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bilboyagathechickenfootedhobbit · 4 months ago

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I am 42 years old and it literally took until I turned 40 to really and truly detox and reprogram my brain from the anorexic brainwashing I was subjected to in the 90’s. I think it may be hard sometimes for younger feminists to understand why older women can be so powerful in some ways and then fall back to “oooh, don’t call me ma’am it makes me feel so OLD! I don’t look that old do I???” The 1990’s were……ugly. Granted, some of the things younger women have to deal with today make me see red and want to go on a killing spree, but every era has its own challenges and for us in the 90’s it was heroin chic and skewed views of age. We were constantly bombarded with images of soaking wet, skeletal models and told that was the pinnacle of beauty. Then we would consume media in which a woman only a few years older than us would be playing a MOTHER to a male actor five years her senior. My god, the way the media ripped apart Renee Zellwegger for being “fat” in Bridget Jones Diary probably caused more cases of eating disorders than any other movie that came out in the 90’s.

The 90’s were the beginning of people having next to no idea what a normal woman looks like. People gasp when I tell them my age and remark how I don’t LOOK 42! I do. I very much look my age and I fucking LOVE IT because god DAMN have I EARNED this face and body with four decades of living. But nobody knows anymore what natural 42 looks like because we’ve had women in their 30’s playing grandmothers and women in their 20’s being the love interest to men in their 70’s and nobody knows what any age looks like anymore and we all seem to assume that women immediately dry up and become bitter old hags the second they turn 30. I honestly think that’s why people are shocked by my appearance; they truly think that by now, I should be wrinkled with paper thin skin and liver spots. Which, if things go well, I will be one day. Fingers crossed.

The point being, when you are raised in an era of body positivity (however poorly executed and imperfect as it may be at times), you have a lot less to unlearn than someone who was raised being told “90 lbs is fucking fat and disgusting and you’re an embarrassment.” No, seriously, go watch some Americas Next Top Model or The Biggest Loser if you want to see what my generation had to work to undo. It’s a LOT. And even the strongest, most empowered women I know will default to self-deprecation or insecurity because it’s what we’ve known for LITERALLY FOUR DECADES.

And I hate it. I hate it so much. I have seen so many of my female peers go through so much and come out so strong and then they just…..pinch their belly and say they need to drop another ten pounds. WHY??? TAKE UP THAT SPACE WITH YOUR STRONG AND CAPABLE BODY, BABE.

My own mother, in the last months of her life, suffering from dementia…..all she could focus on was how fat she was. This was a woman who taught generations, who opened people’s minds and worldviews, who traveled the world and raised two kids and impacted so many lives in so many ways, and all she could focus on as her mind went was how fat she was. It was so deeply ingrained in her to criticize her appearance that, even after she forgot my name and who I was, even after she forgot her own name and who she was…..she remembered that she was supposed to hate her own body.

I see photographers doing photoshoots with older women to help them see their innate beauty and I really appreciate that. I befriend grandmas quite a bit, and always make a point to tell the older women in my life how much I appreciate and value their friendship and wisdom. I think older women just sometimes need to be reminded of how much they mean to us, how so many of us look to them for inspiration and advice. As I’ve gotten older, I have basically become invisible, which to me is fucking fantastic, but I can see how, with women who have always placed their value on what others think of them, the invisible nature of getting older is quite the slap to the face. How can you gain approval if you’ve always looked outward for it and now nobody sees you?

I don’t really know where I’m going with this other than to say, I’m sorry. I wish you had more body neutral older women around. I wish it wasn’t considered radical for women to simply respect their bodies for what they do and not get hung up on the minutia of appearance. I wish it hadn’t taken me until 40 to look at my body and go ‘okay really, this time I mean it. I’m fine with you. We’re good.’ I wish every generation of women didn’t have to face some new form of fuckery concerning our vessels.

But also…..there are body neutral/positive older women out there. I’m one of them. I don’t always love my body but I accept it and what it does and offer it the same compassion and grace it gives me. Why would I hate the vessel that allows me to paint, to eat, to hug my child, to kiss my loved ones? Why would I hate my age? I lived every moment of my life that got me to this point, for better or for worse, so why deny the years that brought me here? They were good years. There were bad ones, too, but they only seemed bad in comparison to the good ones. Yin and yang, baby. Can’t taste the sweet as strongly without experiencing the sour.

You have such compassion in your words; I hope you carry it with you through whatever life brings you. It’s so easy to be angry, but it’s much harder to look past your frustrations and feel compassion for the people angering you. You have shown that in your words and that alone will help the women around you. Just keep at it ❤️

So sick and tired of the focus on women's ""beauty"". Older women seem to be more focused on looking "young" than they do being healthy. Skincare isn't by itself terrible, but it's often used as a proxy to the same problem and is just as much of an industry. Why is the focus on the "beauty" of my skin? I know more about how to take care of my female body at 20 than many older women do. I know more about my cycle and how my body functions. My skin is not the most important part, especially if it's not getting in my way or hurting me. The focus is always cosmetic. As usual.

It's just depressing to see, because I respect the wisdom of my older women; but I almost find myself (a bit unfairly) wanting to turn them to my side. My teacher (and friend!), one of the most bright and incredible women I know, often complaining in jokes about her weight. So many of my male teachers have been overweight. Not a single one has shown this behavior. My therapist, another brilliant and diligent woman, telling me not to make her feel even older and worrying about her age, just because I asked her how I should address her. This isn't uncommon, it's baseline. I've never met a woman who doesn't mention some form of this when I ask. It's discouraging. There's nothing more flourishing than having people to look up to who are unapologetic about their age, who focus on living healthy and productive lives, and these women are, by all means, so close to that! They're successful, they're brilliant, they're free, and yes, they are perfectly, physically fine! But for some reason, it always needs to come back to their ""looks"", or their age, or some other socially imposed insecurity I've never seen many men blink at to the sheer scope these women do. And I've had so many women in my life like this. My mother, my other therapists... No offense to her, but my sister doesn't even like the *idea* of being called Señora and I think it's telling how much women seem to despise it, while Señor is almost coveted.

This is not normal. This is not fine. And it shouldn't be radicalizing of me, or "feminist", to just want to live a normal life where I can be myself without making a statement, where I'm not afraid of just becoming older and looking it. Where every amazing woman in my life isn't cutting herself down over the stupidest (and I'm sorry for saying that, I know their insecurities have a reason) reasons. So many skilled women I've met, and not a single one hasn't made repeated or offhanded comments about some aspect of her body that's not "attractive."

It's so discouraging, and makes me feel so alone; as if I'm very radical just to expect them to respect themselves on a deeper level. I want older women to be my role models in more manners of self-acceptance too.

#you can call me ma’am #just not m’lady #honestly call me whatever #I am so beyond caring what anyone calls me #feminism #long response

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shoichee · 4 years ago

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ALSO CAN I ASK FOR SOME RANDOM GOM HCS U HAVE? like just random ones u have or if u want like some toxic hcs abt them :D

I’m assuming that I can include their negative traits of their personalities as well 👀 Also including Momoi in this… lots of analyzing for this hc, so I used my brain here pls appreciate AGAIN these are all headcanons/interpretations of possible toxic hcs about them and only a few are canon

[Headcanons]

Kuroko Tetsuya

Kuroko is the hardest person to find a “negative/toxic” trait in, and it doesn’t seem like he has any

kind, understanding, hardworking, and compassionate; he’s everything a good-natured protagonist is

but he’s only like this to people/hobbies he cares about/close with; anything else he’s quite apathetic and also very passive/neutral about

the biggest hint to this is when Akashi criticizes Kuroko for cherry-picking who the GoMs should “go all out against” and who to casually toy with

and Akashi is absolutely correct

most of the series is portrayed through Kuroko’s perspective, and Akashi is the first direct outside perspective who comments on his actions/attitude

it’s obviously not that Kuroko didn’t “notice”... he clearly sees and knows what these GoMs are doing; after all, he had a conversation with Aomine about how observant he is to everything around him

of course, if you were close to him, all your opinions and issues matter to him

it’s the fact that what’s not really important to him is suddenly now important just because someone he knows is involved

just an example: if someone was advocating climate change, he has no opinion on it until someone he knows cares about the issue

in other words, he has a subtle hypocritical view on things, especially when he interacts with others

another clear negative trait could be that he’s too idealistic or perhaps naive, seeing things in a clear black-or-white picture and not necessarily a gray area

WE know, as an audience, that the GoMs honestly needed therapy and a proper adult to guide their out-of-control talents

but Kuroko, in his eyes, had viewed them as “bad” and “evil” in their ways of basketball until they changed after their respective matches

he’s probably someone who doesn’t yield to other opinions once he forms his own, and this may make him unable to consider things in other people’s perspectives

which is again, ironic: someone who doesn’t have generally a strong stance but once they do, it’s very unyielding, which further proves Akashi’s comment about Kuroko’s tendency to nitpick which to care about

a final hc about a potential flaw he might have here in a different ask!

Kise Ryota

y’all… it’s as canon as day that he has a mean side

straight from the author himself, it’s confirmed that Kise is only kind to those who he respects, and to the rest, he’s cold-hearted

in the manga, it’s very clear that he’s super judgmental on every first impression on people he meets, boxing them into categories based on the way they look, act, and speak

only when they surpass his preset expectations (low or high depends on his preliminary judgments of them) is when he opens his mind to the rest of their personality

this is a very close-minded way of thinking, and I hope I don’t need to explain why LOL

this can be interpreted as him being two-faced by the majority of the people in his school

his way of speaking can definitely be very cruel and crass, and to sensitive people, his words can easily shatter hearts

Kise’s negative/toxic traits are pretty straightforward here, so let’s move on

Midorima Shintarou

his harsh words can be considered a “negative” part of his personality, but I think it’s a lot more than just that

it’s confirmed in the series that he’s a bystander and almost always minds his own business

on one hand, one can say he’s self-driven and that he constantly strives for self-improvement

on the other, it can be interpreted as him being very dangerously ambitious and selfish, in which most actions he takes are for the sole reason of self-improvement and not for altruistic reasons

for example, when he helped Kuroko and Kagami in the training camp, it was under the reasoning that them becoming stronger would be a good challenge for himself to test and learn

that’s not to say that he can’t have friends, but most friendships he’s built are with capable people who can potentially provide him with some new beneficial skill/goal to strive towards

after all, he’s only learned to trust Takao as a friend only after seeing him as someone capable

because he’s so focused on himself, he’s extremely likely to turn a blind eye to injustice, most also likely to use Oha Asa to justify their “misfortunes” as he continues on his day

he’s not cold-hearted, but altruism comes by Midorima a lot rarer than the average person

now, we know that his Oha Asa aspect is used to balance his serious side as the “comedic side” of him, but if we really think about it, his obsessions with the horoscopes could be a huge obstacle in the future, where he may refuse to listen/depend on others in favor of his own intuition and the stars; after all, no one knows everything, and depending on the stars as one’s next source of advice and guidance isn’t a sound decision to commit themselves to

he seems like the person who overthinks and jumps to conclusions when it comes to social situations, but instead of confronting the person, he turns to fate and fortune if Takao isn’t near to help

Aomine Daiki

I wouldn’t be surprised if Aomine had a skewed sense of beauty standards from all those magazines he consumed and from being around Momoi for the majority of his life

of course anyone can distinguish pieces of media from reality, but during the most impressionable years of life, without experiencing other types of people and physiques, he would have limited knowledge on what “beauty” is and whatnot

this probably would be more of a problem in his adolescence than adult

a very given negative trait is his short temper plus his tendency to turn to physical violence when someone nags him to a certain point, seen with how he’s treated Wakamatsu in the beginning (though this seems to almost disappear by the end of the series)

what I’ve noticed in every scene he’s in, is that everything seems to revolve around him and his hobbies of basketball and Japanese idols

what I mean is that everytime we see Aomine, it’s always Momoi approaching to Aomine or just him always being the center of attention; never once has he approached Momoi for anything and it’s always been the other way around

in other words, people have to cater to him in order to get along with him/be in good graces (additional example: Imayoshi letting him do as he pleases to get him to be cooperative and participate in the games)

we’ve actually never seen Momoi’s hobbies outside of being a manager for her basketball teams and just anything basketball-related

he can be quite apathetic, choosing to only pay attention and try in things he’s interested in… which is basketball and those magazines

he seems to mature in the Last Game though, so I’m not quite sure to what extent these headcanons would apply to older Aomine (these also don’t really apply to Puremine)

Momoi Satsuki

the author probably also included this type of anime trope as comedy, but belittling another female for her body is definitely a no-go in reality; I feel like this is something most people gloss over really lightly

her body comments on Riko are actually what made me skeptical of her character at first before the show really shows her entire personality

that being said, it seems that she always takes the opportunity to look down on other girls (especially to those she is a stranger to) as a sort of “competition” when there’s boys around

definitely at certain moments, she screams a “pick-me girl” type of person (real phenomenon, you can search this up!)

while Kuroko doesn’t seem to actively mind this, I think she also has no good sense of boundaries and what’s considered appropriate touch and consent; people can chalk this up to “oh it’s just infatuation,” but this definitely isn’t okay if we really think about this

her life also seems to revolve around either Aomine or Kuroko, and based from that, I’d feel like she’d have a difficult time forming her own identity/life separate from her “manager life,” especially once she graduates from Touou

can definitely be interpreted as too clingy at certain moments, while others may think it’s her way of showing that she cares

Murasakibara Atsushi

most people would chalk up Murasakibara as “lazy,” and on the surface level, it does appear to look that way…

I think his true negative trait is that he has a lack of intrinsic motivations to drive him to do things

it’s different from being lazy; someone can be lazy while still having a goal, and certainly someone can be lazy while they’re motivated by thoughts of “I want to learn more,” “I want to get stronger,” etc. (you guys, it’s me right now in college)

and he doesn’t have that

part of this was contributed to the fact that he’s already so gifted with genetics and thus, there’s never been a goal for him to have to work towards to when he’s already at the top

he doesn’t actively seek out, and while that may be a characteristic of sloth, it’s not exactly right either

he willingly does things if people around him give him the motivations/reasons to do so; a person of sloth wouldn’t do anything even with all the motivations and goals handed right to their face

snacks/food are examples of extrinsic motivations that fuel him to carry on daily life

Himuro is always the main motivator for Murasakibara to come out and watch matches, and he also does whatever Akashi orders in both Teiko and present days // a person who can give the giant the motivation to do tasks would get along with him the most

searching out for a challenge against his basketball skills is something that’s never crossed his mind

why? he grew to be like the way he is because of the lack of results from his “search” of a challenge throughout his games

again, it’s only when Murasakibara gets handed a silver-platter of a challenge, Jason Silver, that actively gets him pumped up and raring to go

as such, Murasakibara is equivalent to a rusty machine, extremely difficult to start up and find compatibility with, but very powerful and efficient once he finds that spark

Murasakibara finding any partner or friend in the future would be extremely difficult because he ticks a different tune from the rest

Akashi Seijuro

his entire Bokushi side was a giant-ass red flag for very obvious reasons LOL anyways, moving on…

it’s difficult to pinpoint a negative characteristic for Oreshi because he’s the pinnacle of a gentleman character… but that technically is also his negative trait

for him to maintain that perfect image for himself and others, he has always carried himself in such a way that doesn’t allow for errors or expressions of “weakness”

thus, bottling up his frustrations and emotions to the point of no return is something very familiar to Akashi, and I’d feel like Bokushi is the result of his overflowing emotions left unchecked in the first place

I also predict that if Akashi continues to carry himself without letting himself wind down and feel emotions on the spot rather than locking it up inside him, a day will come when he splits into two halves again with a “new” Bokushi to deal with his current life (and let the current Oreshi take a backseat in his psyche to take a break from the turmoil)

also will tend to overwork himself to manage people’s expectations as well as his own, and he’s not one to depend on people not because he sees them as inferior or incapable, but because he’s doing this out of habit from being in positions of authority and responsibility for much of his life

and so, he may tend to hide important things or just not speak about his problems in general to those close to him because he feels like he can do it all himself and spare everyone the work and stress associated with them (a leader mentality)

throughout the majority of his life being calm and calculated, his emotions would definitely escape from him in forms of uncontrollable lashes of anger… before he would realize what he’s done… that is, assuming that another Bokushi hasn’t form within his subconscious yet

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everlarkficexchange · 4 years ago

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Magic as Always

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 71: Magic of Ordinary Days AU: 1940s, Katniss is a single pregnant girl. Desperate for her daughter not to have a child out of wedlock, Mrs Everdeen contacts a priest who in turn knows a young man who just may be willing to help. Sweet, kind and shy Peeta stayed home to take care of the family farm when his beloved brother went to war to never come back. He’s always wanted a family but rural small town life gives little chance to court. He hears of Katniss’ plight and graciously offers to marry her and raise the child as his own. He does everything he can think of to make a home for Katniss and the baby. How does Katniss take it? How does their relationship develop? Will they fall in love? [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: this chapter is rated Teens and Up

Tags: Historical!AU; WWII; 1940’s Era views on marriage, sexism, pregnancy, etc; Katniss/Marvel relationship; Non-graphic Unprotected Sex; Unplanned Pregnancy; Arrange Marriage; Miscellaneous Religious views; Grief/Mourning; Canon Characters Death; OOC!Mrs.Everdeen; Somewhat OOC!Katniss; Everlark is Endgame; Other tags to be added.

Notes: Thank you Anon for this prompt. I must confess, I’ve never seen the movie ‘The Magic of Ordinary Days’ or read the book the movie is based on. I did a quick skimming on the plot of the movie and then dug up all kinds of reviews on the book, most of my plot points come from a combination of movie and book (which apparently differ only in a few parts), besides what the prompter asked for. I just really loved this prompt, and see the potential of this story, which will be a few chapters long, cross posted to AO3 and I already have a good chunk written ;) The rating will be adjusted too, because there will be explicit Everlark smut in the following chapters. Anon, I hope I don’t disappoint you, this story will be only loosely based on the source material, and adapted to fit THG characters in the narrative, I will try to stick to the main plot points as much as I can, but I’m also taking several liberties with the story. I hope you still like it though.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

Prim died on a Tuesday, after a very long, strenuous battle with poliomyelitis. My sweet little sister’s face looked as fresh as a dew drop even in death.

“Come now, Katniss,” my mother calls from the open door of the mortuary hall, where visitation took place an hour ago.

The mortician has arranged for the coffin to be taken to the cemetery and put in the ground this afternoon. There will be no graveside mourning. It’s all we could pay for, but then again the war has left everyone penniless nowadays.

A big, rotund man comes to close the coffin, and offers a curt nod.

That’s it then. The very last time I’ll ever set eyes on Primrose’s sweet face.

“Katniss,” Mother whispers, insistently. It’s probably all she can muster before breaking down in tears.

I look on at the box my sister’s body lies in, numb and heartsick. I bring my 3 middle fingers to my lips and then rise them in the air. My last salute to my beloved Little Duck. I step away from the coffin and shuffle towards mother.

Up close, I can see the deep, dark bruises under my mother’s eyes. She used to be beautiful in her youth— according to friends and old photographs— but now she just looks tired and defeated. I guess having to bury first her husband and then her 15 year old daughter, in less than a year, would have that effect on anyone.

Prim would’ve looked like our mother, with their soft blonde locks, almond shaped blue eyes and alabaster skin. She had a softer spirit though, she enjoyed music and loved animals. She always said that if she was older, she would’ve joined the Red Cross and signed up to serve as a nurse to our boys in the Pacific, like Father did… Father wasn’t a nurse though, he was a chaplain.

It’s funny to think that I inherited so much of my father, like my dark hair, gray eyes and olive skin. We both also share the same aversion to human pain and blood that moves my mother and Prim to action; but unlike Prim, my father’s calling to help the soldiers in their worst situations, passed me and went directly to my baby sister.

I sigh… Prim would’ve made a terrific army nurse, if only she hadn’t wasted in bed with that odious disease! If she had been given the chance to live, I’m sure Prim would’ve had so many boys trailing after her. She would marry at some point and have a beautiful full life.

I don’t plan on marrying and having a family. If the acute pain in my own chest wasn’t enough warning, watching my mother walk silently from the funeral home to our apartment, with her head bowed and listening to her quiet sobs at night would be enough evidence that there’s too much sorrow in losing one’s husband and children.

I think my efforts will be better spent in cultivating my mind, and getting my degree in botany, like my father always dreamed, anyway… plus, I’m not much of a looker… not like Prim at any rate.

We finally arrived at our modest home. Mother drifts ghost-like into the door, and then we both shuffle quietly into our separate bedrooms. There won’t be a meal at the table tonight, but I make sure Prim’s old tomcat gets fed and watered, and after he meows in distress at my sister’s door, I open mine, and let him strut inside my bedroom and hop into my bed. The hideous fur ball and I distrust each other, but he understands his mistress is never coming back, and he’s the last thing I have from her… so he lets me pet him and he cuddles close to my chest as I fall asleep, crying.

——————————-

Mother and I walk slowly through the busy streets of town, mostly ignoring the bustle and disarray around us. People shout, cars honk horns, a baby cries in the distance, and the few young men rush back and forth in the busy sidewalks, like they’re being lashed by invisible whips.

“We should stop by the grocer and see if we can pick up some eggs.” Says my mother, pulling her “Sugar Book” out of her handbag.

Because of the war, everything is being rationed, from sugar to shoes.

I could care less about food and clothing, though. But I still go into the shop, dutifully.

I’m so immersed in my own thoughts, I don’t see the lanky man walking towards me with his arms full of vittles.

We collide. The man’s groceries fly up in every direction, raining over me, as I sit on my rump on the floor.

My mother is nowhere to be seen. Typical.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you there!” Says the man, pulling a packet of oatmeal from the floor, while extending his other hand to help me up.

