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pi-cat000 · 3 years

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BNHA: Kakashi dimension hops crossover (5)

Summary: Kakashi gets dumbed into the My Hero Academia universe through random plot devise.

Characters: Kakashi Hatake

Fandoms: My Hero Academia and Naruto

WARNINGS: Mentions of violence/injury

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Ms Iroi always tries to engage him in conversation whenever she comes in, asking questions and chatting to herself in a fruitless attempt at helping him recover his 'lost' memories. Most of the time, Kakashi is indifferent to her presence and always has a magazine handy as an excuse not to talk.

Today, Iroi is in a particularly good mood, humming to herself, greeting him with an energetic, “How are you doing today!”

Kakashi grunts a noncommittal response which doesn’t do much to discourage the woman’s good mood as she runs through a check-up routine.

“You should try watching U.A’s sports festival tomorrow. I hear it’s going to be particularly spectacular this year,” she says as she pulls the blinds on Kakashi's window, blocking out the distant city lights.

U.A? he recognises the name. Kakashi glances up over the pages of HERO!! MONTHLY BREAKDOWN. It is the third time he has read this issue.

“You know, since you like reading those hero magazines, I figured you would be interested in watching the ‘next generation of heroes’ debut,” she continues, noting his attention, “U.A always puts on a good show.”

Kakashi frowns. The problem with his amnesia cover story is that he is still trying to figure out what he can get away with not remembering. So far the doctor’s seem content to chalk up the disappearance of his long term memories to a ‘quirk’ accident but were always more concerned when he failed to recall basic factual information. Something to do with different parts of the brain being responsible for different types of information.

“Watch how?” He settles on asking. U.A. was supposed to be a hero-training academy so whatever this ‘sports festival’ was was worth checking out.

“Oh,” Iori pauses to think, “I, ah, think channel 2 with be covering it?” she hesitates, “You know what. I’ll look it up and let you know later. Sorry, I can’t carry my phone around with me while on shift.”

“Thank you.” He smiles and makes a show of returning to his magazine to dissuade further conversation.

Later the same evening, just before the end of the evening shift, Iori pokes her head into his room again. She is out of uniform, long hair untired, waving to catch his attention.

“The coverage is on channel 2 and starts at 11am,” She holds up her portable communication devise like it means something. It probably did mean something. The frequency by which people checked them suggested it had a function beyond basic communication. He has held off attempting to steal one because, unlike pens, people would notice and care if one went missing.

“Have fun watching! Oh… also, I forgot to ask…”

Kakashi raises a brow.

“I have a bunch of old gossip magazines. Mum used to read them all the time and there are a few hero-themed ones in the mix. I can bring them in if you want more stuff to read.”

“If you want.” Iori must have noticed him re-reading the magazines.

"I'll bring them on Friday!"

Iori had been unsubtly hinting that Kakashi might have had a history in heroics. It definitely wasn’t because reading information on a page just made sense when compared to the barrage of conflicting reports the television gave him. A few weeks with only the television as his information source has him writing off most of its information as useless or propaganda.

…

...

“HEELLLOOOOO, LISTENERS!”

Kakashi stares dully as the video footage, which had been giving him a bird’s eye view of a positively massive stadium, changes to a sweeping shot of what must be thousands of people crammed into seats. It almost makes him claustrophobic just watching it.

“WELLCOME TO OUR ANNUAL U.A. SPORTS FESTIVAL! THE HIGH SCHOOL ADOLESCENT RODEO YOU ALL LOVE TO WATCH. CAN A GET A ‘OH YEAH!’”

As if of one mind, thousands of people leap to their feet screaming. The camera angle changes again to show a grinning blond-haired man, seated at a desk and pointing enthusiastically at the camera. All these shot changes are going to give him a headache. Kakashi is already having reservations watching this and its only10 minutes.

“Thank you! You’re an AMAZING audience!”

It almost reminds him of the final Chunin Exam stages -if the Chunin exams had had three times the audience - which always involved some sort of combat display. There hadn’t been any public Chunin Exams recently for reasons such as a large portion of Konoha being flattened by Pein.

“FIRST UP ARE OUR FIRST-YEAR EVENTS! And what an exciting round of events they are, perfect for debuting our newest students! Give us a shout so they can feel your support!”

Another loud shot as thousands of people yelled in unison.

“Come on! Louder than that! These are your future Heroes I’m talking about! SHOW THEM SOME LOVE!”

More yelling. Kakashi turns down the volume.

“But! Wait just a minute!! We're not only here for our Hero students! As I'm sure you all know, behind every great hero is a hardworking support team! GIVE IT UP FOR our Support, Management and General departments who are also competing for a chance to face off in the finals!”

Kakashi sighs. He is getting the sense that this might be more for entertainment than utility purposes, conforming to the general trend of Hero-related stuff being flashy. Different from the Chunin exam which had deadly consequences if not taken seriously.

“Hey. Hey! HERE THEY COME NOW! OUR STUDENTS PARTICIPATING IN THE FIRST YEAR STAGE!”

What follows is an overly dramatized race where the only thing of interest to him are the obstacle types, including robots, - mobile mechanical weapons of some sort that produced a lot of environmental damage but were taken down fairly easily- and explosive devices that acted a lot like explosive tags. Then there was a team elimination round and one-on-one tournament fights after which the coverage shifts to the second year and third year stages.

He uncovers the sharingun only to discover that, while its memorisation function worked fine, the part that translated the movements into muscle memory felt off. Perhaps, the replication and copying component of the eye didn’t work when viewing a technique through a screen rather than in person. Interesting. As there wasn't anything particularly impressive technique-wise during the events he counts the new information as a net gain.

The student-heroes – he is not sure if there is an official term for a hero in training – barely match Konoha’s academy standard in their taijutsu and physical conditioning though there was marked improvement between first, second and third-year groups. These students were what...between 14-18 years old...and yet most had the skill level of an academy students and fresh genuin with only a few notable exceptions?

Sure, there were - honestly ridiculous- versatile and powerful bloodline abilities being thrown around like nothing, but ninjutsu techniques only took a shinobi so far without a strong base to work from. He shakes his head, reminding himself that these kids - because what else did you call combatants who hadn’t graduated yet- weren’t shinobi in training and would be policing civilians and engaging ‘Villains’ of similar skill levels. It was obvious that the students favoured non-lethal takedown methods and put little to no thought into stealth and misdirection during fights.

Different words…different priorities.

As Kakashi has yet to see any evidence that the country, Japan, was at war with another he thinks the skill level displayed might be serviceable. There were also no major conflicts between the country’s large cities over farmland, water sources and the like. Obviously, this place had sorted out the resource and distribution issues usually encountered when supporting such large populations. Or, who knows, maybe everything on the television was a carefully constructed lie to lull people into complacency.

Now he has seen an example of hero-students, he better understands the low combat ability demonstrated by the police. It also gives incite into the blurry recordings of Hero/Villain confrontations which played on repeat across the various ‘news’ reports. They all tended to hover around Chunin or maybe Special Jounin in terms of skill. He knows generalisations are dangerous so, until he saw the combat in person, he would exercise his usual level of caution. There were bound to be outliers after all-the impressive brute strength of the number one hero comes to mind- and there was no telling what advantages a bloodline ability might provide. Absently, he makes testing the susceptibly of people without chakra to genjustu as something to figure out sooner rather than later.

He sighs. This is why he hated the television. Whenever he watched it, he came away increasingly confused, with more questions than he had answers. Not to mention anything useful being constantly interrupted with information detailing one of the many products that he could apparently buy here. It irritated him to no end.

...

The chakra collecting seal is ready before the week is out. Mostly ready...it was ready enough.

Kakashi returns to the roof. Sitting cross-legged, back against the stairway entrance, he works his way through the 100 or so pens, cracking them open and tapping out ink into a large bowl, stolen -like the pens -from hospital staff.

The mix of black, blue and red ink is gluggy, forcing him to add water to thin the solution out. Once satisfied he pulls out an appropriated scalpel – one of a growing collection hidden alongside his pens because having a stash of weapons is never a bad thing- pricking his middle finger, watching the blood drip and curdle with the mixture. The blood would be absorbed into the ink, allowing it to conduct chakra. He mixes everything with pair of disposable chopsticks, taking care not to spill it on the ground or stain his hands.

The whole process reminds him of other insistences where he had improvised fuinjutsu ink in the field. The last time being during his final Anbu missions where he had created a body storage scroll from scratch after unexpectedly losing a squad mate on what should have been a simple intel retrieval mission. Not a particularly fond memory but a memory he was stuck with.

Since his demotion to Jonin-sensei there had been fewer of those sorts of missions. Not that being a Jonin-sensei had been easy – considering all his students had gone off to find other teachers he didn't even think he had been particularly good at it - bringing with it its own special brand of stress, culminating in a stint as Hokage, a fourth war and him stuck here. He is pretty sure his experiences aren't universal. Team 7 was just cursed to fail in increasingly spectacular ways.

He lets out a heavy sigh, leaving his airways open to a sudden gust of cold wind which carries the scent of cleaning chemicals from the hospital and oil from the road straight up his nose. He exhales forcefully and mentally bumps finding a face mask up his list of priorities. It would be good for hiding his features and dulling the artificial smells of a city housing over a million people.

The sound of wind whistling around the building almost blocks out the echo of feet in the stairway, approaching his location. In one smooth motion, Kakashi stands pushing the remaining broken pen back into the vent, nudging the cover back in place with his foot. Carefully he holds the bowl of ink in his injured arm and a scalpel in the other. Kakashi steps back against the entrance so the outward opening door would hide him from whoever came out.

A crying kid comes barrelling through the door.

Well, not completely crying, more like sniffing loudly, eyes all shiny. He even recognises the kid from the U.A combat demonstration, as improbable as that was. It is the first year hero student with the speed-enhancing ability which, seeing him up close, probably had something to do with the strange growths coming out of his caff muscles. High speed movement put enormous strain on the body so he could reasonably conclude that the kid was physically resilient to acceleration stress and similar forces. Not resilient to stabbing though....

Kakashi forces himself to relax, his scalpel lowering ever so slightly. Lucky he had heard the kid coming or he might have accidentally hurt him. A few weeks of reduced sleep coupled with a lot of time to ruminate on past missions and failures has put him on edge. This was exactly why he disliked taking extended breaks.

Maybe, Kakashi should start relocking the stairway if he was planning to make regular trips up here because the young male probably hadn’t had the roof in mind as a destination. Kakashi knows from experience that, unless you were injured or a member of staff, there were few good reasons to wander around a hospital at odd hours.

With the hero-student distracted sniffling into his arm, Kakashi slips around the door and back down the stairs. He hadn’t planned on applying the seal on the roof anyway. Too exposed to the elements and the concrete was too rough for the delicate line work.

He continues mixing while he walks, having mentally mapped the hospital well enough to know which hallways to use and which to avoid. There is a surgeon with some sort of heat-sensing vision who works late most nights that he must be careful around and a nurse with a weak proximity based empathic ability working in paediatrics. Both obstacles force him to take a meandering detour on his way to the ground floor and the larger shower blocks which housed cubicles the size of small rooms. Enough smooth floorspace for the expanded seal design and easy to clean afterwards. He supposes he is lucky, some complicated fuinjutsu required several meters worth of floor space. The containment on Saskue’s cursed seal comes to mind and he is glad that this seal is infinity smaller.

Not one to waste time knowing that nurses and patients regularly used the space even this late in the evening, he immediately slips into a cubicle upon arrival. Flopping onto the floor he pulls out the paintbrush he had had scour the hospital for and eventually to steal from the children’s ward. Carefully, he begins the slow process of application.

…

The final seal design is circular, about the size of his splayed hand, positioned on his uninjured shoulder just above where his Anbu seal had previously sat. The sleepwear provided by the hospital had sleeves that extend just past his bicep. It hid the design, for the most part. The final visible seal is a bit bigger than he had predicted or planned for. If this were a proper infiltration mission, where blowing his cover came at the price of death, he would be in big trouble. If this were a proper mission, he would have waited before applying this. An unnecessary risk. He itches the back of his head, turning from where he is craning his neck to see the seal, gathering up his supplies to be thrown in one of the hospital’s many rubbish bins. Kakashi lets out a breath. Maybe, this whole ‘trapped in a different world’ thing is affecting him more than he was willing to admit and making him sloppy.

He pulls down the sleeve so it mostly hides the design. Not like the doctors here would recognise the significance of fuinjutsu, he reminds himself, even if their questions would be annoying to deflect.

He pumps chakra into the seal and a jolt akin to lightning runs down his limb. It activates without issue and Kakashi grimaces as his chakra is slowly drained and collected. The rate of the drain is pathetically slow. Three years too slow. But, between this and his sharingan - which was always active and draining chakra- he can’t risk making it quicker. Despite the relatively low-level threats around him, Kakashi is, first and foremost, a Jonin in an unknown territory who is already taking risks simply making and applying the seal. He can’t afford to impair himself with poor chakra management on top of everything else.

Kakashi pops his head out of the cubical, scanning the shower block. Nothing of note has changed and he darts out, intent on returning to his room. He is tired and it would be a long, tiresome week as his body adjusted to the strain as well.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #naruto #CrossOver #dimension travel AU #hatake kakashi #kakashi headcanons #cultural shock #Iida makes a breif cameo #fanfiction #my hero academia #plot continues to move at a glacial pace

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quinncupine · 3 years

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Taken Chapter Seven: Home (not so) Sweet Home

Chapter Word Count: 4,691

Link: A03

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya x Reader

Previous Chapter: Six

Next Chapter: Eight

MASTERLIST

...

The warehouse was dark and the windows were boarded up. It was abandoned a few years prior after an explosion killed three workers. The company would've lost more money rebuilding and no one wanted to deal with the fallout so they cut their losses and abandoned the place. This wasn't the best part of town anyway, many of the other buildings were in various states of disrepair. Most people kept to themselves or turned the other way when something bad happened, the perfect place to commit a crime. The two main doors were cracked open slightly, creaking in the breeze. It was strange to be sneaking around in the middle of the day, but here he was, slipping through into the darkness of the depot.

He quieted his breath as he listened for any sounds. It was amazing that no light peeked through anywhere, it must have gone through some heavy repairs. Behind him, a metal barricade slammed down over the doors, effectively sealing him in. A faint buzz echoed above, growing louder as a giant light slowly flickered on. He squinted as he looked up at it, it was like looking into the sun, and when he looked around, he realized it was supposed to resemble the sun.

The entire interior had been redone to look like a lot with a house and yard, but not just any house... his house. Your house. It looked so similar, he wasn’t sure if Tatsuya didn’t just take his house and figure out a way to transport it here. He would have been impressed if he wasn’t so disturbed.

In the driveway sat Tatsuya’s car, he'd memorized the license plate number. Tatsuya was here just like he said he’d be, which meant that you were most likely somewhere inside. The only question now was what kind of trap he had set.

As Deku neared, he noticed the smaller details; the little luminaries and cranes that you had placed around the koi pond. The stone steps leading up to the door that even had both your handprints from when you had set them all those years ago. Even the misshapen bust of a kappa, when you thought sculpting was your thing (it was not), that you proudly displayed like a trophy on the porch. Everything just got creepier the more he stared at them.

Slowly he picked his way up to the door, mindful of any traps, he had to play this one safe. The door was unlocked and he couldn’t help but feel that same sense of trepidation he had felt the first time he had done this exact same thing. With slow movements, he pushed open the door, ready for anything.

No one was in the entryway, if that was a good or bad sign, he couldn’t tell. As quietly as he could, he tip-toed into the living room, taking in every detail. It was scarily accurate, from the furniture right down to the small hole in the wall that Izuku had sneakily tried to cover with a picture frame after he was practicing one of his newer quirks in the house. You’d banned quirk usage in the house after that mishap.

If the entire house was this detailed, then that meant he’d snuck into your home, on more than one occasion. How long had he been obsessed? This amount of detail would equate to months of dedicated, time-consuming work.

He passed the entertainment center and froze, the picture frame that held one of his favorite moments with you, on one of your disguise dates as you called them, was there, well sort of. It was the same picture but instead of Izuku’s face, Tatsuya had photoshopped his own face in. He glanced at all the other pictures in the room, they all had received the same treatment. Now that was just all sorts of wrong.

The house was so quiet and for a moment, he feared that this was the trick all along, distracting him here while he had yet another chance to get away with you. That was not going to happen a third time, he swore his life on it.

He crept into the kitchen. On the counter was the same Kappa stuffed animal that he’d left there, well at the original house, yesterday as a gift for you. Next to it were two glasses filled with a dark liquid, he assumed was some sort of liquor.

“Deku!” Tatsuya beamed as he stepped into the room on the opposite side. “You’re early!” He sounded genuinely happy to see him.

Deku froze as Tatsuya casually strolled into the room as if everything was right with the world. The first thing he felt was absolute hatred for this man, there was nothing he despised more in the world at that moment than Tatsuya. The second thing was shock. Tatsuya had dyed his hair green, the same shade of green as Deku's. He was even wearing what looked to be a homemade version of Deku's costume.

“Tatsuya,” Deku had to suppress every cell in his body screaming at him to smash this guy's face in. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Oh, she’s resting at the moment.” He waved the question off. “Come, have a drink with me.”

Deku didn’t move. He could easily take him out now and search the house for you. But there was no guarantee that you were even here or that he didn’t have a failsafe plan in case Deku did try to attack. Too many variables to account for, better to play it out and wait for the extraction team. He had to keep him busy, distracted.

“Come.” Tatsuya patted the counter with his good hand as he hopped on one of the bar stools.

One wrist was wrapped up tightly and he kept it close to his chest. His nose looked almost crooked and very bruised, the darkness spreading underneath his eyes. For a moment, he wondered if Kagome did that or if that was your work. He hoped it was you.

“Now.” Tatsuya's voice was layered with ice.

