#it's possible! we have the science! and the ptsd! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shibaraki · 1 year ago

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THE KIDS ARE GONNA BE ALRIGHT ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: teachers are like bridges, there to facilitate students on their ungainly journey through life. add a war, a new subject, a gaggle of traumatised children and a handsome coworker with an apparent sleeping disorder—see where the bridge leads.

tags: GN reader (referred to as 'Sensei'), coworkers to lovers, reader is a teacher at UA (quirk science), single parent aizawa (adopted eri), some workplace shenanigans, meddling kids (class 2A + B), mutual pining, fluff + angst, learning difficulties, references to PTSD, getting together, first kisses + making out, suggestive content + heavy themes, post war arc (heavily implied spoilers ahead), HAPPY + HOPEFUL END

wc: 19K

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Welcome to UA! Message: Good morning! It is my pleasure to welcome you to UA — we are very excited to have you aboard! The files attached to this email are as follows:

A map of the campus

The UA handbook and Emergency guideline

The Teachers Code of Conduct

Please refer back to these regularly to familiarise yourself with everything. As we discussed in our prior phone call a place has been prepared in the teachers dormitory in preparation for your move. Your key and security badge are at the reception desk. Please bring identification to collect them. Do let me know if you require a reserved spot in the parking area.

One last thing to note:

The staff lounge and kitchen is located in the west wing of the first floor heroics building. It is regularly restocked with snacks and beverages. The coffee machine is also available to you at any time. Feel free to help yourself!

If you have any further questions you can email me or call me. I will get back to you as soon as possible.

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School 〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu. Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

Your new world is bordered by a large imposing wall.

It towers above your head, reinforced concrete and steel reaching for the heavens, housing weapons you could only imagine. Gone is the classic archway that once welcomed students with open arms. The public walkway leading uphill to the school is cordoned off.

Even alongside global assistance progress was slow. A large chunk of Musutafu had remained levelled— debris and dust, unrecognisable. After the battle ended, rebuilding the country came first. Hospitals and emergency services were given priority; more shelters followed close behind, and once given the go ahead, individuals confined to UA were able to slowly integrate back into their own communities.

One step at a time. Life stops for nothing, that is clearer than ever.

You qualified as a quirk specialist, mainly working with college students, teaching science, history and philosophy of quirks. Principal Nedzu was an old acquaintance. You crossed paths at a conference or two, and you saw his name in citations of papers you read from time to time, but it never grew beyond professional respect. Thus, having him reach out to you through your private number had come as a big surprise.

After the war a number of the current student’s quirks had evolved at an unprecedented rate, largely due to the trauma and strain they endured. He expressed his wish to include quirk study in the new curriculum and reasoned that having someone with your credentials on staff would not only ease the anxiety of the teenagers, but also that of the remaining teachers, who were inexperienced in dealing with stress manifestation.

The call ended an hour later with a sixty three page contract in your inbox and a new job. You covered a broad range of subjects but your field of study was an elective, therefore smaller than you are used to. Even so it was your territory now. You tried to own it. The desks have been rearranged into a U shape, charts with interactive pieces affixed to the surface, and you decorated the space with Nedzu’s express permission in hopes of making it inviting.

Over a month into the term and you can’t yet say you regret taking up his offer.

“Phyletic gradualism and punctuated equilibrium are the two extremes in a continuous model of evolution. The first kind is a far more uniform and gradual accumulation of changes that subsequently generate new species…”

Your mouth keeps moving as you scan the classroom for the fifth time, words muffled by the brief loss of focus. The students don’t notice the lapse; most eyes are still on you, some clouded and others intent on listening. It’s a true miracle that nobody has fallen asleep—though Kaminari is always a close call. Beneath it all is the soft, frantic scratch of Midoriya’s pen to paper and his low mutter, holding the attention of a bone weary Bakugo.

“…Comparatively, punctuated equilibrium proposes that once a species appears, it becomes stable, showing little evolutionary change until an event triggers a rapid speciation process”.

Yaoyorozu’s hand flies up and startles Shinsou to attention. Her enthusiasm brings a slight smile to your lips. You point to her, “Yes, Yaoyorozu?”

“In that case, Sensei, would that mean that quirks are an example of punctuated equilibrium?” she asks.

“That is the most agreed upon theory amongst the quirk science community,” you reply, directing the answer toward the entire class. There’s a scarce mix of Class A, B, and support students. Monoma straightens under your gaze. He’s flanked by Kouda, who returns a mousy smile, fingers idly petting Yuwai-chan, his pet rabbit.

“Quirks are our reality—that much is undeniable. But with that comes a myriad of unknowns. How, why, and when did this happen to us?” Striding toward the board you uncap a blue marker with your teeth and write the phrase ‘theories’ down in large, neat penmanship. You cast a passing glance to the clock. Any minute now.

“There is still no definitive answer. So for your next assignment I’m going to ask that you research and write an essay on a specific theory about the dawn of quirks,” you are helpless to the wicked grin that pulls across your mouth at their collective groan. “It’s due next Friday. That’s ten whole days to complete it! So generous, aren't I?”

Overhead, a bell blares out an incessant ring to indicate the lessons end, and in a moment of synchronicity each student rouses from their chair. Bakugo shoves his hands into his pockets and makes a beeline for the door and ignores Midoriya’s aborted squawk as he shoves his notes into his backpack.

“Thank you Sensei,” he stammers, rushing after the boy. “Wait for me, Kacchan!”

Nobody calls attention to the seemingly tumultuous relationship. The 2A kids in particular watch their interactions with a trepid fondness. They’re always like that—or so Shinsou told you, once, barely audible over Bakugo’s incendiary growls as he hauled his childhood friend into a headlock. You understood it a little when you heard Midoriya’s bubbly laughter for the first time. And you let them be.

The others file out slowly, lost in conversation or waiting on a friend. Iida stops at your desk and bows before leaving, bidding you an effusive goodbye, a habit he has steadfastly maintained no matter how much you assure him otherwise. In stark contrast the two subdued support students, Toma and Nakao, throw a simple salute with startling synchrony.

Just when you think you have some peace, a shadow crosses your peripheral vision. “Yo, Sensei,” Kaminari chirped. There’s an edge to his voice that draws your attention. Shinsou lingers nearby feigning disinterest as Kaminari fidgets with his blazer button. “About the—uh. About the essay…”

Blinking away your initial confusion you sit up in realisation. “Oh! That’s right,” Kaminari tenses as you lean across the desk, flicking through your copious bits of stationery. You peel off a cloud shaped sticky note and write down a date and time before handing it to the boy.

“I scheduled a one to one so we can go over everything you’ve done before the deadline,” you explain gently. Kaminari takes the note between his fingers, grip delicate either end as though afraid it might tear. “Don’t worry if you lose that. I’m going to send the details to your student email, and I’ll remind you again on the day. That sound good?”

Had you been any younger your eyes might’ve stung at the clear wonder unfolding on his face; surprised and happy to be accommodated without interrogation. Now there is only a dull ache beneath your skull and resentment in your heart. His reaction spoke to the copious rejection he faced before UA.

You’ve come to learn that children are only ever as brilliant as you allow them to be.

“Y—yeah. That’s amazing, thanks Sensei,” Kaminari steadily brightens. His fist hits his chest with a quiet thump, “I won’t let’cha down!”

“I’m sure you won’t. And please don’t forget to bring your overlays,” you call to them as they amble out into the hallway. Shinsou holds the door, nodding shortly in acknowledgement. The savoury smell of curry has already distracted Kaminari enough to have him forget your discussion.

You sigh, hearing their laughter grow quiet in the distance. Another muted pang echoes through your skull. Expression contorted, you wince and gather your things, thoughts latched onto the lacquered bento box that awaits in the teachers lounge to distract from the pain.

The once stream of bustling students becomes a mere trickle, stragglers hanging by the bathrooms, others cross legged in front of their lockers, grouped tightly together without causing obstruction. They appear wilted. An overarching air of despondency; grey against the brightly painted corridor.

The muscles in your face twinge. You resolve to greet them all, offering a smile as sincere as you can muster despite the heaviness in your heart. For many of these kids, if not all, life would never be the same. So young, grappling with such unprecedented loss.

You come to a halt. Lofty double doors loom. Your fingers curl into the recessed handle and you slide them open. Though the walls are bare, the windows are large, and into the staff lounge beams intrepid light.

You’re met with a chorus of sluggish murmurs, few heads lifting to see who has entered. Of the faces present there are two you’re most familiar with—class 2A’s heroics mentor and their homeroom teacher.

Yagi is hunched at his computer desk. A cardigan too large for his frame is draped across his shoulders and pools around his wrists. Cradled in one hand is a thermos covered in stickers. Steam pours from the open top, wispy tendrils curling into the air. You inhale and recognise the weak scent of bone broth.

Those sunken eyes flicker as you approach, striking blue roving over your form. Whatever he sees must be cause for concern. “Are you feeling unwell?”

You had felt an immediate fondness for Toshinori Yagi when you first met him. The presence of All Might hung tangibly in the air, a stifling ode to his service that still unnerved those who did not know him, but you were different. Like his colleagues, you looked back and saw a well meaning, sweet but bumbling older man.

“No, no,” you demurred. “It’s just a headache”.

Yagi grimaces sympathetically, furrow etched into his brow. Hips slumped low on the staff sofa, garish yellow sleeping bag at his feet, Aizawa hums a low amused sound that draws your attention. You’re surprised he’s awake. “My kids will do that to you,” he murmurs.

The Erasure hero’s head is tipped to bare his throat, jawline shadowed by stubble. Dark curtains of hair fall across his shoulders. Aizawa is handsome. This you cannot deny. Before you met you’d heard him described as quite the opposite. Yet here you are, magnetised to him; to his callous humour, and the rough, rare instances of laughter; to the sturdy body hidden beneath baggy clothing and the deep, blasé manner in which he speaks.

You swallow the sight thickly and pinch the bridge of your nose with a self deprecating laugh. It’s just a silly crush. “Nothing like that,” you assure him. The chair creaks slightly beneath your thighs as you recline. “I don’t think I slept well last night”.

Admitting it invites a sudden wave of fatigue. Aizawa is no stranger to exhaustion. You think he could probably sleep anywhere—hell, you’ve seen him sleep standing up. He regards you thoughtfully, and the longer he stares the warmer your collar becomes. You feel his scrutiny even as you avert your eyes.

Incognisant to the tension, Yagi continues to fret. “Ah, that’s no good. Let me make you some coffee,” he insists, brushing off his pants as he stands. Yagi sheds the feeble slope from his shoulders and you blink at the burst of energy.

“Alright. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you reply, voice dwindling as he ducks into the modest kitchen connected to the lounge. Aizawa clicks his tongue.

“You’ll regret that,” he breathes, ensuring the other man would not hear. “Unless you’re a fan of drinking tar”.

“Don’t be mean. I’m sure it’s not that bad,” your trembling lips press firmly together, not wanting to to give him the satisfaction of making you laugh. He exhales and shrugs as if to say ‘it’s your funeral’.

Yagi soon returns holding a cup of coffee and your bento box. “Here. I thought you might want to eat,” he gives a signature toothy grin. You say nothing of the shake in his hands as he sets them down on your desk and bring the hot drink to your mouth.

The coffee is awful. You hold your breath and smother the urge to cough, swallowing it down with feigned enthusiasm. The astringent taste lingers. A shudder runs throughout your body and you inhale sharply. “That—will definitely wake me up. Thank you, Yagi-san,” you rasp, trying to smile. Yagi looks rather pleased and gives a thumbs up.

Next you look, Aizawa has shucked the sleeping bag up to his midsection and burrowed into his capture weapon, leaving only bloodshot eyes visible above the fabric. They’re crinkled at the edges and full of mirth—you interlock and he lifts his chin to mouth, “Told you”.

That shouldn’t be so attractive, you think.

On the next mouthful of your rice you subtly uncurl your middle finger from beneath your chopsticks and pointedly flip it at Aizawa. He snorts, amused.

“Gesundheit,” Yagi chimed between sips, enjoying the warm broth in his thermos flask. From what you understood he had to follow a strict liquid only diet. He could hardly stomach solids anymore. “Are you getting sick too, Aizawa-kun?”

Aizawa sighs at the obliviousness, though you think he’s a little glad for it.

The conversation tapers and the lunch hour crawls on. Your mind drifts to the students as you idly chew, grains ground to mush, vision blurring out of focus. Thankfully it appeared to be one of their better days. Shinsou remained awake for the entire period. Yaoyarozu participated confidently. The shadows under Bakugo’s eyes hadn’t been as severe. Iida’s legs had not restlessly bounced under the table. Midoriya kept his hands to himself and felt no need to feel for his friend's heartbeat.

However one of your more boisterous spirits, Monoma, had been noticeably withdrawn. Kouda’s rabbit—trained to detect and assist with anxiety—scrambled into his arms on numerous occasions.

Your skin prickles, alerted to the weight of someone’s gaze on your back. Not a second later you hear the low call of your name. Aizawa slips into the chair opposite, disconcertingly silent in his approach, and leans his chin against his fist.

“If you keep thinking so hard, All Might really is going to give himself a hernia,” he mutters.

Yagi’s lighthearted chuckle devolves into a harsh spluttering cough. “Blunt as always, Aizawa-kun,” he jokes, voice muffled by his hand.

“I’m not sure he could even get a hernia…” you muse, offering him a tissue. Yagi nods in thanks as he wipes the blood from his mouth. “I was thinking about the kids, that's all”.

Aizawa tilts his head. The sun settles at her highest point and golden pleats stretch across his face. These are the rare instances that his artificial eye becomes observable. Light refracts in the iris, glittering crimson through graphene layers.

“They’ve really taken a shine to you,” he says, and it comes like an accusation, softened by the slight jut to his lips. You smirk, shutting your bento box and setting it aside. How wonderfully petty.

“Curious?”

“Midoriya burst into class last week and asked Tokoyami if he had a twin that he ate in the womb,” he drawls, brow twitching. Yagi splutters. “So yes, I’m curious what it is you’re teaching my students”.

A fleeting sense of exasperation comes over you. Trust Midoriya to abandon delicacy in his eagerness. “I assume it’s because we covered the genetics of chimerism and how it relates to quirk inheritance,” you say, bemused. Hopefully Tokoyami was not offended. It’s a wonder he didn’t ask Todoroki.

“And how does it?” Yagi blink owlishly as you turn to him in surprise. “I’m curious!” he defends.

“Oh. Well, genetic chimerism is when an organism has multiple sets of DNA often originating from the fusion of different zygotes,” you recite. Instinctively, your posture straightens as though you were back in the classroom. “This can happen with twin embryos. One absorbs the other and as a result, they have two sets of DNA”.

“O—oh…?”

“So,” you continue, fingers wrung together in your lap, turning to give him your full attention. Colour drains from the retired hero’s cheeks. “The question I presented was this: would it then be possible for the surviving twin to inherit an additional quirk?”

“I see,” Yagi swallows and his grin strains at the edges as he realises you are waiting for a genuine answer. “Ah, I’m not—”

The lunch bell abruptly begins to ring. You both startle in your seats. Unperturbed, Aizawa pushes to his feet. His hair falls forward as he sways in place and meets your gaze. “As interesting as this is, we need to get to gym gamma for basic heroics,” he says, tone laced with monotony.

Yagi jumps at the chance to escape. You try not to laugh. He continues to nervously glance over his shoulder, worried that you might be disheartened, but you wave them off happily.

Coworkers come and go throughout the afternoon. Kurose keeps you company during their free period, later joined by Yamada, who insisted on quizzing you about western rock music. With no classes left to teach you spend the remainder of your day planning quirk counselling sessions, printing worksheets and sending routine emails, headache persisting.

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Reminder [High importance] Message:

Good afternoon,

Please see the two files I have attached to this email. One has a highlighted version of the essay brief, and another detailing how to structure an essay.

As I mentioned, I have booked a one to one session for us to go over your draft and any concerns next week on [x] September 13:00 — 14:00. However do not hesitate to email me with any questions you have before this date.

Take care!

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After the final bell rings you linger a while, not wanting to be swept away in throngs of students making their way to the dorms. There are no stragglers as you leave and your footsteps reverberate unsettlingly throughout the main building.

The sky bleeds into early dusk with disquieting rays of light. Gentle enough that you can look directly into the sun and see the canvas it paints. Standing in the middle of the walkway, balefully watching the far off horizon, the early autumn air makes you shiver.

Living on campus was a big change. Even so you had little to complain about. The staff dormitories are larger and much more private. You’d been given a studio on the second floor, neighbour to Ishiyama, the rather withdrawn cement hero. While there is a bathroom and kitchenette in each apartment you usually preferred to cook in the shared kitchen, conjoined to an open plan common room.

Another familiar face greets you as you enter. Powerloader is seated at the dining table, mulling over a mess of blueprints. Quirk science and quirk support often went hand in hand thus you had collaborated before, albeit very rarely.

He lifts his head at your entrance, face obscured by long, spiked copper hair. Seeing him free of his big excavator helmet—much like with Kurose without their space suit—is still quite strange. “Hey, Maijima-san,” you skim over what looks to be a box buckle belt. “Working on anything interesting?”

“I’m designing an MMF induction system for Tetsutetsu in 2B,” he explained, sifting through the papers to show another preliminary sketch. You notice the ink stain on the heel of his hand. “I’m hoping with the belt and armbands acting as coils we could turn him into an electromagnet of sorts”.

“Wow. That’s actually pretty cool. There are so many things he could do with that,” you mumbled. Flash bangs. Emergency power. Assisting in triage. The possibilities were endless. Awed, you lean forward to scrutinise the chicken scrawl dotted around the drawings, some characters smudged beyond your comprehension. “How do you plan to measure his tolerance to—?”

“Mochi?!” a small, giddy voice interrupts.

“…Mochi?” you repeat, bewildered. You look toward the source, gaze falling upon two silvery pigtails. Eri rocks on her heels and excitedly holds out a curved plate full of rice cakes. The height draws her sweater sleeves down her thin, scarred forearms. She makes a droning noise to stress that you take one.

Aizawa strolls out from the kitchen behind her. A dull clink accompanies his footsteps, slanted to one side. You immediately note the various colourful clips pinning his hair away from his face, tied into a similar pigtail style, though tousled and loose.

“Eri,” he rumbles. “It’s impolite to interrupt private conversations”.

The little girl wilts a fraction as her expression pinches in worry. She lowers the plate, but before it is out of reach, Maijima stretches across the table to snatch one up. Eri brightens at the exaggerated happy sound he makes as he chews, “This is some good mochi, Eri-chan. I’ll forgive you this once”.

“Thank you, Maijiji,” she chimes. At that Maijima’s jaw unhinges mid-chew, the corners of his mouth twitching in quiet shock. Aizawa’s nostrils flare. He turns his head from the scene. Similarly, you tuck your chin to conceal your smirk and pluck up a mochi for yourself.

“These look delicious,” you tell her, diverting the topic from Maijima—who, in your periphery, is mouthing ‘old man?!’ toward Aizawa with some incredulity. Eri’s focus remains on your face. She watches intently as the sticky dough yields under your thumbs.

You tear a piece away to eat. Softer, smoother on the inside. It begins to melt on your tongue. The red bean paste is sweet with earthy undertones. “Wow!” the exclamation comes warbled, muffled. Eri tugs at the hem of her pink knit sweater, her smile stretching wider. “You’re very kind for sharing these, Eri”.

“Mhm. S’because Yama-san teached me a quote in English today,” she effuses proudly, “He said sharing is caring”. The foreign enunciation doesn’t quite fit, like the words are choppy in her mouth, but they fall easily from her lips as if she has practised them a hundred times.

“Taught,” Aizawa corrected, bending into view to take the plate from her hands and set it on the table. She blinks at him curiously, and he explains, “You should say ‘Yama-san taught me’, not teached”.

“Oh,” she says. You watch fondly as he licks his thumb to wipe away a smear of bean paste on her chin. Her face scrunches up, lips pursed and air in her cheeks.

“And now you’ve been taught a new word,” you add, pulling off a bigger piece of mochi. Eri bounces in place as you offer it to her and she shoves it into her mouth. “Thank you for the treat, Eri. I think I’ll enjoy this in my room”.

“Ywor lea’win’?”

Aizawa sighs and concedes defeat to her poor manners. He cradles the crown of her head with his palm, stroking her hair. “I’m a little tired so I really want to take a shower and get in my pyjamas,” you say, hoping to placate her with a smile. “But I’m sure I’ll see you again sometime tomorrow, okay?”

Eri concedes rather reluctantly. Her fondness for you, once a stranger from the yawning unknown, is warming. Though her dejection is short-lived, soon distracted by the late arrival of Yagi and Yamada.

The soft hair on your neck prickles. Sensing his stare you meet Aizawa’s gaze, heavy enough to feel like touch. It stirs a fleeting sort of hope in your chest. He looks gentle, frame wrapped up in the gauzy evening lustre. You clear your throat, “Did heroics go well in the end?”

His brow twitches and you get the distinct feeling that you’re being laughed at. “No broken bones. So I would say so,” he deadpanned.

“If it were anyone else saying that I’d be concerned,” you smiled, knowing class 2A in particular was well renowned for incurring injuries in training. “It was their first one since… everything, right? I’m glad they’re doing okay”.

He hums, eyes sliding toward his daughter when her laughter breaks the delicate quiet. You shift awkwardly where you stand, overly conscious of Maijima seated nearby, now engrossed in his work. Aizawa levelled his voice, “How’s the headache?”

“Persistent,” you murmur. Acknowledging it invites another dull pang inside your skull. “Honestly I can’t wait to get in bed”.

“Hear hear,” he breathes. The corner of his mouth curls as he looks at you and gravity vaults around your stomach, rendering you momentarily weightless. Just a crush, you think, half hysterical. “Get some rest. If you plan on missing dinner then take a jelly pouch or an energy bar with you”.

Touched by his concern you sway toward the kitchen. Your teeth sink into your cheek, biting down a grin where he cannot see it. “Yeah, okay,” you laugh under your breath. Louder then, “But I’m going to take your favourite flavour”.

“Don’t push your luck,” he dared.

You retire to your apartment with a green jelly packet in hand and a clunky wave. Energy seeps out of you like water through a sieve as soon as your door shuts. Fatigue creeps in; the body needing rest yet the mind restless.

The shower does little to shake you awake. Dragging your feet to your bedroom, pouch uncapped and held between your lips. Tepid air sticks to still damp skin. Your bed yields, thoughts slowing. You crawl across the mattress, cheeks hollow as you lazily suck the jelly until the foil wrinkles.

Cocooned in plush fleece and linen, you tilt your head and let it loll against the pillow; exhaustion sweeps through you, consciousness waning. The ache behind your eyes lessens as they close. You sleep.

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: RE: Reminder [High importance] Message:

Hi hi

The worksheets really helped!!! You’re the best, Sensei!

I was talking to Mido and he said some ppl think quirks are a genetic mutation from a disease spread by rats?? ? (◎-◎;) super freaky. Can I make that my essay topic?

Thnx!

Kaminari Denki AKA ⚡️ CHARGEBOLT

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: An analysis of the Q-gene theory Message:

Sorry to email so late! Or early haha… I found some articles while I was researching that I think will be helpful to my essay but the journal is not open access. Is there any way that I cannnnnnnnvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvccccccccccccccvvvvvvccccccccccccccccvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Sent from my ePhone

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Morning comes abruptly. The sound of your alarm cuts out as you stretch across the bed to hit snooze, limbless and heavy handed. You rise with a crick in your neck. Barely cognisant, the floor rises to meet you, cool against the soles of your feet.

A mottle of pale blue and white blended into a grey low lit morning, flooding the common area. It’s no surprise to you that people are already awake. Snipe is seated on the couch meticulously cleaning his pistol while Kurose is clad in their gym wear, jogging in place where they wait for Yagi to zip up his jacket.

Upright, he beams at the sight of you, “Good morning! You look much better today”.

You do not feel much better.

“Morning,” you return lightly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Snipe tips his hat in your direction with a quiet grunt. “Are the others still asleep?”

The drooping blonde hair that frame’s Yagi’s face sway as he shakes his head. “Not everyone. I believe Yamada-kun is at his radio station. Ectoplasm is out walking the perimeter with Hound Dog. Though Aizawa-kun may be sleeping…”

“He got back from night patrol a few hours ago,” Kurose adds. They wave both hands at you, spacetime wielding fingers wiggling as though to entice you, “That aside, would you like to join us on our morning run?”

Your expression immediately shifts, exhibiting strong disinclination. “I appreciate the invite, but I’d rather return to a horizontal position until my work hours start”.

Kurose laughs warmly. Yagi, however, insists on reciting the benefits to early exercise while he ties and reties his shoes. You send them off, holding the door open to breathe in the morning dew, and spend a minute feeling the cool air prickle your cheeks.

The day crawls on. You get to your classroom before the first period and review the lesson plans. The third years stagger to their seats. You can sympathise with their dead eyed stares—two hours of quirk regulation law is not exactly the most riveting topic—and take no offense to their spiritless attitudes.

Third period is spent fostering discussion about politics with the business students. By the time lunch hour comes and goes you have barely left your classroom. Your next set is composed of first year hero students. This academic year both class 1A and B had been mixed into the same group. Hardly six months after a war steeped in blood and sacrifice, Japan’s citizens were not so eager to hand their children over to a hero school. Thus there were few applicants. Nevertheless, Principal Nedzu remained optimistic about their potential.

Straight away you understood his judgement. In covering the quirk history module you saw first hand their iron willed determination to learn from the past and change the system. Hands are thrown high in the air—eager despite your intention to wind down—as you inquire their thoughts about the quirk classification system.

“The whole thing is bull—brainless!” one of your more headstrong students, Higuchi, calls out. You can picture the lurid glare behind his blacked out glasses. His classmates murmur in agreement.

“He’s right, Sensei,” Kaneko, 1B class president, adds quietly. The air distorts around her when she speaks and your jaw clenches, withholding a flinch as your ear pops. “Why are there only three categories? It makes no sense”.

“I agree. The classification system is simplistic and outdated. Which is what leads me into my final question…” you hold out your hands in mock surrender, brows pointedly arched, and they settle down. In that instant, the door slides open and disrupts the peace. Every head turns to watch Eraserhead slip brazenly into the classroom, and after a pregnant pause, gesture for you to continue.

Heat rises to the high point of your cheeks. His expression is soft in the artificial light, fixed on you with intent and sincere intrigue. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth. “Ah—What was I saying?” you joked nervously. Sensing your embarrassment the kids begin to laugh under their breath. “That’s right. My question is, if possible, what are some of the categories you would introduce to improve the quirk database? Brainstorm for me. There are no wrong answers!”

Those eyes nag at you for the remainder of the hour. With another teacher present, heralded as a war hero no less, the motivation to impress increases tenfold. You bullet point their answers on the class board, prompting further explanation or examples and suggesting your own. It’s a welcome distraction—

And the outcome is far more comprehensive than you expected:

Generation describes quirks that allow the individual to create something from their body. Example: Creati.

Manipulation refers to quirks that control what is pre existing. Example: Poltergeist.

Users with a Transmutation quirk can change or alter the function of things around them. Example: Mudman.

Augmentation quirks allow the individual to improve their own body in some way. Example: Mount Lady.

Information quirks classify those that can detect, understand and apply information. Example: Nighteye.

You watch them rush to scribble the list down. Murmurings carry through the classroom as they turn to one another, listing more examples, giving thought to how each quirk should be designated. Pride swells in your chest.

“I have a question”.

Aizawa remained hunched in the corner, one hand deep in his pocket. The other is raised lazily above his head. This elicits some anticipation from your students. You motion for him to continue, “Yes, Aizawa-sensei?”

“Erasure is listed as ‘Emitter’ in the quirk database. This means I share a category with quirks which are fundamentally different, such as Hellflame,” he speaks with a calm, assertive cadence that holds the kids' attention. His gaze sweeps across the class and they squirm. “Tell me, what would you categorise my quirk as to draw that distinction?”

The long silence is contemplative rather than daunting. Higuchi fakes a cough. He lifts his fist, fingers unfurling as his wrist then falls limp, feigning indifference. It was made no secret that he admired Eraserhead, given their shared ocular abilities. Allure was a powerful quirk. Persuaded with a single glance, inhibited only by the specialised lenses in his glasses.

Thus you recognise the attitude change for what it is—a preemptive measure in the case that he slips in front of the man he admires. “Higuchi,” you warmly addressed. Aizawa centres his attention on the boy. “Do you have a suggestion for Aizawa-sensei?”

“Y—yeah,” he says. “I thought we could add something like ‘Condition’ to the list…?”

“Can you elaborate on that?” you try to encourage. Aizawa’s posture shifts, his interest piqued.

“I was just thinking, Erasure doesn’t fit any of the shi—stuff we thought up,” Higuchi continues, his fingers knotted tight on the desk, knuckles white. “Condition would cover people whose quirks enforce a condition on others. Like an infatuation quirk or—or my own quirk”.

Everybody is seemingly waiting with bated breath. You glance back at Aizawa, now carefully regarding Higuchi. You know that look. “Not bad, kid,” he nods, quietly pleased. Higuchi grins.

Smiling, you move to add ‘Condition’ to the list.

You’re on edge after the bell rings. Aizawa’s presence brushes you like a breath of balmy air, biding his time while you send off your class, grunting in response to those who bow in his direction. When you finally turn his half lidded gaze is mellowed.

“So,” you begin clumsily. “Is there any particular reason why you interrupted my lesson?”

Aizawa hums. A sound so deep, so supple you want to lean into it. “I have a favour to ask. Is the rest of your afternoon free?”

“The Eraserhead asking me a favour?” you tease, needlessly lining up your stationary before collecting your things. “I’ve got no more classes to teach, if that’s what you mean. Why?”

