his shoulders tight as he carried her over to the couch, gently sitting on the edge with her in his lap. She shifted to her knees as he slid back, keeping her body close to his, a smile widening across her face.

~*~

She was half asleep in his arms, her naked body still tangled in the sheets around them. It hadn’t taken them long to make their way from the couch to the bedroom, availing themselves of more than one of the condoms she’d swiped from the supply closet while they were on base along the way.

She wondered if Martins would miss them, or if he was used to GIs sneaking into the supply closet and messing up his inventory. Peggy suspected the latter, but giggled to herself, imagining the man trying to blabber his way through a briefing detailing the number of condoms missing and why they were so important to keep gun muzzles dry in the field.

Steve’s arms wrapped tighter around her. “Something amusing?”

Peggy ran her hand over his chest. “Just thinking of Martins discovering that I managed to shove a whole case of condoms in my purse.” She felt him rumble beneath her. “How often do you think he has that problem?”

“A case?” Steve sighed happily, kissing her head. “Rarely. If the guys who sneak in manage more than a handful they start trading them around like cigarettes.”

“So that happens a lot, then?” Peggy shifted, leaning up on her elbow.

Steve blinked his eyes open, looking at her, He lifted his hand to run his fingers through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “We get issued a certain amount per month for all kinds of uses. Guys generally don’t want Phillips to know if they’re using them for non-waterproofing reasons.”

Peggy leaned down, gently letting her lips fall to his in a soft kiss. “Think we have enough, Captain?”

Steve chased her lips as she pulled away, smiling. He shifted, leaning over the edge of the bed to dramatically survey the dozens of little silver packets that were strewn across the floor.  He didn’t think he’d ever get the image of her, standing only in her panties and garters, pulling handful upon handful of condoms out of her purse, smile shining bright and eyes so full of desire it looked like she wanted to eat him alive. “Nope,” He laughed, flopping back on the bed and pulling her close to him. “I’d say we could use a few more.”

Peggy shook her head, smacking him gently. “Then you’ll be doing the sneaking into the supply closet next time.”  She sat up, looking around them and finally settled on pulling on Steve’s undershirt before slipping out of bed. She picked up Steve’s boxers and tossed them to him before collecting the packets strewn on the floor. “I’m famished. Lunch?”

Steve caught his boxers mid-air, shimmying into them under the blanket. “I do seem to have worked up an appetite.” He wagged his eyebrows at her as she set the condoms in a pile on the side table.

She just shook her head, grabbing her panties and slipping them on, enjoying the lighthearted flirting. “You’re insatiable.”

She held back a squeal as Steve snuck behind her, turning her quickly and playfully backing her against the wall. “One hundred percent your fault that I can’t keep my hands off of you.” He’d meant it as a compliment, but they both knew that the words had been wrong the second they came out of his mouth. “Peg- no. I meant that—”

Her smile was soft, not forced but not full blown. “I know.” She bit her lip and looked away, her hands sliding around his waist to pull him close. She took a slow, shuddering breath as he wrapped his arms around her. “One day, you’ll be able to say that to me simply because you find me unbelievably attractive, not because my very life might depend on it.”

He leaned back, nudging her nose gently with his until she looked at him. “I do, actually, find you unbelievably attractive,” he whispered gently.

She couldn’t help but laugh at his sincerity, at how hard he had been trying just for her. “Flatterer,” she huffed lightheartedly, trying to find the little bubble of happiness they’d just been inhabiting before his poor choice of words. She pulled back, taking his hands in hers. “Come on, I’m hungry and of the two of us, you’re the far better cook.”

Steve had joked with her though much of lunch that he was sure she could warm up a can of soup about as well as he could, but she swore up and down she’d manage to burn it somehow. She claimed dish duty, hands carefully cleaning out the bowls and pans as Steve molded himself to her back, his hands resting on her hips, slipping under the cotton of his shirt, fingers dancing playfully at the edge of her underwear. It was nice to have him so close, so gentle with her.

Peggy smiled, flicking water over her shoulder at him playfully as she cleaned the last dish. “Eager?”

He chuckled, pressing closer to her so she could feel just how eager he was. “Maybe.” He kissed her neck, following along the curve of it as she tipped her head to allow him more access. “Just taking advantage of our time here together.”

She set the last dish aside and turned in his arms, her damp hands sliding over his shoulders. “Well?” she asked, teasing and expectant.

He lifted her swiftly onto the counter next to the sink and kissed her in earnest.

~*~

Peggy sat in bed, unashamed of her nudity as she pulled her brush gently through her hair, eye on the mirror across from her. “I’ll have to get up early tomorrow,” she muttered, both hands working out a tangle. “If I walk in with my hair looking like this there won’t be a single question as to how we’ve been spending our time. I look absolutely debauched.”

Steve, laying behind her, smiled, meeting her eyes in the mirror as he let a finger glide over her hip where the sheet pooled around her legs. “I think you look gorgeous.”

Peggy bit her lip as she looked over her shoulder at him. There was something far more intimate about how they were right here, right now, than they had been this whole time. Sharing a bed, chatting as she brushed her hair, naked but for the single sheet laying over their hips… she wouldn’t quite call it domestic, but she didn’t have another word for the rightness of it, couldn’t quite voice how it made her feel inside to see his bright blue eyes lock onto hers and know for sure that he loved her and she loved him. It made her feel like a giant, like a superhero, and in this little room, as night fell with just the warm light from the bedside lamp on them, she felt like nothing could touch them.

She could pretend tomorrow wasn’t happening, that there was nothing wrong with her, that there wasn’t a war on, and that it could be like this forever.

She turned back to the mirror, focused on getting the tangles out of her hair. “This is your fault, you know.”

Steve’s finger gently slid over her hip and to the other, teasing. He kissed the dimple in her low back. “I take full responsibility.”

“First the counter… then on the couch…” she took a deep breath and shook her head, putting her brush down on the bedside table. “then back in here again after dinner. It’s a wonder I’m not bruised and battered.” She rolled her eyes when Steve’s brows knit together, his teasing touch turning more concerned and exploratory. “I’m teasing!” She sighed, turning and laying against him. She pecked him on the cheek. “Only real casualty was my elbow when we took that tumble off the couch.”

Steve lifted her arm, examined it, and though he didn’t see a black and blue forming, he kissed it gently anyway. He tucked her arm tight to his chest and leaned up, kissing her forehead. “Alarm is already set for bright and early.” He tipped his head towards the light, asking if she wanted him to shut it off. “Ready?”

Peggy nodded, but she could feel the lump forming in her throat, could feel the enormity of how going to sleep brought her so much closer to tomorrow’s unknowns. Steve reached over, flipping off the light and plunging them into darkness before turning back to her and tucking her tight to his side. “G’night, Peg,” he whispered after a quiet moment, squeezing her tight.

She turned her head, pressing a kiss to his chest, knowing she wouldn’t get a moment’s rest tonight. “Goodnight, my darling.”

[things2mustdo]

The Ascent Of Money by Niall Ferguson is an introduction to modern finance and the rise of money lending, presenting a favorable view of their effects upon the world.

…financial innovation has been an indispensable factor in man’s advance from wretched subsistence to the giddy heights of material prosperity that so many people know today.

…poverty is not the result of rapacious financiers exploiting the poor. It has much more to do with the lack of financial institutions, with the absence of banks, not their presence. Only when borrowers have access to efficient credit networks can they escape from the clutches of loan sharks, and only when savers can deposit their money in reliable banks can it be channeled from the idle rich to the industrious poor.

…approximately $1 of every $14 paid to employees in the United States now goes to people working in finance. Finance is even more important in Britain, where it accounted for 9.4% of GDP in 2006.

The book gives an interesting history of some of the world’s most famous bankers and the power they accumulated, particularly the Medicis and Rothchilds, who brought value by facilitating trade and commerce while reducing transaction prices. It also described the role of European bankers during the American Civil War.

Though others had tried before them, the Medici were the first bankers to make the transition from financial success to hereditary status and power  They achieved this by learning a crucial lesson: in finance small is seldom beautiful. By making their bank bigger and more diversified than any previous financial institution, they found a way of spreading their risk.

One of the biggest financial innovations was fractional reserve banking, pioneered by the Swedes. Other European countries improved finance while the Spaniards, still obsessed with silver and gold in their American colonies, kept defaulting time and time again, not understanding that the true nature of money lay in debt and not mineral reserves. One of the more interesting parts of the book was its description of the bond market and its powerful stranglehold on world governments.

…the bond market is powerful partly because it passes a daily judgement on the credibility of every government’s fiscal and monetary policies. But its real power lies in its ability to punish a government with higher borrowing costs. Even an upward move of half a percentage point can hurt a government that is running a deficit, adding higher debt service to its already high expenditures.

…countries that defaulted on their debts risk economic sanctions, the imposition of foreign control over their finances and even, in at least five cases, military intervention.

While the book paints a rosy view of finance, it also highlights cases where the abuse of it through hook and crook caused problems for entire economies, particularly through price inflation. A recent example of that was Goldman Sachs’ commodity manipulation that caused the price of common foodstuffs to rise. On the other hand, ignoring finance and having inflexible monetary policy can turn recessions into depressions. He suggests that Helicopter Ben Bernanke actually did the right thing in showering Wall Street with money to prevent a depression. He also thinks Alan Greenspan is a great man for admitting he shouldn’t have kept interest rates so low.

Economies that combined all these institutional innovations—banks, bond markets, stock markets, insurance and property-owning democracy��performed better over the long run than those that did not, because financial intermediation generally permits a more efficient allocation of resources then, say, feudalism or central planning. For this reason, it is not wholly surprising that the Western financial model tended to spread around the world, first in the guise of imperialism, and then in the guise of globalization.

You’ll also read about:

The abysmal effects of Britain’s weflare system on their economy

Argentina’s failed destiny to become an economic superpower due to bad economic decisions and poor leadership

How the “risk free” LTCM fund imploded and almost took the world economy with it

My problem with the book is that his explanations were too light. He glossed over tough concepts like sovereign bonds and other financial instruments without providing much in the way of examples, unlike a writer such as Matt Taibbi who explains the most complex concept in a way that laymen can understand. I felt like I had to read this book in front of Google so that I could look up things he mentioned only in passing.

The book also seemed hurried with its historical research, especially towards the end when it become a jumbled mess. Overall it’s an okay book but I don’t recommend it for the neophyte.

…it’s not owning property that gives you security; it just gives your creditors security. Real security comes from having a steady income.

Read More: “The Ascent Of Money” on Amazon

https://www.returnofkings.com/10595/there-is-no-hedge-against-inflation

You’ve seen him: an older man sitting next to a roaring fire or maybe  walking the grounds of his ranch or he might be  in a suit facing the camera. The messages are all the same: something about  “troubling times” and “safety and security” —maybe they mention the  federal reserve or money printing. Times are bad and could get worse, but  they can help you. They have the answer. What is this company selling? GOLD.

Why would you want a gold coin or bar? It doesn’t earn interest and it  doesn’t grow or produce anything. It is vulnerable to theft. The price can  move down with astonishing speed as we saw last April (as of the time of this writing it has retraced over 50% of that selloff). But could it go up in value, could it “skyrocket” as the gold shills say?

Keep in mind that gold has already gone up a lot recently, about  fivefold  in the past ten years. And to simply say that gold is a hedge against inflation is misleading. If you compare the price today, let’s say $1500 per oz, to the average price in 1974, about $150/oz, it actually exceeded  inflation. Using CPI over this period gold’s value increased at about double  the rate of inflation. However, if you bought gold in 1980, average price that year about $600/oz, you’d have to wait until 2006 for the price to come back to that level and not inflation adjusted dollars either (inflation destroyed about 65% of the purchasing power in that timeframe – and this is using CPI which notoriously understates real world prices). Gold prices and inflation are not as closely correlated as the gold sellers would have  you think.

But what about “these troubling times”? It’s different now, right? It might be. This is basically what they’re talking about: the federal government and the federal reserve have been acting in tandem to recapitalize the U.S. economy after the 2008 crisis. The government has been spending like crazy and running huge deficits (and buying lots of votes, funny how that  works out for them). These deficits are financed by the issuing of bonds of which the federal reserve bank has been the main buyer under the guise of  Quantitative Easing  and the Zero Interest Rate Policy. This what they mean by printing money –  the fed can buy whatever it wants and it has been buying these bonds that are loans to the government.

The Fed doesn’t need money, rather, it creates it. It is the central bank and it can just put the bonds on its balance sheet. A lot of people, this author  included, think the government and the Fed are nuts to think that this course would enable economic growth and it will probably only lead to  inflation which could become severe and maybe uncontrollable. Without turning this into a financial doomer article, let’s just say both sides make their case and we won’t know which one is right until this QE and ZIRP experiment is over.

This is what it comes down to: if the price of gold in dollars goes exponential in a hyperinflationary situation everything else  priced in dollars is going to do the same. You can’t expect that your gold coin will buy the same goods that it would buy now if this happens. The actual purchasing power of your gold will surely decline as day-to-day essentials  become prioritized. Put another way, if 1500 this week buys you one gold coin or 250 basic meals, in a hyperinflationary situation that gold coin might exchange for the equivalent of 100 meals or maybe not even twenty. Of course, 1500 in a bank account or your mattress would be worth much less – maybe not even one meal. The possible hyperinflation scenario is the most compelling reason to hold gold now. It’s not about getting rich. It’s about retaining some savings in the face of a massive financial collapse.

In reality, nothing keeps up with inflation like you will want. Agriculture futures are seasonal and your position has to be rolled over every so often costing you fees and changing your cost basis. Your  inflation hedge could get destroyed by a good harvest or weak global demand.  Stocks are typically seen as an inflation hedge but in a real collapse your brokerage company or even your local bank might not even exist anymore. You may eventually be made whole on the companies you own but this will take years.

Outside of a financial crisis the case for gold is weak. If you’re holding gold the best case scenario is unclear. Perhaps the price rises faster than inflation but that’s probably a longshot. Consider that if  interest rates start to rise, if the Fed sees the light on the harm ZIRP is doing, and if inflation is mild then those holding gold are going to be screwed as many decide to sell, preferring actual cash. Expect gold to lose at least 30% from today’s prices and it could happen in a day or two. Don’t  expect your dealer to give you a good price or even answer your call or email if everyone comes in selling.

The risk of gold losing value in the face of an improving economy is something you need to be aware of and in a crisis it won’t provide the kind  of financial safety that the gold bugs allege. If you still need a place to park your savings you might consider silver. It’s incrementally cheaper to get into and has more industrial value than gold though it is historically more volatile. Or what about booze? A case of good whiskey or rum is highly barterable, doesn’t spoil, tracks inflation as well as anything, and if times get better (or worse), you can always drink it.

