#it's about recovery. it's about being alive. in spite of everything. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 3 years ago

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why does jean warn up to mc so quickly? ikevamp makes it clear that jean is a pretty reserved person and doesn't open up or let people in easily but he seems to let mc in quite quickly and it confuses me quite a bit.

Oh boy, where to begin with this one.

Well, I have a lot of Feelings^TM about this, but I'll try to be concise. Essentially, I think Jeanne doesn't recover in the other routes--or the general storyline--largely because he's just a lot to unpack narratively speaking. And without some pretty direct intervention, he has a hard time healing. MC’s direct intervention was meaningful because it was focused, consistent, and adapted to Jeanne’s specific needs. She also doesn’t make light of his experiences which is key; she fully understands that she can’t fathom what he’s been through. There is a very weighty respect and acknowledgement, a seriousness with which she treats his wounds that’s important.

It’s easy to make this a “why is MC nOt LiKe ThE oThEr GiRlS” but honestly that’s just not the sense I get when I look at all the information available to us.

That being said, I also just feel like every person's recovery from traumatic events doesn't really look the same? I mean Leonardo’s cptsd isn’t going to operate the same way Jeanne’s wartime/Inquisition cptsd is going to operate. Some people require very individualized healing, others will often require a large scale group effort to lift them up.

Typically people don't ever just get over what happened to them and never worry about it again, either. It's usually a process of coping; the hope is that with time you find healthy ways to deal with grief and move forward. Therapists aren't magicians, they just help people process painful experiences/thoughts. It's honestly up to individuals to find meaningful ways to implement these tactics.

Tl; dr: My contention is that Jeanne doesn’t open up or choose to stay alive because MC magically heals him, rather his recovery is a convergence of many people’s efforts and hopes that he stays alive. Gilles (he insists that Jeanne must live, asks him to promise), MC (affirms and bolsters that promise), Comte (makes a second life and recovery possible)--and in no small measure Mozart and Napoleon--all make an active effort to buoy him. As people often say, it takes a village to raise a child.

While Jeanne seems to respond most powerfully to MC’s attempts, it feels more like a product of chemistry/compatibility than it does a random cop out. There is no insinuation that only romantic love can heal; after all, MC gets close to him without any romantic intentions at first. They’re just good friends? It’s more that their feelings simply moved in a different direction after a point, which doesn’t necessarily happen all the time. Jeanne is also incredibly moved by Mozart’s love for him as a friend, Comte’s love for him as a father, and even Gilles’ love as a comrade to an extent. If anything, without their input Jeanne’s capacity for romantic love would be questionable at best.

Now, because I can never for the life of me stop analyzing, I have a more large scale outline of my thoughts below. Spoilers for Jeanne’s route:

If we look at Jeanne's life history, he has pretty specific trauma. Most of the harm he endured was a direct result of human rights violations after the war itself. He didn't enjoy fighting and killing people, but he's also very much a man that sees the reality of his position: it's either kill or be killed. His entire goal was to defeat the enemy as efficiently as possible in the hopes of ending conflict, and with his enormous resolve turns the tide. He had no innate interest in inflicting harm, or lack of control when engaging. He isn't pathological about it, and doesn’t dehumanize the other side. He was more "this was an act of necessity, but those are still human beings." So as far as I can tell he has a very strong moral compass and sense of duty, he doesn't show much delusion/confusion in that regard. (Also evident in his conversations with the young orphan boy.) Furthermore, he has been shown to have a sense of humor--cracking jokes with Gilles and boosting morale for his fellow soldiers.

His childhood abandonment is significant (he left his home because he was "not an adequate farmhand and they had no ability to feed all their children") but I don't know if I would consider it a huge trauma point for him. It seems as though he deemed it an act of necessity--not spite. It was simply the way of things, and he couldn't help his wiry constitution. You'd be surprised how common that was once upon a time, tbh... While it's certainly not right or fair, it does appear that in his perception it was the choice he made and he moved on after he became a soldier. Just focusing on what he could do, rather than everything he lacked. For people in his position, they often feel it is useless to linger on what should have been. There’s no time to linger or doubt, life hangs in the balance.

That leaves us with his time under the Inquisition, just before he was slated to be burned alive. I think this is the keystone trauma point for him, because there are a lot of moving parts to his powerlessness here. The first part is that his entire life's mission--ending the war so that people would no longer have to die and/or starve as a result of senseless violence--was just sabotaged. All those years of doing things he never wanted to do (wartime violence) and being forced to leave his family to ensure they didn't all starve, all of it treated like some kind of joke. Like he didn't sacrifice years of his life and sanity to protect a people who were happy to call him a monster and watch him burn alive. The second part is the overt gaslighting and rewriting of Jeanne's personal history (and overall French public perception) for the sake of the King's political agenda. To call him a treasonous danger to the country when he was once lauded a hero. The third portion is the actual physical helplessness of being arrested, starved, and continuously maimed for no reason beyond pure malice. While it's never right to do that to any human being, this was done to a man who prided himself on his stalwart moral code. To abuse and torture him for something egregious that he would never do (at the risk of death) is just another slap in the face to everything he is and believes in.

I just feel like the context clarifies why that period of time would be the tipping point. His entire moral code and life’s work is being called into question and swept aside, as well as his agency? He believes very powerfully in a sense of right vs wrong, what's fair and what isn't fair. Somebody else deciding that for him--and deciding in a way that is openly unfair/incorrect--further makes him lose himself and his sense of reality. A person in that situation begins to doubt if they are good or bad. His belief in god all the more pressing; if he was a good person, why would fate bring him so much suffering? Honorable soldier or not, his blade has drawn so much blood...

People often reference his stilted social skills (and I am of the belief that he is on the autistic spectrum) as a reason why he is so "people-adverse" but tbh? I don't agree. His memories before the onset of this trauma reveal that he was actually a very warm person, and that people were more than willing to fight under his banner. He had friends, and he had comrades--his country loved him. He was the picture of well-meaning civic duty. Just because he doesn’t integrate smoothly into larger social groups or adapt well to socially shifting circumstances, doesn’t mean he just hates people lmao. When people give him the space to exist within his comfort zone and don’t take advantage of him, he thrives. Compounded by that, we also have his actions in the present to further prove what is true and what isn't.

While he is stern with the orphan boy (I'm sorry I can't remember his name, damn it) there is no malice or cruelty in what he has to say. He doesn't punish the kid or do anything out of line. It may not be fair in terms of the adult level of discretion he asks of him, but the kid also didn't have a lot of options realistically speaking lmao. Same thing with MC, she and the orphan boy are nearly identical in how Jeanne treats them. He's a little rough, but the route reveals that his intentions are just a reflection of what he's been through. He truly believes that if a person isn't strong, they won't survive--because his entire life was a series of trying to be strong/reliable because nobody else would. There was nobody to protect him, and nobody to care for him went things went south. It was him and his sword against the world, and even his exceptional skill as a fighter did not protect him from the Inquisition's arbitrary torture. He has lived in a world where good acts can become absolutely meaningless, where following rules and helping people still gets you slaughtered. That's going to take a considerable toll on his mental health: where do you find the will to go on when the next second of your life could mean the devastation of everything that matters to you?

Spoilers: you don't. Or if you do, every minute of the day is a fight to stay alive. That is the point at which we meet Jeanne. Caught in the hellish whirlpool of wanting more, wanting better--but being terrified of the cost. The cost of hoping, only for his entire world to go up in flames again. It's not a small thing, in my view.

If you have any doubts as to whether or not that is the case, I direct you to literally every singular instance in which Jeanne's emotional sensibility goes visibly dark/south. When do these instances happen? When it rains, for one. And when Shakespeare deliberately starts pressing on his sensitivities: about the soldiers he was forced to kill, about the nation that spurned him, how he's truly "wicked" at heart and doesn't deserve to be happy--seconds before flames erupt for the festival. Does that really sound coincidental? I mean lmao. The rain is a painful reminder, but MC transforms that memory into something a little lighter with her bet. He has nothing to lose in her game, all she does is ask for time with him or offers him something if she loses. There's a playfulness there, a restoration of agency and ease that's invaluable to his recovery.

As for Shakespeare's deliberate retraumatization...I can't even begin to explain how damaging that event was. Shakespeare is undermining Jeanne's agency in that he--not unlike the corrupt monarch of Jeanne's era--is twisting Jeanne's beliefs to work against him. He knows full well that Jeanne doesn't feel like he deserves somebody so bright and understanding (we need to remember it's not really a luxury he's had much in life, especially after the war ended). He knows Jeanne has a tendency to impose that strict moral code on himself even more than he does on others. To reaffirm his every worst fear and lurking terror only throws Jeanne into a vicious downspiral. Jeanne doesn't reject MC out of disgust or hate. He rejects her because he literally cannot handle the concept of trying to be happy again, or of burdening her with his constant struggle to move on while he’s in the middle of a bad episode. He knows he won’t be able to stop reliving the past, that every second of his life and breath will be colored by his gruesome memories. He's trying as hard as he can to keep the intrusive thoughts quiet, to move on. But I'm not going to lie to any of you, that is incredibly difficult to do alone.

The next obvious question is, well why can't the other men help him? This isn't to say that they can't--we see how much solace Jeanne finds in Napoleon and Mozart. Even Isaac is gentle with the veteran. But there are limits to how much they can do. Napoleon is struggling with his own wartime trauma, and it's not identical to Jeanne's. Plus there’s a distinct difference in their sensibilities? Napoleon is the type to habitually seek comfort in helping others when he can't help himself, he's not as in tune with answering his own personal feelings and regulating them. (I mean just look at his new ES: he knows what he wants, but it takes a nudge from Isaac for him to go through with it.) He’s very communally reliant in ways Jeanne isn’t; Jeanne is a very private person, and typically prefers one on one from what I can tell.

Mozart is the definition of repression, and if you look at their interactions it's usually Jeanne that's smoothing over Mozart's rough edges. Mozart says as much himself: that he feels like a rotten friend because he knew Jeanne was struggling with a lot of intense trauma, but he didn't know how to unravel it without hurting him in the process. Mozart calls it personal cowardice, but honestly I just feel like they both had too much going on to be able to help each other effectively. (And Jeanne expresses this sentiment too? This idea that he's not angry with Mozart? He knows they're both carrying a lot, he's just touched Mozart cares about him in return.)

Okay, briefly unrelated, but like. Am I the only one that wheezes uncontrollably when Mozart is like "?????? Idk what it is about MC...I don't want her to be scared of me..." in his own main story in the baths. And Jeanne. IS TRYING SO HARD. NOT TO SPILL THE BEANS ABOUT HIM O B V I O U S L Y BEING IN LOVE. THE HILARITY I CAN'T DO THIS. Jeanne was like "yeah....yeah that's rough buddy.......[screams internally, give your boy time Jeanne he's fragile]"

Honestly? That's the thing about Jeanne too--he has incredible self-awareness and hyperarousal-related (I mean the PTSD kind, get your head out of the gutter) awareness to the people around him. He's very, very conscious of the fact that he is surrounded by geniuses when he can't even write his own name. Just because he has the fortitude not to lash out with his insecurities, doesn't mean he never feels stupid or inferior. And it doesn't help when there are people in the mansion who call him--a fucking war veteran from 500 YEARS AGO--nAiVe. He's not naive lmao. He just doesn't know how the world works so many years later, and it's a ridiculously steep learning curve? Leonardo and Comte are nearly 500 years old, but they lived throughout every hour of that time in a linear fashion. It is a big deal to be moved from 1430 to 1890 in the span of a second asynchronously, and then be expected to function without a hitch??? Given the circumstances he adapts well.

That atmosphere--this constant impatience with what he doesn’t understand, his inability to be caught up to speed quickly--is going to hinder his recovery lmao. He feels like a burden most of the time, and agency and freedom are crucial.

Another thing that occurs to me about the mansion's arrangement is that there is a power dynamic, just as any space with people in it has some level of hierarchy (unless you live with miraculously chill people). Jeanne is acutely aware that Comte is the most powerful being in that space, and he is not only hatefully angry at him--but likely afraid too. We have to remember that the biggest betrayal he witnessed in his life was at the hands of a monarch; it was the aristocracy that turned on him and erased the truth. Comte is openly a child that resulted from both that era and that type of lineage, I don't really blame Jeanne for being wary. He intimately knows how willing rich people are to throw normal folks under the bus to suit their ambitions/whims. Comte, while not deliberately threatening, also seems to be painfully aware of this impression he gives off. His "chad persona" as I've mentioned allows him to navigate his life in secret by necessity, but it’s actively damaging to his son. He can't reveal the truth because of Vlad's betrayal, and he's openly unsettled by what it could mean to be honest. Will they wonder about Vlad and find themselves ensnared under his mind control as Charles and Shakespeare are? Will Comte himself be subjected to the mortifying ordeal of being known only to lose them?? That's a risk he isn't willing to take--and that leaves him in a double bind.

What is it that they say, the truth will set you free? This is where MC and Comte come into enormous play when it comes to Jeanne's recovery. One thing to keep in mind is that most of the people in the mansion have their own traumas they're trying to carry, and I feel like a lot of them are unsure how to approach Jeanne. Or if they do, he's very guarded. It takes a lot of consistent effort to get through to him. What does MC do when Jeanne unleashes his harsh worldview on her? She's understandably frightened, but Jeanne isn't malicious (so she chases him around). In fact, he openly avoids and runs away from her--well aware that what he's done is wrong. If anything, he did it on purpose, bringing us right back to Shakespeare's verbal undoing; why does Jeanne attack her in the first place?

LMAO. He attacks her because she essentially says "oh thanks for helping me!" "I am not nice. Watch yourself." "But you seem like a nice guy to me?" "REEEEEE" Does the pattern become a little clearer? When people think kindly of him, his instinct is to shatter that illusion with an impulsive reprehensible act. When people think poorly of him or lash out, what does he do? When that orphan boy starts yelling and screaming, Jeanne is nothing but calm. He explains the situation, and offers the kid a choice, perfectly happy to be the bearer of bad news. This operates on many levels I’m sure, but I have a feeling it has something to do with him being hailed a saint and a war hero only to be tortured and branded a monstrosity (and he probably thinks being a vampire is doubly monstrous). He’s more comfortable being hated because he feels it’s what he deserves in a lot of ways.

Jeanne has a lot of internalized self-hatred because of what he's done, and because of how much harm was inflicted on him outside of his control (he's Catholic and he was tortured, come on this writes itself). If I'm honest, I think that's actually the greater part of why he hates Comte lmao. Comte refuses the very concept of being cruel no matter how much Jeanne lashes out. Sure he lectures him and scolds him, but he never actively limits what's important to him or controls or harms him. Comte fully realizes the tragedy of how Jeanne's life was used by a nation in dire straits, and knows he needs time and acceptance to heal. No matter how dismal or unhappy, Comte doesn't stop--he fully believes Jeanne should have time in his life where he can really live for himself for once. But therein lies the issue, Jeanne doesn't know how to live for himself.

Which brings me to how MC and Comte "heal" Jeanne. I feel like they give him the space he needs to recover, and that's what results in his gentled temperament and happiness. Remember that so much of his main story is MC endlessly chasing after Jeanne. No amounts of his hissing or running or threatening stops her. Even if his refusals are empty of real dislike, they're enough to deter most people. Not MC. She's able to see through to the depths of who he is, and doesn't just use him for her own ends? She actively seeks to teach him (to read and write) to help him settle better in this era, she actively tries to ease his distaste for rain with a well-meaning bet, and she never gives up on him. (Actions mean so much more to him than words in general too, tbh...). Love is more easily defined by work and effort than it is by attraction.

