#i think they should come because all my problems would be solved if they did rhat

[soupdreamer]

For now… oh i’m sick

[atlabeth]

in over my head

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: between all the arguments, you and spencer begin to understand each other a little bit more.

a/n: wauw.... out of nowhere i wrote 4k words and finished this chapter in one night... god bless spencer reid. i hope you all enjoy. r's cold heart is finally starting to defrost. title from the fray song

wc: 5k

warning(s): arguing, case discussions (stalking, murder, etc), talk of parental neglect, hurt w/o comfort then hurt/comfort. r lowkey freaking out this whole fic. the usual good time

You lean against the wall, trying to keep your breathing as quiet as possible. 

You don’t really want Spencer to know you were eavesdropping on him the whole time. You don’t really want him to see the look on your face because he defended you to your dad. 

He— he should expect it, shouldn’t he? He’s sitting out in the living room on the phone, and you’re you. It’s only natural you’d listen in on him. 

Spencer defended you to your dad— mouthed off to him in very un-Spencer-like fashion. 

Why? 

From what you’d gathered, he practically worshipped the guy. Even if he didn’t, your dad was still his superior. It didn’t really seem like any kind of good idea to talk back to him. 

But he did. 

For you. 

You thought Spencer merely tolerated you because he had to. You wouldn’t blame him, the way you treated him. So why would he do something like that for you?

You’re jarred out of your thoughts when you hear Spencer say your name. You blink back into yourself to see him standing in front of you, and you feel your face burn. 

So much for not being obvious. 

“I’m assuming you heard everything?” he asks.

You nod. You have the decency to not insult his intelligence, at least. 

“That means we can go over everything,” Spencer says, already starting to walk away. “Come on.”

You frown. You expected him to be mad at you for eavesdropping, or use what he did for you as leverage for something, or— or do anything but act normal. 

You shake yourself out of your thoughts once again as you follow him back to the living room. Spencer sits back down on the couch and you tentatively sit across from him. 

“I don’t want what I said to scare you,” he says. “Hernandez may be our lead right now, but I doubt it’ll stay that way. Elle and Morgan are going to check him out, and I’ll get another call once they do.”

You blink. Of course he’d expect you to be focused on that part—your stalker, the threat against your life, the whole reason you’re in here. Not Spencer sticking up for you. 

“Right,” you say. “Do you think it’s him?”

“Honestly? No.” Spencer sighs and shakes his head. “You heard what I said. He doesn’t fit the profile—he’s a man who made the worst choices of his life when he lost everything. If he’s been released, he might have actually changed. We’re only on him because he’s all we’ve got.”

“…Good,” you say. “Strangling wouldn’t be my top way to go.”

“You need to stop talking like that,” he says. 

“I need to stop doing a lot of things,” you respond. “Any idea how much longer we’ll be in here?”

Spencer shakes his head. “We’re here until this case is solved or our cover is blown.”

You huff. “Like if this guy finds us again?”

He nods. “But that shouldn’t happen. Elle, Gideon, Hotch, and Strauss are the only ones who know about this place, and they’re obviously sworn to silence.”

“Strauss?”

“Erin Strauss,” he says. “The BAU’s section chief.” 

“Ah.” You realize you’re still holding your mug, now empty, and you lean forward to set it on the table. “What happens if we’re made?” 

“You’ve got to stop thinking about the worst case scenarios,” Spencer says. “Pessimism doesn’t just make anxiety, depression, and paranoia worse—it can raise your blood pressure, increase your chance of cardiovascular problems, and mess with your immune system. It’s literally bad for your health.” 

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” you ask. “I’ve got a stalker and we didn’t realize until he’d been watching me for a month. Your team has only got one lead and you don’t even think it’s the right one. That sounds pretty negative to me.” 

“We’re still at the beginning of this case,” Spencer says. “It usually takes a few bodies for us to figure out what’s really going on and find the unsub in our regular cases.” 

You stare at him, and he seems to realize what he’s actually said. 

“Of course, there won’t be any bodies in this case!” he rushes. “You— you’re going to be perfectly fine!” 

“You’re really not great at reassurance,” you say wryly as you pick up your cup and stand up, “are you?” 

“Homicides only occur in two percent of stalking cases!” Spencer continues, his voice rising as you go into the kitchen. “A- and you might not even be the primary target! If anything, he might be going after your dad!” 

By now you’ve finished filling your mug again. You stop at the edge of the hallway when he finishes, leveling a tired look at him. 

“Thanks, Spence. That really helps.” 

You walk back to your room, and once again, you only close the door halfway to humor his concerns. 

If you’d lingered a little longer, you would have been able to see his frown. 

“Spence?” he murmurs in confusion.

-

The rest of the day goes by smoother than you thought it would, largely because Spencer keeps his distance and you don’t fight it. 

You busy yourself with more cleaning—you never finished it after your last outburst—and when you finish that, you read. You find Pride and Prejudice in the box of books the BAU provided, and it’s a good distraction. You’d much rather worry about the problems of the Bennets rather than your own. 

You end up cooking first, and you offer Spencer some of your pasta when you finish. He initially looks shocked at the olive branch, but you figure you owe him something for all he’s put up with. 

You don’t tell him that, of course. You just tell him he has five seconds to make a decision before you finish the rest, and he snaps out of it pretty quickly. 

(“I promise I’m capable of cooking,” he says as he spoons a helping into his bowl. “I— I just don’t have much time for it. We’re always out on cases so we go to a lot of restaurants, and I get take-out at home because I get home at ungodly hours.” 

“Just shut up and eat your food,” you say. “I don’t need to hear your opening statement.” 

“Actually, I wouldn’t call this an opening statement. It’s more of—” 

“Oh my god.” You pick up your bowl and walk off. “Goodbye.”

“I think it’s more of a witness testimony!” he calls out.)

A similar thing happens with dinner, where you pull out the old reliable of chicken and rice. Dressed up a bit with some of the vegetables that are somehow already on the verge of going bad, but still the same thing you’ve eaten a million times throughout your life. You don’t really feel like cooking, but you also don’t feel like having to hear Spencer set the smoke alarm again, so you settle for this. 

(“You know,” Spencer says as he cuts into a chicken thigh, “I should really be trying everything first. Just in case there’s poison or something.” 

You stifle your incredulous laugh. “How would there be poison in anything? You all bought and brought this stuff in.” 

He shrugs. “I don’t know. But you can never be too careful.” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you say. “I— I think that is the most ridiculous thing you’ve said since I’ve met you.”

“I hope you’re not challenging me,” Spencer says. “Because I can beat it very easily.”) 

Between that, he calls out on occasion to make sure you’re still alive. You think it’s stupid, but it seems to ease his mind, so you play along.

He gets a call from your dad late at night, which he then goes on to relay to you—Agents Greenaway and Morgan paid a visit to Adam Hernandez, and they weren’t able to find anything suspicious. Penelope Garcia is going to comb through everything she can find on what he’s done since his release before they officially abandon the lead, but Hernandez is on parole and hasn’t violated it once—he seems to be clean. 

You don’t know whether you’re thankful for that or not. On one hand, you want this to be over. Getting lucky on the first suspect would be great. On the other hand, having a face to all of this scares you more than not knowing. You still have the chance to deny that all of this is real, really real—when they find their guy, you can’t do that anymore. There’s actually someone out there that wants to hurt you. 

The thought crossed your mind more often than not. 

Other than that, he doesn’t really bother you. Another thing where you don’t really know if you’re thankful or not. 

It’s close to midnight, and though you haven’t been able to sleep, you’re ready to accept this as another, thankfully non eventful day. 

But then there’s a huge flash of lightning, visible even through your closed blinds, followed closely by a deafening crack of thunder, and your whole body freezes up. Your hands stop on the page you were on, and a chill runs all the way through you despite the layers of covers you’re under. 

Rain has been pittering against the house for half the night, and you can deal with rain. You can’t deal with thunderstorms. 

You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. The absolute last thing you need to do is work yourself into a panic attack and get Spencer involved. You don’t think you could take the embarrassment. 

You attempt to go back to your book. You’d just arrived at Mr. Collins’ unsuccessful marriage proposal, but you can hardly focus. It doesn’t help when lightning illuminates your room once again, a clap of thunder sounding even quicker after, and your lamp flickers for a moment. This is actually the last thing you need—for the power to go out. 

A knock on your door suddenly sounds, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You’re already on edge and the storm’s just barely started. You hear Spencer call your name and ask if you’re awake, and you clear your throat before you respond. 

“What do you want?” You try to keep your voice as level as possible, but it wavers ever so slightly. 

“Can I come in?” 

You don’t want him to see you like this. “Is there something wrong?” 

“It’s the storm,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for you to respond. “I’m coming in.”

You have all of two seconds to make sure you don’t look as pathetic as you feel before Spencer walks in.

He looks like he just got out of bed. He’s wearing a Caltech crewneck and sweatpants, and his glasses are about to fall off his face. His disheveled appearance is in stark contrast to his usual image, with dress pants and button-ups and sweater vests galore. One of his hands clenches around the doorframe, and he uses the other to haphazardly push his glasses up as he sets his eyes on you.

“You need to come back into the living room,” Spencer says. 

“And good evening to you too.” You try not to look at him. You’ve learned that’s the best policy when it comes to him and those stupid glasses. “Why?”

“Because there’s a storm going on, and the power’s already flickered,” he says. “I don’t want to lose track of you if it does go out.”

“If the power goes out, we’re in the open out there,” you say. “If you’re so worried about it, you should stay in here.”

You expect a fight, but he just sighs and sits down in the chair across from your bed. “Fine.”

You frown. “That was easy.”

“I don’t feel like fighting with you over every little thing,” he says simply. “You might enjoy it, but I don’t. So I’m trying to take the path of least resistance.”

“That’s no fun,” you say.

“Well, you’re not very fun to be around,” Spencer says. He glances at you for a split second before his gaze goes back to the wall. “So.”

“Well, neither are you!” You don’t mean for your retort to come out so defensively, and you cringe as he looks back at you. It’s impossible to be around profilers without them knowing your every intent. You’d hate to know all the thoughts he’s had about you. “I might turn everything into a fight, but you turn everything into a drag.” 

“You’re doing it again,” he says. You expect him to go on, but he leaves it that. You find your brows furrowing deeper. 

“And?” 

“Maybe if you recognize your patterns, you’ll stop,” he says. “Sometimes people don’t realize they're doing something until it’s pointed out to them.” 

You huff. “How many times do I have to tell you not to psychoanalyze me?” 

“I don’t choose to do it,” Spencer says. You don’t miss the slight bite behind his words, and it almost makes you smile. As much as he doesn’t want to give you a fight, he can’t really help himself. You tend to bring out the worst in people. “It just happens in my brain automatically.” 

“Try to hold back,” you say. “It—”

Your words die in your throat with another crash of thunder, almost simultaneous with the lightning. It shakes the whole house, and you can’t help the full body flinch that wracks you, almost freezing completely. The power flickers again, and then it goes out altogether. You don’t even hold back your groan of annoyance. 

“Of course,” you grit out. “Of fucking course.” 

“Are you okay?” You look at him despite yourself, and even in the dark you can see the concern in his eyes. It makes your hands clench into fists beneath the sheets.

“Fine,” you mutter. “It doesn’t matter.”

Spencer frowns. “Of course it does.”

You scoff. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Why would it not matter?” he asks incredulously. “You— you’re clearly distressed, and holding it back isn’t helping anyone.” 

“Maybe I just like silence.” 

“Well, you clearly don’t like storms.” 

“How’d you figure that one, genius?” you mutter. You wrap your arms around yourself and pull your knees up to your chest, trying to lessen the sudden chill you feel. 

“...Normally, I would give you a real answer,” Spencer says. “But based on the lecture you just gave me—” 

“You figured right,” you snap. It only takes a second—and those stupid, soft eyes of his to dart away again—for you to feel… bad. 

He sighs and shakes his head as he stands up. “I’m going to get a candle. Stay put.” 

You tense as he walks out. Your whole body does, actually. You don’t know what it is about him or those stupid eyes that always manage to skirt out sympathy from you. 

You should feel gratified. At the start of this, you wanted to push Spencer to his limits—he’s too nice for his own good, and you wanted him to not only give you a more concrete reason to hate him, but get a reason to hate you back. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with this one-sided rivalry with the apparent saint of the BAU. 

But you don’t. You feel bad, and you hate it. You hate it more than any reasonable person should, but then again—you’ve never been reasonable. 

Spencer comes back in sooner rather than later, two lit candles in his hands. You can see the on-sale sticker plastered on the side of both, and you suppress a laugh. It’s something so small but so typical. 

“One’s vanilla, and one is,” he squints as he shifts it in his hand to read, “beach escape. What does a beach escape even smell like?” He shakes his head, then looks at you. “Which one do you—” 

“I’m sorry,” you interrupt. You blurt it out before you can even stop yourself. 

This time, it’s Spencer’s turn to frown. His face is illuminated from beneath by the candlelight and it gives him an almost haunting beauty, highlighted with yellow and white along his jawline and cheekbones. The flames are mirrored in the lenses of his glasses. “For what?” 

“For snapping.” You almost snap at him again out of instinct, and you let out a long, loose sigh in an effort to try and chill out for once. “Sorry. Again.” 

“Oh.” He stands there for a moment holding the two candles, and it could be a laughable sight were you not near consumed with guilt. “Uh— it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not.” 

“Fine,” he says, “it’s not. Which candle do you want?” 

“Which one do you want?” 

“This isn’t where you have to start the ‘being nice to me’ thing,” Spencer says. “They’re kind of starting to burn my hands.” 

“Beach escape,” you say. He nods and sets it on your bedside table, then sits back down in his chair after placing the vanilla one in the window sill. 

“You… seem a little pent up,” Spencer says after letting the silence dwell for a beat. His shoulders have relaxed some, not hunched up almost to his ears. Small victories, at least.

“I don’t talk about my emotions much,” you respond in equal fashion. “It’s not really my thing.” 

He shrugs. “Why not start now?” 

You laugh. “Why would I ever start now?” 

“You said it yourself,” he says. “I have a psychology degree. I’m a good listener.”

“You interrupt me all the time to say stuff.”

“You interrupt me all the time too, so I guess we’re even.” Spencer shifts in his chair. “Besides, I can listen when it’s important. And this is.”

You stare at him. He stares back. 

He has beautiful eyes even in the dark, and you hate that you can’t deny it. Deep brown like the oaks surrounding this place, that shine like pools of honey in the firelight, that always seem to soften just so when he looks at you.

You break first. You have to look away. You always have to look away. 

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you manage. “I was a latchkey kid. Storms happened a lot when I was home alone and they scared me. I guess they still do. Happy?” 

“Believe it or not, your pain doesn’t make me happy,” Spencer says. 

“I didn’t think it did,” you say, trying your best to snap. 

He nods. “So we’re in agreement?” 

“I—” you pause, a slight frown creasing your brows. “I guess.” 

Spencer nods again, and he leans forward a bit. “Wasn’t that a lot better than fighting with me, getting upset, and isolating yourself?” 

You scowl. “Don’t you dare therapize me.” 

“It’s hard not to,” Spencer says. “Especially when you seem determined to make our conversations one-sided.” 

You scoff. “I do not.” 

“You act like talking to me is a physical pain.” He crosses his arms. “You locked yourself in the bathroom last night to avoid talking to me.” 

“I locked myself in the bathroom so I wouldn’t lose my mind in front of you,” you say. “Just because I know everything about you doesn’t mean I want you to know everything about me.” 

Spencer scoffs. “You don’t know everything about me.”

“My dad talks about you more than you think,” you say. “About your whole team—but especially you.”

“Where am I from?” he asks. 

“Vegas,” you say. “He mentions it every time you beat him at cards.”

“That— that doesn’t really matter,” he says. “I know you’re from Fairfax.” 

“The worst place in the world,” you say emphatically. You can’t believe you’ve been stuck in NoVa your whole life. “Doesn’t count, though. You’re an FBI agent—you’re supposed to know things like this.” 

“So it counts when you know it, but it doesn’t count when I do?” Spencer asks. 

You nod. “I’ve heard about Penelope Garcia. I’m more surprised you don’t know everything about me by now.” 

“Me too,” he says. “Garcia can find anything. Gideon really did a good j—” 

He stops in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening slightly as he clamps his mouth shut. 

“What?” You lean forward, looking him in the eye. “He did a good job doing what?” 

“I don’t want to start another argument,” he says. 

“Oh, poor you.” You don’t think you could sound more sarcastic if you tried. “You don’t want to hear me talk about my absent father that didn’t have time for me because he was too busy with you.” You glance away. “You don’t know what it feels like.” 

“There’s something you don’t know about me then,” Spencer says. “Because I do.” 

“Unless your dad’s ignored you all his life in favor of his job and the stray genius he found there, you really don’t.” 

“My dad left when I was a kid because he couldn’t deal with my mom’s schizophrenia,” Spencer retorts. His words get you to look right back at him—they’re not overly sharp or exceedingly soft, just matter-of-fact. “I haven’t seen him since. So you’re right—I don’t know exactly what it’s like, but I know a hell of a lot more than you think.” 

Regret hits you immediately, sour and spiny as it settles in your chest. You’ve been an asshole to him this whole time, and all along he’s held this inside of him? All along, you’ve been accusing him of stealing your life from you when he’s lost more than you have. 

For a moment, you can only stare at him, at a loss for words. He meets your eyes in equal measure. You might know a lot about Spencer Reid, but you’re quickly realizing you don’t know Spencer Reid. 

“Guess we’re a lot more similar than you thought,” he says in your silence. 

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you murmur, finally managing to muster up words. “That’s awful. You didn’t deserve that.” 

“No one does,” he shrugs. This time, he’s the one to look away. “But it is what it is.” 

“How can you just say that?” you ask. You lean forward, a frown creasing your brows. “How are you not just— just angry all the time? That your dad doesn’t give a fuck about you or your mom?” 

“For a while, I was.” He chuckles, but there’s no heart in it. “I was angry at everyone. My dad, my mom, the adults around me— I hated myself most of all. It’s part of the reason I was so good in school. I didn’t want to think about it, I didn’t want to deal with it, so I studied as hard as I could, read as much as humanly possible.” He smiles thinly at nothing in particular. “Turns out I’m very good at avoiding things when I want to.” 

You shake your head with a scoff. “You’re a better person than I am. I would have hunted him down by now and given him a piece of my mind.” 

