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five-rivers · 4 months ago

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green is for envy, black is for trigger

A long BNHA oneshot!

So, they didn't realize at first what it meant when the teachers announced that Deku was going to UA. Hell, they didn't really get what it meant when it was just Bakugou that was going. Not that any of them, least of all Hideo, actually thought Bakugou would get in. The whole thing was a pipe dream. Only forty kids from the whole of Japan got into the hero course every year, and even if Bakugou was great at a lot of stuff, those were still long odds.

But Deku?

Deku, who had to have how his own name could be pronounced literally spelled out for him? Who broke down into tears whenever someone made a joke? That noodle-armed wimp with a death wish? Useless, quirkless Deku?

Not a goddamn chance. Not even with a miracle.

But Deku did get decent grades. Not as good as Bakugou, but the fact that a genetic throwback got passing grades at all was kind of freakish on its own. Shinozaki used to joke that it was because he was having special ‘tutoring sessions’ with the teachers, but both the teachers and Bakugou were so uptight about stuff like that. It was a joke. A kind of creepy joke, and Hideo was sort of glad when Shinozaki knocked it off, but still.

Anyway, inasmuch as Hideo thought about it at all, he assumed Deku got into one of the other courses. Although he only really knew about those because of the sports festival and Bakugou nerding out. Support and business or something like that. They probably only took Deku because they needed to meet some kind of pity quota. Hideo's dad was always talking about stuff like that at dinner. Mostly about mutant quirks, but Hideo figured it applied to deals like Deku, too.

But life went on, and no matter how ticked off Bakugou was about his glory being snatched or whatever, everyone else had entrance exams too. There would be time to complain about it later, or not. Hideo kinda figured Bakugou would eventually appreciate the stress relief beating up Deku would bring even through high school. He'd heard the hero course was tough. He certainly took advantage of it now. Enough that Hideo felt sort of bad about it, now and again.

The swan dive dare had been a little messed up. Sure, quirkless people usually killed themselves eventually, but let them do it at their own pace.

Hideo sort of envisioned him, Bakugou, Shinozaki, and Kanemaru hanging out together on weekends, dragging along whatever new friends they'd managed to make at their new schools. It'd be fun, hearing about Bakugou's glamorous life as a hero student, and Kanemaru's adventures at the local rich kid school.

What happened was Kanemaru drifting away, and Bakugou dropping all three of them like a hot potato.

It was– Well, for the first few weeks, he'd been mad. They hadn't been best friends or any sappy crap like that, but it was annoying to realize you'd been tolerated rather than appreciated. But then he'd heard that UA had been attacked, he'd gotten some new friends, and Kanemaru started hanging out again when he figured out all the cigarette hookups at his fancy school were trash.

And he was sort of looking forward to seeing people try to beat Bakugou up on national television.

So there was that.

But what he'd seen instead–

There was no way. There was just no way.

But there it was, on national television.

Deku.

Useless, quirkless Deku. In the sports festival. In the third event.

With a quirk.

It had to be some kind of trick. That's what he thought at first. But it'd have to be one hell of a trick to fake a whole quirk like thag out of nowhere, and there was no way Deku was that smart.

Maybe he'd been replaced or something. Hideo had heard of people with body snatching quirks. But, then, that'd be two quirks, and whatever urban legends said, Hideo wasn't dumb enough to believe in the quirk boogieman.

Could he have been faking being quirkless? The very thought made Hideo nauseous. No. No way. Not a chance. No one with power would tolerate that.

There had to be another explanation.

His phone was buzzing. The group chat was going wild.

He scanned through the messages. Shinozaki was disgusting, but he had good ideas, sometimes, and Kanemaru got rumors from his rich kid friends that took much longer to reach Gungan High, and their other friends were more of the same, but maybe one of them could see what Hideo himself was missing.

His eyes stopped on one of Shinozaki's texts.

i bet its trigger

where would deku eve get trigger, Hideo typed.

idk but its not like you can but a quirk on the street

Theres a guy in my class whose quirk makez every1 atoung him sing in tune, wrote Kanemaru, maybe its like that

with strength like tgat? r u serious rn noone like that ia gonna work for a quirkless deku unless he has more money than god its trigger ffs

But whered he get it?? asked Hideo. And would it even worj on a omeone Quiklessm?m

u cab get trigger cheap if yu know where to look

And how the hell did Shinozaki know that? He and Hideo weren't exactly squeaky clean, with the cigarettes and all, but trigger was something else. Like heroin was before the dawn of quirks.

deku prolly just has some bs weak asf quirk that hes juicing

That nauseous feeling came back, and this time, Hideo was able to identify the emotion fueling it as mostly anger. Red, hot, roiling anger.

It wasn't enough that Deku stole a spot at UA from someone who'd live past twenty, but he'd taken a hero spot? And he'd done it with drugs like the cheater he was?

If Hideo had been allowed to take trigger during his entrance exams, he'd have gotten into a hero school, too! Hell, maybe even UA, if Deku could do it. Hideo, after all, had a quirk that could be used even without trigger!

weve dot tobdon somethin

*got to do

It only took a minute for Shinozaki to reply lik what??

idk tellthe police if it's a druf thing right? Or just tell ua

He flicked away from the chat and, hands still shaking with rage, started looking up how to file a police report.

“And you think your former classmate is using trigger because…?”

“Because he didn't have a quirk like that before!” said Hideo, frustrated. No one was listening to them.

“UA's got a pretty great training program,” said the police officer at the desk, a bored-looking woman with fish scales around her eyes and ears. She reached over to a small spray bottle and spritzed herself. “Pick any one of those hero kids and you'll probably hear the same thing.”

“You don't get it,” said Hideo. “We all thought he was quirkless.”

“Well, clearly not,” said the woman.

“Yeah, but don't you think that's a little suspicious, that he never used his quirk at all before, and now he comes out with that?”

“Yeah,” said Kanemaru, who was ridiculously intimidated by the police station for a rich guy. Shinozaki hadn't even come, claiming he was too high to be anywhere near a police station. “What he said. Deku never used his quirk at school or anything.”

The woman raised a scaly eyebrow. “Did it occur to you that your classmate was simply following the law against public quirk use? Or that he didn't want to use a quirk that broke his bones. Quirk counselor probably told him not to use it.”

“He never went to the quirk counselor at our school.”

“You know private counselors are a thing right? I'd be seeing a specialist for a quirk like that.” She leaned back in her chair and looked up at them. “Do you really think a school full of heroes wouldn't notice something like that? Save yourselves some stress and go home.”

“But–”

“Seriously. Go home.”

“Any luck?” asked Shinozaki, whose eyes were indeed bloodshot.

“No,” said Hideo.

“And we haven't heard back from the school, either,” said Kanemaru mournfully.

“Figures,” said Shinozaki. “The police suck.” He twirled a blunt between his fingers, then lengthened them to offer it to Hideo. “Want a hit.”

“No,” said Hideo, wrinkling his nose against the rancid smell.

“Yes,” said Kanemaru, snatching it. “God, that sucked. What do we do now?”

“I don't know,” said Hideo. “We've got to get some kind of proof, otherwise the police won't take us seriously.”

“We could follow him,” suggested Kanemaru.

“Hell, no,” said Shinozaki. “You remember what chasing him was like in middle school.”

“We caught him whenever we wanted to,” said Kanemaru.

“Hell, yeah, we did. But he always knew when we were following him, and if he's pulling this off, he's not using where anyone can see.”

“What then?” demanded Hideo, frustrated. “Break into his house? Find his stash?”

Shinozaki snorted. “When his mom works from home? Putting Deku in jail isn't much good if we're there, too.”

“How the hell do you know Deku's mom works from home?” asked Hideo.

“Unlike you, I listened to Bakugou's ranting. She's a programmer or something dumb like that.”

Kanemaru perked up. “Maybe we could ask Bakugou!”

“After he ditched us? If he hasn't done anything yet, he's not gonna. Give me back my weed already, Kanemaru.”

Reluctantly, Kanemaru returned the blunt.

“There is one way, though,” said Shinozaki as he took another hit. “It'd be real risky, though, and it'd cost ya.”

“Yeah?” asked Hideo. “What's that?”

“Well,” said Shinozaki, “someone with a habit has a different reaction to someone taking trigger for the first time. We get that on camera, and it's all over for him.”

“I thought we couldn't follow him,” said Kanemaru.

“I'm not talking about following him, moron. I'm talking about an ambush. The freak still has to go home sometime, doesn't he?”

“Wait,” said Hideo. “You want us to, what, pin down someone high on trigger, shoot him up with even more, and then just stand around filming him? Who's the moron here, exactly? Where would we even get trigger? It's not like weed or tobacco. We can't bribe a college student to go into a trigger dispensary.”

“The trigger's the easy part,” said Shinozaki. “So long as Kanemaru can cough up the money. I know a guy.”

“I'm not fighting a guy on trigger!” said Kanemaru, shaking his head. “That's worse than roids! And he's got to be doing those, too, right? And he's got combat training or whatever, right?”

“Freaking chill already. Quirk or not, it's still crybaby Deku. No one's asking you to fight him, anyway. What’re you going to do? Pop out your eyes at him?”

“It's not like your quirk is much better,” said Hideo, trying to channel the police officer's cool skepticism. “I'm not fighting anyone alone.” According to his dad, that was the height of stupidity. You always brought backup.

“How is it that I'm the highest one here and the only one that can think? We aren't fighting anyone.”

“You know someone who takes hits or something, too?”

“No, idiot. I'm talking about your after school book club. How'd you think they'll react to someone who's basically quirkless putting one over on people with natural talent?”

Hideo's spine had gone as stiff as a board. “How the hell do you know about that?” Even his parents didn't know about that! Not that his parents knew anything.

“I listen, duh. To spell it all out, my proposal is that moneybags here gives me cash to get the trigger, then our literature lover can get his meta friends riled up and ready to do the delivery, and we stand well clear with cameras rolling.”

“I don't know…” said Hideo. He was totally behind liberation philosophy, people should be allowed to use their quirks to their fullest extent, but he was pretty sure that the people most likely to help with this kind of thing were the radical hierarchists, and they skeeved Hideo out.

“You never know anything,” complained Shinozaki. “And you say that I'm not civic-minded. Whatever. Something awful's going to happen, and neandertoe there will be right in the middle of it and you'll come crawling back to me and my plan.”

Hosu was burning.

Hosu was burning, and Stain had almost killed another hero.

Hosu was burning, Stain had almost killed another hero, and right in the middle of Stain's insane motive rant video was Deku.

Hideo picked up his phone and called Shinozaki.

Izuku wasn't so far removed from who he'd been in junior high that he couldn't tell when he was being followed. However, unlike when he'd been in junior high, there was more than one reason to follow him. In junior high, the only people that followed him were bullies, teenaged and otherwise, looking for a soft target.

But now? It could be anything from sports festival enthusiasts to the police (he had just broken a bunch of quirk use laws) to one of the villains he'd whirlpooled at the USJ, out for revenge.

The only people he was sure weren't following him were Kacchan and All Might. Kacchan, because stealth was one of the few things he was definitively bad at, and All Might, because being stalked by the number one hero had a very distinctive feeling, and this wasn't it. Besides, the figures he saw ducking out of his line of sight didn't have All Might's proportions, and he was almost a hundred percent sure that All Might only came in two shapes.

But they hadn't done any units on stealth or counterespionage in class, yet, so all Izuku had to draw on in terms of solution to his problems were his hit-and-miss strategies from junior high. He couldn't even call for help, because the fight with Stain had trashed his phone. He was hoping he could convince his mom to replace it with a mid-range hero model, but he hadn't quite managed yet.

So, his plan was as follows:

Play dumb as long as possible. If he started running, so would they. The closer he got to home before they closed in, the better.

Keep an eye out for patrolling heroes, policemen, or even convenience stores with sufficiently intimidating cashiers. He didn't think there were any suitable ones at the moment. The conbini closest to Izuku's house was staffed by a jerk who always tried to steal Izuku's change from now until midnight, but he might still come across one.

In case of being cut off, don't run randomly if there's another choice. Running randomly let the pursuers pick the route. Izuku knew paths, shortcuts, and hazards only people familiar with the area would know. He should take advantage of that.

Get home and call for help. Failing that, get to Kacchan's. If it was just bullies, they'd give up. If it was a more sinister group…

An unusually large group of older teens turned onto the road in front of Izuku, all wearing hoodies and oversized medical masks. Izuku promptly turned off the road, jogging through an alley and briskly striding onward.

If he wasn't already in trouble over the fight with Stain, he might have decided to use Full Cowl to jump his way home… except, what would he do if he accidentally ran into a person and hurt them, or broke someone's windows or something like that?

Maybe, if he went to the park, then cut through the thrift store in that one basement… No, if there were as many people following him as he thought, they'd be able to cover all the exits, even there. On the other hand, if the nicer person was at the counter, he might let Izuku use his phone.

He wished there was somewhere he could just hide until the people following him gave up, some building or business he could duck into, but that would require people who were actually willing to intervene in a beating, and most of the people around here… weren't. Some of them would call the police or hero hotline, but (with a few notable exceptions, none of whom lived or worked in Musutafu or its suburbs) even the best heroes couldn't just appear as soon as they were called. That's why they patrolled.

Speaking of patrols, finding one of those would also be good. But Izuku's mental timetable put the nearest one a mile east, if Kamui Woods was his usual amount late and not extra late, which was also possible. Kamui Woods was pretty popular, so he got stopped by fans regularly. He didn't usually come this way, anyway. The main villain hotspot in the area was the train station.

Mount Lady sometimes did surprise patrols, to boost her image, but Izuku hadn't figured out the pattern of those yet, if there was one, and he didn't have his phone to check if she was doing one today.

Although, if he had his phone, he could just call… Who would he call? Not his mom, most people who were okay with beating Izuku up wouldn't hesitate to beat uo his mom, too. Kacchan was still at his internship for another day, and wouldn't have picked up the phone for Izuku, anyway. He wasn’t sure where most of his other classmates lived. All Might would come get him if he called, and All Might wasn't busy as All Might - he had a car - but Izuku really didn't want to bother him. Calling the police, well, they wouldn't do anything unless he was actively getting beaten up, which looped right back around to the time thing.

Izuku had always thought it was remarkable, how fast you could get the crap kicked out of you if enough feet were willing to do the kicking.

At this point, Izuku had counted six sets of willing feet. Or two, if they both had shapeshifting quirks. He shouldn't rule something like that out.

But he had the sinking feeling that there were more than two. Or six, for that matter. A lot more.

He cut through the ground floor of an apartment building, ignoring how the doorman swore at him. He went out the service entrance. He wasn't too far from home, now.

But before he'd gone another street, he'd picked up another tail. Or regained one. He wasn’t sure.

Whoever or whatever was behind this was much more organized than the bullies and muggers who went after him in high school. He was- well, he'd already been scared, but now he was concerned, too, and that was a different kind of emotion entirely. Sort of. Probably.

When he got home, he'd call All Might. All of the really bad organizations who'd want to target Izuku would be connected to All Might anyway.

After this next corner, he just had to go one more block, and then–

Oh.