“All Might can’t assist supervising heroics training this afternoon,” he mutters, examining your display boards with absentminded curiosity.

“You need to give me more than that, Aizawa”.

He exhales, mouth pressed thin, ducking into his capture weapon. You see a shift in expression, the skin of his cheeks drawing up to crinkle around his eyes. The petulance brings a smirk to your lips. Aizawa had been mildly avoidant and emotionally reserved from the moment you met him, but for someone so motivated by logic he seemed to expect you to read his mind lately.

“Two people are required to oversee the class”

“And you want that second person to be me?”

“If you’re going to be difficult I can ask Thirteen,” he replies dryly. The tip of his tongue wets his bottom lip, tempting your gaze. You feel yourself consciously resisting.

The empty threat hangs lightly in the room. Your smirk gentles into a smile. He tracks your movement, standing aside while you tuck in the desk chair. “No, no. I’ll come,” you demurred. “I want to help. Let’s go”.

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: — Message:

Hisorrywoulditbepossibletogetanextensiononmyessay?Myspacebarisbroken.

Shinsou Hitoshi

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From blue rafters to monochrome stone, the arched structure of Gym Gamma comes into view. Towers over you as you approach. Aizawa’s footsteps are purposeful and his legs carry him forward with a lumbering gait. You’ve changed into shoes befitting the outdoors—a pair of boots that hug your calves tight and keep your ankles warm as the afternoon wanes toward an inevitable cold evening.

“The students participating today have been previously cleared for training in a controlled environment by their psychiatrist,” Aizawa says, breathing slightly visible in the autumn chill. His hands are buried deep in his capture weapon. “First they’ll start by sparring without quirks to warm up. If I see no risk they can then move on to using quirks”.

Allowing the kids to train again had been a sensitive matter. Not a single hero student came out the war unscathed; the first years especially, given the proximity to AFO, were dealt extensive physical and psychological trauma—a handful even undergoing forced quirk awakening. Throwing them back into a battle environment, controlled or otherwise, needed to be handled with care.

Aizawa did just that, and to your knowledge he always had. He exercised caution with his students. Even if it came across as harsh. Even if the chances of danger were nil. He was staunchly protective of his brood. You understood that to be the reason why their parents trusted him to lead them forward—

And you hoped it meant he would be open to your advice throughout the training.

Your head bobs, nodding in acknowledgment. “During the latter half of the session, if I see signs of a student in distress—?”

“Inform me,” he cuts in firmly. A flash of crimson pools into his irises, gone between blinks, and you’re left to wonder if it was just a trick of the light. “I’ll erase their quirks and stop the spar before it escalates”.

You ponder that as Aizawa shields his eyes and scans the beyond when a chorus of voices reaches your ears. An amalgamation of 2A and 2B are waiting by the gym doors, with the few that recognise you excitedly waving their arms and calling your name.

“Understood,” a small smile pulls at your lips. You wave toward the group, donned in their UA tracksuits. “You’re the boss”.

Iida graciously bids you both welcome, his hand chopping through the air as he speaks over the others and attempts to assuage them. Questions of All Might’s whereabouts are few and far, instead entirely focused on your unexpected presence—all the more surprising that Midoriya visibly brightens, unaffected by his mentor’s absence.

You allow Aizawa to take the wheel while he makes introductions, rocking idly on your feet, nodding along when prompted. “I’m sure some of you are well acquainted, whether it be through individual quirk consultations or taking quirk science as your chosen elective…”

Yaoyorozu is poised beside a fellow student, Jirou, arms crossed over her midriff. Fingers wiggle by the crook of her elbow in another subtle wave, smile gracing her lips. Bakugo catches the movement and his eyes flicker in your direction. He acknowledges you with a short nod.

“Today is not about analysing the progression of your quirks. We will be observing how you apply them,” he continues. There’s a fleeting emphasis to his voice. It carries an underlying warning, the same way a parent might quietly reprimand a child. The class visibly stands straighter and Midoriya raises his hand.

Aizawa exhales, a fond sort of exasperation shining through, “…Midoriya”.

“Will we receive individual feedback?” Midoriya eagerly questioned. “And can we get Sensei’s opinion on our own ideas? Because—!”

“Kid,” Aizawa drawls. Colour paints Midoriya’s face pink but he seems bashful rather than ashamed. “Once we move onto sparring with quirks, yes, you will be notified of anything we deem significant. After class”.

Bakugo, Monoma, Shinsou, Tetsutetsu and Midoriya appear particularly motivated by this. You clear your throat, gaze sliding to Aizawa as you add, “And anyone seeking my opinion or reassurance is free to email me. We can set up a meeting. That’s what I’m here for, after all”.

The hour wore on. Aizawa was happy to watch in comfortable silence, offering up any thoughts and observations as they passed. There’s a clear sense of pride about him. A softness. Comfortable showing it now he’s a distance from the prying eyes of his students.

Hand-to-hand warm ups progress to quirk use. Some have formed small battle royale type groups while the others chose to pair up. You scan the gym with a keen eye. The quick streak of Midoriya’s red sneakers as his left foot pivots on the mats catches your attention. His opponent, Todoroki, falls into a balanced stance.

You watch their fight unfold. The intensity swells. Dread prickles down your spine. “Aizawa…” you cautioned.

Green lightning pulses. One For All activates. A metallic taste sticks to the roof of your mouth. Midoriya’s body twists, and with it his right foot swings up in a singular, upward path. It cleaves through the air, a slice more than it is a swing, and the force lands squarely on the side of Todoroki’s skull—or it would have, if he hadn’t blocked it with his arm, encased in ice.

There’s a split second in which everything stops. An immense, charged force bore down on your lungs. Your vision blurred. As quick as it came the lightning died out and a deluge of shattered ice fell to the ground.

“Ouch,” Todoroki says, cradling his wrist. You think that probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

Aizawa sprinted across the room without ceremony, his hair hung high in suspension and ready to step in. Todoroki interjects first. Presumably to defend his friend and assure them both that he’s fine. While Aizawa scans his forearm for any sign of major injury you watch Midoriya return to himself. Colour drains from his face. Chest heaving. There’s a violent tremor in his legs. Between rapid blinks you hear the crack in his mumbled apologies.

Aizawa settles a gentle hand on his shoulder. The rest of the students return to their matches, save for a select few who spare Midoriya a concerned glance—nevertheless, nobody is truly surprised. You can only wonder how often this happens.

Midoriya broke himself for the sake of others more times than you could stomach, and you’ve been witness to how uniquely adept he is at hiding those splintered parts first hand. With the wound still so fresh, people needed the courageous, forthright, spirited version of him, the one with the beaming smile and the promise of safety. At only sixteen years old that is already his delegated role in life.

There are not enough words to depict just how catastrophic the war had been. You suffered heart-wounds of your own but in facing the sacrifice these children gave you felt a contrite, shameful hole in your consciousness. This is victory; the only one on the table, and it is painful.

While Aizawa calms Midoriya, your focus returns to the rest of the class. Tetsutetsu is holding his own against Iida. Kuroiro is half steeped in shadow, reflexively sinking into his quirk as he wards off Bakugo’s punches. You note that Kaminari is unsteady on his feet, having already discharged too much electricity.

Something about Monoma’s hesitance also holds your attention. Of the abilities he’s used there has only been four. Odd, given his ability to hold five at a time, and the plethora of quirks surrounding him.

You chew your lip and it occurs to you that he must be keeping one on reserve from prior to the lesson. The next thought comes unbidden, inhaling sharply as a sudden, cold sort of clarity slides through you.

The only quirk you imagine Monoma could still be intentionally holding onto is the one he took during the fight against AFO. Erasure.

“What’re you thinking?”

You shake out of your stupor and find Aizawa closer than expected. Somewhere in between he had tied his hair up. He tucks a wayward strand behind his ear, eyes squinted and wrinkling the scar tissue high on his cheek. “What?” you ask dumbly.

“You went somewhere,” he clarifies. You feel his knuckles lightly knock your temple. “What are you thinking about?”

“Ah,” you smile, abashed, and rub the spot of skin he touched. “Just making mental notes. I wish I had brought something to write with”.

“Well?” Aizawa says, as though his silence was enough of an invitation. “Tell me about them”.

“It’s obvious the student’s have made incredible progress when compared to their first year quirk assessments. But there are some minor adjustments that I think will help considerably…”

You go on to list ideas for development and support tech. Things like regularly involving parkour into all their training routines. Or having Iida request smaller engines along the front legs of his costume for faster braking, or sharper turns. Or experimenting with Mina’s quirk, testing how precise her control is over her acid’s viscosity and if she could potentially create gaseous forms.

Your awareness wanes periodically, pausing open mouthed to discern the skill of each group, weighing your thoughts. To his credit Aizawa does listen to you ramble, mellowing the longer you speak. Tension seeps from his shoulders as though pulled down by gravity and that look of contentment returns.

“In terms of wielding their quirk the one I’m most concerned about is probably Kaminari,” you hesitate, chewing your lip as your voice lowers. “I believe he still views his quirk as a final move”.

Aizawa leans forward, attentive to your opinion, and hums. The dulcet melody is warm by your ear—

You become conscious of his proximity. The air retains his heat, the indistinct woodsy notes that always clung to his clothes.

—and your throat constricts as you swallow.

“Because of that he immediately jumps from zero to one hundred. I’ve seen his files. It results in mild cranial nerve lesions which then induces temporary impairment mid battle,” you continue soberly, staring ahead with lips stretched into strained assurance as some of the students begin to notice your proximity.

Monoma strikes the back of Tetsutetsu’s leg as he makes a suggestive gesture, making him collapse on one knee. You close your eyes as embarrassment floods your body, “I have to wonder if he ever worked with a quirk counsellor in the first place”.

Aizawa signals his agreement and moves back a fraction. His expression remained unchanged. He is by no means an unfeeling man, but you can’t help being jealous about how unshaken he is. All the while you probably look like a spring bouquet.

“So, how do you suggest we help him?”

His genuine countenance tempered your short lived frustration, and the word ‘we’ echoed in your mind. You knew what he meant, but it still brought a pleasant flutter to your chest. “I think we should start by having support give him a multimeter,” you reply. “Atleast that way we can discern the point that he begins to lose cognition and work upwards from there”.

“Alright. I’ll ask Maijima-san once we’re done here,” he nods. There is a tentative pause. “Anything else you think needs to be addressed?”

“There is…Monoma,” you add. His head turns in your peripheral vision, visibly taken aback.

“Monoma?” he repeated.

“This is just speculation on my part,” you grimace, sparing a glance toward the students. As the session winds down they’ve gathered in the centre of the mats, talking to one another. “But I have a hunch that he might still be holding onto your quirk”.

Aizawa’s face becomes pinched. The apparent frustration grows as his expression shifts. Mouth twisting, jaw moving with gritted teeth. “I should’ve noticed,” he mutters.

“Monoma is primarily in Kan-san’s care, not yours. If anything he should be the one to notice,” you say, subtly detailing his side profile as he continues to observe his class. “Between the media circus, your physiotherapy, teaching and being a father—you can hardly blame yourself”.

The bridge of his nose wrinkles at that. “Shit, sorry. Did I overstep?” you fret.

Aizawa’s expression smooths out, reluctantly. He exhales. “No. I’m just not used to the idea of being a parent, I suppose”.

“Guardian, then,” you amended with a flippant wave, hoping to lighten the sullen atmosphere. “Though I guess teaching is like a sub-branch of parenting in itself”.

“How so?”

“Good or bad, a teacher plays a big part in shaping a child, right?” For a strange, short moment, you’re hyper aware of how closely he watches you as you speak, and you deal with it by finding great interest in the gym floor. “Y’know. Their self confidence, beliefs and ambitions… didn’t you have anyone like that?”

That gives him pause, and while he thinks you drink in the line of his jaw, angular and shadowed by stubble, the wispy strands framing his face as his haphazard ponytail slowly loosens, and the faint crease formed across the bridge of his nose after grimacing so frequently.

Aizawa’s brow arches. Caught, you quickly cast your gaze to the gym floor. “Well. There is the man that made me realise I wanted to go underground,” he says, graciously ignoring your ogling. “His purple highness”.

“His purple highness?!” you echo, voice clamouring through the now quieted din, diverting the students attention from their post training stretches. “Fuck, sorry. Of all the heroes I wasn’t expecting you to say him”.

Nakaoji Tenma, now retired hero ‘His purple highness’, was the polar opposite of Aizawa. Widely renowned for flamboyance and theatrics, his notorious vibrant two piece suit and frilly open chested jacket sporting vibrant epaulettes on each shoulder was particularly unforgettable.

“You wouldn’t be the first. I thought Nemuri was absurd for recommending Oboro and I during her work study,” he reminisced.

“Surely it wasn’t that bad”.

Aizawa cracks a rueful grin. “His highness quickly recognised that I would have poor media presence and tried to teach me ‘how to smile’ properly. As you can see, it didn’t work out”.

You weren’t so sure. Aizawa’s amusement always started behind his eyes, a mirth that flashed across a grey midwinter and trickled into his chest to create a brief, reserved huff of laughter; though you sense underlying melancholy as he recounts his internship and lost loved ones, his smile still curled sincerely at the edges.

“I don’t know. I like your smile. Even if it can be a little…”

“Disturbing?”

“Disarming,” you return, nudging his side. Without intention your fingers brushed against the rough skin of his knuckles, fine hairs prickling—and then a sudden, shrill whistle cuts suggestively through the mood, shattering it.

Kaminari stands proud a few feet ahead of his snickering classmates, lips closed around his middle fingers. Aizawa rolls his neck with an indignant sigh. The joint clicks. He raises his voice and impassively announces, “For that you can all do ten laps”.

A chorus of objections fills the gym. One by one, the students drag their feet toward the outer edge and break into a jog. You bite back a smile, “You’re awful”.

“Never claimed not to be,” he tells you. “All Might has another hospital appointment at the end of next week, if you want to join us again”.

A nascent fondness unfurls in your chest. “Sure,” you murmur. “I’d like that”.

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Cc: [email protected] Subject: Request [High importance] Message:

Our resident quirk scientist has advised us to provide Kaminari Denki [ID: 16XXXX] with a multimeter to assist in his training. Do we have one on campus or am I going to have to do more paperwork?

Aizawa Shouta 2A Homeroom Teacher, UA High School Private number: +81 (03) 1234-5678 Do not call unless you are dying.

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: An email is here! Message:

My friend,

Young Midoriya informed me that you took my place alongside Eraserhead in training this afternoon. He found your input very impressive, and even expressed the desire to have you look over his notebooks. That is quite the privilege! Ah, but please don’t tell him I told you that…!!!

Thank you for your hard work today. I will see you at dinner.

Yagi Toshinori Heroics Department, UA High School └（★ｏ★）┐ 𝓹𝐥𝔲ｓ Ǘ𝐋ⓣ𝔯𝓐 ┌（★ｏ★）┘

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Something indiscernible has since shifted.

The work week is long, and when you crawl your way out of the mire of trepidation that decidedly hung over you, the source becomes clearer.

The kids are being weird.

Heroes in training, absolutely, but masters in subtlety they are not. Less than innocent, mischievous whispers would reach your ears, and silhouettes duck behind the nearest corner whenever you look back. Above all else they’ve taken to closely observing your interactions with Aizawa—sometimes going as far as forcing them. Kaminari even deems it appropriate to be nosey about your love life—or rather, your lack thereof—during your supplementary one-to-one.

“That is not your business nor is it relevant to your essay,” you told him, tapping the end of your marker against the desk. The gentle reprimand did nothing to placate him. Scratching his cheek, Kaminari simply laughed and returned to reading the annotations you’d left on his work.

Aizawa doesn’t bat an eye to any of it. While he presented himself as an extremely private man with clear boundaries drawn between home and work, it was obvious to you that that line had been trampled. He was accustomed to their harmless meddling.

“Believe me. It’s worse if you tell them to stop,” he said, as if they were toddlers and would eventually tire themselves out.

You have the pleasure of teaching their final class that Friday. If you’re lucky, come Monday they’ll have forgotten whatever it is they’re hatching.

Their focus wanes with the hour, your lesson structure a little looser to lead them into the weekend. Eri had joined unexpectedly, hidden behind Midoriya’s legs and teetering on her tiptoes to peek around the room. Kouda let’s Yuwai-chan rest in her arms as she sits on her very own chair beside Shinsou, mumbling small delights.

“Focus, guys. We all have something called a Plus Alpha Mechanism in our DNA…”

Your pen glides along the board. The quiet repetitive sound of Bakugo’s tangle fidget matches your meridian rhythm, and you could almost forget the nonsense that has shadowed you since the training session.

“…Here. The simplest way to think of it is like this,” following along with a finger, you read the written equation. “For example, if somebody has a tail—”

“Like Ojiro-kun!” Midoriya chirps. Bakugo gives him a sidelong glare, and his cheeks fill with air.

“Correct, Midoriya,” you smile at his sheepishness. Your finger moves along to the latter half of the equation, “But the mechanism to move and wield his tail comes from the Plus Alpha. Added together, this forms the Quirk Factor”.

“Sensei, is it then possible that quirklessness can occur when the Plus Alpha gene expression is not activated?” Iida inquires. Midoriya’s pencil stutters.

“That’s right,” you flash him an encouraging smile, wider as he preens. Bakugo’s hands, too, have notably faltered, the tangle fidget balled up into a knot. “It’s a popular explanation amongst fourth gen members of the medical community. Older generations tend to prefer the whole archaic toe joint theory—but I don’t have time to cover that today”.

Midoriya and Bakugo exhale in tandem. Monoma observes their behaviour closely, chin cupped in his palm. He seems well rested which alleviates the heaviness in your chest a fraction. You hope Aizawa has had the chance to speak with him.

“Any other questions before I start to wrap up?”

Shinsou goes to raise his hand, stopping midway. Your brow arches and he indicates to wait. You watch on as he leans down to whisper something to Eri. Her doe-eyed gaze snaps from Yuwai-chan to his face, meeting an expression apologetically soft. And whatever it is he says, she pats his cheek in response.

Sufficiently reassured, Shinsou once again raises his hand above his head. And as he relays his question a sober atmosphere befalls the class.

In a roundabout manner—and refusing to name him—Shinsou asks about the Quirk erasing bullets used in the Shie Hassaikai case. You, like him, immediately seek Eri’s permission to speak on it. She gathers Yuwai-chan closer and nods.

“Despite the name, the quirk erasing bullets did not technically erase any individuals quirk genes. They were engineered to directly attack the Plus Alpha,” the tip of your pen squeaks as you write out the words below the previous equation, underlining them twice. “Therefore the quirk could no longer be activated, making them functionally quirkless”.

Shinsou accepts this, cheek sunken where he chews the flesh. Between blinks the pensive downturn to his mouth begins to curl into a faint smirk. “What about Aizawa-sensei’s quirk?” he asks, feigning innocence.

Your benevolence tapers as the class titters. Eri giggles, muffled by Yuwai-chan’s fur, and her shoulders hunch to hide in the little neck she has.

“While I understand why you might conflate the two, Aizawa-sensei’s ocular quirk, Erasure, deactivates the Plus Alpha temporarily,” you answer at the end of a short sigh, taking a step back to lean against the wall. You skim the room with a pointed look, “As I’m sure you have all experienced first hand”.

A few shudder at that. The whiplash of having the connection to your quirk severed must be alarming. You imagine it’s not something one can ever get used to.

“Oc-u-lar?” Eri repeats. You feel your expression gentle as you meet her curious gaze.

“Ocular means it’s connected to his eyes,” you explain simply, pointing to your own. “That is why his left eye glows red when he uses his quirk. Cool, right?”

Accepting this, Eri’s cheeks swell with her smile and she chirps in agreement, “I like his eyes. They’re pretty”.

“She likes his eyes,” Kaminari repeats with a faux-solemn nod. “Do you think so too, Sensei?”

Iida sits ramrod straight in his seat. The abrupt jolt knocks his glasses halfway down his nose, “That is hardly appropriate for the classroom!”

The electric blonde waves in surrender, “It’s just an innocent question, Prez! Not like I asked if he was United States of sma—”

“Kaminari-kun!”

Something snaps. Yuwai-chan yips. A litany of orange curved pieces spray across the table. Bakugo slumps, wearing a scowl dark enough to silence the chaos, debris from the broken fidget between his fingers. “Who gives a fu—” he spares Eri a quick glance and releases a long, deliberate exhale. “Who cares. Bunch’a nosey losers”

Worry paints Momo’s features. Somewhat uncharacteristic of her, she readily rolls up her sleeve to offer the creation of another tangle. “Bakugo-kun, do you need me to…?”

“Don’t worry, Yaoyorozu-san!” Midoriya interrupts with a sunny complexion. He lumbers his backpack into his lap, zips it open and pulls out an identical fidget. “Kacchan breaks them a lot”.

You stifle the urge to groan into your hands, or gather them all into an uncomfortably strong hug, or both. For as much as you could tease Aizawa for allowing the students to bulldoze through his work-life boundaries it is becoming clear you're just as guilty.

Bakugo lingers after the bell rings. The others file out, some with apologetic smiles, and neither of you speak until the classroom is empty. “Is everything okay, Bakugo?” you ask lightly.

He itches his neck. Shoulder jerking as he shrugs, giving a stiff nod. Looking a little frayed around the edges, Bakugo mutters, “Sorry about the mess. M’staying to pick it up”.

“That’s not necessary,” you objected. A slight pout works its way onto his lips. You know well enough that for all his posturing, Bakugo respects the word of his teachers. “I assure you it’s fine, Bakugo. But I really appreciate the sentiment”.

“Whatever,” he says, barely above a mumble. He shoves his hands into his pants pockets and motions to leave. “See ya Monday, Sensei”.

“Take care, Bakugo,” you call after him. Your ears latch onto the leaden echoing of footsteps until they disappear down the hallway. Silence creeps in while you pick up the small curved pieces. The little moment of peace you had sought all week does not arrive. There are still emails to attend to, assignments to mark and future lessons to structure—

Your stomach rumbles and interrupts that thought. Again, evermore persistent while you attempt to ignore it. Eventually you dump the collected orange pieces into your desk drawer and make for the staff lounge, switching off the lights as you go.

All Might and Present Mic are the only two in the room. Yamada spots you first. He’s yet to remove his costume, and the leather sleeves creak as he lifts his arms, waving loosely. Yagi spins on his axis for the source of the fuss. There’s a spoon in his mouth, and his lips stretch into a smile around it.

A smile that dims as soon as you land in your chair with a heavy sigh. “I feel that,” Yamada says. His comically tall hair reaches high above your computer monitor, face peering over the frame. “Kiddos run you ragged today?”

“I don’t know how they do it. It’s not like we’re sparring,” you snort lightly and rest your chin against your hand. The muted scent of Yagi’s greek yoghurt lingers in the air. You wrinkle your nose, “Have either of you noticed them behaving…oddly? I feel like they’ve been scheming”.

Yagi pauses mid scoop, bewildered. He looks from you to Yamada, who appears infuriatingly in the know. “Odd?” he asks. The shadows around his eyes darken in concern. “Is there anything we should be looking out for?”

“I wonder,” Yamada titters, tapping a finger against his nose. Green eyes smile at you over the top of his tinted lenses. “Could it have anything to do with Mina asking me about your blood type?”

“Blood type? Whatever for?”

Covering his mouth, Yamada bends and covers his mouth, amplifying his cryptic whisper, “Romantic compatibility”.

Chewing your inner cheek, you shake your head and insist, “It’s just a popular theory about personality types from the pre quirk era”. Yagi’s expression clears. He accepts the explanation easily. You wished it were that simple. “I’m sure it’s nothing…” your attention wavers as you notice movement out the window.

A distant black figure grows larger the closer it gets. Eraserhead is coming back from his afternoon patrol. He sweeps up onto the roof of a nearby building and dashes along the eaves before leaping off again. His capture weapon lassos the adjacent dormitory building and he swings in a perfect arc that vaults him upwards. The movements flow into one another naturally, without thought, nimble as he twists through the air. You can’t take your eyes off him.

“No, you’re right. It’s definitely nothing,” Yamada quips lightly, his voice drawing you to the present. The implication behind his tone rings loud and clear and it shakes you from your reverie.

Embarrassment sours your expression; it feels like you’ve swallowed the sun. “It’s not like that,” you insist, laughing nervously. Your gaze settles on a heart sticker Eri pasted on the desk. An old coffee stain has blurred the colour, cheap ink smeared into the wood. Your fingers come away stained pink.

“Young love is exciting! There’s no shame in it. You can be honest with us. With me,” Yagi’s large hand comes down on your shoulder to give a reassuring pat. “I may be old but I’m not that dense. I think”.

“You’re hardly old, Yagi-san. You’re only fifty”.

Yagi chuckles in that signature All Might fashion, a blush glowing bright on his cheekbones. “Thank you. But that is beside the point,” he says. The laughter mellows into a contemplative hum and you fidget while he watches you closely, warmly, “…It’s just, Aizawa seems a bit more alive when you’re around”.

Yamada leans forward to rest his chin in his palms, held open like a flower in bloom, and murmurs his agreement.

“What…do you mean exactly?” you ask.

Yagi exhales, wringing battle worn hands in his lap. “He has been through a lot,” he begins. “Of course we all have but as I’m sure young Yamada here can attest, Aizawa shoulders more responsibility than he needs to”.

“Lotta unnecessary blame, too,” Yamada nods. A bittersweet tone pervades the air. “Always has, ever since we were kids. Reckon that’s why he doesn’t sleep”.

“See, there’s the kind of exhaustion that usually just requires a good night’s sleep,” Yagi’s face is sallow, and his gaze flickers to Aizawa’s empty desk. “But there is also another kind that asks much more—and I see that in Aizawa. Like he’s wearing a heavy coat that became heavy bones”.

Despite the clumsy metaphor you feel his words weighing on your heart, notably shared in a way that makes you think that he, too, wore a similar heavy coat of blame. And you thought: such is grief.

“But!” Yagi suddenly blurts, restoring his former enthusiasm. “Since you started here it’s like…” he gesticulates with his hands then, searching for the right thing to say, stalling as seemingly he does not find it. “All that is to say Aizawa has a fondness for you and I think you should go for it!”

Self conscious, you pick at the skin around your thumb. Yagi’s encouragement was appreciated. With the quintessential All Might optimism unintentionally bleeding through it almost felt like you could do anything. But your head shakes and you laugh breathlessly at the thought, “You’re actually quite a gossip, aren’t you, Yagi-san?”

Yamada’s cackle reverberates around the lounge as Yagi splutters his shock into a tissue. You pat his shoulder. Pressing your lips thin you try not to smirk.

“What are you doing?”

Simultaneously, the three of you freeze, voices converging the instant you three blurt, “Nothing!”

Aizawa frowns, displeasure framed by windswept hair tousled in all directions. He loiters in the open doorway a moment longer and his scrutiny pervades the air. You tightly cross your ankles under the legs of your chair and maintain an innocent look.

Feigning obliviousness Yagi attempts to redirect the subject, “Did anything interesting happen on patrol, Aizawa-kun?”

Ultimately, Aizawa let it go. He shut the door behind him and the tension slipped from his shoulders as he shrugged and accepted the deflection. “Nothing significant. A bit busier than usual,” he replies. “Seems like the commercial district has finished being rebuilt”.

Your heart beats and blood rushes to the tips of your fingers—dark eyes do not leave you as Aizawa slinks past to the kitchenette, taking with him a brush of cool fresh air. Yamada ducks between the computer monitors. Mouth puckered, he begins making an exaggerated kissing face at you. Oscillating between flustered and irritated, you reach for the nearest thing and throw it. A pencil bounces off his forehead, clattering to the floor, and he yelps.

Aizawa returns holding two nutritional jelly pouches. “I don’t doubt you deserved that,” he comments, blasé as he passes you one of the colourful packets unprompted. It takes great effort not to gawk at his fingerless gloves, the once buttery leather now weathered.

“Wow. Where’d my best friend go?” Yamada laments. He makes a dramatic show of the betrayal, long limbs sagging across his desk. “And no jelly for me, either. For shame! What happened to brothers before lovers?”

Twisting off the cap to the pouch with his teeth, Aizawa sucks out the gelatinous innards until the plastic flattens. A smile plays on his lips as you stifle your amusement. “Hizashi, you know I flunked English,” he deadpans.

The voice hero deflates. He turns to wave the previously thrown pencil at you, “Here. You left this knife in my back”.

“You’re ridiculous”.

“Et tu, Brute?”

The interaction does nothing to ruffle Aizawa. Like water to a duck's back. He merely saunters over to his desk, discards the empty pouch in the small bin beside his chair, and scoops up a thick binder of papers.

“And now he flees,” Yamada pouts, holding the pencil between his top lip and his nose.

“No, I need to wash up,” he dismisses Yamada and indicates toward his prosthesis, then dryly adding, “And I’m not sticking around to listen to you recite Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar simply because I didn’t bring you a jelly pouch”.

“Aw. That’s cold, Sho”.

You bask in their back and forth. A friendship built on open hearts and feet that bleed. They share jabs, opinions and hardships without worry because there’s unequivocal trust there. Watching them together unearths a fraction of envy; stuck between wanting someone like that at your side, to wanting it to be him.

Aizawa leaves not long after. He casts you a sidelong glance that you can’t read. One job to another, the work is patently endless, though you can’t help but to notice that it is self imposed—being stagnant is never in the cards.

You exhale a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Yagi clears his throat in the prolonged pause. “So. What is your blood type?” he asks with little tact, avoiding your look of betrayal. “If I had to guess, Aizawa-kun must be type B. He is quite honest and unconventional…”

Yamada cackles again.

You put your head in your hands. This is hell. And it is largely populated by the UA heroics department.

The three day weekend couldn't come any quicker.