“It’s not worth it.” Spencer looks back at you. “He decided he didn’t want to be a part of my life. I’m not going to reward him by letting him ruin it when he’s not even here.” 

Is that what you’re doing? Letting your dad ruin your life by letting him occupy every part of it even when he’s not there? He’s influenced every part of your life, every part of you, and he hasn’t been here for half of it. Sometimes you’re surprised he didn’t miss your birth.

Another flash of lightning, another crack of thunder. You tense every muscle in your body to stop yourself from flinching as hard in front of Spencer. You think he notices anyway.  

“I’ve been angry at my dad since I was a kid,” you say once you’ve recovered. “He missed my dance recitals and my gymnastics meets and my soccer games, but he signed the checks for all of the payments. He told me to take honors and AP classes and missed the ceremonies for the awards. He was never there for anything that mattered, but—” you laugh again, and you blink back the tears— “but he waited until I was eighteen to get a divorce so I wouldn’t have to deal with a custody battle.” 

You bite down hard on your lip to force them back even harder as you look at Spencer. “Isn’t that fucked up? Neither of them have been there for us, but they’ve still shaped every part of us with their absence. We can’t escape it even when they’re not here, because them not being here is what caused it.” 

“I refuse to give him that much power,” Spencer says. “My dad left. He chose to leave. He doesn’t want anything to do with me, so I don’t want anything to do with him. I mean, I’m an FBI agent. I work with some of the best profilers in the world. I could find him if I wanted to, but I’m not going to waste my time chasing some pipe dream of a father that doesn’t exist.” 

“Your situation is different, though.” Both his eyes and tone soften, and something inside you stirs. “The only break I know Gideon’s taken was that six month medical leave that was practically forced on him. I think it would take an actual, life-threatening injury to get him to take another one. It’s a lot different having someone around and just… being neglected.”

“I’ve just always felt like such an asshole for it,” you mutter. “You all save lives every day. You’ve taken down a thousand sick criminals.” You shake your head with another mirthless laugh. “My dad saves women like me every day, gives them the chance to see their fathers again, and I’m mad at him because— because he won’t meet me for brunch? Because he missed my school band concerts?” 

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer says. “It’s never that simple. You don’t need to feel bad for hating him, but you also don’t need to feel bad for loving him, too.” 

You scoff. “There you go again with the psychology degree.” 

“It’s the truth,” he says. “Just because you feel rightfully angry doesn’t mean you don’t still love him. It’s part of the reason why you’re so conflicted about him.” He gave you a wry smile. “It makes everything a lot more complicated, doesn’t it?”

You shift in your bed. “Far cry from everything you told me before all this started.” 

“We see completely different sides of Gideon,” Spencer says. “I’m just… ashamed that it took me so long to believe you about all of it.” 

You huff a laugh. “I’m the one that should be ashamed. I thought you had this— this perfect life, with my dad loving you on top of it. That’s why I hated you so much.” 

He perks up. “Hated? As in, past tense? As in, you don’t hate me anymore?” 

You try to bite back your smile. You barely succeed. “Call it a truce.” 

Spencer grins and nudges his glasses back into place once again. “This might be my favorite truce since 1914.” 

“Christmas Truce,” you nod. “Good one.” 

“You know it?”

“Of course I do,” you say. “I’m a teacher.” 

Spencer blinks. “You— you are?” 

“Why is that such a surprise?” you ask. 

“You’re so…”

“Mean to you?” You chuckle. “Trust me, I’m not like this with my kids. My job is one of the parts of my life that I’m actually happy with.” 

“...Huh.” Spencer smiles at you, and you find yourself smiling back, subconsciously. “You should tell me about it sometime.”

“Sure,” you nod. “Maybe you can tell me about everything you do sometime.” 

“You’re sure you won’t get bored?” he asks. “You might not realize, but I have a tendency to rant.” 

You laugh. “Part of our truce.” 

This time, he nods. “Cool. That— that’s cool.” 

You roll your eyes as you look away, but your smile betrays you once again. Your gaze snaps over to the lamp as it flickers back on, and you realize you haven’t heard any thunder in a while. 

“Looks like the storm’s passed.” Spencer separates two of the window blinds with his fingers and peers through. You’ve never really focused on his hands like you do now—with the way you feel your face burn, it’s probably a good thing. You look away as soon as possible. “Just rain, now.” 

“Good,” you say, and you let out a yawn. “All our talking tired me out.” 

“Good,” he echoes as he picks his candle up from the window pane. “You should get eight hours of sleep a night, and I know for a fact you don’t.” 

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, professor.” 

“You’re the teacher here,” he says. “I should be saying that to you.” 

“And yet you’re so much more annoying than I could ever be,” you muse. 

“Does our truce include this?” 

“Naturally.”

Spencer chuckles and shakes his head. He starts walking to the doorway, but you speak up before he can leave. 

“Night, Spencer.” You pause as you bite the inside of your lip, then continue before you can stop yourself. “I really enjoyed talking with you.” 

He hesitates for a moment, his hand lingering on the doorframe. Then he bids you goodnight in the same fashion, actually saying your name. “I did too.”

It makes your heart skip a beat. 

Spencer closes the door behind him, and you find yourself staring at the wood long after he’s gone. You jolt when you finally come back into yourself, and you shake your head to get out of the haze. 

You glance at the clock on your bedside table, and blink when you realize it’s almost 1:30. You really do need to get to bed. 

The smoke makes you cough as you blow your candle out, and you wave a hand around to dispel it before you turn the lamp off. You lay down and pull the sheets up around you. You end up having to switch positions at least five times before you start to get comfortable. 

But the strangest thing is plaguing you despite your restlessness. You were freezing before the storm started, even when the electricity was working, but now there’s a strange warmth attempting to permeate within you. It almost helps you relax. 

The room feels a lot smaller without him in it. 

You exhale, long, slow, and deep as you close your eyes. The scent of vanilla lingers in the air.

You hope you don’t dream tonight. 

[prlssprfctn]

A fun little headcannon is that everyone believes Jason to prefer paperback and physical paper but he honestly doesn't care. Maybe it stems from his Robin days reading for hours in the manor library. Or how'd he always tell Bruce to write down the details of the case to solve it faster. Or even that they needed to have physical copies of each file in case the Batcomputer got hacked. It just stuck with Bruce and by extension everyone believes it.

But like he would totally love an eReader with how many books you can fit on it. Audio books are even better because he can listen to them anywhere. The man likes the stories people have to tell. How he consumes it isn't a concern. But of course he has a flare for dramatics so he plays into this misconception.

Steph: Jason, I know you'd prefer a physical book but I got a Kindle that you could use more than me.

Jason who already owns the newest model takes it and chucks it at the floor: Disgusting.

Tim at the Batcomputer: Why do we need to write up a report for Condiment King of all people. Its the third one this month!

Jason: Back in my day we would hand write each and every report.

Dick: No we didn't???

Jason magically pulling out a file cabinet with said case files.

Jason: Honestly we should start doing that again let me go ask Bruce.

Bruce: Honestly if you'd wait five more minutes someone would have come in as backup. You don't need to do everything on your own Hood.

Jason completely ignoring him because he's got books downloaded on his helmet.

Damian next to him knowing what Jason is up to because he did the exact same thing with Ra's.

YES, YES!

i think Jason loves paperback when it is his already favourite books, the ones he knows he loves and wants to annotate and explore — otherwise, he prefers to try books in e-version first. or borrow books from the library if he is in the mood. he strikes me as someone who loves supporting local libraries! plus, listens audio-books on missions and during work-outs, yep, yep.

do other family members have a wrong opinion in that in their minds because Bruce is the "heard my kid mentioning something once, now i think their whole personality evolves around this thing" type of parent sometimes? oh, fucking absolutely. does Jason love to play on the stereotype of "boomer" sibling? yeah— lol.

also, he is a type of kid who would remind the teacher about homework (i think he genuinely cared about this as a kid and didn't understand why everyone got mad, but now he knows WHY, and he will do it EVERYONE'S problem) and combined with him, writing reports on papers, i raise you this:

Bruce, tired by the end of the patrol: Had we discussed everything? Hadn't I forgotten something?

literally everyone but Jason, quickly: no, no, we are fine. ha-ha.

Jason, appearing behind them: well. actually. we all now should write our reports.

Bruce: oh, right.

Jason, smirking: here is mine, by the way. i wrote it while you are all was bickering.

Bruce: so competent! thank you, lad.

Other kids, fuming: -_-

also, the image of Jason blasting audio-books through his helmet is frying me. so, get this:

Dick: Jason is so suspiciously calm for the last few days! like, seriously. proud of him.

Tim: right? it is actually hilarious. Bruce was screaming at him yesterday, and Jason was just staring at him silently, no word, no remark... he was so quiet that Bruce instantly felt bad and apologised. like. master-tecnique. lol.

Jason, who was listening to audio-book all this time, and didn't even hear what Bruce said, just nodded when he started randomly hugging him and murmuring "my baby": whatever.

[little-cereal-draws]

These three because I love this ship so much

*Penelope and Diomedes flirting with each other yet again* Odysseus: And you two are sure you're not dating? Penelope: 100%. Diomedes: Of course not! Why would you think that? Odysseus: I wonder why that possibility would even cross my mind, Diomedes. I fucking wonder.

-

Diomedes: Two years ago, I married my best friend. Diomedes: Penelope is still mad about it, but me and Odysseus were drunk and thought it was funny. -

Odysseus: Hey, babe, remember how I had to go to the pharmacy to pick up my ADHD meds? Penelope: Yes? Odysseus: Well, it turns out they're all out for the next five days. Penelope: Fuck. Odysseus: It's gonna be a fun week! Penelope: I'm going to Diomedes's house. Odysseus: Nuh-uh. Through sickness and health, motherfucker. -

Penelope: Having two partners is both amazing and complicated. But all our problems are solved with communication. Diomedes: It’s my turn to cuddle Odysseus. Penelope: FIVE MORE MINUTES DAMMIT! -

Diomedes: H-how do you ask someone out? Odysseus: Well, first- Penelope: Don't ask him, he asked me out in a McDonalds parking lot. Diomedes: ...And you said yes? -

*Odysseus is telling a story* Penelope: Wow, Odysseus, this story has everything! Action! Adventure! Romance! Diomedes: Romance? Penelope: I'm in love with him. -

Penelope, holding a rock: Diomedes just gave this to me and said "I feel like you deserve the moon but all I can give you is a rock". Odysseus: If you don't marry him, I will. -

Diomedes: It's pretty cold outside... wanna hold hands? We should stay close. Odysseus, blushing: Okay. Penelope: It's fucking summer. -

Odysseus: If I say I love you, will you say it back? Diomedes: Yes. Odysseus: I love you. Diomedes: It back. *Later* Penelope: Why is Odysseus crying face-down on the floor? -

Penelope: Ooh, somebody has a crush Odysseus: Pfft, I don’t have a crush on Diomedes. I just think he's cool, it’s not like I stay up at night thinking about him. *Later that night* Odysseus, very much awake: Uh oh. -

Penelope: Did Diomedes just tell me he loved me for the first time? Odysseus: Yeah, he did. Penelope: And did I just do finger guns back? Odysseus: Yeah, you did. -

Penelope: You don't need my blessing to go kiss Diomedes. In fact, I was pretty sure you were already kissing Diomedes! Odysseus: Nope. Penelope: In that case, as the archbishop of Odysseus's fully awakened gaydom, I give you my blessing to immediately leave and rectify that as soon as possible! Go now, my child, and kiss Diomedes right on the lips!!! -

Odysseus: Thank you all for coming. Penelope, wearing a hospital gown: When I heard you couldn't get laid, I dropped everything and came straight here. Odysseus: Well, I couldn't imagine anyone else being part of the "Fuck Odysseus Task Force". Diomedes: Yeah, I interpreted that in a different way. -

Odysseus: *looking through his closet* Has anyone seen my top? Diomedes: Penelope’s in the kitchen. -

Diomedes: *sucking on a popsicle* Penelope: Pfft, you practicing for when Odysseus gets here? Diomedes: *takes a huge ass bite out of the popsicle* Penelope: *Concern* -

Diomedes: *is wearing silk pants* How does this look? Odysseus: Like its slips on and off really easily. Diomedes: Odysseus: No, I didn't mean it like that- Penelope: We know what you meant. -

Penelope: Can you please just apologize to Diomedes? Odysseus: Fine, but I have to warn you that this may make me a nicer, better person and that is not who you feel in love with. -

Diomedes: Hi, sorry I’m late. I was doing a couple of things and got distracted. Odysseus: I’m “a couple of things”. Penelope: I’m “got distracted”. *Penelope and Odysseus high five* -

Penelope: That shirt looks great, Odysseus. Odysseus: Thanks. Penelope: But I bet it would look even better on Diomedes's floor. Diomedes: Are you hitting on Odysseus... for me? -

Diomedes: Hey, Odysseus? Can I get some dating advice? Odysseus: Just because I'm with Penelope doesn't mean I know how I did it.

[salty-autistic-writer]

Buck has something to say. (Or: an alternative take on that kitchen scene)

“I think you should leave.”

The words cut into the cold, tense air in the kitchen like a knife.

They take Buck's breath away for a stunned, heart-stuttering moment. Did that just come out of his mouth?

Eddie finally looks at him, finally sees him. “What?” He asks, baffled.

“I want you to leave,” Buck repeats. And yes. He does. He’s tired of this. Tired in general. Enough.

Eddie blinks, his lips slightly parted. He exhales a disbelieving scoff, throwing his hands in the air. “Really? We are doing this now? Now, when we are both grieving? Seriously, Buck …”

“How dare you?” Buck hisses, curling a hand into a fist. “How dare you suggest I didn’t do what I could. That I didn’t do enough to, to save Bobby?”

“Buck,” Eddie starts.

No.

Buck raises his hand. “Now you listen. You listen to me. I watched him die, Eddie. I watched Bobby die. I saw death on his face, in his eyes. I was there. And I was alone. Bobby knew he was going to die, and he sent me away. He … He said I’m going to be fine. But I’m not. I’m not fine. And that’s okay. Because I just lost one of the most important people in my life. Bobby was the father I never had.”

Eddie sneers. “Bobby was your Captain. Our Captain. We all lost him! You don’t get to claim him! We all have to live without him, move on with our lives. But you don’t see any of us behaving like a child throwing a tantrum!”

Buck crosses his arms over his chest, his blood rushing in his ears. “I’m not a child, Eddie. I’m an adult, and I have enough of you telling me how I’m supposed to feel. These last few days, I’ve been thinking about the 118 all the time. About how to fix everything. Because everything feels so cold without Bobby. Everything feels broken.” 

He stops, swallowing heavily. There are so many emotions bubbling up inside of him. And now he can’t stop. He has to let it out.

“You are my best friend, Eddie. I thought friends are supposed to be there for each other. I thought a friend would be able to offer some kind of comfort. But I guess you’ve been too busy with your own grief. Look. I’m sorry you had to wake up at night and hear about this over the phone. But that’s not my fault. And it’s not my fault that you had to tell Chris either. It’s also not my fault that Bobby died. I didn’t want any of this to happen. And every day, I wish I could go back in time to change things.

I’m not okay. And you should know. But here you are, telling me I might not have done enough. You of all people should know. You should know what Bobby meant to me. But it starts to feel like you don’t know me at all. I’m not that great at communicating my feelings or, or my needs. But I’m working on it. And what I can tell you right now is that I’m tired of this, Eddie. I’m tired of being blamed and being told I’m making everything about me, when actually, my stomach, chest, and head hurt every day when I think about everyone else and how sad they are. That includes you, by the way. But I guess, in some way, I lost you too. Now, leave. I want you to leave.”

Buck stops, breathing heavily. It’s been a long time since he talked so much. Maybe he never did. But he needed this. Needed to get this weight off his heart.

The rage inside him is loud. But the sad and aching part of him hopes that Eddie will say No, I won’t leave. Hopes that he will stay. That he will say, it’s okay, we can solve this problem. We can talk. We can comfort each other. We can work on fixing this.

He looks at Eddie, and inside, he’s yelling. Say something.

But Eddie only stares at him, his brows furrowed and his jaw tense. Finally, he nods curtly and says, “Alright. Alright, Buck.”

He storms out of the kitchen. Buck can hear him pack his bag. His stomach sinks. So. That’s it then. There’s nothing left to fight for, it seems.

His heart pounding, Buck waits in the silence until he hears Eddie walk out and slam the door.

He winces, wrapping his arms around himself, breathing heavily. He feels so cold. And alone. Tears are burning in his eyes.

God. Everything is so broken.

Buck wipes at his eyes with the back of his head, sniffs, and reaches for his phone with a shaky hand. He hesitates. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe it’s selfish. But … he needs. He needs a little bit of warmth.

Hey. Can you come over? Only if you have time. I really need to talk to someone.

He sends the text after staring at it for a few long minutes and tries to ignore the voice in his head calling him pathetic.

* Buck opens the door and Tommy smiles at him, “Hey - What’s going on?”

Too much.

Almost instantly, the smile fades and Tommy’s brows furrow as his eyes flicker over Buck’s face, down to where he’s nervously fidgeting with his fingers.

“Evan. Are you okay?”

No.

Buck just shakes his head. He talked so much. Now, he doesn’t have any more words left. He’s empty. 

Ashamed, he lowers his head. Avoids prying eyes. He shouldn’t be like this. He’s an adult. Maybe Eddie is right. Maybe he is nothing but a child throwing a tantrum, making everything about himself …

“Come here,” Tommy says softly.

Buck looks up, seeing Tommy opening his arms. He exhales shakily and falls forward into the embrace. Sinks into it. Into the warmth. He closes his eyes and allows himself to feel safe for a moment.

Everything is broken, but this feels like a shell he can hide in. At least for the moment.

(AO3 Link)

[jayktoralldaylong]

One of my favourite things about Arcane is that all the couples can be read as toxic, which is GREAT.

I'm tired of people bringing morality debates into dark media. Let dark media be fucking dark. You guys wouldn't survive a day in the TMA fandom, needing everyone to be as good as gold. How are they going to make for enjoyable complex characters if they're not morally grey. In fact, I wish there'd been more expansion on just how morally black they can become!