Somehow, Izuku hadn’t considered that the people following him might already know where he lived, and be waiting there.

He hesitated for only a minute as his brain registered a group too large for him to take on even with One for All.

There wasn't anyone for him to protect here but himself.

He ran.

New plan: Evade capture. Acquire a phone. Call the emergency line. Use One for All only if he was backed into a corner; he didn't think the police would be amused by a second quirk use incident less than a week after the first.

Hands reached out towards him. He ducked away from several, and almost ran into another, tipped with sharp claws. They raked over his arm, barely avoiding drawing blood. The owner of the hand laughed, and another person kicked at Izuku's ankles.

Izuku jumped over the feet, and he flipped the next person who tried to grab him. He could hear the crowd - and it was a big enough group to call it a crowd - jeering and calling out to him. It was nothing really identifying, unfortunately. They were calling him Deku, quirkless, and a fake, but the groups of people who would know to call him those things included both former classmates and incredibly serious villains.

The sidewalk underneath Izuku's feet crumbled, and his heart leapt into his throat - Shigaraki? No. Both the pattern of destruction and its products were different. Shigaraki powdered things. The concrete here was still in recognizable chunks.

He caught himself with his other foot, adjusted for the new terrain, and kept running. A volley of dark beams forced him to swerve and duck and turn onto another street. He thought there was a conbini up ahead– no, that was the next street down, but that apartment building left its ground floor open–

The broken concrete under his feet started to twitch and levitate. He changed direction again, now running on the street itself. There were hardly any cars here, even on a normal day. Today, the streets were dead, otherwise he'd try waving one down. How had they managed that? Bribery? Stolen construction and detour signs? He used his backpack to shield himself when the levitating chunks of concrete pelted him, then dropped it as he was strafed by a spurt of fire.

He hissed as he patted out his sleeves, then reflexively punched the next masked face that appeared in his vision. His muscles and tendons in that arm pulsed with pain, still not entirely recovered from their ordeals in both the sports festival and the fight with Stain. He switched tactics for the next person who tried to grab him, sweeping their feet.

There were some really cool quirks on display here, but they all felt rather… unpolished. Unpracticed. It kind of pointed away from these people being career villains. But then, so did their ages. Some of these people were adults, but not many.

That didn't mean they weren't working for worse villains.

A pop of compressed air went off to his left, and a pair of wires went shooting after him. They had tasers, too?

Something slammed into the ground around him, creating deep circular indentations. Telekinesis? An invisible giant? No, gravity manipulation. Izuku stumbled and was forced to use One for All just to get back up, and then he was hit over the back of the head with something.

He lashed out, caught flesh, and struggled away from the grip. But he'd lost what little lead he'd had on the main body of the pack. They were circling, now, cutting off escape routes. Could he use One for All and Full Cowling to get up on a roof? Not without fighting people with wall-crawling quirks. Still, that was fewer people than he was dealing with now. He tensed, getting ready to jump, and was suddenly hit with extreme vertigo, intense enough to drop him to his knees.

When it passed, he looked up to see a foot coming towards his face. He wasn't able to dodge.

The only good thing about the next few minutes was that One for All kept them from pinning him. He was hit with dozens of quirks and dozens of feet. He pushed them off, but he didn't have a good idea of how much of One for All was too much for a person to handle without serious injury.

But then someone - someone with at least a mild strength quirk - got hold of his right arm and twisted.

The world went wobbly, and the next thing Izuku knew, he was on the ground, restrained by a truly painful submission hold and multiple quirks, including the vertigo and gravity quirks.

“Come on, bring it over!” The movement in the crowd became more purposeful.

Left hand, pinky finger. Letting it heal naturally if Recovery Girl wouldn't help would suck, but not as much as letting these people do what they wanted to him, he was sure. He flicked his finger and the wind pressure pushed back the nearest members of the crowd, sending them toppling into one another. Izuku staggered to his feet, still dizzy. Up was the only way out, but he wasn't sure he could aim–

Something sharp sunk into his right bicep, and he punched the person holding it. Which, ow, his pinky.

He pulled the sharp thing out of his arm, which wasn't the best first aid decision he could have made but he was still learning. A hypodermic needle?

A minute later, the needle fell from Izuku's nerveless fingers. It didn't fall far. When had he fallen down again?

There was a burning sensation spreading down his arm and across his shoulders. It started as a surface-level itch, but then it went more and deeper, and–

Izuku had thought he knew pain. Shattering three of his four limbs in one go at the entrance exam, breaking his legs at the USJ, repeatedly breaking his fingers at the sports festival– He hadn’t done those things for fun. He thought he knew burning, too, from ten years as Kacchan's punching bag.

This was different. This wasn't just his skin burning, melting, his blood was on fire, his bones. He was cracking open with every beat of his too-fast heart, something terrible trying to get out.

This was agony, all the way down to his soul.

Hideo was feeling pretty good about things, actually. Elated, almost, like on a good roller coaster ride. Yeah, there were risks, but this was kind of like hero work, wasn't it? Giving the bad guy a beatdown and exposing him for the whole world to see.

As soon as they got the needle in him, everyone stepped off, giving Deku room for his freak out and Hideo and the others a clear shot at the action with their phones.

“Crap,” said Shinozaki. “Crap, crap, crap.”

“What?” asked Hideo, distracted by how Deku was writhing on the ground. It almost looked like he was fighting himself. Freak.

“It's not like I got him the good stuff that goes down smooth, but that's not– If he's a user, he shouldn't– That's not what he should be acting like!”

Hideo's good mood vanished fast. “Wait, you mean he wasn't on trigger…?”

“It's fine, it's fine, we just can't post this anywhere, we've got to stay quiet, it's not like he'll be able to identify us– We didn't touch him.”

But that wasn't the imminent problem, was it, if Deku had a quirk like that? If he had a quirk like that, and they'd just given him a shot of trigger? A quirk booster?

“Uh, um, guys?” said Kanemaru. “When you say don't post it…”

“Yeah,” said Shinozaki, backing away, “I mean don't post it anywhere, forget that it happened. Never speak of it again. All that good stuff.”

“But I, um, I sort of… livestreaming. I'm livestreaming.”

“You idiot–”

“Hey! Hey! Get away from my friend, you creeps!”

Ochako flopped down on her bed, doing her best impression of bonelessness. Her internship with Gunhead had gone great, but she was so frickin’ tired. She was glad it ended half a day before everyone else's - except for those guys who got caught up in Hosu, she guessed. Iida was still in the hospital, but apparently Deku had gone home last night.

She sighed. She'd text him, but he'd emailed everyone saying his phone broke, so that was out. So… she'd probably just scroll through the internet… it was a peanut butter and crackers for dinner sort of night…

Her phone rang. She frowned at the number, but answered.

“Uraraka! Dieu merci, I was not sure you would answer!”

Ochako sat up. “Aoyama? What's wrong?”

“It is Midoriya! I have found this, this livestream, of a bunch of gangsters chasing him through the streets. And I call the police, but they do not get there so fast, and all our classmates, they are on their internships, and he must be near home–”

“Send me the link,” said Ochako, slamming her feet into her shoes and grabbing the can of pepper spray her mom had gotten her when she first started to live alone. “Jiro and Mineta should still be in town, too, they got internships with local heroes.” Who else was still around? Ochako knew about Jiro, because she'd considered interning with Death Arms, too, and she remembered where Mineta was going, because he'd been gross about it, but there had to be others still around. “You call them, okay?”

“Oui, Uraraka, I am sorry I cannot help more–”

“It's fine, it's fine,” said Ochako, jogging down the stairs outside her apartment. She didn't remember where Aoyama was having his internship. “The police, they're sending a hero, right?”

“I do not know. They did not say, only that it would take time, that they have to confirm, that they do not know where this is, this video.”

She reached the bottom of the stairs. “Okay, okay, I've got to go now, but you'll send the link to the video?”

“Oui, it is sent. Be careful, Uraraka.”

“I will. Bye.”

She hung up, then, and quickly navigated to the link Aoyama had sent her. She swallowed back the anger she felt when she saw masked and hooded adults grappling a clearly-injured Deku, and started scanning the video for landmarks and street signs. There had to be something.

She rewound slowly, slowly. The street signs were too small and blurry in the video, she couldn't read them.

Wait.

She scrolled forward. That apartment building had its name on the front in huge kana. She plugged the name into her maps app. It wasn't too far from here. If she ran–

She was moving before she finished the thought. She knew where it was, where Deku was.

What she'd do when she got there… she wasn't sure. There were at least thirty guys in the video. But people who did stuff like this were ultimately cowards. Sometimes, if they knew someone was watching them, if they knew someone saw what they were doing, they'd stop. That's how Ochako's parents stopped a yakuza beating, once. They'd just gone out with a broom, a baseball bat, and a phone connected to the police.

… there had been a lot fewer of them, too, though, if she remembered correctly.

It didn't matter. If she had to use her quirk, she'd use it. It'd be her first public quirk use citation, and if that meant she was suspended or expelled… it didn't matter. What kind of hero would she be, if she didn't do her best to help a friend?

She turned the last corner and saw the knot of villains. She couldn't see Izuku from here, but he was visible on the livestream clearly enough.

She dialed the emergency line. “I'm on Obi Street, near the Millenium Building,” she said, once the operator had answered. “There's a group of thirty villains beating up a student.”

“How do you know they're villains, ma'am?”

“They're using their quirks.”

“Understood, I'm sending your location to the nearest hero. Please find a place to shelter until they arrive. Do not approach the villains, and stay on the line.”

Normally, Ochako would have followed instructions. Honest. But the villains moved strangely, and it was Deku. He was basically her best friend, especially since Sakura back home stopped talking to her for stupid reasons.

“Hey! Hey! Get away from my friend, you creeps!”

“Ma'am--" said the operator, but Ochako wasn't interested.

Some of the villains turned towards her. Others, apparently, hadn't heard her.

“Who the hell're you?” demanded one of them, who was clearly used to using his mass to loom. Joke was on him. It didn't matter how much mass he had when she could use her quirk to negate it. “Some kind of pervert slut who gets off taking it from subhuman freaks?”

Ochako didn't know how to respond to that, so she didn't. “I have the police on the phone, so you'd better get lost!”

“Ma'am, please–”

“You think those fascist pigs scare us? We're part of the new revolution, the–”

The big man stumbled and looked back. The other villains jostled into each other, disorganized, and for the first time since looking at the livestream, Ochako saw Deku.

He looked terrible. Of course he looked terrible. He was being beaten by a small mob. He was bruised and bloodied and panting.

His tongue was black.

There was something else black, too. Something like a gnarled, black root, growing from Deku's tattered sleeve and wrapping around the villain's ankle.

“No,” said Deku, except it didn't sound very much like him at all.

A thick, opaque fog exploded into being. And then the screaming started.

Hands gathered Izuku up. Not gentle, exactly, but careful. Not hurting. They pulled him through the dark where lights flickered, uncertainly, like memories. He opened his eyes and saw their faces, glowing, like fires that refused to be extinguished. He knew them, but he didn't. They could have been his, but they weren’t.

“Ninth,” theh said, they whispered, they chanted. There was power, there, burning and immense, and behind that power was purpose, but it was distorted, warped and shredded around the edges.

This was not how this moment was supposed to go.

There should have been triumph. This should have been sacred. A sharing of memories, a meeting of minds, a point of convergence, of singularity.

How dare they?

How dare they–

–trap them - poison this - forget history - throw away this peace - hurt the boy - call them useless - touch Toshi's child - young Midoriya - say those things to Uraraka?

Uraraka was here?

Hush.

Or–

Listen.

Feel this. Every strength they ever had. Every memory that could aid their task. Every skill, every scrap of knowledge, every quirk, every second of every year spent running-hiding-fighting. All of it, brought together and finally expressed.

They knew about trigger. They had seen it, in all its gruesome forms. Its purpose was to strengthen quirks, but the side effects - bodies twisted, quirks out of control, brains working at a fraction of their normal capacity.

One for All was a quirk. A strange quirk, a difficult to understand quirk, but still a quirk, and everything within it was part of a quirk, and every thought they had happened in the brains of their Eighth and Ninth.

At the moment, they were insane. And they knew it. And they didn't care.

The purpose of One for All was to stop All for One, but that kind of specificity was a human foible, not something so easily encoded in the core of a quirk. The end to which it put itself was the very destruction of evil and the eternal rebirth of hope. Its favorite means was violence.

“What are you talking about?”

Izuku tilted his head to one side. Had he been talking? Mumbling? Muttering? He should probably work on that. But it didn't seem to matter so much when Blackwhip and Fifth were whispering to him the secrets of how to use rage to rip an enemy limb from limb, and Danger Sense hovered around him like a protective halo, Hikage watching his back.

They were so, so, angry that it had spilled back over into serenity, like an overflow error on a computer.

A fist came flying for him out of the swirling vapors of Smokescreen. As soon as it brushed his cheek, Gear Shift grudgingly reversed its momentum. Second did not approve of their current stronghold, but that did not mean he would permit an attack.

There was a snap, and then a scream, the man– no, the boy. He couldn't be more than a year out of high school, if that. The boy grasped at his broken wrist, howling.

Izuku hadn't even done anything. It was his own fault.

Smokescreen whispered of an attempted escape, and Blackwhip dragged her back. They weren't done with them yet.

He didn't want to kill them or anything. They just wanted to hurt them a little. Ten years of quirklessness… twice. And four lifetimes on the other side, running from people who thought meta powers were curses, or a symptom of a disease. It was the same kind of bigotry, just reversed.

There was just so much pain. It hurt so much. In his chest, in their head, in their hearts.

Maybe if these little monsters felt some of it, they wouldn't do it again. Maybe some of it would go away.

Hideo stumbled through fog bank after fog bank, and started to wonder if he should call his mom. He didn't always get on with his parents, but, if he was going to die…

There was a sort of scraping sound. Then, footsteps. They had to be close, close enough to touch. The heavy fog dampened sound eerily. Hideo froze, hardly daring to breathe.

“Stop it! Stay back! How are you still moving?”

“Your vertigo quirk has its weaknesses, although it's useful for combat otherwise. I'd ask you why you aren't trying to be a hero, but it's clear the problem is temperament. Or, well, your entire personality, to be quite honest.”

There was a thump, a cracking sound and a shriek.

“Stop! Stop! What do you want? I can– my family has money. Connections. We can get you anything you want! Just stop!”

“There is nothing we want more than you never doing anything like this again.”

The voice sounded like Deku's, but the cadence was all wrong. Deku was a meek, shivering, stuttering nerd, and Hideo would have sworn that he'd stay that way, no matter what drugs they gave him.

“I won't! I won't!”

“It's nice of you to offer, but the only way people like you stop is of they're forced to stop, or if they're made to regret what they've done. A lot. All the time.”

“No, no, please! No!”

There was an ugly cracking noise, and then a wet thump.

“Pathetic.”

Oh, god. Oh, god, what kind of quirk was this, even? There was no way Deku had a quirk like this all this time.

A horrible thought came to him then. What if it wasn't Deku? Body-snatching quirks were a thing. Hell, Bakugou had been targeted by one of those guys just last year. And Deku had no friends, basically no family. Who would notice when he started acting different? Other than them, apparently.