Deku stood rigid, analyzing the situation. If he could get this guy to talk, tell you where you were, then he could act. That was the safest bet at the moment. He slowly sat on the stool and took the glass that Tatsuya handed him. It was quite a strange feeling to sit in his house that wasn’t actually his house. It felt so cruel to attempt playing nice and he had to mentally tell himself not to squeeze the glass too tight, not to glare murderously at this man, not to strike him down with the vengeance of a thousand All Might's. But he was unstable, unstable meant unpredictable and he couldn’t have unpredictable.

“You have no idea how happy I am.” Tatsuya said after he took a sip of his drink. “Everything is finally in place.”

Deku remained silent, not trusting his tongue.

“Everything is finally perfect, well, almost.” He grinned at Deku. “Did I ever tell you how I met Y/N?”

He wasn’t seriously trying to tell stories was he? Deku glanced around the room, looking for any telltale signs that you were here, but found none. He needed a game plan but it was so hard to come up with one when all he could think of was the horrible things you were going through. Maybe they were right, maybe he was too close to this case, but that didn’t mean he was leaving it to someone else.

“There I was, a simple programmer,” he began. “On the ground with a broken arm if you can believe it. It wasn’t even a tall ladder, one of those three-step ones!” He laughed. “I went to the nearest hospital which happened to be the one Y/N worked at.”

Tatsuya set his glass down, leaning his elbows behind him on the counter, careful to avoid touching his wrist. Deku was sitting straight, his hands angled for a quick defense if he needed it, but Tatsuya only continued on with his story.

“She was so kind and so beautiful, I just couldn’t take my eyes off her. There was just something special about her, something amazing. Come to find out that she didn’t even have a quirk, yet there she was, still finding ways to help people, just like a real hero. Naturally, I needed to see her again.” He looked into Deku's eyes with a calmness that held back a tidal wave of insanity. “Do you know what I did?”

Deku knew exactly what he did, he’d seen the hospital records.

“I broke my finger,” He winked at Deku. “You know how that goes, right Deku? It wasn’t enough though, I had to keep coming back, to hear her voice. “

Hearing the story from him only grew more twisted as the images rolled around in his mind. Did he even care if he broke his limbs or did he feel nothing at all?

“Have you ever been in love?” He sighed. “It was love at first sight, I knew I needed her and that she needed me. I had to find a way to have her.”

Have her. It wasn’t love, more like a demented idea of possession.

“She was so beautiful but I just couldn’t get it right.” He frowned and picked up a spoon. Deku tensed, ready to attack but Tatsuya simply tapped his glass with it. The chime that echoed off it seemed to swirl around them until the air turned hazy as if it wasn’t sure what to do and then you appeared in front of them in your scrubs, smiling without a care in the world.

“Y/N!” Deku leaped off his chair, reaching out to pull you close, but as soon as his hand touched yours, your image wavered and disappeared.

“See, they never turn out right and they, of course, can’t talk.” He pouted. “That was the one thing I could never make them do. I wanted to hear her voice.” he stared sadly at the spot you vanished from.

Deku still had his hand outstretched, realizing it was a quirk, it wasn’t the real you. He only created an illusion of you. How exactly did his quirk work? It was created by the sharp noise, did any noise do it or just specific frequencies? Or did certain sounds and frequencies mean stronger illusions? He’d faced the illusions on the rooftop but those felt so real, he felt every punch, yet thinking back on it now, he didn’t have any bruises and he didn’t feel sore after the fight, just mentally exhausted.

The details of the quirk on the registry form were minimal at best. Figment was able to create mental images specific to a person using sound, but they shouldn’t have been physical. Could Trace alter a quirk like that? No, that couldn’t be it. Maybe the drug enhanced the quirk’s power, tricking the brain into believing the quirk was physical? Using a drug like Trace could make you seem ultra-powerful, but it has many drawbacks on the user, specifically their own health.

He was so lost in thought he almost missed when Tatsuya stood up, a smile back on his face. “But no matter, I have the real Y/N now.”

“Bring her here then.” Deku said.

“No,” He shook his head. “That’s not why I called you here. I couldn’t face her again, not without this first.”

That didn’t sound good. “Without what?”

“Your quirk.” He sounded so casual like he was asking to borrow a cup of sugar.

“My-” Deku faltered, did he know?

No, he couldn’t possibly, that was one of the most closely guarded secrets of this world. Only a handful of the people Deku trusted with his life knew this information, there was no way someone like Tatsuya could figure it out. Of course, he'd faced criticism trying to work out how all his new quirks fit into his supposed "superpower" quirk, but his mentors have helped him work that one out. Besides, at this point it was a baseless claim, better to play dumb.

“Yes, you can only willingly give it up, right?” Tatsuya shattered his hopes.

He knew.

Somehow, he had figured it out. Did someone tell him? Could it have been someone connected to All for One? All for One had gone underground again, maybe he was trying to start a second wave of rebellion? No, Deku was keeping tight tabs on anything that had to do with him, that couldn’t be it. How did this man, of all people, figure this out?

This new revelation had Deku lost so deep in thought he almost didn’t hear Tatsuya's next words.

“One for All is the name, right? Must have been terrible to be quirkless as a child. I can’t imagine, but look at you now.” He gestured to Deku. “That’s why you’re my favorite hero.”

Deku was once again at a loss for words. This guy was throwing earth-shattering bombs left and right, he had no idea how to counter. All the thoughts were crashing together in his head as he tried to think of the right thing to say. Is it too late to still play dumb?

“Once I have your power, everything will be perfect, we can live our lives happily again. Nothing can stop us.” He said proudly.

He was trying to become Deku.

“No.” He heard himself say it and it probably wasn’t the best thing to say, but he was so shocked that that was all he could muster.

“No?” Tatsuya didn’t like the taste of that word.

“No.” Deku narrowed his eyes and stood up. “I’ll give you one more chance to tell me where she is.” He was done playing games, this had to end, now.

“But...I need it.” He sounded confused, completely ignoring Deku’s demand.

“That was your last chance.” He felt the power surge through every fiber of his body, he was so tense that electricity flickered over his form.

Tatsuya watched in awe as Deku’s whole demeanor took on a new level of rage. Even some of the heroes would admit that while working with Deku was always amazing, even they were sometimes stunned by his intensity in a fight. No one dared get in his way when he was like this, they were all just glad that he was on their side.

It dawned on Tatsuya that Deku was about to hit him a second too late. He went flying across the room, crashing hard into the wall. Tatsuya slumped over, clutching his chest, gasping for air.

“What are you doing?” He cried out, looking at him in fear. “You’re supposed to be a hero!”

Deku hesitated. Why was he still trying to play innocent, after everything he’d done, this man deserved much worse. But his face was pleading with him to stand down, tears found their way into his eyes like he was genuinely disappointed in Deku. He’d never fought a villain that admired him like this, it was disconcerting, to say the least.

He tried to push that aside and walked over to him, fists held out in defense. “Stay down.”

Tatsuya leaned against the wall and sucked in a deep breath. Before Deku could react, he let out a deafening wail that could rival Present Mic. It was horrible and tinny, like a robot that met a grisly fate in a wood chipper. No one should have been able to make such an inhuman sound.

The force of the cry blew Deku’s hair back and he had to ground himself to keep upright. It felt like someone dropped little chainsaws in his ears and he squeezed his eyes shut to block the pain out. Once it died down, he looked up, but Tatsuya wasn’t there anymore. Instead, you were sitting against the wall in his place, clutching your ears, staring at Deku in fear.

“Y/N?” Deku’s voice sounded far away, a side effect of the tinnitus he was now experiencing.

His head felt strange like someone inflated it with helium and he had to concentrate to keep himself from floating away. Your form was wavering, but that might have been because of his blurry vision. It was hard to think things through clearly, all he knew was that you were in front of him, terrified, and he would do everything in his power to keep you safe.

He knelt down next to you, reaching his hand out, but behind him, a blast shook the house. It came from the foyer. He whipped around, smoke drifted through the living room and a small army of masked men stepped into the hall, all pointing their guns at the both of you.

The lead man stepped forward, holding a large grenade launcher. He took aim at Deku, but Deku was faster. He was in front of the man in a second, knocking the gun aside just as he pulled the trigger. The blast was closer than Deku was expecting and they both were knocked to the ground. Deku could barely hear anything, the ringing was so intense in his ears that he was having trouble focusing. His head felt like it was going to split open any minute. Maybe he had a concussion too? Could you get a concussion from a noise? He shook his head but it only seemed to make it worse.

The masked villains rushed him, but Deku was ready, he ducked as one tried to punch him and rolled out of the way as another attempted to tackle him. Two more rushed past him, towards where you were still crouched against the wall, rubbing the smoke from your eyes.

“No!” He screamed, jumping at them.

He landed on top of one of the runners, using his body weight to twist around and slam them into the ground. The man in a ski mask went still underneath him, bringing his attention to the second runner. He was fast. Deku summoned black whip, the dark tendril wrapped around the man's leg and pulled him back. The man slammed hard into the ground and was sent flying straight towards Deku’s fist. He went out like a light.

Just as Deku recoiled black whip and stood up, the leader had picked up the grenade launcher and fired two shots at him. He covered his face at the first blast, but the second one knocked him off his feet. He went tumbling through the kitchen and pulled up just in time to see the leader almost on top of him, ready to strike again.

Deku kicked up his leg at the last minute, using the air pressure to force his opponent back. He flew back alright, but so did the roof of the house. He had to be careful not to use too much power or he could bring the house down. Where were the others, surely they would have noticed an entire assault force entering the building.

“Y/N!” He yelled, turning back to you, but someone else had reached you first.

A woman in the same black mask everyone else was wearing, had you pinned against the wall, your hands tugged sharply behind your back while an arm dug into the base of your neck. Deku jumped to help you, but the leader with the grenade launcher was suddenly back, taking up his attention.

Deku jumped to the side to avoid another direct hit, they were strong blasts with enough heat to sizzle his skin. Two more shots on either side of him boxed him in. How was he firing off so many shots at once? He took up a defensive position as the man pummeled into him with a barrage of fists. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to know just when to counter, like he could read Deku's moves. This guy really knew how to fight. Deku needed to end this quickly.

He propelled himself straight at the leader, taking the brunt force of another attack, but he made it through and slammed into him. They both crashed through a wall, into one of the bathrooms. The toilet exploded, drenching them both but that didn’t deter either of them.

Deku grabbed the man by his arm, but the man just as quickly grabbed his own. For a moment, it looked like some strange handshake, but then the man launched another grenade blast and propelled them both through the ceiling of the house, into the yard.

Deku crashed into one of the cement cranes by the koi pond while the man splashed directly into the pond, scaring all the fish. Deku hauled himself up and looked down into the pond. Before he got a good look, the water exploded. Deku didn’t have time to dodge and a fist pounded straight into his stomach so violently that he was sent flying across the turf. That was a lot more power than Deku thought this guy had. It almost reminded him of someone else, but the ringing in his ears was making it hard to think clearly. He shook his head again and pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the protest of his ribs. He wasn’t done yet.

The man launched himself towards Deku yet again. Deku jumped, preparing to kick, but at the last second changed directory and punched him across the face. The man didn’t even seem phased, instead, he grabbed Deku’s fist and used an explosion to turn them around midair before slamming back into the ground.

Deku sucked in a breath as his back broke the concrete beneath him. Who was this guy? He fought just like-no that couldn't be right, he wasn't with the backup squad.

Deku blinked, staring at the masked man. He stopped fighting too now that Deku was pinned beneath him, but he didn’t let up on his grip.

He tried to focus, but the ringing in his ears was making it hard.

The ringing.

This was because of Tatsuya’s quirk, which meant that this guy was just an illusion. It really didn’t feel like an illusion though. He tried to escape bone-crushing grip but was slammed back into the ground, another explosion kept him in place. It sure felt real enough.

Deku glanced back at the house, the entire front porch seemed to be blasted away and some of the house was on fire, but one important detail caught his eye. How could it not, there was a giant shard of ice sticking out of the house. That was definitely Shoto, which meant his backup was here.

He summoned his power again with renewed strength, even if this thing was an illusion, he was still a problem. Deku flicked his fingers with enough power to at least loosen the man’s grip. Once he could move his arm he punched out with all his strength, shoving the man off him. Well, he was supposed to. Instead, the man had curled around his hand, pulling it back so hard that it threatened to crack.

“Stop fucking around!” A distant voice yelled over the ringing.

Deku stopped struggling long enough to look around. He didn’t see anyone, but the voice sounded familiar. The ringing was slowly going away, not quickly enough, but at least his hearing was coming back little by little. Now, he just needed to deal with this guy.

He grunted as he used his legs to entangle the man’s and used all his power to twist them around so he was on top. He didn’t waste time, hitting him with his own barrage of punches. An explosion came out of nowhere, strong enough to throw Deku off of him.

“Get it together you fucking nerd!” He only knew one person who spoke to him like that.

“Kacchan?” Deku looked around, momentarily unfocused.

The man took the advantage and punched Deku. He stumbled back, but the air was shimmering around the man. No, it couldn’t be, he wasn't supposed to be here.

“Kacchan?” Deku asked the man.

The man stopped, still in a defensive position but he didn’t seem so inclined to attack now. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Deku blinked, rubbing his eyes. The form of the man in the mask wavered like a mirage and he could sort of make out the all-too-familiar spiky hair and angry red eyes underneath. It was like two images were spliced together, extremely disorienting to look at.

He squinted. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to help dumbass!" He said. "Why the hell are you attacking everyone!"

Deku chose to look back at the house, it was far easier on his eyes than the flickering form that was Ground Zero. That was one powerful quirk; Tatsuya managed to turn him against his allies without Deku even realizing it. Who else did he accidentally take out?

"The others? Did I-" Deku was cut off.

“Get it together. If you’re done playing around, then we’ve got work to do.” Ground Zero growled out.

“I’m sorry,” Deku rubbed his eyes again, trying to get rid of the illusion, but it seemed it was only going to melt away in its own time. “Y/N! Was that her in the house?”

“I didn’t see much before you decided to attack me.” He crossed his arms. “You had the stalker bastard pinned down though.”

Deku rubbed his head. “It was him the whole time, he tricked me.”

Ground Zero rolled his eyes and took off towards the house. “If you have time to cry, you have time to fight!”

The two ran back to the house just as another icy spike destroyed another part of the house. Deku could only guess that Tatsuya had managed to turn the others on each other as well by now.

“Wait!” He stopped, grabbing Ground Zero’s arm. “If we run back in, we could turn against each other again, we need a way to counter his quirk.”

Ground Zero ripped Deku off his arm but looked at him like he was ready to listen. Deku looked around, muttering to himself. This was always the thing that irritated Ground Zero the most, even now as adults, Deku still kept the habit much to Ground Zero’s chagrin.

“Come on!” He grumbled. “I’m not going to wait all day!”

Deku stopped and finally looked at him. “Right, so his quirk uses sound to manipulate the brain. We need a way to either cancel out the sound or stop him from using it altogether.” He glanced at the half-destroyed house. “The problem with that, we need to get close enough to stop him without getting hit with his quirk again.”

“Get to the point.” Ground Zero crossed his arms.

“Do you have extra earplugs?” He asked.

Ground Zero scoffed. “Course I do, I deal with explosions all day.”

Deku nodded. “Okay, we seal our ears, but I don’t know how effective it’ll be with his power output. We need to neutralize him as quickly as possible. The other problem is our teammates. I think they might have also been hit with it as well, they might try to attack us when we go in.”

Ground Zero searched through his belt for extra earplugs. “You distract him, I’ll take him out.”

Deku nodded. “No big explosions, Y/N might be somewhere inside.”

“Yeah yeah.” He waved him off. “Hurry up, I want to kick some ass already.”

“Okay, here’s the plan-”

A shriek came from the house, one that was distinctly a woman's.

Deku didn't even wait for the earplugs or to explain his plan. He jumped into the air, heading for the house as fast as his quirk would let him. He was sure this time.

That was your scream.

Tag List! @awilddreamerwrites @hmm-cats @thecindy @miriobaby @sailorstupidsblog @kehlaniwwe

...

Chapter 8

If you wanna be tagged, let me know! Thank you!🤍

#midoriya izuku x reader #Deku #Pro Hero Deku #Izuku x reader #Deku x reader #bnha #mha #midoriya izuku #katsuki bakugo #pro hero bakugo #kidnapping #reader insert #izuku x y/n #Deku is having a bad day #fighting #violence

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cybernaght · 3 years

Text

Guardian rewatch: Episode 9

This episode starts with Zhao Yunlan being a bloody good boss. I’ll talk about how the opinions of others must have affected this man’s perception of himself a little later on, but in this scene it is important to note that Zhao Yunlan is supportive, caring and loyal. Wang Zheng comes to him in tears, asking for permission to leave and see the home she had just remembered, and he not only supports her verbally, but drags his entire team on the trip with her the very next day. Sure, he has are ulterior motives, as he strongly suspects one of the Hallows must be around the same area, but I maintain that Zhao Yunlan would have insisted on going with Wang Zheng regardless.

There are complications to this trip; namely, Wang Zheng is a ghost energy being and can neither be in sunlight, nor leave the SID really. Thus, the plan to take her on the trip includes buying a doll. The implication is that Wang Zheng can be somehow placed inside it, and thus be able to move, but the details of how this is done are actually curiously hazy. I’m not sure if censorship is the reason for muddled writing, but there really is very little explanation for the ghost in a doll situation.

Guo Changcheng is tasked with securing a makeshift body for Wang Zheng, and the boy, eager to act fast, and without much to work with in terms of instructions, ends up buying this.

We can only thank the Universe for the role of Wang Zheng not being played by a blow-up doll for three episodes straight.

Zhao Yunlan instantly realises that being places inside this thing might be a little bit upsetting for his subordinate, and lashes out at Guo Changcheng with an excellent “Is the thing above your neck a urinal?” This snaps Zhu Hong out of her mirth, too; she rushes to her friend’s side to offer emotional support, and will remain there for the entire episode.

I love this blocking, in which Zhu Hong is the only one who feels comfortable approaching Wang Zheng in a situation where she is seemingly being mocked by her male colleagues, as Zhao Yunlan and Guo Changcheng look on, unable to offer a meaningful apology.

The evening prior to this Shen Wei is musing over ancient map of the region. His costume is arranged deliberately so you can see the Pendant of Pining hanging around his neck.