[stillness-in-green]

Changeling: The League (1/3)

Being some errant nerdery combining two things I love very much into one thing that is exponentially more nerdy than either thing on its own: My Hero Academia villains as Changeling: the Lost characters!

This will(/should) be a series of three posts containing some mid-length write-ups on the League of Villains, the Metahuman Liberation Army, and some odds-and-ends on other characters/alternate takes.  

Some prelude: The most prominent question that kept coming up as I was brainstorming the write-ups below was, “Is this retelling the story of My Hero Academia using Changeling: The Lost’s mechanics and world, or is this exploring Changeling: The Lost’s themes using the My Hero Academia cast?”  Would these versions of the characters be NPC villains in Izuku’s story, opponents (or possibly eventual allies) in some grand, epic clash between Heroes and Villains as begun with All Might and All for One?  Would it be the story of a corrupt system, pulled down by the PC group that was Shigaraki and his motley?  I had ideas for both, but in the end, I decided that, rather than oblige myself to the MHA canon, I was ultimately more interested in just letting the implied “story” focus on the League and their histories of loss, trauma and recovery, so that’s the spirit in which these are written.  (Though things do get a bit plottier when their story intersects with the MLA’s.)

Lastly, these are, of course, completely AU, but if you don’t know who the Liberation Army is, you’re probably still going to trip over manga spoilers, so be mindful.  

First, let me lay down some backstory!  Specifically, the story of All for One, One for All, and the lives they drew into their story...

THE PROLOGUE

There is a realm in Faerie inhabited by a pair of binary-matched Fae, All for One and One for All, styling themselves as warring brothers.  They’ve been fighting for many long generations, each in their own fashion.  All for One has tended to keep his power mostly within himself, employing many underlings, but sharing his power with very few of them.  One for All, conversely, has shared most of himself with a succession of users, and in each generation, the pair clashes, with OFA not very "present" for the battles (and thus at less risk), while AFO is able to bring more of himself to the fights.  Before each battle, each user of OFA would be "freed" for a period to find and designate a successor (who would inevitably go missing a few weeks later), before returning for the battle.  They often did this with deeply tormented feelings, but saw little escape from the pattern.  Each one hoped that they might be the one strong enough to break the cycle, as OFA told them each time was a possibility--patterns grow stronger for being repeated, after all--but none of them was able to do so until recently.  Toshinori Yagi refused to designate a successor, and finally, for his stubbornness, was recalled to do battle without one--without having passed even a fragment of OFA's power on, he was finally able to defeat AFO.              

In his defeat, AFO was cast out from Faerie.  He had little memory of who and what he was, but retained a sense for fae matters and a limited grasp on his powers.  He spent the next several years setting up shop in the local freehold, dabbling with Spring and Autumn Court matters as his fancy took him, and racking up a fair amount of renown with the latter in particular when the former found him too ruthless, and not only with humans.  One day, though, he stumbled across what would eventually become his way home--a little boy who felt startlingly familiar, black-haired with a mole on his chin.  AFO struck up a friendship, and when he eventually met the boy's father, things began to click into place--he knew this family because he once fought their matriarch, and that connection was the key to his return.  As he was once defeated by this bloodline bearing his brother's power, for his rise, he had to defeat someone of the bloodline--but he couldn’t just do it straight out.  With his brother, there were pacts in play, old bargains and arrangements.  He couldn’t just waltz in and kill Shimura Kotaro.              

One of them needed to ask. 

THE LEAGUE

Here are the League roughly as we might find them when they’ve been out long enough to build a motley, solidify their bonds somewhat, and start taking on bigger, toothier problems.  All have 7 dots of Contracts except Shigaraki, who has a modest leader bump.  Just assume he’s been out doing some level-grinding the others haven’t.

Shigaraki Tomura

Quote: “There’s always a win condition.”

Type: Gameplayer Wizened.  A trophy/souvenir of AFO’s time on Earth, Tomura survived a durance filled with little but tests in the guise of games.  Survival, combat, endurance, manual dexterity, reaction time, strategy, academics, even odd trivia--he learned them all under his Keeper’s tutelage, in preparation for the next battle with his brother's champion (AFO having seen that his brother's way of doing things has its merits).  Tomura grew up believing himself responsible for his family's deaths (though he's blocked most of the specifics, he knows in his gut that he's responsible somehow) and watching the realm celebrate the champion who'd defeated Tomura’s Keeper, but who hadn't done a thorough enough job to prevent the cycle from resetting after all.

Toshinori, for his part, initially had no idea that AFO had returned with a child, a new champion.  But he did know that AFO had returned (the realms are connected enough that you can't really miss it), and so waited for the next battle with some impatience.  He thought that he, perhaps, just hadn't done well enough, that he'd be more careful, more thorough next time.  After all, patterns become stronger when they repeat.  He doesn't truly understand that All for One can't be killed--not in Faerie, at least--and so there will be no end to the cycle as it stands.  Eventually, he got tired of waiting and sought out AFO on his own--and was shocked to find a kid, just a kid, where he expected to find AFO.  AFO did not think Shigaraki was ready for this yet, and was not prepared to watch several years' worth of effort and his cute keepsake get slaughtered (and he probably would have been; Shigaraki could have all the lives he wanted in training, but an official battle against the sanctioned bearer of OFA would have been different), so he ejected Shigaraki from Faerie and fought the battle himself.  As to what happened afterwards, Shigaraki has no way to know, but the gradual return of various other servants of AFO may eventually begin to shed some light on the subject…

Shigaraki is, when his story truly begins, still figuring out his current game--outside of Arcadia, second chances are harder to come by--but he’s a sore loser and a quick learner, so he never stays down for long, and he’s already made a friend in Toga, who he met in his escape from the Hedge.  He still has very ambivalent feelings about his Keeper, which makes him something of an outlier amongst changelings, who typically feel only terror and loathing for the Others that upended their lives and scarred them in ways that will never--can never--fully heal.  No one, including Shigaraki, has quite realized his connection to the Emperor of Darkness who caused so much havoc in the freehold when he escaped back to Faerie five years ago.  Likewise, Tomura’s fetch, only ten years old, is still in a mental care unit in juvie for the murders of the Shimura family, but dealing with that mess will have to wait until Shigaraki can stomach the idea of even looking at that version of himself.  

Tomura looks much as he does in canon, thin and covered with scratching and scarring.  Behind his tousled white hair, though, his red eyes gleam and flicker as if they’re forever reflecting the dancing lights of a screen.  His masked form has black hair rather than white, and eyes the color of dark, old rust.

Court/Mantle: Autumn, the season of fear.  Shigaraki’s entire durance threatened him always with the fear of failure (and the fear of the consequences of failure), and he himself would rather intimidate than charm, but he also shares the Leaden Mirror’s inquisitiveness and discerning eye.  As such, even when he first emerged from the Hedge, it was with a strong Autumn mantle, and it’s only grown stronger over time.  He’s often trailed by dead, desiccated brown leaves, and Hedge foliage that’s in his presence for any length of time visibly begins to wither--but his mantle flares up even more when he’s being actively combative.  Chilly, dry bursts of air can wring involuntary chills from those on the receiving end of his wide grins and dire promises. When he’s feeling more playful, one can sometimes see small flickers of light in the shape of unknown words or hear odd little strains of music from unrecognizable (albeit somewhat tinny) instruments.

Contracts: 

     Fleeting Autumn I.  He’s not so concerned with becoming some kind of symbol of fear that he’s pursued this Contract very much, but it never hurts to get an idea of what your opponent’s afraid of.

    Eternal Autumn I-III.  It takes time, glamour expenditure, and good dice rolls, but he can kill people this way, withering them down to nothing.  Conversely, he can also make plants bear fruit.  It’s occasionally useful.

    Hours I.  He’s figured out how to consciously botch the activation of this clause so as to decay the targeted object instead of restoring it.  It usually works, but sometimes randomly backlashes onto him instead, causing him injury--the bigger the object, the worse the damage.  The Wyrd doesn’t like being toyed with.

    Lucidity I-IV.  Clarity is a fluid, malleable thing for Shigaraki, which can make him extremely frightening--he can thank his Keeper’s lessons in control.  With this series of Contracts, Shigaraki can and does laugh off the kinds of deeds that would make other changelings quail back in fear of what their own minds would do to them in the aftermath.  He can also be shockingly perceptive for someone who by rights should have terrible trouble distinguishing the boundaries between Real and Unreal, Self and Other.  However, his use of these powers does make him somewhat mercurial and difficult to predict, even to his motley, as derangements come and go with the artificial inflation or drain of his Clarity.  It’s a downward slope, but one he’s taking more slowly than would otherwise be the case.

(Hypothetical Powered-Up Shigaraki: Adds two 5-dot Goblin Contracts, Blood-Binding and The Fatal Transformation.  Be it the power of glamour or the breath of life itself, if Shigaraki wants an enemy drained and is willing to pay his pound of flesh, Goblin magic will provide.  It’s a good thing he’s got friends to back him up, as both of these powers leave him in a pretty vulnerable state.) 

Toga Himiko

Quote: “I met someone cute today.  Don’t wait up!” 

Type: Mirrorskin/Leechfinger dual kith Darkling.  Toga served her durance in the chrome-tinted underbelly of a glass-and-brass dystopia full of mirrors, learning to steal life as easily as she stole food, and to slip from one form to another to keep ahead of everyone who’d chase her down for doing it.  More free than she’d been in her old life, to be sure, but still not free to truly do as she pleased, she dreamed of being able to hunt people down the way she’d been hunted down, with no one to answer to for it.  In time, she managed her escape and, on her path back through the Hedge, crossed paths with Tomura--distraught, lost, but still with plenty of fight left in him.  Each decided that the other was dangerous but sympathetic enough to be a better ally than an enemy, and they teamed up to find their way back to the real world.

Back in that real world, Toga is learning to put herself back together.  Getting back home only to find something waiting there wearing her face was a shock to her system, but after some agonizing (and a bloodbath in her parents’ kitchen), she’s decided it’s for the best.  If going back to being that girl means giving up the amazing psychic buffet the world now presents her, it’s not even a debate.  

Toga in her masked form is dark of hair and eye, a school girl with a wide smile and swift, excitable hands.  In her true form, everything bleeds paler--she’s china white, even her hair turning paler than flaxen fiber, most of her features seeming somehow insubstantial except for the long points of her teeth and the gas lamp yellow of her eyes.  

Court/Mantle: Spring, the season of desire.  Toga, more than anyone in the motley, has embraced the fact that she wants things now that she never would have before, that she has desires that no human would ever understand.  And why not?  She doesn’t kill people, after all; she just likes to taste.  The air around her is always infused with heady floral scents, and when she walks, phantom flowers trail up behind her.  Hemlock and cypress vine, spider lilies and nightshade--all lovely, to be sure, but the language of flowers does give her away.

Contracts: Everything about Toga’s Contracts heightens her skills as a predator, and she’s unquestionably the best in the group at it.

        Mirror I-II.  Allows her to shape her form with more specificity and finesse.

        Darkness I-II.  Makes her targets more suggestible.

        Fleeting Spring I-III.  Lets her pinpoint what her targets want so that she can shape those wants or her reflection of them as needed.

Bubaigawara Jin

Quote: “Nothing’s too much for my friends!”

Type: Truefriend Beast.  Jin’s human life didn’t differ much from his canonical backstory, minus the super power, but went drastically off course when he was hunted down--even on a motorcycle, hunted down!--by a monster on horseback and the various other monsters tumbling before it.  His changeling life consisted of one cage, one chase after another, and while most of the people around him were shaping themselves into being better vessels for coursing, baying, sharp-toothed menace, what Jin most wanted was the pack solidarity.  His Keeper thought this was funny but not a very useful trait in a hunting hound, so they started taking him to dog fights instead, hoping to scour the excess sweetness off of him.  Lacking a pack to stay for, he escaped, but the wanting for one never left him.  

Toga basically tripped over him his first night out, and her kindness then meant he was more than happy to follow her home.  He later made the acquaintance of Mr. Compress and Magne on a bar crawl and, wanting all of his friends to be friends together, introduced them to Shigaraki and Toga.  He’s also trying to make friends with his fetch, who is finding the whole experience of having a clone pop up at him at unexpected times to be unbelievably disorienting and nerve-wracking.  Which one of them is the real one, anyway…?

His mask looks much as Jin does in canon, though his scars are in different places.  In mien, he  always looks a bit rumpled, with short, sandy brown fur and bright, emotive eyes.  He’s dog-eared (literally), one alert, the other floppy, and his hands have stubby, darkened nails.  Unbelievably expressive and more overtly doggish body language--he didn’t keep a tail in his flight back through the Hedge, but people tend to remember him as having one anyway.

Court/Mantle: Courtless.  Jin’s too mixed up in his own emotions to pick just one to focus on.  He likes the idea of Spring, but he’s also skeptical that just wanting is enough to keep people safe, and that fear is rooted deep.  He’s also not without his old sorrows.  Of the High Court emotions, wrath is his rarest visitor.

Contracts:

        Fang & Talon (Dogs) I-III.  Jin’s got an undeniable rapport with dogs.  He loves them and they love him.  There’s practically no mutt he can’t get some words out of if he asks nice.  He’s also still got a hunting hound’s nose, when he needs it.  

        Hearth I-II.  Deeply dedicated to his friends, the Contracts of Hearth make advancing the goals of the motley (or hurting the chances of their enemies) even easier.

        Eternal Spring I.  Easier to be a people-pleaser when you know what pleases people!  Toga taught him this one.

        Moon I.  It’s good to know what people want, but it’s also good to know what kind of crazy people (fetches especially) might be sitting on.  This one also helps the group nail down where Shigaraki’s head is at on any given day.

Spinner

Quote: “What a mess.  Where are we even going with this?”

Type: Steepscrambler Beast.  Spinner spent, by his best reckoning, four years in a Faerie jungle.  It was always sweltering, sickbed heat with air so wet you could choke on it, and after a few close calls with the serpentine river dragons and over-large birds of prey that prowled the place, he’d all but given up trying to search for a way out--the sea of trees just went on forever anyway.  A long-tongued madman named Stain convinced him otherwise, with talk of hidden trods and clues found in the bellies of gutted fish.  When Stain went missing, Spinner resolved to try again, and though he can no longer remember the method of it, whatever he did seems to have worked.  He got back to his shitty hometown, but found it just as bad as ever, if not worse, with a fetch still cooped up in his old bedroom, spiralling ever further into depression.  And so, fed up with the state of his life and the apathy his fetch reflected back at him, he did something that very few changelings are capable of doing--he left home.  

Finding his way to the nearest big city with a proper freehold, Spinner gravitated to the Summer Court and got set up with an apartment in a small complex the freehold maintains for newbies to stay in while they get their feet under them.  Not too long after, Shigaraki and Toga wandered into a Summer recruitment drive, with Shigaraki immediately managing to get on Spinner’s nerves--which made it all the more exasperating when Spinner went home and found the both of them moving into the apartment next door to his!  Spinner’s still trying to figure out what he thinks of the mercurial and difficult Shigaraki, but they have been bonding over video games of late.