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From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: Check this out! Message:

HEEEEEY 😎

[HYPERLINK: myquirkyintrovert.jp//11-introvert-friendly-activities-perfect-for-a-first-date/] Figured you might need this. ROTFL !

(Rooting for you)

Yamada Hizashi English Department, UA High School Put Your Hands Up Radio 81.3FM QOTD: If music be the food of love, play on 🎵

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The morning spills over your senses like a heady fog. It obscures your vision, sleep-sand still tucked into the corners of your eyes. Dust fairies dance in the spotlight cast through the room and you turn into your pillow, away from the performance.

You’re caught in a web—linens tangled around your ankles, anchored to the bed, suffering through cottonmouth and haze. According to the time you slept plenty. According to your body, however.

The floor is cold against your feet. You yawn, joints clicking as your limbs stretch. Meander through the typical morning routine without a second thought, or a third. Only when your face is washed and you’re significantly more awake do you wander out of your apartment.

Cushioned by a set of fluffy, foam soled slippers, you stumble into the common area, welcomed to a languid, warm atmosphere. Surprisingly, a few people are already there. Yamada is dressed in his civilian clothing, waist length hair braided back into a ponytail that mimics a mohawk. Eri is seated on one of the kitchen stools, squirming as his fingers work through her hair in gentle twists, styling it to match his own.

She’s wearing a denim overall dress dotted with embroidered cats over a long sleeved shirt, matching the subtle pattern on her white tights. Her legs kick happily under the island. A smile pulled at your mouth as you watched the homely scene.

A familiar sleep-worn voice murmurs your name and you try to look more alert than you feel.

The smell of percolating coffee reaches your senses. You retreat from the stinging heat that brushes your knuckles as Aizawa nudges a freshly poured mug toward you. “Oh, shit. Thanks,” you mumble. The surroundings are still gossamer soft and blurred at the edges; you’re impassive when your fingers slip through the curved handle and overlap his.

Faint, coarse hair on his knuckles. Dull nails. Rough skin. You take the mug and bring it to your face. Steam kisses each cheek, billowing as you blow across the tawny surface. Aizawa’s throat bobs. Your stare lingers over the rim longer than appropriate, dragging down his body to take in the rare casual appearance.

“You look nice”.

His jaw ticks, eyes fixed on the button of his loose knit cardigan as he rolls it between his thumb and finger. Black, like most of the articles in his wardrobe, but stylish. The hem falls below the hip, hung over a pair of dark slacks. It’s flattering on his frame despite being oversized.

“Contrary to popular belief I can actually dress myself,” he says.

“Colour me surprised,” you sip the hot coffee in a poor effort to conceal your grin. Even as the remaining dregs of sleep subside you can’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed. “Are you guys going somewhere?”

Before he can respond Eri is bounding over. She crashes into your legs, chin above your knees as she looks up and chimes, “Good morning!”

“Good morning sweetheart,” you say, holding your hot coffee out to the side. Eri’s eyes squint with the force of her smile and sunlight pools through tall standing windows, highlighting the glittery clips in her faux mohawk braid. “Your hair looks beautiful”.

“Thank you,” she delicately pats the top of her head. “I wanted it to look pretty today. We’re going to the com-mer-cial dis…”

“District?”

“District,” she nods excitedly. “Have you ever been to a district? Deku said there are lots of fun things for us to do. Will you come with us?” Then looking to her father for permission, she clutches her dress and asks, “Please?”

You blink. The coffee mug begins to sting the skin of your palms. “We can always use an extra chaperone,” Aizawa offers slowly, eyes sliding over you from head to toe, making you all too aware of the ratty old pyjamas you’re still wearing. “You can accompany us if you want to”.

The next words leave you in an instant. “Do you want me to?” you asked. They’re clumsy and your voice fractures, bringing with it a flood of warm embarrassment. “Sorry. I think—I’m still half asleep”.

Shouta suddenly appears to have swallowed a lemon.

“Of course he wants you to,” Yamada strides over. The absentminded tapping of his phone’s keyboard echoes amidst the awkwardness. A smarmy grin plays on his lips and he tucks his chin to peer at Eri over the rim of his yellow tinted glasses, “Ain’t that right, Eri-chan?”

Eri nods insistently. Aizawa settles his hand atop her crown, careful not to disturb the braid, and stops the bobble head movement. “I don’t need you to speak for me,” he sighs, and the sound is fond more than anything else. “We’re meeting the students by the bus in thirty minutes,” He meets your gaze. A red-gold hue catches the light against the dark limbal ring around his iris. “You should come”.

Your chest flutters and you put his tone down to imagination. “I’d love to,” you reply, patting down your pyjama shirt. “Let me just get ready”.

Quiet bickering follows you upstairs. You rummage through your wardrobe at a frenetic pace. There’s really no time to spare to worry about what you should wear. Once dressed you cram a water bottle, a lightweight fleece, sun protection, recovery gummies—

You pause, eyeing the unnecessary bulk in your rucksack. No doubt the kids were old enough to bring their own bags. Your tongue smooths over the teeth marks inside your cheek and you set the thought aside. No harm in being prepared.

The clock on your phone screen blinks. Five minutes to go. You slip it into your pocket and hurry out the door, bag strap drawn over your shoulder. Kurose looks up from the couch as you stumble through the common area, navy hair flattened to one side, a few stray golden strands upright and reminding you of an antenna.

“Hi Kurose-san,” you huff, jogging past and giving a quick wave. “Bye Kurose-san”.

“Have fun out there,” they cheered. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

“That really doesn’t narrow it down by much,” you call back from the genkan, slipping into your shoes. Laughter bleeds through at the faux wounded look Kurose sends your way before you leave.

The crisp morning air bloats your lungs on a deep inhale. Not a cloud to be seen, the sky a pleasant blue canvas. You descend the steps and follow the path toward the staff car park. Ushered into a single file line, a modest flock of hero students wait beside the minibus. You can’t help noticing how much younger they seem without their uniforms.

Eri locks onto you instantaneously. Her lips move, and you think she must’ve called for you, but her voice was too small. Still it beckons the attention of the teenagers around her. One by one they shout your name, their clamouring coming together in an ill practised chorus.

Yamada ducks out from the minibus. “Yeaaah!” he beams, leaning against the folded door. “Right on time, my friend. We were just discussing the buddy system”.

That reminder elicits a quiet groan from the class. Yamada laughs good naturedly, “I know, I know. But safety comes first, kiddos. Have you picked who you’re stuck with today?”

There are various nods and shrugs. Numerous heads turn to Bakugo, including both Midoriya and Todoroki, and he appears indubitably unimpressed that he’s spoiled for choice. Yamada’s focus lands on Eri. “What about you, mini me?” he pokes at the swell of her cheek. “Gonna be my buddy today?”

Her anxious eyes flicker between you and him. You’re admittedly flattered that she’s torn. But the doubt is short lived, decided by an inconspicuous wink from Yamada. A toothy grin brightens her face. “Okay,” Eri chirps, holding out her hand for him to take.

“We get to be passenger princesses today,” the voice hero whispers excitedly. You do well to restrain the coo building in your throat as his palm dwarfs her fist and her lips form an ‘o’.

Suitably organised, the kids begin to climb onto the bus in their pairs. Iida and Todoroki sit in the spaces in front of Shinsou and Bakugo. There’s a soft pout to Midoriya’s lip but he happily joins Kouda, fingers moving in graceless strokes as they sign to one another. Yaoyorozu joins Jirou, taking the window seat. Tokoyami listens along to Kaminari’s aimless rambling while Sero, Mina and Kirishima sit behind them at the very back.

Aizawa is already aboard the bus discussing safety policy, capture weapon draped around his shoulders. He pauses conversation with the driver and smiles as Yamada ushers Eri into seats positioned at the very front. Languid, his focus slides to you, the very last to enter. Heartbeat quickening. There’s something there, you feel it existing on the fringes.

“Enough. Settle down,” he says, voice rough and commanding authority. The commotion dwindles. You nod before shuffling through the aisle to the remaining spaces. “I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that this trip is a privilege. I am trusting you to behave, follow instructions and stick together. Understood?”

“Yes, Sensei”.

“Do you all have your phone notifications on? Your monitors activated?”

Yamada throws up a peace sign and jumps in, “Yes, Sensei”.

Aizawa rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment. With the polite incline of his head to the driver the bus doors whirred on their hinges and began to shut. He tucks a curtain of hair behind his ear, adding, “Any questions before we leave?”

Shinsou clears his throat. His elbows rest on the back of Midoriya’s chair. He lazily points towards Aizawa and drawls, “Does Aizawa-sensei have a buddy?”

You immediately become conscious of a tangible weight. Their stares fall to you, his included. Dark eyes like flint to your very core. You grin and bear it—grimace through the tension and hope his sharp intellect does not extend to your thoughts.

Aizawa pressed his lips thin, “Any actual questions?”

The figures in your periphery all shake their heads, biting back amusement in the face of their teachers' chagrin. The pressure does not dissipate when Aizawa takes the spot next to you, nor when the engine sputters to life and the looming barrier bordering the school entrance lifts to allow passage.

The destination isn’t far. A fifteen minute drive at best. Still, as the journey progresses the air grows notably sombre. While much of the city has been restored, ghosts will remain. Skeletons of buildings sit on the landscape. Once a sprawling metropolis now made a uneven scar tissue terrain.

That twinge of concern has you looking over your shoulder and scanning the bus in a less than subtle way. Everyone seems fine. Kaminari waves when you catch his eye. The only student that gives you pause is Bakugo, who has taken to staring hard out the window, discomfort etched into his features.

Or perhaps it’s your overactive imagination. The frown smooths into contentment and you realise he’s sharing a split earphone jack with Shinsou—maybe it was a song he didn’t like.

You try to shake off the trepidation hanging over your mood. Aizawa notices but doesn’t pry and you find yourself grateful.

Your concerns become minor the moment the minibus pulls into the commercial district. Standing prominent against the skyline, the building is sun drenched and unsettlingly clean. Inside, light pours through the high domed ceiling and reflects on the shiny tiled floor. There are three upper levels visible on spiralled balconies, each dedicated to different departments.

Ground level is rather miscellaneous. Record stores, hobby crafts, tech booths and things of the like. Soothing music plays in the background, gentle melodic notes. Being somewhere that brought a sense of normalcy boosted the students morale. You’re warmed by contagious excitement—Aizawa too, lacking his usual force and a smile in his tone as he tells them. “Remember, you’re not to leave this building. If something happens you contact one of us”.

They split off in opposite directions with the promise to meet at the food court in two hours. Eri and Yamada linger a few minutes longer. She tugs at her fathers sleeve and when crouched to her height she plants a short kiss on his stubbled cheek.

You are then gifted a sparkly clip for keepsake, as though she were giving part of herself to take with you. “Thank you sweetheart,” touched, you attach it to your bag strap. “I’ll keep it safe”.

Satisfied, Eri thrusts her hand up for Yamada to take, and she comically leads him to march in the direction of a children’s store. The crowds are unexpectedly thin. Though you supposed a majority of the general public did not yet have the confidence nor the funds to make leisure trips to the mall. You’re only thankful they are respectfully giving your class a wide berth.

Left alone together, Aizawa puffs an indignant breath, “…I think we’ve finally been set up”.

Fondness surges deep in your chest and you bite back a grin. There’s urgency to it that you can’t satisfy. “Glad I’m not imagining things,” you wet your lips, moving to match his stride. “Does it not bother you?”

“Which part?” he asks. He’s looking anywhere but you. There’s a playful lilt in his tone that equally settles and ignites your nerves. You would search his face for answers if the lower half were not obscured by his scarf.

“The ‘clearly trying to get us to date’ part”.

“There are worse people to be lumped with”.

Aizawa’s profession rarely left time for indulgence. You’ve heard him discuss it before. He never thought it sensible to involve another person in what he had presupposed would be a tumultuous relationship. For that reason, you wonder if he has much experience in romance at all.

“Ever the charmer, Aizawa”.

“Shouta,” he says. You blink, narrowly caught in a stupor. The erasure hero sinks to burrow deeper into his capture weapon. Warmth rises to the tips of his ears in spite of his efforts. “Just call me Shouta”.

Very eloquently, your response is, “Oh”.

“Or don’t,” he grunted.

There’s a wealth of unspoken meaning behind that. A single name, a confession. Your heart feels full, stuttering in a way it hasn’t in a long while. “So. What should I tell my friends?” you pick up speed, giddiness spurring your pace and taking you a few steps ahead. “‘This is Shouta. We work together. He has twenty-something kids and our first date was spent patrolling the Musutafu mall’?”

“I have one kid—” Shouta falters, though fleeting, as if he hadn’t realised he’d begun to walk the perimeter. He arches an unimpressed brow, any scorn decidedly betrayed by the mirth in his eyes. “Did you have somewhere else in mind?”

An hour rolls into another. You meander various stores together, occasionally bumping into the students and ignoring their playful looks. He buys some things for Eri—or so he claims, now in possession of three different cat themed gel pens—and you pick out new books to keep in your classroom.

In the grand scheme of things it’s a paltry affair. You’re looking around a newly built mall with a man you’ve known for close to two months. Simple, comfortable, as most things are with Shouta; yet it feels like a path you’ve walked more times than you can count. Fastened by mattress stitch seams, shoulder to shoulder, you share conversation written in passing glances, so many possibilities etched into a handsome crooked smirk—

Suddenly, three message alerts come loud and in quick succession. That alone is enough to shatter the atmosphere. They feel frantic, and Shouta’s expression is explanation enough.

“It’s Shinsou. Something happened with Bakugo,” he mutters. In one fell swoop he is dashing ahead and you are not long behind. He turns a corner. Your kids are bunched together, seemingly bickering and distraught. Midoriya’s frantic voice can be heard above them all. Civilians have parted, tucking themselves against walls and waiting at security’s instruction. You’re comforted by the fact that they are not rushing out in droves.

Bakugo is absent. The air smells like smoke but there’s no notable damage. Shouta flashes his hero license and steps into the shoes of a guardian so naturally you wonder if he ever takes them off. The officers standing nearby offer sympathetic smiles, allowing you through, too, after seeing your UA badge.

While Shinsou is relaying what happened to Shouta you approach the others. A chill spikes the air, colder as the distance lessens, and you realise it must be Todoroki’s quirk. He’s standing at Midoriya’s side, exhaling visible breaths, laying a cold hand on his friend's neck to allay the panic.

“Hey guys,” you greet gently. “Aizawa-Sensei is just clearing things with Shinsou. Do you know what happened?”

Midoriya snaps to attention, “Sensei—Kacchan, he’s—!”

Kaminari closes in, careful as he drapes his arm across Midoriya’s back. “It’s alright, man,” he murmurs. Todoroki nods. There’s a helplessness in his expression. “Kacchan’s okay. He just needed to blow off some steam. Or smoke, I guess”.

A repetitive sound loops above your heads. You realise then that there’s a jumbo multi screen hovering in the centre of the ceiling. Clips depicting Gigatomanchia's rampage fade one into a title card, the words ‘twenty city rampage’ highlighted across a sepia backdrop. Your stomach churns at the sight, inhaling sharp between your teeth.

“It’s that new bullshit documentary,” Jirou interjects. She fiddles anxiously with the jack hung from her earlobe. “They—uh. There were pictures of…”

“I understand. Thank you, Jirou,” you say. They needn’t relive it again—but they had. They will. Bakugo had raised his head and saw his worst experiences pilfered for television.

You exhale, taking with it the abrupt anger and frustration. They’re looking to you for reassurance. “I promise we’re going to find Bakugo,” you tell them. “I’m sorry that any of you had to see those images again. As Kaminari said, I imagine he got overwhelmed and needed some space”.

Midoriya swallows thickly and he nods. The motion is unsettlingly lifeless. His blank stare passes over your shoulder, and a silhouette of bodyheat settles behind you.

“Shinsou explained everything,” Aizawa says. His presence visibly untangles the knots in their posture. “Security informed me Bakugo is still in the building. I need you all to wait here for Yamada-sensei—” he holds his hands out in a placating gesture as Todoroki begins to interrupt “—you will wait here while we look for him”.

“I’ll start heading that way,” you point where the wide walkway narrows towards the southern exit and hard turns left, not wanting to remain still for longer than necessary. Aizawa regards you with a meaningful look and nods.

You take off. The air retains a faint smokey smell. It grows thicker, more prominent as you pass the various hero merch stores, meeting the eyes of a Edgeshot cardboard cutout. Acrid nausea rises unforgiving in your stomach.

It guides you to a fire door slightly ajar. Through the door is a dreary stairwell, presumably to be used by customers on the upper floors during an emergency. Bakugo’s hunched figure can be seen through the crack. He’s sitting on one of the steps, head cradled in crossed arms.

You quickly text Shouta to let him know, and ask that he give you two a little space. You’re hardly expecting him to talk. But where Aizawa-sensei goes his ducklings will follow, and you have a feeling Bakugo is not yet in the mindset for company.

The door creaks on its hinges as you enter. “Leave me alone,” the Bakugo shaped lump growled. An emotional hurricane in the body of a boy. Your throat tightens. It threatens to drag you in. You can feel the sharp winds clipping at your resolve as you lower to sit on the step beside him and he bristles, furiously spitting, “I said fuck off!”

Someone more highly strung and disciplinarian could be tempted to jump in. A person such as yourself, lenient and with less experience, might find it easier to flee; to let the gale propograte and weaken on its own. Before being employed at UA your students had always been older, less prone to outbursts and plausibly wiser—but, you suppose, children still. You are honest enough to inwardly admit that you don’t know how to make this better. But you are determined to try.

So you see your body relax and let your voice flow out calmly, “I’m not going anywhere now that I’ve found you. Your friends are worried”.

Bakugo laughs humorlessly and snaps, “Then what, you gonna lecture me in that old man’s place?” His hands are wrung tight in his fight to still the tremors. Blood surfaces beneath the pressure and seeps into his nail beds. “Tell me some bullshit about how heroism isn’t defined by success, that media leeches are a given and things will get easier if I stick it out?”

“I didn’t come here to lecture you about anything,” you say. He eyes you with suspicion. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Now that I know, we can sit here as long as you need”.

What follows is a long, thick silence. The lives of ordinary people can be heard muffled through the stairwell. Unawares, and in a way, unintentionally mocking. Bakugo’s laboured gasps toll louder in your ears. You don’t speak. You monitor the rise and fall of his chest, gradually slowing until the defensive vitriol clears away.

“I hate losing control like—” Bakugo’s expression twisted uncomfortably then, as though the confession tasted bitter, and you patiently held your breath. "Fuck. How can I call myself a hero when…" his voice loses strength, reminiscent of an echo.

He rubs harshly at the spot where his heart rests. You take the young hero by the wrist. You envelop his split knuckles wearing a thin smile, admittedly strained, and squeeze around those shaking fingers while the moment simmers, a gentility not in the absence of violence, but despite it all.

Bakugo blinks up at you. It knocks a tear free, careening down the side of a flushed cheek. The sight lodges something in your throat, thick and hard to swallow; all the words you don’t know how to say. You would never understand what it means to reside in his body—to think of yourself as the scene of a crime.

Family members, strangers, had visited his hospital room to mournfully listen to that pulse one last time, and Bakugo told them to come by whenever as though he were a living effigy of their lost son. You saw the disconnect he felt from himself. That lifelong debate of what makes a person a person.

He’s just a kid.

“Bet you’ve heard hundreds of ‘I’m sorry’s’ at this point, huh?” you murmur. Bakugo snorts.

“Try thousands,” he rasps. Clicks his tongue to his teeth to save face. “Never know what they’re really apologising for. Rubs me the wrong way”.

And after being witness to how Bakugo’s mind works you understand what that means. Atleast, you think you might. Teenagers hold enough shame without the weight of another person's life in their arms. You only imagine he hears their regret, guilt, disappointment—hears ‘sorry it was you, kid’ and ‘sorry it wasn’t him’.

“It’s okay to be angry, you know,” you vowed solemnly. “There’s so much pressure to channel what happened to you into something positive. To make it your strength. And maybe you will, eventually. But you’re allowed to step back and say ‘I went through something scary and traumatic and that changed me forever’”.

Bakugo grunts. He scrubs under his nose with the back of his hand. “Don’t need you to tell me that,” he says, tone lighter than before. It sounds a lot like ‘thank you’.

“I’m glad,” you nudge his side and return your hands to your lap. “In that case we should talk about something else”.

“Like what?”

“Your assignment,” Bakugo snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hey. I’m serious. Most of the others have come to me with their topics but yours is still a mystery”.

“‘Cause those losers need help and I don’t,” he says. There’s no malice in it. His cadence is lighter, the burden he carries now far more loose fitting. You watch him pick at the rips in his jeans. “…Mine’s about mythological figures. Some cult wackos out there believe the old Gods had quirks. Hence the animal heads and shit”.

“That’s a brilliant choice, Bakugo,” his answer brings a sincere smile to your lips. “Gives you a lot more to explore in your discussion. I can’t wait to read it”.

The muscles in Bakugo’s face twitch. Mouth deliberately downturned. A flustered yet pleased blush paints the tips of his ears and the simple praise breathes him to life like a technicolour Oz. It eases the anxiety simmering under your skin. You prompt him to talk further, pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity extends further than Japan’s own mythology.

Eventually you need to update Shouta again. Leaving it too long would only worry him further. Bakugo’s eyes track your thumbs movement across the keyboard as you type. “Are you texting Eyebags?”

“I’m texting Aizawa-sensei,” you correct blithely as a text bubble appears on the bottom left of the screen. “I thought Shinsou was ‘Eyebags’”.

“They’re interchangeable,” he rebuts. You huff a laugh, screen going dark with a quiet click. Bakugo’s reflection looks back at you where he’s peeking over your shoulder.

“You two a thing or somethin’?” he asks, not even attempting to hide his interest.

“We aren’t ‘a thing’,” your fingers form quotation marks around the words. And it’s true. You aren’t. Yet. “I don’t know why you all came to that conclusion”.

“Probably ‘cause you look at him all googly eyed. And he always shares that shitty jelly with you. Basically his alternative to a proposal,” he smirked. Shouta is still typing—

Your phone vibrates. The message comes through.

—A thumbs up emoji.

Bakugo laughs. His eyes crinkle. A crease deepens on the bridge of his nose. The brief flash of a toothy grin. No longer a hero-too-soon on two tired feet but instead a teenage boy, poking light fun at his teacher.

“The hell. He texts like my old man”.

You hum in amusement. “Some people do better face to face,” the ‘like you’ remains unspoken. Shadows pleat across the stairwell as clouds shift, disturbing the dim stream of light. You become conscious of the hour. And it seems so does he.

“How do you feel about heading back?”

Bakugo’s stare fixed itself onto his hands. You notice the crescent shaped marks, the skin around his nails fraying, picking at his body like a seam. “I can go back,” he grunts.

“You can, but do you want to?” you ask, blindly feeling up the strap drawn over your shoulder. The small, glittery claw clip is still there. “Humour me for a sec,” you unclip it and Bakugo frowns as you proffer it to him, rolling in the centre of your palm. “Let it bite you”.

“Let it bite me?” he repeats dryly.

“Clip it around your fingers or pinch your hand with it—yeah, like that,” you grin as he blindly follows the instruction. The little claw clip bites into a swathe of the skin from the back of his hand. “Better, right?”

Lip jutted into a pout, Bakugo eyes the clip dubiously; no longer focused on the anxiety, and you take it as a big win. “I guess. Thanks Sensei,” you tense in surprise as he gets to his feet, dusting off his jeans. “I want to go back,” he says, nothing short of a demand.

There’s certainly no love lost between you and the cold step under your thighs. You stretch as you stand, shucking the backpack higher up your shoulder. “Alright. Then let’s get you back”.

Bakugo doesn’t protest when you remain at his side, keeping pace. His finger and thumb work at the clips hinge while he walks, absentmindedly opening, closing, running the teeth over his knuckles. You’re sure Eri would gladly let him keep it.

Tears are all dried up which Bakugo appears grateful for. The class doesn't immediately rush him, though you can see that they want to. Rather they wait for him to come to them, parting like arms and coaxing him into the centre.

You branch off to where Shouta is standing watch with Yamada. Eri stands behind his leg, clutching at his pant leg. Her eyes are glassy and wide as she looks up at you. “Bakugo is alright now,” you tell them. “But you know what?”

Eri instinctively pushes up onto the balls of her feet, as though climbing higher to hear a big secret. Lowered into a conspiratorial hush, you say, “I bet he would feel even better if you gave him a hug”.

Shouta’s hand crowns her head. He carefully pats the side of her braid, giving silent permission. Expression tight in a determined pinch Eri ducks between his legs and toddles toward the group.

“He really doin’ okay?” Yamada quietly asked.

You murmur an affirmative, shifting in place as you turn to watch the scene unfold. Eri pats Bakugo’s hip. He seems vaguely nervous as he rests on his haunches and allows her to tangle herself around him.

Shouta’s knuckles knock your own. His fingers twitch, unfurling as though to reach out and then thinking better of it. “Do you think I should talk to him?”

When you look at him he’s already looking right back. Eyes soft like the sun had made them warm. You mind the small gap and stretch your pinky, brushing the outer curve of his palm and retracting again. “Bakugo respects you. He feels safe with you,” you assure him. “I think it’d be good if you talked about it”.

“Maybe some extra sessions with Hound Dog, too,” Yamada adds. Your heart staggers, having near forgotten he was there. “For all of them”.

“I’ll see if he can do another class session during their independent study period,” Shouta says, attention returning to Eri’s antics—she’s now walking Bakugo over, hand in hand, subsequently bringing the other students with her.

Shouta exhales, clicking his neck. There’s a finality to it. You see the internal headcount he does in their approach, and how the preparation to jump back into action recedes at the confirmation that all his kids are present.

“We’ve got two options now,” he announces. “I’m sure none of us want to stick around longer than we need to. So either we go up to the food court and eat, or we can head back to campus”.

Mutterings break out amongst the group. Iida diligently attempts to organise a sensible vote and asks for a show of hands, but his effort is squashed the instant that Kaminari suggests WcDonalds.

Eri keeps hold of Bakugo's hand the entire way back, and insists on sitting with him. Yamada switches buddy’s without complaint, wiggling himself into the window seat beside Shinsou, happy to pull out his headphones and collect music suggestions from his beloved students.

Shouta remains at your side. You hear unfettered laughter and think you might be close to tears—the tender kind. Softly, you mumble, “I’m glad I took this job”.

He exhales slowly, and the loss of tension has him leaning into you ever so slightly. Your shoulders touch. “Me too,” he says.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Cc: [email protected]; [email protected] Subject: Incident report [High importance] Message:

Good evening,

Attached is my account of the incident that occurred at Musutafu Shopping District on Saturday, [x] September 11:34am.

Hound Dog and I have also brainstormed a few suggested classroom additions for students coping with anxiety.

Take care!

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Sleeplessness is an open invitation to overthinking.

Everyone has since retired to their apartments and it is long past the hour for Eri to be in bed. Time slips through your fingers. You count the dust bunnies behind your eyes but nothing works.

Clarity shrikes through you with small cuts. The day wears on your body like a bruise that you cannot ignore now the adrenaline has subsided. You’re processing the fleeting touches, the purposeful looks, the whiplash of panic, the heartache that comes with being helpless—

Your mind is a spinning top with no hands to stop it, not even the clocks. Though it falters at a single thought passing overhead.

There is one man you can trust to be awake at this hour.

You kick off the sheets, unsteady as you nudge each foot into the wrong slipper. The dormitory is cast in shadow. Your eyes are slow to adjust, shapes and lines sharpening around you.

Shouta is seated at the kitchen island, dark space doused in the low lighting from the stovetop hood, warm across the contours of his face. Papers are laid out before him in organised piles.

“Burning the midnight oil?”

A pen spins around his thumb. He peeks through dark hair curtaining his vision and hums. Your gait is heavy, like wading through waist high water. The quiet clink of melting ice draws your attention to his glass. “I didn’t take you for a gin and tonic kinda guy,” you murmur, leaning your elbows onto the counter. “Regular old sake, maybe”.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he takes a pointed swig of his drink. He smacks his lips. “Gin and tonic keeps me awake,” he explains dryly, nudging the glass in your direction. You fold to his soft suggestion and bring it to your nose. The smell alone is enough to make you shiver.

Shouta laughs at your grimace. At that point you sense in your gut that maybe, maybe you should have stayed in bed. You’re warm, pleasantly sleepy, and your tongue feels dangerously loose.

Seeking distraction, your gaze drops to the papers stacked before him. You set down the gin, beaded condensation wet around your fingers, and lean in for a closer look. The grade written at the top is worryingly low. “That’s… not looking so good,” you prompted.

“This is Todoroki’s,” Shouta clarifies, brow pinched. He gives an empathetic nod to your wide eyed stare. From reading their files you knew Todoroki consistently ranked top five in class A. “It’s not just him. They’re all struggling in different areas. And I was never expecting things to go back to normal but it’s…”

“You’re doing what you can,” you say.

Shouta clicks his tongue, “But is that enough?”

You cover his hand without thought, thumb outlining the rough dips and peaks of his knuckles as you insist, “Yes. I believe it’s enough”. Somewhere in the spaces between seconds Shouta overturns his wrist, and your fingers are intertwined, and you’re squeezing until your palms kiss.

You think of that heavy coat Yagi referenced. Of a man wearing his failures as self imposed repentance. “You aren’t the only one here helping them. We’re going to get them across this bridge, and then the next, and the next—” Shouta turns a cheek to hide his amusement as your rambling becomes more exaggerated.

“You’ll never be rid of them. Not even after they graduate”. You smile softly, “The kids are gonna be alright, Aizawa”.

Dark eyes smile back, “…You did good today, you know”.

