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mogsk · 3 years ago

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So I watched an anime called “Violet Evergarden” recently, the elevator pitch of which is basically “feral girl is taken in by military man, turned into a child soldier, military man dies, but not before telling her ‘I love you’, but she doesn’t know what that means, so after the war she becomes a ghostwriter with the ostensible aim of figuring out what ‘I love you’ means through other people’s expressions of love via letter-writing.

It’s a good little concept, and while I enjoyed it, it’s also stuck in my brain as being profoundly odd from a storytelling perspective.

Like, the initial premise is v strong, Violet’s driving objective is to understand the last thing she heard her father figure, “The Major”, say to her before she blacked out and woke up with no arms. She was a feral orphan child with little grasp of language or expression, and so she is burdened with not understanding what this very important person to her was trying to convey before they parted ways. Good shit.

And it seems to carry this fairly well at first. Each episode varies in how much it advances the central plot, but each boils down to Violet having to learn a lesson about how people express their feelings for each other, how they express love through words, or how they fail to do so, and so slowly she goes from only being able to produce very precise and terse letters which read more like military reports, to being able to swoop in and fix people’s interpersonal problems with the power of a well-dictated love note.

Where it kinda falls apart for me is about halfway through the series, where we see that Violet has more or less grown into her role as protagonist in an anime about the power of letter writing and the meaning of love (-ish). She’s gotten so good she’s tasked with facilitating one half of a romantic correspondence between the nobles of two nations whose relations are still tense after The War (which Violet fought in), and so have decided to arrange a marriage between their noble children -- a 14-year old girl and a 24-year old man.

Now up to that point, the messaging around the central theme felt odd, but it made sense, like, Violet is growing to understand love, and so how the show does this is by giving her a lot of weird and fraught situations around that theme: we have a woman who is in love with a man, but she wants to play hard to get which Violet ruins by writing a letter that just directly states ‘I have no feelings for you, please stop calling on me’. So then she goes to letter-writing school where one of her classmates has an alcoholic brother who she wants to express her love and thanks towards, but doesn’t know how to pierce the barrier of grief surrounding him due to the death of their parents in The War.

It keeps on like this p consistently, the central question “What is love? What does someone mean when they say ‘I love you’?” is addressed fairly cleanly, but then, once the issue of Violet’s struggle with being able to convey people’s emotions becomes effectively resolved, we kinda start to leave the rails!

Back to the mid-point episode, so, through trying to properly convey this 14yo princess’ feelings, Violet learns what her true feelings are. No, it’s not that she is discontent with being forced to marry a man ten years older than her because, you see, they already secretly met at a royal party when she was, like...10?? And he found her crying and was, like, “Hey kid, you okay?” and that was the first genuine expression of human emotion outside of her dutiful maid she’d ever gotten. You see, what her discontent is is that she knows the man she met, with a heart so simple and pure he feels compelled to comfort a crying child, would never write these letters, and so Violet conspires with the prince’s ghostwriter to allow them to have a more honest correspondence (which is then reprinted in all the newspapers around both countries.)

What got me about this episode is how it, like, throws all these different narrative threads in the air around this central theme of “What is love?” -- the concept of arranged marriage, the idea of confusing appreciating someone’s kindness for having other feelings for them, the MAID who is, like, the princess’ closest friend and confidant, but who has to explain that, once she’s married off, they will have to part ways because she doesn’t serve the princess, she serves the royal family and there’s this great scene where the princess is weeping after she says that and the maid is like “I cannot accept that command, I will continue standing here right by your side” and it’s really intense!

But then...it all gets dropped in the interest of the final note being...yeah sometimes you have to marry a guy in his twenties when you’re just a teenager, but love’s just funny like that ig!

Which sounds ungenerous, and like, I wanted that to be the case, I wanted it to be setting up something, like, “Despite Violet gaining proficiency in letter writing, she still is struggling to understand the more nuanced dimensions of love and so her shortsightedness will come back round to bite her in the ass” (it does not, we even get a montage of all the people she’s helped including the newly married royal couple smiling happily at the camera.)

We then get more episodes like this, where Violet’s done learning about Love and is now in effect teaching it to others. She does this by...sitting and looking pretty with a guy while they wait for a comet to go by, imitating a playwright’s dead daughter so he can be inspired to finish his play, and...writing a bunch of letters on behalf of a mother dying from anime mom disease, but who wants to be able to speak to her daughter as she grows up through a series of pre-written birthday letters.

And, like, in isolation, it’s all very moving! Each story has a very touching emotional drive to it, but it seems like the question of “What does ‘I love you’ mean?” p much falls to the wayside, even after we get the big 3/4s of the way through reveal that the Major is dead and Violet didn’t know! So we’re treated to flashbacks of their relationship, including the moment where he repeats that damning phrase!

But then we really don’t pick it back up again? It kinda superficially grows in relevance as we approach the conclusion, but it’s never again properly addressed until after a sudden spat of military drama breaks out with people trying to reignite The War and Violet suddenly having to put down her typewriter and pick up her combat knife, but now, for some reason, she refuses to kill people because...she isn’t just a tool?

And I think this is what ultimately frustrated me, is that those are two great themes “Discovering what it means to love” and “Can a person conditioned to fulfill a specific purpose ever be free to choose their own path?” but the problem is, the series really has centered itself on the former while kinda sorta implying the latter, but in the final scenes, we are suddenly given a resolution to the latter (which is basically Metal Gear Solid, “You are not your DNA”, “Just live Snake” that’s been done beautifully and with more thought already by, well, Metal Gear Solid) whereas the former, what was the entire driving force behind Violet’s character development is kinda sorta hand-waved off as “What is love? I still don’t think I know, but maybe that’s just how it is!” which is fucked up coming from someone who by the midway point is basically counselling or facilitating love between people!

So, like, I enjoyed it a lot, there were some great moments and the supporting cast, while mostly one-dimensional save for Violet herself, made for at least nice scenery, but I’m just so blown away by how they seemed to manage to forget (or ceased wanting) to tell the story they laid out in the beginning in favor of some p uniform military drama that suffered precisely because most of the series was dedicated to developing the central theme that it ultimately seemed to abandon, or perhaps came across as being burdened with having to carry into the conclusion.

Also it was super fixated on dads, like, The Major is basically Violet’s dad, his best buddy who goes on to hire Violet as a ghostwriter has a big reveal in the end that he’s been writing letters to his hypothetical future child, the sad dad playwright with the dead daughter -- I dunno what to do with all this besides the usual base level of suspicion I have for all dead-heavy content, but yeah!

There’s two movies, a side story from mid-way through the series and a sequel, and I feel like I almost have to watch them at some point, just so I can tie a neater bow on how I experienced this whole story, but yeah, Violet Evergarden, come for the cool metal typing hands, stay for the heartfelt explorations of what it means to love people, shift nervously in your seat when dads suddenly become involved!

#spoilers

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bokunoheroanalysisforthefuture · 4 years ago

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Sorry for the radio silence, had to take a bit of time off to finish coursework and stuff. I would like to get through this arc sooner rather than later, so here’s to hoping nothing else keeps me away.

(Also, just recently read someone’s twitter thread going through the same early content as I did, only with the original japanese printed manga, and I continue to be frustrated at my lack of knowledge of japanese language / culture that keeps me from accessing the root material. VIZ translation is just… not the same. orz)

[No. 19 - All Might]

We start out with an overhead view of All Might being held and the nomu being frozen in place under him (and halfway through the portal itself.) All Might comments on it being frosty, and concludes without looking that the source of said frost must be Todoroki - who is in fact nearby, with the ice trailing along the ground starting from under his right foot.

All Might mentally admires the precise control, and how Todoroki just managed to avoid freezing All Might along with the nomu, and how thanks to that, the nomu’s grip is loosened. While he’s thinking that, All Might yanks himself out of the nomu’s grip and away, his side still trailing a bit of blood.

(Actually, I wonder if this was the moment that All Might was thinking back on when he approached Endeavor during the sports festival to try and get tips for teaching the next generation. After all, Izuku’s main issue at this point in the story is his lack of control over a strong quirk, and All Might isn’t aware of the Todoroki Family Drama™ just yet.)

The next page is a double spread that’s basically a showdown between the hero side and villain side.

I find it interesting that the two ‘leaders’ of the situation are on the opposite page of the spread from their helpers / minions, as well as how Shigaraki is on the opposite page from the heroes. When looking at it in a book proper (and not a scan on a webpage), this would give an even stronger sense of the divide between the sides in more than one way. The whole division between heroes and villains is also highlighted with the hero side all being on top - showing how the advantage has swung their way - while the bottom shows the villains who are all in bad positions now.

Oh man, you can also see the little teeny hero students watching from the top of the stairs - with just enough detail that you can tell the one in the front is supposed to be Ochako!

On the very left side of the spread, we see Shigaraki comment on how the villains’ way out is pinned down, and considers it a problem. Not a huge one, mind you, since he’s not really reacting much.

Katsuki straightens his arm out as he starts mocking the villains for slipping up, and how it was just like he thought - the parts that Kurogiri can turn foggy in the warp gate are limited, and he uses the mist to hide his real body. We get a brief flashback to a few chapters ago, when Katsuki first attacked Kurogiri and the villain commented that ‘that was a close one,’ before present Katsuki continues to explain his observations - if Kurogiri’s whole body was mist and physical attacks, then Kurogiri would never have said something like that.

Friendly reminder that this is not the last time we’re going to see that Katsuki’s just as much a quirk nerd as Izuku is. Probably saw Izuku’s skill at it as a challenge to overcome or something.

Kurogiri groans and turns his head to stare at Katsuki. Katsuki tells him not to move, and that if he decides the villain is doing anything fishy, he’ll blow him straight to kingdom come.

Kirishima has about the right of it. That slasher smile, though, jesus kid, relax.

Shigaraki comments on how not only have the heroes beaten the level, they’re all at full health. Today’s kids are really something - the league of villains should be ashamed! I feel like this is sort of pseudo-thoughtful and pseudo-mocking. Which I mean is basically all of his speech patterns as far as I can tell, so. Anyways, he turns to the nomu and tells it to take out ‘the explosive brat,’ since they need their escape route back.

Shouto is shocked, and it’s not hard to tell why, as the nomu literally pulls itself out of the portal, losing most of its frozen right side as the deep-frozen bits literally crack and crumble away.

...and I just realized that if Shouto had done that to a normal human, that person would likely be dead from intense frostbite from how cold he had to make that ice to literally freeze the limbs deeply enough for them to crumble like that. Or maybe the nomu was designed to reject damaged material and regenerate, and so the damage was only just enough to hinder and not kill? Either way, Shouto is fucking intense, man. Like, jesus kid, calm down a bit.

Izuku comments on how the nomu’s body is falling apart, but still moving. All Might has his arm out as he warns everyone back, before directing a comment to the villains that he thought the nomu’s quirk was shock absorption. As we see the nomu’s right side bulge and warp horrifically, Shigaraki states that he doesn’t remember saying that’s all the nomu can do, and that this (referring to the bulging new muscle and skin forming) is hyper-regeneration. He then states that the nomu is a super-powered living sandbag designed to withstand everything All Might has got, while the nomu charges in with its newly reformed limbs.

And so we get to another pretty awesome double spread:

(I had to pull this from a fan translation site because the site I generally use had this split up into two pages, which was a mess to look at and parse. The dialogue is basically the same though, besides Katsuki calling Izuku an idiot. In the VIZ translation, he just tells Izuku to shut up.)

But yeah, you can see the force of the nomu’s retaliatory punch in how it literally sends All Might flying back and the excess causing a brief windstorm. Truly designed to be All Might’s equal, that. Also, I suppose this is one scene where it’s hard to really convey how fast everything was happening in a manga format - like here, it seems like the nomu was just slow enough that Katsuki was starting to react, but with how fast the nomu and All Might are supposed to be here, I feel like he shouldn’t have had that time? I mean, I know this is just him finishing the reaction to Shigaraki’s words and not the nomu’s movement, but still.

Interesting as well to see how Izuku somehow first assumed Katsuki was fast enough to dodge the nomu, instead of assuming All Might did something the way he did when he was saving Izuku and the others from Shigaraki and the nomu. Izuku’s brain really is just in ‘kacchan sugoi’ mode at almost all times.

We next see the smoke from the damage of the attack clear enough to see All Might at the end, his feet having dug grooves in the ground in order to slow himself down before he hit a wall. His arms are braced for defense, and show the scrapes that he ended up taking from the force of the blow. He coughs up a bit more blood as he comments on how the nomu doesn’t know how to hold back.

Meanwhile, Shigaraki notes that All Might took the hit for the kid. Out loud, he replies ‘anything to save a comrade, right?’ He then points to Izuku and notes how it’s like earlier, when ‘the plain one’ came at him with everything he had. But violence in the name of saving others is admirable, isn’t it?

Shigaraki throws out his hands as he states how that pisses him off. Heroes and villains both thrive on violence, but one is considered good and the other evil. He mocked All Might’s ‘symbol of peace’ title, stating that the hero is just a tool for violence to keep ‘us’ down. (Dunno whether he is referring to villains or just people in general.) He then says that violence only breeds more violence, and he’ll show the world that by killing him.

All Might calls it a load of hooey (I bet he wanted to say bullshit, but was mindful of the kids being there), stating that idealistic criminals have a different sort of fire in their eyes. Shigaraki? He’s just enjoying himself.

Shigaraki doesn’t disagree.

(Man, I continue to be impressed with how well Hori is able to convey emotion just through the eyes. He really does seem gleeful at the situation.)

Anyways, I’m gonna call it here, even if there’s not really a ‘break’ in the action. See y’all next time for (heavy spoilers) All Might kicking the nomu’s ass.

#chapter 19 #USJ Arc #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #readthrough #yagi toshinori #shigaraki tomura #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #nomu #todoroki shouto #I would note that the spoilers thing is a joke #also the start of the ongoing trend of BNHA villains actually having a kernel of a legitimate point #except they're also extremists and murderers so like maybe they need chill pills #like yeah yeah down with the government #but have you all possibly considered therapy #or at leasy yoga or something

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inkdemonapologist · 4 years ago

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Okay but I do actually want to know both the things you love and the things you could rant about from DCTL?

OH BOY UHHHHHH okay lets see, I'm gonna see if I can do the "add a readmore after you post it" thing and see if that'll keep it stable.......

But also, much like Sammy, I am incapable of shutting up unless you strike me in the head with a blunt object, so uh, forgive my wordiness:

THINGS I ENJOY:

- DCTL gave us Sammy's ink addiction and like, if you had asked me before all this "what would you most like to see in a franchise?" I would not have answered "one of the characters drinks ink accidentally and then discovers that he can't stop" but boy that sure is my favourite concept that I LOVE to see handled literally any other way than how the book handled it!!!

- I like what it added to Tom and Allison and Norman!! Like, it's not big twists on their characters or anything -- we already knew Tom felt he was doing the wrong thing, so getting to see his CRUSHING GUILT over creating the machine isn't New Information, but it's nice to see and understand more of him; for all of them I feel a lot more attached to them after getting to see more of them as people.