When he has his episode at the festival, sure she's rattled; but that's because she truly believed that he didn't want to be around her anymore. When she notices he really doesn’t want to be followed, she stops like any normal person would. It’s only when she reads his notebook and sees the truth for herself (that he’s given up despite having the same feelings for her) that her determination is rekindled. She doesn't approach him fearfully, doesn't treat him like he's made of glass either. She just wants him as he is--accepts and loves him as he is. Scarred, bloody, exhausted, abrasive, terrified. She doesn't define him by how easy he is to love. That is a huge issue with traumatized people lmao. Because of their maturity, people always just assume they don't need help, or they rely on them to an extent that isn't sustainable. The second they reveal need or that they struggle, people walk away or victim blame them because it’s easier than taking them seriously.

While MC's attempts may be a little more obvious (cherishing his lily field, wearing the hair pin he gave her, careful about his gruesome injury, really listens when he talks about the horrors of his life and accepts that he experienced a level of agony/terror she can never understand, tries to express her feelings no matter his evasion) I think it's also important to consider Comte's large scale effort. I don't say this to undermine MC, I say it because Jeanne's life was defined by a complete lack of security. He left his parents to make their lives easier, he lived in a war that meant life or death any second, and his country's leader branded him a traitor which lead to his endless torture and public execution. Jeanne does not know a life in which safety is the norm. Point blank. He does not understanding going outside and not expecting the worst anymore.

Comte not only understands that level of despair, but treats it with dignity and respect. He fully accepts being hated if it means Jeanne can use that hatred to live on and find a way to heal. And most importantly, when Jeanne begins to move forward with MC and Mozart's help, Comte never once holds it against Jeanne when the truth is revealed. He's not angry, this isn't about reprisal or reparations or revenge. It's just love.

Jeanne doesn't really have a concept of this? His entire life was mostly transactional, defined by strength and efficiency. Nobody gives a damn about your feelings. You either hurl yourself at the problem or die. Nobody is going to help you or carry you or save you. While he may have had a little more support while he was in the military from his fellow soldiers, that support system was ripped away from him during the Inquisition.

One very common sentiment regarding elongated imprisonment and torture is that survival occurs in pairs. It is an undeniable fact that people need others to survive. It is the nature of who we are. Individualism has never proven to be successful, or if it is, its dividends are astronomically minimal when compared to people working together.

What does it mean to be the most reliable, steady person in the room? Usually it just means you don't know how to ask for help when you are no longer capable of maintaining that stance. Napoleon is guilty of it. Leonardo, Comte, and Jeanne all are too. It's part of why MC and Comte's capacity to see what he needs and provide as much as they can is such a big deal. That sort of consistent support (without a constant necessity to beg for help) allows Jeanne to be able to re-integrate into his new reality and find joy. Even if his nightmares and memories never go away, they are now being actively overrun by positive experiences. That's the thing about recovery, really--it tends to be more about drowning out the negative as much as possible and coming to terms with it, than it is about forgetting or never feeling it again. It’s about softening the sharp edges of pain like sea glass.

So is MC magical and randomly got Jeanne to open up? Nah, I don't think so. I think it was a series of persistence and real acceptance of who he is that made him warm up. People really seem to underestimate how deeply affecting understanding is, but that's how damage is undone. Jeanne can't really linger on the idea of his own monstrousness, his unworthiness, a lifetime of misery, when the person in front of him actively listens and cares about him. Makes him laugh and smile and lose himself in warmth for the first time.

If I'm honest, I feel like people also just...underestimate the level of traumatic resurgence that's perpetuated and inflicted by society’s standards in general lmao. This rhetorical structure in which good and bad exist in moral extremes, this idea that people should be able to recover and never experience relapses or periods of sensitivity. The refusal to radically listen to people and their problems, and make active attempts--not matter how small--to mend/ease those hurt feelings. Granted there will always be people in the world who do not want to improve, but I feel like most people want to. It's hopelessness, silence, and stigmatization that remain the true enemies of traumatized/mentally ill people everywhere. And among that population are always war veterans...

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp jean #ikevamp jeanne #ikevamp meta #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp comte #sorry i have a lot of feelings about this topic kjahsflkjhsjkghfd #but yes!#i think mc being able to help him was more about her sensibility and the mental fortitude/space to be able to care about him as he needed #i don't think it's necessarily that she's SpEcIaL #trauma is a sensitive subject--especially considering he's a war veteran #but i also think it's simple and complex at the same time #simple in the sense that people really do just need consistent support and love to be able to care for themselves again #complex in the sense that support can come in so many permutations and some of them are very delicate and multi-faceted #and thus must be handled with extreme caution in some regards #anywho not that i'm any kind of expert this is just what i understand and see #also in case it wasn't clear i love him and cry every day (look away comte it's my whoring hours)#though i hope this helps??? i went off harder than anticipated lakjhglkj #thank you for the ask!!! <3333 #asks #rambles #not incorrect quotes

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dinawrites · 3 years ago

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Tell me everything about Artemis Rising

Miles Webber and Isobel Ian are the last remaining survivors of Paragon-12. What had begun as an ordinary surveillance expedition sent to a neighbouring galaxy to find an adequate alternative for the dying Earth... ended in carnage.

The Paragon's last communication to Earth was cause for quite some concern, in spite of there never being a distress signal. And so, a team is assembled; for a rescue mission, nothing more, nothing less.

The new team consists of seven, only the absolute bare necessities. A team with nothing to lose should whatever caused Paragon-12 to cut transmission still be a very viable threat.

Finding the Paragon in ruin, with only two survivors out of what had initially been ten, questions begin to arise.

As Webber would tell it, something overtook his crew. A parasite of the mind, he'd call it. Mankind's meteorite, an apocalypse, Trojan horsing within one of his own.

Isobel Ian would be quicker to point her finger at Miles himself, for isolation was said to do wonders to the integrity of one's mind.

And as members of Artemis-614 begin turning up dead, the list of suspects grows slim. But it always had been.

Who is telling the truth?

Miles, who claims that there is extraterrestrial life leeching off of them?

Or Isobel, who claims that it is Miles who is responsible after his mind broke under the weight of his loneliness?

With the team divided and mistrust heavy in the air, getting home alive is becoming a near impossibility.

A sci-fi horror thriller murder mystery. It's Civil War meets Alien, it's Lovecraftian Agatha Christie. It's the lovechild of Clue and Among Us.

TEAM WEBBER

Adriana Casares is of the opinion that it is incredibly arrogant for humanity to believe we're the only intelligent life forms out there in the vast cosmos.

Nadine Mitchell is the mission specialist, and has to account for any and all variables. Excluding an extraterrestrial threat would be unprofessional of her. It is her job to get everyone home safe, and she'll die before she let's the mission fail.

TEAM IAN

Walter “Walt” McCoy, who was with the recovery team who entered the Paragon-12, has been rendered mute by the horrors he'd seen, and refuses to be in the same room as Webber.

Jedediah “Jet” Smith doesn't much think outside the box, thinks the very idea of a parasitic alien is ludicrous, and the only reasonable explanation for what unraveled aboard Paragon-12 comes from Isobel Ian.

And Eric Holden, who'd always been too hot-headed and cocky, has just reached his limit being confined to the Artemis-614 for months and is looking for an outlet for his frustrations. He doesn't much care how it comes. But he's calling for Webber's execution.

All the while, Captain Bo Korain is keeping himself neutral. But his silence speaks volumes.

#artemis rising

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bibliocratic · 4 years ago

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I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation. Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

#tma #tim stoker #fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #cw violence #cw implied torture #cw hospitals #hurt/comfort #the magnus archives

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costellos · 4 years ago

Text

author’s note: this wasn’t a request, just something super self-indulgent that I wanted to do! ❤⃛(*ૂ❛ัᴗ❛ั*ૂ) also this ended up taking 2.5 hours to write aldkf;j so much for unwinding at the end of the day. overall, I’m super proud of how this came out — please enjoy!

❥ ┋ ❝ bucci gang realizing that they’re in love!

bruno bucciarati.

Bucciarati realizes he’s in love when he sees you defending civilians.

he is a man made of love. for his people, for his community, for his goals — he firmly believes that everyone and everything can be built on yes, but more importantly, taken care of.

he sees you protecting an elderly couple during a stand battle. in a split second do you throw your stand at the couple, taking a hefty amount of damage in their place. you’re bloody and your arm is definitely broken, but you still turn to them. "you need to leave. now,” you say. although your words are harsh and hoarse, your smile reminds them that yes, everything will be fine, I just need you to trust me.

you didn’t have to protect them. any other gangster would have left them to die. they’re old, no one would miss them.

but you did. you put these two strangers, two no ones at the wrong place at the wrong time, before yourself. even if it meant you’d die.

Bucciarati would visit you shortly after the battle. Giorno had already tended to your wounds, evident by your lack of bandages. his hair is normally neatly placed, but it looks like he had been rustling it, with his clips out of place and the braid atop his head uneven. his concern is apparent; he’s wracked his brain waiting for your recovery. you knew that Bucciarati cared about his team, but when did he care this much? ↳ “I admit, your actions were certainly reckless,” he would say to you, taking a seat beside your bed. “you’re lucky that fight didn’t end worse than it did. nonetheless...” his voice is tired yet soft, comforting. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m... I’m incredibly glad.”

leone abbacchio.

Abbacchio realizes he’s in love when he sees you upholding true justice.

although he would never admit it, he is haunted by his inability to save his partner during his time as an officer. as such, Abbacchio envies those who back justice in spite of the system Italy lives under.

you’re patrolling one of La Passione’s turfs with him when you see it: two officers harassing a young girl. even though Abbacchio tells you not to get involved, you quickly storm over to the scene. their voices are loud and clear, despite them being several meters away. the girl looks scared.

it turns out she had stolen a handful of painkillers from the corner store. the cops noticed her scurrying out as they were buying a pack of smokes. and now, they were threatening to take her into the station. “I need them for my family!” she explains, but the cops don’t buy it. they huff something about her bringing them to school and selling them to her friends.

“here. I’ll pay for her. just leave her alone.” Abbacchio watches as you flash 30 euros to the cops, more than enough to pay for the medicine. playing them at their own game, he sees. thankfully, they relent, pocketing the money and leaving the scene. and after you talk to the girl, explaining that if she needs more help to come find you, you both leave the scene too.

it’s a brief affair. truthfully, he wouldn’t have gotten himself involved. he wishes you hadn’t either. it would’ve been less of a headache, and now that girl is going to pester you again in the future. but he can’t stop replaying the scene in this head. how you willingly stood up for her, reassured her that everything would be okay. how you smiled and looked so content after the fact. ↳ “ I envy you,” he would say as you walked away from the scene. “doing the right thing is...” he pauses. stupid? naive? “...it’s not easy. you didn’t have to do anything but I admire your valor. just don’t be surprised if that girl comes up at your doorstep begging for more money.” nonetheless, he wants to learn more from you. to be good again, he thinks. maybe then he can be someone that he himself is proud of. and maybe, eventually, he’ll make you proud too.

giorno giovanna.

Giorno realizes he’s in love when he sees your ambition.

he prides himself on his resolve. to him, resolve is committing to something regardless of the difficulties that a person faces. seeing you be so goal-oriented would make him believe that he’s found his match.

it doesn’t have to be a huge goal, like dedicating yourself to a field of practice or learning a new language. it can be as simple as trying to keep your houseplants alive. in fact, those little things come off as more charming to him. it shows that you’re passionate about everything you do, no matter what it is.

seeing you continuously try despite numerous failures would make Giorno’s heart pound. you refuse to give up. even with everything against you, you still roll up your sleeves, take a deep breath, and pick yourself up again. he adores this about you.

he realizes it when you’re rambling about your next move in your goals. your face is so excited, your eyes so wide and bright. your mouth is voicing your steps a million words a minute but all he can focus on is how beautiful you look. the smile on his lips is unmistakable. ↳ “tell me more. I want to know everything. tell me about every detail, every step, what you’ll do when you’re finished... all of it.” he won’t say it — after all, he doesn’t want to come off as too desperate — but he wants to be there every step of the way with you. and when you’ve completed your goal, he wants to be the one next to you, the one to say, “I am so, so proud of you.”

guido mista.

Mista realizes he’s in love when you laugh at one of his jokes.

life should be simple. that’s the mantra he lives by. despite being a gangster, he just wants to have a simple life filled with simple pleasures. one of those ways is through telling stories.

it happens when the group is eating dinner at a local restaurant. Mista is telling some long-winded anecdote, something about how he heroically beat up a landlord for harassing his tenants over money. at the end, it turned out to be the set up for a really brief and really stupid punchline.

everyone is looking at him. “ah? ahhhh?” he muses, but no one responds. the silence in the air is unbearable. hm. wow. is it hot in here or what? finally, Narancia breaks the silence, muttering that he doesn’t get it. Fugo tells him that Mista could have made the joke so much shorter. Bucciarti exhales quickly from his nostrils, a half-assed attempt at laughing. Giorno and Abbacchio don’t say anything.

but then you. oh, you. it takes you a moment to get it, but when you do, your giggling disrupts the awkwardness. it sounds like bells, Mista thinks. sweet bells, ringing like how they used to at the church every Sunday morning in his hometown. it makes him feel warm, welcome, and he can’t help but feel his face flush when he hears your laughing.

Mista stays in place afterwards, pushing his white beans to and fro on his plate. he’s not hungry anymore. he keeps looking up at you, and while he had acknowledged you were attractive before, something about you was now beautiful. you were happy here, with your eyes bright and your smile wide. eventually, he would say: ↳ “hey, thanks for covering me back there. those guys never laugh at anything I say.” he rolls his eyes playfully, adding a slight shrug of his shoulders. “lemme make it up to you. what can I do for you?” he’s trying to be smooth, but he’s so giddy at the prospect at spending more time with you!

narancia ghirga.

Narancia realizes he’s in love when you don’t lose your patience with him.

he doesn’t have much of a formal education. hence, critical thinking skills don’t come easy to him. he tries his best, he really does, but it’s difficult when he’s hardly flexed his brain.

he’s writing a song. nothing fancy, but music has always been a part of Narancia’s life that he wants to give it a go himself. maybe one day he’ll be a famous hip hop artist, touring across Europe and maybe even the U.S. one day! the thought makes him excited. but for now, he needs to establish the lyrics.

rap is easier said than done, though. Fugo is teasing him about his inability to write poetry — what makes Narancia think that he could write a whole song? he grits his teeth and turns back to his paper.

that’s when you approach him. you sit down with him, asking him what he would like to write about. “oh, uh... growing up in the streets, I guess,” he mumbles. he’s taken aback by your help. plus, talking about it now makes him embarrassed. but you don’t judge him, no; you sit down with him and try to help him nail down the theme. and once you have that, you assist him in finding snappy lyrics and catchy rhymes.

you don’t criticize him for his ideas. you don’t yell at him for his suggestions. you just listen and add on. the encounter is foreign, to say the least... but not unwelcome. Narancia finds your help incredibly productive (much better than Fugo could ever offer him). and the time goes by so fast! within a few hours, his song is done. yet he’s not happy... no, he starts to feel lonely the moment you stand up, off to assist Bucciarati with whatever he needs. ↳ “wait, hold on, [Name]!” shit. his voice is way too desperate. he softens it as best he can muster: “can... can we write another song sometime? I have a lot more ideas and I can’t do it without you.” fuck. he did it again. but when smile at him and nod, promising that you’ll help him hit the Top 40, Narancia can’t help but smile back.

panacotta fugo.