Hundreds of butterflies hatch inside your stomach. “I—I did?”

He huffs at that, wetting his lips. “You’re impossible”.

Something unspoken weaves into the atmosphere—the attraction between you becomes a tangible thread before either of you speak another word. He’s much closer. Every movement he has made you’ve mirrored without meaning to.

“Impossible?” you repeat, hushed.

He pitches his voice low and says, “I thought I told you to call me Shouta”.

At what point had you settled into the cradle of his thighs? Your breath catches. Two hands are on your hips, soft flesh yielding under his thumbs as they massage shapes from memory. You clutch at broad shoulders and exhale, settling into the hold and surrendering yourself.

“Shouta,” you echo, charmingly dumbfounded.

Gentle, Shouta takes your chin and turns you toward him. A large, rough palm cups your cheek. He brings your forehead against his, close enough to hear his breath falter. The air is clammy. Taut, primed to break with another tilt of your head, and he must sense it. There’s trepidation—hesitance to handle something as tender as this when the things he knows best are animosity and bloodshed.

You offer mercy in taking the lead. Your hands slip from his shoulders to his jaw. Shouta lets himself be guided into your magnetism, a contented hum rippling in his throat like the water of a wellspring.

He kisses you deeply and it feels four weeks too late. It feels like muscle memory. It feels like something you’ve done a thousand times over. Those hands circle around your waist, splayed at the lower back, heat radiating through your shirt. Lips part at the light swipe of his tongue. You taste the faint notes of citrus and juniper, coaxing him into your mouth, swallowing a soft groan.

Heat flashes through you. Familiar want is coiling low in your belly, so stark that you shake with it. Hands wander. Lips too. Shouta kisses across your cheeks, nipping the delicate line of your jaw. Stubble tickles your throat. He mouths at your pulse and pulls you impossibly close, a desperate edge to it as though he were making up for all the times he wanted to but couldn’t. He outlines a topographical map of your figure, fingers walking the bumps, curves and dimples, tentatively slipping up your shirt to reach your soft stomach.

The hair along your arms stands on end. Fingertips climb higher toward your chest, and a heart that threatens to leap right out through your ribs. “Aizawa, we can’t—”

“Shouta,” he mutters, continuing his path down your collar. You shudder and his fingers flex, sensing the aftershocks of his touch.

“Shouta,” you amend breathlessly. “We can’t have sex in the common area”.

A rare clemency follows. Shouta stops, and your hands come to thread through his hair. Dull stubble tickles the dip of your collarbone. You feel his lips stretch thin into a smirk.

He leans back to look up and doesn’t take his eyes off you. Half lidded and soft, wrapping you in a gauzy roseate veil that hems the whole world pink. Something about the surety of his desire stunned you. To be wanted by a man who always seemed above such things—it makes your chest pound and your face warm, exhilaration spreading to the very tips of your fingers, restless with the urge to touch him.

“Who said anything about sex?” he asks, tenor low and deeply amused. It seems any mercy from him ended there.

“So now you can play dumb?” you mumble, an indignant exhale puffing through your nose. You feel him twitch, heat seeping through the thin fabric. “As if you were going to stop there”.

Shouta merely gives you a crooked grin. The scar tissue around his eye wrinkles. You find him unfairly, preternaturally handsome. You like him so much you’re dizzy with it.

All at once you are torn apart. Shouta has pushed you into the adjacent seat and turned back to his papers. An ephemeral dread rushes through you—immediately washed away by the sound of a door opening. Two familiar voices follow.

“I bet he’s somewhere down here,” Yagi whispers. He turns the corner into the kitchen, awkwardly bent to hold a small hand. Swimming in her sleep shirt, Eri shuffled in beside him barefoot and rubbing the sleep from her eye.

“Look, see. And even…” Yagi’s eyes widened as he spoke your name. They flickered over your dishevelled state and then to Shouta, who is equally unkempt. Luckily for him that is nothing suspicious. You, however—

“I’m here Eri-bug,” Shouta says. His clothes have been smoothed out, hair tucked back over his ears, expression soft and unruffled as he crouched to her height. She stops short of him, laying her palm over his outstretched hand.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he quietly asks. Eri shifts in place and nods. You look away from their vulnerable moment with instantaneous regret. Yagi meets your gaze, freezing mid step as he backs out, brows arched high on his forehead. There’s a slight blush around his ears. You grimace. He absolutely knows.

Something small clutches at your shirt sleeve and tugs. The yellow ochre of light dances in Eri’s big red eyes as she studies you from the security of her father’s arms. “Hi there Eri,” you murmur gently. “Are you okay?”

Her grip doesn’t loosen. She blinks long and slow, “Did you have a bad dream too?”

Shouta adjusts her on his hip but says nothing. Behind the nonchalant veil lies fond amusement and warmth. “…Not a bad dream,” you tell her. “I couldn’t sleep because I was worrying a lot. But I’m feeling better now”.

A sleepy smile stretches across her lips. Eri is seemingly satisfied by your answer but not by the distance. Without ceremony she leans away from her father’s embrace into your own. You make a short noise of surprise as she wraps her legs around your middle.

The weight is oddly comforting. You run a hand down her back, “Eri…?”

“Bed now,” she slurs, rubbing the swell of her cheek against your shoulder. “Sleep safe”.

Shouta moves closer. There’s something in his gaze that makes your throat dry. You’re not sure what he’s seeing. What it is he has been seeing in you all this time—

“You heard her,” he pressed a kiss to Eri’s hair, then turned to kiss your temple. He lingers, and each word leaves another. “Let’s go to bed. We’re alright now”.

—You can only assume, like for you, it is everything.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Subject: [High importance] Message: Good morning!

I heard the news and thought it important that you’re reminded of UA’s relationship policies:

There are none! Ha ha! Did you panic?

Much happiness to you both. It is always a pleasure to see love blossom.

Kind regards,

Nedzu Principal of UA High School 〒123-4567 Ōikuyō, Shizuoka, Musutafu. Go Beyond, Plus Ultra!

#bnha x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #mha x reader #aizawa x reader

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theetherealbloom · 2 years ago

Text

UNEVEN ODDS — CH. 1

Chapter One: These Questions Take Shape

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold live in front of her or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, PTSD, Depression, Zombies, character death, swearing, angst, fluff, eventual SMUT, MY SCIENCE MIGHT BE WRONG, plot holes, rusty writing, alternate universe

A/N: I write?? Kind of?? Tbh, this self-indulgent for sure! We love maladaptive daydreaming :) Anyways, English isn’t my first language so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes! Tbh I was just gonna write one chapter per episode but I got too excited :p

Song: doomsday by Lizzy McAlpine

-> Next Chapter | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

YOUR OBSERVABLE UNIVERSE – 2023

It’s been three years since the pandemic, COVID-19 has taken a toll on many people. Millions have died over the past few years and you were one of the lucky ones who got by, survived, and received the vaccine as soon it was available. The world slowly begins to open up and awake from its slumber during those years of uncertainty.

So what do you do now?

You work, continue with your quantum physics research and try and make sense of your life. Someday you’ll be able to be under the mercy of light to choose your fate and your need to find certainties and concrete science. For now, you enjoy the comforting sounds of characters conversing with each other.

Immediately as the show credits show, you fold your laptop close and prepare for bed. Episode 3 of the Last of Us was the most emotional so far, Bill and Frank’s story reminds you that love will transverse in every universe. With these tired eyes, you’ve seen enough for tonight. Your eyes slowly droop down and close, luring you into a deep sleep in a state of wishful thinking, hoping that you would have that kind of love in your life. But for now, the watercolor vivid dreams will suffice.

TLOU WORLD – 2023

You groggily wake up and find yourself on the floor. Slowly as you sit up, you use one of your hands to rub away the sleep, “What the hell,” you mumble. The anxiety begins to creep in, you recognize the coloring of the walls and the type of flooring used.

You look down at yourself to check what you’re wearing, no longer in your sleep clothes but traded away for cargo pants, a shirt, socks, and black boots. What’s more concerning was the familiar voices just outside the tattered room you were in.

“There’s not gonna be anything bad in here?”

A gruff response comes, “Just you.”

“Oh, funny.”

No. God, no way. This is not happening. This isn’t possible. You must be dreaming, right? You quickly stand up, and as soft footsteps come closer, you see Ellie staring at you with complete shock, “Holy shit!” she screams.

The thundering thumps of footsteps quickly make their way into the room as you stand there in complete shock. Your eyes widen in shock as you are now face to face with the characters you’ve grown to love from last night through your laptop screen right in front of you. This feels like a very cruel joke.

Dark brown eyes, salt and pepper hair, tan skin, and lines that appear as Joel frowns at you, unimpressed and suspicious. While Tess is completely covering Ellie, she narrows her eyes at you and says, “Raise your hands.”

Slowly you follow her command and raise both your hands, not wanting to increase the tension between you and them. Then you try your best to steady the trembling voice that wants to escape from you and directly look at Joel to say, “I’m not infected.”

“Show us your arm and neck.” He replies with his thick southern accent, and you bring your hand to the collar of your shirt to show them your neck and then lift the sleeves of your jacket to prove that you are being truthful.

The tension between the four of you still hadn’t dissipated despite proving that you didn’t have Cordyceps. “You got any weapons?” Tess asks and you shake your head, “No.”

Ellie groans in frustration, “Guys, I need to pee.” And you bite back a smile, her attitude, and unintentional humor. You clear your throat and say, “Um, you two could interrogate me in the other room so she can, uh, relieve herself.”

Ellie’s two protectors give each other a knowing side glance and proceed to lower their weapons that were aimed at you. You take a deep breath and then follow Joel as he first leaves the room while Tess watches and follows you from behind, making sure you don’t try anything funny.

You stand in the center of the room, with lush green grass, and flowers, you tilt your head up to look at the stream of daylight hitting your face. You take note of the overgrown plants and trees, mother nature taking back what’s hers. Eco-brutalists would be ecstatic about all of this, minus the fungi zombies.

Tess breaks the silence and asks, “What’s your name?” You give them your name and ask for theirs, even though you didn’t need to however, it is the polite and fair thing to do. You turn your head to look at both of them. They reluctantly tell you to give them their names as you try and manage to swallow away the fear and secretly hope this was all a dream or maybe a fucked up prank. Tess raises one eyebrow at you, “Where are you from?”

You purse your lips to a thin line and wonder how the hell you were gonna answer that question, you then settle for a, “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?” Joel gruffly asks you and you give him a light shrug in response and he scoffs.

Your shoulders sag at his reaction to your words, “I’m not trying to be difficult, I swear. It is complicated and hard to explain, you wouldn’t believe me if I told you. And to be honest, I’m trying my best to wrap my head around this and find a way to explain it without sounding completely insane.”

Joel all but frowns at you but continues to ask, “You tryin’ to get to the QZ?” And without even thinking about it you shook your head in disagreement, and immediately followed your response with suspicion growing on their faces and a frown.

Tess looks at you in disbelief and says, “So, what the hell are you doing out in the city with all the infected running around? Going for a stroll?”

Not wanting to answer the question, you pivot to looking at his fractured hand and give him a light nod, gesturing to it, “Does it hurt?”

Tess glances at his hand and pushes Joel to sit on his chair, his hands shaking as he looks at his bloody knuckles. You also choose to sit on the plush cool green grass, the smell of earth fills your nostrils, and then watch the scene play out in front of you.

“Broken.” Tess states that Joel avoids eye contact with his partner in crime, “Maybe a hairline. It’ll heal fast.”

Tess looks down at the grimy floor and folded her hands in an attempt to calm herself, then raises her head as she whispers, “She made it through the fucking night, Joel.” He shakes his head at her, “It doesn’t matter. It’s gonna happen sooner or later. All right? We’re still close to the wall. We sneak both of them back into the QZ. We find a different way to get the battery.”

“This is our best shot,” Tess says unwaveringly with her decision while Joel scoffs, you watch them both like a tennis match and are surprised by the fact they didn’t even acknowledge your presence.

“We take her back into the QZ, someone’s gonna notice her arm. They’re gonna scan her then they’ll kill her.”

He harshly whispers back at Tess, “Well, better them than us. You need to stop talking about this kid like she’s got some kind of life in front of her.”

It felt like extreme deja vu watching Joel and Tess argue, and on queue, Ellie walks back in and throws the magazine on the floor, and slides towards Tess. The kid plops down to sit next to you on the lush grass and you look at her with a small smile.

“You hungry?” Tess asks the both of you as she rummages through her backpack to find the energy bars, “You can share some of ours.”

“Thanks. Marlene sent me with my own.” Ellie says and takes out a chicken sandwich from her bag pocket. Tess looks at you, offering some and you politely decline, the older woman tilts her head and says, “When was the last time you ate?”

“Yesterday.” You say without a thought.

“You wanna try to explain’ how you got here? Cause when we checked, you sure as hell weren’t here. Or how the fuck did you manage to survive this long with nothing?” Tess says as she chews on the bark this world now calls food. You feel your palms sweat and pulse slightly increase, you take a deep breath and say, “This is gonna sound extremely bazaar and completely impossible but try to keep an open mind because literal infected are roaming around the streets so believe anything is now within the realm of possibility. Okay?”

You got a couple of hums with curious gazes and listened as you began to speak, “I’m possibly from a different universe or world where this is all just fiction and you’re characters based on a video game-made television series. No, I have zero ideas how I got here. I went to bed and fell asleep, and next thing I know, I woke up with this painful migraine and fatigue, different clothes and you three suddenly existing.”

You paused as you took in the group gaping at you and you sigh, “From where I came from, we had a similar thing happen, a pandemic. However, it was a virus, not Cordyceps. We called it COVID-19, it could be transmitted through an infected person's mouth or nose in small liquid particles when they cough, sneeze, speak or breathe. The outbreak started in December 2019 and 6.84 million people died in the last three years during that time. We were able to make a vaccine at a rapid rate since our technology had advanced, and we were able to distribute it globally, so in the current year which we both share, which is 2023, we’re slowly trying to find our footing again as the world opens up.”

You feel your eyes glaze over, and you then shut them as you continued, “I know it sounds fucking impossible, trust me, a lot thought so too. My scientific hypothesis is that the multiverse does exist and somehow sleep or dreaming is connected to it. I really don’t know, it was all just theoretical.”

“Prove it.”

You open your eyes and look at Joel, completely surprised he spoke, “What?”

Joel’s baritone voice and defensive stare felt like electricity through your bones, “I said, prove it.”

If there’s anything you were good at, it was reading a ton of books in a short period and memorizing the important details and plot points. Visual memory paired with the love you had for these characters had you rewatching the three episodes over and over again. Quietly, you thank the younger you for being so nerdy.

You look Joel dead in the eye and turn to the kid beside you quietly looking at you while eating her sandwich, “Your name is Ellie, you got bitten by an infected while you snuck into the mall and then Marlene found you soon afterward. Those two,” you point your thumb in their direction, “need to get you to the state house in exchange for a battery so they can go find Tommy who has been missing for almost a month.”

“Holy shit. She knows my name.” Ellie said with her mouth full of her food.

You turn back to look at Joel and Tess, and then glance at his broken wristwatch, “And, um, Joel, I know how your watch broke, I’m so– .”

“Stop.” Joel lowly says, his stare as cold as ice and distrusting of you. You avert your gaze, and a blanket of silence covers the room. Shakily Joel eats his bark of food and Tess stares at you and Ellie as she chews and swallows, “Is that chicken?”

“Yup. Marlene said they get it from smugglers.” Ellie then thoughtfully tilts her head, “Guess not you guys.”

That does it for Tess and stands up to walk towards you and the kid, “Hey, hey!” Joel says as he stands up after her but Tess holds her hand out to stop him and to signal it’s fine, “Why are you so important to Marlene? And don’t lie to me, or we’ll take you back.”

“Like she said,” the kid gestures to you, “If you take me back, you don’t get your battery.” Tess scoffs, “You heard that?” and Ellie shrugs at her, the older woman mock laughs, “Then you must’ve heard he wants to shoot you.”

Ellie looks toward Joel and he doesn’t deny it, he simply stares back at her.

“If you do that, it would be the dumbest shit you’ll ever do.” You mumble while frowning, Tess turns to you and harshly says, “Zip it, this doesn’t concern you.” And you take what she said in stride and don’t push it any further.

She then crouches down to talk to Ellie, “I’m gonna talk to you like you’re an adult. Okay?” She then takes Ellie’s silence as consent to continue, “Joel and I aren’t good people. We’re doing this for us because apparently, you’re worth something. But we don’t know what you’re worth if we don’t know what we have. So answer my question.”

Ellie rolls her eyes, rubs her face, and mumbles to herself, “She told me not to tell anybody and now I’m telling the first people that I…” She lets out a sigh and reluctantly speaks, “There’s a Firefly base camp somewhere out west with doctors. They’re working on a cure.”

Joel immediately groans in frustration, “I’ve heard this before.” Ellie continues, “And whatever happened to me,” and at the same time she and Joel say, “is the key to finding the vaccine.”

He sighs in exasperation, “That’s what this is? We’ve heard this a million times. Vaccines, miracle cures. None of it works. Ever.”

Ellie stands up, “Fuck you, man. I didn’t ask for this.”

“You and me both.” The grouch turns to his partner and says, “This isn’t gonna end well, Tess. We need to go back.”

You then remember after all those essays and news articles about your pandemic, the time when everything felt so hopeless and scary. You look at Joel and you see a reflection of your own, his fear and panic, “It’s possible.”

They both turn to you and you continue, “Theoretically, it’s possible to create a fungi vaccine, however, I’m not even sure you have the technology to produce it. And it would take finding out what Ellie truly is. Either Ellie’s immune system mutated and created antibodies to fight against the Cordyceps or something else… But either way, a vaccine or maybe a cure could be possible now because of her.”

Tess stands up, as do you, and looks at Ellie for a moment, then to Joel to say, “Let’s just finish it. It doesn’t matter if she is what the Fireflies or what an alien says.”

“I’m human.” You grumble and Tess ignores you, “If they believe that she is then we get what we want.”

Joel gives a glare at Ellie and then shifts his gaze to you, he sighs and shakes his head, “If she so much as twitches.”

Ellie proceeds to make gurgling noises and movements to pretend as if she’s turning into an infected. Tess turns to look at her and scolds in a motherly fashion, “Don’t.” You try and hold in your laugh and the young girl clears her throat, scratches the back of her neck, and mumbles, “Yeah… okay.”

Tess then turns to Joel, “Okay?”

Defeated, Joel swings his arms open and whispers, “Okay.”

The foreshadowing of the fact it will not be okay in the next few moments had you feeling nauseous. The churning fear begins to bubble inside of you, Tess is going to die, albeit a noble and honorable death, but it still would hurt Joel, and Ellie as she slowly grows more fond of the older woman. Then, it hit you, is it possible to change what already was written? Could you save them all? Well, you’re already here, might as well try.

The three of them begin to pack their belongings as you awkwardly stand there with your hands in your pockets and watch as they prepare for the journey to the State House. The sound of Joel picking up his gun catches Ellie’s interest, “Can I have a gun?”

“Absolutely not.”

“No.”

“Okay. Fine. Jesus. I’ll have to throw a fucking sandwich at them.” Ellie then shoves the leftover sandwich into her bag and Joel goes to the giant bookshelf, which is blocking the door, to the side, then peaks out of the door to check if it’s safe. You hear the sound of birds chirping and feel the warmth of the light flood in the abandoned building.

“It’s clear.”

Following Ellie from behind, you begin walking slowly toward the light and into the apocalyptic city. Your eyes take in the sight of tilted, destroyed, buildings, overgrown plants, trees, abandoned cars, and trucks. A hauntingly beautiful sight if you were being honest.

Ellie gasps in wonder as she takes it all in, “Woah.” Tess looks over at her and says, “Yeah, looks different in the daylight, huh?” Joel quickly scans the area, “We should get moving.” Tess begins to take the lead, followed by Ellie then you, while Joel trails from behind.

“It’s like a fucked up moon.” Ellie moves towards a crater and peers over it, “Is this where they bombed?”

“Yeah, they hit most of the big cities like this. They had to slow the spread somehow.” Tess says and Joel continues to walk past it, ignoring the crater and any kind of conversation. “Worked here, but it didn’t in most places.”

Unconsciously, you begin humming to the tune of a Linda Ronstadt song. The last song you ever heard before sleeping. Continuing up to a ruined building, with debris blocking your path, “So the State House is across there. It’s about a ten-minute walk if you could go straight.”

Ellie looks at both of them and you wonder how the fuck you were gonna defeat the clickers later on with no weapon, “So…”

“Long way or short way?” Joel asks Tess, she holds the straps of her backpack and the wind blows through her hair, “I mean, it’s a long way or the we’re-fucking-dead way.”

“Well, I vote a long way just based on that limited information,” Ellie says dryly, and Joel stares at her, a puzzled expression on his face, then his eyes lands on you, waiting for your input.

You frown at him, “No, don’t look at me like that. I’m not giving you any spoilers.” Joel clenches his jaw and turns to Tess, “We have to check it from the hotel first.” She begins to walk away, “Okay.”

You walk along the highway in somewhat comfortable silence, you carefully look to the ground and see a giraffe plushie, the symbolism doesn’t escape you, knowing all too well what it meant. Moss and different kinds of plants grow over the cracks of the road, you spot branches atop abandoned cars and dust covers the windows of each door.

Tess and Ellie begin conversing in front of the group, while you and Joel follow from a distance. You look at Joel and say, “I’m sorry if I overstepped a while ago. I couldn’t prove it unless I told you something only you knew.”

He looks at you in an emotion you can’t quite understand, but still responds in his grumpy demeanor, “Just don’t bring it up again.” You quickly nod, “Mhm, noted.”

It was quiet for a bit until, to your surprise, he asks you, “What did you do for work?” The smile was so difficult to hold back, you chuckle and raise your eyebrows, “I’m… well, was a Quantum physicist. You were a carpenter right?”

“It kinda’ freaks me out how you know that off the top of your head.” His Texan accent heavy as he spoke, you knew that it would take time to build his trust. His reserved and security-oriented nature would prove to be a challenge, but something you wholeheartedly would take on, “I’ll try not to do it as much, I’m sorry.”

“You apologize too much.”

“It’s a habit I’m trying to break, to be honest.” You chuckle nervously, putting your hands in the pockets of your cargo pants, and continue to walk, watching and hearing bits of conversation from Tess and Ellie.

“I thought you were some sort of’ performer, a singer maybe, with all that hummin’ you were doin’ awhile ago.”

That catches you off guard and you feel the confusion form on your face and you begin to feel your face feel warm, “What?” Joel continues, “You were hummin’ to Linda Ronstadt, right? Haven’t heard that song in a while.” You stared at him in complete disbelief, “You heard me humming?”

As he was about to reply, you and him managed to catch up to Ellie and Tess to overhear their conversation, “How old are you?” Ellie replies, “Fourteen.” Tess hums and smirks at the kid, “Wow. Well, I mean you got some balls on you, sister.”

“Thanks,” Ellies says and follows after Tess, climbing over the flipped rusted car. You follow their movements and Joel does too.

Tess curiously looks over her shoulder at Ellie and continues her walk forward, “Nobody is gonna come after you, right? Like Mom, Dad, boyfriend?”

“I’m an orphan, and, uh, no.” Ellie takes a look around her surroundings and lets her hand brush on the tall grass growing from the cracks of the pavement, “Everyone said the open city was crazy. Like, swarms of infected running around everywhere.”

Joel humors her, “Not exactly like that.” Tess smiles, “You know people like to tell stories.”

“So there aren’t super-infected that explode fungus spores on you?” Ellie curiously asks with a somewhat happy tone, as if all of this doesn’t scare her. Fearless is what you conclude, a trait that could be good when at its best but dangerous and reckless at its worse. “Shit, I hope not,” Tess says.

“Or ones with split-open heads that see in the dark like bats?” Ellie asks and that causes a shift in Tess, Joel, and your demeanor. Fucking clickers. And on queue, you hear the screeching of the devil’s spawn in the distance. The whole group stills and Ellie shakily asks, “What was that?”

Joel doesn’t reply, instead, he just says, “Let’s keep movin’.”

Joel pushes the doors of the hotel open, loudly shrieking as he does, and all three of you are greeted with the sight of the flooded hotel. It was almost swamp-like due to the green water, lily pads floating, and the ducks and frogs swimming.

Ellie takes a spin and looks at the view with a childlike wonder you wish you still had, “You’ve got to be kidding me! You ever stay in a place like this?” “Uh, no, a little out of our league.” Tess says and Joel looks at Ellie and asks, “How do you even know what this is?” Being the smartass that she throws him a look and says, “Have you heard of books?”

You chuckle as Joel shakes his head and walks down into the murky water, “Wait we’re going in there?” Ellie asks, and Tess nods, “Yeah, we gotta get to the stairwell on the other side.” The kid takes a step back, “Well, I don’t… I don’t know how to swim.” Joel lifts an eyebrow, “Seriously?”

“Do you think we have pools in the QZ?” Ellie says with narrowed eyes. “No, smart-ass. I mean…”, Joel does a little jump into the water, it does a small splash when he does. “I don’t know how I was supposed to know that,” Ellie says as she walks down the steps and into the water, you follow behind her and Tess.

You four wade through the green murky water, “This is so gross.” Ellie says with a huge smile on her face and you can’t help but laugh, “This is disgusting.” The fourteen-year-old spots the concierge desk and makes her way over, “Oh, check it out!”

You place both of your hands on your hips and watch her mess with the call bell, “Ding, ding.” She begins to do her form of roleplay for her entertainment and to cure her boredom, “Yes sir. I would like your finest suite, please.”

“Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to take your luggage?”, she proceeds to answer her own question and pushes the hotel bell cart through the water, “Yes, ma’am. Right away ma’am…”

“You’re a weird kid.” Joel states, Ellie turns her head to look at him, “You’re a weird kid.” Something falls over, a sloshing sound indicating that it had fallen in front of Ellie causing her to jump back and bang the piano behind her and yelp, “Oh, fuck!”

You and Joel are quick to come to her side to see what it was. A skeleton lay there unmoving and rotten, your eyes raise to look at Ellie panting and clutching onto the hotel bell cart, “Oh, my god.” Joel kicks the skull and the kid mumbles, “Uh, sorry.”

Joel offers his hand to help Ellie back up and the sound of the honky-tonk piano creates sharp notes as she stands, Joel pulls back his hand once Ellie can manage on her own and begins to walk away.

You look to Joel, “How’s the hand?” He looks down at it as it shakes again, “It’ll heal.” Your face forms a frown and you shake your head, “That doesn’t answer my question.” Joel doesn’t respond and decides to continue and you simply follow.

“You okay?” Tess asks Ellie, and the young girl wades through the water like nothing happened, “Yep. Fucking Fabulous.”

After ten flights of stairs you finally made it to the top floor, Joel goes through the doorway first, while Tess takes a moment to catch her breath, “Fuck. Holy shit.”

You’re a little breathless, but not as much as Tess since you were a bit younger than her. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” Ellie says teasingly and Tess shoots her a look, “You try climbing ten fuckin’ floors with our knees. See how you feel.”

You turn right to a hallway, to see a giant obstruction made out of the rubble, “Well, when the fuck did that happen?” Tess tries to push the door to her right, only to be blocked. You try to check the door to the left to find the same outcome, you sigh “No.”

“All right, well, I mean, maybe I could climb up there. Work my way around and open it from the inside?” Ellie peers around the rocks, “Uh, no. Well, I’m the smallest, so it’d be easier for me to get through.” Tess hums, “But you die and we get nothing. You stay.”

“I could help.” You say a little meek, Tess is a little intimidating and you feel so out of place like you’re intruding. Technically, you aren’t supposed to be in this mess. She takes a good look at you and says, “Yeah, no.”

You deflate a little and avoid trying to argue, Tess turns to Joel and asks for help, “Can you give me a hand?” Joel pulls back Ellie with the strap of her backpack and she sighs, then Joel tugs your jacket sleeve to do the same. Your face warms a little bit, it’s the first time he’s ever touched you.

Joel boosts up Tess over the pile of rubble and she climbs over, “You good up there?” Tess analyzes the mess she needs to clean up and replies, “Yeah. It’s a bit of a mess, so I’m gonna need a few minutes.”

Joel turns around to face you and Ellie, he adjusts his gun and lets his back slide against the wall to sit down across from both of you. Ellie has her arms resting on her knees while you decide to sit comfortably cross-legged.

Ellie takes out her knife and decides to play with it, tossing it in her hands as if it were just a pen and not something that could easily cut her if she commits a mistake. You watch everything play out just like it did in the episode—character development.

“Nice knife,” Joel says as his eyes follow the movement of Ellie’s tossing. She only glances at him with acknowledgment. “Where’d you learn to do that?” he asks, you gotta hand it to him for trying to make an effort.

She replies with a monotone voice, “The circus.”

Joel looks away exasperated and completely done with her bullshit. You try and hide your smile, but the slight crease in your eyes gives away your amusement. Ellie folds her knife, and as Joel sighs, the kid decides to give an olive branch, “Where are you from?”

“Texas.” He replies, and Ellie continues, “What about Tess?”

“Detroit. It’s in Michigan.”

If there’s anything she hated most, was the fact people underestimate her intelligence, she rolls her eyes and Ellie’s reply comes out harsh, “I go to school. I know where Detroit is.”

Her response causes a wave of silence between the three of you. Your eyes drift from Joel to Ellie, she then decides it’s your turn to be interrogated, “Are you from the future?”

Your mouth twists a little to the right before deciding on a good enough answer, “Sort of? Your technology stopped advancing in 2003, so, I guess I am?” This piques her interest, “So, what’s it like over there?”

You pick the dirt off the underside of your fingernails, a little nervous, or if not nervous then cautious, as you respond, “Almost the same. Our technology is way different though.”