Spinner’s mask is a sun-darkened young man with a prominent nose and a thin, terse mouth.  He’s straight-backed but with a certain nerviness in his eyes, a stance that suggests he’s ready to throw the first punch.  He has a street punk look--pointy fingernails and pink hair--that people without the sight to know better assume is achieved with a nail file and hair dye.  His mask looks exactly like canon!Spinner with one exception--changeling!Spinner has ears.  They’re pointy, green and finely-scaled, but otherwise normal humanoid ears and they make his face look just a little wider and more humanoid than canon!Spinner’s lizard profile.  

Court/Mantle: Summer, the season of wrath.  Spinner’s angry about a lot of things--the state of the world, the injustices served to his motley and the wrongs of his life in particular--but he’s also wrestling with a lot of self-loathing.  It’s easy for him to slip into fatalistic thoughts and get mired down in apathy, and every time he thinks he’s gotten past it, someone or something comes along that throws him off, and then before he knows it he’s back on the ground wondering how he’s ever going to get past this.  Leaning into Summer’s hot anger helps keep him focused.  His mantle is relatively weak, tending to manifest as a warm, dry wind only when he’s particularly fired up or activating Court contracts.

Contracts: Spinner’s well-rounded, but that’s because he has a hard time settling on anything.  His ridiculous spread of Contracts illustrates this.

        Den I-II.  Not interested in leaning into his animal instincts and learning to talk to lizards, Spinner has instead leaned into possessive territorialism.  Unfortunately, he still feels like a small fish, so it’s hard to muster up the swagger that would allow him to progress this Contract further.  

        Fleeting Summer I.  Need to pick a fight and score some quick glamour?  This is the clause for you!  Just make sure Dabi’s not around; that guy’s angrier than the whole rest of the motley put together and it skews the readings.

        Eternal Summer I.  Makes Spinner a walking thermostat. Yes, sometimes Toga and Mr. Compress take advantage.

        Oath & Punishment I.  There’s a certain capital-R romance to this Contract that Spinner likes, but he’d need to find something (or someone) to whole-heartedly devote himself to first.  At least he can do sick parkour jumps in the meantime.  

        Artifice I.  Temporary repair magic.  Handy around the house and when you fight with cheap knives.  

        Dream I.  Useful facts about the local Hedge and he’s generally content to leave it at that--he doesn’t have a lot of use for dream-spinning, not when Magne’s so good at it.

Dabi

Quote: “You’re mad, huh?  So what are you gonna do about it?”

Type: Gravewight Darkling.  Once upon a time, there was a barren couple who wished desperately for children.  For many years, it was only a wish, until Todoroki Enji finally found someone who offered him a solution.  Nine months later, Todoroki Touya was born, to be followed by a string of children, each haler and heartier than the last.  Seven years later, the firstborn child was taken away in the night.  No fetch was left behind--after all, the Other was only claiming the price they’d been promised.  Fifteen years after that, a changeling calling himself Dabi dragged himself out of the Hedge, having spent most of his life lighting funeral pyres and digging graves in Faerie until he dug his way out.

Dabi fell in with the rest of the League motley after being found by Magne after a fight went sideways.  She patched him up and offered him a group to run around with for a while rather than doing the solo act.  He accepted, but his pledges with the rest of the group are a bit different--more paranoid, less supportive.  Dabi is distant from the motley, and only time will tell if he eventually lets them in or not.  

In mask, Dabi’s a beanpole, wild black hair and bright blue eyes with a caustic grin, skulking about in a succession of black coats and heavy, workmanlike boots.  In mien, he’s even taller, a too-thin gaunt with great swatches of skin burned away by restless soul-fires, which still cling and flicker blue around his hands.  His skin fits him a bit too loose, and he wears staples to keep it all in place.  

Court/Mantle: Summer, the season of wrath.  Could it ever be anything else?  Rather stronger than Spinner’s mantle, Dabi’s manifests as heat distortions in the air around him and, when he’s particularly riled up, blasts of hot air like you’d get opening up a hot oven.  He has some trouble advancing in the Court proper, though, as he prefers to only fight battles he knows he can win.  He feels, all the time, sick with rage, but until he proves willing to make stands even when the odds are against him, the Iron Spear’s time for him will be limited.  

Contracts: 

        Shade & Spirit I.  If he’s going to see ghosts around all the time anyway, he might as well be able to talk to them.  They’re only sporadically helpful, but as a skeleton in the closet himself, he has some fellow feeling for them.

        Elements (Fire) I-III.  He brought fire with him out of Faerie, but it’s a difficult thing for him to master, foreign to his seeming despite sometimes feeling as if it’s nestled in his very bones.  

        Fleeting Summer I-II.  Dabi’s much at home with wrath, and very willing to shape it to his own ends.  Whether or not he sticks around for them, he likes starting fights.  

        Punishing Summer I.  An odd branch of Summer magic, but one that he feels has some promise for him.  Compared to the more straightforwardly righteous Contract of Eternal Summer, this feels harsher, longer-burning, and that sings to him in ways he finds very appealing.

Mr. Compress

Quote: “If we’re going to break the law, why shouldn’t we do it in style?”

Type: Larcenist Fairest.  A simple stage magician of modest fame once upon a time, right up until he was offered a promising and lucrative gig by a stranger who thought he deserved a better stage for his talents.  The stage in this case turned out to be--well, you can guess.  His client (Keeper) wanted things stolen--they seemed to enjoy the taste of things ill-gotten--and there was always some new diamond or painting or antique.  Sako’s time in Faerie (which he came to share with Magne) was like a string of heist films: glamorous and bubbly and thrilling, but the underside was rife with lurid, impossible violence waiting on the slightest error, the stakes always seemed to be climbing, and of course you could never say no…  But one thing you can say for heist films is that they always allot a proper amount of time for planning, and so over time Sako and the others planned their last heist--the one to steal themselves into freedom.  If asked, Sako will tell a dozen different stories about how it went, but the truth is his memories are fuzzy, and the only thing he knows for sure is that he and Magne emerged from the Hedge alone.  

Sako’s a bit disjunctioned in time--many more years have passed in the real world than he spent in Faerie, and he spent a good many years in Faerie.  His fetch washed up in a nursing home in the meantime, riddled with palsy and Alzheimer’s, and though Sako is not by habit or preference a violent man, the sight of it filled him with a primal loathing.  And it’s so easy, in an overcrowded environment, to make a mistake with a dosage…  Sako still has a piece of the detritus left over, just to remind himself of how his story could have ended, and how determined he is to not let such a future come to pass.  

In his mask, Mr. Compress (well, he needed a new stage name) is a handsome, auburn-haired man in his forties who gestures constantly, frequently toying with a short white cane, and speaks in refined if somewhat dated language in a rich, theatrical voice.  He always dresses a bit more nicely than he needs to, preferring clothes with hidden pockets and long sleeves, and is rarely without a hat to flourish.  His mien mostly serves to heighten all of that--he becomes impossibly graceful and compelling, his voice catching the ear like a song, and his clothes are revealed to be Hedgespun, the feather in his hat belonging to no bird an ornithologist could name, the buttons on his coat and the stone accentuating his bolo tie shifting slowly in pattern and shade the longer you watch, and the cane almost certainly a low-level token of some kind.  The most eye-catching thing, though, is the mask--he wears a white mask that always seems to have a different pattern on it, though it never moves while you’re looking directly at it.  He doesn’t seem able to actually remove it all the way, though he can slide it around enough to eat or theatrically squint or blink his eyes (dark and bewitchingly expressive).  If it’s forcefully pulled off, it’s only to reveal another one beneath it--though he’ll complain that it stings and ask you to refrain.  

Court/Mantle: Autumn, the season of fear magic!  Mr. Compress didn’t come out of the Hedge with a particular Court affinity, but he was drawn towards Autumn like a compass needle finding true north.  He’s only a limited interest in fear (though his response to his fetch shows that he has his share of it), but he’s endlessly fascinated by the ins-and-outs of faerie magic.  Trinkets, tokens, pledge-craft--if it’s a clever trick, he’s interested.  His mantle shows as pops and starbursts of light, and frequently as a cool, trailing mist about his feet.  

Contracts: The only person in the group more focused than Toga.

        Separation I-IV.  Escape magic fit for Houdini himself.  If it looks like Compress is locked up or restrained, it’s almost only certainly because he’s allowing himself to be.  

        Forge I-III.  Sleight of hand is even more impressive when you’re using magic!  Extremely convenient for those times when he needs a passable ID or a house key he does not in fact own.

Magne

Quote: “Take it easy, honey.  I’ll handle it.”

Type: Metalflesh Elemental.  Magne was a criminal before she was a changeling, and it was in that capacity that she--like Mr. Compress--fell prey to an offer that should have been too good to be true.  The heist team needed a bit more muscle, is the thing; they were getting caught too often without a good combatant.  And so came Magne, given a sturdier body (that could, incidentally, meld through safe walls when necessary) through processes she only remembers in her nightmares.  An odd thing happened with her, though--what Magne felt the pull of in Faerie was less the element she became and more the stuff of Arcadia itself.  Where her Keeper expected her to become hard as steel, instead she embraced dream conjury; where she was instructed to protect the rest of her band, that protection took the form of healing as often as it did squaring up for a fight.  It’s hard to argue with the results, though--Magne is a fierce and stubborn defender of any group that wins her loyalty.  

Currently in a live-and-let live relationship with her fetch--she feels a bit sorry for the poor creature, and would rather see her find a way to break free of the image she was forged in and make her own path than kill her.  It’s painful to be around her, though, so while Magne’s willing to extend some help from a distance, she would rather the fetch keep her distance.  Time will tell if her fetch--who has her own desires and very much shares Magne’s willingness to bust some heads over them--is prepared to abide by this.  

Magne in mask looks much as she does in canon, though she can afford nicer clothes.  Her preference for butch presentation is unchanged, but the jeans are designer and the shirts elaborate silk prints.  She has a collection of fetching sunglasses for any occasion.  Her mien is a gleaming ochre bronze, flesh hard and smooth, her hair (a bit darker in color than the rest of her) always a bit stiff but, on the other hand, difficult to muss.  Her body is in all ways a more chiselled, more perfected version of the body she went into Arcadia with, which Magne has mixed but overall relieved feelings about.  The flesh-to-metal transition her Keeper forced on her was bad enough; whyever would she trust the Others with gender affirmation?

Court/Mantle: Spring, season of desire growth. Magne’s desire is to never be held down by any sort of repression or expectation forced on her by others (the Others in particular), and this pride drew her strongly to the Antler Crown.  While she doesn’t exhibit the flowing, graceful beauty so prized in women of the Emerald Court, her passion for self-expression and her unstinting support of those fumbling their way towards the same has certainly won her her share of admirers.  Magne’s mantle takes the form of fresh-scented air and pleasant breezes.  She doesn’t leave flowers where she walks, but you can sometimes find ivy where her hands have been.  

        Contracts: 

        Dream I-III.  By leaps and bounds the most talented dream-weaver in the motley, Magne’s oneiromancy is light-hearted and nonjudgmental while her oneiromachy is formidable.  Everyone in the motley can soothe one another’s nightmares, but Magne is the best at it.  She usually has at least one or two dream-task pledges active with mortals, too, so she rarely struggles to keep her glamour reserves--or her wallet--full.  

        Elements (Metal) I.  Magne’s retained only the minimum level of connection with the metal she was forged from; in truth, her body is less important to her than what she does with it.

        Eternal Spring I-III.  Easing fatigue, curing wounds, and even bringing in         a gentle rain--Magne’s deeply in touch with the rejuvenative aspects of her Court.

BONUS TIDBITS:

Shigaraki experienced more deaths in Faerie than any other member of his motley.  After all, you might know the cheat code for unlimited lives, but that doesn’t mean you never die.  And it did feel like death, every time.  Of course, sometimes failure just meant Sensei shaking his head and Being Disappointed.  That still felt a bit like dying too, though.

Over the course of her durance, Toga had more than one knife fight with a cyber hero adventurer hunting through the city’s underbelly looking for a power core.  Also, changeling!Toga is much less murderous than canon!Toga because if she were as murderous as canon!Toga, Clarity loss would rapidly render her unplayable.  

Spinner was pulled into the motley over a planned playdate heist to see how well Shigaraki and Toga could work as a unit with Mr. Compress and Magne.  Being very familiar with heist stories by that time, Sako and Magne decided the group needed one more guy to provide muscle, and as it happened, Shigaraki and Toga lived next door to just such a one.

I have not decided on whether the Todoroki family are a mundane equivalent of the way we see them in canon, all deeply damaged by Endeavor’s ceaseless drive to fulfill his goals by way of his children, or whether they’re actually pretty normal and well-adjusted with the exception of Enji’s one dark secret.  Either way, Natsuo is the only one who has any inkling that there was anything “off” about Touya’s death/disappearance.    He has no inkling of the truth, obviously, but he always felt that Enji didn't react quite the right way to Touya's death, or thought Enji was behaving suspiciously on the night Touya vanished.  

The League’s basic motley pact includes the dreaming pledge, so they frequently take mental voyages into one another’s dreamscapes to clear out the nightmares and indulge in silly, impossible-in-reality lucid dreaming adventures.  The exception is Dabi, who would rather have nightmares than people in his head.  

Mr. Compress doesn’t jokingly call himself an old man anymore because he’s too traumatized by finding out what he’d actually be like in old age.  

Shigaraki, while beginning the story in a fairly ambivalent, uncertain place, eventually finds his way towards a goal of helping to free loyalists--from their hopeless circumstances, from their learned helplessness, from their starstruck adoration.  He finds this goal over the course of his late-game encounters with Kurogiri, Gigantomachia, and Re-Destro, and it is through helping them that he’s finally able to begin to process his own feelings of attachment and affection towards his Keeper.  It may well be that the fetch of Shimura Tenko is Shigaraki’s final boss.

[parachutingkitten]

The Process of Shattering: A Next Gen Fic - Ch 4

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Aaaaaaaand this is where stuff gets real. Also, this chapter has some shameless self referencing, go check out Good Morning, Mr. Borg. It’s good stuff. Anyway, let’s keep Birthday Week rolling!

Happy Reading!

“Hey! This is Daniel. You know what to do after the beep.”

I sighed. It’s fine. Infact, maybe it’s better this way. 

“Hey, it’s Sierra. I’ve got a doctors appointment today, so I won’t be seeing you in English. But I’ll be back later, so we can still walk home together. I, um… I’ll see you then.” I hung up as I walked through the doors of the building, swinging my backpack around to drop my phone in the side pocket.

“Circuit?”