Fugo realizes that he’s in love when you put him before yourself.

genius. prodigy. failure. Fugo is defined by how others see him. after his parents abandoned him for leaving an abusive establishment, he finds himself lost in the world. who is he? what is he worth?

he’s escorting you to your mission when his car is attacked by a rival gang. the assault is a blur. he can remember the car flipping over, tumbling off the road and into the Mediterranean Sea. it happens so fast. the salty water surrounding you both. the windshield cracking. the airbag goes off, suffocating him. he can’t see. he can’t breathe. and suddenly, it’s dark.

when he wakes up, he realizes that you’re both on the beach. “where are we?” he musters out. it hurts to talk. you hush him to take it easy, that he had most certainly broken a few ribs. and that’s when he sees it: when he looks down, his wounds are tended to. gashes have been tenderly wrapped in gauze and minor cuts treated with balm. a pain relief patch has been placed on his chest, no doubt where the air bag hit him. but when he looks at you, you’re bleeding through your bandages.

that’s right. there was a first aid kit in the car. based on his injuries, you spent the majority of supplies on him, even though you definitely had it just as bad. “why?” is all he can say.

why? you shake your head. “because you’re my friend,” you answer, adjusting the gauze on his wrist. “I’m taking care of you because you’re worth it.”

your words catch him by surprise. he doesn’t believe it, but... your face is honest enough. his thoughts are jumbled, as mixed as the sand and water at the shore just a few meters away. and when your hand touches his wrist... he shakes his own head.

↳ “you should’ve tended to yourself first.” his tongue tastes of nothing but blood and salt and his words show it. a beat, and gentler this time: “I appreciate your thinking of me. thank you.” that’s all he can say, at least for now. it hurts to much to talk, moreover think. so he places his hand over yours as a gesture of thanks. friends, huh? the idea before sounded laughable, but now... there was something warm about it. the answer to his question — who is he? — had come as quickly as the waves beneath him: a friend.

#bucci gang #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #giorno giovanna #golden wind #bruno bucciarati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #narancia ghirga #pannacotta fugo #headcanons #part 5 #toya whisks u away

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archived-zombbean · 3 years ago

Note

Yoooo do you have a post somewhere about your Gotham sona's info?

I have an official post on my RP blog but I can put it here! (I'm debating on removing the tattoos on the ref sheet tbh, but I'm not sure yet X'D)

Name: Sona Bean Xueen

Height: 5'0

Weight: 200lbs

Blood Type: B+

Education: Associates Degree

Which Batman Verse is she from?

My own universe called "Death's Child" I take a mixture of my favorite versions of Batman villains, and heroes and mix them.

Relationships:

Victor Zsasz (Sexual and Romantic)

Edward Nygma (Sexual and Romantic)

Jonathan Crane (Romantic)

Oswald Cobblepot (Friend)

Harley Quinn (Friend)

Waylon Jones (Friend)

Jervis Tetch (Friend)

Harvey Dent (Friend)

Victor Fries (Familial)

Pamela Isley (Friend)

Jim Gordon (Very rocky friendship; He would jail her if given the chance.)

Background:

Sona grew up in normal comfort for the first ten years of her life. The daughter of a low tier mafia henchmen, who ran a red light district building by the name of the "Bucking Bronco" where anyone could get their rocks off for the night, for a price. Her father was a man by the name of Jeorge King.

She was spoiled rotten, but never seemed to quite understand that she was. Clothes, toys, treats, and the like were given to her freely, even by men and women her father worked with. She was happy.

However, one day it all changed. She became ill.

Everyone at birth is scanned in this universe. When you are, it's determined what insurances will cover you, what surgery will be allowed to you, and how expensive treatment costs would be. Sona had contracted an easily curable illness, however her scans at birth showed that she stood a 5% chance of contracting said illness. Treatment was expensive, her father's insurance wouldn't cover the cost, and he began to seek out ways to get money to cover it.

This was the first step into a dark era.

Her father began stealing money behind his boss's back, trying to hit up places that wasn't on the list, and even began selling drugs and illegal weaponry to rival gangs.

One night when Sona was asleep, she awoke to gunshots in her living room. Scared the, now thirteen year old, girl walked down the hall and into the room to see three men in black over her fathers body, a bullet through his head. She held in her scream, her voice a whimper between her fingers. But their ears were sharp, and their voices like venom.

"Hey there little girl," one purred, advancing on the young girl who could only cry, "It's okay... I'm not gonna hurt you... okay well, that's a lie... you see your father's been very, very naughty~ Which means you have just as much to pay for as he does, you know? No hard feelings~"

That night the screams that ebbed from her lips were muffled by the rough assault of her intruders. It ended with a bullet to her gut, in hopes she would suffer as a final 'fuck you' to the King line.

As she lay in a mess of blood, sweat and tears, she choked back her whimpers. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair!

She got up, shaking on her hands and knees, crawling over to her father's corpse. She shook him, desperately trying to wake him, but to no avail. She shook harder.

"Please! Please.... dad, wake up! Please.... I... I need you... I can't.... I can't breath..." she felt blood in the back of her throat, but she refused to die. She had to live. She had to!

The memory is a blur, but that day she was rescued by a young man. A police officer of all things. Peter Gordon. She was alone. She had a decent amount of wealth left behind by her father, an inheritance of sorts. she had to change her name. Leave the old behind. They'd find her if she didn't. So she changed her name to Xueen.

It took six months to repair the damage. She was told she would never be able to have children, but it didn't seem to phase her. She didn't care about starting a family. To hell with what little future she had left. What she craved was revenge.

Revenge came on her 16th birthday. After a few years of underground training, paying hired guns to teach her to use high caliber weapons, and pistols, she finally shot her shot. The men that raided her family home and murdered her father died at her hands. She shot out their knees, broke elbows with sledge hammers, gutted one and slung his entrails over another, she pulled eyes from their sockets, used adrenaline to keep them alive for 48 hours. When the screams finally faded, she sobbed. She finally killed the people that murdered her father.

She had no purpose. She was still going to die. It was just a matter of how long it would take until she died.

But a thought occurred. Those three were just following orders. They were just pawns on a much larger board. There was still a king to overthrow. Her hands clenched into fists, and a snarl laced her lips. There was more to do. She had nothing to lose. Death was already at her doorstep, might as well greet him with an open hand.

She no longer feared death.

Sona invested in stocks which only served to increase her wealth, but by this point her illness had progressed to the point of no recovery. If she'd just gotten the treatment as a child, it wouldn't have progressed this far. She was eighteen.

She hired her own group of thugs, her own gang beginning to form. But they weren't quite up to snuff. She needed someone with more experience in killing... someone who wouldn't hesitate. Someone who would be loyal, and follow her every command. She was getting sicker. She needed someone to be her weapon when she was unable to lift one herself.

A few weeks later she hears of a serial killer. Very proficient. Very lethal. He's taken out a few of her men already, so she dared to see just whom this man was.

And it was then she came face to face with the mass murderer himself. A man decorated in scars along his arms and chest, a sadistic smile trailing over his lips. His eyes had a murderous lust to them, but she could only smile back. He was perfect.

"Hello there, my name is Sona Xueen. Did you know you've been causing me a lot of trouble lately?" she hummed, resting a hand on her chin.

The man advanced slowly his curiosity piqued. Why wasn't she afraid of him? Why wasn't she running?

"Hmm..." he looked her over, a glimmer of a knife in his hand, "Aren't you cute~ what would bring a vulnerable, sweet, young woman all teh way out here~?"

She grinned even wider, "I have a proposition for you... you work for me, you get paid, and you get to kill more than just junkies and my men for a living... work for me and you'll never have to live in filth again! You'll be able to live out any perverted violent fantasy you set your sights on!"

He paused, glancing over the other, then at the knife. After a long train of thought he tossed the knife to the side.

"What'cha got in mind boss?" he chuckled, a dark tone to his voice.

"How does targeting corporate heads sound? They've been very, very naughty, and I think it's about time we send those pig headed shits packing," she smirked.

The other's eyes widened, "A challenge~? I like it!"

"What's your name?"

"Victor. Victor Zsasz,"

She was twenty one.

She now stands at the epiphany of her career. There are ten corporate heads that need to roll, and five have already crumbled. There are five left to snuff out. She grins at the thought. The thought that her revenge will not only satisfy the violent lust in her stomach, but that there will never be children that are forced to go through what she had. Parents will never have to suffer losing their children. Parents will never be forced to resort to extreme measures to ensure their safety and well being. People won't have to die over a system designed to kill them.

She coughs. Her chest hurts. A pain shoots through her entire body. She's surprised she's lived this long. Perhaps it's spite? Or anger? Perhaps it's her wanting to live just a bit longer so she can spend time with the friends she's made along the way.

She feels a hand on her shoulder as she's lifted into a strong pair of arms. It's Victor. He wears a goofy smile as he always does around her. She lets out a satisfied sigh. For now everything is okay. For now everything is normal. One day she'll die. One day Victor will make sure that he's the one to do it. He's vowed. He's promised.

She's somehow made it to thirty.

That's basically everything I have on her so far! I have a few comics planned to go into detail of her relationships with some of the rouges she's closer to. Like Victor as her lover and weapon, Riddler as her informant and occasional sex partner, Mr. Freeze as her father figure, Penguin as a very dear close friend, and her strange friendship with Jim Gordon because of his father saving her life. There's a lot of puzzle pieces I'd rather fill in with art and pictures rather than story format, but I hope you enjoy her lore!

#sona #sona's backstory #lore #devil's child au #batman #oc

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darkdevasofdestruction · 4 years ago

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I’m Weak Too... ~ Bakugou Katsuki

Everyone who knew Bakugou Katsuki had tons of mixed opinions of him - Some thought he was rude, others that he was condescending or patronising, or even conceited and narcissistic, which wasn’t helped by how short-tempered and aggressive he usually was with everyone...But there was one thing that nobody could deny, and that was that his wit and strength were superior to most of the people his age, which is why he was ranked #1 in the U.A. Academy Entrance Exam, and got himself in class 1-A.

Bakugou Katsuki was a child prodigy.

But nobody ever cared enough to find out how he became this way, nor if he is alright.

Nobody saw how much Bakugou Katsuki was hurting, or maybe they were too afraid to even acknowledge that he was capable of feeling anything other than pride and lack of mercy for anyone who even us much as irritated him a little bit.

The only person who was stuck by his side like a parasite was that annoying Quirkless Deku, who was nothing more than a crybaby pest who managed to get himself a Quirk and through nothing more than sheer dumb luck, got in the same class as him.

How stupid.

There was however, another person in that class, who would always go out of their way to ask if he’s okay, would tell him dumb jokes or funny pick up lines, to try and get him to smile, and for the rest of the class, the actions of L/N Y/N were absolutely bouffonic, and she was writing herself a death sentence.

L/N Y/N was a bit of an odd one, someone that nobody could quite pinpoint...

She was strong, but she also wasn’t. She was smart, but she also wasn’t. She was popular, but she also wasn’t. She was sociable, but she also wasn’t.

L/N Y/N was nothing more than a walking, living, breathing paradox...

She was aloof, yet down to earth. She was goofy, yet serious. She was outgoing, yet timid. She was...

Hell knows what she was.

But Bakugou Katsuki knows what she is.

She is annoying as hell.

He had no idea how she got in 1-A through recommendation, like that stupid Half’n’Half, or that stupid rich, smart girl.

She wasn’t as smart as other adults made her out to be, nor was she brilliantly strong. She wasn’t diligent, not hardworking, and she never bothered to get good grades in tests and exams...And even her Quirk seemed not too cooperate most of the time.

She almost seemed as Enigmatic and weirdly personal with Aizawa, as Quirkless Deku is with All Might...And the fact that there may be more than meets the eye with this airhead really pissed him off.

She was an Enigma that nobody could unveil, much like a grey butterfly.

That’s why, during the USJ attack, was completely taken aback to see her going out of her way to kill the minor villains attacking their homeroom teacher...And then more...He was her attacking the blue haired freak, then getting completely smashed by that Nomu monster when she tried to push Aizawa out of the way of harm, and then, when he thought she was dead, she used her Fire Quirk to save Frog girl, Grape boy and Deku.

That was the first time he ever noticed her strength...That she wasn’t as innocent and frail as she wanted others to think she was.

She made her facade completely crumble...At least for him.

Seeing how she managed to get up and use her Quirk to empower All Might’s strength, as she ran solely on pure anger and adrenaline...She was running on pure spite and revenge...

It pissed Bakugou Katsuki so much realising that some stupid Extra like her managed to get so much action, helping the teachers where it was actually needed, willing to throw away her physical body to do what was right...

While all he did was beat up 2-3 villains from some burning, collapsing building.

How pitiful this Bakugou Katsuki was if he was being bested by some no name like her.

No...This had to be a mistake.

She got in that state because she was reckless, powerless, tactless.

If that was him, he wouldn’t have ended up in a hospital, burnt and broken, more dead than alive.

Then again, so did Aizawa, and he couldn’t say he was weak...

The few next days, L/N Y/N came to school, bandaged and with crutches, and she was behaving like the idiot she always was.

Clueless, clumsy, stupid, naive...

Bakugou Katsuki realised he had some sort of proper competition in her, not only in Quirkless Deku and Icy Hot...And he was more than pissed when he saw how lame she was being.

Why the hell was she hiding her potential?!

But then, the Sports Festival came...

And she was #1 in the first round.

And then, she paired up with him, and together, managed to get #1 in the second round as well.

Bakugou Katsuki analysed her every move, every step, every blink, and he realised that, compared to the USJ incident, she was barely using her Quirk. Going by the state Aizawa was in, he could only question the reason why she wouldn’t just sit back and properly heal and rest her injuries.

Maybe she was restless? Maybe she had something to prove?

But she couldn’t possibly take away the #1 spot from him, that’s for sure.

It was the semi finals...And he had to fight her.

He almost felt...Guilty, when he realised he’d have to fight a girl in recovery. He almost felt like a villain.

That is, until he started walking down the Stadium, to go on the field, and he noticed her there, leaning on the wall...

Waiting for him.

With a coy smirk on her face...Yet her face looked serene and aloof.