“Different how?” She asks.

You give her a soft smile and respond, “Well, for starters, we have touch screens for phones, laptops, tablets, you name it, it probably has a touch screen.”

“No way,” Ellie says with her eyes full of amazement and wonder, “What else?”

You give a hum as you teasingly tell her, “I don’t know… it might blow your tiny little mind.” She blows a raspberry in your face and you stick your tongue out in retaliation.

“Come on! Wait, you said we were just characters in some kind of story?” She says dramatically and tugs the sleeve of your jacket and continues, “What did you mean by that?”

Your eyes shift to look at Joel, who has his full attention on you; simply waiting. You blink owlishly at him, once, then twice before settling on a response, “Yeah, um, it recently aired.”

“So, do you know the future? Like our future? What’s about to happen? Will we be able to make a cure or a vaccine?” You couldn’t keep up with her rapid questions, and your mouth slightly parts open. Should you tell them?

Can you change the fact Tess is practically minutes away from death? That Joel is about to make the worst mistake of his life? That Bill and Frank are… that they…

Luckily, you didn’t need to answer Ellie, Joel who senses your unease, steps in for you, “Ellie, stop askin’ her about her life, she doesn’t wanna give anythin’ up.” You look at him apologetically and shut your eyes for a while. This migraine keeps bothering you, a sharp, heavy, thump in the side of your brain hasn’t gone away. You tell yourself that it eventually will. Maybe.

Ellie focuses her attention back to Joel, “So you two like a…”

“Pass.” He says.

Ellie continues, “How’d you end up in Boston?”

“Pass. No more questions about me.” Ellie rolls her eyes at him and racks her brain for a different question, “How long do infected live?” Joel mocks Ellie in reply, “Oh, I thought you went to school.”

“It’s a really shitty one.” She snarkily replies. You smile at their banter with your eyes closed, enjoying the conversation that they have going on. Joel thinks for a moment before answering her, “Well, some last about a month or two. But there’s other’s been walkin’ about 20 years.”

Ellie fidgets with her knife again, “You ever kill one?”

You hear the slight sorrow in his voice, “Yeah, I’ve killed lots of them.” Ellie asks the most human question as she looks at the older man, “Was it hard? Like, knowing they were people once?”

You open your eyes to watch his gaze look away from the kid, memories come back to him, what he’s done and will continue to do, and he nods, “Sometimes.”

“What about that guy last night?” She asks, and you frown while he gives Ellie a stern look. You knew Ellie liked the fact Joel hurt the FEDRA guard to protect her. She loved it. Luckily Joel doesn’t have to respond, you could hear the sound of something approaching you. The loyalist immediately stands up, and you and Ellie get up to stand next to Joel, he puts his finger to the trigger of his gun, ready to protect you both from whatever is out there.

“You can put the gun down, Joel,” Tess calls out from a distance, and a tingle of jealousy moves through your bones like electricity. She knew him so well, to the point where she knew what he was going to do before doing it. They both loved each other without admitting it, and it hurts you. They never stood a chance.

You hear the quiet rumble of Tess pushing away the debris to open the door, the loud creak of metal reveals her face, and it’s full of worry. Joel reads her like a book, “What now?” Then Tess nods her head, signaling to follow her.

As you make your way upstairs, you take notice of the abandoned wine glass and dishes, the dust that coats every inch of the hotel, and the fallen chairs. Tess pulls back a plastic curtain for you and Ellie to walk through, only to be greeted by the view of hundreds of infected down below.

“There’s so many,” Ellie comments in disbelief, you can hear the cries and wailing of each Runner as they roll and crawl. The young girl leans a little forward to get a better view. Tess nods, “The last time we were here they were still deep inside the buildings. Then I guess enough people came through looking for the QZ they went inside seeking shelter, and that’s how they get more and more of the city bit by city year after year.”

As the clouds pass by, the sun shines through a little, overwhelming light shines over the infected, they screech and roll away, like a domino effect. “They’re connected,” Ellie says, and Tess nods in confirmation, “More than you know. The fungus also grows underground. Long fibers like wires, some of them stretching over a mile.”

If you weren’t so focused on listening to Tess explain the cordyceps, you would have felt Joel staring at you the whole time, observing how you were taking all of the information being shared. You were surprisingly calm, despite the fact zombies are now real and you could die. And possibly a little worried like you were anticipating something bad was going to happen.

Tess continues, “Now you step on a patch of cordyceps in one place and you can wake a dozen infected from somewhere else. Now they know where you are, now they come. You’re not immune from being ripped apart. You understand? It’s important. I’m trying to keep you alive.”

Ellie nods and you do too, even if the question wasn’t directed at you. “So we’re not going that way.” She states, and Tess agrees, “No.”

“What do we do then? Short way?” Ellie asks and Joel looks at Tess, and speaks the dreaded words you’ve heard before, “Museum.”

A/N: Trust me, I’m working double time on the next one if this is received well :,) Thank you for reading! See ya in the next chapter <3

Next Chapter ->

#joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x poc!reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #tlou #tlou remake #tlou rewrite #tlou series #joel miller x reader series #joel miller x reader tlou #tlouhbo #the last of us rewrite #joel miller x modern reader #joel miller x reader au

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dostoyevsky-official · 1 month ago

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Doomscrolling Is Slowly Eroding Your Mental Health June 2020

For years people have questioned the net benefits of platforms like Twitter and Facebook, and while some studies have found social media, when used responsibly, can have positive effects on mental health, it can also lead to anxiety and depression. Or, at the bare minimum, FOMO. And that’s just the result of looking at too many brunch photos or links to celebrity gossip. Add in a global pandemic and civil unrest—and the possibility that social media networks are incentivized to push trending topics into your feeds—and the problem intensifies. [...] The doom and gloom isn’t all the media’s fault, though. Mesfin Bekalu, a research scientist at the Lee Kum Sheung Center for Health and Happiness at Harvard’s T. H. Chan School of Public Health, notes that while a lot of the news is bad, “as humans we have a ‘natural’ tendency to pay more attention to negative news.” This, along with social media algorithms, makes doomscrolling—and its impacts—almost inevitable. “Since the 1970s, we know of the ‘mean world syndrome’—the belief that the world is a more dangerous place to live in than it actually is—as a result of long-term exposure to violence-related content on television,” Bekalu says. “So, doomscrolling can lead to the same long-term effects on mental health unless we mount interventions that address users’ behaviors and guide the design of social media platforms in ways that improve mental health and well-being.” The effects of doomscrolling also vary depending on who’s doing it. [...] Many activists didn’t participate in doomscrolling simply because, they said, “I can’t see myself being killed over and over again in this tiny square on my phone.”

It’s Time to Log Off Nov 2023

Scrolling through social media can feel like a nightmare these days. You’re reading about the horrors of the Israel-Hamas war, and then you’re reading about the horrors of the war between Ukraine and Russia. You’re learning about the latest devastating climate news. Democracy is under threat in America. It can feel like everything is falling apart. This, of course, can have a significant effect on your mental health. You start to feel overwhelmed. [...] Matthew Price, a professor of psychological science at the University of Vermont, says that stress is cumulative. [...] Price says ingesting a lot of negative news can cause anxiety and depression, at least for some period of time, but it’s especially likely to “exacerbate” anxiety, depression, and PTSD in people who have a history of experiencing those conditions. He says that people often doomscroll because there’s something bad going on and they want to find a way to fix the problem they’re reading about. “When we’re doomscrolling, we’re kind of looking for the resolution to the issue. Read some more posts. Read some more articles. If I get more information, then maybe I’ll understand the problem,” Price says, describing the doomscrolling cycle. [...] “It’s not about ‘this is a bad thing and this is a good thing.’ It’s about how you engage with it and how it fits in with the rest of what’s going on in your life,” Teachman [a professor of psychology at the University of Virginia] says. “How are you living the rest of your life, and what are the impacts on that?” [...] Price says that acting locally on issues you’re concerned about can help you maintain your mental health because otherwise things can feel too far away and too difficult to solve. Maybe you can’t end a war, but perhaps you can help some people in your community or get your community to do something that helps a bigger problem.

i find the defiance that it's not phones (a shorthand for everything they provide access to) eroding our children's attention spans puzzling. bad news isn't new, the press has always veered towards the sensational, people have always overfocused on the negative. but the technology of access and dissemination is brand new. this is a summary of a few research studies on doomscrolling and the emotional, psychological effects it has on adults. surely everyone reading this has experienced some it in some form. you don't think worse things are happening to undeveloped brains?

#they're short wired articles summarizing particular studies #but why do people feel the phenomenon is no different in the aggregate?

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gold-rhine · 9 months ago

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What the guard dogs are for

There are some things you never want to hear your secret years-long crush saying, such as “I’m getting married,” “I think we should stay friends” or “I’m the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity.” Wriothesley’s very bad, no good day of trying to unravel conspiracy theories, fumbling a tea party with Chief Justice and learning Teyvat’s ancient history and vishap lore from the leading expert lector.

Genre: angst and misinformation campaign

Characters: Neuvillette\Wriothesley, Enjou

Warnings: sfw in a sense that nothing even remotely sexy happens, but there is dissociation, ptsd episode, brief mention of self-harm, and Enjou doing same thing he does in canon, which is not quite gaslighting? Anyway, let me know if you feel any other warnings need to be added.

Chapters: 1 out of 2. Wordcount: ~8k

With his morning tea, Wriothesley riffled through the reports as usual. Nothing was marked urgent, so he started with the most boring part, - the official ones. The production numbers, coupon consumption statistics, everything is prepared for Neuvillette’s upcoming inspection, which was mostly a formality, but he would want it to go as smoothly as possible.

Reports from the surface informants. Traveler stirring up a ruckus with the research institute… Well, about time, that pit couldn’t go on forever pretending that massive explosions are just a part of science routine.

Next, creatures called “vishaps” appeared recently in Erinnyes Forest. These vishaps are apparently a lesser form of dragons, and connected to Liyue vishaps, also lizard-like creatures, though in Liyue they are aligned with geo, not hydro. Non-hostile to humans, aside from one accident. But in that one they fought back against the hunters sent by nobles to capture them as novelty pets. So the only regrettable part was that they didn’t get the nobles, only their lackeys. For shame.

Next, there are gangs with new lingo going around, which generally was a good thing to pay attention to as they usually ended up in Meropide. Wriothesley frowned, reading the lingo translations, as he suddenly felt old. “Trendy Zaytun Peach” was something he’d got called for taking it up the ass a lot in his days, but now it’s a hip and cool nickname with the youngsters.

Informal internal reports. Victims of beret society are rehabilitating fine, preparations for the wedding are underway. Good. Albert, a new guy from the shop, is sending him tea. Quite good tea at that. Obviously a bribe attempt, though he didn’t ask for anything as of yet, so it was basically free. Everything was fair in love and bribes as far as Wriothesley was concerned. You could throw everything at the feet of your beloved as to the feet of your targeted bureaucrat, and receive nothing and you would have no claim to complain. Now, the fact he wouldn’t take it into account when making decisions about their proposals, and sometimes would even consider it a negative, was a different matter altogether.

He perked up reading the last report. There was a new conspiracy, whose agenda was not very clear, as they were more careful than the others, but the gist was something against Neuvillette, so Wriothesley was tracking it for some time. It was hard to get anything concrete though, as they were pretty good at keeping a low profile, but now apparently one of the members by the name of Jacque got into the Fortress on unrelated charges, and he was reportedly not the brightest shank on the block.

Wriothesley made the arrangements.

Half an hour later, he happened to stroll by when Jacque was being beaten up by three guys in the shadowy corner.

“Hey, what’s going on here? Leave him alone!” he said, walking up to them.

“Oh yeah?”, said one of the bullies, turning to him. “Well, make me!”

They were paid double for the pretend fight. It might have been an overkill, usually Wriothesley would go for just scaring them off without combat. Especially because anyone who’s been in the Fortess for some time or had a head on their shoulders would understand that nobody would try to openly fight the Duke outside of the fight club arena. But Jacque was as fresh as they get, allegedly stupid, and it was Wriothesley’s first chance at any info in two whole months, so he decided to make it as impressive as possible.

He went as easy on the guys as he could, they theatrically threw the fight and retreated.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, kneeling next to the guy in the corner and putting his hand on his shoulder for emphasis.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I’m fine,” Jacque muttered, shaking his head.

“Why did they attack you?”

“They don’t want me to spread the truth...” Jacque said with heavy emphasis. “But uh, thanks for helping me out.”

“No need to thank me. I feel bad enough that honest folk like yourself get picked on in MY Fortress. That’s not how I want to run my place, so it’s only natural that I stand up for you.”

It took a moment, but finally the guy gasped.

“Your fortress? Are you… the Duke?”

At least he knew what “Duke” is.

“Yeah,” Wriothesley grinned, turning up the charm. “And allow me to get you a couple of drinks to compensate for the rude welcome you’ve received so far.”

He got them to the Coupon Cafeteria, where best meals were already arranged, and generously poured alcohol into the poor guy, listening to the story of his life and misfortunes that brought him to the Fortress, nodding empathetically. He didn’t ask about Neuvillette at all, to not spook the target, trusting that he will come to this anyway, and finally his patience was rewarded.

“You know, you’re good!” the guy said drunkenly after some time, clasping his hand on Wriothesley's shoulder, which he beared stoically, grinning with all friendliness in the world.

“You know, they say we can’t talk to you because you’re bought by that lizard, but I think you’re a good guy. You just don’t know all the facts!”

“Which are?”

The guy leaned closer to him and lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “Neuvillette is an evil dragon!”

Wriothesley choked on a laughter, which was way too obvious to turn into cough even for the dunce this stupid.

“No, you don't understand! Dragons were enemies of humanity that Celestia conquered. But they come back when killed! They reincarnate! He is a hydro dragon who was reborn in a human form so he could more easily trick us!”

Wriothesley blinked, remembering Neuvillette standing under the rain, and the old children’s song. “Hydro dragon, Hydro dragon, don’t cry….”

“He put our rightful archon Furina on that trial, right? No one else saw the verdict, so he pretended she was declared guilty. He forced her to abdicate and took the power for himself!”

Wriothesley realized long ago that Neuvilette, of course, was not human. It was clear to any idiot who talked to him for longer than a minute in an informal setting, not to mention a lifespan of at least five hundred years. But there were a lot of options other than “evil dragon”. There were old gods who did not receive archonhood, but instead decided to serve the archon, like Liyue’s adepti, and he always assumed Neuvillette was of the same kind. But the idea that Iudex was some kind of evil monster with a grudge against humanity was ridiculous. Especially when he showed up at the Fortress and saved the entire Fountaine and Wriothesley’s own hide from the flood.

“Really?”

“Yeah! We should restore our true archon Furina to her rightful throne!”

Furina’s insurrection? Interesting. Wouldn’t peg her for someone capable of this type of conspiracy.

“And did Furina herself give us her blessing?”

“She can’t speak publicly, as this monster threatens her.”

Hmm, inconclusive on Furina’s involvement.

He spent more time with the drunk Jacque, trying to get more details, but couldn’t get much more than unhinged ramblings on how evil the dragons are and how insidious it was for a dragon to pretend to be a human. He had to leave to prepare to Neuvillette's arrival the next day.

_____

Neuvillette stepped out of Opera Epiclese into the rain and slowed down his pace to prolong the sensation. It was a bit of what humans called guilty pleasure, as he felt guilty from inflicting rain on humans for his own pleasure. Though from his understanding, humans felt guilty because they saw this pleasure as something bad for themselves. Even if often this supposed harm made no sense to Neuvillette. Eating too much food until a human's stomach hurt was at least understandable to see as such, but he heard one of palais’ secretaries say that romance novels were her guilty pleasure. How could humans feel guilty for something as simple as reading? He stopped and asked her why she would feel guilty for reading, because melusines kept telling him that socializing with humans is very easy, you just need to ask them questions about themselves and let them talk about what they like. Well, it didn’t seem to work, as the secretary stumbled, started hyperventilating and emanated levels of panic and anxiety comparable to someone in the defendant’s chair. Sensing human emotions did not actually help Neuvillette in communicating with them, as he could not discern the reasons. He asked her if she perhaps came into possession of any cursed texts? He could generally sense the stench of corruption and there was nothing on her, but there was always a possibility that it was a curse he could not register. She panicked even more and vehemently denied. At this point he decided to give up on socializing, as it was obviously very distressing for humans, but felt obliged to tell her that if she ever did read anything she felt was cursed, to inform him. He hoped it would assuage her fear of reading. She thanked him, stuttering, and after that day avoided him at all costs.

The rain was a compromise solution in any case. Neuvillette always felt a bit strained and uncomfortable in his body, but after obtaining full dragonhood and most of the memories of past lives, the human shape felt downright stifling. He now remembered thousands of years of being something much bigger, long coils that could easily crush the spire of Opera Epiclese. Now, when he looked at his own reflection, it was hard to comprehend that this small and ridiculous frame was actually him. In addition, all of his memories and instincts called him to be submerged in water. But even with his poor understanding of humans, he realized that seeing the Iudex floating in the river would alarm humans much more than him standing under the rain. So rain was the closest solution he could get at his position.

He summoned rain instinctively, to be as close to engulfed in water as possible. It was a bit embarrassing that even humans noticed it and composed a rhyme, even if that rhyme was inaccurate. He didn’t cry, as vishaps didn’t cry at all and even his current human shaped body didn’t have tear ducts. The closest he could pinpoint to human experience, as he understood it, was being stressed and desire to be comforted, for which water was his best remedy.

And currently he was quite stressed, looking over the Fontaine laws in an attempt to revise them. The current system that treated justice as theater was clearly imperfect, which he realized long ago. But he never saw himself as authorized to change it, as humans were the responsibility of the archon and even without it, he was well aware he didn’t understand humans, so he knew it wasn’t his place to question the human justice system, to which he was only a temporary guest. But now, as fontanias became part of Teyvat after his decision, and so, a part of his responsibility as Teyvat’s god of life, even if the usurper tried to deny him, he couldn’t ignore the need for change any longer. The problem was that he did not understand humans any better, so it was very stressful to try and restructure their systems of governance.

He extended a hand, catching raindrops on his palm, when he noticed a silhouette near the elevator to the Fortress, and stopped himself from visibly controlling the weather.

Wriothesley caught his eyes and grinned, approaching him at brisk pace, umbrella over his head.

“Greetings, Monsieur.”

“Good morning, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley always somehow managed to make a “Monsieur” sound more impactful than Neuvillette could “Your Grace”, despite one being a noble title and another just a polite greeting.

“Would you like to…?” Wriothesley extended his arm with an umbrella, without actually covering Neuvillette with it. In the past, as a part of playing a role of “normal human”, Neuvillette accepted such offers, though there were not many aside from Wriothesley who dared to approach him with it. But now, as he was a full-fledged dragon, at the height of his power and influence in this land, surely he could afford to discard this role? Surely he could afford to be himself at least in this?

“No, thank you,” he said, smiling and trying to sound as cordial as possible, so that Wriothesley would not think it was a slight against him personally. “Don’t take it as offense, but I actually like being under the rain.”

The Duke smiled back, shaking his head.

“No offense taken, but why didn’t you say it last time? I felt like an idiot forcing you under an umbrella.”

“Really?” Neuvillette perked up, falling in step with the human. “You could tell that I…”

“Hated it? Yeah, for sure.”

“....prefered not to have an umbrella.”

Wriothesley let out a low, guttural bark of laughter that somehow got to the dragon despite him not being interested in humans in general.

“Not only I could tell I disturbed you, but I had to walk on the flowerbed to get to you, and then I trailed dirt in the Palais while everyone here glared at me for the audacity. Meanwhile you walked on the same dirt, but stayed pristine!”

“I’m sorry for…”

“Hey, don’t apologize. I’m just kidding, don’t worry.”

Neuvillette met the greyish blue eyes of thawed ice directly and sensed that he was truly not bothered, which didn’t make much sense. But Wriothesley was one of the very few humans who was not scared in the dragon’s presence. He was, probably, the only one who emanated only positive emotions at their meetings. Neuvillette mostly encountered negative reactions in his daily life at the trials, so he could not tell apart which positive feelings exactly that he read from Wriothesley due to the lack of exposure. But perhaps…

“I wouldn’t want you to feel unwelcome at the Palais,” Neuvillette said after a short pause.

Wriothesley grinned with a careless shrug.

“Then I will be there, even if the rest of your bureaucrats make faces. As I said, don’t worry.”

Neuvilette frowned, but didn’t see much point in pressing this further. After a confrontation with Navia, the dragon realized that his lack of understanding of humans hindered him, instead of making him truly impartial. Especially now that he was de facto in charge of the entire Fontaine government. And practice showed that only direct interaction with humans could give valuable experience, as watching from the Iudex seat did not allow him a nuanced understanding.

So perhaps, if Wriothesley was a rare human who was not scared of him, and he proved rational and trustworthy in the years they knew each other, Neuvillette could confide in his true nature and maybe ask for advice in understanding humanity?

“Perhaps staying for some tea would make up for this past offense?”

Wriothesley stumbled for a moment.

“Seriously?” He sounded as casual and ironic as usual, but the surprised burst of positive emotions from him was bright and obvious. “After all these years you finally decided to deign my humble office with your presence?”

“It’d be a completely unofficial visit, of course.”

“Sure, sure. It was never my secret plot to bribe you with a tea party, trust me, even I realize my tea is not that good.”

His voice was ironic, but for a moment Neuvillette could see his crooked grin turn into a genuine smile. So, reassured that he was not imposing, Iudex nodded and followed the human into the Fortress’ entrance.

_________

The inspection itself was mostly a formality. The Court of Fontaine technically had no direct authority over Meripode, but it provided guards and substantial resources, and so it had a right to oversee the use of these assets. The actual budgeting was done on the regular in behind the scenes reports though, as the data was not visible in the in person visit. Still, it was a time honored tradition that got Neuvilette to show up regularly.

“Take a seat. It will take me a minute to make tea.”

Neuvilette gracefully sat down on the visitor’s chair In Wriothesley office, folding his hands on the cane. He still sat with a ramrod straight back and perfect posture, but there was a certain lightness to him today, which was hard to put into words.

“The inspection is over, yet you are still nervous.”

Wriothesley knew he had a poker face good enough to cover it, yet Neuvillette saw it anyway. He had theorized for a long time that the Iudex could sense emotions, but usually he would not acknowledge it directly like this. “I wasn't nervous about the inspection to begin with. But inviting a high and mighty Iudex himself to the tea for years and then disappointing him when he finally accepts would be a devastating faux de pas. They will mock me on the first pages of all the papers tomorrow.”

Neuvillette frowned slightly.

“I must underline that I’m not here in any official capacity, and I would hope I’m talking to Wriothesley, not the Warden or the Duke. If you agree, I would ask that we leave the titles at the door.”

“No, of course,” Wriothesley, who had fantasized about leaving titles at the door and then clothes on the floor for actual years, said quickly, frantically recalculating how he could turn the tea party to wine tasting, which best wines he had confiscated in his storage and how he could make turning on the gramophone and then maybe leaning against the edge of the table in front of Neuvillette look natural and smooth. “Absolutely. I was just joking anyway, don’t mind it.”

“Ah, I see. I apologize, I’m unfortunately prone to missing humorous intent, so I appreciate your clarification.”

With how far the Iudex went out of his way to assure people of his good intentions in informal situations, Wriothesley really didn’t understand how everyone found him so intimidating. Especially because he very often had to interact with assholes in positions of power who did try to intimidate him on purpose and the contrast was very apparent. Neuvillette projected an aura of power without really wanting to, and then tried to over-explain himself to make others feel at ease. His earnest awkwardness was something like the clumsiness of a huge beast like an elephant trying not to step on the gaggle of kittens at his feet.

“In any case, there is nothing to be nervous about. After all, tea is liquid, and it’s really hard to make liquids unpleasant. So far I think only Fonta truly managed it.” Neuvillette drummed his fingers on the table and glanced at Wriothesley. “To be frank, if crimes against water could be prosecuted, Fonta would receive life in prison.”

Wriothesley snorted. “So no sugar in your tea, I take it?”

“No, thank you,” Iudex said politely and then, after a short pause, “And to clarify, I was not serious. There is nothing wrong with people liking sugary drinks, of course. I was just making an attempt at a joke.”

He really was horrendously bad at pretending to be a human. How could anyone hear him talk and still believe he’s a scheming manipulator was beyond ridiculous.

“No, I got it. It was a good joke,” The Duke grinned, placing a teacup in front of Neuvillette and sitting down across the table with his own.

Neuvillette gave him a graceful nod with a little smile and picked up his cup, giving it a swirl before tasting.

“Hmm. Interesting. Poignant. Bitter,” he said thoughtfully, tilting his head.

Wriothesley was about to mention that this sort was not usually bitter, but Iudex continued.

“Not by nature, but forced by circumstances. Not nearly enough water to be nourished, so it had to adapt and conserve strength, letting leaves seen as unimportant to die and concentrate on survival of the main branches. But there is not just hunger… there is a dream of rain. An ache of something not ever known, but yearned, longed for, without realizing what it is. But then…” Neuvillette closed his eyes for a moment. “It happened. There is a memory of luminous joy of water not gathered by mere drops, but drank in full, overwhelming, a feast after a life of fighting for scraps of morning dew. It had tasted rain at least once in the end.”

Wriothesley put his own cup down, leaning forward in disbelief.

“No way. This was a harvest from a drought year and it’s normally a mild sort, considered unusually strong in this season. How could you know this? Are you cheating?”

“You’re welcome to test me with other samples,” Neuvillette said with an air of a magnanimous ruler granting a boon and put the teacup down with a delicate clink.

“Oh, I’m taking you up on your word, trust me,” the Duke grinned, but then paused. He didn’t want to spoil the mood, but he remembered how strongly Neuvillette felt about the perceived melusines conspiracy. Wriothesley had to tell him about the evil dragon idiots just to make sure he’s not thrown off balance later. That’s what the guard dogs are for, after all.

“Actually, before we move forward with testing your psychic tea reading abilities, there is something concerning official business that I think you should know. And then we can forget it completely.”

Neuvillette inclined his head with a small smile.

“There is a small group of conspirators, - and I must reiterate, it’s very small - who operate on the ridiculous idea that… uh, that you’re some kind of an evil dragon who schemed to overthrow Furina.”

Neuvillette's smile froze.

“You don’t have to worry about it, really. It’s negligibly small, and well, anyone with a working brain would not believe that you’re a monster in disguise.”

Iudex was silent for some time, not meeting Wriothesley’s eyes.

“Are melusines implicated in this?” he said finally.

“No. No, there’s no connection to them in this stupid theory.”

“Good. That's good. They do love living with humans so much.”

Wriothesley suspected that Iudex was taking things kind of out of proportion again.

“Listen, it’s really nothing…”

“No, no, I understand. It would be so unacceptably horrifying for humans to learn their ruler is a… monster.”

Neuvillette's voice wavered, but his face was impartial, strict, previous lightness gone completely. Wriothesley saw his hands tighten their grip on the handle of his cane a moment before he abruptly stood up.

“I must apologize for impropriety, but I have important business in the Palais which was inappropriate for me to neglect for so long. I must beg your leave to depart.”

Wriothesley stood up too, scraping to understand what he did wrong.

“Wait, it’s not…”

“Thank you for your time, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley shut his mouth, the title feeling like a slap for the first time in his life. The formality and politeness somehow only made it worse. He took a deep breath and willed himself to sound calm.

“I hope you have a nice evening, Monsieur Iudex.”

Neuvillette left in what for his usual dignified pace could be considered a hurry. Wriothesley followed him without being seen, partly to make sure he doesn’t get bothered by inmates and partly on an instinct to investigate.

At the Fortress’ entrance, he watched Neuvillette walk under the rain, lifting his head upward. The blue strands of his long hair glowed and so did his coat-tails. They extended, shining brilliant bioluminescent blue, trailing behind the Chief Justice, in a moment looking like fish’s fins, then the next - as colossal snake’s coils. Sea waves crashed against the ridge without any wind, rising high, reaching to a lonely glowing figure of Iudex. With bated breath, Wriothesley watched Neuvillette extend a hand, as if catching raindrops - and rain stopped mid-flight in the air, lingering over his palm, waves frozen cresting over the earth. The raindrops gathered in a shuddering spheres, and then stretched upwards, against all laws of gravity. Wriothesley’s heart skipped a beat as Neuvillette closed his fist and the rain flew backwards to the skies.

Wriothesley stormed back into his office and frantically searched through the reports, pages flying about, until he found the one about vishaps. He looked at the photos, seeing similarities he would never look for before. The dark blue color of vishap’s hide was nearly identical to Neuvillette’s attire, but that was small beans, easily written off as coincidence. Their eyes, bright magenta with white vertical slice of a pupil, resembled Iudex, but there was room for debate, as his eyes were much paler, lilac merging into gentle blue instead of a bright pink, even as white vertical pupil was so similar. What really struck Wriothesley after all this, was actually the little blue feather at the side of the head of both vishaps and Neuvillette. It was identical and looked so… deliberate. It had to be chosen and placed precisely like this.

Still, this was not enough. He needed more evidence. He needed… he needed answers.

He walked to Jacque's block as quickly as he could without alarming inmates, but when he got to the conspirator’s room, Jacque was sleeping on the bed and a man was sitting on the chair next to him, reading a book. He looked up when Wriothesley walked in and stood up, clumsily dropping the book. He was tall and gangly, had dark hair, Inazuman features and light brown eyes behind the glasses.

“Who are you?” Wriothesley was really not in the mood for playing games.

“Well, my organization caught wind that you are interested in learning some… historical information, and our poor Jacque is really not the best source, which is why I’m here to answer any questions you have,” the man gave him a groveling smile. “You can call me Enjou.”