My head shot up to find a familiar face I wasn’t expecting to run into. Drew had worked here since the beginning of time as far as I knew. Helped build me actually. She’s my grandpa’s right hand woman, started out as his personal assistant, but has since risen to be head of company communications.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Technically droids aren’t allowed to enroll in public school to begin with,” I shrugged.

Drew rolled her eyes, grabbing my arm and tugging me to the side. “Look, the tower isn’t a hang out, it’s a workplace.” 

“I just want to talk to my grandpa,” I pleaded. “Maybe you could hook me up with an elevator?”

“Does this have to do with why your uncle hasn’t come in today?” She crossed her arms.

“We… had a bit of a family emergency last night with my dad,” I explained. “Cryptor volunteered to look after him while the team went to try and figure out what happened. It’s weird that he didn’t tell you. I figured he would have called you about it by now.”

Drew’s eyes grew distant as she thought. “Cry and I… aren’t on the best terms right now.” Her expression had sunken from anger into melancholy in a matter seconds. “It’s complicated. Look, let’s just get you to the top floor, huh?”

“Thank you!” I smiled, following her as she led the way to the elevator. She swiped her id card on the left before pressing the call button. It arrived only a moment later as we both boarded.  

“I’ve got some time sensitive stuff going, so I’m getting off on the 83rd floor, but I trust you can ride to the top by yourself.”

“I’m not 7 anymore, I think I’ll be alright.” I ran my fingers along my backpack straps. The elevator rides are always the most awkward part of any trip to Borg Tower. No matter how fast it is, a hundred floors is quite a height to cover.

“Is your dad… doing alright?”

“He’s recovering pretty quickly,” I sighed.

“Still, I know how scary that kind of stuff can be.”

She turned towards me, sharing a kind look for the first time since I had gotten here.

“Try not to let it get to you too much. I’m sure he’ll be alright,”

The doors opened, Drew stepping out before I could respond. 

“Hey, thanks!” 

She spun around, sending me a quick smile before the doors closed again. Drew was a strange person. I always got the sense that she had way too much stress on her shoulders. I imagine working in one of the most targeted and at risk locations in Ninjago for over a decade can do a few things to your head. Let’s just say… she’s been through a lot. I’ve always wondered what she’s like once you get to know her. A lot of people seem to like her quite a bit. There has to be a reason my grandpa has kept her around all these years, right?

The elevator doors opened once again as I reached grandpa Borg’s office, and I cautiously stepped into the room.

“Whose that?” He asked from his computer at the other end of the room.

“It’s Circuit,” I announced, walking over to him. 

“Circuit!” he turned around to see me as I swung off my backpack, placing it on the floor next to his desk. “How are you, sweetie? I’ve missed you! You really should visit more often.”

I leaned over to hug him, a warmth filling my body as I spoke with him. “You’re not mad that I’m ditching school then?”

He rolled his eyes. “You and I both know you don’t need that place.” He smiled, both of us laughing a bit. “I heard about your father…” His expression faded. “Is that why you're here?”

I was caught a bit off guard. My head just sunk as I thought. “I don’t really know why I’m here to be honest. Just… needed to get away”

He studied my face for a moment, a gentle smile spreading across his complexion. “Your father has faced some rather intense consequences during his time as a ninja.” He bagan wheeling himself over to the window. “He’s been through much worse than even you’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” I sighed. 

“He’s lost a lot over the years, and he doesn’t want to risk adding you to that list.” he paused for a moment, turning back around to read me. “I’m sure he’ll begin training you once things are safer. He doesn’t want to push you into the field before you're ready.”

Grandpa could always tell what was bothering me. I guess it makes sense, he did a lot of my programming. “I get it,” I repeated, plopping down on one of the waiting chairs. “I really do get it. It’s better for the team if I wait. In the back of my mind, I know it’ll probably even be better for me in the long run. It just… gets hard to wait sometimes.”

“Time can be a difficult foe to face,” he agreed.

“I’ve just felt so… restricted lately, you know? I can’t go on missions, I can’t start training, I can’t help mom, I can’t talk to Daniel, I can’t-”

“What’s this about Daniel?” he moved closer.

“It’s not that I can’t,” I corrected myself. “But I can’t talk to him how I want to, you know? I’m mean, I’ve never really been able to, but it’s catching up to me now, and… It’s just, it’s the end of senior year, and everything feels so final, but the only thing that isn’t going to end is this whole… lie that I’m living! I mean he’s my best friend, I’ve known him for years, and he still doesn’t even know my name.” I could feel my eyes beginning to water as I spoke. “It’s stuff like that. It hurts. And I don’t think anyone else realizes it. And Daniel is a great guy! He deserves so much better than what his parents are giving him! It’s like they don’t trust him! It’s not fair for them to try and hide his potential from him like this!”

“...Did they ever tell you why they were having you monitor Daniel?” his hand on mine snapped me out of my daze as I quickly cleared the water from my eyes.

“Well… yeah, they wanted him to have a normal life before getting dragged into all this elemental stuff. They’re worried he won’t be ready for his power if he ends up inheriting his mother’s.”

A sad smile crept onto his lips as he watched me explain. “There’s a bit more to it than that.”

“What… what else? Why would they not tell me if there was something else?”

He started rolling over to his computer screen, his movement beckoning me to follow. “It was… a few months after the both of you were born that I started doing some research and tests to try and better understand the different elemental powers. I was sure that if I studied them, I would find information to help their holders utilize them better.” He pulled up a screen filled with rows of complex data all arranged by element. “We found quite a bit. Strong bonds between certain elements, keys to the elements’ lineages, and qualities specific to the creation elements. Now, when elements are passed to a future holder after reaching their true potential, there’s at least a brief period where the previous holder retains their powers as well, and the element is split between them. My prevailing theory is that the elements do this in order to allow a training period for the older generation to assist the newer one. Of course, none of this applies if the previous holder dies before the next one reaches their true potential.” I already knew most of this, but I could feel the tension in his voice as he continued.

“Now, amber is by far the most powerful element. Strangely enough though, in all my research, I haven’t been able to find a record of it having a training period. It’s users consistently die before they can see their power passed on. Additionally, because amber’s power comes from combining the energy of other elements, it is structurally much different than the rest. It is extremely dense and concentrated. It’s strength comes from entirely existing within one location. And it’s because of these unique qualities that my simulations for a potential amber training period find that it doesn't... function properly.” As he scrolled through the data for amber the numbers grew exponentially bigger, highlighted in red. “Because the element demands to exist in only one place, attempting to split it for a training period would have one of two outcomes; it either destroys the element… or it destroys it’s users.”

I looked at the data, his words ringing through my brain. “...meaning-”

“Meaning over the course of about a month, the element actively corrodes, poisons, and corrupts the bodies of one or both of it’s users… 

...to the point of death.”

[dalamjisung]

someone to lose ✤ lee felix

word count: 2583

genre: angst, with a pinch of fluff

pairing: reader x lee felix

description: he couldn’t have you, but what if you just wanted to be lost?

You were there when he first moved in.

You hear the truck first, loudly shaking, parking, unloading. The memory starts with that, and with you, on your pretty yellow bike, dirty from the busy, fun day with your friends. Knees scrapped, smudge of mud in your cheek, and a curious glance was all it took– you had his attention first thing. His feet touched the ground, and his eyes found you. And you remember– because you are sure that you can’t ever forget– the disgusted look he threw your way. And you also remember– and this because your mom won’t let your forget– how you came home crying because you thought you were ugly. You were nine and that was kind of a big deal. Your mom hated Felix since then. 

You were there when he enrolled in your school.

It was just a couple of days later and you see him again, in a similar uniform to yours. His freckles pollute his face and you want to get lost as you count them, and you want to have to start again and get lost again. He was two grades above yours and barely spared you a glance as he paraded around with his brand new friends– another international kid and a kid that was a grade above yours and one bellow his. You learned their names that same day; Bang Chan and Kim Seungmin. They ate together at lunch and you stared at them with a dreamy look in your face, until you tripped and fell face first on the floor. Once again you came back home crying and hurt and humiliated. And one again your mother swore to protect you from the new kid in the block. 

It was a few years later, but you were there when he got his first girlfriend. 

And when he broke up with her. The whole school found out the very next day, interrogating him with questions that he clearly didn’t even know the answers yet; he was just 15, after all. It happened during lunch time– when it was decided that he broke up with her, and not the other way around; you, once again, were on your way to the football field, where you usually ate your lunch while doing the homework for the next class, and you saw him. Walking. Running. Marching… to you. He is fuming and you can feel the anger, but Felix just looks at you, then at your homework, and rolls his eyes. 

“Let me help.”

You didn’t say a thing, but you listened to every word as he explained the mathematical formulas. You aced your pop quiz the next day. But is appeared that he didn’t care. 

You were there as he grew– more.

And when he found a stray cat and took it home.

And when his mom got angry cause the cat ruined her sofa.

And when his dad returned home from a work trip in Australia. 

And when his dad went back to Australia and never came back.

And when he got beat up in the end of his Junior year in high school. 

And when he beat someone up in the beginning of his Senior year.

And basically every other moment because it is very hard to mind your own business when his window is just right across from yours. Or when he goes to your school. Or when this nagging feeling of him bothers you basically every second of the day. 

During the years that passed you had more interactions with him. Still not enough to apparently satiate your undying crush on him, but enough to actually make you crave more. They were all the same, though; something bad would happen, and you’d be the first one he’d run to because what could actually be worse than this, right now? You are sure he didn’t quite realize how hurtful that was to hear, but he laughed and the melody tone of his voice soothed the wounds away. One time it was a fight, with a new girl, boy, lover, friend– anyone– and he found you in the swings in the end of you guys’ street. He sat down as asked if you had any homework for the next day and, if so, to bring it there. Once again, you aced a quiz. Another time, it was just oppressed emotions; apparently his dad facetimed him– cause I only left your mother, Felix, not you,– and told him about the new wife that was pregnant with the new kids. So he marched to your house, politely ignoring your mothers angry glares, and asking if you had any subject you were struggling with. Enough said, your grades improved exponentially once Felix’s life got… well, complicated. He’d always come to you, study, calm down, and leave. Not talk; no heart to heart; not late night confessions. But still better than nothing. 

Safe to say, Felix’s life was at its peak– of fucked up. He had just hit the last stretch of his Senior year in high school and had to start thinking about colleges, and majors, and life, and adulthood. He didn’t want that. Not yet. He wanted high school a little longer, and he didn’t quite know why, but he does. And you? Well, you were in the final round of your Sophomore year, struggling with things that only get worse, and happy with things that probably will get worse, too. You had a friend or two, and you felt like you didn’t need more. You had the people that you love you loved you back, what else could you want? With the exception of a certain neighbor loving you back, that is. Jeongin and Jisung always said that they should be enough, and they are. But sometimes you just need an extra something that they can’t provide and that’s okay. 

It was during one of those nights– the ones that you feel incredibly alone, even though you have Jeongin clinging to your left arm as he snores in your bed, and Jisung mumbling in his sleep on your other side,– that you decide that you were done. It was time to take action yourself, cause you knew he wouldn’t. You sleep that night with sweet dreams of strawberry fields and Bowie’s songs. And Felix. Always Felix. 

You started off simple. A note. And not the lovey dove kind of note– no, you’d never!– but rather a friendly one; one that would uplift him that rainy morning because you know he needed it, because you heard his mom shouting and him crying and you weren’t about to just tell him that to his face so. A note it is. You leave it in his car during your free period, and you honestly couldn’t give two fucks if anyone saw you, cause you wanted it. You wanted Felix to know it was you. 

You are waiting in the field, sitting on your usual spot in the bleachers, with your chemistry book on the side. He finds you like that, bobbing your head to the song playing through your headset, school work set aside, lunch half eaten. 

“You need to eat,” He basically snarls as he pulled your headphones down. “Or else you won’t grow.”

There was a moment of silence before you spoke up. 

“I’m 16, Felix,” You frowned. “I haven’t been “growing” for a few years now.”

His face flushes red and he rolls his eyes. 

“Need help?”

“No, but I think you do.” You say and oh my god you did it you finally did it!

“What?” He chuckles, incredulously. “What do you mean?”

“I’m your neighbor,” You mumble, suddenly shy. “I see… and hear, a lot. And I’m not prying but I can’t really not listen when it’s loud and– well, that’s beside the point. What I mean is that I’m here to listen.”

“And who said I wanted to talk with you?”

“Me,” You shrug. “You come to me whenever something bad happens. To study, even though I am really not sure how that helps you, but let’s skip formalities. What’s happening?”

“What the…?” Felix is seizing you up and you know it. He’s done it so many times for you to recognize the sensation. “You are so weird, Y/N.”

“Meh, I’ve heard worse,” You joke and lean back.

“Who?”

“Who what?” 

“Who told you worse?” Felix asks and he is frowning. For a second, you want to tell him you. You did, with looks, and gossips, and actions. But you don’t. You just shake your head and laughs. 

“Doesn’t matter, Felix,” You say. “Talk to me.”

“What if I don’t want you?”

“Then you wouldn’t be here,” You clarify and you think that’s exactly what he needs; someone to clarify his own actions to him.

So he talks. His mom got angry because he asked if he could visit his dad and then shouting. And more shouting. And him crying and her leaving and him being alone. He hated being alone. And you nod; you nod not because you understand– you don’t,– but you nod because you hated being alone too and because you don’t want to say something and scare him away. So you silently listen to him, for ten, twenty, thirty minutes, until it’s class time again. 

This time, when you are walking to Literature and see him by the lockers, he smiles at you. Just a simple, closed-mouth grin. But it was more than enough to make you giddy for the rest of the day. You arrive home and run to tell your mom and she tries to smile, but ends up with a grimace, because oh god how she hated that boy. 

You wake up the next day and it dawns on you– you did it. You managed to talk to him like friends. Laugh like friends. Smile like friends. And it starts there; it starts with friendship. 

“Y/N!” Your mother shouts from the kitchen, hoping, for the first time in her life, that you were late and still sleeping. “Someone’s here for you.”

You come out of your room with you backpack, looking at something on your phone, when you hear his chuckle. In the morning. In your kitchen. And you are not dreaming; you even slightly pinch yourself to make sure. Felix is in your kitchen. 

“Ready?” He asks adjusting his bag on his shoulders. 

“Yeah, just… just a second.” You blush while kissing your mom goodbye and grabbing an apple. 

You guide Felix out of your house and awkwardly walks besides him. 

“Why…?” You frown, confused.

“Why not?” He laughs and grabs your apple, taking a bite, and giving it back to you. “We’re neighbors, after all. The walks to school don’t need to be lonely.”

And there it was. Once again, Felix didn’t want to be alone. And you were his choice. Last. First. Easiest. Convenient, if you must. But it was you and no once could take that away. 