I am really wondering when this was shot, because it looks very out of place. The costume differs from Shen Wei’s usual attire, including chinos and an uncharacteristically ill fitting shirt. His hair looks so wrong I am wondering if this is styling, or a different haircut entirely. And, since we’re on this train of thought, his eye colour is so off I genuinely spent quite a bit of time examining the shots in order to figure out whether he’s wearing contacts. I don’t think he is, by the way, but the colour grading makes his warm syrupy-brown irises look almost olive green.

During the scene it is revealed Shen Wei’s only worry in regards to leaving the city and rushing into what could be trouble is a possibility of Zhao Yunlan encountering danger in his absence. It is easy to see that Shen Wei here firmly associates his own worth with his work as Hei Pao Shi, and his own needs with Yunlan being safe and sound. You could trace this thought process back to the mountainside conversation ten thousand years ago, and to years of loneliness and isolation that followed. While, frankly, equating self-worth with comfort of other it’s not necessarily so unusual, and neither is equating it with one’s work, Shen Wei’s disregard for his own life is still horribly upsetting.

The morning after, Zhao Yunlan with his team and Shen Wei with his students move out of Dragon City. Destination - North-west. I have to ask though, why is Shen Wei taking his students with him? I get that it’s a cover but also: he can totally just teleport where he needs to and do his stuff as Envoy, can he not? It’s fast, efficient, and can all be done during the night without arousing any suspicious.

As it happens, Shen Wei goes by car, which breaks, and causes him to instantly cross paths with Zhao Yunlan. What I like about this meeting is that we see it from an outsider perspective, as we drive into the scene with Lin Jing, Chu Shuzhi and Guo Changcheng.

“Is that Professor Shen? This must be their destiny. They keep meeting each other wherever they go.”

Zhao Yunlan confesses that he feels like Shen Wei bugged him and pops up everywhere he goes; Shen Wei counters by saying that in this case Zhao Yunlan who followed him. Zhao Yunlan can just laugh awkwardly. It’s kind of adorable how the two men just basically admit that they’re stalking each other, and are both kind of okay with that. Shen Wei then introduces the other man to his students as his good friend.

Zhao Yunlan, having already figured out that he is not likely to get any answers from Shem Wei, goes on a charm offensive with his students. I think this is the first time Shen Wei sees Zhao Yunlan using his jovial manipulation on others, and he is not particularly happy about what he is witnessing. Below are the series of facial expressions he wears every time it happens throughout the episode.

The way I read it, this could equally be jealousy, or the daunting - and incorrect - realisation that Zhao Yunlan is being like this with everything that moves. He could be even beating himself up for falling for this man’s charm now that he sees that Zhao Yunlan using the same wide smile as a tool to placate, gain trust and access information. In his mind, this is a further confirmation that he is not in any way special in Zhao Yunlan’s eyes. Again, Shen Wei’s supposition cannot be further from the truth. But you could imagine how he may have come to make to this conclusion.

In this particular case, Zhao Yunlan uses his charm to get some information out of Jiajia, and ends up hearing the direction of their expedition.

Shen Wei nervously adjusts glasses in the shot which is not even his close-up. It’s lovely, seeing how good of an actor Zhu Yilong is. Good actors don’t need to be directed to to most of the little things their characters would do, and don’t have to be told what their character quirks are.

Shen Wei very politely shuts Jiajia up when she starts talking about the earthquake, asking her to get out of the sun, despite this not being a hot day.

“Chief Zhao, you are really good at making people talk.”

As he is making this observation, he is offering Zhao Yunlan his water, because the man mentioned that he may be thirsty, and hydration is important. Should I once again be obsessing over how their fingers are touching here? Perhaps not. I am, once more, doing it anyway.

During the conversation that ensues here, Shen Wei reminds Zhao Yunlan that he was asked not to leave the city, and makes one more attempt at forcing them to part ways after the car fixing is done. Chief Zhao is having none of it. He reminds Shen Wei that no promises were given, and suggests they work together and protect each other instead. It’s interesting how their end goal is similar: they want to keep each other out of harm’s way. But for Zhao Yunlan, who works with a team, this implies sticking together. For Shen Wei, who has been alone for what could have been centuries (we are never given a timeline for when his magical coma ended), this implies being as far away from each other as possible. Many things about their relationship will change - but this one will never do.

Zhao Yunlan proceeds to charm his way into driving Shen Wei’s car. He is after all very good with people, and he’s not afraid to use this skill to keep himself near the Professor.

Next, we have intercut scenes depicting conversations in two separate cars.

Lin Jing is driving Zhu Hong, Guo Changcheng and Wang Zheng in the jeep. There, Guo Changcheng tries his darnedest to offer exceedingly moody Wang Zheng apologies and consolation, but his weak attempts to very little to lighten the young woman’s dark disposition. In the meanwhile, Zhu Hong is seething with resentment and jealousy. She notes discontentedly that Zhao Yunlan once again chose to go and spend time with Shen Wei, hypothesises on why Shen Wei is unmarried, and then goes into a long-winded rant about Zhao Yunlan being an uncaring person. Lin Jing reluctantly participates in this conversation, but he does not look very much like he cares for it.

I have mentioned in my previous recap that those around Zhao Yunlan comment on his crassness, and now I am wondering how much this creates a vicious circle for the man in question. He may have heard - from his father, from his previous romantic partners, from his colleagues - that he is a failure, a boorish, unloving and superficial man who only does things to chase clout and carnal pleasures. It is difficult to not internalise that, and Zhao Yunlan may have just grown to see this as an unshakeable truth about himself.

As for Zhu Hong’s part in this, it is easy to call someone not responding to your advances an uncaring jerk. It does not, however, necessarily make them one.

Curiously enough, the only person speaking up in defence of Zhao Yunlan here is Guo Changcheng. He notes that he considers Chief Zhao to be a nice person; despite only being with SID for a month, he is able to see good intensions behind the bristles. No doubt, this is another case of Xiao Guo being incredibly empathic.

In the other car, Zhao Yunlan is driving Shen Wei and his students. Here, we see the chief continue to crack jokes and use his bountiful charisma to find out more about their expedition. Presumably, this has been going for a while, and Shen Wei’s patience finally runs thin when Zhao Yunlan states that their research must be very important. “Thank you for the compliment”, states Shen Wei flatly, according to subtitles.

According to my dictionary however, what he actually says is, roughly, “Chef Zhao overpraised [us]” (“赵处长过奖了”), which even with my very basic comprehension of Mandarin, I can see as overly formal and clearly dismissive.

Zhao Yunlan seems to be taken aback, and a few seconds pass before he composes his features into one of the chuckles he uses as a mask: it is loud and wide, but does not quite reach his eyes, sliding off his face almost instantly. In the passenger seat, Shen Wei is slowly and deliberately readjusting his own mask.

We cut to Zhu Jiu trying to secure assistance of a whole bunch of Youchu he drags out of the cave. It goes even worse than his other plans do, with the beasts grumbling and effectively refusing to do any work whatsoever.

Zhu Jiu’s ineffectiveness is actually pretty sweet on rewatch, and I am starting to kind of appreciate Wan Naichao in this role. It’s not that I find his performance particularly good, but between the costume, the wig and the script, he does not have an awful lot to work with, and he nonetheless appears to have so much fun hamming it up to his heart’s content. He is not intimidating by any stretch of imagination, but he is surprisingly, albeit ironically, watchable. And, honestly, I would rather watch an actor being hammy and enjoying it than visibly longing for death on set.

After passing a checkpoint through a combination of Zhao Yunlan’s connections and ever-present charm, the now joint SID/DCU expedition shuffles around in cars once again. Despite their destination being allegedly twenty kilometres (or about 12.5 miles) out of town, it takes them a whole day to reach it. Who knows, maybe the Seastar’s measuring units are different.

This time, it is Lin Jing driving, with Shen Wei and Zhao Yunlan having relocated to the back. We see that Zhao Yunlan has got a cold again - which could theoretically be from being so close to the hallows. He sneezes, and Shen Wei microexpressively overreacts.

Then, Zhao Yunlan unceremoniously arranges a pillow on Shen Wei’s shoulder and settles in for a nap. Does he remember napping on Shen Wei’s shoulder a few nights prior to that? Because he might do, considering how comfortable he feels with this casual close contact.

After a momentary panic, and a comment about flu meds, Shen Wei not only lets Zhao Yunlan do it, but also rearranges his pillow several times to make it more comfortable for the other man. I have no hot takes on this apart from just... those two. I love those two. How are they so adorable.

The car enters CGI fog, and promptly get stuck. To make matters worse, Lin Jing says he does not have a phone signal and asks Shen Wei to check his phone. “He does not have a mobile phone”, deadpans Zhao Yunlan before Shen Wei even opens his mouth.

Finally, Zhao Yunlan’s head vacates Shen Wei’s shoulder, and the professor leaves the car to scout the area. Jiajia tries to follow, but Zhao Yunlan dissuades her and goes after Shen Wei himself, catching up just as the other man is starting to scry the surroundings with his powers.

Zhao Yunlan enters the scene quoting poetry to highlight the beauty of their current location.

Shen Wei instantly tries to send him back: partly to continue using his dark energy, and partly, perhaps, out of genuine worry. In response Zhao Yunlan notes that Shen Wei is the only one who can order him around. This is not all done in cheek: it’s actually kind of true. Even before finding out that Shen Wei is powerful and ancient, and imposing, Zhao Yunlan is readily listening to him, and following his lead.

As a precursor to returning to the car, Zhao Yunlan takes his jacket off and drapes it over Shen Wei’s shoulders, despite the other man’s loud protestations. Again, Yunlan has got a cold, and he is visibly filling the chill air later in the scene. He has no way of knowing that this jacket will become a catalyst for his suspicions about Shen Wei’s alter ego, so there can’t be any other reason for him forcing his jacket onto the other man apart from a desire to make sure he is warm and comfortable.

Shen Wei stares at Zhao Yunlan in absolute wonder.

It is easy to believe that the idea of someone wanting to look after him is foreign no Shen Wei: we know from the text of the show that before Kunlun no one has shown him any consideration, and seeing Shen Wei now, it is not difficult to imagine, heartbreaking as it is, that no one has done it since.

Jiajia’s scream cuts through the air, interrupting the scene. As the two men take off in the direction of the sound, Shen Wei grabs Zhao Yunlan by the elbow as they run out of the shot.

When they rejoin Jiajia and Lin Jing, she girl stammers a few words about ghostly presence that she witnessed, and Lin Jing confirms her words, sharing his knowledge about ghosts seen in this area. Zhao Yunlan reprimands him for speeding feudalistic and superstitious concepts. Just remember that their HR manager literally is a semi-corporeal dead woman. This line is such a blatant and somewhat tongue-in-cheek appeasal of the censorship, that it sounds delightfully silly.

The group finally reach the remote village they were heading to. As everyone files out of the cars, they notice a strange looking crow nearby - clearly Ya Qing is checking in on them. Lin Jing proceeds to tease Xiao Guo, saying the young man in unlucky. Chu Shuzhi is looking disapprovingly at this comment, but it’s actually Zhu Hong who shuts it down. She does use this excuse to make an impolite jab at Shen Wei, noting that the misfortunes are someone else’s fault, while looking at her romantic rival from the corner of her eye.

Shen Wei graces the screen with another one of his “why does the snake woman hate me?” faces.

It’s quite amusing that as the group starts walking towards the guesthouse, Zhao Yunlan sends his people off while he himself deliberately lingers in place, so he can walk with Shen Wei, sneaking a hand across the professor’s back.

Just as the company enters the premises of the guesthouse, they find a human skull. Of course they do. But the reason I am including this here is to point out that Shen Wei’s reaction is to cover Jiajia’s eyes. Zhu Yilong does not do it in all of the takes used in the scene, which indicates to me that this is an in the moment acting choice.

Shen Wei then leads his students away to give the SID a chance to investigate. While Lin Jing and Zhao Yunlan do just that, Wang Zheng sinks to her knees and starts praying to comfort spirits of her ancestors. Hilariously, this goes unnoticed for a while.

After completing some preliminary checks on the skull, Zhao Yunlan suggests they park the investigation for the night, citing that he does not want students and their teacher to get ill as the reason for doing so. Da Qing notes that this is more considerations than he shows his subordinates. I don’t think he means it, but it’s a lovely little jab at Zhao Yunlan’s unmistakable crush.

Inside the house, everyone settles in to hear Wang Zheng’s tale of the Hanga tribe. What follows is an massive exposition dump. She sets up as “some things she heard from rumours”, but considering how forlorn she is throughout this tale - and that she was praying earlier - it is pretty obvious that she is of the Hanga tribe herself.

Again, I love the blocking here. Zhu Hong is keeping her shoulder in front of Wang Zheng, protecting her from the strangers (and Shen Wei) that they are sharing the table with. Zhao Yunlan and Da Qing are watching from afar, and Chu Shizhu is perching above them on the stairs. The composition is easy on the eye, and implies that the SID men are ready to protect those at the table from all directions.

Soon, they are interrupted by a villager pretending to be a ghost, and a reluctant village head explains that the outsides may not be welcomed because there has been a murder here in the recent days. Zhao Yunlan and Zhu Hong leave to investigate the crime scene. As they do so, Zhao Yunlan catches the woman gazing upon him in adoration, and freezes uncomfortably, for a second before laughing it off.

He should really force himself to have an uncomfortable conversation with her, but he won’t do it until pushed.

In the meanwhile, Zhu Jiu is having more luck riling the actual ghosts up than he did with the Youchu. After some hesitation - and some baseless threats from our unfortunate villain - the Hanga tribesmen launch an attack against the guesthouse.

Just to note: their masks don’t look anything like the masks Wang Zheng drew. Considering that the guesthouse parts of the episode was likely to have been shot together, I don’t see any explanation for this as it pertains to production.

Chu Shuzhi and Xiao Guo leap into action to fight the ghosts - and the young man actually successfully fends one of them off. They are soon joined by Lin Jing, who leaves Shen Wei in charge of looking after the students and Wang Zheng inside the house. The ghost woman energy being asks to be let outside because she guesses correctly that the ghostly warriors are here for her, but Shen Wei refuses to let her go. The reason he states for denying her is that “Zhao Yunlan would never agree to it.” He knows that the other man would never put his crew in danger - and adopts the same attitude.

Shortly after, Zhu Hong and Zhao Yunlan arrive on the scene.

Here we see for the first time Zhao Yunlan’s painful flashback to his mother’s death, followed by him freezing with the gun in his hand. Zhu Hong does save the way by snatching the weapon away from him and firing it, but she also goes on full offensive afterwards, berating the man. Hers is not a kind response at all, and this type of a reaction is likely to be the reason Zhao Yunlan has not felt comfortable talking about his tragic past, perhaps even seeing it as something to be ashamed of.

After the ghosts disappear, Zhao Yunlan stays outside with his team, and uses the Dial in attempt to locate the other ancient item which he knows is somewhere close.

Shen Wei, on the other hand, tells Wang Zheng about the totem hidden in a cave, and asks her for any information on the matter.

His interrogation does not get him anywhere, but he does get suspicious enough to refrain him from drinking the drugged water she offers everyone present in the very next scene.

It is clear from this shot that after toasting with warm water, everyone goes to down their cups - apart from Wang Zheng and Shen Wei, who lock eyes over their cups for the second.

Having escaped her protectors in the night, Wang Zheng heard towards the cave in which Sang Zan’s spirit is kept, Zhu Jiu hot on her heals, and we witness the first of many flashbacks to her life and death.

Next up, Episode 10: Death By a Thousand Flashbacks.

—

Notes.

The next post here will actually be some thoughts on the Lost Tomb Reboot which I have spent this Easter Weekend binging. And if this post is more Zhu Yilong-centric than usual, this would also be why.

#guardian #zhao yunlan #shen wei #weilan #rewatch #recap #ill advised attempts at psychoanalysing the characters

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meliaaizawa · 3 years

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HITOSHI SHINSO

Sho and Mei first encountering one good boi, Hitoshi Shinso... I made it shorter than I was anticipating. Will obviously write more about Shinso later though.

*Meiya’s POV*

As I got through teaching class 1B, I walked down the halls of U.A. High to get to the teachers lounge. I lay down my papers and notes taken from class and stacked them neatly on my desk. It was now one of my favorite times of the day... lunchtime. I was the only teacher in the lounge right now, until I looked up to see Vlad King walk in. “Nice work today with my students, CC. They are still so far from being heroes, but that’s what the next three years will be for. I already think your talk on different quirks will help them in developing them further,” he said to me as he approached his own desk to set his things down. “Thanks, Vlad. I’ve been reading up on all of their individual quirks. Your class looks like it’ll be a fun one to work with!” I said, continuing the conversation. As the two of us talked, more and more of the teachers started to enter the lounge. It was still only the beginning of the third week of school, so we were all still getting into the groove of our new schedules. After dropping off their stuff, most of the teachers ended up going to the cafeteria. I was now talking to Ectoplasm when I saw my husband walk in and set his stuff at his desk next to mine. “Yeah, that sounds good to me!” I said to Ectoplasm as we made plans for karaoke on Friday night. I then went back over towards where Shota was standing at his desk, looking though his notes.

“Hey there, Sho, you ready for lunch?” I asked him. Still looking at his notes as he put them on his desk, he nodded and said, “mmhmm.” I pulled out our lunch cooler and grabbed his arm. “C’mon then! I’m starved,” I said, pulling him towards the door of the lounge. I let go as we entered the hall of students. It was known by all the teachers that we were married, but we always tried to keep our relationship among the students more private. It wasn’t necessarily a secret marriage or anything, but it was only rational to make sure the knowledge of it didn’t spread to the extent that villains would have any kind of leverage over us. We walked together to the stairs and walked all the way up to the roof. We sat on the ground across from each other and I unpacked our bento boxes from our lunch cooler and we began to eat. “You know, my class seemed to really be interested in your lecture today... you did good,” Shota began. In between bites I replied, “thanks, Sho... though I don’t know why you said I did good when you slept through the whole thing.” He grinned. “I didn’t need to hear it to know you did good. The students' bragging was enough to show it,” he said. “I see why you didn’t actually expel any of them this year, though... there’s a lot of potential in that bunch,” I said. “I’m glad you’re able to see that too,” he said before asking, “do you have any counseling sessions this afternoon?”