“Yooo, ‘Tsuki, ‘sup?” she chuckled, seeing his tensed expression. “Don’t speak to me so familiarly.” he grunted, stepping in front of her. “Sorry, sorry. I just wanted to ask you a question. Won’t take more than a minute, but just hear me out.” she grinned at him carelessly. “Whadya want?” Bakugou Katsuki asked, crossing his arms. “I wanted to ask you what would you want me to do - Forfeit, or fight you.” L/N Y/N asked, but before she could explain, she got picked up by the neck of her blouse and pinned to the wall. “WHAT THE HELL IS THAT QUESTION?! ARE YOU MOCKING ME, YOU STUPID EXTRA?!” he growled at her like an angry lion. “No, no, goodness, nothing like that. It’s just...I know you want to be #1, and with me being in the state that I am, I won’t prove to be much of a challenge to you, and that’s why I wanted to know what you wanted me to do. That, and...I wanted to make sure your arms were okay.” she ended in a softer tone, putting her gentle hands over his wrists, as a way to get him to put her down. “...My arms? Why wouldn’t they be okay?! What are you on?” he stepped back, giving her a look of shock and almost concern. “I saw you rubbing your arms earlier. It means you must have been overusing your Quirk, right? That’s not a good sign for your health...Saying from experience.” she chuckled softly, angering Bakugou Katsuki even more. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU ON ABOUT?! You’re gonna go there and fight me with all you’ve got, even if it kills you, got it?! GOT IT?!” he yelled at her, making her grin wider before walking towards the stage. “Very well, then don’t hold back, ‘Tsuki. I can’t promise you the dream fight you deserve, but I will do my best.” was the only proper conversation they’ve had since they started their education at U.A...

And he did just as she said.

He fought her with every little bit of power he had in his body, fighting her as if she was back in USJ, showing off her strength for the first time.

He wasn’t wasn’t used to fighting against a fire user like her, as Todoroki never used his other half, for God knows what reasons...

And Bakugou Katsuki was forced to admit, to himself, at least, that she was indeed the strongest person he ever fought so far...And he could only imagine what it would be like, were she not impaired by her wounds.

He started noticing her arms getting burns on her skin, gradually, like spirals going up from her fingers, to her hands, forearms and arms... And then it continued up her torso, visible as she was wearing a crop top, and her jacket was unzipped...And then, her neck and face had burn stripes...

She was doing everything she could...

For his sake.

One of his explosions managed to propel both of them on the opposite ends of the field, and she was on the ground, laying, seemingly helplessly, which is when the people watching started to boo him, to shun him, to call him a villain.

He looked around him, seeing the angry, hateful glares of those watching him...He felt cornered, afraid...His heart was small, hating to be scolded or to have others disapprove of him...

But more than anything, he felt confused.

Didn’t everyone love a strong hero...?

Katsuki seemed to almost fall down into a spiral, until he heard a voice angrily shouting, her voice echoing everywhere... And it was angry, just as it was back in USJ.

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, PEOPLE?! You call yourselves Pro-Heroes? PRO-HEROES MY ASS! You’re SHIT! Go and look for another job, this ain’t for ya! You’re seriously calling Bakugou Katsuki a villain, of all thing, when his greatest ambition is to be an amazing Hero for everyone?! REALLY?! You dare call yourselves Pro-Heroes, but you don’t respect Bakugou Katsuki for acknowledging my strength, for respecting me, and fighting me like his equal? HOW IS THAT A VILLAIN, are you brainwashed or something?!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, as she managed to get up once again, resting her hands on her knees, and panting after each sentence, as she was obviously tiring herself out. “Thank you for fighting me fair and square, ‘Tsuki. I won’t forget that.” she nodded at him, smiling weakly.

Was she...Defending him...In front of everyone...?

What the hell was she doing?

Katsuki was so confused...

Why would she do something like this...?

He was so used to being villainised by everyone for following his ambitions...And now...Someone was praising and defending him...For being himself?

This image in front of him...This Y/N in front of him...

This was the same Y/N that got up out of spite, her only fuel being anger and justice.

This is Y/N...The only person that personally inspired him.

She wasn’t just some stupid extra, and nor was she the lameass facade she had for everyone.

This is the real Y/N.

They started fighting again, as Bakugou Katsuki was yelling at her to keep up with him, to fight him all she’s got, and his drive matched hers completely...

Until she started jumping on the flying debris caused by the explosions, and her legs gave out from over-exhaustion and pain, which caused her to lose balance and fall in front of him, deactivating her Quirk for just a split second-

Which was enough for him to unintentionally blast her out of the borders of the stage.

His eyes were wide with shock and fear, he didn’t mean to do it, she deactivated her Quirk in the second that he activated his.

His wide, crimson eyes were unfocused, as he could only stare at the hand that blasted her away, the only thing that kept swimming in his head being the soft smile that she had on her face as she was sent flying away.

It was almost as if she knew he didn’t mean it, and she wanted to reassure him.

What the hell is wrong with this girl...?

“I-I’m...Okay...!” her voice brought him back to reality as he saw her small form, far, far away from him, looking almost like an ant, sitting on the grass, a weak grin on her face, her thumb up in the sky, reassuring everyone...No, she was reassuring him...

She was okay.

And he shouldn’t blame himself for worsening her injuries.

For the rest of the day, his mind was filled only with thoughts of that girl...That annoying Y/N who was playing so much with his mind and heart.

What was so special about her that made him go crazy like this?!

Because, as soon as they got back to school, and she looked like a mummy from all the bandages, she was back to her stupidly annoying self...Facade, rather.

What the hell is wrong with her...?

Not to mention, she intentionally came out with a stupid hero name, so Midnight would refuse to let her choose it, so she’ll get off the hook.

Days passed...Weeks passed...

And Bakugou Katsuki was still analysing every little thing L/N Y/N did, but no matter what happend, there was no trace of the Y/N from both times...

She was smarter than she wanted to let others see, that much was obvious.

And then, came that dreadful night...Where 1-A and 1-B were made to go on some kind of training camp...And they were attacked by villains.

They fought and fought, but Bakugou Katsuki was captured and brought to the Villains’ lair.

But...Next to him...On the chair next to him...With the same arm restraints he had...

Was her.

L/N Y/N.

With the same ridiculously stupid smile on her face.

First, there was only this burnt guy, Dabi, and he seemed to have a fun chemistry with the girl, which confused Katsuki so much.

Why was she so friendly with villains?!

“Yooo, what’s yo’ name? I’m Y/N, nice to meet you.” she lifted her arms slightly, as a way to greet him, with an ever so cheerful dumb grin. “Dabi, pleasure’s all mine.” Dabi’s smirk was as aloof as hers was, no wonder they kicked off so well. “Can you show me your Quirk again? I’ve always had a thing for Fire Boys...And Blue. Y’know, being a Fire Girl myself...And Blue and Red makes for a pretty Lavender, dontcha think?” she leaned back, trying to get herself comfortable. “You want me to entertain you, Fire Girl? Well, I guess you earned it. You put up quite the fight in front of everyone else.” he gave her a low chuckle, as he extended his hand towards her, upwards, making a fireball in his hands. “Ehhh, that’s such a beautiful colour...Mine is so usual. I’m so jealous of you, y’know? You can burn people alive without a second thought. I can’t. Red and Yellow fire will never be as...Hot...As your Blue fire.” she giggled at her playful attempt at flirting. “A hero flirting with a villain...Isn’t that interesting?” he smirked, leaning back on the table behind him. “Hero? Me? Hah, don’t make me laugh. Heroes...What the hell is a true hero, anyway? This world...This society...Is nothing more than a farce. A fake. Everything is nothing more than a facade, and everyone wants to live in it and continue lying to themselves.” she gave him a dry laugh, which made Katsuki’s head shoot up, staring at her in shock. “Interesting...And intriguing...And yet, you’re in U.A...I wonder why.” he tilted his head to the side, almost questioningly. “Why...? Take a better look at my hair. The tips are on fire. Does it look to you that I have a proper grasp on my Quirk? Nope. So there you have it, I got in to learn how to control my power...And hopefully, not cause my sister permanent burns...Again.” she looked away with a self-deprecatory look.

Sister...?

Since when did she have a sister? She never mentioned a sister before-

No, actually, she never talked about her family. Ever.

She’s an Engima, wrapped in mystery and shadows.

“Awww, toots has a sister, isn’t that adorable. If you ask me, the fire tips give a boost to your charm.” he tried to say, but he was interrupted mid-way by a loud door slam, as a blond girl got inside. “Ahh, Dabi, you got here before me!” the girl gasped, as she skipped in front of the two prisoners. “I’m Toga Himiko, nice to meet you!” she grinned at them, with a blush painting her cheeks. “Himiko? My, you have such a pretty name! I’m L/N Y/N, nice to meet you as well! I’m hug you or something, but, uh...I’m being a bit...Restrained.” she winked at the girl as she made that bad pun. “Hahaha, she’s a fun one! Wanna be my best friend? You’re so cute!” Himiko started gushing over the girl, who blushed softly. “Best friend? I’ve never had a best friend! Yes, I’d love that, Himiko! We can gossip about others, and talk about boys!” the girl was being enthusiastic, almost vibing in that chair. “And we can do each other’s make up, hair and nails! Oh, oh, and we can go shopping!” Himiko was literally bouncing up and down on her feet. “Twice! Twice, get here! I’ve made a new best friend! Isn’t she so cool?!” she started giggling, as Twice got in, and started gawking at the girl, completely ignoring the blond boy next to her. “Whaaa, she looks cool! I bet she’s shitty.” Twice talked, contradicting himself. “Great, I’m gonna have a headache now.” Dabi sighed, rolling his eyes. “Say, say, Y/N, do you like anyone? Or do you have a type?” Himiko leaned down to get closer to her face. “W-Well...Y-You see...Your friend, Dabi...He’s pretty hot...Ahhh, I’m blushing, and I can’t hide my face because of the restraints. What about you, Himi?” she closed her eyes, her bottom lip quivering from embarrassment, as she could hear Dabi’s dark chuckle...And something warm going down her cheek. “He’s so cute...! My crush...Deku, he’s so cute! I’m gonna make him mine, some day!” the blonde girl licked her blood-dripping knife, her face looking even more euphoric than before. “Is my blood sweet? I hope it is! I always wanna be cute and sweet! Maybe that way, others will like me!” Y/N giggled back at her. “Yess, it’s one of the sweetest I’ve tasted so far!” Himiko seemed to have a pleased expresion. “Deku...So, you like Broccoli boy. I’m sure I could get you two to see each other, if you want. He is my classmate, after all...And he’s pretty...Naive.” she winked at the villain girl, who started squealing in happiness...

Until the big bad guy came, along with a few others.

“Ahh, Shiggy, was it? It’s lovely seeing you again, after so long! Great fight, back then...But, uh...Y’know...I’d rather get smashed by Dabi, here, than by some ugly monster, y’know?” she laughed cheerfully, which made Dabi snort and look away in amusement, as Tomura could only grit his teeth in mild annoyance. “You were pretty cool back there too, I must admit. But you’re a hero. You’re like all of them, aren’t you?” Tomura’s voice was low and dangerous. “Hero...Haha...What a joke. If heroes were all good, selfless and altruistic as they wanted to appear, they wouldn’t benefit over us. They wouldn’t get away with the shit they do. They wouldn’t have their mistakes covered and buried away from the face of the Earth, just to keep up a blind facade...Or maybe, it’s the fault of the civilians, for wanting to live and believe in a blatant lie.” the ever-so-cheerful grin from her face was replaced by a dark expression, something so full of anger and hatred, that Katsuki was almost afraid of. “Take off her restraints.” Tomura muttered, and Dabi did just so, allowing the girl to get up and stretch a bit. “All of you here became so-called Villains for a reason, didn’t you? You hold so much hatred for the heroes, because all of you were wronged in some way. You want justice...You want the justice that was never given to you. How am I any different from any of you, I wonder?” she spoke, almost dramatically, and Katsuki couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. “Oh...? What am I hearing...? Little Miss Hero thinks she’s in the same boat as us...?” Tomura got to his feet, stepping in front of her, towering over her smalled form. “Heroes, villains, civilians...What’s the difference, in the end? Morals? Ethics? The kill count? Are there no evil heroes, or altruistic villains out there? The world isn’t black or white, it’s a spectrum of all the shades of grey existent, which people seem to completely overlook. Nobody truly cares, do they? We’re just pretending to care. This life is nothing more than a struggle, a stupid mummer’s charade, and we’re all the puppets lead by some stupid master.” she looked up at him with a defiant look, as his hand grasped her neck faster than a cobra attacking its prey, making everyone gasp. “You speak bold...I like you...But how will I know you’re not bluffing. If I just...Let my little finger touch your neck...Well, I’m sure you already know what’s going to happen, don’t you?” Shigaraki smirked with those incredibly chapped lips. “You know...If you were to get a proper skin care routine, and use some lip balm, I’m sure you’d look 10...No, 20 times hotter than you already do. Your hair looks so fluffy and pretty though...I wanna play with it...” she played around dumbly, annoying Shigaraki enough to slap her, with all 5 fingers, decaying a bit of her face.

It seemed like the world stopped.

For Katsuki, for Shigaraki, for Y/N, and for everyone else.

The tension was so dark and intense, that you could cut it with a knife.

“I heard that you’re in cahoots with All For One, aren’t ya? That fucker...If I could, I would kill him. I would torture him to death...And that wouldn’t be even 10% of what hell he made me go through. That stupid father of mine...A so called hero. Nothing more than a good for nothing lackey...His loyalty was swaying to the highest bidder. Scum. Trash. That’s what he was. And you’re telling me...I don’t know what’s like to have your life fucked over by heroes...? Really...? I think you’re the one who speaks boldly, Shigaraki Tomura.” the girl spoke in a voice so low, dark and threatening, that it made Katsuki’s heart tremble with fear and curiosity. “That’s more like it! Now tell me...No, tell US! Tell us how bad heroes are! Tell me of the justice you got!” Shigaraki continued to provoke the girl, so much that she snapped and pushed him away from her, glaring and growling so much that he hair tips were lit again. “Justice? WHAT justice? Nobodies like me don’t deserve any justice! All For One persuaded my father to leave us and become a villain. And then what? My mother was so heartbroken that she hanged herself! I was barely 12 years old...And she left me all alone, with a 3 year old sister to take care of. What did the Heroes do? They faked my father’s disappearance, my mother was written out of this world, as if she never even existed...But did anyone take responsibility for us? Of course not! Nobody gave a damn about us! NOBODY!” her voice was so full of pain, so broken, and for the first time ever, Katsuki was beginning to doubt everything he stood for so far. “You’ve been so hurt, and yet, you still stand by their side. Why?” Shigaraki’s eyes bore into hers, and it seemed like they almost understood each other. “I don’t care what I have to do, as long as my father and All For One die. For the past 4 years I’ve been working day and night...Studying, doing illicit part time jobs, just to get the money to raise my sister, so the both of us won’t get thrown or separated in a filthy orphanage. I’m so fucking exhausted, man. I just want to live long enough to see my revenge happening. That is the only reason I’m still alive. That, and I have to make sure my sister is okay. She’s so young, and she’s suffered enough...So, Shigaraki, if you want to kill me, now is your time to shine! You can have be by the throat, or you can have me stabbed...Or even cremated. Just say the word.” she provoked him right back, which made him laugh dryly. “I like this look on your face, Y/N! I get ya, I totally get ya! Come on, take a seat here, at the bar, next to me. Look at your friend over there...Do you see that look in his eyes? He’s shocked. He’s confused. And you managed to do all that! Haha...But y’know what’s even better? Look at the news! Look at your homeroom teacher and principal talking!” Shiggy mocked Bakugou Katsuki, as he let the news on, not making any noise, until it was over. “Don’t you think it’s strange? Why are the heroes being criticised? The way they were dealing with things was juuust a little off. Is it because it’s their job to protect? Everyone makes a mistake or two. Are they supposed to be perfect? Modern-day heroes are so uptight. Don’t you think, Bakugou?” the blue haired one continued. “That’s how it’s always been, and will always be. The stronger ones will get criticised for any mistake they do...And the weaker ones are going to get ganged up and bullied by the others. So fair, isn’t it?” Y/N sighed, crossing her arms and putting her ankle over the other knee. “Is this society truly just, I wonder? We’re going to get everyone to think over. And we’ll be winning. You like winning too, don’t you~? ... Dabi, release his restraints.” Shigaraki ordered the brunet man. “Huh? This guy’s gonna fight, you know?” Dabi turned to look at him with confusion. “He won’t.” the girl muttered, flashing the blond a look for warning. “Don’t worry, it’s fine! We need to treat him like an equal, since we’re scouting him. Besides, you can tell if you’ll win or not if you fight in this situation, right, U.A. student?” Shigaraki reassured him, very carefree.