“Not here. In my office. Follow me.”

When they got there, Enjou whistled musingly.

“Uh, what a nice office! Must be a pretty sweet gig. I wish I had an office instead of slinking in dump ruins all the time.” He sighed theatrically. “So, I assume your main questions are on the vishap situation. I…”

“Wait,” Wriothesley said, walking up to one of his wall cabinets. “You can’t expect me to just believe you on your word.”

“Oh, of course, of course! You’re free to rough me up a bit first. Maybe a little bit of torture? But only a little bit, I’ve got a glass jaw, haha!”

Wriothesley didn’t live so long as an undisputed champion of fight club to not recognize a freak who gets off on pain. He grimaced, walking up to the table where Enjou was already trying to rifle through the papers. He stopped with an apologetic grin and put his hands up. Wriothesley put a glass vial on the table.

“Drink.”

Enjou raised his eyebrows.

“Are we dining and wining first or?...”

“It’s a truth serum,” it was a secret project of the Sumeru Akademiya, before the sages were overthrown. Dendro Archon reportedly could read the thoughts of people, and sages were trying to replicate the effect at least partially. Wriothesley came into possession of it after using his network to get the sages connected to the needed people in Fontaine institute, as Fontaine was at the cutting edge of mech technology and the sages were apparently building an artificial god. Didn’t pan out for them, but the serum worked. Wriothesley was sure of it, because he tried it on himself first.

“Oh! How exciting! How does it work? Will it perhaps burn my insides in agonizing pain if I lie?”

“Drink,” Wriothesley said through gritted teeth.

Enjou smiled and drank the vial in one shot.

“Well, nothing is burning so far, but the evening is young, haha,” he said, smacking his lips.

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“Why are you here?”

“Huh? What do you mean? To explain the history to you, as I said.”

“Because of the goodness of your heart? What’s your agenda? Your goal?”

Enhou cleared his throat.

“Well, first of all, I do believe in uncovering and spreading so-called “forbidden” knowledge. But with your particular case can you really question my agenda? I didn’t come to you first. You were the one who sought us out. I didn’t even want to be here! I was doing my own thing without knowing about you, to be honest! But, well, I am in an organization with some unfortunate morons who thought that recruiting a convenient idiot and then sending him into underworld prison to make sure he isn’t heard is a great plan. And then when the Warden takes note of the idiot and gets him to blabber, these same morons go, Enjou, you have to get there, because you’re a vishap expert! Ugh.”

Enjou shook his head in seemingly sincere frustration.

“But um, yeah, I’m not trying to recruit you or anything. We know how you’ve disposed of House of Hearth agents and how you generally obstruct Fatui’s activity, and we just don't want you to do the same to us. Because we’re not your enemy! So I’m here to provide you with the necessary context to see that.”

Wriothesley drummed his fingers on the table.

“Okay. Start talking about Neuvilette and vishaps.”

“Well, Neuvilette is a Hydro Dragon, that should be obvious. To clarify, Hydro Dragon here means Hydro Dragon Sovereign, because technically all hydro vishaps are hydro dragons. If you didn’t know, which is understandable, as you’re more of a fighter type and not a bookworm like myself, haha, vishaps are primordial elemental creatures, original rulers of this land and mortal foes of humanity. Long before Archons, there were Dragon Sovereigns in charge of each element. Then there was a war with Celestia, specifics of which are not widely known, but we do know that Celestia won, dragons were largely eradicated and the huge chunks of powers of Sovereigns were taken from them and given to the Archons. Hydro Sovereign was killed.”

Enjou made a dramatic pause, before leaning forward with a grin. “But you see, vishaps reincarnate. Neuvillette is a Hydro Sovereign reborn in a human shape. There was actually an Inazuman prophecy about it, recorded in the Byakuyakoku Collection. That Hydro Dragon will descend in a human form, and it specifically mentions a cane. This really baffles me, to be honest. How could they predict the cane? Why does he even need a cane? Surely not because of any weakness, he’s an immortal dragon, 500 years is very young for him. And the records say when Neuvilette took his position as the Iudex some 400 years ago, he already had a cane. Was he born with it? Like, had he sprung fully formed, with a cane? Did he pick it up as, I don't know, honorary agreement with a prophecy? Or were his fashion choices actually predetermined to the degree that the prophecy knew them millenia ago?”

“Get back on track,” Wriothesley growled.

“Oh, sorry. Hmm, this serum works by forcing you to spell your thoughts out loud, yes? Well, then it’s not my fault I’m even more blabbering than usual!”

Wriothesley clasped his hands together and said slowly, carefully watching Inazuman’s reaction. “Even if he is a hydro sovereign dragon, as you say, this alone does not make him evil, as your conspiracy claims.”

Enjou fixed his glasses. He really had the hands of a bookworm, no work calluses or fighting scars. But there were spots of reddened, peeling skin that looked like burns that didn’t get to fully heal before getting burned again.

“Did you miss the “mortal foe of humanity” bit? But okay, sure. This is Fontaine after all, presumption of innocence and all that. I mean, I can’t read his thoughts to tell you under oath that he’s evil, so don’t take me to court, hehe!” Enjou grinned, clearly pleased at his own joke. “But I can tell what I know and ask some questions. My first question is why, after losing a war and presumably being killed by Celestia, would an ancient dragon god want to serve a servant of Celestia? The Archon, who rules with what is actually his own power? Unless he had some sort of agenda, perhaps? And come to think of it, why would Hydro Archon put a mortal foe of humanity into a position of such institutional power?”

“Are you implying Neuvilette forced Furina to give him the position of Iudex?”

“Well, I wasn’t here!” Enjou raised his hands defensively. “But why else would he become the Iudex?”

“There are higher beings and gods serving archons in other nations. Like Liyue adepti serving Rex Lapis.”

“Morax was known as the prime of the adepti. None of them could compare with him at strength. Same with yokai and Baal in Inazuma, she was the strongest by far. It’s natural that they would accept servitude. But here…” Enjou glanced at Wriothesley with a sly smile. “If you had to make a bet on a direct fight between Neuvillette and Furina, who would you bet on? Come on, I know tales that her own court would not listen to her until the Iudex tapped his cane.”

Wriothesley couldn’t really argue with this. When the Primordial Sea started breaking out, he himself sent for Neuvillette and didn’t even think to ask the actual Archon.

“In that case, why didn’t he just kill her immediately? Why would he play the judge?”

“Well, you see, he would not get his power back from just killing her. It would just pass to the next Archon. No, the Hydro Archon had to destroy her own throne. And running out the ruler requires a long game, as you know very well yourself, You Grace.”

Wriothesley kept a calm face, but something must have given him away, as Enjou grinned predatorily.

“Next set of facts and questions. You know of the infamous Archon trial, of course? When it was revealed that fontanian people are actually oceanids, given human shape by the previous hydro archon, Egeria? And the prophecy of the flood works because Primordial Sea waters dissolve fontanians into their oceanid forms. Well, the flood actually came. Why were fontanians not dissolved?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me that.”

“Hehe, yes. It was because Neuvillette turned them into real humans with his powers of Hydro Sovereign. How generous of him, yeah? The question is, why did it take him so long? It’s been 500 years, and yet fontanians were made human only minutes before the flood.”

Despite a feeble bookworm posturing, there was a shadow of unhinged madness in his eyes, dangerous enough that in any other case Wriothesley would cut contact. But the stakes were too high right now. He needed to get all the information he could out of this lunatic.

“You might also remember that on the same trial it was proven that Furina is not a Hydro Archon. And I can tell you that the actual Archon, Focalors, was in the Oracle machine the whole time. Sorry, I’m not even trying to pronounce that full name, haha!”

The urge to punch this bastard was overwhelming, but Wriothesley kept himself in check, mostly because he could tell he was being baited into it and he didn’t want to give the piece of shit the satisfaction.

“Anyway, Neuvilette had an audience with her right after a trial, and as result she killed herself and gave him power back. You see, Hydro Archon doesn’t have the ability to turn oceanids into real humans. All of you were just… things, playing at being humans,” Enjou said with a smirk that looked more fascinated than mocking. “But Hydro Sovereign, the original god of life, does have the power to do so. And he also, conveniently, has control over the Primordial Sea, which you, Your Grace, already know as he stopped the flood in your own Fortress.”

Wriothesley raised an eyebrow and Enjou smiled with a shrug.

“Again, I was not there! But I do know Hydro Sovereign controls the Primordial Sea, and that there is an entrance to the Sea in the Meripode Fortress. I also know that there was some emergency in the Fortress, where inmates were told to run as close to the surface as possible, and then Monsieur Iudex visited and the disaster was somehow avoided.”

Wriothesley frowned.

“If he was really a mortal enemy of humanity, why wouldn’t he just let the gates of Meripode break and the flood happen right there and then? We would all be gone and he wouldn’t need to lift a finger. Instead he ran to help when I… when the Fortress called.”

“And what would that achieve? He still wouldn’t get his power back,” Enjou shrugged dismissively and then smiled, almost wistfully.

“No, you know what I would do if *I* was the Hydro Sovereign with an ability to take human form? And if the Archon who held my power hostage was relatively weak AND had the prophecy involving a flood of the Sea I control? Well, I’d infiltrate human society, take a position of high authority and make sure the humans not only see me as the personification of law and justice, but also respect me more than their own Archon. And when the prophecy deadline is coming up, I’d make sure I have people loyal to me in some key positions. Such as Royal Duelist… and the Warden of the Fortress.”

“He didn’t make me the Warden,” Wriothesley gritted out.

“No, but he did make you the Duke, didn’t he?” Enjou smirked with a wink. “Our sources say the Court was not thrilled to give the highest noble title to you. And if the Iudex did not throw his own weight behind it, it would have never come to pass. How generous of him.”

It was true, Wriothesley’s own informants reported that the Court loathed to give him a title, let alone as high as the Duke. Neuvillette was the only one who fought for him and fought hard, because usually Iudex’s one word was enough to make a decision, but here the stalemate lasted for two months. They wanted to compromise and give him the viscount, but Iudex wouldn’t budge, so in the end, they caved.

Wriothesley never asked Neuvillette for the title. Neuvillette never mentioned what he did for the Warden and never dropped anything even as close as a hint of asking anything in return.

Unless you see it as a part of centuries long game, where mundane favors didn’t matter, but being called first to the access of the Primordial Sea did.

“Ah, you’re starting to get it, don’t you?” Enjou sensed blood in the water, like a proper shark would. “Then I would orchestrate a public court hearing to absolutely discredit the current ruler and corner the actual Archon. And when Focalors is forced to talk to me…. I would make a bargain. Saving the lives of all fontanians in exchange of getting my full power back and Focalors dying. Isn't it ironic that the dragon playing human was the one to turn human-shaped water things into actual humans?"

Enjou leaned back against his chair, grinning with satisfaction.

“And then I’d have an entire country loyal to me as a ruler, which would make a great foothold to use for attacking Celestia.”

Wriothesley took a deep breath.

“You really expect me to take you on your word? You might believe it yourself, which will pass the truth serum, but the word of a lunatic is not evidence.”

“Oh, of course not! I would never expect you to take my lowly word for it. Instead, why don’t you take Monsieur Iudex’s word?”

Enjou made a dramatic gesture of spilling a heap of conches onto the table. Wriothesley raised his eyebrows, when the other man poked one of them awkwardly.

“Now that I have reclaimed one of the Seven Authorities from the hands of the usurpers, I have regained my true form,” a calm voice that was undoubtedly Neuvillette, said out of nowhere. “I am now a fully fledged dragon, powerful enough to judge the rest of the gods. My final destiny is to judge the Usurper-King in the heavens above.”

“This could be faked,” Wriothesley said automatically, just to argue, but his heart already fell.

“You wound me! These are his words, and I spent an entire night fishing them out for you, I’ll have you know. It’s quite hard to capture this. You’re welcome to listen to all of them and see for yourself.”

Almost against his will, Wriothesley reached out and touched one of the conches.

“…I shall fulfill my vow to judge all of The Seven in turn, even if the sky should fall and the ground give way.”

Wriothesley took an abrupt breath through his teeth. Enjou sighed and stood up.

“I think it’s better for you to listen to this alone. After, you’re welcome to reach out to us, but please don’t make any hasty decisions. I’ll see you soon, Your Grace!”

Enjou walked down the stairs, and by the time Wriothesley got to them, there was no one there. The Duke couldn’t bring himself to focus on that though. Instead, he walked up to one of the wall cabinets and took out a bottle of whiskey he was saving up as a possible gift.

He didn’t bother with the glass. He fell down into the chair in front of the conches and clenched his fingers on the bottle, icy veins springing up from under them. He took a sip and touched another conch.

“…my grievances with the usurpers have yet to be settled... They owe a debt of blood that shall not be forgotten.”

He drank, staring blindly into the distance, and listened, and the quiet words burned worse than whiskey sliding down his throat. He caught himself on a familiar thought. “This can’t be happening. This is too monstrous.” The same feverish thoughts he had when he discovered the truth about his foster parents.

As if by now he shouldn’t have learned that nothing is too monstrous in this world.

“As a survivor of the dragon race who has regained my full dragonhood, I must fulfill my oath and obligations even if it means returning all the water in the oceans back to the heavens.”

It really did sound exactly like Neuvillette. Wriothesley tried to find the lie, something that sounded fake, but not only the voice, but the cadence and word choice fit. And it sounded calm, impartial as usual too. And then there were hydro vishaps appearing in Erinnyes…

Fuck, was it really that easy to fool him? Was he really this big of a fool? He learned to distrust sweet words and warm smiles, and he was so sure that he wouldn’t get caught in the same lies ever again, even if he sacrificed his ability to love for this. But all it took was a seeming opposite, direct and harsh, too cold and intimidating to appear manipulative, but endearingly awkward just sometimes, just enough to make him believe that… That there was something true and clear in this rotten world. That he could trust in *someone*.

“Nothing will stop me from rendering judgment on each of The Seven.”

He went through all of the recordings, frantically at first, wanting to find contradictions, then, when none were found, numbly re-listening to the few that hit the worst.

“…also the destroyer of the present order, the one who shall judge all gods, and the foe of humanity. “

Wasn’t it too obvious in hindsight? Why would the Iudex stake his own reputation on Wriothesley’s title? How could you not see it coming? Oh, because you thought you “deserve” it for turning this dog-fighting pit of a prison into something with a modicum of fairness? Because you thought he recognized your redemption? Gods, what are you, fucking fourteen again, did you learn nothing, why would anyone ever care about you, you naive goddamn idiot?

Soon, the bottle was somehow almost done. At this point he was running one recording on repeat, mindless and purposeless except for repeating slashes of pain, familiar rhythm like the knife on his wrists years ago.

"Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don't cry." Whoever had penned that rhyme, as well as the Fontainians who came to believe in it, must not have known the Hydro Dragon all that well, considering that they thought the Hydro Dragon could cry. What did they take said Dragon for, some sort of bleeding heart who grieved for humans and the heavens alike?”

If this was true… If this was true, then Wriothesley didn’t just get fooled himself. Then he helped a monster take control of the country and potentially use it in war against heavens.

He clenched his hand and it took him a moment to realize he broke the bottle he was holding in it. That pain from glass pieces in his palm felt small and distant now. But at last, it spurned him into action.

If this was true, he only had one shot. He’d already told Neuvillette of the dragon conspiracy, like a good little idiot eager to please. And any tyrant worth his salt would make sure to take him out after his, especially now that he outlived his purpose in giving access to Meripode vaults. He might have some time because of how oblivious he was, dismissing the conspiracy openly, but it couldn’t be long.

He couldn’t take his time. He couldn’t hope for the better. He had to act like it’s the worst option possible. More than anything, he needed to confront Neuvillette, dragon Sovereign or not. He had to fix this, no matter the cost.

He realized he needed leverage. Brute strength was out of the question. Even before the flood, Neuvillette absolutely destroyed Fatui Harbinger in one flash, quicker than anyone in the audience could see what happened. Wriothesley would put himself against Harbringer with no hesitation, but he wasn’t an idiot. If this was how powerful Iudex was before, then after allegedly gaining his full power, there was no way Wriothesley could threaten him. No, he needed something else.

He took out the paper and wrote a note, taking care to not stain it with blood. Fortunately, he held the bottle in his left hand, so he could keep it out of the way.

“....and so confess that I, Wriothesley, Warden of the Fortress of Meripode, killed Chief Justice, Iudex Neuvillette.”

He finished the note and carefully put in his signature, then folded the paper into an envelope and closed it with his personal seal. Then he walked up to a safe, one of the hidden ones, and punched in a code. When the safe opened, he rummaged in it for a moment, until finally taking out two vials.

This was sold to him as the poison that could kill a god.

#rhine writes #rhine writes light #neuvillette #wriothesley #wriolette #genshin impact #enjou #i had a lot of fun with enjou here #anyway let me know what you guys think

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rottenteeth · 29 days ago

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Science time with Rottenteeth!

To preface, DID is a trauma disorder just as PTSD is a trauma disorder, there is just heavier compartmentalization. Also there is nothing wrong morally with not wanting to, not having the resources to, or not being stable enough to recover. That isn't what this is about, its about the harm some people are causing to themselves unknowingly. My goal is education and harm reduction.

(Long post but many resources at the bottom)

Every system is different because everyone's trauma is different. This however, does not and will never apply to the treatment of dissociative identity disorder. There are 2 options if you want to recover and process trauma to the fullest extent. Being a functional integrated system and final fusion. These require the same treatment; stabilization, processing trauma, and the breaking down of dissociative barriers.

This means alter separation and the encouragement of treating them like genuine people, is counterintuitive to said path. Using people based language is not wrong, but genuinely believing you are multiple people will make your life much less functional. If you treat alters like separate people even with this knowledge, that is your decision and may be the safest option for your current situation. But it can and will make the future much harder.

Telling people with DID- a disorder that makes you disconnected from reality and fantasy prone- that a fully functional life and stable mental state is possible while "being multiple people" is not okay. Me and these other misinfo blogs aim to show people the true reality of this disorder and its treatment.

You wouldn't tell someone with PTSD that if processing trauma makes them feel bad then they don't have to process it to have a healthy life. You wouldn't tell someone with schizophrenia that they should embrace their hallucinations and treat them like they're real just because they feel real. Nor would you tell someone with depression that doing nothing and withdrawing from social interaction is helpful and a healthy path just because it feels the least taxing.

So why is it okay to endorse alter separation when we know that more alter separation=more dissociative barriers=less trauma processing? Why do we want people to not properly process their trauma?

Just because someone is more comfortable with the idea of being separate people (which occurs so that one can disown their trauma and emotions) does not mean it is a healthy recovery path. This disorder makes it so that "being multiple" is the most comfortable because that's what made life somewhat livable. That doesn't mean it's good, recovery will never be a happy comfortable process, it is a challenging and grueling process, it always has been.

It is okay to not be ready to accept alters as part of a whole, it is okay to feel scared when acknowledging that those things happened to all of you. Sometimes treating parts like people is a stage in the stabilization and trauma processing parts of treatment.

What isn't okay is making people think that treating yourself like you are multiple people in one body is a healthy thing long term. You are allowed to do so and my aim is to only educate these people about the long term harm they are doing so that they are informed in their decisions.

I think the confusion comes in because when we say alters are not separate people, it gets taken as us saying they shouldn't be treated with kindness and respect like a human. This is not and never has been what any of these accounts mean. Alters have individuality and may feel like different people and it is okay to acknowledge that, and they still deserve respect and compassion. But this does not mean they are people. No matter how severe your barriers are.

This disorder is not alter disorder but they are a manifestation of trauma and unmet needs. This doesn't diminish the fact that accepting this idea of being a fractured whole is incredibly hard and should be done with the help of a therapist during stabilization.

Here are some good resources:

#dissociative identity disorder #osddid #actually did #cdd #complex ptsd #anti misinfo #dissociative parts #complex dissociative disorder #dissociative identities #alternate states of consciousness #Not striving for a full recovery isnt wrong #Just be informed on the weight of your decision #recovery wants vary between people but be aware of the one that provides the best quality of life #Dont encourage part separation in others but if that is what you strive for there is nothing morally wrong with that

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bubblegum-bros-sys · 3 months ago

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I ended up blocking this person (and turning off reblogs on the original post cause it was annoying me and I don’t like the idea of having our face everywhere) cause while they seem to be pro-endo, they act like the DSM is the Bible and think CDDs are purely traumagenic, which isn’t true. You can be diagnosed with a CDD/be disordered and not be traumagenic. Trauma is not a requirement for CDDs, and CDDs are not trauma disorders. Claiming that is not misinformation. There are multiple professionals who have said this. CDDs don’t require trauma and plurality doesn’t require CDDs. Whether or not you have a CDD is based on how your system functions, not your origin.

Anyways they reblogged a TikTok where I basically said that in simplified terms (because systok is stupid) and they felt the need to tell me I’m wrong. Here’s what they said and my response

Now I’m not saying I can’t be wrong about this, because again, like I said, my whole main point is that the ToSD is just that, a THEORY, it cannot be solidly proven in an ethical or concrete way, therefore it’s just as possible CDDs DO only stem from trauma.

But at the end of the day, GENUINELY, how is it harmful to say that they don’t?

Because in that case, all that would mean is that most CDD systems would ALSO have C-PTSD, which they can still get treatment for, and they can still acknowledge influences their plurality the same way any other co-existing disorders and neurodivergences would. Then it ALSO doesn’t invalidate non-traumagenic systems who have CDDs.

Trying to say that I’m going against science or spreading misinformation or am “part of the problem” when LITERALLY my whole stance is “yes, CDDs are formed by trauma, no one is denying that, I’m just saying we cannot prove they are ONLY formed by trauma, and even if they are, other forms of plurality exist regardless.” Is stupid and is just adding MORE discourse and fighting where it is unnecessary.

Also, our system is a part of the pluralpunk movement. We aren’t huge fans of the medical system in general anyways. We don’t see the DSM or any kind of diagnosis for that matter as an authority over the human experience. Many professionals are still extremely misinformed and undereducated about many things, especially plurality. Which isn’t entirely on professionals, many things are under researched in general, but regardless. How many disorders get classified, diagnosed, and treated is kind of shit. None of these labels matter in the grand scheme of things anyways. But while these sorts of things are in place, disordered endogenic systems exist and are valid, and CDDs are NOT inherently trauma disorders.

#plural #pluralgang #plurality #pluralpunk #sysblr #multiplicity #anti sysmed #anti transmed #endo friendly #endo safe

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miraculouslbcnreactions · 1 year ago

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Adrien is Marinette's Therapist, NOT her Boyfriend and it's Gross

Mental health struggles are no joke and, if you have those struggles, then you absolutely need a partner who will support you through them. That's why, at face value, Adrien supporting Marinette with her PTSD and anxiety is very sweet. It's what a good boyfriend should do. The problem is that Adrien is being written like her therapist, not her boyfriend.

Adrien has his own struggles with depression, loss, and paternal neglect. Yet none of these struggles are brought up once Adrien and Marinette get together. Instead, the relationship is all about her needs and struggles even though this season ends with Gabriel's take down, meaning that focusing on Adrien's issues would have made more sense from a narrative perspective. How much more powerful would the final have been if Marinette really understood Adrien, Emilie, and Gabriel's relationship?

But why do that when we can make everything about Adrienette instead? Why bother to mention Emilie when Marinette is a much better point of conflict between Adrien and Gabriel? After all, if we did that, then Adrien would have a life outside of Marinette and that would be, well, sigh, let's get into it, shall we?

In Derision, we learn that Marinette apparently doesn't have some form of anxiety or ADHD or any of the other things that people have theorized over the years. No, vanilla-Marinette is a totally relaxed, go-with-the-flow non-planner who only started planning after Chloe, Sabrina, and Kim gave her PTSD. Does this insult her character and make no sense? Yes, but let's not get into that. Let's just accept the retcon and look at the fallout of Adrien knowing that his new girlfriend has massive trauma that's mainly focused on romance and controlling situations.

The very next episode is Intuition. In it we see Marinette calling Adrien to show off her ability to do things without planning (or, at least, with less planning) and it's clear from context that this is an exercise that they're doing:

Adrien: Well... (his phone rings) Fancy that! Marinette! I like spending time with Marinette. (picks up his phone) Marinette: (on-call) Guess what I'm calling for: nothing! Can you believe it? I'm calling you randomly, totally out of the blue, for no reason at all! Adrien: So you didn't write down everything you might need to say to me based on everything I might say to you? Marinette: Not at all! Well... I did. I really tried not to, you know, but it was too hard! Anyhow, I limited myself to fourteen possible conversations, including this one! Adrien: Congratulations! Marinette: (on-call) Thank you! Adrien: And did you prepare questions for science class? Marinette: (on-call) Not-a-one! Not even for the live video conference we're doing with Max's mom on the super awesome Tsurugi space jet! I, Marinette, will improvise questions, unpredictably, without planning anything!

In the context of the show, this conversation is deeply concerning and I don't know wtf the writers think they're doing. There is no way in hell that a 14-year-old should be guiding his girlfriend through a therapy session or therapy exercise unless he has the guidance and approval of a trained mental health professional.

Seriously look at what Adrien is doing in this dialogue: Marinette tells him that she's called him without planning and he doesn't just say "that's great!" Instead, he asks if that's true, congratulates her for her mild improvement, and then prompts her to talk about another situation where she would plan things out. In other words, he's asking about the therapy homework that he's clearly given her or that they've decided on together. It's also clear that this isn't their first discussion on the topic because he's very comfortable knowing what to ask about to see if she's done her homework right.

Why was this homework chosen? Who knows! It certainly wasn't picked by someone with training! A therapist wouldn't tell you to avoid planning for a school assignment (something that we've never seen Marinette overplan before, but once again, we're ignoring the retcon). This scene would arguably be inappropriate for an established adult relationship, but a nascent teenage one? Absolutely not.

My SO and I have both done therapy and seen wildly unbalanced relationships. This conversation threw massive red flags for us on both fronts. This is not what a healthy relationship looks like. This is not a give and take. This is why you need a therapist to at least guide you through this type of situation or you will set yourself up in roles where person A is not getting their needs met because the relationship has an established dynamic where person A is the giver and person B is the taker.

This is especially true for a young relationship that's just getting its feet off of the ground. They're supposed to be in the honeymoon phase! More established relationships are better able to handle phases where one person needs more support than the other which absolutely happens and is totally normal. However, when those things happen, it's vital for the supporting partner to have their own support since they can't get it from their partner.

Miraculous denies Adrien this suport. In the very next episode, we get this:

Adrien: I've always seen Marinette acting funny in my presence. I thought that was just the way she was. I thought it was sweet. I thought it was just her charm. But now that I know it's because she loves me and she freaks out about telling me, I feel bad. Because it means that this whole time she's been uncomfortable around me, and I haven't done anything to help her. Kagami: But you didn't know. Adrien: It doesn't take away from her suffering. I just wish she could feel more at ease when she's with me. Otherwise, one day, it'll be too late and she'll give up. Kagami: What can I do to help, Adrien? Adrien: Thanks, but it's not up to you or anyone else to help. I'm the one who's gotta do something.

No! Adrien, you are not equipped to deal with this solo. Ask Kagami to help! Ask Alya to help! Ask Marinette's parents to help! There are times when it's okay to involve others in your relationship and this is one of those times! This isn't even a relationship issue! It's a mental health issue! I know we're flipping gender roles here, but it's not somehow cute or healthy just because a guy is trying to "fix" the girl for once. No one should try to take on that task. This is what therapy is for.

If therapy is not an option for financial or other reasons, then yes, sometimes you have to struggle through and loved ones can help, but in TV land? Especially aimed-at-kids TV land? Show the ideal scenario! At the very least, show a support network! And I mean actual support, not Kagami asking to help and Adrien shooting her down! Writers, you are making Gabriel's dislike of Marinette valid! You are making it so that she is dragging Adrien down! Stop doing that!

Adrien deserves love and support, too. Adrien deserves to be romanced. Adrien deserves more than a kiss and an "I love you" that he had to fight to hear! He never even gets one of the presents from Marinette's chest. She did more to woo him before they got together and it's such pathetic writing.

The fun of getting these two together is letting them do all the stuff they've always wanted to do! Let Marinette bring him macrons! Let him bring her roses! Let her enhance his wardrobe! Let him write her poems! Let them be a healthy, balanced, sickeningly-cute couple! It's fine if she's nervous at the start and takes a while to act normal, but this show takes it to a level beyond teenage jitters and it's not funny or cute. It's concerning.

All of these issues start with Derision's romance-based-PTSD retcon and it was the worst thing they could have done for the Love Square. It poisons the rest of the season and is why I just can't ship these two in canon even though I love what they could have been. They have established such a horrifically unhealthy dynamic that I can't see this ending well unless they get couple's therapy in the very near future and that's not even touching on the baggage that will come from the lies and still unresolved Ladynoir trauma.

As soon as Marinette has romance-based PTSD, she was incapable of being in a relationship until after she'd learned to manage her PTSD. (PTSD cannot be cured, btw, you just learn how to manage it and the symptoms can lessen.) The writers apparently knew that. It's why they gave her a therapist to support her as she worked through her issues and got to the point where she can say "I love you". His name is Adrien. Isn't he cute?

#ml writing salt #ml writing critical #ml season 5 salt #adrien deserves better #suffering through a rewatch of season 5 for love of my so #ml intuition #ml derision #ml perfection #marinette deserves better #I just wanted a cute romance not whatever the writers think they're doing

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buckyssoldat · 23 days ago

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Chapter 61: Flicker of hope

Warnings: mentions of death, grief and loss, emotional distress, mature themes, strong language, anxiety, trauma, ptsd, mental health struggles

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

I know I'll see you again, whether far or soon

But I need you to know

That I care and I miss you

Almost a month had passed since Alice went to Tony’s house to have dinner with his family. She had been spending her days in her apartment, mostly reading or painting, a new hobby that she had recently picked up. Visiting Natasha was also that was part of her routine – either to have a cup of coffee and talk about what was happening around the world, or to drink endless bottles of wine and gossip about their past.