Apart from being the quirks teacher, I am also the “quirk counselor,” which pretty much means that I meet with any students that may have questions or need a better understanding of their quirk in a one-on-one setting. I love it because I get to know the kids on a more personal basis that way. “Yeah, I do!! Just one session, though... and it’s with a first year student from General Studies, so it should be interesting,” I answered him. The remainder of our lunch break flew by. It was never long enough, but I always enjoyed getting to hang out with Sho in the same spot we hung out as kids. We both headed back downstairs. Shota had a free period, as All Might was teaching class 1A. I, however, gathered the things that I needed and headed to the room where I was to meet the student. I sat on the couch, reading though his profile when I noticed him standing in the doorway. “Oh! Hey there, you must be Hitoshi Shinso,” I said, getting up and welcoming him in. I taught the general studies students once in a while, so I had seen him before. He came in and went to sit in the seat across from the one I was sitting in. “Sweet hair, dude, we match!!” I said with a bright smile, pointing out my hair of a similar shade of purple. He looked at me, but didn’t seem too amused. "Thanks for meeting with me, Control C-Sensei,” he said. I smiled as I took a seat. “Please just call me CC.”

“So, Shinso... tell me a bit about your quirk,” I said, pulling out my pen to take notes. “Well... it’s called ‘brainwashing,’ and it allows me to control a person’s actions. In order for it to work, it needs to be activated, then a person must reply to my voice. I can then command them to do things and they'll obey it,” he explained. I looked at him wide-eyed. “That’s quite a powerful quirk you have there!! I noticed in your file that you applied to join the hero course... are you wanting to be a hero?” I asked. He nodded. “As you know, the practical portion of the entrance exam isn’t really suited for a quirk like mine... but yes, I want to be a hero,” he said, looking down at his hands. “If I could understand my quirk better, I could figure out how to actually use it heroically,” he said. I nodded. I could tell he wasn’t confident in his abilities and was having a hard time seeing his own potential. *He reminds me of Shota* I thought to myself. “I certainly understand that... I hope I can help you however I can,” I said. I always want my students to feel like they can tell me anything and trust me, so I always try to tell them about my own history in figuring through my own quirk.

“Have you ever heard of the villain called Conniver? It’s been years since he’s done anything, but he could copy people’s quirks and would use it against them... he is my father, and I have a quirk similar to his. I can copy the quirk of someone if they tell me a secret while I touch them. It was difficult growing up with people knowing I had a villain as a father. They assumed that I would use my quirk to become just like him, so I had a hard time figuring out how to use my quirk... heroically, like you said. Anyways, I decided when I was young that I would never use it in an evil way. I would never deceive anyone or trick them into giving me their quirk. I wanted to make sure people could truly trust me before copying their quirk. In short, I did my best to ignore the naysayers and focus on those I could trust... and that’s how I was able to grow,” I explained, realizing that I was ranting a bit. “Oh sorry!! I’m talking a lot, I don’t really know why I’m saying all of this!!” I said.

“I guess I’m trying to say... for a student who is wanting to be a hero but is stuck in General Studies... don’t give up! Focus on becoming a hero, and don’t listen to those trying to tell you otherwise. Even seemingly useless quirks can be used heroically, and I’m going to do my best to help you discover more about your quirk,” I said, looking at him. He was looking at me very attentively, as if he appreciated what I was saying. He didn't speak much, but I could tell his mind was busy at work... Just like Sho. I smiled. “I won’t say it will be easy, but if you trust me and work hard at it, I will do my best to help you,” I said, standing up and bowing. “I apologize that I talked nearly the whole time, but the bell is going to ring soon, so you should head off to your next class,” I said, heading towards the door. “Next week, we can start figuring out the details of your quirk,” I said. “Thank you again, CC,” he said, bowing politely before heading out into the hall towards his next class.

*Shota’s POV*

The Sports Festival... easily the biggest event during each year at U.A. Televised worldwide, and hundreds if not thousands of people in attendance... and somehow I ended up here this year... “Heya Eraser, my brotha!! Crazy couple of rounds so far huh??? I think you should try and pick up the slack on your commentary a bit!!” Mic said to me right after the cavalry battle ended. “I’d rather not. We both know I don’t want to be here. It’s because of my injuries that I can’t do anything else but sit here... I didn’t have a choice,” I said to my overly energetic friend. Mei was assigned to be on standby at the third-years competition this sports fest. I’m almost certain she was probably the one that suggested to the Principal that I sit with Mic today... I’ll have to get her back for it later. “Eraser, here are those files you asked me to pull,” I heard the voice of my colleague Vlad say. “Thanks, Vlad,” I said as he handed me the stack of them.

I studied through them, figuring out what to expect from the upcoming one-on-one battles. I came across the file for the General Studies course. *That’s why he sounded so familiar... it’s the student that Mei started counseling a couple weeks ago... Hitoshi Shinso.* I read through his file, including the notes that Mei took on him and his quirk. “Has been stereotyped by his peers as having a villain-type quirk.” *Reminds me of Mei...* I read through the rest of his file, interested in learning more about this aspiring hero that didn’t make it into the hero course. “Woahhhhh Shota!!!! You didn’t tell me you and Mei had a kid!!!!” Mic exclaimed from over my shoulder, looking at Shinso’s photo in the file. “Don’t be an idiot. The kid is 15, he’s much too old to be our child,” I replied to him, still looking down and not at him. “But look at him!! He has your scowl and Mei’s purple hair!!! You can’t possibly convince me that he’s not secretly your child,” Mic continued. “Just drop it, would you, Mic? It’s about time for the final event to begin,” I told him, not wanting to think too much about Mei and I having a child. It was a pipe dream.

*Meiya’s POV*

It was a long day at the sports fest, with a lot of cleanup afterward. We managed to get it all done though, so we would have the following day completely off. Shota was still suffering from his injuries that he got at the attack on the U.S.J., so when I was finished helping clean the arena of the second-years sports fest, I went to retrieve my sleeping husband from Recovery Girl. We went home, and I helped him put on fresh bandages after he got washed up. It was late, but we were both starving, so I made some food and Shota joined me at the table. “So how did the first-years do?? I am excited to watch the recap of it,” I said, as I didn’t see any of it since I was busy working the other. “It was quite a spectacle. There’s so much raw potential in this year’s hero course... oh... and that boy you have been so fascinated by participated,” he said as I then fed him a bite of food... his hands weren’t exactly operational at the moment. “Oh!! Shinso?? Good.. I told him he should participate in the sports fest! How did he do? What do you think about him? I think I’m so 'fascinated' by him because he reminds me of you back in the day,” I said. “Funny... he reminds me a bit of you. He did well, all things considered. Made it into the final round in fact,” Sho at replied. “He made it in the top sixteen?? Oh! That’s so great!” I said before taking another bite. “That’s probably just the confidence boost he needs,” I added. Shota nodded. “Yeah… In fact, I am interested in talking to him at some point. Perhaps I can show him a few things that’ll help him in his journey to become a hero,” he said to me.

I looked at him with raised eyebrows. “Did he really do THAT good at the Sports Fest? Enough to grab your attention?” I asked, a bit surprised at my husband’s interest in a first year General Studies student. “To tell you the truth… he didn’t do all that great. His first and only match in the finals was against Midoriya. He managed to activate his quirk, but Midoriya somehow broke through it,” he explained. “But yes, he has grabbed my attention. I think partly because I can see myself at that age in him. But also… it was something that Yamada mentioned... He was convinced that Shinso was our child or something,” Shota said, and even though I couldn’t see his face under his bandages, I could tell his eyes were sad. We had wanted our own kids for years, but couldn’t have any. Perhaps if we did actually have a son, he would’ve looked similar to young Shinso. I chuckled slightly. “Honestly, I can kind of see what he means. He has your soft sleepy eyes,” I said, reaching over and moving his long black bangs out of his eyes so I could look into them better. “And he has your hair,” Shota replied, lifting up his hand to stroke my long purple hair, only to remember that his entire arm was bandaged. I chuckled again and took his hand and kissed it, then just held it in my arms. “I think you would be an amazing mentor for him, Sho… You should come meet him. He’s a great kid,” I said, stroking his injured arm. “When’s your next session with him?” he asked. “It’s next Thursday right after lunch… Perhaps we could do that one together,” I said, smiling at him. He nodded and replied, “yeah.”

#aizawa shouta #Shota Aizawa #shinso #hitoshi shinso #meizawa #sports festival

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arcticdementor · 3 years

Link

“Hey bro! Check out this Nike ad!” This was my entry point into a new world.

…

Since Carlos had lived mostly outside the United States, he was able to follow soccer on a level I’d never encountered in my hometown. Back then, before social media and the advent of scarf-wearing Northwestern fútbol hipsters, big-time European soccer was like the metric system: Known to almost all but ourselves. But Carlos knew, and immediately used LimeWire to curate me a massive archive of 1990s through early 2000s soccer highlights. What was I doing in the world without them?

Oddly enough, in trying to inculcate me in soccer fandom, he started not with game highlights, but with the advertisements. Yes, Carlos was an educator and a voluntary footsoldier for Big Apparel. Going in, I had no clue about high-quality, internationally popular Nike soccer ads. The ads, written by the legendary Wieden+Kennedy firm, were miniature movies, films that were often creatively daring but also quite funny. The most popular of these ads might be “Good vs. Evil,” from 1996, where Nike’s best soccer players team up to play Satan’s literal army. The blending of sacrilege, theology and comedy just worked, like a more ambitious version of Space Jam that somehow took itself less seriously than Space Jam.

…

Yes, I know ads aren’t supposed to be high art. I understand that they are the purest distillation of manipulative greed. And yet, they sometimes are culturally relevant generational touchstones. While Nike was weaving soccer into enduring pop culture abroad, it was having a similar kind of success with basketball and baseball stateside. These ads weren’t just pure ephemera. Michael Jordan’s commercials were so good that, as he nears age 60, his sneaker still outsells any modern athlete’s. “Chicks dig the long ball” is a phrase (a) that can get you sent to the modern HR department and b) whose origins are fondly remembered by most American men over the age of 35.

Modern Nike ads will never be so remembered. It’s not because we’re so inundated with information these days, though we are. And it’s not because today’s overexposed athletes lack the mystique of the 1990s superstars, though they do. It’s because the modern Nike ads are beyond fucking terrible.

…

They’re bad for many causes, but one in particular is an incongruity at the company’s heart. Nike, like so many major institutions, is suffering from what I’ll call Existence Dissonance. It’s happening in a particular way, for a particular reason and the result is that what Nike is happens to be at cross-purposes from what Nike aspires to be.

…

For all the talk of a racial reckoning within major industries, Nike’s main problem is this: It’s a company built on masculinity, most specifically Michael Jordan’s alpha dog brand of it. Now, due to its own ambitions, scandals, and intellectual trends, Nike finds masculinity problematic enough to loudly reject.

This rejection is part of the broader culture war, but it’s accelerating due to an arcane quirk in the apparel giant’s strange restructuring plan, announced in June. Under the leadership of new CEO John Donahoe, Nike is moving away from its classic discrete sports categories (Nike Basketball, Nike Soccer, etc.) in favor of a system where all products are shoveled into one of three divisions: men’s, women’s and kids’. Obviously Nike made clothing tailored to the specificities of all these groups before, but now, Nike is emphasizing gender over sport. Gone is the model of the product appealing to basketball fans because they are basketball fans. It’s now replaced by a model of, say, the product appealing to women because they are women.

And hey, women buy sneakers too. Actually, women buy the lion’s share of clothing in the United States. While women shoppers are market dominant in nearly every aspect of American apparel, the clothing multinational named after a Greek goddess happens to be a major exception. At Nike, according to its own records, men account for roughly twice as much revenue as women do.

You might see that stat and think, “Well, this means that Nike will prioritize men over women in its new, odd, gendered segmentation of the company.” That’s not necessarily how this all works, thanks to a phenomenon I’ll call Undecided Whale. The idea is that a company, as its aims grow more expansive, starts catering less to the locked-in core customer and more to a potential whale which demonstrates some interest. Sure, you can just keep doing what’s made you rich, but how can you even focus on your primary business with that whale out there, swimming so tantalizingly close? The whale, should you bring it in, has the potential to enrich you far more than your core customers ever did. And yeah yeah yeah, a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, but those were birds. This is a damned whale! And so you start forgetting about your base.

You can see this dynamic in other places. For the NBA, China is its Undecided Whale. It could be argued that the NBA fixates more on China than on America, even if the vast majority of TV money comes from U.S. viewership. The league figures it has more or less hit its ceiling in its home country, so China becomes an obsession as this massive, theoretical growth engine.

…

Here’s the main issue for Nike in this endeavor: The company, as a raison d’être, promotes athletic excellence. While women are among Nike’s major sports stars, the core of high-level performance, in the overwhelming majority of sports, is male. Every sane person knows that, though nobody in professional class life seems rude enough to say so. Obviously, there’s the observable reality of who tends to set records and there’s also the pervasive understanding that testosterone, the main male sex hormone, happens to give unfair advantages to the athletes who inject it.

Speaking of which, there’s a famous This American Life episode from 2002 where the public radio journos actually test their own testosterone levels. The big joke of the episode is just how comically low their T levels are. Sure, you would stereotype bookish public radio men in this way, and yet the results are on the nose enough to shock.

As a nerdy media-weakling type, I can relate to the stunning realization that you’ve been largely living apart from T. Before working in the NBA setting, I was an intern in the cubicles of Salon.com’s San Francisco office, around the time it was shifting from respectable online magazine into inane outrage content mill. Going from that setting to the NBA locker room was some jarring whiplash, like leaving the faculty lounge for a pirate ship. To quote Charles Barkley on the latter culture, “The locker room is sexist, racist, and homophobic … and it’s fun and I miss it.”

…

The “Good vs. Evil” ad boasts a “Like” to “Dislike” ratio of 20-to-1 on YouTube. On June 17th of 2021, Nike put out an ad ahead of the Euro Cup that referenced “Good vs. Evil” as briefly as it could. In this case, a little child popped his collar and used Cantona’s catchphrase. As of this writing, the new ad has earned a thousand more punches of the Dislike than of the Like button.

When you see it, it’s no surprise that the latest Euro Cup ad is disliked. I mean, you have to look at this shit. I know we’re so numb to the ever-escalating emanations of radical chic from our largest corporations, but sometimes it’s worth pausing just to take stock and gawk.

…

But today we are in the land of new football, where we take dictatorial direction from less-than-athletic minors. After her announcement, we are treated to a montage of different people who offer tolerance bromides.

“There are no borders here!”

“Here, you can be whoever you want. Be with whoever you want.”

(Two men kiss following that line, because subtlety isn’t part of this new world order.)

Then, a woman who appears to be breastfeeding under a soccer shirt, threatens, in French, “And if you disagree …”

And this is when the little boy gives us Cantona’s “au revoir” line before kicking a ball out of a soccer stadium, presumably because that’s what happens to the ignorant soccer hooligan. He gets kicked out for raging against gay men kissing or French ladies breastfeeding or somesuch. Later, a referee wearing a hijab instructs us, “Leave the hate,” before narrator girl explains, “You might as well join us because no one can stop us.”

Is that last line supposed to be … inspiring? That’s what a movie villain says, like if Bane took the form of Stan Marsh’s sister. Speaking of which, was this ad actually written by the creators of South Park as an elaborate prank? It’s certainly more convincing as an aggressive parody of liberals than as a sales pitch. Why, in anything other than a comedic setup, is a woman breastfeeding in a big-budget Euro Cup ad?

It’s tempting to fall into the pro-vanguardism template the boomers have handed down to us and sheepishly say, “I must be getting old, because this seems weird to me,” but let’s get real. You dislike this ad because it sucks. You are having a natural, human response to shitty art. This a hollow sermon from a priest whose sins were in the papers. Nobody is impressed by what Nike’s doing here. Nobody thinks Nike, a multinational famous for its sweatshops, is ushering us into an enlightened utopia. Sure, most media types are afraid to criticize the ad publicly. You might inspire suspicion that what you’re secretly against is men kissing and women breastfeeding, but nobody actually likes the stupid ad. No college kid would show it to a new friend he’s trying to impress, and it’s hard to envision a massive cohort of Gen Z women giving a shit about this ad either.

Now juxtapose that ad not just against the classics of the 1990s but also the 2000s products that preceded the Great Awokening. Compare it to another Nike Euro Cup advertisement, Guy Ritchie’s “Take It to the Next Level.”

…

Here’s the problem, insofar as problems are pretended into existence by our media class: The ad is very, very male. Really, what we are watching here is a boyhood fantasy. Our protagonist gets called up to the big show, and next thing you know he’s cavorting with multiple ladies, and autographing titties to the chagrin of his date. He can be seen buying a luxury sports car and arriving at his childhood home in it as his father beams with pride. Training sessions show him either puking from exhaustion or playing grab-ass with his fellow soccer bros. This is jock life, distilled. Art works when it’s true and it’s true that this is a vivid depiction of a common fantasy realized.

Nike’s highly successful “Write the Future” ad (16,000 Likes, 257 Dislikes) works along similar themes.

…

The recent Olympic ads were especially heavy on cringe radical chic, and might have stood out less in this respect if the athletes themselves mirrored that tone on the big stage. Not so much in these Olympics. It seems as though Nike made the commercials in preparation for an explosion of telegenic activism, only to see American athletes mostly, quietly accept their medals, chomp down on the gold, and praise God or country. Perhaps you could consider Simone Biles bowing out of events due to mental health as a form of activism, but overall, the athletes basically behaved in the manner they would have back in 1996.

But Nike forged onwards anyway. This ad in celebration of the U.S. women’s basketball team made some waves, getting ripped in conservative media as the latest offense by woke capital.