"CaitVi is so toxic" According to lesbian statistics, that sounds just about accurate. 💀 Heck, I wish Caitlyn had done more (Not really, but it would have been nice to further explore the darkness in her heart). Isn't it adorable how she immediately folded as soon as Vi called her cupcake? Caitlyn's like one of those villains that will consistently do the most....until it comes to someone else hurting her girlfriend. The only one allowed to hurt her girlfriend is her. 💀

Then let's talk about Vi. Someone pointed out how Vi never cared about Zaun's independence in the first place and many people yelled that they were wrong. But actually, they were right. Vi never wanted Zaun. Zaun was Silco's dream, and Jinx inherited that dream cause Silco would never shut up about it. Vi wanted Piltover to take responsibility for all the shit they allowed to happen in the Undercity. That's a part of the reason she joined up with Caitlyn in the first place. Let's not forget she wasn't dissuaded when she dragged Jayce down to fight with her and he killed a child. Children been dying, it's been her whole life. Someone needed to do something about it, and Zaun would have just isolated the people from all the privileges that Piltover SHOULD have been providing for them. Some people just can't accept that Independence cannot in fact solve every problem, and sometimes independence is colonisers running away from the responsibility of fixing the mess that they started in the first place.

Besides, we all know Vi joined up with the Enforcers because "I feel like I am worthless if I can't be of service." She'd already run out of family members to serve, Caitlyn was the next best thing. She's just like Jayce.

And speaking of Jayce, let's talk about his violent levels of codependency with anyone who'll give him attention. People LOOOOVE to talk about Mel, but it's there with Viktor too. When bro wasn't basing his worth on his inventions, he was centering it around Viktor.

Viktor who decided at some point in his life that he would not LIVE without Jayce. He was fine dying without him, but living without him was unacceptable. Oh how healthy. 🙄😂 Viktor be the kind of toxic ex to threaten divorce 500 times over, then burn the world when you actually leave him. Jayce is no better cause he's the kind of guy to keep going back to his toxic Ex.

Yes, Mel is manipulative. That's what I love about her. How are you guys failing to give this woman the praise of being an outsider in Piltover, but running their entire council. 💀 Girl raises her hand once and the whole government starts spinning. She was the best sugar mummy Jayce and Viktor could ever ask for. She kept the whole city running. Literally the entire of Piltover dancing on her palm. And yes she manipulated Jayce but let's not forget she thought that was a love language. 💀 You wanna be mad at someone, be mad at Ambessa for raising her that way.

I also don't think it's fair to blame her for the Undercity situation, she's not native. Monkey see, monkey do, and not a single one of those Council members actually cared about the situation down there, it was deplorable. 💀 Jayce did way more in his two weeks as Councillor than any of those drug pushing, money laundering, Piltovian heads of government.

And that just covers MelJayVik, we don't even need to get fully into TimeBomb, cause we know what's wrong there. 💀 Surely we have not forgotten the many teammates Jinx has killed, but making sure to never kill Ekko cause that's her man. Ekko has a lot to unpack, like how his consistent and unwavering love for Jinx is an indication of a lot of doors he might not be ready to open. I know they dynamics go crazy and I love to see it.

Ambessa and Sevika are a crack ship but I'm sure we all know bedroom dynamics go crazy with Mrs. Warlord and Miss Liberation. I love it when characters clash in a toxic heap. It's insane and should be explored.

Quit saintifying my toxic ships with your woke morality debates. If you want everyone to be sunshine and rainbows then you should be watching literally anything else. 💀 "It's not healthy." GOOD, I like it that way. 💀 Angst, spice and trauma are the recipe for a plethora of explorative fanfiction. Any of their dynamics can be taken in any toxic direction and I want that EXPLORED.

[getaapologist]

I Keep Falling, Maybe Half the Time

A/N: Well, here we are. We know next to nothing, this was gleaned from conversations with @prettycalla and a fun scenario that developed. This is a companion piece to the fic @prettycalla might be working on........ I've used the 8-20 seconds of Johnny from trailers, etc to come up with this version of him. I cannot pretend to know what he's going to be like in the movie, but I just hope you can appreciate this version of him. This'll be my Johnny, probably regardless, even after the movie comes out. Thank you for reading. It means a lot. If you feel like chatting with me about him, by all means, please do! Maybe more to come? We'll have to see.

Pairing: Johnny Storm x reader

Warnings: none? Slight fluff? It's still early days here. But as usual, blog is 18+ in general, so.

“You alright, Johnny?”

There was nothing but care and concern in your voice, but it still made him bristle up in defense of his sour mood. It had nothing to do with you, and yet everything to do with you. Not that he’d confess that.

“I’m fine, I just want to get to work.”

He was not fine.

And over what? The flowers? Those dumb flowers that he wanted nothing to do with? That were for his sister? They said ‘Storm,’ what was he supposed to think?

Of course that brief moment of embarrassment wasn’t still currently haunting him, hours later. Because that would be…

Crazy.

Maybe he was a little crazy. It’s not the end of the world. At least he was high-functioning. It had been a couple days since he last set himself on fire, maybe he was due a flight to blow off steam. Maybe then this wouldn’t bother him so much.

You offered him a small, if uncertain smile, and nodded, unfurling the schematics the two of you had been working on the day before. Some plans for a new spacesuit. Something more hardy. Something better suited to their new selves.

Johnny got stuck for a moment, stuck watching you, as if this wasn’t a daily phenomenon. As if he hadn’t noticed you before. Even if this happened yesterday, and the day before that, and each day since you were assigned this role.

No. Work. Distraction from a distraction.

The plans. Schematics. Drawn up just yesterday, but it was like any information about them had melted and poured out of his ears.

He tapped his lower lip with the pen, mind racing, desperate to catch hold of some relevant knowledge to save him from this spiral.

Because it wasn’t the flowers, was it? It was more, something he was too afraid to say out loud–

“Have you thought about materials?” 

You interrupted his jumbled thoughts, saving him, as usual. Even if you didn’t know it.

“Materials. Right.” He scanned the schematic, his mind completely blank. A rare occurrence, but not one to celebrate. For as he tried to drum up compounds and fabrics, other thoughts filtered back in instead. 

Nothing scares him. He’s seen enough in his work. But you? 

Absolutely terrifying.

“Uh, this line here, we should use that hose, the black one, it’s… three-quarters.” He ducked down and scrawled in a tiny measurement beside the line in question.

“It’s five-eighths, actually,” you mumbled, worried the loose cannon was about to explode.

And explode, he did.

The pen clattered across the table and flew onto the floor, his hands spreading wide, threatening to scrunch up the plans laid out before you. Or set them on fire.

And when he looked up at you, you knew you were in for it. You steeled yourself for a rant about different hoses, or materials, or some other inane event that had clearly soured his day.

But nothing could have prepared you for the words that left his lips.

“Do you know no one’s ever bought me flowers? Ever?”

He looked at you like you held all the answers in the world. Like this was both your fault, and a problem he wished for you to solve, all at once.

“And, I know it’s more of a gift for a girl, but times are changing. Girls are asking guys out, surely that means it wouldn’t be weird for a guy to receive flowers–”

“Johnny?” you finally interrupted.

He looked up, pausing his rant. 

“Are you asking me to buy you flowers?”

“What? No, of course not, that’s not what I…,” he trailed off, turning his back to you, arms crossed over his chest. 

He couldn’t lie to himself and pretend like his heart hadn’t sped up minutely at the sight of the card sitting there waiting for him. It felt like a cruel joke, the way his hopes were so quickly tossed out, and having to own up to it to his own sister?

He wanted to leave. Itched to let loose and fly out of here.

But you. You were a problem he didn’t have an answer to. And maybe he never would.

“Just… don’t worry about it, okay? I need to… I have stuff I need to do.”

Before you could think of something to say that wouldn’t upset him more, he was out of the room, the door whirring shut gently.

As you knelt down to pick up the pen he’d thrown, you knew you’d have to make a stop on the way home.

The next morning, Johnny wandered into the kitchen, already making a beeline for the cabinet. He pulled out the box of bran flakes and dropped it on the counter. 

Breakfast of champions. Even if it tasted like cardboard.

“That’s not breakfast,” Ben chided, nursing a pan of soft-scrambled eggs. “Take some of these.”

“I’m fine, Ben,” Johnny sighed, but he couldn’t deny a small part of him appreciated Ben looking out for him. 

His eyes caught sight of the bright red petals, the arrangement sitting right where yesterday’s had. 

Taunting. Gloating on behalf of Sue, surely.

The small spark of hope in his chest was ground up and shoved down as quickly as he could manage, a brief flash of the embarrassment from yesterday enough to tamp it down.

“Delivery for you,” Ben gestured with his chin to the flowers. 

He scoffed, crossing the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge.

“They’re not for–”

“They’re for me,” Sue interrupted, earning an eye roll from her brother that she graciously chose to ignore.

Again? Once wasn’t enough? When would it stop? When their whole kitchen island was covered in the small flower arrangements? Who was this mysterious suitor after his sister?

“You hoping it’ll spontaneously combust?” 

Johnny turned back around, sour at the sound of his sister’s amused voice. He poured out a slightly unreasonable amount of cereal before adding just a bit more, setting the open box on the counter.

Nothing like bland bran to start the day.

“Come on, I’m only teasing.” 

Johnny could hear the smile in her voice, listened intently as the small envelope was opened, the card pulled out.

He could imagine the soft smile on her face. He couldn’t fault her for being so happy. He just…

He burned with envy.

The silence hung heavy, the only audible sound being the sliding of paper on paper as the card was placed back into the envelope.

He set the milk down and turned, risking a glance over his shoulder. The card was tucked neatly back in among the flowers.

Sue looked up at her brother for a moment, the look communicating everything. There was a flash of curiosity there too, but Johnny brushed it aside, abandoning his breakfast to walk cautiously around the island.

The flowers were big, layered densely with soft petals. They were vividly red. All he knew was that they weren’t roses. 

Sue offered him a small smile before walking away. She was always the more graceful loser.

Finally, Johnny’s eyes fell to the card. 

Storm.

But that handwriting was impossible to mistake as anyone else’s. 

His spirit dampened. You’d bought him pity flowers.

That’s what this was, right? His insane rant the day before had spurred you into action. As if the mere gifting of flowers was what he was after, and not… 

The intention behind them.

It was silly to ask that of you, and yet…

He really, really wanted it.

Because the city’s admiration of him paled in comparison to what it felt like to earn a laugh from you. And for a long time he resisted what that meant.

Johnny plucked the card from the arrangement and flipped it over, fingers sliding under the envelope flap, gripping the small card and tugging it free. He wanted to see what made Sue look at him like he was keeping secrets. Because he wasn’t, not that he knew of. 

Was he stalling? Yes. He knew he was, and yet he couldn’t bring his eyes to scan the handwriting he’d seen scrawled into margins on his reports, penciled into drafts of schematics and written a bit larger on bright orange sticky notes pasted to his workstation in your absence. That he absolutely, definitely did not have a drawer full of.

Read the card, already.

Johnny let his eyes lower and scan over the small square of cardstock, the blue pen vivid against the cream colored paper. 

I’m very happy to be your first, Johnny.

His fingers traced over your initials and he couldn’t get rid of the fluttery feeling in his stomach. He clutched his newest prized possession to his chest and darted off to his room.

“Who are they from?” Ben called out. When Johnny emerged from his room, now flower-less but tucking a dress shirt into his pants, Ben raised his eyebrows. He gestured to the sad, soggy bowl of bran flakes. “What about your breakfast?”

“Don’t want it!” Johnny answered, stepping into the elevator.

Johnny felt fired up, like he was going to burst into flames at any second, but that would be bad. He had no clue what he would say to you when he saw you. Nothing felt right. He might be good with numbers, but he was absolutely terrible with words.

As the door slid open, there you were, already hard at work. You were leaned over a worktable, fiddling with some circular steel fittings, wearing that yellow sweater he liked. 

Be cool.

As if he could be cool.

“Hey, I got some samples of different fabrics from R&D downstairs.”

Your smile was warm, small, comfortable. It sent his heart fluttering, like it always did.

Johnny couldn’t care less about the space suit right now. He had other things on his mind. He moved without a second thought. Normally overthinking everything, in this he was free.

“Johnny?”

His hands were almost hot on your skin as he pulled you in, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. It was simple, quite chaste, but it blew through silent barriers that had been maintained all this time.

He felt the tension under his hands, his worry immediately flaring up as his hands fell to your shoulders, down to bracket your upper arms. Craning his neck as if trying to inspect some damage he’d done.

Idiot. Fools rush in? Is that how it goes?

“So… you got the flowers?”

He looked up, his gaze catching on the corners of your lips as they rose.

What a smile.

His cold, stifling worry was replaced by nervous warmth, sparking up with each heartbeat.

“I got the flowers.”

[s-awturn]

Out Of The Plans || F1 Grid

cw: angst, pain, crying, lack of communication, breakup, fight, They are idiots, no exceptions..

starring: LH44, CS55, CL16, LN4, OP81, MV1

a/n: just angst and a feeling of heartbreak. Appreciate me because I wrote this in the middle of a horrible migraine

LEWIS HAMILTON:

It had been like a shock to your brain, this couldn't be happening, not at that moment. You held the pregnancy test in your shaking hands and checked the label again to make sure of the result.

A little line: negative.

Two little lines: positive.

And on your test there were two bright red lines, telling you in your face that you were pregnant. Oh God, you were pregnant and unfortunately there was no more inopportune time for a pregnancy. Okay, everything would be fine when you told Lewis, he always wanted a family, everything would be fine.

“This shouldn’t be happening, Y/N!” he paced back and forth in the huge living room of the apartment you shared. "Should not!"

Your stomach churned in fear, this wasn't exactly the conversation you were expecting to have when he got back from Singapore.

“Well, that happens when two partners have crazy sex and forget the condom!” you said as energetically as he did.

“You said your birth control was up to date!” he paused, looking at you with nothing but rebuke.

“Of course they were! But they don't work miracles, Lewis! Especially for the two of us who have sex almost every day without a condom!" you stood up and stood in front of him. "Now there is no point in pointing fingers and saying who was wrong, we have a baby on the way and we need to think about everything.”

Something strange flickered in Lewis's dark eyes and his heart sank.

“I can’t,” he hissed, pulling away from you. “I can’t deal with this right now, my life is a mess, I can’t deal with a baby right now.”

You felt your heart stop beating, what the hell was he saying? How come he couldn't deal when you were the one who would have to change everything?! Because abortion didn't even cross your mind.

“What is it like?”

Lewis licked his lips nervously, tearing his eyes away from yours, the tension in the room was raw and thick as fog, which made you even more apprehensive. He couldn't be saying what he wanted to say. Not Lewis.

“I can’t compromise the rest of the season, my performance with a baby now, especially since I’m almost at Ferrari,” he said it all quickly, in one breath. And you froze in place, blinking slowly as it sunk in that your boyfriend was saying he didn't want the baby.

You took a deep breath, you wouldn't let yourself cry in front of him, not anymore.

“Are you serious, Lewis? Are you really serious?”

He continued to look out the window, staring at the Monte Carlo marina, not having the courage to look at you.

“You, who always wanted a family, who made plans with me, are you saying you don't want the baby? That you can't handle it when I'm the one who's going to have my whole life changed to bring him into the world?!” It was his turn to walk around the room.

“But you didn’t even want a child now! You just got promoted at work! You can’t be judging me for that!”

That fell like a bucket of cold water on you, really, having a baby at that moment wasn't the best thing that could happen, but it was already there, it happened and the baby was already there.

“Alright Hamilton, the baby and I won’t hold up your championship, if you have any chance of overtaking McLaren, but either way, don’t worry, you won’t have to deal with that.” You said pointing to yourself, your hand supporting your still flat belly.

“Y/N, we can solve this another way-” he started, but you held up your hand to silence him.

“For the love of God, shut up, don’t make me hate you, Hamilton” you said and turned away, going to the bedroom. It was obvious that it was over, because there was no way you were going to abandon the baby too. Fuck Lewis and his problems.

He went after you, but was met with the suite door slammed in his face. You packed your things, only what you bought or took from your own apartment, you didn't want anything from him besides the little resident who rented your uterus on a nine-month contract .

“Everything is fine, baby, it’s going to be okay, I promise,” you said, standing in front of the mirror, imagining what your belly would look like as the months went by. “I will take care of everything”

You left the suite with a suitcase and two handbags, you had no idea where you were going at that moment, but anywhere was better than there with Lewis.

“Why are you going? We can work this out, honey—”

“Oh my God, Lewis!” you exclaimed, calling the elevator, “we can’t work anything out! You don’t want the baby, you don’t want us, so obviously this is over and I’m leaving! A great championship for you!”

When the elevator doors closed, you allowed yourself to cry, you never imagined Lewis would do that, never! You sniffed, wiping your nose on the sleeve of the only sweatshirt you stole from him. You wouldn't take anything else from him.

“We don’t need him, baby,” you whispered, as if the baby could hear. You took one last look at the apartment that had been your home for four beautiful years and with a heavy heart said, “Goodbye Lew.”

CARLOS SAINZ:

The doctor's words echoed inside your head.

Pregnant, you were twelve weeks pregnant, or three months. That was unexpected, very unexpected because you and Carlos didn't discuss starting a family, this discussion never reached you even after years of a stable relationship.

“Miss?” the doctor’s voice sounded distant to your ears, you were still focused on the blood test results.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Your mind fell into limbo and the last thing you saw was the doctor running towards you, calling your name.

The smell of antiseptic and alcohol made you wake up slowly, your head felt like it weighed a ton and your eyes were still blurry, you struggled to remember what had happened and like a bomb exploding, the word ‘pregnant’ popped into your mind.

“Calm down, calm down, you can’t exert yourself too much right now, Y/N.” You recognized the voice of Andie, your best friend from college. “Here, drink some water, the doctor said it would help you.” She handed you the glass, expecting you to drink all of the contents. “How are you feeling? You were unconscious for almost all day long, I almost died when they called me.”

“I’m fine, I guess... What did they tell you?” you handed the cup back to her.

“Nothing, the doctor said you felt unwell... What are you-” she was interrupted by Carlos’ abrupt entry into the room. He was a mess, still in his Ferrari training gear and with his hair a mess.

“¿Estás bien, vida mía?” (Are you okay, my love?).

“Yes, yes I’m fine... I just felt sick” you twisted the bed sheets between your fingers, how would you tell Carlos that you were expecting a baby, that you would be parents in six months or less? You looked at Andie, silently asking her to leave, the girl nodded and left you two alone. “It was just a scare,” she muttered, swallowing hard. “I got the test results back, remember how I was feeling really sick last week?”

“Yes, yes, I knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to eat that steak tartare...”

