#number one reason I refuse to write him off no matter how infuriating he is sometimes written in canon

[phoenixsbby]

For What It’s Worth - Iceman x Pilot!reader

summary: sometimes all it takes is a RIO who likes to gossip and some friendly competition to help you understand what you feel for Ice.

readers callsign is ‘foxglove’ (a beautiful, but deadly flower 😉)

WC: 5k

a/n: i wrote this fic like a woman possessed yesterday … my bets are on the ghost of val kilmer (even though he’s very much alive).

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of sex, swearing

This has to be wrong. Someone, whoever’s in charge of keeping score and writing it on the board, has made an error. Ice can’t fathom how hard it could be to get right, it’s simple addition. Yet somehow, your callsign is listed above his. You and your RIOs point total has accumulated to above his and Sliders.

Yeah, this has to be some kind of mistake.

He bites at the inside of his cheek as he stares at it, the word ‘Foxglove’ scrawled in chalk. It’s mocking him. You’re mocking him - in more ways than one. You’re similar to Maverick in that right, a little loud and reckless, not a fan of playing by the rules. And God, does it get under his skin. 

You know it gets under his skin, that’s half of the reason you continue to do it. Riling up Tom Kazansky, the man given a callsign based on his unfazeable nature, is a game you’re always willing to participate in. The reward, the faint red hue that spreads across his cheeks and the amused smirk you earn, is worth it every time. 

When you see him planted firmly in front of the standings, staring at that board like its an enemy MiG-28, you can’t help yourself. You saunter up next to him and put your hands on the hips, humming a curious tone.

“Huh,” you mutter before glancing at Ice “looks like they’ve made a mistake.”

“Yeah, your name is above mine.” He replies, not meeting your eye.

“No, that’s not it.” You shake your head and bite your lip to fight off the grin that’s eager to spread across your face. “I was talking about the fact that they messed up your callsign.” Ice furrows his eyebrows and for a split second, he forgets. His eyes roam over the letters that make up his callsign ‘Iceman’ right next to ‘Slider’ and thinks, what the hell is she talking about?

Then as fast as a split second can pass, he remembers and rolls his eyes.

“They spelt ‘Snowflake’ wrong.” You add, no longer holding any smile back on his account. 

Ice should know better by now. He should know not to engage, not to poke the bear, but as eager as you are to tease him, he’s as eager to receive it. At least that means you’re paying attention to him in some way. You’re a total smart ass, an impulsive flyer, and refuse to call Ice by his actual callsign simply because it amuses infuriates him. Despite all of that, you’re also beautiful, intelligent, and determined. And Tom might be a teeny, tiny bit in love with you.

“Very funny, Fox.” He pulls his gaze from the board and finally meets yours. He tilts his head to the side and lets a small grin show. When you’re beaming like that at your own joke and at there fact that you are truly ahead of him in points, he can’t help but smile too.

“Well, at least they got something right.” You take a step closer, slightly invading his personal space before reaching a finger up to point at your score. Ice doesn’t look, he doesn’t need to, he’s already memorized the number he has to beat. Instead, he roots himself in his spot and holds your eyes to his. He soaks in the moment of your close proximity, the feeling of your warmth and lets his grin grow wider.

You try to act cool and collected but inside, your stomach drops and flips like it’s on a rollercoaster, forcing the rest of your body along for the ride. You don’t want to step away, you don’t want to break this tension no matter how much you ache to. These moments that you share with Ice and the time you spend thousands of feet in the air within your box, that’s when you feel the most alive.

His eyes flicker down to your lips and you tilt your head up slightly and he - 

“Do we need to clear the room or something?” Goose breaks you and Ice from your trance on each other. You snap your eyes toward him and scowl at his playful, suggestive smirk and raised eyebrows. You love him to death but did he have to choose now, of all times, to be his quirky self?

“As if we’d give you guys a free show.” Ice chuckles as you take a step back, feeling a thousand degrees warmer inside your flight suit. 

“Name your price then.” Hollywood leans against the lockers and grins, his words send a chorus of laughs echoing around the locker room. You take that as your cue to leave. Sometimes you forget, for a blissful moment, that you’re the only woman in your class at Top Gun. The group of men you work with are great, really, but sometimes for a moment, they forget too. 

“You wouldn’t be able to afford it.” You wink at Hollywood before turning on your heels and leaving. You feel Ice’s eyes burning a hole in the back of your head up until the second you’re out of his field of vision. 

——

You and your RIO, Playboy, were on a cold streak. As quick as you rose on the leader board, you fell. When the dogfighting exercises grew more intense, you suddenly struggled to keep up. One loss turned into two. Two turned into three. And by then, you felt officially stuck in a rut and felt equally as shitty for trapping Playboy down there with you. He was a very talented RIO and you were failing him as his pilot. You were failing, period. 

There was no reason to believe you weren’t as capable as your male counters. You had earned the right to be in that Top Gun class among the other one percent, you are one of the best. But right now, stomping your way through the base after another loss, you feel nothing more than the uncomfortable jab that is rock bottom.

The last thing you want to do is ‘go at it’ with Ice over the rankings yet, somehow that’s what you end up doing.

“Hey, Fox!” Ice calls after you but, you don’t stop. You’re too determined to peel off this second layer of skin that once was a flight suit, too constricting and tight all of the sudden. “Hey, wait-“ 

He clasps his hand over your shoulder and pulls you to a stop before rounding on you. Suddenly he’s standing in front of you with his hand still lingering on your shoulder. Normally, you’d let it rest there, normally you’d let the warmth of his touch sink its way through your skin and settle in your marrow. But, right now you do not want to be touched or comforted. Just because you’re a woman does not mean you need to be rocked or coddled when things go wrong.

“What do you want, Jack Frost?” You shake his hand off you and fight the urge to smile when he does at the sound of your new daily nickname for him. You don’t want to smile. You want to sulk and wallow until all the self-pity has seeped out of your pores and you’re ready to get back out there and kick ass.

“Just wanted to remind you to check the leaderboard when you go in there. I’ve heard some mistakes have been corrected.” His smile transforms into a smirk, one that you know it’s harmless. This is the dance you two do, back and forth jabs with nothing but lighthearted intensions. Except now his words feel like a vacuum sucking all the air from your lungs. Despite what he actually says, all you hear is ‘you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re a failure, you’re-‘ 

“Unless I go in and see the words ‘Abominable Snowman’ written on that board, I’m going to assume nothing on there is correct.” Your normal warmth and frisky tone has turned cold and stony. Ice takes a step closer with more drawn in, maybe even slightly concerned, features and reaches out to rest his hand back on your shoulder. You side step him and shake your head before inhaling a pathetic attempt at a deep breath, all the air you manage to take in is short and jagged. 

“Look, I do not need you to remind me how much I’m failing right now. I do not need a reminder of what I, of all people, have to prove and how terrible of a job I’m doing at that. I just-“ You pause and blink away glossiness suddenly coating and stinging your eyes. “I want to be left alone.” 

A muscle in Ice’s jaw strains before he nods and replies, “Okay.” 

You take a step to move around him when his hand wraps around your forearm, freezing you in place. You glance up at him, now directly at his side, pressing up against him. His eyes flicker over you, they bounce between your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. You wish he’d get on with it, the longer he holds you there with your faces so close, the weaker your will to not smash your lips against his becomes.

“For what it’s worth,” his voice comes out husky “I don’t think you’re a failure. I think you’re pretty goddamn great.” His warm breath against the skin of your neck mixed with his words pulls a deep shudder out from inside you. He must notice the way what he’s said affects you, it’d be hard not to.

But if he does notice, he doesn’t act on it. Instead, he releases your arm and takes a step back to give you your space. 

——

You mope and you brood and you pout and you do it all over again until the sun has long set and Playboy is dragging you by your collar to the bar. He says it’s better to be sad and tipsy than to just be sad and you think there’s a lot to unpack there and make a mental note to sit down and talk to him about it later.

Right now though, you sort of agree with him.

“Can I ask you a question?” You’re three shots of bottom shelf vodka in and you should not be asking this question but, alcohol gets you more loose lipped and daring than normal and that’s saying something.

“Sure thing.” Playboy leans back in his barstool and grins.

“Why have you never tried to pull a move on me? I mean, I appreciate it. Being a woman doesn’t automatically mean I should be hit on. Everyone should treat me as their equal and in this case all your other equals are males and I’m pretty sure you don’t play for both teams, but if you do I totally supp-“

“Holy shit, Fox!”

“What I mean is, your callsign is Playboy for cryin’ out loud.” You laugh, a bit too hard, but Playboy laughs too so it’s okay. “I guess I just expected it from you. Am I like ... unattractive?”

“Oh my god, Fox.” Playboy groans and puts his face in his hands but, you can tell he’s laughing by the way his shoulders shake. When he pulls his hands away, he continues. “I’m going to regret telling you this and I’m hoping you’ll get too drunk to remember I even said anything.”

You narrow your eyes before taking another shot that was slid in front of you. If he tells you that you’re not all that pretty and you don’t actually smell like the honey lavender lotion you slather on everyday, you’d prefer to not remember that tomorrow too.

“You’re a bombshell.” You flush, mostly from the alcohol that courses through you but, the compliment doesn’t hurt. “But, you’re Ice’s girl.” 

You blanch. You were not expecting him to say that. If there was a numbered list of most likely responses to get from him based on your question, his actual response would rank around number 46. 

“I .. I am not!” 

“Aw, Fox.” Playboy coos at you. “You are.”

“I do not belong to anyone.” You poke a finger into his chest playfully.

“Okay.” He holds his hands up in defense. “You’re right, you’re technically not his. But, come on. The guy’s like completely in love with you.”

Suddenly, you’re dizzy. Both because you’re four shots passed your baseline alcohol intake and because Ice is in love with you?

No way. Ice only loves himself. And maybe his F-14. 

“Bullshit.” You murmur, suddenly finding the chipped lacquer of the bar top very interesting.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” Playboys words have you dragging your eyes up to him, only then to follow his gaze to the entrance of the bar that Slider and Iceman have just strolled through. 

It should be illegal for someone to look as good as Tom Kazansky does in his summer whites. It’s a government issued uniform for Christ’s sake. Yet, he makes it impossible to decide whether you’d rather stare at him while he wears them or rip them off his body. 

You snap your gaze away from him and back to your RIO who’s smirking and wiggling his eyebrows while you frown. You let your forehead connect with the bar top as you groan and feel a pat on your back accompanied by Playboy saying, “We’re going to need another round.”

You should go home. You should kiss your annoyingly sweet RIO on the cheek and call it a night. But, you don’t. You stay and drink with him, happy to make him happy after still feeling slightly guilty about dragging him down in the ranks with you. After inhaling a dirty shirley and thirty minutes passing with your liver drowning in all the drinks you’ve consumed, you’re effectively trashed.

You’re in the middle of trying to follow the complicated backstory to Playboys even more complicated dating history when you feel a firm hand placed on your back. Just as quickly as it rests on you, it’s being pulled away and you look up to see Ice, grinning per usual.

“Well if it isn’t my favorite water globe!” You beam at him as his eyebrows draw together.

“She means snow globe.” Your RIO cuts in.

You snap and point in Playboys direction, “He gets me!” Ice chuckles and shakes his head. He tries to hold your gaze to his but you can’t stop looking around, swaying slightly to the music flowing from the jukebox.

“How much have you had to drink?” He catches your eye and notices the way they’re unfocused and slightly glazed over. He doesn’t need hear your response to know the answer is probably too much. 

“Not enough.” You grin lazily as Ice scoffs.

“Do you need to go home?” Normally, he’d try to conjure up a witty comeback but, not this time. Ice finds himself slightly worried, he knows you’ve had a rough past couple of days at Top Gun. He’s also never seen you drunk. He has no idea how to act or what to do, all he knows is he’d prefer to ensure you make it home safe. Not every guy at this bar is as respectful as him or your RIO.

“Are you trying to get me to go home with you, Sleetguy?” He can’t believe you’re three sheets to the wind but still manage to call him everything but Iceman.

‘Seriously, Y/N? That one was just bad.” Playboy snickers from beside you.

“So it’s true then?” Your eyes don’t travel to your RIO after his comment, they stay locked on Ice. “You are in love with me.”

Ice’s entire body jerks as if your words hit him with physical force. You don’t notice his involuntary reaction because the song changes to one you’re particularly fond of. Taking the opportunity with your concentration pulled elsewhere, Ice looks over to Playboy who is hiding his wide smirk behind the rim of his beer bottle.

‘You’re dead.’ Ice mouths.

Playboy winks.

“I’m not trying to take you home in that way, Fox.” He puts a hand on your shoulder to draw you back to him and prays to whatever God will listen that your drunk attention span is short. “I’d like to bring you home, make sure you pass out behind a locked door, then leave.” 

You all but moan at the thought of your big, comfy bed and eagerly agree to let Ice help you home. Playboy offers to pay for your drinks, calls you a ‘foxy mama’, then sends you on your way, trusting Tom with you completely.

Part of you is too drunk to walk straight, the other part uses that fact as an excuse to let Ice wrap an arm around your shoulders and for you to wrap an arm around his waist in response. They’ve got his callsign all wrong, you think to yourself, he can’t be Iceman when he’s this freaking warm. He’s like a furnace and you burrow yourself deeper into his side, his heat providing a kind of comfort you never knew you needed.

By the time you make it home, the fun part of being drunk, that small window of time when you feel like you’re numb and floating, has closed. All you feel is woozy and like the room is on an axis, tilting to the left one minute and to the right the next. You cling to Ice’s side shamelessly as he helps you inside and into your room. 

Ice has never been in your place before. Maybe if you were less in need of his assistance, he’d take more time to notice how every detail, big and small, about your home encompasses you. He’d see you in every place he’d look and it would be comforting in a way, to know you were all around him. For now, he settles on making sure you don’t topple over out of fear that if you do, you will not be getting back up.

He sits you on the edge of you bed and kneels in front of you, keeping his eyes pealed on your boots which he starts to untie. He can’t look up at you, he knows what he’ll feel in his chest if he does and now is not the time to feel that way, not while you’re in this state. 

You squeeze his shoulders a few times tightly while he works on getting your shoes off as if you’re trying to draw his attention to you. After the third squeeze, he gives in and glances up. You smile at him softly and yup, there’s that feeling right where he predicted it would be, deep inside his chest. 

“Will you stay?” You ask, your voice just above a whisper. 

You’re going to be the death of him.

“I can’t, honey.” He wraps a hand around your calf and lets his fingers stroke it gently, giving in to this overwhelming desire just the smallest bit. Your smile turns downwards at his words and he aches to find a way to flip it back upward. “You’re drunk. When you wake up tomorrow and see me here, you’ll call me a big Yeti and throw pillows at me until I leave.”

 He sees the way you fight (weakly) against a smile before it bursts through with a laugh to accompany it. His heart swells.

“Please,” you’re still smiling. “You can sleep on the couch. I just-“ He remembers the way you paused at those very words earlier today, like you were physically forcing what you really wanted to say out. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He sighs and thinks sleeping on the couch probably wouldn’t be too bad. It did look comfy based on the small glimpse he got of it earlier. 

“It’ll be my own funeral in the morning.” He gives your leg one last squeeze before letting go.

“I’ll pay for the service myself.” You still have your hands clasped to his shoulders.

“I want Madonna to sing as they lower me into the ground.” He smirks as you let out a bark of a laugh, so loud and pure he may burst if he doesn’t hear it again.

“How rich do you think I am? And how important do you think you are that Madonna would sing at your funeral?” You’re still laughing and holding him onto him, your bodies moving closer and closer like there’s a gravitational pull between you. 

“I’m very important, thank you very much. I’m going to be a number one graduate from Top Gun.” The second he speaks the words, he wants to rip them out of the air. But, you seem unaffected by them, still smiling at him fondly.

“Whatever propels your jet, you big Yeti.” You two could go back and forth like this all night, it’s what you do. But, Ice knows he should get you to sleep and hope you don’t wake up with a raging hangover that’ll fuel your distaste in finding him crashed on your couch tomorrow.

“Come on, Dandelion, you should go to bed.” You gasp dramatically as he stands up and press a hand to your heart, faking being hurt.

“I’ll let you get away with that just this once, Kazansky.” You lay back in your bed and melt into the pillows. “Count your blessings.” 

He chuckles as he throws the blanket over you and replies, “Oh, I certainly am. Goodnight, Y/N.” Your eyes flutter closed at the sound of your name rolling off his lips, sweet and smooth.  

“Iceman.” Tom comes to a halt in the threshold of your bedroom. After a beat of silence, he thinks he may have imagined it, you whispering his callsign. But then, “Ice.” He turns around, looking back at you. Your eyes are barely open and the sleepy smile you have spread across your lips looks so inviting, like you’re begging him with that smile alone to kiss you.

“For what it’s worth, I think I’m in love with you too.” Your eyes drift closed so easily, as if the words you’ve just spoken don’t leave him reeling.

——

The sun is pain. Once, you appreciated the golden light that coats your bedroom every morning in a welcoming, warm glow. Now, you despite it. You are never drinking again, you’re certain of this fact. You’ve had hangovers before, you’ve even muttered those same exact words before but, this time is different, you swear.

After you’re able to open your eyes without them burning so bad that they tear up, you notice a tall glass of water and two Advil capsules sitting pretty on your bedside table. You know you didn’t leave them there, which means ...

Oh.

Oh, no.

You screw your eyes shut again as the whole night comes rushing back like a tsunami, pummeling you in its wake. You doing shots with Playboy. Playboy telling you Ice was in love with you. You needing Ice to take you home. You begging Ice to stay.

You telling Ice that you love him too.

You are most definitely, absolutely, with no uncertainly, never, ever drinking again.

After chugging the water, popping the pain pills and seeing the time, you're grateful for your military trained internal clock waking you up so early. You were hoping Ice had already woken up too and dodged a bullet by leaving before you came out of your room. But, no dice.

You see him there, sleeping soundly on your couch, when you crack the door to your room open. What’s even worse is that he looks so peaceful, not a worry line or wrinkle on his face. You don’t have the heart to wake him up, he deserves that tranquility, even for just a little bit. 

And your desperate need for coffee outweighs your desperate need to get the awkward interaction you know is coming the minute he gets up over with.

By the time you do notice his eyes blinking away any remnants of the dreams he was clinging to, you’ve showered, a pot of coffee has been brewed, the eggs are done, and the bacon is cooking. You’re shocked at this ability to sleep for so long but, also you’re not because being in the Navy is exhausting. You know that first hand.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” You try to keep your voice light and airy despite the absolute pounding of your heart against your ribcage.

Ice rubs his eyes then pushes his hair back before furrowing his brows at you and asking, “Did you just call me something non-snow related?” 

“Anything’s better than big Yeti.” 

You can tell the second he registers the true meaning behind your words when every muscle in his body tenses. He comes to the realization that you remember the events of the previous night on his own and you let him. During the time he was sleeping and you were milling around on your tip toes trying not to wake him up, you realized something.

You truly do love him.

And what’s the point of hiding that? If what Playboy told you wasn’t true, if he didn’t love you back, Top Gun would still come to an end and then you’d part ways. If it was true, if he did love you back, then maybe you could stick together.

Loving a person like Tom meant having someone to push you but, also having someone there to catch you when you fall. You wanted that. 

When he doesn’t say anything, you start to panic and do what you do best in these situations, you ramble.

“I made some food. If you’re hungry, you’re welcome to eat. But if you don’t like eggs and bacon, I can probably find something else to make. And there’s coffee so, if you’re tired you can drink that. You like coffee, right? I’m pretty sure you do. Or you can take a shower, I think I have some spare clothes that may fit you. Or you could-“

“Fox.” You dart your eyes up to meet his. “A shower sounds great.” He smirks. You try ignore the heat pooling in between your legs (although it’s very hard when he looks at you like that) because at least he didn’t choose to leave.

“Okay, yeah, sure.” You clear your throat. You show him the bathroom and how to use the shower and grab him a towel. The last thing you tell him before you leave is that you’ll search for something clean for him to wear. After rummaging around for some of your dads old sweats, you knock on the door.

“Found some clothes!” You call out from behind the wooden barrier.

“Just bring them in here!” He calls back, his voice slightly muffled. You swallow thickly at the thought of going in there while he’s showering. Your shower has a curtain so, you wouldn’t directly see anything but, the idea of knowing what’s on the other side has more searing heat shooting through you.

The bathrooms slightly steamy when you open the door and place the clothes on the sink for him. You utter a strained “All set!” before turning to leave.

“Fox.” His voice is no longer muffled from the water or the door, in fact its crystal clear. You look over you shoulder and your eyes meet Ice’s, he’s pushed the curtain aside enough that you can see his face and the top of his chest and where hot water pools in his collarbones. 

Small droplets travel down the muscles of his shoulders, they dip below the valley of his pecs and curve over the peaks of his abs. When the particular droplet your eyes were shameless following falls off of his body, you shoot your eyes back up to look at this face, feeling heat gather in the cheeks of your own.

You want to touch him, you want to kiss him, you have to know.

“Is it true?” He doesn’t have to ask you what you mean, he knows. How could he not? You hold your breath as he clenches his jaw. His eyes stay locked on yours, they burn through you, see right into you. You hope he can see the way you silently plead for him to say yes.

“Yeah, it’s true.” Your heart is a jack hammer in your chest when he adds, “Did you mean it?”

“Yeah,” you don’t hesitate “I did.” Simultaneous smiles break out across your faces, filled with equal parts relief and bliss. He reaches out, grabs a fistful of your t-shirt and yanks you closer to him.

“Easy, Iceman, you’re going to get me wet.” You laugh as he wraps his arms around you and pulls your chest flush against his. He brushes a drenched hand through your hair before it settles against your cheek, rubbing small circles along your skin. 

“Do not call me by my callsign right now.” He groans as his other hand pushes its way beneath the material of your shirt and up your bare back. Had you purposefully chosen not to put on a bra after your shower hoping a moment like this would occur? Yes. Are you so glad you did when you feel his palm drag across your naked shoulder blades? Absolutely. 

“I thought you’d be happy to hear me call you that!” You squeal as he digs his fingers into your hip. 

“When we’re in those uniforms, you call me Ice. When we’re out of them, I want you to call me by my name. In fact, I want you to moan it so loud that the neighbors never forget the name Tom Kazansky.” 

“Whatever you say, Tom.” With that, he connects your lips slowly. It’s a kiss dripping with passion and greed and holds a promise that it will certainly not be the last time he kisses you that way. Your lips move together rhythmically, effortlessly, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He coaxes a moan from you by way of nipping and sucking at your bottom lip, like he’s desperate to taste more of you. 

When he pulls away from the kiss, only to move his hungry lips to your neck, you take the opportunity and say, “For what it’s worth, regardless of what we’re wearing, I’ll always love you.”

“Trust me baby, that’s worth a whole hell of a lot.” He grins against your skin before pushing the curtain aside and pulling you with him under the hot water.

��—

^ me when a hot, blonde, cocky pilot does literally anything

[acnelli]

Hiding

This is my entry for the Hinny FicFest 2021 hosted by @clarensjoy. Thank you for organising it! There were so many lovely prompts to choose from and originally I wanted to write something really angsty for this one, but then decided to approach this in a much more lighthearted way.

Thank you @accio-broom for beta-reading! You are the best!

Prompt 2: Ginny gets sick and won’t admit it Rating: GA Pairing: Harry/Ginny Summary: Ginny had a bad day, including an unfortunate injury, which she tries to hide from Harry.

Also available on AO3 and FFN.

Ginny walked out of St. Mungo’s with a limp and a glare that would put Hermione’s cat Crookshanks to shame. The world was against her these last couple of days; she just knew it. 

It had started with a horrendous loss against a team the Harpies were positive they would never lose to; the Chudley Cannons. The orange excuse of a professional Quidditch Team had beat them, and it wasn’t even a close match. They lost 590 to 120—an absolute disaster. 

Of course, her insufferable brother had lost his mind, along with all the other Cannon fans in the stands. It had been the first time the Cannons won in what must’ve been years, which resulted in the players not even hearing the referee’s whistle, signalling the end of the game. 

Ginny had given Ron the tickets to this match as a birthday present. As long as the Cannons lost every single time, and she could greet her brother with a smug grin, she was okay with Ron switching his Harpies jersey with her number on it to his orange Cannon one. This time though, Ginny found it nothing short of traitorous, and even her family, including Harry, had the gal to congratulate Ron. Her brother would make sure she would never forget this day, no matter how many times the Harpies would kick their arses in the future. 

The Harpies, quite demoralised from their previous match, had shown up at training the next day, as usual. After a pep talk by their coach, the team had pepped up, flying different manoeuvres and acting out the strategies for their game against Ballycastle the next day. 

Enjoying the wind on her face, as well as the feeling that only flying so high up in the air could provide, Ginny had forgotten all about their loss and solely concentrated on getting the Quaffle inside one of the three loops from every possible angle. She had been so engaged in training that she noticed the dangerous wheezing of the Bludger one second too late. Although she could dive away to avoid getting hit in the face, the ball collided with her left ankle, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on a stretcher as a medi-wizard treated her injury. 

A broken ankle usually could be treated by the team’s healers, but the young man insisted on transferring her to the hospital as he suspected a more complicated fracture. And because it was Ginny’s lucky week, he had been right eventually. 

The healer who treated her advised Ginny not to play against Ballycastle as the Skele-gro would cause a great deal of pain, and painkillers were strictly forbidden at Quidditch matches, especially pain-relief potion which had strong side effects, and therefore, were a danger to herself and others while on a broom. 

Against the healer’s strongest protests, Ginny refused the skele-gro and asked the middle-aged woman to stabilize her ankle and give her some light painkillers that would wear off until tomorrow. 

Ginny needed to play tomorrow. A few days ago, Oliver had tipped her off that the national trainers would be watching the game against Ballycastle, and there was just no way she would pass this chance to show them that she was the right choice to play for England. Even if they only let her join as a reserve Chaser, it would be her ticket to play international Quidditch. 

While the discussion with the healer had been annoying but without any chance for the St. Mungo’s employee to change Ginny’s mind, the real battle would be at home. If Harry got even the slightest hint about his wife’s injury, a fight would break out, fitting these infuriating last two days. 

Harry, usually being blissfully oblivious to most things, immediately noticed when something was up with Ginny. While most times, this little fact warmed her heart, it was rather unfortunate today. And ever since Harry joined the Aurors, he had become even more of a bloodhound when he sensed a secret. 

Ginny was determined to try her best to appear normal when she carefully walked out of the fireplace and into the living room of Grimmauld Place. As she expected, Harry sat on the settee, reading the sports section of the Daily Prophet. 

“Hey, Gin,” Harry greeted her, looking up as she walked over to where he was sitting, “How was training? Did Rodgers let you off earlier today?” 

The painkillers still in effect, Ginny leaned down to kiss her husband, carefully lifting her weight off her injured ankle. Kissing Harry always made her feel good, but after her dreadful day, it simply felt like heaven. 

With one swift movement, Harry pulled her down with him on the settee. She cuddled up against his side, inhaling his scent as she trailed kisses down his neck. As their kisses became more heated, Harry rolled on top of her, and just as she was about to sigh because of the sweet friction, a pained whimper escaped her when Harry hit Ginny’s foot with his leg. 