After that, Dabi made Twice remove Bakugou Katsuki’s restraints, as Mr. Compress apologised for being so forceful, making Tomura continue his explanation.

But of course, Bakugou Katsuki was angry at the League of Villains, so he blasted for Twice and Shigaraki away, glaring at them, grinning with a determined, murderous look on his face.

This was bad.

Out of fear for her fellow colleague, Y/N jumped in front of him, her arms outstretched in a way to defend him, should anything happen.

However, Shigaraki told them not to fight, despite Bakugou Katsuki’s blatant aggressiveness, telling them to fuck off...And so, Mr. Compress and Kurogiri were ordered to make both of them go back to sleep.

Fat chance.

“You said he’s valuable for you, right? Then don’t make him go back to sleep. I’ll make sure he doesn’t destroy or attack anything, so just leave him alone.” the girl gritted her teeth, attentively looking at each and every one of them.

There she was.

She was standing up for him and defending him again.

What the hell is wrong with him? Does he look so helpless and vulnerable to her?

What the hell was going on with him...?

How could he possibly become a hero, let alone one like All Might, when he let himself get captured, and now, he has someone stand up for him repeatedly?

His thoughts were all a jumbled mess, until the anti-climatic pizza guy rang the door bell...

Only for All Might and other heroes to smash through, as Kamui bound everyone, Gran Torino made Dabi faint, and Edgeshot came to help.

“I’m sorry for the delay. I’m sure you were scared, but it’s fine now!” All Might reassured them...And Katsuki’s bottom lip was quivering... “No need for anyone to worry about me, All Might...You guys did really well...I guess...” the girl let her arms fall to her sides, looking with mixed feelings at the villains. “Don’t be too harsh on them, please. They aren’t too different from me...Now, do what you have to do. I’ll get Katsuki out of here...And don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to him, no matter what.” the girl said, but as soon as she finished her words, Nomus started appearing out of nowhere, even though Kurogiri was unconscious.

This must be the work of All For One.

As the girl was ready to get the blond out of there, a black mist started engulfing him, and realising the gravity of the situation, she threw her arms around him, letting herself be teleported away with him...

The same as when he got kidnapped in the first place.

...

They were in front of All For One.

And Katsuki wasn’t aware of that.

But Y/N knew.

She knew.

Because behind him, from the smoke and dust, her father emerged, almost like a shadow.

Growling, she pushed Katsuki much behind him, standing in a defensive position, attentive for any possible attack.

All For One...Was like a teacher for Shigaraki Tomura. He was like a father for him.

And Y/N was angry that she could feel sympathy for him...For them.

“All Might is going to defeat you again, All For One. And I’m glad I will be here to witness your fall.” the girl growled, trying to keep her composure in front of the nightmare she’s been living for the last years. “You are right. Because he is here, L/N Y/N.” he chuckled darkly, as the girl dragged Katsuki away, leaving way for the two to clash.

Katsuki was watching with shock and horror at the enemy being able to repel the Symbol of peace like that.

All the villains then gathered around Katsuki, ready to take him away and go through the Warp gate.

“Don’t worry about us, All Might! I will protect Katsuki! You take care of that bastard, and stop worrying about us!” Y/N yelled at the Hero, so he will stop being distracted.

As she said that, she did a flip, kicking the blond away from those villains, as she activated her Quirk and did a huge fire bubble around him, so intense that they wouldn’t be able to approach. She kept that fire going with one hand, as with the other she kept defending herself from everyone’s attacks, especially Mr. Compress’, who was trying to get them away.

She kept trying to fight them, as Katsuki was cursing her, trying and failing to get out of the bubble she created, a loud noise was heard, and she noticed Midoria, Iida, Kirishima and Todoroki using their Quirks to jump high into the sky above them, as Kiri was extending his hand towards them to get them out of here.

Smirking widely, she let out the fire from around him, ran as fast as she could, and used the fire she had to propel herself, while dragging Katsuki with her by the wrist, and along with his explosions, they reached everyone.

That is, if Y/N didn’t do one last effort to throw Katsuki to them, and in return, her falling behind.

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine! Get the hell outta here, all of you!” was the only thing Katsuki heard, as he tried to get out of Kirishima’s grasp, trying to get the girl to join them...

But he failed.

Again.

And all he could do was go to safety with the other two, watching from the big screen as Y/N and All Might were going to fight All For One and Y/N’s father.

“Don’t you dare send me away, Yagi Toshinori. You owe me at least this much, for everything I’ve been put through. You owe me my revenge on these two people. I’m done being the better person.” she got in an attack position, earning a nod from the hero beside her. “I do owe you at least that. Don’t be rash, and stay focused.” All Might advised her one more time.

Her father could only laugh as he was fighting her.

He laughed at how pitiful she was. He laughed at her emotions. He laughed, not caring about the family he created, and how he destroyed it. He laughed as...

As he held Y/N’s little sister captive.

And he was mocking her, telling her that she will kill the kid if she didn’t obey.

It was then that Katsuki realised he couldn’t breathe anymore, and his heart wasn’t sure if it stopped altogether, or was beating too fast to keep track of.

He was feeling anxious and truly scared for the first time in his life.

What would he have done, should he have been in her situation?

Would he freeze? Would he attack? Would he give up and obey?

He couldn’t answer.

It was impossible.

But...The girl had an answer.

Rage.

Her anger was so beyond limit that, with a loud, raw roar of anger, hatred, agony, and all the pent up frustration she’s been bottling over the years, and without her knowledge, a huge aura of white fire created around her, as she went to attack, and burn alive, the father that destroyed her life.

She was afraid to touch her sister, but Gran Torino and Mount Lady were there to prioritise the rescue of the little girl, allowing Y/N to fight him properly.

Katsuki didn’t need words to see the pain she was harbouring in her heart, as each battle cry gave away the agony she was living in.

Katsuki didn’t need to be told what emotions she was feeling, as the tears in her eyes were enough proof.

Katsuki didn’t need to ask how if she cared for her future, as the blood and burns her Quirk is causing her were a silent answer.

If he could, Katsuki would go right back at her and get her away from there, defend her the same way she did...At USJ, at the Sports Festival, inside the bar...And now, in front of the worst villain ever, All For One.

Katsuki’s eyes were stinking, and his whole body was trembling with emotion and worry.

That stupid Y/N.

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

Stupid, dumb, clumsy, clueless, frail, vulnerable, idiotic, extra, dumbass Y/N!

Why the fuck do you always have to defend him, and get yourself in such shitty situations in front of him?!

Do it somewhere else, where he won’t feel guilty that he left you alone!

Do it somewhere else, where he can’t see your body bloody, broken, lying there lifelessly!

Stop protecting him!!!

Stop defending him!!!

Stop...Stop! STOP ALREADY!

Please...PLEASE-....PLEASE!

Please, Y/N, just stop already!

Run away, come to me, let me defend you for fucking once!

Stop smiling that stupid grin of yours, when you’re more dead than alive!

Yes, he won the fight against some lame villain like her father, but the state she was in? She was good for nothing else than bait against All Might!

And Katsuki could only watch as she fell to her knees, as her father wasted away in nothing more than dust and ashes into the wind... Only for All For One to pick her up by the neck, using her as a shield, so All Might wouldn’t be able to hit him again...

But All Might is smart, and quickly picked Y/N in one hand, and hit AFO with the other, despite the damage he got to himself.

“Toshi...Don’t mind me...Please...Take care of yourself...” the girl coughed blood on the ground, as she managed to get up from the ground, but this time, she wasn’t sure how much the adrenaline she had running through her veins was going to help much.

But things were getting bad, and all the heroes could see it, broadcasted on live television...And only they were truly able to realise the extent of the problem they were in.

As AFO kept taunting All Might, Y/N encouraged him to keep fighting, despite seeing that he was deflating...Changing. With all the last strength she had, she patted Toshinori on the back, as she rushed to save a woman from beneath the ruins, allowing the Hero to fight the villain leisurely...

But the last wave...Completely revealed All Might’s true form.

That of a skeleton.

And Katsuki realised...That the fall of All Might was caused by him.

He destroyed the Symbol of Peace.

It was his fault.

All his fault.

But then...Then...All For One did spoke so much...All with the intention to break Toshinori’s heart...To break him...His mind, his heart, his soul.

He told him the truth.

Shigaraki Tomura...Shimura Tenko...Shimura Nana’s grandson..His master’s own grandson...

The master that All For One himself killed.

“ALL MIGHT! FIGHT! DON’T LOSE YOUR COMPOSURE! YOU’RE ALL MIGHT! YOU’RE THE SYMBOL OF PEACE! WIIIIIIIIIIN! ALL MIGHT, WIIIIIIIINNN!!!” Y/N shrieked at the top of her lungs, tears streaming down her face, as she let out a rope of fire to wrap around his arms, empowering him.

She had no idea that the desperate shout she gave made the people watching the broadcast join in the chant.

WIN!

ALL MIGHT, WIN!

YOU MUST WIN!

ALL MIGHT!

As AFO attacked again, Endeavour, Kamui Woods, Edgeshot and other Pro-Heroes joined the fight...Helping All Might...Encouraging him...Telling him that everyone is praying for his success...

And the girl too...

She got up, dragged herself by his side, put her hand over his wrist, and dragged it up in the air.

“NOBODY CAN DEFEAT ALL MIGHT, THE SYMBOL OF PEACE! ROT IN HELL, ALL FOR ONE!” she cried out once again, trying her best to encourage the #1 hero...

But AFO had other plans.

With a powerful shockwave, he blew away everyone, except for All Might.

It took just one more punch...Two more...Three more, actually...For All Might to finish the fight, with that broken and bloody body of his...

He put in that last punch all the fire he had left in his heart, and managed to defeat him completely...

But so...

So disappeared One For All as well.

As soon as the smoke and dust cleared, Y/N saw Toshinori still standing, raising his fist towards the sky, and she started crying harder, yelling out his name in happiness, as everyone was chanting his name.

Despite not even being able to stand up, the girl used the last of her powers to get up, run to him and hug him tightly from the back, sobbing in relief.

“Next, it’s your turn.” was the last thing All Might said on TV.

Everyone interpreted it differently, most people thinking that it was a threat for the villains...

But the truth was otherwise.

“I have used up everything I had in me.”

One For All was done for, and so was All Might.

And it was all the fault of the powerless Bakugou Katsuki.

---

To allow children to continue studying, U.A. built dorms for all the students, and now, each homeroom teacher had to go to all families of their students and ask for permission.

It was all fine and dandy...

But Bakugou Katsuki’s family...

Or rather said, his mother...

Well, Aizawa and Toshinori could understand why Bakugou Katsuki had so much pent up rage and frustration, so much anger and suppressed worries and pressure on his shoulders.

His mother wasn’t the most...Gentle one.

She was as aggressive as he was...Or rather, that’s where he got it from.

Casually slapping the back of his head, blaming him for being too weak and allowing himself to get kidnapped, which in turn, is causing everyone so much trouble, saying that he’s hopeless, and needs to be taught a lesson, constantly yelling at him...

“Is...That alright...?” Toshinori asked, worrying a bit for the blond. “Yeahh, that’s alright, he can take it.” was Bakugou Mitsuki’s reply.

He can take it...?

The slaps? The criticism? The insults? The yelling? The abuse? The trauma? The guilt? The pressure? The facade?

He certainly can take it all...

Can’t he...?

But really...Can he really...?

After what happened at Camino...What he felt, what he saw, what he did...

Can he really take it anymore...?

Bakugou Katsuki can certainly take it, since he doesn’t care about anyone around him, nor for their words or actions...

But can Katsuki take it?

Can the broken boy inside of him, the one that has so much pressure, so much pain, so many insults, mistakes and guilt thrown at him one after the other? Can the boy who feels so inferior to the Quirkless Deku that became his Idol’s favourite...

Can he really take it?

---

And so, they moved in the dorms, and since she had nobody to leave her with, Y/N was forced to bring her sister, much to the displeasure of the teachers, but it had to be done.

One of the Pro-Heroes was forced to escort her to school, and back home, at all times as well.

It was a drag, but after all, it wasn’t Y/N’s fault, it was the heroes’ fault this all happened to her.

Everything seemed fine, but only or a little while, clearly, as one day, they heard some arguing from the living room, only to notice a bandaged up Y/N arguing with Aizawa, which wasn’t something anyone would expect.

After all...

Who and WHY would you fight with your homeroom teacher...?

“Well, it’s not my fault either, is it? I wasn’t able to rely on you, Heroes, for the past 4 years, why should I now? Sure, we have some food and stuff, but after this? I have no money, and neither does my sister, obviously. If U.A., or that stupid Government that screwed up my life had any money to spare for the trauma they caused us, they would have given it to us already, right? So come on, turn a blind eye, sign this, and let me go already.” she tried her best to keep herself civil, as Aizawa could only sigh, understanding her concerns. “Look, Y/N, I’m just your homeroom teacher, I’m not the president, and I don’t make the rules. If things were my way, they would have been much different. The police doesn’t let children out of the house either, and Principal Nezu is concerned about all of you. I can’t allow you to risk your life every day to go work, even though I completely understand your concerns.” he tried to explain, but it only angered the girl further. “And after I’m done with this place? What am I going to do? I have no money, I can’t pay for the bills to keep my house, I can’t pay for food, for clothes, for my sister’s books or other things...She’s turning 8 soon, y’know? And what am I supposed to do? Smile and say BLAME THE HEROES WE’RE BROKE? Come on...You can’t expect me to work 3 jobs when we get out of the Dorms, right? You do realise I can’t take it anymore, right?!” her voice was beginning to break, it was getting a bit more pitched, and Katsuki realised how much she was hurting, for the first time since they got in 1-A. “I’m really sorry, Y/N, I know this has been the hardest for you. I will try to talk around again, but I don’t know what we can do. You have great grades, I will at least try, at the end of the year, to fight for a monthly scholarship for you. You deserve it. If things get calmer over time, I will try to convince the Principal to give you permission to work, since yours is a special case.” Aizawa could see how overly exhausted his student was, and knowing her past and all the struggles she’s been going through, he couldn’t help but hug her, patting her hair reassuringly. “I’m exhausted, Aizawa...I don’t know how long I can go on. My body, my heart, my mind...They’re all...Shattered. Now that I’ve accomplished the goal I set myself...My father is dead...All Might defeated All For One...What do I live for? Why am I still here, just to suffer? Do I really have to live for another person? Am I really alive, just to support my sister financially? But...But what about me...? I’ve been working since I was 12...Working and studying all the time...With no actual breaks...I’m collapsing and I can’t see a way out...I’m...I’m...I’m weak too, you know...?!”