- Like 90% of the "I LOVE IT" category for me is how the book handled Joey, and Buddy's relationship with Joey. The way Joey isn't a Sinister Mastermind Who’s Just Screwing With Everyone but just manipulative in a more mundane way -- someone who thinks of himself as just the guy with the vision to call the shots; he wants what he wants and this is how he's learned to get it; he exploits people not through devious schemes, but just by offering them something that they want or need and asking too much in return, expecting their loyalty for his favours. And the way he interacts with Buddy, making Buddy complicit with him and keeping Buddy off-balance and insecure while making him a favourite and treating him as Special is just PERFECT -- gives a lot of content to kind of extrapolate off of when pondering what must've drawn the others in and convinced them to ignore the red flags. I was initially frustrated with the idea of Buddy not being an artist and jUST DECIDING TO LEARN TO ANIMATE ON THE SPOT ("I've never done this before but I'm sure I can just do an artist's job" is a weirdly common throwaway thing in media and as an artist iTS A PET PEEVE) but actually the way they use his plagiarism to make him trapped in a lie in ways Joey doesn't even realise ends up being a neat echo of other employees (coughTOMcough), who were involved in much graver sins but suddenly felt they couldn't object or they'd lose their one chance, just like Buddy. There's a lot here that I think is really great.

OKAY THATS THE GOOD STUFF, LET'S COMPLAIN ABOUT SAMMY:

- Uncomfortable Bigotry Vagueness that we all knew was gonna be in this list -- I dunno man, a guy committing a microaggression and getting startled and defensive when he's called out for it doesn't necessarily completely ruin his character I GUESS, but the way this was handled is just SO WEIRD AND VAGUE that it's uncomfortable and it doesn't seem to serve any real purpose. "Is Tom black?" is a question I actually have to ask because the text sort of implies he is while also dancing around it and apparently Word of God said he's not??? which makes Buddy's comment nonsensical???? And I mean, you could go that route, since Buddy wonders to himself if Sammy talks to everyone like this -- HE ACTUALLY DOES!! Even within the text of the novel, he uses "Joey" instead of Mr. Drew, which is consistent with his audiologs in the game -- but that makes the writing suggest "this character THINKS this guy might be racist but actually they're reading too much into it and it wasn't racially motivated at all, he's just a jerk!!" wHICH IS SOMEHOW EVEN MORE ICKY??? Anyway like yeah I guess it's not inconsistent with his character that while Sammy Lawrence may not have any specific grudge against minorities he has probably not checked his privilege or done the work to challenge his own internal biases, but “Your Fav Probably Contributes To Systemic Racism In Ways He Hasn’t Considered, As Do We All When Our Assumptions Go Unchecked” is still a wild thing to wade through in a fun story about demonic cartoons

- but yknow so is T H E H O L O C A U S T

- Sammy's voice is wrong. I'm actually okay with him being a weird awkward asshole, I already kind of assumed he was and that's part of why I like him!! but there's so many places he doesn't quite... talk like himself? And not just in terms of word choice, like -- so in his monologue at the end, he's described as talking so quickly that his words are "tumbling out faster than he can speak them," which initially seems fine; like yeah, that's a Standard Scene we're familiar with, the person who's been Driven Mad With Insight becoming more and more manic as they try to convey it -- until I tried to imagine it and realised that Sammy doesn't talk like this. That's a really consistent quality I always notice about his voice; whether he's almost giddily excited in prophet mode, or he’s his irritated and overworked human self, or he's violently angry and his voice has that echo effect -- he always speaks very deliberately. He enunciates carefully. There's some circumstances where I'd buy this as showing that he's Not Himself, but I feel like those would kind of need to be in the middle of his transformation, not at the end of it.

- In fact a lot of the scenes with Sammy kind of have this feeling -- that it's not necessarily an exploration of Sammy as a character, but that he is filling a trope or archetype role here. Once he's fully transformed he excitedly describes the process as more of a mental compulsion, which is in contrast to his weird yeerk-infected behaviour when trying to get ink from Miss Lambert. Both of those scenes don't seem wrong on their own because they fit tropes we know -- but they feel weird when you try to fit them together.

- I also just in general am not a fan of the ink acting like a weird yeerk. It can be a parasite I guess but when it starts overwriting and puppeting people and crawling around to enter their body that's just a completely DIFFERENT kind of supernatural story and it’s not what im here for!!!

- THE FREAKIN!!! HE WILL SET US FREE!!!! WHY????????? SAMUEL LAWRENCE WHAT IS HE SETTING YOU FREE FROM??????? Sammy has No Motive for any of what he's doing, other than just Ink Made Me Do It. The whole thing that was INTERESTING about Sammy as a character is the contrast between this frustrated, ornery musician with no specific love for the cartoons he works on, and the manically devoted cultist he becomes. What happened in the middle there? What made him desperate enough to shift his mindset so much? "Something supernatural made him do things that don't benefit him in any way" is a very boring answer to this question!!! Susie was a victim who implies that her transformation has forced her to do things she didn't want to do, but we can still see her motive -- she wanted to be Alice, so she took a sketchy offer to try to get what she wanted. Even now, her violence echoes that goal -- to be a more perfect Alice. What did Sammy want? WHO KNOWS. Even in his ink-addled state at the end, we don't understand what he hopes the Ink Demon will even do for him, and in fact he seems to be responsible for creating the very scenario he's begging Bendy to reverse in the game.

- [sighs loudly into my hands]

- Overall I'm left wondering if the author just..... didn't like Sammy Lawrence? And I don't mean that in the sense of him being a rude jerk -- like, Joey is not a good person, but the author seems to be interested in him and in what makes him tick. There doesn't seem to be that same interest in Sammy. Sammy's role in the story is that of a monster, transformed into something murderous, unable to prevent or choose it. He's not a victim of anyone but the ink, no one had to manipulate him or figure out how his brain worked or what he wanted or what he feared or give him any reason to do the things he does -- ink got in his mouth and overwrote his personality. And we don't even get to see that change, not really. He starts out angry and defensive and continues being angry and defensive up until his very last scene, denying his ink-stealing but not really much else. We see all his prophetic sketches but we never see hints of this in him, we never see him start to act more excited and hopeful, we never see him seek out the demon he desires to please. Why do we never see Sammy struggling between his dismissive angry front and a building religious fervour he can't quite suppress? We don't get to see any of the in-between. There's no interest at all in why or even what it looked like as Sammy became what he became, when, to be honest, I suspect interest in precisely that is one reason he's such a big fav.

- It's funny, in a "cries into my hands" kind of way, when Sammy is just knocked in the head while monologuing and immediately removed from the story without further mention, like...... that sure is the pattern with him, isn't it, he just tries very very hard and never actually gets to matter, but it also fits right in here, too, in this book that doesn't want to think about his motives -- he rambles nonsensically, explaining nothing, gets one trademark phrase, and then is hastily removed so the story doesn't have to think about him anymore.

...................I think that's most of it.

...

Y'all............ I'm not ready for Sent From Above.......... I'm just not.... I'm not emotionally ready...... like..... Sammy has to be in that right..... he’s Susie’s boss and she has that big crush on him..................................... I’m not ready

#i know you have questions you always do #we all write on the walls #hopefully I have not gotten completely confused on any of these points but LMAO ITS POSSIBLE

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kaleidoscopeminds · 4 years ago

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Fingertips on me, I can feel them still

I wrote this ENTIRELY because I saw that tiny bit of Calum’s hair again today and I just couldn’t take it anymore so I have written him getting it fixed by hairdresser Michael :-) gotta thank the lovely @tigerteeff because of the amount of time we have spent talking about this and the rest of the club for the hair discourse in general. So herewith 2.2k of malum fluff

So, Calum isn’t it? What have we here?” The barber quirks an eyebrow at Calum in the mirror, and Calum imagines he’s smiling at him by the crinkles around his eyes, not actually being able to see the bottom half of his face owing to it being covered in a protective mask.

“Um, you better prepare yourself,” Calum mumbles quietly. Not only was he having to deal with the shame of his hair looking like it does currently, his barber (Michael if he remembers the name correctly from when he booked) was also fucking gorgeous: all long soft-looking fringe, glasses, and dangly earrings. He’d booked in at his normal place, but the guy who usually cuts his hair was apparently on holiday. The lady on the phone had offered him a new guy, and even though he was wary, he knew he couldn’t put off getting his hair cut any longer. That didn’t account for the new guy being the fucking prettiest man he’s ever set eyes upon, mask and all, and if Calum didn’t want to take his hat off before, he definitely doesn’t now.

“Oh come on now,” says, still with those crinkles around his eyes, “I’ve seen a lot of bad hair in the past month, I am now incapable of being shocked.”

Calum sighs and pulls off his beanie, which it was already definitely too hot to be wearing in LA in September but at the moment, needs must. He looks back at his hot hairdresser in the mirror, challenging him to make a comment, but Michael just pauses for a second, then takes a calculating look at Calum’s head.

“Damn, that's a lot of hair,” he says, not in an unkind way, and reaches out to brush his fingers through it. Calum tries his best not to shiver at the sensation of his hands pushing through his hair whilst simultaneously blushing furiously at Michael’s comment.

“Uh, yeah,” he says embarrassed. “I had a buzz cut before all this started if you can believe it.”

Michael gasps horrified, “A buzz cut? You mean you were keeping the world from this gift?” He tugs lightly on the ends of Calum’s hair to explain his meaning and Calum focuses extremely hard on not letting it affect him. He’s been in the chair for less than five minutes for fuck’s sake.

“Gift?” He says disbelievingly. “Have you seen the garbage that’s on top of my head right now?”

Michael giggles delightedly, throwing his head back in a ridiculously charming way. “It leaves… a little to be desired,” he says, a laugh evident in his voice. “But that’s mainly because of these bleached ends, you’ve really managed to kill your curl pattern.”

Calum just shrugs a little sheepishly. “Yeah my hair’s been through quite a bit in the last couple of years.”

“What are you after then?” Michael says, running his fingers through Calum’s hair again and fuck he really wishes he would stop doing that. “And don’t say buzz it all off because I categorically refuse.”

“Dunno really, I was gonna say just get rid of it but I suppose that’s a no go now? Whatever you want? I bow down to your superior knowledge and talented hands,” Calum says, winking, to let Michael know he’s joking without being able to smile at him from behind his own mask. He notices that Michael gets a blush over the top of his cheekbones as he winks. Interesting.

“Well,” Michael says with a small cough. “I might have an idea, let’s see what we can do.”

Calum smiles at Michael behind his mask, hoping that he emotion is conveyed despite the barrier. Michael beckons at him over to the sinks at the back of the barbershop and gestures towards the seat in the centre. Calum sits down and leans his head back into the sink, and Michael starts the water, holding it away from Calum’s head while it warms up.

“Let me know if the temperature is okay,�� Michael says quietly before running the water over Calum’s head, careful to not drip into his eyes.

“So, you weren’t tempted to have a go at cutting it yourself?” He asks Calum lightly, as Calum hears him pump shampoo into his hand.

“Thought that might be a bad idea,” Calum says and then loses his train of thought as Michael starts lathering his hair. He bites back a contented moan as he feels his fingers scratch along his scalp, massaging patterns underneath his curls.

“I think that was probably for the best,” He vaguely hears Michael say from above him. “Let me know if the pressure’s okay”

“It's good,” Calum manages to choke out, and he can hear Michael let out a little laugh.

“Do you like a head massage then?” he hears Michael’s voice say innocently.

“Mmm,” is all Calum can respond with, his limbs going limp as his body relaxes into the seat. He feels like his body is incredibly confused as it honestly can’t work out if Michael is relaxing him or working him up with his hands.

“You know some people absolutely hate this,” Michael says conversationally as if he can’t sense Calum’s inner turmoil.

“I find that fucking hard to believe,” Calum murmurs, closing his eyes, and Michael laughs again.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Michael replies, pausing in his massaging of Calum’s scalp to rinse off the shampoo.

“Let’s just say I stand by what I said earlier about your talented hands,” Calum responds, sighing at the loss of Michael’s hands but also relieved, he’s not sure what his body’s involuntary reaction might have been if it had gone on much longer. He hears Michael make a little embarrassed noise above his head and smiles to himself behind his mask, maybe he was having an effect on the pretty barber himself. Michael pulls some conditioner through his hair but fortunately (or unfortunately) for Calum, focuses the product mainly into the lengths, before rinsing his hair again and wrapping it deftly in a towel.

“Okay, follow me, let’s get this garbage sorted out,” Michael says teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows behind his glasses.

Calum follows him back over to his original seat, and gets handed a disposable gown from Michael which he struggles with for a moment before Michael takes pity on him and helps him tie it at the back, keeping as much distance as possible but still managing to brush his fingers over Calum’s neck, and if the twinkling in Michael’s eyes is anything to go by, was done entirely on purpose. Calum sits down and fiddles with his gown as Michael drags over his trolley with his tools. He pulls out clippers and plugs them in next to Calum.

“I thought you weren’t going to buzz it off?” Calum says, frowning at Michael as he turns on the clippers and they buzz loudly next to his ear.

“Oh I’m not don’t worry, but we’ve got to lose some of this on the sides and the back,” Michael says, waving the clippers in a vaguely threatening way. “Where’s the trust hm? I thought you were bowing to my talented hands?”

Calum feels the blush creeping up his face. “I am!” He says quickly and then mimes zipping his lips. He hears Michael laugh again before he gets a focused look on his face and starts running the clippers up his scalp on the sides and back, pulling back when he reaches the top of Calum’s head. Calum wishes he could see more of Michael’s face when he’s focusing like this, the slight pucker in his brow as he frowns in concentration and the way his eyes take on a serious look as he moves around Calum’s head with a practised air. He wants to know if Michael nibbles on his lip when he’s thinking or smiles to himself when he does a good job.

He stops looking at Michael for a second to look at his own head, which has taken on the alarming look of a mushroom, with short sides and a ridiculous amount of hair on top, and raises his eyebrows expressively at Michael.

“Hey,” I see your judgemental eyes,” He says lightly, sweeping the hair off Calum’s shoulders and giving him a small tap. “Trust the process.”

Calum snorts and shakes his head which earns him another small tap on the shoulder.

Michael pulls out a comb and sections the top of Calum’s head neatly with clips, before grabbing his scissors and beginning to pull small pieces of Calum’s hair taut and holding between his fingers before carefully trimming off all the yellowing blonde ends, snipping into the line of hair. He continues moving expertly through Calum’s hair and Calum cannot stop looking at the way Michael’s fingers move, flashing in and out of his curls, moving skilfully and with purpose. He wants to talk to Michael, to learn more about him and to make him laugh again but he’s far too distracted by what he’s doing with his hands to manage any coherent conversation.

“So Calum,” Michael says, clearly not having the same concern as Calum in this situation. “What made you wait so long to come and get this sorted if you disliked it so much?”

“Dunno,” Calum replies distantly, still looking at Michael’s hands. “Guess it didn’t seem important enough to leave the house for.”

Michael gasps in mock horror. “Not important? How dare you.” He laughs as he reaches the front of Calum’s head, combing through a few times before beginning to trim again. “What changed your mind, hot date coming up?”

Calum snorts. “Not likely.”

“Now, I find that fucking hard to believe,” Michael says quietly, catching Calum’s eye in the mirror for a second before looking away.

Calum grins and is incredibly grateful for the mask that conceals what his face is doing, just makes a non-committal noise and shrugs his shoulders.

Michael trims off the last piece of yellowing ends and nods to himself pleased before skimming his scissors up the side of his head, Calum assuming that he’s blending the edges into the fade on the sides.

Once Michael’s gone round his whole head with the scissors, he grabs some thinning shears and starts moving through his hair again. “I feel like it’s a crime to get rid of more of this beautiful hair but I’ve got to lose some of the bulk here otherwise it's going to be impossible to deal with.”

Calum laughs. “Yeah I can attest to that.”

Michael finally goes over to the the other side of the barbers and picks up some product which he scoops out of a container and rubs between his palms before running it through the short curls on the top of Calum’s head and the slightly longer ones he’s left in the front, twisting them slightly around his fingers. Calum thinks that his attraction to the man has reached an all time high, and he promises himself he will at least ask for Michael’s number before he leaves the barbershop.