He immediately jumped up, eyes going wide, and Ginny knew that she lost her little hiding game. Carefully sitting up, she waited until Harry crouched down in front of her, looking at her worried. 

“Are you hurt? What’s wrong with your foot?”

“Just a small accident at training today,” Ginny tried to reassure him, “Nothing serious.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Why does it still hurt then? Your medi-staff can heal most injuries in a heartbeat.”

“I said I’m fine,” Ginny said, cursing her bloody Weasley genes as she felt her ears turning red. As graceful as possible, she stood up, heading for the kitchen. Besides the fact that she didn’t want to have this conversation, she was also hungry. 

Of course, the conversation was far from over because Harry followed her into the kitchen, watching her with a raised eyebrow as Ginny made herself a sandwich. When she turned to face Harry, she tried to casually stand on her good foot, pretending her ankle wasn’t throbbing in a more penetrant manner now. Obviously, the painkillers had already started to wear off. 

“Why are you hiding this, Gin?” Harry asked, sitting down on one of the kitchen chairs, “Why didn’t you just go to a healer?”

“Because they would give me skele-gro and a pain-relief potion, meaning I wouldn’t be able to play tomorrow.”

“So? Ginny, I know you are amazing, but I’m sure the Harpies can manage one match without you.”

“Yes, they sure can,” Ginny huffed in frustration, “But if I don’t play, the scouts for the English national team possibly won’t take me into consideration.” 

Harry stood up and walked over to his wife, leaning down to get on eye-level with her. “To quote your brother: Are you fucking mental?”

“It’s my career, Harry! Playing for England is the dream, and I refuse to let this silly little injury get in the way.” 

Instead of commenting on this, he gently took Ginny’s hand, leading her to sit on a chair. More out of discomfort because of her increasingly throbbing ankle than the willingness to sit down, Ginny complied anyway. 

“This is far too dangerous, Ginny. You can’t possibly hold yourself on a broom for-”

“This is not up for debate,” Ginny interrupted him, her tone clipped and her face now red from anger, “I’ll just grit my teeth long enough to play some of my best manoeuvres, and then I’ll ask for a timeout and Rodgers will put me on the bench.”

“And you think Rodgers will be alright with you playing injured? Or are you planning to hide it like you tried to hide it from me?”

“That’s none of your business.”

Harry sighed in frustration at her trademark Weasley-stubbornness but he took Ginny’s hand anyway. 

“Okay, let’s put this into perspective, alright?” Ginny wanted to interrupt him, but Harry just kept talking. “You want to play in a game, most likely showing only a mediocre performance because of your broken ankle. Ginny, these scouts don’t have to see you play in this particular game. They know exactly who you are and what you’re capable of already. If you’re not playing in this match, they’ll watch you play in the next one. Assuming they want the very best for the national team, they’ll sure enough not write you off because you couldn’t make it to this match.”

Harry could tell that Ginny’s resolve was already crumbling, but he knew better than to stop here. “There are also your brothers, and more importantly, your mother. Molly will kill me if she learns you hurt yourself even more, despite me knowing of your injury.”

“But I’ve been looking forward to this game for so long,” Ginny sighed, frowning at the unfairness of it all. 

“I know,” Harry said, leaning forward a little to softly kiss her pouting lips, “But you can’t play. It’s not just dangerous for you, but also for your teammates and Ballycastle.”

Harry’s words destroyed every resolve Ginny still had standing. The last thing she would want is someone getting hurt because of her stubbornness, and certainly not her beloved Harpies. 

“Since when are you the voice of reason.” she groaned, letting her head fall against Harry’s chest and draping her arms around his neck. 

Harry took this opportunity to swoop her up into his arms before walking towards the fireplace. 

“Let’s get you to St. Mungo’s then.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, sighing at the prospect of the knowing look the healer will give her when she comes back. 

Before Harry could floo over to the hospital, Ginny leaned up and placed a hot kiss against his throat. 

“If I have to stay at home all day tomorrow, you better keep me company, Potter.”

[a-crimson-lion]

“It Makes Me Wanna Keep Him At Arm’s Length” An Overview On Katsuki Bakugo’s Development

[I should by no means be the one writing this analysis, but here we are. Obviously it’s an overview on Katsuki’s character development, but there’s a bit more to it than that. Keep reading if you want the details.]

Table of Contents

i) Prologue

I) A Brief Explanation

II) The “What The F*** Is Your Existence” Phase

II.A) Breaking The Barriers

III) The “I Can’t Let You Get Ahead Of Me” Phase

IV) The “Why Don’t You Care About Yourself” Phase

V) Final Address+Conclusion

Word Count: 4415

[Warning: Contains manga spoilers up to Ch. 284. Will also include spoilers for the movies and OVAs, as well as the special Deku & Bakugo: Rising two-shot manga. Reader’s discretion is advised. Not scared off yet? Good. Let’s do this.]

i) Prologue

Alright, no beating around the bush, I guess.

We all know this has to deal with Ch. 284, and the milestone that came with it. We got a rare look inside Katsuki’s perspective, and we saw firsthand how much his perspective has changed from the start of the story. I don’t think we’ve ever gotten such an in-depth look into Katsuki’s psyche since Deku vs Kacchan 2. It’s honestly impressive.

...which is why I’m so confused by a certain kind of response to it.

When you look past the swarms of tumblr posts absolutely losing their s*** over Katsuki getting further character development, you come across an… admittedly troubling response. The idea that “Katsuki always cared.” The idea that as early as the Battle Trial, if not middle school, Katsuki was secretly keeping an eye out for Izuku in their tumultuous relationship.

...no. Just-. No, what the-

I’ll get to why this particular response pisses me off in a bit, but before that, I wanna give a run down of Katsuki’s development, according to the narrative. Anyone who’s been around my blog long enough knows that I don’t exactly hold Katsuki in good graces. (Pretty much the opposite, actually.) However, in light of recent developments, that’s not what this post is gonna be focusing on. And as such, I’ll keep the snark and branch conversations to a minimum… to the best of my abilities.

So… how are we gonna do this?

I) A Brief Explanation

After we finish this brief “tutorial” section, the next three segments of the post will cover the various time frames of Katsuki’s development. I’ll be going through a general rundown of Katsuki’s perspective and the various evidence points that lead me to my conclusions. It’s essentially a glorified retelling. Sound good? Alrighty then!

II) The “What The F*** Is Your Existence” Phase

Time Frame: Ch. 1-Ch. 116 [Sludge Villain Arc-Late Provisional Hero License Exam Arc]

In case the Prologue didn’t make things clear, let me spell it out: Katsuki didn’t always care.

At least, he didn’t “always care” in the positive sense.

To clarify, this isn’t just 3rd Year Middle School Katsuki to UA Katsuki. This is all the way back to the River Incident. Katsuki has had this mentality for that long and then some when you shift out of backstory territory. We’re talking about the same kid who nearly murdered Izuku in the Battle Trial, blasted Izuku to kingdom come in the Training of the Dead OVA, and decked Izuku during the Final Exams. So…

The following hinges majorly on the line Katsuki stated in Chapter 284, and the title of this analysis: “It makes me wanna keep him at arm’s length.” Contrary to popular belief, this does not just apply to the idea that Katsuki wants to stick around Izuku to keep him from destroying himself.

...it’s also a major contributor to the reason Katsuki bullied Izuku in the past.

So let’s backtrack to the River incident. Katsuki takes one wrong step on a log, slips, and falls down into the river below. Izuku is the only one that goes down to help him. This infuriates Katsuki because he was fine, as was said by him and everyone but Izuku that was present that day. This is also the first time Katsuki becomes aware of something he echoes in the Ch. 284 flashback:

“He just… Deep down, he doesn’t take himself into account, y’know?”

This is Katsuki’s first run in with Izuku’s inherent selflessness. Initially, he takes it as pity; in his words, Izuku is “looking down on him.” And this bothers him a great deal. Then when it comes to Quirks, Katsuki gets one and Izuku doesn’t. This assures Katsuki of something he shortly discovered previously: Izuku isn’t all that special.

It’s a brief comfort. Because Izuku hasn’t taken the damn hint and stopped hanging out with him and his friends. The Quirked kids. The normal kids.

And worst still, he’s willing to get in Katsuki’s way just because someone else is in his line of fire. In the back of his mind, it’s the River Incident all over again, though he’s not being feared for; he’s being feared of. It’s all wrong. Deku isn’t strong like the rest of them. Deku can’t be a hero. Deku knows that.

...he knows that he doesn’t stand a chance, right? He knows how the world really works. Is he… is he putting on an act?

One of the few remarkable traits Katsuki has right from the get-go is his disdain against dishonesty. So, when he sees Izuku putting on a brave face and acting like a hero, and Katsuki decides that Izuku’s just “pretending,” Katsuki takes the matter into his own hands. He’ll get Izuku to show his true colors in due time. That’s what heroes do, right? Take down the bad guys? And Izuku faking about caring for others when everyone else clearly puts themselves first and foremost sounds pretty bad guy-like, at least at the time.

So, Izuku keeps on trucking, occasionally trying to join back up with Katsuki’s group on a near frequent basis. Even when that fails, he tries his damnedest to catch up.

But what many people forget is that at some point, Izuku stopped following, at least actively.

By Chapter 1, he’s making sure to keep from drawing attention to himself. He’s not as enthusiastic as everyone else in the class, he tries backing away from Katsuki and shrinking down on himself, tries defusing the situation. That doesn’t sound like Izuku’s still trying to keep up. Even in the special two-shot manga dedicated to Heroes: Rising, Izuku isn’t the one to draw attention to Katsuki’s presence. And even when he does go after Katsuki and the villain, his attention is more so focused on the villain, thoughts of staying out of Katsuki’s way to not offend him likely somewhere in his mind.

So then why does Katsuki keep antagonizing him in the first chapter of canon proper? And even before that, most likely?

“It makes me wanna keep him at arm’s length.”

...Izuku didn’t stop being Izuku. Izuku didn’t stop being selfless.

And his selflessness is what pisses Katsuki off to no end. So, he keeps pursuing Izuku, keeps trying to get him to “drop the act.” Makes him a “punching bag,” as Izuku states in Chapter 8. Because the way things work, Izuku should not be trying to be a hero. He should not be trying to put on a brave face when he’s scared s***less. He should not be sticking his neck out for others when he doesn’t (or rather, didn’t) have anything to stick up for himself.

Katsuki was born with something that made everyone consider him prime hero material. Izuku was born without that, and was considered the opposite… and yet, he still tries.

And this character trait, this selflessness, it drives Katsuki insane. And it continues to do so well beyond the Battle Trial Arc. Even when Katsuki is able to begrudgingly accept that Quirkless Deku has a Quirk now, somehow, his selflessness continues to bring Katsuki grief. While it’s never inherently brought up, this is the dividing factor between Izuku’s fight against Shoto in the Sport’s Festival and Katsuki’s fight with Shoto in the Sport’s Festival.

Izuku was willing to go all out at the cost of himself just so Shoto could accept what was his. Katsuki just wanted a good brawl, to be the undisputed first place.

This even continues well into the Final Exams, though the fact that Katsuki is running high on arrogance and anger does nothing to soothe matters. It takes a deck to face and later an explosive kabedon wall smash to get Izuku and Katsuki working together, and let’s not forget that when Izuku was trying to get Katsuki to realize they were still fighting All Might, regardless of whatever handicaps he may or may not have, he gets decked in the nose for his efforts. While it’s technically a subtler play on Izuku’s selflessness and concern for others, Katsuki likely took it as further mockery, another attempt for Deku to try and get under his skin and throw him off.

In any case, throughout this time period, Katsuki cares f*** all for Izuku or his philosophy, opting to brute force things up until the very end of the time frame. But what causes the eventual shift?

II.A) Breaking The Barriers

A number of things, actually.

None of the proceeding events ever do a clean cut on Katsuki’s worldview. It’s more like chiseling through a wall than breaking it down with a hammer.

The Sludge Villain is the first hint that Izuku might not be faking and Katsuki might not be at the top. While many claim that Katsuki leaves Izuku alone because he feels indebted to him but doesn’t want to admit it, it’s more than likely that he’s more focused on his own self-loathing. This incident is what defines him for a good chunk of the series, to his chagrin.

The Battle Trial is just another nail in the eventual coffin. Katsuki thinks he’s finally got Izuku right where he wants him, only for Izuku to pull a 500 IQ play and prioritize the exercise over his and Katsuki’s squabbles, taking the brunt of Katsuki’s attack and attention while giving Ochako the opportunity to capture the bomb. That look of frustration is Katsuki realizing that not only did Izuku get ahead, he got ahead with the very thing Katsuki despises. Needless to say, it f***s with him well until the aftermath outside of UA’s gate.

Shoto refusing to use his flames is another chip off the marble that is Katsuki’s pride. It reinforces the idea that Izuku is doing something that Katsuki isn’t, something that Izuku shouldn’t have in the first place, beyond a Quirk at least. So, Katsuki rages, because he can’t understand why it’s such a big deal, in both Izuku’s and Shoto’s cases.

The Final Exams just hammer the point home further. Katsuki’s one-track minded attempts to bring down All Might are met with no results. He would have failed that exam if it wasn’t for Izuku’s selflessness or Katsuki “lowering himself” to cooperate with him. Had Katsuki not gotten decked in the face and dragged off or got saved at the last minute while he was knocked out, he definitely would have failed on account of becoming a liability.

The Training Camp attack is an odd mix of Katsuki’s current philosophy and the next stage in it. He knows Izuku’s gonna go and save his ass, and he wants no part of that because hasn’t he made him suffer enough already? Hasn’t he already proved time and time again that he’s getting better, despite the fact that Katsuki doesn’t want or believe it? Despite the fact that it shouldn’t even be happening if things were right in the world? Izuku does recognize Katsuki’s wounded pride, however, which is instrumental in getting him out of All For One’s clutches during Kamino.

If we briefly direct our attention to the Make It! Do-Or-Die Survival Training! OVA, Katsuki is pretty adamant on claiming he only got the power back on in the underground mall to complete the exercise. And I don’t think that’s Katsuki’s “tsundere” talking, either: I genuinely believe that Katsuki’s only thoughts at the moment was getting the exercise done. Everyone else was just secondary. And remember, Katsuki hates dishonesty, which is probably why he doesn’t take credit for “saving” Izuku and Shoto. While his actions did save the two of them and everyone else in the mall, that wasn’t his intention, which is an interesting flip on Izuku’s performance back in the Battle Trial. Couple that with the fact that Katsuki is injured (and therefore weak, and in need of help), and it’s no wonder he’s in a sour mood towards the end of it all.

And this sour mood carries over to the final nail in his coffin: the Provisional License Exam. He only gets by the first half because other people had the sense to tag along, but the second half regards his undoing because he still doesn’t get the whole selfless aspect of saving people in the second half of the exam. This was also foreshadowed back in the aforementioned OVA with Katsuki’s excessive animosity towards the victim dummy. Whether they be real or fake, Katsuki’s disregard of either victim doesn’t grant him his hero license.

This is the straw that breaks the camel's back for Katsuki. And ultimately, this sparks the start in his shift to the second phase of his development.

III) The “I Can’t Let You Get Ahead Of Me” Phase

Time Frame: Ch. 117-~Ch. 257 [Late Provisional Hero License Exam Arc-Early Paranormal Liberation War Arc]

Since this is only the second phase of Katsuki’s development (and given that this is Katsuki we’re talking about), don’t expect to get much of an upgrade with this shift.

Essentially, it boils down to two things: Katsuki stops viewing Izuku as an annoyance, and starts viewing him as an obstacle. Simultaneously, he starts seeing the viability of saving, at least as a tool in a hero’s kit.

Let me explain.

While Deku vs Kacchan 2 is the first time Izuku and Katsuki have attempted to talk out their issues… not much gets addressed. Sure, Katsuki becomes aware of Izuku not looking down on him, but Izuku is never made aware of the deeper issues regarding Katsuki’s loathing beyond that. It primarily serves as a half-barebones narrative checkpoint, a segway for Katsuki to get in on the secret of One For All.

...let’s also talk about that, shall we?

So Izuku’s been getting better as a hero and with his Quirk. Then Katsuki finds out after he gets kidnapped and rescued that Izuku is the successor to their mutual idol. And that’s after essentially being told he can’t be a hero in his current state due to the PLE. And what is his usual response to adversity? He decides to get ahead of it.

He’ll surpass Class 1-A so there won’t be another Battle Trial. He’ll surpass Izuku and One For All so he can truly claim that he’s the best of the best.

Unfortunately, we don’t get to see more of this development until the Joint Training Arc. However, keep in mind that this is only the second stage. Katsuki wants to prove that he’s the best, so of course he’s gonna step up his game. That means taking advice from the LITERAL (former) #1 HERO, and making the victory as flawless as possible. After all, Katsuki himself said in Chapter 208:

“I’ve decided! We’re gonna win this match with a perfect victory! 4-0, with everyone unscathed! That’s the kind of victory there is for the strongest guys out there!”

...it might be a slight exaggeration when he says he’s hardly changed at the end of that chapter, but then again it is a stretch to even call it an exaggeration.

That aside, Katsuki also makes it part of his agenda to keep tabs on OFA. This would fit into the “Katsuki secretly cares” agenda, but we haven’t reached that point. Right now, in these moments, Katsuki figures that if One For All starts getting freaky, he wants to know about it so he can get a leg up. And maybe part of him still wants to call Izuku out.

He was minorly ticked when Izuku allowed himself to make a mistake during their unauthorized fight. And he constantly reminds Izuku to not forget that he’s supposed to surpass him (or the other way around).

Taking off the rose-colored glasses for a moment, it does make sense for Katsuki to say this beyond the context of positive motivation. We are talking about the same Katsuki who lashed out at Shoto for holding back. It’s reasonable to assume that he doesn’t want Izuku to do the same, and lagging behind more or less equates to holding back.

And Katsuki still isn’t completely invested in Izuku’s training for Izuku’s sake. After the Joint Training, Katsuki tries getting Izuku to manifest Black Whip again, and nopes out shortly afterwards when nothing comes of their sparring sessions in Chapter 217. This still isn’t the Katsuki we see in the 284 flashback. He’s still got a ways to go.

Yes, this even rings true for Katsuki during Heroes: Rising. While the film might be the ultimate Bakudeku dream come true, there really isn’t… much depth in regards to Izuku and Katsuki’s past. Y’know, the thing that most people are hoping gets resolved? It only gets referenced a few times in the film, but doesn’t overall factor into anything meaningful. Most of the time when Izuku and Katsuki team up, Katsuki only gets to the fight because he wants to throw hands with villains on an island where (if the status quo had remained unchanged) was likely selected because it had little to no serious villain activity. It just so happens that protecting and working with Izuku is an unintended byproduct of these fights. Katsuki even drops the infamous “lowering myself to work with Deku” line just before the big climax. And even with the transfer of OFA to Katsuki, it strikes less as overcoming a longstanding obstacle and more as plot convenience, especially since by the end of the fight OFA nopes back into Izuku so hard that Katsuki gets mind wiped about the whole thing.

Even during the Endeavor Arc, we don’t see much growth beyond the Ending fight, where Katsuki prioritizes saving Natsuo over throwing hands like he usually would, learning to take saving as more than a tool. This is significant considering it’s Katsuki, but unfortunately, there’s not much else thereafter. The entire arc won’t get referenced as an overall stepping stone until Ch. 284.

And thus, we head to the final phase.

IV) The “Why Don’t You Care About Yourself” Phase

Time Frame: ~Ch. 257-Ch. 284 [Early Paranormal Liberation War Arc-Paranormal Liberation War Arc (Present)]

So here’s an interesting tidbit: Katsuki can’t handle nonphysical confrontation.

Leave him with the fact that his kidnapping could have gotten most of the class expelled because they decided to go rescue him or avoided such while knowing of the operation? He’ll pay back Eijiro for the expensive night vision goggles and make Denki suffer Quirk overuse so he doesn’t need to be reminded.

Get stuck in the middle of a Todoroki Family Drama scene? He’ll try bragging about how he did better than the current #1 Hero to attempt curbing off the situation.

Put him in a discussion with Izuku where they address his additional Quirk manifestations and the full weight of his potential/legacy? Katsuki will brag about having a skill already in his toolkit to ignore the fact that he has the potential to fall behind.

This defines the earlier days of this phase. We don’t see what happens in the timeframe between that and the start of the War Arc until the Chapter 284 flashback. I believe that during the gap between 257 and this flashback, Katsuki allowed himself to process the full weight of what he and Izuku were told during that meeting.

And this marks one of his biggest revelations to date.

Izuku’s selflessness is no longer something annoying. It’s a potential fatal flaw.

For the first time, it’s hitting Katsuki that Izuku is no longer an obstacle, or just an obstacle. Izuku is a person who is working himself to the bone and past that, who would die at the drop of the hat if he thought the payoff was well worth it. He’s finally starting to see that what Izuku is doing to himself is dangerous, and he wants to know what he can do to prevent the serious ramifications.

This is a big phase in his development, no doubt, but um… it’s not the last phase.

If I’m being honest, we’re nowhere close. Why? Well, two reasons:

A) Katsuki still has yet to properly take a loss.

Any and all of Katsuki’s losses are either in his head or narratively negated. And his disproportionate win/loss ratio doesn’t do him any favors either. He’s culminated a philosophy that he can’t and shouldn’t lose, but losing is a crucial aspect of improvement and being human in general. In the case of the story, Chapter 275 suggests that Katsuki wants to face off against Tomura as payback for Kamino. He essentially wants to extend the narrative and treat that loss like a delayed win, as if the loss hadn’t happened yet. Many people claim that this is a bluff he used to cover his true intentions of keeping an eye on Izuku, but I don’t think that’s the case. While sticking by Izuku is a contributing factor, getting a win is equally so, because Katsuki hasn’t properly adjusted to a loss. His strategy for dealing with any kind of loss is just to bulldoze through it like nothing happened, instead of taking the time to understand why he lost and to apply that knowledge for future encounters.

Be aware of your surroundings during the Sludge Villain.

Focus on your priorities and communicate with others during the Battle Trial.

Don’t ignore the situation just to focus on your own intentions during the Training Camp attack.

HELP PEOPLE during the Provisional License Exam.

There are so many lessons Katsuki could have learned sooner if he had taken the time to properly digest his losses. But he didn’t. He still doesn’t. He might have learned some of them eventually, but the fact remains that he nearly ran head first into a suicide mission just because he couldn’t take the loss and was dead set on getting even.

And keep in mind, Katsuki was lamenting on struggling to keep up with Izuku earlier before their encounter with Tomura, and how he couldn’t afford to stay a loser, so this is likely less far-fetched than you think.

Okay, so then what’s the second reason Katsuki’s development is far from over?

B) He hasn’t fully connected the dots on what he did to Izuku.

So far, Katsuki has recognized that he was off-put by Izuku’s selflessness, and that he bullied him over that.

What he hasn’t recognized is how much of a role he played personally in that part of Izuku’s personality, or at least it’s present day incarnation.

Let me clarify a bit. Katsuki is aware that he was distrubed by Izuku’s selflessness. He is aware that bullied him and that, at some degree, was wrong. But I don’t think he’s quite connected the dots on how his intervention has led to Izuku’s current brand of martyrdom.

At the start of the series, Izuku just cares about others. After making sure he gets down to the river safely, he’s willing to lend a hand to Katsuki, who fell from a pretty concerning height ig we’re being honest.

But this unnerves Katsuki. And it leads to his physical altercations with Izuku from time to time.

Remember, Izuku followed Katsuki at the time, but somewhere down the line he stopped. But he never stopped being Izuku, so Katsuki continued to pursue him. Izuku had already been willing to give up in some degree on ever keeping up with Katsuki the way he used to. He knew, at some level, that he wasn’t accepted.

That he wasn’t worth as much as everyone else.

Katsuki bullied Izuku because he was selfless. But Katsuki’s bullying, coupled with the rest of society’s ostracization, twisted and warped that selflessness with low self-esteem, low self-worth, and self-destructive tendencies. Katsuki wasn’t the sole bully of Izuku, but he was a primary perpetrator. And his actions only made the very thing he despised so, so much worse.

...and until he can recognize THAT aspect of his relationship with Izuku, his journey is far from over.

So yeah, Katsuki’s making progress, but we’re still not out of the woods yet.

V) Final Address+Conclusion

So now for the obvious question: why did I write all of this?

I said it at the beginning, about how some people claimed that Katsuki cared all along. I brought up a bit about how it pissed me off. Why, exactly?

Because when people insist that Katsuki threatening Izuku to not go to UA comes from a place of concern, they disregard Chapter 1 Katsuki’s gigantic ego and utter disregard for others, much less so for Izuku.

Because when people insist that Katsuki’s shocked face at the end of the Battle Trial was because he was upset with how he hurt Izuku, they disregard the fact that Katsuki was willing to almost murder Izuku, and if not that then brutalize him, and that at this point Katsuki absolutely loathes getting shown up, which is what Izuku inadvertently did.

Because when people insist that Katsuki always cared from the very beginning, they (un)intentionally undermine one of the few things that draw people to Katsuki’s character: his character development.

On his own, Katsuki is an prodigious, antisocial and angry teen looking for fame and fortune in the industry who grows into a dedicated source of confidence and understanding as he finally allows himself to branch beyond his initial handicaps. If you insist that Katsuki always had the awareness and concern he displayed in 284’s flashback, what do you get instead?

A selfish, self-centered, fickle, emotionally-constipated asshole whose growth is more comparable to a ramp instead of a mountain.

...not as impressive, is it?

While I’m pretty sure this is just a minor trend, that doesn’t excuse the lack of care it demonstrates. If you aren’t willing to admit and live with the fact that Day 1 Katsuki is the worst of the worst and that he did progressively get better through trials and tribulation, why bother? When you insist a character like Katsuki was fine from the start, you take away part of what makes that character so endearing. If they were never an ass to begin with, then what the hell was their problem at the start, or even now? Why the hell would we condone that? It’s important to recognize character flaws and to give them their due, because seeing a character grown out of them is far more self-fulfilling and relatable than insisting that they were always in the right place from the start.

...but then again, that’s just me. Thanks for reading.

-Crimson Lion (20 September 2020)

[smalltowndetective]

31 for A x detective please 🧡

Hi! Thank you for the request!

31- “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you”

So, this one does need a little explaining. As much as I love this prompt, my main A detective is just as much as an emotionally repressed dumbass as they are (but she is starting to get slightly better haha) and the other detective that I have been writing A with is way too sweet, and one, would never deal with her feelings this way, and two, would never say anything to intently hurt them. So, of course, I borrowed a detective from @lividlyinlove, who fits this prompt much better.

This is my longest request yet, and I hope you like it! And thank you Liv for letting me use your detective! You’re amazing!

Ao3 Link

Title: Give me Something 

Pairing: Adam and Kira (lividlyinlove’s detective)

Words: 3k

Summary: Kira has tried to move on from whatever her and Adam are supposed to be, just to come to the realization- she can’t.

Tags: @lilyoffandoms

She had never met someone who infuriated her so much.

               But she also had never met someone who drew her in like he did.

               Kira had long given up ever figuring Adam out. She had grown tired of the constant back and forth that he took her on, and she wanted to move on from whatever it was. The fleeting attraction that she had, act like it had never happened. Like she knew he would do.