That was actually kind of sad. Hideo would probably have had more pity to spare for Deku, though, if he wasn't using it all on himself.

There hadn't been any sounds over there for a while, now. Maybe it was safe to move again?

“Hello, Hidaka Hideo,” said Deku's voice, right in his ear. “It's been a long time.”

Kyoka wasn't entirely sure what was going on. She had only been on the phone with Aoyama for a few confused seconds before the large-scale villain attack alarm went off, and what Death Arms said to her just after hadn't helped matters.

Midoriya? Taking trigger? That didn't make any sense at all. He was friends with Iida. Totally straightedge.

But apparently, he'd been given trigger. As in, drugged, by a gang trying to beat him up. Which, honestly, made even less sense. Giving trigger to a guy you were fighting with… It was like throwing a pair of brass knuckles to a guy you just hit, and daring them to do one better. It was stupid.

It was also on video, so Kyoka had to admit that some people were just that dumb, as unbelievable as that sounded.

Whatever the Mensa squad's original goal had been, the result was… this. A fat, billowing cloud that occasionally sprouted writhing black tentacles and faint but disturbing screams. She didn't know what kind of quirks could combine to make something like this, and she didn't care. She wasn't Midoriya. The villains must have gotten spooked by Midoriya's quirk or something. She just had to hope that they hadn't gotten spooked because Midoriya had broken all the bones in his body.

What had happened at the sports festival had been… hard to watch.

“Alright,” said Death Arms, “before we go in there, let's get some things down. Earphone Jack, this Midoriya is your classmate?”

“Yeah,” said Kyoka.

“He's not going to be himself, jumped up on trigger. Don't try to get near him, or any of these villains. He won't listen to reason, and I'll bet that these guys've been taking trigger, too, for a quirk effect like this. You're going to be flanked the whole time by these two,” he said, nodding towards a pair of sidekicks. “The only reason we're bringing you with us is because we need someone who can navigate in all that crap, not for fighting. Understood?”

Kyoka nodded. “Understood.”

“Everyone else, go for restraint over injury, where possible. We don't know if there are civilians other than Midoriya caught up in this.”

He spent another couple of seconds arranging the marching order, but then he finally gave them the order to move in.

Inside the cloud, the air was cool, and drier than Kyoka had expected. Not like fog, more like smoke. Somehow, the screaming she'd heard on the outside was quieter in here as well. Must be some quirk…

“Group of three, that way,” she said, pointing.

They took care of the villains quickly. They didn't seem much older than Kyoka, and their quirk control was much worse. They were tied up in class-C restraints in seconds.

“We're going to have to carry them back out,” said Death Arms with a grimace. “We can't just leave them here.”

“Oh, thank god,” said one of the villains. “You guys are actual heroes!”

“As opposed to what?” asked Death Arms, gruffly.

“The punk is probably talking about me.”

Kyoka jumped and turned. Whoever that was, they'd managed to sneak up on them while making no sound at all. Not even breathing.

The man was bald, wearing leather, and the same sort of rugged as Death Arms. He also sort of… faded into the smoky clouds around him, almost as if he were made of them. Even accounting for mutations, his smile was a bit too wide, his eyes a little too blank.

The black, lashing tentacles around him, however, looked very real, especially when they scraped along the already-battered asphalt near his cloudy feet.

“And who're you?” asked Death Arms, readying his fists.”

“They should have stayed away from our kid,” said the man without moving his mouth. Then, in Midoriya's voice, “It hurts! “

“Where-” started Death Arms, but the man was opening his mouth, wrist and wider. Too wide. Inside was a perfectly black hole.

A faint rushing noise was the only warning before a dozen of those black tentacles came pouring out of the man's mouth. They jostled and grabbed and wrapped around, and by the time Kyoka got her wits about her again, she and the rest of the heroes had been deposited outside the cloud.

Death Arms looked shaken. “I think we might need backup for this one.”

Ochako caught another glimpse of yellow gloves and a fluttering cape. It was a hero. It had to be, even if Ochako didn't recognize her. Now, if only Ochako could get her attention…

She pushed through another bank of smoke. The smoke was… weird. When it first appeared, it looked like it was coming from Deku, but that couldn't be right. He had a strength enhancement. Like All Might. But then, those black root things weren't a normal part of Deku's quirk, either.

Maybe it was like Tsuyu's quirk. She had a lot of different things she could do, and you normally wouldn't describe it as a jumping quirk instead of a frog mutation, but it did let her jump high. She just… wasn't sure why Deku would do that. Unless he didn't know?

Ugh, all these things could wait until later, when her friend wasn't in trouble.

“Miss Hero!” she tried again. “Please wait!”

And this time, to Ochako's surprise, she did.

She was tall - but not as tall as Ochako first thought. She was floating above the ground, and the way the smoke clung to her…

“It's yours, then, the smoke?” asked Ochako, a little out of breath.

“Not exactly,” she said, in a voice as thin as the smoke.

A partner, then? “The person they were beating up was my friend, do you know where he is? Is he safe?”

The hero inclined her head, and then dissolved, the smoke that made up her body tearing away from itself. The clouds behind her patted as well, revealing a large crater, and–

“Deku!”

She hopped down into the crater, avoiding broken electrical cables and gushing pipes.

Deku looked even worse than he had minutes ago. Red and green sparks danced over his body, and his skin was a ghostly gray. He was shaking, and clutching at the ground, raw fingertips digging deep grooves into the remaining concrete.

But before she could get to him, smoke swirled out of his body, and two more figures coalesced out of it. A slender white-haired man in a t-shirt and loose pants, and a shorter, younger man in a long, high-collared coat that reminded Ochako of Best Jeanist's costume.

“Wait a moment,” said the white-haired one.

“Why?” demanded Ochako. “Who are you people?”

“It's people like this that give my brother so much power,” said the man, which answered nothing. “They could use their abilities to help, but instead they act out of jealousy and envy.”

“Unless there's been a big change recently,” said the other man, “that dosage of Japanese trigger lasts for three minutes, maximum.”

Ochako looked down at her dead phone. How long had it been?

“Wait a moment,” repeated the white-haired man. “There is still justice to be done, there are still things to be made right.”

“I'm sure you're tough. Are you tougher than concrete?” asked the other man. “We don't remember that.”

“Wait a moment. I wish my brother were here, so I could pound his stupid face in.”

“We really, really don't.”

“Uh,” said Ochako. Were these guys, like, all there? “There are villains here who tried to hurt him, so–”

“Wait a moment,” said the white-haired man. He sounded frustrated. ��Wait a moment. They are being discouraged.”

“Vehemently.”

“Wait a moment. He won't remember this. Tell him we will speak again.”

“We'll try, anyway.”

Ochako looked between the two of them. Maybe she could run by them… Were their bodies even solid?

Deku shuddered, and the force behind the movement sent more cracks through the concrete, deepened the crater. Ochako threw up her arm to protect her eyes from dust.

When she lowered her arms again, the figures of the two men were dissipating back into smoke, and the smoke itself was wisping away. Deku was lying still, now, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Ochako checked him carefully for quirk effects, but didn't see any, and approached.

“Deku?”

He didn't respond. According to the first aid course she'd taken to boost her chances of being accepted at UA, she shouldn't move him unless there was imminent danger, in case of broken bones or neck injuries. The pipes and wires… that situation would probably hold for a while longer. The villains…

She climbed back out of the crater and looked around. She could see both sides of the street, now, even if it was hazy. The glass in most of the nearby windows was broken. The street itself and the sidewalks were gravel. One streetlight had been knocked over.

And scattered all over were the prone forms of the villains. They didn't look like they were moving. Ochako stared at the nearest one, frightened, until she saw that they were still breathing. So she should stay with Deku until first responders got there. Hopefully, that would be soon.

Her phone chirped as it came back to life, whatever quirk effect keeping it inoperable disappearing with the smoke. She looked down at it, briefly. It was an older model, and usually took a minute or longer to turn back on all the way.

She scanned the street again, squinting to see through the thinning smoke, and, oh thank goodness. That was Death Arms, wasn't it? And Jiro! She waved frantically.

This whole thing had lasted only a few minutes, but it had felt like forever.

In other news, the large-scale disruption in residential Musutafu today occurred when a group of thirty-two villains chased down and injected a UA student with trigger. The villains were mostly high school and college students with otherwise clean records. According to Musutafu PD, the villains believed the student was somehow using trigger to fake having a quirk. A statement released by UA with the permission of the student's guardian not only refutes those claims, but includes select medical data from the student's most recent hospital visit, only days before. These records show no evidence of the student having ever taken any form of performance enhancing drug. The student was the only civilian injured in the event, and is recovering at an undisclosed location. The police are investigating the possibility of classifying the incident as a hate crime. Now, Ms. Long with the weather–

Izuku pried his eyes open blearily. His head was pounding, his bones ached, and his mouth tasted like he'd licked Dagobah Beach. Before he'd cleaned it up. Where was he and what was he doing there?

He blinked a few times. Actually, that ceiling looked familiar…

“Ah!” said Recovery Girl, who was suddenly in his field of vision. “You're awake.”

Before Izuku could ask what had happened, she was running through a cognitive test. Despite his confusion, he answered her questions as best he could, and she didn't seem disappointed, so he must have gotten a good grade. Was that something you could get on a cognitive test?

“What is the last thing you remember before waking up here?” she asked, finally.

“Uh, um,” said Izuku. “I used one of the gyms at the school… here, I mean… for physical therapy stuff. Then sat in on one of the support classes - that was really cool - then, um, the train… and I was walking home… Was I hit by a car?” he guessed.

Recovery Girl sighed. “You were attacked by villains and injected with trigger. Trigger heavily cut with other drugs, no less.”

“What?!” said Izuku trying to sit up. Recovery Girl pushed him back down.

“The villains were all captured. They won't be doing anything like that again.” She set a bowl of broth down on the table attached to Izuku's bed.

“But did I– What did I–?” Even if he didn't remember anything, trigger made people do all sorts of weird stuff. And One for All wasn't an ordinary quirk.

“Don’t worry about that,” said Recovery Girl. “You focus on recovering your stamina, so we can do something about all those microfractures you have.”

“I thought– I thought you said you wouldn't treat me anymore,” said Izuku, bewildered.

“I never–” Recovery Girl stopped, pressed her lips together. “What I meant to say, at the end of the sports festival, is that I won't be able to heal you with my quirk if you keep getting injuries like that. There's a limit to what can be healed, even with quirks, as you well know.”

Izuku thought back to All Might's wound, and shuddered. Which. Ow.

“If you can keep that down,” said Recovery Girl, nodding to the broth, “I'll see about letting some of your visitors in.”

“Like Mom? And, um, All Might?” guessed Izuku.

“Your mother is here already,” said Recovery Girl, nodding at the green-haired lump in the neighboring bed. “Just got her to take a nap herself, after she spent all night fretting. But, yes, All Might isn’t above using his position to get to the top of your visitor list. Although he isn't the only one on it. All your classmates called in from their internships, and I had to ban that girl from the support course. I won’t have untested support equipment around my patients, no matter what the medical applications are. Uraraka and Jiro from your class were also here earlier…”

Izuku listened as she bustled around the medical wing and continued to chatter about his visitors and well-wishers, and felt… warm. Later, he was sure there would be consequences beyond missing memories, sore muscles, and broken bones, but for now… it was nice to know he had people who cared. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of that.

With a shaky hand, he picked up the soup spoon and started on the broth.

“Mr. Hidaka,” said the lawyer, more to Hideo's father than Hideo, even if the lawyer was technically representing Hideo, “I'm afraid to say that the government's case is ironclad. Between the livestream video, the messages to the other defendants, being found at the scene of the crime, the evidence of quirk use… The best we can hope for is the young villain diversion program, but that's only possible if you plead guilty and implicate any other co-conspirators. Otherwise, you're old enough to be charged as an adult, and even if they don't do that, juvenile villain facilities aren't great places to be.”

“But Deku–” started Hideo.

“Hideo,” growled his father.

“I was attacked–”

“Hideo, shut up. You'll take the guilty plea and hope you get it in before any of rhe cretins you call friends. And if you say anything about this Midoriya boy again…”

Hideo swallowed and nodded. Goddamned Deku. How come he got everything good, and Hideo was in here? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. Goddamned Deku.

But what was he supposed to do? He wasn't an actual villain. He just wanted things to be right.

“Fine,” he said. “I'll do it.”

“Great!” said the lawyer, gathering his papers. “I just have to talk to the prosecuter.”

Goddamn Deku. Why couldn't Hideo have his life?

#bnha #fic #my fic

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trulyhblue · 11 months ago

Text

Baby England

Lionesses x Young! Reader (platonic), Leah Williamson x reader (platonic).

Warnings: fluff, a little bit of angst, coarse language, school, young reader.

A/N — still can't get over Sam's ACL. Like I woke up just to cry? No, thank you.

Masterlist

___________________________________

The Games Room was quiet for what seemed to be the first time ever. The team was sprawled throughout the room, some of them on their phones, others by mountains of pillows. Georgia and Keira were in the indoor pitch juggling with one another. Alex was having a soft conversation with Hempo, laughing at something one of them had said.

The serenity of the room was something you didn't catch often. Usually, the hustle of the team would echo across the walls, loud pints of laughter and screaming coming from one corner of the room to the other. Lucy was often yelling at Mario Kart, and Ellie was always strutting around Table Tennis in triumph, while everyone else grumbled on about how she was too good.

But for now, it was silent, save for the low conversations from the different groups. Even Lessi and Tooney were keeping in check, sharing a rocking chair with mounds of blankets hauled over the top of them.

For anyone else in the room, it would've been extremely relaxing.

For you, it was anything but.

You wanted to snap your pen in half, feeling the fatigue of yesterday's game daunting on your muscles. The words on your laptop were dancing behind the blur of your eyes. You struggled to stay concentrated as Leah sat next to you, taking her eyes off her phone every once while to make sure you were actually doing your homework.

The Euros were speeding by quicker than any of you could imagine. The outcome of your results, and the number of fans that had started to compile over the weeks, was indescribable. This was your debut camp for the Lionesses, and while you spent most of your time on the bench, making late appearances in the 70th minutes of games, you wouldn't change it for the world.

However, with all the excitement and privilege that came with representing your country in such a prestigious competition at Sixteen, you were faced with the challenge of keeping up with school.

When you first signed with the Lionesses, your parents were determined to keep you in school. Your education was very important, and if football ever ended badly for you, they wanted you to have something to fall back on. Growing up through the youth groups, and developing skills in the Arsenal Academy, you were used to the physical and emotional demands of a professional football career. Your parents were incredibly supportive of your dream to play, but their underlying worry when you were called up to the National Team was daunted on them.

So, to make everyone happy, you decided to take on the complicated challenge of juggling both football and school. This meant that in your spare time, all you did was study for exams, take the exams, and then study for the next one. It was an endless cycle of school and work, but you knew that it would be all worth it in the end.

The worst thing about it was that none of the girls were your age. Some of them had Uni work to do, but you were still mastering high school subjects. The workload wasn't nearly as draining, and they seemed to have it all sorted out in a few short hours while you were spending all of your extra time peeling away your useless worksheets, essays and papers.