You two talk about his Senior year so far and your Sophomore hell, and he laughs when you mention those stupid field trips the school took Freshman and Sophomores, and you tell him how it is basically all just an excuse to hook up with people when the teachers are asleep at night. He nods and agrees with you, earning him a slap on his shoulder and a chuckle from you. He tells you about Chan and Australia and, weirdly enough, his dad. He smiles when he mentions Australia, and a weird feeling takes over your body.  A not-so-good feeling, at that, but you simply push it away. 

For weeks, that is your routine: waking up, grabbing any kind of fruit, and walking with Felix to school. It evolved as days went by; first he started coming up to you to talk, then he started befriending your friends, and now, he even ate lunch with you. This was a dream come true and you were on cloud nine. Until college entrance exam day came by. 

Felix had been a ball of nerves and irritation because of it; barely studying and eating no more than the necessary amount to stay awake and studying. He was one of the top students of the school and no one knew where he was applying, not even you, his new rumored best friend. You would occasionally check up on him through your window, and watch him for a few minutes before sighing and minding your own business. But then you heard it all again; the shouts. This time it was worse; louder, more desperate, and then you heard it. Something breaking, shattering, maybe, and a door slamming. You count ten minutes; and then you follow. You know exactly where Felix will be and you take your time waking to the playground. He needed alone time but he also hated being alone. Funny. 

“You took long enough,” He gruff when he sees your shadow approaching and then he is on you.

You didn’t expect that; his hands on your waist, mouth on yours, bodies pressed against each other. He pushes you until your back is against the metal poles holding the swings up, and his hands explore– your waist, back, hair, until they settle; one on your neck and the other pulling the baby hairs you still had. His mouth moves way faster than you’ve ever had the power to imagine; passionate, intense, relieving. You knew what was happening, and you didn’t care. This was a hell of an upgrade from him helping you studied and you didn’t care. You didn’t care he was using you. You didn’t care that he was taking it all only to throw it out. You wanted this, in any shape, way, or form. And, unfortunately, this was yours. 

It takes a while for you two to separate. Your hands keep him close, though, and he doesn’t complain. He wouldn’t dare. 

“I’m leaving,” He winces at how harsh his voice comes out. “I’m leaving and here we are. What am I doing…?”

“I don’t care,” You shrug. “I had a feeling. That you’d be going… back. And I guess I was right?”

“How’d you know?” He mumbles, nose poking your cheek as his mouth dispersed kisses here and there. 

“You love it, Felix,” You sigh, letting your head fall to the side, basically telling him here you go. “I knew you’d be going back home.”

“This is home too,” He growls. “Home is here.”

“Meh, same difference,” You chuckle, enjoying the feeling of him. “You heart is there. It always was.”

“And where is yours?” He asks, breath hitching. You felt his heart speed up, nervousness taking over. 

You smile, in peace. “Right here,” And you let your palm fall on his chest. “With you.”

“Y/N,” He pulls back, nose touching yours. Eyes on yours. Mouths so close… “I’m leaving. I can’t have you… I can’t do that you. Or me.”

“Then lose me,” You whisper, pecking his lips. “Lose me, Felix, and let me find myself again, years later when you visit. I don’t need to be your forever, but… let me be your right now. Let me be your someone to lose.”

He nods. You see tears in his eyes and you kiss them away. You kiss the freckles in his face; the jutted lower lip; the button nose. Everything. Felix was here, now, and that’s all you needed. That’s all you’d allow yourself to need. 

-----------

hello lovelies! I’m sorry it took so long to post, I’m working on about five fics right now and this is the first one to get posted! Let me know what you think :)

[sosayset]

Something has been bugging me for the past few weeks and so I decided to look into for myself since I couldn’t get a straight answer from a reliable source.

Of all that we DON’T know about the new corona virus and the disease it causes, the one thing we do know is the minimum speed at which is spreading.  This is the curve we were all told we needed to flatten to not overwhelm our health care workers.  And this has, in fact, been demonstrably achieved.  Perhaps not to the extent needed, but we know for a fact that left unchecked, the spread of the virus doubles every third day.  The number of new cases in Colorado, right now, are doubling at a rate of about once every 18 days and have been for about the past two weeks.  In New York, and Washington State, it’s actually down to about doubling every forty days.  Of course, this is just the number of new cases being reported, and the virus itself could actually be spreading faster than this among those who have not been tested due to a lack of symptoms or a lack of tests; it likely is, to be honest.  But the verifiable data says that it is currently spreading at those speeds, and probably slightly faster.  I cannot speak for health care workers on whether or not this is enough curve flattening, but it is happening. 

But here’s the part that has been gnawing at me; we have known the number of positive tests daily, in certain jurisdictions, and an observable changing growth rate for the new positive tests for the past ten weeks as a result, why can’t we find a pretty reasonable estimation of how far this has actually spread?  I have had many people kind of mock me when I suggest this, but I don’t think this is an unreasonable thing to examine and come up with an actual number that is a fairly accurate estimate.  So I went ahead and ran a little exercise on this to see for myself and satisfy my curiosity.  

Let’s start with some other things that we are reasonably certain about when it comes to the virus and the disease it causes.  It takes about a week to be infected and then start showing symptoms, at least symptoms to the point where your concern might send you to the doctor to be tested, if tests are available, or even to the hospital.  And once you’re tested it takes about a week to find the results, though I understand there might be some faster than this; everyone I know who has been infected or who has been tested have only gotten results a week later.  So, hypothetically, if someone picks up the virus today, May 1, they can get sick between the fifth and the seventh, go get tested, if it’s available, and be counted as positive result and a statistic on or around May 14th.  So if there are 100 new infections recorded on May 14th, that actually means that the actual infection likely happened around today.  Putting this another way, everything that is happening today is the result of what was going on two weeks ago.  To put that into a really good context, that means that the rate of infections in New York being at a rate doubling every 40 days is the result of what was going on around the 15th of April. 

Hopefully all of that is something we can agree upon.  Now comes the math.  

If you don’t know what exponential growth means, it’s why I keep mentioning the doubling rate.  It’s like that riddle about your rich neighbor giving you the choice of $10,000 to house sit for a month, or a penny on day one, two pennies on day four, four pennies on day 3, eight pennies on day 4, and so on doubling every day.  Written out as a mathematical function, when something doubles every day like that, it’s f(x)=2^x.  For things that double slower than every day, it’s f(x)=2^(x/3) where the three means it doubles every third day.  So, f(x)= 2^(x/40) means the virus is spreading at a rate of doubling every 40 days. 

Now, I did this exercise for three different states.  Colorado, because I live here.  Washington, because I used to live there and the outbreak started very early there.  And New York because this seems to be the region of this country experience this the hardest. 

In Colorado, there were 8 confirmed cases on March 5.  In New York, there was 1 on March 1.  And in Washington, there were 2 on February 27.  That means there was a positive infection two weeks prior to each date.  Even if we weren’t testing for it before that two-week period and it was present and spreading, that is all conjecture and speculation.  We know for a fact that there were people infected on that date in February in each state, and enough to create viral, exponential growth. 

The number of confirmed cases in each of these states on a daily basis is very well documented as it may be in others; in other states I looked at, it’s either unavailable or was not documented.  This gives us a pretty good idea of the absolute slowest rate the virus was being spread two weeks prior.  For the sake of my modeling, I didn’t bother calculating the rate until there were 100 positive cases for any of the states in question as this would likely lead to an inflated rate.  In fact, it did for New York anyway.  The growth rate of new cases in New York between March 9 and March 21 was closer to doubling every 1.8 days.  I decided that this was an aberration.  I used a growth rate of doubling every three days until evidence showed that it was slowing in the number of confirmed cases happening two weeks later. 

So, if the virus is spreading no faster than the rate at which we are seeing new cases two weeks later, and we know that it is spreading much further and faster than this because we don’t have enough tests and the mildly ill people are doing a good job of staying home, and letting tests be done on those with more severe symptoms, where are we?

Well, assuming that 100 people were infected in Colorado on February 20, 500 people in Washington were infected on February 12 (the number is higher because there was a confirmed case in January added later, but the growth rate didn’t grow exponentially until the beginning of March from the health department records, so it was likely at or around 500 infections at that point), and 500 in New York on February 15 (one source said 600, but I decided to stay on the low end) this is where we are:

Colorado – 268,000 infections Washington – 500,000 infections New York – 1.37 million infections

 These numbers mean that there have been 94% of the cases in Colorado untested or confirmed, 97% in Washington, and 78% in New York.  And this is the absolute bare minimum because we know that the virus is moving faster than the number of reported positive cases.  If you were to tell me that the actual totals were twice each of those numbers, I would not be surprised even slightly. 

Now, I am not saying this isn’t serious.  65,000 deaths, and let’s be honest, this is going to go north of 70 and maybe reach 80 in this country before the end of the summer, is a tragedy, especially if it was, in fact, largely preventable and avoidable with a competent response from the federal government.  The same can be said of probably 10 times more who survive and who will end up with lifelong adverse effects of some sort.  And I am not suggesting that precautions taken were unwise or unnecessary, or even that we simply roll them back immediately and without some caution and trepidation as we ease back.  If we saved only saved 10,000 extra lives by not overtaxing a health care system that already runs at an average of about 90% capacity, it was worth it, and continues to be, especially if it we hypothetically saved 200,000. 

But we all need to pause and take a moment to collectively acknowledge that the sheer and utter panic we have come to accept as the new normal is probably unnecessary.  Over the course of the last 12 weeks, we have come a long, long way and my little exercise in exponential growth basically says as much.  

When I started, this was merely something I wanted to do for the sake of my own curiosity.  When I saw the results, I felt a lot more reassured.  For all of the guess work still being made prognosticating about the future, this is actual real-life figures about what HAS happened.  And what they show is that the steps we took worked at flattening the curve, the overall likelihood of developing symptoms, once thought to be around 40% of cases, could actually be closer to half of that, and the mortality rate is likely under 1%.  And that is my point in sharing this.  I hope it does ease a little tension and uneasiness for people.

We are being bombarded constantly by countless experts, quotes, testimonials, every day, from every source imaginable.  It is overwhelming.  So every now and then, take a moment to pause, take a deep breath, and realize that this was bad, but probably not nearly as bad as our collective perceptions have led us to believe.  And if you would like to close on some optimism, realize that right now I don’t think it is likely to get worse in the near future, and also that we have most likely gotten through the toughest part, already.  And now, maybe you will think so, too.  

Stay safe and healthy, and remember to wash your hands. 

 Sources:

https://covid19.colorado.gov/data/case-data

https://www.doh.wa.gov/Emergencies/Coronavirus#dnn_ctr34226_ModuleContent https://www.kiro7.com/news/local/coronavirus-washington-state-timeline-outbreak/IM65JK66N5BYTIAPZ3FUZSKMUE/ https://covid19tracker.health.ny.gov/views/NYS-COVID19-Tracker/NYSDOHCOVID-19Tracker-DailyTracker?%3Aembed=yes&%3Atoolbar=no&%3Atabs=n https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2020_coronavirus_pandemic_in_New_York_(state)

[fallinnflower]

crush’d

vernon x reader (fluff, high school!au)

prompt: “I have no one to sit with at lunch so I sat at your table and now your friends are not-so subtly kicking you under the table. Now they’re very loudly whispering that your crush has shown up and oh my god. I have never seen you this red by the way.” 

When Hansol Vernon Chwe had first transferred to your school, you were smitten.

To say he’s attractive would be an understatement, and your friends teased you mercilessly for having a crush on the new kid; Jihoon especially, having met him in music class soon after and decided the boy was something of a mess (in a dorky, endearing way, you gathered). Their constant jokes didn’t stop your feelings from growing, however much you may have wanted them to. Hansol worked his way into your stupid little heart with each passing day and every dumb joke he made, even as he seemed to look straight through you.

It didn’t help that he was becoming friends with all of your friends, or that he was smart and talented and so optimistic that his mere presence could lighten up any situation.

You wouldn’t say you loved Hansol, but you sure as hell thought you could someday.

One of Jihoon’s many (gentle) criticisms was that Hansol was slow, which worked in your favor. It kept the doe-eyed boy from understanding the jokes made at your (collective) expense. On the flip side, he had a tendency to come to your rescue when he noticed you seemed uncomfortable, which didn’t help your feelings at all and just made the teasing afterwards that much worse.

Nobody had any clue if Hansol had an interest in anyone. His head was always at least half up in the clouds, mind on his self-produced music or some stupid joke he’d found on the internet, but you know for a fact that Seungkwan had made it his personal mission to solve that mystery before spring break rolled around. You did your best to squash the tiny bit of hope that rose in you at the thought, because what plan involving Seungkwan ever ended well for anyone but Seungkwan? None. Exactly. So you told yourself to focus on your studies and power through, even as Vernon seemed to get more attractive by the day and started sending you memes outside of the group chat (which made your stupid little heart flutter), because damn it you just weren’t going to let the boys win.

Hopefully.

You shouldn’t have been so naive, you thought, as to get relieved when the week leading up to spring break occurred with seemingly no progress being made on Seungkwan’s end. You should have known the bubbly boy had strings to pull within the student body, and that he would amp up the drama at the last possible moment just to get the best reaction out of you. You’d known the boy since you were kids and yet, somehow, he managed to surprise you.

Hansol was friends with everyone in a casual and fleeting sense. You had never known him to have an enemy, and with his somewhat capricious nature he had a habit of drifting from one group of people to the next seamlessly. As such, he tended to spend most lunch periods moving from table to table, and rarely ever at the one you sat at with the boys since you saw each other pretty often already.

The day before spring break, of course, the rarity occurred. You hadn’t noticed Hansol walking over, nor had you paid any particular attention to the fact that a seat was left open directly across the table from you, because you were too busy talking to Chan about your spring break plans to consider the implications of such a seemingly harmless object.

Little did you know.

Mere minutes into your lunch, Hansol suddenly arrived on the scene, looking confused and a bit concerned.

“Oh, hey, Hansol,” Seungkwan said, and you could tell from the tone in his voice that you’d both been set up. You looked away from everyone, focusing on your lunch. “Wanna sit down?”

“Sure, thanks,” he replied, and you could already feel the tips of your ears positively burning with blush.

“Look who’s here,” Chan whispered, and you promptly shoved your elbow into his ribs. He let out a quick breath, but managed to laugh at your expense nonetheless, which only made you more irritated. It didn’t help when you looked up at Jeonghan and he just winked. The audacity, really!

“So, do you have any plans for spring break?” You heard Soonyoung ask, and someone kicked your ankle just in time for you to look up and see Hansol shrug.

“Nah, I think I’ll just hang out with my sister.”

“Oh! You’re staying home for break too, aren’t you, Y/N?” You could kill Boo Seungkwan. You really could. You caught Vernon’s eyes for just a moment before nodding and taking a bite of your food, desperate for the lunch period to end already so you could escape—

“Maybe you two will end up seeing each other around,” Seokmin said, innocent to what was going on. Someone nudged your leg again under the table, and you shot a glare at Seungkwan as subtly as you could.