               And goddammit she had tried. Finally accept that he was never going to thaw his icy shell that had formed over the past 900 years, and she was not going to be one to do so for him, even if she wanted to. Only he could so, and he seemed hardly interested in that, preferring to continue to hide whatever was stirring inside of him for the rest of his immortal life.

               Does that drive you crazy Adam? Having to try and figure out what the hell this is for eternity?

               I know it would if it were me

               She had gone on a few dates, a desperate attempt to move on, keeping them a secret from the rest of the team, and while she had internally rationalized that she was doing so in order to keep Felix or even Nate from asking her questions about them, but it was really about Adam. Kira wondered just how he would react if he knew, and while part of her wanted him to feel the confliction from all and maybe just actually say something, but she was not going to push it. At least not yet.

               It’s just some fun, a nice night out. There is nothing serious about them.

               But she was starting to fear that there never would be. Nothing about them made her want to go back on another, as if it was missing something, but what that was, she had no idea.

               All of them have been nice, and most of them are much more open then Adam is, not like that is particularly hard to be.

               What possibly more could you want?

               This is all came into a head after one particular date with a guy from the big city who was staying in Wayhaven for a couple of days.

               She ran into him on her walk to work, and he was nice. He seemed genuinely happy to talk to her, an easy smile never leaving his face, and was not trying to push her away the whole time, doing anything to avoid even seeing her.

               Like a certain someone I know.

               But one thing that drew him to her immediately were his eyes.

               They were a gorgeous green, but unlike Adam’s cold icy eyes, they were dark, as the color of the darkest evergreen forest, the kind that was still just as vibrant even under snow in the bitterest of winters. They were almost soothing to look into, never becoming fraught with hardness, just openness. Kindness. All the things she was not used to.

               He asked her out on a date, laughing as he did so, and told her it was on a complete whim that he did so, but she graciously accepted, already finding him intriguing, so different then what she was used to, almost a night and day difference.

               They went out together the next night, and everything about it was magical. As if was a scene in a movie, sweet and easy, smiles shared between them that she hoped would never die, drinking in all of the things that he told about himself, but she noticed there was some hesitance when talking about herself, but she was not sure why.

               He’s fine talking about himself, why aren’t you?

               It hit her like a slap across her face when she realized that she never had this trouble with Adam, stubborn and annoying as he could be, even with her own fears of vulnerability. He drew things from her anyway, and she could never understand why. It was not like he seemed to care anyway, nor would he ever.

               You are not going to think about him tonight.

               It’s not about him.

               Though she knew that he noticed her suddenly get quieter, he did not say anything about it, but she did the slightest tinge of confusion in his eyes, and Kira focused on keeping a smile on her face to drown it all out. Tonight, was not to mope about a guy who pushed her away whenever they got close. She was going to enjoy herself, make the most of tonight, with a new guy where maybe there could be something more, even if it was too early to tell just yet.

               The date ended with him dropping her off at her apartment, the sun having long set in the horizon, and she noticed that from the bright lights outside the door, his eyes looked paler than they did earlier, and it only reminded her of the person that she was trying so desperately to forget.

               She almost pushed him away at the sight, being confronted with the sudden rush of guilt, though she was not sure why.

               You’re not his girlfriend, it’s not like you’re cheating on him.

               Then why does it feel like I am?

               But she put that out of her mind, and as the pair continued to gaze at each other, as if they were the only two people in the world, she felt herself move forward, and their lips met in a kiss.

               It was not a long kiss, but there was sweet feeling there all the same, but then she could see Adam’s green eyes in her mind, and just for a second, she allowed herself to imagine if it had been him, and felt her pulse race at the thought, and she pulled him closer to her, forgetting all about who it actually was and allowing herself to imagine.

               And for a few precious seconds, it almost seemed true, her wildest dreams that she had longed pushed away.

               But that illusion could not last forever.

               When Kira opened her eyes back up, and as she stared into her date’s eyes, his eyes still as gentle and open as they had been all night, horror started to fill her, and she could feel her stomach drop in dread.

               What are you doing?

               This isn’t fair to him.

               It’s not his fault he’s not the one you want him to be

               She pulled back from his touch immediately, freaking herself out over everything that was happening, his hands starting to shake.

               “Kira, are you alright?”, she heard him say, worry filling his features, “Did I- “

               “No”, she stated firmly, “You did nothing wrong. This is all my doing”

               He opened his mouth to say something else, but she cut him off, “I’m sorry”

               She entered her apartment after that, guilt filling her stomach, and as soon as she closed the door behind her, she sank to the ground, burying her face in her hands, trying hard not to let the frustrated tears spill down her cheeks.

               Why can’t he leave my head?

               I want to move on, finally accept that he’s never going to admit anything for the rest of his immortal life.

               But I can’t.

               She was tired of all of this, this confusing mess of feelings. Kira wanted it all to end, stop pining after someone who would never give in to what she knew they both wanted deep down. For everything that he did that had just hurt the both in the end, even if he would never admit that.

               Damn it, she had even kissed Bobby. Her absolute scumbag of an ex, because she had been hurt. She knew that she should have not have, but when he leaned in closer to kiss her, she kissed him back, needing anything to get off her mind off eavesdropping on Adam and Nate’s conversation after the carnival. Him admitting that he felt nothing, when her own mind was such a mine field on confused emotions affected her more then she expected it to.

               “But you do have those feelings?”

               "No, I do not."

               Kira had been trying to avoid crying the whole ride home back to her apartment, and when she finally got home, she was far too drained and hurt to even refuse Bobby’s offer to come in, even if about every rational part of her told herself it was a horrible idea for a countless number of reasons.

               It was a definite moment of weakness from her, and one that she knew that he would shove back in her face more likely sooner then later, and as much as she regretted, she was not sure if that she could go back, she would be able to do anything different then what she had done.

               Maybe that spoke to her own maturity, but she could hardly care.

               How else was I supposed to react?

               She could not just keep finding other people to put her heartbreak on, trying to make them into someone they were not, since molding someone into you want them to be, breaking apart what made them special in the first place was the last thing she wanted to do.

               How long is this going on?

               Will months, even years, past, and I’ll still feel like this?

               A painful thought entered her brain, of her meeting someone, it all seeming to be working out, but sometimes, there would be times when all she would see was someone that she was trying so hard to get over.

               They say moving on is the hardest part.

               But will I ever actually ever be able to?

               Or will I be stuck in this never-ending limbo forever?

               There was no way she was going to have another night like this again, as tempting as it might be. It was not fair to the other person, to have someone who was pinning for someone else, and no matter who it was, they deserved better then that. Her date tonight deserved better than that.

               Should I apologize?

               Should I explain the situation?

               What would I even say?

               Kira resigned herself to the fact that there was nothing that she could say that would even make sense at all to anyone except herself, and she knew that it was best to part ways before anything became too out of hand.

               I suppose for him, it’s lucky that it happened tonight

               It’s a lot less of dragging him along with my own hurt feelings, while I try to desperately find some semblance of a person that he is not.

               Shaking the night out of her brain, she got up from off the guard, and she walked through her apartment to go ahead and head to bed, even though she knew she was going to be awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, hoping this would all go away.

               She heard the soft padding of footsteps and the light clicks of a collar, and she barely made out her miniature schnauzer Wolfgang in the dark, his already black coat besides the small white patch on his chest making him almost invisible in the dark. He normally would have been asleep at this time of night, so she was surprised to see him still awake.

               “Hey bud”, she said as he padded the side of her bed as I plea to get up, and she reached over to pick him up and set her on top of the bed with her, “Everything’s kind of a mess right now, isn’t it?”

               Kira ran her hands down his thick coat, scratching behind his ears as he settled into a crook in her bed, the motion soothing her brain slightly, “At least you’re still here. You don’t make things complicated”

               She could swear she almost saw him a slight of a nod of his head on the dark, and she chuckled at the sight of it, and she settled back down on her bed, and even though sleep never called her, her mind still too overactive to even try and figure out anything, it was calming none the less, even if she still had no idea at what to do.

               I feel like if I do fall asleep, I’ll dream, and I don’t think I want to.

               Before she knew it, she could hear her alarm go off on her phone, and she had not gotten a wink of sleep the whole time. She was tired, her eyelids feeling heavy but she would still not allow herself to sleep, and knowing that she would have to start her day regardless, she dragged herself out of bed, realizing she needed to go by the warehouse this morning.

               But there was a pit of dread in her stomach as she realized she was going to have to see Adam today.

               Why are you so worried about this?

               It’s not like he’s not avoiding you right now anyway.

               Sighing, she got up to get ready for today, trying hard to ignore the dark circles that had formed around her eyes.

               I look like an absolute wreck.

               Congrats, me.

               She pulled her clothes on, filling Wolfgang’s dog bowl before leaving, making sure he had everything he needed before she had to leave. She normally would eat breakfast, but she was still not feeling normal after last night, so she ended up leaving anyway.

               This is all such a mess.

               It did not take her long to make her way to the warehouse, and the first thing that Kira noticed was that Adam was standing outside, staring at the horizon as she drove up the warehouse.

               What is he doing out here?

               I know well enough he’s not waiting for me

               “Detective Eveli”, he remarked as she walked up to him.

               She fought hard to suppress the growl in her throat. It was not fair how at the second they were seeming to be getting closer, he would just push her away again, and this forced formality he had insisted on using was starting to grate on her, almost making her skin crawl.

               It was strange to her why she was getting so upset now, but after last night, she was a shell of repressed emotions, and they were threatening to overspill on any person that dared talk to her today.

               Shame (or perhaps not) that had to be the person that all of this was about in the first place.

               “It’s Kira, Adam”, she spat out, her blue eyes holding his eyes in a glare, “You might as well have the decently to use it”

               “I find that rather unnecessary”, he replied, the faint echoes of a scowl filling his face.

               “After everything that has happened, I think it’s quite necessary actually”, she said back, “It’s the least you could do”

               “I fail to see what you mean”, he almost whispered, almost hesitant, turning his head to face away from her, and she could not tell if he was truly ignorant or was feigning it.

               “You’re still going to act like this?”, she demanded, “Like nothing was going on between us?”

               She was not sure why she asked such a question, or what had even compelled her to ask it, but she hardly cared at the moment. After everything that was going through her brain, he had to at least share all of this in her head. She refused to think she was the only one struggling with this.

               “There was nothing”, he growled, but the sudden hesitance in his eyes that he worked hard to bury said otherwise.

               “I can’t believe you, you know that”, she huffed out, crossing her arms almost subconsciously, “We hold hands once and then you act like you can’t be around me anymore”

               Frustration just rose in her voice as he refused to answer, instead noticing that he swallowed hard, “I don’t understand any of this more then you do, you know that? I should have done what you told me to do and save Sanja, but goddammit, Adam, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you when you needed me”

               Kira felt the sting of tears at the edge of her eyes, and she fought hard to keep them from streaming down her face, as much as they begged her to, “I’m sick of all of this. I can’t take it anymore. You can’t keep drawing me in and then pushing me back out. It’s not fair”

               She took a shuddering breath, and she finally dared herself to look back at Adam, who was unsurprisingly, looking away from her, his shoulders tighter than she had ever seen them before. He looked more like a statue then he normally did.

               “I’ve tried to move on, you know”, she whispered, and his head snapped back to look at her, and the sudden intense gaze almost made her forget what she wanted to say, “Finally accept you’re never going to let your walls down. But it keeps me coming back to the ugly truth, a truth that I’ve been hiding from myself for so long”

               “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretending that they’re you”

               “Kira…”, Adam breathlessly whispered, and she could feel her hands clench, and she looked back into his eyes, narrowing her own.

               “You’re going to use my name now, huh?”, she scoffed, “Or are you just coming to go back after this? Speak now, or forever hold your peace”

               When he did not deign to reply, she could feel her shoulders slump, but she tried to hide it, “Of course. See you later I guess”

               She then walked to the door of the warehouse, the tears in her eyes starting to break through as she turned away from Adam and walked inside, wondering what can compelled her to say what she did in the first place.

               But it doesn’t matter now, and it never mattered

               Nothing is ever going to change.

               No matter what you say, no matter how much you beg.

               Nothing is ever going to change.

[douwatahima]

Turns out I have some more feelings about the manga I finished yesterday. Not naming it so this doesn’t end up in the tags. Please don’t read this, lol. The fourteen year old version of me jumped out.

I think the thing that bugged me most about this last stretch of DN Angel is how much it felt like Yukiru Sugisaki was just...done with the whole thing. Like everything felt very rushed towards a specific, easy conclusion that didn't address a lot of the interesting pieces she had previously laid down.

Like, I remember reading those last few chapters before the eight year long hiatus and HOLY SHIT there was so much! The Dark/Risa relationship all of a sudden becomes an actual threat, not just to Daisuke/Riku, but to Daisuke himself! Satoshi completely lets his guard down around Daisuke, trusting that the person he loves will make this huge sacrifice for him, and when Daisuke refuses he POINTS A GUN TO HIS OWN HEAD. AND THEN WHEN HE GETS CAUGHT HE GOES OFF INTO THE FOREST WITH. THE. GUN!!! AND THEN!!!! RIKU FINDS OUT DAISUKE IS DARK!!!!!!!! IT'S WILD AS FUCK!!!!!!!!

And then we come back and a lot of this is immediately dealt with in a comedic fashion and we just move on. Dark and Daisuke don't talk about that Risa interaction. No one goes after Satoshi. Daisuke comes up with some excuse and Riku is satiated for now.

Then we got the whole dream circus arc. Which was honestly alright. I enjoyed Daisuke coming to terms with the fact that he cannot separate himself from Dark. They are one and the same, for better or worse. And honestly, at first I thought this arc was going to lead us somewhere interesting. Because if Daisuke and Dark now understand that they are a package deal, how do they deal with the whole Riku and Risa thing???? (The answer is they basically don't but I'll get there). I was 100% ready to love this arc and then they did...the thing and I...

Okay, look. Full disclosure, I've been a DN Angel fan since I was like, fourteen. It is linked to me in a way that can only happen when you're obsessed with something at the height of your awkward teen years. And the thing that continues to be my favourite part of the whole story is the relationship between Satoshi and Daisuke. They were my number one ship, not just at fourteen, but...honestly probably through all of my teen years. Like, remember when people used to make jokes on this website about someone asking about your otp and you pull out your binder of reasons? I literally made a Satodai binder. That's not a joke. They were it for me.

And, don't get me wrong, there was never a point where I honestly thought the manga was gonna have Daisuke leave Riku and end up with Satoshi. I dreamed about it, but didn't honestly expect it. BUT I loved the way the manga addressed Satoshi's feelings for Daisuke. This is someone who Satoshi treasures above all others. The person who makes him believe the world can be better. The person he would do ANYTHING for. Like, Satoshi LOVES him.

Which is why it's so frustrating to me that Yukiru Sugisaki decided it would be better for Satoshi to have a two second dream about Risa that changes all of his feelings instantaneously. Like, I'm not here to shit on Satoshi/Risa fans, and I'm happy y'all got your ship. Honestly. But, the two of them have barely spoken before this and then Satoshi has a dream and literally says, "oh I guess my feelings have changed now" like...two volumes before the end! AND THEN THEY DON'T EVEN TALK UNTIL THE VERY END OF THE SERIES. FOR WHAT????

It honestly just read to me as, the mangaka wanted to end the series and Satoshi continuing to be into Daisuke was too emotionally complicated to quickly wrap up so he loves Risa now. And hey, that clears up the whole Dark/Risa thing, right? I'll get to that.

ANYWAY, so then we jump into an elongated story about some past Niwa/Hikari drama which would've been fun if I hadn't been growing more and more confused as I noticed how few chapters were left and we were STILL ON THIS. Like, I love when DN Angel gives us fun new characters to talk about. Hell, the Freedert arc and the Argentine arc are two of my favourites. But, when you only have a limited amount of time...It just felt like this was something Yukiru Sugisaki was maybe sitting on for awhile so she didn't want to skip it, but she also wanted to finish the story as soon as possible so the ending comes IMMEDIATELY after which makes this whole arc feel...weird. Like...we could've spent our last few chapters on the characters we know and love but...instead...

Then we get to the endgame. So, quick poll, do we think the mangaka already had this ending in mind before the anime came out or do we think she decided to do the anime ending because she had no idea how to finish the story. I'm really not sure, but either way it felt soooo anticlimactic given that we've had the anime ending for almost 20 years. Like...what was I waiting around for if you were just gonna do the same thing????? And look, I honestly never finished the anime because I couldn't stand the way they chose to characterize some of my favourite characters (most notably Satoshi and Risa) and I'd read what the ending was and hated it lol. But I digress.

The thing about the ending that gets me most is that it all comes on so fast. Like, you wanna do the anime ending? Okay. Don't love the idea, but okay. BUT it all happens in like... 2-3 chapters. Like, all of a sudden the Black Wings is sucking up power from the artwork and, oh no, here comes Krad ready wreck shop. And then we, randomly at THE END OF THE MANGA find out Satoshi's adopted Dad is actually his real Dad and also he's a piece of artwork which makes Satoshi half a piece of artwork???? Why are you telling us this now???? Then Satoshi and Daisuke seal Dark and Krad into the Black Wings the end. Like...????? That's it?????

OH ALSO I FORGOT TO MENTION THAT THE HARADA TWINS ARE MOVING TO ANOTHER COUNTRY. HONESTLY PROBABLY BECAUSE IT FEELS LIKE YUKIRU SUGISAKI FORGOT TOO SINCE THERE'S NO CLOSURE ON THAT?????? (Honestly, I'm laughing because I literally forgot about this fact until just now. AGAIN WHAT WAS THE REASON LMAO!!!)

Okay, so the story's done but where does it leave our favourite characters???

Daisuke and Riku have figured their shit out and are...presumably going to do long distance??? Idk, they never really address whether they're staying together or not as far as I can remember???? Like, this is the relationship I thought we would get the most closure on but ?????????

Risa just gets to be sad for awhile I guess. It's honestly so infuriating to me that we got this awesome moment before the hiatus where Dark asked Risa if she would love him no matter what and she says yes with her WHOLE CHEST and that's enough for Dark to almost, like, take over Daisuke's body permanently. Like, her love for Dark is as real as Riku's love for Daisuke but she's not allowed to have a happy ending like her sister. She gets to see Dark one last time where he kisses her and hopes she'll always be his best girl and then he flies off into the night while she begs him not to leave. Then, she gets to cry in the street, trying to remember him while everyone else is forgetting. Well, at least she has Satoshi, right????

But like, we don't even know if she likes Satoshi that way. There's been...no indication that she does as far as I know. And as he's hugging her, Satoshi is having these thoughts hoping she'll be able to remember Dark because he knows how meaningful he is to her. So their ending is LITERALLY Risa gets to be horribly heartbroken and Satoshi gets to pine for someone else who, at this point, doesn't love him back.

Like, once again not to shit on Satoshi/Risa fans but...is this the ending y'all wanted????? Because as someone who stans them both this just felt horrible. It reads as a feeble attempt to "pair the spares" (since in the story the mangaka wanted to tell, neither of them could be with who they originally loved) but, like, even then this is the saddest way to do that. OH! And once again, if Risa is moving, ARE THEY EVEN GOING TO BE TOGETHER????? Like, what are we supposed to get from this what is the REASON??????

And then there's Dark and Krad being stuck in the Black Wings for eternity. The biggest reason I didn't like this ending in the anime. Like, look. I get that you have to end your manga somehow. BUT if your plan was to reunite Dark and Krad in this way I don't understand why you would write a whole interaction, mere chapters before, having Dark say that that's the LAST thing he wants to do. HE SAYS THAT THEY AREN'T THE SAME ANYMORE AND THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO RETURN TO HIM. AND THEN HE'S FORCED TO DO JUST THAT. FOR. WHAT?????

Like, Dark isn't a villain. He's one of our main protagonists and has been this whole time. I get that in stories sometimes characters have sad endings. (I've already argued that I think both Satoshi and Risa's endings were bittersweet at best). But to have Dark say mere chapters before it happens that he categorically DOES NOT want to rejoin Krad and then force him to do just that feels like such a needlessly cruel thing to do to this character we're meant to love.

Once again, it just felt so much like Yukiru Sugisaki wanted to end the series as quickly as possible. I get her wanting to come back to it; she's kinda notorious for not finishing things so I get the impulse to just drive through and get at least one story done. But, it felt like so many things were skipped over or changed just because it made getting to the end goal easier and less complicated. Not addressing some of the cool shit she laid down before the hiatus, completely morphing Satoshi's feelings in a dream, writing off Risa's feelings for Dark, telling us all of the Satoshi backstory stuff at the last goddamn minute, giving Dark his worst nightmare as an ending, so many of these things done just to move things along towards a specific end goal as fast as possible.

Honestly, there's a part of me that wishes she hadn't come back and finished it at all. I was happy enough with the ending I had written in my head and would've preferred it to what we ended up getting ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Anyway, to anyone who actually read this (and a part of me hopes no one does lmao) thanks for listening to me ramble. And if you're a Satoshi/Risa fan, uh, sorry I hated on your ship lol. You're cool.

[blarrghe]

♥ Dorian and Taren!

Look what you did, you made Dorian cry.

Lengthy emo feelings ahead. No cut because mobile sorry =/

--

Dorian had seen Taren cry. More than once, in fact. It wasnt that it happened often, just that the elf had quite a lot to contend with. There was no shame in it, and indeed Taren took very little shame in anything pertaining to his emotion. He was free with it; asking for help almost as easily as he offered it. Almost. The first time Dorian had seen Taren cry the whole thing had actually come to a rather dramatic head specifically because of the Lord Inquisitor's refusal to show vulnerability. But grief makes people do uncharacteristic things. It had done so to Taren; made him hide his fear and doubt behind unrelenting activity. Work work work, until the crash. Dorian had been there for the crash, and it had been the first time he'd been there, like that, for anyone.

Dorian had seen Taren cry a few times after that, not with a crash, but just for a moment under a hug at the end of a long day. And he had begun to understand that it was a reasonable thing to do, sometimes, to cry. The world was a very tumultuous and unhappy place, filled with demons and bandits and various vicious beasts. There was no shame in fear or grief or loneliness, and truly, it was ok to cry.

For other people.

For Dorian, a more suitable alternative had always been - and would remain - expensive, strong brandy. On the day he recieved news of his father's death, he found some in the cellars, and taking it without asking soon found himself a quarter of the way through the bottle, hunched over a desk at the top of Skyhold's mage tower. It was an unusual venue for him; he never had migrated over from the library after the tower was built. But the tower smelled like lyrium and thrummed with residual magic, and at the top of it it was cold, and quiet.

He rubbed a thumb over the letter in his pocket, and swirled the brandy in his glass. Father was dead. It had been coming long enough; he wasnt young, and his friends were mostly false ones, but it came on suddenly nevertheless. It also came with consequences. Opportunity, he reminded himself, to actually apply all that good-principled change he'd been dreaming up all his life. And Taren would understand, he always did.

Or he might not.

Another drink.

He might say he understood and then resent him.

A larger drink.

He might have reached it, that end he always knew would one day come.

He drained the glass.

He pulled the letter out of his pocket and poured himself another glass. His mother's writing was fine, her words matter of fact and devoid of emotion. He wouldn't have expected much more, and he didn't expect that she was at this moment taking the news any differently than he was; with a strong drink and a quiet moment alone. She would cry at the funeral, dramatically, and then gather up the fortune bequeathed to her and take a sojourn out to the family beach house. She'd likely be gone from the estate before his luggage arrived. Oh, but he did not want to have to live in that house again. He took another bitter sip, gritting his teeth against the thought that he had never really lived in that house at all.

Well, he chuckled dryly to himself, he could free all the slaves while mother was away. Have her come back to find him cooking his own meals.

All these lines of thought quickly led him back to the main point, which was that his father was dead, and he wasnt quite sure how he felt about it. But however he felt, it was unpleasant, and he sought to numb it with brandy.

They had exchanged a handful of letters, after that strained reunion in Denerim. His father had asked for a forgiveness he had never granted, and that even now he was not sure he could. There was some decency to the letters, a reluctant push toward reconciliation brought on, no doubt, by his father's reckoning with his own mortality; his death had resulted from illness in the end, not political motivation. And how very bitter that dance had felt. A father who had only marginally accepted him after years of pushback, asking to be heard out of love. Thanks to the letters, thoughts of his childhood had been digging into him since well before the eventual death, and the nostalgia in them was heartwrenching and infuriating. He had given his father many proud moments, impressing his early teachers and outshining his peers. He had almost been such a perfect son.

Dorian had answered every letter slowly, leaving them at the bottom of his long to-do lists. Mostly he had just wanted to avoid those conversations because he didn't exactly know what to do with them. What to do with a relationship so steeped in resentment? What to do with all the things that would never change, that he would never get an answer for? What to do now that there was nothing else he could ever say.

He should have written longer letters. He should have had a better father. He should have been a better son.

A memory slipped itself in uninvited between mild frustration and a growing fuzziness in his thoughts; a vacation, praise for learning some new spell, the giddy joy of being seven and already important. Pride. A good memory, a happy memory where his father was kind and his mother was sober and his legacy was exciting. It was always the warmest memories that left his heart cold.

He had spent about half his life a golden child, then in a flurry of dissillusionment and ideological exasperation, made a very deliberate show of throwing it all away. Rebellion and resentment had been his only modes of communication with either of his parents for years, and with more than enough good reason. Dead or not, some broken part of him would always be angry. And the parts of him that were whole knew well enough that his anger was justified.

He had idly imagined the familial fallout of death a number of times; in his darkest moments, he'd ruminated on the shadow he could cast with his own, and in fits of anger and heated verbal sparring, he'd passionately invoked his desire to see his father's. He had known for a very long time that ungrateful though it may seem, he wouldn't feel much troubled by its eventual occurence. He had assumed that his tears for matters concerning his legacy, his failures as a protege, and his mistreatment were long spent. But grief makes people do uncharacteristic things.

Drinking was probably not helping. When the first salty droplet fell into his brandy, his mind was already a rough sea of happy memories and unhappy reactions, unhappy memories and refreshed anger, unspoken rants and unwritten apologies. All the things that had only just begun to feel far away and over during his time in the South were back, emboldened by the discombobulated nature of a mind altered by drink. The waves crashed into him, and with an ugly wail and a choking breath, the rest of his tears spilled out from behind his eyes.

He crumpled the letter into a tight ball, and threw it across the room with all the force he could muster. Despite the force behind it, the wad of paper bounced off the wall and rolled along the floor with nothing more than a quiet patter. His violent little burst of energy only fueled things further, and then he was slamming a fist into the desk and pushing away the bottle of brandy in order to preserve it from a sudden urge to smash something.

A sob heaved itself from his throat, and he lowered his head into his hands to shake out the rest. Most of his complex feelings of anger and grief were swallowed up by curse words, and he let the colourful stream of them run through his head while his breaths hitched and broke under more sobs.

Taren had never seen Dorian cry. Not even when his voice had cracked and wavered in Redcilffe after confronting his father, not even when he had pulled him in tight and swearing under his breath after their close calls with death, not over anything. In fact, every distressing moment in Dorian's life seemed to be relayed with humour; a well developed mix of sarcasm and bravado. It wasnt that he was insensitive, the man had simply had a lot of practice maintaining his face, and letting that face fall was new and foreign territory. He would no doubt have given Taren a nonchalant explanation of what had happened in a day or two, the emotional impact always something you had to know him to hear. But Taren would. Dorian was a passionate man, and while he was wordy and quick witted, most of what he felt came through in action. He'd throw it all out there like it was nothing, then hold him in a desperate grip and sink his kisses deep into his bones, and that would say everything.