“It wasn’t because of the steak tartare, Carlos.” You looked at him, feeling your nervousness tighten in your stomach. “I’ve been sick all week because I’m pregnant, I’m three months pregnant.” you said abruptly, watching Carlos lose color in his face and stagger away from the stretcher.

“Pregnant? B-But we were being careful!” he said, you couldn’t understand the emotions that showed on his face.

“Accidents happen, Carlos... Not that getting pregnant is an accident, especially when you have sex without a condom...” you said, waiting for him to calm down.

“This shouldn’t have happened! I don’t want children now!” he said exasperatedly. “I don’t!”

Something inside you broke when you heard him, you weren't ready to take on motherhood yet, your internet work was finally bearing fruit, your relationship with Carlos was going well, you never thought you'd include a child in that equation, but there she was. But none of that was as scary as the idea that her boyfriend didn't want the baby he helped conceive.

“You don’t want to?” you repeated his words slowly.

“No! Of course not! A baby now would get in the way of my career!”

And suddenly, it all came crashing down on his head like an anvil. Tears stung your eyes and the words came out before you could filter them.

“Go away, Carlos,” you were surprised to notice how firm your voice was. “Get out of here, get out of my sight.”

"But amor... We never talked about children, you never told me you wanted them!” The Spaniard tried to touch you, but you backed away, avoiding him as if he were burning you.

“It’s not about what I want or don’t want, Carlos,” you snapped. “I really didn’t want a baby, but I’ll have one in six months, with or without you! So decide whether you’re with me or leaving!”

“I-I can’t... I-I don’t want kids, I need to dedicate myself to the fullest and a baby will get in my way” he stammered, looking at you with wide eyes.

“Go away Carlos, I’ve heard enough” you turned your face away so you wouldn’t see him, ignoring his attempts. It was only when the door closed with a dull thud that you could let your strong facade fall and allowed yourself to cry to the point where you didn't notice when Andie came in and wrapped you in a protective hug.

“What happened? Carlos left as if he was being chased by the devil” she rubbed your back, trying to make you stop crying. Between sobs, you explained what had happened, feeling her embrace tighten. “Oh love, I’m so sorry this happened, I didn't think Carlos was a son of a bitch... What do you intend to do?”

“I-I don’t know... Maybe I should give the baby up for adoption, I don’t have the courage to have an abortion...”

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you, sis.”

You snuggled into her loving embrace, unsure of what your life would be like in the coming months.

CHARLES LECLERC:

“When are you going to tell him, dear?” Your mother asked you as the two of you set the lunch table, it was Sunday and once a month, religiously his family gathered at his grandparents' house. Charles had already attended so many lunches that when he didn't show up, his grandparents and uncles would ask. You loved knowing that your family loved your boyfriend. “I'm sure he'll be happy, Charles loves children.”

You nodded and a small smile appeared, confident that he would love the news. You discovered you were pregnant a few days ago and had already noticed the signs. You had decided to tell her about the pregnancy after lunch, even bought a pair of children's shoes with a Ferrari design on them. Who could judge you? You were so anxious!

Soon, the family gathered around the table, talking loudly and laughing nonstop, preventing any thoughts beyond the conversations and laughter. The conversation you were having with one of your cousins was interrupted by your grandmother, questioning when you and Charles would finally have children.

Charles choked on his wine and cleared his throat. “Mhmm well... I thought Y/N mentioned that I don’t want kids.”

“You never told me that, Charl...” you said just for him to hear “I never knew that”

“No?” he looked surprised. “Really?”

Silence fell uncomfortably over the table, you gripped the handle of the cutlery you were holding, feeling your anxiety grow in a negative way.

“You’re great with kids, dear, you’d be a great dad.” your grandmother said, surprised. After all, the Monegasque was adored by the children in the family and got along very well with them all, hearing that he didn't want children was a surprise.

“I’m a good uncle,” he gave a modest smile. “I’m not made of father material, meaning no children, ever.”

Maybe it was your fault, you and Charles didn't have that conversation, so you couldn't know he didn't want children. But it was painful anyway, mainly because you were already pregnant.

Hours later, as you drove home, you couldn't stop thinking about his words.

I’m not made of father material, meaning no children, ever.

“You are very quiet, mon cher” He said, resting his hand on your thigh. You jumped, caught up in your thoughts, you didn't even notice his presence until he touched you. “Did something happen?”

“I was thinking about the lunch conversation...”

“It was a strange atmosphere, wasn’t it?” he gave a weak laugh, giving her leg a gentle squeeze “with so many children there, do your grandparents still want more?” his laugh sounded strange to your ears, just like that conversation.

“I’m pregnant, Charles,” you said suddenly and screamed when he slammed the car on the brakes. “CHARLES?!”

He guided the car to the side of the road and looked at you, he was as scared as you were.

“You are what?!”

“Pregnant, Charles! I was planning to tell you today, but I found out you don’t want kids!” you exasperated, loosening your belt.

“That can’t be true, you’re joking,” he said nervously. “Y/N I don’t-”

“I know! I know that, Charles! You don’t have to repeat yourself.”

You saw pure terror in his eyes and braced yourself for whatever he would say.

“I don’t want this baby, Y/N, I don’t want to be a father, not today, not ever” he said.

You took a deep breath, feeling your head throb with the headache that would soon come.

“Well then I guess we can’t go through with this, Charles,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will not give up my son for you or anyone else.”

“Mon cher, a child would disrupt our lives forever, we would no longer be able to travel, we would lose our peace and tranquility”

“You won’t lose anything, Charles, you don’t need to worry… Now, if it’s not too much to ask, can you continue? I intend to move out of your apartment today.”

“Beau, (beautiful) It doesn't have to be like this... This child-”

“Don’t say anything else Charles, don’t turn the love I feel for you into resentment” you begged, avoiding his eyes.

The rest of the way was done in complete silence, despite the grief that broke your heart, you would not let it consume you. A life outside of that would be born in a few months and you couldn't let bitterness stop you from living the good moments that the future would bring you.

Charles still tried to stop you from leaving, saying he would leave you with the apartment, but you didn't listen to him or give him a chance to convince you.

“I hope you’re happy, Charles,” was the last thing you said before you left. From then on, it was just you and the baby.

LANDO NORRIS:

There were at least five tests done on the bathroom counter and you were in a panic, pure panic. It wasn't the time to have a baby, no way. You took a deep breath, trying to stay calm as you thought about the situation, there was so much at stake.

You had to decide what you were going to do, whether to have that baby, how you were going to tell Lando... Oh God, there was still Lando. You couldn't even think about what his reaction would be. There were mentions of a son, perhaps after he had won a championship or two and had achieved everything he wanted, but not at that moment, in which both were still building their lives, their careers.

“I’m here, honey!” he shouted from the living room and you threw the tests in the trash without thinking. You checked your appearance in the mirror, trying to dispel the look of astonishment that covered your face.

You put on a fake smile and ran into the living room, finding your boyfriend stretching his body. It was clear that he was exhausted, but he was glowing, winning made him feel very good and you admired the Briton's bright eyes.

“Congrats on your victory, Lan!” you jumped into his arms, kissing Lando all over his face as he laughed.

“I wish you were there, honey, but you’d hate the weather… Anyway, how about we have dinner to celebrate?”

“That’s a great idea! Why don’t you take a shower while I get ready?” You gave him a peck on the lips. “I took a shower just before you arrived and I’m already moving our time forward... You know I take a long time to get ready.”

“Ok ok, will it be sad to take a shower without you? Yes, but if it means we won’t be long in getting out, great!” he said playfully and you responded with a light slap on his arm.

“You’re ridiculous, Lando Norris! Go take a shower, you clown!”

He laughed, grabbed his carry-on bag and went to the bathroom. You let out a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding and went to the closet to get ready. Despite being happy for your boyfriend's victory, you didn't have the slightest desire to go out and celebrate anything, but denying dinner would make Lando suspicious. You would take the time of dinner to think about what you would say, the panic gradually subsided, allowing you to think clearly.

You were finishing putting on your makeup when Lando came out of the shower, he still had the towel wrapped around his waist. From the position you were in, you could only hear his footsteps approaching the closet.

“Y/N, what does this mean?” he appeared in your field of vision, holding up one of the pregnancy tests. “Are you pregnant?”

You felt like the ground was disappearing beneath your feet and the earth was swallowing you up. From the look on Lando's face, you wanted the earth to actually swallow you. You'd never been claustrophobic, but that closet looked terrifyingly small.

“Answer me!” he exclaimed, making you jump. “Are you pregnant?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m pregnant!” You shouted back. “I found out today.”

He laughed, there was no humor in his voice, just sarcasm and disbelief. “I should have guessed.”

“W-What are you talking about?” you stuttered, dropping your makeup on the vanity and taking a tentative step towards Lando.

“This whole shit, I should have known that at some point you would do this, who doesn’t want to get pregnant by a Formula One driver, right?” he said furiously and threw the test at your feet.

Reality hit you like a punch. Lando was claiming that you got pregnant on purpose. He thought you were a gold digger.

“Are you suggesting that I wanted to get pregnant on purpose?! Lando, I just graduated! I don’t even work yet, why the hell would I want a child now?” You yelled at him.

“Work?” he laughed wryly, running his hands through his hair. “As if you would think of that, not being supported by my money!”

His every word felt like a stab to your chest.

“I never wanted a penny from you, Lando! I always refused any thing or privilege from you!” you answered him, sitting down. Your body felt heavy, full of tiredness. “I never wanted anything from you but yourself!”

“You’re a fake, a liar like all the others!” he accused you, pointing his finger in your direction. “Get your things and get out of my house, I don't want to know anything about you anymore” he took a deep breath and for you, the rejection was nothing compared to the pain of being called a gold digger, a dowry hunter. That was a hard blow to his dignity.

You threw your clothes on the floor, only the ones you had taken to his house. After dropping all the clothes on the floor, you grabbed some bags to put all your belongings in. At that moment, Lando had already dressed and was standing in the middle of the suite.

“Tell me where you will be staying so I know where to send the child support check.” He demanded and you glared at him, you were just as angry as he was.

“You and your fucking money can rot in hell, Lando. My son and I don’t need you at all, you're dead to me, Norris, completely dead and buried.” you left the room and ignoring his screams.

Lando and his money could go fuck themselves, you never wanted to see him again!

OSCAR PIASTRI:

Sorry, I can't see Pastry in this scenario 🫣

MAX VERSTAPPEN:

That saying “in the blacksmith’s house, the spit is made of wood” made a lot of sense to you, being a doctor you knew when people were unwell just by looking at them, it was a joke not to have noticed the signs of pregnancy. So imagine how surprised you were to find that not only was your period late, but you were also experiencing frequent nausea and episodes of dizziness.

Even though getting pregnant wasn't one of your dreams, you were happy, after all, everything in your life was going well: you had a stable job, your finances were going well and your fiancé was great. Even though it wasn't planned, you were already more than excited for the baby's arrival.

You decided to tell Max during his week off, where he would be more relaxed, without the stress of work. Until his week off arrived and you were jumping up and down with anticipation to tell him, you waited for Max to relax enough. You knew he would like it, Max loved kids.

“Honey, I have something to tell you” you took advantage of the fact that he wasn’t playing and sat on his lap.

“Sure, mijn liefje (my love), I’m all ears” he took off his headphones and turned off the monitors, it was always like that when you talked to him, nothing else mattered to Max other than what you said.

“Straight to the point, I’m six weeks pregnant—”

“What do you mean you’re pregnant? That’s not possible, still more than six weeks”

An alert sounded in your mind, was Max really suggesting that you might have cheated on him?

“I was in the middle of a series of races, we barely saw each other during that month” he argued, making the doubts he had even more obvious.

“Max, you can’t be suggesting that!”

“In that case, explain to me how you are pregnant if we weren’t together!”

“Is your memory so bad that you don’t remember that we were together in Spielberg?!” you threw at him, irritated by his distrust. “I spent the entire Austrian GP weekend with you!”

“We had sex once that week, there’s no way that it was that sex that was rewarded with a child!” Max looked increasingly distraught.

“Are you kidding me, Max? I never cheated on you, I barely have time for you, let alone another man!” You were nervous to the point of shaking, you sat back down, trying to keep calm.

“I don’t believe you, Y/N, I’m sure this child’s father is that pediatrician at the hospital!”

“I’m not going to listen to anything else, you’re delusional,” you mumbled, tears blurring your vision.

“You better go away, I don’t want to know anything about you or that child!”

You wiped away your tears, feeling humiliated, hurt and offended.

“Don’t worry, I won’t make a point of letting you know anything about us,” you assured. “I'll send someone to get my things, or leave them at the reception and I'll pick them up later, I don't know!" you put on your shoes and grabbed your bag.

“Be grateful if I don’t throw it away.”

“Whatever Max, do whatever you want, I don’t care” and with that, you slammed the apartment door hard enough to knock the picture of the two of you off the wall.

[realcube]

SUGAWARA HEADCANONS

tws → none

note → randoms hcs for suga since i finished my uni exams for this year

→ get ready for 20+ cards on your birthday bc he has all of his elementary students make you one lol

→ and when they accidentally draw you monstrously ugly (bc they are stupid kids) or like terribly deformed with one eye bigger that the other and hands bigger than your whole head, he just gently puts a hand on their shoulder, smiles warmly and hands them another piece of paper 😭😭😭

→ "that's amazing so far, great job! but you know (y/n) has more than three teeth. maybe give it another try."

→ i already wrote a short fic about this but he (accidentally) uses children's behavioural management techniques on you LMAOO

→ he will ask you questions while your angry to distract you or solve the problem , or lead you to another room to sit down

→ in reality, it's actually very sweet and mindful but it still lowkey pisses you off because IT WORKS

→ and like he doesn't even do it purposefully to be patronising, it's just he is so used to do it at work that's it's kinda like a force of habit

→ and once you became aware of it, you start noticing all the time

→ like he'll praise you endlessly when you kindly run an errand for him or when you wear an outfit he likes, and at first you thought he was just a sweetheart with a words of affirmation love language.. but now that you think about it.. was he doing positive reinforcement on you ???? 😭

→ and you also noticed that he never tells you 'no' either

→ like if you ask him if he wants to eat at a certain restaurant that he doesn't like, he'll be like, "they have similar food xyz for cheaper, should we go there?" or if you ask him to do you a favour that he cba doing rn, he'll go, "would it be okay if i did that tomorrow?" and at first you thought maybe he was in his chatgpt era but no , in fact he was using positive redirection on you :((

→ it made you realise he could be such a master manipulator if he wanted to be , but fortunately he is too kind for that

→ it also makes you ponder that if he is so good at using these techniques ... then why does he always come home from work stressed asf???

→ whenever he comes home after a shift with his class, especially on fridays, he genuinely looks like he just finished a fighting a gorilla alongside 99 other men, and the gorilla most defintiely won

→ his hair is a mess, his shirt is wrinkled with various stains on it, he's out of breath, his cheeks are stained with tears, his lips are chapped, he's shaking and his face is painted with pure shock and horror

→ it's strange because if he is so good at behaviour management techniques, why does his elementary class kick his ass every week?

→ he's so annoying and the opposite of most boyfriends when it comes to taking pictures — when you hand him your camera and ask him to take one, he LOCKS TF IN

→ he won't just take one , he will take multiple from all different angles and ask you to pose

→ and it's so bad if you're in a place with ppl around. for example, if you are standing in front of a landmark and there's people trying to walk past in the space between you and the camera so they have to wait, but suga just keeps taking pictures 😭😭 like he is genuinely too invested in capturing the perfect image of you to care about the pedestrians, it's so bad

→ he 10000% falls into the stereotype of education students that get engaged absurdly young

→ i honestly hc that he proposed after knowing you for a year , or maybe two years

→ but most likey just one

→ bc when you know, you know!

[absolute-decay]

Do you think in the most twisted, misguided, disgusting, and almost idiotic way, Chisaki saw his young self in Eri, and thought he would be to her what the boss was to him. Like. This lost young orphaned child with nothing but the clothes on their back taken in by a Yakuza. That's literally their only similarities but do you think Chisaki decided that was enough? That he should be the one to "save" her?

I know it sounds ridiculous but just stick with me here.

This single image from chapter 136 screams so fucking much about Kai's brain and his relationship with Eri to me. Because ask yourself. "Why doesn't Kai just put Eri into a coma like he did The Boss?" Because that would solve so many of his problems. No chance of Eri escaping. No chance of any Heroes finding out about her. There'd be minimal resources spent on her since all he needs is to keep her alive regardless of physical condition. It literally solves everything, it almost feels like a plot hole. But then you remember the fact that Eri was entrusted to Kai by The Boss, and then you take another look at the image above, and it kinda clicks, doesn't it?

He doesn't do that because he genuinely, truly wants to take care of Eri. He might even really see himself as her father figure. And I think that makes so much sense, especially with his other relationships. Case in point, Shin Nemoto.

We saw the results of Shin using his Quirk on Kai, and he says straight up, "I like you, I trust you, your presence makes me feel at ease." And he didn't even seem shocked or upset after saying it, so it wasn't a truth he was unaware of or didn't want Shin to know. That's simply how he felt, cut and dry. But, with that being the truth, he was more than willing to use him as an expendable asset, have him be a fall guy after the raid with the other Bullets, and fuse with him, which he seems to believe will fucking kill him. That's not Kai using a pawn: That's just how Kai is with someone he cares about.

So, it wouldn't be far fetched to say, the same applies to Eri, and that really does recontextualize every one of their scenes, huh?

"You're the centerpiece of my plan."

"To this girl, you're no hero."

"You're cursed, every action you take kills someone."

"Someone else is going to die because of you!"

"She doesn't want you."

None of this is manipulation or scare tactics or anything like that. This is just what Kai thinks of humans. That he can hurt and pull and abuse them in the worst ways possible, and do it over and over again, and not understand when they want to run away. And I feel like him being raised in one of Garaki's "orphanages" just rubs salt into this wound.

Because, he takes care of Eri, doesn't he? He gets her toys and a pretty room and a soft bed, and he's nice and calm with her, doesn't even use his quirk to kill her and bring her back to life painfully as punishment! He doesn't seem to be physical with her at all, outside of the blood extractions. She has everything a girl could ask for, and she spurns him? Runs from him? Well, no matter. That's just how children are. Ignorant, illogical, they just don't make sense.

...It's such an incredibly fucked up way of thinking. And I think it's ingrained so deeply in Kai's mind because it's what he thinks he never had.