…

“Today I have a presentation on dynasties,” a pink-haired teenage girl tells us. “But I refuse to talk about the ancient history and drama. That’s just the patriarchy. Instead, I’m going to talk about a dynasty that I actually look up to. An all-women dynasty. Women of color. Gay women. Women who fight for social justice. Women with a jump shot. A dynasty that makes your favorite men’s basketball, football, and baseball teams look like amateurs.”

When she says, “That’s just the patriarchy,” the camera pans to a bust of (I think) Julius Caesar. At another point, the girl says, “A dynasty that makes Alexander the Great look like Alexander the Okay.” Fuck you, Classical Antiquity. Fuck you, fans of teams. You’re all just the patriarchy. Or something.

Nike could easily sell the successful American women’s basketball team without denigrating other teams, genders and ancient Mediterranean empires that have nothing to do with this. Could but won’t. The company now conveys an almost visceral need for women to triumph over men because … well, nobody really explains why, even if it has something to do with Undecided Whaling. In Nike’s tentpole Olympics ad titled “Best Day Ever,” the narrator fantasizes about the future, declaring, “The WNBA will surpass the NBA in popularity!”

…

There are theories on the emergence of woke capital, with many having observed that, following Occupy Wall Street, media institutions ramped up on census category grievance. The thinking goes that, in response to the threat of a real economic revolution, the power players in our society pushed identity politics to undermine group solidarity. Well, that was a fiendishly brilliant plan, if anyone actually hatched it.

I’m not so convinced, though, as I’m more inclined to believe that a lot of history happens by happenstance. If we’re to specifically analyze the Nike Awokening, there is a recent top-down element of a mandate for Undecided Whaling, but that mandate was preceded by a socially conscious middle class campaign within the company.

This isn’t unique to Nike, either. Given my past life covering the team that tech moguls root for, I’ve run into such people. They aren’t, by and large, ideological. Very few are messianically devoted to seeing the world through the intersectionality lens. They are, however, terrified of their employees who feel this way. The mid-tier labor force, this cohort who actually internalized their university teachings, are full of fervor and willing to risk burned bridges in favor of causes they deem righteous. The big bosses just don’t want a headline-making walkout on their hands, so they placate and mollify, eventually bending the company’s voice into language of righteousness.

…

All the guilt and atonement transference make for bad art. And so the ads suck. There’s no Machiavellian conspiracy behind the production. It’s just a combination of desperately wanting female market share and desperately wanting to move on from the publicized sins of a masculine past. So, to message its ambitions, the exhausted corporation leans on the employees with the loudest answers.

There’s a lot of interplay between Nike and Wieden+Kennedy when the former asks the latter for a type of ad, but the through line from both sides is a lot of cooks in the kitchen. Based on conversations with people who’ve worked in both environments, there’s a dearth of personnel who are deeply connected to sports. In place of a grounding in a subculture, you’re getting ideas from folks who went to nice colleges and trendy ad schools, the type of people who throw words like “patriarchy” at the screen to celebrate a gold medal victory. The older leaders, uneasy in their station and thus obsessed with looking cutting edge, lean on the younger types because the youth are confident. Unfortunately, that confidence is rooted in an ability to regurgitate liturgy, rather than generative genius. They’ve a mandate to replace a marred past, which they leap at, but they’re incapable of inventing a better future.

…

Ironically, Nike mattered a lot more in the days when its position was less dominant. Back when it had to really fight for market share, it made bold, genre-altering art. The ads were synonymous with masculine victory, plus they were cheekily irreverent. And so the dudes loved them. Today, Nike is something else. It LARPs as a grandiose feminist nonprofit as it floats aimlessly on the vessel Michael Jordan built long ago. Like Jordan himself, Nike is rich forever off what it can replicate never. Unlike Jordan, it now wishes to be known for anything but its triumphs. Nike once told a story and that story resonated with its audience. Now it’s decided that its audience is the problem. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that Carlos hated the new Nike ads I texted to him. His exact words were, “I don’t want fucking activism from a sweatshop monopoly.” He’ll still buy the gear, though, just not the narrative. Nike remains, but the story about itself has run out. Au revoir.

#ethan strauss #nike #sports #substack

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cosmic-affinities · 4 years

Text

Fantasy Meets Reality Ch.1

This is the first chapter of my take on the BNHA Fantasy AU, I posted a snippet of this fic earlier this week, let me know if you are eager for more! Also huge huge huge shoutout to @we-stanjirou for being my motivation and feedback machine for this! This would have taken a lot longer without their help!

Read chapter 1 on AO3 Here.

Of fucking course it had to be Katsuki Bakugou.

Who else would have a weirdo clone from some kind of ‘Alternate Dimension’ show up to mess up their life. Obviously no one.

Of fucking course Bakugou just had to be the one who temporarily imprinted on the random ass third year who had a dimension summoning quirk.

Because why wouldn’t he?

It started with Bakugou being in the direct line of sight of a sick third year who was having trouble keeping his quirk under control. Next thing he knew there was a small pop and deceivingly large tear in the middle of the room.

Before anyone could react a second Katsuki could be seen, luckily Mr. Aizawa had been nearby and witnessed the ordeal. The teacher ushered the third year out of the room and sent him to Recovery Girl to relay the events in hopes of reversing them. He was lucky enough to have had him as a student and understood how his quirk worked. As he turned to face most of his homeroom class, an eruption of noise came over the room.

“WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!” Was the most prominent question in the room.

“Everyone quiet down IMMEDIATELY.” Mr. Aizawa was quick to rein in his problem children.

“That student's quirk has the ability to pull a different version of anyone that is in close enough range from a different reality. In this case Bakugou happened to be in close enough range when the student lost control of his quirk due to him being sick, to have summoned a different version of him. Everyone is to remain silent as I talk to this alternate version of Bakugou.” The class was too stunned to speak, and those who weren’t took Aizawa’s words to heart.

“Now, I am Shouta Aizawa-”

“The mage?”

“No I am not a mage, you have been brought to an alternate reality than that of your own, we are going to get you back to your own realm as quickly as possible, but for the time being you will have to remain here.”

“How would anyone but a mage know of these things?” The skepticism was evident in his tone and expression.

“In this reality we do not have mages, many people are born with special abilities unique to them and your presence here happens to be because of one of those abilities.”

“If that is the case then why are there many people here that I recognise? That one with the dark blue hair is a knight, and the red and white haired one is the son of the insolent so-called King of the surrounding lands.”

“You must have been pulled from a dimension with similar people around you.”

“Are we just going to dismiss the fact that this fucking extra is wearing my face?!” Bakugou finally snapped.

“Bakugou, language, as I said we will resolve this as soon as possible but in the meantime you all must stay here, we can’t afford to disrupt two separate dimensions if the student’s quirk usage was faulty due to being ill, I want all of you to stay here until I get back, acquaint yourselves, I still can’t be sure as to how long there will be two of you.” The teacher left no room for complaints as he swiftly walked towards Recovery Girl’s office.

As soon as everyone was composed, the questions came flooding in.

“Did you say Iida was a knight?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“My father is insolent in more than one realm, who would've guessed.”

“Do you recognise me?”

“Who are you?”

The questions were all coming far too quickly for any of them to be answered, the ruckus did seem to alert another student though. As Midoriya walked in everyone became quiet.

“Hey Kaccha- You’re not Kacchan.” Midoriya stopped abruptly in front of the newcomer, obviously confused.

“Um guys what’s happening?” Before anyone could respond, though, the second Bakugou spoke.

“Izuku?” Any words the students had died on their tongues, they had never heard that voice call Midoriya anything but Deku.

“How do you know my name? Who are you? What’s going on?”

“I am Katsuki Bakugou.”

“No-no you definitely are not, would someone please tell me what’s happening?” The only one who surprisingly held their composure through all this spoke up.

“Some idiot third year who couldn’t control their fucking quirk brought this here from another dimension, and apparently you happen to make an appearance there too.”

“Kacchan! Finally someone who will answer me, this is all because of a quirk? What are we supposed to do?’

“Aizawa just told us to stay here until he gets back from talking to the idiot that got us into this fucking mess.”

“Izuku.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?”

“That’s your name, is it not?”

“Well yeah but I don’t know you!”

“Well allow me to reintroduce myself, I am Katsuki Bakugou, Dragon Master. Although, you usually call me Kit.”

“Okay... Kit? How do you know me, and anyone else here that you might recognise?”

“Well Izuku, you, a Knight in training, came to find me to join you on your quest to rid our kingdom of its biggest threat, a giant demonic beast determined to destroy everything we have built over thousands of years.”

“Okay… and everyone else?”

“Well there is,” he pointed around the room, gesturing to everyone as he spoke “Prince Todoroki, the witch Uraraka, the knight Iida, Martial Artist and aspiring Dragon Master Kirishima, Soldier Kaminari, the Musical Mage Jirou, Ashido and Asui are the Innkeepers of our favorite inn, and finally potion master Yaoyorozu.” He had gone around the room completely only skipping the other version of him.

“Alright, Kit, thank you. I guess we'll just have to wait for Mr. Aizawa, like Kacchan said.” At this his classmates began quietly discussing the new information, curious about their alternate personalities.

“Who is this… Kacchan?”

“Me, the one whose face you stole.” There was a certain edge to his voice that no one could place.

“Yes, I’m guessing the other version of me calls you Kit in a similar way that I call him Kacchan.” Midoriya said in a placating maner.

“I doubt that, based on the way Kacchan acts, I would say it is different from the way my Izuku calls me Kit.”

“Don’t call me that, my name is Bakugou, I don’t care if it's yours too.” Neither version of the fiery blonde took notice of the flush on Midoriya’s face at the usage of ‘my Izuku’ and newfound protectiveness over a nickname.

At this point the rest of their classmates became interested in the newcomer, curious to find out more about the alternate reality.

“Wait, bro can you tell us more about where you are from? I kinda want to know more about becoming a Dragon Master like you said I am becoming!” From there Kit moved towards the middle of Class A’s common room to answer their questions, now coming at a reasonable pace.

“Tch.”

“What’s wrong Kacchan?”

“Huh, nothing! I don’t care about that shitty version of me.” Although his voice radiated with confidence, he wore a look of distrust, waiting for something to go wrong.

“It’s all a little too weird for me, I guess everyone is really curious about what the other versions of them would be doing, I really would rather not.”

“I figured a nerd like you would be all over this, trying to figure out the formula to replicate the quirk that started it all or something equally as stupid.”

“Yeah no, it's kinda weird talking to not-you, although the way he talks about not-me makes me wonder…” Midoriya trailed off, not wanting to admit to wondering about Kit’s relationship with not-him.

“No one else seems to really care, even half and half is using an actual facial expression.”

“You two are so different though, it would be super easy to tell you two apart.”

“You really think so Midobro? They are pretty much identical.” Kirishima cut in, apparently satisfied with the answers from Kit.

“O-oh yeah I’m pretty sure it would be super easy.”

“Wanna try?”

“What do you mean shitty hair, it’s literally wearing a cape with no shirt, obviously he could tell us apart right now.”

“Why don’t you guys just change clothes? You are literally the exact same size, and I want to see if Mido could actually do it,” Kirishima quickly faced the rest of the room “Do you guys think Midoriya could tell these two apart?”

There were varying murmurs of agreement before Mina spoke up.

“Well yeah, but right now it is super obvious! They would need to change.”

“I never fucking agreed to this Shitty Hair!” Before anyone could respond, the door opened and revealed a tired looking Aizawa,

“Listen up everyone, Recovery Girl told me that the safest way to get Bakugou into his own reality would be to wait until the third year is no longer ill and just have him reverse his quirk. She also said that his recovery would not be for three to four days because she cannot heal the flu.”

Everyone looked at their teacher expectantly, they were waiting for him to continue. With a sigh Aizawa continued.

“He will stay in the extra dorm room on the second floor, and I just need to ask Bakugou to lend him some clothing while he is here, seeing as you would be the same size.” The teacher looked at the original Bakugou and nodded at his vague grunt in response.

“I will take that as a yes, and if I see him in the exact same clothes tomorrow, you will serve a detention.” With his words he walked out of the common room and left the students to their previous conversation.

“See Bakubro, if you just give him something now and then you go change, we can see if Midoriya can actually tell you two apart!” The only response Kirishima got was an eyeroll.

“I don’t think he could, they’re identical!” Kaminari spoke from his position across the room.

“I don’t think so either, sorry Midoriya.” Todoroki’s words caused Midoriya to flush. The rest of the class came to the consensus that, if wearing different clothes, they didn’t think Midoriya could tell the two apart.

“Do you think they’ll let this go?” Bakugou leaned in and whispered to Midoriya while everyone was distracted.

“I don’t think so Kacchan, you know how everyone can get.”

With an audible sigh and an eye roll Bakugou spoke up again, this time to the whole class.

“Fine whatever, none of you will ever let this go so let’s just get it fucking over with.”

Everyone looked shocked, no one expected him to agree so quickly, if at all. Their eyes soon drifted to Kit, who seemed slightly confused.

“Really?”

“Did I fucking stutter Shitty Hair? I don’t want to deal with this shit for three days, might as well get it over with now.”

“Wow, ok um Kit, are you o-”

“Um I would actually prefer if you didn’t call me Kit, thank you.” Mina and Uraraka shared a look at this information.

“Oh right sorry, how about Katsuki-kun?”

‘Yes that’s fine.”

“Alright Katsuki-kun, are you alright with doing this little test?”

“Um sure I guess, although I don’t understand what enjoyment could come of it.”

“Perfect! Bakubro, why don’t you take Katsuki-kun to get some clothes and we can set up here with Midoriya?”

“Tch whatever, let's go.” The blondes walked out of the room towards Bakugou’s dorm and the common room quickly got to work.

“I say we have them sit next to each other on this big couch and make Midoriya stand on the other side of the table. And we can have them put their hands behind their backs against the couch so he can’t tell by quirk usage.” Kirishima said, seemingly having put in a lot of thought.

“And we will just check to make sure there are no obvious identification marks on them.” Uraraka added.

“We also can’t let Midoriya see them walk in, what if they walk differently!” Tsu had a point.

“I can take Midoriya into the corner while they walk in and get settled then he can stand behind the table.” Mina suggested.

This seemed to appease everyone, Mina quickly whisked Midoriya into the corner and everyone waited for the two to return.

“So Midoriya, what’s got you so confident?”

“W-well I guess there's just something distinct about Kacchan that Kit doesn’t have, I honestly couldn’t tell you Mina” The pink girl took a moment to process what was being said to her.

“Just a distinct quality or..?” She hoped to get a little more information,’something distinct’ didn’t help her at all.

“Not a quality exactly, maybe a distinct presence? Like I said I’m not too sure, but I am confident that I’ll be able to tell them apart.”

“Well they do say confidence is key, maybe that’s all you need!”

“Alright I hear them walking this way, Mido turn around!” Mina gently grabbed his shoulders and faced him towards the wall and they listened to the instructions being told to the two as they came in.

“I don’t know Deku, they look pretty identical to me!” Uraraka slid in next to him and Mina, the two girls sharing a glance behind his back.

“Alright! They are in place! Sitting the exact same way and making the exact same face! Good luck Midobro.” Kirishima said before he motioned to Mina to move him towards the table.

He was right too, Midoriya saw the two from across the room and they could’ve been carbon copies of each other, but once he got into place he stood for about three seconds before he turned around and spoke up.

“So, when I get this right what happens?” The question created a small silence.

“Well what do you want IF you get this right.” Kaminari was first to speak up.

“Honestly? For Kacchan to make katsudon, but to ask him would defeat the purpose. OH! Actually I do know what I want,” He faced Uraraka directly “and that is for Uraraka to get off my back for that thing we talked about a few days ago, for at least a week.”

Everyone looked confused as Uraraka thought over the proposition.

“You really expect me to lay off after this?” Her eyebrow raise sent a note of challenge.

“Fine let's make a deal, I’m right and you lay off for a week. I’m wrong and I won’t complain for a week AND I’ll take one of your suggestions! You definitely have the better end of this.”

Uraraka had been on board when he mentioned taking one of her suggestions and didn’t hesitate to say yes.

“Now I really want to know what they talked about.”

“Well, you won’t be able to figure it out for at least a week Kirishima, because I know who is who.”

“There is no possible way you know already, you looked at them for like five seconds from ten feet away!” Kaminari seemed taken aback by the mere suggestion that Midoriya knew already.

“Well let me prove it then.” Midoriya faced the couch once again and pointed to the figure sitting to the right “To the right is Kit and to the left is Kacchan.” The air of confidence Midoriya possessed had rarely been seen.

The left figure spoke up first.

“Well shit, nerd, how did you manage that?”

Then the figure on the right.

“He’s right Izuku, that was quite impressive.” They were the only two to speak up for the moment. Then Midoriya responded.

“Kacchan, I could say your name before I could say my own, actually no, I couldn't say your name so I called you Kacchan instead before I said my own name, I’m pretty sure I can tell you apart from someone I just met like fifteen minutes ago.” This statement seemed to have gotten their class out of their stupor.

“Wait, that’s why you call him Kacchan? No wonder he won’t let m-”

“Pikachu I’ll kill you!” Bakugou made a move to stand up but Mdoriya stood in front of him.

“Kacchan really? Not worth the detention I promise, especially not one with Aizawa.” Bakugou slowly lowered his hands, resigning to the fact that the nerd was right.

Once his hands were lowered Midoriya turned away from him and faced Ochako.

“Now, you have to lay off for a whole week!” Everyone saw the smug look on Midoriya’s face, one they never expected to be pointed at another person.

“Izuku, would you come here for a minute?” The common room quieted down for a moment when they heard Kit speak up. Midoriya walked towards him in response and they both moved just out of earshot of the others, and they continued their shocked conversations.

“Can I ask you something? Will you promise to not be offended?”

“Uh sure Kit, go ahead, I won’t be offended.”

Kit dropped his voice even lower, making sure no one would over hear them.

“You love him?”

Even though he didn’t say who, the red of Midoriya’s cheeks gave away his answer.