“No… it’s alright, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Well, let’s agree that we’re both klutzes, and leave it at that?” The man offers.

I’m on my feet, dusting my skirt off and righting my blouse, “Sure, let’s do that.” I scowl at the skew state of my clothes and finally look up at the man.

He’s smiling down at me, and I must admit, his smile is dazzling. He’s got short brown hair, greenish-brown eyes, and a smattering of freckles over his nose. He also towers above me.

“My stars! If it isn’t Katniss Everdeen!” The young man says, unexpectedly excited.

I blink owlishly at him, and try to place his face, but I’m horrible at remembering people. Or their names.

“Marvel Quaid,” he offers genially, unfazed by my lack of response, “we went to grade school together?” He prompts, “My pa used to sell luxury goods in District One?”

“Oh, I think it’s coming back now,” I say smiling for the first time in what feels like months. “You used to throw sticks, pretending they were spears or something,” I tell him, showing that indeed, I do remember him.

Marvel scrunches his nose, “Javelins, actually. I was pretending I threw javelins. I saw a fellow doing it for the Olympics in a film, and then he won a medal for it. I thought to myself that making a victory lap with the good old American flag flapping after oneself looked like fun; well, I wanted to be a victor too!” He chuckles, then deflates. “But as everything, those dreams are gone now, crushed to dust under the weight of the war.”

As is the norm, once the war gets brought up, gloominess settles on, dampening the cheeriest of spirits.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m all too familiar with the sentiment.”

Marvel nods, grimly.

“We lost Father in France.” I’m not sure why I said it. “We put my sister in the ground last week, too.” I avert my eyes.

“Aww, geez, Kit… that’s truly awful. I’m so sorry for your loss,”

I’m mildly surprised I don’t immediately recoil at his little pet name. I guess the fact that he doesn’t sound condescending while delivering his condolences, helps.

“Oh, well, as my father would’ve said, at least their toils in this world are over. They can finally rest in peace.”

After a moment of heavy silence, Marvel shares, “I’m being shipped out tomorrow morning.”

I scowl, “Oh,” I bite the inside of my cheek, wondering how he’d manage to evade the draft for this long? Marvel is my age, 19 going on 20… boys get sent to the front lines at 18. “I… I could write to you… if you wanted?” I offer shyly.

Isn’t that what young women are being told to do, in order to keep our boys’ morale from plummeting?

Marvel grins, showing slightly crooked teeth, “That would be swell, Kit!” He stares at me for a long moment, then sighs, “I should go back to my shopping, before they miss me at home. Lord knows when will I have the chance of doing something as mundane as picking up my mother’s weekly grocery allowance.”

These days it is not only uncommon seeing men doing grocery runs, but simply seeing young, able-body men around, period. All of our boys are either in Europe or the Pacific, fighting to keep the devastation of the World war from reaching our shores.

“Well, for what is worth, I hope you get to return home safely… you know, so you can do all the boring tasks your mother tells you to do. And when I say safe, I mean, I hope you don’t run anymore into spaced out girls, like me,” I smirk.

“Oh, Kit, if only you knew how much I’ve enjoyed our accidental skirmish. It’s like a gift from above, seeing you after all these years. Your smile and the color of your eyes will forever be branded in my mind, to give me a reason to fight. To have a dream,”

I’m momentarily floored by Marvel’s florid little speech. Nobody has ever said anything nearly as sweet and gallant as that to me, and for a moment, I forget all about my dead sister and father, the war, and my own sorrow.

I avert my eyes, bashfully, as he finishes picking up his vittles off the floor.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” I lean over to pick up a can of milk, and put it on top of his pile.

“I only speak the truth,” he smiles brightly.

My mother chooses to interrupt at the exact moment I bat my lashes at him, “Katniss, there you are! I’ve been waiting for you by the counter.” She shakes her head.

Marvel wobbles on his feet, rearranging his load, and then greets my mother, warmly, “Mrs. Everdeen, how nice to see you again,”

My mother eyes him, unimpressed. “Good afternoon, young man,” she answers.

“Ma’am… pardon my forwardness, but, would it be too troublesome to ask Miss Katniss to accompany a soldier about to be shipped out, to supper in the town?”

My mother narrows her eyes, distrust dripping from her voice as she speaks, “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. My daughter and I are in mourning, you see,”

“Oh, this won’t be an untoward celebration of any kind, ma’am. With the war raging on, we’re all in mourning. All I ask for is one last night of normalcy, a chance to reconnect with an old grade-school mate,” he smiles, hopefully, “For old times sake?”

I’m watching my mother’s face closely, with bated breath.

“Very well,” Mother sighs, “You may ask Katniss out to dinner. But have her home by 9 sharp!”

I don’t hesitate to step up and give him directions to my apartment building in District 12.

I spend the rest of my day giddy and nervous, pressing my best Sunday suit, the gray one with the matching jacket, and polishing my only pair of leather shoes. There isn’t much I can do about my hair… the thing can’t be fashioned into the favored waves, not even putting it in curlers overnight, so I let it be.

I briefly wonder if this was all Prim’s doing? Meeting Marvel and mother’s somewhat easy aquiciscent. Prim hated seeing me sad, and constantly talked about how she’d love to help me get ready for dates with a beau. She couldn’t wait to be of courting age and date a strapping, young man herself… but of course, that would never happen for her, but she would probably still want to see me have those things.

Maybe Marvel is right, and our serendipitous encounter is a gift from above, to heal our wounds… at least for the night.

————————-

Marvel arrives at my house in his father’s car at 5:45. Riding is now such a luxury, with gasoline being rationed and all. He takes me to a quaint little dinner in the middle of town. We share malts, a greasy burger, and a small portion of fries and onion rings.

We talk about baseball:

“You’d look good in a baseball uniform, Kit! Can you still run as fast as you did in school?”

I laugh. “I’m not much for sports,” I demure, “but I’ve heard playing in one of the new teams pays alright. Anyway, I’m gonna be starting my second year of college soon. I put my studies on hold while Prim was at her worst, but now that it’s only just me and mother… I’m anxious to go back to study.”

“Wow, beautiful and smart!”

We talk about cars:

“I loved driving… but Mother sold our car when my sister took a turn for the worse. She didn’t want to at first, saying that Father saved up to buy it, and it held sentimental value to her, but I had to push to sell it. We needed the money and gas was a nightmare to come by, anyway,”

“The only reason we still have ours,” says Marvel, “is because Pa is too stubborn to let go of the things that still made him feel wealthy.” He scowls, “He’s trying to get into the ice business now, since it’s pretty much the only thing one where the raw material is plenty and relatively cheap, and there’s guarantee that people will buy the product… everyone still needs ice for their ice boxes, right?”

No one can afford luxuries anymore with every penny going out to support our boys in the battlefields.

We talk about many other subjects: his sister’s wedding; my father’s unit getting pinned and killed by Germans… We didn’t get a body to bury, but I got a medal on his behalf as his eldest child.

Marvel lets me sniffle against his chest, and then kisses my lips slowly.

I’ve never been kissed on the lips, and I feel my face heat up.

“Would you… like to take a drive with me, Kit?”

We drive all the way to the city limit. It’s exhilarating to be in a car again, and sitting at the overlook, at twilight, alone with a handsome boy, feels positively forbidden!

I’ve never done anything remotely injudicious all my life, and this whole moment feels… magical… exciting!

Tentatively, I initiated our next kiss, but he takes over in a rush of caresses and flitting touches.

“Beautiful, graceful, Kit. You have no match!”

“Marvel…” I kiss him again, not knowing how to answer his sentiments with words.

His hands are restless, groping my shoulders and elbows. “I wished he had more time! I would’ve loved to marry you before departing. I would’ve show you so much passion and love!”

“You still can show me, Marvel… you absolutely can!”

It’s all the permission he needs to dive into a frenzy. He doesn’t stop until the deed is done, and we’re a sweaty, tangled mess of limbs in the back seat of the car, only partially clothed.

A deep feeling of lethargy pours over me. My muscles are sore and heavy, and wished I could fall asleep in here.

“I intend on coming back to marry you, Katniss,” Marvel says, stretching his lanky, long legs to zip up his pants.

I sit up and start finger-combing my ruined hair, hoping my mother won’t notice the strands are extra frizzy. “Um… I guess we should after this,” I say shyly, gesturing between us.

“You could still go to college while I’m away,” he offers with magnanimity.

“You… wouldn’t mind that?” I ask incredulous, college women are so rare, unless they’re trying to become nurses or teachers. Most girls start courting right after high school and get married in the span of one to two years, and their husbands don’t normally encourage an education beyond what their wives came into the marriage with; so to hear Marvel say that wouldn’t mi d me stay in college is just about the greatest thing possible!

“My darling, Kit, I don’t want you to be one of those girls pining and wasting away for her beau. I’ll be busy at war, it’ll be unfair to keep you from occupying your own time while you wait fir my return. Go to college, my clever girl!”

I smile indulgently at him, leaning closer to slip his necktie around the collar of his shirt, “You are truly a generous, loving man,” I say.

Marvel beams, circling my waist with his arms pulling me against his body. “It’s all inspired by you, sugar plum!”

I giggle, kissing his cheek, “I’ll write to you every day!” I promise.

“That’s nice… but just so you know, I might not be able to write back right away. It’ll be a while before I get settled enough to write. But you’ll be in my thoughts every minute of every day, and that’s the honest truth! I’m serious about marrying you when I return, Kit,” he kisses me again. And then, he looks at his watch, sighing. “It’s 8:32. We should get on going, gotta keep in my future mother-in-law’s good graces!”

We share a carefree laugh, and finish tidying ourselves up to drive back to my house.

He walks me to the door, takes me in his arms, and kisses me passionately before promising he’d be back to officially ask for my hand in marriage, and for my part, I swear I’ll write to him every day until he returns home safe and sound.

But neither of us keeps our promises in the end, although I tried.

————————-

Three weeks go by and I keep my word of writing daily letters. I receive no word in return from Marvel, but think nothing of it… Europe is far and traveling by sea is tedious and time consuming; Marvel will get in touch once he’s settled down.

Another week goes by, still without news from my would-be fiancé. I still don’t worry. I’ve been busy with university, and the few other girls attending school with me keep me busy, but my heavier workload is starting to get to me.

I’m usually so tired and moody after school that socializing with my classmates becomes a chore. I barely eat supper before I’m passing out in bed, and my letters to Marvel start to get shorter and simpler with every passing day.

I skip writing one afternoon altogether, and take a long nap. Buttercup— Prim’s ugly cat— perches on my bed like a sentinel to watch me sleep. I believe he’s worried about me… stupid, clingy cat thinks I’m sick.

But the feline’s intuition proves right, because just two days later, I shoot out of bed and run into the washroom to spill every last ounce of last night supper into the toilet. I must’ve caught a bug or something!

I feel queasy and lightheaded every morning after. My appetite wanes and it seems my delicate stomach can only tolerate pears, and broth.

I visit the post office to place out my letters to Marvel almost everyday; Every time I come, the nice old mailman comments on how sweet it is to see all the young-uns holding romance strong. Marvel has yet to respond to one of my letters, so I just smile tightly and demure.

I’ve been thinking though; the longer I go without news of my supposed future husband, and despite the whirlwind night of romance with him, I start questioning my actions, my promises. I never wanted to marry before, and suddenly I was okay getting a hasty, unofficial engagement with a virtual stranger, I barely remember from grade school… maybe it’s better if Marvel never writes.

My plans on earning a college degree and finding a well paying job will go unencumbered— I’m aware women in prominent working professions are as rare as snow in July, but women’s presence in the working forces keep growing as industries need laborers to keep up producing while the men fight in the war. Educated women are almost becoming less rare.

At the two month mark since I last saw Marvel, I become weepier than usual… is to be expected in my opinion; Prim’s been gone for a little over two months and she was the only person I knew I loved. But now I’m worrying about my health on top of everything.

One morning, while I’m kneeling on the cold, hard floor in front of the toilet, feeling miserable and tired, my mother calls my name from the open door.

“Katniss, I think it’s time to get a test.” She states evenly, and then enters the room to fetch a damp washcloth to wipe my face clean. “I hope I’m wrong, but I’m afraid you may be with child,” she sighs.

I squirm. “No,” I gasp. “I— I can’t be with child. I just can’t!” But the thought has crossed my mind a few times already. “It’s not supposed to be this way!”

“I know, child,” My mother pats my head, “there’s only one way to know. Get dressed for the day, I will call the most discreet physician I know, and have him pay us a visit.”

————————-

Doctor Aurelius— a physician my mother has helped deliver babies and treat maladies with— confirms the pregnancy with a grim face.

I sit at my kitchen table numb and despondent. My mother writes a check to the doctor for his services, while talking in no so hush tones in the other room. I listen to their whole conversation, as if submerged in water.

“I blame myself for this, doctor. I should have kept a closer eye on her,”

“Don’t blame yourself Ms. Everdeen, it’s that war business bringing out all sorts of evil into the world! It’s unfortunate the rise of these cases in our community. Young ladies— from good families!— engaging in acts ought to be saved for marriage. Youth do things without thinking, guided by fear. Our boys fear they may not return from that senseless, awful war, and settle down properly, and I don’t blame them one little bit.”

“The only solace I have right now, is that my poor husband is not here to see the shame that’s fallen over our family,”

“I understand the sentiment, ma’am. There’s no telling how Preacher Everdeen would’ve taken this blow. But I’m sure things will work out as soon as young Katniss hears from the father…”

I dissolve into silent tears then. My mother escorts the doctor to the door and then there’s silence.

My pinky finger curls into the soft fabric of the table cloth, and I try to ignore the urge to vomit boiling in my stomach. There’s one thought circling mi mind: my college days are over.

——————————-

“Ah! Miss Everdeen, I have something for you.” Says the mailman as soon as I reach the desk. He smiles, but rather sadly, like he’s about to give me bad news.

I’ve come to the post office with urgent letters every day for 6 days, and he’s never looked at me this way.

The old man digs around for a moment and almost reluctantly, passes a parcel tied up in twine. An envelope is attached to the top of the parcel, and with a sinking feeling, I realized it’s a stack of my own letters.

“It came in today, miss.” Says the man, voice laced with pity. “Sorry for your loss.” He says.

At first I don’t understand what he could possibly mean by that; he’s offered his sympathies fir my dead father and sister already; it makes absolutely no sense to repeat himself randomly after so long.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks.

I gasp, and press the parcel to my chest. “Oh no! Marvel!” I whisper. I give the man a hasty wave, thanking him, and rush out of the post office like mad.

Tears run down my cheeks, while I dash home, imagining the worst. “Poor, Marvel!” Is all I can think.

“Katniss, what’s wrong?” My mother calls, alarmed, when I rush to my bedroom, sobbing. She follows me in, and watches me tear into the envelope at the top of the stack.

I frown in confusion when I’m met with handwritten, chicken-scratch scrawl, instead of a formal missive typed in official US military stationary.

My scowl deepens as my eyes rove over the flowery vocabulary, and then I screech, “What?!”

“Katniss, what’s going on?”

I ignore my mother when she approaches to read over my shoulder; I step around her, shaking the piece of paper in my hands and stand by the window, as if sunlight will make the words change their meaning.

I smooth the creases and folds on the page over, and read out loud, “Dearest Kit, sorry it took so long to write, it’s been a wild time since we arrived and finding time to correspond with everyone back home it’s been hard.

“At times, your letters have been the sole source of light and hope in the darkness of this conflict. Is for that reason, and with a heavy heart, that I must come clean to you now. I truly meant it when I swore to come back and make you my wife, but as the Good Book says, the Lord works in mysterious ways, and love has sprouted out the most unlikely place! Kit, I’ve fallen in love and married a lovely gal here in England…”

I stop reading. He goes on talking about the why and how, but I sincerely don’t care.

“That good for nothing, virtue dasher, future crushing… liar!” My mother bleats to the ceiling, raising her palms over her head, dramatically.

I’m angry too, of course. I feel used and disposed of like a dirty rag, but my mother’s reaction is borderline hilarious. Except, it isn’t.

I’m pregnant, unmarried, and soon— once my still flat stomach starts rounding— I’ll be socially ostracized for my condition. My only saving grace was the promise of marriage that bastard Marvel had given me. But that’s gone now.

“I knew that boy was bad news the second I laid eyes on him! He never even introduced himself to me, the little weasel! This is my fault. My fault! I should’ve never allowed you to run amok with the likes of him…”

“Mother, will you please?” I nearly growl, gesturing at the open bedroom door.

She stares at me uncomprehendingly for a moment, before pursing her lips in disapproval, and stalking out of the room muttering her aggravation under her breath.

I sink into my bed with Marvel’s stupid letter crumpling in my fist. A single, hot, angry tear rolls down my face, and for the first time since finding out of its existence, I hug my midsection and address my child, “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this mess. I know you didn’t ask for a mother like me, but I’m all you got now, little one. I promise we will be alright… I’ll try not to let you down.”

———————-

My mother has been unbearable for the last two days. She cries in her room worse than when Prim died, and when she sees me, she starts lamenting my poor choice, like I’m not even standing there… as if I don’t feel discouraged enough.

I keep myself busy with my education. I will need to earn this diploma now more than ever before, and I need to do as much as I can before the baby arrives and my studies get put on hold.

In the meantime, I scout the newspapers for possible work options to sustain me and my mother. Our savings keep diminishing and the small stipend my mother got from the Army since my father passed away is becoming more insufficient by the day.

There’s a knock on the front door, and I push out my chair unhappy by the interruption.

“Afternoon Miss Katniss! Would you let your mother know she’s got a telephone call down in the lobby?” Says the building’s doorkeeper.

“Of course, thank you. She’ll be right down!”

Telephones are yet another luxury we had to give up when moved to this small place after losing my father.

I go back to my job hunt, and my mother descends to the lobby, quickly.

She returns after only 10 minutes, almost running through the door, excitedly calling my name. Tears wet her face, but her smile is so blinding, even without knowing what sort of news she’s heard to cause her such joy, I stand from the table with nervous anticipation.

“Oh, Katniss! Katniss my dear daughter, you’re saved!” She exclaims, hugging me tightly.

I’m confused. I step away from her embrace, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the best thing possible ever, I tell you! The Lord has answered all of my prayers!”

“This is all so exciting and all, mother, but… could you please share this great news already?”

My mother cups my face in her hands, and beams at me, “You need to pack your things, darling! Your father’s good friend, Reverend Undersee, has found a husband, and you are to wed, in three days time!”

—————————

Reverend Undersee and his daughter, Madge, meet me and my mother at the rinky dink bus station, in the equally tiny town my mother has banished me to.

“Katniss! How long has it been?” Says Madge, hugging me enthusiastically.

I bite my tongue to keep the acidic retort of “not long enough!” to leave my mouth.

“Welcome to Panem,” says the reverend, soberly, shaking my mother’s hand in greeting.

“Thank you, revered. We appreciate your hospitality and your understanding,” my mother responds, then gives me a pointed look and a wordless command.

I nod and mutter, “Thank you, sir. Madge,”

I scowl at a crack in the pavement, not feeling an iota of gratefulness for this charade!

Any man agreeing to this questionable union has to either be desperate, or be hiding terrible, ulterior motives to go along with all of this. Nobody in their right mind would willingly marry a girl pregnant with another man’s baby, and be happy about it… unless that’s the reason!

I shudder at the thought.

But it is a very real possibility that my intended is a simpleton, who can’t find a wife otherwise… or worse! It could be a man very advanced in age, looking for a supple, young body to leech off. Gross!

My mother had been too excited about the news that a man offered to marry me (as if I asked for, or even wanted a husband!) to bother to ask his name.

Reverend Undersee coughs daintily, clears his throat, and starts, like he’s giving a lecture at the university. “It is our Christian duty to lend a helping hand to widows and orphans in their time of needs. Same way it’s our duty to keep the memory and honor of an old friend from being dragged into the mud.”

I wince at the harsh words, and let my face fall lower, if that’s even possible.

“Well, it’s a good thing that we are all recipients of the abundant grace of the Lord, which covers multitude of faults, and it’s never hard to reach,” a deep, velvety, masculine voice cuts into my embarrassment.

I lift my eyes from the ground, to find a man striding confidently in our direction. He smiles kindly at me, his eyes fixed on my own, like I’m the only person still standing in the station.

He finally cedes our staring contest, to take in the rest of the group.

A knot forms in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize him from years past when my family used to visit this town, and I’m afraid I know exactly why he’s here.

“Good afternoon, all. I apologize for my tardiness, I had a last second detail to take care of before leaving the house,” he nods in our general direction, taking his hat off; a riot of ashy blonde curls falls onto his forehead, before bending forward to shake my mother’s hand, “I’m Peeta Mellark, at your service, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise, mister Mellark,” says my mother, her lips twitch tersely, “Widow Everdeen, and this here is my daughter Katniss… your bride.”

Peeta Mellark’s baby blue eyes slip back to mine, and the left side corner of lips curls into a shy, earnest smile. “Welcome to Panem, Katniss, I’ll sure do my best, so you’d like it here.”

#alliswell21 #prompt 71 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

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swiftwidget · 4 years ago

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MHA: Fling Theory

While writing a much, much longer analysis and prediction post (which we will finish and post hopefully by Wednesday - fingers crossed, it’s already been delayed over a week because of work schedules and additions) and a portion discussing what @aoimikans and I know of the wider-known Dad for One Theory, I had to pause while discussing the topic of Nana Shimura’s husband.

At the time, I had been writing about the alternative ways All for One found Nana Shimura and her husband (whether he was a hero, a civilian, or perhaps the 6th User of OfA) and killed her husband. I mentioned there is an alternative theory floating around that All for One was actually her husband, but it is generally easy to debunk based on canon information, including recent information given to use via Gran Torino’s flashback:

In a recent chapter, when we see Gran Torino watch Nana as she gives up Kotaro, Nana says later in the flashback “if he learns of Kotaro” as if All for One was not aware of the boy, to begin with. That may imply that her husband was killed while she was pregnant and she escaped AfO’s attention long enough to raise Kotaro for a few years.