Lots of the girls were lenient. None of them liked the idea of you cooped up in front of a screen. Hempo would buy you some crisps from down the road. Mary would make TikToks with you, Beth would scoop you up for cuddles and a movie. LJ would pull you away for Mario Kart. All the girls believed that you needed a break, especially in such a stressful time.

But Leah was the exact opposite.

You had known Leah since you were seven. You had met her during one of your Arsenal Youth games, immediately looking up to her as an older sister and role model. Even as a teenager, Leah holds a protective arm around you. She was always ready to defend you on the pitch, not only as a Captain, but as a friend. She wasn't afraid to put you in line — she was the only one who could send you running laps if you were too cheeky. She was strict, especially when you parents weren't there to boss you around, and everyone knew that her authority over you was nothing to debate.

You were training with the Arsenal Women's Team while you were still at the Academy. You're not quite sure why you were chosen in the squad, as you struggled to believe you made the cut at such a young age, but the England Captain didn't hesitate to make you put in the work.

She was a bit like your agent, always persuading you to do something when you weren't sure what to do yourself. You still weren't signed with a WSL team, but as the Euros progressed, teams from everywhere were banking up to sign you as soon as possible. You tried hard not to delve too deeply into it. You knew Arsenal was a main contender, and that's where you most wanted to go, but your focus right now was the Euros... and the essay in front of you.

"C'mon, get it done," Leah ordered, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, her hand carrying the weight on her head against the desk. You had been sitting there for over an hour, a total of one paragraph typed out on your screen. Outside, you could see Beth and Lotte playing Basketball. You threw your head backwards, groaning in respite. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing.

"No use whining about it." She spoke, still not looking at you. "'Might as well smash it out now so it's done."

"'Dunno what to write about." You grumbled, shoving your hands into your pockets. You managed to slip a glance towards Esme, feeling your hopes lift up when she gave you a knowing nod.

But of course, Leah caught the interaction. "Hempo, no." She snapped, sending the Forward back to her seat. "You don't get crisps when you've done nothing to deserve it."

"Leah-"

"-Get on with it."

You slouched back into your chair, making sure your Huff was loud and overly obnoxious. Leah had no reaction, leaning back in her chair, and continuing to scroll on her phone.

"Y/N." She murmured in warning.

When you made no effort to keep going, she finally looked at you.

You could tell she was over it. She wasn't obliged to sit with you, but it was an unspoken rule that she did, otherwise, you would never get it finished. The older woman secretly felt bad for making you do it. If it was her choice, you wouldn't be doing school during the tournament. She understood your reluctance, but both of you could guess the consequences of your actions if you weren't handing it in.

"You've got half an hour." She snapped, her glare darkening. If she wasn't strict now, it'd end badly. "If it's not done, I'll bench you."

From the corner of your eye, you could see Lauren stop her Lego abruptly. Esme was no longer looking at her phone, instead tilting her head away from the tension rising in an attempt to not get involved.

Leah didn't have the power to bench anyone, the older girls knew that. But to your virtue, you thought that Leah was capable of anything. An abuse of power, maybe, but it worked all the same.

You begrudgingly tapped at your keyboard, making a point to roll you eyes when Leah set an alarm for half an hour. You were determined to keep your spot as a preferred sub, refusing to let Leah feel all smug at the fact that you couldn't finish the stupid essay.

Lauren continued on with her Lego. Esme was starting a new bracelet. Beth and Lotte's giggles were drowned out by the determination written all over your face. Without your knowledge, more and more people began to cram into the Game Room. First, Lucy, then Kei and Gee. A few minutes later, Alessia and Ella were doing a TikTok, their voices growing louder as the minutes went by. LJ walked past with confusion written across her features. She leaned over your shoulder, eyes slightly widening at the page full of words. She glanced to Leah's phone and the timer, then at Leah, who was staring off into the distance.

By five minutes left, you had written nearly two whole pages. Your hands were cramping, and your feet couldn't keep still. Chloe and Katie were surrounding you behind LJ, waiting for you to snap out of your trance and notice the crowd that had complied.

You were reading over your final sentences when the door crashed open, revealing Millie and Rach running in frantically with a cameraman hot on their trail. Their presence was so boisterous that everyone stopped to see who it was, watching in curiosity when the two women started searching the room.

"We need the Baby!" Millie screamed, scrambling onto the floor to check underneath the lounge. "We need the baby!"

Rachel was running to the bean bags, dashing past Lucy, Keira and Georgia playing Mario Kart. Everyone laughed in amusement at the cameraman struggling to keep up with the two of them.

"Where is she?!" Rach screeched at Esme and Lauren, ignoring the fits of giggle the pair were in. "Where's the baby?"

"Over here, idiots," Zelem stated, causing both their heads to dart in your direction. The girls surrounding you were quick to scatter, knowing the wrath of the two women was not something easily escapeable. Millie was about to yank you from under your shoulders when Leah moved in front of you, her prior amusement halting, replaced with her usual sternness.

You were closing your laptop at the sight of the camera, beaming at the thought of freeing yourself.

"Not now, Bright," Leah uttered, wrapping an arm around the back of your chair. "She's got school."

Instead of leaving you be, the duo closed in on you, beckoning the camera over to your work sprawled across the table.

Both of them held tiny mics, holding them up to their mouths as they spoke.

"Here we've got the Arsenal Protege in her natural habitat. Born and raised in red, she seems to be researching ways to leave."

"Both Arsenal and Leah."

Leah's face contorted into deep offence. "Hey!"

"Yes, it appears she is." Rachel nodded vigorously, picking up your book, pretending to read it. "She has written down Aston Villa as her top contender. Not only is she fast, but smart too."

Millie hugged you from behind. "But we all know what side of London she's thinking of, isn't that right? Smart, little, blue she'll be, am I right, Williamson?"

The camera panned to Leah, who was not looking at all amused. The thought of you being at any other club felt absolutely gut-wrenching to her. Like her, you had grown up bleeding in North London. She wouldn't trade any other player twice as good as you if that meant you'd stay. But while she'd never admit it, Leah wasn't worried about you leaving Arsenal. She was more worried that you'd leave her.

"Over my dead body." She snapped, wrenching the Chelsea woman's arms away from you, swerving your chair back to face your laptop. "Now, off you go, she needs to get this done."

"I've finished it, Lee." You muttered, feeling embarrassed at the fact that fans would prune over the way you were bossed around. When it came to your figure in the media, it was mainly regarding your blamelessness in comparison to your more experienced teammates. You were often babied by the girls, and fans adored the interactions you would have with them, especially with Leah.

Your Captain looked at you, crossing her arms. "You promise me you're done?"

"Promise." Your cheeks heated as the snickers fell from Daly's lips. You nodded, slowly inching off your seat. "Please, Lee, I've been stuck here for hours."

"Yeah, c'mon, Williamson, let her come to the dark side." Millie barked, causing Leah to grumble at the notion.

It took her a few moments to decide whether or not to let you go, huffing in defeat when she turned off her phone. "Fine. But no Chelsea or Villa talk, swear to Go—"

You were off before she could finish her lecture. Millie had picked you up, lifting you over her shoulders as Rach followed behind. The three of you ran into the indoor training pitch, with the poor cameraman following after you hopelessly.

When Millie plopped you down, you engulfed the warmth of someone's lap. You craned your head back to find Jordan looking back at you, her beady, toothy grin beaming back at you. The Arsenal midfielder wrapped her arms around you as you made the effort to snuggle into her body. Jordan was like your second mother when you were away from home. She was an ongoing support that wore her heart on her sleeve. She was different from Leah's opposing relentless, being more of a calm before the storm, less sentimental but effusive nonetheless.

You were supposed to be Jordan's substitute during your time at the Euros, but her knee injury had ruled her out. Therefore, the woman was only there when the squad wasn't training.

You noticed the multiple cameras surrounding the couch you were all squeezed on, but the attention felt a little less daunting with the comfort of the girls around you.

"We've got some questions for you," Millie spoke, revealing some palm cards from God knows where.

You nodded, keeping your head on Jord's chest. "Ask away."

"Who is your favourite teammate?"

You thought to yourself for a second before shrugging. "Jordan."

Rach scoffed. "Boring."

"Yeah, next!" Millie rolled her eyes. "Who would win in a fight, me or Daly?"

"Why am I answering these?!" You laughed, shaking your head. "You could've asked anyone."

"Those aren't the real questions." Jordan prodded, leading the two women to laugh their heads off at their supposed humour. You looked around at everyone, extremely confused about what you were here for. There were a few PR Managers behind the media setup, all with clipboards in their hands. You managed to catch Jordan eyeing Bright and Daly, squeezing your body a little tighter.

"Yeah, yeah, we're just having a laugh." Mils chortled, straightening up before continuing. "We're to announce that Baby England here has been asked to answer a few questions on behalf of the team."

You watched the centre-back intently. "Why me?"

"Dunno." Rach shrugged, followed shortly by Mil's voice. "Just 'cause."

"Alright, then, by who?"

"God, you'd think with all that schoolwork you'd be a bit brighter."

Jordan huffed from behind you. "Hurry up!"

"Alright, alright." Rachel scoffed, taking out the same cards as Millie had, the England Lioness logo plastered on the back. "So, seriously now, how do you think the Lionesses have worked throughout the Euros?"

You were never the one to be faced with serious questions in interviews. In fact, you had only ever attended one or two. At Arsenal, you were in the Academy, meaning the media surrounding you and your team was very scarce. As a representative of your National Team, the two interviews you had been a part of were your induction and your Player of the Match award at the end of one of the games. You weren't used to being in the spotlight like your England teammates, but you were not opposed to being overshadowed by them either. You knew you had a lot to learn, you were happy to play alongside them.

“Erm, I'm not quite sure.” You posed, blushing at the laughter that followed. “I'm very proud to be a part of it… this is a big opportunity for me, and I'm grateful for having the chance to represent my country.”

“True English,” Mils said fondly, finding the camera with her eyes. “Modest as always.”

Jordan hugged you tighter. “Let her finish, Millie.”

“But I think all of the girls think that, even to a bigger scale than me.” You continued, fidgeting with your hands. “It's a home Euros so… we all want to bring it home. I think that's one of the main contributors �� the pressure, but also the idea of winning. We all want our families and country to be proud. So, yeah, and because we all love football. That's a given.”

“That was a bloody good answer, Baby England,” Rach commented. Her hand was rubbing your shoulder, her legs crossed over each other on the lounge. The Defender behind her was smiling, propping herself into a more comfortable position before she spoke.

“Speaking of,” She smirked. “Are you bothered by your nickname ‘Baby England?’ Do you feel a bit bugged by it?”

You giggled into Jordan, your cheeks inevitably heating up. “Erm, yes and no. I mean, I know I'm the youngest but I’ll go back to training and the girls will be teasing me for it.”

“Do you want to stay in the Academy?” Rach asked. “What’s your plans after the Euros?”

“Not sure.” You shrugged. “Hopefully we finish with Gold, that's the hope, obviously. But, I’ll just have to see.”

Both women looked at each other, then the camera, hiding their smiles concurrently. Jordan and you watched in confusion.

“Should we start the list of offers you've got right now?” Daly chortled. “I can think of five on the top of my head.”

“Who’s your top five?” Millie continued, leaning in and mouthing her club Chelsea.

“Leah would kill me!” You laughed, shaking off the question. “I was talking to Lessi and Lotte about the States, cause my parents still want me to have an education. But to be fair, my agent hasn't told me any offers. I don't think she will until the Euros are over.”

“Well, you heard it hear first.” Rachel beamed. “Baby England to Villa!”

The Cameraman was about to end the video when a booming fury echoed from across the room.

All heads turned to an enraged Leah storming over. “I said no Villa talk!”

__________________________________

yourusername (pretend it's you and Leah)

yourusername — sorry @ rachdaly, no Villa talk

Comments

milliebright — u say nothing about Chelsea, right?

^ leahwilliamson — don't even go there.

lionesses — football’s coming home 🫶🏼

racheldaly — I’ll find a way

^ leahwilliamson — no you won't.

user1 — Leah fighting for Y/N’s spot at Arsenal more than Arsenal themselves LMAO

^ user2 — she really said North London Forever

lottewubbenmoy — Baby England 🫶🏼

alessiarusso99 — beautiful girls

*liked by yourusername, leahwilliamson

User3 — is this an Aston Villa denial confirmation?

^ user4 — I think shes just referencing the YouTube video or Her, Jordan, Mils, and Rach.

^ user5 — shes got all these offers, who knows

^ user3 — she practically confirmed she was going to North Carolina in that video tho

^ user4 — 🤷‍♀️ you could say that is is an Arsenal Confirmation since Leah’s in it. Fr tho idk.

Leahwilliamson — my 🌟 girl

^ user6 — their friendship is so cute

User7 — All these clubs want her, WHERE WILL SHE GO

^ yourusername — 👀

^ user7 — STOP DO NOT DO THIS TO ME

__________________________________

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incognitopolls · 4 months ago

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(From Wikipedia) Exame Nacional do Ensino Médio, shortened as Enem, is a non-mandatory, standardized Brazilian national exam, which evaluates high school students in Brazil. The ENEM is the most important exam of this kind in Brazil, with more than 8.6 million registered candidates in 2016. It is the second largest in the world after China's National Higher Education Entrance Examination.

–

We ask your questions so you don’t have to! Submit your questions to have them posted anonymously as polls.

#polls #incognito polls #anonymous #tumblr polls #tumblr users #questions #polls about school #submitted may 17 #brazil #enem #brazilian #brasil #standardized testing #school #tests

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 year ago

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WIBTA for reporting my sister’s teacher to the school admin?

Alright folks strap in this one’s a doozy. TLDR at the end.

My (19M) sister (17F) is a senior in high school and this year she’s taking AP English Literature and Composition (hereby abbreviated as ap lit). For my non American buddies, this is essentially the highest level English class in most public high schools. This is a notoriously difficult exam and my sister’s extremely nervous for it. However, her teacher (23F) is. Well. To put it bluntly, the most gen z #relatable tiktoker in the world. This is the first English class AND the first AP class she’s ever taught. The only other high school class she’s taught was physics (not even honors). Her only qualification to teach the class is that she got a 5 on the exam when she took it in high school.

She is demonstrably bad at her job. Her motivation to teach English this year was, quote: “Taylor Swift is SUCH a poet she’s one of the main reasons I wanted to be an English teacher�� if that gives you the vibes. And yes, she spent two class periods making students analyze a Taylor Swift song.

To list some other offenses, she: encouraged the propagation of the Hellen Keller was fake conspiracy, recommended using Harry Potter as a resource for the AP lit exam (citing that it’s one of her favorite book series of all time), telling students she will not help them with college applications (despite this being a very common and expected thing for senior English teachers to do here), and telling students to watch the movie adaptations of recommended novels WITHOUT reading them, and then to use the Wikipedia summary to compare and contrast the two. She also regularly misspells things in class which is great for a language teacher.

And I wasn’t kidding about the tiktoker thing. That’s her main passion, posting outfit/makeup tiktoks. This includes doing it in her class about all her teachercore fits.