“Seeing as you are only going to be here for a few more days, I’m not going to lie to you. Yes, I’m pretty sure I always have.” The simplicity of his words and the sincerity in his eyes were almost incapacitating, he had never even been that honest with himself, let alone to someone else. Even more so than to someone who had the same face as the one he was talking about.

“Thank you for your honesty, it is very noble of you. I have one other thing to admit to you.”

“Go ahead Kit, I’m listening.”

“I feel a very similar way about my Izuku, that's why I was in such a state when you came in, you see my Izuku became angry with me around a week ago after a nasty argument, I haven't had his gaze upon me since so the shocking green of your eyes momentarily disarmed me.” His honesty urged Midoriya’s primal need to please people to kick in.

“Hey Kit?”

“Yes?”

“If he's anything like me, then a little bit of time will go a long way. Once he realises you're gone he won’t want to lose you again, but if you want a piece of advice. Go after him, don’t let him think that you are willing to let him go. Trust me if you go after him, even just once, it will mean the world to him.” Midoriya disconnected their eye contact and looked towards his own hands.

“He’s watching us you know. Has been this whole time.” Midoriya’s eyes snapped up and over, he saw Bakugou huff and face the ground. “Do you trust me?”

“Depends on what for.”

“Will you follow my lead? If I can’t be with my ‘Zuku, maybe you can be with your Kacchan.”

“Yes, I trust you.”

“Good, act as if everything is normal.”

“Ok.” The two faced the rest of the class and stopped whispering, Kit quickly turned to Midoriya and spoke in a normal voice.

“It’s remarkable how similar you two are, and here I thought My Izuku was one in a million, or maybe I am just lucky enough to have met two of you in one lifetime.” As he spoke Kit ran his thumb over Midoriya’s cheekbone softly before letting his hand drop.

The flush on his face was evident, no one had ever spoken so poetically about him before. The silence that surrounded them was quickly broken by a small crackling that stopped just as suddenly as it started but not before Midorya caught a glimpse of an orange glow around Bakugou. Kit shot him a knowing glance.

“Wow Kit, uh, thank you. That was very nice of you, I’m sure your Izuku would love to hear it from you.”

“I’m quite afraid that I may have ruined my chances with him. I did and said some pretty harmful things.” Kit glanced towards the floor.

“I don’t think that’s possible Kit, some things are worth fighting for, you just have to choose what those things are.” Midoriya chanced a glance at Bakugou then directed his gaze back down to the floor. Once he looked back up he saw Kit looking at him.

“Thank you Izuku.” Midoriya had no time to prepare for the hug Kit enveloped him in, he stood shocked for a moment before he returned the gesture.

“Of course Kit.”

A whisper reached his ear from slightly above him.

“That was great, you should see his face.” Midoriya flushed at the implication and their arms dropped.

Midoriya was now fully aware of all the people staring at them, he quickly walked towards Uraraka to try and avoid their eyes. The reprieve he was searching for was not found with his friend, however.

“Deku what was that?!” Uraraka whispered to him, he should have expected this.

“What was what? He wanted to talk to me, is there a problem?” He tried very hard to give off an air of confidence, it seemed like he was succeeding.

Until he felt all the eyes on him. His facade wavered momentarily but that’s all it took.

“Deku, come over here now.” It was not a request, although if it was there was no way he would have denied it, he couldn’t say no to Kacchan.

“Alright I’ll be there in a sec Kacchan, I’ll come back as soon as I’m done, Ura, ok?”

Without waiting for a response Midoriya made his way to Kacchan, hoping maybe he would offer him a reprieve. As he moved across the room, eyes flicked between him and Kit, then eventually to Bakugou.

“Hey Kacchan! What’s up?”

“You’re helping me make katsudon for dinner.”

“Oh am I now?” Midoriya responded with a playful tone, both of them knew he couldn’t pass up katsudon.

“Unless you want one of these shitty extras to try and make some half assed dinner then yeah you are.”

“How could I say no to Kacchan’s katsudon? Oh right I can’t.”

“Damn straight, I make the best fucking katsudon.”

“Don’t ever tell my mom I said this but, yeah you do.” The two, so engrossed in their conversation didn’t notice the proud smile on Kit’s face, or the sea of eyes looking between the three of them.

“I don’t think Auntie Inko would ever forgive you.”

“Wait, who is Auntie Inko?” The first voice to interrupt their conversation spoke up.

“To you? Ms Midoriya-san, but I have privilege ‘cause she likes me more than her own son most of the time.”

“Kacchan! Hey! Mean! But yeah he’s talking about my mom, Kirishima. Ever since Kacchan was allowed near a stove he has competed with my mom to make the best katsudon and soba, and with Auntie Mitsuki to make the best desserts.”

“And you said I make the best katsudon so I win!”

“Wait, you guys call each other’s moms Auntie? That's freaking cute!”

“Can it, pinky!”

“No way! I need to hear everything about your collective childhood immediately!”

“Oh Ashido, it really isn’t that interesting! Plus if you all want to eat we should probably get started.” Midoriya didn’t want to get into every complicated aspect of his childhood so he decided to turn and walk to the kitchen without waiting for a response.

Bakugou followed soon after him and they were both glad to have a room between them and the rest of their class. Bakugou quickly got to work and started to cook. Midoriya had done this plenty of times before, even if he could never do it by himself he knew his way around the recipe. Their companionable silence was fleeting.

“So, what's with you and my shitty clone? I thought you said talking to him was weird?” Anyone else would have assumed his tone was passive, conversational even, but Midoriya knew better, this must have been the reason he was called in the first place.

“Oh it is, trust me.” Midoriya could’ve continued, probably would have if he was talking to anyone else. He wanted to see where Kacchan would take it.

“Then why’d you talk to him, you do have the ability to say no. It’s really not that hard.”

“He sounded so serious, I wanted to see what he had to say. Plus it's a little less weird now that I can see how different you are.” Again he cut himself off early, determined to not give everything away in an unfocused ramble.

“So… what was so serious that he had to pull you all the way into the corner for, seems kinda dramatic to me.”

“Really Kacchan? You are going to call him dramatic?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”

“Kacchan I have literally seen you blow up a pillow that you tripped over because, and I quote, ‘mother fucker was out to get me’ I was calling you dramatic.”

“Watch your fucking language Deku! If round face or four eyes hears you, they’ll get on my ass and I do not need that.”

“No one should ever hear me while I play video games, I think everyone would have a minor melt down.”

“Well you own damn fault for setting high expectations. Anyway, you were about to tell me the idiot’s sob story that lured you into a corner.” He had a signature smirk on his face but the fact that he asked four times gave Midoriya the impression that the smirk was nothing more than a facade.

“Well he asked me a question about our class, and then he started to tell me about the other Izuku, the one he knows.” He stopped there, hoping he could get away without lying about what Kit asked him. One look up from the vegetables he was cutting told him he would have no such luck. Bakugou was looking at him with an expectant look, waiting for him to continue.

“Apparently the other Izuku got mad at him around a week ago, to the point where he won’t even look at Kit, so when he saw me look at him and willingly interact with him he was caught off guard I guess.”

“And…?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not something he would hide from everyone else, in fact he told everyone right after you finished talking, so I’m asking what else he told you.”

Thinking quickly, Midoriya didn’t have very many options, he couldn’t lie to Kacchan, he would be the only one that would be able to see right through it, he would just have to think of something.

“Oh well, um he may have asked for some advice as to how to stop the other me from being upset with him, I’m guessing that's why he mentioned the two of us being so similar, although I wonder how true that can actually be given that a lot of me has been shaped by you and All Might, two people that the other me could not have had the same experiences with. It seems like the two of us from there had only met fairly recently so I wonder how different that makes us.”

“Damn nerd now you want to mumble?” Although Izuku could hear him, it was almost as if Bakugou was talking to himself.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t even realise!”

“Yeah no shit, are you finished chopping? I finished prepping the pork already.”

“Oh yeah, here. I made the onion thinner like you said last time, and I grabbed the stuff to fry the pork.”

“Great, now I know you actually listen to what I say.”

The two returned to a companionable silence as they continued to cook, working together like a well oiled machine, an impressive sight to anyone. They had been in the kitchen for about a half hour when Kit and Mina came in, luckily the pair had finished talking out the earlier occurrences with Kit.

“Hey guys! I wanted Katsuki-kun here to see the kitchen, he said he had a knack for cooking!”

“Although I am more accustomed to working over an open flame rather than a controlled heating box.”

“What the hell do you want pinky? Is there a reason you’re distracting us?”

“Actually yes there is! Katsuki-kun, Uraraka, and I need to steal Midoriya here for a few, isn’t that right Katsuki-kun?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Midoriya looked at Bakugou who was resolutely staring at the food in front of him, Midoriya switched his gaze over to Kit and saw him look at Bakugou then at Midoriya trying to convey some kind of message. Apparently he had taken too long to respond.

“Tch, just go you damn nerd, I’ll be fine and I know you can’t say no to anyone.” The remark was punctuated with an eye roll, but there was a sincerity in Bakugou’s voice that Midoriya did not miss.

“Thanks Kacchan I’ll come back as soon as I’m done and I’ll help you finish up.”

“Yeah yeah whatever just go already.” Bakugou continued to methodically fry the pieces of pork, now moving slightly slower because he had to prep them himself.

The three walked out to the common room and immediately walked over to the corner Uraraka was sitting in.

“Ok so what did you guys need me for? I was in the middle of making dinner.”

“We know about your… thing with Bakugou.”

“Uraraka what are you talking about? What thing? And who are you talking about Kacchan or Kit?”

“Not me Izuku, what we discussed earlier, like what I have with my ‘Zuku.”

This was met with a blush covering Izuku’s face, he hoped that Kit hadn’t said anything.

“Hey Midoriya? I don’t think you should be worried all that much, I think you have a good chance with Bakubro!”

“Thanks Ashido, but I don’t really think I’m going to chance that, I’d rather be friends than nothing at all. So if that’s everything I’m going to help him finish dinner before he gets upset about me ditching him.”

Izuku left with no room for argument, he really didn’t want any of them interfering, it would only make the inevitable failure worse. He quickly made his way back to the kitchen happy to see that his spot wasn’t immediately taken by Kacchan, he went back to where he was and continued prepping the pork like he was before.

“Oh back so soon?” Izuku could hear the slight apprehension in his voice, he wanted to soothe it immediately.

“Yeah, they were just being dumb, not important enough for me to ditch you to make the rest of the katsudon alone.”

“So what the fuck did they want?”

“Oh they were just trying to um get me to tell them how I could tell you two apart, they seemed set on the fact that it was somehow rigged I guess.”

“Tch, what’d you tell them?”

“The same thing I told Mina before you guys came in.”

“Which was…”

“Oh right you weren’t there to hear it, I told her that you just have a distinct presence that Kit doesn’t I guess.” Maybe if Izuku said it enough it would be true, it was better than admitting the real reason to anyone.

“That’s bullshit, how did you actually tell us apart?” Shit, had Kacchan noticed? He couldn’t just say that his heart rate picked up when he looked at him or that Kacchan felt like a hero while Kit didn’t, that would be hard to explain. Hell it was hard to explain to himself.

“I really don’t know, I guess I just do.” It was weak at best, a blatant lie at worst. Maybe he could get by being vague.

“I’m just saying maybe if you figure it out you can tell the extras, I don’t want to be mistaken for him until he can go back to wherever they hell he came from.”

“Ha maybe. Hopefully this gets sorted out soon, I know neither of you want him here.”

The conversation drifted off, neither feeling uncomfortable with the silence, it was a comfort neither took for granted.

Small requests for ingredients and tools passed between the two until they finally finished cooking and plating everyone’s food, Izuku quickly called for everyone to get a bowl and the class congregated at a long table, Izuku and Bakugou sitting down last, next to each other at the end of the table.

“Wow Bakubro, Mido wasn’t kidding when he said you make the best katsudon! This is delicious!” At Kirishima’s words many murmurs and nods of agreement followed, even Kit had a positive word to say.

“Damn straight I’ve been perfecting this for years!” No one argued with him, many were surprised that he would put so much effort into such a random dish yet no one felt inclined to mention it.

“Hey, didn’t you say katsudon was your favorite Deku?” Uraraka seemed to randomly have an epiphany.

“Uh, yeah, it always has been. At least according to my mom.”

“Do you know why?” Deku blushed at the words, he did but he didn’t really want to tell that embarrassing story. He decided to stay quiet.

“You do know why! Come on tell us, I’m always curious as to why people’s favorite food is their favorite!”

“Oh well um, it’s all I would order when we went out to eat, because I was dead set on ordering for myself.” He continued to blush, the story was incomplete.

“Why is that all you ordered?” Uraraka really was not letting him out of this one. He huffed out a sigh and collected himself, preparing to be severely embarrassed by everyone in the room.

“Fine if you must know, apparently it started when I was about four. I was just learning how to read and I wanted to order for myself because I thought I could read the whole menu by myself which I couldn’t at that point. I could really only read my name and… Kacchan’s name. According to my mom I recognised katsudon on the menu and very excitedly told the waitress that, for dinner, I wanted… Katsuki. She thankfully realised I meant katsudon and that's what she put in. And then I repeatedly ordered it everytime we went out for food. Only realising when I was like seven that it was katsudon.” Izuku quickly buried his face in his hands feeling his entire face grow warm.

There was a chorus of ‘awws’ and other similar noises, apparently everyone was very amused and delighted at Izuku’s expense. There was also an undertone of laughter very quickly taking over.

Kaminari quickly began to speak, only pausing to wheeze out more laughter. “So you mean to tell me for years... hah you ordered a bowl of…. Katsuki… whenever you went out to eat anywhere?!” More laughter fell from the electric boy’s mouth punctuating his amusement with the situation.

Izuku only hid his face more, effectively answering the blond’s question.

“I was four!!” Izuku’s indignation only fueled more laughter. He chanced a glance at Bakugou and found the boy slightly flushed, he nudged him and shot him a pleading look, all he got in response was a whisper.

“It’s ironic that I’m the reason you love katsudon so much, especially since you are the reason I was set on making the best katsudon.” He quickly leaned away determined to keep the attention off of him.

“Really? I guess it all worked out then.” Izuku whispered back, not meeting his eyes. The two were oblivious to the two girls keeping a close eye on them from across the table.

Eventually everyone recovered from their varying fits of laughter and cute-overload imagining a small Izuku excitedly ordering Katsuki everywhere he went. The rest of dinner went relatively smoothly, save for Kirishima accidentally drinking from Kaminari’s water only to be minorly electrocuted and slightly dazed due to the residual electric current.

Once the dishes were cleared and washed (no thanks to Bakugou or Midoriya ‘Hey we fucking cooked you shits can clean!’) many went their separate ways into dorms to study or to the showers. Izuku looked around and noticed only Kacchan, Kit, Uraraka, and Ashido were left in the common room with him.

“Hey Kacchan? Do you want to spar tomorrow morning? I’m trying to perfect my new aerial attack and you’re the only one that still blocks it like it’s nothing.”

“Tch you practically fucking annouce when you’re about to do it, you need to work on the build up, make sure no can tell where you’re about to go.”

“So… will you?”

“Training arena two at 7:30, don’t be fucking late.”

“Thanks Kacchan!”

“Yeah whatever. I’m going to sleep don’t be loud down here or I’ll come and whoop some ass.”

“Good night Kacchan!” As Katsuki left Izuku turned towards the other three left in the room with him. He looked to find them watching him conspiratorially.

“Ok Deku, you have nowhere to be. Just hear us out, please.”

“Uraraka there is nothing to talk about, I went along with Kit earlier and Kacchan didn’t even act any differently. I got my answer and I’m happy enough being friends.”

“I know Bakubro, he never loses control of his quirk and yet his hands popped today when it looked like you were about to kiss Katsuki-kun here.”

“Well I know Kacchan, he was probably just surprised to see someone with his face that close to me, we haven’t been that close in… well let’s just say he had me pinned to the ground both of us exhausted and covered in dust.” Izuku thought about their fight, it was their unusual start to what everyone would call mutual pining, Izuku would call friendship, and Bakugou would call not hatred.

“Izuku, will you at least agree to sticking with me until I can go back? I’m still very confused as to how all of this happened and you are someone I have come to trust the most, maybe it’s the way you remind me of my ‘Zuku or maybe it’s just your personality but it’s all a little overwhelming.”

‘Of course Kit, I won’t leave you if I make this easier on you. Maybe tomorrow you can come watch me spar with Kacchan, so you can see our quirks. It's amazing to see Kacchan for the first time!”

“Thank you, I really appreciate it. I hope I don’t get in anyone’s way.” Izuku merely shook his head, denying the thought entirely, the four stood, quiet for a moment.

“Deku? Can I ask you something? You totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“Uh sure Uraraka, go ahead.” He had a feeling he knew what she was going to ask.

“How long have you, uh you know…”

He was right.

“I’ve um, been in… love with him for years. Practically my entire life.” His voice was small, severely lacking his trademarked positivity.

“Wow, Midoriya we had no idea-”

“That’s kind of the point Ashido, that’s why I’m ok with the way things are, better than any alternative.” Everyone could see the wistful look on his face, he had thought all of this through before and everytime he did he came to the same conclusion.

“Midoriya? Will you hear me out for a second?”

“Sure Ashido, what is it?”

“I think you should give it a shot. Bakugou has never shown interest in anyone but he has always been different with you, almost like any emotion he has is amplified just by you being there. That should count for something.”

“I don’t know Ashido. There is just so much between us, I’m not sure if there is room for any of this. Even if there was, Kacchan is so focused that he probably won’t think of it as anything more than a distraction and a waste of his time.”

The three figures in front of Izuku looked at him sadly, he had felt enough sadness already and wanted to alleviate theirs.

“But look guys! Just today we made dinner together and no one was blown up! I told an embarrassing story from my childhood and he didn’t make fun of me! He even made me feel better.” It was his last few words that shook them out of their saddened state, Uraraka even seemed to remember something.

“Oh yeah! I was going to ask you what he had said to you. You two were leaning towards each other, but not looking at each other. Almost resolutely keeping your eyes off of each other.” Izuku flushed at the mention of their seemingly private conversation, he knew Kacchan wouldn’t want him to share what he had said.