“Okay what do you think,” Michael says, and Calum thinks he can pick up a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“It seems I was completely right to trust your talented hands, it looks great,” Calum says honestly, twisting his head to look at the sides and then checking the back in the mirror that Michael holds up for him to see. The awful blonde remains have all been removed, leaving short and neat sides and as much of the curl that could be kept on top, waving back into its familiar pattern.

“Now don’t be shaving it off anytime soon okay,” Michael says seriously, sweeping hair off Calum’s shoulders with a brush and lightly untying the gown at the back.

“How will you know if I do,” Calum says cheekily, pulling his arms free and shaking his T-shirt out.

“I have your number on the file, maybe I’ll have to call you and check,” Michael says, eyes glinting and a flush appearing on his cheeks again, as he twists his fingers through Calum’s hair one last time and then almost unconsciously brushes Calum’s neck as he moves his hands away.

“Maybe I could just give it to you now and save you the trouble,” Calum replies, blushing himself and adjusting his collar.

“Well that could work too I suppose,” Michael says shyly, and digs his phone out of his pocket.

Calum laughs and reels off his number for Michael to enter, before getting to his feet and sliding his jacket on.

“Thanks for the haircut Michael,” Calum says. “Maybe I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“Maybe you will,” Michael responds with raised eyebrows. “Now, however cute you are, you need to leave, my next client is here.”

Calum laughs and gives a small wave before leaving the shop. He looks back inside to see Michael texting something on his phone, before he looks up to meet Calum’s eyes and gives him a wink. Calum feels his phone buzz in his pocket and fishes it out, he opens up his phone to see a message from an unknown number, he opens it and laughs out loud before shaking his head at Michael and walking towards his car.

Now don’t be going and flirting with any other boys with your sexy new haircut

#5sos fanfiction #malum #malum fic #fic #wooooops I wrote a haircut fic #wrote myself into an absolute corner with hairdressing descriptions in this lads #anyway in this Calum's hair is lovely again and I am At Peace #meg fic

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quilloftheclouds · 5 years ago

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beep bop I’m an anon from writeblr and I’d like to know your favorite writeblrs? here’s a chance to give them a compliment to make their day. ☀️

hhhhhhhnnnnnnn I HAVE SO MANY BUT NOT ENOUGH ENERGY TO COMPLIMENT EVERYONE. But I’ve been wanting to make a post like this for a while, so thank you for the excuse! I’ll leave a list of an absolute ton of marvelous folks at the bottom, but here’s a few that I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to interact with more!! (In no particular order~ ^^)

@pens-swords-stuff ONE OF THE FIRST WRITEBLRS I FOLLOWED. Undine should be like… a staple of every writeblr’s follow list. This lovely has a friendliness and compassion that knows no bounds, hosts so many supportive writeblr events, has masterful writing that inspires awe, and has so much heckin’ good advice stuck in that there brain of hers that I dunno if she’s even human anymore.

@mvcreates Also one of the first on my following list! Mina has jaw-dropping gorgeous art and graphics, handles her writeblr like an elegant professional, has a poetic type of writing so deeply steeped with symbolism that it makes me faint it’s so good (and such a personal inspiration!! WOW I WISH I had an eighth the skill), is honestly one of the main blocks of writeblr’s foundation with how much she reblogs and reviews other people’s comments, and is just genuinely such a generally fantastic person!

@lady-redshield-writes Lady Red’s writing. I just. It’s indescribable how heckin’ stellar, amazing, gorgeous? Marvelous, wonderful, brilliant, INSPIRATIONAL it is. Lady Red your skills should be illegal what the heck??? STARS ABOVE I have learned SO MUCH from reading your writing, you convey character and environment and worldbuilding in such a fluid and engaging way it is just. Magnificent. Holy stars. AND IN ADDITION TO THAT. Lady Red is one of the biggest rebloggers of other people’s content in the community, and leaves the most bestest of thoughtful comments! This writeblr has literally been the reason behind why I found so many of my favourite wips~

@abalonetea I remember being afraid of interacting with Katie because I was so intimidated by her absolutely masterful manipulation of words and fonts and sentence structure and I just. I was so in awe of her ability to do so much, so well, that I actually didn’t start interacting with her until a fair length of time after I started my writeblr. ^^’ But stars am I glad I did. Not only? Is Katie’s writing and worldbuilding and art just gorgeous and breathtaking and thousands of other wonderful adjectives, but she’s??? Such a genuinely nice person??? The events she hosts are so lovely for the community, too!!

@bookenders 🌵 friend!! Gorgeous writing. Wonderful worldbuilding. Adorable and relatable and marvelously well developed characters. Absolutely amazing poetry and prose both. And such!! A fun and kind and friendly and lovely person to talk to!! Enders is on a bit of a hiatus at the current moment, but they have so much content already up that I highly recommend you take a peek at!

@livvywrites FUN FACT. I WAS ACTUALLY. SO INTIMIDATED BY THE VAST AMOUNT OF WORLDBUILDING AND DEEP LORE THAT YOU HAD FOR YOUR WIPS. THAT I didn’t interact for a good long while. Why. I dunno. I am so heckin’ thankful I did though. Beautiful writing, stellar characters (who I’m love too much), worldbuilding that is so heckin’ deep that Livvy must be spying on a parallel dimension or something because it’s just so amazingly well thought out. And such!! A wonderfully creative, brilliant, kindhearted soul that is just so genuinely fun to chat with~

@dove-actually I’ve only really recently been reading into Dove’s writing but! I can already tell that it is all spectacular. I heckin’!!! LOVE DOVE’S CHARACTERS SO MUCH. Her worldbuilding is absolutely GLORIOUS, her dialogue is hilarious and emotional both, it’s just!! So amazing!!! And that’s not mentioning anything about how fantabulously supportive this lovely is! Dove leaves the most thoughtful and caring comments, and is just such an inspirationally kind and delightful person. 💖

@dogwrites A brilliantly clever and creative writer who knows just perfectly how to tear your heart out and throw it to the wolves (shh puns). Dog’s writing is so chock full of glorious description and inspirational characterization and I just. I need to find time to read more of it ahhhhHHHHH. BUT IT’S SERIOUSLY SO GOOD. And Dog’s aesthetics and graphic edits are always beautiful and so wonderfully fitting, too, ahhhh. AND DOG ALWAYS LEAVES THE NICEST AND MOST IN-DEPTH COMMENTS HOLY STARS. Anyways. Go read Dog’s stuff. Yeah.

@ardawyn Oh my stars!!! SOPHIE’S DESCRIPTION. MAKES ME CRY IT’S SO VIVID AND GORGEOUS AND I CAN ALWAYS FEEL RIGHT LIKE I’M THERE. I love it so so much. And then!! Her characters are lovely, so full of personality and just!! Her writing style is just so elegant and beautiful to read and I just. I love her writing so much mate ahhh. AND THEN HER GRAPHICS???? [Insert ten page essay about why they’re so amazing here.] The colouring the textures the images the formats, how well they all fit. Her aesthetic edits are simply a dream. And that’s not even mentioning how SUPPORTIVE and KIND and FRIENDLY this lovely is!! Her comments give me LIFE. I loveeeee

ANYWAYS YEAH. That’s a lotta text and I wanna actually finish this at some point, so unfortunately that’s gonna be all for this time in terms of the longer comments. Sorry folks. ^^’ I still love all of you immensely, though. Here’s some more absolute inspirations to both me and I’m certain a whole huge part of the writeblr community!

@ditzysworld @tenacious-scripturient @waterfallwritings @milkyway-writes @roselinproductions @royalbounties @stardustscribes @sunlight-and-starskies @reeseweston @holotones @surroundedbypearls @erinnharper @llesbianwrites @radley-writes @vhum @half-explored @emdrabbles @evelyns-spilled-tea @cirianne @popovs @chauceryfairytales @eluari @beanenigma And many others I’m likely forgetting!

I know I don’t interact much with some of you (I just... love too many people’s stuff for the free time I have in a day >n

#writeblr recs #writeblr #writeblr community #Anonymous #Quill's answers #long post #but y'all need to see this so I ain't putting a read more ^^

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franeridart · 5 years ago

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Anon said: Um so hello, I’m just here to say keep up the awesome work, I love your kiribaku art and it’s adorable and I go on binges through your blog (omg I sound so creepy I’m sorry I just love ur art so much) and it makes my day so yeah please keep drawing!

Ahhhhh you don’t sound creepy at all, don’t worry!!!!! Thank you so much for liking my stuff that much!!!!!!! <3<3

Anon said: May ask what kiri///mina would look like in your style? You don't have to draw it if you don't like the ship.

Gosh sorry but I really really don’t ship it!

Anon said: you know how I miss?? your OCs!!! they're the cutest!!

AWE thank you so much!!!!!!! I have a few comics planned for them, hope I’ll manage getting to them soon enough!!! (oT^T)9<3

Anon said: This is so sappy but some of your kiribaku posts really make me really appreciate long relationships! I’ve always found pining and crushes the cutest bc it’s full of intense feelings, but you portray being in love and accepting each other so well!! it’s amazing how you show characters interacting with each other and being so comfortable instead of worrying about hiding part of themselves and long story short I love your art and ideas so much

This ask!!!!!!!!! means the universe!!!!!!!!!! to me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m so glad I can manage portraying love in such a way, I’m so in love with the idea of open, accepting love, andI try seriously hard to make it look healthy in my comics so!!!!!!! thank you!!!!!!!!!!!!! I have no clue how many times I’ve reread this ask I’m not even exaggerating TT^TT <3

Anon said: I just want to start off by saying you’re my favourite blog on tumblr, your art is incredibly adorable and always makes my day!! I was just wondering how you were able to create your own unique art style? It’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot lately with my own art. Any advice is appreciated, thanks for everything you do!!

I think it’s about finding the right spot between what feels comfortable for you and the end you’re using your art for? In my case what’s comfortable is something fun and smooth, and the main end has always been to be able to draw comics - I’ve always liked comics because I like writing and I like drawing, but my attention span was too short to manage finishing them, and the way I had of drawing was too stiff to properly convey emotions the way I wanted to, which made drawing comics sound like an impossible dream haha I fixed it by simplifying my style, by taking away or reducing to the bare minimum everything that took me ages to work out/draw and pushing my expressions and body language to extremes to make up for the lack of details.

That’s just my experience with it, though! The best advice I can give you is to sit back and look at your current way of drawing from an objective perspective - do you enjoy it? Is the process of drawing something you’re comfortable with? What’s uncomfortable in it for you, and in which ways could you change it to make it comfortable and fun? Does your current art style allow you to do what you want to do with your art? If you want to paint, does it allow you to paint in an easy and fun way? If you want to make comics, does it allow you the range to properly portray a character moving and living without making you wish you’d never started drawing halfway through it?

Imho the first step to find a style that’s your own and feels right is to find a style that’s fun to use and doesn’t stress you to hell and back every time you pick up your pencil. This is easier to do the more things you attempt, so for a bit being inconsistent in style is a good and normal thing - try things out! The best one for you will definitely stick in the end. And if you already feel comfortable with the way you have of drawing, then hell! You already have a style that works for you! Just because to you it doesn’t look unique and special it doesn’t mean that it isn’t - if you asked me to point out what makes my style unique I wouldn’t be able to tell you either, the way I see it my style is the most uninteresting and common-looking style out there. To be honest with you that’s probably just how it is for every artist out there hahaha

Anon said: Hi!! I love your art and just want you to know I always get a big, stupid smile on my face whenever I see you cross my feed, whether it’s something new or a reblog of an old post. Everything you do is just amazing and I love it

AHHHHHHH Thank you so so much!!!!!!!!! (TT^TT)<3<3<3

Anon said: Hey Fran! First off, thank you for the Fire Force art. I remembered to actually check it out, after seeing it lol. Second, I still can't find your Fatgum 😭😭 the link didn't give any, and searching on your page didn't help either. I WILL FIND IT ONE DAY

I think it’s a problem of the app orz I can see him just find from desktop but the app can’t find him either T-T stupid app!

Anon said: Do you have a mini Bakugou and Kirishima living in your head? Are they just living their lives up in your brain and that causes your hand to to write and draw the most perfect and accurate things? Of course mini Kaminari, Sero, Mina, Jirou, etc. also come to visit your head hole from time to time and just chill with mini Baku and Kiri. That’s the only logical explanation on how all your Bakushima content is so inconceivably spot on

That’s such a kind thing of you to say, anon!!!!!! I’m glad you find them that IC!!!!!! I try my best, but sometimes I admit I just have them do and say stuff I’ve done and said myself, the only difference is that I word things in a way that feels right for their usual way of talking hahaha

Anon said: I personally would love to read your essay on why bakugo is the best character ever because I really really really want to love him that much but i feel like there's something that I'm just not getting about him- there's something I'm missing about his personality (keeping in mind that i kinda left the manga after the whole mirio/8 precepts arc). I've always found bakugo compelling and would love love love to read your take on him! Hope you have a great day!

Bakugou has had some amazing character development scenes after the overhaul arc!!!!! He’s outright shown he understands where he was lacking and where he was wrong, that he’s perfectly capable of working in a team and letting people help him and helping them in return, that he cares about his class and how the rest of the world sees them! (and that he worries/cares about how the world sees him too, actually, that broke my heart a bit ;; ) We haven’t seen him in a hot minute by now, but most of anything before the current arc has had him improve and develop and become even better than he already was - I’ve always thought him a good guy with just a lot of troubles relating to the world around him due the way he has been brought up as special and different (it creates a drift between yourself and the rest of the world when everyone around you keeps treating you as if you were other - when you tell a kid he’s different and better for his whole life he’s bound to grow up believing it, after all), but if the problem you have with him is that he isn’t showing the good in himself plainly and obviously enough, then the arcs after the overhaul one are gonna help you like him better, definitely

Well, the thing about Bakugou is that he’s not a plain/obvious character, so you need to think about his actions and his words a bit more, and can’t just take him at face value - it’s what I like about him, actually! How much you need to think about him to figure him out on a deeper level than just the surface one. Since I dunno why you like him and why you feel something’s missing, I can’t tell you specifically what it is in the way I see him that completes him for me, but as I said I try to keep him as IC as I can so probably reading my comics about him might help you understand the way I see him. To me Bakugou’s honest, and kind, and loving, but he’s also arrogant, and angry, and used to taking some things for granted, and I like how all those things work with and against each other in his character. He’s at the same time incredibly proud and absurdly insecure, and I like that about him too - where each comes from and where and how they clash, I like the complexity it gives him. I like that he’s a people person in the sense that he likes having people around himself, and I like that at the same time UA is the first time he’s had actual, honest to god best friends, and how that means that he’s gonna be awkward when usually he’s so sure and proud simply because he isn’t used to having people he actually specifically cares for, I very much like that about him. I like that he overthinks everything he doesn’t immediately gets, I like that he still acts on instincts more often than not, I like that somehow with him those two aren’t mutually exclusive. I like that he’s smart and still so damn dumb, I like that he’s just as simple-minded as he is an actually labyrinth in thought process, I like how one-track minded he is even on the most silly things - how once he sets his eyes on a goal he goes for it like his life depends on it. I like that he’s barsh and rude and impulsive in what he says and does, but when he fucks up he knows he fucked up, and he backstracks, and he does his best to make amends. I like that he sits in stupid ways and has the worst posture in the class and then he wears his hero costume and suddenly he’s a model on the catwalk, that’s so damn endearing to me. I like how ridiculously hyperbolic he is and how he just assumes people will get it, get what he actually means, like there’s a point between his brain and his mouth were things get blown out of proportion and he doesn’t even realize it. There’s just so many things to love about him, for me!!