I’m weak too...

I’m...

Weak...

How...Can she say that...With such ease?

How can she admit to being weak and vulnerable?

How can she say all that, and yet, Aizawa isn’t looking at her in disgust, but is comforting her?

What the hell is going on?

Bakugou was so sure that if he was ever to show weakness, his whole life was going to crumble away.

HE was going to shatter and everyone was going to blame him, and stomp on the pieces that remained of him.

So why...With her...It’s different...?

Maybe...

Just maybe...

He, too, was allowed...To feel...Even a little beat...

Weak...?

Katsuki was lost in thought, watching Aizawa pat Y/N’s head one more time, before leaving to his room, as the girl could only stare aimlessly at the ceiling, her eyes red, puffy and dead, like those of a dead fish.

She truly looked like she was a deadman walking right now.

She needed help.

She needed someone.

This was her, the true Y/N, the one who’s hurting so much, the one who forgot to live, and existed, only for the sake of another.

Y/N, this weak, broken girl, that live through sheer spite, rage, hatred, frustration, fire and adrenaline... Had no more reason to live.

Katsuki growled at his classmates, telling them to fuck off, as he gulped and made his way to the girl, staring down at her with stern eyes.

Stern eyes that, as soon as they met her pained ones, softened immediately.

They just stood there, staring at each other for a while, before she finally spoke out.

“What do you want?”

Her voice was so rough, so cold, so dead, so much that it almost seemed like she was barely holding on to reality.

“Let me defend you.” Katsuki deadpanned, not thinking much about what he was saying. “Defend me...? What are you talking about?” she frowned in confusion at his words. “You stood in front of me and protected me so many times before...Look, dumbass, I...I’m not good with words. But...Thanks for everything you’ve done for me so far. I, uh...I guess I...Appreciate it. So let me return the favour. I owe you.” he spoke gentler than any time before, only for the girl to scoff and roll her eyes. “Owe me...? Don’t be stupid. I wasn’t expecting to get out of there alive. I kept constantly throwing myself in deadly situations, hoping to feel something. Guess what. I’m more dead than alive. You can’t defend someone with no purpose in life, Bakugou Katsuki. Give it up and go back to your life and your ambitions. Forget about me. I’m not that stupid and cheerful, happy-go-lucky bimbo I let myself be seen as before.” she explained, turning away, not meeting his eyes. “What the hell, Y/N, first of all, don’t ever call me that again! That pisses me off to no end! Secondly, yeah, I know, I always knew that wasn’t the real you. But so what, big deal! I’ve been analysing your every move since the USJ incident! But let me get back at you for all the times you asked me if I was okay, if I overused my Quirk, if I was taking care of myself, and so on. Let me get back at you for shielding and defending me from everyone who tried to harm me, verbally or physically. Let me help you find yourself a reason to live, but this time, for yourself, not for others.” his yelling gradually softened, to the point where he was barely audible...But he was being genuine. “...You’re very strange, ‘Tsuki. Even now, after all we’ve been through, after seeing my true self, you haven’t shunned me, and you still want to help me out. How cute...Very cute, in fact. But I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m capable of receiving help. What’s broken can’t be repaired, you know?” she muttered, before feeling a tight hug from behind. “What about repairing Quirks? Or that old ritual that glues ceramic objects with gold? Don’t be a dumbass...There are ways, you just need to accept the help you’re given. That’s all. Say yes. That’s all I’m asking you. If you’re taking a step back, and allowing yourself to be weak, then let me defend you. Let me protect you.” he buried his face in her hair, as he felt her body tremble in his embrace. “...Okay, ‘Tsuki. Please...Defend me.” was all she said, as she turned around and hugged the boy just as hard.

But that was the simplest thing they could do, because while yes, someone there to hug you and be there for you was always great, but Y/N was so much in her own world from all the things that have been happening, that she forgot to care about others’ well-being, trying to focus on herself for once...

Which is why she couldn’t see, at least at first, how much of a blow the Camino incident was for Katsuki.

It was tearing him apart, but he had nobody to tell to, because the only person who he wasn’t afraid of being weak in front, needed to be protected, and he couldn’t be weak for her, when he needed him the most.

So he was suffering in silence.

Days after days, nights after nights.

He couldn’t sleep well, his mind was tired, he wasn’t eating properly, he was more aggressive and less sociable...

It became so bad that, one night, he took it outside with Deku and fought head to head with him, only to have Aizawa stop them, grounding and scolding them well enough.

It was then that she finally managed to get herself to look in his eyes...And realise how much he was hurting.

The next night, even more, as she saw him slipping away outside, pushing himself to train harder...And harder...And harder...

It was almost like he was using this excessive and incoherent training as a way to let out all the pent up frustrations he held inside of his heart.

And that was the exact truth.

He was screaming, roaring, blasting away trees and other things around, trying to blow away the anger he had, hoping that it would go away, but it didn’t.

“...’Tsuki...? Hey, ‘Tsuki, calm down for a second. Please. Stop. Just for a bit. Look at me.” she spoke out loud enough to be heard from all the explosions. “ Huh? Y/N? The hell ya doin’ here? Go back to the dorms, I’m busy.” he tried his best not to yell at her, but it was obvious he was holding back with the last ounce of self-control he had left in his body. “No. I know you’re hurting. I’ve known since the beginning. That’s why I kept asking you if you’re okay, so you can’t bullshit me. You feel like you can’t allow yourself to talk to anyone. You feel like the weight of the whole world is on your shoulders. You feel the pressure, the pain, the mistakes, the words, the insults, the criticism, the guilt and blame of everything that happened...But ‘Tsuki, don’t ever blame yourself for the All Might thing. It wasn’t your fault. It was going to happen sooner or later, but now, the Villain Boss is defeated, thanks to All Might. Casualties happened, but this was the best outcome anyway.” she tried to pacify him, but when he turned around to face her, tears were streaming down his face like a waterfall. “STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT, DAMN IT! I DON’T NEED YOUR STUPID PITY! AND WHAT THE HELL WOULD YOU KNOW?! I LET MYSELF GET KIDNAPPED, ALL MIGHT LOST HIS POWERS BECAUSE OF ME! ALL I DO IS FUCK UP ALL THE TIME! WHY CAN’T I DO ANYTHING FUCKING RIGHT FOR ONCE, DAMN IT?!” he yelled so loud, so rough, so raw, so pained, that the girl could only bite her lip and run to hug him as tight as she could.

He wanted to yell at her, to blame her for all those stupid emotions he was feeling, for the guilt and darkness that kept engulfing him.

He wanted to beat her up for making him worry so much at Camino, being so dumb as to get in front of him, to protect him from all those villains, and more, All For One.

He wanted to give her a piece of his mind for all the stupid things she told while at the League of Villains’ headquarter, as it felt like nothing more than a harsh and cruel dream, and yet, it was reality.

He wanted to shake her by the shoulders for making him feel as if he owes her, for all the times she stood up for him and defended him in front of everyone.

But more importantly...

He wanted to hug her tightly to his chest and just cry away his emotions, as he knew that none of those were her fault, and that he’s just been locking himself and his heart away from the world to see, and that he’s nothing more than a scared boy who wants to hide away from the judging eyes of people.

“Go on, ‘Tsuki. Yell at me, hit me, punch me, slap me, curse me, use your Quirk on me...Do anything, I don’t care, as long as it helps you get rid of those frustrations and thoughts. They are all false. They were induced to you because of other people and circumstances, but none of those are your fault. You’re going to become an amazing hero, Katsuki, and nobody will ever doubt that.” she spoke in a firm tone, hoping to get through his thick, stubborn skull of his. “...Y/N...” a soft sob, calling out her name, came from the boy.

How could she say something like that?

How could she possibly imagine that he would be capable of ever being even remotely aggressive with her, when what he wants is nothing more than to protect her and be there for her?

But she does have a point.

She always seemed to say what everyone wanted to hear.

He wasn’t even sure if she always meant her words, but needless to say, they were always what everyone needed, and he realised that now, after seeing how she behaved with those villains, and before, during normal school days, with their classmates.

“Yes, ‘Tsuki? What is it?” she raised her head, cupping his face, wiping away the tears from his eyes. “I’m...I’m...I’m....W-...We...We-...N-No, fuck it, I can’t say it. I can’t. I...I can’t...” Katsuki cursed himself, shutting his eyes firmly, gritting his teeth in anger. “You can, ‘Tsuki. You know you can. You brave and strong. Allow yourself to feel. You are only human, darling. Humans make mistakes, and they are forgiven for them. Humans are allowed to feel, and nobody is blaming them for having feelings. Humans can be weak, and can be strong, maybe both at the same time, and nobody will hate them for not being one or the other all the time! So...’Tsuki...Be honest with yourself, please. Allow yourself to be human.” her voice was so angelic, and spoke so much truth, that for the first time in his life, Katsuki allowed himself to exist as a human being. “I’M WEAK TOO, YOU KNOW?!” he yelled out, his voice booming through the forest, louder than his explosions.

He...

He said it.

He truly said it.

And he’s still there.

And she’s still there.

She isn’t mocking him, nor is she taunting or running away from him.

She isn’t shaming or blaming him.

Instead, she has a tender and understanding expression on her face...

And she’s smiling, almost as if she’s proud of him, he thinks.

But why would she be proud of a complete stranger that admitted his own weaknesses...?

“I know, sweetheart, I know. You’re so brave for saying it. It takes a lot of strength to admit it, especially out loud, to someone else. I’m so proud of you, ‘Tsuki. I promise you, I’m not going to look at you differently for admitting it, and nor will anybody else. It’s not healthy to keep those emotions inside of you, they are only going to eat you away. You saw it first hand.” the girl caressed his cheeks gently, smiling at him in understanding and pride. “This is so stupid...I hate this. I hate this so much. I hate being weak...It’s strange. Not my thing at all. I’m such a fucking dumbass...But...I guess you’re right...Sorta. I feel better letting that get out of my system.” he muttered, blushing and averting his sight from hers. “...This is probably the worst timing ever, but...Did I ever tell you how adorable you are?” she gave him that dumb, happy-go-lucky grin once again, which made him lose his shit, getting more flustered, not sure if he would have the strength to look at her, or if he should look away and avoid any more embarrassment. “What the hell?! Shut the hell up, you dumbass! Don’t say shit like that that you don’t mean, you stupid extra!” he growled at her, but it sounded more like a pomeranian yapping, with no ill intent, which only made the girl chuckle at him. “I mean it. All of it. You’re adorable. Come on, let’s hang out a bit more. Just walk around the place, relax a bit. What do you say?” she gave him a soft smile, extending her hand towards him. “...Whatever.” he hung his head, biting his lip in embarrassment, hiding his face in with one of his forearms, as with the other hand, he held Y/N’s hand. “Did you know that you smell very sweet? Like caramel sugar. And your hand is so warm...” she praised and complimented him, and he couldn’t help but blush harder, not being used to this kind of cutesy words about him. “Sh-Shut up, don’t be an idiot.” he said those words, and yet, he intertwined his fingers with hers, holding her hand tighter. “Come on, I know you like it. Be honest with yourself.” she giggled, leaning on his arm, as he could finally feel himself relaxing a bit. “Yeah...I...I guess I do like it. And I like you.” he admitted, albeit, barely audible. “And I like you as well, ‘Tsuki.”

Y/N gave him a soft smile - Not one of those happy-go-lucky, stupidly dumb grins - But a soft, small, genuine one.

For the first time in forever, Y/N smiled because she felt happy.

And she felt happy with Katsuki by her side.

Realising that, the boy felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, forming a small smile as well.

Perhaps, they were re-learning together how to be happy...And how to allow themselves to be genuine with themselves.

They were learning to truly appreciate themselves and who they are, after such a long time of struggles, hardships, trauma, insults, guilt and burdens.

At least for tonight, they didn’t have to be Bakugou Katsuki and L/N Y/N.

At least for tonight, they were just Katsuki and Y/N.

And they were happy.

545 notes · View notes

celosiaa · 4 years ago

Note

hi friend!!! PLEASE keep in mind there is NO RUSH or ANY REQUIREMENT TO WRITE THIS IF YOU DON'T FEEL LIKE WRITING I'M JUST GIVING PROMPT BECAUSE YOU SAID YOU FEEL LIKE WRITING AND I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! what about canon-era POTS Jon? infections can cause really bad POTS flares (my understanding is that it lowers your BP). it could be after any of his many injuries, but even just a cold can mess with it. and ONLY IF YOU FEEL BORED AND UP TO WRITING <3 TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!

hello my dear!!!! you are going THROUGH IT right now!!!! I love you very very much and I hope that this fic will make your day a little brighter <3

So have a little Jon with the flu and a POTS flare up! And friends who love him!

CW nausea, fainting

This was a mistake.

Jon knows it, his body knows it—the entire train car probably knows it too. It’s barely a ten minute’s ride from his flat to the Institute, but it might as well have been an hour trapped in a boiler room for all he can tell. Suffocating, you’re suffocating—is the only message his brain will send him, as he sits squeezed in between two very unfortunate passengers on this snowy Monday morning, trying very hard both not to cough and to stop himself from tearing off his coat and scarf this instant.

Being ill always hits him hard—far harder than it has any right to; harder than he is willing to acknowledge, really—as it always seems to trigger his POTS in the most frustrating of ways. Last time he’d been ill, truly ill, Tim may have paid the price for his stubbornness more than he had himself. What with him refusing to do anything to look after himself, being caught by surprise by a fainting spell, and ending up dragging Tim to the A&E with him to be treated for a nasty head wound. This time around, he has actually taken several precautions, with his compression stockings on, a water bottle, and TENS unit in his bag, just in case the muscle aches from whatever hell bug he’s managed to catch compound the pain from his EDS.

Tim ought to be proud.

Mouth twisting in a smile in spite of himself, Jon resists the urge to bolt out of the train car as soon as the stop is announced, forcing himself instead to stand slowly and carefully before exiting.

—

As luck would have it, the lift had been broken down, forcing Jon to climb the flight of stairs up to the street. Legs nearly giving out on him before he could half-sit, mostly collapse onto the bench at the top, his chest heaves as he tries to convince his body not to faint. With somewhat limited success.

So long as the fading in and out of his vision is not followed by a lapse in awareness, he’ll be alright.

Suffocating suffocating

Whether rational or not, Jon has to pull of his coat and scarf right now, or he’s sure his brain will short out on him completely. He tears at it all as quickly as possible, fingers shaking over the large buttons of his peacoat. Anything to relieve the pressure on his chest, whether brought on by POTS or his congestion, he’s soon to find out. Preferably, he’d like to slow down his breathing a bit before coughing again, but there’s very little he can do to control that—and buries it all in the folds of his scarf, hoping to avoid as many stares from passers-by as possible.

The lightheadedness only bangs against his eyes again as the fit continues, forcing him to fold his legs beneath himself and bend forward in an effort to breathe, breathe. Surely it hadn’t been so bad this morning when he had stepped out of the door—he had been quite certain of his ability to control it enough to get by, and hopefully without raising the alarm about his health throughout the archives. By the sound of it, though, he just hadn’t been getting deep enough breaths to force it all out, as the crackling depth of it alarms even him.

All the same, after a few minutes of breathing deeply with marginally-clearer lungs, he feels finally able to look up again—even shuddering against the soft padding of snowflakes against his shoulders and greying hair, rather than panicking about being boiled alive by his own jacket.