I think the way he treats Eri is how he thinks loving parents would have treated him. Pretty toys and nice clothes and good food and absolutely nowhere in his mind does any genuine relationship dynamics or aspects of unique personality come into play because after years and years of not having it he just. Doesn't. Get it.

So that's why it's lacking in his relationship with Eri. In all of his relationships, really. Because The Boss took him in and loved him and cared for him and Kai knows that but he doesn't understand that. So he's trying his best to "love" and "raise" Eri by being an empty photocopy of a parent at his best, because that's all he is. That's what defines Kai, till the very end.

He's empty. And so is his love. So Eri's room will always be full.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Arcane S2 and its Critiques Therein..

There is a reason why I side-eye the 'arcane critical'-critical crowd who insist we cannot equate real world politics with fictional universes, or project our 'leftist' agenda on a world of pretend.

There seems this undercurrent of condescension in the attitude, as if it stems from people who have perhaps not considered why they enjoy the shows that they do, or how a certain character or plot makes them feel; either positively, by representation, or negatively, by erasure.

And yet... we are drawn to stories that resonate with our own experiences.

These stories, in turn, are written by writers who live in our world and who often pull their ideas directly from it. We gravitate toward characters who are reflections of ourselves, and avoid the stories which cause us discomfort for whatever reason. Even 'guilty pleasures' stem from an inner desire to explore themes or issues which we know exist (and may be problematic in social spaces) but which, through fantasy, become more bearable because we can safely distance ourselves from what is real.

Ultimately, most writers put something of themselves into their work. A little sliver of self always peeks through the cracks; a touch of idealism here, an emotion felt there, a comment on a political issue sprinkled somewhere in between.

It does not mean that fictional universes are a perfect mirror image of our reality; but it behooves us not to forget how influential 'RL' has been, and always will be, when writing fantasy or science fiction.

Tolkien was undoubtedly inspired by his experiences of war, all of which would later bleed into the pages of his Middle-Earth tales. Even in a tiny microcosm, I notice how life events and current political attitudes affect the way I write my stories, whether they are fan-based or original pieces.

We live in chaotic times. Fiction, at its crux, mirrors that chaos, because it comes about as a result of real life. As much as we wish to escape from harsh truths or present-day issues... they still seep through the veil between imagination and reality.

Escapism should not blind us to the truth that stories are products of our environment, and therefore, inevitably political.

With that in mind, there's something innately disingenuous about insisting that Arcane is somehow separate from real world issues - when, on so many levels, it borrows from real world problems and confronts its viewers with topics which are inherently political: poverty, inequality, state violence ... even the underbelly of the Piltover elite and their dealings with the undercity echoes how we see corruption occurring in governments worldwide.

That the show, by S2, reduces these issues to aesthetics - for instance, the writers admitting they wrote up Vi's backstory with her parents being killed by Enforcers to introduce an element of conflict into hers and Cait's future romance - or, worse, resolves these conflicts without any further nuance - like Sevika becoming a Zaunite representative on a Council that plainly disdains her, and the narrative coming away thinking this is acceptable in lieu of actual independence - is, in essence, disappointing for the themes that were promised.

It feels like the writers realized halfway through writing these plots, that they either did not have the time, budget, know-how or interest in delving too deep into these gritty, tough-to-solve sociopolitical pickles, and instead opted to pander to a (admittedly broad, myself included) subset of viewers who just wanted a sapphic couple with soft angst and sweet reconciliations to contrast all of the ugly machinations happening around them, while the rest of the cast was going through literal hell.

This is not enough to say we shouldn't enjoy Arcane for what it is. I've made plain, on several occasions, that I found the finale visually spectacular, thematically satisfying, and a masterpiece in terms of animation.

And yet, what elevated Arcane S1 to such high levels of acclaim was also its willingness to probe the uncomfortable issues surrounding power, control, exploitation, abuse, morality and free will; as well as, at least initially, its decision to offer a critical lens into how we approach each of these themes, as refracted to a cast of different characters.

We can acknowledge these strengths while simultaneously recognizing their flaws.

Arcane is far more than 'just a video game show.' It's a beautifully designed piece of fiction that deals with so many real-life issues, in spite of its fantasy setting. Yet the criticism that 'we cannot project real world politics onto it' feels inherently unfair - because no story ever exists in a vacuum, least of all one which confronts us with stark contrasts between poverty and wealth, oppression and liberation, authority and agency.

There is nothing wrong with simply wanting to sit back and enjoy the ride. But please spare me the holier-than-thou attitudes whenever people try and open up discourse on why certain shows should take responsibility when it comes to the messages they broadcast.

Because, believe it or not, there exists a slew of media that, in fact, sticks to the landing re: difficult questions about humanity, society and politics. Media that does not ignore, diminish or erase people who are struggling, precisely because those very same issues resonate in real life - and thus, have real consequences for real people.

It isn't asking much that audiences look past the veneer of aestheticism to find the beating heart within stories. Nor should we be belittled for wanting to hold writers to account if the world they create becomes nothing more than a pretty backdrop.

This can be done without hate-mongering, derision or critique; in fact, I'd go so far as saying that critique is a necessary aspect of engaging healthily with art, media and fiction.

At the end of the day, writers are responsible for the world-building of fictional universes and their plot choices; and both things do have an impact on those who watch those worlds come to life. That doesn't mean writers need to pander to every opinion out there; hell, playing to the gallery (and the shippers) rarely ends well, and more often than not detracts from the message of the tale.

But it does mean we can hold storytellers accountable for the impressions they leave behind, for better or worse - especially when said impressions further compound real world experiences of inequality, erasure or prejudice.

As consumers of media, let's be willing to dig beneath the surface to uncover the meanings of story. Let's not settle for anything less than writers who do everything possible to deliver compelling narratives that ask questions which reflect our humanity in meaningful, resonant ways. Let's enjoy our sweet sapphic ships and our goofy doomed sciencebros, while still looking closely at all of the other issues bubbling beneath the surface.

Let's keep up the healthy dialogues and stop dismissing criticism as merely spiteful.

Escapism is only truly fulfilling when, upon returning to the 'real world,' you feel that something has changed inside you; where you have been enriched, uplifted, inspired even... and sometimes, yes, educated.

Stories carry the weight of imagination; and we must allow ourselves to be transformed by wonder. But never forget to question the reality that is portrayed. Stories are born out of humanity, after all, and thus carry within them fragments of us. When we embrace fantasy, we also learn a lot about the way we see ourselves, and the kind of world we choose to live in.

And if all else fails, I guess we'll have fanfic to fall back on.

But that is another post, for another time.

<3

[abigailmoment]

It wasn't just bad luck that Staeve was targeted. It was a calculated attack. Halsin knew well enough how a caster could examine their enemies for tells. Halsin did it himself. Considered an opponent's tactics, and guessed at the places their mind would be most vulnerable.

You didn't have to be a gifted empath to watch how Staeve hurled himself into the thick of combat, right at the biggest bandit wielding the two-handed great sword, and think that the man might be vulnerable to a spell that exploited wisdom.

The fact that it took down Astarion too, well, perhaps that one was just bad luck.

It happened like this:

-

This is written about @velnna's Tav, Staeve. I was delighted to discover that they don't mind fan fiction being written about him.

I'm always cautious about writing for other people's OCs--getting voices right is so important to me. I have elegantly avoided that issue here.

-

Full text below.

Full Text On AO3

-

The fight was an incidental bit of banditry. Dangerous banditry, certainly. Bandits with  great swords, supported by wizards. Halsin hung back with Gale while the two rogues dashed forward to give truth to the old adage that the best defense was killing the other fellow extremely quickly. 

They cut down the man with the great sword and the woman with the mace and shield. Reinforcements were coming from around a rocky overhang. Halsin coaxed the earth to throw up entangling vines to slow them down. Gale drenched them with glimmering light that illuminated all their vulnerable points for Astarion and Staeve to shoot at.

Only the half-orc made it through the vines and the light. He was bloodied and wrathful. He was huge, but it was two against one, and the two were flanking with each other. It would have been an easy end to the combat, except that apparently there was a bandit wizard hidden somewhere in the trees who chose this moment to cast a spell. 

One second Staeve was a blood spattered half-drow sprinting full-tilt, sword out, towards a fighter twice his size. And then he was gone.

Some sort of teleportation? Banishment? Gale was saying something about trajectory and scanning the treeline. Halsin was yelling, he wasn't sure what, the concern was more important than the words. He started running forward. Because two rogues against a barbarian was fine, but one rogue against a barbarian was an extremely fast way for that rogue to die.

And Astarion knew that so he should be running away. But he wasn't running away. He was darting forward and ducking low and almost getting hit by a greataxe as he snatched something off of the ground. 

Then he was running, thank the Gods. There was something cradled in his arms, which meant he didn't have his rapier out as he scrambled back.

It was a cat. Halsin saw. They were ten feet away from each other when Halsin realized that Astarion was carrying a large, extremely upset tabby cat with grey-green fur.

That was when Astarion vanished. No. Not vanished. As the tabby tumbled to the ground, something small and white was already there, darting for cover. 

Then the half-orc arrived. Bellowing and huge, at least when compared to cats. Not quite as huge when compared to Halsin. 

Halsin decided to turn into a bear. It was amazing how many problems you could solve by turning into a bear. 

-

"I am feeling my oversight in not preparing dispel magic today," said Gale. "Or counterspell."

"This is not a situation we could have anticipated," Halsin said.

Staeve contributed to the conversation, but because of present circumstances, it came out as a meow.

He was large for a cat. His fur was pale brown, tabby-striped with green. His stripes crisscrossed in a way that reminded Halsin of his tattoos. His scar was a fur-less groove in his face. He had the same pale green eyes as always. That color was quite appropriate in a cat.

He meowed again, more insistently this time.

"We will," Halsin assured him. 

"You're speaking with him?" Gale asked. 

"Not magically," Halsin said. It had been a long day and he had barely anything left to cast with. "But I think I understand him."

"Do you?"

"Think a moment and I am confident that you too will guess what he wants from us."

It did only take a moment. Gale was an intelligent man, when prompted. And they'd all seen the small white cat vanish into the woods during the bear-orc fight.

"Ah. Of course." Gale addressed the cat, voice reassuring. "Astarion should be relatively safe though. Polymorph is temporary and even if something did happen to him in the interim, he would just revert to his natural form."

Staeve's whiskers went back and his ears went flat in a thoroughly unimpressed way. 

"I think it would be best to find him and make sure nothing happens," Halsin said with mellow diplomacy. 

"Of course." Gale paused, then said delicately: "Given my skill in woodland matters, or lack thereof, I may best serve this cause by getting out of the way."

Halsin smiled. "It is a wise man who knows his limitations."

"I'll meet you all back at camp then?" said Gale.

"Take a potion of invisibility for the trip," Halsin suggested. "There might still be bandits about."

Staeve had gotten impatient with them, and was padding off into the forest. Halsin handed Gale the potion and hastened to follow.

-

Staeve scampered about the forest like he was looting the place. No hole, hollow log, wasp nest, or brown recluse spider-web was left uninvestigated. The loss of seventy five percent of his gray matter had done the man's already flagging survival instincts no favors. Halsin spent half of his attention looking for signs of a small white cat, and half of his time making sure Staeve's efforts at tracking didn't get him killed.

After being only a hairsbreadth quick enough to pull Staeve away from the entrance to a dire-badger-burrow Halsin decided that his partner was now going to be carried. Staeve made a meowling, writhing objection. He was terribly invested in the search. A compromise was reached when he was offered a perch high on Halsin's broad shoulders. Staeve proceeded to clamber from shoulder to shoulder as Halsin walked, ears always forward and alert, eyes bright, head turning this way and that as he scanned the woods.

Small cats with stealth training were not easy things to track through dense forest. Halsin did end up using his last spell slot to cast speak with animals. The local mice and voles always noticed when predators passed, even small ones. Halsin spoke to them while keeping one hand on Staeve, who watched the tiny creatures with bright, newly interested eyes.

Halsin of course spoke with Staeve as well, but it wasn't quite the same. Talking to a person who had been transformed into an animal was not the same as talking to that person. Shape changed you. How you saw things. How you thought. The mind of a cat was a fraction of the size of that of an elf or half-elf. Thinking with it was different. The change was easiest for druids. It was hardest for the cursed, who did not choose the new shape. Who were surprised by it.

He spoke to Staeve and learned things he had already known from observation. He reassured Staeve that the mice had given useful guidance.

That guidance led them north, then west, and then to a long hollow log, moss covered and broken in two places. A good hiding spot, and the sort of shelter that had a lot of escape routes. Staeve jumped off of Halsin's shoulder as the druid knelt down and they both peered inside.

In the darkness, Halsin could just make out a pair of ruby-bright eyes staring warily back at him. 

Beside him, Halsin watched Staeve relax for the first time since becoming a cat. He wasn't actually as large as Halsin had first thought--it was just that his hackles had been up and his tail puffed out for the duration of the transformation.

It could be a painful thing indeed, to have one's heart so completely entwined with another's safety. A deeply worthwhile thing, but a painful thing, sometimes. 

Halsin made a deferring motion to Staeve, who nodded in a rather un-catlike like way. Halsin stepped back from the log, moving slowly so as not to startle anything. He shifted a few feet away and sat close enough to watch, but far away enough that his looming size wasn't an ominous thing.

Staeve didn't go inside the hollow log. He sat at the entrance. Lay down at the entrance, body long and casual, head up on the lip of the log so he could keep looking inside. Modeling relaxation.

He started to purr. Halsin could hear him purring even from a few feet away. A loud, constant, soothing rumble. It somehow did not surprise Halsin that Staeve had a loud purr.

And then Staeve waited. Patient as anything. Waiting and watching and purring in a low buzz, as steadily as a beehive.

Halsin could not see inside the log, but he could guess at when Astarion moved because Staeve's ears would flick. Staeve had a fine poker face, but everyone had tells. 

Something happened, or occurred to him, that made Staeve raise his head and sit up slightly from his sprawl on the ground. Then he stood up entirely. He gave Halsin a significant look, and trotted off into the underbrush. 

Conscious that he had just been assigned new responsibility, Halsin shifted so that he had a good view of the log's entrances and everything around it. There wasn't much danger, Halsin’s presence in general kept most predators away from this space. But still.

During his vigil, Halsin saw the glimmer of red cat-eyes once. And only briefly. 

Staeve came back soon. He had a dead vole in his mouth and he looked exceptionally pleased with himself. He dropped the vole at the mouth of the log, took a few pawpads back and watched expectantly.

It took another long minute, but after that minute a small white cat crept out of the darkness.

This should surprise no one, but Astarion was a beautiful cat. Slender and graceful with large eyes. His fur was pure, silvery white and just long enough to curl slightly. He moved with a cautious precision that Halsin recognized as his habit, and that deeply suited his new form. 

He sniffed at the vole. He shot Staeve a judgmental look, because Gods forbid the man accept any kindness without prevaricating about it in some way. He glanced at Halsin. And then he leaned down to slide exceptionally long canines into the corpse's chest.

Staeve flopped down about a foot away and watched him with an expression of pleased devotion that would honestly be a bit more appropriate on a dog.

Astarion ate fastidiously, and without getting even a blot of blood on his snow-white fur. When he finished he licked his teeth.

When Staeve was quite sure Astarion was done eating, he sidled up slantwise, sauntering around the vole corpse as if he just casually happened to be taking a stroll in this part of the forest for no particular reason. He stopped just short of Astarion. His ears were forward. His tail flicked lightly from side to side. 

Astarion regarded him levelly with his 'I know what you're doing and I know you think you're being clever about it but you're not' expression. Then, as if granting a boon, he deigned to rub his forehead gently against the underside of Staeve's chin.

Staeve took this as the invitation that it was and pressed back, much more enthusiastic and honest in his delight at the contact. Which in turn gave Astarion an excuse and space to do what he wanted and enjoy it.

They were always very dear to watch together. Whatever form they took. In about a minute they were curled over each other on the ground and Staeve was industriously grooming Astarion's head.

Halsin let this go on for as long as he could. But the shadows were lengthening, and they were very close to the Shadowlands, and he was out of spell slots, and the rogues were currently housecats.

"It is getting late, dear ones," he said softly. 

Astarion twitched at the interruption, and Staeve licked him three times along the neck and chest in a soothing way. Then they disentangled from each other and padded over to Halsin.

Halsin picked up Staeve, but he knelt down and laid his arm on the ground so that Astarion could climb up and find what perch he wanted by himself. They did both end up in his arms. Staeve was tired and quite ready to be carried, and Astarion didn't want to be out of contact with him.

As Halsin walked through the woods with an armfull of cat, Staeve started to purr again. It was really the most marvelous sound. A soothing distillation of satisfaction and care. Almost enough to tempt one away from being a bear.

Astarion did not purr. Some cats didn't. Or purred only very rarely. But Astarion did, at one point, look up at Halsin and blink his bright red eyes very slowly. 

And that was a precious thing.

****

Other stories like this.

****

[st4rgiirll]

first kiss

s1!stiles stilinski x gf!reader

creds: roseraris for dividers!

you were perched on stiles’ bed, watching him pace back and forth across his room, his hand moving animatedly as he talked about the latest werewolf drama involving scott.

the police radio scanner on his desk crackled with static, and his wall was covered in red string and newspaper clippings - his latest attempt to piece together all the supernatural happenings in beacon hills.

“and then scott practically wolfed out in the middle of practice!” stiles exclaimed, running a hand through his short hair.

“like dude, we talked about this! control! but no, apparently catching greenberg’s crossbody was worth risking exposure to the entire lacrosse team!”

you couldnt help but smile at his sarcasm. this was classic stiles - all nervous energy and rapid-fire words, trying to keep his best friend alove while maintaining some semblance of normalcy in their increasingly bizarre lives.

“stiles,” you said, trying to interrupt his rambling to no avail. “stiles!”

he stopped mid-gesture, turning to look at you with those warm brown eyes that never failed to make your heart skip a beat. “yeah?”

“come sit down before you wear a hole in your floor.” he glanced down at the path he’d been treading, then shuffled over to sit beside you, his knee bouncing with restless energy.

“sorry, i just… there’s so much happening, y’know? between scott’s furry little problem and trying to figure out who the alpha is, and my dad’s cases, and-“

“and you’re carrying all the weight of it.” you finished softly, placing your hand over his fidgeting ones.

stiles fell quiet, a rare occurrence that made you look at him more closely. his eyes were fixed on where your hands touched, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head.

“how do you do that?” he asked suddenly.

“do what?”