My sister complains about her constantly, and as someone who’s has to deal with seriously traumatic harassment from teachers in the past, my first reaction was that she should report her. However, the problem is, last time she caught a student complaining about her, she punished the whole class by making them take a ridiculously hard pop quiz because “her feelings were hurt”. A very responsible and adult reaction /s. So, my sister is worried that if I confront her or the administration, the class will be punished.

While I understand my sister’s fear, I just don’t think the teacher should be allowed to get away with her behavior. I understand that the teacher is young (she’s barely 4 years older than me!) and should be allowed to make mistakes, but starting off her English teaching career at the highest high school level of English classes. My sister is now having to seek additional tutoring because the class is massively under preparing her for the exam.

TLDR: My sister’s English teacher is really bad at her job and underpreparing her for a difficult national test. I want to tell the school about this behavior but my sister is worried that she’ll punish the class.

So, WIBTA if I reported her to the administration? And if so, people of tumblr do you have other ideas because I’ve hit a wall.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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sinnamongirls · 1 month ago

Text

ALL NATURAL, CHAPTER ONE: drop the game.

a 2016 college au patrick zweig x f!reader fic

you’re a reporter for the stanford daily forced to cover a speech and debate tournament. lucky for you, there’s a really hot nerd there.

author notes: this is literally the first time I’ve published fanfic since middle school eek! but im really proud of this one heheh even though it is incredibly long (the next chapter will be shorter I swear)

contains: mentions of alcohol, suggestive language, dual pov’s (patrick and reader), reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns, but no physical traits are described.

“Speech and debate? Seriously? Kendall, come on.”

Kendall just rolled their eyes at you. It was 10 am, and you, the Stanford Daily’s head general coverage reporter, were already pissed.

It was Kendall’s fault, really.

If they’d given you the co-executive editor position, they wouldn't be dealing with your smart ass complaining about assignments every time you got one.

Last year, you were quiet as a church mouse, never complaining with the previous editor about your assignments.

But the last editor wasn’t your childhood best friend, turned roommate and coworker. The last editor was a bitch, frankly. And you both were a year closer to graduating. So you really cared about what you were writing.

And you weren’t a sports person, or an editorial person. You liked campus, the hustle and bustle of it all. And that meant covering it all, even the lame ass stuff like speech and debate.

“Don’t complain. I won’t give you anything if you keep it up.” It was a lie. You both knew it.

“But.. speech and debate? Seriously?”

“It needs coverage, and it’s too far off campus for me or the advisors to feel comfortable sending an underclassman. You have that much of an issue, take it up with Nadine or Lucas.”

You huffed.

“Fine.” Walking out of the editor’s office of the Stanford Daily, letting the door slam behind you, you sighed. First issue of junior year, and your article’s on fucking speech and debate. At least it wasn’t Model UN.

You looked at your phone. Class was in 20 minutes, and the building you needed to be in was 10 minutes away. Time to hustle.

“Okay, remember: first exam next Monday, you all are gonna crush it if you study!” Dr. Abernathy’s voice was so high, most times she sounded like a chipmunk, especially when you were walking out of the lecture hall after hearing her voice for almost two hours twice a week. But, she was the only one who taught media psychology, so there wasn’t much of a choice. The midterm, however, had you worried. There was a saying in the Stanford journalism program: pass any of Phoebe Abernathy’s exams, buy a Powerball ticket immediately.

That mantra had found its home on a sticky note on your bedroom mirror for the whole summer. Preparing you. Kendall thought it was stupid, but Kendall also considered themselves president of the Dr. Phoebe Abernathy fan club. It was a stupid club, with one member: Kendall Jefferson-Mcall.

Walking back to your car, you checked your texts. There were about 10 from Kendall. Your assignment for tonight: where it was, what needed to be photographed, and who needed to be interviewed. You skimmed it while walking, making sure not to walk straight into traffic.

One of the interviewees' names rang a bell in your head. It was a distant one, though, because you couldn’t tell where you knew it from:

Patrick Zweig, co-captain. Junior. Pre-law. You’ll know him when you see him.

“Really helpful, Kendall.” Muttering as you climb into the car, you stare at the text for a while. Then you see the time. The tournament was at Berkeley, so you needed to hustle back to your apartment and get ready.

Berkeley was full of cunts.

Grade A, top tier, cunts.

Patrick would rather die than debate them. They’d been shit since Patrick had joined the speech and debate team. His freshman year was the year Berkeley won the national championship, and they had never let it go. And it got to Stanford pretty bad— they’d lost every time they’d competed against Berkeley since Patrick was a freshman.

It was annoying as hell, and every time they had to travel to Berkeley for a debate, Patrick wanted to die.

Seriously, he’d considered faking sick, or taking a whole bottle of Benadryl before.

But, he’d finally convinced Tashi and Art to make the hour journey to Berkeley to watch him. They supported him when they had tournaments at Stanford, sure, but any tournament that required driving more than 30 minutes? Forget it.

Patrick Zweig was more than Stanford’s men’s tennis star. A whole lot more. Co-captain of the speech and debate team, vice president of his fraternity, Phi Iota Chi, member of the Pre-Law Society, and one of the best students in his class.

But deep down, a part of him hated people knowing that he was smart. He liked being the hot athlete in the top frat on campus. High school was his time to be smart- he was valedictorian, student body president.

College was his time to be the best at tennis, get shit faced, and generally, have fun.

His dad did it, and that’s how he became one of the best real estate lawyers in Upstate New York.

But he still found himself pacing the green room in Wheeler Auditorium, wondering if he should stop dumbing himself down in front of normal people, be more proud of his intelligence, and accomplishments.

But day drinking on the weekends was way more fun, and didn’t require thinking, for the most part.

“Pssst, Zweig,” It was his teammate, Samira. She’d cracked the door open, peeking her head in. Patrick turned to look at her— she had a new hijab on- cardinal red. Samira was Stanford, as far as Patrick was concerned. That girl bled school spirit. She was ready to kick Berkeley’s ass. “We’re on in 5 minutes, you wanna prep with me, or are you good?”

Patrick shook his head. “I’m fine, I think.” He wasn’t, but he couldn’t let Samira know, or she’d flip out, and Samira being emotional would fuck up their entire strategy against Berkeley.

“Good, good, I’m glad. See you in five.” She smiled, and shut the door. Patrick let out a long, exasperated sigh once the door was shut.

“Fuck.” Patrick really, really needed a win. Not just a speech and debate one, but a win in general.

Wheeler auditorium was massive. The biggest auditorium on UC Berkeley’s campus, it was also the oldest, and it was a national historic landmark.

That made up for the hour-long drive across the bay.

You studied the people in the room, trying to spot the best places to get pictures of the action. Good thing you had a press pass, because there were a lot of ugly looks. Surprisingly, the auditorium was pretty full on both sides, and you could’ve sworn you saw Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson sitting on Stanford’s side. But you put that aside, as the action was starting.

4 people took the stage: two from each school- you could tell who was who- the girl and guy from Berkeley both wore outfits with blue and gold. And then Stanford’s team came out: a woman, about 5’5” in a modest black dress with a cardinal red hijab, and a tall, toned man with curly black hair, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. He stood at the right podium, closer to the back of the stage. The woman stood closer to the stage's edge. You could read her name clearly from where you were crouched on the floor: Samira Hadi.

You couldn’t quite tell what his name tag said, though.

The debate was interesting, all things considered. You resisted the urge to scroll on your phone in the middle of it when it got boring.

But at the very least, Stanford won. So it wasn’t a total waste of your Monday night.

Patrick was pretty sure he blacked out when he heard the words “First place, Stanford University!” Come out of the announcer's mouth.

He snapped out of it when he felt Samira bear hug him, the weight of her body (he was pretty sure she did powerlifting or something, she was jacked) and the smell of her vanilla musk perfume brought him down to earth. If Samira drank, Patrick would buy her as many drinks as she wanted tonight.

But as Samira hugged him, jumping up and down from excitement, he noticed someone in the front row. Well, in front of the front row.

Dressed in business casual, she was out of place— usually Patrick saw the same 20 people in the crowd for his tournaments. But then he saw the reason for this, incredibly attractive, outlier: a shiny Stanford Daily press badge dangling from your neck.

Aha. It made sense. He figured you were either a poor freshman forced to trek to Berkeley for their first assignment, or an overworked upperclassman fed up with the paper.

But just as quickly as Patrick saw you, you were gone.

And Samira had drug him back to the green room, where Tashi and Art were waiting, with flowers no less.

“Guys, really?” Patrick feigned being upset at them. He could never. They were good friends. He didn’t mind being their third wheel. Honestly, he didn’t have a choice: Tashi was Phi Chi’s sweetheart, and Art was the vice president of membership education, so the world of Phi Chi and Patrick’s friend group got a little incestuous. In a good way, though. Tashi sat the flowers down on a table behind her, and hugged Patrick. Tashi was wearing her favorite green satin dress, and like always, it fit her perfectly. Art wore a basic black suit, but it looked good on him, too. That was the thing- Patrick may have been a legacy of Phi Iota Chi, but he used it for good, like making sure every single member has at least one perfectly tailored suit.

Because Patrick, and Patrick’s father, hated a sloppy suit.

“We had to, hell, Tashi was gonna give them to you even if you lost.” Art smiled as he handed Patrick the flowers. They were the high-dollar grocery store ones- a sign it really was Tashi’s idea- she worked part time in the flower department at the Whole Foods by campus. Patrick looked at Tashi.

“You made this bouquet, didn’t you?” Tashi gave him a sly smile in response.

Samira lingered by the door, but a knock, and the muttering of one of their coaches caused her to leave, leaving the green room to just be Patrick, Art, and Tashi.

The dim lighting of the hallway was honestly kind of eerie, but the main auditorium area was filled with loud, butt-hurt Berkeley fans, and that’s no place for an interview.

“Can you say and spell your full name, your class, and your position on the team for me?” The recorder rested in your hand at about chest level for you and Samira.

“Samira, S-A-M-I-R-A, Hadi, H-A-D-I. Senior, Captain of Stanford’s Speech and Debate Team.”

“Thank you. So, this win against Berkeley, I know it’s been a long time coming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it has. They won at Nationals back in 2014, and they haven’t let us, or anyone really, live it down. So it’s very fulfilling for the entire team.”

You looked behind Samira’s shoulder at the green room door. You know the guy on Stanford’s team was in there. But when Samira was pulled out of the room by the team’s faculty advisor, you could hear some other voices in there- another male voice, and maybe a female one, too.

She could tell you were looking back there, but didn’t say anything. You continued the interview, and after the recorder clicked off, Samira spoke.

“You need to interview him?” Even though you knew it was coming, the question caught you off guard.

“Huh?” You replied.

“If you need a quote from him, I can go grab him.” She never said his name, which you found odd. But maybe Kendall was right, maybe you’d know ‘him’ when you saw him.

“N-no, I think I’m okay. I got 2 quotes from you and from your faculty advisor. I think I’m good.”

“Okay. If you don’t need anything else, I’m gonna head out before it gets too dark.” Samira smiled, and walked off. You were standing in the hallway, alone.

You looked at your watch. It was around 8:30 now. You needed to head back too. If you didn’t, Kendall would think you’d died.

By the time you got back across the bay and back to your apartment, it was 9:30. You opened the door to your apartment, and there Kendall was, sitting on the couch.

“Hey, how’d it go?” They were sprawled out on the couch in their PJs, a bowl of guacamole on the coffee table and a bag of chips by their side. Some shitty Lifetime movie was playing softly on the TV.

You dropped your keys on the entryway table, bending down to take your kitten heels off. “It was okay.”

“Get good quotes? Good pictures?”

“Yeah, I got good material. You can look at it tomorrow.”

“Okay, good. Did you see him?”

“Who?” You cocked your head to the side, sighing as you stood flat footed on the cold hardwood floor.

“Patrick, dipshit. I figured you’d drool all over him.”

So he was Patrick. That name sounded familiar to you, but you couldn’t place it.

“I mean, I saw him. I got pictures of him, b-but he had friends visiting him after the competition, I think. He was in the green room, I couldn’t get a quote. But I got a quote from Samira and the faculty advisors.”

Kendall nodded, popping a guac covered chip in their mouth. “Good enough, thanks, babe.” The two of you had called each other babe since junior year of high school. It was a great way to piss off anyone who thought the two of you were dating.

“Yeah. What are you watching?” You studied the TV screen. The volume was turned down, but you could see women yelling passionately, and a very scared, blood-covered man behind them.

“Some Lifetime true crime movie, I dunno. I watched Miss Congeniality, and Pretty Woman, then settled on… This. It’s honestly trash.”

“Why not watch Housewives?”

“Didn’t wanna watch it without you. Plus, it was a rerun of DC, so.”

“Oh, ew.”

You walked over to the fridge, grabbing a cold bottle of water out, and then headed towards the couch, sitting next to Kendall. They switched the channel to Bravo, where you were both greeted by another scene of two women screaming at each other. It was the glorious world of the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, and the two of you watched at least 2 hours worth of toxic, shitty reality TV, until you checked the time and noticed it was almost midnight.

“I have class at 9 in the morning, I need to head to bed.” You yawned, standing up. Kendall turned the TV off. They looked up at you, their green eyes twinkling in the warm lighting of your shared living room.

“Okay, grandma. You have fun with that.” Kendall turned their phone on, typing rapidly. You envied them, in a way. They didn’t have class until 3pm tomorrow, but they still spent most of the day working on the paper. Busy busy bee.

“Goodnight, Kendall,” you called out as you walked into your bedroom.

“Night, bitch.” They replied from the couch. You shut your bedroom door, sighing.

You resisted the urge to stalk Patrick on instagram. He definitely had a girlfriend. He was good looking.

But why did you know his name?

Your phone lit up with a notification. A reminder of an assignment due tomorrow. It was your sign to go to bed.

You could stalk Patrick tomorrow. Consider it research while you write your article tomorrow.

Tonight, you needed to rest.

So you changed into your pajamas, crawled into bed, and fell asleep. And dreamt of him.

When Samira left the green room, Tashi broke her silence.

“Wanna go out?”

“Fuck yes.” Art and Patrick replied.

So the three musketeers drove back across the bay, went to some bar on the edge of Stanford’s campus, and got royally shitfaced, resulting in Art getting a pledge to drive the three back to the Phi Chi house.

Being a fraternity executive team member had it's perks. Living in the house was one of them.

Patrick told Tashi and Art goodnight, and headed down the hall to his room.

The whole time they were out, he couldn’t shake the face of the reporter from the Daily out of his head.

And to make matters worse, he didn’t have a name to go with a face.

Shit.

His head started throbbing, and he took that as his sign to go to bed.

He wondered if Tashi knew her.

Tashi knew everyone.

But he fell asleep before he could think about asking Tashi about you.

He may or may not have woken up the next morning, dealing with the aftermath of a wet dream and a next-level hangover. You woke up perfectly fine, ready to face the day.

Some would say that’s a match made in heaven. But we’re not there yet.

