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wuggen · 3 years ago

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Would you mind talking some more about type systems? :)

I'm pretty sure I understand monads, but I'm sort of confused as to how higher kinded types and dependent types fit into all this, and I can't tell if it's just the unfamiliar terminology or me actually not understanding something.

I hope having to explain type systems at length to everyone isn't boring you to death, I know how much you hate type systems. ;)

Alright, so! Kinds are to types as types are to values. That is, kinds are the types of types, or like... meta-types. I believe people call them kinds because we're already getting really meta, and "kinds of types" helps curb the inherent confusion a lot better than "types of types." Anyway.

At the base level, we've got the kind *. These are types that are not parameterized at all, things like integers, strings, non-generic structs, non-generic functions, etc. Types that are concrete and complete without any additional type information. In the same way that the value 17 is of type 'Int', the type 'Int' is of kind *. And, in the same way that there are many values of type 'Int', (0 and -82 and 101 etc), there are many types of kind * ('String', 'Int -> Int', '(String -> Int) -> [String] -> [Int]', etc).

Moving up the hierarchy, we've got first-order kinds. There are (at least) two roughly equivalent ways to think of these:

As parameterized types; types that can be instantiated with other types to change the shape and behavior of their values.

As type-level functions, or type constructors; functions from types to types.

*->* is the kind of an expression that, given a concrete type, will return a concrete type. Things like lists or option types are of this kind ('[a]' and 'Maybe a' in Haskell, 'Vec<T>' and 'Option<T>' in Rust, etc). Types of kind *->*->* expect two argument types before they produce their final, concrete result. Things like 'Either a b' or 'Result<T, E>', with two type parameters, are of this kind. And so on for however many parameters you care to give your type.

Finally, we arrive at types of higher-order kinds, or higher-kinded types! Where first-order kinded types are simple functions on types, higher-kinded types are higher-order functions on types. Types that are parameterized over types that are themselves parameterized.

In Haskell, you see this most often with functions and data types that are generic over monads. E.g. the bind operator itself, '(>>=)', is a function of type '(Monad m) => m a -> (a -> m b) -> m b'. That type is of kind (*->*)->*->*->*; it takes three type parameters (the monad 'm' of kind *->*, and two other types 'a' and 'b', both of kind *) and produces a concrete type ('m a -> (a -> m b) -> m b', of kind *). Because one of its parameters — the monad 'm' — is itself parameterized, this function's type is of a higher-order kind!

Higher-kinded types allow for very richly generic and modular code, in that they allow you to abstract over not only data, but also structures and computations. Put slightly differently, they allow you to separate data from what's being done with it, and to abstract over those two aspects separately. If that makes any sense at all.

Rust does not currently allow higher-kinded types to nearly the same degree as Haskell. There is one very restricted context in which Rust supports higher-kinded types: lifetime parameters in trait bounds.

For instance, if you're writing a higher-order function, say something that takes as an argument a function from strings to integers, it might look like this¹:

fn foo<F>(op: F) where F: Fn(&str) -> i32, { /* code code code */ }

That makes use of some pretty load-bearing syntactic sugar; the full version would look something like:

fn foo<F>(op: F) where F: for<'a> Fn(&'a str) -> i32, { /*...*/ }

That is, the generic parameter 'F' needs to be a function that accepts a reference to a string as an argument, and that function needs to work for any lifetime the reference may have. That's what that 'for<'a>' syntax is doing; for all lifetimes 'a, 'F' implements the trait 'Fn(&'a str) -> i32'. 'F' must be parameterized by a lifetime, and so must be of kind *->*; the overall function then is of kind (*->*)->*.

But Rust doesn't let you do that for non-lifetime parameters. E.g. if we want to write a function like Haskell's 'map' (of type '(Traversable t) => (a -> b) -> t a -> t b') that abstracts over both the data and the container for that data, what we would like to do is something like this:

fn map<C, F, A, B>(op: F, container: C<A>) -> C<B> where C: for<T> Container<T>, F: Fn(A) -> B, { /*...*/ }

but that's not possible in the current language. It might be possible to approximate it with some really really tangled trait shenanigans, but I imagine that would take hours to figure out, and so I will not make an attempt at this time :P

———

Now, dependent types are another beast entirely! Rust doesn't have em, Haskell doesn't have em, most languages ever created don't have em. As far as I know the only languages that actually support dependent types are proof assistants like Coq and Lean.

The basic idea is to allow the types of expressions to depend upon the values used to compute them. That's confusing. Lemme come up with an example.

Okay, so, in Haskell, the function 'head' is defined something like this:

head :: [a] -> a head (x:xs) = x

This is suboptimal because not all patterns are covered. If you pass an empty list, it'll throw an exception and probably, unless you've specifically accounted for that possibility, crash the program. You can do a non-throwing version using 'Maybe', like so:

safeHead :: [a] -> Maybe a safeHead (x:xs) = Just x safeHead [] = Nothing

And that works fine, but note that it still requires doing a check at run time to catch empty lists. Doing this kind of bounds checking statically, so that the compiler will simply reject a call to the exception-throwing 'head' function if there's any possibility it could be given an empty list, would be super neat.

In Coq, we might define lists like so:

Inductive list t: nat -> Set := | Nil : list t 0 | Cons : forall (n:nat), t -> list t n -> list t (n+1).

There's a fair amount to unpack here.

The type 'list' is declared to be an inductive type (essentially the same as a Haskell data type, a potentially-recursive structure on which we can do structural induction) with a type parameter 't' for the elements of the list.

The 'list' type is also parameterized by a natural number (type 'nat')². Note that this parameter does not expect the type 'nat', but rather a specific natural number value!

This means that, say, 'list t 6' and 'list t 38' are different, non-interchangeable types.

The whole type, when fed all of its parameters, is a 'Set' (the type of concrete data types, as opposed to a 'Prop', the type of logical propositions; more on that in a bit).

The first constructor for this type is 'Nil', which has type 'list t 0'.

Crucially, we have specified that, when a 'list' is instantiated using the 'Nil' constructor, its only possible type is 'list t 0'. You cannot construct an empty list with type 'list t n' for 'n' not equal to 0!

The second constructor is 'Cons', which is a function that takes three arguments: a 'nat' (which we call 'n'), a 't' (the item we're consing onto the list), and a 'list t n' (the list we're consing onto); it produces a value of type 'list t (n+1)'.³

This means that, when the 'list' type is instantiated using the 'Cons' constructor, its type must by necessity be 'list t (n+1)', where 'n' is the 'n' parameter of the list tail's type. It's impossible to construct a list value using the 'Cons' constructor whose type does not follow that invariant!

All together, we have that the only possible values of the type 'list t n' are lists whose elements are 't's and whose length is exactly 'n'. The type of each 'list' value explicitly encodes and guarantees its length!

What makes this a "dependent" type definition is the 'Cons' constructor, in which the value of the first parameter ('forall n: nat') actually determines the type of the value constructed ('list t (n+1)'). The type of the expression is dependent on the values used to compute it!

Now we just have to leverage this into a 'head' function that doesn't throw an exception and doesn't require a dynamic check!

Definition head (t: Set): forall n:nat, n > 0 -> list t n -> t := ?????????

And this is where the problems with dependent type systems start to show up.

The idea here is the following: we have a function that takes as arguments (1) a type 't', (2) a natural number 'n', (3) a proof that 'n' is greater than 0, and (4) a list of 't's of length 'n'; it then returns the first element of that list.

That proof is a tricky thing; '>' is actually a dependent inductive type, defined using the same mechanisms that we just used to define lists, that takes two 'nat's as parameters. It's defined in such a way that values of type 'n > m' can only be constructed when 'n' is greater than 'm'. Supplying any value of the type 'n > 0' proves that it's possible to create such a value, and therefore that 'n' is indeed greater than 0. That means, in turn, that we can freely take the first element of a 'list t n', since the only way to instantiate a 'list t n' with 'n' greater than 0 is with a 'Cons'!

But actually using that proof value to dismiss the 'Nil' case can be kind of a daunting task. Constructing such a proof value in an arbitrary context for an arbitrary list, so that we can actually use this function, tends to be even more daunting. What Coq does is provide a little scripting language for guiding automated proof search, which tends to be necessary or at least useful for defining even seemingly innocuous non-proofs, like this function. At this point I don't know exactly how to proceed with the definition; I would need to boot up an IDE and futz around with the proof interactively in order to make it work, and I unfortunately don't currently have it installed, so I won't.

Something that may be bothering you at this point: since we need to construct a value of type 'n > 0' in order to prove that the list is non-empty, is that not still a dynamic check? The crucial observation is that we don't actually need to construct that value, so long as we know that such a value could be constructed. We just need to make sure that the types work out, that if we ran the full code then such a value would be there, and then we can completely omit that part of the computation in the compiled version of the program.

This is where the difference between 'Set' and 'Prop' comes in. I mentioned above that 'Set' is the type of concrete data types, and 'Prop' is the type of logical propositions. (The type 'n > 0', for instance, is a 'Prop' rather than a 'Set'.) In Coq, all logical propositions are themselves types, and proving a proposition amounts to showing that that type is occupied, i.e. that it's possible to construct some value of that type⁴. The distinction is that, for types that are 'Set's, we usually care about their exact values. These are the actual pieces of data that we want our program to manipulate at run time. But for 'Prop's, we only care that we can produce some value of that type, without much care for the specific structure of that value; one proof of a proposition is as good as any other. Coq and other proof assistants provide mechanisms to extract validated code from Coq into another, non-dependently-typed language, (in essence "compiling" into a different language,) and during that process Coq completely erases any computations that produce values whose types are 'Prop's; it's sufficient to know that the value could be created. In all other respects, 'Set's and 'Prop's are identical.

In principle, dependent types are powerful enough to completely guarantee, statically, the absence of any bugs whatsoever⁵. In practice, they're really fucking unwieldy to use. For one, type inference in a dependently typed system is thoroughly undecidable, so pretty much all existing dependent type systems rely on some pretty heavy type annotation boilerplate for any moderately complex expressions. And once you get past that, constructing the proof values necessary to guarantee correct behavior is a really laborious, challenging, and unintuitive task, which is also thoroughly undecidable! We can do a lot to mitigate that with automated proof search heuristics, but all in all, no one's yet been able to figure out how to package a dependent type system in a way that's sufficiently ergonomic for use outside of a formal proof assistant. One day, though....

———

¹Rust takes a moderately different approach to function types than Haskell. In Haskell, all functions (named or anonymous) from, say, integers to integers are of the same type (namely 'Int -> Int'). Rust, on the other hand, differentiates between static functions and closures. All static functions from 32-bit ints to 32-bit ints are of the same type, 'fn(i32) -> i32', but every individual closure with the same argument and return types has its own unique, anonymous type that implements the trait 'Fn(i32) -> i32' (or 'FnMut(i32) -> i32', or 'FnOnce(i32) -> i32', depending on what it does with any values it captures. It's a whole thing). Handily, static functions also implement those traits, so in order to cover all cases, higher-order functions in Rust are usually generic over the types of the functions passed to them, with trait bounds to ensure that they have the correct argument and return types. The rationale for this system has to do with the low-level implementation and memory usage details of closures vs function pointers, discussion of which probably belongs in a different post.

²Parameters to types in Coq can kinda float semi-freely to either side of that colon there, subject to some conditions that I don't fully recall. I think if you want the type constructors to constrain the parameter at all it needs to be to the right of the colon or something like that? It's been a little while since I was, like, proficient with Coq :P

³In actuality, you'd probably write this 'S n' instead of 'n + 1', to make subsequent proofs easier. Coq doesn't use native machine integers for its natural numbers, it uses Peano arithmetic. 'nat' is a completely unremarkable inductive data type with constructors 'O' and 'S n', and '+' is defined as a recursive function on that type following the Peano axioms. It does let you use actual numbers as syntactic sugar, but the full representation of '3' is still 'S (S (S O))'.

⁴This touches on the Curry-Howard correspondence. In short, formal proofs in constructive logics behave a lot like computations. A proof of A -> B (A implies B) amounts to defining a function that, given a proof of A, computes a proof of B; a function from the proposition (type) A to the proposition (type) B. Proving A∧B requires providing a proof of A and a proof of B, i.e. constructing a value of type '(A, B)'. Proving A∨B requires providing a proof either of A or of B, i.e. constructing a value of type 'Either A B'. Etc etc, there's a lot more, but to sum up, all of Coq's proof functionality is based on this correspondence, so proofs, values, propositions, and types all freely intermingle, are defined using the same mechanisms, and can largely be used interchangeably.

⁵More precisely, dependent types are powerful enough to guarantee that a program conforms to a formal specification. Whether that specification is sufficient to guarantee the program's intended behavior and forbid any unintended behavior is another question entirely!

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starlightrows · 4 years ago

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4 — The New King

The Queen of Tatooine Masterlist

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Pairing: Boba Fett x reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Discussion of losing parents, mention of disordered eating, bed sharing

Summary: Saved from an untimely death by starvation and exposure, Boba offers you a place in his palace

*This chapter contains an Easter Egg for an upcoming series that severely deviates from canon*

When you wake up your head is throbbing and you feel sick to your stomach, you’re so hungry. But the one thing you don’t feel, is cold. In fact you’re actually quite warm and comfortable at the moment. You crack your eyes open and are confused to find yourself wrapped in a worn blue blanket, laying in what looks like a large storage closet with a mattress on the floor.

You peer out the open door and see you’re on a ship. How did this happen? Who’s ship is this? Suddenly your stomach growls loudly… you smell something… something good. It doesn’t matter who’s ship this is, you have to eat whatever it is that smells that good.

You clamber out of the sleeping closet and see Boba turning off a hot plate and sealing a bag that surely must contain dehydrated food. He turns when he hears you.

You stare at him, at the food. You’re confused and starving. Having no idea what to stay you just stand there.

He offers you a hand, a gesture to approach “It’s not the most flavorful or healthy dining option” he says “but it’s hot, and will be ready in just a few minutes”

You step closer cautiously and look up at his face “How did you find me?” You ask in an unsteady voice

“I went back to the inn and saw what happened to it. And the town. Followed the road, I figured you’d take the shorter path with water even though it would be uphill and colder” he explains, handing you the sealed bag and a long handled spoon. You open the bag and dig in, not even caring what it is. “Eat slowly Princess, you’ll make yourself sick”

He’s right. You’ve seen it before. Travelers who haven’t eaten in days… weeks even… come to the inn and eat a lot of food in a short period of time… they land up retching in the woods behind the inn. So you slow down and actually taste the food as you eat it.

You make it about half way through the meal before you feel a little sick. You don’t normally eat this much food to begin with. So you set aside the bag of food and let your stomach settle. Boba is eating from a similar bag of food. You study your current meal companion and apparent savior.

“Why did you come back? Why did you come after me?” You ask

“I told you I would” he says “I came back to extend you an invitation, to come to Tatooine”

“You want me to go to Tatooine with you?” You're surprised by that. Sure he’s said it the last time you’d met, but you didn’t think he’d meant it. Men who pass through little towns like yours generally don’t keep promises to return.

“You don’t have to by any means” he says “But the offer is on the table”

“I can’t exactly refuse, can I? My home and businesses are gone…” This is coming out all wrong. This man just saves your life and you’re treating him like he planned this all out “I’m sorry… that was rude and ungrateful”

“You are not wrong” he points out “Put it another way. As you have said, you can’t go back. So I’ll offer you a choice, Princess. Come with me to Tatooine, or tell me anywhere you’d like to go and I will take you there”

“You would really do that? Just ferry me anywhere in the galaxy or take me back with you to Tatooine? That is a kindness I can’t repay”

“You already have. You saved my life that night in the storm. And I did promise you I would come back for you”

“Why?” You ask in a whisper “why would you come all the way back here? You owe me nothing… even if I did let you come in that night”

“Because you made an impression, little one. I found myself thinking about the sweet innkeeper at the edge of the universe often. Even before you saved my life. I always planned on coming back for you, I only wish I had done so sooner”

You let his words sink in. I always planned on coming back for you. You can feel your heart beating in your chest and your cheeks flushing with heat. “I’ll go with you” you say softly “back to Tatooine… Let me work in the kitchens or something to be useful in your household”

“We can talk about that later” He chuckles. “I know it isn’t flavorful, but I want you to eat and get more rest. Replenish your strength”

Your stomach is full, given that you usually don’t eat heavily on a regular basis. But he’s right, you know you need to eat more. Not just right now to recover from hypothermic exposure, but in general. That’s always been a struggle for you. But you do try. The food is right there, and he has been kind enough to offer it you freely.

Boba returns to the cockpit to manually fly his ship, you force yourself to eat at least a few more bites of the rehydrated food he prepared for you. You take the blanket from the cot where you woke up with you, and climb up into the cockpit to sit with him.

He doesn’t turn when you slide into the seat next to him but he does when he notices you wrapping the blanket over your shoulders.

“Apologies Princess” he says “This ship was not built for comfort”

“It’s alright. Just a little cold” you run the edge of the blanket between your finger tips

“You won’t be cold when we reach Tatooine” he chuckles

“No, I suppose not. I’ve heard Tatooine’s binary suns make it so that nothing grows” you can’t imagine it. A world where nothing grows. You grew up in the greenery of a forested planet, at the base of a mountain with rich soil for growing vegetables.

“Tatooine is rather desolate” he admits “Most of the palace is actually built underground to keep cool”

“The palace” you muse “And how does being king suit you so far?”

“The Hutt’s left that place a mess. The palace and their business affairs. It’s all been a nightmare cleaning it up” he admits “My partner Fennec and I have only been able to clear out a few rooms, the business affairs take precedent”

The word partner pulls you up short. Your heart sinks. Partner… your mind immediately jumps to significant other. If that’s the case, then why is he inviting you into their space? Does this person know Boba has made this journey to see you? Do they know he’s bringing you back with him? Your mind races, and you feel a bit measure of panic setting in. What if this partner has no idea, and gets angry? What if this situation turns sour and you have to figure out somewhere else to go?

“You’re awfully quiet” Boba observes “Have I said something to offend you?”

You figure you may as well ask… better to know what you’re walking into rather than go in blind. “Your partner” you swallow the waver in your voice “What are they like?”

“She’s a former bounty hunter like me” he says

Oh no… now you’re really in trouble…

“Hmm… and she’s just fine with you flying off to the edge of the galaxy to visit an innkeeper?” you try not to make the question sound like an accusation.

He turns to look at you with the ghost of a smile on his lips “You misunderstand little one. Fennec is my business and hunting partner. She has no influence or opinion over my personal affairs”

Relief floods your heart, followed instantly by embarrassment. “Oh, that’s… that’s good I suppose. I just didn’t want… I didn’t mean… I just don’t want to cause problems”

“You’re not causing problems. I offered this to you, and to be honest I am glad you accepted,” he admits

That makes you feel better, a little more at ease. In that moment, you realize why you’d reacted so suddenly and severely in your mind. You like him.

You haven’t had many crushes in your life, not a ton of opportunity for it. When you were young there were a few other kids your age in the settlement, maybe one or two of them caught your interest, a few secret kisses in the barn or behind the one roomed school building, but it never lasted, and for good reason. The people who passed through your inn were never really the type you had interest in either. Until now…

Hours pass sitting in the cockpit next to him, chatting about your life in the settlement and his traveling on his own since the age of ten.

You don’t want to pry, but you do make a comment on it “Ten is quite young to be on your own”

“You said yourself you were young when your parents passed and left you with the inn” he points out

“Suppose loss like that makes a person independent” you sigh

“Would have been nice if we didn’t have to be independent so early in life” he said curtly

“I would have liked to have brothers or sisters” you say wistfully “At least things seemed to turn out well enough”

“I think if my father had lived longer, I would have had a younger sibling” Boba says “I think my mother wanted a another son or daughter”

“Your mother never found love again?” You ask sympathetically

“No idea, I haven’t seen her since the beginning of The Clone Wars” he says, starting the command sequence to drop out of hyperspace

Since the beginning of The Clone War… over thirty years ago… “That’s very sad” you say quietly

“It’s better this way. I don’t think she would be proud of some of the things I’ve done” he says “But maybe someday I’ll find out what happened to her” You take that as a queue to drop the subject.

The ship drops out of hyperspace, and Boba starts the landing approach sequence. Tatooine is a massive planet. Even from space you can see it’s yellow sand and rock formation topography. It’s a wonder how any species manages to live there, given the prominent lack of water or greenery.