“Or maybe you could hang out!” Soonyoung offered.

“Sounds chill,” Hansol said, and you choked a little on your food, coughing into your fist. Someone kicked your foot under the table this time, and you could feel your face heating up as you sipped at your drink. Hansol leaned across the table a bit, eyebrows furrowed.

“You look kinda red, Y/N, are you feeling okay?” You nodded, still coughing a bit, and tried to smile at him. He pulled back, suddenly, glancing under the table.

“Did one of you just kick me?” He asked, and Seungkwan grinned apologetically.

“Sorry, it was an accident,” he said, looking meaningfully at you while Hansol was distracted. You tried your best not to look too hostile despite the fact you wanted to strangle half the people at the table.

You felt your phone buzz with a text, and glanced down to see you had a text from Jun telling you, essentially, that now was your chance. Despite the glare you tossed at him, you couldn’t help but blush when he wiggled his eyebrows at you. God, you hated everyone.

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Y/N?” Hansol asked, and Seungkwan was quick to chime in,

“Yeah, you look pretty flushed. Maybe Hansol should walk you to the nurse’s office—”

“No!” You yelped, louder than you meant to, shrinking back in your seat before continuing, “I’m fine, it’s just warm in here.” Seungkwan shrugged, but Hansol continued to look at you with concern etched across his features, and you wished the ground would just swallow you whole.

“Well, I’ll go outside with you, if you need some air,” he said, and you felt Chan’s foot edge against yours, nudging it so you foot lifted off the ground a bit.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“That’s probably a good idea, Y/N,” Jeonghan said, pouting slightly. “We don’t want you to get overheated in here.” Suddenly, Chan was on his feet and pulling your chair out for you, the scraping sound making you wince.

“I—”

“We’ll see you in class, Y/N!” Jun said as Chan gently pushed you away from the table, not even allowing you time to grab your backpack or the rest of your lunch. Hansol was standing too, though he looked a bit confused by the whole situation. Once the two of you had gotten far enough away from the table that they could no longer hear you, you sighed, running a hand through your hair.

“Sorry,” he said, and you jumped slightly, looking over to see Hansol nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I feel like I made things weird for you at lunch.”

“You didn’t,” you replied, probably too quickly, but you couldn’t bear to see the sad look on his face any longer. “They’re always like that, it’s fine."

The two of you walk past the buildings towards the front of the school, taking a seat on one of the wooden benches on the school lawn. You can’t help but notice your heartbeat slowing down the longer you’re with Hansol, slowly becoming more accustomed to his presence. Overall, he’s a very relaxing person, which you know is one of the things that drew you to him, deep down. You tilt your head back, taking in the sun, sighing contentedly.

“Hey, Y/N,” Hansol starts, and you hum in acknowledgment. “I know the guys were giving you a hard time, but… would you wanna hang out over break?”

You’re too startled to reply at first, first because he asked, and second because when you look at him he looks… nervous. You feel your heart start to flutter again, and Hansol leans back in his seat, fidgeting,

“If not, that’s fine, I just—”

“I’d love to,” you say, nudging him with your elbow. Hansol’s smile widens exponentially, showing off all his teeth and some of his gums, his eyes turning to crescents.

“Cool!” He says, and he looks as though he wants to say something else when the bell signaling the end of lunch rings. You shoot up off your seat, remembering you’d left your bag at the lunch table. Hansol stands up too, but you’ve already started away, calling your excuse over your shoulder.

“Just text me!” You say, and Hansol laughs, waving,

“See you around, Y/N.”

You turn around and run back into the building, missing the fond look on Hansol’s face as he watches you go.

Seungkwan may interrogate you immediately, but even that won’t take the smile off your face (that doesn’t mean you’re going to thank him or anything, though. He owes you lunch.)

[dumdeeedum]

And another thing! (Avengers: Endgame’s Steve Rogers Ending)

Most people treat Steve Rogers’ ending in “Avengers: Endgame” as a happy ending because they just look at it at face value as this aesthetically pleasing thing, it’s as simple as the image Steve finally getting his dance with Peggy with no words even spoken between the two before they kiss. Most people who enjoyed this ending don’t examine it at all, which is their prerogative, obviously, but I can’t see it the way they do, I don’t think we should see it the way they do, and that’s my prerogative. I’ve even seen people complaining that it was fine and that people shouldn’t delve too deeply into it even though some of us take characters being developed over the course of almost 10 years seriously because if there wasn’t going to be any payoff for character development then what’s the point of it? It’s natural for people to have expectations of good payoff for the good character development a writer or group of writers inserted into their own story and absolutely silly to suggest that people shouldn’t examine that, it just isn’t something an audience does with storytelling unless they’re watching something without taking it in at all. Is that the hope of writers and creators overall these days? That people don’t examine their work and simply praise them regardless of the choices they make? What’s the point of film as a storytelling medium if that’s the case? For the last 8 or so years I’ve had very few problems, if any, with Steve Roger’s character development. Steve Rogers was actually the best fleshed-out and consistent of the Avengers and this is why there were so many glaring issues for me when it came to this particular choice of ending for him. I’m going to number them in order to make them easier to read: 1) The issue of the movie’s own explanation of time-travel being deeply flawed to the point where some people felt the need to write articles attempting to explain it after the fact and many people still don’t seem to get it. Whether Steve traveling back in time created a new timeline or overrode his own is something that the writers and directors can’t even agree on and as such was never textually explained. We simply don’t know what Steve going back in time did, we don’t know what the implications of that choice were because they just didn’t explain it, and as a result this is a horrendously irresponsible and out of character decision on Steve’s part. Steve would not do this.

2) The issue of Steve going back in time with knowledge of the future and whether this guy whom “has to get involved when things go south”, according to the movie’s very writers, would be able to stay out of major world events and not change things exponentially for billions of people and whether that even matters within the confines of said time-travel rules.

3) The issue of what happened to the Steve of the timeline our Steve goes to whom is either still on ice or dead and, more importantly, what happened to his best friend whom Steve knows was being physically and psychologically tortured over the course of 70 years, these things are also not textually explained. 

4) The issue of whether Steve would even want to go back to a time so much worse than his current time-line in terms of social progress when he simply could have gone back a few years, spoken to a lucid but old Peggy, gotten her consent to be with him without any falsity on Steve’s part (because we don’t even know what he’s told her), faked her death and brought her back. They then could have used the de-aging technology they established exists within this very movie to de-age Peggy so that Peggy can keep being “Agent Carter’s” well-developed Peggy. That is, the Peggy we’ve come to know and love and not this nothing Peggy without even a line of dialogue.

5) The issue of erasing Peggy Carter’s character development, family, and friends altogether, including Angie whom she developed a close and important friendship with, whether you choose to see it as romantic or not. The Peggy of the end of “Avengers: Endgame” is not that Peggy and this new Peggy has been reduced to a prize for Steve, something he “deserves” because, according to too many people, he “deserves to be allowed to be selfish” and to steal her life for himself as a reward for helping to defeat Thanos in an entirely different time/place. No!

6) The issue of erasing the emotional development between Steve and his best friend, Bucky Barnes, and erasing Bucky’s meaning in Steve’s life by making it possible that Steve would choose to live in a world without Bucky, the man whom it’s strongly suggested basically carried Steve and cared for him throughout their childhood and into adulthood because Steve simply wasn’t in the position to solely take care of himself adequately, especially once his mother died. Because of the time period and Steve’s limitations based on his poor health and suggested poverty, and seeing as Bucky was always ready to jump into a fight to protect Steve from being hurt, it’s clear that the able-bodied Bucky helped him without any expectations of Steve because they strongly cared for one another, whether you choose to see them as romantically linked or not. In “The Winter Soldier” Steve even says to Natasha and Sam: “even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” this on top of numerous other instances throughout the Captain America films where Steve makes it clear that he would fight and die for Bucky, that he chose Bucky and would not see Bucky hurt any further because Bucky means that much to him. But we’re meant to believe that Steve would not only leave Bucky but leave Bucky in an ambiguous and potentially precarious mental state after decades of physical and psychological torture? That Steve would leave Bucky as another “man out of time” but in a much worse state than Steve was and alone? At this point he barely even knows Sam! No! Was this a tacked-on ending for the sake of the new Falcon and Winter Soldier tv series? I’d really love to know!

7) The issue of Steve severing ties with his new friends after almost a decade of friendship and camaraderie for a woman he knew a couple of years over a decade or more ago as of Steve waking up from the ice, through the Avengers timeline + the snap. Even after it was suggested numerous times that Steve was trying to move on from Peggy as Peggy herself suggested he do and make a life in the future for himself before she died, he suddenly drops the people whom have been important to him and whom fought by his side? And we know this was done, in part, because they couldn’t make Steve and Sharon work and because Chris Evans was leaving but it doesn’t make any sense! This choice is especially egregious when it comes to Steve abandoning his friend Sam Wilson, a man whom befriended and followed him, even helped him find Bucky. Sam, it’s strongly suggested (along with Natasha), is the one whom carries Steve and acts as a proverbial conduit to the modern world by introducing him to things to make him feel less overwhelmed and more comfortable and by making him feel cared for in his capacity as counselor for veterans and simply being there for him, again, whether you see their relationship as romantic or not. Steve coming back as an old man to make Sam the new Captain America doesn’t negate that Sam’s friend left Sam without even telling him, that’s fucked! 8) The issue of whether Steve was even in the right head-space to make a decision as enormous as simply staying in the past given that no one knows the implications of it, including the movie’s writers. What Thanos put the world through, the enormity of it, the psychological implications of the snap over the course of the 5 years before they got everyone back, the anxiety of getting the infinity stones and time jumping and the stakes involved, the horror of the battle against Thanos and losing important people during it, the fear of potentially seeing the people they just got back be erased again or worse, none of this had any impact on Steve’s psychological state in its aftermath? We just let this guy time jump on his own and then he just decides to stay in the past? Did he even think it through? I’ll be generous and say it was implied that Steve, at the very least, told Bucky he was staying, but should he have made a decision like that that soon after the whole infinity war like this? He spent time dealing with traumatized people as a counselor after the snap and saw Natasha fall apart before his eyes before she basically committed suicide, saw Tony sacrifice himself, and even after all that he doesn’t recognize that he perhaps needs some help, some time before he makes important decisions? None of these things were Steve for me, none. It’s as though Steve’s entire character arc was erased in the span of a few minutes at the end of “Avengers: Endgame,” snapped away as though the writers/directors had their own infinity gauntlet, and as someone who cares about that character it upsets me and I think I have every right to be upset. I simply don’t understand why the same people responsible for giving us such a great character would rip him away from us so cruelly like this, and for what? I can’t even think of why they’d do it because there really seems to be no good reason for it. Was it as simple as the studio stepping in and saying that whatever they did they had to leave Bucky out of it for the sake of the Falcon and Winter Soldier show? Was it an afterthought? I really don’t understand because even having taken Bucky with him wouldn’t solve most of the problems with that ending!

I really disliked the Steve Rogers at the end of “Avengers: Endgame” and that makes me sad and even this long after seeing the movie I’m just not over it. It’s hard going back and watching the previous “Captain America” movies with this ending for Steve Rogers being canon in mind. Sigh.

[eerythingisshaka]

Hey girl. I dunno if you’re raking requests or not but if you are could I request another Tchalla/Nakia fic where it’s post-snap and the snap is reversed so everyone comes back, and Tchalla and Nakia have this emotional reunion but the real reunion happens when they’re finally alone for the whole night? Thanks ma!

I do requests!  I just don’t advertise it, but I’ll consider any polite asks lol.  But here is a quick something for you.  The snap is still a fresh sore spot for me, so I hope you don’t mind I don’t get dirty in this one, but the love is there!

A King named Snapback

“SHIT!”  Okoye yells as she falls to on the sand pit in the lab.  M’Baku helps her up but she bats him away.

“I am fine.  But I lost sight of the fight.  Something severely damaged the remote aircraft.”  Okoye goes over to a window and looks outside.

“Maybe you should’ve gone with them up there in the atmosphere.”  M’Baku offers, joining her at the window.

“Tsk!  Shooting myself up into space in a manned aircraft that’s manufactured in a style we haven’t operated since the 90s?  Let them figure that one out, I am not turning myself into an asteroid for their cause.  They brought their problems here and didn’t even offer to replant the grass!”  Okoye rants.

M’Baku grips his staff in front of him purposefully.  “Your words sound familiar…like the ones of an estranged love…”

Okoye waves him off, looking further into the sky.  “If anyone should have been turned to dust, it should have been him!”

Footsteps approach behind them belonging to Nakia.  

“Okoye, what happened?  Is the fight over yet?”  

“Not yet.  The purple one was being bombarded until that gauntlet activated again and ruined our ship.  It is nearly destroyed, I just hope they can do it.”

Nakia crosses her arms, anxiously pacing the floor.  “Do you know if we can get another ship to them in time?  Maybe several!  Shuri’s notes should be around somewhere about it…”

M’Baku speaks up.  “We would not have time to do that, not for as long as Okoye was fighting in there.  It is a big mess, we are lucky to still be here as is.  If anything we must start to think about ourselves again and what this outcome means to our survival.”

“We’ve barely kept our head above water for this past year.  The tribes are still in shambles having their populations cut so dramatically and elders being replaced hastily.  Our vibranium deposits are lessened and our borders completely cut off from the rest of the world.  There is only so much more that we can do.”  Okoye rambles.

Nakia breathes out deeply.  “It has been too long.  We haven’t had a royal descendant head this nation since T’Challa and….Shuri were both….”  Nakia’s voice hitches on their words, beginning to tremble as it fades out.  The room fell silent between the three, all affected by power of Thanos and left to fend for themselves to piece back together some normalcy.  

The throne was not filled officially.  The remaining elders and shaman folk were at odds on how to replace T’Challa’s leadership so soon after regaining the throne from Erik.  The priority of their time and effort was spent on instead cleaning up the destruction left behind from the battle with the space creatures, and making sure their people still had the necessities to keep the country alive.

“So we will wait on updates regarding the others still fighting, but all we can do is pray that this will come to an end and go about our business here, as always.”  Nakia says softly.  She has been a strong backbone for everyone but it was not an easy load for her to carry. 

 With M’Baku’s and Okoye’s help, they had made great strides for Wakanda’s reconstruction, but when the business calmed down and she was left to her own mind, all she could think about was T’Challa and what he must be going through, if he was even still alive.  Okoye described to her what happened, but Nakia still couldn’t believe Bast would take him after all he had went through before.  

“Eh, what is that there?”  M’Baku points with his staff by the window.  Nakia and Okoye look out unsure.

“Is it one of those creatures with the blue blood?”  Okoye asks, preparing herself with her spear in hand.