“just… know exactly what to say? how to calm me down?” he turned his hend over to lace his fingers with yours.

“you’re like my personal adderall, except, y’know, prettier and less medical.” you laughed, feeling your cheeks warm.

“did you just compare me to you ADHD medication?”

“i did, didnt i?” stiles groaned, his free hand coming up to cover his face.

“that was supposed to be romantic. in my head, it was definitely more romantic. can we pretend i said something smooth instead? like, i dunno, ‘you’re the moon to my werewolf’ — wait no, that’s worse, that’s definitely worse—“

you cut off his rambling the only way you could think of – by leaning forward and pressing your lips to his. for a moment, stiles froze, and you could practically hear his brain short-circuiting.

then his hand came up to cup your cheek, and he was kissing you back with all the pent-up energy he usually put into solving supernatural mysteries.

when you pulled away, stiles blinked at you several times, his mouth opening and closing without sound – another rare occurrence.

"did you just—" he started.

"kiss you? Yeah."

"and I—"

"kissed me back? also yeah." a grin slowly spread across his face, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"that was... wow. that was awesome. can we do that again? we should definitely do that again. like, right now. or whenever you want. im free for the next, like, forever—"

this time when you kissed him, you were both smiling too much for it to be perfect, but somehow that made it even better.

the police scanner crackled again in the background, and somewhere in beacon hills, scott was probably getting into more werewolf-related trouble, but for now, none of that mattered.

stiles pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours. "just so we're clear," he whispered, "this means you like me, right? because i really like you, and it would be super awkward if—"

"stiles?"

"yeah?"

"we’ve been dating for 6 months."

"oh yeah… cool," he breathed, then immediately cringed.

"i mean, not cool like 'whatever' cool, but cool like 'this is the best thing ever' cool, and im going to stop talking now because im pretty sure im ruining the moment, and—"

you silenced him with another quick kiss, and felt him smile against your lips.

"you know," he said when you separated, "i think i just found my new favorite way to be shut up."

the police scanner suddenly burst to life with his dad's voice reporting a disturbance downtown, and stiles' eyes lit up with that familiar mix of curiosity and excitement.

"want to go investigate a potentially supernatural crime scene with me?" he asked, already reaching for his keys.

you laughed, standing up and pulling him with you. "only you would think that's a romantic second kiss location."

"hey, i contain multitudes," he protested, but his grin was infectious as he led you toward his jeep.

and just like that, life in beacon hills continued – only now with the added bonus of being able to kiss your adorably sarcastic boyfriend whenever he started rambling about werewolves.

[majimaisms]

@ccile03 has very kindly invited me to give my two (million) cents on this and i wanted to explain, as best i could, how i interpreted majima's character arc in pirate yakuza. however. this post definitely got away from me, so be prepared, this is going to be a LONG one, and it's the most comprehensive analysis i've done of majima as a character to date. i think i just wanted an excuse to talk about the game, honestly

introduction

i think i should start by saying that i think what we see in this game is not an arc for majima in its entirety, but the culmination of one that we had been observing (glimpsing, really) from the sidelines for years. so the question of "what arc did majima have in this game?" is really a question of "what arc did majima have in this series?" and to answer that, we have to start at the beginning.

from the moment he's introduced in the first game, majima is shown to be cynical and nihilistic.

scott strichart, who was in charge of majima's english localization throughout y0-k2 and y6-y7, had this to say about this scene, which i completely agree with:

First, you need to understand Majima's primary motivation - Saejima. Ever since he missed participating in that hit, Majima's singular, driving goal is to give Saejima the opportunity to confront him and exact whatever punishment he feels is appropriate. So Majima sets out from square -1 to get back into the Tojo Clan and gain enough power and position to do that. But as you know, in Y0, he discovers that some costs are too great, which throws his entire life's purpose into question: How do I balance my own sense of right and wrong with the tenacity I must have in order get back into the clan and to Saejima? That answer comes in the shape of three different dudes who give him three different answers to how one is "tenacious" - Lee, who would go to ANY length to protect the ones he loves, Nishitani, who throws his entire self into his pursuit of pleasure, and even Sagawa, who as Majima tells him, is "practically immortal." But what happens to his three paragons of tenacity? Well, you know that answer if you've played Y0. What happens when Majima attempts to take the moral high ground? What happens when he dares to show some modicum of emotion? [...] And the evidence of Majima's mindset in Kiwami is right in the first few lines when you meet him: What's the point of doing the right thing? "Doing things that way is going to break you." But no… that's just a projection. Majima is the one who got broken. And if you've played Y2 through Y5, you see the facade slowly start to fade. It's a really interesting growth of the character.

note the parts i highlighted in bold. we will get back to these later.

i think to understand majima and what this game does for him as a character, you have to understand both his problem and how he has tried to solve that problem. you have to understand his tragedy. and for that, you have to understand the psychological consequences of being part of an organization like the yakuza. the emotional impact it has on your life, on your relationship with yourself, and why. this context informs most of my analysis because i think its inextricable from majima as a character. i will also be heavily quoting simone weil to talk about these ideas, so please bear with me.

1. understanding the problem (and what it isn't)

the thing is, it's not easy to do awful things to other people. it's not easy to extort money from people, it's not easy to threaten them, it's not easy to attack someone when it's not in self defense. it's not easy to be mean. it's not easy to lie, cheat, steal. all of these things have an emotional toll: guilt. now, guilt goes away if you let it, but that has a spiritual toll. but where does that guilt come from in the first place?

simone weil says:

There exists an obligation towards every human being for the sole reason that he or she is a human being, without any other condition requiring to be fulfilled, and even without any recognition of such obligation on the part of the individual concerned.

All human beings are bound by identical obligations [...]. No human being, whoever he may be, under whatever circumstances, can escape them without being guilty of crime; save where there are two genuine obligations which are in fact incompatible, and a man is forced to sacrifice one of them. The imperfections of a social order can be measured by the number of situations of this kind it harbours within itself. But even in such a case, a crime is committed if the obligation so sacrificed is not merely sacrificed in fact, but its existence denied into the bargain.

majima is torn between two incompatible obligations. his obligation towards every human being in the world, and his obligation towards saejima. whether or not his obligation to saejima is a genuine one is a matter of interpretation (as in, whether or not he was really responsible for failing saejima. i think there is merit to his sense of responsibility regarding this, but that's another post) and an important distinction to make, but the fact remains that it registers to majima as a genuine one.

weil also says:

There is a reality outside the world, that is to say, outside space and time, outside man's mental universe, outside any sphere whatsoever that is accessible to human faculties. Corresponding to this reality, at the centre of the human heart, is the longing for an absolute good, a longing which is always there and is never appeased by any object in this world. That reality is the unique source of all the good that can exist in this world: that is to say, all beauty, all truth, all justice, all legitimacy, all order, and all human behaviour that is mindful of obligations. Those minds whose attention and love are turned towards that reality are the sole intermediary through which good can descend from there and come among men. Although it is beyond the reach of any human faculties, man has the power of turning his attention and love towards it. Nothing can ever justify the assumption that any man, whoever he may be, has been deprived of this power. It is a power which is only real in this world in so far as it is exercised. The sole condition for exercising it is consent.

now, you don't have to agree with any of this, but i will be using this framework and language to make my points because i find it useful.

what this all comes down to is that "moral behavior" is not something done only for the sake of others, and that in fact there is no distinction between the sake of oneself and others. you cannot hurt others without also hurting yourself in some way. my analysis rests on this key point.

weil says that corresponding to these human obligations, we can identify a number of human needs, some of which have to do with the physical side of life (like food, shelter, security) and some of which have to do with the moral side.

They form, like our physical needs, a necessary condition of our life on this earth. Which means to say that if they are not satisfied, we fall little by little into a state more or less resembling death, more or less akin to a purely vegetative existence.

she says that human collectivities (family, country, organization, etc.) fulfill these needs. the collectivity that majima is part of is the tojo clan and in a broader sense, the yakuza. they are not part of civil society, but as weil notes, their obligations towards people outside of the yakuza are not lessened by this fact, and anyone whose attention and love is turned towards "good" is aware of this. so they feel the full weight of these obligations. majima feels this weight.

we can see here that majima is being driven by a need, a need that corresponds to his obligations to other people. he calls it "being a man", weil calls it "being mindful of obligations."

weil has identified some of these needs, which she calls "the needs of the soul", as follows:

HONOUR is a vital need of the human soul. [...] honour has to do with a human being considered not simply as such, but from the point of view of his social surroundings. This need is fully satisfied where each of the social organisms to which a human being belongs allows him to share in a noble tradition enshrined in its past history and given public acknowledgment. For example, for the need of honour to be satisfied in professional life, every profession requires to have some association really capable of keeping alive the memory of all the store of nobility, heroism, probity, generosity and genius spent in the exercise of that profession.

PUNISHMENT is a vital need of the human soul. [...] The most indispensable punishment for the soul is that inflicted for crime. By committing crime, a man places himself, of his own accord, outside the chain of eternal obligations which bind every human being to every other one. Punishment alone can weld him back again; fully so, if accompanied by consent on his part; otherwise only partially so. 

Initiative and RESPONSIBILITY, to feel one is useful and even indispensable, are vital needs of the human soul. [...] For this need to be satisfied it is necessary that a man should often have to take decisions in matters great or small affecting interests that are distinct from his own, but in regard to which he feels a personal concern. He also requires to be continually called upon to supply fresh efforts.

i find this language and framework for talking about the concepts of virtue, guilt, redemption and how those things tie into one's professional and social life very useful when exploring the relationship rgg characters have to the yakuza and to themselves.

i will be focusing on these three needs for now because i think they are where the crux of majima's struggle lies. not only majima, but every yakuza who feels the weight of human obligations. because the work they do as yakuza does not fulfill their need for honor, and the crimes they commit by not fulfilling their obligations (as they are exploiting and profiting off innocent people, depriving them of their vital needs) creates the need for punishment. this is part of why we see these characters go to prison so willingly.

being yakuza means effectively denying one's own need for honor. this compels these characters to remedy this by clinging to whatever amount or kind of honor they can maintain. it's this cycle that keeps them going, that pushes these characters to commit the extraordinary acts of heroism we admire them for. it's because they are driven by the need to make up for something. for being yakuza.

weil says:

[...] a collectivity has its roots in the past. It constitutes the sole agency for preserving the spiritual treasures accumulated by the dead, the sole transmitting agency by means of which the dead can speak to the living.

she says that the need to be rooted is the most important need of the soul, and that being part of a collectivity, a "social organism" as she calls it, and having active participation in it is the only means of fulfilling this need. yakuza are no exception. RGG's consistent theme of carrying on the dreams of others is a form of "the dead speaking to the living", that is to say, a form of fulfilling the need for roots – which by the way is the name of the book these excerpts are from.

Every social organism, of whatever kind it may be, which does not provide its members with these satisfactions, is diseased and must be restored to health.

There are collectivities which, instead of serving as food, do just the opposite: they devour souls. In such cases, the social body is diseased, and the first duty is to attempt a cure; in certain circumstances, it may be necessary to have recourse to surgical methods. With regard to this matter, too, the obligation for those inside as for those outside the collectivity is an identical one. [...] Finally, there are dead collectivities which, without devouring souls, don’t nourish them either. If it is absolutely certain that they are well and truly dead, that it isn’t just a question of a temporary lethargy, then and only then should they be destroyed.

the yakuza, by measure of the number of situations it creates where incompatible obligations have to compete against each other, is a deeply imperfect social order. but as weil notes, sacrificing obligations and denying their existence are distinct compromises. "guilt goes away if you let it" – this is where that distinction lies. to free yourself of guilt, you have to deny the existence of these obligations, and so deny your own need for punishment. and the spiritual toll of that exchange is pragmatism, which weil describes as "spiritually crossing a boundary equivalent to death."

she says this about denying the existence of obligations:

Actually, such a negation is impossible. It amounts to spiritual suicide. And Man is so made that in him spiritual death is accompanied by psychological diseases in themselves fatal. So that, in fact, the instinct of self-preservation prevents the soul from doing more than draw closer to such a state [...]. Almost always, he who denies all obligations lies to others and to himself; in actual fact, he recognizes some amongst them. There isn’t a man on earth who doesn’t at times pronounce an opinion on good and evil, even if it be only to find fault with somebody else.

many yakuza try to avoid guilt (and the need for punishment) by denying the existence of human obligations. simply put, it's a way of running from accountability.

but guilt is not the reason for majima's struggle with this. majima has already decided that he is not going to cross that spiritual boundary to avoid guilt, because he understands that the consequences would be nothing more than a self-betrayal. he has too much respect for the truth to lie to himself like that. his "longing for an absolute good" compels him to accept his need for punishment. and he is not confused about what he thinks is right or wrong.

yakuza 0 was not about majima trying to decide whether or not killing an innocent girl was wrong. he knew it was wrong. it was about whether or not it was worth it to kill an innocent person. if he had been grappling with whether or not murder was wrong, it would've been equivalent to "spiritual suicide" as weil calls it. but he never denies the existence of such an obligation on his part – he never pretends it wasn't wrong to kill a defenseless civilian.

and his takeaway was that it was not worth it. it was not worth it to kill makoto to fulfill his obligation to saejima. he sacrificed his obligation to saejima, but no "crime" was committed in this process because he did not deny the existence of his obligations towards anyone. his need for honor was not sacrificed, and thus no self-betrayal took place. once again, denying human obligations is synonymous with self betrayal in this framework.

majima simply will not do something that he knows he will regret later out of guilt, and he takes care to predict what he will feel guilty about so as to avoid this outcome. his judgment regarding this remained solid throughout y0, even if it wavered at times.

another example of majima being torn between two genuine obligations was in y5.

this scene is remarkable to me because it's the only other time, aside from y0, we see the consequences of majima "daring to show a modicum of emotion." his obligations are being used against him. the "longing for an absolute good" in his heart is being used against him. because in order to fulfill his obligation to saejima here (to not put him to the same impossible choice), he would have to sacrifice a much more universal one, as well as a personal one to kiryu. and then how could he "call himself a man"?

saejima tells him that if he was the kind of person who would let haruka die, he would've killed him anyway. but this doesn't stop majima from still being apologetic in this scene – he still feels the weight of his responsibility to saejima, even if they are in agreement that it should be sacrificed. the existence of both obligations are acknowledged, thus no "crime" takes place, just like in y0. once again, we see that majima's problem is not in denying the existence of obligations.

majima's struggle here has to do with how to prevent things from coming to a point where he has to sacrifice obligations in the first place. this was his takeaway from y0. the obvious answer to this is to quit the clan, but it's too late for that. he already did that and just ended up going back. his obligations to the people in his life (saejima, kiryu) and his need for roots keep him tied to the clan.

so, what does he do instead?

2. understanding the "solution"

this is where we return to scott strichart's comment.

"How do I balance my own sense of right and wrong with the tenacity I must have in order get back into the clan and to Saejima?"

it's misleading to think of his obligation towards saejima as something to be balanced against his sense of right and wrong, as strichart puts it – in reality they are one and the same. the fact that he has to be tenacious is merely an extension of his obligation towards saejima.

more importantly, this is not a question of what moral philosophy to subscribe to, or anything that has to do with speculative reasoning. the singular question majima is struggling with the most in his life is a question of "how" – it's a question of methods.

majima has always been primarily concerned with methods. he is someone who locks onto ends and produces means to achieve them. this is what makes him resourceful. he gets his way, because he finds and makes a way. he is all about getting results.

but strichart's question is only half of majima's problem. the other half comes from his answer to the first one: "by preventing situations in which i will find myself having to choose between obligations."

majima, like strichart, has identified correctly that these situations arise only when he "dares to show a modicum of emotion." thus, the goal should be to simply stop doing that. but how is he going to do that? what method should he choose for that?

his answer to that question is mad dog. this is an answer equivalent to "whichever method works." because the factors that he takes into consideration when trying to formulate an answer for that "should" are concerned entirely with the effectiveness of the method. in other words, majima's mistake is that he doesn't think what he thinks is right or wrong should be the most important deciding factor in determining his methods for preventing situations where he has to sacrifice obligations.

it is, ironically, his dedication to solving this problem without sacrificing either obligation that makes him cross that spiritual boundary. because you see, this too is a form of pragmatism. he's essentially trading one form of spiritual death for another, and so he is still stuck in the cycle of honor and punishment. because methods are not exempt from human obligations either, yet he is denying the existence of those obligations. their existence is "denied into the bargain." pragmatism is the justification for this denial. "the world doesn't give two shits if there's a point or not, so it's better if i don't either."

weil understood the crucial role methods played:

Everything in creation is dependent on method, including the points of intersection between this world and the next.

"the next world" she is referring to is the one she says is the source of all "good" in the world. she is concerned with how to align her methods with her obligations, which is itself a problem of methods.

to majima as well, the most valuable resources in the world are methods that are effective and align with his obligations. why betray himself like this if he can avoid it? and he learns methods from observing people. this was why he ended up following shimano. this is what his "men i respect" thing is about. he means, "people i can learn something from."

but despite being already disillusioned with shimano's methods by the time he dies, he's never been able to successfully replace them with anything else. unable to find anyone around he could learn from, he has resorted to compromise. he decided he couldn't afford to commit to aligning his methods with his obligations. he has prioritized his continued survival and success in the yakuza because of his obligation to saejima, at the cost of his soul. mad dog is the product of that exchange. mad dog is the solution, the justification, the lie.

this is a sacrifice he has had to make because of the social order he exists in. this is why the yakuza is a "diseased" social organism, as weil calls it. this aspect of the yakuza and majima's views on it were explored in majima saga in k2.

let's take a look at majima's methods:

you might note, at this point, that all of these things are things kiryu would never do.

this was what fascinated him about kiryu. because kiryu is suggesting there is a right and wrong method, and not only that, he's saying it's a factor that should be considered, that deserves our attention and love, and we should be mindful of it. he's the embodiment of the principle that we can't justify denying our obligations. this is what he admires kiryu so much for – that he is not betraying himself in the way majima has. he has things to learn from kiryu, and that is what majima respects most above all else.

kiryu represented a solution to his self-imposed spiritual exile. however, this solution was not as straightforward as you would think.

fighting has always been a form of communication, of debate, in RGG. when majima and kiryu are fighting, these are the conflicting ideas that are being tested against each other. and he wants kiryu to prove his methods wrong. because he hates his methods. he realizes he's fighting for the wrong side, and he wants everything he represents to be defeated. to be able to be defeated. and he trains and mentors kiryu specifically for this purpose. he has made himself into a mascot of this spiritually vacant philosophy, but at least he can offer its enemies (which includes himself) something that would effectively function as a training dummy. he is giving kiryu the opportunity to know his enemy. this is a noble goal. it justifies the continued existence of mad dog.

this was a method he thought would work. it's pretty clever, you have to give him that. but in fact, it's only another instance of the two incompatible obligations problem. he's fulfilling his need for honor and punishment, but he's failing to fulfill his need for responsibility towards kiryu.

he needs to make up for this ongoing failure, so the series is full of examples of him going out of his way to help kiryu (y2, y3, y5, iw and now pirate yakuza). as weil said, majima "requires to be continually called upon to supply fresh efforts" for his need for responsibility to be fulfilled. he's glad for the opportunity to help kiryu. he needs kiryu to need his support. in simpler terms, he wants to be useful. he feels this need as it corresponds to his obligations towards kiryu, which are identical to his obligations towards anyone, but which he feels more keenly with kiryu because he's stuck in this cycle of honor, punishment and responsibility, trying to make up for the lack of one through fulfilling the other. and it's specifically tied to kiryu because he can only fulfill his need for honor/punishment through kiryu, because kiryu is the only one strong enough to defeat him in a fight. and yet he is failing his other obligations to him in the process BECAUSE of his method.

it would not be too much of an exaggeration to say that the integrity of majima's soul rests in the balance that is the conflict between himself and kiryu. this is why this conflict cannot end. it will remain self-perpetuating so long as they both remain mindful of obligations. they are yin and yang.

let's go back to scott strichart's comment again.