But most importantly I like that he started as low as he could get and that because of it his plot is a one way towards the summit. I like it. I like watching a character grow and every new chapter become a better version of themselves, I love it. Ultimately that’s probably why he’s my favorite, after all haha

Anon said: Hi, this isn’t a question but I just wanted to say how much I love your art and the way you clearly appreciate Bakugou as a character. So many of my friends hate him, but I think he has a lot of depth and so much potential. Your art always makes me smile! Thanks for doing what you do. :)

THANK YOU and thank you for liking the boy too!!!!!!! He deserves it, he absolutely does deserve it!!!!!!! <3<3<3

Anon said: I just went digging in the archives of my blog (which is.. a mess) and found some old art of yours (like... I'm talking bokuto and kuroo level old) and g o s h. I already loved your art so much then and I still do n hhhhhhhh u go. U great.

Gosh you’ve been around a long time then!!!!! Thank you so much for sticking with me all this time!!!! ✨o(TT0TT)o✨

#fran answers #long post #sorry for disappearing on all of you btw!!#some of you might know already but i've spent most of the last week consuming stuff more than producing it haha #sometimes i need that too

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belovas-vest · 5 years ago

Note

"There's nothing here for me anymore" please.

title: i’ll hold it in (everything i wanted to say)

words: 1,431

rating: t

warnings: mentions of: suicidal thoughts, drug and alcohol abuse, child neglect (implied physical harm). unhappy ending.

notes: i’m truly sorry it took me seven months to complete this. now i’m free of school and apparently, i have my muse back. absolutely not sorry for all the angst, it was part of an angst prompt list.

The words hit Chloe like a car crossing the railroad tracks at the wrong time in hopes to get across town faster—Beca’s the train and Chloe’s the car stupidly playing chicken. It cracks open her unspoken feelings, rips at her lungs, and twists her throat up keeping her from taking a breath. She blinks, bewildered and unsure what to say. She always knew Beca felt alone in this small town, but Chloe truly had thought she meant something to Beca - or at the very least eased Beca’s pain.

She finds the words in a question, wants to pry a little at Beca’s thoughts. “Are you going somewhere?” As soon as the words leave her mouth, Chloe rethinks them. They sound stupid. Beca’s always spoken of moving to a bigger city - Los Angeles mostly - and finding her place among people who care less about what people are doing with their lives than she does. It should be an obvious answer, but the money’s never been there to do so. Beca’s never been able to hold a reasonable paying job to even save more than a hundred or so a month because of school, she doesn’t even have a car to really go anywhere.

So, Chloe worries somewhere lies six feet under a stone plaque that will wither away with time. It wouldn’t be the first time Beca’s mentioned something along those lines, but Chloe’s never actually felt so worried before. It’s always been wrapped in a self-deprecating joke, shrugged off with a laugh, ‘I’m just kidding, Chloe.’ Beca’s not laughing this time, she’s not even smiling.

Beca shrugs and frowns as she pulls at the loose ends of her ripped jeans. “I dunno.” She mumbles quietly in Chloe’s car. Beca sounds distant, lost in cogwheels of thoughts that Chloe can almost hear.

Chloe waits for the cogs to stop spinning, waits for Beca to organize and process them because she’s learned through the many years that Beca doesn’t always think before speaking, sometimes words just spill out. Sometimes what Beca says isn’t exactly what she wants to convey and it’s especially true when she feels vulnerable. There are times when Chloe has found herself trying to help Beca figure it out, tried to pry for more and more in a test to see how many layers she can pull back without pushing Beca too far, only to be shut out.

Right now, Chloe doesn’t feel like pushing because she’s too afraid Beca might run instead of facing whatever she’s feeling right now head-on and this feels important. So she waits in the thickening silence, watches Beca’s features twist in thought.

Beca shakes her head, pursing her lips before speaking again, this time with more purpose. “I always joke that I wanna die, but like, I dunno.” She pauses, her lips thinning into a sad grin. “It’s not like I have much going for me here.” Pulling her phone from her lap, Beca scrolls before handing her phone over.

Chloe grabs it gently, looking at the photo on the screen; it’s a woman.

“That’s my mom.”

Chloe’s lips part in shock and she observes the photo more closely. A woman, who looks like an older, blonder Beca, stands next to a tall brown man with three kids – younger than Beca, maybe no older than 10. They look… happy. Content in whatever life they live; notably with money as Chloe spots the big house that looks like a fancy architect designed it. They look put together, they’re well dressed, and Chloe notes the expensive sweater one of the kids is wearing. “I thought you didn’t-”

“Yeah, I found her. She’s in New York and I think I’m gonna see her- er, well, I mean, I-” Beca sighs and Chloe watches as Beca worries her lips, fingers brushing against her chin. Releasing her lip, Beca takes a breath and holds it as she speaks, as if breathing will keep her from saying anything, “She offered to let me stay and help me.”

Chloe can only blink back at Beca as anger boils in her chest, heavy and constricting like there’s a weight pressing against it. Beca’s mom had left when she was four years old, strung out on drugs, and unable to achieve sobriety for her own child �� unlike Beca’s father who, at the time had become sober enough to parent for a while. Yet, here was Beca’s mother in a picture on Beca’s phone, happy and with her own family; a family with money, no less. And Beca sits next to her, traumatized and disheveled, tattoos covering up pain and oversized shirts that have become scratchy with too many washes. Beca, who lives in a house with a permanent smell of whiskey and drugs. She’s angry that Beca’s father became no better than her mother and now her mother is halfway across the country with a dream life that should have been Beca’s.

She’s angry that Beca is her only real friend and is now leaving her. She’s angry that she’s being selfish because Beca needs help and if leaving is going to do that, Chloe needs to let her even if it makes Chloe’s chest twist uncomfortably. Still, Chloe feels protective and she worries that this mother of Beca’s can’t be trusted.

“There’s just-” Beca sighs, putting her head in her hands, “I can’t stay anymore, I’m not going to make it to graduation either way,” she lifts her head, drops her hands in her lap and looks through the windshield. “But, at least this way I won’t, like, be dead.” Beca laughs, it’s empty, but it’s laughter and hiding what’s probably fear and hurt.

Chloe starts the car engine. It sputters, rattles, and then comes to life and Chloe hands the phone back to Beca, looking at her with determination. “Then let’s go.”

There’s a hand on her thigh that squeezes and Beca is frowning, opposite of what Chloe had expected. “You can’t go with.”

“Why not? I don’t trust this Beca. I don’t want you to go to New York all alone, it’s dangerous, and how are you even going to get there?” Chloe doesn’t know when she started yelling, but Beca hand flinches away from Chloe’s thigh at her last words and Chloe feels horribly guilty about it. Emotions have always gotten the best of her and she feels like control has wormed its way out of her hands because Beca doesn’t want her to come with and the rejection aches. She wants– desperately wants– to tell Beca how much she loves her, how much the world feels right around her. How being around Beca is like soaking up sunlight in the dead of winter and fresh snow on Christmas, or the smell of rain in summer mornings, the dew fresh on the grass.

“Because you have a family here; friends, even.” Beca’s voice is steady and soft.

‘I’d leave it all in a heartbeat for you’ is what Chloe wants to say. ‘I’d spend my nights on an air mattress and split ramen every night if it meant we could go together.’ She wants to say ‘I love you’ and kiss Beca for hours in the car, hold her hand, and pull her close in the backseat when they start to feel tired. Instead, Chloe says nothing at all. Too afraid it would be too much for Beca, too much to put on Beca’s plate and to then weigh options she should have to, like waiting until summer to leave or not going at all. To knowingly break Chloe’s heart into fragmented pieces if she leaves – like she should do. To argue and yell, cry and shake at how unfair it is to know now, to know after all these years that Chloe has loved her endlessly. To make Beca wait for Chloe to graduate and inevitably make poor college decisions based on how close they are instead of what’s best for herself. It would be unfair to do that to Beca.

“I don’t have anything here, Chloe.” Beca shakes her head and looks out of the car window, the glass has fogged up from the warm air in the car.

“You have me.” She can hear her voice waver, break unwillingly.

Beca looks back at her, still empty and void of the hurt she may feel from leaving Chloe; something Chloe thought Beca would at least feel. “It’s not enough, I’m sorry. Goodbye Chloe.”

Chloe watches as Beca leaves the car, shutting the door, and slamming Chloe’s heart into a wall and leaving it shattered on the floor.

#your local angst demon is back!#bechloe #f: bechloe #mine: writing #u: pitch perfect #yamakire17 #answered

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mysterylover123 · 5 years ago

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BNHA Rewatch Episode 26 “Time to Pick some Names”

mysterylover123

We return to normal school stuff with a fun little episode, packed with some ominous foreshadowing.

Seeing Izuku getting hounded like this just makes me wonder what kinda attention the other kids get. Especially Bakugo.

This draft picks do make me wanna call bullshit a little though. Like, I get why Deku isn’t up there. But why is Kaminari, who got taken out in seconds, in 5th, and Ashido, who made it into the second round and has a very popular and easily demonstrative quirk and look, not up there at all?!

This episode is really shippy, you guys. Todomomo here. Look at how she looks at him. She likes him. Convince me otherwise.

Iidaraka making an appearance too! Aw, lookit her shaking him!

Why is Midnight the chooser of names, BTW? She appears to have bad taste in names, despite her own decent Hero name, so what gives her the right?

Baby Aizawa and Present Mic! Seriously, Mic should’ve been the one presiding over Hero Names! He gave Aizawa a great one and has one of his own! Seriously, it could’ve been perfect!

Aww someone’s nervous! (edit: this screencap didn’t quite grab the right moment. Basically, Bakugou looks endearingly nervous in this shot.)

So my thoughts on the names:

Aoyama needs to change his. cantstoptwinkling is too long and unwieldy to be a Hero Name and it sounds ridiculous (he says it in English so I know it isn’t just some weird translation).

This was perfect. Screw you Midnight. Alien Queen should’ve been Ashido’s name.

This one’s nice. People do call her Froppy sometimes. I like too how this beat is played: The first two names make everyone nervous, and Tsu puts them at ease. That seems to be her role in Class 1-A: to help people deal with crisis situations and stress.

Red Riot is another winner. Being derived from another famous name is not a problem; it’s a comic book tradition. Though this does bring up that pesky Imitation theme once more. Kiri wants to be just like Crimson, and that concept gets explored in more depth in the Internship Arc. It makes me wonder if Kiri should switch names to symbolize throwing off that role, or if he should stick with it to symbolize the good Crimson brings to him.

Izuku himself notices the similarities between Kiri’s name and his own fixation with All Might for me so I don’t have to explain it.

Now we are met with the CUTEST FUCKING IMAGE EVER COMMITTED TO SCREEN OR PAPER. DEKU YOU ARE TOO PRECIOUS.

Now some snarky Kamijirou content! Someone’s a little bitter about Kaminari getting more draft picks than her, aren’t you? Actually, I feel like there are some similarities between Kamijirou and BKDK - both pairs argue a lot, yet seem to share an odd connection. The diff may be that while Jiro is more like Midoriya in terms of power and personality (she even takes obsessive notes like he does), she’s the one who antagonizes Kaminari. He’s more Kacchan-like, perhaps why he’s friends with the guy, more born-powerful and cocky, but he’s the one who gets messed with. I dunno, interesting connection.

Probably the coolest sounding of the names that are just ‘my quirk’. Jiro can stick with this one.

Kinda generic but hey, it’s better than Jamming-yay.

Also kinda generic, maybe something that sounds cooler in Japanese, I’m guessing?

Not half bad, but it doesn’t really sound like a hero name.

This one’s a bit generic, but darn it all if it doesn’t sound like a name you’d find in superhero comics.

Ditto.

Triple ditto. Actually a name in Superhero comics.

This one’s terrible. Mina deserved better.

Hmm...Momo...this isn’t terrible, per se, but I still think Yaoyorozu could have a cooler one.

LOL. Also sad: by rejecting his surname and choosing only his given name, Shoto makes a statement. An “I don’t want to be like my dad” statement.

Good I guess? I do kinda know about this one from reading Naruto. It’s a thing in Japanese that I will probably not get well as a dumb American.

Though to be a smart American for a second: Anima...it sounds like he’s talking about that Joseph Campbell theme on anima/animus, male/female, hero with a thousand faces (Just kidding, it’s short for Animal.)

HAHAHAHA OH KACCHAN YOU ECCENTRIC SHITHEAD. Actually, this one is a pretty clever play on his surname in the original Japanese, “Bakusatsuo”. Someone really likes playing on kanji meaning (Deku), doesn’t he? King Explosion Murder is too long and unwieldy, but I think just “King Explosion” or some similar pun could’ve actually worked fine. Just take out the murder part, dumbass.

My favorite one. Meaning: Her surname, her desire to support her parents. Instantly conveys who she is, what kind of hero she wants to be. Perfect.

OMG IIDA FEELS. This plays into his arc in the next story arc, actually. Iida feels he can’t take the name Ingenium until he has done with Tensei couldn’t: kill Stain. And that is why he’s so fixated on revenge.

And finally DEKU. Which is, yeah, what we call him...it does sound a little odd as a superhero name, though. This is an Izuocha moment I actually, like, BTW. Just nice wholesome friendship. No weird obsessions or comparisons with serial killers.

Speaking of Uraraka. The Gunhead Agency! You gotta love that Wonder Duo and how they influence people, huh? One fight with Bakugou and she’s all signed up to go be a DBZ fighter. Also, I can see why Kacchako fans are into that. One of Ochaco’s biggest character shifts, and he inspires it. I can dig.

The #1 hero everybody! Hori does try to give a plausible excuse for why All Might forgot to mention Gran among the People Who Know list...then doesn’t bother with it at all when Nighteye comes up. Ah well. I honestly kinda just want the List of People who Know to keep expanding to comedic levels. “Oh and this is my old exgirlfriend who also knows! And this villain! And this random guy! And maybe your mom!”

Speaking of moms, I’m sure Aizawa officially transforms into Class 1-A’s when he tells Ashido not to slur her words.

The shipper in me wants to gush about how Izuku and Ochaco went to worry about Iida (Iidaraka!) but more sincerely, I want to quickly comment about how well BNHA handles the Power of Friendship. This trope can be so irritating when done poorly, but the friendship in Hero Aca is actually, in my opinion, really realistic. And the power of it is mainly showcased by how friends can simply support and be there for each other, rather than Friendship is the Allmighty Power of the Universe all Will Bow Down Before it. (And also it’s a thing villains can have! And a thing that can fall apart and be unpleasant!)

ANGRY IIDA!

So yeah I really enjoy this episode. It’s not especially deep or heartbreaking (ASIDE FROM TENSEI!!!!) but it’s an enjoyable watch. I’ve actually watched this one a lot because it’s light and fun and something of a one-off. I wouldn’t claim it’s the Best of HeroAca or anything, but It’s an enjoyable ride. Of course, can’t say I’m not more excited to get to next episode. As a big Deku fan(girl), I can tell you my reactions to that one will be something.

BKDK CORNER

Guess who gets paralleled with Izuku’s love interest once again? Seriously, there are a lot of odd, ongoing parallels between Bakugou and Uraraka with their relationships to Izuku, and I’m not sure why if not for subtext. (I want Bakugo’s Ultimate Hero Name to be a play on his first name too. So both members of Wonder Duo have First Name Puns). The OT3 is strong in this one.

My Deku sense is tingling.