He’ll take what improvement he can get.

Steeling himself to walk the block down to the Institute, Jon pulls up his compression stockings from where they had slipped a bit and pushes on.

—

“So I’m sitting there, right? I’m sitting there, barbecue sauce on my titties…”

“You were NOT!” Sasha bellows at Tim, struggling to raise her voice over the sound of Martin’s cackling. “Don’t encourage him, Martin, he always puts this in his fucking stories.”

“HEY! It’s true!! It could have happened more than once, you know.”

“God I hate you so much,” she shouts, sending both Martin and Tim for another round of uncontrollable laughter.

It’s the perfect opportunity for Jon—who exits the lift as quickly as he can, heading for his office with the all the single-mindedness of a particularly winded and dizzy man. Perfect, because no one saw him beyond a shadow darkening the doorstep. No one to raise the alarm as he sinks into his chair, trembling at the exertion of making the journey from the lobby to the basement.

Burying his face in his hands, he sniffs back against the congestion plaguing him, adjusts his position to take pressure off his throbbing legs, and tries to collect his scattered thoughts enough to get to work.

—

Spinning, spinning, spinning are the walls of his office around him, worsening with every cough he stifles into the sleeves of his cardigan. After the initial recovery period when he had finally been able to sit in his office, chest aching with exertion, he had truly felt alright for those first couple of hours—even finding himself able to get lost in statements for a while, barely noticing an hour tick by, two, three. Until his vision started to go out again, and he found himself leaning aching elbows on aching knees, feeling the nausea that had caused him to lose his breakfast that morning rise up again in his throat.

Please, not now. Please.

He’s got to get something in him, knows it would help to at least keep something with salt down, if he can manage it. Regretfully, the only way to stop the dizziness is sure to worsen it first—as his emergency Gatorade supply happens to be in the break room refrigerator.

Text Tim, the rational part of his mind supplies at once, the sound advice on it falling on entirely deaf ears.

Can manage this myself.

I put it there, I can go get it.

Wishing more than anything he had brought his walker, he moves slowly, ever so slow and careful to standing—and stars explode in his vision at once, driving him right back down to the chair again, head between his knees and panting.

Damn it damn it damn it

Calm, just—

Calm down.

Heart pounding in double time to the ticking of the clock on the wall, Jon does everything he can to slow it down, slow it down, ease the stabbing pain of his overworked heart in his chest with the deepest breaths he can manage. It’s not enough, can’t see, can’t breathe—

No no no—

—

Thud.

The sound drives Tim into Jon’s office at once, not for the first time—though never with any less worry or concern. Even knowing what happened, that Jon was almost certainly fine, would never truly take away the way his stomach clenches every time this happens, every time he sees Jon hit the ground, even if he’s able to catch him on the way. And today was especially worrying, with the damp coughing he had heard slipping beneath the office door since this morning.

Please be okay please be okay—

“Jon?” he calls gently, swinging the door open to find him on the ground, rolling onto his back with a groan. “Did you faint?”

“I—yeah,” he replies, more vague-sounding than Tim would like, rubbing the back of his head as he starts to sit up.

Not good.

“You hit your head?” Tim asks as he kneels next to him, already reaching forward to card through Jon’s hair, looking for any sign of swelling or bleeding.

“I don’t—not badly, if I—oh,” he trails off at once, eyes beginning to flutter.

“Alright, easy, now,” Tim mutters, supporting Jon’s head as he shifts back to lying flat again, eyes clenched again the returning dizziness. “It’s really bad today, huh? And you’re ill too.”

In response, all Jon will give is a sigh, draping an arm over his mouth as it turns into a cough, before placing it over his eyes. Something twinges in Tim’s chest at the sight—knowing how much Jon hates this, hates anyone fussing over him even more—and squeezes gently above his knee in acknowledgement.

“What can I do? Anything?”

Still nothing verbal from him for a few seconds—seconds Tim is willing to wait as Jon sorts through both his own unwillingness to ask for help, as well as through his own likely-scattered thoughts. It had taken a lot for Jon to tell him about his POTS in the first place—in fact, that trust had not been built until Tim had to take him to A&E after a particularly bad fall. Now that he thinks of it, Jon had been ill then too—and even grouchier than his current persona of “Boss-man.”

“Was trying to—ugh,” starts, cutting off for a moment to clutch at his stomach, against what is most likely rising nausea. “Was trying to get—get some Gatorade.”

“That’s what all this is about? Getting your nasty-ass purple Gatorade?”

When Jon huffs out a little laugh with a smile, Tim feels very much pumping his fist in the air for joy—but refrains, if only for Jon’s sake.

“Tastes good. Don’t know what you’re missing.”

And a joke?

Should I call an ambulance?

“Tastes like purple,” Tim replies, letting a smile filter heavily into his own expression now. “I don’t mess with shit that tastes like a color.”

A sharp gasp from behind alerts him to Martin’s presence in the doorway.

“Oh Jon, what happened? Are you alright?” he asks, with such deep concern that Jon immediately buries his face in his hands and groans.

“Just fainted, is all,” Tim says at once, waving a sharp hand by his throat to cut off his well-meaning sympathy.

“Right,” he replies with raised eyebrows, carefully schooling his expression in a way that Tim very much appreciates. “Right. Anything I can do?”

“Could grab him some Gatorade from the fridge, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“On it,” he nods at once, and sets off.

Just then, Jon starts up coughing again, so harsh and damp it sets Tim’s teeth on edge.

“That sounds rough, Jon,” he grimaces, reaching up to his desk to grab tissues from atop it and set them on the floor.

“It’s—fine,” comes the reply, of course, accented in between by a hitching at the back of his throat that drives him upwards to sitting.

“Right. Sure,” Tim mutters, rolling his eyes as he braces Jon, whose harsh coughing bends him double with effort.

When he begins to sway a bit, eyes fluttering again—Tim is already to prepared to push his head gently forward and between his knees.

“Easy, easy.”

“Fuck.”

“I’ve got you.”

The shaking beneath Tim’s hands is not altogether a rarity after a bad faint, but something tells him there might be another cause this time. A fever, namely.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten?” he asks, after waiting for Jon’s breathing to come a bit back under control.

“Didn’t—don’t. Don’t feel well,” he whispers, bending even further forward, enough to have Tim reaching for the bin, just in case.

“Alright, that’s alright,” he whispers in response, feeling powerless to do anything but sit and rub his back.

“Tried,” he starts up again after a moment, altogether shocking an unsuspecting Tim with his verbosity.

“Tried? Tried what?”

“Tried to be careful,” he clarifies, coughing once more into his elbow, and letting it double him back down. “Promise, I—heh—tried. Thought I was fine.”

“I know, Jon,” Tim assures at once, rubbing at his back once again against the trembling, wishing it was doing anything to really help him. “I know, alright? Just save your breath. It’s not your fault.”

Thankfully, by the time Martin reappears with the Gatorade, he’s quite a bit steadier, after the coughing fit has reached it’s end. Much to Tim’s surprise, he even offers Martin a small smile as he cast a long shadow through the office, blocking out the fluorescent light of the hall behind him.

“Alright, time for electrolytes!” Tim cheers, as Martin opens the lid to the bottle before handing it to Jon, who begins sipping at it cautiously.

“You’re shaking—are you cold?” Martin asks, already removing his cardigan and kneeling to place it over Jon’s trembling shoulders.

“No,” he snaps sharply, pushing off the cardigan and shifting around, preparing himself to stand. “I’m alright, just—”

“Hang on, hang on,” Tim soothes, pressing back against Jon’s chest as gently as possible to stop his movement. “Just—hold on a second, alright? Let me get the cot set up in here before you try that.”

“Tim—”

“I know, I know, perish the thought. I get it.”

“You don’t—”

“BUT! But,” he cuts in loudly, holding up a hand to shush him. “You shouldn’t even be here, Jon. You’ve probably got the flu, or something, judging by whatever—whatever is clearly going on here. So please. Just have a lie down for, like, an hour. That’s all I’m asking.”

All I’m brave enough to ask, really.

Another pause, during which it’s Tim’s turn for his heart to pound, watching Jon try to formulate an argument against him with furrowed brows.

And then—everything that had been hunched and furrowed goes slack, as Jon starts to sway dizzily again.

“Oh—oh, Jon,” Martin gasps nervously, helping him slowly lower back to lying on the ground.

“M’fine, fine,” he assures, words slurring a bit as Martin checks his forehead for fever—and if the meaningful glance he gives Tim is anything to go by, he can be pretty certain of Martin’s findings.

“Right. Cot. I’m going to get it, and I’ll be back,” he says firmly, glancing back one more time to find Martin carefully placing his cardigan beneath Jon’s head.

Of course, Tim knows there is still a good deal of fighting to do on the “force Jonathan Sims to take care of himself” front, but this will do.

This will have to do for now.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #cw nausea #cw fainting #jon has EDS/POTS #i love you friend I hope you like this #<33333 #my writing

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bloomvalyria · 4 years ago

Text

I received a request for some sparxshipping, so I thought I’d give you some super old sparxshipping content! Since I’ve been getting so many questions about the whole “where did baltor go at the end of broken pieces?” debacle, I thought I’d share the idea I’d originally settled on back in 2016/2017 before scrapping it. It was a good idea in theory, but the deeper I explored it, everything very quickly fell apart. Nonetheless, please enjoy this scrapped rough draft material!

The room was oddly reminiscent of his pocket realm, slightly easing my tense muscles. It was enormous with a towering ceiling and tall walls lined with grand wooden bookcases. Dust coated the furniture and lightly lilted through the air. A great window overlooking the surrounding woods was perched on the other side of the room. The clear glass allowed an ample amount of moonlight to pour onto the hardwood floors. My gaze however was locked on a different light source flickering in my peripheral vision.

My Dragon Fire flared when I turned to look at the bright orange glow. Despite my distance, I could feel the intensity of the flames dancing in the fireplace. Its warmth combined with the pale moonlight gave the room an eerie yet annoyingly romantic vibe. Two stiff-looking arm chairs loomed before the fire, creating elongated shadows that stretched across the floor.

Easily able to sense the dark presence awaiting my arrival in the seat furthest away, I froze. My feet refused to take another step, petrified at the thought of approaching my host.

You can still turn back, my subconscious hastily whispered. He betrayed you. He lied to you. You owe him nothing.

That last statement prickled me. In spite of everything that had unfortunately transpired between the two of us, I owed everything to him. Without him, I never would have found Oritel and Miriam, nor would I have been able to revive Sparx. Even after our fight on Linphea, he’d still helped me achieve the one thing I’d wanted since discovering who I truly was. I may not have wanted to, but I owed it to him to at least hear him out.

Taking a silent, steadying breath I continued my approach to the ominous chair.

“No one would blame you.”

I nearly lost my footing as a familiar, deep voice echoed through the air. Coming to a halt, I felt the strength of the dark presence grow, fully announcing himself. A shadowy figure of a man lifted itself out of the furthest chair, startling me. He was shrouded in darkness until he stepped closer to the fireplace.

Baltor’s sharp features appeared more prominent in the harsh light of the flames. His piercing grey eyes stared deeply into the burning embers, and I couldn’t stop myself from wondering if it was on purpose. It was an odd sight to see him without his signature coat. Then again, his entire ensemble was much more relaxed than I was used to seeing. His normally regal attire was replaced with a simple pair of dark trousers and boots, along with a half-buttoned up, white-collared shirt. I had to mentally chide myself in order to stop staring.

“To be frank, I half-expected you not to come.” Baltor continued. He moved his arm up to rest against the mantle, attempting to look nonchalant.

I glowered at him. “I don’t remember inviting you to snoop through my thoughts.”

A small smirk tugged at his lips. I hated that it nearly made me swoon. “I don’t need to use our connection to read your thoughts, Bloom. You remember what I told you about your eyes.”

An annoyed frown instantly crossed my face as I fought the shiver that arose from hearing him say my name. Shoving my hands into my coat pockets, my fingernails dug into my palms. Resisting the urge to throw a punch at him, I decided saying nothing was my only good option. I considered testing my luck, but the dull throbbing that had suddenly emerged in the back of my skull greatly discouraged it.

“I’m more than aware that I’m the last person you want to speak with.” he said, redirecting the conversation. “All I ask is that we sit down and discuss this.”

“I’m not sure what else needs to be discussed.” I replied, deadpan. The darkness took over much quicker than I’d anticipated. “You knowingly faked your own death. You didn’t contact me at all for months to let me know that you were really alive. Then, you magically reappeared wanting to pretend everything was okay. And, when I asked you why you waited so long to find me, you fed me nothing but a string of bullshit lies.” I paused, dramatically. “I don’t believe I missed anything.”

My response was enough to finally pull Baltor’s gaze away from the fire. The concern pooling in his eyes made my stomach twist with butterflies. However, the darkness worming its way deeper into my brain fought viciously to counteract it.

“Bloom,” he said, calmly, “I understand that you’re angry with me. You have every right to be.” To my amazement, he took a daring step in my direction. “But I know that’s not you.”

The throbbing slowly began to subside, to my shock. I wasn’t sure what made it retreat, but I wasn’t going to complain. Regardless of how truthful my outburst was, the guilt that followed was immense.

“Sorry,” I uttered. “It’s been a bit out of control lately, what with the move back here.”

He nodded. “Understandable. This is your home, and you want it to feel like your home. Living on Sparx is certainly going to be an adjustment for you.”

“An adjustment is one way to word it.” I mumbled, quickly growing exhausted. Running a hand through my tousled hair, I slumped into the seat next to the one he’d previously occupied. The leather fabric wasn’t particularly comfortable, but I needed a place to sit down. Baltor followed suit.

For a while, we merely sat there, glancing at each other. Neither of us seemed to know what to say. All of the snarky, clever remarks I’d conjured up in my head had vanished. Every emotion I’d felt over the last year was a swirling melting pot in my chest. I had a million questions for him. For so long I’d been deprived of the answers I so desperately desired, and now that my opportunity to receive them had finally arrived, I was speechless.

Baltor shifted forward in his chair, looking as if he was about to break the never-ending silence. My Dragon Fire sprung to life with adrenaline, warning me that I needed to speak before he did. My irrational fear of how well he could redirect a conversation was too strong.

“Where were you?” I blurted, cutting Baltor off.

A sad gleam sprouted in his eyes. Still, he didn’t answer. I could see the cogwheels turning in his mind, scrambling to muster up a convincing excuse to push my question off till another time.

“Where were you?” I asked again, fury dripping into my voice. My fingers dug into the leather of the arm chair, trying to still their shaking.

Baltor ran a hand down his face, immediately seeming more exhausted than before. Hearing the question aloud seemed to drain him. “Bloom, I know it’s not what you want to hear,” he began, hesitantly. “Nevertheless, I do believe that particular question is one we should wait on discussing.”

Steam poured from my ears. My cheeks burned red with pent up rage. “No!” I shouted, unable to contain myself. “We are not pushing this off anymore! I’m not asking you to do something outlandish, Baltor. I just want to know the truth!”

“I want to tell you, Bloom. Trust me, I do.” Baltor argued. “Considering how you almost crossed into dark territory only a few minutes ago, telling you would only be detrimental.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I could already begin to feel the pads of my fingertips rapidly heat up. “How would that be detrimental? That doesn’t make sense!”