#challengers #patrick zweig #patrick zweig x reader #challengers fanfic #josh o'connor #patrick zweig x you #challengers x reader #challengers 2024

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skamenglishsubs · 7 months ago

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Subtext and Culture, Young Royals, Season 3, Episode 4

Last episode ended with Simon coming home to a smashed window, this episode starts the morning after, Simon takes the bus to school, while Wilhelm is anxiously waiting for him.

Culture: At a high school level in Sweden, there's national tests in Swedish, English, and Math. Like everywhere else, the purpose of these tests is not only to grade students, but to align all schools across the country to combat grade inflation.

Blink and you miss it: Vincent is trying to cheat by looking at Nils' answers.

Blink and you miss it: Vincent draws a dick in the gravel while waiting for the others to be done with the test.

Subtext: This entire episode is overflowing with examples of privilege. For Vincent, and many other rich kids like him, studying and learning doesn't matter, they'll graduate regardless, so he doesn't care about the exam, he only cares about the graduation party.

Cinematography: Even with Felice and friends being completely blurred out in the background, you can still see Stella and Fredrika turning to look at Sara, and then turning their backs on her.

Culture: In the US, a lot of people are using "socialism" as a catch-all phrase which means politics they don't agree with, regardless of its actual ideology. Likewise, in Sweden, a lot of people use "communist" in the same way about generally left-wing politics, which is what Vincent is doing here.

Subtext: Wilhelm asks Simon if he can reconcile the conflict of dating a royal while being anti-monarchy, but the real question is of course if Wilhelm can reconcile the conflict in himself.

Subtext: This is where the show's political stance shines through, and this argument, that Wilhelm wasn't allowed to choose his life for himself, is the main argument they're gonna use in the finale.

Subtext: Wilhelm is weakly defending the monarchy, but just ends up repeating what his mother told him; it's a privilege, not a punishment, but does he believe it himself?

Subtext: The letter-to-yourself plot is mainly there in order to help August along his redemption arc, but here the show is using it to reinforce the point of the previous scene. Who does Wilhelm want to become? Does he have a choice?

Culture: In Sweden, Säkerhetspolisen, SÄPO, is the government agency in charge of national security, which includes providing security and assigning bodyguards to the royal family.

Subtext: Note the great use of passive voice here by Farima to avoid taking responsibility for the decision to force August to join the birthday foundation event. She's also expertly bargaining with Wilhelm to get what she wants.

Subtext: We know it was the far-right assholes who posted comments to Simon's videos a couple of episodes ago.

Blink and you miss it: Jan-Olof really perks up when Linda talks about moving to Gothenburg, because that would probably mean the end to the relationship between Wilhelm and Simon, which would solve all of his current problems.

Subtext: Like Farima, he bargains with Linda and Simon to get what he wants, for Simon to stop posting things to social media. It's almost as if their strategy was to do nothing at the start, waiting for things to blow up so they could swoop in, help out, and start making demands in exchange...

Blink and you miss it: The option to inactivate and hide your social media account is right there, but of course Simon has to choose to delete everything, because it will cause more drama and anguish.

Blink and you miss it: Fencing! Woohoo! I did fencing for five years as a kid until 8th grade or something, but I only did foil, and not épée like these students. I have absolutely no idea where these two are coming from or going to though, where would they practice? Is there a hidden fencing hall somewhere on the grounds that we haven't seen yet? How many kids at Hillerska are fencing? Also, he's carrying a practice blade and not an electric competition blade, so that checks out. Of the three types of modern fencing, épée is unique in that the entire body counts as a valid target, while in foil only the torso counts, and in sabre only the upper half counts. Oh wow, it looks like the gear is now wireless and every fencer carries their own indicator lights. Cool! Back in my day you had to be strapped in with a cord for competitions.

This tumblr is now about French School fencing. Allez! Touché!

Subtext: The narrative is that it's perfectly ok for the crown prince to be gay, as long as he's not gay gay.

Culture: The show keeps saying this, but in real world Sweden it's no longer the case. Supporting los jibbities is viewed as a completely mainstream and inoffensive opinion, on par with supporting human rights in general.

Subtext: Another example of privilege is being in a position to do a lot of good, and then just not caring about it. Simon is fighting for the causes he believes in, so seeing Wilhelm just casually throw it away is extremely disappointing for him.

Subtext: Unlike Vincent, August is actually a natural leader, someone people listen to, which is why he manages to quiet down the room when Vincent is unable to. Maybe a good quality in a future king?

Subtext: Simon is continuing the argument from before. Wilhelm could have shown solidarity with mental health causes or LGBT causes, but chose not to. However, he immediately decided to join in solidarity with the other rich kids protesting the school rules, which is rather selfish.

Subtext: Colour theory! Sara in purple, because part of the reason she's back at school is that August asked her to? And Simon in yellow, because he sure isn't loving Wilhelm very much right now.

Subtext: Just a reminder that Sara has actually been completely out of the loop since the end of season 2. She has no idea about the school rules, what's happened at home, how it's going with Simon and Wilhelm, or what's happening at school.

Blink and you miss it: Fredrika is so close to stop striking as soon as she's threatened with repercussions.

Subtext: I keep hammering this point home: The culture is in the walls, it's not something some of the kids made up. The visiting alumni were also hazed as new students and kept it going as third years. Same for the parents of all these kids. They're all part of the system, they all kept the cycles of abuse going, because they want the school to be like that.

Subtext: Privilege is thinking you can get things your way with almost no effort. None of these kids have ever struggled or protested something for real and then not been given what they wanted, so they seriously believed they'd win immediately.

Subtext: Another theme of this season is bringing secrets out in the open. We've all seen August struggling with body dysmorphia and an eating disorder since season 1, but no-one has ever called it out and put words on it, until Simon immediately recognizes it and calls it out.

Subtext: ...while the rich kids are just stuck in denial, because eating disorders is for poor people or something, it's not something that happens to them. And if it did, you certainly wouldn't admit it to anyone else.

Subtext: August tries to jokingly fend off Nils because he doesn't want anyone to know that the letter actually meant something to him, until Nils pushes too hard, and August punches him.

Subtext: Vincent talked a big game about striking in solidarity, but when they're caught as hilariously unprepared as they are, they're not pooling their resources in solidarity with each other, and instead resort to selling them to the highest bidder. Capitalism in a nutshell, illustrated perfectly by the behaviour of spoiled rich kids. Also, pet peeve, the English word for the currency of Sweden is "kronor", not "crowns".

Lost in translation: They're actually repeating a single word in Swedish, "svikare", which is pretty hard to translate. The verb, "svika", is a bit worse than letting someone down, but not as bad as betraying someone. The adjective, "besviken" typically means disappointed. So "svikare" means a person who is letting other people down, disappointing them, or betraying them.

Subtext: The culture is in the walls of the place, but the kids are also pretty damn complicit in continuing all the shitty traditions. This looks like a game of strip poker or truth or dare that went off the rails and just resulted in more bullying, with everyone joining in.

Subtext: The other girls are upset with Felice because she broke the code. You don't snitch to outsiders, you don't tell the truth, you keep up appearances.

Blink and you miss it: Henry won the potato chip auction, happily ate the entire bag, and passed out in a chair, clutching the bag. Mmmm, sourcream and onion.

Subtext: Speaking of closing ranks towards the outside, this also applies to this strike. It would be bad PR for the school if anyone outside found out that it happened, so it's better to solve it quietly and discreetly. Vanessa can trust the kids not to snitch. Vincent is also right, the parents, who are paying the tuition fees, are on their side.

Subtext: Felice can't be seen talking to Sara, so she checks that the coast is clear, and then drags Sara into a private bathroom to have their conversation.

Subtext: Likewise, Sara was probably Felice's first real friend.

Subtext: Nice little foreshadowing. I would have loved seeing Simon's drawing though!

Subtext: Well, he could have just made his social media private, but the show has to maximize the drama, so here we are, piling on more examples of how Simon is losing himself to the monarchy, that maybe he can't reconcile the conflict.

Subtext: Erik spent three years living at Hillerska, of course he wouldn't have told his then twelve year old kid brother about all the shit going on at the school. August spent an entire year living with Erik at the school, seeing what went on first hand, so of course he knows a side of Erik that Wilhelm doesn't.

Subtext: August has been trying to keep his mouth shut and avoid Wilhelm, but since they have yet another fight, he decides to drop the bomb about Erik to hurt Wilhelm.

Subtext: Again, the culture is in the walls. This is not something that only Erik's class did, once. It's probably been happening to all the boys for decades. It happened to the current second-year students, it happened to Erik, and lots of students before him who kept this shitty initiation tradition going.

Culture: Let's talk about the gay porn hazing a bit more. To me, this is an urban legend. I heard about it when I was a teenager back in the 90's, but I don't personally know anyone it happened to, or anyone who did it to anyone else. It was always hearsay, it happened to a friend of a friend's brother, or a classmate's cousin's friend or something similar, as is typical of urban legends.

Let's also make one thing absolutely clear: It doesn't work. The homophobic idea behind this shit is that if you are forced to watch gay porn and get a boner, you are gay, and if you don't, you're straight. But that is actually not true, erections don't work that way, and the fear of being found out is quite the boner killer. Also, what if you like guys, but the guys in the porno aren't your type? There's just so many ignorant misconceptions behind this idea.

I've also seen a lot of fan comments that keep playing into this ignorance; that the only reason Nils decided to stop the tradition was because he obviously failed it. Or that the only reason August is against it is because he failed, and the only reason he failed is because he's secretly not straight. No. Remember that the test doesn't work. Nils probably passed, despite actually being gay. August might have failed, despite being completely straight. Regardless of what happened, they both found it humiliating, and that is why they made a pact to stop it.

#young royals #young royals subtext #young royals analysis #young royals season 3

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juinxa · 6 months ago

Text

BRUTUS

[ yandere! light yagami x reader | one shot (?) ]

[ based on the song “brutus” and was written in an hour,, enjoy! might be a full story, might not ]

There has always been a slight admiration in the things around you. Growing up was simply a walk in the park, you weren’t exceptional at anything, but you didn’t lack anything exceptional. School has always been mundane, so you never tried at your grades, studying was never an option because passing was always passing. The grades would suffice to counselors, so they wouldn’t bat an eye at you. To them, you were simply another student who was average. You never had a problem with it. If you were passing, why bother going above and beyond? Average grades, average friends, average reputation, and the outcome would likely be an average university, average job, and average life. Average was just a common vocabulary, and it would be enough for you.

Until him.

High school wouldn’t have come so sooner if you didn’t hear his name roll off their tongues so frequently. Life had been fine, finally contempt at the way things were looking up. At this rate, graduation would go smoothly. You didn’t second guess yourself, nor did you berate yourself for being so plain. If it got you where you wanted, why would you complain? That is the entire point of this whole school system: to get a job and a real life. Not everyone could be surgeons and CEOs. The world needed plumbers and carpenters, too!

So when Light Yagami was shoved at the highest mark in the midterms, every damn year, you began to think that a future CEO was in the making. No matter, there wasn’t any harm in being at the top of school, plus it must be hard to maintain. You were curious to how this guy got the highest mark. Every. Damn. Time. But alas, you stopped caring because the world didn’t pay you to care.

However, the world must’ve been indebted to his ancestors because he was just about everywhere you went. Just when you pass the exam board, you saw a tennis championship, with, get this, Light Yagami. And to make matters worse, they made nationals! And this picture was the first actual look at him. Finally, a face to the famous name that’s plastered at the number one top is revealed. He was front and center, smiling with a grin that could put angels to shame. A frown etched into your lips.

Brown beautiful hair to match his brown beautiful eyes, why must God be so unfair? He was tall, too, with a lean figure. You had heard whispers about him from the girls around you, calling him attractive and a total babe. At first, you never knew the answer for yourself. Yet, upon looking at his chiseled features, it laid marked in a bubble sheet. It was sure to get an hundred. His nose was upturned and his lips were full, enough to make a pout noticeable.

A pencil snapped in your hand, frustration began to furrow in your bone marrow. You were stuck on this project, which exactly came after you got a look at Mr. Perfect. If he were here—actually, you had no reason to think about him. In fact, you had no reason to be jealous! Light has something you obviously didn’t: effort. The answer was obvious. Light had worked his ass off to get where he was at, and what had you accomplished? Nothing. You never attempted to make an effort at your work, let alone studies. So what if you can’t solve this problem? What’s another low C in this class? It wouldn’t harm your grade, why did you need to score an A, anyways?

To prove a point?

That not everything needs effort? As if. Scoffing, you throw the pencil in your bag, pulling out your phone to search up the answer instead. There was a reason you were stuck in this place, but you weren’t going to do anything. You would never reach the point of a CEO, so why bother? It would be too late to pursue that, you were in your final year of high school, everything that has happened, happened. You could obtain all A’s this year, but it would not erase the A’s and B’s (rare C’s) from your previous years. You could practice hard for a sport, but it would not guarantee a sport scholarship. You could make all the friends this year, but it would not shun your reputation from earlier years.

Point was: what’s done is done. You can’t change your future because you had drilled nails in it, locking it in place. Maybe you’d be able to wiggle it to allow some room for more but space was bound to run out. You’d like to think that in another life, you were different. Imagination helped.

Imagination did help you excel in one thing. Art. Art has always been at the tip of your fingertips. You were the president of the Art club, and you snorted. That would totally look great on resumes. Art club didn’t come with huge responsibilities like a tennis club, but it still needed time, nonetheless. You had painted murals for the school in different places. Effort was a major key in art. And by all means, did you put fucking effort in your pieces. They were your pride and joy, your babies that you held up to the light. Nothing would prune these pairings and sculptures you created.

Growing up, you wanted to be an architect. The work was exhausting, but you always thought it was just designing things and designing things is what you were good at. However, there was much more work that needed to be in it, which crushed your dreams. Sometimes, you wished you could’ve tried harder.

With a splat of paint, you dusted off any paint crumbs lingering onto your figure. The mixture of colors created a swirl of rainbows on you. Your hair was disheveled, paint specks in them. Stepping back, you placed your thumb up to measure it meticulously. You had decided that you wanted to submit your piece to a scholarship fund. Any creative piece was to be admitted for a chance to win 50,000 dollars in school funds. If you were extremely lucky, you would even get a full ride. This piece had taken months to finish, and you thought it was finally done.

This was your lifeline because you had spent too long on this. Your grades had even stumbled a bit from how much you focused on this. While that could’ve harmed you in the long run, you knew that it would be worth it when you won the prize. You had skimmed through the previous winners, all art pieces were amazing, but you had spun your own little twist to yours. Besides, this was a piece that had specific requirements based on GPA, location, age, and so on. This meant that your chances of winning were quite high.

Days had gotten increasingly slow since you’ve submitted your piece, but you had learned to keep it in the back of your mind. If you had thought about it so much, time would be much slower. There were top pieces that were picked, and people were able to see how far their art piece had gotten. You grabbed your mother in joy, seeing that you had made the top 20, but they didn’t give you any specific place. However, you couldn’t be more happy with where you were. You knew that this scholarship would help you so much with money problems. You could even pick which university you wanted to go to, granted it had to be in Japan.

Your friends had surprised you with gifts and compliments about your achievements. Even members of the art club had threw you a small party based off your performance. This made you heart heavy with how many people supported you. You couldn’t have been any more grateful.