One would think that if AfO was her husband, he’d know about Kotaro early on, or at the very least know of the attempts to have a child. And if AfO already knew of their connection, he would try to use it against her and put both her and her child in danger. Not only that but when All for One finds Shimura’s family later on - and he would have to have found them to show interest in Tenko - he simply allows Kotaro and Hana to die. Kotaro, Nana’s son, and Hana, Kotaro’s daughter who resembles Nana in both name and appearance. If he had been her husband and found she’d managed to hide away a child, I can’t imagine he wouldn’t move to possess that entire family somehow.

Then… It occurred to me that there is another alternative option which I’m calling the Fling Theory.

All for One approached Nana Shimura under a different name and quirk (much like the theorized Dad for One = Hisashi Midoriya situation) and attempted to get close enough to her to create a relationship, trick her into giving him One for All (and maybe even a child at that point). All for One was unsuccessful stealing the quirk by force up until then. Perhaps he thought a different approach would work, and being a charismatic person and egotistical it sounds like something he’d do.

Maybe it got as far as a night of passion before Nana realized who All for One was and fled. That would certainly give one plausible explanation for why everything seems so personal when All for One discusses Nana Shimura. Moreover, if she discovered she was pregnant after? A marriage to a hero or civilian husband to cover for the existence of a child would be necessary to hide him. Again, in Gran Torino’s recent flashback, there is that focus on what Nana says: “if he learns of Kotaro...”

If Nana fled this false relationship, found out she was pregnant but decided to keep the child, and got married to another man in a very short amount of time, wouldn’t that give the prideful All for One reason to kill the otherwise unnamed, unidentified husband first? Revenge against the woman who did what his brother never could except through death, escape him and build another life. When Nana makes the heartbreaking decision to alter her family registry and send Kotaro into foster care, she is not just protecting herself and Kotaro at that moment, but she is ensuring she takes the secret of Kotaro’s father to the grave.

Which makes it all the more terribly ironic given what we believe All for One did upon discovering Kotaro and the life he’d built for himself.

We believe All for One discovered Kotaro and his family and watched them for some time. Enough time to know their names, their home life, the kind of life Kotaro’s children were living - specifically Tenko Shimura. In 2016, aoimikans wrote a fanfic called “What Lies Have You Told?” based on her theory that All for One gave Tenko the Quirk: Decay. Then in chapter 235, we see a man dropping Tenko off wearing AfO’s signature suit with no tie (just before Decay manifests). This seemed like pretty strong evidence for that to be the case. A while back during our MHA discussions, we also added to that theory that in exchange, All for One took Tenko’s (“Ten” 天 = sky, “ko” 子 = child) unmanifested Quirk: Air Walk which we saw him use at Kamino and was the only Quirk written specifically in katakana. (Sky child, Air Walk → Sky Walk → Skywalker because Horikoshi loves his Star Wars references.)

All for One never learned of Kotaro’s true origin. In giving Tenko Decay, he put into motion the events that led not only to Kotaro’s death but also the death of Tenko’s sister, Hana.

Each time All for One tries to own/possess family, he ends up destroying it.

And again, every time All for One speaks to and of Nana, it’s terribly personal.

In the All Might Rising OVA, AfO thanks Nana for the “amusing comedy.” Is that a bitter reminder that what they had was an act? That it was all a game to him? (At least, it was meant to be a game until she escaped him for a time.) Either way, his monologuing at Nana, the personal focus on her, may have cost him the chance to capture All Might while he was young and unprepared to fight him.

During their first fight and at Kamino, each time All for One talks about Nana to All Might, he mocks her to anger him. All Might is Nana’s successor but more than that he is like her son. He is representative of everything All for One could not get from Nana, both One for All the quirk and the love and loyalty of family (be it a child or his brother’s remnant in OfA). Of course, he takes every opportunity to rub Nana’s death and what he views as her shortcomings in All Might’s face.

And how would All for One know of Nana’s ideals in order to mock them? How would he know of her signature push-up smile that he parrots at Kamino? The way he talks about her even as he mocks her seems to imply that he knows these ideals of hers, how she might talk about them, her vision of the future… Sure, she might have said things during their fight, but honestly, that sounds more like something you’d tell someone as you were getting closer to them.

This theory naturally pairs well with the Dad for One Theory for a few reasons:

The resemblance pointed out between Nana Shimura and Inko Midoriya. (All for One has a type.)

The resemblance and similarities between young Tenko and young Izuku. (A family resemblance?)

The continued themes of family, lineage, and legacy that is shown throughout MHA but works specifically well when we think about how Shigaraki and Deku relate to either side of the All for One / One for All coin.

The continued use of name puns and Star Wars references that hint and foreshadow.

Side note: How does the 6th User of One for All fit in this theory?

We assume based on what canon tells us that All for One has been trying to take back his brother’s quirk, the last remnant of his brother and only family.

(All for One claimed to love his brother - though his view of love is clearly skewed toward simply possessing his brother - and he tried endlessly to manipulate his brother into showing his “love” in return with loyalty to him and his view of the world. In death and through the passing down of One for All, his brother had escaped him.)

Based on flashbacks, All for One’s attempts up until the 6th User seemed to include killing them off while they were relatively young. Maybe he was attempting to hunt them down, weaken them, and then torture them until they willingly gave him the quirk; however, he was never successful because each User of One for All was successful in passing it down to the next, playing a dangerous game of keep-away.

From the 4th (top right, long hair) to the 5th (see his jacket shoulder), from the 5th (center, bald) to the 6th (far right hand?), from the 6th (bottom center, black hair) to the 7th (Nana’s gloved hand at the very bottom of the frame?).

Aoimikans and I were trying to figure out: Who was the 6th to Nana?

He looks younger than most of the other users we can see (not counting the younger, blurry version of Toshinori), too young to have been teaching or training Nana. And in the frame discussing how the quirk was passed down, we see that his right arm is missing, he is offering his hair to pass on One for All, and also…

… he’s smiling.

There is something else Nana said that makes us wonder if maybe the 6th User was Nana’s first love:

To be able to meet again at the end within One for All, she thinks it’s romantic. It may just be her personality, but the idea of reuniting with specifically the previous users is romantic to her.

Could it be then that the 6th was her first, young love? Could it be that they were both heroes and when he was hunted down by All for One, the 6th hastily gave her the quirk with a smile on his face - a smile she pressed onto her face, and a smile she passed down to Toshinori?

Could All for One have found out that she had that kind of relationship with the 6th and attempted to replicate the feelings that led the 6th to pass OfA to Nana?

Not only that, but there is that focus on the romantic with regards to specifically previous Users of One for All. Why don’t we see that kind of desire to reunite with the husband that was killed?

Well, if she were trying to find a husband quickly (not necessarily for love), one who wouldn’t mind that she was already pregnant or who would want to just as quickly have a child with her under the belief she wasn’t pregnant - how best would she go about finding such a man? Quirk marriage. It was likely more common in her time. She’s a hero, young, and with a flying-type quirk. She’d be a catch for any man wanting a marriage focused on mixing quirks. And wouldn’t that be just the kicker for All for One? In his view, she fled him only to run into the arms of a man who wanted her for her quirk? His ego can only take so much of a beating.

Possible timeline:

The 6th and Nana have a romantic connection

AfO hunts down and fatally injures the 6th

The 6th gives One for All to Nana with a smile

Nana escapes for a time

AfO discovers Nana and knows of her previous connection to the 6th

AfO uses his knowledge of their connection to try and manipulate her into a relationship based on falsehoods to trick her into giving him One for All

Nana discovers AfO’s identity and flees

Nana discovers she is pregnant with Kotaro

Nana quickly marries a man, possibly through Quirk Marriage, to explain away the pregnancy

AfO finds Nana again after years and rashly kills her husband before finding out more about her life

Nana is forced to quickly give up Kotaro to foster care and alter her family records to hide him from All for One, keeping All for One from using the knowledge of their connection against her (again)

Nana goes into hiding again, eventually finds and trains Toshinori and passes down One for All

All for One finds Nana again but she doesn’t run away. All for One mocks her (allowing her successor and friend to escape) and kills her in the fight but keeps her hand.

AfO later finds Kotaro and his family, gives Tenko Decay, unwittingly allows Tenko to destroy what family he had made, AfO takes in Tenko and gives him the name Tomura Shigaraki claiming that Shigaraki is his own surname - ironic to be giving his own grandson his surname thinking he’s simply taking from Nana Shimura the last remnant of her own family. Revenge for her giving away the last remnant of his brother to All Might.

Meantime, AfO took on the name Hisashi, met Inko (who looks like Nana but would be in his view meeker), and had Izuku.

Fun fact: Shigaraki is 20 in canon. Izuku is around 15. AfO would’ve likely taken in Tenko Shimura around the time Izuku was born. So, at that point in time, he thinks he’s won that battle. Started a family of his own with a Nana look-a-like, and stolen away Nana’s family. All he needs to do now is take back OfA and kill All Might. Then he’ll have everything he’s wanted.

Then, All Might smashes All for One’s Empire and head in, and he takes away All for One’s ability to be a part of the family he’d tried to create. Adding insult to injury, All Might takes Izuku under his wing 5 years later and gives him One for All. Stealing everything from All for One. (All but Shigaraki - the child pawn All for One raised to hurt All Might, not knowing his own grandson.)

And there you have it: Fling Theory!

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potteresque-ire · 4 years ago

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Hi. I just wanted to say that I really like your blog and posts. I mean your analyzing and viewing all this cp and fan culture stuff from wider perspective are so interesting to read. I really enjoyed your last anon answering post. What do u think about the statement that usually cpf are just teenagers and young girls(I really don’t like ageism) who overreact. But as I noticed as for many cp especially for BJYX (i was surprised)I saw that many of cpf are young adults or even much older and experienced people. So can we say that one of most used accusation by antis that cp is only for “little girls” with rich imagination doesn’t work, right?

Oh, thank you very much for your kind words, Anon! And ...

Are you asking about older turtles?

I’m not familiar with the demographics of CPF / RPS fans in general, but I think that’s a common misconception in every corner of fandom ~ that it’s a playground for (very) young women with an overactive imagination. It’s ageism and sexism, but it also reflects some truth in the sense that fandomers do skew towards the young and female. Re: the age aspect, RL does tend to get more and more in the way as years go by, and with few exceptions, fandom engagement requires more concentration and effort than, say, Netflix and Chill. One can zone out easily while watching TV, but it’s quite a challenge to zone out while interacting with most fandom material, be it reading or writing, making art and gifs and memes, or doing FBI-level work and creating candies.

I’ve read about c-turtles who missed Gg and Dd’s performances because they had to take care of their children. Somewhere else, they mentioned a survey that analysed the difference between how younger and older turtles would convince others about SZD ~ younger turtles tend to make a long list of evidences / candies, while older turtles tend to simply say “I’m married. I have eyes”. Whether this survey existed and the analysis was accurate, I couldn’t tell without seeing it, but these are hints that turtles aren’t limited to the young.

I’m an old fandomer and can only speak for myself. Like the older turtles in the maybe-real survey, I don’t feel a need to convince others, and that silence, perhaps, fuels the perception that fans like myself do not exist. And if I’m truly pressed to do the convincing, I also wouldn’t go the route of listing candies, a method that tends to take up more space and create visibility.

For one, listing candies requires a memory I don’t have. For two, because I feel that the strength of many candies / evidences are based on whether one has already assumed BJYXSZD. The more recent candies are also often stacked on the older ones -- and so it requires knowledge and trust of the old candies, of the BJYX canon already written.

Since solo fans do not share the same assumptions, knowledge and trust, convincing is difficult to do without getting into circular arguments, without the mounting frustration in doing so escalating the discussions to quarrels and fights.

Here’s an analogy I can think of, and I hope it isn’t offensive to anyone (I sincerely apologise if it is.) For non-Christians, have you had someone try to convince you that their faith SZD? I have multiple experiences of that when I was younger, and the convo usually went like this:

They: God SZD, because the Bible says so. Me: But the Bible may be fictional? They: It can’t be, because it carries the words of God. Me: But I don’t believe in God. Isn’t that how our convo began? So the statement “the Bible carries the words of God” means little for me, in terms of how true or fictional it is. They: But it’s a mistake to not believe in God. Me: Why? They: Because the Bible already proves God SZD (returns to the first point; restarts the convo).

You see how these arguments could go on forever, not because either of us were awful people, but because our starting assumptions (the nature of the Bible) were different and They, the persuader, failed to see that? Over time -- and perhaps that’s where age kicks in -- I’ve realised this: the best persuader for a cause isn’t the one who can list the most evidences or who can say them with the loudest voice, the utmost conviction. It is the one who can best see the others’ perspective. Who can put on and remove their cause-tinted lens in a heartbeat. Who can think in the opposite sides’ shoes. Sympathise. Spot a “lost cause” quickly and retreat while keeping peace -- because few “lost causes” are truly permanent, except those who feel their perspective has been slighted. Insulted.

Getting back to BJYX, if I must try to convince someone SZD as an old, unmarried turtle with an admittedly awful eyesight for romance, I’d only say the following:

I trust there must be some truth in what millions of eyes have claimed to see.

PS. Here’s another likely sign of age: I may thank whoever calls me “a little girl with a rich imagination”. 5% for the “little girl”, 95% for the “rich imagination”. Do you know how BORING and TEDIOUS the 30+ world can be?

#Anonymous #pie answers #yizhan #bjyx

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monstersandmaw · 4 years ago

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Evening to ya, Ghosti✌️😆

Sorry if the wording sounds silly, but I wanted to ask if you know any rituals I could do for the New Years. 🤣 Christmas hasn't been exactly an easy time for me for various reasons and I tend to get the holiday blues pretty bad, and for a long old while New Years has felt very similar. I'm doing my best to feel hopeful and to have some faith for the new year, but it's turning out to be trickier than I anticipated. So I wanted to ask for suggestions as to do anything that could help feeling more hopeful, I dunno. :3

Though feel free to ignore this if you don't have the energy for it. I hope you had delightful holiday however you celebrated!!! 😊💖💖💖💖

Hey anon! (it’s now afternoon here in the UK, and it was morning when I started this! I got a bit carried away). I don’t know that I’m necessarily the right person to ask about this, but here are some ideas of things I’ve found helpful/centring/calming anyway which you could draw from. Other folks, please feel free to chime in with your favourite ways to put the old year to bed and welcome in the new one!

(first of all, I’m sending you lots of virtual ghostli hugs to help drive away those holiday blues. That sucks, and I’m so sorry it’s been so tough for you.)

Here’s a rundown of what’s below, and I’ll put in a ‘keep reading’ so that it’s not an incredibly long post! Some of it is more on the ‘spiritutal’ side of things, and others are just mundane and practical things.

Congratulate yourself on making it through the clusterfuck that was 2020

Make some tea and meditate on what’s been and what you wish for

Go outside, be still, and breathe deeply

Let go of negative events and thoughts by writing them down, then safely burning the paper

Disconnect from social media for a few days (or however long you’re comfortable with)

Start a bullet journal

Write lists of goals for 2021 and then refine/distill them down to 3 manageable objectives

Commit 100% to 6 months of positive change

Pick three dates/months in the year when good things will happen, and make them happen (including growing veg/fruit)

Light a candle on the full moon or New Year

Ok, so, first of all, you’ve made it through this year!! That’s no small accomplishment, given the sheer volume of absolute shite that has been flung at us from all angles, no matter where in the world you live. Celebrate that. Seriously, I’m not being flippant. Take a moment of stillness wherever you are, be ‘present’, and just think about the fact that you’re here, right now, reading this post. Not everyone is here any more for one reason or another, but you did it. Congratulate yourself and celebrate that. Treat yourself to a slice of cake (or something you really enjoy) specifically to celebrate making it through 2020.

Make a cup of tea (try a new blend or recipe perhaps, or stick with your absolute favourite), or make a comforting drink of your choice. As you pour the water into the cup, breathe in the steam and enjoy the scent of it. Try and imbue all the positive things - memories, achievements, moments etc. - that you encountered this year into the tea/drink, and think about them growing in strength as the tea steeps, and envisage them continuing on to next year too. When you drink the tea, you take the positive thoughts into yourself and they become a part of you. You could try it in the morning with a caffeinated drink (if you enjoy those) and let it fuel you for the day, or you could try a herbal tea at night to let the good vibes steep overnight while you rest. Make it part of your daily routine; a private meditation.

Go outside and find a quiet spot somewhere and either stand or sit and just soak up the atmosphere. If there’s a tree nearby, think about the way its roots are planted in the earth, its trunk stands tall, and its branches reach towards the sky. Feel that space inside you. Breathe deeply in and out, visualising your lungs filling to the deepest parts, starting at the bottom. Count to four for each inhale, and six out (or whatever you’re comfortable with, so long as the exhale is longer than the inhale). This will help to still you and calm you.

If you have something fireproof (can just be a ceramic bowl), take a piece of paper and make a moment to write down all the negative things about this year, using a pen that you’re comfortable with. If you’re not one for words, draw pictures. You can make it really beautiful or just scribble it all down - it doesn’t matter. Get that shit out. Look at it for a while and read it through, mentally letting go of each thing as your eyes pass over it, then light one corner (carefully!!!) and let it burn somewhere with good ventilation (a cooker hood is good for that, but outside is better). Visualise all that negativity being swallowed by the universe and let it go. My favourite line from the Seamus Heaney translation of Beowulf comes at Beowulf’s funeral when a Geat woman is singing her grief at his passing to the sky, and there’s the simple sentence: “Heaven swallowed the smoke.” How beautiful is that? The sky swallowed up her grief as she poured it out to the universe. The negativity might take some time to vanish from your life (it’s not going to disappear at the same time as the paper, sadly!), but watching it go can be the first stage of letting things go. I did this last year, and I’m only just letting go of the last things on that list, but it was a start, and it made me feel more at peace.

Disconnect from social media. I know that with so much more happening online this year out of necessity, we’ve become even more dependant on our phones and computers, and it’s wonderful that we have this chance to connect with people when we can’t see them face to face, but social media can also act as a crucible for negative feelings. People usually post the best or the worst aspects of what’s going on for them or what they care about, so it leads to a skewed view of both the world and of what’s going on amongst our connections. It’s easy to start feeling insignificant next to someone else because of their achievements or their looks etc. and it’s also easy to start to get a bleak outlook when the news is full of terrible stories and people are reacting to it in a volatile and often knee-jerk way. Take some time off - uninstall the apps, or put the limiter setting on, or just step back - for a day, two days, a week, whatever you’re comfortable with. It doesn’t have to be forever. If you use those platforms to talk to people, tell them what you’re doing, and give them another way to reach you if they need. No need to isolate yourself completely!! Think about how you felt before you started it (write it down?) and do the same afterwards, and compare. If it didn’t work for you, then that’s fine too.

Start a bullet journal! Now is the perfect time to start bullet journaling. I first started this year when I felt like time was slipping through my fingers and my life was out of my control, and it’s really helped me to get a sense of order back. It’s not the magic cure-all for procrastinators and time wasters, trust me, but it can help to organise your mind as well as your day, and keep track of your habits etc. It can be literally whatever tool you need it to be. There’s a trend on social media - particularly Instagram and YouTube - that shows off these gorgeous journals that are basically works of art in themselves, and while it’s absolutely fine to aspire to that if you want to, the essential point of the bullet journal is to be a tool. You can buy print-outs from Etsy if you don’t fancy doing your own spreads. But don’t get completely hung up on pretty spreads and layouts because you won’t use it fully then. If you’ve got ‘new book fear’, like I did, make your own! I literally started my journaling by folding a few pieces of paper over, slapping a few stickers on them to cheer them up, and writing some lists. I didn’t buy a ‘proper’ journal until July 2020 when I’d got the hang of what I wanted out of the tool, and how to use it. I adapted one or two things, and I’ll be changing one or two things for next year, but it was a good way to start.

Here are two ‘minimalist’ journals and styles that I found helpful when setting mine up. They focus on usefulness and practicality, rather than overwhelming, artistic spreads and cutesy designs. I’m about to do a ‘plan with me 2021’ journal video for YouTube, so I’ll put that up when I’ve finished it, in case that’s helpful.

Elsa Rhae

Pick Up Limes

Write down the things you want to achieve for 2021. These can be more abstract concepts like ‘more organised’ ‘healthier’ ‘start a business’ etc. Then, when you’ve got as many things as you’d ideally love to achieve/accomplish/manifest (don’t hold back at that stage), take another piece of paper and choose a maximum of six from that first lot to focus on, and below that, choose just three absolutely essential things to focus on. Make those your things for 2021.

Now, this one is a personal one for me, so it may not be applicable at all to you/others, but I’ll share it anyway. For me, I need to make some significant lifestyle changes for my physical and mental health. So, I’ve decided to commit to 6 months of really hard work to bring about those changes. Time is going to pass anyway, from January to June. Six months will come and go anyway. Where will I be in six months’ time? I could be physically and mentally exactly where I am today. That thought is super depressing to me. Or, I could devote 200% focus, commitment, and energy, and bring about those changes, and be the ‘me’ I want to be in six months’ time.

It’s like the adage of ‘given a week to write a speech, it will take you a week, but given a day to write the same speech, it will take you a day’ - your brain will tell you it takes the amount of time that you have at hand to accomplish the task, and that’s simply how long it then takes. Use those three things from the 2021 list above, and commit to making those three things happen.