As the ship flys down closer to the surface you find that the chill of space dissipates, and heat radiating off the planet's surface permeates through the reinforced walls of the ship. You shed the blanket that had been keeping you warm before even touching down.

The palace is massive. The biggest structure you’ve ever seen. Three cylindrical towers built into the cliffs overlooking The Great Dune Sea.

Boba engages the ground security protocols, and lowers the ramp and escorts you to the intimidating durasteel door. There are no guards, no one patrolling to prevent entry. Boba opens the door with no indication of announcing his entry. The entryway is a short sandy strip of a room leading to a descending staircase.

He offers his arm to you “Careful Princess, these shifting sands make these steps more slippery than you’d expect”

You accept his offer, and place your hand in the crook of his arm and start down the staircase. He’s not wrong, loose sand on stone is slippery and you are glad to have his arm for stability.

The staircase ends and leads into a large space clearly meant to entertain groups. The room is in disarray. It is clear, based on the drag marks and blood splatter in the sand, Bib Fortuna and whoever else of Jabba’s entourage remained died at the hands of Boba and his partner. Outcropping in the stone walls lined with low couches, pillows, tables and chairs. Many of which are broken or knocked over. A large grate in the center of the floor sits at the foot of an elevated platform. A throne.

Boba lets your arm go, freeing you to move about the space and explore. He ascends the shorter staircase to reach the throne and sits, quietly observing you. After a moment you turn to him, and take in his regality. He’s intimidating with his emotionless helmet and solid stanced posture. A king in every right.

You smile at him and give a small curtsy “My lord”

He chuckles behind his mask, so very contrary to the stoic picture he paints with his armored silhouette. “Come, allow me to show you the rest” He rises from his seat, and extends a hand for you to take.

He shows you down a hallway lined with doors, explaining they’re private rooms previously used for guests. “Most of them haven’t been cleaned in decades”

“You would think with all the credits the Hutt’s had, they’d pay for cleaning services” you shake your head

“Unfortunately I haven’t had the time to clear out many of the private quarters. Just the Master’s chambers and a single guest room Fennec uses” he tells you, turning down a hallway with an ornate door at the end. Clearly the Master’s chambers he was referring to.

The room is bigger than the footprint of your inn. High ceilings to let hot air rise, an en-suite fresher with a deep soaking tub, a massive bed is the only furniture left in the room. It’s beautiful despite not being decorated or well maintained. But you could imagine it was much worse if this is what Boba describes as “cleaned out”.

“If you are comfortable, I would like to invite you to stay with me in the Master’s chambers” he says from behind you “At least until a room can be cleared out for you, if you so choose”

You whip around to look at him. An offer to share a bed with a king. He must see the touch of fear in your eye because he quickly speaks again.

“I have no intention of asking favor of you. I only wish to make sure you’re comfortable here. You have my word.”

You soften at his promise, and give a silent nod before thinking better of his hospitality. “Thank you”

Later that day you finally meet Boba’s infamous partner, Fennec Shand. She’s got a sharp eye, quick wit and a taste for good spotchka. It’s an interesting tale to hear how they came to meet and land up in each other’s company.

As there are not yet staff or guards in Fett’s employ, dinner is some kind of hunted desert beast Fennec killed yesterday. It’s actually not too bad, but not like the game hunted on your homeworld.

“In time we will get this sorry excuse for a capital back up and running” Boba says when the meal is finished “Full staff and guard and reopen trade”

“I can help begin clearing out the palace” you offer “Make suitable accommodations for your staff and guard, and any allies that may come to stay”

Boba looks to you “You are not obligated to do so little one, but your help is appreciated”

“I enjoy having projects” you admit with a smile “Things to work on and keep me busy”

“Then you make take the task, for so long as you choose” he smiles at you.

Despite his haggard appearance, Boba has a nice smile. It softens him, brings out the light in his eyes. You find yourself returning the smile, and unable to wipe it from your face.

The evening comes to an end. Fennec excuses herself to return to her own bed chambers. Not without casting a sidelong glance between you and Boba, still chatting away. Eventually Boba leads you back to his own chambers. True to his word, he takes his robes into the fresher to allow you the privacy to change into borrowed sleeping clothing.

“I’ll buy you new clothes tomorrow” he promises, climbing into the oversized bed beside you.

Your impulse is to thank him politely and decline the offer, but given that you are his guest and no longer have property of any kind, it’s a kindness you have to accept.

“Thank you” your cheeks burn with heat, a little embarrassed to be needing so much from him at the moment. Borrowed clothing, a place in his palace and in his bed.

You get down under the blanket on the bed. Night time in the desert is quite cold, and sandstone walls that keep the palace cool during the day turn the air chilly when the binary suns set.

Boba turns towards you, laying on his side, he looks as if he wants to say something. Ask you something. But instead he just stares, with his dark soulful eyes and seemingly perfect hint of a smile

“Goodnight Princess”

Tag List: @cannedsoupsucks @otterly-fey @paige6768 @littledragonlady @star-hoes @aeryntheofficial @xx-small-town-witch-xx

#Boba Fett #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x reader #boba fett x f!reader #The Queen of Tatooine #QT

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sentakushimasu · 4 years ago

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diving off the deep end, breathe slow

pairing: sero hanta/iida tenya summary: Sero drowns during a training exercise. Today doesn't make Iida's list of top ten favourite days. genre: hurt/comfort, whump word count: 11.4k warnings: drowning, cpr, hospitals, slight vomit warning (no actual vomiting), hypothermia title from: dayseeker - drunk AO3

Sero tried to ignore the pang of disappointment in his chest as he saw Aizawa’s allocated teams. They were supposed to be randomly generated but Sero couldn’t help but feel like the world was out to get him.

Iida wasn’t on his team yet again.

It wasn’t a big deal, but every time they had a big scale training session, Sero wanted to try working on a team up with his boyfriend. They both had quirks that made them incredibly mobile, but they needed to work better in combat as a team.

Aizawa, however, seemed dead set on preventing that from happening.

Sero had to suppress a yelp as an arm wrapped around his neck and dragged him staggering along. He regained his balance as Kirishima let go of him, grinning widely.

Kirishima, Mina, Shinsou and himself in a team. They could make this work.

They’d all been arranged into five teams of four, tasked with placing quirk suppressing handcuffs on members of the other teams. Kirishima took the role of their self-proclaimed leader and happily accepted the five pairs of cuffs to share between the team. They’d been given the red ones, making it easier to keep track of who was cuffed by which team.

The other teams had other colours, and other interesting combinations of quirks. The blue team, consisting of Iida (their appointed leader), Yaoyorozu, Tsuyu and Uraraka, were likely going to be scarily efficient despite their lack of flashy quirks.

The green team was led by Deku, which, if that wasn’t scary enough, was followed by Shouji, Satou and Todoroki. Sero had to suppress a shudder just looking at that team. The only member who couldn’t easily snap him in half like a twig, could make mountains of ice and pyres of fire without batting an eye. He really hoped another team dealt with them before his team had the misfortune of running into them.

Less intimidating was the yellow team, fronted by Sero’s partner in crime, accompanied by Ojirou, Hagakure and Aoyama. Any team that let Kaminari take charge was not one that Sero felt the need to be scared of.

Bakugou was already barking out orders to the black team. Sero cringed in sympathy for Kouda, Jirou and Tokoyami. Their self-appointed leader was bound to run off on his own, leaving them without much opportunity to intimidate anyone they ran into. Tokoyami could be pretty terrifying in his own right, but going up against a team with Deku and Todoroki? He didn’t stand a chance.

Aizawa interrupted them, speaking in a bored tone, “the first team to use all of their quirk cuffs wins. No, you cannot cuff your teammates, doing so results in immediate disqualification for the entire team.”

Iida’s hand shot up. “Can we use the other teams’ handcuffs if we become separated from our team?”

“The team the cuffs belong to gets the point.”

Uraraka was the next one to raise her hand. “If we handcuff someone with their team’s handcuffs will their team still get disqualified?”

Aizawa paused for a second, regarding Uraraka with a lethargic look. “Yes.”

Okay, Sero had officially decided that the blue team was kind of terrifying. He wasn’t going to let himself be fooled by Uraraka’s round cheeks or the pink-heavy colour scheme of her hero outfit; she was out for blood.

As it turns out, Iida’s team was the only one asking any questions as Yaomomo joined the discussion. “Do we have to cuff both of their hands?”

“No, it’s the same as your previous exams. If you cuff one hand or ankle, you get the point.”

Mina leaned over and gave Sero a well-placed elbow to his ribs. “Don’t let glasses distract you, he’ll steal your handcuffs and disqualify our whole team while you’re busy making heart eyes.”

Sero just rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

As if to exemplify the fact that Sero was a filthy liar, he made eye contact with Iida who promptly gave him a wave that he returned with what was undoubtedly an utterly lovesick grin if Mina’s exaggerated fake gagging was anything to go by.

“We’re screwed,” she whined.

Sero gave her a half-hearted glare. “You have such little faith in me.”

Aizawa directed their attention to a map of the training grounds they were located in today. Between the cityscape of ground beta and the added area of the river and its surrounding banks, clearly he was prepared for a lot of big scale altercations. There were five markings on the map, all with a colour corresponding to the different teams.

“Every team has a starting location and the next fifteen minutes to get there

Most of the teams’ locations were within ground beta, aside from the red dot next to the bridge and the blue dot a little ways down the path from the bridge, away from ground beta. Great, an area that Sero couldn’t even swing the majority of, and they were completely exposed to the wind.

He was beginning to think that it was much too cold for outdoor training. As he trailed behind Kirishima and Mina. Shinsou hung back but Sero didn’t hold it against him, they were certainly a much louder group than the purple haired boy would be comfortable with.

Although that didn’t explain why he still let Kaminari follow him around like a hyperactive clingy puppy.

After all, Sero, one of the most chaotic and academically-underwhelming members of class 1-A had somehow managed to be dating Mr Perfect, the class president, for the past four months. Now that had been a shock to the rest of the class, most of all, Sero Hanta whose heart still skipped a beat when Iida reached out to take his hand.

Shinsou at least looked like his hero suit wasn’t going to let him freeze, his capture weapon even seeming to act like a scarf. The same could not be said for anyone else on their team as they began the trek down the pathway up to the bridge.

“Kiri, how are you not a popsicle? You have sleeves but no shirt!” Mina claimed as she shivered.

“I’m invincible,” Kirishima shrugged as he tapped a hardened fist on his now hardened chest. For dramatic effect.

“It’s too cold to be outside,” Sero piped up, rubbing his arms in an attempt to keep the blood circulating. He was kind of hoping that they ran into Todoroki during training, at least being gently roasted alive was better than the cold he was currently experiencing.

Maybe when the exercise started, they would be able to warm up, but the distance between them and the closest group was quite significant and he wasn’t sure they’d be too into an all-out battle.

Maybe if Yaoyorozu made a net and Sero accidentally let himself get caught, Iida would carry him back to base. That was always an option.

The bridge was a good location. From their position in the middle of it, they would be able to see anyone trying to sneak up on them. It was a better vantage point than what the blue team had, that’s for sure.

The group was just standing on the path along the riverbank, Yaoyorozu already sparkling as she used her quirk. As Sero squinted his eyes he could tell that she was handing a jacket to Tsu, he couldn’t help but to feel sympathy for his classmate who was much more sensitive to the cold than everyone else.

There was a ringing noise coming from the wristband Kirishima had been given as their team’s acting leader, to signal the start of the exercise.

“Theoretically, we could just wait for them to come to us,” Shinsou offered. “Let Bakugou deal with Midoriya and Todoroki before he tries to blow our heads off.”

“Good plan,” Sero supplies, trying to show Shinsou some support. “I’ll swing up the bridge supports and keep an eye out if you guys want to sit by the railing and stay out of the wind.”

Mina eyed him warily. “What about you? The wind is gonna be worse up there.”

Sero shrugged. “Pro-hero Cellophane isn’t bothered by the cold.”

“You’re not a pro yet,” Mina corrected him, folding her arms across her chest.

“If you get too cold you’ll come back down, right?” Shinsou asked, his voice laced with an emotion Sero couldn’t pinpoint. “If you faint up there, it would be bad news.”

“I’ll be extra careful,” Sero said with a wink.

Kirishima gave Sero a thumbs up and at that, Sero turned to look up at the structure of the bridge, quickly dispensing his tape.

As the tape curled around the support beam and held its position as Sero gave it a firm tug, he used it to propel himself upwards.

It had probably only been five minutes of Sero leaning against the cold metal of the bridge’s support beams before their first challengers arrived. Sero could see two figures headed towards them. Smaller in stature and both dressed dark, it only took Sero a few seconds to identify Jirou and Tokoyami.

Jirou, they could handle pretty easily. Tokoyami would be trouble.

Mina and Kirishima wouldn’t be at all effective against Dark Shadow, so that match would come down to Sero and Shinsou.

Scratch that, it came down to Sero.

He’d only just managed to swing down onto the bridge and alert his team to their visitors before Jirou’s quirk ripped through the air.

The volume disoriented Sero for a moment, knocking him off balance before he could swing himself back up into the air. He needed to incapacitate Jirou if they had any hope of using Shinsou’s quirk. If Tokoyami couldn’t hear him speak, he couldn’t be brainwashed.

Sparing a glance behind him, Sero noticed that Mina and Shinsou were both struggling to stay oriented as the sound assaulted their senses. It was no Present Mic, but it was powerful enough to pose a threat to their group when their most powerful quirk needed to be heard to work.

They were lucky that Sero at least had a quirk that worked long distance because while Kirishima and Mina had to get close to their opponent to use their quirks, Sero was able to maneuver through the air.

He had gotten much better at using his quirk midair during his time at UA, able to turn and shoot another reel of tape at the railing across the bridge and pull himself back down to the ground.

His landing was smooth as he folded himself to roll across the asphalt and up onto his feet.

He would never complain about the gymnastics classes his mum had forced him into during middle school ever again.

With another spin, he was wrapping his tape around Jirou and yanking her towards him, her arms pinned to her sides. She was too startled to maintain her quirk, whipping her earphone jacks towards Sero, likely in hopes of deterring him.

It didn’t work. Of course. As Sero slapped the quirk suppressant cuffs on her wrist.

He offered Jirou an apologetic smile as she glared at him.

The moment was cut short by an impact sending Sero flying to the side.

He quickly adjusted his form so that he rolled on impact with the ground and could easily pull himself back up on his knees. Only to find himself faced with Dark Shadow moving towards him, swooping side to side menacingly.

Sero was a big fan of the sentient quirk, it was like having a dog in the dorms, if dogs were made of shadows and could speak. What he didn’t like about Dark Shadow, was its ability to absolutely throttle him right now.

Forcing himself to his feet, Sero started to back away from the quirk, hoping that his team would figure something out while he had the threat distracted. If Dark Shadow focused its attention on someone else then Sero could possibly manage to restrain Tokoyami and cuff him if he was fast enough.

“Tokoyami, help!” Jirou called out, sounding so panicked that even Sero’s head snapped up at the sound.

Just in time to see Tokoyami’s expression go blank and his stance lose its tension. The consequence of calling out to his teammate in concern.

Shinsou was kneeling on the ground a few metres away, his hand still on his mask, his unruly purple hair moving in the wind. Clever.

Dark Shadow was quick to snap its attention to Tokoyami, fussing over the boy who wasn’t responding to him.

Sero saw his opportunity and took it.

He shot out the tape, wrapping it around Tokoyami to restrain him in case something interrupted Shinsou’s mind control.

Dark Shadow quickly retreated back into Tokoyami and Sero couldn’t help the proud smile spreading across his face as he nodded at Shinsou and gave him a thumbs up.

Shinsou’s quirk was officially his favourite. That was badass.

Their relief was soon interrupted by a loud clatter.

Sero’s eyes fell on the black handcuffs now sitting in the middle of the bridge. Which could only mean that someone else was here, and Sero sincerely doubted that Kouda would be dropping things from a height like that. Which left the last person Sero wanted to fight right now. Bakugou Katsuki.

The sound of an explosion confirmed his suspicions.

The dropped handcuffs weren’t a mistake, they were a threat.

Sero barely had a second to shoot out more tape and grab Shinsou, pulling his teammate towards him as Bakugou descended on the place where he stood, his hands popping with explosions.

With his hands on Shinsou’s shoulders, Sero steadied the purple haired boy, loosening the hold of the tape.

“Are you hurt?” Sero asked quickly, his eyes worriedly scanning Shinsou for any signs that the tape hadn’t been fast enough.

Shinsou looked thoroughly spooked but shook his head after a few seconds, snapping back into focus. “No.”

“Good. Did you cuff Tokoyami?”

Shinsou nodded. Great, that kept their threats to a minimum.

“Good job,” Sero said, giving Shinsou’s shoulder a supportive pat. “Stay where he can’t get you.”

Sero didn’t wait for a reply as he dispensed his tape and swung himself up into the fray.

Bakugou was fixated on Kirishima, hitting the boy’s hardened exterior with explosion after explosion. Sero cringed in sympathy, Kirishima said that it didn’t hurt but it still had to be hot.

Choosing that moment to look away from the fight, Sero turned to pull himself even higher up, reading another set of handcuffs in his non-dominant hand.

That was the easy part.

He turned back to the fight only to see that Bakugou had successfully cuffed Kirishima who was just staring at his wrist in shock. And Bakugou was notorious for not knowing when to quit as he reared up to set off another explosion at Kirishima.

Shooting out his tape in a panic, Sero grabbed Bakugou by his waist and tugged him away from the redhead. Only for the explosion to be rounded on him.

Bakugou missed his mark and Sero foolishly let Bakugou explode the tape that tethered them together.

His enemy was now airborne, setting off explosions as he hovered, staring at Sero with murderous intent. Sero hoped he looked good because this was going to be his last day alive with Bakugou looking at him like that.

Sero was a lot of things, a smart guy who thought things through before he did them was not one of them.

He shot out tape at a support beam directly across the bridge, and prayed that Bakugou didn’t sever it as he yanked himself to the other side. His other hand readied with the handcuffs.

In a stroke of dumb luck, Sero managed to clip the black handcuffs above Bakugou’s gauntlet. The older boy had made a mistake dropping those as a threat.

Sero had a split second to be proud of himself as the incessant sound of popping ceased before he realised that he was swinging over the edge of the bridge and Bakugou was plummeting.

He was getting too far away, forgetting to halt the unwinding of his tape until he was a ridiculous distance out from the bridge. There was no way he could reach the explosive teen now.

He shot a new piece of tap at the railing and tried to pull himself back down, turning to shoot a second strand towards Bakugou to hopefully help his descent.

The tape missed and Sero was swinging too low, on course to swing under the bridge before he could pull himself back up the other side.

Shinsou’s capture weapon caught Bakugou and Sero had to hope his fall wasn’t too dramatic as the top of the bridge left his eyesight.

He just had to swing under the bridge and come up on the other side, and then he’d be able to check on everyone. It would only take him a few seconds to be back topside.

Sero felt the release of tension in his tape and before he even realised what was happening, he was in freefall and on a collision course with the river. That was the thing about his quirk, the constant looming threat of falling. In his panic, he tried to fling out some more tape, hoping it would find a purchase on some part of the underside of the bridge.

Or the railing that entered his line of sight as he fell along the trajectory of his previous swing. He could almost swear he saw a head of fluffy pink hair peeking over the railing.

His tape failed to connect with anything as his body hit water.

Which was freezing.

The shock of the impact and the temperature drop had Sero taking an involuntary breath of nothing but water, the coldness eagerly filling his lungs and pushing out whatever air he had left. He wasn’t sure if his helmet was still on his head or if it was just whatever the opposite of watertight was.

Even opening his eyes to the assault of the cold water didn’t help his case. He couldn’t see any light to tell him which way the surface was. All he knew was that his lungs burned and he could do nothing more than try to swim and hope he wasn’t sinking.

He tried to stay calm, but there was really no option for him other than to panic and hope that someone fished him out of the water.

Kirishima would sink like a stone if he even dared to jump in after Sero, he would immediately harden in contact with the water. Mina and Shinsou could swim but the jump off the bridge was far too dangerous.