BEST GIRL OF THE EPISODE: Iida Mom! (she only appeared last ep but sh)

RANKER: Class 1-A’s Hero Names

21. Pinky

20. Cantstoptwinkling

19. Creati

18. Tenya

17. Shoto

16. Cellophane

15. Deku

14. Bakusatsuo

13. Tentacole

12. Anima

11. Sugarman

10. Chargebolt

9. Invisible Girl

8. Tailman

7. Alien Queen

6. Earphone Jack

5. Tsukoyomi

4. Froppy

3. Red Riot

2. Ingenium

1. Uravity! (Congratulations Ochaco, you were the MPV of this ep)

#my hero academia #time to pick some names #midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugou #season 2 episode 13 #katsudeku #uraraka ochako #bakudeku #so many revisions needed for our young heroes #like everyone needs to change something #but Bakugou most of all #seriously hori #is Bakugo's hero name supposed to be a plot twist?#reveal it already!#i have to know!!!!

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cyi-can-you-imagine · 5 years ago

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The Red Backpack (part 10)

“Sammy?” Dean’s desperate. His heart is pounding. But Sam’s just gone.

What the fuck just happened?

Able to move again, Dean rips the motel door open and frantically looks around outside. He checks the parking lot, but knows it’s futile. He knows they didn’t go out the door. He knows Sam isn’t there. But he checks anyway. He goes back inside. He’s shaking. He’s terrified. Sam was right there, and then he was just…gone.

He couldn’t save him. Again.

Dean punches the wall. He feels no pain.

He paces for a better part of an hour. He has no idea what to do. His thoughts are going a mile a minute. He considers calling his Dad or Bobby, but he doesn’t even know what’s going on yet, and decides to wait. Doesn’t want to involve anyone else yet. He has to keep his family safe. He can’t let anyone else get hurt. Not anymore. No, he’s going to deal with this on his own. Sam is his responsibility and he’ll do anything he has to keep his little brother safe.

(If he ever gets him back.)

He doesn’t want to think about that.

Sam told him to wait. So yeah. He’s gonna wait. He trusts Sam more than anyone else. He just hopes Sam was right.

He considers drinking, but knows he has to be sharp, in case they come back. He doesn’t remember seeing anyone when Sam was taken. Just that light. And Sam’s screams. He blames himself, of course. Not being able to protect his brother. Over and over, he’s failed him. If Sam really has been alone for nine years…Dean shakes his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. It doesn’t work.

He stays on edge all night. He’s sitting on the bed, legs extended in front of him when it happens. He’s playing with his boot knife and muttering to himself about how he fucked up. He’s ready to fight whoever it is when Sam comes back.

(If he comes back.)

But somehow, just after sunrise, even though he’s not even close to tired, his eyes flutter closed. He fights it, but it feels out of his control. Like someone has placed sandbags across his body. His brain goes foggy. His thoughts melt away and slide through his fingers. He tries desperately to hang on but he loses his grip and succumbs to the pressure. He slips into unconsciousness.

He wakes up at exactly 6 am to the sound of moaning. Dean opens his eyes just in time to see a fading white light. Sam’s on the bed next to him, in the fetal position. He’s trembling. He’s wearing a red button down shirt and baggy white pants. He’s gripping the red backpack tightly. It’s full of something, the bag is straining to hold its contents.

“Sam!” Dean screams and, free from the pressure he’d felt earlier, immediately leaps out of bed. Sam winces when Dean grabs him, but clings to him tightly, instinctively. Sam pulls him close to his chest and inhales deeply. He nuzzles his nose into Dean’s neck. Dean wraps his arms around Sam, pressing their bodies together. He feels Sam’s heartbeat through his own chest. It’s beating so fast it scares Dean.

“I never get used to it,” Sam says weakly. “A year is such a long fucking time.”

Dean closes his eyes. His heart breaks for his brother.

“Sammy, what happened?” Dean whispers into Sam’s ear. He tries to be comforting, but Sam gently pushes him away and stands up. His hands shake as he slowly unbuttons the red shirt. It’s not his, not really. Dean wonders if it’s what they make him wear when he’s with them. Dean watches Sam struggle and reaches out to help but Sam swats his hand away.

Dean tries not to be hurt by the action. He knows Sam just experienced…well, something not pleasant, that’s for sure. He pulls his hand back and waits. As the shirt falls open, Dean notices a small cut just above Sam’s bellybutton. It’s a perfect half circle. But the bruising is gone. Sam’s skin is now an angry red and Sam is moving very slowly, wincing as he removes the shirt and throws it to the floor. Dean thinks it’s a severe sunburn.

Sam leaves on the white pants.

His voice is weary, but he doesn’t seem scared. But he doesn’t move either. Just stands there, looking down, embarrassed. He speaks slowly. “I know you have questions Dean. I know you’re worried. But now I finally have some time to tell you. Before they come back. Again.”

“H-How much time?” Dean asks, his voice faltering.

“Six am to six pm. I always have twelve hours. They’ll be back tonight, though. They always come back.” Sam’s voice is soft.

Dean turns away from Sam and reaches into his duffle, rummaging around until he finds the bottle of aloe vera. He turns back and clears his throat. Sam looks up. Dean holds up the bottle, eyebrows raised, and Sam nods. He hesitates when Dean reaches his hand out, but Sam takes it and shuffles closer.

“Can we stop it?” Dean squeezes an ample amount of the cool gel into his hands and rubs it over Sam’s skin, his fingers making slow, gentle circles across his brother’s red chest. Dean notices how warm Sam’s skin feels.

Sam winces and then shrugs at Dean’s question. “I dunno. I’ve tried a few things. But…” he pauses. “Only by myself. You’re - you’re here now, maybe you can stop them! Dean, oh please! Please stop them. It’s been ten years now. Please!”

Dean finishes applying the gel and tosses the bottle to the bed. “Yeah, what does that even mean, Sam? Years? You were just gone overnight!”

Sam nods. “It was overnight for you, Dean.”

Dean wipes his hands on the bedspread and pulls Sam gently by the hand to sit beside him. Sam does.

“Tell me, Sammy. Tell me what’s been going on.” Dean looks directly into Sam’s eyes. He tries to convey his patience, his love, and his protectiveness into Sam. He wants Sam to feel it, to know he will do absolutely anything for him.

Sam feels it.

“Okay, De. Okay.” Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He squeezes Dean’s hand.

“Okay. So the night you left…”

Backpack Tags: @vania-montoya, @sadeyez1985-blog, @arwenadreamer @j2sunflowerbaby

#CYIDaddy #wincest #weecest #the red backpack #angst

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flyswhumpcenter · 5 years ago

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Untied Knots [Whumptober 2019 - Day 6: Dragged Away]

Summary: Kaede doesn't cope well with being forcefully separated from a loved one.

Fandom: Danganronpa V3 (Non-Despair AU) Ship: Established Kaede/Maki/Kaito/Shuichi

Content Warnings: Implied life-threatening injuries/accident, hospital/ER setting

Wordcount: 874 words

Notes: I'm super late I know, but yesterday really wasn't an inspired day. I more or less stood there with very little incentives to write despite train times and such. Woops. I love my ship squad and have missed writing them. It doesn't help that a Tumblr blog has recently opened about them as an OT4 (so go check out @murder-mystery-musical-in-space, just sayin’), which is one of my DRV3 OTPs for sure. Man, now I just want to write about them haha. I don't doubt the fact my next fill for Whumptober could be for the OT4 too. This started as a "standard" Saimatsu fic ft. Makaito but in the end I dunno I've wanted to write this specific OT4 for more than a year so here you go! I really to provide more for them in the near future and further future.

Event hosted by @whumptober2019

AO3 version available here.

--------

Her screams echoed in the corridors of the ER, tearing her vocal cords apart, sorrow filling her voice with hiccups and coughing fits. Her lungs dug through the air for oxygen to continue screaming with, as if she’d stop breathing altogether if she stopped and the world would shatter before her shining eyes. She had become nothing short of a banshee whaling over someone soon to be gone, her despair wrapped around her soul like a snake smothering its prey, untamed, unmatched.

Her hand reached for the other side of the corridor as a stretcher wheeled at full speeds, pushed further and further away from her by a team of dedicated nurses, legs about to follow to the other side of the building if she had to. Her heart was beating against her ribcage, throwing itself forward as she tried to push through her own barriers, feet hurting from having stood around for so much already and yet forced to continue doing so. Would have she listened to her instinct, and only her instinct, she’d have sprinted towards the stretcher she could still her distressing information told by medical staff.

However, a hand grabbed her arms and pulled her against someone else’s chest.

“Kaede, that’s enough.”

Kaito’s voice was firm and no-nonsense, eyes staring right into hers with all the worry in the world she wasn’t already stocking inside her heart. The way his eyes glimmered under the overly bright neon lights were conveying the sense he, too, wanted to cry and was retaining himself from doing so. In that regard, he was much stronger than she was, considering the tears running down her cheek and melting her mascara into black stains.

“B-b-b-ut!” She stuttered, panicked, anxious. “W-w-what if…”

“You can’t do anything against it,” Maki then told her as she handed her a tissue. “We can’t do anything against it. Leave them to their job.”

Even if her partner was right, Kaede wasn’t quite willing to believe it, not yet at least. Her mind wasn’t ready despite being on the verge of either exploding or collapsing, that she didn’t really know. All that she knew was that Shuichi was getting dragged away from her and that she was getting dragged away from him at alarming, dizzying speeds for a brain that was plagued with fears and black thoughts. Her body wasn’t keeping up with her mind, leaving her limbs weak and easy to drag around like a rag doll.

Feeling somewhat of a disconnect between her different parts, she let herself get carried around by the wrist, which Kaito clutched with weakening strength. The air was heavy and tense, the three of them concerned beyond their minds, sinking deeper and deeper into silence with moments passing, to the point the only noises around were their breathing, footsteps and distant conversations carried by the walls. All these sounds floated in a sea of buzz in her thoughts as she lost her touch with reality for a few moments, too deep in thought to even realize where Kaito was walking her.

“I hope he’ll make it,” Kaito tried starting a conversation, hesitant.

“I think we all do,” their girlfriend replied, bite lacking in her words. “Even if there are chances that…”

“Don’t, Maki,” he interrupted before she could finish her sentence. “Please.”

“…understood.”

In truth, they had barely moved from where Kaede had been screaming for minutes. They were having the hardest time dragging themselves away from the leftovers of the catastrophe, feet heavy and heads heavier. In an attempt to find comfort, Kaede picked both of her partners’ hands in hers, letting herself be walked by her most trusted persons, as the fourth side of their square was in great danger. She finally admitted that there was nothing any of them could do, head hanging low and hair flowing down her face.

“Rise your head,” Maki told her, glancing at her with concerned features.

She silently obeyed, sniffling, as her boyfriend wiped her face with his arm.

“Hey, he’d hate to see you that way and you know it,” he said to her, a forced smirk on his lips. “We need to be strong, don’t we?”

“Of course,” Maki replied, nodding along despite her eyebrows never leaving their frowning state.

“…yeah,” Kaede eventually responded, her voice hurting from how overexerted it now was.

Her smile wasn’t coming back and so was her usual optimism, but she knew they were right. Shuichi would have hated to see her collapse like that, so she shook her head as the three of them headed for a waiting room, dragging themselves away from the pain and the fatigue soon to plague their limbs even further than it had already had. They couldn’t let their worry and anxiety take an unsustainable toll on them, could they? Shuichi counted on them, they counted on each other. Part of the deal, she’d say.

Their fingers intertwined and didn’t leave each other’s hands as they sat in the waiting room, trying to find harmony in the cacophony of life brought upon them by the most unfortunate accident. Putting their faith in the surgeons’ hands and their boyfriend’s will to live, the three of them finally released a breath they were all holding.

#danganronpa v3 #saimatsu #kaemaki #makaito #momomatsu #akasaimomoharu #kaede akamatsu #kaito momota #maki harukawa #shuichi saihara #whumptober2019 #no.6 #dragged away #angst #otp: requiem quartet

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glaivenoct · 6 years ago

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Lover, Fighter Ch. 3

Words: 3,220 Summary: In the cages he’s The Prince. At home he’s just Noct. (ao3) if you’d like to drop some thoughts over there as well. It’s always appreciated~

Noct’s more annoyed than he is surprised to wake up in pain. It’s his back of course. There’s sharp, aching spurts prodding at the small of it. He turns on his side with a grimace to relieve some of the pressure. It helps, but not enough for him to drift peacefully back to sleep. He sighs through his nose and groans into his pillow.

The dumb, smug face of his opponent from last night peers into his thoughts. This is all his fault, the handsome asshole. Hero, they called him. Please. Since when do heroes beat other people up?

The pain was much worse last night, yet his anger gave him enough willpower to ignore it and come through victorious. It was afterwards, when he stood with his fist raised in victory, Noctis was certain he would collapse at any moment.

Not once had his back acted up this way during a fight. Not once had being slammed into wires, poles and unsanitary floors caused such an episode.

Not once had he ever been so vulnerable in front of so many people.

He can’t recall the way he cried out, but he knows it was roaring enough to silence most of the crowd. It even stopped the esteemed hero in his tracks and Noctis can’t stand that fact. People can underestimate him all they want. They can take one look at him and think he’s weak.

They can never witness a true moment of weakness. Vulnerability surfacing from the cold, indestructible exterior of The Prince is unacceptable.

He supposes his victory erases that, but he’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a part of him that wants to go back and fix that moment. He’d punch that hero right in his face again too if only to sate the remnants of his spite.

The pain in his back now is tame compared to last night. That wouldn’t be the case if it weren’t for Gladio, ever at the ready to swoop in and nurse him back to normal.

“Noct?”

Speak of the infernian. Guess he didn’t imagine hearing the front door open earlier after all.

“M’up,” Noct mumbles at the half open doorway, voice raspy and still heavy with sleep. “I’m not happy about it, but I’m up.”

There’s rustling among Gladio’s steady footsteps. He pushes the door fully open, dressed in his favorite joggers and hoodie. Fresh from a run Noctis assumes, glancing at the plastic bag he holds at his side.

“Just as I thought,” he says, watching Noctis move slow to sit up. “You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Noct doesn’t have the energy to glare at him. He’s too busy wincing at the stiffness in his back.

“Didn’t expect you to actually be up. It’s not even noon yet.”

“What,” Noctis nods to the bag “you planning to surprise me with breakfast in bed one of these days, big guy?”

Gladio snorts. “You wish.”

“You didn’t have to come back to check up on me you know.”

“Don’t be stupid. How’s your back?”

“Hurts.” He reaches around to rub the afflicted area. “Feels really stiff too.”

“Figures.” Gladio tosses the bag into his lap. “I got you a couple heating pads that should help, but not before you do some stretching. C’mon,” he pats Noct’s shoulder. “Out of bed. Slouching like that isn’t going to do you any favors.”

Noct groans again and rubs at one eye with his palm. “Can I get some coffee first?”

“There’s a cup from that café down the street with your name on it.”

He blinks up at him, disbelieving as if he were in the presence of a god. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about you.”

“Sure you do.” He holds out a hand for Noct to take, grips it firmly and helps him stand. “Easy,” he says when Noct makes a discomforted noise. “Easy. You good?”

“Yeah… yeah, standing helps.”

Gladio stays behind him as they head into the living room. There’s an exercise mat already rolled out on the floor, between the dining table and the couch. The cup of coffee Gladio promised sits on the kitchen counter, and his name really is on it.

Ever at the ready to nurse Noct back to normal.

For as much as they might tease each other, Noctis would be lost without Gladio sometimes. A lot more impulsive. Definitely lonelier. How he hasn’t managed to push the guy away yet, Noct’ll never know. He’s grateful, and most of the time he’s at a loss of how to properly convey it.

He settles for a soft “thank you” as he drinks his coffee at the dining table. He gets halfway through it before he decides he’s awake enough to change into his own joggers and a comfy sweatshirt. Gladio has him doing warm-up stretches for five minutes, then tells him to lie flat on his back so they can work his lower abs. He watches from the couch, reminds Noct to start slow, to breathe in and out as he draws one knee at a time to his chest.