One sunny afternoon, Alice was lounging on her couch, absently reading a new book, when a familiar name flashed across her screen: Steve. Even though they remained friends after their tumultuous relationship, they had eventually grown apart a little bit. Intrigued, she quickly answered.

“Alice, hey, can you come to the Compound? It’s urgent,” Steve said, his voice steady but tinged with an unmistakable urgency that piqued her interest.

“Is everything okay?” Alice asked, her heart racing as she leaned forward, the sunlight streaming through her window unnoticed.

“It’s… Scott Lang. He’s back. He has something important. You need to hear it.”

The mention of Scott, Ant-Man, stirred a sense of anticipation within Alice. She had thought he was lost to them, one of the many who had been snapped away by Thanos. The idea that he had returned was electrifying. Scott had always been a beacon of hope and humour, and if he had found a way back, it could mean something monumental. “I’ll be there in ten,” she replied, grabbing her jacket and rushing out the door, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Upon arriving at the Compound, Alice made her way directly to the briefing room, her heart pounding with anticipation. The air inside was charged with an energy that suggested something huge was about to unfold. As she entered, she found Steve, Natasha, and Scott already present, their expression serious and focused. Scott was eating a peanut butter sandwich as if he hadn’t eaten something in years.

“Hey, Alice,” Steve said, his voice steady, but Alice could see the tension in his posture. Natasha stood beside him, arms crossed, her eyes sharp and analysing.

Before Alice could speak, Scott put down his sandwich and started explaining to her about the Quantum Realm and the possibility of time travel. As Scott laid out his theory, Alice listened intently, the possibilities swirling in her mind. They discussed various time travel mechanics and the potential risks involved. Could this actually work?

Alice’s heart raced at the thought. Time travel had always been a far-fetched concept, a theme reserved for comic books and science fiction films. But here it was, standing before her like a beacon of hope. If the could time travel, there was a chance to bring Bucky back, to bring everyone back. She locked eyes with Steve, who mirrored her excitement, his brows furrowed in concentration.

As the meeting continued, Scott emphasized the need for precision and teamwork. “We’d need to coordinate perfectly,” he explained, sketching out a timeline on a whiteboard. “In and out, no lingering. We can’t mess with the past too much.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “And what’s to stop us from running into ourselves or accidentally altering major events?”

“That’s where we’ll have to be smart about it,” Scott replied. “We’ll have to ensure we’re in and out before anything drastic happens. But I can’t do this alone. I need an expert. So who do we talk about this?”

Alice looked around the room, weighing their options. “We should talk to Tony. If anyone can help us figure this out, it’s him.”

Since it was too late to go to Tony’s, the four of them decided to spend the night in the Compound and go first thing in the morning. They spread out into the common area, where Scott began explaining his theories in more detail. But as the conversation continued, Alice found herself unable to focus entirely. The excitement of the meeting was overshadowed by a mixture of anxiety and hope for what was to come.

After a while, Alice excused herself, feeling the need for some fresh air and solitude to process everything. Steve wanted to go after her, but Natasha stopped him. Alice made her way to the roof, a favourite spot of hers. The night sky was a tapestry of stars, and a gentle breeze rustled through her hair as she stepped outside.

Not long after, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw Natasha emerging onto the roof, a couple of beers in hand. She approached Alice with a knowing smile, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Thought you could use one of these,” Natasha said, handing Alice a beer and popping the top of her own.

“Thanks,” Alice replied, accepting the drink. They both leaned against the ledge, taking a moment to soak in the peaceful night.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, gazing at the stars above. Then Natasha broke the quiet, her voice soft yet steady. “It’s a lot to take in, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alice replied, taking a sip of her beer. “I never thought I’d see Scott again.”

Natasha nodded, her expression thoughtful. “It’s strange. It feels like a part of me wants to hope, but another part is terrified of what might mean. What if it doesn’t work? What if we mess up?”

Alice turned to look at Natasha, sensing the weight behind her words. “I get that. But what if it does work? What if we can change things? I mean, we have a chance to bring everyone back. I could get Bucky back, Nat. And you can get Yelena back. I know how much she meant to you.”

Natasha took a deep breath, leaning her elbows on the ledge. “I miss her, you know? I miss all of them. It’s like there’s this void that just… never goes away. But I also know how dangerous messing with time can be. If we aren’t careful, we could end up causing more harm than good.”

“I’ve thought about that,” Alice admitted, gazing at the stars. “But I can’t shake the feeling that this might be our only shot. If we have a plan and if we’re smart about it, maybe we can do this.”

Natasha turned to her, her expression softening. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Alice hesitated, feeling her cheeks flush slightly. “Bucky… he means so much to me, I don’t even know how to describe it. If there’s a chance to get him back, I want to take it. For him, for all of us.”

Natasha nodded, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “You know, I admire that about you. You have this fire, this determination. It’s what makes you who you are.”

“Thanks, Nat,” Alice said, feeling a warmth spread through her. “But it’s not just me. We all want this. We’re a team, and we need to support each other. I just hope Tony comes around. He’s the genius we need to make this happen.”

“Yeah, Tony can be stubborn,” Natasha replied, rolling her eyes playfully. “But he also cares about us. I think once he sees the potential in Scott’s plan, he’ll jump on board.”

“Let’s hope so,” Alice said, taking another sip of her beer.

As they stood on the rooftop, the cool breeze swirled around them, carrying with it a sense of friendship and understanding. In that moment, Alice felt a profound connection with Natasha. They were not just friends but best friends, bound by shared pain and the hope of a better tomorrow.

After a moment of comfortable silence, Natasha spoke again, her voice a little more serious. “You know, if this works, it’ll change everything. We’ll be diving into the unknown, and we can’t predict what will happen. Are you ready for that?”

“I think I am,” Alice replied honestly. “I’m scared, of course. But I’d rather take the risk than live in a world where I didn’t try. I owe it to Bucky and to everyone else we lost.”

Natasha studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Just remember, whatever happens, you’re not alone in this. We’re all in it together.”

Alice smiled, feeling a swell of gratitude. “I know. Thank you, Natasha. I really appreciate you being here.”

Natasha clinked her beer against Alice’s, a silent toast to their friendship and the journey ahead. “To hope,” she said softly.

“Yeah, to hope,” Alice echoed, raising her drink higher. As they took a sip, the weight of the world outside faded, leaving behind the flickering light of possibility.

As the night wore on, they shared stories and laughter, momentarily forgetting the heaviness of their reality. They discussed everything from their favourite movies to the ridiculous antics of past missions. Laughter echoed across the rooftop, intertwining with the stars above, a reminder of the strength that friendship could provide even in the darkest times.

Eventually, they made their way back inside, the warmth of friendship lingering as they rejoined Steve and Scott in the common area. Scott was animatedly discussing potential timelines with Steve, who listened intently, a look of determination etched on his face.

“Hey, what did we miss?” Natasha asked, her tone casual, though Alice could sense a newfound confidence in her voice.

“Just mapping out potential timelines,” Steve replied, gesturing to the whiteboard where Scott had scribbled various dates and events.

Alice exchanged a glance with Natasha, both silently reaffirming their commitment to this mission. They were in this together, ready to face whatever lay ahead.

The following morning, Alice, Natasha, Steve, and Scott piled into a car and drove to Tony’s lakeside cabin, where Alice had once found solace in the simplicity of his new life. But this time, the weight of the world was on their shoulders.

As they approached the cabin, Alice felt a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety. Tony had been out of the game for a while now, and she wasn’t sure how he would react to the idea of time travel. But Scott’s theory was their only shot, and if anyone could figure out the complexities of it, it was Tony Stark.

As Tony strolled by the lake with his daughter, the peaceful silence between them was suddenly interrupted by the distant rumble of a car engine. Tony squinted towards the sound, spotting a black Audi pulling to a stop a few meters away. He groaned inwardly, recognizing the passengers. Steve, Natasha, Scott, and Alice stepped out, looking tense but determined.

Tony let out a heavy sigh. “Great,” he muttered. “Just what I needed – and impromptu Avengers reunion.”

Alice gave him a sympathetic smile. “Did you really think we’d let you live your quiet little life forever?”

Before Tony could respond, the rest of the group approached, and it didn’t take long for Scott to dive into the heart of the matter, his voice filled with excitement. He explained his plan in rapid bursts, his enthusiasm contagious despite the gravity of the situation.

“Now, we know what it sounds like…” Scott added.

“Tony, after everything you’ve seen, is anything really impossible?” Steve asked, his voice calm yet pressing.

Tony, trying to hold back his sarcasm, crossed his arms and shot Steve a look before launching into an explanation that left most of them blinking in confusion.

“Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck Scale, which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition. Can we agree on that?”

The blank expressions on Alice, Steve, Nat, and Scott’s faces spoke volumes.

Steve accepted a drink from Tony. “Thank you.”

“In layman’s terms, it means you’re not coming home,” Tony added flatly.

“I did,” Scott retorted quickly.

“No, you accidentally survived. It’s a billion-to-one cosmic fluke. And now you wanna pull off a… what do you call it?”

“A time heist?” Alice chimed in, trying to sound proud.

“Yeah, a time heist. Of course, why didn’t we think of this before? Oh, because it’s laughable? Because it’s a pipedream?” Tony’s sarcasm was evident.

“The Stones are in the past. We can go back and get them,” Scott pressed on.

“We can snap our own fingers. We can bring everyone back,” Natasha added, her voice steady, but there was a hint of desperation.

Alice’s heart skipped a beat at Natasha’s words, the possibility of getting Bucky back looking more promising. But Tony’s gaze darkened at the mention of the snap.

“Or screw it up worse than he already has, right?”

“I don’t believe we would,” Steve countered.

Alice could sense the tension building. She finally spoke up, her tone softer than the others. “Tony, I get it. You have a family now. But so do we, in a way. We’ve all lost people we care about. We’ve already paid the price – shouldn’t we at least try to make it right?”

Tony glanced at her, his expression softening for just a moment before he turned back to the group, his voice firm.

“Gotta say, sometimes I miss that giddy optimism. However, high hopes won’t help if there’s no logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist. I believe the most likely outcome would be our collective demise.”

“Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel. That means no talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting event-” Scott began.

Tony held up his hand to stop him. “I’m gonna stop you right there, Scott. Are you seriously telling me that your plan to save the universe is based on ‘Back to the Future’?”

“No,” Scott mumbled, clearly embarrassed.

“Good. You had me worried there. ‘Cause that’d be horse shit. That’s not how quantum physics works.”

Alice exchanged a quick glance with Natasha, knowing Scott had just made his already shaky pitch a little worse. But Natasha wasn’t one to give up easily.

“Tony… we have to take a stand,” Natasha said, her voice firmer now.

“We did stand. And yet, here we are,” Natasha responded, her voice firmer now.

“We did stand. And yet, here we are,” Tony responded, the bitterness evident.

“I know you got a lot on the line. You’ve got a wife, a daughter. But I lost someone very important to me. A lot of people did,” Scott’s voice raised as he tried to make his point. “And now, we have a chance to bring her back. To bring everyone back. And you’re telling me that you won’t even-”

“That’s right, Scott, I won’t even. I’ve got a kid.” Tony’s voice softened as Morgan ran out of the house, her small feet pattering across the ground.

“Mommy told me to come and save you,” she said proudly as she ran into her dad’s arms.

Tony smiled, lifting her up effortlessly. “Good job. I’m saved.” He turned to face Steve, Natasha, Alice, and Scott. “I wish you’d come here to ask me something else. Anything else. Honestly, I… I missed you guys, it was… Oh, and table’s set for six.”

As Tony set Morgan down, the little girl turned towards Alice, her face lighting up with a big smile. Without hesitation, she rushed over to Alice, wrapping her tiny arms around her legs in a hug. Alice’s heart melted instantly, and she bend down to give Morgan a proper hug, smiling warmly.

“Hey, kiddo,” Alice whispered softly, brushing Morgan’s hair back gently.

Morgan giggled and beamed at Alice before running back to Tony’s side.

There was a moment of quiet, the weight of the situation pressing down on everyone. Steve, ever the leader, broke the silence.

“Tony, I get it. And I’m happy, for you, I really am. But this is a second chance.”

Tony glanced at Morgan, holding her close. “I got my second change right here, Cap. I can’t roll the dice again. If you don’t talk shop, you can stay for lunch.”

Defeated, Steve, Natasha, and Scott walked back to the car, but Alcie stayed with Tony. He let out a long breath, his gaze shifting to Alice, who stood quietly, her expression troubled but unwavering.

Morgan had already run back into the house, leaving the two of them alone by the lakeside, the sun casting a warm golden hue over everything. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The soft lapping of the lake’s water against the shore was the only sound between them.

Tony glanced over at Alice, expecting her to say something light or teasing to ease the tension, but instead, her eyes were misty, her lips trembling as if she was holding back something deep.

“Tony,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “you know me. I’m not one to beg.”

Tony’s brows furrowed, sensing the shift in her tone. He stood straighter, turning to face her fully. Alice took a deep breath, steadying herself.

“Please reconsider Scott’s idea,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “This… this might be the only chance I have. The only chance any of us have to make things right. I need this. I need… I need him back.”

Tony blinked, the sincerity and desperation in her voice hitting him harder than he expected. He knew she wasn’t talking about some abstract “greater good”. This was personal.

“Barnes,” Tony said softly, piercing it together. Alice nodded, tears brimming in her eyes now.

“I lost him, Tony,” she continued, her voice thick with emotion. “And not just to the Snap. We were finally starting to heal, finally starting to build something. I know it wasn’t perfect, but it was real. And I don’t know how to live in a world where he’s just… gone. I tried to think I could, but I can’t…”

Tony stared at her, the familiar ache of grief creeping up his spine as he remembered all those he had lost too. He sighed, glancing down at the ground, his hands on his hips.

“Alice…” he started, but she interrupted him, her voice shaking.

“I deserve this, Tony. We deserve this. Bucky and I – we’ve both fought so hard. We’ve lost so much. I’ve spent years running from the idea that maybe I could have a happy ending. And now, the universe has taken him away from me, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Nothing except this.” She stepped closer to him, her eyes searching his for understanding. “You know what it’s like to have a second chance. You have it now with Pepper and Morgan. You have your family. I just… I want that too.”

Tony looked away, swallowing hard, torn between his fear of losing what he had and the pull of Alice’s words, the rawness in her plea.

“I don’t wanna lose him forever, Tony,” Alice whispered, her tears spilling over now. “If there’s even a small chance that I can get him back… I have to take it. Please. Please help us. Help me.”

There was a long silence. Tony clenched his jaw, his hands tightening into fists by his sides. He’d been where she was – desperate, willing to risk everything for the people he loved. But now… now he had a family, a life he couldn’t bear to lose. And yet, seeing Alice like this, broken and vulnerable, made it harder to hold onto his resolve.

“I’ve lost him too many times already,” she added, her voice barely audible. “I can’t do it again.”

Tony ran a hand through his hair, his heart pounding. He had to draw the line somewhere, had to protect what he had now. But Alice’s words lingered, echoing in his head, and he knew, deep down, that he was only standing there with his family because someone had once given him a chance.

He looked back at her, seeing the hope she was clinging to. Slowly, he let out a sigh, his voice quiet, almost defeated.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he admitted. “But I’ll think about it.”

Alice’s breath hitched, a small sob escaping her. “That’s all I’m asking for. Just… think about it.”

Tony nodded, his gaze softening. “You’ve got my word.”

Alice wiped her tears, trying to hold herself together, but the weight of his words brought her some small comfort. She nodded back, her heart still aching, but a sliver of hope blooming inside her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Tony didn’t say anything, but the look in his eyes said enough. He wasn’t ready to make promises, but he understood what was at stake now – not just for the world, but for the people he cared about. For Alice. For her chance at a happy ending.

Alice began walking back towards the car, leaving Tony standing by the house. She opened the door and sat on the backseat.

“He’s scared,” Natasha finally broke the silence.

“He’s not wrong,” Steve added, but his brow was furrowed.

Alice nodded, her mind racing. “He’s not wrong, but… I don’t think we have the luxury of playing it safe anymore.”

“Yeah, but I mean, what are we gonna do? We need him,” Scott said, frustration building in his voice. “What, are we gonna stop?”

“No, I wanna do it right,” Steve replied. “We’re gonna need a really big brain.”

Scott pointed back at Tony’s house, incredulous. “Bigger than his?”

Alice caught Steve’s gaze, her eyes determined. “There’s one more person I can think of.”

The next day, Alice found herself seated at a table in a cozy little diner. Across from her sat Scott Lang, still wide-eyed and blinking as if he was trying to process everything that had been happening. Natasha sat beside Alice, arms crossed as she watched Bruce Banner, or rather “Professor Hulk’, who was enthusiastically digging into his breakfast. Steve stood nearby, arms cross in his usual stoic stance. Alice couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sight of Bruce – he was bigger, greener, and surprisingly… wearing a shirt.

Bruce pushed a plate of scrambled eggs toward the middle of the table. “Come on, I feel like I’m the only one eating here,” he said, his voice calm but still holding that deep resonance. “Try some. Eggs are good.”

Scott looked at him, bewildered. “I’m so confused.”

Bruce smiled a little too earnestly. “There are confusing times.”

“Right,” Scott agreed, then waved his hands in frustration. “No, no. That’s not what I mean!”

Bruce leaned back, his face falling into a more relaxed expression. “I know, I’m kidding. But yeah, it’s crazy, right? I’m wearing shirts now.”

Alice, sitting nearby, arched an eyebrow and leaned over to Steve. “Shirts? That’s the big revelation? I’ve been wearing them for years, and no one claps for me.”

Steve smirked but stayed focused on Bruce as Scott stammered again. “Yeah! How? Why?”

Bruce’s face darkened for a moment as the weight of his words became evident. “Five years ago, we got our asses handed to us. Except it was worse for me. Because I lost twice. First, Hulk lost, then Banner lost… and then we all lost.”

Natasha, always the level-headed one, spoke softly. “No one blamed you, Bruce.”

Bruce shook his head, his tone heavier. “I did. For years, I treated the Hulk like he was a disease, something to be cured. But then I realized… he wasn’t the problem. Maybe he was the solution. I spent eighteen months in a gamma lab, and I figured it out. Now… well, best of both worlds.”

Just then, a small group of kids approached Bruce, their eyes wide with awe. One girl, no older than ten, hesitantly tapped him on the arm. “Excuse me, Mr. Hulk?”

Bruce immediately brightened up, flashing a grin. “Yes, little person?”

“Can we get a photo with you?”

Bruce chuckled warmly. “One hundred percent, little one. Step up.” He handed his phone to Scott. “You mind?”

Scott awkwardly took the phone. “Sure, sure. I’m Ant-Man, by the way…”

Alice couldn’t resist. “Yep. The guy who shrinks. You should add that to your resume, Scott.”

Scott flashed her a look. “Thanks, Alice.”

As Bruce posed with the kids, Scott snapped the picture and handed the phone back, clearly a little bothered. “Don’t you wanna grab one with me? You know, Ant-Man?”

The boy shook his head. “Stranger danger,” he whispered, looking Scott up and down.

Alice stifled a laugh. “Ouch, buddy.”

Scott sighed. “No one knows Ant-Man…”

Bruce, trying to smooth things over, gestured to the boy. “No, come on. You wanna take a picture with him, right?”

The boy shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “No, I’m good.”

Scott shrugged. “He doesn’t want it. I get it.”

Bruce chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, man. What about you, Onyx? You’re an Avenger, too. No kids asking for selfies?”

Alice smirked, but her tone was laced with sincerity. “Oh, I get my fair share. Let’s just say being one of the originals has its perks.” She leaned forward, her humour fading slightly. “But right now, this isn’t about fame or photos. It’s about getting everyone back.”

After the kids left, Bruce shifted in his seat as Steve spoke up. “Bruce. About what we were discussing…”

Bruce turned back, his demeanour changing again, realizing the seriousness of the situation. “Oh, right. The whole time-travel do-over thing? I gotta be honest, guys, that’s not really my area of expertise.”

Natasha glanced at Alice, giving her a knowing look. They all knew who had the most at stake here.

Alice leaned forward, her humorous tone long gone. “Look, Bruce, I know this isn’t simple. But you made the impossible happen once already.” She gestured to him. “No one thought you could balance Hulk and Banner, but here you are, in a shirt, telling us it’s possible. You can make this work, I know it.”

Bruce hesitated, glancing around the table. He could feel the weight of their expectations, especially Alice’s. “I get it. I do. And I’ll try to help. But time travel? That’s… outside my realm of miracles.”

Steve spoke up again, this time more firmly. “But we need this. We need you.”

Alice clenched her fists under the table, hiding the growing tension in her voice. “Bruce, I don’t care how hard it is. I need Bucky back. We all need them back. Whatever it takes.”

Bruce looked at her, truly seeing the desperation in her eyes. He nodded, understanding more than he let on. “Okay. I’ll do my best. Let’s get to work.”

tags: @capswife

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cambriancrew · 11 months ago

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@mandellaeffect

So. It's been several days since this, but we still want to reply. We wrote out a long thing, Tumblr ate it, we rewrote it by hand, and we're just now getting around to typing it up.

And fair warning. We can't talk in depth about this interview and why we said what we said without also talking about the abuse we experienced from our ex. We'll keep it general and nonspecific as much as possible, but please just know, it was REALLY bad. Much worse than what we talk about here. Like we still have PTSD from it bad.

Also it may help to read the AMA we did on Reddit after this interview came out.

So. Our ex believed we either had DID or were demon possessed, and had very ableist views about DID that he used to threaten us with - believed we were dangerous to be around, for instance - and threatened us with involuntarily commitment. He also tried to prevent us from seeing any therapist or mental health care provider other than the extremely bigoted, very out of date pastor/counselor of the church we went to and that our husband worked at.

We worried that he was right, that we might fit the criteria for OSDD-1 because of our failing relationship with him.

But, in all honesty, our relationship had been falling apart for awhile, because he was abusive - obsessed with being the perfect fundamentalist Christian couple, bigotry and all. He tried to make us Crew stop being friends with people who weren't Christians, and people who were queer. He tried to dictate what books we could read - no more science fiction and fantasy even though that's the genre we write and even wrote together with him, or psychiatry books even though we worked in a geri-psych nursing home and what we read was relevant. Tried to dictate what we watched on TV and what games we could play - even though he was a huge Star Wars fan and that has huge Buddhist underpinnings, and played Dungeons and Dragons online a lot which he made us swear never to tell anyone because they might think it was demonic - hypocrite much?

He even got upset that we were talking to people about the issues we were having - he called it "emotionally cheating", regardless of the fact we talked with people we had zero romantic interest in - like our own mother.

Anyway. We DID get a different therapist. And something he said helped a LOT with our concerns about having DID. He said our issues with our husband stemmed from his controlling behavior and emotional and verbal abuse, not our plurality - because after all, there's no mental illness called "supports queer people" nor "prefers to read speculative fiction and books on psychiatry" nor "confides in trusted friends about difficulties".

That said. Our therapist and his overseeing psychiatrist did talk with us about what our husband was pressuring us to do: try to get rid of all of the non-Willows. We had a lot of long, tense discussions about this with our system, and knew exactly what would happen if we tried.

We Willows would have been locked away from the front. Jas, Varyn, and Aery would have taken over as primary fronters, and we knew they'd have no problem with that based on our experiences with playing tug of war for front with them. Without us Willows, we may have developed memory issues, especially if we Willows fought back or resisted. This also would have caused us significant stress which would have triggered our fibromyalgia, and may easily have gotten to the point we would have to stop working because we physically couldn't handle it. And undoubtedly it would have caused us social issues as well, because those three can't mimic us Willows well at all, and prefer to be overt anyway, and probably would have used that to put extra pressure on our husband John: "Sorry, you can't talk to Willow right now. I can take a message to her. When we she be back? Idk, whenever John stops being an ass."

This, per our therapist and psychiatrist, would have been enough for a dx of DID or at bare minimum OSDD-1 - and then our ex would have had a much easier time getting us involuntarily committed. (As he did actually try. Got the state involved and there was a court case and everything.)

Because being endogenic and having tulpas is not what defines whether you have DID/OSDD-1 or not - it's whether there's distress or dysfunction. Doesn't have to be constant, doesn't have to be severe, just has to be present enough to make it harder to function.

Also, we've been in therapy from that time till now, for our depression and PTSD. Those cause us distress and dysfunction. Being plural doesn't - it eases our distress and increases our ability to function. We get worse when we Willows try to do everything on our own.

Also? Tulpas absolutely ARE endogenic - they aren't caused by trauma, and that's all endogenic means.

And. We were not told by Reddit that our headmates are tulpas. When we stumbled on the community, we recognized that what we had done in creating our headmates unintentionally was the same things people in the community were doing on purpose.

We remember sitting down and coming up with the idea of Jas. We remember learning to hear her, in vague images and ideas at first, then longer and longer full conversations. We remember the thrill of first hearing her interrupt our thoughts. We used to have several notebooks and binders full of written down conversations between us, with us Willows doing all the writing for the most part but on occasion Jas would take over just enough to write her own notes - in her own handwriting, different from us Willows' handwriting. We remember meditating to improve our ability to hear her. We remember visiting her in the paracosm, and her visiting us at our writing desk and on the school bus and sitting next to us at church. We remember her creating Varyn. We remember creating Morrie, and when he went dormant. We remember making Tristan&, and when she broke off communication with us - they'll still only talk to Jas.

Point is, we know their origins, all of them. We were there.

There's no "they were there all along." There's no "we don't know where they came from so we just assume they're endogenic." They certainly don't have roles or even the natural abilities of alters - we had to learn to talk with them, we had to learn how to let them front, we had to learn how to switch.

Some of them identify as soulbonds due e to their connection to their home worlds, but "tulpa" still fits too. Even though some of them cringe at the word, as it's uncomfortably close to a term in the paracosm's primary language for something truly heinous.

Point is, Reddit didn't try and convince us of anything. We came to that conclusion all on our own - and not just us Willows, but the whole system.

And per our mental health care team, we don't fit the criteria for a dissociative disorder. We don't even have issues with general dissociation - we score a 10 on the DES-2, and only that much because of questions directly related to plurality, like hearing voices commenting on your actions. (The eternal peanut gallery lol)

Anyway. Back to Dr. Richard Loewenstein - he was told about our origins. He didn't say that our origins were the reason we did or did not have a dissociative disorder. He said it's about distress.

And now that we've long since kicked our abusive ex to the curb (along with the church that turned on us), we don't have even interpersonal issues like we had with him and them. The people we're close to understand and support us. Our health care team supports us, and even encourages us Willows to lean on the rest of our system as that's what's healthiest for us all.

We don't have a mild case of a dissociative disorder. We're not secretly traumagenic.

We're ready and able to even fight for things our ex threatened us with, including our ability to be out at work, our ability to go through the foster-to-adopt program in our state (and our mental health care team is willing to sign off on our ability to do that), and our ability to be free from the threat of involuntary commitment to an institution.

If our ex, the pastor-counselor, several of our ex friends, state medical officials, and more couldn't find enough proof to diagnose us with DID or get us committed, (versus our therapist and the overseeing psychiatrist and our parents), then there's nothing anything y'all can say that will prove what they could not.

#syscourse #@mandellaeffect

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mariacallous · 1 year ago

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This, of course, can have a significant effect on your mental health. You start to feel overwhelmed. Not only are you dealing with the regular stresses of daily life—your job, your finances, your personal relationships—but now you’re thinking about the most serious problems the world is facing. Social media algorithms tend to elevate the most contentious content, so these feeds are showing you things that will elicit a visceral response—they’re putting the doom in doomscrolling.

According to psychology experts, this has become a serious problem. People are ingesting too much negative news, and it’s not only affecting them personally but impacting society at large. People can handle some bad news, but what if it’s a lot of bad news? And what if a lot of people are doing this while trying to function in the world together?

Matthew Price, a professor of psychological science at the University of Vermont, says that stress is cumulative. One thing starts stressing you out, and then it’s another thing, and then one more thing. Suddenly, you’re spiraling. He says the stress can continue throughout your day even when you’ve stopped bingeing on bad news on social media.

“Some of the work that we have done has shown it definitely increases your stress in the moment. It could increase your stress throughout the rest of your day,” Price says. “When you doomscroll, it gets much easier to reach your limit than I think you would if you weren’t doing that.”

Price says ingesting a lot of negative news can cause anxiety and depression, at least for some period of time, but it’s especially likely to “exacerbate” anxiety, depression, and PTSD in people who have a history of experiencing those conditions. He says that people often doomscroll because there’s something bad going on and they want to find a way to fix the problem they’re reading about.

“When we’re doomscrolling, we’re kind of looking for the resolution to the issue. Read some more posts. Read some more articles. If I get more information, then maybe I’ll understand the problem,” Price says, describing the doomscrolling cycle.

This doesn’t just affect individuals. When a lot of people are experiencing the stress of the news of the world at once, it can make them more likely to “snap at each other,” Price says. We may not realize it, but the reason that guy was rude to you at Starbucks might be that he has read too many damn scary news articles.

“When you have multiple people who are struggling, they’re going to have a harder time communicating together,” says Bethany Teachman, a professor of psychology at the University of Virginia. “We have to think of these things from a systemic perspective or we’re not going to be very effective at making change.”

Teachman says doomscrolling can “skew our sense of what’s going on.” You start to think everything and everyone is the worst, but it’s quite possible little of it is actually affecting you personally. Perhaps terrible news from around the world would not be changing your daily life unless you were reading about it, and it’s important to recognize when it’s time to log off.