Maybe Bakugou could get to the water with his explosions, but Sero couldn’t remember if he’d be able to propel them out of the river even if he did go after Sero. He didn’t see the end of Bakugou’s fall, his friend could very well be dangerously injured, far too poorly off to help the one who was responsible for his fall.

His head was so foggy.

There was a different quality to the darkness that crept in around the corner of his vision in comparison to the darkness of the water. Sero had always thought he could hold his breath for a long time, but he guessed that the gut instinct of inhaling the water would be his undoing.

Sero vaguely recalled that there was another group, closer to the riverbank. He couldn’t remember who had been there, but he could only hope that Tsu was nearby, she was perhaps the only one who would be able to get him. She was very qualified with water rescues.

The fog was growing thicker, heavier, and Sero wasn’t sure he had the energy to keep up his fight towards the surface.

It was always fun when a training exercise became a rescue mission. He just hoped that someone fished him out before it was too late.

Everything was heavy and Sero let the water take him.

Iida’s entire team snapped to attention when they heard a scream.

“SERO!”

It was raw and filled with genuine terror. Iida felt like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head as he turned in the direction the scream came from. Just in time to see a dark form hit the water at a high speed, white strips of tape hanging uselessly in the air as they floated down onto the river’s surface.

With bated breath, everyone watched the surface of the water, waiting for Sero to surface.

Iida’s mind was a whirlwind. Had he hit his head? Had he been blown from the bridge by one of their classmates’ stronger quirks? Why had Iida yet to see his boyfriend’s hair pop out the top of the water?

No one needed to say anything before Asui was racing down the riverbank and throwing out her tongue.

Asui pulled Sero from the water with ease, how she had even known where he was, was beyond Iida. He would have to thank her later, after he checked on his boyfriend.

That water had to be freezing, and Iida was not unfamiliar with the knowledge that Sero would lose his body heat a lot faster in cold water. He was in his winter version of his suit but it wasn’t waterproof.

Sero’s helmet had fallen off at some point, maybe even prior to him hitting the water, Iida noticed as he raced over to meet him and Asui.

Iida didn’t know what he was expecting when he crashed to his knees next to his boyfriend’s wet form. Coughing and complaining? Sure. Sero being completely limp, soaked to the bone and not giving Iida’s presence any acknowledgement? Not what Iida expected.

Sero’s dark hair was plastered to his skin by the water, his eyes were closed, his lips and the tip of his nose going a jarring shade of purple and grey.

“Sero?”

Iida wrapped his hand around the top of Sero's shoulder, where it met the base of his neck. He tried to ignore how cold Sero felt to the touch, blaming it on the water, but the temperature of his skin had anxiety curling in Iida’s gut. "Sero? Hanta, can you hear me?"

Sero offered him no response, not even a twitch or grumble like he usually did when Iida bothered him while the older boy was trying to take a cat nap on the common room couch.

Okay. Bad news.

"Call an ambulance, and Aizawa-sensei!" Iida called out. It came out a lot shakier than he was expecting.

He leant down so that his cheek hovered above Sero's mouth and nose, his hand resting atop his boyfriend's chest. He was hoping, begging, for the sensation of air brushing against his face or movement under his hand, even the sound of Sero's breathing or the sight of his chest rising and falling.

Worse news.

Sero wasn't breathing.

Iida wasn't wearing his watch so he couldn't be certain that it had been ten seconds but he knew that it had been too long without any indication that Sero could breathe.

Aizawa regularly made them revise first aid so it wasn't like Iida didn't know what to do.

But there was a world of difference between a CPR dummy and turning his giggling boyfriend onto his side, and Sero being completely unresponsive and being entirely dependent on Iida to help him.

Taking a deep breath and trying to shove his anxiety deeper inside himself, Iida positioned himself. With his knees pressed up against Sero’s side, his right hand over his left and his elbows locked straight.

His mind was a whirlwind as he started the compressions. Was he pressing hard enough? Was it fast enough? Was he even helping?

He was quick to shove the thoughts out of his mind, he couldn’t afford to think about anything other than the compressions. If he hesitated or freaked out, it could cost Sero his life.

“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty,” Iida counted under his breath. He leant down to Sero’s face, his hands tilting his boyfriend’s head back and pinching his nose as Iida’s mouth covered Sero’s cold one.

Two breaths and he was back to pumping Sero’s heart for him. Iida’s head swam at the thought.

Iida was counting his way through his second ground of compressions when someone fell into place on Sero’s other side. Iida didn’t even bother to look up at who they were, he only cared about one thing right now, seeing Sero awake and breathing.

“Iida.” So it was Yaoyorozu next to him. “I have a defibrillator. Attach it while I do the breaths, okay?”

Iida nodded firmly. “Okay.”

Fuck, he’d forgotten all about the defibrillator in his panic. Had she made it? He tried to pull up the mental map of where AEDs were located around campus but it was all a blur in his head. He couldn’t think clearly about anything other than Hanta.

He says his “thirty” loud enough for Yaoyorozu to hear him and she snapped into action, passing the opened defibrillator to Iida as she placed a bag-valve-mask over Sero’s nose and mouth.

Either she was truly the best at locating things under pressure or she was incredible at using her complex quirk in a panic. Iida couldn’t rule out either.

He would be grateful for her for the rest of his life, he suspected.

Iida grabbed the shears from the defibrillator box and started to cut away Sero’s hero costume. It was a simple motion, starting at the base of Sero’s throat and stopping just above his pelvis.

Vaguely, Iida was aware that Sero’s chest was falling for the second time and Yaoyorozu was setting the bag valve mask down next to his head.

“I’ll get it, you do compressions.”

Iida couldn’t find it in him to say anything, getting back into the rhythm of pushing on Sero’s chest. It was more physically draining than he had expected, his arms ached and his chest was begging to feel tight with the exhaustion. But he couldn’t stop. He would keep going until Sero’s heart was beating on its own.

Out of the corner of his eye, Iida can see Yaoyorozu peeling back the film on the AED pads so he took over the breaths for her. He didn’t even bother fumbling with the mask that was on the other side of Sero.

In the span of two rescue breaths, Yaoyorozu had dried off Sero’s torso with a towel that would have seemingly appeared out of midair if Iida didn’t know any better and attached the pads to his chest.

Iida hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do.

Yaoyorozu’s voice was firm yet comforting as she spoke. “Keep going.”

Thankfully, at least one of them could keep their head on straight right now.

As Iida continued the compressions, his heart breaking ten times over with every one, Yaoyorozu called out to someone outside of his field of vision.

“Uraraka, can you use the bag mask? Just squeeze it twice when Iida does thirty compressions.”

There was a silent exchange and another body kneeling on the ground with them.

The AED made a noise when Iida stopped his compressions. How long had it been? It felt like a lifetime. The amicable chatter he had been exchanging with Asui and Uraraka as they walked down the riverbank seemed like it had happened forever ago. Where was Aizawa? They needed help.

“Analysing rhythm, don’t touch the patient.”

Iida snatched his hands away from where they hovered close to Sero, shuffling back until his knees were no longer touching his boyfriend.

They waited with baited breath for the machine’s verdict.

“No shock advised. Continue compressions.”

Iida was back in position in less than a second, pushing down on his boyfriend’s chest again. Sero’s sternum was firm below the heel of Iida’s palm.

How many times had he languidly traced his fingers across Sero’s skin, trailing ghosts of fingertips over his boyfriend’s sternum, a flat palm pressed over where Iida could feel the strong thumping of Sero’s heart? He’d become so accustomed to just reaching out and touching Sero, it was normal, but this wasn’t like that.

There was no sight of black eyes watching him carefully as Sero’s lips curled into a smile, a soft “I love you” on his tongue.

The stupid monotonous “press, press, press” from the AED was not helping to ease Iida’s panic. He couldn’t do more than try to tune it out.

“Come on, Hanta,” Iida pleaded, his voice breaking with the pent up emotion he had accumulated in the past few minutes. “Breathe.” Iida was still pressing on Sero’s chest, hoping that with every thrust downwards that it would spur Sero into motion. “Please, Hanta. You have to breathe!”

Yaoyorozu and Uraraka both refrained from saying anything as the tears started to fall, Iida couldn’t keep them at bay anymore. He was tired, he was desperate, and Sero was still cold and unresponsive.

His tears hit the back of Iida’s hand, others pooling on Sero’s skin.

Aizawa couldn’t have picked a better or worse time to show up.

There was some shuffling and Aizawa was kneeling on the other side of Sero, Yaoyorozu having moved to take over the position by Sero’s head. Where did Uraraka go?

“Iida,” Aizawa said. He was clearly out of breath. Had he run to them? Iida didn’t doubt that his teacher would. After all, he’d proven himself willing to give his life for them. “Next round you’re swapping out with me,” he commanded in a low voice.

Iida shook his head. “I can’t”.

“You can. You’re tired and you need to let me take over. You’ve done well, let me help, Iida.”

Iida couldn’t keep up his argument. Aizawa was right, he was tired.

As he finished his round of compressions, he leant back heavily, turning his legs so that he didn’t sit on his engines.

Aizawa offered him a sympathetic look, but there was an edge to it - worry.

Iida couldn’t do anything more than watch as Aizawa took over. He kept his eyes trained on Sero’s face, mostly obscured by the mask. Yaoyorozu also had tears in her eyes but with her lips pressed into a firm line, they didn’t spill.

That’s when it really sank in.

This was supposed to be a routine training exercise, and now Sero might not walk away from it. How did everything go so wrong so quickly?

Aizawa was still going when he spoke, “Sero, if you open your eyes, I’ll give you an A on every test left in the semester.”

There was a weird quality to his voice. Iida wasn’t used to hearing this much identifiable emotion from his teacher, a plea with the unconscious kid he was supposed to take care of, masked in useless humour.

Sero would laugh if he made Aizawa cry. It had always been such a bizarre thing to think about, but Iida wasn’t so sure anymore.

His timing was almost comical.

As Aizawa started on his second round of compressions, the student beneath him jolted, spitting up water as he desperately tried to suck air into his lungs.

“Sero!” Yaoyorozu exclaimed, Iida had no doubt that she was crying those tears now.

“Turn him on his side,” Aizawa instructed as he slid his hands under Sero’s shoulder and hip, turning him towards Iida who quickly moved to help guide Sero into a stable side position.

He was breathing, and it finally felt like Iida could breathe too.

Sero was coughing as his chest spasmed, emptying his lungs of filthy river water.

Yaoyorozu was cooing and brushing Sero’s hair out of his face. If the tape user was more aware right now he probably would have been blushing at the ministrations, but currently they just helped to settle his panicked writhing.

“Just breathe, Sero,” Iida says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky but no one dares question it. He’s completely focused on holding Sero steady as he breathes. The sound is laboured and wheezy but it’s the most beautiful thing Iida has ever heard.

Iida doesn’t even look when Aizawa unwraps his capture weapon from around his neck and slides the bundle of fabric under Sero’s head. His scarred and much bigger than Yaoyorozu’s hand rested against the back of his student’s wet head for a few moments before he retracted it, instead opting to hold onto Sero’s wrist, feeling his pulse and looking at his watch on his other wrist.

“You did good, kid. Focus on breathing.”

Sero let out a weak and breathless laugh. He seemed to be done with coughing up the water, much to Iida’s relief. “Praise from Aizawa-sensei, I really must be dead.”

Aizawa didn’t look up from his watch. “Do you know where you are?”

“Somewhere wet,” Sero grumbled before shuddering. “I’m cold.”

“Yaoyorozu, do you think you could make him a blanket?”

Iida looked up at Yaoyorozu, only really looking at her at this moment. Her eyes were red and her face tear-streaked, she looked exhausted. He felt bad that Aizawa was asking her to do even more after she just exhausted herself and her quirk to save Sero’s life.

But Sero was shivering pretty aggressively under Iida’s hold. His lips and nose were still discoloured, and from this angle he could see that the purple tint extended to Sero’s eyelids.

She nodded. “Of course.”

Aizawa wrote something on the back of his hand as he set Sero’s hand down. Iida had no idea where his teacher had produced the pen but he was fairly impressed with Aizawa’s efficiency and professionalism. Especially considering that Iida and Yaoyorozu were both still crying. The wetness on Aizawa’s cheeks did not evade the class representative’s notice though.

As the sparkles in the corner of Iida’s vision died down, he was handed the corner of a very fluffy blanket, Aizawa taking the other as they tucked it around Sero.

“The ambulance is almost here,” Uraraka’s voice chirped helpfully from behind Iida. He hadn’t realised that she was still there.

“Thank you, Uraraka. Do you think you and Asui can meet them when they enter the training grounds and guide them here?” Aizawa asked, his voice so soft it was frankly unnerving.

“Of course, sensei!”

And with that, the two girls were gone.

“Tenya?” Sero croaked, snapping Iida back to focus.

“Yeah?”

If Aizawa noticed the use of Iida’s given name, he didn’t give any indication. Maybe he was just too relieved that Sero was alive to care much about anything else. The teacher just continued to kneel there with a hand on Sero’s back and his eyes on his watch.

“Are you okay?” Sero asked softly, reaching for Iida with a clumsy hand. Cold fingers wrapping around Iida’s own.

Iida takes a few seconds to be surprised. “What?”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Sero hums thoughtfully. “I like it better when you smile.”

They kept up the random chatter until the ambulance arrived. Aizawa took the role of talking to the paramedics and Iida was incredibly grateful for that, he wasn’t sure he could get through a sentence without crying at the moment. He was feeling very emotionally raw.

The paramedics were nice enough to work around Iida, whom Sero was still holding onto.

Sero grumbled when one of the paramedics secured an oxygen mask to his face, letting go of Iida’s hand to try and remove it. He was sitting up now but his eyes were still glossy and he didn’t seem entirely present. Iida snatched Sero’s hand back with a firm look.

“Don’t do that.”

“It feels weird,” Sero whined, his voice muffled by the oxygen mask.

“Too bad. Don’t drown next time.” Iida felt kind of guilty when he was being so strict with Sero, but he wasn’t about to let his boyfriend interfere with his medical care.

“You’re so mean to me.”

Iida was about to respond but he was interrupted by one of the paramedics, he was unsure if it was the same one that gave Sero the oxygen mask or not. “Do you think you can stand?”

Sero paused for a second, mulling over the question before he gave the paramedic a shake of his head.

“That’s okay, we can go at your pace. You can sit here for a little longer and try again or we could figure out some other option that suits you,” the paramedic said in such a comforting tone that even Iida felt reassured.

Sero seemed to perk up at that. “Can Tenya pick me up?”

Iida internally groaned. Their relationship was not going to be a secret from Aizawa after today.

“If that’s what you’re both comfortable with, then sure, I’ll just hold onto the oxygen tank and we’ll get you on the gurney and loaded into the ambulance, okay? It’s much warmer than out here, too.”

Iida had no qualms about lifting Sero. His boyfriend weighed basically nothing and loved being carried around regularly. Sometimes he would be too tired to be bothered walking up to his dorm and made Iida scoop him up and take him there to prevent him from sleeping on the couch and waking up with a crick in his neck.

With an arm under Sero’s shoulders and another behind his knees, Iida easily lifted his partner. It was only a matter of steps to the elevated surface of the gurney which he nestled Sero on easily.

The other paramedic was quick to cover Sero in blankets, especially considering that the one Yaoyorozu kindly provided was pretty much soaked through at this point. Iida hoped she would get some rest when she got back to the dorms, but figured most of the class would wait up for news on their classmate’s condition.

As the paramedics loaded the gurney into the ambulance, one of them turned to speak. “Who’s riding with?”

Iida turned to Aizawa, expecting to be given instructions to handle the class while Aizawa went with Sero to the hospital but Aizawa just nodded his head in the direction of the ambulance. “Go ahead.”

“But sensei-”

“No buts. I’ll wrap things up here and meet you at the hospital. I trust you can handle things for an hour.”

“I- thank you sensei!” Iida said, following his boyfriend into the back of the ambulance.

Turning back to look at Aizawa who was bending over to pick up his sodden capture scarf off the ground, Iida saw the group of their classmates that had gathered. Only a few of them were there, but they all looked off.

Iida’s entire group was there, of course. Yaoyorozu was folding up the soaked blanket she had made for Sero, her face still covered in tears. Uraraka had her arms around Tsuyu, both of them looking worse for wear.

At some point that Iida would not have been able to pinpoint if he tried, Sero’s team had joined them. Ashido was holding onto Kirishima, looking like she’d barely just stopped crying, Kirishima didn’t look much better, his own face streaked with tears. Shinsou hung back from the two, his mask in his hand as he watched everything with wide eyes.

Bakugou wasn’t a member of either group but he was there, looking uncharacteristically solemn. Iida idly wondered how much they’d seen. Bakugou was not known for being quiet, and he was just standing there with a vacant look as his arms hung limply by his side.

Iida turned back to Sero just in time to see him giving his friends a wave.

Out of everyone, he seemed to be taking it the best. He was soaked to the bone, visibly exhausted and had an oxygen mask strapped to his face but he still smiled when he met Iida’s eye.

“Tenya don’t let them take my suit,” Sero called out. Iida was growing more accustomed to Sero speaking through the oxygen mask, making communication much easier. It also helped that Sero was now a lot more aware than he had been in the ambulance.

“It’s beyond salvation, you’re going to need a new one,” Iida stated.

Sero just whined at him. “I don’t want them to cut my suit.”

Iida looked over at the nurse who was already most of the way done cutting the fabric away from Sero’s skin. “I already cut it.”

“But it’s okay when you do it.”

“If you’re brave and listen to the hospital staff, you’ll be able to go home earlier.”

Sero perked up at that. “Really? Can we watch a movie back at the dorms?”

“If you’re feeling up to it when you get discharged, then sure,” Iida said with a soft smile. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, cursing how uncomfortable it was to wear his suit for non-hero purposes. He did not design it with sitting in a chair in mind.

The other issue was that his hands would not stop shaking. It had been a solid half an hour of sitting in the ER with Sero but Iida couldn’t quell the constant trembling. It wasn’t even subtle, he had planned on texting the class group chat with an update but he couldn’t hold his phone steady for long enough to even unlock it.

Sero had noticed, pretty early on actually, he mumbled something about Iida’s shaky hands and offered to hold them. That had lasted for a short while until Sero had gotten tired of trying to comfort Iida. He was very exhausted, losing the energy to do much more than pipe up occasionally when he thought of something funny that he wanted to share.

Iida sincerely doubted that Sero would be able to hold out for an entire movie by the time they got back to the dorms. That was unless the doctor decided to keep Sero overnight, which was still possible.

However, Iida really hoped that wasn’t the case. He wasn’t sure he could handle going back to the dorms for the night and not being able to confirm his boyfriend’s safety with his own eyes.

If the anxiety seized him right now, he could just reach out and take Sero’s hand or look across the bed at the monitor that beeps to reaffirm that Sero’s heart was beating fine.

Iida wasn’t sure he could ever shake the fear of the realisation that it wasn’t. It hadn’t been. He’d come within a hair’s breadth of not sitting next to Sero’s hospital bed as the older boy complained about getting his suit cut off.

He could be sitting in the dorms right now, grieving with everyone else. But he wasn’t.

Sero looked extra unimpressed as he sat up, Iida leapt from his seat, his arm coming up behind Sero’s shoulders to stabilize him.

The nurse quickly tied the hospital gown in place and Sero was eased back onto the now elevated mattress so he could sit up and pout at Iida with minimal effort.

Sero spoke when the nurse left the room, pulling the curtain shut behind her. “It’s ugly.”

Iida rolled his eyes. “It’s practical.”

“Still ugly,” Sero grumbled. “I’m tired.

“Take a nap, I’ll be here the entire time. Just don’t mess with the wires.”

Sero rolled over onto his side and pulled his knees up to his chest. “Goodnight, Tenya.”

“It’s like 3pm.”

“Goodnight, Tenya,” Sero said again, his voice firmer.

Iida couldn’t help but sigh as he stood up again to press a kiss to the top of Sero’s head in his semi-dry hair. “Goodnight, Hanta.”

He lingered for a moment, drinking in the sight of his boyfriend. The whiteness of the hospital gown, the bed sheets and blankets all served to amplify how pale Sero looked. He still had that purple tint to his extremities. There were at least a billion wires poking out from the top of the hospital gown, all of them connected to some monitor or another. The oxygen mask was still firmly fixed to his face, a little grey rectangular clip on the index finger of his right hand to document the necessity for the mask.