“Oh! That, right um I wanted him to help me! Everyone was laughing and I was embarrassed!”

“That didn’t answer my question! What did he say to you?”

“Oh you know just something about irony I guess.” The confusion on everyone’s face was nearly comical.

“What do you mean ‘ironic’? How was a story about you ordering katsudon ‘ironic’?” Uraraka was unfailingly persistent today, Izuku would have to think quickly.

“Oh um you know how I got the nickname Deku right?”

“Um yeah you said and I quote ‘That’s what Kacchan calls me to make fun of me.” when we first met. What does that have to do with irony? That’s completely off topic!”

“Well not really, you see the Kanji for my name can be read as Izuku all together but the first half can be read as Deku, and well he was one of the first ones to start reading in our class, go figure am I right? But yeah he read my name as Deku and just said how it was ironic that I had read katsudon as his name and he read my name as Deku and I guess we weren’t looking at each other so we didn’t draw attention to ourselves, but I guess that didn’t really work did it?” Izuku finally let out a big breath, filling his lungs with much needed air.

They all stared, taking a moment to process everything that came out of Izuku’s mouth, desperately wishing for Bakugou’s ability to understand everything Izuku says within mere moments of him speaking. Kit seemed to comprehend everything full first.

“Wow, I didn’t think both of you would do that, I was not fully prepared as I usually am.”

Izuku reddened at his words, although he had done it on purpose, having someone point out his rambling never failed to leave him embarrassed.

“Wow, that was a lot of information. Wait did you say that the other Izuku does that too?” Uraraka was next, having gone through her fair share of Izuku’s atics.

“Well yes he does, although he usually talks about dragons which is significantly easier for me to comprehend at higher speeds, and I can’t help but to be enthralled by everything he says.”

The two girls fawned over the admission, still not used to seeing ‘Bakugou’ being so open, neither of them being able to tell the two apart.

“Can we train Bakugou to be like this? He would literally never just say something like that, he probably wouldn’t even think it!”

“Uraraka! I don’t think that's true! He wouldn’t necessarily say that exactly but you just have to learn to translate slightly. Like for example instead of saying what Kit just said he would probably say something more like ‘ugh I hate that I can understand you and I swear if you distract me from something one more time I’ll kill you!’”

The two girls could only stare in shock at the startilingy good impression he did of Bakugou, even if he didn’t curse at all.

“Ok yes you have a point but oh my gosh how long have you been able to do such a good Bakugou impression?!” Ashido seemed genuinely affronted by this new information, as if it was offensive to have hidden it from her.

“Oh I don’t really know? I guess always? I’ve never seriously done one before, although I guess I do know him well enough.” Izuku seriously contemplated the information, allowing himself to briefly forget about his situation, he was brought back to shocking reality when Ashido spoke up again.

“I wonder if Bakugou could do that good of an impression of you?” Everyone pondered the question, genuinely curious in the answer.

“I mean if Deku can act like him why couldn’t he act like Deku?” Although the subject matter was weird, Izuku was grateful for the conversation shift.

The two girls quietly went back and forth as to why or why not the brash boy could emulate Deku convincingly, allowing Izuku to turn his focus to Kit, who had stood quietly since his last comment.

“Hey Kit? Are you alright?”

“Oh yes I’m fine, I guess everything is hitting me now, I really am stuck in some random world where I don’t belong.”

“Oh Kit, we’ll get you back soon. Hopefully tomorrow after a good night’s sleep we can ask Aizawa for an update, and tomorrow after I spar with Kacchan I will explain our quirks to you, it’ll be easier to understand once you see us use them.”

“Is it bad of me to say that I hope I wake up tomorrow and never see you again?”

Izuku couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him, it was entirely inappropriate but completely necessary at the same time.

“You know what Kit, I don’t think it is bad at all.” The two boys turned to look at the girls in their company, still animatedly debating.

“Hey guys? I’m heading to bed for the night. Unless of course there was something else you wanted to question me about?” Anyone could hear the sarcasm dripping from Izuku’s voice as he spoke, he knew his friends meant well.

“You know what Deku? I think you’re off the hook for tonight. Try to get some sleep would ya? You know even if you're sleep deprived Bakugou won’t go easy on you.” There were small huffs of laughter at Uraraka’s words, amusing as they were accurate.

“Goodnight guys, Kit do you want me to walk you to your room?”

“I’m alright Izuku, I saw where it was earlier today and I can manage to make my way back. Goodnight.” With a swift nod to the three in front of him Kit turned away and walked out the door.

“Wow, just as aloof as Kacchan, don’t even know why I offered help.” He was talking mostly to himself.

“Night Deku, Mina do you want to walk up together?”

“Sure! Night Midoriya!”

“Goodnight you guys.”

The girls left quickly, walking up a floor to their dorms. Izuku paused for a moment, for the first time seriously contemplating their words throughout the night, did they see something he didn’t?

Not allowing himself any false hope, Izuku turned and made his way into his dorm, double checking the alarms on his phone on the way, turning his mind to perfecting his aerial attack. Izuku hadn’t realised the toll the day had on him until his pajama clad body hit the bed and instantly melted into the soft embrace, before he knew it he was asleep.

#Bakudeku #bakudeku fic #katsudeku #izukatsu #kacchan #deku #izuku midoriya #Katsuki Bakugō #katsuki x izuku #dekukatsu #bakugou x midoriya #deku x kacchan #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia fic #boku no hero academia fic #fantasy meets reality #bnha fantasy au

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thequirkdetective · 4 years

Text

Investigation 7 (24/7/2020): Navel Laser – Yuga Aoyama

Aoyama’s quirk is an interesting one, that I have been pondering for quite a while. On the surface it’s a simple power; being able to shine a large, wide laser beam from one’s bellybutton, but upon deeper inspection the quirk reveals itself as rather powerful, with enough energy in the beam to launch the user backwards[1]. So how much energy is a laser of those capabilities actually outputting?

The ability of the laser to propel Aoyama backwards is most likely the largest consumer of energy throughout the quirk’s many uses. The basic principle is the same as that of a rocket: accelerate an object in one direction, and you will accelerate in the opposite direction, at a rate proportional to the ratio of the object’s mass to your mass. The problem with this approach is that photons do not have any mass, since they travel at the speed of light. They do, however, still exert momentum, equal to Planck’s constant over the photon’s wavelength. Aoyama’s laser is blue, with a wavelength around 470nm, and so the momentum of each photon is 1.4x10-27kgm/s.

Usefully, Aoyama uses his quirk to move in a race, where we are given his precise time, and the distance travelled. Rather unhelpfully, it takes him two bursts to finish, and the bursts are unequal. Judging by the features of the building in the background, the first burst takes him 43m. When he hits the ground, Mina is about 7m behind him, and since she finishes in less than 5.51 seconds, we can assume she is running at a rather impressive 10m. This means she covers that 7m in 0.7 seconds, and the whole 43m in 4.3 seconds. Since Aoyama crashes down 0.7 seconds before, he covers the 43m in 3.6 seconds, his average velocity therefore being just under 12m/s. Assuming a constant acceleration, his initial velocity would be 0m/s, and his final velocity a rather swift 24m/s. This is reached in 3.6 seconds, so the acceleration given by the laser is 6.7m/s2.

Approximating Aoyama’s mass as 50kg, the momentum he needs is 335kgm/s. The number of photons required for this is 2.4x1029, emitted over 3.6 seconds, with a rate of 6.6x1028 photons per second. To figure out the power output of this laser, we need to multiply the number of photons released by the speed of light, then the Planck constant, then divide that total by the wavelength of light. This gives us a power output of 2.8x1010 watts, or 28 gigawatts. According to Doc Brown from Back to The Future, this is enough energy to travel back in time 25 times over. The Three Gorges Dam in China has the largest power output of any commercial power plant, at just over 2000MW. Aoyama’s laser, if powered solely by Three Gorges Dams, would need 12 to be fired at full power. To get an even better sense of scale, we can show the number of laser pointers Aoyama’s laser is equivalent to: if we lay out laser diodes, each 1x1mm, in a square, with the same power usage as Aoyama’s laser, each side would be over 2.3 million km on each side; 260 times the height of Mt. Everest or six times the distance from Earth to the Moon.

In fact, there is a laser 7000 times more powerful than Aoyama that is currently built and in operation. The Laser for Fast Ignition Experiments (LFEX) is used for fusion energy experiments, and draws 2 petawatts of power. However, it’s only ever fired for 1 trillionth of a second, leading to a total energy output of 2000 Joules. Although Aoyama has a lower power consumption, the total possible energy output is 14 million times greater.

There is no possible way for Aoyama to power the laser due to the eye-watering power consumption, so that must immediately be written off to fiction. So now Aoyama has a 28 Gigawatt laser that can be fired in 1 seconds bursts. What sort of uses does this device have?

Firstly, the laser has a radius of ~1/4m, so an cross sectional area of 0.2m2. Since Aoyama can fire the laser in 1 seconds bursts, he can, at any time, pump 28 gigajoules of energy into any 0.5m radius circular area, be it a tree, a building, or a passer-by. Lets say he point the laser at a large block of ice. How deep would the resulting hole be?

The ice reflects around 2/3rds of the light, meaning in 1 second it absorbs 18.7 gigawatts of energy. Adding together the latent heat of fusion and vaporization, and the specific heat capacity multiplied by 100, gives the amount of energy to melt 1kg of ice at 0°C, heat it to 100°C, and boil it, which comes in at 3008510 joules. Then, divide the energy output of the laser blast by this figure to get the mass of ice that can be vaporized by the laser (remembering to factor in reflection), to find that the laser can melt 3.1 tons of ice. Going back to our ice block example, the resultant hole from 1 second of laser exposure would be 17.2m deep, not taking into account the ice indirectly melted by the cloud of steam.

Now that strange example is figured out, we can take a look at the effects of the same exposure of a human body. The average specific heat capacity of a human is 3470J/kg°C. Assuming a 50kg student or villain took the full force of it across their whole body, they would be heated to 161,000°C, around 1/10th the surface of the sun. This is of course assuming the student/villain stands there and absorbs all of the energy released. This is improbable, not least because they would be pushed backwards by the force of the light. Also, the laser is much more likely to vaporize a clean hole through them. However, the effects of acceleration, incredible amounts of heat, and a large hole vaporized through one’s torso would most likely lead to death. The problem arises when the careless misuse of the quirk leads to the laser shining on unwanted objects and people. The use of the laser as a method of movement in the 50m race is a good example.

The laser slowly loses efficacy with distance, as the light spreads out and is scattered in the air. Blue light is especially prone to scattering, which is the reason the sky is blue and sunsets are red. However, with a 28 gigawatt laser Rayleigh scattering is pretty insignificant, and the growth of the laser’s cross-section is based only on the focus of the laser. This means that the beam would still be immensely powerful when it met whatever obstacle first crossed its path; and in the case of the 50m race that obstacle would be a patch of woodland. The trees at the edge would be hit first and hardest, absorbing the brunt of the laser, heating up quickly and causing the sap in the wood to boil and expand, exploding the tree outward. This process is repeated a handful of times as the laser rips inwards, splinters and shards of burning wood flying outwards in all directions. Then, once the laser has lost significant energy to heating it would start to burn through a few more trees, setting them on fire and most likely causing a forest fire that burns down the whole patch of woodland.

In addition to woodland conservation, Aoyama’s laser has a few other applications, some that would undoubtedly pay much more than hero work, and would be much more beneficial to the world at large. Since Aoyama uses so much energy and does not need to eat the appropriate amount of carbohydrates (92 thousand slices of cake or 30 thousand servings of pasta) he can violate conservation of energy. With the right apparatus, this could create infinite energy to supply to the whole world, with enough to spare to create wormholes and travel back in time, allowing everyone to live in a post-scarcity utopia (a trait shared by Yaoyorozu, meaning there are now two students who could end world hunger forever but are instead just training to beat up petty criminals). In the short term, Aoyama could get a job in physics, replacing one of the incredible powerful lasers at one of the many fusion power research facilities and supplying 2000x the energy those lasers can, furthering fusion research and helping to create a fusion reactor to supply Japan with huge amounts of clean energy. Or he could look at being a power source for space ships. The idea of beaming energy to space ships and stations has been around for a while, the basic idea being firing a laser at a vessel, which then absorbs the energy with something akin to solar panels, but the issue has always been placing large enough lasers outside the atmosphere to prevent Rayleigh scattering and then finding a way of powering them. Aoyama could solve this problem by either being portable enough to be flown into space or the upper atmosphere and using his quirk there, or even just having a laser powerful enough to still supply enough power despite Rayleigh scattering. This could allow humanity to travel outwards to the stars with minimal need for batteries and no need for any energy generators, in turn meaning less fuel is needed for each vessel. Engines such as ionized xenon drives could be used to propel the ships using only electricity and lightweight xenon gas, making space flight cheaper than it has ever been.

Even in the hero business, Aoyama’s quirk could make quick work of any villain, vaporizing them in less than a second. In offensive capability Aoyama is near unmatched, and utilising mirrors could mean taking out multiple targets at once, or precisely targeting the laser to within millimetres. In fact Aoyama doesn’t even have to move, just fire his laser at a series of precisely calibrated mirrors and lenses, controlled electronically. Orbital mirrors could allow the neutralisation of targets from orbit, with a system similar to the Strategic Defence Initiative developed by the US in 1983, using a system of terrestrial lasers and orbital and ground-based mirrors to take down incoming ballistic missiles. Except this time the laser is much more powerful and created by a high-school student rather than a large nuclear detonation.

There’s not much to conclude about the quirk itself here, apart from the fact that Aoyama can, in spite of all known physics, produce a 28 gigawatt laser from his bellybutton with no side effects other than mild IBS. The practical applications of this laser are immense, and I am just scratching the surface of what this could be used for. However, the used seen in the anime are reckless, and would have caused untold damage and likely significant loss of life.

[1] Season 1 Episode 5: What I Can Do for Now

If you liked this investigation and want to have a say in the next one, then make sure to send a recommendation for which quirk I should investigate!

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #yuga aoyama #aoyama yuga #quirk investigation #bnha analysis

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peacefulwriter88 · 5 years

Text

One That Got Away - Chapter 6

Steve Rogers x OFC

Chapter 6: Around the Horn

Universe: Marvel Canon

Rating: M for Mature (Language, Sexual tones eventual)

Previous Part

It’s amazing the things human reveal about themselves when they don’t think other people are listening. Humans are simple creatures by design – inspired and ruined by the same motivations. It's only when they are aware their voice is heard that feelings like guilt and apology come into play.

Steve used to think his super hearing, like most of his abilities, was a curse. It forced him to be witness to peoples move private and intimate conversations – forcing him into strangers lives. Over time, he had to learn how to tune humans out. He was tired of hearing the same things, tired of the anxiety that arose from jumping from one conversation to another. While he believed in the beauty of humanity – believed that him and his species were worth fighting for – it was becoming dull to have to listen to the same conversations repeat themselves, to never pinpoint the simpler of solutions.

That humans were restless and craved conflict.

He should know.

It was how he felt 90% of the time.

So, as he stood in a stadium that had the capacity to hold over 54,000 he had realized the error in his ways. He was trying to find you – the service on his cell phone had failed him at his current location and the only sure way he knew how to find you in a crowd was to listen for your voice. But to listen for your voice meant he had to jump into the world of the thousands of people around him and his brain was feeling overstimulated, not used to ingesting so much stimulation and data at once, not since he trained it to do otherwise in social situations like this. Between the yelling and screaming and laughing – the people who were moving past him quickly and brushing against his body he felt like screaming, like bursting out and finding safety at higher ground.

It was how he felt back when breathing felt like a chore and the only time girls laid eyes on him was when they realized he was Bucky’s sad best friend.

Being in crowds made him insecure. Which is why he preferred to watch from the wings.

He looked down at his screen, trying to see if the text he typed for you was sent but his phone was still doing that circling thing that Bucky called the wheel of death, so he assumed not.

He should have been more specific. Texting was more of a chore than a convenience.

He had given in to finally getting the writing service on his phone, right after he had made amends with you in your office. He had immediately asked Bucky to meet him at the cell phone store he had purchased his flip phone at to get texting put on the older device. Which had caused Bucky to guffaw because he really needed a new phone but Steve was insistent on keeping his old one and Bucky wasn’t going to argue against it for the uptenth time again. So he patiently helped Steve figure out the simple buttons to send you a text, which had been a bust the next day when he was ready to send you a message.

It was Sam that stood next to him after their morning training, patiently helping him click out the words over stiff buttons to send off to you,

I have texting on my phone so I can be better at staying in touch with you. How is your day?

The message had taken him an ashamedly twenty minutes to get out but he did, hearing from you immediately. The week continued with that cadence, you texting him goodnight and him texting you good morning. Finding opportunities to get to know each other a bit more, your texts coming in long paragraphs that his phone broke up in 5 pages while he sent multiple smaller texts, frustrated with the machine. So when you had texted him earlier that afternoon with the simple message of,

Excited to see you tonight! Yankee’s Stadium, 6pm. SW entrance

He hadn’t thought to follow up to ask which southwest entrance. There were at least four, and they were all crowded and similar and he was feeling anxious trying to find you among the waves and waves of people walking in.

He was tempted to walk and find an area where he would find service, where he could call or text you to get clarification, but it's at that moment he senses someone walking behind him, not as silent as they were hoping as they lift their hands. Its instinctual as he turns, easily catching your wrists that are in mid air quickly as you gasp, your eyes growing larger as you let out a breathy “Oh.”

Even though his breathing is measured, his heart is beating fast as he allows his eyes to take you in, to realize that he’s in a public space and you don’t mean any harm to him, the people around him. You shift your wrists in his embrace and he realizes that he’s grabbed them too tight and he immediately pulls away as you give a side smile, your eyes relaxing as you let out,

“Serves me right, thinking I could sneak up behind you. I just wanted to see if you could guess who I was but that was a short lived idea.”