“Remember, minimum of six times on each leg. If your back starts hurting more at any point, stop.”

“I know. We’ve been through this a million times.”

“Yeah, as a precautionary. Not because you messed up your back in a fight.”

Noctis takes in a deeper breath as he draws his other knee in. His back’s always been the biggest point of contention when it came to the cage fights. It was the first protest Gladio had when Noct first told him about it. He’d even threatened to stop training him with the punching bags. It was all within good reason. Noct knows the injury he’d sustained as a child is never a matter to be taken lightly.

For the record, he never takes it lightly. He’s lived with it most of his life. Contrary to a certain hero’s perception of him, Noctis does know his physical limits. He’s gone through many fights before this one without causing any harm to his back. He’s never gone into the ring without being mindful of it.

Last night was simply a misfortunate slip up. A one-time thing. A firm reminder to Noctis to be more vigilant next time.

“I’ll be okay, Gladio. I always am.”

“Remember what I told you before your first fight?”

“You won’t be reckless. You’ll take this seriously and you’ll take care of your back. You’ll train for every fight. You’ll never accept a fight that’s more than you can handle. And so help me gods, if you so much as break a bone or collapse because of your back, you’re done.”

Noctis isn’t sure how Gladio intends to keep him from fighting if either of those things happen. Maybe he’ll tell Noctis’ father or Cor but… he is an adult that’s been away from home for some years now. No one can really make him stop if he doesn’t want to… but the last thing he wants to do is drive everyone mad with worry. He understands where Gladio’s coming from. He appreciates that the big guy looks out for him this much in the first place.

Noctis finally nods on a steady exhale as he lowers his leg away from his chest, resting his foot flat on the mat. “I didn’t collapse last night, though.”

“You’re lucky you didn’t. I was ready to march into that cage my damn self when I heard you scream.” He clenches a fist atop his knee and stares at a random point on the floor. Noctis looks his way and can’t tell if he’s angry, guilty, or both.

He never thought about that. About the fact that Gladio was there too, watching him writhe beneath his opponent and claw at the floor. Suddenly the thought of Gladio feeling guilty over that makes him feel guilty. That… that was probably terrible to watch. Infuriating, even. Sure, Gladio witnessed time and time again what Noctis was capable of. Sure, he knows better than anyone that Noctis isn’t some fragile thing that can’t hold his own.

Gladio’s the one person who saw Noctis at his weakest. The one person who held out his hand and helped him rebuild himself.

But despite being there every step of his progress, he was still protective. Noct has himself to blame for that, doesn’t he? What, with all the stupid shit he’s done. Bad, impulsive decisions, his naivety and letting others walk all over him. Now the cage fights.

Noct’ll do better for the sake of his back and for Gladio.

“Defend my honor and take on the big, bad hero?” Noct smiles, hoping to steer away from the sorer topic. “I’d love to see that match.”

Gladio takes the bait and looks at Noct with a curious, crooked grin. “Think I could take him?”

“If I can, you can.”

“Bet he won’t chat me up the way he did with you, though.”

Noct tries not to laugh and ruin his intake of breath as he pulls his other leg to his chest again. “Please. He was just trying to get under my skin. That’s what anyone even remotely bigger than me does.”

“I dunno. He seemed pretty… enticed by you.”

“Enticed?” Noctis scoffs on an exhale.

“He unmistakably checked you out three different times when you were circling each other.”

Noctis laughs and shakes his head. “This isn’t the first time someone in the ring’s checked me out, y’know.”

“Oh, I know. I usually get bad vibes off those people, but I didn’t get that off him.”

That’s saying something given Gladio’s reads on people are rarely wrong. Noctis lowers his leg for the last time and sits up. “What did you get off him then?”

“Just that there’s more to him than meets the eye.”

That’s vague, but Noctis decides not to question it further. What does it matter to him anyway? It’s not like he’ll see the guy again. A shame, really. Noctis might’ve fantasized about punching him in the face earlier… might’ve really, really hated his guts last night for pretending he knew him, for every “pretty” and “little” comment that spilled from his mouth. Looking back now… he kind of liked the back and forth shit-talk.

He liked proving the hero’s initial judgements of him wrong. He liked seeing that moment of awe washing over those rugged features.

Seriously, what was that guy doing in the ring when he could easily be a supermodel? Though, his face might not look as photogenic today after that fight…

Shame. It’s been a while since a fight was this satisfying and thrilling. He certainly hopes the next will live up to it.

“You do realize now that you’ve dethroned one of their top guys people are going to line up to take you on, right?” There’s more concern hiding behind the warning in Gladio’s words. He grabs the bag he gave Noctis earlier and pulls one of the boxes of heating pads out.

“I know.” Noctis watches him pick at the tape on the box.

“People that are bigger than the hero guy.”

Of course. Most of the crowd last night expected to watch Noctis get his ass handed to him. Other contenders would love to succeed where the infamous hero fell short. Would love to make Noct regret ever daring to ask for a challenge. As much as he loves the thrill of his own spite and adrenaline, pouring everything he’s got into proving people wrong, he has no intentions of agreeing to every fight.

“I know. I’ll be ready.”

“Noct.” He doesn’t need to ask the question aloud for Noct to hear it. He can see it clear in the solemn amber of his friend’s eyes.

“I’ll be careful. I promise.”

Gladio holds his gaze for a moment longer before he seemingly accepts Noct’s sincerity with a nod. They move on into the next exercise from there, which only takes another minute or so. Strengthening the deeper abdominals, Gladio calls it. It puts Noct flat on his back again, knees bent and apart. Four times he takes in a deep breath and draws his navel in towards his spine. He holds the small contraction until Gladio’s done counting him down from ten, then relazes as he breathes out.

It’s reminiscent of a few exercises he used to do in physical therapy. Something about strengthening his deeper muscles to provide more support to his back. It doesn’t cure the pain, but he finds his back feels less sore. Noct’s rewarded with one of the heating pads by the end of it.

Now this – this dulls the brunt of his pain. Noct melts into the soothing warmth of it, releasing a content little sigh as he settles into a chair at the dining table.

“You call out of work like I so wisely suggested?” Gladio asks, approaching him with a water bottle.

“Yeah, Mom. I called last night after you left.” He yelps when there’s a hand on his head mussing up his air and playfully shoving him forward. “Hey, quit it!”

Gladio relents with an amused grin, setting the bottle down and sitting in the chair next to him. “Save the Mom comments for Iggy.”

Noctis blinks at the name, flinches almost as if he’s been struck by Ramuh himself. For a moment, he was ready to agree with that. Ready to pretend that it was something he could follow through on. As if sometime soon Ignis would come through the door and do something to constitute such a comment.

As if Noctis was lucky enough to have salvaged what was left of their friendship, relieving Gladio of maintaining separate ones between them. Noctis hopes he looks down into his lap fast enough to hide the wistful flicker in his eyes.

“Sorry.” Gladio rubs he back of his neck. “I… talked to him recently.”

They talk often. Noctis knows they do. It doesn’t bother him. “How’s he doing?”

“Good. Sounds like Tenebrae’s serving his culinary fantasies well.”

“That’s good.”

“He mentioned plans to come down and visit in a few months. Asked about you too.”

“Oh…” He’s not sure what else to say, or where to even look. He settles for reading the nutrition facts on his water bottle.

“I didn’t tell him about the fights, obviously. Can’t imagine he’d be happy finding out about them.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like he’d be obligated to care.”

“Noct…” he can’t bear the sympathy in Gladio’s force. Nor the pitiful look he can feel burning a hole through him. He’s still on the fence about whether he deserves it or not. “This isn’t the first time Iggy’s asked about you. Especially since… you know.”

Oh, Noctis knows. He knows all too well. The one thing that drove the wedge between him and Ignis in the first place has been absent from Noct’s life for some time now. He just hasn’t found himself brave enough to reach out and mend the bridge he was responsible for allowing to break.

“Iggy’s never held anything against you for what happened, Noct. Not ever.”

“I’ve got a list of reasons why he should hold everything against me, but you already know them.”

“I want you to consider meeting up with him when he comes down. Clear the air between you two once and for all.”

Noctis says nothing. He rests his chin in his palm and looks off into the kitchen. This time it’s Gladio’s frustration burning a hole in him. He hears him taking a deep breath to keep himself calm.

“Noct, what have these past months been about? What did I tell you I was going to help you do?”

Be better. Stronger. Heal. Noctis wants to shudder just thinking back to the moment – holding in everything, being so used to dismissing his own feelings, of assuming everything that went wrong was his own fault. All until the moment Gladio found him a broken mess and told him “You’re better than this. You can do better and I’m going to help you if you’ll let me. You deserve better.”

At that time, Noctis didn’t agree, but that’s another thing the past months have been about. Recognizing that past choices don’t define who he can grow to be. Learning to forgive and love himself more. He’s in a much better place than he was months ago, but there’s still moments where his doubts falter him.

“Noct.”

“What?” it comes out harsher than he means for it to, but Gladio doesn’t appear to be angry or disappointed in him.

“Doing this would be good for you,” he says calm, but firm. “I know you know that. At least think about it.”

Noct fiddles his thumbs into his sleeves, attention skittering back down to his water bottle. He does have a few months to think on it, and maybe in a few months he’ll be even more pleased with his self-improvement. Reaching back out to the ones he pushed away has always been part of that plan anyway…

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine, I’ll think about it. I promise.”

Gladio nods at him, a smile touching his lips. “Good. How’s your back?”

“Better. The pads really help. Thanks for them.”

“No problem. Since I let you skip out on running this morning, you up to go for a walk? I could go for a breakfast burrito.”

Noct makes an almost sinful noise and slouches his cheek against his palm. “Gods, that sounds amazing right now.” He stands up from his chair, quickly pocketing his phone. “Let me get my shoes.”

His phone’s going off as soon as he turns around. He pulls his phone back out from his pocket to see a text waiting for him. He’s halfway back to his room, nearly disappearing into the hall before he pauses in his steps to read the message properly.

“No way.” He almost laughs, eyes roaming over the message again to make sure he didn’t read it wrong.

Gladio crosses his arms and stares at him. Noct can see that inner conflict going on his head. He knows Gladio questions all the time whether or not letting him indulge in these fights is wrong on his part. If he should put more effort into getting him to quit.

Noctis also knows that Gladio trusts his judgement despite his murky past. When he says he’ll be careful, he means it.

“A couple days,” Gladio repeats, pointing at him. “You take it easy and double the stretches. I mean it.”

“I know. I will.”

Gladio sighs and shakes his head. “Wish I could get you this confident about talking to Iggy. Why are you so eager to fight this guy again anyway?”

Noct shrugs. “I might’ve kicked his ass, but he’s still a good fighter. I like giving him a run for his money.”

“You sure it’s not all the flirty shit-talk you like?”

“Shut up.”

Gladio laughs to himself. “So you going to message the guy back, or what?”

“Think I’ll wait till I’m positive my back’s better. Let the hero sit in suspense for a few days.”

“Why’s that?”

“He called me pretty. Twice.”

That’s all the explanation Gladio needs to wince and wrinkle his nose in legitimate concern for the hero.

#author entires: fics #nyxnoct #noctis lucis caelum #nyx ulric #cage fighter au #i was too tired to post this last night so #i have to leave for work soon friends pray for meee

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sesquipunzel · 6 years ago

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Act 2 (Backtrack through 251-264)

(I am better understanding the appeal of reading Homestuck liveblogs because now I really wanna go read how other people dealt with this lil reveal.)

So...one thing that didn't occur to me in my many previous Thoughts was that the Vagabond might not be here accidentally — I may have been unduly influenced by knowing them by the name "Wayward Vagabond." They might have been searching for the SBURB bunker precisely so they could interact with the kids/the past; they might even have arrived or been summoned here on this specific day so they can do so. Or they might be the Skaia-survivor I hypothesized, who was out of the bunker running errands, and we joined them as they were coming 'home'. Though the impression that the Vagabond was curious and wary and exploratory and Not At Home was pretty strong, so I dunno. (Also, I would think if they were in on the plot, they'd understand more about John/the game/the lingo.)

But the Vagabond DOES recognize that they can communicate with the boy on the screen, DOES know how to operate the console (simple as it appears to be), DOES know how to read and write and type (although not to turn off the Caps Lock). Which perhaps adds weight to the notion that they were alive/educated in the Before Times?

Also, this console is clearly designed to let someone communicate with those on screen — but Skaianet also clearly had the technology to allow even more extensive interaction, à la John's magic chest on the roof of his house. So why is the connection only via the command line, why not a full suite of SBURB-style fixit tools? It could be an inherent limitation related to: a) the time disjunct, if "years in the future" is true; or b) a place disjunct cos we have no idea where either John or the Vagabond are; or c) an internet disjunct cos we have no friggin clue how their computers are communicating with each other at all (especially since John's house shouldn't even have power). Obvi, the command-line could simply be the default function, and the console is capable of other things that we and the Vagabond don't know about yet, but we shall see.

Because the arrival of the "BOY" Voice coincided with the division of the Kernelsprite and creation of the the Harmesperm, I made an assumption that the Voice was the Sperm's voice (and I imagine I ain't the first). I do speculate that the coinciding wasn't completely coincidental, though.

The first image the Vagabond sees is just after John took the bite of the apple and got his house ozzed to wherever he is now. So I wonder if that's where this mysterious connection between their computers starts — maybe the Vagabond couldn't have watched any of the pre-Meteor stuff in John's house, or interacted with him before then?

As to HOW the connection started, or whether the ability for them to interact has anything to do with the KERNEL or the SPRITE? On that I have no guesses yet.

One curious thing is why the Vagabond's commands are reaching John as a "voice in his head." John is reporting this to Rose as new and troubling, so he didn't experience the previous reader commands in the same way, even if his "free will" occasionally argued with those commands. I've been told Hussie doesn't use dialogue in his comics, that all information is conveyed through Pesterlogs, command lines, narration, etc. So why did he choose to have the Vagabond's words manifest differently than the other reader commands, and differently from any other form of communication we’ve seen? I think the most important part is probably John saying “i feel compelled to do these weird things i don't really want to do,” that commands coming from that particular console/place are ones he can’t disobey?

If those commands had been communicated in a different way (like appearing on John’s devices) it wouldn’t have allowed for confusing the Vagabond's Voice with the SPRITE's, I suppose, and would invite more questioning from John as to who was 'on the other end' of the computer, but still interesting distinctions.

So — going to re-read from that first "BOY" on page 251, and capture any deeper/revised thoughts along the way.

Firstly, "the two halves go their separate ways, leaving behind the SPRITE portion" — I see that I misread that the KERNEL was the dual clown-silhouette things and the SPRITE was the mandala-thing left hovering in midair. But I see now the KERNEL was the circular "container" for the clown, i.e, the portion that existed before it was prototyped, and the SPRITE was the now-spermy clown-bit left after the seed-potential-power parts split off to go fulfill whatever that potential is. (dum dum DOOM!)

On to the weird interactions within the Flash…

Calling John "BOY" reinforced the impression that the Voice didn't know who he was, or much of anything else yet, which made sense if it was a newborn SPRITE. But now it means the Vagabond also doesn't know who John is — just a boy on a screen. So why are they so imperious in the way they talk to John, so sure that John needs to listen and obey? (How much does Vagga know about why this boy is on this screen at this moment? What do they know about what happened before, or what could/should happen next, for Earth's survivors? And are they friendly or foely to our heroes? Or to Skaianet?)