He knew Sero had to be feeling pretty awful right now, but his boyfriend continued to joke and try to make Iida smile, it made his heart squeeze in his chest as Iida reached for the bundle of blankets that had slipped to Sero’s feet. He tucked them up to his boyfriend’s shoulders and pressed another kiss to his hair before returning to his seat.

After a trip to radiology for a chest x-ray that Iida had to sit in the waiting area for the duration of, Iida followed Sero up to a room in the pediatric ward.

It was weird, following the orderlies and his boyfriend’s hospital bed through the corridors and a bunch of kids. Some of them were crying and screaming, others running around with friends and giggling. He felt very out of place as an almost-adult still dressed head-to-toe in his hero gear.

As Sero was settled into the room, his oxygen mask was switched to a nasal cannula that showed off the fact that the colour had come back to his face. He still had his pile of blankets as well as an additional IV that the nurse said was warm saline to bring up his body temperature a little faster.

The wires were still there, as was the pulse oximeter clipped to his finger, and a little paper cup of tea in Sero’s hands that he slowly sipped.

Aizawa joined them after a little while, as Sero’s eyelids were beginning to droop again. “What’s the verdict?”

“They killed my suit,” Sero grumbled, pouting like a child.

Aizawa quirked a questioning eyebrow.

“They had to cut it off of him when he arrived,” Iida supplied helpfully.

“I’ll contact the support class when we get back to UA,” Aizawa said simply, ignoring Sero’s pout. He lifted up a hand with two cloth shopping bags dangling from his grip. “I got your classmates to get you both a change of clothes. I figured you didn’t want to be Ingenium right now, and Sero is going to need something to wear when he gets discharged.”

“When is that going to be?” Sero asked, bringing his paper cup to his lips again.

Aizawa levelled him with a stern gaze. “You almost died, Sero.” His expression and voice softened considerably. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better.”

“So when do I get to go home?”

“The doctor said that once his temperature and Oxygen levels are back within a normal range, they’ll keep him for a few extra hours for observation. Said it’s unlikely that they’ll keep him overnight unless a complication arises,” Iida explained.

Aizawa pointed an accusing finger in Sero’s direction. “Don’t even think about wracking up pneumonia or, god forbid, a cardiac arrest. You’ve already traumatised poor Iida enough for one day.”

Sero tapped the finger with his pulse oximeter clipped to it on his chin. “I could do another cardiac arrest, for the drama of it all.”

Iida made a choked noise. “Please don’t.”

Sero and Aizawa both turned to him, Sero’s eyes wide and Aizawa’s eyebrows pulled together - in concern.

“Do you need a hug, Iida?” Aizawa asked in his usual monotone, regarding his student with an unreadable expression.

“What?”

Aizawa spread his arms in an invitation. “Free dad hug, one-time offer.”

“No-” Iida started, not even able to finish his sentence through his surprise. Aizawa was offering to hug him. “No thank you, sensei.”

“Your loss,” Aizawa said with a shrug, dropping his arms back to his sides.

Sero perked up. “I want a dad hug. Can I have a dad hug?”

“No. You give me heart palpitations, you don’t get a dad hug.”

“Aww, just one?” Sero asked, reaching a hand out towards Aizawa. It was clear that Sero was milking this opportunity for all it was worth, he knew he’d never be able to be so casual with Aizawa under any other circumstance without getting scolded.

“Maybe if you still want one when you’re discharged. Focus on recovering for now.”

“On it. You’ve neer seen someone more recovered from drowning than me.”

Aizawa set one of the bags of clothes at the foot of the bed, holding out the other one for Iida to take.

“The Ingenium suit can’t be all that comfortable right now.”

Aizawa’s gaze softened when Iida held the bag of clothes to his chest but didn’t move, his eyes still glued to Sero. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Get changed.”

Iida wanted to object but Aizawa wasn’t wrong. His suit was big and clunky and awkward. It was making his back hurt from the simple task of trying to sit in a chair.

He nodded and quickly shuffled out of the room and to the bathroom at the end of the corridor.

He changed in record speed, not wanting to be away from Sero for too long. The trembling he had finally managed to suppress came back with a vengeance when he left Sero’s company.

Hurrying back, Iida slipped back into the room, dressed in a much more comfortable hoodie and sweatpants.

Aizawa looked up at Iida from his place in the lone seat next to Sero’s bed as the door fell shut behind Iida. “Iida, can I speak with you outside for a moment? It won’t take long.”

“Sure.” Iida said, meeting eyes with Sero who looked equally as confused.

Aizawa continued walking up the corridor until they approached a vending machine. He punched in a few numbers and inserted his money, in a matter of seconds there was a chocolate bar being pressed into Iida’s hand.

“Eat it. You look like you’re about to collapse.” Aizawa’s voice was missing its usual commanding edge but Iida obeyed nonetheless.

“Present Mic is staying with 1-A in the dorms. Last I heard they’re watching movies and ordering food.”

Iida hummed thoughtfully as he continued to eat the chocolate bar under Aizawa’s watchful gaze. “That’s good.”

“They’re all worried, but glad that you’re here with him.”

Iida didn’t have much more to offer than another hum.

He was folding up the empty wrapper with trembling fingers when Aizawa spoke again. “If they do end up deciding to keep him here for the night, I’ll see what I can do about you staying with him.”

Iida looked up at that. “What? Why?”

“Your hands have gotten considerably more shaky the longer we’ve been out here. Staying with your boyfriend will help you keep calm, and I don’t think either of you would benefit from being alone right now.”

Curse how observant Aizawa was. They always forgot, but he noticed the smallest things. “He’s not my boyfriend-”

“Iida,” Aizawa cut him off, “I have known you since you were a baby. You’re going to have to be a better liar than that to convince me.”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my suspicions for a few months, you’re not exactly subtle. But Hizashi and I have been in and out of hospitals enough, I know that look. And Sero calling you by your given name when he was half-conscious while insisting that he hold your hand and be carried by you did not help your case,” Aizawa supplied.

“Ah, that makes sense.”

They stood there in silence for a little longer, before Aizawa of all people broke it.

“Iida.” The softness in his voice was back. This had been a very out of character night for the both of them.

“Yes, sensei?”

“How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine-” Iida started, looking up to meet Aizawa’s gaze. Which was full of concern as he regarded his student. Iida cut himself off with the strangled sob that clawed its way out of his throat.

And he fell apart. One crack in his resolve and it all came pouring out. He didn’t have the energy to try and stop the sobs and the tears in favour of saving face in front of his teacher.

Aizawa didn’t speak, he just pulled Iida into a hug. There was barely two inches of height between them but Iida had never felt so small.

He continued to cry, loud broken sobs into Aizawa’s shirt, his tears undoubtedly leaving a large wet patch in the fabric. He was just so overwhelmed, more than he had thought, and it all came spilling out of him at once.

Aizawa, to his credit, gave pretty good hugs. He held Iida steady, rubbing circles into his back and mumbling words of comfort. “It’s okay, let it out. You’re gonna be okay.”

It took a while for Iida to finally get his sobbing under control. He had no idea how long he'd been crying in Aizawa's arms but it was definitely too long.

Sero was probably wondering where they were.

Iida cleared his throat. "Sorry sensei, I-"

"Don't mention it," Aizawa cut in quickly. "You've had one hell of a day and you needed comfort. It's nothing to be ashamed about. Personally, I've probably spent more hours crying into Kayama's shoulder than I've spent sleeping in the past month."

"Midnight-sensei?"

Aizawa nodded. "She gives the best hugs."

“That makes sense,” Iida mumbled, wiping at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve.

“Are you feeling better?” Aizawa asked, punching a few more numbers into the vending machine. Iida was hit with the shocking realisation that he’d just had a breakdown in the middle of this corridor, in front of a vending machine. If anyone had wanted a snack all they would have seen was Iida sobbing in his teacher’s arms for god knows how long.

Iida laughed a little breathlessly, there was no humour in the gesture. “Aside from crying out half the fluid in my body, yeah. Thank you, sensei.”

Aizawa bent down to retrieve something from the vending machine, only to hand a water bottle to Iida.

“Let’s go check on trouble, what do you think?”

Iida nodded, smiling softly as Aizawa began walking back to Sero’s room.

Sero had been discharged at midnight. A full nine hours after his admission. It’d been a long night.

By 5pm, Sero had been taken off of his supplemental oxygen, and his levels stayed consistent in its absence.

The remaining seven hours passed without incident.

Most of them were spent with Sero insisting that Iida sit in the bed with him as he messed around on the younger boy’s phone. Iida had supervised Sero’s texting the class group chat and the older boy went as far as to send a selfie of himself and Iida to comfort their concerned classmates.

“Mina says you look worse than I do,” Sero chirped.

Iida just nodded, leaning his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Tell her I said thank you.”

Sero showed him a few pictures that had been sent in the group chat. One of Present Mic drinking a mug of something in the dorm kitchen with his hair out of it’s gelled spike and in a complicated arrangement of braids and Ashido standing next to him, looking incredibly proud of herself.

A picture of Bakugou sitting on the couch, his head on Kirishima’s chest, he appeared to be asleep, bundled up in a hoodie that was definitely not his if the print on the back was anything to go buy. Iida was fairly confident that Kirishima was the only student in their class who owned limited edition Crimson Riot merchandise.

Another picture, this time of the floor where Uraraka appeared to be demolishing Jirou and Todoroki in uno.

The final picture Sero showed him was a selfie sent by Kaminari, the electric boy looking very happy as he threw up a peace sign, Shinsou was sitting next to him and held up a less enthusiastic peace sign but still gave them a smile.

Soaking in the physical affirmation that Sero was okay as the older boy pressed into his side was enough to soothe Iida’s anxiety. He sat back as Sero messed around on his phone, chatting with their classmates until he got a little too overwhelmed for his tired mind to keep up with.

Sero had begged to watch a movie not long after he’d bid farewell to the class chat, only to fall asleep on Iida’s shoulder before they were even halfway through it. Iida, however, was not far behind him.

The nurses had been very stealthy with their regular vital checks, successfully not rousing either of the boys as Aizawa continued to do all the necessary paperwork and phone calls in silence.

The two of them were woken a little past midnight by Sero’s doctor carrying out a final check of the boy’s condition before happily handing Aizawa the discharge papers.

Aizawa and Iida waited in the corridor for a nurse to help Sero get changed. When the eldest boy joined them, he was wearing an outfit not dissimilar to Iida’s. In fact, he was wearing one of Iida’s hoodies that hung loose on his lanky frame.

Iida had half a mind to just carry Sero up to his room when he fell asleep in the passenger seat of Aizawa’s car, a blanket tucked under his chin.

Gently shaking his shoulder, Sero stirred with an unintelligent string of mumbling. “Tenya?”

“I know you wanna sleep, but we’re at the dorms now, so you gotta wake up enough to get to bed.”

“Carry me,” Sero grumbled, his hands fisting in the fabric of Iida’s hoodie.

Iida couldn’t help but to laugh a little at his partner’s antics. Sero was so clingy when he was tired. “I would, sweetheart, but everyone’s been waiting for us to get home and I’m afraid they might collapse if they see me carrying you inside.”

“That’s so rude of them.”

“Okay, you tell them that.”

“I will,” Sero said firmly as he stumbled, half-asleep, out of Aizawa’s car, his hands still latched onto his boyfriend, using Iida to steady himself.

Aizawa silently watched the scene unfold, never saying anything as he followed behind the pair. Eighteen sets of eyes landed on them the second they stepped over the threshold.

“Sero!” a cacophony of voices called out.

“Don’t crowd him, he’s exhausted,” Aizawa commanded over the buzzing activity around him. “Where’s Mic?”

Iida watched Bakugou shrug and point towards the common room couches with the jerk of his thumb. “He fell asleep.”

Aizawa quickly departed from Iida and Sero’s side, headed over to rouse his husband. Iida couldn’t fathom how they’d actually managed to keep their relationship a secret from the students for this long. They were nothing close to subtle.

Iida stepped back a little, his hand still in Sero’s as the class descended upon them. Kirshima, Kaminari and Ashido all took turns giving their friend a hug. There were lots of questions thrown around, and a lot more hugs for Sero to receive, even one for Iida from Yaoyorozu who looked as worn out as he felt.

Tears were shed, everyone basking in the relief that their classmate was back, safe and sound.

“You look wiped,” Kirishima said as he turned to Iida who just offered him a half-hearted smile.

“It’s been a long day. I think we’re just gonna head up to bed before Sero falls asleep standing up.”

Kirishima gave him a firm pat on the back. “Good luck with that, Bakubro is intent on feeding you both. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to admitting that he cares, do not take it lightly.”

Iida nodded before turning back to Sero who was almost swaying on his feet. “Let’s go sit down, Bakugou made food.”

Sero hummed, not even bothering to open his eyes as Iida wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “He’s a good cook.”

Sitting on one of the common room couches, under the watchful eyes of everyone who wasn’t convinced that Sero was okay just yet, Sero and Iida shared a bowl of tofu stir fry.

Sero didn’t have the stomach for much, and insisted that Iida feed him, too tired to operate chopsticks on his own. He’d fallen asleep curled up into Iida’s side before the bowl was even emptied.

Iida stayed on the couch with Sero for a little while, talking with his remaining company in a low voice until he started to feel himself drifting off. It was time they made their way up to bed.

There was truly no other option but to carry Sero upstairs at this point, it was nearing 2am and there was no hope to rouse his partner for long enough to get all the way up to either of their dorms.

Bakugou, Ashido, Kirshima and Kaminari had been the only ones to stay up with them until that point. Shinsou was also there but he had spent the better part of the last hour asleep with his head in Kaminari’s lap while the latter ran his hand through the unruly purple hair, so he didn’t really count.

Actually, Bakugou seemed to be the only one still fully awake, despite his tendency to go to bed much earlier than everyone else. He’d never admit to it, but he had been worried, Iida didn’t have to know Bakugou well to know that much.

“Thank you,” Iida said, careful not to wake Sero up as he spoke.

Bakugou just looked at him and huffed. “I didn’t do it for you, nerd.”

“I’m grateful nonetheless, do you want a hand getting everyone up to their rooms?”

“They can take themselves, just take him upstairs.”

Iida pretended not to notice the lack of his usual nicknames as he turned back to Sero, shaking his shoulder lightly.

“No,” Sero mumbled, turning to bury his face further into Iida’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Sero turned his head upwards to give Iida a pointed look through his messy and now dry hair. “You’re gonna make me get up.”

“Correct.”

“No.”

Iida leaned down until his mouth was level with Sero’s ear. “If we go upstairs we can cuddle,” he whispered in a low voice.

Sero hummed. “Really? Lead the way, Class Prez.”

It was not a complicated process to scoop Sero up and into his arms, one arm under his back, the other curled behind his knees. Sero’s weight was a comfort to have resting against Iida’s chest as he walked them to the elevator.

It was times like this that he was glad his boyfriend weighed the same as a bunch of grapes. On a good day, Iida could easily lift the heavier members of their class, but at that moment he was beyond exhausted and he wasn’t sure if he could even carry Sero much further than up to his dorm.

The elevator ride up to the fifth floor passed by quickly, and Iida easily made his way to Sero’s dorm.

If Iida had to wager a guess who had put the extra blankets on the bed and arranged what looked like a care basket on the little table in the middle of the room, he would put all of his money on Ashido. She notoriously would pick on and tease the other members of the Bakusquad but she had proven herself to be incredibly thoughtful and considerate on multiple occasions.

He would have to remember to thank her in the morning.

For now, his only goal was getting his boyfriend into bed. After everything, Iida felt like he could sleep for a week, figuring that Sero was not going to object to that plan.

Setting Sero down on the bed, Iida moved to pull the blankets on top of his partner. As he tucked the edge of the blankets under his boyfriend’s chin, he moved to smooth the furrow in Sero’s brows with his thumb.

Sero blinked up at Iida then. His black eyes found blue ones in the low lighting. “Are you staying?”

“Sure,” Iida said. He had been planning to sleep in the hammock, giving Sero space but also being close enough to verify that he was safe.

“Not in the hammock,” Sero said sternly, narrowing his eyes at Iida. “You said we could cuddle.”

Iida sighed, there was no use trying to argue, he was putty in Sero’s hands. “Little spoon or big spoon?”

“Little spoon.”

Sero pulled the blankets back as he shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, making room for Iida to slot himself into place behind him. It wasn’t the smoothest job of sharing the bed that they’ve ever done but Iida eventually settled in, sliding his arms around Sero and holding him close to his chest.

Iida buried his face in the crook of Sero’s neck, breathing in the scent of his boyfriend. “I’m really glad you’re okay,” he mumbled into his shoulder.

He felt Sero’s soft laugh against his chest. “Me too. I can’t have some dude hitting you up with a ‘he would want you to move on’, you’re mine forever.”

“Forever,” Iida said, tightening his hold around Sero ever so slightly.

Sero hummed, the sound was low in his throat and Iida could feel the vibration of it against his skin. “Forever.”

Iida was lounging on Sero’s bed, not quite bothering to get up just yet. His eyes trailed Sero’s movements as the older boy circled his room. He had a check in with Recovery Girl in an hour so he was intent on getting changed himself. After the past few days, the soreness and exhaustion were starting to ease and he was a lot more mobile.

And that’s how Iida ended up face-to-face with a shirtless Sero who was still trying to figure out what shirt he wanted to wear as Iida’s eyes zeroed in on the dark purple bruising covering the front of his boyfriend’s chest.

It looked painful but Sero paid it no mind.

“Hanta?” Iida called out, sitting up with a much more tense posture than he had had moments ago.

“Hmm?”

“Are those bruises?”

Sero looked at Iida for a moment, confused, before looking down at his chest and giving his boyfriend a chuckle and a shrug. “Oh, those, yeah. I assume they’re from you, y’know, restarting my heart.” He paused, running a hand through his messy black hair. “Thanks for that by the way.”

“No problem…” Iida trailed off, starting at the mottled discolouration on Sero’s chest. He wondered if it had really hit Sero yet, truly how close the older boy had come to losing his life only two days ago.

The two of them had been excused from classes for at least a few days unless Sero was feeling up to going to class before then. Sero’s absence for the purpose of rest and recuperation, Iida’s to keep an eye on his boyfriend and look out for any symptoms of secondary drowning or pneumonia. He helped Sero to remember to take his antibiotics as well as just helping him do tasks that were a little too strenuous.

Aizawa had given them a stern look and told them to call him if they needed to or if they were worried about something. He’d also told the two of them that they had appointments with Hound Dog scheduled for them on the following Monday.

The rest of the class had informed the two of them that all training exercises had been suspended for the rest of the week until any changes to improve student safety could be made. Iida did not envy the meetings that Aizawa was undoubtedly going to be sitting through in the week to come.

“You know, you could always blame those on Aizawa-sensei,” Iida said, hoping to lighten the dark look that had crossed Sero’s face.

Sero blanched. “Aizawa-sensei saw me without a shirt on.”

Iida couldn’t help but to raise his eyebrows at the shift in mood. “I think that was the least of his concerns.”

“I can’t show my face ever again,” Sero groaned, flopping face first onto the bed. Only to let out another groan and roll onto his back, rubbing a free hand on his chest that had undoubtedly protested the motion.

“You are being dramatic.”

Sero rounded on Iida, giving him a serious look. “Do you think he noticed that my nipples are uneven?”

Iida just sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up. “Your nipples are not uneven, Hanta.”

Sero nodded sagely. “Yaomomo definitely noticed.”

Iida threw a pillow at his boyfriend.

#bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #mha fanfiction #mha fic #seroiida #seriida #iidasero #iisero #nyoomtape #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #sero hanta #iida tenya

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allofthefeelings · 4 years ago

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Hey! I saw your awesome meta about the Nat deleted scenes. One thing I've been thinking about lately is that line from the CW junior novel where Nat talks about getting dumped in the middle of siberia with her Red Room classmates. One impression that I think a lot of fans get of the mcu Red Room because of this and also a tweet from the Agent Carter set is that only one girl ends up surviving her Red Room "class". (Yelena most likely wouldn't count bc she's younger than Nat and part of a different class) But in BW we clearly see an entire team of widows that were trained together. Any thoughts?

So I have spent WAY too long thinking about this, and based on what we know from various interview snippets from the past two years I think there’s a way to fanwank it all together. If I’m remembering things correctly. Which, to be fair, I may not be.