But Dorian wouldn't have that chance. Instead, as he wrestled with his composure with his head bent over the desk, Taren quietly ascended the stairs. Dorian didn't even realise he was there until his hand was on his back, rubbing gentle circles over his shoulder as another shaky breath jostled them up and down.

"Vhenan," his warm voice was quiet in his ear, a soft breath of a word that held so much. Exactly the right thing, and exactly the wrong thing, for it triggered a surprised inhale and an embarrassed crack in his voice as he tried to reply with some assurance that he was fine through the tears.

"What can I..."

Dorian took a few more breaths and rubbed at his eyes, forcing an unconvincing smile and reigning in the display.

"Nohing, Amatus. I'm fine, I'm fine."

Taren didn't move. His hands massaged Dorian's shoulders slowly, and a kiss landed in his hair. "Tell me what happened."

Dorian sighed, and nodded his head to the left just enough to signal Taren to where the crumpled letter sat on the floor. Taren took the few steps across the small room and picked it up. With a cautious look to Dorian first, he undid its folds and smoothed the letter out. He read it slowly, eyes scanning the page and then flicking up to Dorian again with close-knit brows. "Oh," he whispered as he finished taking in the news, "oh, ma vhenan."

This was not their spot up in the library where things were comfortable. Dorian wasn't hunkered down in a cozy little alcove with two comfortable seats and the homey clutter of books and candle stubs and notes, he was bent over a solitary desk, in a small and dim little room at the top of a tower. When Taren returned to his side he tucked himself in at a kneel and took up one of Dorian's hands.

"So, shall we make it quick and painless then?" Dorian asked, forcing another of those smiles that didnt quite make it.

"What?"

"My leaving."

"Dorian," he said it like no.

"Dont tell me you want to draw this out. I dont think I can stomach more crying." Even as he said it, his voice cracked over the words.

Taren sighed, and gave Dorian's hand a solemn squeeze. "I do though," Taren replied, "I love you." Dorian sat up, turning his face reluctantly to Taren's. "I wont make promises for myself. You dont have to do any more crying." He smiled at him, all real, "but if you must leave, I'd like to draw it out for as long as I possibly can."

"Bastard."

Taren chuckled. "It's too soon to point that back at you, isn't it?" A rare moment of pithyness from the Inquisitor. It worked, Taren was almost never anything but achingly sincere, and the surprise of a joke in extremely poor taste jolted Dorian to an actual snort of a laugh.

"Maker, I must look a fool. I've been wishing for this day for years."

Taren frowned. "You're not a fool."

"I kept putting off his letters..." He felt a need to explain something, a reason for the hysterics. "I should have, I should have..."

"Listen to me," Taren was suddenly serious again, taking both his hands and fixing him with a knowing gaze. "Whatever happens, whatever you need, I'm here." Dorian felt his face scrunching up again against his permission. "I love you." Taren said again, every time a lightning bolt. He swallowed, and hid his wretchedness in Taren's shoulder.

He had thought he was done. The fit of shaking and wailing interrupted by the warmth and comfort of Taren's voice, the masking power of a joke, the space enough between thoughts to find some ground to stand on. But as his eyes closed over Taren's shoulder and he felt arms wrap close around him, something else washed over him. Being held somehow made it all better, and all worse. His body convulsed, inhales entering his lungs in jagged chunks, just one bit of air at a time. His eyes left a damp spot in the soft fabric of Taren's thick sweater. Taren's hands pressed firmly into his back, one moving slowly up and down. His own hands clung to the wool of Taren's sweater in tight fists. The shattering breaths grew longer bit by bit, until they were deep and calm again. Taren always smelled a bit like campfire smoke, underneath notes of sea water and fresh pine. He inhaled, buoying himself on the familiar comfort of the embrace until his eyes were truly dry.

When he pulled away Taren had another smile ready for him, though his eyes were wide and full of concern. Dorian responded with a watery smile of his own. He pushed himself away from the desk, his chair sliding roughly on the wood paneled floor, and reached across the desk to retrieve the bottle he'd shoved aside.

"Brandy?" He offered, pouring a finger of it into his glass and tossing it quickly back.

Taren leaned on the desk, still watching him with an affectionate gaze. "Yes," he agreed, "but let's go somewhere else."

Taren rose to his feet and Dorian followed. Before anything, Taren took his hand and pulled him into a kiss. And without ever letting go, he led him away from the tower.

[black-streak]

Waiting For The Worms - The Show Must Go On

Part 4

Sooo, this isn't nearly as dark and has very little angst in comparison to the point I'd almost say it isn't? It's pretty much just an update on life in a way. Which is also part of why it took so long for me to write. Like, the struggle was real. Next chapter will go back to your regularly scheduled heartbreak.

Warnings from chapter 1, while mostly inapplicable for this part, still in effect.

The gallery: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

The next year of Jason's life was hectic to say the least.

It started with the downfall of Lila Rossi. Which consequently, he had no part in. She stepped on the wrong toes, made a few too many contradictions and suddenly a pile of lawsuits were stacked against her. Her mother went completely ape shit on her and pulled her out immediately to be shipped off to a very strict boarding school. More like a juvenile detention center if the rumors were true.

For the first month, no one approached him. The guilty, stricken looks upon his classmates' faces told a million stories of apologetic remorse, but since becoming a jaded, snarky outcast, 'Marinette' was no longer the person you could give a simple apology to and expect forgiveness. And no one wanted to be the first to get shot down.

Eventually, the first apology came. Surprisingly, Alya tried to win his favor. She groveled and apologized up and down on how terrible she and Lila had been and named every reason in the book as to why she had reacted and treated Marinette the way she did in an attempt to explain herself. While it wasn't necessarily surprising that she would be the first to not fear him, it was shocking she saw the error of her ways so soon with all that bull headed ego she carried around.

Bravery got her nowhere, however, as Jason only lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed as he leaned back, and calmly replied.

"Cool story, still betrayal."

As the girl sputtered before him, he turned back towards Chloe, continuing to make their plans for the day. After two minutes had passed and Alya still stood there hunting for her words, he turned back.

"Can you leave? Sometime today would be nice."

And so the precedent was set. While it took another week for someone else to approach, they seemed spurred on by the ease of Alya's dismissal. Suppose they figured if the biggest offender only got mild verbal abuse and dismissal, things had to go more smoothly for them.

Nino came next, awkward shuffling and avoided eye contact included. He pushed through his apology, beating around the bush and trying to defuse the situation at the same time he built it up. It only served to piss Jason off. They deserve better than this. At least meet her eyes if you're going to apologize and expect me to believe it.

"Uh… Marinette? Did you hear me?"

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I assumed you were talking to the desk next to me and minded my business. Would hate to be accused of eavesdropping."

He flinched at the reminder and finally looked him in the eye.

"I'm sorry. What we did was wrong. What I did was wrong and I am so beyond sorry for it. There is no excuse for my behavior."

"You're right. There isn't. Do better in the future."

"I will!," he rushed to reassure Jason, voice hopeful, "Does this mean we can be friends again?"

"No. Do better for those who chose to be your friend in the future."

"Oh… okay, yeah, that's fair," Nino gave a downtrodden look and wandered off.

Next came Sabrina and Rose, who didn't so much as apologize to him, but instead tried to reattach themselves to Chloe and Juleka's sides as if nothing had happened at all. This might not have thrown Chloe in the slightest, but poor Juleka looked a moment from having an anxiety attack. Chloe made short work of both girls, dismissing them entirely and when Rose started to cry and stare at Juleka for reassurance that everything was okay, Jason pulled the goth into a hug, glaring at the little blonde girl, until eventually she received the hint and ran off, tears streaming down her face. Apparently Nathaniel gave Marc the same treatment.

Lastly Kim, Alix, Max, Ivan, and Mylene came as a group. They must've taken comfort in their numbers, hoping it would somehow protect them from him singling them out. Thought everything would go smoother that way. He could hear Juleka grumbling at his side where they sat under a tree for lunch. They both appreciated the shade and quiet peace of the place. Marc sat on her other side, writing away in a journal.

"Hey Mari, we wanted to apologize for the way we've been acting lately," Alix took the lead.

"Yeah, it was really uncool of us," Kim followed up, the others nodding along.

They looked imploring. Like they were waiting for some sort of forgiveness. He couldn't help but wonder if they thought their actions were somehow better. That he couldn't really be mad at them because they weren't the ones who lied or lead the pack against his soulmate. They didn't make harsh accusations or physically attack Marinette. So somehow, they were better and their apologies could be less.

How fucking rude. How presumptuous. How entitled to think his time, thoughts, feelings were forfeit in their need for forgiveness. Marinette deserved better in her time here than these heartless bastards. None of them ever defended her either. Or him for that matter. Not one of them tried to so much as change the subject to avoid harping on him. None cared when his soulmate never returned to her body. Maybe that wasn't fair, but at the very least they could've approached him in his grief when it was easily displayed. Everyone here had a soulmate and knew the signs of loss for when one died. Surely they knew that this person in this body lost their other half. And yet not a soul outside of his group had offered condolences.

"That's all you have to offer? That it wasn't cool?" Juleka asked, tone quiet but sharp.

"Well it's not like we-"

"Let me cut you off there, before you piss me off. You didn't personally attack me, you just watched and snickered behind hands. Joined in to the cruel jokes and snide remarks. Encouraged those who did attack. At least they had the decency to be that way to my face and let me know where we stood. You? Hiding behind others actions and grouping up to give half-hearted sorrys that you barely think of before you speak? Now you guys are the ones that truly infuriate me. Either you believed I deserved the treatment I received but refused to be singled out for it. Or you thought what was happening was wrong and were too much of a coward to step up and help me out. I'm not sure which is worse. Either way, I don't want to see a single one of you approach me again. I don't mean enough to you to make a stand? Then you don't mean enough to me to even speak to. Get out of my face."

When his little speech was done and the startled masses ran off with an added glare, protests held on the tip of tongues, Jason slumped back against the tree, taking small comforts in the silent support of his two companions.

Adrien never approached. That was for the best.

His friend group was also something new. Marc, Juleka, Chloe, and Kagami. The group technically leaned more female than anything, but after the heavy masculine energy of his old life, this turn of events felt refreshing. It helped that Marc came out as nonbinary and Jason couldn't help but relate in a way with his view of this body fitting as female, but his mind staying firmly male. Altering his soulmate's body to fit would never happen, but it also didn't match him. 

The group only grew stronger and more resilient after Jason agreed to revealing identities in the team. After the loss of Mari and the stripping of the ring from Adrien, Jason found it necessary to place new permanent holders. With Kagami and Chloe having screwed up their original hero personas, the placement became a challenge. 

He started out with figuring out his new cat. 

Talking it over with Fu and dragging the decision out way longer than it needed to, he eventually convinced the old guardian of Kagami's worth. She took to Plagg with ease, the design of her look altering to match. The suit stayed all black but wasn't leather and had gold detailing. The ears and tail looked more realistic as well. Her hair went pitch black and eyes went to shades of gold. Kagami insisted her new name be Serval.

Next came Chloe who ended up comforting Jason the most through his despair, whether she knew the reason for it or not. Without the bee as an easy go to, he ended up giving her the Dragon. Sure, the mix wasn't the best ever, but it kept her on the offensive side and more active, so it worked the way they needed it to. Her outfit consisted of tight fitted scales in shades of black and blue. Unlike when Kagami used the dragon, her and Longg took more to the shades of blue that came with most weather. Her shock of blonde hair played nicely with the idea of lightening on a stormy day. She went with Nimbus.

Surprisingly, Marc became the next holder. Jason planned on handing off the fox to Juleka, only to realize it wouldn't quite suit the girl. She stayed in the shadows most of the time, yes, but not really by choice. She wanted to be a model and show up in photos more than anything, so it made no sense to stick her with another identity she had to hide in. Add on the fact that she wasn't necessarily the most creative and well, Jason couldn't hand off an illusion piece to her. That's when Marc came into play. The kid had creativity in spades and preferred to avoid the spotlight. Marc and Marinette grew closer with all their time spent in the art room and courtyard together and especially with Nathaniel having ditched them. With Marc starting to build a spot of their own within the group, it only made sense to pair them with the Fox.

Now that he thought about it, the whole team really stuck with black. Marc had a black velvety almost shapeless form, with white tail, ears, sash, gloves, and boots. Their eyes fell white on gray on black and gave off an eerie feel. They choose Jocular for their hero name.

Finally, Jason hunted down the perfect miraculous for Juleka. The mouse. Quiet and unseen, playing in the background until the moment was right. And then she was everywhere, a multitude taking over the scene and overwhelming the enemy in a matter of moments. Perfect for the girl who hid behind her bangs but longed for the spotlight. Mullo played to both halves of her personality. The suit that came with consisted of a deep vivid purple that matched her bangs while detransformed. While in costume, the highlights disappeared and her eyes shined purple as well. The fit was reminiscent of a belted, hooded tunic with black leggings and matching purple booties. She went with Fievel. Turns out Juleka had an interesting favorite childhood movie. Months later, they would find themselves sitting around a tv, watching the old animated musical, but in the beginning, they just took it in stride.

The last major change came in a heavier bond forming amongst his team.

When Jason agreed to reveal identities, if for no other reason than the guilt of already keeping one major secret from the group, things spiced up. For one, Juleka and Marc traded their respective miraculouses back and forth depending on their comfort level for the day. If one felt more ready for the spotlight, they took to the mouse for the battle. If one felt especially creative at the moment, they tagged in for the fox. Of course, they jumped in with whichever they had when an akuma hit while separated, but the switch off seemed to comfort them.

Secondly, Chloe started running more interference to allow them escape time if stuck up in civilian form. Her false bratty attitude and daddy issues came into play here, despite her actual maturity about both. It helped to amp it up from time to time.

Lastly, Kagami and Jason begin to switch on occasion.

Plagg hadn't been outside the ring since Jason removed him from Adrien and Kagami received him. The shock and horror on his face when Tikki told him the reality of their situation broke Jason a little more. The cat insisted on spending more time with Jason after that. His soul resonated better with the ring anyways, so the time spent as the cat holder felt soothing after so long as the ladybug, despite this body feeling more receptive towards Tikki's magic. 

As an added bonus, the two kept the other's costume and attributes such as eyes and hair. Between that and the heavy magical glamour hiding their identities, no one, not even Hawkmoth, knew which one was which until their fighting style came into play at which point, it was too late. Luckily, with the sneaky aspects of the mouse and fox, the other two became quite the ambush as well. Add in Chloe showing up with one of three different powers at any given moment, and Hawkmoth's akumas became easy prey.

By the time the year ran out, their team ran as a well oiled machine. Despite the horrific heartbreak festering in his heart, Jason felt hopeful. Hopeful that they might take down the villain that had taken over his soulmate's life from so young. That this battle at least might end on a happy note. That soon he would be free to seek out justice for Marinette once and for all.

[saltyghostsworld]

Hello! This is a valentines day gift for @aphforeignrelations ! I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing this!

I'd like to give special thanks to @istoleludwigsbaumkuchen for Beta reading this for me! You truly are the best Worm ace.

-______________________________________-

A Mirror to Me

    The first shirt was too big, the second too small, the third was unflattering, and the fourth just ugly. The fifth and the sixth looked too similar to be noteworthy, and whoever said that seven was a lucky number was a liar, considering the monstrosity that Gilbert had pulled out of the closet. Gil loved Francis, he truly did, but by gods, his fashion taste left something to be desired at times. The eighth shirt looked decent, but not formal enough for tonight. The ninth was too formal to be worn at any event, and Gil wasn’t sure why he owned such an article of clothing in the first place. The tenth, however, was just right. 

    A deep maroon, partnered with the black-tie given to Gilbert as an early birthday present by Lovino, looked great with the black slacks Gilbert had chosen to wear. Nice leather belt, watch, and a little bit of cologne before Gilbert would be ready to go. That is if he puts on the outfit.

    The problem wasn't that Gilbert did not wish to go to the restaurant, quite the opposite. It's just. Tonight was a very important day for Gilbert. Tonight would be the first time he will be setting foot back into The Maple Garden in what, two, three years? Not since the accident, that was for sure. Rationally, Gil knows what happened to him wasn’t terrible. He made it out in pretty good condition, and what he did that day saved lives. That's what mattered in the end. 

    Shuffling over to the bathroom mirror, Gilbert took one, long look at himself. He has gained back most of the weight he had lost. No longer is his skin ashy and pale as it was back during those few months in the hospital. Any scarring would be covered up by his clothes, which helped his anxiety immensely. He looked good! He even stylized his hair, just a little bit for tonight. It will be alright in the end. Gilbert was sure of it. 

    Taking one last look at himself, Gilbert braced himself on the wall as he hobbled back to the bed where his clothes lay in wait. Sitting down gingerly onto the bed, Gilbert stretched his leg out hissing a breath through his teeth from discomfort. The pain was nowhere near as bad as when he first started walking again, but hell if it wasn’t going to take some serious time and effort to get used to. Physical Therapy helped, it did, but some things just take time. With this in mind, Gilbert finally slid the knee brace on. Even after two years, it still felt so strange to put it on. It was nice though, to finally be able to pull on the brace without help. It felt quite nice to have some independence back in his life, and these past three months have only solidified those thoughts. It was good to be back.

    After getting dressed, Gilbert couldn’t help but look at himself in the mirror again, smiling at how nice he looked. A year ago, Gil would have broken down into a sobbing mess, feeling like an imposter within his skin. Now, though, Gil felt good. No, Gilbert felt great! The cane truly matches all outfits, and it added a sense of maturity to his image. It felt good. It felt right.

    Walking out of the room, Gilbert found himself feeling nostalgic. Every step brought back years of feelings and pains, but growth and accomplishment alongside it all. Taking the first step down the staircase, Gil is reminded of his first day waking up in the hospital. It was cold, and his body felt numb. He could remember how he couldn’t feel his leg and how all he could do was blink, then fall back to sleep. It carried on that way for two weeks, trying to contain the infection on his leg Gil had found out at a later date. Once he was allowed to fully wake up, the numbness had followed for another week before the Doctor had recommended cutting the use of painkillers to a minimum. 

    It was difficult, waking up and finding how damaged he was. To learn that he may never be able to walk again. To discover that his life would never be the same. Gilbert had shut people out at that time. He felt the worst during this period. He refused to see any of his friends or coworkers, as shame overtook all rational thought. Gil had honestly thought that his brother would only gaze upon him in pity. Looking back at it now, Gilbert could understand why he’d done it. Why he still hasn’t reached out to anyone. That was the point of tonight though, wasn’t it? To reconnect. To build new, stronger bridges where the old ashes lay. To take the final steps in his recovery. 

    Gilbert was a quarter down the staircase now, thoughts turning to his first days of physical therapy. The pain was indescribable. His leg could barely move, and Gil could hardly find the strength to continue. He thanks the patience of Dr. Ivan Branisky, for helping him work through all his physical problems. Dr. Branisky had been one of the most stubborn people on earth that Gilbert had ever met, save 2 or 3 others. The Doctor refused to let Gilbert give up, nor would they allow him to wallow in self-pity. It had been infuriating at the time, but soon became something Gil had needed desperately at the time. Now Gilbert could walk on his own again, with the help of his cane of course. 

    Halfway down the staircase now. Anxiety and anticipation were waging war inside of Gilbert, knowing that soon this journey would be coming to an end. And with this thought in mind, Gilbert allowed himself to reminisce of the time when he allowed himself to live again. A whole year after the accident,  working tirelessly to gain the use of his leg again without crippling pain almost rendering him unconscious Gilbert had gone to his first therapy session. 

    It was a difficult decision to go, as any thought or suggestion had left him restless and irritated for days at a time, cruising the name of all that caused him to be in the predicament Gilbert had thought himself fine. There was no need for some stranger to peer inside his head and tell him how damaged he was. He told himself that enough already, thank you. Every moment spent thinking about it had sent Gilbert into rage and depression, only causing the people around him to insist that it was a reason further to go. This had been another time when Gilbert had burned bridges with people, scalding words and spiteful actions driving many away. Another reason why tonight was such an important event to Gilbert.  It offered him the chance to apologize to many people he hurt and cut off.

    Upon his entrance to the Office, Gilbert knew that it would be hell. The place felt artificial, with cream colors and few items here and there. The receptionist, Tino had such a cheerful attitude, which had felt grating during the first months.  Anger was the strongest emotion Gilbert had been feeling, other than sadness. Thankfully, Dr. Heartman had fully prepared herself to drag Gil’s feelings out of him. She left no stone unturned and had him leaving raw once he walked out the door. He could hide nothing from the woman, which certainly helped in the end. 

    It had taken Gilbert almost three months with Dr. Heart before he allowed himself to even refer to the incident. Finally, he had found the courage to tell her what had happened after weeks of dancing around the topic. Before everything, Gilbert had been a cheerful person. He loved life, he loved beer, and he loved work. Gil had helped out wherever he could, whether it be advising exorcising or helping with fixing houses or volunteering in general. It had been volunteering which had allowed Gilbert to meet the love of his life in the first place, and for that, he would be eternally grateful. Gilbert smiled now, memories of their first encounter dancing through his mind. The two had hit it off rather quickly and came to no surprise that they had gotten together if their friends' reactions were to go by. Gilbert had limited free time, and the two had made the most of it whenever together. Gilbert had been a firefighter, working diligently to keep people safe. He never took into account that one day he would require rescuing himself.

    Gilbert had been called in to put out a fire at The Maple Garden, believing it to be the usual grab ‘n go response. The building had collapsed when Gil went inside to check for any remaining civilians trapped inside, crushing his right leg and severely burning his back. Thankfully no one else had been inside when the restaurant fell, and his injuries had been minor considering the circumstances. Everyday Gilbert takes some time to truly appreciate the fact that he had survived such an experience. Dr. Heart had been proud that he could finally put the experience into words, telling him that Gil was finally set on the right track of healing and improving his life. 

    Gilbert finally took the last remaining steps of the stairs, sliding down into the chair right beside them to give his leg a break. It feels good to be where he is now. Sure, he could no longer do many things he used to the same way as before, but that doesn’t mean his life was over. All it meant was a new one had started. 

    Footsteps on the hardwood floor caused Gilbert to look up, a loving smile slipping onto his face. Here was the one person who stuck beside him through it all. Here was the person whose sunshine smiles brought life into Gilbert's dead world. Here was the single most important person in his life, other than his brother. The love of his life, Alfred F. Jones. Alfred smiled back, coming close to place a kiss on Gil’s head. “You ready for tonight?” Alfred asked, bringing his hands up to cradle Gilbert's face.  

    “No, but I will be.” Was Gilberts reply. He wasn’t ready to go. There were sure to be uncomfortable conversations, countless apologies, awkward silences, and more than a few tears shed tonight. It needed to be done, however, and what a better way to rekindle lost friendships and smooth over past grievances than a wedding announcement? Placing his hand upon Alfreds, Gilbert couldn’t stop the rush of excitement and pure love from showing on his face when their rings clicked together softly. 

    Yes, tonight would be long and tedious, but it would be well worth it in the end. Not just for himself, but Alfred as well. Together they would be stepping into a new chapter of their lives, one sure to be filled with love and joy for the rest of their lives. 

[anthropologicalhands]

fic: (un)acceptable losses

title: (un)acceptable losses characters: Hiei/Kurama summary:  What's an acceptable loss? Hiei and Kurama have different definitions, even if they can't quite pin them down. chapters: 1/2 Ao3 Link

Hiei’s head hurts. He feels wearied and ill at ease, despite his containment to the sidelines during the round. Some of that feeling can be attributed to Yukina’s unexpected reappearance in Ningenkai (and here, of all places), but not all. Some of it can even be attributed to the stress of watching his teammates’ brutal fights, without the strength to intervene. But not all of it.

He’s sick of this whole fucking tournament. It drags at him, weighs him down in new and unexpected ways, worse than even his parole in Ningenkai. It’s a monster trying to drag all of them down a well, forcing him to claw and snarl and fight his way back toward where he glimpses the sky, except the sides of the well keep growing, no matter how much high he climbs.

At least in this moment, he has something of a reprieve. The throbbing in his head persists through the long walk back to the hotel. Ahead of him, Kuwabara walks unaided, despite the beatings he took across two rounds; Hiei refuses to think about the reason why. Yusuke is still supporting Kurama’s weight, one arm around his shoulders, though even the latter is looking better now than he did just a few hours earlier.

Not, Hiei thinks sourly to himself, that it’s that much of an improvement. Hard to look worse after being tossed around like a doll, with a deadly, bloodthirsty plant draining him from the inside.

(He appreciates Yusuke’s efficient dispatch of Bakken, but he wouldn’t have minded a clear shot.)

His hands flex, digging his claws into his palms, creating sensation without pain. Hiei glances down at his right arm, and the corner of his mouth tugs up.

At least in one way he came out better than he went in…

By the time they reach the hotel, Kurama insists he can stand on his own. Yusuke frowns, looking like he wants to protest, and glances over at Hiei. Hiei gives Yusuke a tiny nod of acknowledgement, and falls into step with Kurama. He’s not about to let the fox shrug off anything that needs attention.

Yusuke relaxes minutely, and then turns and heads into the forest, toward Keiko, who watches him approach with an intent, stern look on her face. Kuwabara is already gone, and so, alarmingly, is Yukina, but Hiei won’t concern himself with that now; the worst that Kuwabara would possibly do is make a fool of himself, and Hiei is fine with missing that particular demonstration.

In their room, Hiei sits on his bed, legs drawn up, examining the restored mobility of his right hand with pleasure. He has no doubt that he could’ve gotten it to work on his own, but it was only fitting that the committee’s interference sped up the process for him. It buys him extra time to truly master the dragon, and the pleasure of spiting those corrupt humans can only sweeten the lure he uses to draw the dragon out.

“It looks much better,” says Kurama, drawing Hiei’s focus. He looks up to see Kurama observing him mildly from his own bed, even as he goes through the motions of subduing and coaxing the deadly vetch from his wounds. “I wonder if the committee had any idea that their trick would actually restore your health so efficiently.”

“I doubt it.”

Kurama hums his agreement. “Or perhaps they knew, but deemed it an acceptable risk.”

“Either way, I’ll skip the thank you cards.”

“Of course,” says Kurama, in a musing sort of way that indicates that, no, he hadn’t thought that Hiei would write thank you cards and, in fact, had no idea that Hiei even knew what a thank you card was, but he had that image in his head now and he wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon. Hiei tends to do that--putting images into people’s heads, even when he isn’t using the Jagan. It amuses Kurama, which Hiei sometimes mind and sometimes doesn’t.

Hiei doesn’t mind today; he has more pressing reasons to be annoyed with his partner.

“It’s only an arm,” says Hiei, lowering his hand to rest in his lap. “It wouldn’t have been worth very much if you had really been eaten from the inside out by your own plants.”

“True,” agrees Kurama, not even having the decency to look guilty. He pinches at his seeded arm, wincing as he digs his fingers in, but when he draws his hand away, there’s a small, bloodied seed in his arm. He tucks it back into his hair, and resumes drawing out the rest of the bloody strings of vegetation. Difficult to watch, but Hiei’s seen (and caused) far gorier scenes.