And who exactly is talking back (in the Green Boxes in the Flash version, or in plain text between black+orange Command Boxes in the non-Flash), calling the Voice a "nincompoop" and "sophomoric?" It seems to be our narrator, the one who used second person to start the story with "Your name is JOHN. As was previously mentioned it is your BIRTHDAY", addressing the character of John for the most part, but also the reader/player in some ways. But to have that narrative voice talking directly to another character is quite strange. (Although much of the response to the rest of the Voice's "EXAMINE"-type commands is back to our familiar narration style.)

"TIER PROTO TYPE THE SPRITE, OR THE THING YOU SAID. DO IT." Again, Vagga seems pretty sure about this being important to do, when they don’t even know the right words to describe it, or know that John can't do it himself.

Weird inconsistencies like not having enough Earth-context to call it a "towel", but enough to call it a "small Persian rug"? Familiar with "sewing machine" and how big it should be, but not with "totem lathe."

It's not the SPRITE that loathes clowns and harlequins, but the Vagabond.

(Housetrapped is still funny.)

"On the other hand, you would probably benefit from [NANNA's] elderly wisdom now…"

“UGH, NO.”

“So coy. So mysterious."

Twas an odd enough interchange when poking around the Flash the first time, thinking it was the SPRITE talking. But is there an implication here that Vagga knows (and dislikes) NANNA somehow, or the idea of John talking to her?

"A YOUNG STUPID BOY." On what grounds is Vagga judging John stupid?

Regarding the clowns in dad's study, the Voice says "IT HAS A KNIFE. BE ALARMED BY THIS." and "I SEE TREACHERY IN HIS EYES." — rather paranoid, aren't they? Worrisome in a newborn SPRITE, leaning towards interpreting it as inherently suspicious and violent, if not evil. Not really surprising, though, in a post-apocalyptic/post-traumatic wanderer (although it certainly doesn't rule out violent or evil).

Back to the main stream of the story, at 256: “NOW JOHN. RESPOND TO YOUR FRIEND UNIT.” Again, Vagga knows the word ‘friend', but not how to use it in a sentence. (is it because they've never had a friend?? are they a poor lonely, suspicious, violent cinnamon roll…???)

My curiosity about the Voice knowing the contents of the Pesterlog remain — is Vagga actually reading Homestuck, as it were, viewing John's screen/Pesterlog "over his shoulder" the same way we are? Or does the Skaia-built interface allow for more ‘camera angles’ than we have, or other direct access to the content this screen is meant (but by whom?) to show?

The narration on 257 that says "Oh well, you're the boss." has so many implications, doesn't it? But still notes that the commands are "awkwardly worded."

The Vagabond doesn't understand the difference between what John can do and what Rose can do.

(I just caught up to the fact that when John was fucking around with the Alchemiter, he could only create Perfectly Generic Objects because the dowel he had was Perfectly un-Lathed, with no distinguishing data points. You know how it is, it was all so new and confusing then… cause yeah, I'm WAY less confused now, right?)

But they get a platform built, and again the Narrator and the Voice tussle over commanding John and considering his feelings — the Narrator now seems protective of John, rather than objective. (That is, it has generally seemed objective before now, except in matters of taste and humor.)

The double "==>==>" commands that the Narrator was getting salty about make a lot more sense, imagining the Vagabond flailing at their keyboard.

John sensibly wants to go back inside, away from the aching and windy void, but Vagga says, "NO DON'T DO THAT. HOP OFF THIS LEDGE ON TO THAT CAR." This is the first time they've really suggested an action they came up with themselves, rather than responding to John mentioning prototyping, or encouraging him to follow Rose's instructions. (I'm not counting all the EXAMINE THIS and DESTROY THAT that helped us explore the Flash-House — those were still essentially passive responses to John's environment.) So I’m thinking that the mail in the car is really important in some way (I mean, I didn’t think it had been placed there as a time-wasting whim — it was the only real plot point of John’s excursion outside the house), which probably means the SBURB host software John can presumably use to rescue others the way Rose-as-host rescued him. (GG’s green gift might be important too but harder to guess how.) But that brings us back to the question of how the Vagabond knows about the software and its significance if they don’t seem to understand the game itself, or even how they know the software’s location in the car.

"==>==>==>==>==>" — and I thought two was impatient!

[hee, the Vagabond's keyboard does have the CAPS LOCK key lit!]

Right-Eo… long post, but more because I had a lot more musings to capture than because there was significant re-interpretation to do over whose Voice it was. Still worth the trip in my book. My blog, I mean.

The Kernelsprite has only actually attempted to communicate twice, right? Once with strange square textury symbols, and then after Harmequin-typing, with assorted Mardi-Grahdy fleurs-de-lis? (Floor Da Lease? Flurry d'Elise? Lorida Fleas? Flour Day Lilies? Stopping now.)

Gonna bet someone in HS fandom tried some pre-empty-ve code-breaking on the comparison between the two, but Ima keep on keepin on, trust that we'll discover what the Sprite is tryin' to say sooner or later in the story.)

Left-Eo then, backtrack completed and Yawnward Ho!

#homestuck liveblog #sesquipunzel reads homestuck #hs act 2 #homestuck #hs week 004

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wizardgranny · 7 years ago

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you could find another me tomorrow

BakuShima/KiriBaku Fluff Fic. Content notes: self-hating behavior, Bakugou’s sinful mouth, safe for work, fluff, true to canon, spoilers through chapter 100 Characters: Kirishima, Bakugou Words: 2,500

Dyeing his hair always brings Kirishima to tears, reminding himself of what a weakling he thinks he truly is. Fortunately, he gets a little pick-me-up from his explosive buddy.

You could find another me tomorrow And that’s the hardest pill to swallow

His gloved fingers rake through his soft locks, spreading thick, cherry-red liquid across his scalp. Hidden away in the confines of his personal bathroom, Kirishima Eijirou meticulously planned the most inconspicuous time possible to touch up his faded roots, so as to not be exposed as presenting a false image.

It’s not necessarily that he’s ashamed of the fact that his color was unnatural- he knew Kaminari’s hair was so elaborately done that it required salon care, as opposed to Kirishima’s drugstore bottled dye- but rather that the position he finds himself in during these treatments is a vulnerable one. Seeing and feeling himself manipulate his appearance with the sole purpose of begging for attention from eyes that demand flashiness made him feel self-conscious and weak. People like Todoroki and Bakugou have quirks that, in equal parts, demand and command a viewer’s attention, which is only improved with their natural pretty-boy looks.

Kirishima runs a final set of dragging fingers through his hair before discarding his stained gloves and hoisting himself up on the counter to wait his allotted fifteen minutes, scoffing at the fleeting suggestion his mind had proposed that he already is a pretty boy with an impressive quirk who didn’t need to mask himself behind dye and fake smiles.

Sure, he had scored well on the U.A. entrance exams as well as Aizawa’s tests, but they seemed to be oddly in favor of his abilities, he had surmised. Soon, he reminds himself, appearance and attitude will surpass sheer physical strength. Soon, he would need to compensate for his utter lack of both genuine heroic fortitude and aesthetic presence, the selling points that take a minor, baby-pro and thrust them into the trusting, idolizing eyes of the public.

So, here he is, waiting shirtless on his counter in his locked (he triple checked) bathroom, bawling his eyes out while recounting his inadequacies. Having dyed hair allows him to project an air of confidence, an assuredness of his own unique image, all under the guise of reverence of Crimson Riot. Of course, Crimson Riot is certainly his favorite hero, yet Kirishima’s red hair has less to do with a homage to his favorite pro and more with a burning desire to be a manly hero who was unmistakable within the ever-expanding pool of pros.

Feeling the dye stinging on his head is a reminder that, at his most natural base, he is not pro-hero material; he is an average boy with an average quirk, unworthy of a spot amongst tomorrow’s budding heroes. He has lucked out so far with U.A.’s assessments, but, he muses to his reflection through his tearful grimace, soon his truly useless nature will become apparent.

He turns on the shower, unsuccessfully wiping his tears away with the back of his free hand. What would his friends think if they saw him like that? Surely they would laugh, agreeing that Kirishima is the weak link of the bunch. Especially Bakugou. He peels away his remaining clothes and shuts himself away in the shower, water and dye spilling over his body and into the drain. At least in the shower he can’t see his own pathetic tears.

For normies like us, becoming a hero’s not even in the picture.

His callous-hardened hands help the water rinse his troubled head, streaks of pure dye staining the shower floor. He allows himself to whimper softly, indulging in the unmanly responses that come naturally to his body.

I ain’t a man, or anything else.

Even though the dye has mostly found its home in the shower drain, Kirishima stays in the shower, finding solace in the warm water enveloping him. What he wouldn’t give for a strong embrace right now, finding comfort in camaraderie. For now, though, he settles for the flow of water spouting from above him that is racing his tears to the basin.

When he’s done wallowing in his sorrows, Kirishima slowly flicks the water off, feeling the streams of water flowing off him ebb and cease. He grabs his towel (black, a dye-proof choice) and gingerly pats his freshly colored hair, wrapping the cloth around himself after deciding he was satisfied with the dryness of his hair. He wiped a hand across the steam-clouded mirror, peering into his eyes. At least I don’t look too puffy, he thinks of his post-sobbing visage, I can probably pass it off as allergies.

He manages to throw on some pants before there’s a knock at his door.

“Open up, asshole! I ain’t eating alone!”

Bakugou. Shit.

“Yeah bro, just a minute! I just got out of the shower,” Kirishima replies, rushing back into the bathroom to rinse his face under ice-cold water. He’s gonna give me so much shit if I come out looking like a fresh wreck. He decides to forego styling his hair in exchange for managing his messed-up face.

“I don’t have all fucking day, Shitty-Hair! Who the fuck do you think you are, making me wait? You think you’re better than me?”

Kirishima scrambles. He knows he’s gonna get chewed out by the Baron of Explodo-Kills, but he’d rather get blown up for being late than for being a weakling. “I’m coming, bud, I just gotta do something real fast,” the response is half-thought-through, a generic statement flying out of his mouth.

“WELL YOU BETTER HURRY THE FUCK UP!” Kirishima hears what sound like sparklers lighting outside his door. Bakugou is losing his nerve. Fuck. My eyes are still bloodshot. I look high. He continues fretting and pawing water over his face to no avail before coming to the conclusion that Bakugou probably won’t even mention it. I’ll just laugh it off. The guy won’t even notice, probably. He sighs, taking one last look at himself, before turning toward the door.

Opening the door, he feels Bakugou start to spark before stopping abruptly. Kirishima’s friend lifts an eyebrow. “What the fuck’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve been crying like shitty Deku.”

Why did he have to be so intuitive for someone who’s usually so self-centered?

Normally, Kirishima would have been thrilled to be compared to the green-haired hero who bore a strong kinship to the world’s greatest pro, but he knows that, coming from Bakugou, the sentiment is wildly different.

“I, uh…I just slept crappy last night. Eyes have been stinging, ya know, from the shitty sleep. Let’s go eat, okay bro?” Kirishima attempts his most convincing smile, a lopsided grin that showed just a peak of his gleaming teeth.

Bakugou frowns. “I ain’t buying that shitty fucking excuse, Hair-for-Brains,” his voice is gruff but…there was something different about it. There’s no venom in his words, and he couldn’t even be described as angry. If he didn’t know him better, Kirishima might have even mistaken the tone for concern.

Kirishima shrugs, dodging the clumsy trap, “I dunno man, I always look like this when I sleep like shit. Let’s go eat, I’m starving!” He tries again to put on a mask of complete composure. This time, though, there are more cracks. He balls his hand into a fist, hardening the knuckles in a last-ditch attempt to maintain a semblance of self-control.

Kirishima’s friend moves closer. For a second, Kirishima fears he’s going to take a fiery fist to the face. He winces downward, his image still wounded from the insults he had hurtled at himself just moments prior.

“Fucking relax. I’m not evil, alright, I’m not gonna hurt you for crying. That’s what villains do,” Bakugou assures him, the last part coming out more as a contemplative whisper than anything intended for Kirishima’s ears.

In that moment, Kirishima falls apart. Everything about him that maintained an image of being alright melts to the ground, mixing with falling tears. He collapses on his tiger-striped comforter, allowing his closest friend to see him unravel. In a quiet, shaking voice, he requests, “hey man, could you uh, could you please close the door? I don’t, um, want people to see m-me, ya know, like this?”

Usually one to tease and seek pleasure in making his friend work to get him to do anything, Bakugou quickly shuts the door without a single complaint. He looks bewildered, as though he’d never comforted anyone before in his life.

“Hey, uh, Shit-for-Brains, stop crying, I guess?” Kirishima chuckles through his sobs. What a simply Bakugou way of calming someone. He feels a dip of pressure on the bed. Bakugou has planted himself on the edge by Kirishima’s feet, looking unsure of how to continue. Kirishima turns to face his friend, having previously found comfort in lying face-down in a puddle of tears. Bakugou’s ears redden at the edges, uncertain as to how to proceed with Kirishima looking at him so expectantly.

Kirishima is truthfully just happy to have his friend there with him. The simple fact that he supports him even at his weakest moment is comfort enough. And besides, it’s harder to focus on your own self-loathing when you’re not alone.

“You better fucking tell me what’s wrong…or ELSE!” Ah, Bakugou. Ever the gentleman.

The red-haired boy lowers his head, unable to make eye contact with the sizzling blonde. “I, uh…um… just feel kinda inadequate, you know?” He looks up at Bakugou’s watchful stare, and continues, “I dunno man, I just see people like you and Todoroki and Midor-” he quickly erases the name and starts over, knowing now was not the time to bring up Bakugou’s own inferiority complex, “p-people like you and Todoroki, who have cool quirks and, ya know,” he blushes, “good looks, and I just, I can’t live up to that, man.”

He glances at Bakugou, whose lips have curled into a face that could be described as a frown, but seemed to convey more than that. Continuing, Kirishima sighed, “It’s just that, ever since I was little, I’ve watched the pros and they’ve got such showy quirks, right? And they’re attractive, and they have great attitudes. You can pick Mount Lady or All Might out of a crowd. That’s what I want.” He looks down, and mumbles more quietly, “You can’t be a pro if you have a boring appearance, a shitty quirk, and a crybaby personality like I do.”

Bakugou stares at him like he wants to burn a hole into his head. When he’s sure Kirishima has let all of his pain out, he asserts, “You know, you’re really fucking manly.”

Hesitantly, Kirishima looks at him. “W-What?”

Bakugou repeats himself, something he would never do outside this delicate circumstance: “I said, you’re really fucking manly!” Kirishima starts to thank him for his kind words, but Bakugou lets more words fall off his tongue, completely disregarding Kirishima’s pitiful, self-hating tone.

“You’re a real man, Kirishima. You hide all this shit away and put a smile on just to make everyone else feel happy and safe. Hell, you even make me soften a little which honestly is pretty cute…” he turns away so Kirishima doesn’t see him blush, “and your quirk is super cool. Remember the Sports Festival? When you would train by just throwing yourself off a fucking building and bracing yourself for the impact? That took incredible guts and control, and you never walked away with even a scratch. And guess the fuck what?”

Kirishima looks at him with eyes wide. Since when did Bakugou remember a single thing about anyone that wasn’t himself?

“You’ve got good looks too. Red hair or not.”

Blushes spread softly across both boys’ faces. Kirishima looks away, swallowing, “But I’m so ordinary. I’m a dime a dozen. Dudes like me are everywhere, I just got lucky, and–”

Bakugou cuts him off, “You’re special to me.” He pulls Kirishima’s chin up to meet his gaze. “I will always find you in a crowd. Hell, I’ll always look for you first in a crowd. And…” he bites his tongue, unsure if he wants to finish the thought. At the expense of his own composure, he assures Kirishima, “and now that All Might has retired, you’re my hero.”