The deadline was coming sooner than you expected. Every test you had taken had also been easy. Sure, Light Yagami had the spotlight as always with his accomplishments, but you were happy with your average life. With a small pep in your step, you made your way to the counselor’s office. She had rarely called you because there’s never been a reason to. This made you giddy, it might’ve had something to do with your scholarship. Your mind was too high off of dopamine to notice the brunet that walked passed you in a brisk hurry. In that moment, nothing could have popped your bubble of stupor, not even the doe of eyes that looked at you with curiosity—one that would soon turn into that of murder.

“[Name], I’m so glad you could make it! Congrats, I’ve heard about your standing of being in the top 10! I’m sure you must be very proud. This is huge for your future!” You counselor ushers you to sit across from her, the computer lighting up her features in a blue light.

”Thank you, I’m glad to have made it this far!”

”Have you thought about what universities you’d like to apply to after winning?”

You chuckle, “Well, if I do win, I’d like to go to maybe somewhere base. I’m not exactly sure what school specifically, but I’d like anything with a good art program.”

”You don’t think you’re dreaming too small?” She wonders, pushing pamphlets towards you. “You could reach incredible schools at this level. Your grades aren’t bad, so you have a real chance at going to be an Ivy school, especially with this scholarship. What about To-Oh?”

A grimace makes its way to your face, “I think that’s a little out of my league. That’s a prestigious school, and I don't think they even have an art program to begin with.”

”Nonsense, but they have this,” she pulls out a piece of paper. You notice it as an assignment from your freshman year about your future self and dreams. In slanted handwriting, you notice the words architect written with hurry in the “dream job” line. The word itself makes your stomach drop. You had written the quickest thing on your mind as to not be late for your next class. You remember being stuck on the question, thinking hard about what you actually wanted to do and not the salary portion of it. You had written it as a last resort, which is exactly how it’s still being treated now.

”I think it’s too late for that dream now.” You say, but she cuts you off.

”You can make this dream a reality. Grades like yours can do great things in life. Don’t doubt yourself. Besides, this scholarship is in correlation with To-Oh’s architecture design program. If you win this, it gets you a good chance. You just need to put a lot of effort in this.”

Effort, exactly what you didn’t have because you were no Light Yagami.

You left with the pamphlets in your hand has you walk back to your class. The words linger on your mind. You could still make your dream a reality. That’d be nice.

”To-Oh?! That’s elite.” Asuka jabs at your side with a grin. “You could totally make it!”

”No way, that’s too elite.” You shake your head, “I need something more realistic. Counselors are always like that with their ‘you got this’ crap and their ‘aim higher’ stuff.”

Asuka grubs on her black rice, “Well, you could always go with me, to some no name.” She cuts you off from continuing, “I’m kidding. You’re not supposed to agree. Your grades are good, [Name]. You shouldn’t be following after me, some girl with a ‘D’s get degrees mindset.’”

You don’t argue, but it does leave a bitter taste on your tongue. You would most likely be a major outcast if you went there. Everyone had probably come from rich backgrounds or because someone related was an alumni there or how Einstein level they were. It just didn’t feel like a place that could host you. Maybe in another life. But in this on, you were opting for the road most followed by.

School has started as any other. You sat at your table, discussing grades with Asuka about the last test, to which she admits she flunked, but she was barely passing with a C. It’s a miracle she’s made it this far, but you wouldn’t have anyone else by your side. When the teacher had came in, everyone had gotten to their proper place, ready to learn. This lesson wasn’t hard, and it was mostly common sense, which led your thoughts to go astray.

The window was a great place to distract yourself. You gaze off, eyes slowly fluttering with a jolt to open them. Sleep hasn’t been coming easily due to your excitement about the winner. It would be announce any day now, and you awaited for the check to come to your door. When your eyes were slowly closing, a flash blew by you, stuttering you awake. Blinking, you squinted your eyes. What was that? It looked like a book. No one else had seemed to notice, which led you to think it was probably that experience when you feel like you’re falling before sleeping.

A sharp sound from the intercom has disrupted your lesson, not that you were tuning into it anyways. It was a wonder as to what they had to announce so bad during lessons, but you didn’t mind the interruption. Asuka’s fingers nimbly played with your hair as she listened as well.

”We excuse the interruption to announce a special event that has occurred. The national art scholarship has made its final contestant to this very school! We like to send our congrats to the winner!”

Asuka grabbed your shoulders, clenching your now tense shoulders. Someone had won? And it was at this school! This was such great news! You had poured your heart and soul into that project, losing countless hours of sleep because of it. And for once, you had put actual effort. You didn’t think they'd announce it over the intercoms. You began to grow self-conscious about your looks. Did you look okay for pictures right now? Were they seriously going to announce it? Asuka held her breath as did you. Some heads looked your way, already knowing the outcome. Who else, but you!

”Congratulations to Light Yagami!”

This must’ve been what Jupiter felt like when it couldn’t be a star. You think. There’s a huge jab in your throat, and Asuka lets go of your shoulder to cover her mouth from the gasp. Everyone’s heads are not away from you, listening intently to Golden Boy. You almost throw up from the disappointment that’s stirring deeply like a stew of fucking stupidity. How stupid could you be? You? win? That was absurd. Those two didn’t even go together. Your hairs stand on edge, goosebumps and mouth turning dry from the air that’s been snatched from you.

”For his beautiful writing about the meaning of justice!”

Fucking writing? Fucking. Writing. Fucking. Writing. Fucking writing. Fucking writing. Fucking writing. Fucking writing. Fucking writing. Fucking writing.

The answer could not have been more obvious. The rest is tuned out. You don’t have the auricle to listen to the rest. You could to rip your hair out as well as your tongue. In fact, you wants to gnaw at your fingers for not doing something beautiful like him. Ripping them out would not amount to the pain your experiencing now. You want to gouge out your eyes to prevent the stares of concern that were flooding your ways. You want to pop your eardrums, deafening yourself from the cheers of the class behind you that held the one and only.

God, you want to fucking gut Light Yagami.

You're quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom. Asuka wants to follow, but the teacher doesn’t allow it. He must’ve notice you wanted to be alone because he doesn’t bother sending anyone out before class ends. The duration of that class was you sobbing in the bathroom because for once, you were proud of what had done. You were bathed in your own glory for the effort your put forth. You felt so pitiful and useless. What was it all for? All for him to get what he wants. He had everything! He had the grades, reputation, respect, admiration, fucking everything! You weren’t even left with crumbs because he had robbed it of you. To make matters worse, Light came from a respected family! His dad was a chief officer!

Since when did Light even do art?! And since when did art consider writing excerpts? Let alone essays! When did he apply? When did he have time? He had so much stuff to do like his studying or his tennis games—or whatever else he does. You gave Light the benefit of the doubt that his life was hard because he had to maintain so much, but he does it so perfectly.

So effortlessly.

Your lips are caught between your teeth. Speak of devil, he will appear. Light Yagami is passing by you, in a hurry, you add. You’re unsure what came over you as you step in his way, mind consumed with rage. Just who was he?! He was a genius, you couldn’t deny it.

“Congrats on the scholarship, Light! You must’ve worked really hard on it!” Your voice is chirpy, and Light stops to entertain you.

”Oh, thank you. It’s really nothing. I only applied because Professor Takashi said he’d give me extra credit for it. I wasn’t aware of the emails they sent throughout the duration. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get something.”

This must be how alcoholics began. You note, laying in bed as the ceilings have been the most interesting thing all day. There was a three day weekend, which meant three days to sulk and wallow in your own despair at your robbing—sorry, loss. Asuka had been blowing up your phone, trying to get you out of bed and go out. You couldn’t believe Light didn’t even want to apply. He only did it so his professor would give him extra credit! What went from three extra points led to 50,000$ in tuition funds and maybe a full ride. Light must’ve pulled the lucky stick from birth, or he was simply trying. That was also an option. He worked hard for it, you couldn’t deny that. He deserved it.

So why did you lay awake thinking instead of him, it should be you?

There were even interviews on his accomplishments. They all flocked to him like he was a mother duck. And yet, when you saw him, you saw a new entitlement in his eyes. It brought a foul odor in your nose, making you grimace.

The next time you see Light Yagami, you see him. You’re everywhere he is, breathing down his neck from afar. You gawk at the perfect specimen like you’re at a zoo and he’s the exhibit, like you’re a scientist and he’s the experiment, like you’re the audience and he’s the preformer. He was in your own entrapment because you can’t help but wonder, what made him so special? What went on the head of someone like Light Yagami? What were his flaws? What were his specialities? What was he?

You hate the way people preach up to him like a God. Students are so enamored by his good looks and good grades that he don’t see the underlying cockiness etched in his mold. They cling to him as the future hope, and teachers hold his name in high regard. Be like Light Yagami! They cried. Be the best you can! They shout. Be you!

And those go upon deaf ears as you doodle on your worksheet. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t wish upon his demise, but not his timely death. You didn’t hate him, per say. You don’t think you ever could. He’s never done anything wrong but he himself, so why were you feeling this way? Was this something you should embrace? Be afraid of? Run from? Maybe you were just slightly envious.

Or maybe, you wanted to be like him: loved, enamored, worshipped, special, praised, Light Yagami. That those around you would see you has the poet that created these lovely flows, and not the muse that will never be heard because your poet deemed you not good enough. However, he was already too far to be reached, so what more can you do than to be another step for him to reach the top.

Because Light has never been mean to you for these thoughts to be explored. Contrary to your belief, Light was always nice to you. He had helped you in the past growing up. You guys were actually in the same class at some point—a lot, really. That was until high school, where he decided to triumph above you everyone. Because at one point, you were with him at the top, albeit in his own shadow. But that was middle school. Those memories were far discarded.

But maybe, your name could also be known to your peers. Maybe the praise you seek wasn’t far. Maybe you could restore your former peak from back then, when you were at the highest point, when everyone crowded you with cheers and applause. They could chant your name with bliss in their voice—like a repeated mantra. In bed, your brain wandered about the day that people would look up to you like a God.

You began to get into your own head. Spiraling was all you began to know because of one failure. That was yours to claim! Yours to cherish! Yours to hold! Yours to mold!

You held your face with your hands, staring down at the study sheet with an immense pressure. Any harder and you might’ve burnt it. The pencil laid beside the flimsy paper, waiting for its use. A clock was set aside as well, signaling your next 5 minute break, which wasn't for another hour. This small room for your study session was perfect. There were no distractions in sight. Midterms would be approaching soon, and you wanted to study meticulously for it. The plan was to be the top ranked for yourself, of course. It was for no one else but yourself. The books of many tips were sprawled all over the place, but you didn’t mind them. Math wasn’t your best subject, so you had to pay extra study time for it.

Asuka had been blowing your phone about going out, but you had stated that’d you be busy. You turned off your phone until the end of the session to show how serious you were about this. Your snack consisted of a bag of chips and water, talk about nutritional.

The clock ticked away in the corner, reminding you about a deadline that was to come. Time was faster than before and you were anticipating the days or counting down to your glory. Instead, you were opting to go into this with a clear mind, clear as a low light beams in a foggy road. A bubble popped in your head when the door open unexpectedly. You flinch, looking up to see who disrupted your session. Jaws slightly clenching, you see the clay figure of perfection himself.

Light Yagami looks as pristine as ever. He’s shocked to see you as you are him. He looks down at your mess of a study session before looking up at the door number, rereading it carefully. 42. And then he sees the faint number behind the 2, which can read 49. How curious. He sees that they changed things around a bit. His usual spot has been swapped. And behind his gaze, you see he a bit surprised that you’re here. You conclude it’s because you’re not caught dead here, let alone studying. It’s not often you see people here. So Light and the three other specs of dust that come here must be what he’s used to.

He stares down at you while you stare up at him, slouched. It seems fitting, for a someone of your caliber to be staring up at the messiah himself. And you don’t speak because that’d be out of place for you. Light straightens very little of what he can and apologizes. However, you want to laugh because it should be you who should be apologizing for what will come to him. You want to tell him that your future actions are not only motivated by envy. Because like him, you have a right to establish yourself in this world. You have a destiny that can be created. It’s there you realize the pure irony of this whole ordeal. For you do not want what Light Yagami has.

You want to be Light Yagami.

#light yagami #light yagami x reader #death note #yandere x reader #yandete light yagami #x reader #anime

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wordsmithic · 2 months ago

Note

hello ! I have seen your post about greek mythology and its mischaracterization by westerners and i had some questions (im really sorry if it sounds offensive or ignorant i come in good faith). But why would a modern day greek be useful for writing about ancient greece and its culture ? Wouldnt the modern and ancient culture of greece change a lot because of the 2 millenia gap, christianization and ottoman domination ?

First of all, as Greeks and the living descendants and members of the Greek culture, we have the right to define how our heritage is presented and to have our voices heard in Greek cultural matters.

Secondly, Greeks are in very close contact with our heritage and ancient culture because we have been actively preserving it for more than 2 millennia.

We are still speaking the same language - with reasonable alterations but clearly still Greek with the same words, roots and logic. We can comfortably read and understand texts from 1000 and 2000 years ago - Koine Greek. Our customs, music, and ideas of respect for elders, heroes, important deities and heroes hold from the ancient years.

Christianity changed our religion, not our customs. Not even the structure of our temples. In fact, the anthropocentric Greek philosophy was and is part of our religion, Greek Orthodoxy.

The Ottomans made us second-class citizens and tried to wipe us out but we persisted, opening schools with our own money and surviving cultural and literal genocide.

We have a very strong archaeological sector, a ton of scholars and students who study our antiquity, and an archaeological museum in every town.

Additionally, we get educated since elementary school on the intended meaning of the myths. Since middle school (Gymnasio) we read and analyze our ancient Epics and ancient plays with graduates from classical and Greek literature studies as teachers. We also learn a version of ancient Greek, of course, from the first class of Gymnasio, when we are 12-13.

In addition, we know what happened in the years between polytheist antiquity and modern times. For most foreigners, this is a black box and they have no idea what happened to Greek culture. But we are taking exams on it.

(We study each period of our history three times during school. One in elementary, one in middle school, and one in high school). Kids who choose the Theoritiki domain learn even more and sharpen their skills enough so they compete for university entry at 17-18 years old by translating an ancient text they've never encountered before in class. (You can imagine how much study this needs, and how much consumption of ancient texts so one can prepare)

It is totally unreasonable to expect a culture to remain unchanged throughout the centuries. Not a single culture is like this. Evolution and change happens to every culture, and yet it remains a specific culture. It wouldn't be fair to deny all the ancient nations around the world the right to cultural continuation. It's just that some people cannot fathom generation after generation passing out their culture to others, but it is true in the case of the Greeks.

For someone like me who has a Greek heritage, there is an unbroken chain of Greeks all the way back to antiquity, who got passed down the Greek culture from someone else. (blood doesn't matter, just culture) The wishes, ideas, needs, and philosophy of that culture got passed from person to person, got evolved or changed based on what other Greeks wanted, or based on whatever influences were around at the time, and then got passed down to the next Greek.

In short, Greeks have this constant exposure to the wishes of the Greek people and the wisdom of our scholars early on, and the very nature of our continuous culture allows us to understand the context for many things. There are no dead Greeks you can speak to, so you can speak to the closest ancestor: a living Greek.