“Or if Bakken succeeded in beating you to death,” presses Hiei, because the number of ways Kurama could have died today is truly alarming. “You scared the detective.”

Kurama doesn’t immediately respond, still working through his arm and chest. It’s good that Kurama won’t meet his stare; annoying if anyone else tried to avoid it, but it means that Kurama might have actually learned a lesson about how his needlessly thorough strategizing leaves him vulnerable to weaker opponents.

“I know,” he says at last. “I miscalculated.”

Hiei knows that’s a big admission for Kurama. He still scoffs. Loudly.

“You don’t. He would have torn the whole stadium apart for you,” snaps Hiei, not thinking about his own reaction, how he thought nothing of destroying his still-healing arm a second time, and possibly even for good, if it meant he could prevent Kurama’s death.

Kurama only offers a faint smile, shadowed by the dark afternoon light. Hiei has noticed that he does that a lot, shifting to stay in shadows and poorly lit spaces, despite his striking looks. He’s never asked about this particular habit of Kurama’s, whether it is left over from his youko form’s sense of theatrics, or a new one formed to remain unobtrusive in a world where he stands out, so he can continue his observations relatively undisturbed.

“I don’t blame either of you for being frustrated by the committee's machinations today,” Kurama is saying, forcing Hiei to focus back on his words. “Nor would I bet against you, even if you fought against the entire stadium. Under better circumstances, I would’ve happily joined you.”

He speaks like he has a head cold, not like he had been bleeding out. How can the fox still be so calm? It’s a thought that Hiei has held frequently in the time they’ve known each other. No matter how well he understands Kurama’s strategies, Kurama’s choices are often beyond him--especially for sacrifices like these. Despite his intellect and his weapons, Kurama treats his own body as fodder for distraction.

(Albeit, usually not so literally.)

“You couldn’t. Fox, you have no idea how close you were to getting killed.”

“I’ve been healing the damage for the last three hours,” says Kurama, a new edge in his voice. “I think I have a better idea than you do. I’m not playing games, Hiei.”

Hiei recognizes that accusation--it’s one he has regularly thrown at the fox over the years. But it only annoys him further.

“And yet you still won’t fix your bad habits,” says Hiei, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed so that he faces Kurama fully. He probably shouldn't be taking advantage of Kurama’s weakened state to harangue him, but the opportunity for him to speak with impunity on these points have been few and far between. How this quiet, careful creature cannot see his own arrogance is alarming and infuriating--especially when he so regularly pokes at Hiei’s perceived shortcomings.

Kurama’s eyes glitter with frustration, but when he speaks, his tone is still level. “I use what I have at hand. I’ve only recently started testing the limits of this body; I need to be deliberate.”

Hiei snorts; he can’t help it. “If you didn’t just put that body at completely unnecessary risk, I might believe you. It’s not my responsibility if you’re too foolish to avoid getting yourself killed, but I would expect you to appreciate that someone else wants you to fix the holes in your guard. Opponents like Gama and Bakken should have been nothing to you--what?”

Kurama is giving him a very strange look, his youki shifting from defensive to questioning.

“You’re taking this rather personally, Hiei.”

“It’s not fun to watch you lose,” says Hiei shortly. It’s an obvious statement, but Kurama is still looking at him with slightly widened eyes, he wonders uneasily if he might have unintentionally implied something more. Hastily, before Kurama can accuse him of sentiment, he adds, “What happens if you have another opponent like Touya? Or an opponent like me, who knows your tactics?”

Kurama opens his mouth as if to speak, only to turn pale and gasp--a short, pained sound--and doubles over on himself. Hiei is off the bed and in two steps is in front of Kurama, hands outstretched and hovering, uncertain where to put them, but determined to offer aid if needed.

But then Kurama uncurls, still breathing deeply, and with a small smile, holds out the bloodied roots of the vetch, now limp in his hand.

“That’s the last of it,” he says, a note of undisguised relief seeping through. He wraps his fingers around the roots, and when they open again, the plant is only a seed again.

“Good.” Hiei steps away, folding his arms close against his chest. “Now you can actually heal yourself?”

Kurama nods. He already looks a little better, now that he’s excised the plant from his system, the edges of pain no longer sharpening the angles of his face.

“Yes. Not to mention, I can actually clean up properly--I still reek of the arena.” Kurama stands carefully, still wincing. Hiei starts to move back toward his own bed, except then Kurama steps right into Hiei’s space, looking down at him. Hiei doesn’t look away.

“I’m sorry I worried you,” says Kurama gently.

Hiei flushes and glares at the corner of the room, looking away from Kurama, who is looking at him like--like he’s a child in need of reassurance. How arrogant.

“You owe Yusuke far more than you owe me,” he reminds Kurama.

“We’ve established that,” agrees Kurama, and when Hiei can force himself to look back, he catches the thoughtful glint in Kurama’s eyes that almost make him wish that he didn’t. “But I still mean it.”

Hiei huffs and closes his eyes, flopping backwards on the bed as if he is about to go to sleep. Kurama is wasting his apologies on Hiei, and knows it.

Still.

“Accepted,” Hiei replies, knowing that he doesn’t need to say it, but that Kurama likes to hear it all the same. He hears Kurama move around the room, gathering his things for the shower, and sleep does seem more tempting, now that they have the promise of a few days’ rest ahead of the semifinals.

“Hiei?”

Ignoring Kurama now wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for him. Hiei opens his eyes to meet Kurama’s: permission to continue.

“If you and I ever truly fight,” says Kurama, mischievously, with that slight, amused smile of his, “I promise that you won’t have to watch me lose.”

He turns and heads into the shower without waiting for Hiei’s response, closing the door soundlessly behind him, and that’s good, because there’s the answer Kurama expects and the answer Hiei can give, and they are no longer one and the same.

[youcancallmecirce]

Imaari

Finally going to play actual D&D, and of course, had to write a thing for my druid’s backstory.  Imaari is mine, of course, and Hardwin is actually my husband’s character.  Thoughts?

“Let me guess,” Andeana said dryly from the doorway.  “They started it.”

“Andeana!” Startled, Imaari spun to face her, guiltily hiding the bloodied cloth behind her back as though her bloodied face wouldn’t give her away.  When she realized this, Imaari dropped her hands to her sides and lifted her chin.  She was no child to be scolded, and would not apologize for defending herself.  Even if fighting back makes life harder for everyone in the Enclave? her conscience prodded her.  She ignored it.  “Yes,” she said, responding to Andeana’s question.  “They did.”

“Imaari,” she sighed, having taken in the younger woman’s disheveled belligerence with a shake of her head.  Imaari didn’t blame her.  The confrontation with the other elven youths had left one eye swollen nearly shut, her tunic spattered with drying blood from both a split brow and cut lip, and as she stood there, she felt fresh blood beginning to trickle from her nose.  Again.  Andeana strode forward to take the rag from Imaari’s hand with a sound of exasperation.  

“At least there’s nothing broken this time,” Imaari offered, her voice muffled by the cloth as Andeana dabbed at the fresh blood.

“At least,” Andeana agreed, inspecting Imaari’s face more carefully.  “I doubt Rathil would be willing to heal you again, so soon after the last time.”

Imaari scoffed and dropped inelegantly onto her narrow bed, her back propped against the wall and one leg stretched out on the mattress. Rathil, who was ancient even by elven standards, was the best healer in the Rallathian Enclave.  He also happened to think that Imaari ought to simply accept her lot in life without complaint so as not to strain the relationship between the Enclave and the larger community of Tessington.  Given that ‘accepting her lot’ meant tolerating a great deal of abuse from that community, Imaari flatly refused to do so and Rathil was rarely inclined to help her.  “No, he wouldn’t.  I still have plenty of salve, though, and that’s all I’ll need this time.”

Andeana gave her an arch look as she rinsed the bloody rag in the washbasin and handed it back.  “We just made it last week.” 

“I like the way it smells,” Imaari said innocently, pressing the damp cloth to her face.  The cool water felt lovely on her abused skin, though the cuts stung a little.  She held it there for a few moments, then used it to gently wipe away what blood and dirt she could.  The rest, she knew, would have to wait for a proper wash.

“This isn’t going to stop, is it?” Andeana asked quietly when Imaari leaned forward and tossed the soiled rag back to the wash stand. 

Imaari’s gaze shot to her, but it wasn’t really a question and needed no answer.  Imaari had been telling her as much for years now.  Instead, she arched her brows as she sank slowly back against the wall, her regard steady on Andeana.  

“I know you want to leave,” Andeana went on, delving into their well-worn argument in spite of Imaari’s silence. “To go out and see if there is a place for you beyond Shindwaud, but the Humans may treat you no better.”

 “They’re unlikely to treat me any worse,” Imaari said, sighing.  Apparently, they were going to have the old argument after all.

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that it’s not going to get any better here.”

“Give it more time--”

“Twenty years,” Imaari interrupted.  “We have been having some version of this conversation for twenty years, ‘Deana, and nothing has changed.  Nothing. Humans are still hated, and I am still treated like a diseased criminal by all but you and the Elders. I will not waste my life waiting for what will never be.”

“The Elders are sympathetic, Imaari, if you will just be patient--” 

“I am done with being patient!” Imaari shouted, leaping to her feet.  Imaari’s loss of temper was nothing new, but never before had she turned it on her adoptive mother.  The uncharacteristic aggression shocked Andeana into wide-eyed silence.  Imaari modulated her volume but not her tone, and pressed her rare advantage.  “The Elders cannot compel trust or acceptance, Andeana.  The others will never accept me. You all but admitted as much just a few minutes ago.”

Andeana’s brows lowered, sadness completely overtaking her surprise.  “If you leave the Enclave--” 

“If I leave the Enclave, then I have at least  a chance at a real life.”

“If you leave this place, child, you give up the protection of the Enclave.  You will have no protection at all.”

“The border with Arch is not more than a few days’ travel from here, and the Sister Lakes settlement not far beyond that.  I can travel with the merchant train, take advantage of their numbers to stay safe.”  Imaari’s eyes narrowed as she went on.  “And I’m not a child, Andeana, especially not by Human standards.”

“You’re not a Human, Imaari!”

“I know,” she replied softly.  “But I’m not an Elf, either.”

Andeana flinched, but it was a truth she needed to face.  No matter how much they both wished that Imaari had been her natural daughter, she was not.  She was a half-Human orphan who’d been lucky enough to end up in an Enclave of aging druids rather than on the merciless streets. “Very well,” Andeana said at last.  Then she slipped from the room with no more than a sad smile, leaving Imaari off-balance.  

Imaari hadn’t at all expected her to capitulate so easily, and it made her wonder whether Andeana had accepted the necessity even before coming to check on her.  It was what she wanted, what she had wanted for a very long time, but her victory felt surprisingly hollow.

“He’s dead,” Imaari said blankly, drawing her fingers from the man’s throat and sitting back on her heels.

“I told you,” said a gruff voice above her.  “We need to go, now.”

Imaari looked up from the body stretched before her to stare at the broad Human man standing over it.  His scarred face was set in grim lines and impatience tightened his voice, but his eyes shone with...excitement? She blinked.  “Go?”

He gestured vaguely in the direction the other Humans had fled, and she followed the movement of his perfectly normal hand with bemusement.  He’d just used that hand to kill a man as easily as she might swat a fly, yet not a speck of blood stained it.  That seemed wrong, somehow.

“They’ll come back, with more men and the constabulary besides.  If we’re lucky, they’ll only want to arrest us.”

“Us?” Lothien echoed incredulously.  “You’re the one who killed him!”

“Doesn’t matter,” the man replied flatly, turning back towards his modest house and speaking over his shoulder.  “You’re Elves.  The folk around here wouldn’t think twice about killing you first and not bothering with the questions after.”

Lothien, the leader of the merchant band, stalked after the man in outrage.  In some part of her mind, Imaari thought that was rather foolhardy but Lothien didn’t seem to fear the scarred Human.  She stayed where she was and her eyes fell again to the dead man, which occupied the far greater portion of her mind. A quarter of an hour earlier that man had been hale and virile, a rural farmer in his prime.  Now he lay like a broken doll in a pool of his own blood.

The reality of her situation struck Imaari all at once. She stood suddenly and backed away from his body, her panicked brain trying to identify the moment that things had gone wrong.

Imaari had joined the merchant train just as she’d told Andeana she would, and until this morning, her journey had been utterly unremarkable.  She’d rebuffed a few unwanted attentions, pulled her own weight, and the sidelong looks she’d received had been more curious than hostile.  After two days of slow travel, they’d arrived at a campsite used regularly by Elven traders.  She’d heard the merchants’ guards discussing it the night before as they ate around their fire.

Apparently, the locals here were particularly distrustful of Elves and until a few years ago, it had been dangerous to travel directly through this area.  Then, for some reason, whoever owned this land had offered it as a place of safety to any Elves traveling legitimately in the region.  Since the traders no longer had to skirt the area, they were saved a full day of traveling through empty countryside to avoid conflict.  A few of the older guards who remembered what it was like to deal with the Humans around here were deeply skeptical about the safety of this place, but the younger guards had brushed off those concerns as the paranoia of old age.

Now, Imaari knew that those more experienced guards had been right to be wary.  Their whole camp had been roused just after dawn by nearly a dozen angry men, all brandishing farm tools like weapons and demanding that the elven group move on immediately.  Lothien had used every bit of charm he could muster, but it made no difference.  The bristling group became ever more aggressive.

Imaari had looked to the guards, waiting for them to step forward and do their jobs, but they had not.  The older ones had even restrained the two youths who had tried.  She hadn’t understood at the time, but she thought that perhaps she did now.

If she had not stepped forward so boldly to challenge the Humans, then Lothien might have been able to buy them enough time to pack their train and move on without more than a few bruises, but she had interfered.  The injustice of the Humans’ accusations had infuriated her.  This sort of prejudice was exactly the reason she left Tessignton, and she had done so with such hope that things could be better.  

That Humans would be better.

But, no.  Her first encounter with Humans had been defined by prejudice.  Their treatment of Lothien had echoed exactly the way the Elven youths of Tessignton had treated her, and it had been too much.  She had lost her temper, rushed in without thinking, and given the Humans exactly what they’d wanted: an excuse for violence. 

Their leader, a wiry young man wearing a stained jerkin, had backhanded her hard enough to knock her to the ground with ringing ears. Only then did she recognize the gleam in his eyes.  A quick glance around showed that same light in all of the eyes trained on her, and she had known then that they intended to make an example of her.  A glance over her shoulder showed that she would receive no help from the other Elves.  She saw regret in a few of their faces, but most of them actually looked relieved.  And why not?  She was only a half-Elf and not one of their company.  That she’d unwittingly offered herself as a sacrificial lamb meant that perhaps they could get away unscathed.

Part of her had wanted to give in to panic--she could hold her own against a few opponents, but not against ten-- but she was too angry and too stubborn.  She gripped her stout quarterstaff more tightly and planted her feet, glaring.  It was all the invitation those men had needed.

The sound of their fight had been enough to draw the scar-faced man from his dilapidated house, and it was a good thing.  The Humans had been playing with her, taking turns at fighting and jeering, but she was not the easy victim they’d assumed. It made them angrier. If the scarred man had not intervened, she’d be the one lying crumpled on the ground, beyond even Rathil’s ability to heal.  

But he had come, had placed himself between the Elves and the Humans, and tried to diffuse the situation.

“This is my land,” he said.  “These people have my permission to be here; you do not.”

“These Elves,” spat one of the younger men, the one in the dirty jerkin who had first backhanded her, “are not allowed anywhere near our village.  You don’t have the authority to say otherwise.  Go back to working your pathetic farm, old man, and let us deal with this infestation.”

“No,” Scars said flatly. 

“No?” scoffed Dirty Jerkin, and the other Humans laughed.  

Scars frowned.  “Leave.  Now.”

The others laughed again.  “We’re not leaving, old man.  You should go away, unless you want to throw your lot in with this whore Elf.” 

Scars said nothing.  He stared levelly at the other Humans, and for several long moments, no one said anything.  The smiles began to waver, and a few shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.  The change was not lost on Dirty Jerkin, and his eyes narrowed.

“Have it your way,” he said, and lunged.  Scars sidestepped him neatly, tripping him as he went by.  Dirty Jerkin stumbled, but managed to save himself from sprawling in the dust.  He turned with a growl and lunged again, was tripped again, but could not recover himself again.  A murmur went through the gathered crowd, among the Elves and the Humans alike, and Dirty Jerkin’s angry face flushed deeper in humiliation.

He stood, yanking a dagger from a boot sheath as he rose. He held murder in his eyes, and it seemed to trigger a change in Scars.  His languid calm fell away, his eyes sharpened, and his muscles tensed.  Imaari recognized it as the deadly focus of a predator preparing to strike, but everything was happening so quickly; she couldn’t process anything quickly enough to react.

Scars struck before Dirty Jerkin had taken more than a step.  His fist took the younger man in the gut, but rather than disengaging Scars allowed his momentum to carry him forward, following Dirty Jerkin to the ground.  Jerkin’s head struck the ground with a sickening thunk just before Scars landed atop him, plowing his other fist into the man’s face.  His head hit the ground again, paired this time with the awful sound of crunching bone. Scars froze, his fist raised to strike again, and the clearing went absolutely silent.

“Fuck,” he said, and all of that lethal intent was suddenly just...gone.  As one, the rest of us looked from him back down at Dirty Jerkin and saw what he’d seen: not only had his face been utterly ruined, but blood spread beneath his head in a growing circle.    

After that, it had taken only a look to send the rest of the men on their way.  Some had been angry, some had been afraid, but none of them had been willing to challenge the scarred man.  They could probably have overcome him, if they had all attacked at once, but at least a few of them would have joined their friend on the ground before it was done.

Rising voices and the stir of activity brought Imaari back to herself.  Dirty Jerkin still lay where he’d fallen, but all around her the merchant camp was packing up.  Suddenly afraid of being left behind, Imaari hurried to do the same as the arguing voices moved closer.  

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” Lothien was saying.  “We have no reason to abandon our goods and go haring off into the middle of nowhere when we have people waiting for us in Sister Lakes.”

“Suit yourself,” Scars replied.  “But they’re going to come after you.  You sure that your people in town will be willing to stick their necks out to keep yours out of a noose?”

Lothien did not answer immediately, and she suspected that idea of a noose had shaken him as badly as it had shaken her.  When his answer came, though, it was firm. “We are well-known, respected merchants.  We’ve been trading this route through Arch for years, and many of the nobles are quite dependent on our goods.”

Scars grunted indifferently, but Imaari went still. The constables would want to hold someone accountable for the murder, to appease the angry mob if nothing else.  The merchants might be safe, but what of her?  She had no connections in Arch, and no connection to anyone in the merchant train. If they were willing to let the mob have her, what would stop them from handing the half-breed outsider over as a scapegoat?

Nothing.  Nothing at all.  She could take her chances with them, and would likely make it as far as Sister Lakes with the group, but what then?  Stay and hope?  Slip away just outside the city and strike out on her own? Imaari was naive but not stupid; neither option was likely to go well for her.  

What if… Well, he had said “we” earlier, hadn’t he?  And from what she’d heard of his conversation with Lothien, he’d been trying to convince the Elven merchant to go with him rather than going on along their route as planned.  Would Scars, or whatever his name was, be willing to take just her?

And if he was, what assurance did she have that this option wouldn’t be as bad, or worse, than going with the Elves as planned?  Imaari bit her lip. Scars was an unknown quantity, but at least he had stepped in earlier, and kept those men from killing her.  It was more than the Elves had done, and it decided her.

Lothien sent the guard away with a flick of his fingers, then allowed himself a satisfied smile.  The troublesome half-breed had gone with that Human Hardwin fellow, just as he’d thought.  It wasn’t the simplest solution to his problem, but it did have a neat sort of symmetry.  Lothien liked symmetry.

Of course someone from that backwater village would come after them, but they would reach the city before that someone could catch up.  

Of course, that someone would go to the authorities in Sister Lakes, and of course those authorities would have to do something about it.  The war had not been so long ago, after all, and there were too many bad memories for them to let such an accusation against Elves go unpunished. 

But Lothien and his good people were just as appalled as anyone at the morning’s violence, so of course he will waste no time before reporting the incident to the authorities himself.  He will construct the narrative of events, and that narrative will be confirmed as fact when the villagers come looking for blood. 

It would have been simpler if he could hand the girl over to them himself, and he would have done exactly that if she’d chosen to stay with their group.  She was clever, though, that half-breed.  Lothien suspected that she had gone with the human because she knew what waited for her in Sister Lakes.  He might still have taken her with him if he hadn’t also suspected that Hardwin wouldn’t allow them to take her against her will.

More than suspected, really, and it was a shame.  That Hardwin had allowed them to use his land had cut a day from their travel time each way and thus increased their profits.  That option will be closed to them when the man is arrested and hung with the girl, if it had not already been.

And besides; the girl was the one who had sent things spinning out of control, and Hardwin was the one who’d done the killing.  It was only right that they be the ones punished for the crime.

[crimsonbluemoon]

H2O Vanoss: Merman

Final one! Okay, so this is my OTP and this idea actually was my LEAST favorite at first, but now? Now I love it. ugh, I’m a mess. Please enjoy this monster of a HeadCanon! ^.^

H2OVanoss Merman

Basis: Evan is a merman prince of an undersea kingdom, Del is a struggling artist who is in desperate need of a beach vacation according to his friend Luke.

IDEAS (...Basically just a story)

The story starts when Evan is about to assume the reign of his kingdom, as a sign of his coming of age on his 25th birthday. During the banquet just before the coronation, one of his advisors gives him a drink poisoned with human blood, known to mermaid’s as “The Loner’s Curse.” 

The poison weakens him to be stronger than humans but weaker than mermaids, and also turns him human. The advisor and some of his henchman subdue him and end up stranding Evan on shore, tying him to a post so he’ll drown when the tide comes in.

Instead, Delirious finds him while finding a morning surf shore that he and Luke had taken for the summer while Luke took over his uncle’s beach house and surf shop (with Delirious assisting him.) Evan is almost drowning when Delirious spots him, so once Delirious unties him he’s stuck dragging an unconscious Evan back to the beach house, where Luke and Del get him cleaned up. 

Luke berates Del about not dragging dead people into the house again as they’re doing this.

When Evan wakes up, he’s stuck as a human and has to find a way to reverse the poison that’s still in his system and get back to his kingdom and save it. He keeps track of the poison by looking at his veins in the moonlight, and where his veins glow is where the poison has reached. 

If the poison reaches his heart, he’ll literally drown in human blood and die. Thankfully, he has Delirious to help him, and Luke when he’s not managing the shop.

Not that any of them have ANY idea what they’re doing.

In the process of searching for a cure, there’s really cute moments! Evan hates being human (walking, the increased metabolism/need for sleep, basically everything to do with a human body) until he eats pizza for the first time. He’s literally addicted to the pizza from Panda’s Pizza Parlor, which has the best pizza on the coast. 

He also likes Panda, who can always tell exactly what kind of pizza he wants with a single glance (he does this with all his customers, and gives Evan an anchovy special each time he walks in, heavy on the fish.) 

Delirious absolutely refuses to try it, no matter how much Evan tries to get him to eat it (“They’ve still got their eyes, Evan! I can’t eat no fish eyes, they’re still looking at me an- and making me feel bad!”)

Evan is NOT used to wearing clothes and keeps “losing” them. The number of times that Delirious has turned around to/walking in on/returned to a shirtless or entirely naked Evan most definitely contributes to his attraction to the merman prince and his extreme embarrassment. 

Evan only really likes this one shark tooth necklace that Delirious bought for Evan, as it helps him to comfort him when there are too many people around.

Evan can’t be left alone in the house because he breaks SO MUCH STUFF. Luke has had to replace most minor appliances and is very tempted to “take a gutting knife to the damn fish already and have some peace again.”

Fire at the beach: Del teaches Vanoss how to dance for the first time, super intimate and romantic. 

Girls flirting with Evan at the surf shop annoys Delirious to the point of “accidentally” knocking a soda onto the girls and making them leave.

Luke is torn between snickering and groaning at the loss of profit

Del comes into Evan’s room in the middle of night because he’s crying in pain from the poison

This starts the tradition of then sleeping next to each other every night (despite Luke teasing Del every morning)

Del asks Evan about merepeople’s sexuality and kinda discovers Evan’s into men over women

Del teaches Evan how to surf (and fails miserably). 

They almost kiss for the first time before a wave pushes them away from each other and ruins the moment

Evan stumbles in on Delirious trying to draw in the window seat of the beach house, but from the crumpled up drawings and broken pencils, it’s obvious he’s not having any luck. Evan doesn’t know the first thing about art, but he likes to watch Delirious draw, and is genuinely interested in how he makes drawings and why he chooses certain styles or lines for parts of the picture. 

Del is a bit nervous talking about it at first, but as he answers Evan’s questions, he relaxes. By the time the questions are done, Del’s drawn a picture without even really realizing what he was doing. 

It ends up being a picture of Evan from the waist up, and Delirious ends up asking about what Evan looks like as a mermaid (the color of his scales, his tail length, etc). He draws Evan’s full form from the answers, and Evan is bittersweet looking at the picture of what he may never be again. But he asks if he can keep the picture, which Del lets him, worried when Evan leaves the room that he’s made a mistake drawing it.

One day when Evan is suuuuper stressed after a lead on the cure goes bust (their informant cancels on them), Delirious takes him to a carnival to cheer up. Evan’s instantly taken in by the sounds and colors, which nearly overwhelm him until Delirious grabs his hand and shows him how fun everything can be. 

Evan decides that cotton candy is the absolute best, candy apples are from hell (“Delirious, get this stupid thing off my face!” as the caramel adheres to his cheek), and he’s NOT a fan of heights. But he’s watched a lot of romantic movies with Luke over the past two weeks, and he knows that Ferris wheels are a romantic thing that people do. And he’s… kinda into Delirious, so he wants to go on it despite his fear of heights, insisting that his shaking knees and sweaty palms are from the poison (“Evan, that doesn’t make me feel better!”) 

Delirious pretends that he’s scared of heights to keep Evan from going on it, and they end up going on one of those little helicopter rides instead that go up and down in a circle, and Evan absolutely loves it.

When they get back home, Evan is left alone with Luke while Delirious grabs all the prizes they won from Evan being OP at carnival games. Luke asks if Delirious “made a move on you” on the Ferris wheel, as it’s his favorite ride. This leaves Evan confused, telling Luke that he was scared of it, but the Southerner is stubborn in his insistence that the wheel is his favorite “fucking stupid ride.” 

When Delirious comes back, he confesses that he does love the Ferris wheel, but also says that the carnival was supposed to be for Evan, to make him feel better, and Delirious would rather have fun with Evan than make him go on a ride he’s terrified of.

Essentially, it’s their first date, and it goes very, very well.

Luke: “Man, if all I had to do was convince you it was a date to stay off that ride, we’d be on our tenth anniversary by now!” and that’s what makes them realize it’s a date

However, there’s still angst… because now they realize that even if they can cure Evan, he’ll turn back into a mermaid and have to choose between his kingdom and Delirious. 

Evan starts to pull away from Delirious as a result of this realization, not wanting to hurt him with his eventual departure. He can feel his soul missing Delirious, though. 