And if you've played Y2 through Y5, you see the facade slowly start to fade. It's a really interesting growth of the character.

while i agree with this, it should be noted that even though majima's facade slowly fades, nothing substantial takes its place. he literally dies in yakuza 5, and he is reborn as nothing more than a mascot, a symbol, a boss fight as far as the games are concerned. just as he was in kiwami. his methods do not change, because he still can't afford to change them. because he is still yakuza.

but he is feeling the emotional and spiritual toll of continuing those methods.

he doesn't have it in him anymore to keep up the act, to prop up mad dog to act as an interface between himself and the world around him.

note here that majima is the perfect visual representation of a dead thing – he's literally wearing the skin of dead animals, and "majima goro" is the first among them. the fact that he is narratively dead in y5, a game about dreams where everyone has an honest job is really, really on the nose when you consider things in these terms.

but y5 does a spectacular job of reminding majima why he needs to stay dead, why he chose to avoid emotional attachments and obfuscate the ones he does have in the first place. if it weren't for an impossibly unlikely chain of events, either haruka would've died or saejima would've had to kill majima. majima doesn't want to risk anyone being put to that choice again. kurosawa's whole plan hinged on the fact that he identified this as a weakness in majima that he planned to use against him – and it almost worked.

this is what he risks happening every time he has conflicting obligations. every time he "shows a modicum of emotion." he has enemies who will use it against him to hurt his loved ones. so even if he is disillusioned with mad dog, as long as he cannot think of a better method of preventing this, he needs to keep up the act. his "solution" has become another cage he finds himself in, because he can't escape the bigger cage he's in: the yakuza.

this is not a problem unique to majima. any yakuza mindful of their obligations struggles with similar problems, because it's the yakuza as an organization imposes this problem on them. it devours souls. this was why it needed to be destroyed.

3. the dissolution, and pirate yakuza

you would think that being out of the yakuza would finally solve a bunch of these problems for majima (and saejima and daigo.) instead, this is the state they're in.

because they understand that they were not the only ones who gave their souls to the clan. there were thousands of others, and those thousands joined the clan because of them. because of the promises they made. it is their responsibility to honor their men's sacrifices and their own promises by taking care of them after the dissolution, but they have no way of fulfilling their need for responsibility, honor or punishment as it concerns their obligations to these people.

the shame, guilt and helplessness is really setting in as they are forced to face their failure. and the sacrifices they made along the way? they have nothing to show for any of it. all the justifications, all the self-betrayals, all the compromises. the obligations they sacrificed. the people they've hurt. this is where it all culminates.

this is how lost they are, how lost majima is – he seems to be doing the worst out of the three of them – in the absence of any methods to reconnect to and do right by the social organism he's part of, his roots. they are cut off from any means of helping the people they used to lead and feel responsible for. they are uprooted.

weil says:

Uprootedness is by far the most dangerous malady to which human societies are exposed, for it is a self-propagating one. For people who are really uprooted there remain only two possible sorts of behaviour: either to fall into a spiritual lethargy resembling death [...] or to hurl themselves into some form of activity necessarily designed to uproot, often by the most violent methods, those who are not yet uprooted, or only partly so.

Whoever is uprooted himself uproots others. Whoever is rooted himself doesn’t uproot others.

majima, saejima and daigo fell into the former category. it is a testament to how mindful they are of obligations that they did not fall into the latter.

kiryu tried to break them out of that spiritual lethargy in infinite wealth, reminding them of their obligations. remember what i said earlier about kiryu being the "embodiment of the principle that we can't justify denying our obligations"? this is him doing it again, as always. and this was the single most life-affirming thing he could do for them.

on the growing of roots, weil had this to say:

The problem of a method for breathing an inspiration into a people is quite a new one. [...] It is unfortunate for us that this problem, in regard to which, unless I am wrong, we have nothing we can look to for guidance, should be precisely the one that requires today the most urgent solution on our part.

she identified the problem of growing roots as a problem of methods of inspiring people. on this, she wrote:

It sometimes happens that a thought, either formulated to oneself or not formulated at all, works secretly on the mind and yet has but little direct influence over it. If one hears this thought expressed publicly by some other person, and especially by someone whose words are listened to with respect, its force is increased an hundredfold and can sometimes bring about an inner transformation. It can also happen that one needs, whether one realizes it or not, to hear certain words, which, if they are effectively pronounced, and in a quarter whence one would normally expect good to come from, infuse comfort, energy and as it were a food.

just as this was the case with kiryu in infinite wealth, it is the case with noah in pirate yakuza.

violence is a tool. majima has always viewed it as such, but here noah is telling him that not only is it a tool, he doesn't think it's an inherently bad one. he thinks it's cool. he is radically accepting of majima in a way he has never experienced before.

we know that majima has had a complicated history with violence. he hit his wife and left her. he's been using it as a method to keep his subordinates in line for years – something he ideologically does not agree with, but has accepted as a necessary sacrifice. it's not a coincidence that the first thing majima remembers about himself is his guilt surrounding his violence – guilt enabled to become manifest in the absence of his justification, in the absence of mad dog, which had acted not only as an interface between majima and the world, but between himself and his own needs. everything was filtered through mad dog.

but instead of condoning violence via majima's philosophy of pragmatism, which majima has used as a justification (a lie), noah is offering him a way out of the dilemma he's been stuck in for decades. he suggests that as long as you're fighting for the right thing (which majima is in this case), violence is a perfectly acceptable method that does not constitute a crime, and thus, should not create a need for punishment. it's reassuring to majima in exactly the way he needs. it's also something no one else in his life could reassure him about, because they're too busy feeling guilty about their own violence. only someone who is truly "innocent" could absolve majima of this guilt.

majima's face in that last shot is all the evidence you need for its impact. this is what he's needed to hear his whole life, and it would not have had the same impact coming from anyone other than a child. and it had to be this specific child, because:

To no matter whom the question may be put in general terms, nobody is of the opinion that any man is innocent if, possessing food himself in abundance and finding someone on his doorstep three parts dead from hunger, he brushes past without giving him anything. So it is an eternal obligation towards the human being not to let him suffer from hunger when one has the chance of coming to his assistance.

this was the model on which weil based her theory of human needs and obligations, because it was "the most obvious obligation of all." it also happens to be the opening scene of pirate yakuza.

noah's attention and love is demonstrably turned towards human obligations. he is also notably the only person around who has fulfilled this most obvious of obligations. majima himself acknowledges this, saying he "never thought hawaii would be so cold."

noah represents an ideal for majima that he has aspired to his whole life: innocence. this is why he is inspired by noah. the "method" of inspiration in question that majima had been lacking comes to him in the form of a person. and it had to be a person, because majima has always been inspired by individuals. and not only majima, either. RGG as a series is full of examples of this.

It is only through things and individual beings on this earth that human love can penetrate to that which lies beyond.

it's our connections to individuals that remind us of our obligations towards every human being. love becomes universal through the particular. weil understood the important part love plays in motivating people to change. it was her answer to how to grow roots again – her answer to the question of how to inspire people.

it is precisely this form of inspiration that majima had been deprived of for decades, especially after the dissolution as he'd sunk into depression. and this was always the solution, but there were several obstacles to it prior to this game:

he could not afford to have personal human connections in his life, even after the dissolution. he'd learned the hard way what happens when he "dares to show a modicum of emotion," as scott strichart put it.

as long as he was still relying the same tools, he could not effectively change his methods. this game forced him to do that by taking away his favorite tool: mad dog.

even if he wanted to use his violence only for the right things, he had obligations to the clan that would have him using that tool for less-than-noble ends.

because of this, even after the dissolution, he was stuck in the cycle between honor and punishment which obfuscated the truth and confused him. and there can be no inspiration without access to truth.

all of these problems were imposed on him by the social order he was part of – namely, the yakuza. this is why its dissolution was a necessary prerequisite to majima's "growth", but it was still not enough on its own. the amnesia was the second prerequisite.

he needed to face his past, but for that to help him in any way, he first needed to be inspired, so that he could look back on events with a new perspective. and the amnesia was the prerequisite for the inspiration, because it reduced the weight of his guilt and thus his need for punishment, breaking the honor-punishment cycle.

what this game is for majima is an exit. it's an exit from the emotional and spiritual exile he's imposed on himself, that the yakuza has imposed on him, and the self-alienation he's suffered because of it. amnesia is what it takes for him to be reunited with himself. he had to forget who he is so he could be who he is. such was the extent of his self-betrayal.

within the space provided him by this exit, there is room for change. transformation. for majima, that means changing his methods. this game is addressing a problem he's been aware of for decades but could not do anything about.

some examples of him facing his past with this new perspective:

he's realizing what he was to these people, who looked up to him, who he allowed to look up to him, who he took upon himself to lead – and he's hating what he sees. he doesn't like his methods. and he's running from the responsibility of doing right by them, refusing saejima when he asks him to go back.

he's afraid of facing how much he's failed his subordinates by his own standards – a reality he'd lived with for decades before his amnesia. the fact that we actually see how much it bothers him in this game is invaluable, because it means he's letting himself acknowledge that. he can no longer rely on the lie (justification) he had been telling himself to sustain this self betrayal. he is disillusioned with his own pragmatism. noah has exposed the lie, and he allowed it to be exposed. he is now ready to take right and wrong into consideration when deciding his methods – all because noah has reminded him of his obligations in a way that commands his attention, in a way he can't turn away from, and because he no longer has to sacrifice his soul to the clan. this game is, effectively, undoing the spiritual death he had undergone.

he's outright calling his old self, his old ideas, his old methods, "dumb as shit." majima is reinventing his identity, his reputation, his presence in the world and his connection to it. he's been given a chance to become someone he can be proud of again – this is why he likes the way noah looks at him, why he doesn't want to give up on it. it motivates him to commit to his transformation instead of wallowing in guilt like he was in infinite wealth.

he's getting to do it all over again with noah in a way he himself actually approves of, with a clear conscience. not just because noah is a kid, not just because he's lost his memory, not just because he's not yakuza anymore, but because of all those things in combination. that is to say, none of these factors are arbitrary. they were each necessary for achieving this state for majima – a state where change is possible, and he is inspired to change.

"captain majima" is someone he can be proud of.

he rejects his legacy as a yakuza completely. this goes as far as rejecting his bond with saejima. he doesn't want to be called "kyoudai" by him, he'll only answer to "captain." as he's coming to terms with how much it went against his nature to be yakuza, he's trying to distance himself from it as much as possible.

but he's running. he's not trying to run from his responsibilities to the yakuza like saejima thinks – he's running from owning up to his legacy. this is why he pretends to still not have his memories back when shigaki confronts him.

but it's not just the yakuza: the nebulous entity that told them that. it's what majima told them. it's what majima built his legend around.

yakuza 0 was not a game of positive character development for majima. it was the story of how and why he learned to betray himself. it was the origin story of his justification, his nihilism. it was the birth of mad dog. and this game is the counterpart to that – the death of mad dog.

One of the indispensable foods of the human soul is LIBERTY. Liberty, taking the word in its concrete sense, consists in the ability to choose.

the mad dog legend wasn't something that majima stumbled upon against his will like kiryu's dragon of the dojima legend. majima built this. he wanted this. he was trying to rise in the ranks (for saejima), and his legend is what it is because he was so, so wary of being taken advantage of. not only out of his own need for liberty, but out of the obligation he feels towards everyone else. this is the price of turning yourself into a weapon: you have to be very, very careful who you allow to wield you, and towards what end. that becomes your responsibility.

this was why majima was apologetic in that y5 scene – he had failed to prevent kurosawa from using him, and he understands that it is his responsibility to prevent that. this is why the mad dog legend is what it is. he had to find a way to "tear his leash" so that no one could wield him.

but his own preoccupation with freedom, his fear of being used by others, this fight he's been fighting against himself for decades has made him a bad role model. he's finally facing that, and not only that, but he is remedying it, too.

his own unhealthy treatment of himself, his own betrayal of himself, has done actual harm to others. his own misjudgment has led people who looked up to him astray. and he should've known better. done better, been more.

he should've been the one inspiring his subordinates, he should've been the one reminding them of their obligations. instead he has created a legend that has done just the opposite. a legend that has given people another excuse to deny their obligations. because that legend was born out of majima's own excuse for denying his own obligations. THAT is majima's failure. he has failed others in the exact same way he has failed himself. it could not have turned out any other way.

he has failed as a leader, as a patriarch and he's acknowledging that. but that on its own doesn't do much in the way of helping him. this game is about majima stepping up to not only hold himself accountable, which he already HAS been doing, but to do something about it. holding yourself accountable for mistakes you just continue to make or cannot begin to make up for is the very definition of being stagnant. this is the "state more or less resembling death, more or less akin to a purely vegetative existence" he was in for pretty much the entirety of the series, reaching its peak in infinite wealth when he had been cut off from all means of effectively taking responsibility.

and he is finally being given the opportunity to take responsibility – a vital need. he is being given the opportunity to undo the damage, to guide them towards a better path, to remind them of their obligations. just like kiryu.

majima, in true kiryu fashion, is telling these people exactly what he himself needs to hear – needed to hear, and that noah made him realize the moment they met. he is being given a second chance. an opportunity to redeem himself, to START redeeming himself. start over. and he's paying the same kindness forward. if it's not too late to for him to start doing the right thing, then it isn't too late for shigaki either, and vice versa.

[...] man has the power of turning his attention and love towards it. Nothing can ever justify the assumption that any man, whoever he may be, has been deprived of this power. [...] The sole condition for exercising it is consent.

majima understands this, and he understands that applying this principle to shigaki necessitates that he apply it to himself also. a person can always, always choose to do good – not only that, they are compelled to at all times. it takes energy to resist it. this was what caused his burnout in y5 and arguably y4 before that.

this game is about majima taking responsibility for his legacy as a yakuza, much like kiryu did in infinite wealth. this is what they're using his amnesia for. a story about him wallowing in guilt or trying to fulfill his need for punishment would have been the opposite of growth for majima, because the whole problem was that his method of trying to achieve personal growth through honor and punishment had not been working for him. a radically new approach was required. you can't fix something with the same tools that broke it.

just as his own neglect of his needs had caused the problem, the solution also comes from fulfilling those needs for himself. he has to stop betraying himself in order to make things right with the people he's failed. to take responsibility, he has to give up mad dog.

this does not necessarily mean giving up violence, but it does mean using it as a tool for ends that do not conflict his needs. a good example of this is the scene where he threatens to cut fingers.

it's his last resort, not his first one. he is being given room for that now. it's important to note here that he is not threatening to cut fingers to punish someone for insubordination as he has done his entire life – instead it's in the name of ensuring cooperation between others (a noble goal), for something he has no personal stake in. he doesn't want any of the money, he refuses to take a cut of it. he is not playing the antagonist here, and he is very open about his intentions unlike the "old" majima goro who obscured his intentions at every turn for the sake of playing the antagonist.

y0 was the last time we saw majima so earnest, because it was y0 that taught him not to be earnest. this game is undoing the damage.

[...] complete, unlimited freedom of expression for every sort of opinion, without the least restriction or reserve, is an absolute need on the part of the intelligence. It follows from this that it is a need of the soul, for when the intelligence is ill-at-ease the whole soul is sick.

sure, he didn't hold his tongue against his superiors, we've seen him do it countless times throughout the series. but to be able to openly express his goals, his intentions, his own judgment and act accordingly is a previously unthinkable mode of living for majima.

once again, it's about methods, and this game IS the difference between methods, especially as it concerns communication.

it's the difference between "if adults like us are good for anything, it should be nurturing that hope" and "keep that up, and it'll break you." him establishing himself as an ally, instead of an antagonist. he has played the antagonist his entire life, because it was the only way he could think to fulfill his obligations, but the world doesn't need more antagonists. and he's been failing not only his subordinates or himself, but kiryu and everyone else he loves as well.

this is what this scene in infinite wealth was about. majima's methods are destructive, not only to everyone he cares about, but also to himself – because there is no difference between those things. such is the nature of love.

majima finally, finally gets to play the hero after a lifetime of playing the antagonist. he's taking the leaf out of kiryu's book that he couldn't until this point, that he so admired kiryu for. it's a dream come true for him – maybe the oldest one he had.

and in some ways, this is also majima carrying on kiryu's dream, by applying the lessons he learned from him. by emulating him, he's honoring kiryu's principles. he'd told him, all the way back in 1995, that he'd "see those ideals of his to the end." well, this is what that looks like in its most effective form.

this ending really says it all, in my opinion, because it's majima looking at the journey and finding joy in that instead of the end goal. for ONCE in his life. maybe for the first time in his life. because for the first time he is ABLE to do that. for the first time there is something to enjoy about the journey. he is so unconcerned with results here that he doesn't even take the money.

he has been so, so preoccupied with reaching his goals that he has sacrificed the journey, the "methods" and betrayed himself in the process his whole life. this is where it stops.