Scholars are also fine, of course, but when they are foreign they can have their biases or blind spots. I remember a post about Emily Wilson who translated the phrase "he is precious like my head" without taking into account how we use such phrases in Greek. To a Greek it's very obvious how this phrase is used and the context supports it. But Wilson didn't know this, so she guessed a few meanings based on a guess, guided by her own culture. I don't think Wilson's guess is better than the guess of a Greek scholar or a Greek person. Personally, I'd take more into account the opinion of the person from the native culture just because of the linguistic and cultural proximity.

Finally, in all nations, some Greeks don't care too much about their culture, but on the flipside there are many Greeks who care about it and are very knowledgeable. Both types of Greeks cringe heavily every time they see an American movie on Greek mythology, though 😂

Westerners have proven since the Middle Ages that they are viewing us under specific lends. They like to give us identities based on what they feel comfortable with, never asking our opinion or POV. So much so that when they encounter actual Greek culture they have no idea what it is. They have a separate idea in their heads and, based on that, they insist that they are the inheritors of our past. They've been calling us all sorts of names since the time of Charlamagne, viewed us through orientalist lens, sent people to loot our ancient sites again and again, called us too brown, called us too white, called us ignorant and uneducated, unable to care for our heritage, and - of course - "not real Greeks". The misconception, exoticization and sense of ownership of the Greek culture in the West have extremely deep roots.

This is a grave generalization and not directed to each individual. I'm just saying that there's history and literature just too large to ignore. No, I am not going to trust Westerners the same degree as I trust Greeks for the same reason an Indian would prefer to showcase their culture through another Indian text or person, and not by a Brit, or the same way a Native American would not trust the descendant of Spanish, German and Welsh people to showcase Native culture.

#hellas #answered #masterpost #continuity #culture #representation #greek mythology #greek culture #history #ancient history

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lordschadenfreude · 1 year ago

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No I’ve literally had bogan/Australian stranger things on the brain for DAYS and I cannot work this out. I don’t think there’s a way to repeat Year 12 in Aus so I have no way explain his character. Did he drop out after year 10? Did he cop the dot?? Can you repeat year 11???

Honestly Eddie Munsons existence makes less sense than all the upside down shit. If a portal to an alternate hell dimension was going to exist anywhere I reckon it’d be down under (makes more sense to me than INDIANA)

sometimes i think about what a bogan version of stranger things would be like, but i dont think repeating senior year TWICE translates at all. there is no australian version of that.

#for the uninitiated *cough cough* AMERICANS #year 10 is sophomore #year 11 is junior #year 12 is senior #For everyone else year 12 is your final year of high school #cop the dot means you get an asterisk rather than an ATAR (your national rank) on your final exams #it means you can’t get into university #(upon reflection this might be slang only my school used oops)#stranger things #st #australia

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bahablastplz · 5 months ago

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All in | Chapter 2.5 (Hyunjin)

pairing: Lee Felix x f!reader (mafia au)

summary: You didn't know what you were getting yourself into when you started dating Yang Jungwon, notorious mafia boss. Your life gets flipped upside down when you're found beaten and bloody by SKZ, the rival mafia group, and you're quickly integrated into their lives. What will happen when you try to leave your old life behind and start anew?

warnings: please see series masterlist for all warnings

series masterlist ~~ series taglist ~~ main masterlist

<< previous ♡ next >>

Hyunjin: “We can’t wait for you to be just like us.”

Legacy. It was a word that I had known inexplicably well, though I’ve always had a hatred for it. For as long as I could remember, my parents were always forcing strict standards of their idealized perfection onto me. Starting as early as elementary school, I was enrolled in every advanced-level gifted course and extracurricular activity you could think of. My schedule was packed to the brim, and I was always expected to excel.

I started to feel the burn-out when I got to high school. That overwhelming feeling weighing down my shoulders that it was too much. I did what any kid my age would have done: I rebelled.

A girl in my class asked if I wanted to skip class with her to go to an amusement park one day. I had never skipped class before, Hell I had never even missed school. But something, that pressure cascading inside of my chest that ached to be relieved told me to say yes. For the first time in my entire life I skipped a day, and it was amazing. I didn’t have to worry about doing everything right and I was just able to be myself. Let go, feel free, be a kid for once.

When I returned home I knew that everything was fucked. They knew. Of course, they knew. I received the verbal lashing of a lifetime, forced to go to bed without food and with my phone taken away for a month. “We’ve given you everything and yet you blatantly disrespect us,” my mother had said. “If you want to be a deadbeat who hates his family, just say so,” said my father. He told me if I ever did anything like that to disappoint them again, he would beat my ass. My father had never threatened me before. To be fair, I’d never given him reason to but I had no reason to believe he was lying at that moment.

I knew that if I ever told anybody about it they wouldn’t believe me, anyway. My mother was a detective and my father was the head chief of police, both well-respected and well-known by all. Any lies they decided to weave would be believed. I had no choice but to follow in their paths.

I graduated top of my class, though it was really no competition. My resume was extraordinary at only age 18, and I was well-respected and revered by all. It’s no surprise I was accepted into the top school in the nation. Partially because of my exceptional academics and skills, partially because of my legacy.

I enrolled in criminology and literature in my undergraduate. Reading was something I had always had a passion for, though it seemed like I never had the time on top of everything else. Soccer practice, piano lessons, extra exam preparation courses, art classes, yearbook committee, honors societies after honors societies… the list had just done on and on. So I indulged in my passion for literature during school simultaneously with my criminology degree. Of course it was expected that I would follow my parent’s lead and go to law school. It was no surprise that I was, of course, top of my class again. All I did was study and prepare for my courses, after all.

I had been accepted into the top law school in the nation, which was an incredible prestige to have.

I didn’t accept the offer.

While I was in my undergraduate, I had realized something that felt so out of my depth; I had no desire to be a lawyer. None. Sure, academia and criminology were both things that I excelled at, but when I thought about following in my parents footsteps and living that drab, boring life until the day I died…? It’s enough to drive a man mad.

The day of my graduation party was a disaster. My parents had set up an elaborate get-together, inviting everyone in the town to celebrate my getting into the best university. I hadn’t told them yet. As everyone congratulated me, clinking together expensive bottles of champagne arranged in a neat array by my mother, I was told to give a speech.

“Thank you to everyone for gathering here today to celebrate my many accomplishments,” I had said. “Your attendance is noted and appreciated. For me to get this far, I really have to thank my parents. If not for them, I would not be where I am today. I actually have a special announcement to make for everyone, if I may. I will not be continuing my studies at university.” A gasp and low murmurs could be heard throughout the room. “I know, I know. But is it really a surprise? Dearest mother and father, you have put me into a box since the day that I was born. It’s no surprise that I would end up just like you, is it? That’s exactly what you wanted. That’s exactly what they wanted, everyone!” I say, addressing the room. “I have never had a chance to explore life for myself. What do I want out of life? It’s not to be a fucking lawyer! I’ve never wanted that. I don’t even know what I want! My parents, who you all know and love so dearly, will probably never speak to me again after this. Because if I’m not who they want me to be, they won’t want me! Mother, father, I hope you have the greatest life. Ladies and gentlemen, if I may excuse myself.” And with that, I put the mic down and leave the room. My mother and father’s spluttering faces left behind, and that life I had worked so hard for completely in the past.

After that night I started renting a dingy apartment in the bad side of town. It was all I could afford with the money I had saved up doing research in college, but it was certainly enough. That first night was the most refreshing night of my life. I didn’t think about work or what was coming next. I laid in bed, a mattress on the floor that I hauled up to the twelfth floor of my apartment building, and read a book cover to cover. I slept for fourteen hours. It was as if everything I had ever done in life was starting to catch up to me at last. I even became physically sick right after and instead of pushing through it I just… let it work its way through my body as I rested, the way it’s meant to be done.

Day 6 of living my new life, no contact with my parents since the day I left, I decided I would get a job. I didn’t have anything in mind but I knew that I wanted it to be something that felt freeing. Something I wouldn’t have to think about. I let my feet lead the way, and I somehow ended up in a bar. Run-down, smelling of cigarette smoke and tables that barely stood on their own. A place with no promise whatsoever, surely a horrible investment for one to make…

“Are you hiring?” The bartender laughed from where she sat. She thought I was joking, and I’m sure in any given situation that was the right assumption to make. Why would anybody want to work here?

“We don’t get much business,” she said.

“That’s fine,” I told her.

“Do you have a bartending license?” she had asked. I shook my head in response. “Usually we won’t hire without previous experience, but for a pretty face like yourself, consider it done. We pay off-the-books, so you’ll get your check in cash. S’that alright?” She flicked a cigarette butt into the glass ashtray on the bar.

“When can I start?”

And so became my first job pursuit as a bartender. I found it easy to navigate, and talking to the patrons that frequented the bar felt so refreshing. Listening to the lives of strangers that came in and out, struggling to make a living instead of having everything handed to me on a platter, and never having to think about that forbidden word ‘legacy.’ It was everything I’d wanted and more.

To my surprise, the business at the bar had started to pick up after the start of my employment. We had started making enough money that I was able to sit down with the owner and help them budget out renovations… starting with new tables.

“I can’t for the life of me figure out why we have this many new customers,” I had told the other bartender one day.

“Me neither,” she replied sarcastically. “It’s not like we have a new bartender that looks like he was sculpted by a Greek God or anything.”

It just so happens that I was able to rise up on the management chain fairly quickly. It wasn’t like there was much of a chain to begin with, but within a month I was enacted as the manager. Maybe the current one was lazy, or maybe they had given up on the bar long before I had started working there, but nonetheless I accepted the position, so long as I didn’t work more than 40 hours a week. With the extra cash I started making in tips, I was able to build up my library as well. I was happy.

“Hyunjin, was it?” said a patron at the bar one night. It was a Friday, loud and bustling on one of our more active business days. I had almost missed the fact that he was talking to me.

“Hmm? Yes, Hyunjin. What can I do for you? Would you like another drink?” I asked, looking at the man. He was fit, wearing a black tank top underneath a blazer; he seemed almost out of place. His dark hair was neatly styled and he was adorned with silver jewelry. I noted how well put together he was and I remembered him being very kind to me when I refilled his drink.

“Thank you, Hyunjin. I’ll speak with you later, after hours, if we may.” I didn’t get a chance to interrupt him or ask him what he meant before he threw down a wad of cash in his wake.

“What–”

“Do you even know who that was?” my coworker had asked. Furrowing my brow and shaking my head, I looked at her incredulous expression. That man had never walked into the bar before, I would have recognized him if he had.

“That was Bang Chan!” she whisper-shouted at me. “He owns this place. Hell, he probably owns half of the businesses in this town!” The name did seem to ring a bell now that she mentioned it. What did he want to speak with me for? Continuing on with my shift, albeit with a tremor in my hands that wasn’t there before, I waited and waited for what was to come.

It’s one a.m. when Bang Chan reenters the bar. The place has since been cleared out and I’m making myself busy by sanitizing the tables and rinsing the cups, since we have nobody else to do it.

“Sir,” I said, addressing him as he walked in.

“Hwang Hyunjin.”

“You know who I am?” I asked. I didn’t recall giving him my family name.

“Of course I know the name of the son of the head chief of police,” he said with a smile.

“I’ve since left that life behind me,” I told him.

“I’m well-aware. In fact, I know that you were able to bring one of my worst businesses up from the ground in only a month’s time. That’s incredibly impressive, you know.”

“It’s just because of my ‘pretty face,’ I’m told,” I said, trying to dismiss him.

“Do you truly think that? Because from what I’ve heard your incredible financial skills and marketing strategies had a play in that as well. I know you’re quite aware of your own intelligence, Hyunjin. That’s why I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?” I asked, my movements stilling.

“I would like for you to join my team. Surely you’ve heard of SKZ?” My blood runs still for a moment. SKZ. Of course I’ve heard of the mafia group that’s in charge of most of the city. They’re dangerous but also incredibly powerful thanks to their handlings in several businesses, including bars, casinos, nightclubs, you name it. But somehow, they’re also in charge of the significant decrease in crime since their organization. I actually know them quite well.

I should have recognized that this bar was under his control. I should have recognized his name from my coworker when she told me who he was earlier! Am I so far detached from my past now that I seriously suppressed this important information?

“My parents… my mother is the lead detective on your case,” I told him. In hindsight, maybe that wasn’t the smartest thing to tell him at the moment.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “That’s exactly why I think you would make a great addition to the team. You could help us thwart their efforts. Who better to help than the intelligent son of the lead detective? You’ve been involved in that life before and you know what it’s like, but also, you’re strong, you’re bold, and there’s something about you I really like. I think when all is said and done, you could be my consigliere.”

The word is unfamiliar to me and it must show. “What–”

“My confidant,” he elaborates. “My advisor. Someone I can turn to to help me make important decisions. There’s something special that I see in you, and I think you and I could work very well together.”

“I’m not sure,” I had told him. “It’s just… I wanted more time to figure myself out. I hope you don’t find that stupid of me?” I hadn’t even considered that my parents would be extremely disappointed and enraged in my decision. As far as I was concerned, I had burned the bridges from that relationship months ago. But to make a commitment like this so soon after deciding that I wanted to take the time off… I wasn’t so sure.

“Think about it, Hyunjin,” he had said. He gave me his card with his name and number. “I think it would be a wise decision for you to make. Working together… we can make anything a reality.” He had left me alone in the bar at that to close up.

I couldn’t deny that there was something appealing in being his confidant, of having my opinions both heard and respected.

However, I was a shell of myself when he found me. I didn’t consider the fact that he may have been preying on the very recent destruction of my relationship with my parents, still a new and fresh wound. All that mattered when I spoke to Chan was the prospect that maybe I could find a new purpose, one where I’m well respected and it’s not because of my legacy.

When I was a child, there was something that I never had: A voice. I didn’t talk much, and for a long time I didn’t think of my opinions and my sentiments as my own. I was a carbon copy of my parents, a smaller version of them created to carry out their will. Leaving them, leaving school and finding myself was the first thing that I ever did on my own. Little by little I started to find that voice and discovered new things about myself that I had never known before.

The more I thought about it, the more attractive it was to pursue something the complete opposite from my parents. Even better if I could thrive at it, to make them regret turning me into something I’m not. What else could I do to bring them shame and guilt over what they did to me?

I realized something that night at Chan’s offer. While I was out trying to find my voice, he was giving me the opportunity to make me sing.

I texted him that very same night.

“I’m in.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

a/n: first mini-chapter done!! I appreciate you all that ended up guessing who you thought it would be! Did it come as a surprise? We're eventually going to get a mini-story for all eight members!! I can't wait to see what y'all think!

taglist: @shuporanporang ; @purp13st4r ; @eurydiceofterabithia ; @heartsbyandra ; @thicccurls ;

@rylea08 ; @the-sweetest-rose ; @oddracha ; @kapelover ; @goldenmellow ;

@zerefdragn33l ; @uhh-awkward-rightt ; @astudyoftimeywimeystuff ; @kaleigh-2002 ; @thatonexcgirl ;

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