As an aside, tell someone (whose opinions you value) that you’re going to do this. By telling someone, you’re helping to cement the idea in reality, and you’ve got a support to turn to if it gets rocky, someone to cheer you on, and someone to celebrate with who knew what a struggle and commitment this was to you in the first place.

Pick three points in the year where good things will happen. Book yourself something nice, save up for something and have it delivered then, or tell yourself that you will have achieved [x] by May, or September, or December. For me, it’s a working draft of my novel, and certain health goals by October, but make it yours, and keep those points fixed in your mind. It will help 2021 not to be one amorphous mass of time, and will give it structure and form. You could also choose to grow something in a pot - lots of vegetables can be grown cheaply from seed in a pot on a windowsill, and you’ll have something tasty to eat at the end of it!!

Here’s a slightly gentler idea to finish with:

On New Year’s Eve take a moment to yourself, go outside if it’s not raining or too cold etc., light a candle, hold it (safely) in your hands, and be still. It doesn’t have to be exactly at midnight, but it will help your focus if it’s dark. Otherwise, go to a quiet part of the house and turn the lights down so that the candle flame is your focus. As before, think about what you’ve achieved this year, and be honest, not just negative! It’s very easy to say ‘oh I didn’t achieve anything, it all sucks, it was all awful’, when there will be tiny victories tucked away in there, I promise you, even if it was the toughest year of your life. Then think about where you are at the moment, mentally and physically. Acknowledge that state of being. Look at it with honest eyes. This moment is not for anyone else, so you don’t need to colour it one way or another. It’s for you. If you’re finding it hard not to be negative, be neutral. Let those thoughts come and go, and then turn your mind to the future. Mentally feed those negative thoughts into the flame in front of you, one at a time. Say it out loud if that helps, but do what makes you comfortable. Let the light from the flame fill your mind and your heart, and think about your intentions for the new year.

Tonight (30th Dec) is a full moon, so if that is significant for you, you may wish to do this tonight instead of tomorrow.

I hope that some of that gives you some inspiration, and I hope that people will chime in with their own new year’s rituals and habits. Be honest with yourself but not harsh, and be positive but not unrealistic. This year has been one hell of a ride, and we’re not done yet... Here in the UK, we’ve got the highest numbers of Covid that we’ve ever had, we’re in the harshest lock down (Tier 4) and can’t visit anyone, and we’re also going through Brexit (which is proving a nightmare for everyone, especially small businesses...).

Control the things you can control, and learn and employ systems to ride out the things that are beyond your influence. And take heart - you have a family of folks on here, all across the world!

#new year ritual #new year #resolutions #new year resolutions #rituals #ritual

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crqstalite · 3 years ago

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19. — fireworks for kodelyn and kallan? i'm intrigued by them :0

Fireworks

Shepard,

I was informed there was to be a light show somewhere on the strip later tonight. Lt. Vega compared them to something called fireworks. I am unsure of what that means but curious. If you’re free, I would enjoy the chance to watch them with you.

- Kallan

----

Kodelyn initially hesitated over the request, reading over it for any hints towards non-benevolent intentions. A light show on the Citadel seemed innocent enough, something friends would do. She hadn’t seen them in some time.

Yet this was an assassin that asked her to see it with her. Yes, she had plenty of friends who were, by definition, mercenaries and assassins like her. Every single one of them had used their respective guns more than once.

Except Kallan Gautheir was in a league of her own, and not by her own doing. Not a few days ago, this was the same woman that had attempted to kill her. The same woman who wore her face with contempt. The same woman that tried to steal her life right out from under her.

Understandably, Kodelyn’s a bit suspicious. Light shows with your own clone didn’t come with a manual. Or an explanation.

In the moment, it had seemed like the right decision. To grab her hand and pull. To tell her she had more of a purpose than to be...well, her.

It felt like staring at a mirror in that split second Kodelyn had leapt forward and wrapped her fingers around her wrist. As if she were talking to herself, trying to talk her down from squirming out of her grip. To a point, she thinks she was. Projecting, that was. Kodelyn had surprised herself. She was angry. Furious. Brooks, Cerberus, to an extent even the Illusive Man had convinced this woman she was good for nothing but what they’d set her out to do. Convinced her she could never be her own person, follow her own passions. Her entire personality was wrapped up in becoming something she wasn’t.

Or something she was, technically. Kodelyn has to remind herself sometimes that she is really a complete copy of herself. As far as any DNA scanner was concerned, she was Shepard. Well, they both were. Kodelyn was the real one. The alpha prototype, as it seemed. She knew that. The average passerby did not.

Saving her seemed like the right thing to do. The only thing to do.

Those dark, but somehow bright mahogany eyes had widened upon realizing Kodelyn didn’t intend to kill her outright. Surprise painted her entire expression when she was offered to live what life the Reaper’s invasion would allow her. Speechless, when Kodelyn had told her she was free. As if she’d been speaking in tongues or another language, completely spaced out just on that idea alone.

Had she ever been offered a choice like that before? Something says she hadn’t. Something says her short life had been nothing but being told what to do without even a second thought. Kodelyn wants to rectify it, even if she’s fumbling trying to figure out how.

But at the same time, and a little more selfishly, she doesn’t think she could’ve sat back and watched herself die. Watched herself fall to her death among the Citadel wards. That may have haunted her for much longer than she could’ve handled.

Lately Kallan had been staying in the apartment, shut up in the room she’d claimed for herself, closest to the door. Kodelyn had expected her to want to explore, but she’d made herself scarce. When she wasn’t doing that, she was occasionally giving heart attacks to the crewmates that came over to visit. It was a little amusing. EDI was currently the only one successful at knowing which was which upon first glance (which Joker claimed was cheating, rightfully so with her biometric scans), but Kallan had managed to confuse the rest of them. Kodelyn couldn’t help but laugh when James had come over, and Kallan had come out of her room to grab something from the kitchen. All in good, unintentional fun for those on the Cerberus SR-2 crew as they got to know the not-her.

But short of that, Kallan had never made a request to go out somewhere with her. She’d been silently observing, quietly answering questions when prodded. Sitting at the kitchen counter in the mornings with her nose in her omni-tool, or staring out the big picture window in the living room. But the last day or so, she’d been showing some sort of fledgling personality. Curiosity about things outside of the Reapers, mostly a fascination with EDI, but also an academic one of the biotics on the crew. She’d gone out with Miranda earlier in the day, presumably so that Miranda could compile more data on her, but she’d seemed pleased when she returned.

Kodelyn can’t read her. Maybe that speaks more volumes about her herself than it does about her clone.

Placing the datapad back down on her nightstand, she slips a sweatshirt on and pads downstairs. Would it hurt to grant her request? Probably not. Kallan would know better not to start anything, especially in the middle of a gathering. It could be worth giving her the benefit of the doubt, after all, until the party all they have is time. Maybe Kodelyn just wants to sate her curiosity about her as well.

Kallan herself is watching one of the vidscreens with great curiosity, her head slightly tilted to the right. Kodelyn isn’t sure what she’s watching, most likely a drama off one of the vid channels, but she taps the woman on the shoulder. It’s almost as if she’s electrocuted her, the biotic jolting and whipping her head around to look at her.

“Don’t freak out.” Kodelyn holds her hands up, “Just wanted to see what you were up to.”

It takes her a moment, a critical eye roaming over her form but Kallan relaxes back into the couch, “Then...I am up to nothing. I was curious what entertainment the Citadel had, but I’m not quite pleased with what I’ve found. There are...a lot of inaccuracies in the vids that portray the Alliance.”

“I’m not surprised.” She answers, leaning her forearms on the couch’s back. To a point, she wonders how Kallan can tell the difference, but just how much she knows about their military is an unknown, “People love a good story way more than they do facts.”

“That seems counterintuitive. How could you build a story on a shaky foundation of skewed details?” Kallan furrows her brows, gesturing at the screen. Her reaction makes Kodelyn smile, how many of these had she ever seen? She doubts Cerberus would’ve been showing her entertainment media. Maybe Tali could show off Fleet and Flotilla to her before they had to ship out again, “Regardless, is there something you needed?”

“Got your message. Can’t say I saw any adverts for the show, but lead the way.” Kodelyn nods towards the front door, “I’ll have to admit, I’ve never seen one on the Citadel before.”

Her eyes brighten, pushing herself up from the couch, “You haven’t? I thought they were common.”

“I don’t spend a lot of recreational time down in the wards. This shore leave is one of the few times I’ve been for longer than a day or two.” She answers, “Could be fun.”

“I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it was.”

Childlike wonder. That’s the only word Kodelyn has to describe the look on her clone’s face when they’d arrived to the venue, watching the show with wide eyes.

Another one of the lights flashes over the strip, crackling with artificial pink and blue fireworks. Kodelyn had been pleasantly surprised, they weren’t nearly as loud as she’d thought they’d be, but just as bright. It seemed to be part of one of the nearby establishment’s routines for the weekend crowd, Kallan had just managed to catch it a few hours prior to them lighting it.

Her excitement was infectious. It’s a little odd, seeing her own face brightly smile in a way she knew she hadn’t in years. Seeing anything flying over head that weren’t bullets was...probably a new experience for her. When she’d said blank slate, Kodelyn hadn’t taken it as seriously as she should have.

She nudges the other woman’s shoulder with her own during intermission, “Good view, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Better than good.” She pulls her jacket tighter around her, turning to face her, “I’ve...never had the chance to see something like this.”

Then she was right. Kodelyn prods the question, “How much of the galaxy have you seen, Kallan?”

Like a wilted flower, the question makes her expression fall, “Not much. The strip, the archives...even the Normandy. All new places in the last couple of months. Before then, I’d never been off the station where they woke me up.”

Kodelyn feels like she’s understandably stunned, “You’ve never been to the Citadel before?”

Kallan is silent for a few moments, other pedestrians passing behind them, “I’ve been cooped up in a Cerberus facility for most of the time I’ve been alive. Brooks kept me there, taught me what I needed to know. Walking, talking, learning how to exist. There wasn’t time for vids or games or whatever else, I was learning how to be you. I’m probably the most mal-adjusted thirty year old to ever exist, to be entirely honest.”

She isn’t sure how to answer that. Her clone was mature, probably recreated with similar neural pathways to put her right at the mental age of thirty, but her memories aren’t there. They aren’t her’s, and she’s...

Still a person. A person with no idea of friendship, comradery, even love. If she did, it was probably skewed by Brook’s treatment of her.

“I’m sorry.”

Kallan raises an eyebrow, “Why? It isn’t as if you were the one that created me.”

“No. But...” What answer even is there? She feels a bit guilty, as if there was something she could’ve done or should’ve done to prevent what’d happened, but there isn’t anything she can think of short of not coming back at all, “It’s not fair what happened to you.”

“I don’t think fair mattered when they woke me up.” Another lightwork goes off, the crowd roaring with excitement. Kallan’s expression lifts into something more wistful while the green lights plays with the shadows on her face, “I don’t have childhood memories, and sometimes I don’t know where you end and I begin.”

“You’re your own person now, Kallan. You’re free to do whatever you want now.”

“I’ve never known true freedom.” The other woman leans against the railing again, rocking back and forth on her heels, “To be entirely honest, I’m not sure what to do with it. It goes against everything I was trained to do.”

“Nothing wrong with breaking a few boundaries.”

“Maybe so.” Kallan says. She gently pulls at the hair on her head, “That freedom does spell something other than looking exactly the same as you now.”

“Got any ideas on what you’ll do?”

“Nothing yet. Lawson -- Miranda, she suggested a new hair color. EDI suggested something far more drastic, but I’m not partial to artificial eye colors. Or tattoos.” Kallan says, softly smiling, “Red maybe. Or blue. Or maybe I should shave it all off. If I had any credits, I might buy something that’s not black or Alliance blue.”

“I’ll see what I can do about it. I don’t have many of my own I can offer you, but I’ll transfer over some funds.”

“Oh.” Her surprise is genuine, yet the idea seems to please her, “That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s the least I could do. I wouldn’t toss you to the wolves like that for fun.”

“I suppose I should think more highly of you.” Kallan tilts her head skyward, “Regardless, I should actually be thanking you for what you’ve already done for me.”

“I’d think I’d be one of the last people you’re thanking.”

“I’d be spattered somewhere in the wards if you hadn’t stopped to help. If you’d let me go.” Kallan says, “If the roles were reversed, I don’t think I could have done that. You’re a good person, Shepard. Guess I wish I was too.”

“Well, you didn’t take the opportunity to kill me in my sleep last night. I think that’s a step in the right direction.”

Kallan chuckles, “That’s only because Alenko would have noticed.” Seeing Kodelyn’s stunned expression she crookedly grins, “But you’re right. If I wanted to, I would have.”

“Kallan, I’m not sure how to take that. You did try to kill me, on my own ship. Only a few days ago.”

“I’m serious, believe it or not. If I killed you, I’d be blamed, and then where would we be? It wouldn’t benefit me at all.” She shrugs. Her voice gets softer, “I wouldn’t want to kill the only person who’s shown me any real respect.”

“Yeah. I trust you won’t try anything against me, and hopefully not my crew either.”

“It’d be the same outcome. I might not have your mind, but I am smarter than that.” She steps away from the railing, glancing around at the people nearby, “Fun how I’m only discovering this side of life at the end of the world as we know it.”

Lightworks crackle above their heads, bathing them in white light speckled with red. Kodelyn puts a hand on her shoulder, “Better late than never.”

#kodelyn shepard #kallan gautheir #oc #original character

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joelmillerthirstqz · 4 years ago

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Your writing is fantastic and it would be great to read some rough, shove-y sex with Joel 👀 also needy, clingy sex would be cool too

yooooooo hello these are 100% my interests, i will work on (them)!

Late-October Update: First part, Shove, is up on AO3 :)

Joel crosses his ankles as he leans against the porch railing, Molly predictably taking up Eugene’s offer to sneak out of the town Christmas party to smoke. How the hell he’d been dragged along as a bystander was beyond him, but his brow snaps into a line when Ellie and Jesse emerge from the other side of the porch, dulled music pulsing the walls of the church.

They sidle up to Eugene, who greets them warmly and offers them the lit joint, Joel’s mouth hanging open in protest, which, to his credit, he rethinks. Ellie gives him a look before taking a drag, and he segues his aborted comments into:

“I’m runnin’, if Maria comes out here,” he notes.

“Head to Jesse’s place and go down to the basement if you’re spooked, we’re just leaving too,” Ellie mutters, abundantly drunk, handing off to Jesse before disappearing inside presumably to give some form of goodbye.

Molly piques an eyebrow and Eugene beams.

“Careful, Molly, Alex’ll be excited to see you,” Jesse warns in his soft drawl.

Molly grimaces.

“What’s that possibly mean?” Joel tightens.

“You know how he’s lookin’. You’ll be fine,” Jesse slugs her on the shoulder and she looks at her arm and back to him, realizing the composure in his voice was not necessarily a sober man’s. Joel looks like he’s trying to fit his own smug smirk down the neck of his beer bottle.

—

Jesse’s basement is a smoky disaster zone, most of the patrol group burrowed in to drink, smoke, or evidently crawl all over each other. Joel has the sense memory of descending into a basement when he’d visited friends at school or been forced to go get Tommy from some A&M party.

Sarah’s mom was already gone by the time he got tackled into a wall by a pretty blonde a few years younger than him one night, in a hazy room like this. Fun-chasing as Tommy was, he saw the sliver of opportunity for a carefree night for his brother and sobered up, picked up Sarah and stayed the night at Joel’s, texting his brother to come home when he wished.

None of it feels particularly real now—someone else’s memories—until he refocuses on the Molly, forever baffled by the way she looks at him with her whole attention.

“Joel,” Molly urges, smiling at him from the bottom of the stairs and holding her hand out for his. She’d accepted his coat on the walk over, and tall as she is, the sleeves offer just the tips of her slim fingers.

He takes it briefly, still subtle enough, and meets her near the bottom. Ellie manifests from a corner, somehow having beaten them there.

“Best behavior. Welcome,” she grits, shoving a—flagon? Jug? Some type of container full of harsh whisky towards them. Dina watches her interaction curiously, chin in her hand. When Ellie rejoins her, Molly sees her mouth a “you did good!”

“You good?” Molly asks, taking the flask.

“I feel eight thousand years old, why?” Joel takes it back briefly for another hard swig.

Jesse’s steel toes thunder down the stairs behind them, hooking an arm over Joel’s shoulders.

“Anyone who goes out and shivs those motherfuckers is welcome. Also, this was Eugene’s idea, my place was just far enough from the—” his eyes widen in the realization of ‘I’ve said too much.’

Joel raises his hands.

“To my grave,” he vows, Jesse snagging the sloshing liquid Joel’s trying to steady and busting between them to slink into the dark opposite end of the room, from which raucous howling resounds.

“You think Tommy knows?” Joel glances around conspiratorially.

“Maybe. Want to get absolutely tanked?”

Joel can’t remember the last time recreational drinking in Jackson had been more than a few beers or a single whisky; some of his less adroit coping skills in Boston spring to mind readily. Molly’s dimples are showing as she smiles at him and he breathes deep and dives.

They work through three shots together, overhearing Eugene telling Firefly stories that’d make Tommy clobber him over the head.

“No, they called these body shots, idiot,” one of the patrol group younger than Ellie’s age emphasizes from the far corner. He takes a shot and slams his chest into his companion and Molly bursts out laughing.

“Outbreak babies. Christ,” she comments.

“You’re going to need to fill me in,” Joel admits, not fully recognizing the words strung together as a phrase.

Molly grabs him by the collar and whispers in his ear, his face tinging pink as she speaks, carelessly grazing his ear with her mouth. If anyone was starting to do the math around them, they definitely weren’t preventing much tonight.

Recognizing it quickly as she speaks and intimates what they could do later, “You don’t think Ellie’s—” Joel slurs together.

“Joel, yeah, I definitely do,” Molly nods, leaving him to put his hands on his head and feign stretching, scanning for his kid and finding an empty couch where she’d Dina had been progressively draping limbs over her.

“College, that right?” one asks, her patrol nickname less a sign of erudition and more a signifier of the younger group begging for stories of what they assumed had to have been a great time.

“Not even close,” she folds her arms.

Joel’s looking back over at her with an unfathomable expression.

Molly raises an eyebrow at him.

“Molly!” Both Joel and Molly snap around at the sound—an inebriated Alex, ever hopeful that Molly would take interest, ambling towards them.

“Alex,” Molly acknowledges.

“Look I’m juss gonna—” he gears up, puffing his chest out.

“Heyyy!” a chorus around the room lights up as Tommy comes into view, pausing at the stairs to beckon a more hesitant pair of jeans to finish the descent.

“Look what I brought,” Tommy announces, taking Maria’s hand faux-courteously and ushering her into the room. She takes a quick glance around the room for anything really out of line, but her eyes are back on Tommy.

Molly exchanges a glance with Joel, mouth turning down in a smile she’s clearly biting the inside of her cheek through. Tommy slots in by Eugene, squinting up at Joel like he can’t process his brother’s presence, Maria swarmed by red-handed occupants trying to earn her favor with the spectrum of tipple they offer.

“I think we’re skewing the demographic a bit,” Molly turns and starts, realizing Joel had pulled much closer and they’re inches apart.

If he leans in and whispers to her with an ill-contained smile, hand on her lower back, it’s not his business if anyone chooses to see it, even if it’s intentionally around the side visible to the whole room.

—

They barely make it back to Joel’s house in one piece, Molly fully face planting into the foot of snow twice. Joel almost offers to throw her over his shoulders but realizes he’s already swaying plenty and opts for an arm around her waist, which slows their progress considerably. Joel stops them every few seconds, guiding her momentum towards him to kiss her indiscreetly.

“Y’know, never personally did one of them body shots,” he murmurs, Texas inflection pouring out of him.

“How forward,” Molly teases back.

“I think you’re supposed to be lyin’ down, actually,” he jokes, getting his keys in on the fifth try and tugging Molly inside by the waist.

“Didn’t even make sense—” she complains, Joel’s hands on either side of her face as he kisses her. She grants him easy access, inviting the taste of the dark liquor into her mouth. He grabs her knitted hat and spikes it to the floor with far more force than necessary as he gets through her buttons with surprising dexterity.

They kiss messily between being successfully liberated from each layer of her clothing and Joel finally scoops her hips up, forcing her legs around his waist and into the dining room with the table they were already perfectly certain could handle a decent amount of stress.

“Pity my missed youth,” he implores, even as Molly is reclining and clearly interested in humoring him.

“Just get over here,” she falls back to her elbows as he hovers over her, balancing on one hand.

“You know, you’d usually come at it from the side,” Molly instructs.

“That so? I think I can do it this way,” Joel laughs, pouring the bottle he’d retrieved right onto her breastbone with no warning.

“Jooooel! Fuck!” Molly squeaks when the cold liquor slides uniformly down both sides of her abdomen, quickly chased by his hot tongue. He seems to get to her navel before the liquid can even pool there; thorough in laving the sticky liquid off of her skin, returning to her belly and swiping it clean with broad strokes.

“That was not nice,” she chastises, fisting his barely-long-enough hair in one hand, other hand pawing at the rest of him.

It makes Joel tilt his chin up at her, a look that would be sharp if they weren’t both so obviously besotted and hammered at once.

He twists free with next-to-no effort, moving back down and biting the side of Molly’s abdomen, tugging the skin a little as he pulls back.

Molly lets him look pleased with himself for a second, leaning heavily over her with a cocky smirk. She bites his lower lip, always searching for the appreciative grunt it earns, and isn’t surprised that he enjoys the pressure right up until she draws blood. Even in the low light (nobody drew the curtains against the reflective snow) his eyes are almost completely dark and he’s running them over her body and back to her face raptly.

Joel grasps Molly’s thighs, hard, and drags her roughly to the edge of the table, almost pinching.