This gets long. (CW for brainwashing, indoctrination, and abuse- the usual Red Room and Bucky mixture.)

Didn’t they start the movie discussion with talk about the Red Room being re-created to make the current Widows? That could mean new policies, and honestly, “training 32 girls but only keeping one of them” seems like a much less efficient policy than “train all the girls and use them til they die of their own accord.”

(I mean, the metaphor of only one girl surviving is great, and the girls having to kill each other to survive is a perfect way to use brutality to train away their emotions and attachments, but from an Effective Evil Organization standpoint, it’s an unforced expenditure of resources.)

This would allow both the technically-canon we have to stand (because I’m pretty sure both the novelizations and Agent Carter can be seen as TECHNICALLY not the MCU if they’re directly contradicted; only the movies are 100% canon, and as we know even that can be flexible) and create an army of Widows for Nat and Yelena to fight.

There’s also the possibility that killing the girls off IS a slow lifelong thing, like all the Red Room alums are being useful as long as they can but only the one in each class who survives the longest gets the title of Widow. And I know Black Widow is for the deadly spider but that would also play well into the idea of a widow being the one who outlived her companion(s). So then the scenes like in Agent Carter where preteen girls fought to the death wouldn’t be unheard of but also wouldn’t be the norm; the girls would know it COULD happen at any moment but it would be rare.

I can fanwank that a lot better than I can fully square Agent Carter with what we’ve seen from the trailers of Nat and Yelena. I mean, it makes sense that if they need to go undercover as a family they would take children they already had in the murder factory, but it didn’t seem like Dottie and her cohort were going on missions; they were just training and being indoctrinated 24/7. I think there’s so much that could be so interesting if Nat was subjected to similar- did she have to watch Beauty and the Beast the way Dottie watched Snow White? (someone write that Bruce/Nat right now)- but we can’t ignore that she and Yelena had three years OFF from indoctrination. Working with Melina and Alexei would obviously be considered an honor, but would it set them behind in their murderstudies? “Is it better to be taken out of the Red Room and returned or just left there permanently” is more than just a “is it better to know freedom and lose it or never have it”; did Nat and Yelena always have to play catch-up? How does that impact who they are today?

And how much does Bucky-was-taken-by-Hydra apply now? Like, he still has the red star on his arm and Alexei’s costume is damn similar; can we assume Department X was somewhat involved in Bucky’s training as well as the Red Room’s? Because that would mean that in the decade or so after Dottie’s class was indoctrinated they developed actual brainwashing abilities, and would that have been used on the Widows, or was that considered more expensive and less efficient than the indoctrination, especially if the girls didn’t know any different? Bucky had memories of another world that needed to be wiped away, but we saw Dottie didn’t.

Did Yelena and Natasha getting exposed to three years as normal kids change whether the Red Room thought they needed brainwashing versus indoctrination versus both?

And what is the organizational structure of the Red Room by the time Nat and Yelena are there? In Age of Ultron we had Madame B but here we have Dreykov; do we know if Madame B is even in this? Given how many of the visions in Age of Ultron were symbolic rather than literal memories, are we sure that Madame B was ever real, or was she a construct meant to represent all of the authority figures of the Red Room in Natasha’s psyche? If the heads of the Red Room are men- and we know that Dreykov is a Red Room authority figure and that Melina has been through the Red Room several times herself- why was that symbol a woman? (I mean, yes, I know, it’s Joss, but how do we square this in-universe?)

To be clear all of these are terrible options, every last one of them, but I am so excited at all the different flavors of terrible we will get to explore.

#allofthereplies #bolshoiromanova #Black Widow #Black Widow movie #Red Room #Natasha Romanoff #Yelena Belova #Bucky Barnes #wild speculation #*aggressively headcanons*

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swordandquill · 4 years ago

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Leverage Writing Prompt #31

Title: Future Tides

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: Nate has been keeping a secret from the team, but an inopportune explosion forces him to reveal it.

This is a prompt fill for @leverage-writing-prompts. I actually submitted this prompt back in July, but only got around to finishing it now.

In honor of the beautiful (and also occasionally creepy) mer-May art I still have circulating on my dash: Parker (or Nate) is secretly a merperson. When a job goes wrong, they’re forced to reveal their secret.

@rinahale did a really fun fill for it already with Mer-Parker.

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Author’s notes: The merrow are Irish merfolk who require a magical cap to move between land and sea.

Bone and Sickle podcast by Al Ridenour did a really great episode on the Kraken (Ep 65: The Kraken & Other Marvels of the Northern Sea). In its earliest renditions, the Kraken was a sea serpent. It was only later that it became associated with first giant octopi, then the giant squid.

*************

Nate knew as soon as the explosion knocked Eliot over the railing of the pier that he only had one option. Eliot was strong swimmer, but not stronger than the turbulent currents under the pier, particularly if he was unconscious. Nate hadn’t been able to tell in the split second it had taken to register him going over.

Even as he was yelling for the rest of the team to get off the burning structure, he was shucking off his shoes and jumping over the railings. He hoped they listened. The rickety structure was going to collapse, with or without another explosion. Getting to Eliot before he got bashed into the pylons was going to be enough of a challenge without having to worry about the rest of the team ending up in the water.

By the time Nate hit the water, his fingernails had hardened into claws, and he used them to tear the rest of his clothes off so he could finish the change. There was something euphoric about settling into his other form. He hadn’t changed since before Sam was born, and it was like finally allowing himself to scratch an itch that had been burning its way through his skin.

There wasn’t time to think about that though. Nate blinked his second eyelid closed, and the murky water sharpened into black and white, the fire above reflecting through the water in bright, washed-out streaks. He had to fight the chaotic currents rushing under the pier to stay still long enough to spot Eliot.

He had already been swept under the pier, probably already been driven into the pylons at least once, and was limp in the water. Nate flicked his tail and pushed into the current, using it to reach Eliot before he could be driven into the pylons again, but he wasn’t able to get them clear of the pier before the next surge. The best he could do was curl around Eliot and turn them so his back hit the pylon instead of Eliot. He was going to be bruised, but it was better than Eliot hitting again.

He pushed hard across the current and surfaced a good four meters from the pier. Eliot started coughing as soon as they broke the surface. The shear relief of it left Nate drifting for a moment, Eliot’s head tipped back against his shoulder and the rip tide pulling them out. There was blood fanning across Eliot’s face from a cut at his temple, and he wasn’t quite conscious, but he was breathing, and for now, that was enough.

Nate cut across the rip to escape it, then brought them into shore, doing his best to keep Eliot’s head above water, although there was no doubt he had breathed in more water by the time they reached the shore.

Changing back was not as easy or simple as the change to had been, but Nate had known it wouldn’t be, known he couldn’t deny his body something it had been craving for so long, then expect it to just let go of it so quickly again. It meant he had to drag Eliot up onto the beach with a tail, which was less than ideal and required more arm strength than he was used to using in either form, but he managed it.

He turned Eliot on his side in the sand as he continued to cough up water. Part of him wanted to leave him here for the team to find and make a break for it before they saw. Eliot was unlikely to remember anything, and Nate was sure he could make something up that would appease them. Then nothing would have to change.

Eliot’s eyes fluttered open, and he shifted fitfully, his whole body shaking with cold and shock.

“Just lie still,” Nate brushed the wet hair from his face with a webbed hand, “you’re alright.”

Eliot blinked up at him, and Nate waited for the reaction, but Eliot just gave an unsurprised “oh” before another coughing fit had him curling back into himself.

Nate let out a sigh and rubbed his back. He couldn’t wait to hear what “distinctive” thing about him had tipped Eliot off to what he was.

Someone yelled his name, and he looked up to see three silhouettes, framed against the light of the burning pier and racing towards them. It was a relief to see them, but Nate couldn’t help the unease as they got closer.

Parker reached them first, too focused on Eliot to pay much attention to Nate. She dropped down in the sand next to them, grabbing Eliot’s shoulder and shaking him in the Parker version of gentleness. Eliot batted at her weakly, but curled closer to her none-the-less. It wasn’t until Nate brushed her hand away when she tried to poke Eliot that she finally looked up at him.

Nate braced himself for fear, or disgust, or any number of negative reactions, but her face lit up like she’d just received a bag of non-sequentially numbered bills.

“You have cool teeth!” she told him brightly.

Nate’s world snapped back into place and all the unease drained out of him.

“Thank you, Parker,” he said drolly, just managing to not run his tongue over the points of his teeth.

“Oh my,” Sophie stopped short as she reached them, and Hardison almost ran into her.

“What is it?” the hacker demanded anxiously, “is Eliot…”

Hardison trailed off, mouth open and eyes wide at the sight of Nate’s tail.

“Nate’s a mermaid,” Parker announced gleefully.

“Do I look like a maid to you?” Nate groused.

“Maybe if you had a feather duster,” Sophie was giving him a look that said they would be having a long, unpleasant conversation later, “and a frilly little French smock.”

“Mermaids are real?” Hardison sputtered.

“Merrow,” Eliot corrected hazily, then curled into another coughing fit.

Nate was never going to hear the end of this from any of them. The fast-approaching sirens were almost a relief.

“Get him out of here,” Nate helped Parker to sit Eliot up, “don’t let him tell you he doesn’t need a hospital. He’s got water in his lungs.”

Hardison ducked down and helped Parker get Eliot to his feet. He swayed unsteadily, and the two were quick to get his arms around their shoulders and take his weight.

“What about you?” Sophie gestured towards his tail.

“Changing back takes longer,” Nate made a shooing motion, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“You promise?” Parker demanded, refusing to be dragged in the direction Hardison was trying to usher both her and Eliot, “not like the little mermaid; you won’t turn into sea foam for loving humans?”

“No, not like that,” Nate assured her with an eyeroll, “hurry up and get out of here so I can too.”

“But you promise,” Parker refused to budge, “you’ll catch up later. You won’t disappear.”

“I promise,” Nate snapped, “go already.”

Parker grinned and turned back to help Hardison with Eliot.

“Don’t think I won’t send a trawler after you if I have to,” Sophie threatened, then turned to follow the rest of the team in the direction of the waiting van.

Nate didn’t doubt she would, and that they would find him, but he didn’t have any intention of making them do that. For now though, he pushed back into the water and let the waves carry him back out towards the open sea.

**********

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell us you were a mermaid,” Hardison hissed, voice low in a futile attempt to not wake Eliot.

“Merrow,” Eliot mumbled groggily.

Futile because Eliot wasn’t sleeping. Exhausted, still feeling chilly if the truly ridiculous number of blankets piled on him were any indication, and a bit out of it from a not insignificant head injury, but not asleep, at least not at the moment.

“You know, I googled that,” Hardison groused, “just because Nate wears stupid hats all the time doesn’t mean he’s some kind of Irish shape-shifting sea creature.”

Sophie snorted indelicately.

“That’s not…” Eliot started to protest, only to be cut off by Parker, which was probably for the best given how soar his throat sounded.

“You can’t have your hat back,” Parker pulled Nate’s hat down farther on her head; she must have picked it up after he dropped it at the pier, “just in case.”

Eliot moved restlessly in his hospital bed, and Nate, sitting on the edge of it, dropped his hand down to pat the hitter’s wrist. He left his hand there, fingers resting lightly against Eliot’s pulse point.

“You can keep the hat, Parker,” Nate said easily, “it looks good on you.”

Parker beamed at him from the foot of Eliot’s bed.

“It’s a con anyway,” Nate continued dismissively, “someone made it up centuries ago to trick fishermen and it stuck.”

“You really are a merrow,” Hardison deflated, as if the reality of it had finally sunk in.

“Yes, Nate,” Sophie sat back in the uncomfortable hospital chair regally, looking for all the world like a queen reigning over her court, “do tell us about being a mythical sea creature.”

Parker leaned forward like a child eager for a bedtime story.

“Well…”

Nate was interrupted by Eliot reaching up with his free hand to try to pull his oxygen cannulas off. Again. Nate caught his hand and lowered it back down to rest on his chest.

“Leave that be for now,” Nate gave his hand a pat.

“I don’t want it,” Eliot shifted, movements agitated and unsure, as if he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do, “we should get out of here. It isn’t safe.”

“I’ve got it all taken care of, man,” Hardison reassured him patiently, “we’re safe.”

“Security’s not…” Eliot started to protest.

“We’re security,” Nate let his hand fall back to Eliot’s wrist and left it there, “we’ll check in with the doctor this afternoon and reassess, alright?”

Eliot grumbled, but settled down again.

There was very little chance of Eliot being released before tomorrow. He was responding well to oxygen, and the CT had looked good, but he had been unconscious underwater, and that wasn’t something any of them wanted to take lightly. He was having trouble focusing and keeping track of what was going on around him, and it wasn’t because of the relatively mild pain meds he had been given.

Better to keep him where he could get the care he needed, at least while they could. Nate wasn’t kidding about reassessing. If the situation changed, and they needed to go to ground, they had other resources they could tap into to make sure Eliot still got taken care of. For now, though, this was best.

“Nate,” Parker was looking at him intently, “Sophie said I should pick something besides money that I want for my birthday.”

Nate turned to face her, resigned to whatever was coming.

“I like gold and gems too,” Parker grinned, “shipwrecks have lots of gold and gems.”

Nate gave a long-suffering sigh, and pointedly ignored Sophie suppressing a snicker.

“It wouldn’t even be like stealing,” Parker pressed, “it’s not like anyone really owns it anymore.”

“There are plenty of countries that would disagree with you on that,” Nate said dryly.

“Only if they know we have it,” Parker shrugged, “so can we go diving for treasure for my birthday?”

“You have to commit to a date for your birthday first, sweetheart,” Sophie pointed out, “also, if we’re diving for treasure, there is the platinum reserves Spain dumped into the ocean in the 16th century. Probably not enough to make the expense of an actual expedition worth it, but if you could just swim to it…”

“No,” Nate said firmly, “absolutely not. We are not treasure hunters.”

“But we could be,” Hardison smiled impishly, “we do need alternative revenues streams after all.”

“Not Spain,” Eliot murmured sleepily, “’s guarded.”

“By what? A kraken?” Hardison scoffed, then paused, “wait, there isn’t a kraken, is there?”

“No,” Nate said firmly at the same time that Eliot said “yes.”

He glared at the hitter, who gave him a tired, shit-eating grin.

“It’s not a cephalopod,” Eliot looked far too pleased with the way Hardison started to sputter.

Nate pinched the bridge of his nose. At this rate, they were never going to get Hardison near the water again.

“You’re making that up,” Hardison balked, “there aren’t sea monsters.”

“How would you know?” Eliot countered, “you don’t even swim.”

Hardison opened his mouth to deny the accusation, but Nate interrupted him.

“What I want to know, is how you knew what I was,” he gave Eliot a curious look.

It would be good for him to know what had tipped Eliot off so he could fix it. The fewer people that could tell what he was, the better. Maggie had known, had seen him change once before they were married, but he hadn’t wanted to split his life between two worlds. He had chosen the land, still chose the land. That remained where the things that mattered to him were.

“You bled all over me when you were shot,” Eliot said, “your blood is different than human blood. It’s distinctive.”

Not something he could do anything about then, although it was interesting to him that Eliot hadn’t bothered to say anything about it sooner. As with all the random and far-reaching knowledge Eliot had, Nate was caught between wanting to know how he knew and feeling it was probably best not to ask.

“That’s just nasty,” Hardison grumbled.

“So we’ll go to South American, and Hardison and I will track down the shipwreck sites,” Parker continued as if she had never been interrupted, “you can search the shipwrecks, and Eliot can help me update my dive certification.”

“Whatever you want, darling,” Eliot yawned.

“Do I get a say in this?” Nate asked.

“Probably not,” Sophie looked thoroughly amused.

“It will be like a family vacation,” Parker grinned, clearly excited by the idea, “you and Sophie keep saying I’m supposed to try normal people things that I haven’t done before.”

Nate knew a lost cause when he heard one. He sat back and listened to Hardison and Parker plan, keeping half an eye on Eliot as he finally drifted off to sleep. Sophie alternated between encouraging the pair with much too much enthusiasm and giving Nate thoughtful side glances. He was grateful she didn’t push for more information. Not yet anyway.

He had told Maggie before he had proposed to her. It had seemed unfair not to. And Sam… Sam had been so young. Nate was never sure he really believed it was more than a fairy story. Maybe if he had lived longer… gotten to be older… who knew what could have happened, what potential had never been unlocked. It hurt to think about, made him want to reach for a bottle and try to forget all the things his son should have been, should have had.

Eliot reached for the cannulas in his sleep, and Nate caught his hand, bringing it back down to his side and holding onto it.

Nate had a future here. Different from the one he had so badly wanted, shaped by different tides, full of unexplored depths and currents, but still good. He was learning to live with that, slow though the process was. It wasn’t the catastrophe he had always thought it would be, having them find out.

If the trade-off for this new future was the occasional treasure hunt, Nate could live with that.

*********

Parker continued to be non-committal about choosing a birthday, but there was a lovely 16th century gold and ruby pendent necklace tucked under the tree for her at Christmas.

#Leverage #Nathan Ford #Eliot Spencer #Parker #Alec Hardison #Sophie Devereaux #Isabeau's writing

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itsclydebitches · 4 years ago

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My biggest problem with the show is how much most of the conflict comes about from the characters having the imagination of cardboard. "Wow, we have an OP relic that can create pocket dimensions, living bodies and put people's souls into anything. But how could we ever beat someone who is unkillable without killing them!?"

Right? And I get it, it's an action show, the writers don't want a, "Ruby waved her totally not magic wand to send Salem into a pocket dimension for all eternity and thus Remnant was saved, the end" sort of deal. The lack of action aside, those sorts of solutions bump up against other expectations, like how annoying waving that magic wand can be (as seen in the frustration when they did precisely that this volume) and expectations that Salem, with a now rather complex backstory, will be treated better than just thrown into another solitary confinement — the exact thing the Gods did to her. The problem doesn't lie in the characters not doing these things. We all get, looking at RWBY as a story, why they're not doing these things and, often, why we wouldn't want them to do these things. The problem is the story hasn't provided reasons why they can't do them.

The group is supposed to be smart, they should be creative, yet they demonstrate neither trait by outright ignoring all the potential options they have for beating Salem. This is a world governed by few rules and simultaneously benefits from an extreme variety of what is possible. How is it that people capable of changing the landscape around them via dust can't plug up a measly hole? How is it that if they're suddenly able to contact people again, Yang can't call her portal-creating mother to come save all of Atlas? How is it that the girl with a dimension inside her hand can't just hide Salem away until they figure out something else to do with her? Explanations that dismiss such possibilities should be easy: maybe dust-created structures have a very short lifespan and dwindling resources mean they can't keep it up for long, maybe Raven as an antagonist refuses to help, maybe Fiona's semblance has a size restriction. A single author, or even a team of authors, is never going to be able to come up with all the possibilities that their audience of thousands can, but that doesn't mean they can't put forth some of that work to demonstrate that the characters are thinking outside the box and are still coming up short. By providing that, the audience is then much happier to buy into the inevitable: oh no, so sad, guess they'll just have to keep battling Salem in cool fights after all :)

But it's not just that the group lacks creativity, it's that they've outright accepted the inevitable when EVERYTHING THEY'VE LEARNED should be encouraging them to question things. This is a group who, in the last few volumes, found out that "real" magic, immortality, and freaking gods all exist. Their idea of what is and is not possible should be shaky at best, with them constantly questioning and testing the reality of their world — because they sure didn't have it right the first time. Why would they just accept this idea that Salem can't be killed? Worse, why would two of them listen to Nora hypothesize that maybe someone other than Ozpin can kill her and then... never bring that up again? How can they look at all the semblances around them, combined with the remnants of Ozpin's magic and not once ask, "Huh, maybe one of these unique abilities can help us defeat Salem." At the very least give us a conversation where Ozpin explains what he's tried in the past and why those attempts failed. Except, of course, this is the same story that wrote him out for two volumes rather than having the group grapple with their forgiveness so we could get to that characterization.