He ends up in this mental limbo over the choice between Delirious and his duty to his kingdom, and ends up stumbling across this tiny aquarium on the edge of town.

Evan finds comfort in the small aquarium’s ocean window, and he ends up going there often when he’s overwhelmed or down on himself over the course of the summer.

And eventually, it’s his last night alive, as he hasn’t found a cure.

Evan goes there on his last night alive, as he doesn’t want to die in front of Delirious or the ocean. 

He leaves a note explaining that he’s grateful to Delirious for everything he did. It’s a sweet goodbye, ending it with a wish that he could have told Delirious “how he felt.” He doesn’t think he’s ever going to have a chance to explain it.

He writes this note on the back of the drawing Del did for him, adding his own little mess of a doodle of Del swimming next to him as a merman.

It’s dark in the aquarium, as it’s closing time, and moonlight is streaming through the window where he’s sitting and his whole body save his upper chest lights up. The owner ends up sitting next to him, a man named Brian.

“I should have known you’re just like me. Focking’ Christ.” And then Brian leans over the table and kisses Evan.

Delirious runs in screaming for Evan, panicking over the note he found, to the sight of a very panicked and breathless Evan yanking free of Brian’s kiss, and he’s rightfully infuriated and confused at the both of them for everything that’s happening.

Brian reveals that he used to be a merman, but was poisoned on accident while trying to save a “kid” who fell over the edge of his father’s fishing boat and scratched up his hands trying to climb up. 

Brian ended up swallowing some of his blood and was turned into a human, but was saved by the guy’s father. 

Brian knows enough about mermaids to know that the cure to The Loner’s Curse is to “share air” with either a human or a mermaid, turning the afflicted into whichever species kisses them until they go into/leave the water. And the stronger the bond of affection between the two, the longer the curse will be gone for- but only true love’s kiss can truly “cure” it. So Brian bought Evan time, but can’t cure him.

Cue a frantic Delirious begging Evan to not die and not accept this. In his panic, Delirious asks Evan to kiss him, recounting their dates and intimate moments as reasons why it would work. Evan is scared to die, but is more terrified of kissing Delirious- because it’s a double-edged sword. 

If he kisses Delirious and goes to the water and becomes a merman, then he’ll have to leave Delirious behind forever. But if he doesn’t turn into a merman, it’ll mean Delirious doesn’t love him, and he’ll lose him anyways when he dies of the uncured curse. 

So Evan, almost-coronated prince of the undersea kingdom, does the mature thing and runs away. Again.

Delirious follows him to the beach, tackling him to the sand before he can reach the water. He’s crying, upset and in love with this stupid dying mer-prince, and when Evan tries to get away Delirious screams that he’s “in love with you, and I have to do this even though it’s gonna kill me to let you go. Cuz it’ll make you happy, and all I’ve ever wanted is that you’re happy!” 

And when Evan is too stunned to reply, Delirious kisses him.

As they kiss, Evan’s whole body glows in the moonlight, the poisonous curse fading from his body. They break apart to breathe, but just as they go to kiss again the first wave washes over Evan’s body as the tide rises, and he starts to turn back into a merman in Delirious’s arms. 

Evan starts to tell Delirious he loves him as well, but Delirious cuts him off, inconsolable as he realizes he can’t love Evan and have him. As he starts to walk away, Evan realizes Delirious looks like how he did when he first tried walking (wobbly and shaken), and also that this is the first time Delirious has ever really broken down in front of him.

Evan tries to call him back, but Delirious says that he’s got a kingdom to save, “and I’ve got another purpose to find.” 

And then Delirious is running away down the beach, along the shoreline towards his house, and Evan is frantically swimming after him through the shallows trying to get him to come back. 

The jetty wall stops him from following, and Delirious gives him one last look of love and pain before running back into his house and leaving Evan alone in the water.

Realizing that there’s nothing he can do, Evan goes back and saves his kingdom. It’s the least he owes Delirious and their lost love. He wins, but he’s still heartbroken.

Every day for a month, he goes to the beach to see if Delirious is there, but the man never appears. 

Luke does show up, though, and absolutely rips into Evan for hurting Delirious and breaking his heart. He tells Evan how Delirious won’t surf, won’t go out, won’t even draw anything, and that “I hope your goddamn kingdom was worth it.” He tells Evan to never come back so Delirious will “find someone who can stand on his own two fucking legs and who won’t run away.”

Evan decides he’s gonna break into Brian’s aquarium, following the half-wild fish in through the pipes and scaring the absolute fuck out of Brian one night. He begs Brian to tell him how he’s still alive, as he’s seen Brian go in deep water and not turn back into a mermaid. 

Brian tells him that the secret is to kiss the person whose blood he accidentally consumed (Evan yells at him for kissing a kid, but really the kid was a young adult whose father called him “kid” as long as Brian knew him. Brian and Brock are now happily married and Brian still teasingly calls him “kid” because his dad joked at their wedding that “the kid fell head over heels” for Brian.)

Which means that he has to drink Delirious’s blood and then kiss him and they can be happy! 

The only problem is convincing Delirious to do that, which is where Brian, always a sucker for a happy ending and NOT having mermaids in his aquarium, offers his services of sticking Evan into a tank with a tarp on top and driving over to Delirious’s house.

Brock walks in on Brian putting the tarp over the tank, takes two seconds to look at Brian’s guilty face and Evan’s panicked eyes, and just takes a sip of his coffee before saying “Babe, I’m not gonna ask any questions so long as you buy me clams tonight” and walking away. 

Brian mumbles “jokes on him, clams always makes the sex better later” and Evan’s like “please just drive me to Delirious and never talk to me about your sex life again.”

They drive to the house, and while Brian’s trying to pull Evan into the pool Luke walks out and gets suuuuuuuuper pissed at Evan for coming back. 

Brian’s like “you like him?” and Evan’s all “no no I like the guy who showed up last time!” (“Who’s this, then, his new boyfriend?” “I’m his best friend, you dipshit!”) and it’s all a mess that ends up waking Delirious up.

When he comes outside and sees Evan and is absolutely flabbergasted and excited and very, very cautious. Evan, being the great person he is with words, asks Delirious if he can have some blood and then kiss him (“What the fuck, Evan?” “So I can live with you!”) And Luke is like, super done and tells him to fuck off and not to use “my best friend- whose heart you broke by the way- as a fucking sacrifice for your bullshit mermaid things!” 

But when he tries to drag Delirious inside after telling Brian to go give him to Panda so he can be on one of those pizzas he liked so much, Delirious blurts out “why are you still wearing my necklace?”

Everything sort of pauses around the two of them as Evan tells him he’s still in love with him, that he hated every day he was gone but he had shit to take care of before he came back, and that even though he tried every day to find Delirious and say he was coming back he was never able to. And he ends his speech with 

“Delirious, if I was gonna break your heart, it was gonna be for a damn good reason, and I wasn’t gonna leave it broken if I could come back.”

At this point Delirious goes quiet, and then looks to Brian and asks if the same rules apply about the kiss and going back in the water. Brian tells him the truth, which is that Evan would be with him forever, as a human, unless they weren’t in love anymore in which case he’d stay a mermaid. 

Delirious then bites his own lip with enough force to make it bleed, which makes Evan panic a bit from the sight. But Delirious says he needs to do it to start the first part of the ceremony, because he’s still in love with Evan, and Luke is like “are you serious” and Brian’s like “are you sure? You can’t go back from this” and both Evan and Delirious are like “absolutely, yes.”

So they kiss, and Evan is getting poisoned by Delirious’s blood as he kisses him, and the whole thing is over in a literal flash as his body glows from the poison and is instantly cured.

Has legs! It worked! And now Delirious, who is laughing and crying in happiness, is hauling him out of the pool and it’s happy all around (except for Luke, who warns him to not touch a single goddamn thing in the house without someone watching him.)

And they lived happily ever after.

[kcwcommentary]

VLD6x03 – “Monsters & Mana”

6x03 – “Monsters & Mana”

I love this episode.

This show has done several non-standard episodes, and they are at the bottom of the list of episodes for me. This one is the exception. This is my favorite episode since season two ended (though I do like 3x05 “The Journey”).

The episode is basically the Paladins sitting around playing Dungeons & Dragons, and it’s great. When I first watched this episode, it was part of my big marathon of seasons 3 through 7, and I had no idea this episode existed. When it first started, I instantly thought it seemed like D&D, so the more I realized that it was, the more excited I got about the episode.

We start with a monster pursuing Pidge and Hunk’s characters. Pidge’s character is geared up in heavy armor, and Hunk’s character seems to be a wizard, what with his casting a lightning bolt spell. That spell does next to nothing, and as they run away, Hunk’s character says that he’s “a healer, not a fighter,” so then how did he get access to a lightning bolt spell. I mean, he looks enough like a cleric that I thought he was one, but the lightning bolt spell made me think I must be wrong and he had to be a wizard. It doesn’t really matter.

The ogre (looked like an orc to me, but they eventually call it an ogre) continues to chase them, and he has an ocarina that he uses to make Hunk fall asleep. Pidge is immune to sleep because she’s playing a dwarf character (of course Pidge’s character would be immune to negative things). She uses a jump attack to smash the ocarina with her axe, giving Hunk a chance to cast some binding spell on the ogre. Pidge whacks the ogre sideways with her axe (can’t show a big giant wound like an axe would cause), and they defeat him. In a bit of cross-genre RPG content, the ogre poofs into a floating crystal more reminiscent of monster deaths in video games.

The crystal is one that neither Pidge nor Hunk have seen the likes of before, and Pidge proposes taking it to an innkeeper who for some reason she assumes will know more about it than the two of them do. I know the episode is setting up the innkeeper being the villain, and I know this episode can be looser with logic given its non-standard style of story, but that is an unexplained jump in logic for Pidge to make. Apparently, Hunk’s character’s village was turned to stone, so that’s his quest, to un-petrify them. Hunk’s character, anxious about travelling to wherever they’re going, says of his village, “I mean, they’re not really going anywhere.” That made me laugh.

They arrive at the inn, but apparently have no money for food. The animation changes to have a 16-bit RPG style as Pidge smashes some pots looking for coins. I have smashed a lot of pots in video games in my life, so I love that moment. They take the coin and Pidge orders a “greasy meat pile,” which the Coran-innkeeper calls a “health plate.” It kind of makes me go eew hearing Pidge specifically order it “greasy.”

Coran’s innkeeper NPC is something. Seriously tall, like giant-level height, super muscular, but hair that seems like more of a feminine style, but ever still Coran’s mustache. The innkeeper says the crystal is the type some evil wizard named Dakin uses. He’s, of course, located inside a dungeon.

As the innkeeper tells Pidge and Hunk where that dungeon is located (mirroring Lotor telling the group about both Oriande and the rift between realities, wherein they fight at the end of the season), Shiro’s character in a shadowy corner of the inn speaks up. I super love Shiro’s character. He’s a paladin! It’s really sad though knowing that the EPs thought they were mocking Shiro himself by having his character be a paladin concerned with protecting and helping people. It’s kind of infuriating that the EPs think there’s something wrong with a person just being a good person like Shiro is.

Anyway, Pidge and Hunk go over to talk to Shiro. Hunk says his character is named Block, and that he’s a sorcerer. I’m kind of confused now. Not that this episode is adhering to an actual game system, but with Block having earlier said that he was “a healer, not a fighter,” his being a sorcerer doesn’t feel right. Being a sorcerer matches the spells he’s cast though, so it was that particular “healer” line of dialog that is the dissonant element. Pidge’s character is named Meklavar, a fighter.

I love Shiro’s character wearing a shiny crown/horn in place of his white floof of hair. He gives the backstory of his character. He was chosen to be a paladin at a young age. He was raised in a monastery, but one day a leviathan-demon attacked, destroying the monastery, and killing his master. (He was educated at the Galaxy Garrison, and one day a Galra ship attacked, setting of his quest.) The master’s last words and immediate death is making fun of the cliché of so many stories having of a character dying as they say something important, and I laughed. And then the master is still alive just long enough to speak again and die again. And Shiro, recounting the tale while sitting in the inn, cries a big, long tear. The moment definitely plays with some tropes.

Hunk and Pidge’s characters get up and walk out of the inn. (Granted, they’re playing characters in a game, but it reflects their non-game character that they walk away from someone they’re supposedly friends with. Any decent friends playing a game together like this want their friends to feel included in the game, but that’s not their behavior here.) The sound of Shiro’s voice panicking, saying, “Where are you guys going?” as Block and Meklavar leave really gets to me.

Then Block says, “Man, that guy was so boring.” This is the voice of Joaquim Dos Santos and Lauren Montgomery talking about Shiro, not just Block talking about Shiro’s character in the game. This infuriates me. This is textual proof to go along with what they’ve said in interviews about how this episode is supposed to be mocking Shiro. JDS and LM always thought Shiro was boring. That’s why they resented being told they couldn’t kill off Shiro. One, if a character is boring, as head of the creative team, it’s your fault that that character is boring. Two, Shiro was never boring. That they think of him as boring tells us about how JDS and LM think about people. They think that someone who wants to serve and protect aren’t good people, that there’s something wrong with them being that way, and that they think no one could find value in a character who displays those qualities.

Shiro’s character refuses to stay behind and runs to join Block and Meklavar. Then a giant mouse attacks, eating Shiro. Cut to the table that Coran, Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge are playing at. One of the mice is chewing on Shiro’s character miniature. Shiro is mildly incredulous that Coran is declaring his character dead in the game just because the mouse jumped on the table.

Coran says, “Don’t worry, you can just make a new character.” There is a differential in people who play RPGs demonstrated here: Some players really don’t care about characters. As some people far more clever than I am have said, they’re the kind of players who roll play, not role play. Player characters for this style of player are little more than the numbers on the character sheet. For others of us, the character is a lot more than what’s printed on that sheet. We invest ourselves emotionally in our characters, think about their backstory, and can’t just discard them so easily when they die in game.

Shiro takes his mini and puts it back on the table, saying, “I’m going to be a paladin again.” Yes!

Coran says, “Come on now, do you really want to play a paladin?” and then lists a bunch of other classes.

Shiro counters, “I don’t know what’s more fulfilling than being a paladin.” I love it!

And Coran is animated angry and yells, “But you’re already a Paladin in real life!” Coran then growls. I’m sorry, but no. Coran getting angry here is unjustifiable. Why does it bother him if Shiro wants to play as a paladin in the game? (Because it bothers the show’s EPs and writers that they have to include Shiro as a Paladin in the show. The EPs wanted to get rid of Shiro so that they could have Keith as the Black Paladin, and so they’ve written their anger at not being able to into Coran’s dialog. Of course, they were eventually able to talk their way into completely sidelining Shiro in seasons 7 and 8 in order to get what they wanted in having Keith be Black Paladin.)

Also, this is technically the clone playing the game here, not the actual Shiro. The show eventually blatantly proclaims the clone to be an “evil thing.” But here we see the clone and subtextually here he’s telling us how much being a Paladin means to him. Here the clone is showing us through that subtext that he is not evil. He, as much as the real Shiro, cares about helping people, about serving and protecting. We saw that in 4x01 “Code of Honor” when he begged the Black Lion to let him help the other Paladins. But again, the EPs think that this makes a person “boring.”

Allura and Lance enter the room and see them playing. Allura is interested in joining them, though Lance is skeptical since it involves a book. He also freaks out over the idea of a d20. Lance asks if they don’t all have something more important to do (ignoring the fact that he himself isn’t doing anything important right now). Pidge and Hunk are waiting on diagnostic to run on some system of the Castle Ship.

Shiro responds, “And I’m trying to take a mental break. We’ve been going really hard lately.” Awe!! Let Shiro have some fun! (Especially since the show almost never writes him to have any moments like this.)

Lance is more interested in playing once he hears that Allura wants to play. Sigh.

We return to their game. Block, Meklavar, and Shiro’s character are walking through the woods. Allura’s character, an elven mystical archer, joins them. Lance is a cat-eared thief named Pike, which he says is not a thief but a ninja-assassin. He poofs around with smoke bombs, and loudly yells about his character “lurking in the shadows, silently watching!” The effect of having him yell so loudly about being silent is funny. And then they see him stealing money from a pouch. So yeah, thief.

Allura’s character summons a flying mount that they all then ride on to the dungeon.

I love Block asking, “Did anyone remember to bring torches.” Needing to see in dark environments is something RPG players are kind of notorious for forgetting, so Block’s comment is so very meta.

Shiro then says, “I really think my character would have remembered to bring a torch.” I do agree with him, and a good dungeon master, game master, or as Coran’s calling himself in this episode lore master wouldn’t be so strict as Coran is here. It reads more like Coran is again voicing the EPs’ dislike of Shiro. Allura realizes her character an make an arrow glow, so they have light.

They come to a dead-end in the dungeon. Lance says, “Maybe you just have to knock,” knocks on the wall, and they door is revealed. It totally references back to 1x01 “The New Alliance” where he gained access to the Blue Lion by knocking on its forcefield. So of course, I’m now thinking of how Blue valued Lance so much that she let him in just because he knocked, and then by moving Lance from Blue to Red, that bond he’s had with Blue from the beginning was senselessly taken from him.

The episode then goes meta again by having Lance’s character, as the thief, have to check for traps on the door. My experience suggests that the presence and use of traps in D&D is such that players rarely speak about the process in any in-character terms, only in terms of game mechanics. The way the dialog is written here totally matches that real way checking for traps is usually handled in games. So, Lance rolls low, the trap is triggered, and everyone plunges down a shaft/highly sloping tunnel. Once they fall out into the open, Block casts a spell that gives everyone a flying chicken to hold on to so that they don’t fall. The chickens are funny.

Then, there’s a montage of the group fighting various monsters, until they come upon a giant pile of gold and treasure. Allura gets a “quick draw quiver with a magical creature-summoning arrow.” Pidge gets “goves of transmutation,” the description of which kind of makes me think of Allura’s alchemy. Lance gets an invisibility cloak. Hunk gets a bowl of endless food because of course he does. (Sigh.) And Shiro gets a “blazing sword.” This makes me think of Voltron’s sword’s flaming version, and then I again think of how this show takes being the Black Paladin away from Shiro. As soon as his character lifts the sword, he’s super excited, and then he gets hit by black and red lightning and dies screaming, his hair-floof crown and the sword being the only things left behind. And how do the others’ characters react? Pidge says, “Ooo, he dropped a rare item.” They don’t care about Shiro.

The innkeeper is the villain. A silly, simplistic twist like this is okay since they’re playing a game here, but it does reflect on what the show is doing with Lotor. Like the innkeeper, he was brought in as an ally to the Paladins, providing them with information about where to go and what to do, and then, out of nowhere really, he’s suddenly not a good person but a villain. It’s a process that’s fine when they’re all sitting around here playing a game, but the main show itself needed to do way better than this.

Shiro’s new character arrives, teleporting into the dungeon. Shiro’s twin brother Jiro, “here to complete Shiro’s quest.” It has to be a meta reference to the clone story. And still, his new character, like the clone, is a good person, trying to help and protect people. Pidge responds, “A paladin again?” with a lot of derision, so this is more of the EPs’ dislike of Shiro being written into the meta-dialog of the characters. It doesn’t hurt anybody for Shiro to play whatever character he wants, so how about you shut up, Pidge.

Dakin talks about Block’s petrified village, saying, “I’ve already siphoned off their life force.” Clearly, this is a cryptic foreshadowing of Lotor’s colony and the Alteans there being the source of the unexpected quintessence. It almost feels like this is the show semi-consciously recognizing that how the rest of the season writes Lotor is super underdeveloped and shallow. Either the writers know they wrote Lotor’s end badly and just didn’t have the writing skills to do better or weren’t allowed by the EPs or something, or they actually think they’ve written Lotor well and are just mirroring it here, unaware that this reveals how shallow they wrote Lotor’s end.

Dakin blasts Jiro with flame, and his shield even generates some glowing forcefield-like energy to help deflect the blast. I love shields as tools and symbols, so I love that his character has one.

The episode changes animation style again to look like that of a video game while Allura’s character shoots enemies with arrows. The party takes damage, and Allura uses a “healing arrow,” complete with yelling the name of the ability as she does so – that’s meta. There is something odd, in a funny way, of shooting someone causing them to be healed.

Jiro then vows to avenge his twin. I wish with this show had Shiro care about the clone after it falls as much as Jiro cares about Shiro. If the EPs thought Shiro was a boring character, then how about writing him to want vengeance against Haggar for what she’s done to him and to all the clones the same way Jiro wants revenge here? It would have been a plot that would have let the show wrestle with the implications and significance of the clone story instead of just instantly forgetting any of it ever happened.

The shot from behind of Jiro running toward Dakin… yeah, that’s nice.

They keep fighting, Block casting “embiggen” on Meklavar, who grows giant and axes Dakin.

Jiro speaks, but with Shiro-the-player’s comments, “This game is so amazing. It requires problem-solving, teamwork, creativity. All the skills you want to imbue when doing team-building exercises.” I love Shiro going a little nerdy in the moment. I love seeing and hearing! him be excited about something. He’s clearly having fun. And it also reflects his character as a leader that he sees the game through that lens of leadership and teamwork. But remember, this guy is supposed to be an “evil thing.” Grr.

And Lance then yells at him, “Stop trying to ruin our fun with learning!” Stop trying to ruin Shiro’s fun, Lance. This show lets Shiro have such little fun as it is!

Surprise, Dakin isn’t dead. With the show using Dakin to foreshadow and mirror Lotor, his not being dead here could be read as further foreshadowing, a hint to the viewer that Lotor’s story isn’t over just because he dies at the end of the season. But it’s not.

Dakin is now a dragon. Block is hurt, and Allura shoots another healing arrow. Pidge gets smashed by a dragon tail. Shiro tries to draw the dragon’s attacks away from the rest of the characters, just like a tank character like the paladin class usually does in RPGs. Hunk realizes they need a plan, so he casts a “secret” spell, and the players huddle away from Coran to devise that plan.

Pike distracts the dragon with his quick speed and cloak of invisibility. Block throws out some food from his endless bowl. Meklavar transmutes the food into oil with her gloves. Allura summons what looks like a hippocampus, a creature from Greek mythology with a horse-like body, fish-like tail, and wings. Jiro mounts it, lights his sword on fire, and sets the oil on fire. The fire destroys the dragon.

Victory.

Pidge and Hunk have a breakthrough on what they’re working on on the Castle Ship. Lance reacts, saying, “Somehow I understand the fantasy words better than the science ones.” Is that the writers telling us that they know they don’t understand the science they try to write into this show?

Shiro says, “I can’t get over how great that game was!” It’s so nice. This man deserves to have fun!

Allura comments about how the fun of playing has made the time go by quickly, and Lance, of course, responds out of his attraction to Allura, “We have pretty good time together, don’t we?” She says, “We sure do,” and this feels like it’s setting up the idea that the problem is Allura just hasn’t realized the right guy for her (Lance) has been there all along, and that she’s wrong for having not been interested in him before. I really do not like this trope of romantic storytelling (and the ignorance it demonstrates some men to have about women).

Lotor contacts Allura to tell her the ship is ready to begin testing. Lance is instantly dejected, but I guess at least this jealous reaction isn’t one of anger and arrogance. Coran offers another round of playing, and Lance says sure.

Shiro says, “I want to be a paladin again.” So much meta on this line. It reflects how being a Paladin is so fundamental to Shiro’s character arc, and it makes that the show takes being a Paladin away from him infuriating. It also again reflects the goodness of the clone, and it makes the show declaring the clone to be an “evil thing” infuriating. And of course, Lance and Coran react like Shiro’s wanting to be a paladin (and thus the show/EPs/writers thinking Shiro being a Paladin) is somehow weird.

It amazes me that the EPs thought this episode would get viewers on their side in thinking Shiro was boring. And if I understand the broader audience reaction to this episode, that backfired on the EPs, as this episode just further reinforced for viewers why they like Shiro so much. At the least, it did so for me.

[chatterbox-meta]

On Narrative Consequence

Or, a meta on how every single one of Katsuki Bakugou’s and Enji Todoroki’s misdeeds have directly or indirectly resulted in their misfortune.

Before I begin, I would like to say sorry for postponing other metas I’ve promised to write in favour of this meta. Well, I say meta, but this is more of a rant than anything. Namely, by writing this, I am mostly venting my frustration with a certain belief somewhat widespread in the MHA fandom - that Katsuki and Enji have never been properly punished for anything they did.

First, let’s examine what “proper punishment” even means. The answers probably vary from person to person, but the most consistent ones I’ve seen centered around legal punishment, verbal calling out and, sometimes, an “eye for an eye” type of retribution. I’ll get to the last two later, but the first one - legal punishment - is genuinely not something either Katsuki or Enji have gotten.

“But Chatterbox! That means the people who say they weren’t punished properly are actually right!” Well, yeah, if this was real life then legal punishment would be the only appropriate response for crimes like spousal and child abuse, as well as certain bullying tactics like suicide baiting.

However, My Hero Academia is not real life and Katsuki and Enji aren’t real people. They’re fictional characters within a narrative and that narrative has a way of dishing out its own punishment. Just because the two of them haven’t been sent to jail/juvie doesn’t mean they were immune to karmic narrative punishment. Such punishment is obviously not possible in real life since karma doesn’t exist, only direct action, but in a story like MHA, the author can write events to serve that purpose.

With that in mind and to put it bluntly, you’d have to ignore large chunks of canon to claim the two weren’t punished. In fact, many events in MHA are designed to hit Katsuki and Enji specifically where it will hurt them the most and in a way that will make them learn their lessons and retain them. Let’s go over the things that happen to them and what actions led to that.

Katsuki Bakugou starts off the series as a bully convinced he’s standing at the top and determined to keep our loveable protagonist Izuku down because, deep down, he (perhaps irrationally, at that point) believes Izuku has whatever it takes to surpass him and fears the failure and loss of identity that would mean for him. Of course, this merely explains his actions and doesn’t justify them, so what is his punishment?

Well, the punishment the narrative decides for him is making those fears come true.The entire story until about the end of S3 (so, for the first 120-ish chapters of the manga) is about Izuku being built up and Katsuki being torn down.

Sometimes this is done incidentally (the Sludge Villain case, which both shakes up Katsuki’s belief in himself as the strongest and leads to Izuku earning One For All, while also serving as karmic punishment for Katsuki going too far with his bullying earlier*), but most of the time it’s a direct result of his mistakes (his loss to Izuku in the Heroes vs Villains excercise/DvK1, him being unable to reach out to Shouto to bring out his full power like Izuku did at the Sports Festival, his temper tantrum attracting the League of Villains and costing him any respect he might have earned by winning, his attitude making him fail the provisional license exam while Izuku passed, etc.).

*(Obviously this only works as punishment from a narrative standpoint, anyone who says a real 15-year-old deserved to almost be murdered because they were a bully is, uh, not someone I’d want to associate myself with.)

I already went into depth about precisely what and how Katsuki loses over the course of the series in this very long character analysis, but the tl;dr version is that he goes from believing that he is the strongest and Izuku is the weakest to believing that he is the failure who caused All Might’s end and Izuku is the prodigy chosen to be All Might’s successor. Izuku keeps building up his self-esteem while Katsuki keeps losing it. In other words, his punishment for trying to tear down Izuku is being torn down himself.