[...] honour has to do with a human being considered not simply as such, but from the point of view of his social surroundings.

i think it's fair to say that his new methods and outlook on life are here to stay.

conclusion

this game is no joke. it's the most beautiful and profound thing they've done with majima... ever.

to be honest, whether or not most of this should be called "growth" is debatable – i think it can be said instead, more accurately, that growth was not the point of this game. the point of this game and how significant the things it does for majima lie beyond "growth". its value comes from the fact that it fulfills needs for majima that he had not been able to for decades.

majima's problem was not that he needed growing. his problem was that he had been in spiritual exile for 40 years. pirate yakuza was not just "upbeat", it was a celebration of majima being reunited with his soul. and as any celebration ought to be, it was joyful and inspiring. the light tone of the game is not because it is lacking in depth, but because the nature of the subject matter lends itself to hope more than anything else.

a game that was conceptualized as an infinite wealth gaiden had to deal with these themes. to tie the loose end that is majima, so to speak – to give a satisfying conclusion to his arc we'd been observing for years. just as infinite wealth was about kiryu's relationship to the yakuza, this game is about majima's relationship to the yakuza and the yakuza's relationship to him. it cannot be thought of separately from infinite wealth and what it was for kiryu. pirate yakuza and infinite wealth are the yin and yang to each other, just as majima and kiryu are to each other. majima has always been, before and above all else, a narrative foil to kiryu. this game is no exception, they're just changing how they're exploring that in the narrative. it's almost like an inversion of what the series has done with the two of them so far, but still united in one theme above all else: hope for the future.

whether or not these themes have been done justice in execution is entirely up to you to decide, so you can still be disappointed with how the game dealt with them – after all, a method still has to be effective to be a good one – but i hope i have been able to give you some perspective on what this game accomplishes with majima as a character.

thanks for reading <3

[vangelini]

Boyfriend For The Night (Part 2) | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1, Finale!

Summary: After a few too many drinks, Spencer takes you back to your place, and you say something you might regret when you sober up…

Tags: fluff, more pining idiots, BAU!Reader, Fem!Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption

Words: 2.3k (whoopsie)

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“Reid is my boyfriend, for the night,” you smiled, taking a sip of your drink. It was, supposedly, just for the night, but Spencer liked the sound of that.

And, admittedly, so did you.

“Just for the night?” Morgan laughed, his bright, white smile teasing you two.

“Well, we’ll see how he does and go from there,” you joked. Reid couldn’t help but laugh a little at your comment.

“Well, I intend to impress,” he rubbed his thumb along the back of your hand, laughing under his breath while looking down at you. Penelope hit Morgan on the shoulder, drawing his attention toward Reid’s little look of love. He just laughed, turning back to his conversation with Hotch.

“Those two are so screwed.”

The night went on as one usually does. Some of the team split off into different games, dancing, or their own little conversations. You and Spencer were of the latter group.

“I can’t explain WHY The Princess Bride is my favorite movie, it just is!” You feigned defensiveness, leaning into the seat behind you, laughing. “Why don’t your profile it out of me,” you smiled at Spencer. He laughed, taking a drink of his club soda.

“Fine,” he set his drink down, turning to you. “I think…” he leaned down, leveling his eyes with yours, glancing between both of your irises. “I think it’s probably because, ever since you were a child, you’ve been escaping with fantasy,” he sat up. “It would be safest to assume you identify with Buttercup, that you long for someone close to you to come sweep you off your feet and solve all your problems,” he narrowed his eyes. You looked gently up at him. “But,” he sighed, leaning back. “Knowing you, I’d say you like Westley,” he smiled. “You grew up less wealthy and have worked your whole life to protect the people you love. It’s a movie that makes you believe there’s hope in the world,” he took a long sip of his drink.

Your jaw hung open in shock. “When did you learn so much about The Princess Bride,” you smiled, leaning your head on your hand.

“Garcia made me watch it,” he shrugged, laughing.

“Okay, fine…” You took a sip of your drink, head spinning a little. “So what’s your favorite movie, then, hm?”

He didn’t hesitate before responding, like he had clearly been wanting to talk about it. “L’age D’or,” he spoke with his hands. “It’s a-a seminal surrealist film that was actually co-written by Salvador Dali,” he smiled wide. “It used Dali’s classic absurd style and shocking imagery to critique the bourgeoisie and the Catholic Church. It, uh, was so controversial, actually, that it led to riots and bans,” he continued on about vignettes and taboos, but you just stared at him with a smile, eyes glazed over with pure adoration. Some time after he went on about Luis Buñuel’s other works, you realized you were absolutely whipped for this nerd.

You must have been off in la-la-land, because Reid got a little closer to you to get your attention. “Are you okay?” You snapped up.

“What, yeah, I’m good,” you smiled, smoothing down your slacks. “I’m gonna get another drink,” you smiled nervously, standing up a little too quickly. You stumbled a little, causing Reid to reach out and steady you with his hands. Morgan noticed.

“Hey, Pretty Girl, how many of those have you had?” He gestured to your glass.

“Probably too many,” you smiled half heartedly, realizing you were likely a little more than tipsy. You also started to notice how tightly Spencer’s hands steadied you. “It’s getting late, anyways, I’ll go call a cab,” you started to reach for your phone, but Spencer stepped in.

“Hey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Pretty Boy is right,” Morgan added. “Someone should take you home.”

“Guys, Im an adult, I don’t need a babysitter,” you laughed, speech slightly slurred. Yeah, you were definitely drunk.

“It’s fine, I can take her home,” Spencer gave a tight-lipped smile to Morgan. He turned to you, ignoring Morgan’s small, concerned smirk. “It’s not safe to go home alone while inebriated,” he took his hands off of you, and you noticed how he flexed them a little. Interesting. You would have to analyze that in the morning, maybe when you weren’t so intoxicated. He pulled his crossbody bag over himself and grabbed your hand, leading you from the booth. “I’m still your boyfriend, for the night,” he smiled.

You couldn’t help but giggle at him.

“Okay, okay, whatever, pretty boy,” your hand tightened around his. The nickname felt different, coming from your lips, he thought. Somehow, it seemed like less of a nickname and more of an observation. He shook it off. “I don’t live far from here, we can walk,” you spoke as you both stepped out of the bar, the biting cold air hitting your skin. You wrapped your arms around Spencer’s, his biceps wrapped up nicely by his cotton sweater. You smiled, and, you couldn’t see it, but so did he.

“Sounds good,” he barely squeaked out, just content to be settling into your touch.

The walk was peaceful, passing by a river or a park, street lights illuminating the sidewalk. They cast a warm glow on the night, shining in Spencer’s eyes, glimmering as he glanced down at you stumbling by his side. The breeze was slightly shielded by Spencer’s towering figure. He relished the feeling of your grip, a sense of security he didn’t know he craved. And, for a moment, it really did feel like you two were a couple.

He helped you up the steps to you apartment. “Such a gentleman,” you joked. He laughed lowly.

“I’m trying to make sure you don’t eat concrete, but if you’d rather I didn’t-”

“I’m kidding, i’m kidding~” you slurred out, pulling out your keys. It danced around the lock a few times, since your vision was blurred, but with some help from your temporary boyfriend, the door pushed open and you were met with the warmth of your apartment. You couldn’t help but sigh, throwing yourself down on the couch. Spencer locked the door behind the two of you, watching you kick off your shoes.

“You should take your contacts out before you fall asleep,” he put his bag down. “Sleeping with them in can increase your risk of infection up to eight times,” he more than scurried over to your kitchen, filling you up a glass of water.

“Speeence, that’s so much work,” you threw a throw blanket around your arms.

“I know, sweetheart, but I don’t want you coming in to work tomorrow with dry eyes and corneal damage,” he set the glass down on the coffee table, kneeling in front of you. You were so tired, you didn’t notice the nickname. He didn’t seem to, either. “Come on, you need to take them out,” he reached for your arm, taking a hold of your wrist. His voice was gentle, laced with a genuine concern, and his touch was reverent. As you looked down to where his sturdy hands held you, you realized, for a moment, how deeply you cared for him.

He knew alcohol made your inhibitions nonexistent, but he didn’t expect you to start crying. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong,” he grabbed the side of your face, wiping a tear off your cheek. His hands were just so soft, it made you tear up more.

“I-I don’t know,” you sobbed out. You really didn’t know.

“Hey, it’s okay, drink this,” he handed you the glass of water. As you took a sip, he moved his hands to your knees, soothing small circles into them. “Why are you sad?”

You sniffled, looking down at his face. His brows knitted together, eyes beaming up into your own. You could have SWORN you saw his heart beating against his sweater. “Because I love you being my boyfriend, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t,” you were a little embarrassed, but you were drunk, so it barely mattered.

Spencer’s heart rate spiked, and a rosy tint started rising in his face. “You don’t mean that,” he soothed, voice just above a whisper.

“I do,” you looked straight into his eyes. They were glazed over in something you couldn’t describe and probably never would.

“According to research, a-about 63% of people have admitted to saying something they regret while intoxicated,” he reasoned out, holding onto your hand.

“Another study found that 54% of those confessions are things they genuinely feel, Spence,” he realized you clearly weren’t out-of-it enough to not hit him with his own statistics. He couldn’t speak, and he really couldn’t think either. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, eyes dancing around your face. His heart jumped up and down as an innocent desire swept through his veins.

Did you really mean that? Was he not the only one who stole small glances in the bullpen? Was he not alone in his heartbreak when watching someone else flirt with you? Surely, this was a symptom of the alcohol. Maybe-

“It’s so hot in here,” you broke the silence, breaking away from him. He swallowed hard, eyes moving hesitantly away from your face.

“I’ll uh, I’ll change your thermostat,” he stood up, moving towards the hall.

“Thank you, Spence,” you lied down, sniffling once more.

He gave up on having you take out your contacts or change your clothes. He just spread another blanket over you, shutting off the lights. He even took the liberty of setting your alarm. Before he left, he heard you mumble a small, “Good night, Spence.”

He smiled, sighing.

“Good night.”

—

“Hey, Pretty Girl, didn’t have too much fun last night, did you?” Morgan laughed. He couldn’t see you rolling your eyes under the sunglasses that shielded you from another migraine.

“Ha-ha,” you set your stuff down. “That’s me laughing at your funny joke.”

“Honestly, I’m shocked you didn’t show up with Boy Genius, this morning,” he crossed his arms. “Leaving together from the bar, going back to your place-“

“Derek, nothing happened,” you huffed. At least, you THOUGHT nothing happened. The events of the last twelve hours were an honest blur.

“Okay, okay, I yield,” he threw up his hands, going back to his own work. You turned to see Spencer walking in at about the same time.

He had replayed your words in his mind about a thousand times, maybe more. Did you really mean it when you said you loved having him as your boyfriend? Maybe you said that to every guy who took you home drunk. He thought going through all the possibilities would make it easier to face you, in the morning. He proved himself wrong.

You pulled off your glasses, standing up. As he sat down at his desk, you leaned over it.

“I wanted to say thank you for last night,” you spoke softly, not out of secret, but out of vulnerability.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled. “I just wanted to make sure you got home safe,” he looked up at you, moving some files around his desk.

“I really, really appreciate it,” you spoke apologetically. “I wasn’t too much… trouble, was I?” You smiled nervously. “When i’m inebriated, my inhibitions tend to…” you trailed off, trying to find the words.

“Disappear?” He smiled, laughing a little.

“Yeah…”

“You weren’t any trouble,” he reassured you, voice steady. “Actually, it was,” he smiled. “It was nice.”

“Nice?” you laughed, feeling your headache melt away at his soft voice.

“Being able to take care of you,” he defended playfully. “I don’t usually get to do that; it’s usually the other way around,” he tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, looking up at your soft smile. “There was something I wanted to talk about, though…” Your heart skipped a beat.

“Crap, did I do something weird last night? I’m so sorry, if I did, I never-“

“No, no, nothing like that,” he laughed nervously. “You uhm…” he grabbed the back of his neck. He wanted to know if you really felt the same way he did. He wanted to know if you would hold his hand like that while sober. He wanted you. “Would you like to, maybe, get together sometime again?” He squeaked out, smiling shyly. “Maybe, this time, without the alcohol?” You smiled at his offer.

“I absolutely would, Spence,” you giggled out, tapping a nail habitually on the screen dividing your desks. He sighed a sigh of relief.

“Cool,” he pursed his lips together in a smile.

“Cool,” you mirrored him subconsciously.

Maybe it wasn’t just for the night.

(‼️💕THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO REQUESTED PART TWO. REQUESTS ALWAYS OPEN💕‼️)

[sun-flower-children]

Academic Rivals! Viktor x Reader

Academy Student!Viktor x gn!Reader

Here's my take on this idea that has been rumbling around my brain especially with all the new viktor fics ( yall are doing the lords work)

not proof read + a lot longer than I thought it would be, sorry lmao

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You were the Academy's top student known to be the top of the class with the highest scores always exceeding expectations.

Your creative thinking and problem solving is what normally got you the spotlight of attention within academia.

Naturally after spending your first two years of the Academy eating up the attention and receiving offers from multiple elite members of society, industry and government certainly made your resume/reputation an intimidating one.

Your peers knew you to be competitive and ambitious wanting to be the one to set the curve; extensive research projects, etc.

This did however make you a poor teammate with your passionate ideas that one of them could dream of keeping up with you. Plus you would steal the leadership role from them to implement the changes you'd want.

You had gotten used to pattern created for you with a bright future ahead.

Even if you were getting kind of bored of knowing that your worst idea would still allow you to keep your rank.

Then all the sudden a new student joins the Academy

It didn't bother you much until you started seeing a drop in your scores and ranking thus creating a rivalry with this mysterious student.

It was not until you and Viktor shared a class that you realized who your academic opponent was

Thus starting a new chapter of your academic career with renewed passion upon knowing there was finally someone that could equal you in skill.

Fighting for everything within the academic realm that was available

Now neither of you had ever officially been introduced or carried a proper conversation instead replacing regular communication with pointed looks of smugness or confidence.

You would have angry fits in private realizing the margin that you had lost to Viktor

Long days and nights spent gaining a potential advantage over your rival.

Your friends would point out how you would almost pop a vein just describing the way that he would "usurp the first place on an exam all because of a technicality"

Honestly when you would get really into it you were sure that you hated this guy: coming out of nowhere with no prior history and just takes over everything you have worked hard to establish.

Who does he think he is????

Now all your professors, namely Himerdinger paid close attention to this rivalry. It's entertaining watching your top 2 students hash it out and creating things they would not have without this push.

Himerdinger seeing how honed in your other skills were decided to create a project for the class specifically targeting you both.

A partnered project

One that could not change neither the topic, the partner or the day that it was to be presented; everything set in stone.

" Learning the skills needed in a lab is one thing but the most important and impactful discoveries have always been those created through teamwork." Himerdinger would share one fateful day as he put up the paper listing the groups.

It did not even cross your mind that you would have been paired with Viktor and after looking at the poster turned around a looked at him.

Viktor was still sitting in his front row seat in the lecture room patiently waiting for the crowd to dissipate before getting up to look at the paper.

He continued to wrap up whatever notes he had taken as you step up to him.

"We are assigned partners for this project." you say very matter a factly.

Viktor looks up to you with a small smile," Well then, we should set up times to work on the project together. What times work best for you?"

You were taken aback by his nonchalance.

Did he really not care that he was partnered with you? Did he not see you as significant enough to mention the obvious tension? Did he not even see you as a rival but a regular student below him???

After a short pause you share what time you are normally at the library.

As you share the details he finished packing up his stuff.

Looking back up to with another slightly bigger smile (what is his game???) " I'll see you then. Tomorrow at table four."

With that he leans on his cane and leaves you in the quiet empty classroom to deliberate your next moves.

That night you started working on the project creating multiple schemes, ideas, and conceptual ideas that could be used for the project put forth.

You went to bed hoping to finally force him to recognize you as the rival that you were as he seemed so dismissive before.

You showed up to the library at the arranged time to see Viktor sitting peacefully at a study table thumbing through multiple volumes seemingly looking for a specific piece of information.

"Good Morning." you started as you walked up to him.

Without even looking up he returns the same early day greeting and places yet another volume aside and opening a new one.

Raising an eyebrow that the attitude you place your things on the other side of the table.

"I was thinking last night about this project and had written down some ideas that I believe that we should pick from as our approach." you open the discussion with no changed behavior from your supposed teammate.

You continue, " I have already taken the liberty to research them, for your convenience, and have supplied preliminary data for each one. Honestly any of these would resolve the problem raised by our projects prompt with their main difference being how creative you wanted to get with it."

Viktor has created yet another pile of abandoned books that didn't meet his mysterious criteria all the while not regarding you properly.

Your felt your self becoming more warmer as you felt the irritation pool into the oil pit of anger you have created surrounding him.

"It's considered polite to respond or at the very least acknowledge when someone is talking to you. Or are you so focused on your book hunt you aren't ever looking at the person you are supposed to be completing this project with."

Viktor sighs putting the book currently in his possession down and looks up to you.

"It was not my intention to be rude I am just looking for a specific volume that has a unique perspective on the concept we learned a week ago but the title is slipping my mind."

Sighing you sit down and observe the collection of books created on the table.

"I'm going to go on a limb here and assume that you only really remember that the color of the book was dark blue?"

Viktor chuckled," Observant and yes I am."

"Well you aren't going to find it in the library considering there is only one copy of it. That author's take was considered almost heretic."

"Ah, so you are familiar with the book I am referencing?"

"It would be strange if I didn't considering that I brought it with me to our meeting. I checked it out a week ago because it piqued my interest and also happened to align with this assignment."

You hold it out over the table as Viktor sighs again running a hand through his hair.

The meeting ended up going on for longer than expected.

You were surprised to find that he has a similar perspective to yours and understood your vision from the multiple proposals that you had created.

Further analysis showed some minor flaws that would otherwise be overlooked by other people; but neither of you too were not going to settle for anything less than perfection.

The more that the two of you poured over ideas, equations, concepts, and plans until you came up with a path that pleased you both with only one variable that needing some testing.

Viktor offered to go his smaller private study that he had already set up a similar experiment (he was also trying ideas out the night before)

Walking side by side down the hallways was a strange feeling.

Not because you were walking slower that your default rushed walking pace but because this person that you had, honestly, really hated and rationalized that was cheating somehow....wasn't.

You hated to admit it as you continued to listen to his rambling on of the missing component that they needed to figure out.

(Shit...he is actually just naturally brilliant)

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part 1 | part 2 >