Bakugou flops backward, grazing his head against the wall. “Son of a bitch…” he curses to the ceiling, whether regarding the pain of the bump or the confession he’s not entirely sure.

After Kirishima’s processed Bakugou’s uncharacteristically kind words, he places a warm hand over one of Bakugou’s, which is grabbed as though it had been anticipated. They lay there together, hand in hand, not speaking, for what felt like hours though was probably only a few minutes. It felt nice letting go of his feelings and even nicer knowing that one of his friends- and Bakugou of all people- was willing not only to listen but also to give a shit.

Kirishima croaks, turning to face his blonde friend, his voice raw from his sobs, “Hey thanks, man. For being here for me, and the kind words, and everything.”

Unsure of how to proceed, Bakugou lightly taps his chest, signalling that Kirishima could put his head there. As Kirishima complies, Bakugou laces his fingers in ruby red locks, petting him softly in the quiet room.

When Kirishima’s shaky breathing evens out and his scrunched eyes relax, Bakugou adjusts their bodies, lying together in the bed, his friend’s head on his chest. Before succumbing to his own drowsiness fueled by emotional exhaustion and interrupted hunger, he places his lips softly on his friend’s head, forgetting his rough persona for a moment of tenderness to soothe his friend.

You’re a real man, Kirishima. You’re stupid strong.

–

#bakushima #kiribaku #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou #bnha #mha #my hero academia #fanfic #bakugou x kirishima

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waywardsons-imagines · 7 years ago

Text

Flinches

“Hello! I'm a new fan but I just read all of your Sam and Dean stories and I am in love! Could you write a fic where the reader was in an abusive relationship before she met the Winchesters and Sam or Dean find out when they yell at her and she reacts badly? They can be dating or friends, which ever you feel is best! Thank you!”

A/N: From Admin Grace, welcome to the blog! We’re all very glad that you enjoy our collective writings of Sam and Dean! We love writing ‘em.

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam (No pairing this time, sorry if that's what you would've preferred!)

Warnings: Verbally abusive flashbacks, cursing, fluffish? towards the end

You must be stupid, a voice stronger than your own rang out in your thoughts.

You sat alone and silent in the back of the impala, the Winchesters both were silent, their jaws both clenched.

Every time you looked up to peek at them through your lashes, their eyes were locked on the road, only ever ahead. Your shoulders hunched and you tried your best to even make sure your breath made no sound over the rumble of the impala’s tires on the asphalt.

You stared at your knees, your breath uneasy with emotion that you struggled to rein in, but managed to.

Your uneven breaths sped up as Dean made the familiar turn off to reach the bunker, your eyes bolting between the brothers.

You didn't want to be confronted about this hunt. You didn't think you could handle them if they got angry.

You became increasingly uncomfortable as the impala parked in the garage. You became nearly lightheaded when Sam and Dean exited the car.

You flinched when the doors were closed in tandem. You gasped subtly when Dean begrudgingly held the car door open for you. You flinched once more, when your door was slammed shut.

You wanted to run to your room, but an old instinct held you in place.

He’ll be mad if he has to chase me down. He'll think I'm disrespecting him, just stay. He’ll get even madder and h--

You flinched when Dean spoke, the sound of his voice seemed to happen so suddenly after such a long silence. “Y/N, just go wash up,” he said, and you rushed off to your room without a second glance Not even looking back to recognize confusion in Dean’s gaze.

Sam went to stand beside his brother. “Do you think she's okay?”

Dean glanced at Sam, then back to the hallway Y/N had vanished down. “I dunno…” Dean muttered to himself. He nodded to his brother. “You ever notice she gets super… flinch-y…? sometimes…?”

Sam nodded. “I have noticed that… never during hunts, just--”

“With us,” Dean finished.

Sam and Dean were quiet for a long moment, faces both solemn as they both thought.

“She’ll come clean when she's ready,” Dean dismissed uneasily, grabbing his duffle from the trunk. Sam grunted his reluctant agreement, grabbing his own bag.

The hot water was refreshing, but also unpleasant. The sensations hot water brought were… memories. Unpleasant ones.

“I'm gonna jump in the shower,” became escapes. Escapes he regularly would interrupt. But being in the bathroom, the shower going, was the only place you could go where he'd mind boundaries.

But inevitably, he'd come pounding at the flimsy bathroom door.

Why the fuck is it taking you so long, huh?

Hurry the fuck up; this is why the bill is always so fucking high.

Come out, now.

Bitch, open up! If you didn't answer fast enough.

You eyes snap open and you gasp tearfully, raising a hand to your mouth to stifle sobs -- you hear it now, someone's poun--no--knocking at the door.

“Y/N, you okay in there?” His voice is rough and low, how it got when he was upset or frustrated... but concern could be heard, of course, if you weren't panicking and unable to hear it... Any concern in his tone fell on your deaf ears and you trembled as you attempted to control your voice.

“Ye-yeah-ha!” You rolled your lips inside your mouth, biting down, wishing you hadn't spoke at all. Your chin was quivering.

Get. A. Grip--

“Y/N?”

“I'll be right out!” You managed, sounding uncharacteristically cheery and upbeat.

Dean was silent for a long minute… you almost thought he left. But he finally grunted a quiet, “Okay”, and left.

You sunk down and sat on the shower floor, curling your knees to your body.

Get a grip. You're okay. They'd never hurt you. They'd never. They care for you.

These thoughts seem like they would help, but they did nothing to stop the tremor in your legs, the unsteadiness of your hands and heartbeat.

You tried to get up in the shower, but couldn't. You had to sit back down and try to regain composure.

Why were you so scared of facing them? Why were you so scared of getting out of the shower?

“Y/N? Get out of the shower, babe.”

“I'll be out in a minute.”

“You said that a minute ago.”

You tried to refrain from rolling your eyes, but it was so much harder to when he couldn't see you. Typically, you'd never roll your eyes... He hated it when you did that, especially to him. You had bruises to prove it...

“Just give me a minute, okay?”

There was a tense silence on the other side of the door. You flinched when he tried turning the locked knob.

“Stop fucking stalling, Y/N.”

“Oh-okay…!”

He left with a swift kick to the wall beside the door.

You began gnawing on your lip as you finished showering. You were scared.

When you finally left the bathroom, you followed the hall to the living room and quietly stared at the back of his head, trying to gauge his mood.

He was just sitting on the couch, watching tv. He turned his head and saw you. He beaconed you over, his face void of hardly any emotion.

Timidly, you walked over to sit next to him on the couch. He put his arm over and around your shoulders, the feeling making you even more tense, if possible.

When he made no other movement, you tentatively relaxed into his side, placing your head against his neck.

“Hi,” he greeted quietly.

Sighing a breath of relief, you passed it off as a content sigh. “Hi,” you responded, wrapping an arm around his abdomen. “What are we watching?”

He was silent.

“Babe?” You inquired, lifting your head slightly to look at him.

His jaw was clenched, and his eyes glued to the tv.

Shit.

“Babe, what's wrong?”

He glared down at you, and you felt instincts trigger - instincts you'd given up since hunting with your dad.

You drew yourself away from him and asked again, “What's wrong?”

He answered immediately now. “Are you fucking cheating on me?”

Your breathing stopped. Shit, not this again… Once he would get started on the “cheating” thing, it wouldn't die down for weeks…

“I would neve--”

“Yeah, you would. Don't try to fucking tell me you wouldn't--fuck you!” He stood from his place on the couch and paced in front of the tv.

“Wha--why would you think I'm cheating on you??” You begged. “I haven't even left the house in wee--”

“Shut the hell up! Okay? Just shut up. You ‘not leaving the house’ doesn't mean you're not or you can't be cheating on me!”

You looked helplessly up at him. “Please, I haven't done anyth--”

Smack!

You yelped, holding your cheek as firmly as you possibly could, the flesh seemingly throbbing in your palm.

“What's with the long showers, huh? Thinking about whoever else? Huh?!”

You started shaking and sobbing quietly (he didn't like when you cried loudly. Then the neighbors could hear).

“Answer me!” He roared.

You flinched.

That's all you could do in your defense.

Flinch.

Just. Get out of the shower.

They're not him.

You stood. You dried yourself off. You clothed yourself.

You walked to the library where both brothers sat waiting.

You pulled together fairly well. You didn't look like you had just been crying in a bathroom.

“Hey there,” Sam greeted softly, yet there was still a twinge of… something in his tone.

“Hey,” you responded quietly as you sat across from them.

“So…” Sam tried to start, only to be interrupted by Dean.

“What the hell were you thinking.” You winced. “What the hell! Were you thinking!” You flinched.

Sam seemed to notice this more than Dean. “Dean, calm dow--”

“No!” Dean rounded on Sam, as he stood up. “She coulda died out there today, Sammy!”

He rounded on you, his face contorted in a way you were familiar with, but not with Dean… him. Dean’s eyes, to you, suddenly became blank and un-understanding, the color changing to his… when he opened his mouth, you didn't see Dean anymore. “I need to know why!”

You flinched with a sharp yelp from his harsh outburst, and were reduced to startled sobs before either man could even blink.

That sobered the both of them right the fuck up.

Sam was up within a split second, rebuking Dean as he shoved him aside to get to you within the next second.

The contact scared you, despite knowing better. You flinched and Sam’s hands left you immediately.

Looking down at you made Dean’s heart feel heavy and his stomach clench oddly. He didn't mean for you to… to break down like this.

In fact, thinking on it, it seemed entirely out of character for you. Of course, you were human and had your off days or weeks… but never like this, and certainly never in front of them.

This didn't feel right, and Sam must've felt the same, because within the seconds after his large hands left your shoulders, he looked up to Dean in confusion.

With a long shared glance and a subtle, helpless shrug, Dean conveyed his thoughts. Sam looked helplessly back down at the pitiful woman sobbing in one of their library’s chairs.

“Y/N…” Sam tried, kneeling back down. “Y/N, what's going on?”

You hid your face in your hands further and shook your head.

Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder and motioned him to get out of the way.

Dean crouched before the chair and took your face in his hands. His face was all pinched up as he brushed tears from your cheeks. “I shouldn't of yelled,” he mumbled.

You accepted these words… you knew they were his form of apology.

You nodded and gently nudged his hands away from you. Dean stood up and back with Sam a good few feet away.

Sam, however, didn't look away from you. You made quick and accidental eye contact, then looked towards the ground again.

“You usually don't crack like this, Y/N,” Sam said. “Are you doing alright?”

You couldn't bring yourself to lie again. You weren't alright. You shook your head hesitantly, but it felt liberating to answer that question truthfully.

No fake “I'm fine”s, and brushing it off with a heavy heart. Shaking your head no felt so breathtakingly amazing, that you teared up again, in relief.

The brothers stayed still, staring down at you as you shakily wiped tears from your face.

“I don't like being yelled at,” you tried to hedge.

“I'm sure I've yelled at you before, kid,” Dean offered lamely, his smile uncomfortable and awkward.

You opened your mouth to answer, only to close it again, laughing mirthlessly.

“You usually don't crack like this, Y/N,” Sam repeated, moving a seat for himself to sit upon in front of you. He leaned his elbows on his knees and gently took one of your unsteady hands in his.

“We're here for you,” he said, boring those understanding, hazel puppy-dog eyes into your own. His brows were drawn up in that way that got people to open up about their deceased family members and their “unbelievable monster stories”.

You spotted his move, but you didn't have the energy to try to avoid this anymore.

“I killed a man last year,” you muttered, tearing up as Sam’s eyes continued to bore into your own.

“Yeah, we remember,” Dean said gruffly, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning on the side of the table. “Whole reason we took you in.”

“I killed a man.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered briefly to the ceiling as he pursed his lips in his sarcastic way. “We assumed as much…”

You stared up at Dean helplessly. “He wasn't affected by anything… supernatural… at all…”

That changed it. Dean glanced down to Sam in disbelief, and vice versa.

“What do you mean?” Sam tried now, as he turned back to you.

“I-it was an accident…” you stammered, subtly trying to tug your hand from Sam’s. He held on.

“I--...It--...” you started feeling claustrophobic and smothered just from his hand. Your breathing became laboured as you pushed the seat you were sitting in away from him by kicking your heels into the cement floor of the library, wrenching your wrist from Sam simultaneously. “Let--!”

Sam’s arm twists slightly, so he let go, his face conveying to you confusion and even hurt.

“Don't tOUCH me!” You barked, your expression dangerous. It felt late, though. Belated. A delayed reaction.

Sam held his hands out in a placating gesture, apologizing immediately.

Sam and Dean shared a quick, heavy glance as you looked down to your lap in distress.

What the hell was wrong with you?

“Y/N… what happened?”

He wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary. We were together for three years. He just would hit me if I was speaking over him sometimes.

It wasn't too much of an issue. My dad did it; my mom, too.

He was a jealous guy. In all sense of the word.

Anyone who harassed or spoke to me - he'd be all over them… either verbally or physically; depending on how drunk he was, I guess.

I didn't have it that bad.

Bruises, scrapes, hickies - anything, really, faded with time.

But that night - that night was especially bad.

He'd have phases where he was certain I was cheating on him. It was always ridiculous… I never left the house, I hardly talked to neighbors, and he never liked me having a phone, so I just canceled any service I had at the time… I forgot.

But… but that night was the worst he got, I think. I didn't even see him grab the knife…

The literal second I realized he'd grabbed it… it was only because I had managed to turn it on him… I only realized because everything blurred… and the next second it was jutting out of his chest.

His eyes were wide open. His mouth was wide open. He staggered back. He hit the kitchen island, I think. He looked from me, to the knife. He looked up again, but that time he looked angry.

… then he keeled over and was fucking dead, and I left. Everything.

“Then I came to you two.”

You refused to look up.

They'd say how he was justified in his anger… They'd say how you probably deserved what he did… They'd say--

“Well, you saved us the trouble of tracking this fucking scum-fuck to kill him ourselves,” Dean said, his voice low and dangerous.

You looked up in shock.

Sam was standing now, half facing away from you, his jaw tight and his shoulders tense as his arms were crossed over his chest, his hand resting against his mouth. Dean was in his same spot he had been, but his arms seemed tucked tighter against his chest, his jaw working like he was chewing cud.

Sam uttered something into his hand, making it unclear to both you and Dean.

Dean asked him to speak up.

“That's why the flinches,” Sam murmured after lowering his hand.

Your brows furrowed and you could feel your shoulders hunch, making you feel smaller.

“You flinch around both me and Dean,” Sam added. He turned slightly to gaze at his brother over his shoulder. “Now we know why, Dean.” Dean remained still and silent besides nodding twice.

The brothers were both still and silent, now, making you even more uncomfortable and helpless. You wanted to leave. You needed to leave.

You stood quickly, but Sam’s hand swung quickly so that it was extended, motioning for you to stop.

You flinched as the appendage swung towards you. Sam froze and snatched back his hand just as quickly as he had extended it.

“I'm so sorry…” he murmured, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. “Look… Y/N… you shoulda told us… there are so many things that we've picked up on you… minding. All of that could have been avoided…”

You just shook your head. You were about to speak, but Dean gently intervened. “We’re not saying the flinches are bad, Y/N. We're saying that you need to be one hundred percent vocal with what you can't handle us doing.”

“I don--I'm not asking for you guys to--”

“--Y/N,” Dean gently intervened again. “Just promise us that, okay?” Sam nodded eagerly in agreeance.

You stared at the two of them for a long moment.

You loved them.

You teared up, your chin bunching up as you tried to avoid crying. “I promise.”

#Admin Grace #No Pairing #Previous Abusive Relationship #Sam and Dean #Reader #Unnamed Asshole #Unnamed *Dead Asshole #SPN #SPN Family #Anonymous Request #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester

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