Given that it's the heart of the story, the Salem problem is definitely the most egregious, but this is an issue that pervades the entirety of RWBY's world building. No one asks questions. No one seeks out answers. No one is willing to challenge the current status quo. At least, they're not willing anymore (this definitely wasn't the case back in the Beacon days). Ruby's eyes, Jaune not caring about Tyrian's interest in him, Qrow shrugging off his super rare semblance, Weiss never questioning an inherited semblance despite us never seeing another, they don't care about Robyn's loyalties, or what's going on with the White Fang, what happened to a father and a mentor, or an uncle, whether Raven is telling the truth about the bird powers (after a conversation where she tells Yang to question everything), or what happened to the Lamp after it was stolen, or where Oscar got this weapon, or what's up with this Hound... The characters simply react to whatever is currently happening to them, rather than changing the narrative by actively seeking out answers to things they want to challenge. 'Our mom was likely turned into a grimm monster, somehow,' Ruby says, before the show drops another Penny crisis in her lap and she forgets about the numerous, significant questions attached to that statement. When will we return to Summer? Only when the story decides it needs to fill time with her return. Before that, Ruby, Yang, and everyone else involved will likely forget that such questions exist because to do otherwise would require them to actually try and do something about answering them.

#rwby #mymetas

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the-lightning-strikes-again · 4 years ago

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Posting this for @pilotkinkade in response to their recent post made here, regarding concerns about VLD and how it includes white savior complex or potentially smears Allura’s character with that complex. I’m not reblogging directly because this is a long response lol. Thank you pilotkinkade for chatting earlier; I hope you find this post interesting at least and would be curious of your thoughts in return!

---

I do agree with your general sentiments, that VLD takes on a disquieting savior complex throughout a good portion of the show, even more so than in previous Voltron iterations. For me, it feels most apparent in the way that Voltron as an all-powerful machine in VLD is piloted by its second generation.

To compare: In the original OG alliance (Alfor, Zarkon, Trigel, Gyrgan, and Blaytz), multiple major races were represented, functioning as one to save their own collective galaxy from threats. So even among the OG paladins, there were checks and balances (maybe Zarkon had the strongest military skills personally, but Alfor had the alchemy, etc.), with mass racial diversity. This seemed like a pretty innovative and cool addition to the Voltron franchise. The s3 finale also clarifies that, unlike VLD’s second-generation, all of these paladins were leaders of their people. This meant they had political and legal authority/experience that an average warrior or citizen wouldn’t.

By removing that whole structure and retrofitting Voltron with (mostly) a group of unprepared teenagers from a single planet entirely uninvolved in the universal conflict, it created a lot of strange hierarchies...

We see much of the known universe raise up people who had zero prior experience with war, and little to no military or diplomatic training, as well as very little awareness of the traumas or people groups involved in this war. (Shiro is possibly the exception here.) But suddenly, all of these paladins also had unfettered, largely unquestioned access to ultimate power to carry out whatever vision they felt was right in the moment. Because simply “might is right,” we see even highly experienced commanders like Kolivan become castrated in authority compared to Team Voltron. Various alien groups express upset or side-eye Team Voltron’s well-meaning actions but obvious insensitivity to/ignorance of their problems or fears. Even at the paladin-level, a princess trained to fight and lead is subordinated to a boy with zero leadership training whatsoever (which is very different from previous iterations where Keith was actually very competent, more experienced, and wanted to be a leader).

And when Voltron plays the unchecked judge, jury, and executioner across the entire universe, the new paladins as a whole also do not have the political or legal authority the OG pallies did in the boundaries of their own galaxy. The second-gen paladins are not authorities of their people or representative of the people groups affected in the war they’re now leading. The OG pallies built the actual legend of Voltron in less than 28 decaphoebs, clearly going beyond their 5 nations to help others suffering from natural disasters or unknown needs, which might raise some eyebrows perhaps because we don’t know what all that entailed. But while we see that the Voltron machine eventually got celebrated, the OG pallies are never shown personally soaking in some kind of savior celebration…

(Photo ID: Alfor says, “Why I joined up this band of scoundrels, I’ll never know.” Trigel responds, “Because we’re the only band of scoundrels that would have you.” Third screenshot is of the paladins celebrating their alliance win by themselves.)

…compared to second-gen paladins (or some anyway) who pretty clearly soak in the love and prestige they’ve received based off the historical and legendary precedence of the OG alliance’s work:

(Photo IDs: Lance taking selfies with aliens excited to be around paladins. A second screenshot of Lance daydreaming about being a universal savior, stomping on Zarkon, planting a flag to mark ownership, and having Allura stare up at him in worship.)

In fact, a lot of the pro-Voltron war propaganda relies heavily more on recreating the legend already built for them, than on the actual competency or experience of the current paladins:

(Photo ID: Pidge complains about the war propaganda scripts, “This isn’t even factually accurate.” Coran replies, “Well, this is the Legend of Voltron, not the documentary of Voltron.”)

On that note, we even see the scripts reverse who is actually the most competent or capable of performing.

(Photo ID: Coran says, “Ladies and gentle-aliens, bear witness as the Paladins of Voltron attack Zarkon’s base to save the helpless Princess Allura!”)

Coran’s script, however well-meant, pretty massively infantilizes Allura as someone who needs to be saved by an external force, rather than mentioning her as someone who is an active and critical ally of the Voltron paladins in this war.

Unlike Coran’s script, Princess Allura isn’t helpless. In terms of the second-generation paladins, she’s has the most war-time experience, and is also the one that the paladins lean on constantly to create a meaningful connection with other people groups who are otherwise hesitant about Voltron.

(Photo ID: Allura speaks to the Balmeran people, “Balmerans, this is Princess Allura. You don’t know me, but I am here to help. I know what it’s like to watch your home planet die.”)

Allura is the successor to the Altean monarchy and a direct victim of the OG galaxy wars. So unlike other second-gen paladins, she has some semblance of legal/political authority that she was actively trained for, as well as personal skin in the game. She is ultimately the only paladin who has experienced a mass omnicide of her home and people, similar to other victims of the Galra regime. She also still accepts the authority of her father, whose AI tells her in season 1 to be prepared to sacrifice everything to undo his mistakes.

We see Allura from that point onward functioning under that directive from her father and king—to sacrifice everything she has to end Zarkon’s regime. One could potentially make the argument that, within this structure, Allura might suffer from a certain subset of “white knight syndrome,” in which one feels they’re worthless if they’re not sacrificing for others. If I have my facts right, it’s a different psychological state from white savior complex (in which I define white savior complex as “when someone outside the issue at hand barges in to make a change that may or may not benefit the recipient, simply to make themselves feel better or appear useful, without regard to the recipient’s wishes or real needs”). But I feel even the comparison of “white knight syndrome” gets dicey. Because Allura is shown as acting happy without necessarily sacrificing things (in fact, she acts progressively depressed s7-s8, the more she has to give up intrinsic things about herself or her identity). But when Allura chooses to assist or sacrifice, the sacrifice she makes has a very relevant and functional impact for the people she helps.

In season 1, she chooses to sacrifice herself to save Shiro. Shiro was, at that time, the Black Paladin and leader of Voltron, so Allura saw herself as functionally the less important of the two to save since she did not pilot the universe’s only weapon against Zarkon.

With the Balmera, she similarly chooses to act because the Balmerans themselves acknowledge they are entirely out of options, and also because the Balmerans (and the Balmera itself) accept her help she offers. At this point in time, she has already established a deep personal connection with them by virtue of their shared trauma of losing their home planets.

(Photo IDs: Shay says, “We’re lost! All are trapped with no chance for escape!” Allura says, “We can’t give up.” Shay responds, “But what can be done?” The group realizes the Balmera is regenerating beneath the ship, and Shay wonders why. Allura says, “The Castle!”)

Here, Allura assumes that the Castle—which is powered by a Balmeran crystal itself—could be regenerating the Balmera. But a Balmeran elder corrects her:

(Photo ID: A Balmeran elder says, “Not just the Castle, but you, as well.”)

So Allura did not even recognize at first that she was in any way a part of the solution to the Balmera regenerating.

Regarding the Balmera act itself, I’m not sure it satisfies the conditions for a white savior complex? I’m curious about your thoughts here, because I guess I saw it happening differently, from a witchcraft perspective...

We know from both Coran and Shay that originally, Alteans were one of the historical races who sacrificed some of their own energy to replenish the Balmera when seeking a crystal:

(Photo ID: Coran saying, “In the days of old, when Alteans were given the gift of crystals from a Balmera, we would repay its sacrifice by performing a ceremony. A sacred Altean would re-infuse the Balmera with quintessence. In this way, we had a symbiotic relationship.”)

We see that Balmerans were a voluntary part of this energy exchange by virtue of their unique connective powers (which is likely why we see them kneeling and activating said powers during these ceremonies).

Shay herself seems to indicate she is highly aware of these old ceremonies:

(Photo ID: Rax says, “Everyone comes to Balmera and takes, but gives nothing in return!” Shay says, “In the past, those who took the Balmera’s crystals would replenish her with energy. It was an equal exchange.”)

Shay agrees that the ceremony itself involves a sacred exchange of life force.

So I would argue that in this case, the Balmerans are not kneeling to Allura specifically or worshiping someone—it seems to be just the imagery associated with magical spells/magical transfers (where one object in the middle is the main conduit/focal point, and the other objects surrounding help to create and sustain the spell/protective barrier, etc).

One of the basic practices in real-world witchcraft is casting a magic/ritual circle. The circle creates a space where the spell, ritual, or form of protection can be performed. Forgive the stock image, but here’s just a super basic example:

(Photo ID: A magic circle in the form of a pentagram, with a candle in the middle, compared to a screenshot of 5 Balmerans surrounding Allura in the form of a pentacle, creating a sacred space with Allura glowing in the center.)

The five points in particular mimic standard pentacle-based ritual circles designed to create a sacred space of some kind. We do see various configurations of witchcraft imagery used in other instances throughout the show, such as when the druids have to help Haggar sustain her spells:

(Photo ID: Haggar centered in a magic circle, surrounded by druids helping her complete the ritual. Haggar kneels against the glowing symbols to complete the ritual.)

I think, similar to the druids that Haggar relied upon to help her complete a spell, it can be argued that the Balmerans were an active part of the regeneration spell with Allura. We see across the entire Balmera that they magically connect to help sustain the energy transfer, because it’s a planet-wide, massive undertaking:

(Photo ID: Balmerans activating their connection to the Balmera in the middle of the sacred ceremony to regenerate the Balmera.)

To me, it felt like the Balmerans were necessary to complete this ceremony--without their agreement to this energy exchange, and without them connecting to the Balmera to assist the transfer, Allura might not have been able to connect her life force and transfer power to the whole planet.

And to complete the ceremony, Allura herself kneels as well, just as Haggar did and just as the Balmerans around her do, in connection with the Balmera:

(Photo ID: Allura kneeling alongside Balmerans to complete the ritual.)

(Which means she’s technically kneeling to at least three other Balmerans in front of her.)

So I think the kneeling imagery would not correlate to some white savior complex event as suggested.

One other thought I had is that I feel help from a “white savior” is often haphazard and pushed onto recipients regardless of their thoughts or real needs. In comparison, we know that the Balmerans were willing to try this spell with Allura and accepted her idea of attempting the ancient ceremony. The only person who expressed hesitancy is Coran, who warns Allura that this attempt could kill her.

(Photo ID: Coran warns Allura, “To heal an entire planet, it could take more energy than you possess.”)

I do think it could again be argued that Allura seriously undermines her own value and worth in an attempt to help everyone, no matter the cost, which potentially gets more into white knight syndrome born out of trauma than white savior complex born out of privilege. She snaps back at Coran for being concerned about her well-being, and then she proceeds to enact the ceremony, not knowing for sure whether she’d live or die. But Allura also knows that her life force is uniquely tied to Voltron and that she is the only one with this kind of connection to the Castle ship’s battle-class Balmera crystal—all of this makes her a very powerful capacitor in a lot of ways. Which is why she looks like this after the ceremony:

(Photo ID: Allura having collapsed in Shay’s arms after regenerating the Balmera, but her physical features are not otherwise affected.)

And not like this:

(Photo ID: A screenshot of an Altean named Petrulius from season 6, whose features are distorted after having had the life/quintessence sucked out of him.)

So to me, it seemed that Allura was enacting an ages-old, magical ceremony approved by and wanted by the Balmerans—simply on a scale that no one had ever before attempted. And it’s likely that no one else would or could attempt it, because Allura is the single character in the entire universe whose personal life force is tied to Voltron’s regenerative energy (by virtue of Alfor’s alchemy on her as mentioned in episode 1). It’s an even deeper tie to the whole machine than the transient bond between paladin and lion. No other Balmeran or Galran or Altean had that kind of tie in their life force. Likely, even Alfor would have died if he’d attempted this act himself without being connected to an infinite power source.

And after Allura saves the Balmera with assistance from Balmerans, we also do not see her like this with the Balmeran people:

(Photo ID: Lance soaking up a savior fantasy as previously mentioned in this meta.)

Instead, post-Balmera resurrection, we see it’s actually not even the Balmerans themselves who thank Allura. The Balmerans simply convey the will of the Balmera, which Allura cannot hear:

(Photo ID: A Balmeran says to Allura, “Yes. The Balmera lives. It thanks you.”)

So backing up for a second, I do think there are much larger issues happening in the narrative with Voltron itself, with the unequal power dynamics of having young, inexperienced people from a single planet make and enact all the big universal decisions. But in the instance with the Balmera, it seemed like Allura was openly welcomed to help save the planet, using magical ceremonies as approved by the Balmerans themselves for millennia, and that the Balmerans were not passive in those ceremonies but a necessary part of their success.

In general, Allura doesn’t seem to embody the “white savior complex” vibe at all to me, unlike some others in the show. Even in season 8, when Allura planned to make The Really Big Sacrifice, she asked her team to keep her actions a secret. She literally didn’t care for any respect or acknowledgment or prestige in exchange for sacrificing her life. She was doing what needed to be done because she was, once again, one of the few who could even perform at that level:

(Photo ID: Shiro says to Allura, “Most of them won’t know the sacrifice you made so they could live.” Allura replies, “And they’ll never need to.”)

(As an aside, I would argue that it was entirely unnecessary that the narrative would demand Allura sacrifice herself at all when she was literally standing in the universe’s seat of power alongside other powerful beings like her own father or the billions of other magic-wielding dead people, because apparently the lines between life and death blur in that space.)

(I also think there are some questionable “master race” vibes in the VLD universe in general, given that it forcefully pushes, even against the wishes of Alteans themselves, that Alteans are the only ones who can wield the big power to do big things. It’s clear that other groups and beings can wield magical abilities, but the larger narrative very oddly pins the “purest quintessence/bluest blood” back on Alteans time and time again in later seasons, leaving Allura in basically a no-win, no-help-available situation until other Alteans come along.)

So yeah, I hope something in this meta might help settle some concerns about Allura as a representation of white savior complex? Or at least that this would open conversation for further discussion about what could be done in future iterations to avoid that messaging. Because yeah, I agree with you that the unquestioned savior complexes in this show are a topic that can and should be discussed! And also that, despite early world-building to suggest otherwise, the narrative especially in s6-s8 pushes that Alteans have a “purer/more alive” life force compared to any other race or form. Which is just…hm. Like, the master race vibes of all that are weird and definitely not even inherent to the Voltron franchise. (In previous iterations, humans, Galrans/Drule, and Alteans could all perform incredible levels of magic. For example, in Dynamite Voltron, Keith, Lotor, and Lotor’s siblings had all been taught magic.)

There’s definitely some weird images and unnatural power dynamics in VLD at times. It seems like more often than not, the narrative does strive to make Allura sacrificing something the only viable resort for anyone ever. In those circumstances, I’m just not convinced that she herself functions as an embodiment of white savior complex, by virtue of her behavior in those instances. But it’s definitely weird that the narrative places so much weight on her when the larger Team Voltron narrative is supposed to be about found family and strength in unity.

(If you read this far, thank you! Sorry I’m not succinct.)

#Voltron #Voltron meta #Voltron critical in ways #Allura #Balmera episode #discussions of white savior complex #I ultimately state that Allura doesn't seem to meet the basic behaviors for that #but the show does get into some strange master race stuff in terms of abilities #and we do see several iimages of white savior complex throughout the show by virtue of some other characters #which idk why that got dropped in without at least a reflection on it #like I can handle problematic stories but prefer it when they know they're problematic lol #in VLD it felt like I was supposed to be cheering for those issues #that I wasn't supposed to question it or that I was supposed to actually connect with that fantasy #I feel like this is a really interesting topic because in other iterations there were other Voltrons #as in more people had similar machines #which I feel like helped to control the savior complex inherent in manning a powerful weapon #and in fact one iteration goes as far to say that voltron ISN'T special at all #which surprises various characters #Just a very different vibe from VLD entirely #I'm really fascinated by that #Anyway thanks for reading my rambles!

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kemifatoba · 4 years ago

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C/O Berlin Magazine | It’s a space for everyone, and everyone can come in — Thoughts for the future

“I cringe when I hear words like ‘diversity’ and ‘inclusion.” To quote the civil rights activist, philosopher, and writer Angela Davis, “diversity” and “inclusion” are terms that you, dear reader, might have also stumbled across in recent months, whether you wanted to or not. Inspired by global Black Lives Matter protests, mainstream media, corporations, and other institutions finally realized – in some cases as it seems overnight – that racism is also an intractable problem in Germany. Unfortunately, we need more than just hollow words and empty promises to solve this problem. You might be thinking to yourself: “But didn’t people take to the streets or write opinion pieces in newspapers to protest structural racism? And didn’t major institutions promise to offer diversity and inclusion workshops in discussion after discussion on television?” Perhaps, but don’t be fooled. Instead of critically questioning the role that white decision-makers play in perpetuating systemic racism, “society” was blamed. Over and over again, Black* people were asked to answer if they had really experienced racism through scrutiny of their real-life stories, while predominantly white “experts” were invited onto talk shows to discuss the so-called “racism debate”. Profound, structural changes are still lacking, at least as of the time this text goes to print.

Presence equals power. This brings us to the current moment where you are reading these words about British photographer Nadine Ijewere’s solo show at C/O Berlin. Nadine Ijewere is the first Black woman to be given a space that has previously been occupied almost exclusively by white men. As such, this exhibition is significant not only for Black photographers, but for everyone more used to being treated as the object than the artist or curator in spaces like this where many people don’t feel welcome or simply don’t exist. As trivial as it may sound, visibility comes from being able to hang pictures on a wall—or write these lines.

Joy as an act of resistance. Nadine Ijewere belongs to a generation of artists and creatives who have realized that there are more options than simply following the traditional path. Knowing that society has long since changed—even if many gatekeepers in fashion, art, and the media still cling to the status quo—this DIY generation is creating its own platforms to elevate their own role models with an army of loyal followers. In their work, representatives of this generation create worlds that rarely center Eurocentric beauty norms. The same goes for this young British artist, whose work shows people in all their beauty and uniqueness. Her photographs regularly appear on the pages of British, American and Italian Vogue, i-D, or Garage, and she has collaborated with brands such as Nina Ricci and Stella McCartney. Ijewere proves that beauty is multifaceted and that fashion is fun and for everyone.

More than a seat at the table. When artists like Ijewere make it to the top, it’s not because of nepotism, tokenism, or diversity as a trend, but despite all the obstacles that have been put in their way. And instead of assimilating after being accepted by the old guard, they continue to write their own rules. In Ijewere’s case, this means not only working with diverse models and teams, but also passing her knowledge on as a mentor to keep the proverbial door open. She’s less driven by the desire to stand out from the mainstream than she is to give back by inspiring younger generations, who are able to see themselves in magazines. “Within the time I have, I’ll use every opportunity I get and every space I can get into to expand the horizon of others.”

Representation matters. Celebrating Black people and people of color in a traditionally white space was also the goal of “Visibility is key – #RepresentationMatters,” a watershed moment for the German lifestyle magazine industry when it launched on vogue.de in spring 2019. The goal was to take first steps toward a forward-thinking future where inclusion and diversity would no longer be mere buzzwords, but lived practices. Part of that effort meant ensuring representation in front of as well as behind the camera. The results weren’t perfect and they might not have led to social change, but we proved that there isn’t a lack of creative talent among Black and Brown people in Germany. If anything, we proved that these talents are often denied the space to develop their full potential.

Ideas for the future. As you see, dear reader, it takes teamwork to bring about long-term change, and for the first time the doors are open a bit. Nadine Ijewere's exhibition shows this, as does being able to write these very words in the C/O Berlin Newspaper. In the statements below, we asked German and international artists and creatives to envision a future where representation and inclusion are lived practices instead of rare exceptions. The results are ideas for a future that is reachable—as long as we all keep working towards it every day. Together.