Molly slaps him, not too hard, stinging on the ridge of his cheekbone. His mouth drops open for a second and she can’t help herself with how captivating he is, slowly tabulating what various replies may cost him with a clench of his jaw.

Joel watches her curious expression considerately and notes the flush along her front, returning the gesture with an extraordinary sense of control for being drunker than he’d been in years.

“Harder,” he challenges, eyes glinting in the snow-reflected light. Molly obliges, and they smile like they’ve stumbled on inventing a new art form together.

Molly lurches them together, grasping the back of his neck and kissing him feverishly, Joel reciprocating as their fingers overlap to get him out of his shirt. Joel shifts one knee next to Molly on the table, and the nervous groan it gives in reply makes him sigh and drag her down to the floor with him.

Molly straddles him as he kicks out of his jeans. It takes two seconds for him to flip them, slamming her back to the floor a little more roughly than he would’ve sober. He hooks the back of her right thigh over his shoulder and moves his mouth to suck on her clit without pretense.

“Joel!” Molly whines, arcing up on the chilled floor, interrupting it with a gasp when his first two fingers spread her. He glances up and tries not to break his pace, but Molly’s so fucking stunning, wreath of cropped auburn spilled on the floor, eyes boring into him with a soft upturn to her mouth.

“Hush,” he grumbles, smacking her thigh as he rises to his knees and drags her hips towards him.

Molly always feels as receptive as her demeanor towards him would suggest when he first slips inside of her, but tonight it feels like she’s thrusting into him somehow. Her shoulders stick to the floor as she’s far too wobbly to curl forward while he’s got her suspended well off the ground. Molly locks her thighs and shoves one heel into Joel’s lower back, knocking him off his knees enough to push forward into his lap.

“God damn it, Mol,” he protests thinly, gazing up at her as she grinds onto him, palms fanning over his broad shoulders.

“C-close,” she mumbles, throwing her head back and basking in the rough treatment he’s lavishing on her breasts.

Joel strokes the side of her face with a reverence she’s going to tease him for in the morning before lightly slapping her again and grasping her hair in a mostly connected movement.

Molly comes hard, exclaiming loudly enough that he feels compelled to cover her mouth with his opposite hand. Molly’s shivering pulls him over fast, certain and uncaring that she’s drawing blood along his back. Joel cries out between some kind of euphoric giggle as she nips his palm, absurdity starting to dawn on her.

They both rock for a long minute as he comes, Molly affectionately kissing along his high cheekbones and stroking where she’d scratched.

Joel strokes her back in kind, boneless and comfortably counting the thrum of their heartbeats against each other. He huffs a soft laugh first.

“Don’t start. Was that good?” Molly asks.

“If you’re good, yeah,” Joel can’t stop touching her face at the most restrained of times, and he cradles it in two hands now. He seems to beam up at her, thoroughly contented.

Molly kisses along his cheekbones once more and he nudges her with his nose.

“C’mon, put a drunk old man to bed,” he jokes, patting her lower back gently..

#prompts #pending prompts #pending asks #tlou fic #Anonymous

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alwaysgcld · 4 years ago

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ben’s lost episodes: bye bye summer extravagance

summary: the missing moments of ben from the last summer concert, and his speech.

After having skipped over the first concert held by Joja during the summer, Ben wasn’t quite sure what to expect. He had to admit, it was a grand setup. The last time he had been to a concert had to be a few years ago at least. Though even longer than that was the last time he had been on a stage performing. Not that this was going to be anything like those other performances.

The mayor’s voice snagged his attention before he could start the trip down memory lane. Joining up with his group at last, Ben couldn’t help but appreciate Art’s excitement over this whole thing. No one else matched that sort of enthusiasm amongst the group; most of them looked liked they’d rather be somewhere else. While he didn’t exactly like the idea of being a part of something that promoted Joja, he was more than happy to talk about the actual important parts of their community. He placed his hand above Sasha’s in the circle, not quite matching Art’s energy in the cheer. Though compared to some he did better.

Watching Sasha and Jillian take the stage to give thanks to Joja for this whole show, Ben couldn’t help but wonder what the latter may have come up with if it had just been up to her. As interesting as that might have been, her addition had been perfect. A subtle enough addition to remind everyone of who really mattered here and deserved thanks. He clapped for them both as they regrouped with the rest of their team.

As Art took the stage first, he was touched by his positive view on the valley. Considering how new he was, and how tense that meeting of team one had been, he wasn’t sure how he’d feel about his new home. When he exited the stage, Ben shot him a smile and a thumbs up. It might not have been the most eloquent speech, but it had clearly come from the heart. Which mattered the most for these speeches about their community.

With Jillian’s turn, he couldn’t help but smile softly as she took the stage. Out of all of them, there was no doubt this was the hardest for her to deal with. Joja had a major impact on her and her family, one that wasn’t easing up as time went by. If anything, it was worsening. Between the tourists flooding in for these concerts choosing to go to the nationwide store rather than some local store, and locals being sucked in with the low prices, it all just left a sour taste in his mouth. He was proud of her though. For keeping her cool out there and speaking freely. Well, as candidly as Jillian could manage without calling Joja out. Hopefully her words reached out to those in the crowd, specifically the locals who had not been standing with the Mercers. Maybe it would be a step towards things getting better for them. He really hoped things would turn towards the better for them soon. As she made her way back, Ben smiled brightly at her.

Glancing at the three other members of the group that had shown up, he realized that it might be best for him to head up next. He doubted that Ismail was going to take the stage, nor that Sasha was either since he couldn’t recall her picking a spot in the valley. And with Malia, he thought it’d be best to give her the chance to decide if she wanted to go up there at all since she had been quiet throughout their meeting.

Standing a bit straighter, he walked out onto the stage with his best smile on.

“Hello everyone, my name is Ben and I’m the town’s doctor. I suppose some of you might be thinking I’m about to talk about how the clinic ties our community together, but you’d be wrong,” he chuckled, not at all seeming uncomfortable on the stage. His view on the clinic was skewed by the fact that he was the only doctor there and in his heart he did not feel like he had any right in saying what his work added to the town.

“I’d like to take this time to shine the light on our local library. Libraries are important cornerstones of any community. They’re a place to experience new ideas, get lost in wonderful stories, while providing a sense of place for gathering at the same time. The importance of our library doesn’t end there though. Nearly all of the residents who grew up here attended classes there as well. It’s where they went through many milestones of their adolescence with the help of genuine and diligent teachers, both past and present.” That was the most important part in all of this: honoring those who were there now (Alex) and those who had been there in the past (Mila Jaiden.) He may not have gotten much of a chance to know her before, but it wasn’t hard to imagine how much of an amazing person she had been. The glimpses he’d seen of her was enough to make him certain her previous students had been lucky to have been taught by her. “From the librarians to our fine teachers, and to everyone who dedicates their time with keeping the library thriving: thank you.”

After thanking the crowd for listening, he exited the stage.

#🎕 ( self para )#this started off as just thinking of what he would have said #and evolved into this #i figured it'd be better to just add it here

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breachtopology · 5 years ago

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prompt: we’re secret friends with benefits and you accidentally wore my shirt to to the party so you’re pretending you came as me and it turns out your impression of me is on point and you know me better than you know myself are you sure you’re not in love with me?? \\ requested by @hermannsthumb

sorry this is so late (but it’s still halloween on the west coast? did I make it??) some shatterdome-era, halloween-themed com dram.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Newt cracks an eye open, waking from a nap he hadn’t realized he was taking. He lifts his head and looks where it had previously been resting—on Hermann’s bare chest. Newt’s eyes drag upward to Hermann’s face—eyes still closed, gently resting.

Reaching over to his nightstand without looking, Newt first mistakenly grabs his glasses, then his remote for the A/C setup he cobbled together from scrap jaeger metal (not officially approved, but no one has to know), Newt finally picks up his phone and checks the time. He bolts upright immediately. “Uh.” He glances down at Hermann. “Not to kick you out, but I’m gonna need to kick you out.”

Hermann props himself up on his elbows. “Oh?” He says coolly. “Plans this evening?”

“The Halloween party, dude!” Newt exclaims, leaping up out of bed, tossing the covers back so forcefully that they’re flung off Hermann as well. “It’s only like, my favorite holiday out of the whole year.”

With a yawn, Hermann reclines back onto Newt’s mattress and pulls the comforter back over himself. “In July you said Christmas was your favorite holiday,” he says up at the ceiling.

“It was in the heat of the moment,” Newt says, fishing through various piles of clothes—piles he insists are clean but just haven’t been put away yet. “We really do need some kind of mid-year holiday to break things up, you know? Why save all the good stuff for the last three months? Anyway.” Newt retrieves a white tank from one such pile and pulls it on. “I’d invite you to come,” he says as casually as possible. “But there’s a strict costume policy.”

“How gracious of you,” Hermann says, again in that cool tone. “I’m not interested in costumes.”

“Or socializing, or games, or fun. Yeah, I get it.” Newt hops into a pair of tan pants, belting them at record speed. “Now hurry up, will you?”

Hermann groans as he sits upright. His hair is mussed and sticking up at odd ends. Newt swallows down an impulse to run his hands through it one more time, to straighten it, to tuck it in place just the way Hermann likes it.

Instead, he tosses a discarded white shirt from the floor of his quarters, pelting Hermann squarely in the chest. “Here.” He follows up with a deep maroon sweater. “We’re burning daylight.”

---

They step out into the concrete hallway of the Shatterdome and start to walk toward the Mess Hall, the same direction as Hermann’s own quarters.

“You could have given me a bit more time,” Hermann grumbles, fussing with his hair, still sticking up a bit at odd ends. “I look...disheveled.”

“Hey, it’s working for you.” Newt steps in front of Hermann quickly, but continues to walk backward as he holds his arms out wide for display. “How do I look?”

Hermann looks him up and down. After a short pause, he says, “I can’t evaluate your costume until I know who or what you’re supposed to be.”

“John McClane!” Newt falls back to Hermann’s side. “You’ve seen /Die Hard/, right? Tell me you’ve seen Die Hard.”

“I’ve seen Die Hard,” Hermann says, deadpan.

“You’re lying. It’s okay. You’re forgiven. It’s unforgivable. But I forgive you.”

“Gracious of you,” Hermann murmurs with a small smile. He tugs at his sweater collar. “It’s bloody warm.”

“There’s an easy solution for that, Erdos,” Newt quips. “It’s what you get for wearing sub-zero-ready knitwear in a tropical climate.”

Hermann scowls and stops, handing Newt his cane as he proceeds to pull his sweater over his head. He looks down and lets out a groan. “Newton, this is—“

“Dr. Geiszler, Dr. Gottlieb!”

Mako approaches from the other end of the hallway, clad in a long black trench coat—clearly borrowed from someone who was at least a foot taller and broader than her—and thin sunglasses.

“Mako!” Newt waves. “Are you Neo? Dude, did you watch The Matrix? Amazing, right? That is so badass.”

She lifts her sunglasses and smiles broadly. “Keanu Reeves, he’s the best.” She lifts her sunglasses and considers Newt’s attire.

“Dr. Geiszler...Are you...someone whose clothes have been stolen?”

Newt twitches. “I’m John McClane. Die Hard? Don’t worry about it, it’s from before your time.”

Mako shrugs and smiles politely as she turns her attention to Hermann. “Dr. Gottlieb, you are a...Velvet Underground fan?”

“No, Newton is—“

Newt snaps his attention to his left and sees what Hermann had noticed—under his maroon sweater was Newt’s own Velvet Underground t-shirt, the iconic Andy Warhol banana print. Something that Hermann would never wear, on principle.

Hermann is wide-eyed in surprise. “Er, what I meant to say is...” He clears his throat. “That’s, er my costume,” he says simply. “Newton.”

“WHAT?” Newt exclaims reflexively, unable to stop himself. The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitch upwards. His expression is some bizarre distribution of mortified and smug. “I—...Yes.”

“That is cute.” Mako looks back at Newt, mildly disappointed. “I’m surprised you did not come as each other.” Before Newt can protest and explain, she lowers her sunglasses back down, strikes a pose of such genuine intensity that Newt feels momentarily frozen, before breaking out into a smile and gently leading the two of them, each with one hand, into the mess hall.

Tendo, leaning casually on the snack table, greets the two of them as they grab a couple of drinks—beer that had been snuck into the Shatterdome by some brave anonymous individual, he explains. “So,” he says to Newt. “What are you, a discount construction worker?”

Newt flips him off. Tendo laughs and turns to Hermann. “What’s your ‘stume, doc?”

Newt watches Hermann take another drink before responding, “I’m, er. Newt.” He laughs nervously. “It’s a shallow approximation—“

“Don’t sweat it, doc, no one’s got time to do anything detailed.” Tendo waves his plastic fangs. “You know. More important stuff going on. But—“ he pauses to put the fangs in. “You’ll also be amazed at how far an impression goes to sell it. I’m sure you’ve got some stories.”

"Well, yes, just the other day...” He glances quickly at Newt. Newt looks back at him and crosses his arms.

Hermann straightens up and starts speaking, more quickly and pitched than usual. “‘OSHA procedures are more guidelines than rules,’” he says, quoting—Newt realizes—something Newt had said the day before. A few near bystanders turn their heads to casually tune in. “‘So by extension, I’m the Captain Barbossa of lab safety.’”

A few scattered laughs. Hermann looks around, shocked, possibly by the getting any sort of reaction and possibly by his own delivery.

“Ha!” A nearby J-Tech officer exclaims. “That is legit.” He turns to someone on his left. “I heard the Marshall chew him out a couple weeks ago for—“

“Hey, asshole.” Newt shoots him a glare. “Shut up.” It’s not intelligent, Newt knows, but it’s enough to make a new officer wince.

Tendo lets out a laugh and claps Hermann on the shoulder. “Good one, doc.” He glances at Newt and smirks before taking a sip from his cup. Newt calls that glance and raises it with a death glare that fully transmits, Don’t you say a fucking word.

The initial bystanders disperse. Newt crosses his arms. “That’s not an impression. That’s just one single thing I said once. Taken way out of context, I might add.”

Hermann starts to silently fish through the candy bowl on the snack table.

Newt leans over to watch. “Lookin’ for something?”

At last, Hermann meticulously plucks a green Jolly Rancher from the bowl. “Green is the best flavor,” he says facetiously, delicately unwrapping it from the plastic. “Never mind that green isn’t a flavor but a color.” He pops it into his mouth and grimaces. “These are so sweet,” he says, returning to his usual tone. “Newton, how on earth do you eat these.

Newt rolls his eyes before taking a green Jolly Rancher out of the bowl for himself. “That green was wasted on you, dude” But when he looks back at Hermann he’s smiling slightly, albeit not looking in his direction.

---

For the next half hour, Newt tries to keep a safe distance from Hermann. He makes lap around the mess hall. One engineer, dressed as a pirate (basic, but effective) calls out, “John McClane!” And Newt makes a show cheering and giving her a high-five that is audible throughout the hall.

But the space is finite, and eventually his path leads him back to Hermann, who’s at the center of a small group of PPDC staff who are amused by his current monologuing. Newt slides up behind them and catches Hermann in mid-sentence.

“—and it’s an album from the point of view of a man who’s wretched, who is confronting his misdoings, his mistreatment of others, his skewed relationship with love, in this operatic way—“

In that moment, it strikes Newt that Hermann may have actually been listening. Through all the monologues, through all the rants. Newt flushes with equal parts embarrassment in the accuracy and another feeling he’s tried to push down for seven years.

“But the thing about Weezer,“ Hermann continues, emphasizing the band with an American emphasis on the -er, “Is that they created two perfect albums, so their next twelve mediocre ones are forgivable—“

“The White Album is not mediocre!” Newt finally exclaims from behind the small group, unable to stop himself. He pushes forward and softly grabs Hermann by the arm. Hermann looks up at him with a raised eyebrow, defiant. Newt turns around at the small group casually listening in. “Yeah, yeah, he’s great—excuse us for a sec, will ya?” Without waiting for a reply, he gently pulls his colleague by the arm to the hallway outside, promptly stepping in close, so Hermann is the only thing between Newt and the wall.

“What the hell, dude?” Newt hisses.

Hermann leans his head back against the concrete wall. “Being you is very easy,” he says scathingly.

With a short laugh, and Newt goes in for the kiss. Rough and agitated, how this sequence of events typically starts out. How things started hours prior in the lab, resulting in the change of location to Newt’s room to tear off one another’s clothes as quickly as possible. He slips a hand under Hermann’s/Newt’s own shirt and slides it up and beside Hermann’s ribcage, pulling him in closer.

“This is a new level of narcissism,” Hermann says breathlessly when Newt pulls away. “Even for you.”

“Says the guy who tastes like green.” Newt smirks. “You think you know me?”

“You are impossible not to know.” Hermann says, lifting his chin.

They lock eyes. Newt searches for some confirmation of something in Hermann’s gaze. There’s a hint, close, just behind his eyes, but it’s just out of reach. Despite his better judgement, Newt slips his hand out from under Hermann’s shirt, lifts it, hesitates momentarily, but proceeds to card it gently through Hermann’s hair, smoothing out the odd ends. From front to back, then around to rest on Hermann’s cheek. Hermann looks at him, wide-eyed.

“Newton,” he says softly.

Newt swallows. “Yeah?”

The faceless drone of the party on the other room extends the silence. They look at one another for a minute. And it strikes Newt that it’s longest either of them has gone in each other’s company without a word.

But as “Monster Mash” comes on the speakers, the mess hall erupts into cheers. The incongruity of it all breaks whatever was there, between them in the hallway. Hermann swallows. “I’ll be returning to my quarters, now,” he says, voice just above a whisper. Newt steps back, giving Hermann the space to collect his cane and step out. He gives Newt one last look, opens his mouth to speak, but closes it. He walks away without another word.

#i'm not funny enough to do this prompt true justice but...[ben wyatt voice] it's about the mutual pining #hermannsthumb #k sci

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adrenaline-roulette · 5 years ago

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He’ll save every one of us Chapter 5

Brian May x Reader with side notes of Roger Taylor x Original female character

Preview: “You should join our band…” “I’m sorry, I should do what now?” “Don’t play dumb, you heard me!” “I can’t just join a band!”

Chapter five: Doctor, Doctor give me the news?

You barely register Brian repeating your name, as he stood behind you, arms folded across his chest. You’re in a daze you can’t hear, you can’t speak, you can barely even think, let alone attempt to process the words which had just been spoken through the phone. Your arm falls to your side, fingers going slack, and dropping the receiver to the ground where it barely misses hitting the floor. Silence fills the room, all that breaks it is the sound of the dial tone from the phone. “Y/N, who was it?” Brian asks softly, reaching a hand out to you, gently resting his palm over your shoulder. You shrug it off, stepping away from him as you race out of the kitchen, hurrying to the front door where you had left your wallet, and jacket. “Y/N! Wait, what’s going on?” The door closes behind you as you zip your jacket up, clutching your car keys in your trembling hand. The door creaks open, then shuts firmly, as you’re followed by hurried footsteps, Brian jogging to keep up with your sprint down to the street where your brown commodore awaits your arrival. “Here, let me drive.” Brian soothes, as he wraps his fingers around your shaking hand. You had missed slipping the key into the car lock at least five times, at this rate you were the last person who should be driving. “Just tell me where we need to go.”

You can’t quite bring yourself to speak right away, instead circling the car and slipping into the passenger seat. Brian turns the key in the ignition, the old commodore rumbling to life as he pulls out into the street. He doesn’t ask any questions, opting instead to start heading towards town. Finally, with your head pressed back against the head rest, your hands clasped firmly together in your lap, you form the word you need. “Hospital.” The word is barely more than a whisper, though with no other sounds in the car it was impossible for Brian to miss. With a quick nod of his head, he takes the necessary turn to begin the drive to the hospital. He’s smart enough to remain silent, he may not know what was going on, or what you had been told on the phone, but whatever it was had to have been urgent.

*********

“You should join our band…” You scowl down at the piece of paper on your desk, gnawing the end of your pen in absolute frustration. Bree’s words only just managed to register in your confused mind, and they are strange enough to stop you in your tracks, English essay be damned.

“I’m sorry, I should do what now?” You ask slowly, turning to face your bored friend, who was sat next to you in the local library. While you were frantically trying to finish your final essay for the year, Bree had opted for a more relaxed approach to these final few weeks of school. She was under the impression that, seeing as she had already been accepted into college, she didn’t need to worry about her last few exams. So instead, she had busied herself by drawing in her sketch book, as you stressed yourself into early greying hair.

“Don’t play dumb, you heard me! You’ve always wanted to play the drums more, and you know I have a killer voice!” Bree was never afraid to speak what she called ‘the truth’. Though in this instance, she was in fact correct.

You used to drum when you were younger, playing in your school band, though as you grew up, it no longer seemed like the cool thing to do. So, you gave it up, something that to this day, you thought had been a mistake.

“I can’t just join a band Bree, that’s ridiculous. I haven’t played the drums in years, besides, you’re not even in a band?”

“I’ll have you know that I actually am in a band!”

“And what do you do in this band?”

“Lead vocals and bass guitar.”

“You can’t play bass…”

“I can too!”

“You’re mediocre at best! You had one boyfriend who showed you some of the more basic chords.” You deadpan, shaking your head before turning your attention back to the essay you had abandoned.

Bree pouts, though she too returns to her art, shading the picture with a rather heavy hand. You don’t want to ruin her plans of starting a band, but it all seemed rather unrealistic, and besides, your work load in the new year would be beyond a joke! You draw a line through a sentence, finding your mind no longer solely focused as it had been before. “I actually took a few lessons, learnt how to play some songs even.” Bree mumbles, the corner of her lip twitching into a smile.

You bite your bottom lip and roll your eyes, you couldn’t let her win this!