Nakia holds a hand up for pause.  “No, it’s crawling slowly.  How would it get past the barriers?”

“I will go and look.  You both may join me if it’s your choice.”  M’Baku says before heading down to the flatlands to inspect the unknown intruder.  Nakia and Okoye can’t sit idly by and follow close behind.

Once they reach the clearing, the shape becomes more clear.  Clad in black, tightly fitting around their body.

“Bast!  Have the ancestors gifted us a miracle??”  Okoye asks, completely flabbergasted by what she is seeing.

“T’CHALLA!”  Nakia screams, running toward his body with all the speed she could muster.  She does a baseball slide next to him, running her hands along his back softly.

“T’Challa, speak to us.  Are you hurt?”  M’Baku kneels down and asks as Okoye and Nakia take their time to flip T’Challa over to face them.  His color is pale, and somewhat smaller framed, but alive and breathing.

Nakia feels for his pulse in his neck when his eyes begin to flutter open.  “Nakia…”

Nakia’s eyes blur from tears that she quickly tries to bat away.  “Yes, I am here with you.  Finally, you’re back!”

He strains to sit up, which Okoye scolds quickly.  “You stay there, kumkani.  I will call the Dora to-”

Her voice cuts off when she looks off across the clearing again.  People were beginning to show again.  Randomly generating back to the grounds, their bodies moved slowly but they were all alive and back home one by one.

“HAHA!! Wakanda is back!  My Jabari are coming home!”  M’Baku exclaims as he heads thru the crowd to claim some of his men.

Nakia hooks her arm through T’Challa’s to help bring him to standing.  “T’Challa, let’s get you to seek emergency care.”

“Where….Shuri.”  T’Challa asks gruffly before coughing up a storm.  Nakia looks at him with concern.  

“We haven’t seen her since you disappeared.”

“All is well!  Look who is back!”  Okoye gleams as M’Baku carries an exhausted Shuri in his arms.  

Nakia becomes overwhelmed with joy.  The pressures of the past year melt away in an instant as things appear to go back to normal again.  Hopefully the majority of folks were not permanently affected.

T’Challa looks up to see his sister.  “Shuri!”  

“She is going to be ok.  She is just as well as you are.”  M’Baku states as T’Challa looks her over in his arms.  

“I am assembling help to treat those coming back.  T’Challa and Shuri should go up to the lab for private exams.”  Okoye says.

“Do you need me on the ground here?”  Nakia asks.

“You go with T’Challa, I have this.  M’Baku, be careful with the princess.”  Okoye warns before heading  back to the crowd of unsnapped individuals.

In the lab, M’Baku sets Shuri down and wishes them well before returning to help the folks on the ground.  Nakia holds on to T’Challa’s hand as health technicians take his vitals and hook him up with patches and fast acting tablets to boost his nutrition and immunity levels.  T’Challa checks in with Nakia periodically.

“How were you?”  T’Challa asks sleepily.

“I am fine, it is you we need to think about right now.”  Nakia says.

“How were you?”  T’Challa asks again and Nakia finally gets it.  Her mouth quivers a bit as T’Challa squeezes her hand tightly.

“I managed.  This was exponentially worse than before when I…we thought I lost you.  Then, I still had everyone else I knew here with me to set me confidence in and plan for the future.  T’Challa, we not only lost you, but the princess and HALF of our people.  I have never seen the country so quiet and bleak.”  Nakia says shaking her head.

T’Challa’s hand reaches her cheek.  “Thank Bast it is over now.”

“How can you be sure of that?  What happened when you were gone?  Do you remember?”

T’Challa looks off into the distance going blank in the face.  “It was….dark.  Completely absent of light but the sounds I heard were loud, distorted and heinous.   I heard suffering and torture, but no one in sight so I was no help to them.  I swear I was on the brink of insanity, I called the ancestors as often as I could concentrate but it was the first time I truly felt forsaken.”  T’Challa’s jaw tightens thinking back to his predicament.

Nakia swallows the rock in her throat, fighting back her emotions as much as she could.  “I couldn’t help you this time.  There was no way any of us could help you.  I’m so sorry T’Challa.”

He shakes his head lightly and tuts at Nakia.  “Do not do that.  You are not to blame for any of this.  You did exactly what I needed you to do.  Keep calm, and take care of Wakanda.”

“You are Wakanda to me.  Without you, after everything that has happened…I can’t lose you again T’Challa.”  Nakia whimpers, holding her face in her hands and getting up.  As she walks away a group of shaman elders come, adorned in their purple garments.

“Kumkani, we must bring you to the garden area to restore you.”  One says as two help him up on either side of him.

“Nakia, wait.”  T’Challa calls after her.

Nakia stops but doesn’t turn around.  “I am not use to this, T’Challa.  I need a moment to process you being back and knowing this isn’t a dream, but you better go and build back your strength.  I won’t tell you twice.”  Nakia warns him before walking out.  

T’Challa lays back on his exam bed thoughtfully.  He sees where Nakia is coming from, but is she ready to see for herself?

“Get him out of my lab so I can properly rest.”Shuri groans drowsily in her canopy off to the side.  

T’Challa smirks at her small frame bundled up in border tribe blankets.  “Rest well, sister.”

Later that evening, Nakia sits in the royal chambers staring out of an opening in the room overseeing the landscape of Wakanda.  More lights were shone in the buildings and streets than there had been for a while.  She breathed in deeply the night air, peacefully coming back to the idea of normal.

The bed shifts beside her as she turns to see T’Challa joining beside her.

“Are you well?”  Nakia asks in a flat tone.

T’Challa leans his elbows in his knees looking out in the same direction as she is.  “I am.  I needed some time with my father again in the ancestral plane, and the elders cooked a good meal to bring back my strength.  I was hoping to see you there at dinner as well.”  

Nakai can feel T’Challa’s eyes on her but she would not meet his gaze.  “I know but, I was not ready.  It’s just…so soon.”

“Do you wish I was gone for longer?”  T’Challa asks with a smile in his voice.

“Don’t joke like that!”  Nakia hisses, tensing up.  “Everyone was gone, so many things we had to start from scratch.  The vibranium mines are backed up with materials, the river irrigation system is only partly functioning.  I have so much to consider-”

“Nakia.”  T’Challa says with soft command, grabbing her wrist to bring her hand into his gently.  Her eyes fall to his action, falling silent from her rambling.

“Nakia, you have done exactly what you always do: take charge and lead others.”

“No.  I watch out for myself.  As a spy, I am on solo missions all the time, I work well alone.  There’s no one else to look after and depend on, it’s easier that way.”

“You aren’t selfish, Nakia.  You’re the least selfish individual I know.  You are very important and have been for a long time.”

“I know, that is why I am a War Dog and representative for my tribe.”  Nakia says matter-of-factly.

T’Challa runs his fingers along her knuckles carefully, drawing small circles on her skin.  “I do not mean you are important to only the country, Nakia.  You are important to me.  You have saved my life twice now.”

“I did not this time, that’s what I’m saying!”  Nakia says.

“You did.  With the time you spent here.  You stayed, you didn’t give up despite my absence.”

“I couldn’t make myself believe you were dead.”  Nakia whispers, looking into his eyes tearfully.  

“I never was.  Neither time was I, and you pushed on.”

Nakia found it hard to shake her feeling of uncertainty.  “T’Challa, how do we do this?”

T’Challa sighs deeply.  “With patience, faith.”

Nakia bites her lip, resting her head on T’Challa’s shoulder.  “And if you leave again, what should I do?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.  I never go very far.”  T’Challa says, wrapping his arm around her.  Their bodies soften into one another.

“I know, I just never expected to have to worry about your death so soon.  And back to back at that, tsk.”

“You have much more willpower than I could imagine having inside of me.  You do not give up, therefore I do not give up.  You are the spirit I carry in my heart to keep going.  How can I fail?”

Nakia give T’Challa a small smile, reaching for the back of his neck, giving it a light massage.  “When you fight, I will fight twice as hard.”

T’Challa yawns stretching dramatically.  “Then you must be very tired, fighting with me all day is exhausting.”

“We are not fighting!  I love you too much too much lay a hand on you.”  T’Challa pauses, only smiling for a few seconds, making Nakia nervous.  “What?”

“You love me, you say?”  T’Challa questions.  

“That is no secret, T’Challa.”  Nakia answers.

“No and I love you too.”  T’Challa says, leaning in to softly kiss Nakia’s lips.  Nakia feels herself shake a little, overwhelmed by his gentle touch.  She dreamed many nights for this day to come, and if this happened to be another one, she prayed she never awaken again.

“…but I don’t love you too much to keep my hands off of you.”  T’Challa quips, feeling along her thighs, through a slit in her dress.

Nakia’s hands snake around his neck, filled with bliss.  “Don’t you dare take them away.”

[evenstevensranked]

#5: Season 3, Episode 1 - “The Kiss”

Season 3 begins with a bang -- bringing us one of the best, most memorable episodes the show has ever produced! Louis and Tawny accidentally kiss at lunch and the two decide to start dating!!! AHHHH! Everything's great until Tawny has to kiss Zack Estrada (yes, the saga continues once again) in the school play. The subplot is all about Donnie, who feels like a broken human because he never cries.

This is it, guys. The Top 5. The home stretch. The crème de la crème. Let’s go. 

This episode was a really big moment in my childhood. I was going through some old VHS tapes I found not too long ago, and came across one with this episode on it! That’s how you know it was a major deal. The first minute or so was cut off on the recording, and this was before all of our TVs had in-depth guides at our fingertips -- so I had no idea what episode was going to be airing. All I knew was “Even Stevens is up next!” So as soon as I saw it was the kiss episode, I popped in that tape and recorded this thing ASAP. I was a tweenage hopeless romantic with a crush on Shia LaBeouf. Of course I had to record the episode where Louis gets a girlfriend. 

It opens with Louis and Tawny at lunch together being adorable, trading snacks and sides until each of their lunches are completely different from what they started with. When suddenly, Tawny ~gets something in her eye.~ The oldest cliché in the book! I love it. Louis gets reaaal close to Tawny and goes diggin’ for gold in her eye, eventually identifying the “thing” as a soy cookie crumb. That’s when some person bumps into Louis and thankfully Tawny’s lips are there to break his fall.

The two are in absolute stunned silence once they break apart. It was a magical moment, clearly, as you can see. Ren interrupts their mutual daze by walking over with Zack Estrada and Tom in tow, reminding Tawny that she has a fitting for the school play. This does a hard cut to Louis’ room after school that day. Twitty dramatically spits out his drink when he hears the news: “DUDE! THIS IS HUGE YOU KISSED TAWNY?!?!” 

I’ve mentioned before that Even Stevens comes across as more of a ~bro show~ in comparison to the majority of Disney Channel shows which typically follow a teen girl as the lead. This is why I love rare moments like this scene between Louis and Twitty. Two guy best friends freaking out about one of them kissing a girl for the first time. I feel like we never see this on Disney Channel anymore. It feels so real and genuine too, especially for these characters. Louis isn’t entirely sure if it counts as a kiss though, so Twitty demands to get the facts straight. (“Kissing is like basketball, either the ball went in the hoop or it didn’t!”) He asks Louis how long he kissed her for and Louis guesses it was a “one-Mississippi” length. Twitty rejoices. 

“SWISH, DUDE! You kissed her!”

Louis is elated. Both of them agree that Louis + Tawny = Beautiful. (Can’t argue there!) So much so, that Louis starts to skip around with happiness. One of my favorite parts of the whole episode is here, when Louis takes a moment to think about how Tawny might be feeling. He has a mental breakdown when he realizes “Wait, whoa. There she was... Eating her lunch... and I, like... JUMPED on her! For all I know, Tawny’s disgusted by me!” Louis Stevens is the kind of guy we all deserve. I know it’s such a small thing, but it’s something that has aged amazingly. This line stood out like a sore thumb to me given today’s political climate and the Me Too era. I’ve said a million times that this show has aged super gracefully because it really has. It’s not entirely perfect though. No show is without its blemishes. There are some things we haven’t made it to yet in the countdown that have definitely not aged very well, but we’ll get to that later. Let’s just say, this one little line shows that Louis has grown exponentially as not only a character, but a guy in general, and sets a good example. Twitty vows to go on a “fact-finding mission” for Louis to figure out how Tawny feels about the situation. 

Tawny is still back at school rehearsing for the play which was written by... you guessed it! REN STEVENS! This woman does everything. How does anyone else even have a job at LJH? Ren is in charge of everything ever. Ren’s brilliant and totally not boring play is about Abigail Adams, played by Tawny, and her relationship with John Adams, played by none other than Zack Estrada! Knowing these characters and their history, it’s clear that Zack is still into Tawny to some degree. Coach Tugnut is there because they apparently pay him $92 to be the theater advisor. I love how specific that amount is, lol. He has no problem telling Ren that her play is a pile of trash and needs to be spiced up if she wants to sell any tickets.

I love how Tom is playing the “lowly manservant.” He’s ridiculously dedicated to staying in character at all times throughout the episode. Tom’s the best. Tawny’s pattern mixing though. A plaid dress with red and black striped tights and Docs? She was so ~alternative.~ I love it. 

Zack is trying to ask Tawny out for a root beer when Twitty crashes the rehearsal and not so subtly tries to ask Tawny about the kiss, skirting around the issue by nervously asking stupid questions instead like “where are your parents from originally?” But of course, Tawny is freaking awesome and has no time for anyone's bs as usual. She literally says “I’m gonna stop you. Because eventually, you’re going to ask me about the kiss Louis gave me today at lunch. If he wants to talk to me about it, he can talk to me without your help. Tell him to meet me at his locker 10 minutes before first period,” YAAAASSSSSS! TAWNY IS NO NONSENSE AND ONE OF THE GREATEST FEMALE CHARACTERS ON DISNEY. Praise. 

The next morning Louis is waiting for Tawny at his locker and you’ve undoubtedly seen this screenshot of when he notices her walking his way: 

Smooth. For whatever reason this is one of the main images that comes up as a “Louis Stevens” search result, therefore nearly every single nostalgia article uses it. It’s kind of annoying. 

Louis and Tawny have a preciously awkward conversation, talking about how they both couldn’t sleep because they were up thinking about what happened. They’re also sort of skirting around the issue until Tawny puts her foot down once again: “Look, Louis, I like you. I always have. Since the first day I met you.” I am melting. Louis is so freaking happy and says “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?! WE COULD’A BEEN KISSIN’ UP A STORM!!!” Oh, wow. They immediately start dating and I’m a puddle of goo. Also, this happens. Which... yeah, lol. 95k notes. Wow. 

The first gif tho. Louis when Tawny was saying “I like you.” HOW GENUINE IS THAT FACE?! Shia won an Emmy for this so there is justice in the world. But yeah. They are so pure. :’)

This leads into a montage that spans possibly 3 days or so, showing us Louis and Tawny interacting as a couple. I hate that this is all we get. They should’ve stretched this montage into 3 episodes instead tbh. I live for this crap. 