Nadine Ijewere, artist Art is about art. It’s not about you personally. That’s why artists need to be seen as artists. We all get stereotyped and put into the same box—but we have our own identity. We are put into the same space just because we are Black, but we are all very different people.

Edward Enninful, OBE, Editor-in-Chief of British Vogue Nadine is one of the leading fashion photographers of her generation. She’s not only inherently British in her work, she’s also Black British. She really understands the complex mix of culture, fashion, beauty, and the inner working of a woman, so when you see her images, it’s never just a photograph. There’s also a story and a narrative behind it.

Benjamin Alexander Huseby & Serhat Işık, designers for the label GmbH Our work has always been about wanting to show our community and culture to tell our stories as authentically as we can. It was never about “diversity”, but about being seen. We want to create a world where not only exceptional Black and Brown talents no longer have to be truly exceptional to get recognition for their work, a world where we no longer are the only non-white person in the room because we built the motherfucking house ourselves.

Mohamed Amjahid, freelance journalist and author, whose book Der weiße Fleck will be published by Piper Verlag on March 1, 2021. It's time that Black women become bosses. Gay Arabs should get to call the shots. Refugees belong on the executive boards of big corporations. Children of so-called “guest workers” should move into management positions too. People with disabilities should not just have a say, they should make the decisions. Vulnerable groups deserve to put their talents and ideas to work in the service of the whole society. Not every person of color is automatically a good leader by virtue of their background, but all-white, cis-male executive boards are certainly incapable of making decisions that are right for everyone. That’s why we need more representation at the very top, where the decisions are made.

Melisa Karakuş, founder of renk., the first German-Turkish magazine For a better future, I demand that we educate our children to be anti-racist and to resist when others or when they themselves are subjected to racism. I demand that discrimination is understood through the lens of intersectionality and solidarity! I demand that even those who are not affected by racism stand up against it! This fight is not one that we as Black people and people of color fight alone—for a better future, we all have to work together.

Tarik Tesfu, host of shows including the NDR talk show deep und deutlich When I look in the mirror, I see someone who grew up in the Ruhr region and loves currywurst with French fries as much as Whitney Houston. I see a person who has his pros and cons and who is so much more than his skin color. I see a subject. But the German media and cultural system seem to see it differently because far too often, Black people are degraded and made into objects for the reproduction of racist bullshit. I'm tired of explaining racism to Annette and Thomas because I really have better things to do (for example, my job). So get out of my light and let me shine.

Ronan Mckenzie, photographer The future of our industry needs to be one with more consideration for those that are within it. One that isn’t shrouded in burnout and the stresses of late payments, and one that doesn’t make anyone question whether they have been booked for the quality of their work or to be tokenized for the color of their skin. The future of our industry needs to go beyond the performative Instagram posts and mean-nothing awards, to truly sharing resources and lifting up one another. Our industry needs to put its money where its mouth is when words like “support”, “community” or “diversity” slip out, instead of using buzzwords that create an illusion of championing us. How there can be so much money in this industry yet so many struggle to keep up with their rent, feed themselves, or just rest without worrying about money is truly a travesty. If this industry is to survive then we who make it what it is need to be able to thrive.

Ferda Ataman, journalist and chair of Neue deutsche Medienmacher*innen A recent survey of the country's most important editors-in-chief revealed that many of them think diversity is good, but they don't want to do anything about it. This is based on the assumption that everyone good will succeed. Unfortunately, that’s not true. It’s not just a person’s qualifications that are decisive, but other criteria as well, such as similarity and habit (“XY fits in with us”). It's high time that all of us—everywhere—demand a serious commitment to openness and diversity. Something is seriously wrong in pure white spaces that can’t be explained by people’s professional qualifications alone. Or to put it differently: a good diversity strategy always has an anti-racist effect.

Nana Addison, founder of CURL CON and CURL Agency Being sustainable and inclusive means thinking about all skin tones, all hair textures, and all body shapes—in the beauty industry, in marketing communications, as well as in the media landscape. These three industries work hand in hand in shaping people’s perceptions of themselves and others. It’s important to take responsibility and be proactive and progressive to ensure inclusivity.

Dogukan Nesanir, stylist The current system is not designed to help minorities. By giving advantages to certain people and groups, it automatically deprives others of the chance to attain certain positions in the first place. That's why I don't even ask myself the question "What if?" anymore. My work is not about advancing a fake worldview, but about highlighting all the real in the good and the bad. I strongly believe that if some powerful gatekeepers gave in, if representation and diversity happened behind the scenes and we had the chance to show what the world REALLY looks like, we wouldn't be having these discussions at all. I don't just want an invitation to the table, I want to own the table and change things.

Arpana Aischa Berndt & Raquel Dukpa, editors of the catalog I See You – Thoughts on the Film “Futur drei” In the German film and television industry, production teams and casting directors are increasingly looking for a “diverse” cast. Casting calls are almost exclusively formulated by white people who profit from telling stories of people of color and Black people by using them, but without changing their own structures in the process. Application requirements and selection processes in film schools even shut out marginalized people by denying them the opportunities that come with being in these institutions. People of color and migrants as well as Black, indigenous, Jewish, queer, and disabled people can all tell stories, too. Production companies need to understand that expertise doesn’t necessarily come with a film degree.

Vanessa Vu & Minh Thu Tran, hosts of the podcast Rice and Shine It may be convenient to ignore entire groups, but we are and have been so much more for a very long time. We contribute to culture by making films or plays and bring new perspectives to science, politics, and journalism. We’re Olympic athletes, curators, artists, singers, dancers, and inventors. We dazzle and shine despite not always being seen. Because we have each other and we’ve created opportunities to do the things we love. We’ve created platforms for each other and built communities. Slowly but surely we are finally getting applause and recognition for the fact that we exist. That's nice. But what we really need is not just the opportunity to exist, but the opportunity to continue to grow and to stop basing our work primarily on self-exploitation. We need security, reliability, and money. That's the hard currency of recognition. That would mean being truly seen.

*Black is a political self-designation and is capitalized to indicate that being Black is about connectedness due to shared experiences of racism.

Written by: Alexandra Bondi de Antoni & Kemi Fatoba C/O Berlin Magazine April 2021

#editorial #coberlin

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jonthethinker · 5 years ago

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I’m always delighted to read meta people write about moral complexity concerning the characters presented to us in Critical Role. It’s due in no small part to how beautifully and astutely written these pieces are, and with how much care and tenderness people treat the subjects of their analysis.

But it’s also interesting in another way, because it shows me how differently I view the fundamentals of morality from the characters, the cast, and majority of the fandom itself.

And since I’m feeling very self-indulgent today, I’ve decided to write about how and why under the cut.

To begin our discussion, let’s use a rather popular subject on the topic of moral ambiguity: Essek Thelyss. He’s a fascinating character for many reasons, but our interest is in his choices and the consequences there in.

It’s discovered by the Nein that Essek is responsible for the theft of the Luxon Beacons and their acquisition by the Cerberus Assembly, which is believed to be the main crux of the war between the Dynasty and the Empire. He admits to them he did this because he felt his people were blinded by a faith that prevented them truly understanding what the Beacons were and how they worked, and so an alliance was formed with the Assembly in order to finally gain that understanding.

The only thing that really made him doubt this decision was his budding friendship with the Mighty Nein, not the war he helped start or the people harmed in the process, but that the people he had grown to care for had been caught up in his machinations to acquire knowledge; again, it’s not the moral or social implications of his actions that bother him, it’s strictly the personal ones.

And this is where the distinctions between my moral understanding and that of others begins to display itself. Others see this as a moral development on Essek’s part, and a sign that he is growing in a more positive direction. I somewhat disagree. I see it as a sign that he can grow, but while the soil has become fertile ground, no buds have broke the surface yet.

Goodness, according to my own moral compass, comes from two basic notions; compassion and humility. Compassion to care for those you gain nothing from caring for, and humility to place yourself less and less at the center of importance in the grand scheme of things. This doesn’t mean devoting yourself so much to others that you don’t take care of yourself, but that you are okay with being intermittently uncomfortable and taking risks if it means others are taken care of. And humility doesn’t mean you think yourself unimportant, but that you are a part of something larger and grander that you are on your own.

Essek cares about the Mighty Nein. That shows that he can care about people outside of himself, but not very far outside of himself. They are his friends, and friends and family are, to our minds at least, extensions of ourselves; they rest against the bubble of self, and are often a huge part of how we even define and understand ourselves as individuals in the first place. Very selfish people can be very protective of the friends they have, because to a selfish person, there is very little difference between person and property; you are what you own, and your friends belong to you. Essek is, of his own admission, a very selfish person. So caring about his friends isn’t really some moral stride in the right direction, but more of an indication that he can care about others, but only in so far as they are of value to him directly.

But why is Essek the way he is? Many in the fandom say it’s because of his status as a prodigy, and the pressure that has placed on him over the course of his entire life. The expectations placed upon him are enormous, and he simply can not fail to meet them.

But that’s not really the full story. Because what most people seem to fail to include in their calculations is Essek’s class position; He is nobility, and unconsecuted nobility at that, and we’ll get to why that matters shortly.

Essek has been sheltered and protected from every hardship the average person of Xhorhas experiences. There has never been a single moment in Essek’s life where his material well-being has been in question. Not one time. While the pressures to succeed have been great, he’s also been given nearly every single tool he’s needed to do so. No doubt he received the sort of high quality education most folks couldn’t begin to comprehend, all while having the backing of his Den and the Dynasty at large to guarantee any actual failure has no real bite. When our goblin friend Zorth of Asarius fails at his job, a moorbounder snacks on one of his limbs. When Essek fails, maybe it causes some frustration and some momentary tension for his Den, but his relative social position and quality of life stays the same.

Seeing as he is unconsecuted, he’s never even had to start his life as someone with less than he has now. Skysibil Abrianna Mirimm started her current life as a goblin, and according to the Explorers Guide to Wildemount, has lead to many a whispered jest or cruel remark among the other members of the court, and because she’s had this experience, she’s grown a greater appreciation for the “beastfolk” as a broader sect of their society. Essek has had no such experience to open his eyes to the broader experiences of the public. He’s been insulated from the core features of many people’s daily realities in a way that virtually guarantees he feel nothing but disinterest at best and utter disgust at worst in regards to the trials of others.

This is not to take away from his agency, and to say it’s not his fault. His brother Verin by all indications experienced the same sort of life he did, but is an acclaimed leader and has very much humbled himself to a cause greater than his own ambitions, that being justice and honor for his people. So it would seem it is both his circumstances and his reaction to these circumstances that have affected who he has become, and what tools he has at his disposal to change that.

And to continue this thread for a moment, it would behoove me not to mention an incredible important aspect of Essek’s class position, and that is the power that comes with that. Anyone in Xhorhas could have had the same notions about the Luxon as he does. Anyone of them could have had the same grand sense of self-importance. For instance, Vendalla the housekeeper could secretly believe all the same things about how the Luxon religion is blinding the masses and holding back the Dynasty from realizing its true potential. The difference is she, unlike Essek, isn’t one of the handful of people that can act on that belief.

I feel this is where a rather stark divergence forms between my own sense of morality and that of others, and it’s my belief that systems and power structures are far more important in understanding the moral implications of a thing, and not individual belief, intent, or inclination.

To better explain where I’m headed, let’s use an analogy of sorts. When you think of yourself, if you’re like most people I know, “you” as an entity are independent from your body. You might think of yourself as a soul or maybe “you” are your brain or a consciousness piloting your body, but your body is ultimately seen as something “you” control.

But for me this isn’t the case at all. In fact, I don’t only believe you are also your body, I believe that yourself actually extends beyond you into the environment around you. You are not you without the many sensations and feed-backs, and sometimes lack there of, that your body produces, in response to the material reality around you. You would not be you with your brain in the body of nineteenth century Chinese peasant farmer or the body of a crusading knight in the twelfth century. You are defined by the context in which you exist.

And this extends further. I don’t believe people are independent ideological actors acting solely on their beliefs and feelings about the world. We are not independent of the context in which we exist. For the most part, your context does a lot more to shape your ideology than your ideology will ever shape your context. It’s quite the herculean task to think your way out of poverty. And it’s certainly a difficult proposition for a rich person to develop an ideology that doesn’t support them continuing to hold onto their wealth. These things can happen, for sure, but because of the broader systems and incentives at play, to expect people to just choose to swim up stream without also creating new systems and incentives to encourage that is bananas to me.

This is not to imply there is no such thing as agency, but your material conditions and social position are going to heavily influence the degree to which you can make decisions. The higher your class, the more choices you can make. The more hegemonic your ethnic group or race or gender or sexual orientation, the more options you will have, but also the weaker your incentives are to try and change that. That’s why social movements are generally comprised of the sufferers and not the sympathizers. The greatest allies don’t arise just because they believe something is right or wrong, but because they have humbled themselves before the size of the cause and have faith that their effort will support something much bigger and more important than their comfort and position.

These people are exceptionally rare for a reason; because it’s hard to do that. This isn’t a moral judgement on the people who don’t do that, quite the opposite; they are fish swimming down stream with the current instead of against it. If you want people to swim the other way, you don’t scold them into trying to swim harder; you make it easier. You change the current. And this is a task that you can’t do alone. You have to do it in a coordinated way, in disciplined unison with others. That’s why every major change the world has ever seen has largely been the result of pressure from movements not individual actors, and why the most successful movements are composed of the broadest base of sufferers, generally in the form of a broad working class struggle.

People in this fandom and many other fandoms try to be good. They try to believe the right things, and like the right things, and say the right things. But their power comes not from their individual beliefs, but through their combined action with others, joining together to change the current, and their faith that even though they may not get to personally feel the current shift, they were an integral part of that process. And it pains my heart that most of them can’t see that.

You see this in the Mighty Nein. They all struggle so much with their own sense of self-worth in comparison to their friends. They’re all worried they’re only worth as much as their latest contributions. The problem is that they define themselves as something separate from the Nein. Could someone who they see as contributing more than they have, have done so without the backbone of support they receive from all the others? No. None of them would have gotten far without the broader system of support they have developed for each other. They have shifted the current, changed the incentives. No person is exists in a vacuum. Our context shapes our possibilities. Want to change the available options? Change the context. And you can’t do it alone.

So if Essek is to truly get better, he needs more than just the Nein’s friendship. He needs the system they’ve developed. And that system is going to have to work hard against the many currents that flow through Essek’s life. They will have to change his incentives.

But the question is, do they want to? Most of the Nein weren’t mad about the war. If they were mad, it was because Essek lied to them personally. Only Beau seemed particularly interested in the consequences on the broader world, and her response was to try to scold that fish up stream. And it didn’t work. So really, it will be a question of if the Mighty Nein want to even try to push Essek onto a more positive, morally rewarding path, and what incentives they have to do so.

I really hope the small handful of people who read this can take something from all of this. I’m not alone in this outlook, as it has been something that has been contributed to by sufferers and sympathizers alike across history. If even one person walks away from reading this thinking about systems of power more than individual choices and beliefs, I’ll rest easy. Thanks for reading, regardless.

#Critical Role #The Mighty Nein #essek thelyss #cr meta #long post #squeezed my brain like a fresh orange for this one

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s-creations · 4 years ago

Text

Two Steps Forward

Panchito has a heavy question on his mind. Something that he's worried that could make or break this relationship with the two people he loves the most. But he has to ask.

Fandom: DuckTales 2017 / The Three Caballeros Rating: General Audience Relationships/Pairings: José Carioca/Donald Duck/Panchito Pistoles Additional Tags: Discussion of Marriage, MArriage, Struggling New Life, Living Together, Minor Discussion of Racism, And I Mean Minor, Nervous Discussion, Happy Ending.

Part of a Series Called: We’re the Three- Sorry, Six Caballeros!

Heads up for everyone! Please note in the tagging section, I have made mention of racism being present in this story. It's nothing super impactful overall, but more of a show of frustration and to act as a sort of barrier. It's nothing that should make anyone feel uncomfortable, but I still wanted to make mention of is at it's still there.

With that being said, please enjoy!

Panchito knew what he brought to their relationship. He was the more chipper out of the three. Always with a smile, the positive outlook on the situation, to offer a good laugh to lighten the mood. Most would assume he was a bit ‘simple minded’. That the attitude came from not knowing what was happening.

But if he wasn’t paying attention, how would he know when to cheer people up?

It was a subtle skill he held. One he’d developed and perfected over the years with having to deal with a large family. Taking in what was happening and finding a good resolution. Understanding what the best outcome would be to spare everyone emotionally. Something he was having difficulty figuring out for this current situation.

Even with him and José having full citizenship, there were still a number of obstacles they couldn’t figure out how to get over.

The parrot was the only one out of the three that held a proper job. It was easy to transfer his position from one airport to another. He still had steady hours and proper insurance. A good income that helped supply the household. But that’s pretty much where the ease stopped.

It seemed realtors and landlords were overly cautious about renting to anyone recently immigrated. Even if said person had a secured job. Even then, there weren’t that many options available to them that made the trio thrilled enough to move. It was expensive to live in the city. Or anywhere near it. Every place they were shown was just as cramped as the boathouse and in a worse state of upkeep. One place being more duct tape than actual building materials. It honestly wasn’t worth the move. All decided it would be better to do so when the other two found stable jobs to help with their income. Which Panchito hoped would be soon because the boathouse was very cramped now with the extra boxes.

But even getting a job was becoming a struggle for both him and Donald. The duck had the unfortunate issue of having a bit of a criminal record. His temper caused him to be tossed from a number of businesses and blacklisted as being someone who was unreliable. Which aggravated the other two to no end because they knew of Donald’s work ethic. The duck was more than reliable if given a proper chance. Which a lot of businesses didn’t feel the need to do.

For Panchito, he had the trouble of finding a performance company that didn’t treat his heritage like a novelty. He was a serious performer, not a trinket for people to patronize! He wasn’t meant to play for families who used his heritage as a theme. Playing songs from his childhood dressed in an overly offensive outfit while privileged families broke apart dollar store bought pinatas. He should be playing at cumpleaños and quinceañeras. To people who would actually respect his work. He was not a trinket!

After a month of searching, it was starting to become a trudge to find a job.

Another concern was the health coverage for the triplets. Even if hatching was a natural process, there were still a number of worries. Donald had the cheapest version of healthcare his non-income could provide. Which still left a lot of out of pocket expenses. José offered to help, to take the full burden. Only to have that shot down when the parrot was told he’s not a legal guardian to the eggs.

“But, we are helping care for the triplets and I am making the offer. How is that not enough?” José argued in disbelief.

Donald just shrugged and shook his head. “You’re not related to them, so it won’t be allowed. That’s just the bottom line. We’d have to get married before we could do anything about it.”

That caused Panchito to perk up at that. His mind rolling the idea of possible marriage around in his head.

He knew what the risk could be. Truthfully, the three hadn’t properly dated for a long time. Maybe only close to a year. Donald had left and returned to his family after a short while of them being together. A promise from him that he’d return after another year and they could continue to explore the world together. After a year, however, it became clear Donald wouldn’t be able to keep that promise. Even if the duck kept contact as best he could, it wasn’t the same.

They never truly ‘broke up’. But Panchito really questioned if they had started dating all those years ago. They loved each other. That was never a question. Confessions were shared and an understanding was created, but they never said they were in a relationship. It was sort of just a silent understanding between the three of them. What worried the rooster was the fact he was thinking of an offer that could scare the other two away. And that scared him to think he could lose Donald and José just as soon as they were together once again.

Donald was a wreck at the moment. No matter what the duck said to convince otherwise. He’d just lost his family, either to the stars or because he cut them out, and had taken in three eggs without questioning how hard it was going to be to raise them. Even with José and Panchito back in his life to help, there were still a number of things that Donald had to worry about. A suggestion of marriage, of another huge life event after losing so much, might cause the duck to shut down and turn away from them.

José, while having a very forward and suave personality in public, was actually reserved when only around Donald and Panchito. They were aware of the parrot’s past ‘relationships’. Which were honestly nothing more than numerous one night stands. He never talked about his family. Panchito could only conclude on his own that any relation the parrot could have with his parents was a negative one. The rooster was worried he and Donald were the first people to give José an actual loving relationship. Something as extreme and rather permanent as marriage might cause the parrot to run.