“And I know you could still drum like you used to, better even! I see you tapping away rhythms all the time when you’re thinking. See, you’re doing it now!” You let out a sigh as you look down to your left hand, where sure enough, your fingers were drumming along to a beat that was stuck in your head.

“Who else is in this band, do we have anyone to play lead guitar?”

“Guitars are overrated.”

You glare at Bree, who quickly throws her hands up in surrender at your disappointed gaze. “Jake is the one who actually came up with the idea.”

You shudder at the mention of your on again off again boyfriend. “Nope. No way, I absolutely refuse to be in a band with that man.”

Bree raises an eyebrow at your obvious disgust towards the man. “I thought you guys were on good terms at the moment?”

“I mean, we are, I think? I don’t know. We aren’t exclusive, and I keep seeing him around with this blonde bombshell. It hurts, you know? And it shouldn’t, because I’m the one who suggested we take things casually! But I guess I assumed when I said that, it would be me on the arm to Mr Perfect, with him jealous, not the other way around.”

Bree nods, her eyes softening as she listens to you. It wasn’t often that you opened up so freely, you preferred to keep things bottled up, and deal with them as best you could. “Sorry, I didn’t realise.”

“No, you have nothing to be sorry for, there was no way for you to know.” You shrug, closing the notebook you had been working in. “The problem, is that he’s a bloody good guitarist, and together we would make a fucking awesome band.”

********

It feels as if you have been driving for hours by the time the bright lights of the hospital come into view, the larger than life white building filling you with a sense of dread as Brian pulls to a stop in the drop off area. “Should I continue on and park, and meet you inside?” Brian asks softly as you swing the door open, sliding one leg out and onto the ground.

“No, please I need you to come with me.” You don’t wait for his answer, knowing that he would once again be following you, and the sound of his door slamming shut only serves to confirm this. Your feet pound on the tiled floor as you race inside, Brian quickly catching up to you with his long strides. You slam into the reception desk, planting your palms firmly on the desk before you, breathing heavily as you swallow the sick feeling that had been steadily creeping up your chest. “We’re looking for Bree Skewes. She was admitted into emergency a few hours ago.”

The receptionist looks up at you, a sympathetic smile slipping across her thin lips. “Are you her family?”

You blink twice, you hadn’t thought about the need to introduce yourself. The Nurse you had spoken to on the phone had simply told you to get here as soon as possible. “I’m Y/N Y/L/N, I’m Bree’s housemate, and emergency contact.”

The receptionist looks over her notes, and nods stiffly, before peering back up at the two of you. “Yes, of course Miss Y/L/N. You will find Miss Skewes on floor five, ward B, the third room on the left.” In an instant, you’ve propelled yourself away from the desk, using the momentum to hurry over to the elevator, impatiently pressing the up arrow at least twenty times. “I feel sick.” You sniff, once the metallic doors slide open, Brian taking your hand and leading you inside. Pressing one long finger against the circular button, labelled ‘5’, you shuffle your feet against the floor as you watch the numbers slowly tick by on the small screen above the doors.

“It’s all going to be ok love, I promise.” Brian whispers, squeezing your fingers snuggly between his own, in an effort to comfort you. He was wrong though, how anything could possibly be okay in this situation was beyond you. Though, he had no idea what was going on. That was your fault. You could barely bring yourself to believe what the nurse had told you over the phone, and you honestly didn’t want to believe the news either.

As the doors slide open, you take two steps, then stop, you can’t bring yourself to move any further out of the elevator, the reality of the situation hitting you all at once. There’s a Doctor walking towards you now, as Brian wraps his arm around your waist, guiding you out of the elevator fully, leading you closer to the marching man in scrubs. “Miss Y/L/N? Hello, I’m Doctor Emmanuel, thank you for coming so quickly.”

You feel as if your hands haven’t stopped shaking since you arrived home, though now, as you follow Doctor Emmanuel into a small seating area, everything goes still. Your hands refuse to shudder, your breathing is slow and deep, even the sickness pooling in your stomach ceases to exist. Brian takes a seat beside you, resting his hand over your knee, and at this point you’re not sure if his constant contact with you, is more of a comfort to you or him. “We have contacted Miss Skewes family, though I understand they do not live locally, is that correct?”

“Y-Yes. She moved here from Brussels a few years ago for school. Her family are still there though.” It’s an automatic response, one that you had heard Bree use numerous times. People constantly questioned her accent, then asked for her entire back story, she had grown so tired of it that she shortened the backstory to cover the bare minimum. Of course that didn’t always stop her from coming up with extravagant stories for herself.

******

“Well you see, this accent is actually a disguise. I’m really from Australia, but you after I had a rather intense break up with the Australian Prime Minister’s son, he threatened if he ever saw me again, he would make sure I would never see the light of day again! And well, I ran into him at the beach once, and suddenly, as if they had been following me the entire time, a swarm of agents dressed in black suits and sunglasses circled me! I barely managed to escape, but I knew, from that moment on that I had to be careful. I fled to London, and adopted a new name and accent, just to really throw him off the scent, and I haven’t seen him since!”

******

You shake your head softly, a small smile tugging at the very corner of yours lips, the memory of how Bree had explained her accent to Jake, was a story you would never forget. The doctor had continued to speak as your mind drifted away, though you’re quickly brought back to the present, when you remember where and why you’re here.

“Miss Skewes was found collapsed out the front of your apartment complex at approximately 1405. A concerned passer-by called an ambulance for her, and we spent the last few hours attempting to contact you and her family, to inform you of what has happened. We have run various tests, X-rays, MRI’s, CT scans, everything possible…”

“And what have you found? Is she okay? What’s wrong with her?”

The doctor rests his hands in his lap, and you sink back into the chair. Brian reaches over and clasps his hand with yours, your fingers tightening around his in a vice like grip. “Miss Skewes has fallen into a coma, from what we have found, she had developed pneumonia, which was left untreated. Due to this, she developed a condition called sepsis as her body attempted to fight off the ongoing infection.”

You turn your head to the side, glancing at Brian timidly, though from what you could see, he looked almost as confused as you felt. “I don’t…. I don’t understand. What does sepsis do?”

Doctor Emmanuel clears his throat, drumming his fingers over his knee, as if thinking of the best way to explain the situation. “Miss Skewes body was producing white blood cells to fight off the pneumonia, this is what occurs in the body during any infection. However as this was left untreated, the inflammation the infection had caused in her lungs, allowed for sepsis to occur. The body was unable to fight off both the pneumonia and sepsis, so it went into, shall we say, damage control. In times of crisis, the body begins to shut down organs in an effort to save itself. The sepsis however, had already effect a few of her organs.”

The doctor trails off, as you stare at him, blinking back tears as they sting the backs of your eyes. How had all of this happened, and yet you were none the wiser? Bree hadn’t complained once! And yet, somehow, her body was doing all of this? You look at Brian once more, who had tightened his grip over your fingers, his knuckles turning white in the process. His deep brown eyes meet yours, and silently you beg him to ask what you can’t. “Which organs?”

The doctor nods slowly, flipping open the chart that he had laid over his lap. “Her lungs, which were already damaged from the pneumonia, and her brain. We believe the damage caused to her brain is what has placed her in the coma.”

You bite down on your lower lip, feeling your jaw quiver with unshed tears. “Bree, has brain damage?”

“Unfortunately, without her waking up we are unable to confirm how significant the damage is. Though to answer your question, yes. Miss Skewes has sbrain damage to some degree.”

“If… No, when she wakes up. Will she be the same? Is she still Bree?”

At this, Doctor Emmanuel stands, clasping his hands behind his back as he looks down at you, a soft smile on his lips. “I’m sorry Miss Y/L/N, we have no way of knowing.” He steps forwards, placing one hand over your shoulder, leaving it there for a few moments, before stepping away. “You are welcome to see her.”

From the corner of your eye you watch the doctor leave, making his way to speak with the nurses who were constantly monitoring Bree. There is a tightness in your chest which refuses to leave, and as you look towards the door where Bree resides behind, you feel it grow. You feel bile rise up your throat, and you simultaneously want to scream, and be sick. Slowly, you stand from your seat, pulling Brian’s hand up with you as you move. “Would you like me to come with you?” Brian asks softly, drawing soft circles on the back of your hand.

“I think I need a few minutes alone with her please. Is that okay?”

Brian nods, his hand slipping away from yours gently. “Of course that’s okay, if you need me, I’ll be outside.”

You smile as best you can at him, though it’s a strained look, one that you both know means that nothing about this situation is okay, be any means.

The white door leading to Bree’s room is slightly ajar, having been left that way for prompt access. You shoulder it open and take a tentative step inside. You can barely bring yourself to look over to the bed, where the shell of your best friend now lays. Bree is hooked up to a breathing machine, along with a drip in her arm, there’s a cuff wrapped around her bicep taking her blood pressure at various intervals as well. All around her bed are monitors, showing various stats on her overall health. None of the numbers meant anything to you, and the constant beeping from one of the machines had begun to drill its way into your mind, a migraine sure to form. Though all of this meant nothing to you, how could you even spare a thought to a migraine which hadn’t yet formed, when Bree was laying before you?

The slow rise and fall of her chest is barely visible beneath the crisp white sheets tucked in around her, she’s pale, more so than usual. Bree was never able to tan, she only had two colours, ghostly white and tomato, but the way she looked now, it was pale even for her. Dark circles around her eyes, made it look as if she hadn’t slept for days, despite now being in an almost permeant sleep. “Hey Bree.” You whisper, moving closer to her bedside, there was a full glass of water, and a plastic pitcher filed to the brim on a small table beside her, the glass was untouched, and would likely remain that way for a while still. Carefully you reach your hand out, your fingers curling around Bree’s, your thumb brushing over her knuckles gently. The chipped red nail polish was far worse for wear than it had been earlier this week, her thumb now sporting practically no colour at all.

****

“You’re not seeing Roger tonight?” You asked with a smile, as you lay across Brian’s lap on your sofa. He had long since fallen asleep, and you had continued to make yourself comfortable, reading as you listened to his quiet snores. You had spent the afternoon listening to records, while reading as the rain pelted the windows outside. Brian had fallen asleep a few hours ago, his book laying open on his chest, with his head resting on the back of the sofa. You had removed the book and marked his page, placing it on the coffee table for him to find when he awoke.

“Not tonight, just felt like a quiet night in. I didn’t realise Brian was here sorry, if I did, I would’ve given you some time alone.” Bree smiled softly, she looked tired, had for about a week now, but whenever you mentioned it she would just brush your worries off.

You sit up slightly, stilling as Brian stirs, before returning to his calm snoring. “You don’t have to be sorry! How about I make us some drinks, you grab your nail polishes, and I meet you in your room? We’ll have that quiet night together!”

Bree looks somewhat stunned, you knew you had been spending a lot of time with Brian lately, just as she had been with Roger. This was the first time in over a month you would be spending a large amount of time, with just the two of you. “But what about Brian?”

“What about him?” You laugh, sitting up fully now, and stretching your arms over your head. “He’ll be out for hours! He’s hardly been sleeping, a little bit of a nap will do him some good.”

“You’re not worried he’ll wake up suddenly?”

“Oh trust me, he won’t be waking up anytime soon.” As if to prove your point, you poke his cheek and nose multiple times with your index finger. Aside from scrunching his nose slightly, Brian doesn’t move an inch.

“Jesus, according to Roger, I once woke him up because I was breathing too loudly!”

You laugh along with Bree, as you make your way into the kitchen, pulling open the fridge door and looking through the packed shelves. You had only recently gone grocery shopping but seeing as neither of you had been home very much this week, the food lay mostly untouched. Collecting some limes, mint and soda water, you carry the ingredients over the small free space of kitchen counter. Next, you took a large pitcher, and began fulling it with lime slices, and mint leaves, before pouring in the better part of an old bottle of white rum. You think it may have been gifted as a birthday present a few years ago, but you couldn’t be sure. You mix in lime juice, and top the pitcher off with the soda water, giving everything a good stir before adding in a small amount of sugar. “It’s alive!” You cackle manically, as you grab two tall glasses and bring them into Bree’s room.

“You made mojito’s?” Bree laughs, as you plop down on the floor, the fluffy rug tickling your bare legs as you get comfortable.

“I sure did!”

“That’s more of a summer drink don’t you think?”

“Well I’m pretending it’s summer! Stop being grumpy and enjoy the booze!”

Bree grins, as she sits beside you dumping her wide array of nail polishes between the two of you on the rug. “Alright, alright I’m sorry!” She takes a gulp from one of the glasses, a content sigh sounding from her lips. “I sometimes forget how strong you make these. But fuck they’re good!”

You raise your glass up, and Bree does the same. “To strong drinks!” You declare, before taking a gulp of your own, savouring the burning feel of the rum. Perhaps you used too much? If that is even possible! “Alright, come here then, I’ll do your nails and you can do mine.” You grin, as Bree selects her polishes.

“Make sure you do them messy! Like, don’t paint the entire nail!”

You blink up at her as you apply a stroke of polish to her thumb. “You want them to be chipped to start with?”

Bree nods eagerly, and you simply shrug, doing exactly as she had asked. “It’s cool, I’m going to start a trend this way!”

“Well, I can’t have you starting a trend without me, so you had best do the same for me then!”

Close to two hours later, Brian slowly pushed the bedroom door open, he had woken up alone on the sofa, and despite the twinge in his neck from the awkward position, this was the best he had felt in weeks! He had followed the sound of music and giggling up the hall, stopping outside of Bree’s door. It was slightly ajar, he imagined it was to keep the noise down as he slept. As the door swung open, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was obvious the two of you had had a wee bit much to drink, not that he would ever say so aloud! You were laying upside down on Bree’s bed, your head dangling over the end, with your knees propped up, wriggling your toes occasionally to allow the polish to finish drying. Bree sat on the floor, hunched over as she painted her own toenails, a cigarette balanced precariously between her lips. He considered making his presence known, as neither of you seemed to be aware he was in the door way. He watched as Bree handed the cigarette to your outstretched hand, without a word spoken at all. It was something that only two people who had been friends for years could master, the art of unspoken conversation. Silently, he stepped out of the room, making his way into the kitchen. If you had had as much to drink as he assumed, you would both appreciate an order of greasy Chinese, and he was more than willing to provide. **********

“What should we be doing? I need to know what to tell Y/N.” Brian stood behind the closed door to Bree’s room, speaking quietly with Doctor Emmanuel once again. He kept his voice low, not wanting you to hear the conversation, you had other things to worry about for now.

The doctor takes a deep breath in, placing his hands in the pockets of his coat, his eyes meeting Brian’s directly. “You need to be prepared for the worst. I would recommend saying your goodbyes, now.”

Brian nods, though the words cut deep, somehow, he needs to explain to you, that you need to say goodbye to your best friend, and she won’t be able to say goodbye back, it will be entirely one-sided. Carefully, he creaks the door open, his eyes falling on you and Bree instantly, you were lying next to her on the bed, her small frame taking up only a little bit of room, leaving plenty for you. Your hand clutched hers tightly, and your head was resting against her shoulder. The sight made his heartache, and the tears he had been fighting for the past little while, came springing back in full force, they prickled his eyes, before sliding freely down his cheeks. “Y/N, I don’t know what to say…” He breathed out, moving further into the room, and taking a seat beside the bed, in the plastic chair that was intended for visitors.

“Promise me it will all be alright? Say that everything is going to end like the fairy tales. She just needs to be kissed by her Prince Charming, and she’ll wake up.” You plead, burying your face closer into her shoulder.

Brian wants to scream, Bree had been nothing but kind to him, and had answered any and all questions he had had about you when you had first started dating. She was the first to threaten him into the next century, making him promise to never hurt you, or let you be in any pain. But now you were in pain because of her, Bree had never said what to do in this situation… “I would give anything in the world to tell you you’re right. You know I would.”

It was a foolish thing for you to beg of him, Brian is as powerless in this situation as you are. “I know what you’re going to say.” You whisper, barely loud enough for Brian to hear.

“You do?”

“I’m not ready to say goodbye. I don’t even think I can.” With that, Brian stands, resting one hand on your shoulder, and the other over your and Bree’s entwined hands. “Why?”

That one word, it has so many meanings in this moment. ‘Why Bree? Why now? Why not me? Why is this happening?’ “I don’t know, I wish I did.” Brian sighed, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I’ll leave you with Bree, I just wanted to see how you were doing.” He turns to leave, but your voice cuts through the silence of the room.

“Pease stay, I need you here with me.” You don’t have to say it twice, instantly he’s back at your side, resuming the position from moments before.

Three hours pass, Brian watches as you drift in and out of consciousness, occasionally perking up when you hear movement on the opposite side of Bree, thinking perhaps she was stirring, though that was never the case, it was always one of the nurses, checking her vitals instead. He watched as the faces the nurses wore changed, they grew more concerned as the night went on, though they never said a word. It wasn’t until two am that all hell broke loose.

One of the nurses came in, checking everything over as she had done multiple times already, she leant close to one of the monitors, squinting her eyes as she read then reread the readings. Pulling away, she pressed the red emergency button on the wall behind Bree’s bed. “Miss Y/L/N, Mr May, you both need to leave please!” Doctor Emmanuel announced as he came rushing in, followed by two more nurses, and another Doctor. You bolted upright, clinging to Bree’s hand tightly. She felt colder than she had before, but you have no time to think, as you and Brian are ushered out of the room.

“What happened?” You gasp, as the door is closed firmly behind you both, and then the blind is drawn over the small window.

Brian wraps his arms around your shoulders, resting his chin atop your head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.” He whispered.

Your breathing grew quick as you paced the waiting area, Brian leaning against a nearby wall, his foot tapping nervously as he watched you. More people came rushing into Bree’s room, though you felt as if you had no more tears to shed, instead you just wanted to shriek at the top of your lungs. This continued for forty-five minutes, before the door slowly opened, all eight people who had been in the room stepping out slowly. Brian reaches you before you have the chance to hit the floor, he watched as you slowly sunk down on the spot, curling in on yourself as one of the Doctor’s steps forwards. “I’m terribly sorry Y/N and Brian. Bree put up a wonderful fight, but it was too late. I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”

Brian crouches by your side, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, as you lean into him. You have no tears left, though the heavy feeling that sits in your chest refuses to budge. The two of you sit there for a few minutes, until you feel ready to stand, Brian holding your hand the entire time. “Would you like to see her?” He asks softly, feeling your fingers tighten painfully around his own.

Once again you are unable to speak, and simply nod instead, as you both walk slowly towards the room. The beeping and whirring machines which you had grown accustomed to now lay dormant, no writing on the monitors illuminating the dark room, there is nothing attached to Bree any more, they had served their purpose, and would go back to waiting to help someone else.

Your eyes are glassy as you look down at Bree, reaching your hand out for hers once more, your fingers brushing over hers. She’s cold, too cold. As if having been burnt, your pull away almost instantly, cradling your hand. This is wrong, all wrong! You were supposed to grow old together! This was never part of the plan! You want to say she looks peaceful, though the dark circles beneath her eyes still make her look tired. “You’ve gotta wake up Bree, come on. Bree come on! Wake up dammit, this isn’t fucking fair!” You cry out, grabbing her cold hand once again, and squeezing tightly, expecting her to suddenly sit upright, wide awake. You can’t seem to wrap your head around this, the idea of Bree no longer alive, it’s not something you want to believe.

*****

“Will you come to my funeral when I die?” Bree grinned, downing another shot of tequila as you sat in the dingy pub, too many bottles and glasses to count, scattered around your table. It had been one hell of a long night. This was how you were celebrating your tenth gig together, the show had gone off without a hitch, the pub had loved you, and the owner wanted you back for a regular spot over the summer break, it was an absolute dream come true! Jake had long since left with a red head who had been giving him looks across the pub all night, which left you and Bree, not that you minded, you only needed each other to have a good night of drinking!

You scoff at the question, downing the last of your whiskey, frowning at the now empty glass. “What sort of a question is that? I thought we had already established I would die before you!” You chuckle, shaking your head softly. “It’s only a matter of time before I do something dumb enough to land me in an early grave!”

“Well just in case I kick the bucket first, will you come?”

You roll your eyes, but nod anyways. “Of course I’ll be there you idiot. I’ll write this massive eulogy, that would have you rolling in your gave! It will be so unbelievably cheesy, with awful jokes, and I will talk about every bad decision you ever made! It will be so awful; you’ll simply have to rise from the dead just to tell me to shut up!”

“That’s what I like to hear! Embarrass the dead girl!” Bree laughs, draining the last dribble of beer from one of the many bottles into her mouth. “Do you think it’s too early to start ticking off things on your bucket list?”

“May as well get a head start I say. You don’t want to be rushing on your last few days on Earth!”

“That’s what I think too! I feel like I should start with the most fun. Fuck a drummer!”

You burst out laughing, sliding off the bar stool and standing before Bree, striking the most sexy pose you can muster in your drunken state. “You can have me any day!”

*****

“What would you like to do? I can take you home, or we can wait for her parents to arrive?” Brian asks softly, resting his palm over your shoulder. The motion causes you to jump, your heart picking up pace once again, you didn’t realise Brian had stayed with you this whole time. Slowly, you turn to face him, your eyes red and puffy from the constant tears.

“Can we go home please?” Your voice is barely a whisper, though Brian seems to hear you clear as day. His hand glides down your arm, before connecting with your own hand, fingers curling around each other’s, as he leads you from the hospital room. You watch Bree over your shoulder, your mouth going dry as the door closes behind you. She was gone, truly, completely gone, and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. Brian leads you back out through the main entrance, carefully pulling you along behind him towards your car. The headlights were still on, shooting blinding light into the bush he had parked before.