“We do need to stay informed, but when we move past informed to feeling overwhelmed and often paralyzed and feeling like we’re under constant threat, it’s clearly crossed over into a negative place,” Teachman says. “I think part of what’s happening is most of the news stories tend to be negative, so it gives us this sense that we’re in a constant state of danger and that we are vulnerable and the world is a very dangerous place.”

In terms of solutions, Teachman says people need to limit their exposure to social media and the news to keep their lives balanced. It’s OK to read some news to stay informed and check out what people are saying online, but it can get unhealthy if you overdo it. Once you’ve read enough to know what’s going on, think of other things that you enjoy doing and that help you maintain your mental health, she says.

“It’s not about ‘this is a bad thing and this is a good thing.’ It’s about how you engage with it and how it fits in with the rest of what’s going on in your life,” Teachman says. “How are you living the rest of your life, and what are the impacts on that?”

If you’re feeling overwhelmed by the news, Teachman says it’s important to consider what your values are and how you can act on those values in your daily life. Think about who you want to be and what you want to accomplish. This can focus your mind when you’re feeling overwhelmed.

If you’re not feeling like you’re who you want to be right now, she says, think of small things you can do to get closer to becoming that person. Think about the things you can do to get closer to that goal so you’re more capable of handling stress and feeling mentally well, and about the things you can do to help solve the problems you’re worried about.

“Take a step back from your social media. Take a step back from your phone. Take a step back from the stressors unless the thing that’s stressful is imminently going to harm you,” Price says. “And get more local.”

Price says that acting locally on issues you’re concerned about can help you maintain your mental health because otherwise things can feel too far away and too difficult to solve. Maybe you can’t end a war, but perhaps you can help some people in your community or get your community to do something that helps a bigger problem.

People are overwhelmed. They’re tired. Sometimes you want to just curl up in a ball and pull your comforter over your head. Teachman says that’s the worst thing you can do for your mental health. It’s important to connect with people to maintain your mental health, she says, and sometimes you can connect with people and be part of the solution to a problem at the same time.

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xrk-art · 3 months ago

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From this post @rhyslahey

Tbh I think he could feel "guilty" of his past actions after the whole hell thing, the torture he's been in during this time by the hand of his (dead) sister, we see he's a changed person in s6, also cause he got the ptsd of hell/nightmares, no home/place to stay, no doctors that were taking care of everything such as having a house for him and his "fake parents" in s5. I've seen it sometimes in fanfic but that would make a bit of sense if he could start to feel any guilt cause we can also presume he killed much people before, including his sister and even perhaps his parents later on since the show never said what happened to them after the Tara "incident", we can just imagine that his body count is more than Tara, Josh and Stacy. And I always thought that his inability of having blue eyes for killers of innocent people had to do with him being a chimera, they were created by science and are not natural in the supernatural way speaking (which is kind of ironic) which could means that the supernatural rules don't include to them just like mountain ash and wolfspane don't affect them (wolfspane not being deadly for them as much as were-people) so the Yellow - Blue eyes could also not rule on them after all, it could also work with the guilt tho I doubt Peter (having blue eyes) would feel a lot of guilt of killing people and still has blue cold eyes (don't get me wrong, I love Peter too)

Anyway that was just blabbering me cause I have been meaning to talk about this for a while now and chimera has always fascinated me cause the Dread Doctors managed to create Corey, with the gift of invisibility, without any creatures having this (even a chameleon are not that precise, a jellyfish is more) and also with a higher healing processus, which leaves so much possibility of creatures created, if only they could make live chimeras as long as Theo without killing them 🫡

Also something I have not seen in fanfics (yet) is Theo chimera state getting worse after coming out of hell, remember the other chimeras not having survived very long after being "turned", ending up with mercury leaking out of their orifice, they all died (also by the hand of the Dread Doctors) until Theo brought some of them back with Mr Douglas stuff (Douglas being now gone), it would be interesting to see Theo having his state getting worse to the point of him having mercury also leaking out of his body, him panicking cause he believed to be a successful subject/chimera all along (he survived about 8 years or smth like that since he was 9 when he was "turned") and not able to do anything cause he can't inject himself what he injected to the others since mr Douglas was now gone and the serum too

Anyway that was all, I blabbered much more than I thought I would lmao

#teen wolf #teen wolf theo #theo raeken #teen wolf post #text post #blabbering #that would be cool tho right #or maybe i like to see my fav characters suffer idk #if there's a fanfic like that please share i'd love to read it #everything about theo is interesting to read anyway #also about teen wolf in general #my fav characters are Stiles Theo and Peter btw #i also love Corey and Liam cause they're such sweethearts #and Danny is such a slay too #love the gays

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samuelroukin · 6 months ago

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Okay fuck it, team Roach, the 006 to the 141's 007, is roughly:

Roach: Captain Sanderson. Very soft spoken, stuck with extreme baby face despite being a hardened combat vet, tremendously calm, rational and easy going even when being shot at. Very reasonable and inhuman levels of stealthy. Never raises his voice, which is often Worse. He's not really sure how he got here but he is unfortunately Very Good at This. Which is both leadership and Warfare. In his heart of hearts he just wants to be chilling on a pool floatie with a beer in hand but Alas.

His Second in Command: Handsome, Polite, Charming and Clinically Insane. As in they are 100% fudging this man's psych evals. He seems easy going and fun but this man is basically a monster, he is the type that signed up to kill people and not go to jail. Graves but Worse. He's only technically a Hero because Roach is holding his leash but. Seriously he seems fine until you're alone in an enclosed space with him and your lizard brain sends up a panic alarm akin to being trapped in an elevator with a lion. The more he talks the more you realize he... doesn't live in the real world. For Reasons Unknown Roach is pretty much the only one that does actually have a collar on him. He Gets Real Weird and Jealous over Ghost when they finally meet.

Tex: Your Killing Machine Has Anxiety. Possibly the world's best sniper and a true mathematical genius, who has next to no social skills, the legacy of a childhood stutter and growing up in a Very Rural Isolated area. Excellent at taking directions but it's hard to not pin a kick me sign on him despite him being, objectively, a very dangerous guy. A lot of people assume he's Like That because of warfare/soldiers get strange/ptsd etc. No he was always Weird, he is definitely Undiagnosed Neurodivergent, but so is his whole family. A Cheetah in search of a Dog in his Pen. Hypercompetent in the field, who let you out of your cage otherwise.

Doc: World's Bitterest Medic. Loves humanity as a concept and truly believes in medicine as a science dedicated to the betterment of life and wellbeing. Also Hates Every Single Human Being he has ever come across. Extreme Pissed of Mom Who Says Get Your Ass Down Here Now Or I Will Beat You to Death Myself energy. Means he generally keeps them in line socially as well as the Angry Mom Friend so Tex generally hides behind him. He grumbles but he secretly kind of loves it. Unfortunately, these Idiots are *his* idiots. You are Stupid and Embarassing and he Will Run Out Under Heavy Fire to Save You at the risk of his own life. Running in joke is "does the life threatening wound hurt enough to subject yourself to his bedside manner?" Absolutely terrible taste in music he subjects them all to.

There are at least one or two more guys in this train wreck but these are the mains. Unsurprisingly something this disfunction works out horribly well and they are incredibly effective. Tired Dad Energy Roach vs You Should Have Gone Before We Left Mom Medic plus Their Frail Victorian Son of a Sniper plus I Will Kill For You Please Ask Me To Kill For You and Give Me Attention 2IC means this shit is actually A OK by the brass.

lmao didn't you just say you put no thought into them? these guys are far more developed than my ocs, give yourself some credit! they all sound great and like i said i already love tex and doc but uh HI second in command 👀

#meduseld #asks

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its-murderous-business · 5 months ago

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At study abroad with the wildest possible people. I’ve only been here less than a week, here’s some shit I’ve overheard my classmates say

“When I was 16 I had a girlfriend who was 18, and we would smoke weed, but one time after we smoked up she told me she had actually put cocaine in my blunt. She would also put xanax in there without telling me, and I didn’t find out until later. Anyway I definitely would do Coke again knowing it was that before hand, it was interesting.”

[said by a guy I had met less than 2 minutes previous and still didn’t know the name of:] “I’m from New Jersey, there’s a lot of mafia there. My uncle was in the mob, he was an enforcer. That means he would break people’s legs if they didn’t do what the mob wanted. He’s out of the game now and has PTSD, hearing the sound of knuckles cracking sends him into a panic attack because it sounds the same as knees being broken”

“I keep forgetting there’s, like, a study part of the study abroad. I’m here to travel to other countries, go clubbing, and get high.”

“What percentage of your body do you think your legs make up?”

I overheard a conversation of like 4 people talking about how they bought and use human pheromone perfume they saw on tiktok… science doesn’t even know if human pheromones are real let alone have anyway to synthesize and mass market it… there’s no scientific proof that stuff works at all it’s just a marketing gimmick

They saw a bunch of people using old digital cameras on tiktok ~for the aesthetic~ and then all went out and bought old digital cameras to use. despite the fact they all have phones that take higher quality photos.

“I want to go to Amsterdam and see the Anne Frank House because they went there in The Fault in Our Stars!”

There are two different apartment buildings housing students and the people at the other building all agreed to not be friends with the people in my building.

#murderous babble #there’s only one chill person here and it’s the guy from my home school #study abroad

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cryingcoyote13 · 7 months ago

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Zolani Nash

Quaritch's daughter that escaped from the RDA

Melanistic skin with shaved white hair

White snake tattoo runs down left cheek and arm

Born on Pandora the year before the war, after her mother died and she got sick she was forced into the recoms where so became a punching bag and science experiment.———————————————————————— While out with the recoms, Zolani makes a run for freedom from her abusive father, and she meets one of the Sully's kids while running for her life.

Neteyam x Zolani (/ro)

Spider x Zolani (sibling/platonic)

TW: guns, violence, abuse, PTSD

————————————————————————Chapter 1

The recoms were talking about something as we walked throughout the forest. I don't even know why I was allowed to go with them, but it doesn't matter. Today is the day. The day i've been dreaming of ever since I set foot inside that god awful base camp, or whatever they call it. Quaritch was up front with two other guys, and Z-Dog was just in front of me. If I ran fast, I could try to make it as far away as possible. I stopped slowly, and then I ran into the forest of Pandora. I ran as fast as I could as I heard the recoms yell about something and come running after me. But I was faster, more agile without all that gear they had on. Running, jumping, and swinging through the forest, it was beautiful. It would have been nicer if i didn't have a bunch of reborn-marines hauling ass after me, but whatever. I ran like a madman, tearing through the fauna and throwing myself further ahead. I was almost free then, I crashed into something. I let out a hiss and quickly got up, looking back. It was a Na'Vi, I gulped, putting my hands up as they pulled out a knife.

" we need to run " I yelped, my accent sliding through my Na'Vi speech as I heard the recoms yelling getting closer.I didn't wait for a replay, I grabbed the boy's hand as he growled and I yanked him along.

" what are you even doing here!? "

" long story! But we should really just keep running! " I growled back, picking up speed as I jumped up into a tree and climbed. The boy just behind me, knife still drawn as we hunched down in the hidden branches of the tree.I hushed him as the recoms came into view, looking pissed.

" where the hell did she go!? "

" well this fucking sucks "

Their fighting was drowned out as I looked over, finally seeing who I had almost killed. He was staring back, golden piecing right through me.I motioned for him to follow as I climbed silently away from the recom group. We climbed for a while until the recoms could no longer be heard, then hoped onto the ground. Sweat beaded on my forehead, from stress and the heat.

" what was that about? " I looked over to meet those golden eyes again.

" needed to get out of there. " I explained dryly, not wanting to explain my sad little life to this stranger.

" my name is Zolani " I continued, turning to him with an 'i see you' signHe reciprocated the gesture, glancing up and down curiously as he sheathed his knife. My dark blue skin was beaded with sweat and cuts, my white hair was dirty and shaved down. My 'stripes' where not stripes, more resembling those spots like cheetahs on Earth.

" my name is Neteyam " He said calmly, tail flicking around. He reached for my hand, inspecting it as I tensed up.

" you are an Avatar? " He questioned. I nodded, as he stalked around me.

" I will take you back to my clan " He stated calmly as he returned infront of me, my tail lashed nervously behind me.

" What? Why? " I asked, wipping my hands down my face in exhaustion.

" Because, you have no where to go, correct? " He stated, nodding to where we came from.I nodded slowly, and he turned away.

" Try to keep up " He grinned, looking over his shoulder before running off.I sighed with a giggle and took off after him. After a few minutes of running side by side we stopped at a stream for water, I hunched over, taking water in my hands and gulping it down as Neteyam watched. Suddenly, there was yips and yells as two Na'Vi jumped out, bows raised. I hissed, jumping up and drawing my knife as Neteyam jumped up as well. Before Neteyam could say anything one released an arrow, there was a thunk as it hit into my shoulder. I gasped, letting go of my knife as I hit the ground. I let out a groan as I felt someone put pressure on the wound, my hearing was fuzzy as my ears twitched around. My eyes watered from pain as I felt something burning throughout my blood. I gasped, convulsing as my body went rigid as everything faded to black, there was two other blobs coming into my vision.

Everything was hot, heavy and painful. I groaned, sitting up as I felt someone trying to gently push me back down. I blinked my blurry vision as I hissed weakly, pushing against them with weak gasps of pain.

" You gotta stay down kid " I managed to hear as my hearing came back to me, I let out a weak, breathy 'no' as I started to pull myself up. I groaned as I slumped forward out of pain, as someone yelled something. It sounded like one of Quaritch's men, I hissed, struggling weakly at the grasps the shoved me back onto my back as my vision slowly came back to me. I blinked rapidly, realizing I wasn't in the lab, I started to stop resisting the hands pushing me gently onto my back.

" where... where am I..? "

" It doesn't matter, you are safe " someone said softly near my ear, it was Neteyam! I looked over quickly with a gasp, reaching my hand over to him. He awkwardly grabbed it, holding it as he hushed me.

" You were shot, by a poison arrow " He explained as I winced, the pain coming again. As I looked over to the other people in the kelku I let out a pained wheezing as I blinked at one of the woman, tsahìk. She turned towards me and I made 'I See You' sign weakly as she crouched down.

" tsahìk " I wheezed as I laid back down as she unwrapped the bandages around my shoulder. I winced, letting out a gasp, looking at the two other adults in the kelku. I locked eyes with the man and I gasped, then looked over to the woman next to him.

" Jake! Jake! " I wheezed, as his ears perked, confused. He walked over crouching down, a serious expression on his face, before he could ask anything I wheezed out.

" Zolani! It's– " I winced at the pain in my shoulder.

" It's me! " I gasped out as his expression faded to shock, then fear.

" why— why are you here? " He hissed, worried.

" Let's just say— " I hissed as the tsahìk started to rewrap my wound.

" Things went to shit after the war. " I slowly pulled myself up as the tsahìk finished wrapping the wound. He held me up with gentle hands on my shoulders, I was panting. This was all so much, I mean I knew he was alive but I didn't think I would end up here.

" My human body died.. so Quaritch figured out how to get me an Avatar. He hoped I would work for him but– I was more like an experiment. I couldn't live like that— " I hurriedly explained as tears welled in my eyes, he took me into a gentle hug as I let out a sob. At this everyone was confused and scared, especially at Quaritch's name. The other woman, Neytiri, crouched down as Jake let me out of the embrace. She looked me over with a blank expression as I finished wiping tears from my eyes. I laid back down with a wheezy breath and closed my eyes as I started to fall back asleep.

I awoke to soft chatter, I slowly sat up with a shake of my head. I peered at the entrance to the kelku realizing it was dark outside. I looked around the kelku to find no one around. I pulled myself up, noting the loincloth instead of my shorts and a bandage wrapped tightly around my chest and shoulder as I did. I grabbed onto the shelves slightly, careful to not break anything. I slowly walked out of the entrance as the voices got louder. I peeked out only to almost run into a young girl Na'Vi. She screamed, dropping what she was carrying as she turned tail to run. Quickly, there was two adults at her sides questioning her, she pointed towards me as they looked up. My ears perked, trying to make out what they were saying. They started to get closer and I realized who it was, Jake and Neytiri! I smiled slightly, steading myself against the doorframe. Neytiri watched as I walked closer, her eyes staring right into my soul. Jake was quickly infront of me, he was holding two plates of food. My mouth watered as he handed one to me and I quickly scarfed it down in quick bites. He gave me a wide eyed expression, then looked at Neytiri who was smiling slightly in amusement.

" Were you hungry or something kid? " He joked, raising an eyebrow as I wiped the food from my mouth with a nod. He slightly smiled, then inspected the bandages.

" Let's get these things changed, I will get Mo'at " He said, turning to Neytiri as he walked away. I peered behind them to see the two kids that jumped out of the bushes at me and Neteyam. My ears flattened to my skull as I let out a hiss. Neytiri looked shocked and turned around to see who I was hissing at.

" YOU! You shot me! " I spat at the boy, who hung his head in shame. Neytiri turned to me, and put her hands up onto my hand that was pointing at him.

" mawey, my son Lo'ak is sorry. He was trying to protect his brother. " Neytiri stated as the kid, Lo'ak, stepped closer slowly a older girl beside him. My look softened slightly as I sighed looking him over.

" I am so very sorry " He explained, hands raised to show he was harmless. My tail flicked as I studied him. His eyes stared into mine with worry filling them. I sighed, rubbing my face with my hand.

" It is alright Lo'ak " I stated, making the 'I See You' gesture as he returned it. The girl beside him did as well.

" I am Zolani Nash. " I said, repeating the gesture to her.

" I am Kiri " She said, taking my hand.

" Please, let's get you laid back down " She gently pulled me back into the kelku and sat me down as she started to unwrap the wound as she sat cross legged infront of me. I winced, fighting to not pull away from her touch as she applied a paste to the wound.

" How long until it's healed? " I asked, looking into her eyes nervously. She looked up from my wound as she began to rewrap it.

" Probably a few weeks at least " She remarked, looking back down as she finished wrapping it. She looked back at the entrance as Mo'at, the tsahìk, and Jake walked in. Followed by Neytiri and the littlest Na'Vi girl as Kiri walked off into another part of the kelku with Mo'at.The girl was clinging to Neytiri's leg as she peered at me, she quickly looked at her mom then back at me.

" Why do you look like that? " She asked, innocent eyes staring into my soul.There was a collective " TUK! " as my mouth fell open in embarrassment.

" I- um... " I rubbed my hands together as my tail swished around nervously

" Apologies Tuk. That was rude. " Neytiri crouched down to Tuk's height

" I'm sorryyyy " She looked down at her feet as I reached out a hand to rub her shoulder.

" It's alright Tuk " I smiled softly, taking my hand from her shoulder as she looked at my sitting figure. She put her hand up, tracing my markings with a delicate finger. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding in as she did and closed my eyes. She giggled, running her fingers along my tattoo till she was at my wrist as I opened my eyes to look into hers.

" What is it? " She looked up from the tattoo, wide eyed with a grin.

" A snake, it's a Earth animal that looks like a living rope. It represents my mother.." I paused, lips in a tight line as I looked back on my mother. Then smiled at Tuk's wide eyed grin of excitement and curiously. I slowly stood up, looking around at the other children as Neytiri, Jake and Mo'at walked out after sharing a few hushed words with Neteyam who had just came in with Lo'ak and a plate of food. My ears perked as he and Lo'ak walked back over without them.

" where are they going? " I inquired, peeking around Neteyam as the figures disappeared into the crowd.

" Off somewhere, something about 'adult business' " He said through bites of food, looking at his siblings then me.

" They left me in charge so I've decided we are going to show Zolani around the clan, if you feeling up for it? " He smiled slightly at my excited gasp as he finished off his plate.

" Really? I would love too! " I gasped as Kiri walked over, taking my hand in hers and starting to walk with Tuk at her side.

" Come on! There is so much to show you!! Lo'ak! Neteyam! Hurry up! We must introduce her to Spider! " She said excitedly as we picked up the pace, I laughed happily beside her and Neteyam as I was showed around the village. I was shown the Ikran, the Avatar Area, and eventually we left to meet up with Spider in the Lab. As we all entered the Lab, we each grabbed masks, I handed on to Lo'ak with a smile. He grinned slightly, as I turned around to hear Kiri exclaim happily,

" Monkey Boy! " She hugged the much smaller human, I mean he was tall for a human but compared to the Na'Vi him and every other human were puny. My tail flicked nervously as he looked up.

" Who's that? " He questioned as I took a puff as air from the mask.

" Zolani Nash " I dipped my head, looking the kid over. He had blue stripes painted all over him and his hair was in matted dreads.

" Spider Socorro " He said as he was released from Kiri's grasp. I gasped

" Socorro, as in Paz Socorro? " He tensed, glancing at Kiri who looked confused. He nodded slowly

" How did you know my mom? " He said, arms crossed in front of him.

" You are Quaritch's son. Him and Paz were a thing before she died " At this is eyes widened, and he glared into my soul.

" You're my half brother " I said, crouching down to his height as he slowly took in what I had said. His mouth opened to ask questions but I cut him off.

" My father was Quaritch, and mother was Dr. Nash. You're mother was a few months pregnant when I was almost 1. " I explained as he looked at me with a shocked expression, everyone was huddled around me in a circle hanging onto every word I said.

" My mother died in child birth, I was raised by the scientists before everything went to shit. Some of them managed to stay and raised me, and when Quaritch came back he got me an Avatar. Then my human body died— " Someone walked through the entrance, and stopped at the sight of the circle of teens.

" I wanna ask but do I really want to know? " He said, I wipped around. That voice.. that voice!!

" Norm? " I looked at him and he almost dropped the papers he was holding at the sound of my voice.

" Zo..? " He blinked in surprise as I practically jumped up and tackled him with a hug.

" Norm!! I thought you died! " I let out a cry of relief as we hugged, I eventually pulled away because of the burning in my shoulder.

" You thought I died? I thought you died kid! " He snapped, flicking me in the forehead. I let out a small hiss as he laughed, I motioned him to join the circle as I crawled back into the middle and started talking again.

" Anyways back— " I started then Kiri spoke up.

" How do you know everyone, you knew Jake, Spider's mom and Norm! " My ears twitched as I looked at her.

" They raised me, how could I forget them! " I grinned slightly at Norm who rolled his eyes.

" You sure were a pain in the ass kid " I gasped dramatically, putting a hand to my heart.

" How could you say such things! Oh my! I will die from my broken heart! " I fell back dramatically, into Neteyam's lap as he sat cross legged. I stuck my tongue out at Norm as I closed my eyes and pretended to be dead. Everyone let out a laugh as I sat back up and continued,

" Anyways, after my human body died I was somehow able to remain alive in this body. " Kiri's ears perked as she spoke up

" Perhaps it was the will of Ewya. " I shrugged looking back behind me at Neteyam, who was looking back at me. I grinned then turned to Spider who was sitting beside Kiri deep in thought.

" Spi– " He started to talk, cutting me off quickly.

" Was he... y'know– a dad to you? " Everyone went silent as my ears pulled back. I fought back the urge to yell, Spider didn't even meet him, did know him.

" No. He wasn't. That's why I ran " I growled softly and he nodded. Kiri put her hand on his shoulder as I got up, Neteyam following after me as I left. I practically shoved people out of the way as I stalked out of the lab, I didn't want to explode my anger onto anyone. Neteyam gently grabbed my wrist, causing me to turn to him and he pulled me into a hug. I struggled to get away for a moment then melted into his touch.

" I'm sorry, I didn't want to yell at anyone.. " He hummed a response as he slowly let go of me, but kept his hand on my shoulder.

" Are you okay Zo? " He looked into my eyes as tears welled in them. His looked softened as he wiped away the stray tears that rolled down my face.

" I'm so sorry Neteyam, I'm just being a big baby " I quickly wiped at the tears.

" Hey, no you're not. It's okay to feel things and cry " I looked up at him as my lip quivered as I held back a wail. He pulled me into a hug as tears rolled down my face. God dammit. Why can't I do anything right. I started to sob, hiccuping and shaking in his grasp.

" Please.. P-please don't make me go back " His eyes widened and he looked down at my sobbing figure as I shook my head.

" I can't go back– I can't! " He took my head in his hands as I looked up at him, tears streaming down my face.

" You will never, ever have to go back there. I promise " I sniffled, hugging him gently as someone walked over.

" You okay Zolani?.. I'm sorry for bringing him up.. " Spider said, as him and Kiri walked over. I looked up from Neteyam's shoulder and nodded.

" I- I'm sorry for running off it's just... bad memories.. " Spider nodded as Kiri's expression softened, she walked over as Neteyam let go and I walked over to her.

" Let's get you back to grandmother's kelku " She said, taking my hand and walking me toward the hut. I slowly let go of Neteyam's hand as he smiled comfortingly at me as me and Kiri left. She lead me through the crowd ad I started to become exhausted. When was the last time I even had a conversation with anyone? My thoughts we interrupted as Kiri stopped and I crash into her. I shook my head, gathering myself as my ear perked up. There was someone talking in the kelku, I looked at Kiri and stepped forward into the hut and everyone went silent. Neytiri, Jake and Mo'at all stared back at me as Kiri followed me in. She lead me to a corner and she sat me down and began unwrapping my wound. I winced as Mo'at came over to help, but I felt everyone's eyes staring through me. I closed my eyes, head swirling with thoughts and when I opened them again Kiri was gone, I looked over just in time to see her slip out the hut. I looked back at Jake, who was standing just behind Mo'at, fear flashing in my eyes. The silence was deafening as I looked at him, finally I broke the silence.

" Are you gonna make me go back..? " His eyes widened as he crouched beside me. I felt tears pricking at my eyes as I stared at him

" No, you will never go back there " I slightly smiled as Mo'at finished tending to my wound.

" You should get some rest " She said as I yawned. I nodded, looking up at Jake as he helped me up.

" We have enough room in our hut, you can stay with us " I smiled, nodding excitedly. Him and Neytiri lead me to their kelku and showed me which bed I would be sleeping in. It was the one farthest from the entrance but it was still with the other beds. I crawled into it and curled up, looking up at Neytiri and Jake I smiled.

" Thank you guys... for everything.. " I yawned and tucked my head under the blanket and eventually fell asleep.

I was back in that damn lab. My head hurt, where was everyone? I sat up from my bunk and walked into the lobby. It was completely empty, I walked around peering out of the windows to be met with darkness. Suddenly I felt someone grab my kuru and throw me down. I yelped in pain as I felt blood run down my head as I banged against the floor. I tried to sit up but was pushed back down by a boot landing on top of my head. My head was realing with pain as I tried to struggle free. I looked up, slightly seeing the muzzle of a handgun coming into view as I was yanked up my kuru. Tears streamed down my face as the muzzle pressed firmly against my head, my eyes closed as I started to shake. There was deafening silence, then a loud pop.

I practically jumped out of the bed, panting and scrambling for safety. I hit the floor harshly, head still swirling as I started to get up and quickly stumbled out of the kelku. I had probably woken everyone up but I needed air or I was gonna pass out. I slowly reached the edge of the forest and sat down, still shaking and panting. I pulled my knees to my chest, my tail curled around my feet as I listened to the forest. I slowly calmed down, I finally looked over as I heard someone clear their throat. I didn't look over, I knew who it was. He scooted closer till he was sitting next to me, but not touching. The silence was filled with my slowing breathes as I regained composure.

" You know, when Lo'ak shot you I thought you were going to die, " I glaced over at Neteyam as he spoke, he was leaned back on his elbows looking up at the night sky.

" well, that was until the atokirina came out of the forest and started landing on you " I laid onto my back with a glace at him.

" Ewya meant for us to meet that day. " I looked over at him, eyebrow scrunched in confusion.

" What? Why do you think that? " He looked over, beads clanking together in his braids.

" I was following an atokirina when you almost killed me " He remarked, smiling slightly as I rolled my eyes at him.

" Perhaps it was. And I didn't almost kill you " I turned over to see the sky as I let out a yawn. I closed my eyes, listening to the forests sounds and the heartbeat of the ground. My ears perked as Neteyam laid down onto his back next to me. I felt something land onto my stomach with a feather soft touch, then on my arms and legs. I opened my eyes to meet the glowing figure of an atokirina, I gasped as it lightly tapped my nose.

" Neteyam! " I whispered out, he sat up and gasped at the sight. I was practically covered in atokirina as I laid still in the grass. The one of my nose floated across my face, then up into the sky. The rest followed quickly after, leaving us star struck as we watched them float away into the treeline. My heart raced in amazement, my mouth agape as I whipped my head around to look at Neteyam, who looked amazed, but not as shocked.

" See it is a sign! " He prodded, light shoving my arm as I rolled my eyes.

We sat for a while longer, staring up at the stars until we made our way back to the kelku where everyone was back asleep except Neytiri. She practically jumped up when we walked into the entrance, putting a hand on her son's shoulder as she glanced at me.

" Are you two alright? " She inspected her son, circling him then me for injuries.

" We are fine ma " Neteyam sighed with a smile as his mother inspected him.

" Sorry if I woke anyone up, I had a nightmare.. " I forced a smile as I looked into her eyes. She stared back, right through my soul. I shivered nervously as she removed her hand from Neteyam and glaced at me. I knew she didn't like me, I saw the way she glaced at me. Who could blame her? I'm Quaritch's daughter, ofcourse she hates me. I was snapped out of my thoughts as a gentle hand pushed me forward, towards my bed. I looked at Neteyam as he motioned towards the beds. I started to walk, crawling into the hammock and curling up as he crawled into his. I fell asleep shortly after that.

* * *

#neteyam x reader #neteyam #[ Covered Myself In Thorns ]#avatar fanfiction #atwow fanfiction #atwow #atwow neteyam

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