Even with the possible threat of losing two people he cared so much about, marrying was a thought that hadn’t left Panchito’s mind as days passed. A want that grew stronger with each night that passed with them pressed close in the hammock. The rooster resting in the middle. Donald tucked right under his chin with José using the red feathered chest as a pillow. Arms and legs tangled together and all covered by a well-worn quilt.

As he lays awake, eyes watching the night sky as it passes, Panchito knows he wants this. He wanted it, wanted them, and he never wanted to let go.

He was going to make sure it happened.

Panchito was an early riser. Skillful at slipping out between the other two and standing on the cold floor without making a noise. He waited a few moments to make sure the others remained asleep. Looking back to watch as Donald and José shuffled closer together to reclaim the warmth that had left. The duck wrapped every limp around the parrot, José muttering as he nuzzled under Donald’s chin. Panchito gave a small smile before collecting the eggs, wrapping them up with an overly fluffy blanket and moving them to the kitchen.

Once the eggs were settled and still on the kitchen table, Panchito flipped on the radio to let music chase the quiet away. Loud enough to be heard, but not enough to wake the others. With that set, he turned his attention to making breakfast. The small buffet of different dishes was near completion when Donald and José shuffled out from the bedroom. The duck looked more awake than the parrot. Both took a seat at the table to wait for the still cooking food. Donald talked gently to the eggs while José leaned against his hand, eyes closing again.

Panchito soon joined them. A plate put before each to let them take their needed fill of food. A quiet mumble of ‘Thanks.’ sounded before all started eating. His heart was hammering as he started to eat as well, knowing he needed the others to be a little more awake before broaching the subject.

Absolutely not stalling because he was terrified with where this could lead.

“Panchito? Are you okay? You are quiet this morning.”

The rooster was a little embarrassed at how far he jumped. Eyes darting up to José before flickering between him and Donald. “Uh, yes. I’m fine. Just...I have something on my mind?”

“Do you want to talk about it?” The duck asked this time.

Unsure of what to say, Panchito stalled for time by plucking at the small feathers on his fingers and wrist. Only for Donald to reach over and halt him.

“I want to get married.” Well, there goes all that subtly and structured argument he’d been trying to build up. Panchito felt his feathers ruffle in embarrassment, eyes darting down as the other’s exchanged looks of surprise.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask like that.” The rooster groaned.

“What...brought this on?” Donald asked.

“I...just… We’ve been talking a lot about what we need to do to care for the eggs. And how it seems that we can’t move forward because our credit, or our finances, or that just being together doesn’t count as being ‘stable’. And you made a casual comment about being married would really benefit us. Which got me thinking about marrying you two and how much I really wanted to and I…”

Panchito exhaled slowly, leg bouncing as he squeezed Donald’s hands. “I don’t want to lose you two and I...I really like the idea of us marrying and I… I love you two, so much. I love the eggs and I want to give them the best. I don’t need or even want fanfare about it all. I just...I want...to marry...you two…”

With that, it fell quiet. Shoulders slumped as he leaned back into the padded seat. His eyes remained on the table, not wanting to see the other’s looks of possible disgust or rejection. It was such a poor argument (it wasn’t even an argument, he wasn’t sure what that rambling counted for) and he was already worried the other two weren’t ready for this. If they had been on the fence about this then Panchito did not win them over.

What was he thinking?

He couldn’t have been better prepared for this?

Make a list. Pros and cons to make his case. Why did he just dive head first into this? He’s such an idiot. No sane person just asks something so heavy and so suddenly. They were going to leave him because they’re going to realize how much of an idiot he was. He was going to lose them.

He felt so sick, he wanted to cry-

“I was honestly thinking the same thing.” Panchito’s head shot up so quickly José actually flinched. The parrot recovered quickly, giving a small smile before continuing. “I know it is a large step forward, but...I don’t want to lose you two. I want to spend the rest of my life with the both of you.”

José reached over to take a hand from both Panchito and Donald. “I wish to marry you two.”

Heart beating furiously, Panchito beamed and gave a gentle squeeze to the parrot’s hand. Both turned to face Donald who still looked stunned.

“Is this moving too fast?” the rooster asked worriedly, “I-I really didn’t want to push you-”

“No, no, you’re fine. It’s just…” Donald laughed softly, “People normally get on one knee to propose.”

“Oh, well, by all means. If we need to do this properly.”

“No, I was joking!” Donald laughed as Panchito slid from the booth. Making a large show of getting on his knee, flipping his crown back and setting his face as serious as he could. It didn’t help that Donald was laughing still, clearly flustered. “Donald Duck. José Carioca. Will you do me the great honor of allowing me to take your hands in marriage?”

“So salacious,” José smiled, “Did you even ask my father if he approved of this?”

“...I’d rather not. He scares me.”

Donald doubled over in laughter at that. The parrot playfully rolled his eyes as he sighed dramatically. “Well, I suppose that does not truly need to happen… Very well, I accept.”

“This is the strangest proposal that I’ve ever seen.” Donald wheezed.

Panchito pouted. “This is supposed to be serious and heartfelt.”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, hold on.” Taking a few deep breaths, the duck collected himself the best he could. Feathers still ruffled as he said, “I happily accept as well.”

Being mindful of the eggs resting nearby, Panchito clambered onto the table. Close enough to pull the other birds into a deep kiss. He wished he had enough room to dance and jump without the worry of breaking something important. Or that he could yell with joyful abandonment without disturbing the neighbors. But he was more than content with being squished between his fiancées as the sun fully rose into the sky.

They were married two weeks later. No fanfare, no family members physically present (Panchito’s family watched and cheered from a computer screen), they didn’t even bother with rings. All deciding it would be better to save up for a larger place to live.

The rooster didn’t want to say the written paper that officially announced their marriage was any sort of a good luck charm. But it seemed after said event, things started to look up. Panchito was able to get a ‘non-themed’ position with an entertaining business. A small company that catered to the minority families located in Duckberg and the surrounding towns. Donald eventually decided he would just be a stay at home parent. Knowing someone would need to keep an eye on the triplets once they hatched.

“We’ll save on babysitters this way.” The duck concluded with a shrug.

They were able to find a comfortable apartment next. Three bedrooms, two baths, and positioned perfectly in the suburbs near Duckberg. There was a bit of a commute, but one they were more than willing to put up with for the price of the place. There was a bittersweet moment when the boathouse was finally sold. José and Panchito recognized how hard Donald had worked to get a place of his own after the fall out. But it was forgiven and forgotten rather quickly when the money was spent on a large bed and three cribs.

“We’ll get a hammock when we buy a house.” José promised.

Donald laughed softly. “I’ll be fine with an actual bed for awhile. Shockingly, back support sounds more appealing.”

It took a few weeks to properly settle in. The big pieces of furniture were placed first, allowing for some semblance of a layout. José would be called away for a few days at a time, so Panchito and Donald focused on putting the smaller items in place when the parrot wasn’t there. The rooster was more than thrilled when he had an entire set of shelves for his heirlooms. While one of the rooms was specifically made up to be the nursery, Donald wanted the eggs to be nearby for the time being. One of the cribs having been set up in their large bedroom close to the bed.

“It’s just until they’ve hatched.” Donald concluded.

Panchito laughed softly. “Or until you feel okay with leaving them alone. Which will probably be never.”

“Shut up.”

They eventually fell into a comfortable routine. José was gone for most days but slipped into the others arms easily every time he returned home. Panchito and Donald kept all as orderly as they could at the homestead. The rooster content with his new career. Even if it wasn’t the record label he had always dreamed about as a child. He had a home, a job, and happily married to the two people he cared so much about.

When he woke early, before the sun had even started to crest over the horizon. Pressed against a clinging duck and parrot that were resting on either side of him. Eggs resting in the nearby crib being illuminated by a nightlight. Panchito would realize, with a watery smile and warmth in his chest, he wouldn’t change this for anything.

This was his new dream and he was happily living it.

#Donald Duck #Jose Carioca #Panchito Pistoles #jose carioca/donald duck/panchio pistoles #The Three Caballeros #the three gay caballeros #s-creations

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allycryz · 4 years ago

Note

41. “Oh, [deity/expletive], do that again.” for Nerys x Emet-Selch

Oh hey it's actually giving me save draft options on asks now! And it ports over the italics!

5.0 Spoilers, set before the Mt. Gulg dungeon. Not sure if this one if canon–figuring some things out about that whole section–but it lives in the Nerys canon.

Rate E for eggsplicit, some angst

He approaches in that insouciant way he likes. Just as he had yesterday at the base of the ladder; with his musings and observations. This time his smile is dangerous and far closer to the Emet of the past few weeks than the almost-vulnerable man who appeared before.

“Well well, look at you.”

Nerys dissipates the spell in her hand, the other curling tighter about her maple stave. It is a beginner's tool, purchased furtively in the Musica Universalis. A far cry from the elm crook she’d carved herself not long before she gave up on conjury.

“He was right,” Emet continues. He comes to a stop before her, standing as she sits on the ground with her back against a large striated boulder. “If I recall…’my beloved is a woman of many talents. Mistress of the Lance, Wielder of the Awl, Goddess of the Needle-’”

“So you were watching.” He opens his mouth to remind her yet again of his proclivities and she waves a hand to forestall it. Miraculously, he allows it. “You’ve been so scarce since we came to Kholusia I feared we’d become too tedious.”

“Your group as a collective? Often. You in particular? Rarely.”

Nerys snorts. “Thank you, you’re too kind.”

Emet continues looming over her with an expectant look. If she stands to meet him it would feel like a concession. Staying where she is...well, it ceded the high ground but is the better option. Especially when he seems to be in one of his fey moods. “You might materialize some time, actually introduce yourself to Haurchefant.”

“All in good time. Especially if you banish the dreadful light from this place.” He flourishes a hand at the horrifically bright sky and it hurts her eyes to follow the gesture. “This place offers very little shade. Inconsiderate of you, not to do all your heroics in Rak’tika.”

This is comfortable ground. Better than him asking about her activities or the strange place they’d been the last time they coupled–he holding her (and Thancred) at arm’s length even as he debauched them thoroughly. “That’s twice now you’ve braved the eldritch light to speak with me. I’m touched.”

“As I said, you are rarely boring. Now back to the matter at hand. Are your magical abilities as strong as your devotion to the Needle and Skillet? I myself have only witnessed your wind cantrips here and there.”

“I’m surprised you can’t tell, with your mastery of the art.”

“Mm. Well you’ve had some training but…” He tuts. “The structure of your magic is–if I may be honest–rather rushed and lacking. What do they teach in Gridania these days?”

“They are fine teachers,” she says with a furrowed brow. “But I decided to pursue the lance instead.”

“Not your taste?”

“Not my strength. Aetherwork yes, spellcasting and shaping no.” She shakes her head. “But I have been ordered to rest so...I thought I’d try it again to kill time.”

Technically the order of events is a little different than what she portrays. Blessedly, Emet takes offense with the latter half of her tale. “Is that what my art is to you, my dear? A distraction for you to while away the hours?"

“Oh no.” Nerys’ lips twitch. “Because that would insult my comrades as well. You deserve only the most custom and tailored attacks on your person.”

“Truly a Warrior and a Saint.” Emet at last takes pity on her squinting eyes and the hand shading against the sun. He sinks into a crouch with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling between his legs. It’s a shame sunlight bothers him because he looks radiant in it. “Set down your stave.”

“I need a conduit.”

“Mm. You are going to support your spell on your own to fully harness your mind to the task. Let us see if that does not help you.”

“Yes, Master Emet-Selch.”

His smile is lascivious. “Would that you called me so when last I ravished you."

“If you manage to get me to cast magic without my stave? I might consider it using it next time.”

“Such little faith,” he purrs. He shifts, resting his hands light upon her outstretched shins. “Go on then.”

Nerys suspects her wind magic is always successful because a dragoon is a creature of the air and its currents. She need only pull from the element wrapped about her. But Emet had come upon her attempting a sleep spell and he will know if she tries something else. The other domains–earth, fire, and so on–are not easy for her either. What can she pull upon without the stave channeling raw elemental magic into resources?

“Was everyone capable of magic?” She asks, buying herself the time to get centered. “Before, when the world was unsundered.”

Surprise flickers over his face a moment. He smooths it over, affecting the mien of an indulgent professor about to lecture. “Essentially, yes. Some excelled more than others, and in Am-...in the city I dwelled, we made especial study of it."

That first syllable reverberates through her. The light is gone, her dilemma is gone, the beginnings of thirst from sitting in the sun fades away–all she wants is to hear the name of the city. And the intensity of that need is greater than she has ever felt in her life, even for a needful being such as herself.

“Tell me-”

“We had different talents to be sure.” Emet continues, the faint presence of steel under his words as he takes control of the conversation. “Hardly any like me, with an affinity for the very lifestream from which I saved your friend. Others could manipulate the elements as easily as they breathed, outclassing your mortal thaumaturges. And some created their own way…”

His eyes go distant. The lecturer, the man determined not to be interrupted, crumbles in reverie. Nerys dares not breathe. This is yet another facet of Emet new to her–softer than that first night, his pale gold eyes warm, his mouth relaxed.

“She married her magic to her affinity for the sword. You might call it red magery but that pales in comparison to what she could do.”

He looks at her but she does not think he sees her. Bit by bit, his eyes focus and he pulls himself back to Kholusia; the hot, dry air; the dazzling sky. “Shame on you, tricking me into waxing poetic to put off demonstrating your magic. Get on with it and perhaps I won’t demand retribution.”

"And your hands? Are those to be a reward?"

"Depending, perhaps. Or a punishment."

Nothing for it. She spikes her aether to start a spell. The magic in the world–she sees it and tugs at it best as she can, providing her own energy when it does not come to her hand. Haurchefant has talked at length about his forays into thaumaturgy. He and Alphinaud oft compare notes about the differences in their spellcasting-

His flexing fingers on her legs make every detail of those talks fly out of her head. What appears in her hands is formless and leaden at the same time, easily dissipated by a gesture–one of his aether hands, she realises. The ones he only brings out for more amorous situations.

“Who was she? The woman who married sword and magic?” Nerys asks, distracting away from her failure.

"Weave a spell correctly and I may tell you more."He leans forward and kisses the tip of her nose. "You my dear, have a brain that craves focus against the tide of thoughts and second guesses. That single-minded determination when you wield a lance...we must find how to get you there with magic."

"It is the vulnerability of it," she says with not a little exasperation. "I cannot snap my fingers and have magic perform my will. I need to stop in the flow of battle to create the spell and hope I am either quick enough or can withstand the blows that come my way."

"Plenty manage and they are not the resilient Warrior of Light or Darkness."

“I’m well aware. You said it yourself–I have a mind given to racing thoughts without something to keep it occupied.”

“Thus our current situation.” His hands creep higher up her leather-clad thighs. “Now...you love when I praise you in the bedroom. But outside of it? The fear of failure oft drives you. Two sides of the precious coin that you are.”

She swallows, trying to pretend he hasn’t read her utterly. And that he isn’t stroking purposefully now, fingertips grazing over the laces of her pants.

“Hm.”

"As always, your eyes give you away." He purrs. "Trying so very hard to not admit how right I am."

“I-I thought-” She widens her legs a hair and those swirling black and purple aether hands pin her thighs in place. “This was a magic lesson.”

"Mastery of magic and the mind are one and the same, hero. It's all about control. Now...if you would please try again…"

She stares into his eyes with her challenge as the magic around her coalesces in her hands. Her triumph lasts all of three seconds before another of those incorporeal hands sinks through her clothes to circle over aching flesh. Nerys’ breath hitches, the spell collapses in on itself in a half-hearted flash of light.

Some of it lingers in the air, making her lips and tongue go numb a few seconds, her eyes droop before she snaps out of it. Nerys manages to frown before his lips are on hers. Nipping lightly at her lower lip. She starts to return the kiss but he pulls back.

“Again,” he says. What feels like the tips of fingers brush against her entrance. “But if you don’t think you can-”

There is no chance of her magic affecting a man of his powers but ferocity propels her. The structure and shape of this iteration has its flaws but it feels like better. It would serve him right if she did put him to sleep and left him here-

Those tantalizing aether fingers press into her, a near-incorporeal thumb ghosts over her center. Nerys rocks against the sensation with a low, helpless sound pouring from her throat.

“Barely passable,” he says. “But a small improvement.”

She reaches for his shoulders, whining when the motion between her legs slows and stops. “Oh gods. Do that again.”

“You would be better served praying to me, my dear.” He laughs. “Though I am no more merciful than your gods or your Hydaelyn. But I do offer an actual path to salvation.”

Nerys tries to cause her own friction and isn’t surprised when more hands arrive to pin her down. He only laughs at her, white teeth gleaming in the bright sun and eyes dark. “I almost want you to fail, pet. You’re quite-”

The magic flashes out of her in a rush, without thought, without concentration, with nothing but instinct. It is the closest magic has ever felt to using her lance The spell is imperfect as always–she sees the poor construction–but it hits him full in the face.

His nose twitches, his eyes blink, he stifles a small yawn. Such a spell is not enough against him but it does something and she laughs aloud in triumph. “Don’t test me, Ha-”

The words catch in her throat with a strange sob. Nerys does not know what she was about to say or where it came from. She does not know why she feels so...disconnected and connected to him all at once.

His gold eyes flash and at once she is beneath him: shoulders pinned under his flesh hands as he straddles her core. The aether fingers flex rhythmically against her skin in time with...his heart? Nerys doesn’t know how she knows that, but she does.

“Emet?” She whispers.

There is a near-terrified look in his eyes. And then he kisses her in answer, a plundering so thorough she almost cannot return it in full. Every time they come together he shows her a new side of himself. This time is no different.

The first time: admiration, affection, desire.

The second time: distance, control.

And now: something raw and needful and the tide of him sweeps over her. She groans as his frantic hands work at her trousers, at the clasps of his robes. The aether between her legs moves with purpose to prepare her for him.

“Open your legs for me,” he hisses and her assent is muffled by another overwhelming kiss. Her body obeys at once, pliant beneath him. Just his urgency alone, the way he commands her, is enough to get her slick even without-

Her head jerks to the side and she curses at the sensation of fingers pumping into her. She expects a laugh but he shushes her instead, stroking her cheek. Pressing gentle lips at her brow even as his aether is replaced by him; hard, needy, filling her.

Emet holds her tight as he thrusts into her; all desperate sounds rather than teasing eloquence. His breath is harsh in her ears, his gloved fingers pressed tight into her skin, and he swallows every one of her desperate noises.

Whatever change has sparked in him, this is no longer about teasing her. He needs her, needs this, and she doesn’t care how this ends for her as long as he is helped-

His hand slips between them as if he hears her thoughts and she chokes on a sob. Shudders beneath the insistent pressure of his hand. It's almost too much to bear. And he does not back away but rocks and touches until she babbles his name–the one she has always called him–and digs her hands into the dirt. He seizes one, gripping it tight as he comes with a broken sound.

Nerys closes her eyes in the aftershocks. Above, the light burns through her eyelids with only his body providing some shade.

“Th-there," says Emet, breath interrupting his words. "A reward for a better spell."

"Emet." He looks so lost. The quip is only so effective without his usual haughty mien. She touches his cheek and he’s the one to close his eyes, as if savoring the feel of her.

He sits up slow. Seizes her hand to kiss the dirt-smudged knuckles. "I've been discourteous, after you told me you're on strict orders to rest. Do forgive me.:”

“Emet,” she says again. “What has you so scared?”

His laugh is soft and humorless. "When you are as old as me, hero, you will be scared of everything."

He does not expand and he sets them to rights with a flicker of magic. Any evidence is gone from her body and the ache of the light feels lessened now, from the cooling touch of his dark aether.

"Nerys," he says and she startles. Has he ever said her name before? Her mind is so overwhelmed by how he says those syllables–it must be the first time. He says her name like a prayer. Perhaps the first one he has offered in eons to someone not Zodiark.

"Nerys," he says again. "Master the light with all the focus in that fierce mind of yours."

“I...will.”

"Good." He stands. "...When I see you again, it will be when the last warden falls."

"I'll see you then," she says with a nod.

He is gone without preamble, without a farewell, without a kiss. And Nerys is left to wonder.

#lemon #nerys eluned #emet-selch x wol #emet-selch #shadowbringers spoilers #Ally writes

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