“Fucking hell.” He mutters, as he unlocks the doors, slipping into the driver’s seat. You can almost hear him praying that the battery isn’t dead, what with the lights having been on for a couple of hours now. He turns the key in the ignition, and the engine roars to life, both of you releasing a breath neither had realised you were holding. He drives slowly, both out of shock from what had just occurred, and to help keep you calm, though he knew all you wanted now was to go home. The indicator clicks as he goes to turn right, your voice pulling him from his concentration on the road ahead.

“Can we go back to your place please. We must tell Roger…. And I don’t want to be alone. Not at our house.” You watch Brian carefully, his eyes meeting yours. There’s nothing but sympathy and love flooding his chocolate eyes. His hand moves from the steering wheel, flicking the indicator the opposite direction, so to signal his turning left, the opposite direction from your flat, and towards his instead.

The remainder of the car ride is kept in silence, with only an occasional glance, as if Brian is checking to make sure you were still seated beside him. He parks the car on the street, managing to get a spot right outside of his apartment complex, something which rarely happens. Perhaps the universe thinks the two of you have had enough bad luck for one night? He muses to himself, as you both make your way to the front door, rustling in his pockets for the house keys.

You gaze up the stairs, knowing that just three floors up, Roger is sat in his and Brian’s apartment, desperately waiting for a phone call, or visit from Bree. He has no idea that it’s you and Brian who are on your way to see him. No clue of what had just transpired, and you wish you had other news for him. You don’t remember walking, but somehow you find yourself stood outside of Brian’s front door, watching as it slowly swings open, with Brian’s key still in the lock. Roger is stood directly in front of you, his eyes wide, searching yours desperately. There’s no hiding how miserable to two of you look, and Roger picks up on the mood instantly, taking two steps back, and allowing you entrance into the apartment.

“I’m going to grab us all a drink, I’ll be right back Y/N.” Brian whispers, as he makes his way into the compact kitchen, rummaging through cabinets, until he finds a bottle of whiskey that had been left untouched. He was sure, that if he hadn’t of tapped a note stating, ‘DO NOT DRINK, FOR BRIAN ONLY.’ On the bottle, then it would be long gone. As he rounds the corner back into the living area, he finds you and Roger settled beside each other the dingy sofa.

Roger’s hand is held tightly between both of yours, your held tilted down as you stare down at your lap. “Bree isn’t coming over, is she?” He asks softly, and it breaks your heart to hear him sound so scared. You shake your head no, finally picking yourself up enough to look him in the eye, his pale blue eyes watching you intently. “Is Bree ever going to come over again?” He whispers, voice cracking slightly. He sounds like a child, and nothing like the budding Rockstar you’re so accustomed to. There are tears pooling in his eyes, but ever the stubborn man he refuses to allow them to fall, not yet at least.

You take a final deep breath, just as Brian settles the bottle on the coffee table, taking a seat on the arm of the sofa. “Bree won’t be coming here or going home ever again.” And just like that, the tears Roger so desperately fought against, were rushing down his cheeks, as he sobbed loudly.

Read Chapter six

Or reread Chapters One Two Three Four

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p-artsypants · 5 years ago

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Longest Night (14) Gasping

Marinette had thought Highschool had been hard. Right now, in this moment, she'd give anything to go back to those petty arguments and gossip fueled drama. But she couldn't. Instead, she and Adrien were trapped here, being punished, humiliated, tortured, for being heroes, all broadcasted for the world to see. At least she and her kitty were in this together. For now. Whump!Fic

Ao3 | FF.net

Warning: This chapter, we go back to Adrien and Marinette, and it is very dark. There is a conversation with Hawkmoth, and then after that, things get grim.

—

7:00 am.

As strange as it would seem, this was the most comfortable Adrien had been in the last 24 hours. The chain held his bum arm up so weight wasn’t pulling on it. He wasn’t in a small enclosed space, and he wasn’t laying on hard dirty ground. The stage lights were warm as they beat down on him from all sides.

Finally, he could get some rest. Though again, rest was to loose term.

Marinette didn’t bother him. She just watched from across him to make sure he was still breathing.

All that was left to do was wait. Wait for Salo to come back and inflict more pain. Wait for her to mess up, give someone a clue. Wait for the authorities or someone to find them.

She tried pulling at the chains, and tried to make her hand slide through the cuff, but it was solid, and cutting into her wrist the more she moved.

So her feeble escape plan ended prematurely.

8:00 am

There were people looking for them right? Mr. Agreste had certainly seemed like he had been following their tribulations. Her parents had been in that room too, right?

What about the others? What about Alya and Nino? The rest of their classmates?

With the way they had left things in the classroom, she wouldn’t be surprised if they had abandoned them. At least her. Adrien didn’t do anything wrong.

Well, neither did she, but sometimes that’s enough to draw enemies.

What was Lila saying about her now? Not that it mattered anyways, but it was impossible to not think about it.

Don’t let people who hate you take up real estate in your head. That was something her mom had always said. Meaning not to give thought to how others have wronged you, if you can’t do anything about it. It made more sense than ‘forgive and forget’. Right now, Lila was none of her concern. And depending on what she was like when and if they got out, she may not ever be a problem again.

Marinette wanted to believe they would beat this foe like anything other. She wanted to believe that they’d fight the good fight. But without Miraculous, what could a model and a baker’s daughter do? Sure, they had the brains of a superhero team, but what good were brains against guns?

9:00 am

She surveyed the room. There was one man sitting in the shadows, his reflective classes illuminated by the light of the computer screen. He hadn’t so much as sneezed in the hours they had been here.

“Hey,” Marinette called.

He didn’t reply.

“Can I ask for water? Does Salo want us to die of dehydration?”

He finally turned to look at her. Then after a beat, he stood and went to Salo’s table of horrors.

Marinette couldn’t see what he was doing, but she heard him pouring something.

He came over with a glass of water, or so she hoped. It had a straw.

“This isn’t poisoned, is it?” She frowned.

He only held it up to her, face impassive.

Well, If this was the opportunity to get a drink, she wasn’t going to miss it.

Hesitantly, she took the straw and sucked up some water. Well, what was partly water. And partly something else? It burned and certainly didn’t taste good. If anything, it dried her mouth out more.

“Ugh!” She shivered as the liquid sloshed uncomfortably in her empty stomach. “What is that?”

“Water.” Said the man. “With a little Vodka. To kill the bacteria.”

“What?”

“It’s not tap water.”

“Then...where did it come from?”

The man shrugged. He walked over to Adrien, smacking his face.

He blinked blearily, noting the glass and took a drink. He finished all the water, before he shuttered and coughed. Then, almost immediately, he fell back to sleep.

The man set down the glass, and meandered back to the computer, off frame. She could see as he moved, he had an earpiece in. Most likely to hear Salo’s commands.

Even if the woman wasn’t in the room, she was still in control of it.

11:00am

Marinette’s stomach was growling quite loudly. She wouldn’t be surprised if those at home watching could hear it.

Noon

In vain, she tried to swing her arms around, trying to get the feeling back in them. Her hands tingled unpleasantly and her arms trembled. She swallowed, trying to quell the dryness in her throat, but it did little good. She didn’t bother asking for more water. Salo was going to make sure they didn’t die until she wanted them to. She didn’t want to make herself sick in the meantime.

1:00pm

She started to feel lightheaded and nauseous. There was a large chance it was the lack of food. On the other hand, she had had her arms raised above her head for the last few hours.

2:00pm

It was stifling under these lights. She needed more water, even with the alcohol in it.

3:00pm

There were at least four cameras in the room. One behind Adrien, pointed at her; one behind her, pointed at Adrien; one on their side, and one towards the ceiling looking down.

Marinette kept staring at the one behind Adrien, looking right in the lens. She imagined those who were watching. Her parents, Gabriel Agreste and Nathalie. Maybe her classmates. Fans. Children.

“Hey,” she spoke to them. “If you’re watching this, you…you’re probably feeling a little hopeless. I don’t blame you. I feel…pretty hopeless too. I mean, I’m…I’m stuck. I’m not sure how I’m going to get out of this. But…but Ladybug always saves the day, right?” She glanced away, choosing her words. “My name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m 17 years old, and my favorite color is pink. I’m the daughter of the best bakers in Paris, though I might be a little bias.” She smiled slightly. “Before I became Ladybug, I was a normal girl, with a normal life. What made me extraordinary, was my willingness to help others, and my kindness. So Paris, I have a favor to ask:

“Be helpful and kind. Go out of your way do something nice for someone once a day. If you can do this for me, then I know Paris will be safe until we return.”

She glanced over to Adrien, then the man at the computer, and then back at the camera. “Maman, Papa...I’m really really sorry I had to hide this from you. I didn’t want to, and some days I thought about how much easer it would be if I just told you. How I could explain the lateness and absences, and my bad grades. But I just had to let you think I was a bad kid. It was for your safety, after all...but despite my best efforts, this still happened, and now you’re in danger. Please get somewhere safe. Leave Paris if you have to. I love you so much. I promise I’ll be out soon.”

Her bit the inside of her cheek, hesitating, but then said, “Alya, I’m sorry too. You…you probably feel kinda betrayed right now. But, like I said, it was for your own safety. You were put in peril so many times because of me. How many more would that have been if Hawkmoth thought you knew my identity? After everything, I hope you finally believe me now...sorry, that was harsh. I...I’ll forgive you, if you forgive me. Deal?”

Then she was out of words. What else could she possibly say? ‘It’s going to be okay?’ Because she had no idea if it was.

4:00pm

She started to follow the cracks in the walls with her eyes. It was hard to see them in the shadows, but she’d follow a line until she couldn’t any longer.

Then, her eyes ran into a letter. And another. And another. Squinting, she could sort of make out a word. Not one she immediately recognized, but it was a word none the less.

‘Notausgang’

Marinette stared at it for a long time. Was it an acronym?

Adrien inhaled harshly, then squinted against the light. “My lady?” He whispered, his voice soft with sleep.

“I’m here kitty. Did you get some sleep?”

“Yeah, I…I was exhausted. Sorry to leave you alone.”

“It’s fine, Cat. You were awake alone last night. I say we’re even.”

“Did I miss anything?”

“Not really. I tried to give a pep talk to those watching us. But I don’t know how genuine it sounded.”

“I bet it was lovely, My Lady.”

She smiled at him, longingly. She desperately wanted to wrap her arms around him and hold him for hours. Somewhere safe, where the Salo’s and Lila’s and Hawkmoth’s of the world could never find them.

It was odd, staring at Adrien like this. It had nearly been a full 24 hours since they were revealed to each other, and now, he felt like a stranger to her, rather than Chat Noir or Adrien. Both. And Neither. She still loved him, of course, that was undeniable, but her view of him was skewed.

It didn’t matter anyway. There was no point in asking the big questions right now. What were they now? How did this change their dynamic? If Chat loved Ladybug, did that mean—

“Notausgang.” She blurted.

“Pardon?”

“Notausgang. Does that word sound familiar?”

He creased his brow, thinking. “No...it sounds German though. Why?”

“It’s written on the wall behind you.”

“Like Graffiti?”

“No...it looks like it’s supposed to be there. Like a sign.”

“A German sign on the wall? You don’t think...we’re in Germany, do you?”

She swallowed thickly. “I have no clue where we are, but...why else would there be German on the wall?”

“Well, maybe we’re still in France. Maybe not Paris, but Alsace-Lorraine or...” he choked.

“Oh Kitty,” she tried to console, though this revelation had shaken her too. If they weren’t in Paris, what were the chances they’d be found? How likely would it be for Rena Rouge and Carapace to take trip to Germany without raising suspicion in their normal lives?

Did the authorities in Germany even care about Parisian superheroes?

6:00pm

The door opened with a loud creak.

Up until this moment, Marinette had been silently praying for Salo to come back and just get it over with, because the suspense was killing her. But now, her stomach was in her shoes and she was terrified.

“Well well well, how are we doing now? 12 hours is a long time to leave you hanging around. I’m so sorry, I meant to come back sooner, but I had errands to run.”

She set a paper bag down on her table in the shadows.

“I heard your little speech, Ladybug. Very moving. I’m sure mommy and daddy loved to hear all about how you lied to them over and over for years. And the Ladyblogger! Oh, she must be absolutely crushed. Her best friend, her hero, lying selfishly. Dangling that one bit of knowledge that she always wanted just out of reach. What a friend!”

Marinette looked away, in an attempt to block out her lies.

“But I’d like to correct one thing, however. You told Paris to be kind and all that junk, to make sure it stays safe until you could come back. Sorry, Ladyliar, you’re not leaving. Gabriel Agreste blew the only chance of Adrien getting out, and you…you have no chance. I have you right where I want you.”

Marinette glared at her, her eyes full of malice and rebellion.

“So much spirit in you still. That’s fine, we’ll cure you of that soon enough.”

Pasolini came over, undoing the chains that kept them hanging from the ceiling, and instead had their hands link behind their backs.

Adrien’s bum arm flopped uselessly down, and a wince pulled from his mouth.

Another man came forward with two steel buckets, and placed them on the floor in front of them, upside down.

“Step up.” Salo commanded.

They had to be careful, as the buckets wobbled with the uneven weight.

Marinette’s flipped out underneath her, and she fell shoulder first on the ground.

“My lady!” Adrien called out, but he was swiftly silenced with an elbow to the gut.

“Get up.” Salo demanded, standing above her.

Without the use of her arms, Marinette struggled to stand. Finally figuring out how to do so, she returned to her feet. The bucket was righted, and she stood back on it again, no fumbling this time.

Salo held her hands up like she was framing a picture. “Yes, yes this is all coming together.”

With a little swing in her step and a hum on her lips, Salo waltz over to her table, and returned with two black cloth bags.

The first one, she brought over to Adrien, holding it open and bringing it towards his face.

“No…no, no please don’t! Please!”

“Oh, what’s wrong kitty cat? Afraid of the dark?”

Adrien didn’t answer, just continued to stare with wide, fearful eyes.

“Or are we…claw-strophobic?” She grinned.

He never hated a pun. Until now. Was this woman going to ruin puns for him?

Without his consent, he whimpered, his lips trembling.

With a chuckle, she raised the hood again, ready to put it over his head.

“Incoming call ma’am.” The man at the computer spoke.

Salo backed off, gleefully going towards him. “Oh, a call, hmm?”

“The facial recognition program found a match.”

“Oh goody. We mustn’t keep him waiting then!”

The large screen opposite of them blinked to life, and there, in a dark room, with a completely phlegmatic expression, stood Hawkmoth. The man who had spent years trying to kill them.

Marinette couldn’t imagine this conversation going well.

“My my, took you long enough. I would have thought Hawkmoth would have the Ladyblog as the home screen on his computer.”

“Did you summon me to antagonize me?”

“Summon you? What, like you’re some sort of demon? Some kind of god?”

He remained emotionless.

“Your face says I’m wasting your time, but your eyes say you’re jealous.”

“Get on with it.”

She chuckled, ��And impatient too. No wonder you always lost.”

She walked over to the safe, entering a combination that Marinette couldn’t quite make out. Then she walked to the camera and held out her hand. “Here, the Ladybug earrings and the Black Cat ring. Bonafide jewels of magic. Now, what will you give me for them?”

Hawkmoth narrowed his eyes.

“I have no idea what you want with these. I can’t see the appeal of a grown man running around playing superhero. Perhaps you want the Black Cat to use for heists? But I couldn’t fathom a use for the Ladybug earrings. Unless you want them to be a circus performer.”

Marinette bit her lip, she desperately hoped that Hawkmoth wouldn’t say anything about the ultimate power of their combination.

Luckily, Hawkmoth just kept his mouth shut, and continued to glare with his steely expression.

“You know, in bartering, there has to actually be, you know…bartering.”

“What about the children?” He asked. “If I want the gems, and those two along with them. What’s the price?”

Salo barked out a laugh. “You-you want—oh that’s rich! What? You want to torture them yourself?” She shook her head. “No can do, Hawkman. I have business with them. But that was a good joke.” She wiped a pretend tear from her eyes. “Look, these are useless to me. I have all the power anyone could ever want. I’m being reasonable by offering these to you first, since you so desperately want them. But if you don’t want them, then I’ll just put them for auction up online. You can try to get them there, before some other yahoo outbids you. So, do you want them, or not?”

Hawkmoth’s lip twitched in a scowl. “Oh, I want them. But I’m not making any deals with you. I abhor torture.”

She scoffed. “Oh yeah, and what would you have done with these two if you had gotten their miraculous on your own?”

“I would have sent them home. I have nothing against them personally. It is their job to fight the akuma. And once relieved of that duty, they are free to go. In the same way, they have a duty to Paris to stop criminals. But now they’re only teenagers. What you’re doing goes beyond revenge, it’s insanity.”

“Oh, so now the terrorist is trying to lecture me? You’re playing all high and mighty, now that you’re not the villain anymore. But I guarantee you, if it was you verses them, and the Miraculous were in sight, you would do anything, including killing them, to get them. Don’t talk to me about insanity.”

Hawkmoth grit his teeth in anger, a fire of hatred burning in his eyes. “I will be taking those Miraculous on my own.”

“I’d love to see you try. Tell you what, I won’t put these up for auction until I’ve disposed of these two maggots. Go ahead, akumatize any random, innocent civilian you want and send them to me. But unlike them,” she thrust a thumb over her shoulder, “I won’t hesitate to kill your little minions.”

Hawkmoth ‘hmph’ed and the call ended.

Salo laughed. “What a moron! No wonder he loses all the battles. No strategy, no thinking, just ‘I’m gonna get them’. It’s pretty sad actually. You weren’t even good heroes, just better than the villains you faced.”

Marinette had basically tuned out all of Salo’s blathering. She was more focused on what Hawkmoth had said. I would have sent them home.

“Alright, now that that flaming garbage is over…where were we?”

Adrien tensed, seeing her go for the hood again.

Then he had a stroke of genius, or idiocy. His arms were bound, but his legs weren’t. He was free to run.

Salo picked up the hood, and brought it closer to his face. He waited until the last moment and collided the top of his head with her chin, making her bite her tongue.

“You motherfu—!” Salo bit, before covering her bloody mouth.

Adrien skirted around her, running to the door. It was open! If he could just—

A gunshot echoed and whizzed passed his good arm, putting a hole in the wall. Adrien halted immediately.

“Next time I won’t miss.” She hissed.

He turned to look back.

Marinette was still on the bucket, biting her lip to keep from screaming out. Salo had her gun pointed right between her eyes.

“It’s your decision kitty cat. The door is right there. You can run, or you can save your little girlfriend.”

The choice was simple, and he complacently walked back to his place.

“What do you say?”

“…sorry, ma’am.”

She punched him solidly in the gut, knocking the wind out of him, and sending him to the floor.

He rolled onto his side, desperately gasping for breath.

“What do we say?”

He gasped over and over, trying to breathe. “I’m—I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She kicked him in the side, making him cry out.

“What do we say!?”

“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!” He all but screamed.

Pasolini grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet.

“Then stand on the bucket.” Salo demanded fiercely.

His legs were a lot more wobbly now, and he trembled all over. But he stood on the bucket, not eager to upset her again.

He clenched his eyes shut as the bag slipped over his head. It blocked out all light, and he could feel the heat of his breath on his face. It was too hot, and the cloth pressed into his nostrils as he inhaled. He couldn’t get any air. He couldn’t—

“I can’t breathe,” he choked.

“What was that, kitty cat?”

“I can’t breathe! I can’t breathe!” Desperately, he shook his head, trying to shake it off. “Please, I can’t breathe! Get it off!”

Salo was silent. The room was quiet. Could anyone hear him?

“I can’t breathe!” He wailed. “Help!”

“Adrien!” Marinette’s voice cut through the darkness, making his panic subside for the moment. “Take a slow, deep breath.”

“I-I can’t! I-I-!”

“Sshh…” She hushed him. “Just inhale….and exhale…”

He did as she instructed. Keeping his eyes shut tight and focusing on his breathing.

Shortly after he was bagged, she was too, and she understood why he was so terrified. The hoods did make it harder to breathe, but not impossible.

Salo and her men were doing something, though neither of them could tell what it was.

“What’s happening, my lady?” Adrien asked, panic still very much taken hold of his body.

“I…I don’t know. Just keep breathing…”

“I’m—I’m scared.”

“Me too, kitty. Just keep breathing.”

And then, there was something else over their heads, and resting on their shoulders.

“Do you know what this is?” Asked Salo, sounding ever like a kindergarten teacher.

Adrien shuttered.

Marinette answered. “It’s…a rope…”

No.

A noose.

“Oh god…” She started to cry. Was this it then? Was this the end to their torture?

“This is a very easy game to play.” Said Salo. “All you have to do, is stay very still. As long as you don’t fall, you won’t lose! Now won’t this be so much fun?”

Adrien made a noise that sounded halfway between a sob and heave.

“Oh come now! You’ve been standing for 12 hours already, what’s one more?”

One hour of this.

One hour of looming demise.

All she had to do was stand still. Very still. Marinette controlled her breathing, and tried her damnedest not to even twitch.

Her heart broke as Adrien’s haggard breathing reached her ears. He was hyperventilating, choking on the hood, being swallowed by it.

“Breathe…” she said again. “Inhale…exhale…”

“No no,” Salo chastised, “we don’t speak!” She hit Marinette, not enough to push her, just just hard enough to knock her off balance.

The bucket wobbled under her.

Oh god please no…if there was ever a time for her to be graceful and balanced, now would be the time!

Unfortunately, Marinette was doomed to fall.

The bucket toppled, and skidded across the ground, clanking loudly.

“My lady!” Adrien shouted, hearing the commotion.

Marinette didn’t answer, just let out pathetic gasps for air.

“Marinette! Marinette please say something!”

But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She just kept gasping, gurgling, and coughing.

With nothing to keep him calm, Adrien spiraled into another panic attack.

Marinette landed on the pads of her feet, thankfully, but the rope tightened around her neck.