Some would argue that this doesn’t count because Izuku didn’t tear him down personally and instead that this is just the natural and inevitable result of Izuku getting stronger and Katsuki having to face reality. Putting aside that a character like Izuku wouldn’t want to personally tear him down, here’s where we go back to the verbal calling out, the “eye for an eye” and the more “direct” punishments.

A shocking amount of people believe that Izuku has never called out Katsuki for his behavior, some even going so far as to say that Izuku doesn’t realize what Katsuki’s doing is wrong due to Stockholm Syndrome or something. This infuriates me because it is supposed Izuku Stans doing a disservice to Izuku’s character. While it’s true that Izuku doesn’t hate Katsuki himself (I go into detail about why here, along with the reason why he’d forgive him), but he absolutely hates a lot of his actions and can and will let him know that.

Even way back in S1, when he is still a meek terrified kid, he stands up to him. When Katsuki confronts him after the entrance exam and threatens him, Izuku doesn’t budge, he tells him that he’s going to UA and there’s nothing he can do about it, causing him to back off.

During DvK1, despite Katsuki acting more unhinged than usual and trying to either beat him up or provoke him into using OFA, Izuku looks him in the eye and tells him the insulting nickname he gave him is now the name of a hero. He even kind of taunts him by saying he has Katsuki’s weaknesses recorded in the notebook Katsuki burned and threw away!

And he keeps doing it! When they have to work together to fight All Might and Katsuki refuses to do so, even lashing out violently, Izuku yells at him right back and even punches him hard eventually. Granted, it was mostly because it looked like Katsuki would give up on the one thing Izuku admires about him instead of for revenge, but still.

Izuku accepts Katsuki’s challenge in DvK2 not just because he wants to give Katsuki a chance to let out his emotions and find answers, but also because he wants to air his grievences (what he really thought of Katsuki, how it felt to chase after him) and give Katsuki answers in the form of a resounding “I’ll surpass you” and an OFA powered punch to the face.

Another common claim is that the adults and kids around Katsuki never do anything about him. This may have been true in middle school, but UA? Aizawa restrains him and negates his Quirk the second he tries to attack Izuku during the Quirk Apprehension test and tells him to stop wasting his talent after DvK1. When Katsuki grabs an unconscious Shouto by the shirt after their match, Midnight knocks him out and then he’s chained and muzzled.** All Might spells out what he’s been doing wrong after DvK2.

**(Sidebar: it amuses me that this is called out as inhumane treatment and too harsh punishment, even though the adults had no way of knowing whether Katsuki would attack again or what it would take to calm him down, by the same people who claim Katsuki isn’t punished enough. Well, which is it?)

The adults absolutely intervene when he steps out of line. And even when they don’t, they tend to have a reason. All Might didn’t stop the Heroes vs Villains excercise because he knew that if he stepped in, Izuku wouldn’t feel like he’s proven anything, to himself or to Katsuki. He didn’t step in for Izuku’s sake, not Katsuki’s.

As for the End of Term Exam, Aizawa didn’t put Izuku on a team with Katsuki because he “wanted Izuku to get along with his abuser,” but because he knew that Izuku had great leadership and cooperation skills except when he’s with Katsuki and his inability to force difficult people to work with him would cost him in the field. Besides, neither Katsuki nor Izuku can afford to have bad blood between them in high-stakes situations. It might be harsh, but Aizawa was doing it for both of their sakes.

The only thing the adults could have done differently is come up with a more long-term solution to the problem, preferably by actually talking to the people involved, but this was aknowledged after the duo broke curfew to fight.

In conclusion, Katsuki has, in fact, absolutely been called out by the people around him and punished by the narrative thouroughly.

Phew, that got longer than I planned... Where was I? Ah, yes, Area Man Misplaced In The Role of Father.

Enji Todoroki spent his life desperately trying to reach All Might’s spot as number one hero. When he feared his own skills would never be enough, he hatched a plan to get into a Quirk Marriage and then make one of his offspring surpass All Might in his place. Why he thought that was a good idea, I don’t know, but it fits the psychology of the typical Stage Mom, living her, uh, I mean his dream vicariously through his child, Shouto.

In any case, in order to accomplish his goal, Enji was willing to use any means necessary, icluding brutal training of a toddler, physical violence against his wife whenever she tries to interfere and... whatever... happened to Touya. Nothing outside of that goal mattered to him, “unsuited” children like Natsuo and Fuyumi (who presumably only or mostly inherited Rei’s Quirk) were tossed aside and ignored.

So, how does the narrative punish this sorry excuse for a hero, father and husband? By giving him exactly what he wanted, the number one spot? Apparently so!

“But Chatterbox! Isn’t that Endeavor being rewarded by the narrative?” You would think so, but interpreting it that way is actually completely missing the point of Endeavor’s Arc! Because everytime I think of how it’s presented, I’m reminded of a line I might have heard in Disney’s Princess and the Frog: “Did you get what you wanted? S’ what you got what you need?”

After All Might’s retirement, the number one spot was left open for Endeavor to take his place. This is what he’d wanted for a long time and believed he would never get himself. But Endeavor didn’t earn that spot, he was given it, and he knows it. He may have taken his place, but he never truly surpassed All Might and, now that he’s out of commission, neither he nor Shouto (who doesn’t seem to care anyway) ever will.

In other words, every single one of his efforts, every horrible thing he’s done to his family up until that point... It was all for nothing. He may have been at least somewhat aware that what he was doing was indeed horrible but just surpressed that knowledge for the sake of achieving his goal, but now that his goal has amounted to nothing and he feels lost and aimless, he’s finally forced to reflect on his deeds.

But even asides from that, who is Endeavor, the hero with the most solved cases in history, the one who saved countless lives? Well, not much of a number one hero, even with his family situation not being public knowledge, it turns out. After Kamino, the people didn’t just need a hero who would defeat villains, but a hero who would reassure them that everything will be okay and discourage criminals by his mere presence. That he would uphold Peace. Endeavor’s victory never felt more hollow, because the people don’t need him, they need another All Might.

So, Endeavor approaches the man himself for advice. But Toshinori tells him he can’t be him, nor should he attemt to. The age of All Might is over and the public needs to accept that, if they want to prove to Shigaraki that they can go on without him. Toshinori thinks Endeavor should be his own hero, the kind of hero people like Hawks saw in him, the only one who wasn’t lured into complacency by All Might; the tenacious, dedicated and efficient powerhouse against whom villains wouldn’t dare stand against.

And yet, that, too, feels hollow. Because even if All Might and Hawks believe in Endeavor, even if the rest of society comes to believe Endeavor... What does any of that matter for Enji Todoroki? The man who ruined his family for the sake of his own ambitions? Enji now knows that he’ll probably never be a true hero, let alone number one, because of what he’s done, even if the entire thing remains a secret.

Still, he has no other choice. He’s number one, understanding for the first time the enourmous pressure and burden that comes with the position. And, of course, the villain attacks, leading to Enji getting his face torn open by High End, coincidentally (really, within the narrative, it’s not a coincidence at all) on the same side that Shouto got his burn scar. But that is fine, because for the first time he’s fighting not for the sake of his ambitions but for the society that needs a pillar, no matter how unstable or rotten it is beneath its shiny and sturdy marble surface.

For that reason, though this is never expicitly stated, he can’t even “properly” punish himself by going public with his crimes - imagine the utter trainwreck the new number one hero revealing himself to be a former abuser would be, in the wake of the chaos and uncertainty caused by All Might’s fall? When it comes to his family, atonement really is the only option at this point.

So Enji’s punishment is getting exactly what he wanted, at the cost of carrying the world on his shoulders knowing he’ll never be what it needs, getting disfigured and having to face his broken family. Speaking of, what about that family? Aren’t they letting him get off scot-free? Contrary to popular belief, no.

Natsuo doesn’t want to forgive him or even aknowledge his efforts to change and be the hero they can be proud of, he wants nothing to do with him. Shouto is willing to see those efforts and is curious to see what the results will be, he wants Enji to make good on his words, but he still agrees with Natsuo and doesn’t forgive him or want him in his life beyond the pragmatic uses of his experience as a pro. Above all else, he wants to carve an identity outside of his father’s former wishes and outside his hatred for him.

Fuyumi does forgive him unconditionally, but it has less to do with Enji genuinely earning her forgiveness and more to do with her desire for a happy, normal family. Rei also seemingly forgives him, but for her, it might simply be a desire to let go of the hatred that made her scald her child’s face. It would be so easy for her to simply blame all of it on Enji, but she can’t, not all of it.

And Enji himself certainly hasn’t forgiven anything, nor does he demand forgiveness from others and fully accepts the consequences of both his sins and his dream.

I don’t think Enji’s quite done paying his debt yet, there is still the issue with Touya and I bet the LoV would be salivating at the chance to expose him if they found out (in fact I hope that happens, not because I have a thirst for punishment but because I think it would be a fantastic plot), but so far, he definitely hasn’t gone unpunished.

Before I end this long-ass rant (holy shit, this has gotten way out of hand), I have one more thing to address: what is the purpose of a punishment? It’s to stop bad behavior and make the perpetrators realise what they’re doing is wrong. In that way, I believe the narrative punishment of Katsuki and Enji was successful.

So, what, exactly, would even be the point of “properly” punishing them further? Vindication? For whom, the characters or certain audience members?

Again, in real life, learning your lesson, feeling regret and trying to do better isn’t a get out of jail free card (though certain places do prioritize rehabilitation over punitive justice, finding that the former significantly lowers the rate of re-offending), but in fiction, priorities are different. It’s not about making things even (would anything ever make them even?) or treating characters “fairly” or teaching the audience basic morals, it’s about what would be the most interesting to read about.

Everyone’s opinions are different, but honestly?

The story of two boys growing past their relationship as a bully and a victim, past even the destructive rivalry of tearing each other down, and embracing the relationship of pushing each other past who they are now by borrowing each other’s best qualities?

And the story of a man who wants to be a father and a hero even though it might be impossible, of a family that might just one day find closure in the belief that all the years of suffering amounted to something in the end?

I’d take those over some sanctimonious, heavy-handed morality tale of an ao3 “fix fic” any day. Yes this entire rant is actually me being salty after seeing too many self-righteous “I’ll adress what Horikoshi won’t uwu” fic authors, fucking sue me.   

[fallling-skys-blog]

47 49 and 74 with murdoc, i love your work btw

“You’re angry with me, I know.”

(Thank you, I’m so happy that you like what I write! 49 and 74 are under the cut!)

“I can’t believe him! The nerve!” You said, fully aware of how overdramatic you sounded and not caring in the slightest.

“Yes, Murdoc is not very dating savvy. Actually that is probably because you are the only one who has put up with him for this long. To be fair, you are his first date since,” Noodle struggles to think of someone who had dated Murdoc since she’d been at Kong and fails, “many one night stands.”

“You have a point but still! It’s infuriating,” You say, pacing back and forth while Noodle sips on her milkshake.

It’d started off innocent enough. You’d been assigned to help out the band with whatever they needed as a kind of intern, which was even worse since they were on tour at the moment, and right away you’d established that you’d listen to what they needed but you wouldn’t take any shit from Murdoc or the others, especially Murdoc since he’d  made an unsavory joke in your direction within seconds of meeting you.

As soon as you’d set clear boundaries, you’d grown extremely close to the band, becoming best of friends with the teenage guitarist Noodle. You listened to what every single person in the band had to say, making you a favourite amongst them all. Eventually, Murdoc took to you and your listening skills and would tell you things that nobody in the band had even ever heard of and you’d found yourself slowly falling for the mess of a man that played bass in this odd band.

Which had lead to you, Murdoc, 2D, Russel, and Noodle all being stuck inside a small, weirdly scented taxi headed to a small diner in New York. It certainly wasn’t the night you’d imagined but it was interesting and not horrible in the least. You’d ended up having to sit on Murdoc’s lap in the back since Noodle refused to give up the passenger seat to Russel so that you could all squish together in the back and he would have room to breathe, especially since he wasn’t fond of being forced into small places with people, even the ones that he knew. She was being extremely ornery tonight for some reason and nobody really felt like arguing with her anyways so you all had come up with the seating arrangement of Russel on the left, 2D in the middle, and you on Murdoc’s lap on the right.

When you’d arrived and were free of the small car space, 2D and Russel sat themselves at booth across from each other, talking excitedly about something or another while you sat across from Murdoc, Noodle sliding in next to you.

“C’mon Noodle, why don’t you go by Russ and 2D? Sure, they’re not as entertaining as me but I’m sure they’ll get the job done,” Murdoc said and was met with Noodle rolling her eyes.

“I want a milkshake, 2D always forgets his wallet, and Russel needs a break from me today anyways. Besides, I want to watch you embarrass yourself on your date!” Noodle replied, with a devilish grin.

“Alright, alright, do what you want. It’s not like anyone in this bloody house can stop you,” He’d replied.

“And do you know why? It is because I am the greatest fighter and guitarist the world has ever seen! One day I will be even better than you Murdoc,” She said and you couldn’t help but laugh at her excitement.

“Guess she takes after you when it comes to confidence,” You joked and Murdoc had chuckled.

“Greatest role model to take after when it comes to that, not so much the other stuff,” He answers honestly and you nod.

“You’re getting better,” You say.

“You really think so love? Don’t flatter me too much or I’ll have to buy you every mediocre food item they have on the menu and I’ll be added to the list of idiot tourist names these lot pass around every night. Can you imagine? The Murdoc Niccals written off as a sap and forced to start collecting snow globes?” Murdoc says.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. Snow globes might be the next baseball cards. In 2040 you might even be able to sell them for millions, you never know,” You reply.

“Or beanie babies, those are popular as well,” Noodle adds, looking up briefly from reading the menu.

“Moral of the story really’s to hoard things then isn’t it?” Murdoc asks and you smirk.

“Guess so, someone should really start writing a children’s book teaching kids about this,” You reply.

“Well it sure as hell can’t be me, I can barely talk to Noodle,” Murdoc says and Noodle laughs.

“That’s not your fault, only trained professionals and cats can talk to me and you are neither,” Noodle answers.

“I’ll have you know that many have said hearing my voice is like the sound of angel whispering the answers to all their problems and when it’s combined with my bass, it can cure them of anything,” Murdoc says and Noodle snorts.

“So the sound of dying crows mixed with your terrible playing cured them?” Noodle says.

“Can you believe this?” Murdoc asks you and you shrug.

“Your singing is objectively horrible” You reply.

“Sounds somethin’ like a dying seagull!” 2D pipes up from the seat behind you, ducking when Murdoc throws a stray fork at him and smiling triumphantly at Russel when he misses being hit.

The waitress comes at what seemed like just the right time since Noodle was practically jumping out of her skin in her seat and you were running out of quippy remarks to Murdoc and were devolving into awkwardly complimenting each other, which as adorable as it was embarrassing for the both of you.

“Can I take your order?” She asks directly to Murdoc and you can’t help but roll your eyes at her directness.

“Yes, I would like a strawberry milkshake and for you to stop lusting after my father,” Noodle says, making a gagging sign in your direction.

You learned that she only calls Murdoc her father when defending him to others or when she was trying to thwart people’s efforts to hit on him or his efforts to hit on someone else when she wanted to have a nice night without being haunted by images of Murdoc sticking his tongue down someone random person’s throat. Other than that he was just “Murdoc” or “Mr. Niccals” if she was making fun of him, usually in a voice mocking an interviewer.

Brother was reserved for 2D when she felt loving and if she was building him up to someone and she’d tell people that he was like a pet if she was annoyed with him that day. Russel was always called her uncle no matter what because he was almost always her favourite and deserved the title.

“Oh, that’s so nice to see that you take your daughter out to dinners for bonding time!” The waitress said, ignoring Noodle much to both your and Noodle’s irritation.

“It’s not that hard being a father really, just takes the right kind of time and dedication. Lots of that kind of thing, mmm,” He’d replied.

Noodle didn’t end up getting her milkshake and glared at Murdoc, purposefully only talking to you until 2D brang her one, saying that he’d heard her try and order it. She’d thanked him with a hug and smile, telling him that she wished she was at his table right now because watching Murdoc flirt with a waitress was boring and she definitely preferred talking to Russel and him much more. 

Finally, when the server had written her number on his napkin and her address with a heart you’d gotten off in a huff, Noodle following close behind saying that you two had to go to the bathroom which had led you to right now. Ranting to Noodle in the back of the restaurant about the irritating night.

“Who even writes their adress on a napkin? He could be a serial killer for all she knows. You know what, want to ride home with me? We can take our own taxi,” You offer, not feeling like dealing with anymore terrible flirting tonight.

“Yes! Our taxi will be so much better anyways, trust me, I am much more fun than the rest of the band!” She reassures you and you can’t help but smile at her confidence.

To her credit, it was an extremely fun car ride especially since the taxi driver allowed her to blast music and roll down the windows all of the way. It was the most fun car ride that you’d probably experienced so far but as soon as you got back into the house your mood soured again.

You managed to walk straight into Murdoc after Noodle had ran off to say goodnight to the band.

“I would say sorry but I think that’s your job,” You’d told him and he’d sighed.

“You’re angry with me, I know, but it wasn’t anything. I don’t know why you’re so mad, I can’t help it if the bird was all over me,” He starts and you stare back at him with an expression of disbelief.

“I’m pretty sure you were flirting back with her on what you said was supposed to be a date for the two of us,” You answer.

“What?” He laughs, “I’m guilty of leading her on a bit but the entire time you were gone I was telling her about you. She even took back her number that she gave me, never had that happen unless I was pissed drunk but that’s not the point, love. The point’s that I’m horrible at this and the next time I’ll do this sort of thing right, yeah? Anything you want and we’ll go do it.”

“Fine but if you blow your shot next time, I’ll move onto the next Satanist with a weirdly charming yet horrible personality,” You tell him and he laughs, jokingly assuring you that if he manages to ruin his chances next time that he’ll send the next sleazy bassist he sees your way.

“I don’t think I can forgive you.”

“We can start over. I’ll do anything, everything can be perfect. Just please don’t leave me.”

The band had been your kind of escape from everything in your hectic life and you’d stuck with them through everything, which was impressive considering the kinds of enemies the band managed to make thanks to Murdoc’s point blankness when it came to everything.

You’d been there when he’d slammed a door in Jimmy Manson’s face and when Murdoc had not too sneakily made out with 2D’s girlfriend in the bathroom of Kong Studios. Originally you’d met them when they’d needed a babysitter for Noodle because Russel refused to allow Noodle to follow Murdoc and Noodle to a strip joint and he needed to go on a trip to visit someone, who you’d later found out was his girlfriend that he was secretly seeing.

He didn’t want her to be involved with the band since that usually meant unfortunate accidents so Russel had been more than willing to drive out to her instead of her coming over to Kong. You’d needed a job and it seemed easy enough to take care of a eight year old for a few hours for some money that weekend, especially since Russel had asked you so kindly and you probably owed him a few favours yourself.

“Interesting place,” You commented when you’d arrived, looking around at the mansion that was likely to be a tourist destination to look for ghosts considering the shape it was in and the vibe it gave off.

“Not exactly paradise but when you’re playing in a band with Muds, you take what you can get,” Russel had shrugged as you closed the door behind you.

“Fair enough,” You responded, having no idea who he was talking about.

“Who in the hell’s this?” Murdoc has said, throwing an arm with a beer bottle over the couch so that he could turn his head to look at you.

“I’m here to take care of your kid problem and unless you know anyone else who’s dying to take the position, I’d be a little nicer,” You’d responded and Murdoc had chuckled in response.

“I like your style, don’t let old Murdoc over here order you around. Don’t worry I’ll have you begging for that later,” He’d said.

“In your dreams and my nightmares,” You’d replied before turning to Russel.

“Do I get to meet Noodle now? You said you had to get going soon and I don’t want you to have to wait longer than you have to especially with such a mysterious journey awaiting,” You teased.

“You’re right, don’t wanna delay leaving longer than I have to. Trouble is finding where she’s hiding,” Russel replied and you’d began your search for Noodle, meeting the lead singer along the way.

He seemed nice enough, a little spacey but he was definitely interesting and had plenty of weird stories and a pretty pleasant attitude which made you like him almost immediately. You’d asked him about Noodle and he told that she’d ran off with one of keyboards so she probably couldn’t have gone that far unless she dropped it along the way and in that case, could you please bring it back to him because it was one of his favourites.

You eventually found Noodle and ushered Russel out of the house since he was still nervous about leaving her alone, even if you’d be there. You couldn’t really blame him since the guy you’d met who’d been lounging on the couch, Murdoc you recalled, didn’t seem to be much of a parental figure and 2D had the personality of a little kid combined with being extremely spacey.

At first when Russel had left you alone with Noodle, you’d had some difficulty getting along, mostly due to the language barrier but after chasing her around the house for almost two hours she eventually calmed down and you two got along alright. You focused on activities that didn’t need verbal communication like games, video or board, and whatever you could think up.

Eventually she’d passed out on the table when you left to get her some water and food so you’d carried her to her room, which you silently thanked Russel for showing you earlier on when you’d been trying to find her. You’d laid her down on the bed gently and covered her up with a blanket, leaving quietly and shutting the door behind you.

The fun part was trying to find your way around the mansion to somewhere that was potentially a good place to wait for Russel to come home and where Noodle could find you if she woke up.

You found your way back to living room after a lot of trial and error of searching around the house and sat down on the couch with a sigh, tired from a night of not sleeping the day before and taking care of an overexcited eight year old.

You heard rummaging and someone yell from in the kitchen and groaned, forcing yourself to get up and go check if they were okay. You supposed that 2D and Murdoc could be back from their night out since you’d been away from the door with Noodle and the house was like a maze so it wouldn’t be too out of this world to assume that they’d come home while you were hanging out with Noodle.

“Rough night?” You asked, making your way into the kitchen when you saw Murdoc struggling to pop the cap of an alcohol bottle.

“Any night with that blubbering idiot’s a rough one. Be a good boy/girl, love and open this for me, will you?” He asked, handing you the bottle.

“Hmmm, not really sure I should do that. You seem to be a little, what’s the word, addicted to this stuff,” You replied, knowing someone codependent on drugs when you saw them.

“Well if you’re not going to help, go take care of Noodle or whatever Russel decided to pay you for. Noodle would have been fine on her own if you ask me, it’s good for the kid to learn to take care of herself,” He said, trying to grab the bottle from you.

“She’s eight,” You answered.

“Knew how to take care of myself at seven, not all that hard is it? Besides,” He finally succeeds in grabbing the bottle out of your hands, “She’s loads smarter than I was back then.”

“Fair enough but you’re not exactly the pinnacle of glowing health, are you?” You replied.

“Well you’ve got me there, haven’t you?” He chuckled, taking a swig from the bottle that he’d been struggled to open just a minute ago.

It probably would have been smarter to leave him to what you expected he did on a regular basis on his own but leaving someone alone and inebriated in this house rubbed your conscience the wrong way so you walked with him around the house. He refused your request that he should drink some water to make sure his hangover wouldn’t be as bad in the morning saying that he probably deserved the punishment of that anyways.

To be fair, once he’d dranken out of the bottle he seemed to be only slightly tipsy so he was probably a pro when it came to drinking, not that that eased your mind about the situation in the slightest. When he’d drank the entirety was really when he stopped his incessant flirting and bragging and become like any normal person with problems and in desperate need of a friend or someone they could talk to.

You learned a little bit about his rocky past, things he felt guilty about, and his terrifying childhood. You felt bad for him and couldn’t help but try and comfort him which was hard when he was slurring his words and occasionally leaning on you for support.

Eventually, you gave up on walking around the house with him and moved to sit down, Murdoc practically crumbling to the ground. Before you knew it, he was sobbing into your shoulder while you held his hand. Moving so that you could run a hand through his hair with your other hand, doing your best to comfort this mess of a man in front of you.

After some time, he ended up passed with his head in your lap and you absentmindedly played with his hair having a feeling the little bit about his past that he’d told you wasn’t anywhere near everything he’d been through.

It definitely wasn’t the night you’d expected and when Russel eventually found you, he’d apologized that you had to deal with Murdoc when he was drunk and that he’d hoped to be home before 2D and Murdoc were.

He lifted Murdoc easily off your lap and thanked you for taking care of Noodle and actually managing to get her to go to sleep which was apparently a harder task then it seemed.

After that night, a mix of curiosity and the urge to help someone you didn’t even know got the best of you and you’d found yourself offering to take care of Noodle frequently. You ignored Murdoc’s flirting and bragging when you got the chance to talk to him and when that didn’t work you countered with smart responses, enjoying your banter and after a while you’d ended making friends with him.

Friends turned to something more and before you knew it, the two of you had begun dating and gone on a plethora of adventures with one another. It wasn’t exactly a healthy relationship but it was close and he promised you that he was working to getting better and you made yourself believe him. In a way, he was but at the same time he was exactly the same as before. Nights numbing his pain in alcohol and drugs. At least he’d stopped the drugs when you’d threatened to leave if he didn’t start treating himself better.

Which ended up in you here, chatting with Noodle while walking around the set to film the El Manana video. Murdoc whispering to the people filming and whoever was in charge of the shoot, you didn’t really pay too much attention to that type of thing, you really only cared about the band members and didn’t give in to the “rock star” persona they carried with them everywhere that they’d go.

Eventually Noodle shooed you away with a hug telling you that she had to get filmed now. You’d bugged her for a few more minutes and then left to sit in between Murdoc and Russel, watching as the camera’s started rolling and Noodle swung her feet over the ledge of the floating island.

Before you knew it, anarchy had ensued and you found yourself numb, staring at the ground back in your own room weeks later and questioning if you could have fixed what had happened. You knew your boyfriend has issues and was sometimes full of cruelty but nothing of this level. Letting Noodle die? Maybe it was an accident but his shout of, “Keep filming! Make you sure you get all of this mate!” echoed in your head, making you unsure of everything.

He’d assured you that it wasn’t like that and he hadn’t gotten Noodle killed, she was fine, she had a parachute, and they’d talked about this before but it’d sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than you.

Suddenly, you shot up from the ground where you’d been sitting with your back against the wall and started packing the things that you absolutely needed into a small suitcase, making your way down the stairs. It wasn’t running away from your problems as it was getting away from what was making you miserable, you told yourself as you ran into Russ and he gave you a head nod, his tired way of saying goodbye with the small amount of energy he had.

You’d forced yourself to give him a broken hearted smile and passed 2D’s room, his sobbing hitting you in your heart and you closed his cracked open door gently so that you wouldn’t bother his mourning process.

It was your luck that you found Murdoc drinking from a bottle, empty glasses surrounding him as he looked up at you with bloodshot eyes not comprehending what was happening at first, the chemicals affecting him slowing his brain’s processing.

“Sorry,” You deadpanned, taking a step to the door before he jumped up, nearly falling in the process.

“Don’t go love, I told you, it was an accident. She’s fine, I’m telling you, Noodle’s grand. She’s out there having the time of her life, she survived! I’m sure of it, have you ever seen her? She’s was a bloody assassin for God’s sake! A little explosion wouldn’t have-” He choked on his words, stopping before trying to regain his composure again.

“We can start over. I’ll do anything, everything can be perfect. Just please don’t leave me,” He finally says, holding onto your shoulders and looking you dead in the eyes.