“Bloom, I’m serious.” he warned. “You don’t need to know.”

“Oh, come on, Baltor! What is so difficult about being honest with me? Where could you have been that’s so bad that you’d have to lie to me about it?”

“The Under Realm.”

His interruption made my heart skip a beat. My rage instantly diffused, morphing into a state of shock.

The name sent a chill down my spine as it echoed through my head. Flashes of memories presented themselves front and center, reminding of my time spent there. As always, none of them were pleasant ones.

“What?”

Baltor clearly didn’t want to continue the conversation; however we both knew I wasn’t just going to drop it after that revelation. “When I found out you were alive, I went to the Under Realm,” he affirmed, slowly dragging out his words.

The thoughts racing through my head were a jumbled, cluttered mess. I kept waiting for my instincts to kick in and react like they usually did. Yet, this time, the longer I sat there I only became more confused.

No logical reason for why he’d be in the Under Realm came to mind. I couldn’t think of any unfinished business he could possibly have there. Even if he did, that still didn’t explain why he’d suddenly decide to act on it when I was in recovery.

Maybe you’re overreacting, my hopeful conscience reasoned. He didn’t say which part of the Under Realm. He could’ve been in Downland for all you know.

I was doubtful. If he’d been in Downland, there was no reason for him to hide it from me. Baltor was well aware of my history with the Under Realm, and if he truly went there, he’d only avoid telling me about it if he went to one particular place. “You were in Shadow Haunt.”

A short sigh slipped past his lips, but no words followed.

White hot anger flashed in my chest. “Baltor, were you in Shadow Haunt?” I asked again, my fury slipping into my voice.

“Yes,” he said. “You broke my curse. I’d hoped to return the favor.”

I stared at him, wide-eyed as the complicated puzzle pieces began to finally make sense. “You went there to try and reverse the effects of Darkar’s curse?”

“It was a long shot,” he indirectly confirmed. “Shadow Haunt seemed the perfect place to, at the very least, begin to search for answers. Since that was where the curse originated, I figured there had to be some information lingering there; possibly somewhere in the wreckage of the palace.”

He suddenly went quiet, acting as if he was finished with his tale.

“I’m guessing you didn’t find anything?” I inferred, feeling a wave of disappointment.

Baltor shook his head. “I searched for days. I didn’t leave a single stone unturned in that damned place, but there wasn’t a single trace that remained.”

My heart sank in my chest. I knew better than to hope for good news, yet something in me still grabbed onto it. I so desperately wanted to be free of her that I couldn’t help but hope.

“Although, I was able to sense someone else’s magic.”

My gaze flew over to him. A mix of fear and hope twisted my insides. “Who else could be there? It was abandoned. The authorities searched every inch of it to make sure no one was hiding.”

“Well, as it turns out, they didn’t do a particularly thorough job.” He hesitated, looking as if he was debating his next words. “One of Darkar’s minions managed to survive the attack.”

The entire universe came to a halt. Bile rose in my throat.

“I believe you called him Avalon.”

#sparxshipping #bloomxvaltor #baltorxbloom #valtorxbloom #bloomxbaltor

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theseerasures · 4 years ago

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YOu have a lot of interesting thoughts abt Winter what dyou think will happen with her this season?? Iknow you already said she won't die but. other stuff?? What do you think of the idea that she defects to salem

y’know, anon: i was actually gonna write something to this tune unprompted before the hiatus ended? i didn’t, because when it’s inevitably revealed that i was wrong about Everything and the village children throw their eggs and laugh i didn’t want to give them any more receipts, but now that someone has asked i might as well

quick disclaimer before i start! these are subjective speculations about a character who has thus far been--particularly in 8.1--sparsely and ambivalently characterized, on purpose. i am spinning from the same subtext as anyone else, and if i am reading it differently, then all that means that i am reading it differently. Mr. Teeth is not sending me secret data. i am not the Steve Kornacki of RWBY Defections, as hilarious as it is to imagine someone like that existing.

okay? okay. below are some ideas and theories about where Winter could be going this season

The Defection (no not that one yet)

yeah, i’m still an “AceOps defect as a team” truther. this one actually has the least to do with Winter, and most to do with story economy. and the story of the AceOps is this: under Clover they were “the perfect team”--efficient, powerful, professional, and the perfect emblem of Atlesian values. law and order above all else. the mission matters more than the team. don’t get attached.

Clover’s absence from the team begins in late season 7, which means all that shiny varnish is stripped from Atlas at the same time it’s stripped from the AceOps. it turns out that the law isn’t always right, it turns out it’s super easy to turn “the needs of the many” into “the needs of the few who have many,” and it turns out once you go even a single inch past their facade the “best Huntsmen in Atlas” are conflicted, directionless, and squabble like children. they have a better showing against Penny this season, but their continued dynamic shows that fault lines--particularly between Marrow and Harriet--are reaching crisis. The AceOps model is unsustainable, in the same way that all of Atlas is ultimately unsustainable.

then Ironwood puts Winter in charge, and at first i did think: well, this is probably just to accelerate the inevitable fallout. they are, by their own testimony, emotional strangers to each other, and now some of them disagree on ideological grounds to the point where they can barely stand to be in the same room; slapping an abrasive volatile live wire on top of all that is pouring gasoline on Rome while Rome burns.

but the revelation of Renvision was that they’ve been lying--about HAVING feelings, but also about their feelings with and about each other. moreover: Winter’s own emotions mirror theirs. they’re speaking, in whatever horrifically repressed way, a similar language.

i’m not going to discount the possibility that this kind of ice-water-in-the-face moment might not be enough for some of them; one thing i’ve always respected about RWBY is its unwillingness to flinch away from the idea that sometimes it IS too late for people. but when it comes down to the AceOps, i think the operating question isn’t “will they pick JOYR over setting off the bomb,” because they’re not ready to make that kind of decision together as a team yet. no, the operating question is: if it comes down to one of them, or setting off the bomb, what will they choose?

Clover would set off the bomb, without hesitation or remorse. the mission and protocol HAVE to come first, and in this case there’s a compelling argument that it’s the right call. the team under Clover would have followed suit. the team without Clover would have likely done the same.

the team under Winter...

well, the thing about Winter is that she’s NOT Clover. not a perfect soldier, but--let’s stick with “not a perfect soldier.” she cannot lead in the same way Clover did, with that infuriating mixture of self-assurance and personal charisma, but i don’t think she thinks of herself as any less in command, which means that for the time being, the AceOps are her team. i can’t be certain what Winter would choose in this situation--whether her personal feelings can win out against years of consequentialist thinking--but i do feel fairly confident in saying that she’d be more willing to sacrifice HERSELF in order to choose both.

and in this crucial moment where the AceOps are forced to re-evaluate how they feel about each other, and the team, that might count for something.

so tl;dr #1: the AceOps find a team identity separate from the Atlesian structure. whether they defect to the RIGHT people, or survive defection, and whether Winter counts narratively as one of the AceOps by that point, i’m less sure about, but a cursory stab in the dark would be: yes, not all of them, and no.

The Return

how much do the writers care about the Winter-Ironwood dynamic? probably less than i do, but i also care more than any human should be permitted to under the law, especially since people have moved onto speculating about all the hot NEW abusers she could have in her life. whatever--it is something that needs closure, and i think the writers know that. my preference is still that they confront each other in person, at Atlas Academy (Qrow having fucked off via either healthy decision making or force). if this does happen, i don’t think there’s any chance that both of them will make it out alive; Winter would ONLY confront Ironwood if she’s forced to--either by him or other forces--and both of them are too rigid with themselves and with each other to offer any kind of give, or forgiveness.

that’s what i’d prefer, but it no longer seems the most likely option; Winter clearly has no plans to make it back, and the queue for “people who want to slug it out with DILF Jimmy” just keeps getting longer. it’s possible that they’ll end on the same personal-impersonal teeter-totter which they’ve always resided, where they’re just voices in each other’s earpieces, and she’s giving him a report, and he is issuing her orders.

there’s a way to make that meaningful, though: Winter HAS just disobeyed an explicit order--the first she’s done when she fully had the capacity to carry it out. her own treasons are piling up, and it’s a secret that he should know, for plot and character reasons. the obvious choice among the AceOps to tattle is Harriet, but i also think there’s a nonzero chance that, if asked, Winter herself will tell him. for all her flaws, i do think Winter is capable of owning up to her decisions (it’d make a nice parallel with Yang telling Ironwood about what she and Blake did during Gravity, but that’s neither here nor there), but even more importantly...i think she’d tell him because she wants to be reassured. that she did the right thing, but also that they’re still on the same page, and that he’s still the same person he always was, with her.

he won’t reassure her, of course. especially after he finds out that she disobeyed him for Ozpin. she’ll have no one left.

tl;dr #2: Winter and Ironwood have to reach some kind of End by the finale. whether it’s with a bang or a whimper i’m again less certain of, but if it DOES end with a bang one of them will die, and it’s going to be Ironwood.

Winter Alone

i, like many others, assumed going into the season that Winter’s core dilemma would be something like “her family or her family,” meaning: her sisters or her (adoptive) father. but i think as far as the show’s concerned that conflict was resolved when she let them go in The Enemy of Trust, and it’s not worth re-litigating. since the season started she’s just missed Weiss and/or Penny TWICE by narrative contrivance--during the Amity heist, and the abortive recovery mission--and she’s been sent away from Ironwood. it’s increasingly looking to me like Winter and Weiss will not talk to each other at ALL this season (do they have Scroll reception in the whale? i guess they must if Watts talked to Tyrian), or at most will only catch a tantalizing glimpse of each other before being whisked away again. all of this points to the issue not being “whose side will Winter choose,” but “what kind of person IS Winter, when she doesn’t have anyone else’s ideology to fall back upon?”

which is very exciting to me! the What You Are in the Dark trope is an obvious staple, but i’m especially a sucker for it when it happens to characters like Winter, who lucked out in the sense that their more selfish motivations (protecting herself from Dad) have never quite conflicted with doing Good (protecting other people). the cognitive dissonance for that with Winter has already been played up to the max, so for it to come to a crisis for her, at a point when EVERYONE WHOSE OPINION SHE CARES ABOUT HAS ALREADY FUCKED OFF, is just great drama. it’s made all the better by the fact that RWBY specifically has a lot of villains whose backstories involve them being put in a similar situation, and choosing wrong: Adam chose spite. Raven chose cowardice. getting to see someone make that choice in the story proper, then, adds to and complicates what RWBY has to say the conditions of possibility for heroism and villainy.

furthermore, and this might be where my biases become delusions: that Winter is being maneuvered to make these decisions for herself, BY herself, points to the possibility that she might be graduating from a mostly region-locked character (Ilia, the Belladonnas, Beacon staff and students) to full-on supporting cast (TRQ, Maria, the villains). if Weiss and/or Penny reach out to Winter in a climactic confrontation this season, then the story isn’t NOT about Winter, but it would place more emphasis on Weiss and/or Penny, as main cast members, and their ability to save a person they love. but if their relationships are given more space and time for breathe (or fester!)--if Winter gets to change away from Weiss in the way that Weiss changed and grew away from Winter in Mistral, for example--then it points to a greater parity in terms of their mutual importance in the story.

tl;dr #3: Schneester Bowl might have to wait at least another season, because Winter’s too busy trying out independent thinking. now, whether Winter will make the RIGHT choice, or the story will LET her make that call after she’s decided...

2Defect2Salem

i actually touched on this before, so tl;dr #4.1: i do not find the ways that people talk about HOW Salem gets Winter to defect to be very convincing. the idea that Salem could easily manipulate Winter because they have similar backstories makes me...tilt my head, but i think that’s more due to my personal belief that people who are similar in those ways actually tend to be each other’s blind spots (i also think this about Blake and Winter, FWIW). more to the point: my personal reading of Winter locates a streak buried deep within that is unyieldingly CATEGORICAL. despite being embedded within Atlesian rationality, despite her mentor being James Ironwood, there is something in Winter that instinctively judges an immediate instance to be right or wrong, and she’s never been able to suppress that all the way.

and with that in mind, i genuinely don’t think Winter is enough of a long-term, big picture thinker to give herself over to despair for Atlas as a whole. oh, we see her parrot “for the good of all, not just a few” just fine, but if she was already having trouble internalizing that when it was coming from IRONWOOD, a man she loves and trusts, then why would Salem--a person she is predisposed to distrust--be better at convincing her that the ends justify the means? why would she believe that submission is preferable to extinction from someone that EVERYONE SHE KNOWS considers an enemy? it’s hard for me to conceive of a Winter who, perched at the lip of the despair event horizon, will a) think enough of herself to make a decision for everyone and b) accept that the decision is imperfect and compromise, when she could just do what soldiers do, what she’s been asked to do, and die for an impossible cause.

(also not to belabor the point, but: ...how is she supposed to deliver Atlas to Salem? are we assuming that the Atlas Military works via Klingon Promotion, or that Ironwood gave her all his passwords?)

this is not to say that i think Winter will completely no-sell Salem (though that would be VERY funny). assuming that she and Salem do end up in the same room (which is still up in the air), i can easily picture a scenario where Salem manipulates Winter into making a bad decision (though honestly, Winter’s been doing just fine with that all on her own), but the distance between “a bad decision” and “a decision that she knows will help the Big Bad” is still quite far. i can similarly picture a scenario where Salem gradually sways Winter--not a single Anakin-style dramatic reversal, but an Atris-style descent-by-inches, through a million little non-choices--but that’s the thing: manipulation takes TIME, no matter how good at it you are, and we’re running up against the fact that the season ends in 6 episodes, and Winter is only one of about a trillion dangling threads.

tl;dr #4.2: the only way i can see Winter defecting to Salem THIS SEASON, then, is if it’s not her choice at all. for me, this makes the most thematic sense--that she’s been playing keep-away so long with her own agency, and Salem ends up resolving the issue by taking it away from her completely. that she wants so much to be sure she’s making the right choice, or to not have to make the call, and Salem gives her exactly what she wants. she’ll never have to think for herself again. we know Salem is capable of something like that, because we’ve just seen the Hound. Winter won’t be another Hound, if only because churning out the same horror will only yield diminishing returns, but she might be...something else.

regardless, tl;dr #4.3: if “Winter defecting to Salem” shakes down in any way--either as originally posited or as i just described--it would be an FANTASTIC story and character engine. i’ve already talked about the potential conflict this could create within Team RWBY, but like...imagine Weiss talking to ANYONE about her sister. imagine Weiss talking to Emerald, who would have just joined the heroes, whose decision to cut herself off from Cinder would feel like a portent. imagine Winter with the villains! not just Salem, but Cinder! imagine the subtextual parallels between the two becoming TEXT. imagine the two of them having to work together! imagine how Cinder would feel to lose Emerald and get Winter. imagine how Mercury would feel! can you imagine Winter and Mercury bonding over their daddy issues?? because i can’t! but i wanna. my love for Winter isn’t contingent on her making the right choices, but on her getting the right material. this would not only be the right material, but A LOT OF IT, and if the writers do choose to go in this direction, i trust them enough to be excited about where it might go.

#Anonymous #winter schnee #rwby #happy to announce that i am here to disappoint everyone on both sides of the 'will winter defect or nah' fence!!#don't you all feel lucky #'i wish hornets didn't sting me' complains area woman as she swings a bat wildly at a hornets nest #helen writes meta

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