She was choking. Her breathing asthmatic, her pulse thundering in her ears. If she could just stay still like this, she’d still be safe! Just a little longer!

Bright lights danced in her vision as her jaw felt tight. She didn’t have much longer. How long had it been? A few minutes?

Finally, the rope was cut and she collapsed on the floor.

“My lady…my lady…” Adrien kept calling for her. Begging her to answer.

The hood was ripped off her head, and she could see him, still playing Salo’s game.

“Adrien…” she whispered. “Hang…hang in there…”

“My lady!” His voice was wet with relief, and he outright sobbed.

The hour ended, and his noose and hood were pulled off as well.

He met her tired eyes, nothing but longing and relief in his gaze.

“So, Adrien’s our big winner for the day, hm? Well, you get a very special prize! I know you’ll just love it! Come now, it’s getting late. It’s been a big day! And tomorrow’s going to be big too!”

Adrien obediently stood and waited to be escorted back to their cages, but Marinette still laid on the ground.

“I said, it’s time to go. Get up.”

She turned on her side, but she looked extremely weak and couldn’t find the strength to get up.

Pasolini simply grabbed hold of her arm and dragged her across the cement.

Back in the cages, Marinette was uncuffed, and then tossed into her cage. Adrien got a little more ceremony, where he was able to walk in on his own.

The cage, by comparison to the hood, felt a lot less suffocating, and he felt much more relaxed than the first night.

The slot in the door opened, and a deep voice said, “your prize.”

A blanket dropped on him. Wool, smelly, itchy, and maybe a little moldy, but it was much much warmer than nothing. He wrapped the blanket around himself and then settled on the floor, reaching his arm out under the door. “My lady? Are you there?”

Her small hand weakly grasped his, her fingers cold in the dampness of the room.

“That was a stupid thing you did.” She chastised. “Brave, but stupid.”

“…I know…I was just…I saw the hood and my flight or fight kicked in…I’m sorry.”

She squeezed his hand, but didn’t reply.

“So…what happened? I couldn’t see anything.”

“I fell, but the rope was long enough that it didn’t kill me, just choked me.”

“Salo sure knows what she’s doing.”

“Yeah.”

They lapsed into silence.

“Can I confess something?” Asked Adrien.

“Anything.”

“I hope…I hope Hawkmoth is successful in getting our Miraculous.”

“You think he’d show us mercy?”

“…at least, more than Salo.”

“I don’t know…but I think he might just be our only hope.” Marinette’s eyes closed, her body begging for rest. “I’m sorry, I’m so tired…”

“Sleep, my lady. I’m right here.”

And so sleep, she did.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #fanfiction #longest night #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #hawkmoth #ladybug #chat noir #adrinette

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ghostofviperwrites · 5 years ago

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Suzuki Gunz Crime Family - Chapter 17

Warnings: kidnapping, explicit language, criminal activity

CHAPTER 17

One Year Later

May 19, 2004

Cigar in hand Minoru sat alone in his office, his attention focused on the TV against the wall listening to the nightly news report. For the past three weeks it had been mostly the same, nearly nonstop coverage of the ongoing gang war between Chaos and Bullet Club. Bodies were discovered on the daily, raucous fights breaking out in the streets, creating near riot like conditions. As Naito had predicted the two factions were doing an excellent job of destroying each other, and Suzuki Gun was picking up the pieces with little effort on their part. With the turf war between Chaos and Bullet Club in full swing, the police were too occupied to pay much mind to Suzuki Gun allowing them to cement their foothold even stronger within the cities.

Things were finally settling down within the family, the kobun of Suzuki Gun returning to their own homes and falling back into their regular routines. Desperado was the proud father of a healthy baby boy named Hayuto who was almost four months old, while Bushi had recently announced that he and Chie were expecting a baby girl in the fall.

True to their word, the Ingobernables had faded into the background wanting no part of the daily runnings of the Suzuki Gun family, content to run their business dealings from the shadows. Their interactions were limited to family dinners and occasional transactions. All in all things were progressing quite nicely as far as Minoru was concerned.

Taking a deep puff from his cigar, Minoru blew a plume of smoke towards the ceiling allowing a small smile to grace his lips. Soon it would be time to strike, eliminate two rivals at the same time and secure their places as the top crime family in Japan. With their shipments of guns having been delivered and training completed Minoru was confident they were ready.

A picture of Kazuchika Okada on the screen captured Minoru’s full attention and he reached for the remote, turning up the volume to catch the story that only served to decrease the minimal respect he had for the man. Okada had fled the country at the start of the war, rumors swirling he had absconded to Sweden or the Netherlends and was still missing. When he had fled, Okada abandoned his sister, leaving her vulnerable. Every account Minoru had heard about Okada told how close he was to his sister. How protective he was and how well guarded she was every second of the day. With disgust Minoru turned off the TV. If he were so close to his sister or even his mother, he would never leave them unprotected. How could Okada flee, leaving behind the one person he seemed to care the most about? It would prove to be a costly mistake for Okada. Minoru had no intentions of letting such a valuable asset remain untouched.

Stubbing out his cigar Minoru leaned back in his chair, his mind working over the possible ways to use this information to his advantage. Despite the family being in shambles, their forces decimated and the empire crumbling, the Okada name still carried a lot of weight.

The phone on his desk jangled loudly, pulling Minoru’s attention from his introspections.

“Yes?” Minoru answered.

“I’ve got it.” Taka’s excited voice burst through the phone. “I finally found what we were looking for.”

“That’s my boy!” Minoru exclaimed in a rare burst of genuine emotion, a grin lifting his lips as he slammed his fist on his desk. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Taka confirmed before hanging up. For the past year Taka had been using every avenue at his disposal to locate Okada’s sister for Minoru, and he finally had her location.

Glancing at the clock, Minoru rushed from the office realizing he was running behind for his date. Entering his bedroom he threw off the track suit he had been wearing and jumped into the shower for a quick wash down. It had been a long time since he had taken the time to have an actual date, more often than not he slaked his lust with strippers from the club, but as he had so frankly told Taka, you don’t love strippers, you fuck them. Despite his cold demeanor and rather skewed view of love and relationships Minoru would admit to loneliness at times. Especially since the boys had gone back to their homes, leaving him alone in this big empty house with only the servants to keep him company. Minoru was a pragmatic man, he knew he wasn’t going to marry for love. In his line of work marriage was used for benefit not love. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the company of some lovely ladies on the side.

Dressing in a crisp gray suit with a slate blue tie, Minoru checked his reflection one last time before heading down to the waiting town car that would take him to pick up his companion for the evening, Umeko. He had run into Umeko by chance exiting a business dinner as she was leaving with her family. A quick introduction and in minutes he had secured a date.

A new excitement filled Minoru as he slid into the car. Sinking into the seats his mind raced through the possibilities of the future, and he couldn’t wait until the family dinner tomorrow night. Once every few months the Ingos and the Guns got together for a family dinner, an attempt at continuing to strengthen their bonds. Aside from that interaction, the families were pretty much separate from each other. As Minoru had assured his family from the start of this partnership the Ingos had no interest in being involved in the Guns business. If the need arose either family would be at the other’s side in a heartbeat, but that was the extent of their affiliation. Finally, after months of feeling useless, like the Guns were falling short in providing benefit to the Ingos, he had something to bring to the table. The problem was he wasn’t quite sure the reception their little discovery would receive.

As the car pulled up in front of Umeko’s town home Minoru pushed thoughts of business out of his head. He was going to enjoy tonight and take what tomorrow brought as it came.

Greeting her with a kiss on the cheek Minoru lead Umeko to the car with a soft hand on her waist, settling her in before sliding onto the supple leather seat beside his date. As they drove through the city streets Minoru kept up a steady stream of conversation, asking questions about Umeko’s family and interests, skillfully keeping the conversation focused on her and away from him.

Minoru was going to enjoy this evening out. If Taka’s information brought to fruition what Minoru had planned, it would be a long time before he would be able to have a night out without looking over his shoulder. At least until Kazuchika Okada was dealt with once and for all.

The following evening, nothing could dampen Minoru’s spirits. His date with Umeko had gone swimmingly, and they had plans to see each other later in the week; Chie seemed to have accepted her place at Bushi’s side and was glowing from within with the tiny bump protruding from her waist as everyone showered the couple with congratulations. El Desperado and Kyo were watching baby Hayuto with wide grins as Hiromu lay on the baby blanket with him and tried to show the little one how to crawl. An indulgent smile was on Minoru’s face as he glanced around the room at the family he had chosen. Yes the Ingos may not have been a part of his plans, but nevertheless he was glad they had come together.

At the end of the table Taka was practically bouncing in his seat, eager to impart with his surprise. Minoru would have to take care not to make the younger man wait too long. He may not survive through dinner having to keep such a secret.

Slowly everyone made their way to their seats, digging into the delicious food served by Minoru’s staff and enjoying the flowing alcohol with boisterous conversations abounding. It was only when after dessert when the women and children exited the room that business was opened, everyone moving to the main table for their discussions.

Though he knew Taka was dying to spill, Minoru simply shook his head in denial and silent order for the other man to wait. Instead he gave the floor to Naito, curious as to what his counterpart had to say. Though if the Ingos beat them to the punch again Minoru wasn’t promising that blood wouldn’t be spilled. Bastards seemed to be one step ahead of him all the time.

“In the past we’ve discussed potentially furthering our families’ relationships with additional marriages between our members.” Naito opened hiding his signature smirk as he noted the nervous looks on the Guns’ faces. As much as his nature made him want to drag this out, he was in a generous mood so he was going to get to the point quickly. “However, given the current status, and our bonds being strengthened through other familial ties, the Ingobernables no longer feel that is necessary. What say you Guns?”

Minoru pursed his lips, glancing around at his kobun to gauge their reaction before responding. He had every intention of agreeing, as this move from the Ingobernables fit perfectly with his future plans; however, he wouldn’t concur without his kobun’s agreement.

“I believe we are in concurrence. Our familial bonds are strong between our families.” Minoru agreed raising his glass in a half salute in Naito’s direction before taking a long sip of the sweet liquid. “And I believe this serves as a nice segue for Taka who has some pertinent information to share.”

With a grin Taka bounded to his feet, nearly upsetting the glasses around him when he bumped the table in his haste.

“Sorry, sorry.” He mumbled at Iizuka and Lance as they steadied their cups.

“So you all know that I’ve been trying to keep tabs on Okada’s whereabouts for the past year.” Taka began with nods around the table encouraging him. “Then we found out Minako Okada was still in Tokyo. At first we thought the rumors of Okada’s affection for her were misplaced given he all but abandoned her. But over the past several months it has become clear that just because he left her, did not mean he left her unprotected. Minako was hidden away with only his most trusted advisors. Hidden in plain sight if you will. No one has seen or heard from Minako since the day Okada left Japan. There was speculation that she had in fact travelled with him, but after much research, with the assistance of Bushi.” Taka nodded respectfully at the masked man in appreciation of his guidance. Bushi smirked and dipped his chin in acknowledgement. The two scavengers had developed quite a close relationship over the past year, growing from their passions for information gathering. Bushi had taken Taka under his wing and shown him some of his tricks of the trade.

“Finally we got a lead and were able to start tracking down likely hiding spots of Minako and I’m pleased to say we finally located her.”

Despite their best efforts to look unimpressed Minoru noted the surprised reactions of the Ingobernables around the table as Taka imparted this news. Both families had been actively searching for Minako and to have finally bested the Ingobernables at something put a genuine smile on Minoru’s face.

“Where the hell is she then?” Shingo Takagi spoke up, his loud voice booming through the silent room.

With a grin Taka hurried from the room, disappearing as the attention of everyone in the room focused on the side door he had darted through. Though it was only seconds later it felt like an entirety as they waited anxiously, scared to believe, but hinging on hope for what they thought was going to happen. Even Minoru was on the edge of his seat. He knew Taka had found her, but he had never expected this.

A beaming Taka reappeared, his hand gripping tightly on the biceps of a beautiful young woman who was trembling with tears streaking down her full cheeks.

“May I present Minako Okada.”

As one Minoru and Naito rose and approached Taka, carefully examining his captive as if she was animal in a zoo. It was immediately apparent she was Okada’s sister, the family resemblance too strong to ignore.

“Very well done Taka.” Naito said acknowledging Taka’s accomplishment with a slight bow of respect.

Eventually the men returned to their seats, excited conversations erupting around the table as they discussed what this meant for the ongoing faction wars and the best way to use this information. Only Naito remained silent, mulling over Minoru’s earlier words as they were sticking in his head, telling him he was missing something.

“Minoru.” Naito spoke abruptly, the conversations in the room coming to a halt as he spoke up. “Forgive me if I’m being obtuse, but I fail to see how Minako’s appearance was a segue from our familial relations?”

Naito trailed off, leaving the question open ended as he stared at Minoru who simply bared his teeth in a predator’s smile.

“Simply dear Naito. I intend to marry the girl.”

#sgcf #Suzuki gunz crime family #Suzuki gunz fanfic #Suzuki gunz imagine #njpw fanfic #wrestling fanfic #mywriting #ghostofviperwrites

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notribs · 5 years ago

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hello hello ! it is may again and i... am still 20, using she/her, and in the eastern standard timezone. i can’t say that’s changed in the amount of time between intros. anyway, i do want to say that i like this gif because i feel like it.............. is an accurate representation of ribs at........... almost all times.

‹ TREVANTE RHODES, HE/HIM, CIS MAN, BISEXUAL. › DAVID “RIBS” SHAFFER is the TWENTY-EIGHT year old from EMERYVILLE, CA. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said, ❝ IT LOOKS LIKE SOMEWHERE JAMIE LEE WOULD BE LURED INTO. ❞ they claim ANY HORROR MOVIE WITH JAMIE LEE CURTIS IN IT is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would EXPLAIN TO THE KILLER THAT THERE WAS NO WAY HE MET THE CRITERIA FOR THE ‘FINAL GIRL’… JUST TO BE KILLED IN THE MIDDLE OF HIS SPEECH. their fears include HALLUCINATING, PARALYZATION and FIREWORKS, and they don’t know we know, but… HE MADE MONEY AS A DEALER WHILE HE WAS STILL WAITING FOR THE BAND TO TAKE OFF. hope they enjoy their stay. ‹ MUSE B from STRESSED OUT. ›

QUICK FACTS:

full name: david “ribs” isaiah shaffer

date of birth: december 1, 1992

*does not perfectly reflect the below Big Three zodiac chart because that’s so much math

zodiac big three: sagittarius sun, capricorn moon, pisces rising

gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

occupation: drummer + backup songwriter + history of drug dealing

the song i listen to on repeat while i write the intro: “make or break” - bugzy malone

BACKGROUND INFO:

triggers: violence, mentions of drug dealing, very very very brief mention of self-harm (not the product of a mental illness which is why i forgot to include this until i looked at it again this morning - the product of wanting to keep a lie), very very brief mention of guns and fire in the ‘fears’ section

born to a very loving family bc i need a sunnier background hasfkljwas

david was never EVER academically inclined. he’ll tell you it’s because he just wasn’t interested and was too involved in music and boxing, both of which will be gone over soon, but that wasn’t entirely true. he was also very busy working odd jobs days and nights as a kid and days and nights at successful businesses when he was 16+ (see: papa john’s)

his parents did own a music shop! they were clearly doing their part! but, in the digital era and the era of guitar center, they were only getting so much traction. they were also much too calm about it, at least outwardly, so david felt as though he needed to help.

but it is true that he spent a lot of time practicing music and boxing! as just mentioned, his parents owned a music store and were both very musically inclined. they taught him how to be, at the very least, INTERMEDIATE at as many instruments as possible. he can now confidently say that, if the band ever needed it, he could play the guitar, piano, bass, or saxophone.

that being said, his instrument of choice was the drums. he began using jazz drummers, as well as various hip-hop beats, as his inspiration. his original inspirations were buddy rich, gene krupa, chico hamilton, art blakey, and the beats of grime and 90s rap.

it shows.

when he ventured into other genres, however, he began taking inspiration from nick mason, john bonham, neil peart, keith moon, ginger baker, karen carpenter, and ringo starr

(i have a music theory + history lesson for you if you think ringo is a bad drummer ok - he was a “songwriter’s drummer,” which is much more important to being a drummer in a band than being technically skilled or being able to show off with complex patterns and, thus, overshadowing the song. that’s why the beatles continued asking ringo to play the drums on their songs, even after they broke up. john lennon never said “he’s not even the best drummer in the beatles” - a radio dj made that joke and people started taking it literally. love that.)

(also the same goes for nick mason but his drumming is rly only brought up when he’s brought up since pink floyd isn’t as talked about as the beatles)

ALSO!!! i have decided to be passionate about karen carpenter because girl won a 1975 poll that pit her against john bonham for best drummer and he got so mad and said she couldn’t last ten minutes with led zeppelin. the following is just alleged, but oh my god i hope it’s true: then she proceeded to compliment his drumming, say that she thinks it’s all very subjective, then got behind her set and played “babe i’m gonna leave you” while singing and not missing a single note. we have decided to stan forever.

he also took up boxing. as a kid, he was just practicing and taking any excess frustration out. when he turned 14, however, he found an opportunity in an underground circuit. he started fighting against other people, for real, and would be paid if he won the fight.

so: school from 8a-3p, drum practice from 3:30p-7:30p (i know), family from 8p-10p, boxing from 11p-2a.

his parents knew he boxed, but didn’t know it was as dangerous as it was. they assumed there were more safeguards in place..... but boy was bringing in a LOT of money for there to be a lot of safeguards in place. because of this, david NEVER let them see his matches.

when he was 16, he’d broken his ribs during one of the fights and refused to see a doctor over it. what did he say happened when his parents could TELL something was wrong? he said that he’d been mugged and beaten up. to support this theory, before he ‘showed’ it to them, he dug into himself with a knife to make it look like the muggers had a switchblade.

from there on out, he made everyone call him “ribs”

did his parents ever wonder where his excess income was coming from? DEFINITELY. he told them that, yes, his MINIATURE matches did bring in some money, but the rest of the money came from tips!! because people are clearly that generous!!

he also never showed them the full amount. he’d only give what was necessary, not out of selfishness, rather to keep his secret and save them from worrying about him. he put it in a savings account.

it should also be addressed that, during this time, he became friends with who would become the guitarist in his future band, joakim. he witnessed joakim fight a homophobic teenager and desperately wanted to join in... but his ribs were broken ahflskd

he continued boxing, even after being introduced to joakim’s college friend, gabe - the future singer of their band. that being said, they began jamming with each other and played in a few local circuits.

his parents were very encouraging of this and told him that he should go for this as a career opportunity.

can you tell they were idealists?

he wanted to... but it was very impractical. by now, however, he was out of school (and he never went to college). his parents let him continue living with them since they were under the belief they were short on cash and it’d be difficult for him to find an affordable apartment under the papa john’s salary.

he decided to take his parents up on this... but, while he was waiting for his band to find success, their music store was closed down. as they both began looking desperately for new jobs, he realized that papa john’s and the fighting payment wasn’t quite enough anymore... so he started selling drugs.

he doesn’t keep his fighting a secret anymore, but he does keep his drug dealing a secret. he fears that it’ll perpetuate stereotypes.

during one of his band’s gigs, he and the others met their future bassist - the missing piece - rory. she was marginally younger than they were, but she was an extremely talented bassist and songwriter, so the lineup was finally complete and devil’s wine was formed.

when they began skyrocketing, he quit drug dealing. he also stopped the dangerous boxing, although he continues to... box safely. he began sending money back home after they really started succeeding. his mother got a teacher licensure in music and his father got the opportunity to own..... a guitar center.

if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

VERY IMPORTANT: uses a pearl custom kit, istanbul cymbals, aquarian heads, and vic firth sticks.

that was very important.

PERSONALITY INFO:

literally obsessed with jamie lee curtis. watching her movies has also made him very genre-savvy.

would genuinely die for her.

is the epitome of bob belcher’s “oh my god.” in his band. they get off topic during practice/recording just ONCE?? queue “oh my god.” and the gif above.

isn’t necessarily ashamed of his past dealings (literally) - like, joakim knows - but is genuinely afraid of perpetuating the stereotype of the dirty black boy. he’s open about the rest of his life, but he’s convinced that if people learn he used to sell drugs, he would be setting people back. having a black drummer in a rock band that’s on the radio? he needs to keep up appearances!!

never wears shirts during concerts. has to show off his ribs and also drumming, with a bunch of lights directly on him, is an extreme exercise and guaranteed sweat machine. dresses like bugzy malone otherwise.

ahflskjd again,,, like adrian,,, look @ his chart ig alhkfjd

FEARS:

hallucinating: he hates not only the idea of losing his mind, but also the idea of having a skewed view of reality after he really... saw reality, you know? his uncle had schizophrenia and, while he rarely saw him, the thought of going through what his uncle had/has to go through terrifies him.

paralyzation: this was a constant worry of his during his boxing matches - he was terrified someone would wind up taking out a firearm and would shoot him into a state of paralysis. not to mention, all limbs are required for both drumming and boxing.... so.

fireworks: less deep than the others. the house next door to his was set on fire due to a firework display being too close. while no one died and most of the house was salvaged, the idea of losing anything he has is terrifying to him. also the sounds they make remind him of guns so?

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

ok,,, so unlike adrian,,, he lived in california,,, a state many other characters lived in. while some cities in california can be like,,,, seven hours away,,, IT’S STILL AN IMPROVEMENT, so i’ll list a few past connection ideas too!

fans

people who hate his music

people who’ve seen one of his matches

old friends

someone who was constantly in his parents’ music store

exes

fwb

ons

???? im bad at connections!!!!!! but im down for brainstorming and/or working off of urs!!!!!!

#manor:talk #will be updated when more is figured out w his subplot ofc!!

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