“I don’t think I can forgive you and, this time, I don’t know if I want to,” You tell him and he lets go of you, knowing anyone caring for him was too good to be true in the first place and that he was always going to ruin it somehow but god, he never imagined it would be because of something like this.

[bestleftnameless]

Untitled (continued) 2

I woke up in a bright room. I must have made too much noise while falling down the stairs because they had taken me. Once again I was infuriated for I had made another terrible mistake. It turned out I hadn't broken my neck falling down the stairs, it had really been broken from the force of them grabbing and pulling me so quickly, though I was grateful they prevented me from falling and breaking my neck. I stood up slowly picking my hat up from the ground. I realized it wasn't my hat at all, in fact, it wasn't a hat at all, in fact, there was nothing there at all. I then saw my hat a foot away and leaned over grabbing it. As I extended myself to full height I realized I wasn't the only one with a grip on the fedora. The other man looked at me with what I imagined to be as equal a look of confusion as my own. It quickly turned to anger as he snatched the hat and walked away with an angry snort. As I was about to take it back I noticed another on the ground not too far away. I decided it was too far away and gave up on it altogether.

I looked around and saw that I was in some kind of waiting room. There was a man sitting on a bench filling out paperwork using his leg propped up over the other as a makeshift table. He didn't fool me but apparently fooled himself as he stuck the gum he was chewing underneath. I turned and saw a secretary sitting at her desk. I asked her how to get out of this place and without looking up she tapped the top of her desk pointing at a blank piece of paper laminated to the desk, apparently trying to make herself feel important. I ripped the paper off the desk, spat in it, crumpled it up and threw it at her face. She reached into a file cabinet and pulled out another sheet of paper then slowly and angrily slid it across the top of the desk towards me. I grabbed the paper then sat next to the table legged man and looked it over. It was a sheet with a list of reasons I should be allowed to leave having boxes to check next to each one. Also at the bottom was a larger box with lines in it for me to write some sort of essay on why I should be let out. Not really being a big fan of essays I walked out of the door marked exit.

I looked back at the building once far enough away and saw an old neon sign reading "death" with a flickering "j". I turned around leaving the building to the left of me and continued on my way. I walked by a man that was standing tall, asserting that where he stood was his territory. Though I tried to stay out of his imaginary circle, I must've stepped on the edge for he took a step toward me and puffed out his chest. Not one to back down from a challenge I ran away but when he chased me he forfeited the rights to his circle and so I took it as my own. It didn't fit in my pocket though, so I left it where it was, hoping it would provide a small meal for some rats. I first made it clear to them, however, that the rent was due on the first as to avoid any future conflicts.

Before the rats, I had another patron. He was wearing a black cloak and wore it wrapped completely around himself including the head. He held it closed with his hand which was all I could see of his body. I noticed his hand was missing a finger and it reminded me of the time I lost one of mine. A long time ago I had a fight with "the great ruler of the land", Lord BomVoZwich (pronounced prudence). I was a swordsman at the time and defender of a nation after taking a 6 hour course. He personally challenged me to combat face to face by sending one of his minions to formally invite me to a battle. Never one to refuse a fight I said no. I knew how high the stakes were but accepted anyway because this was only a twice in a lifetime opportunity and if I didn't do it now I would never have a sicond chance, because sicond isn't a word.

I arrived at his castle and took a number at the front desk then sat waiting. I was number 37 and the current number on the projector was 36 1/2. I refused to wait for such a ridiculously long period of time and called for him to come out of hiding and fight me. He refused and so I had to reschedule the appointment. The next day when I returned to the castle he stood there waiting for me, him being the doorman waiting to let me in. I tipped 15% and ran up a spiral staircase to face off against his majesty but had arrived early so I instead waited there leaning on my sword. When Lord BomVoZwich finally arrived he explained that he had trouble with the doorman not letting him in because he wasn't on the list. He apologized for the inconvenience then switched to his battle position. Neither of us wanted to attack first because the person that did would get suspended from school a day longer than the other and I couldn't risk it. He taunted me by saying how he was going to get my lock mandarin pie recipe and I taunted him by calling him by his first name, "Bernard". Neither of us got very worked up but eventually I initiated the fight by complimenting his hair.

 We began swinging at each other. I wondered why my attacks were so ineffective until I realized I wasn't using my sword. I grabbed it just in time to turn around and slice his head clean off, him being one of Bernard's minions. I was distraught because we had a poker game planned that weekend and now I had nothing to do. Bernard took advantage of my distraction and leapt at me. I was barely able to dodge in time but had my pinky finger cut off. He stumbled upon landing, then while catching himself slipped on my finger and impaled himself on his blade. From that day on I gave up on being a swordsman and promised myself I would never fight again. Though I knew I was lying because I refused to look myself in the eye so I gave up on giving up.

 After successfully pawning the circle for much less than it was worth I continued on my journey. I suddenly felt a burst of energy which most likely resulted from the coffee I had declined to drink earlier that day and began sprinting at 3 miles an hour. Feeling half priced as a bird I lost focus and walked a red light, which was the smart thing to do as the bases were loaded and he was a homerun hitter. Normally I would go back and apologize to his mother only for her to tell me she's not the one I need to apologize to, but I'm not normal so I continued running until colliding with a man in slow motion which triggered an altercation. After the camera circled us twice and a disembodied voice yelled ‘Go!’ as his words flashed across the screen, I was disheartened to see I was starting the fight with only half of my health bar remaining.

 I wondered what I could have done recently to lose half a health bar then remembered the bathroom break earlier in which there was much toilet roll squeezing and wall slapping resulting in me getting punched 20 feet for watching a man go about his business. While I was spaced out, the opponent had already attacked me leaving me with only a sliver of health left while in his bar you could still see his entire name. After seeing his name I laughed because he had the weirdest name imaginable, "John". He quit the match because apparently I hurt his little girl feelings, no offense to little girls out there (as if saying that makes a difference). No offense to anyone for that matter, except for wasps. Nobody likes wasps.

 As I watched the man leave with such speed smoke trailed off the ground behind him I thought to myself that this man is horrible for the environment, and did nothing about it. I did however, go to the local diner and order the first woman I saw to make me a sandwich. I wouldn't call me a sexist pig just yet as I only did because the lady was a waitress. Please, I was raised better than that, and after all I am a lady. At least I would hope so, after all, the rest rooms I use do only have stalls, but I am often kicked out and called a pervert.

 On the way I ran into a man named unbinchin. He didn't seem like a bad guy but once again I felt there was something off about him just like the man before, my worst fears were confirmed when I saw his jacket lying on the ground. I would have helped him pick it up but this isn't a charity. Upon having this thought, I realized that nearby there was a charity for rolling children down stairs in folded up boxes. Unsurprisingly they had a huge 2 stair out front and also a ramp. I ran up the stairs 4 at a time until clipping the front of one of my shoes near the top causing me to fall professionally. I base that description off of what I overheard one man say shortly afterward to his friend when he stated that I fell like it was my job. Excited at the thought of a promising new career I ran off to apply.

[meowmerson]

I LOVE YOUR TOMIONE AND ITS A LOWKEY DREAM TO HAVE YOU WRITE A ONESHOT WITH SASSY HERMIONE LIKE “if you were on fire and I had a glass of water, I’d drink the water.............. arsehole.”

(i turned this into a high school au and it somehow morphed into more or less pastel!tom and punk!hermione who AM I!!!????? lmao)

Hermione knew she was a bit of a cliche.

She had always been an abrasive child, too bossy and too loud and too rude to make many friends. What her parents had always brushed off as an intelligent precociousness that would serve her later in life was perceived as poor character by her peers at school. She thought maybe this was what cultivated her into what she was today, the conflict of what her parents had taught her–to be herself no matter what the cost–and what her teachers attempted to teach her–to censor herself in order to make herself more marketable to the public.

So as she grew up, left middle school and was separated from her only two friends in the world–Harry and Ron went to a high school nearer to the center of town, while Hermione’s high school was just up the road from her house–Hermione more-or-less accidentally crafted an image for herself that was so cliche she almost offended herself.

An outcast. A leather wearing, smoking, anti-social punk, more or less.

She had taken up smoking for purely practical reasons, those reasons being she didn’t like being amongst all those people in that new school and needed an excuse to stand outside by herself. She started smoking because it was the only explainable way to slip outside between classes or during her lunch period without looking as if she was running away from something. No other freshman smoked, and by the time a few select peers(not many) had taken up smoking, she had already crafted a place for herself as an outcast, and still no one approached her. 

Smoking in and of itself would be one irrelevant hobby if it weren’t for the fact that she had also taken to wearing her father’s old leather jacket that he had abandoned to the back of his closet thirty years ago. She wore old ripped jeans that she found in thrift stores and her shirts were mostly t-shirts that Harry or Ron had left at her house over the past years, and she wore the same pair of combat boots every day. If the image wasn’t cliche enough, she also made a habit of smarting off to her teachers and any fellow classmates that deigned her worthy of a glance or a comment.

She couldn’t help it. She just hated everyone in that school so much, and the teachers were idiots, and she had not at any point in her life cultivated the art of censoring herself for even a moment.

It leveled out her Junior year, people started to leave her alone, her teachers accepted that her presence in their class was a quiet one–Hermione had been kicked out of enough lectures that she learned some measure of restraint–and she had become a well-and-true outcast. 

But she loved school.

More accurately, she loved learning. She was always reading, always searching for answers, and if she ever seemed dismissive in class it was only because none of these teachers knew what the fuck they were talking about. She liked to think of herself as a stereotypical-punk-but-with-depth. If she wore leather and smoked cigarettes around the school and may-or-may-not have punched Draco Malfoy in the face Sophomore year , it was not because she was trying to perfect the image of some 1950′s greaser with parental issues. She was just being herself, unapologetically and without restraint.

Well, some restraint. She just didn’t like getting kicked out of class. She enjoyed the lectures too much.

But if she was a cliche, then Tom Riddle was a fucking fairytale.

Everyone knew who Tom Riddle was. He was the school president since his Sophomore year, he was head of the yearbook committee, took every AP class offered, headed school assemblies and pep rallies, worked as a tutor and even started up the student mentoring program, and he was friends with every fucking person in this entire school.

Hermione hated him.

It was mostly petty. He was intelligent enough that she felt a bit threatened by it, like he could challenge her own intelligence, and he closely monitored his own actions in a way that made him so like-able even Hermione found difficulty in disliking him, but she steadfastly continued, because Tom Riddle deserved at least one person on this earth who couldn’t stand him, and if it had to be her, then so be it. He wore pink polos, and slim-cut khaki pants rolled at the ankle, and sometimes he wore cardigans.

Fucking cardigans.

So what if he had broad shoulders and perfect hair and a fantastic ass? He had his ego fed enough as it was, Hermione wasn’t about to add to that.

They didn’t associate. He said something to her once, he ran some anti-smoking campaign his Junior year and invited her to attend and she had responded by pulling out a cigarette and lighting it right there in the hall and said nothing at all. When he didn’t say anything–perhaps he was shocked, or offended, too much to speak–she blew out a long breath of smoke into his face.

She remembered…a funny thing happened to his face, then. Nothing more than a twitch, a flash in his eyes, but she had seen it and it was…dark. It didn’t fit his cookie-cutter persona of all-around-good-boy, it had seemed angry and dangerous. And then it was gone, and he had donned a sad sort of smile and left without a word, and he never attempted to speak with her again.

For some reason, it had made her angry. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason, but something about his dismissal had made her feel like he had considered a reaction and decided not to for some unknown reason, and the simple fact that she didn’t know this reason was enough to infuriate her.

“I just don’t understand your fucking obsession with him,” Ron said once, on the first (and last) rant Hermione had ever allowed herself to go on about Tom Riddle. “And is that my Clash shirt?” He asked, gesturing to the shirt she was wearing.

“Yeah, it is,” Hermione answered shortly, then said, “He’s not this perfect whatever that he pretends to be, that’s all I’m saying, I’m not obsessed,”

“You don’t even listen to the Clash!” Ron argued, ignoring everything else she had said.

“You shouldn’t have left it at my house then.”

Harry had waited until Ron left to say anything about the Tom situation, and it had been an extremely uncomfortably conversation in which Harry assumed that her ‘obsession’–and it was not a fucking obsession–with him stemmed from some imaginary infatuation with him and Harry tried to give her some strange and contradictory speech along the lines of ‘I respect you and your decisions and whoever you decide to date is your business and I’m not trying to insult you when I say this but I’ll kick his pansy ass if he hurts you’ and Hermione had ended up incoherently screaming and shoving him out the door without responding.

He didn’t bring it up again.

And it didn’t matter, because Tom Riddle never spoke to her again, which was only odd because he made an attempt to speak to everyone, no matter what their social status. Hermione was surprised that her one bitchy response to a single question had struck him so deeply he then refused to ever associate with her, as he normally associated with a number of bitchy individuals–Draco Malfoy, for example–and he still remained Mr. Perfect in every social situation, but she didn’t question it. 

She thought of that look in his eyes a lot, though. She would have never imagined a boy who wore pink polos and cardigans and ran anti-smoking campaigns could ever look like that. 

It is by a very strange set of circumstances that Hermione ends up speaking to Tom Riddle again. 

It starts with a fight with Ron.

Hermione and Ron’s friendship was full of disagreements, some more explosive than others. She wouldn’t go so far as to call their friendship rocky, because they always made up afterward, and usually their arguments were over stupid, irrelevant things. However, no matter how stupid and irrelevant, it didn’t make Hermione any less angry. 

The current stupid and irrelevant topic to be angry about was mostly to do with Ron’s wardrobe, and Hermione’s insistence–Ron called it nagging–that he shop ethically. No more high-street fashions that profited on the suffering of others. It had been a long, long journey getting Ronald to shop ethically, and she was quite proud of him, to be honest.

Until she came to his house and he had, like, three huge bags from some family shopping trip to Oxford Street. She had exploded, perhaps unfairly, and he had reacted in kind.

“You’re a psychotic, controlling bitch and you are not my mom, and that is not your shirt, you don’t even listen to the Misfits, you bitch–”

Needless to say Hermione was still furious about it, as she never handled fights with Ron particularly well. She found solace in the knowledge that he was at school sulking just as much as she was, and Harry would likely bring them both together and make them apologize to each other that evening, but as it was, she was itching with the need to call Ron up and yell at him some more.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, Tom Riddle’s anti-smoking campaign had volunteers around the outside of the school with pamphlets and fliers and nicotine patches so she couldn’t even slip outside for a cigarette without getting bombarded by those assholes, so–

So she slipped into the backroom of the gym during her lunch period. It was a storage room of sorts, where they kept all the PE supplies, and as gym wasn’t in session this period, no one should be in there, and there she knew for a fact that smoke alarm was broken, so she could smoke a cigarette in there without getting caught.

The door was heavy and huge and there was always a deflated basketball wedged up against the doorframe to stop it from swinging shut all the way because the door would automatically lock. Today the basketball wasn’t there, and instead there was a wooden doorstop wedged underneath the door itself to prop it open all the way. She frowned and peeked into the room, but couldn’t see anyone there. She un-wedged the doorstop from the door and set it against the door instead, so that it was closed except for a crack, so that she had a bit of privacy.

She pulled a cigarette from the pack in her backpack, along with the lighter. She already had the cigarette in her mouth and was lighting it when she turned the corner of the L-shaped storage closet and saw Tom Riddle standing at the shelves at the back wall. He was wearing a pink polo again, his signature slim-cut khaki’s rolled once at the ankle, and he had a cream cardigan tied around his waist. He turned when she approached, and his eyes went down to the cigarette in her mouth.

“What are you doing?”

She hesitated, “You’re followers are outside ready to pounce on me if I so much as step outside, so I have to find somewhere else to smoke.”

“So you choose an enclosed storage closet with a smoke alarm.” He said.

“The smoke alarm is broken,” She said, and then abruptly realized that she shouldn’t have said that. He would probably get someone to fix it now. “What are you doing in here?” She took a drag of her cigarette. If he was going to stop her or report her she at least wanted to get her fix of nicotine first.

“Organizing.”

“Organizing,” She echoed, “The storage closet.”

“I’m assisting in the front office, they asked me to oversee this.” He answered curtly. 

“Sounds fun, being the golden boy,” She quipped, and she was surprised–and absurdly delighted–to see him immediately glower at her. He sighed sharply through his nose, and his posture shifted. He put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight to one leg, looking down at the ground before looking back up at her. 

“What are you doing in here?” He asked again.

“I already told you,” She said.

“You need a cigarette so badly you hide in a storage room?” He asked.

“Before you lecture me about lung cancer,” She said, “Consider the fact that I don’t care about a single thing you have to say to me.”

His jaw clenched. “I wasn’t.” He said.

“What?”

“I wasn’t going to lecture you.”

There was an awkward silence, for a moment. “Oh,” She said, taking another drag. When she breathed out, she said, “Then why is your body language like a single father getting ready to tell his daughter she’s grounded?”

“You’re infuriating,” He told her.

“I assumed I was,” She said dismissively, “But I’ll gladly be infuriating if it dissuades you from speaking to me.”

“Did I offend you?” He continued, “When I invited you to the rally? Is that what makes you so hostile? I was inviting everyone.”

“Everything you do offends me,” She told him, “I find you repugnant.”

There was a very long, long, uncomfortable pause, because Tom looked actually shocked, like he hadn’t expected that. But it wasn’t just shock, he looked angry for a moment, and he shifted his posture again, taking a step toward her. Without meaning to, Hermione bristled, straightening up from where she was leaning against the cart full of basketballs as if getting ready for a confrontation. He noticed, if the way he stopped and his eyes roved over her body said anything, and she took another drag of her cigarette to try to appear nonplussed.

She didn’t know why she suddenly felt so nervous.

“Why?” He asked, quietly, as if he was trying to set her at ease, but that only made her more uncomfortable. 

“Is it surprising?” She asked, “Someone like me hating someone like you?”

“I think it’s more surprising,” He began, and he took another step toward her, this time keeping a close eye on her reaction. There had been a sudden shift in the atmosphere between them, one she had not expected and one that she couldn’t describe. All she knew is it made her heart race, “That you don’t hate me at all.”

She took another drag of her cigarette. Smoke was collecting at the ceiling, and he was close enough that when she breathed out he must’ve breathed it in, but he didn’t cough or choke. She watched his jaw clench, again, and wondered if he felt the same way she did; like this was all suddenly a bit out of their control. 

“That’s presumptuous,” She told him, but she didn’t move away as he neared her. Her cigarette dangled between her fingers, nearly forgotten, and he was so, so close.

“Am I wrong?” He asked her, quietly, intimately, and she realized with a shocked certainty that he was going to kiss her, and with an even more shocked uncertainty that she thought she might want him to.

He realized it at the same time she did, that she didn’t hate him as much as she liked to think she did–and she thought she did, with his perfect appearance and his perfect school record and his perfect, golden boy persona–and she saw his lips twitch up into a smile. 

She saw something in his smile, the same sort of something she had seen in his eyes so long ago. It didn’t fit what he presented himself to be, the smile wasn’t pleased or friendly or even intimate, it was–it was nasty. There was something in his smile that suddenly made her think this isn’t right, this isn’t him, he’s–

And then she suddenly realized what it was she hated about him so much. It wasn’t the threat of his intelligence or the fact that he tried to get her to stop smoking, it was the fact that it was all bullshit. He was fake, contrived, from his pastel polos and cardigans to his anti-smoking rally’s and speeches at school assemblies, everything he did was crafted meticulously to shape him as the golden boy, to secure his place at the top of the food chain. While people like Draco Malfoy did it through means of bullying and throwing his money around, Tom did it through nothing more than his own personal cunning. All of it was fake, all of it was fucking fake, and–

And so was this, she realized. He was angry with her for not responding to his golden boy bullshit so he was trying something new.

Abruptly furious and humiliated at being played, she lifted her cigarette and snuffed it out on his arm.

He hissed, but didn’t cry out or swear at her like she expected. He jerked back and away from her, his breath coming in quick, angry pants–or was it anger, she thought? His face looked different now, angry, but with something else.

“If you were on fire,” She told him, “And I had a glass of water, than I would drink that glass of water, you asshole.” She flicked the nearly burnt up cigarette at the floor by his foot. “That’s how much I hate you, and if you ever try to kiss me again, I will–”

The sound of the door shutting stopped her mid-sentence.

They shared a brief, panicked glance, and then both of them rushed toward the door. “Did you shut it?” He asked her.

“No,” She spat, because of course she didn’t, she wasn’t an idiot, “I just pulled it almost shut and put the doorstop there–”

“That’s what people do when there’s no one in here!” He snapped.

“I know!” She cried, “I was coming in here to smoke, asshole, of course I wanted people to think no one was in here!”

“Well, now they shut the fucking door because they thought we weren’t here, so good job–”

She started pounding on the door, “Hey!” She shouted, “Let us out, we’re still here!”

“Don’t bother,” He scoffed, “It was probably the gym teacher, and she always has her headphones in–”

Hermione kicked the door.

“Just get your phone out and call someone,” He told her, gesturing to her backpack. She scowled.

“Where is your phone?” She asked.

“In my locker,” He said, “Where it’s supposed to be–”

“Oh great, let’s start lecturing me about where my phone is supposed to be even though I’m the one who’s going to be saving our asses–” She stopped abruptly while she was digging through her backpack, then sighed, “Shit…”

“What?” He snapped.

“I left it at home.”

“Are you joking–”

“Yeah, I’m joking,” She scoffed, “This is all just one big fucking joke, as if I would voluntarily spend another moment in here with you–”

“What have I ever done to you?” He demanded, taking a threatening step toward her that had her springing to her feet immediately. 

“You’re fake, Tom Riddle,” She spat. She shoved his chest to make him step away from her, but immediately got carried away and punctuated her next sentence by repeatedly shoving him in the chest, “Everything about you is fake, I’m starting to think there isn’t anything original beneath all the bullshit, you’re a manipulative liar who–”

He reached for her, fisted his hand in the fabric of her t-shirt and shoved her up against the shelves behind her. A few items fell off the shelves and hit the floor with a clang. “You think you’re so smart,” He hissed, and she didn’t think that a boy who wore cardigans and ran anti-smoking campaigns could look so terrifying, but he could. “You think you know everything, don’t you?” He asked, his voice was soft but filled with fury, “You certainly think you know everything about me.”

“Get off of me,” She demanded, trying to wrestle his hand off of her shirt, but she couldn’t move him. He was stronger than she thought he’d be, since she knew for a fact he didn’t do any organized sports, but his arms were bare she she could see the way his bicep flexed as he held tight. “Let go of me now, Tom–”

“You think it matters?” He continued. She wrapped her fingers around his wrist and tried to pry his hand off, “Everyone in this fucking place is fake, you think it matters that you figured me out? You think anyone in this place gives a shit about you?”

She kneed him in the crotch, and when he grunted and his grip loosened she pushed him away as hard as he could. “I think you give a shit.” She told him, “I think it drives you crazy that I don’t suck your dick like the rest of this school.”

Absently, she considered she might need to stop hanging around Ron.

“I get it,” She continued, as he was just managing to stand up straight again, and he glared at her like he wanted to kill her. “I think you’re a cliche, dishonest, cardigan-wearing douchebag and a fuckboy, and I hate you for it, but I get it.” She could tell he was grinding his teeth. “It’s important to people like you, to be on top of the food chain.”

“And what about you?” He asked, “Let me take a guess,” He took a step closer to her again, and she pressed herself against the shelves to make some space between them, “Its important for people like you that everyone around you knows how little you care for them, how beyond all of this ‘petty high school bullshit’ you are, when in reality, you’re in survival mode, because you know there’s not a single person in this school who can stand to be around you–”

“Don’t pretend you want to be around these people,” She cut him off, “You can lecture me as much about survival mode as you want, you’re in it, too. You hate this place as much as I do, but you’re too chicken shit to admit it.”

“You’re pathetic and unlikeable,” He told her, taking another step toward her.

“You’re vapid and unremarkable,” She spat back. Her fingers found something on the shelf behind her, small bug heavy, and she planned on whacking him over the head with it if he came closer. He did, but there was nothing meticulous about the way he closed in on her, nothing that reeked of manipulation or any ill-planning. He still looked angry, but then something else, something she still couldn’t place, until she realized he wasn’t looking at her eyes–in fact, he hadn’t been for a while, and she hadn’t realized. 

He was looking at her lips.

It was shocking how quickly she lost all rational thought, the moment his lips met hers, and she suddenly realized what accompanied the anger when she infuriated him–it was lust. And maybe, she thought, maybe he found her infuriating not because she disliked him, but because he liked her. He kissed her too roughly at first, their lips meeting too harshly and their teeth clacking, but then her mouth opened against his and it was all wet heat and the smooth slide of their tongues and–

Yes, she thought, and she was convinced in that moment that she had never thought something so final before in her life. Yes, she thought, and thought again, no understandable thought except yes, yes, yes as his hands found her waist and he pressed her against the shelves. She hooked one leg around his hip and threaded her fingers through his hair, and when she curled her fingers into a fist and pulled, he groaned into her mouth.

“What would the student council think–” She said against his lips, but before she could get a proper thought out, he pulled her abruptly against his body and then just as abruptly slammed her into the shelf again. She grunted, muttered, “You asshole,” against his lips and wondered if she would bruise, then decided that she didn’t particularly mind a bruise or two if she got his tongue in her mouth as compensation. 

She pushed him away, so suddenly that he went easily and then tripped over her backpack which was strewn on the floor behind him. He went down, but she followed, and when he was on his back on the floor she straddled his hips and dove back in for another open mouthed kiss. His hands found her hips as hers slid under his head to thread through his hair again. 

“Still hate me?” He muttered against her lips, and she rolled her hips against his in retaliation for his mocking tone. He groaned through gritted teeth when she did.

“I still wouldn’t say I’m necessarily excited about your existence,” She said. His hands slid under her jacket and her shirt until he could dig his nails into the flesh of her back, and she sighed into his mouth.

The door unlocked, and started to open. Both of them looked up, Tom’s neck craning to look behind him at the opening door. She recognized some sense of panic in his eyes, and she wasn’t really thinking much about consequences when she reeled back her fist and punched him in the face just in time for the gym teacher to see them on the floor.

“What on–Miss Granger!” She cried as Tom let out an angry yell. Honestly, she hadn’t hit him that hard. The gym teacher hauled her off of him, and Hermione caught a shocked and somewhat awe-filled look from Tom before she was grabbing her backpack off the floor as the gym teacher hauled her out of the storage room.

She got a week’s detention, but it was kind of worth it to have the chance to punch Tom Riddle in the face.

Later, when she was finally headed home, mentally preparing herself for dealing with Ron when Harry inevitably dragged him to her house to make them make up, she walked past the school parking lot and saw Tom and his group of assholes all gathered around his car. He looked up, and even from this distance she could see the way his jaw clenched when he saw her. 

She bit back a smile, because something about the knowledge that her very existence unnerved him made her inordinately pleased.

She pulled out a cigarette, and as she lit it and took a drag he still watched her, until his friend–a girl, dark hair, Hermione thinks her name is Bella–grips the sleeve of his cardigan to get his attention. 

Hermione goes home, satisfied with the way red mark on his cheekbone from where she had hit him, the mussed state of his hair which he hadn’t seemed to bother to fix, and the knowledge that Tom Riddle does not kiss like someone who wears khakis and cardigans and pink polos.

She thought he might look good in a leather jacket, actually.