“Hey, babe. Want some celery?” 

“Only 15 more hours ‘til I see you!” 

"Thanks for walking me to rehearsal.” “Oh, anything for my beautiful lady.” 

QUALITY CONTENT. Also, gotta love how polite Louis is being by wearing that hideous sweater Tawny knit for him. 

I love this episode because we get to see actual ~Boyfriend Louis~ for the first and pretty much only time, and man is it something. Once again this show nails the awkwardness of Junior High relationships. It’s so intense when you’re 14, right?! There’s no such thing as casually dating. You have to be all in, 24/7. It takes over your life because you’re not really equipped to mentally handle a serious relationship at 14. This is why I never get tired of watching TV teen relationships. They’re always endlessly entertaining to me. 

After watching a cheesy 1940s “Casablanca” knock-off romance movie with the fam, Ren realizes the “spice” her play needs is the passion of two people in love. She rewrites the play to make it more exciting and even adds in a passionate kiss between Abigail and John... a.k.a. Zack and Tawny... for the big finale. UH-OH! We’re introduced to Donnie’s little subplot there because Steve, Eileen, and even Beans -- bawled their eyes out at the movie but all Donnie could do was burp after stuffing his face through the whole thing. He starts to question “what’s wrong with me?!” because he felt no emotion whatsoever.  

Ren announces the script changes at the rehearsal Louis walked Tawny to a few screenshots above. Coach Tugnut observes Louis and Tawny’s obvious couple-y vibe and tells Louis “First girlfriend? Get ready for a lifetime of pain.” Oh, god. That’s the last thing you should tell Louis Stevens. He starts freaking out and it only gets worse when he hears Ren tell everyone about the addition of the big kiss and Zack cheers “YEEEEEAHHHH!!!!!! *transitions into a cough to cover his excitement*” Because as I mentioned, it’s clear that he’s still into Tawny. I feel like if it was anyone other than Zack, Louis might be okay with the kiss. There’s just something about this guy that he absolutely cannot deal with. We first saw Louis' jealousy over Zack and Tawny way back in Season 1 with "Easy Way" and then "Strictly Ballroom." We also see Louis become super jealous over Twitty's friendship with Zack towards the end of the series. Also... I swear, I did not plan for 3 out of 4 episodes in The Zack Estrada Saga to end up in the Top 10 and be counted down in serial order. Pretty cool that it worked out that way though, haha.

Louis feels that Ren’s rewrite is “too predictable” so he decides to write his own ending for the play and presents it to Ren at home that night. He envisions the story concluding with Abigail running to her husband and giving him a haircut. HAHAHA! Anything but a kiss! “I’ve never seen it before!” he says. Welp, he’s definitely right about his idea being unpredictable! lol. Imagine?! Of course, Ren can tell that Louis is actually just freaking out about Zack kissing Tawny and Louis is like “Are you trying to embarrass me in front of the whole school?!” -- But, would it really be that bad though? Would people taunt him like “lol ur girlfriend kissed another guy” or something? Because, like... It’s just a play. But then again, it is middle school. So. 

Louis is super down about the whole thing and Tawny finds him sulking on a bench the next day. She’s all “Hey, Cutie Pants! I’ve been looking all over for you!” -- ‘Cutie Pants’ is a little too far, lol. She brought Louis her “Tater Slabs,” which he declines. Side note: Are those supposed to be a form of Tater Tots? Because I feel like Disney Channel has a million different names for Tater Tots. They call them Tater Slabs here. These days, they’re calling them Baby Taters on Andi Mack. It’s just a constant reminder that “Tater Tots” is a registered trademark that Disney can’t say without coughing up the cash, lol.

Tawny asks Louis if something’s the matter and he’s like “I think you should quit the play” and pulls a bunch of bogus excuses out of his butt as for why. Tawny being Tawny cuts right to the chase: “Does this have anything to do with me kissing Zack?” I love this bit. She reassures him that all they’re doing is acting, it’s not real -- and there’s only one person she really wants to kiss. She asks Louis to promise he’ll be okay with it and Louis’ response of “Alright. I promise,” is the softest, most sincere thing I’ve ever heard this character say. It warms my heart every time. Tawny heads off to rehearsal and Louis is feeling prett-ay swaggy knowing he’s ~the only man in Tawny’s life~

I CAN’T DEAL WITH THIS. I also never knew what he was saying here, but I think I just realized he’s mouthing to himself “I’m the only one she really wants to kiss” 

Louis was just accepting the fact that it’s ONLY ACTING until he sees the newly unveiled poster for the play that features a cozy picture from dress rehearsal. 

CUT TO THE PLAY! It starts with a bit where Tawny/Abigail calls Tom’s character Renee “a loyal and faithful manservant.” Tom originally had a speech, but Ren cut it in her rewrite. So he milks his time on stage by saying “Thank you, thank you, thank you” repeatedly to Abigail. It’s great. Tawny and Zack are up there acting really well together! Louis’ whole family is whispering about how great their chemistry is and Louis is quaking. 

One of John’s lines in the play is that he will think of Abigail “on two occasions... when my eyes are open, and when they are closed,” -- Is that a Babyface reference?! HAHA. Louis can’t take it anymore so he goes running backstage and I’m not sure what he was planning to do, but he ends up going completely insane. He somehow managed to steal Tom’s costume right off his back and goes running on stage demanding for John to leave before kissing his wife goodbye. It’s so cringeworthy. I can’t help but laugh though when Louis says “You must come with me at once! You gotta send her a postcard, email, or something! We gotta miss rush-hour traffic!” LOL. 

Ren: “How did Louis get your clothes?!”

Tom: “He can be very persuasive...” 

What could Louis possibly have said to get Tom to strip?! Omg. 

Tom goes running on stage like ^ that in an attempt to save the play somehow and says “Excuse the undergarments, m’lady! I was under the cherry tree napping!” which was always one of my mom’s favorite lines, haha. Tom tries to drag Louis off stage but the entire play officially goes down in flames when Louis starts fighting Tom off of him. He goes rollin’ all over the stage, knocking down everything in his path -- completely ruining the set. It’s funny, but I also feel so bad for Tawny. Ugh. 

After Louis destroys the whole shebang, he tries to play it off by doing this... which is truly hilarious: 

Louis meets up with Tawny outside after the play and the two have such a dramatic conversation. I love it. Louis apologizes: “You gotta understand... I tried to be mature and cool. And the next thing I know, I’m up on stage wearing Tom’s pants! I’m really sorry.” It’s way more sincere than it sounds. Louis decides that he’s not ready for a relationship. This is actually such great character development for him. Interestingly, he’s mature enough to realize he’s NOT mature enough to seriously date someone. As upsetting and frustrating as it is to see the two break up, it’s also really satisfying to see him own up to his immaturity. This creates a true arc for when they finally get together in the series finale. It feels earned. Like they’re actually ready that time around. They decide to go back to being just friends for the time being. Before they part ways, however, Louis decides to leave Tawny with a super suave kiss?! What the heck?!

This was the biggest kiss of my entire childhood between two TV characters aside from Lizzie and Gordo at the end of The Lizzie McGuire Movie tbh. Everyone was expecting that Lizzie/Gordo kiss though. THIS one was outta left field here! This is so weird to me! He’s super smooth with Beans’ cousin later on and here he’s kissin’ Tawny like a pro. Idk, man. 

The episode ends with Donnie finally crying over that Babyface lyric: “When his eyes are open, and when his eyes are closed......... THAT’S ALL THE TIME!”

And that’s it! 

Gaaad, this episode is a classic. Like I said, it was a pretty big deal for 10 year old me, let me tell ya! I feel like it’s definitely one of the most memorable episodes ever. Not to mention, it technically has 3 plots (Louis/Tawny, Ren writing the play, and Donnie) and ALL OF THEM ARE INTERTWINED FLAWLESSLY! I gotta commend that. The only department I’d say this episode is lacking in is quotable dialogue. But that’s it really! It checks every box for me otherwise! This episode and the finale probably had a lot to do with Season 3 being my favorite as a kid, haha. 

What are your thoughts on this wonderful season opener?! Please add to the conversation via Disqus belowwww!

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[unproduciblesmackdown]

tfw hating life enough for a reeadmooore

‪yesterday afternoon i’d blocked out 3 pgs in my sketchbook & by that night i was thinking like well i’m so close to finished the sketchbook finally (ive been using it about a yr and a half by now) that i could just stop drawing when i hit the end there‬

but i’d mentioned the impending end of my sketchbook space a friend is already in the process of sending over some they havent ever used so that will at least mean if i stop drawing it’ll just have to be because i want to lol

like in this case it’s special b/c of course i’ve had periods where i’m like smh what if i just don’t draw anymore, but that’s tended to be about being frustrated w some element or other of it all. this time it was mostly just that every day of my life i have a tiny bit less motivation or energy or etc. yesterday i was thinking all day about offing myself, which i’d done the day before, and done today too

like, it’s nothing new, i’ve been hating being alive and wanting to kms and only moving in the direction of less disappointment to more disappointment and having to care less about things i previously cared about because for one reason or another things get to a point where it only adds frustration to my life anymore

but despite depression and wanting to die and life being miserble all being Not New, that doesn’t mean that it doesnt matter anymore, because after day after day after day after day after day of it for years and years, you’re in a worse place than you were a while back, even if you do feel the same. even a single day of wishing you were dead the whole time is shitty enough. feeling overall like even if you’re in a good mood now, you know your life is trash and you’re going to go back to feeling bad soon, is also shitty enough

like the thing that drawing had going for me is that, like reading and writing sometimes and even some other shit, it’s something i like to do. i do it for myself, really. but it helps that its the way i trick ppl into being here in the first place to see anything i’m talking about. i have really crap appeal. i mean i’m bad at being appealing thru shit i draw, but it’s still way more of something anybody wants vs like five yrs worth of my text posts. like...i have over 10x more followers than i did on a blog where i rarely drew anything ever

but anyways despite me drawing b/c i enjoy it, i enjoy enjoying things less. always in the middle of that “loss of interest in pleasure” life lol.......it doesn’t really matter how long i do or don’t keep drawing, b/c i mean, it doesn’t much matter to me whether i’m having fun or not. i can be enjoying drawing and still wanting to die, because that’s whats happening lol.....nothing that’s a personal factor of my life is all that important to me, because my personal existence is not that important to the person living it

also it sure hasnt helped that my sense of things like whether my life can get better or i’ll have the opportunity to pursue my nonexistent dreams or live an ideal version of my life that also doesn’t exist are all at all-time lows and only just getting lower day by week by month by year. the only way i can even look at cheering myself up is from a day-to-day perspective. and i can have a slightly more fun day than usual and then be extra down on the very next day b/c of how being a bit less numb means you’re crap-feeling emotions are now game too. and i’m very aware of how, if you’re not in a position that insulates you enough, if things get worse for you, that makes “things getting worse for you” more likely, and it’s an exponential drop that gets harder and harder to climb out of, and even if you move back up a notch out of good luck, you’re still just as likely to be knocked back down to where you were. the odds of me suddenly not only not fucking hating being alive but also having a life that doesnt fucking make me hate being alive? that’s a funny joke

‪also it’s frustrating that whether i feel good or miserable on any given day only really exists if i say something about it in a post like this lol... like i might feel awful one day but if i dont have it in me to spend ages writing about it, which is difficult also b/c putting feelings into words where ppl will only fully Get It if they’ve felt that way too, anyways if i dont write about how shitty i feel and post it then maybe later on when i’m feeling a little better or feeling a different kind of shitty, i also won’t be interested in being like “oh btw i felt awful the other day.” and if i don’t mention it, as far as everyone in the world knows, it was never a thing that happened, so it might as well not have. i mean, as a person i might as well not be happening, especially since i don’t want me to be happening lol‬

and like i was saying to someone the other day, its a lot harder via text to talk about shit b/c like, if you’re with a friend in person, you can talk abt boring or silly things and its easy and makes a good conversation. whereas talking via twitter means it would be clunky and time consuming to layout exactly had empty and depressing my existence is, and silly shit isn’t even worth the energy when you’re having a convo w lengthy gaps in it, so you can only really talk about the broadest, most interesting shit. which i don’t have much of, oh well

i do like talking and talking to people actually, it’s just rough when it’s all a few ppl online, even though i alsp extremely appreciate those people and enjoy the talking. it’s like, chatting to ppl online is like a piece of chocolate cake. it’s delicious and you love it, but it would be amazing if it was the extra bonus on top of getting solid meals every day, instead of it being the only thing you have to eat and you get it maybe once or twice a week and it’s still wonderful and is all the more valuable for it, but it isnt the same as getting enough to eat always, or Knowing you’ll keep getting enough to eat

anyways my social life is always its own special kind of depressing, even when i AM in the same place as friends. you’d have a hard time finding a situation where the concept of What I Have To Say seems interesting or even relevant to other ppl. and im not sure i’ve ever been in groups where i feel totally comfortable with everyone there and don’t feel out of place. so talking about the idea of knowing you always have access to someone to talk to or be with in person or having friends who you know you can hang out with and they actually like you and you still expect to have them a few yrs down the road—all that’s always been a “well, in theory i mean” or “at least, i imagine it would be like that” issue for me

tbh i generally feel the most comfortable enjoying myself when i do something alone; maybe it’s because i have more experience of ppl im around treating me really shittily than treating me well

ohhhhhh wellllllllllllllll what else do i have to talk about. hmmm the fact that feeling like i wanna die only seems to be regarded as an issue of “well are you gonna or not,” aka if you havent its a Victory and a happy situation instead of it being a matter of EVERY DAY I’M A CONSCIOUS ORGANISM I WISH I WAS DEAD AND MY EXISTENCE HAS BEEN HEADED IN THAT DIRECTION FOR AT LEAST THE LAST HALF OF IT

like how heartwarming that i’ve been actively suicidal for how many years? 6? 8? but i havent yet!! i always want to but just never get around to it and so this time for sure lol no more fooling around!! oh dammit and there goes another birthday still alive. like this is some elusive new years resolution or novel i mean to write.

funny i mention it because there’s practically nothing anymore that i want to do. even if i THOUGHT my life would ever become okay, i want fuckall out of it. i only exist, baby............and it’s like i said earlier, whenever i try to come up with a sad amount of potential motivations NOT to die, i have to realize that none of the shit is actually for me, or directly about me, or centered on me. like, this shit lost its charm ages ago.

well anyways. i suppose thats all i can think to say now. and it doesn’t make a difference whether i talk about my shitass existence and how crap i feel or not. it just gives the chance for a bit of it to exist in the world via a few other ppl being aware of it for a few minutes maybe, because who DOESNT want to thoroughly read a shit essay by some random weirdo about how everything sucks. the end