You’re laughing, not offended at all as you pull out your phone and start scrolling through it. You look back up at him and smile, nodding for him to follow you into the long line to get into the stadium. He wants to tell you that he hated surprises, that they usually always resulted like this, him aggressively and unexpectedly ruining a nice gesture because he was always on edge. Instead, he pushes it down as you look back up at him, the first time he’s seen you relaxed and happy around him since the start of your relationship and he smiles back,

“I’ll give you credit for trying. Not a lot of women bold enough to try to out play me but unfortunately for us both, I’ll always be quicker. My DNA gives me that advantage.”

“Ohhh humble are we,” you say as you show the man your tickets on your phone, motioning it's for you and Steve as he ushers you towards security. “You’ll never surprise me because I’m smarter, faster, stronger. Ok Kanye.”

Your voice is teasing as you give the security guard your purse to look through, before you walk through the security strip. It takes a beat and grants him the opportunity to quickly pull out the small notebook he keeps in his back pocket, to scribble down how he thinks one would write Kanye (with a C like the pepper?), multiple question marks beside it before placing the small book back in his pocket. He follows your lead through security, remembering a time where you could trust the people in the world to not cause havoc at places of joy as he tries to pinpoint the reference you’ve dropped.

What the heck was a Kanye and why was everyone in this city always referencing him? If you brought it up it must be somewhat important so he’d make sure to ask Sam or Clint next time he saw them.

He’s surprised when he’s moved through security and you’re no longer standing in the spot you had been previously, waiting for him. Instead there’s just the group of people passing by, trying to get to their seats. He feels panic rise in his chest, his hands going damp.

Where could you have gone that quickly?

It’s seconds later he’s rewarded to you throwing your body on his back, your arms wrapping around his broad shoulders as your legs squeeze around his middle,

“How about now soldier?” you whisper in his ear, your voice dark and sultry, “Is this quick enough for you?”

Its intimate the position you're in, his hand instinctively finding the back of your thighs as you tighten around him. He shifts you higher up on his back, causing you to squeal as you tighten your hold around him and he likes the sound that slips out your mouth, wants to see how else he can pull it out of you.

“You just had to prove me wrong didn’t you?” he states, trying to look over his shoulder and you giggle, moving enough to look back into his eyes,

“Don’t tell me I’m not fast enough, even for you. You should know now, I will dedicate every minute of my life to proving you otherwise. I don’t do ‘can’t’”

Your breath hits his face, the mixture of mint mingling with your perfume. He becomes aware of how his hands tease the soft muscle underneath your thighs, the soft way your stomach and breast press against his hard back, the way the bills of your hat awkwardly hit each other, causing you to drift closer.

“You’re ridiculous. But point made.” He smiles at you, giving your legs a squeeze and you giggle, biting your lip as you wiggle in his embrace.

“Ok Mr. Rogers, now you’ve made your point and you’ve impressed me. You’re able to lift my thick figure with ease. But I'm sure the hoards of New York and Boston baseball fans that are pushing around us aren’t as appreciative of your skills.”

You move to fall down from his back, laughing as you adjust to being back on ground. He wants to tell you that he likes your thick figure, that you have meat on your bones that compliments you and you weighed nothing at all. But you’re onto the next thing, your eyes surveying the place.

“Ok, first things first. We find beer. Then we find our seats. Then you have to impress me with your dazzling baseball knowledge. And if you impress me, maybe you get a second date. Or….you get stuck in the friend safe zone if I find you unable to keep up.”

“Oh really?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah. You were the one who stood me up, remember.”

You were right about that.

“Fair. It's your call. This time.”

“You saying there’s going to be a next?”

“I know there is.” he says confidently and you laugh as you pull the straps of your purse as you put your phone back into the satchel before your smiling up at him,

“Ok Cap. Follow me.”

You move quickly, fast surprisingly considering the thickness of the crowd, but he’s able to keep up with your frame. He wasn’t used to this, someone else taking charge that wasn’t Tony and he likes how confident you are, the fact that you knew what you wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it. You get him to the escalator with speed and smile at him as the moving stairs give you the vantage point of temporary high ground

“What does it mean to have box seats?” he finally asks, curious as you both look around in silence. “Everyone at the tower are impressed that you’re able to provide them and I'm not sure why?”

“Means we have one of the best views in the park and never have to leave the space for booze and food. It's just a fancy word of saying you are isolated from the public and get good amenities along with the game.”

Oh.

You didn’t seem like the kind of girl who liked to sit in isolation, away from it all in areas of athletics. While he could appreciate the privacy, he was always nostalgic of watching a good baseball game with others.

There was nothing like comradery amongst strangers.

You flicker your eyes back to him, note he’s uneasy as you clear your throat,

“That sounded cocky. Let me correct myself...the seats aren’t mine. Honestly, there the companies. They’ll be three other people, journalists with us in the box. It's honestly just a nice place to watch the game if you’re also trying to write down highlights for your article. Outside of that it's just convenience and a way to isolate from the crowd. Which really bums me out once I’m done working, half of the fun at baseball is the crowd.”

Steve nods, looking around him,

“I know it may not seem it, but I like watching the game with a group of people too. I’ve seen some of the best games and had some of the best conversations with just kind, random strangers.”

You watch him curiously, leaning against the rail of the escalator before saying,

“I suppose you were able to see some of the best baseball in the history of baseball on this soil. Box seats wouldn’t impress you much, now that I think about it. Hmmm.”

You give a wry smile and he realizes that he’s done that thing again, where he’s embarrassed you by defaulting to his simple ways and he’s quick to place a gentle hand on your hips,

“Hey, I’m excited! It’s a new experience and I get to talk with you and three other people who study baseball for a living. But mainly, I get one on one time with you.”

That was at least true. While he would prefer normal seats, the only upside of this opportunity was being able to be so intimately close with you. You respond by laughing, resting your hand on his shoulder,

“You're kind Steve. I didn’t even think you’d mind being with others….that was a selfish oversight of mine. My friend asked me to come to help him with his article, he likes my input and I thought it would be fun for us. But I see now….I shouldn’t have thought you were the kind of man who would have found it interesting. And maybe...maybe I was trying not to make a big deal out of this date.”

He chuckles, his hands squeezing your hips,

“Why? Because I disappointed you once and you were worried it would happen again so you wanted back up.”

You giggle as you lean into him, giving his shoulder a swat,

“Can you blame me! You real life disappeared for days….and it was after I was already speculative of letting you in the first place.”

Your voice is light but you keep your eyes focused on everything but his face and he realizes that he had really disappointed you. Which, in turn, makes him feel disappointed in himself.

The last thing he wanted to do in any capacity was hurt you.

Especially when you were making it clear that you were still unsure about having anything to do with him.

“I’m sorry about that and I promise you it will never happen again. I even got texting on my phone!” he makes a point to pull out his phone, that automatically causes you to erupt in laughter, causing strangers to look over.

“Holy shit. You must be serious….I bet getting texting on that thing was a migraine for the technician.”

Your smiling back at him, the one that is all teeth and causes his stomach to dance and he squeezes your hips one more time.

“Bucky can happily let you know the pain I went through for you. Or more so that technician.”

You both reach the top of the escalator, stepping off for the second level and you look around. Your quick as you find your target, causing him to stumble after you as you make your way to the daughter and father duo,

“Hello, sorry do you have a few seconds to talk?,” you pull your badge out of your bag as you continue “I’m a reporter for ESPN and I have a proposition for you.”

The father looks at the badge, impressed as the daughter tugs on his legs, looking out onto the field.

“I have these box seats for the game and my friend and I kinda want to be in the crowd – we’ve been there all season you know. Would you be ok with switching? I know it's last minute and super random but it's just other reporters and you’d have some first hand advantage for any bets you might have? And I much rather give my seats to you than some rowdy douchebag.”

Your voice is light and sincere and the man looks at you in disbelief before asking,

“Are you Ariadne Bellamy? The Ariadne Bellamy who writes for All Bets on Me?”

You scrunch your eyes together before nodding,

“Yeah…..”

“Oh my god – you helped me so much last season with your blog. Yes! We’d love that. My daughter has really gotten into the sport and it's fun being in the ranks but it'd be nice to watch a playoff game away from all the rowdiness. Besides I can tell all my friends how the Ariadne Bellamy gave me her seats.”

You both exchange email addresses, sending him your box suite information as he exchanges the tickets in his hands. When you return back to Steve, you do so with a large grin on our face.

“You didn’t have to do that Ariadne.” Steve says quietly and you roll your eyes, shrugging.

“Jacob jumps on the opportunity to talk with real fans. Helps his article. And honestly, he’ll text me if he really needs help. I want you to be comfortable for our date and if you’d prefer to be down with the others, I’m game. Though I’m still using my company credit card for beer. That’s the best perk.”

“I mean, you didn’t have to be so nice to a stranger and yet you were.”

“Captain America questioning my moral code of conduct? Oh boy.”

You have that teasing tone in your voice again and he laughs, grabbing your hand and giving it a small squeeze,

“Not at all. It’s just….refreshing. Of all the people you could have given it to, you were intentional to give it to someone who you knew it would mean a lot to. It’s a unique kind of selflessness that's hard to find nowadays. It’s makes you an exceptional person….” he drifts as you look up at him, softened features etching your face and he clears his throat, “Anyways, you got us into the game. Let me take care of the rest.”

You don’t object as you both head to find your seats, neither of you stopping to pull your hands away from the other.

You both miss most of the first inning, the line to grab cheap hot dogs and beer longer than he’d like. You lean into making this experience authentic, though he’s pretty sure that your arguing to hold two baskets of hot dogs and beers is a learned behavior from your overprotective and natural maternal relationship with Ellie. When he insists that he’ll carry the beers and you can focus on the dogs you hesitantly agree, though by the time your walking down the steep stairs to your seats you give a grateful sigh that you weren’t stuck with the bitter, golden liquid he was balancing behind you. It's not until your both sitting down that he automatically regrets his decision.

“You know what the difference is between watching the 1932 Yankees then versus now?” he asks as you look over at him, “I was a lot smaller. When did stadium seating get so….compact?”

You laugh as you shake your head, falling back into your seat and leaning into his large frame.

“Always! They just make it for small people. If you have curves or a large Adonis frame like ourselves, you just gotta get up and grab more beer to deal with the stiffness in your legs.”

He smiles as he hands a beer to you,

“Well, to authenticity.”

“To authenticity.”

You both toast, the promise of a fun night hanging in the air.

The game is fast paced. After you both inhale your hot dogs, you’re never given the opportunity to sit down. The teams are too equally matched in skill, causing the stadium to spend most of its time standing and yelling at the field, at other fans, you and Steve included between alternating grabbing drinks. There’s a few people that recognizes him, he can see the wide eye glimmer in their eyes before they look away but he’s lucky that they haven’t boldly gone over to ask for his autograph or photo. It’s in contrast to you, who has multiple people stopping you between grabbing beers and innings - mostly men he notices - who are itching to hear your opinions on plays. You don’t seem too bothered about it, answering questions gracefully before pointing out you’re on a date and he wonders if this is standard for you, if it’s the true reason you prefer your box seating.

It’s another question for another time - this wasn’t the setting for that kind of reflection so instead when he gets a chance he asks,

“You know - you don’t seem like a baseball watching kind of woman to me.”

You laugh at him as you finish scurrying into your seat, the two beers in your hand splashing over your fingers. You blow on them, the sun had set hours ago and the cold east coast air was starting to bite through your Yankees lined bomber jacket. This was round number four for you both and you still had three innings left.

“I’m not.” You nod as the horn signaling the end of the seventh inning goes off. You both opt to sit down, taking the opportunity for the next five minutes to rest your feet.

“But you are quite knowledgeable about baseball. I think even beyond what you need to know for your job.” Steve counters and you smile, shaking your head as he throws his arm around you, allowing himself to be bold and you lean into his embrace easily.

“I am.” You take a sip of your beer watching him.

“So…..the story goes?”

You laugh again, nodding your head to the side, biting your lip. When the time in your relationship came, he was going to learn how to tame that habit of yours. It was driving him crazy.

“Nothing complicated. I’m a New York girl. My grandfather took me to games, then my father. I liked sports so it was easy, learning the intricacies of the game. I guess…..I was close to my grandpa – my dad. So it’s a way to keep them close to me, you know.”

He nods and you lean into him, blinking up at him innocently,

“What about you? What got you into baseball.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head.

“Two words. 1927 Yankees.”

“Murderer’s Row.” You whistle underneath your breath and he smiles, nodding.

“I saw Babe Ruth play in this stadium. Lou Geghrig. Dimaggio. That was…to see that group of men play a sport with the athletic finesse they did - you just didn't get any better than that you know? I think it was the games in 1932. Bucky and I spent any free dime and nickel we could get our hands on to go. So much so that during the Yankees winning streak, we had drained our resources and right around my birthday. I was devastated. Bucky could only spare so much - his pop had died a few years back in the war and with three younger sisters to feed he felt guilty as it was to spend the money selfishly on the games.

But unbeknownst to me, my mom had been working double down at the factory despite the cancer that was eating at her to get me and Bucky tickets. She knew how much I loved baseball and wanted to get me a nice gift for my birthday. Bucky was thrilled, charmed a dame to buy us a hot dog we had to share and we had to hitchhike back home because we didn’t have enough bus or subway fare but….standing in that stadium and watching that team play against the Pirates. Nothing like it.”

He remembers how hot it’d been, that it had triggered his asthma no matter how many layers he peeled off. It was the smoke from the fireworks that had resulted in pneumonia the next day and he had been out of commission for a week. It hadn’t mattered, standing beside Bucky in this stadium, watching a group of men play a game that made him forget for a few hours that he was feeble, sick Steve Rogers but just a part of the crowd, the memory makes him smile. Makes him feel like himself.

“That sounds like a nice memory.” You whisper to him and it causes him to shift his eyes back to you, pulling him back into the present.

“It was. Feels like yesterday” He looks back onto the field as the game starts up and you nudge him, your hands finding his own and intertwining with them.

“Where were you sitting when it happened?,” you look around, squinting before smiling and point to the north side of the stadium. “I was sitting over there my first time. Fucking nosebleeds but Derek Jetter had been on fire that night. My grandfather was so happy and excited, the Yankees winning the most games that season in a long time. He had been grooming me on baseball for years, he was so enthusiastic about the sport and my family pitched in to get us the tickets.

It was exciting to take the train from Queens to the The Bronx. It was the first time I’d been on the subway that long, my eight year old self eagerly drinking in everything as my grandpa quizzed me on the basic rules of baseball. He could’ve taken anyone - my older brother loved baseball as much as him and he had been pissed when I got the ticket but grandfather was insistent it had to be me. Said there was something special about my voice when I talked about sports. I like to come here and remember how I felt in that moment...”

Your face has washed over in nostalgia, smiling deeply as you lean into his shoulder, trying to block off a gust of wind that was blowing through the stadium. Steve looks around, before looking up and pointing,

“It was actually in this section…but also in the nosebleeds. It had a beautiful view of everything and Bucky and I sat there every time we got our hands on a ticket,” he laughs, shaking his head and drawing you closer to him, rubbing your arms as you shiver underneath your jacket. “Bucky had to carry me up the stairs every time toward the end, I couldn’t breath after the first three flights. I'm pretty sure I went through my whole inhaler between the wet air and those stairs.”

You laugh as you look up at him, giving his hand a squeeze.

“Sports bring people together. That’s why I do it - write. There’s all the fucking politics and shady shit around it sure but it brings out this. Those happy moments that define us as humans.”

He’s not prepared for you. Doesn’t think he’d be able to be, life had thrown you in his path when he had made peace with functioning alone in the world. He doesn’t want that now that he’s met you, wants to spend every second of his breath moving forward in being a part of your world in some way.

There’s a moment that the loud stadium noise fades away, where he forgets where he’s at as you both look at each other and there’s the familiar knot that spreads in his stomach since he’s met you. You’re a siren calling him home and he leans down to press his lips against your own, needing to see.

You taste like a first kiss. Your lips are feathery and lush and he moves his beer between his legs so he can press his cold hand against your warm cheek, pull you closer to him. Your perfume overwhelms him and he doesn’t need anything deeper than the satisfaction of your lips on top of his own. To feel your hand wrap over his as you kiss him back sweetly, the game an afterthought.

He was in trouble.

You were in trouble.

Both of you are too involved with the other to notice the fan that discreetly snaps your photo.

Tag List: @geminimoonbeamx @ssweet-empowerment@capsofwinchesters@tacohead13@harleycativy@pietrotheavenger@francezka10@papichulosebastian@obsessionsofmynerdheart@melaninmarvel@avengedqueen26@nasteaxluvgal@winterbuttmunch@nys30@buckyslongasshair@ohlumi@wellthirsted @gifsbysimplysonia @misskenni @harleycativy@maraudereestauderelb@chrisevans-sexualfrustrations @xceafh@misskenni

TAGS ARE STILL OPEN!

#Steve Rogers #Steve Rogers AU #Steve Rogers x Reader #Steve Rogers x OFC #Chris Evans #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #Anthony Mackie #Sebastian Stan

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starkatana · 6 years

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Love to me is when I’m better because you’re here. (Part 2)

Credit to @toxsfandomstuff

Based on: https://toxsfandomstuff.tumblr.com/post/178037560969/hewocan-i-request-a-todoroki-imagine-where-his

I just want to say thank you for writing this and for getting me out of my slump. I also apologize for its similarity.

Shoto Todoroki x Female Reader (Y/N)

Part 2/???

---

A couple of weeks passed and the date for the party was coming up soon. Meaning the stress was definitely piling on to make sure everything was in tip-top shape. You noticed yourself not feeling well, but figured you could continue going to work and to just fight through it. You were pretty sure it was stress from the late nights preparing for the banquet ceremony. Then the fever hit, that’s when you decided it was best just to work from home to make sure no one else got sick.

Shoto always looked forward coming to work and seeing you at your desk. He always had a crush on you, but had always watched you from a far because he was just never sure how to approach you. He didn’t know how to have a conversation with you that wouldn’t end in an awkward silence.

But now that he had already asked you to the party, everything just felt easier. Like all of his worries had washed away and the pressure was gone. You two were able to talk like you were always friends. He loved getting to know you and making you smile.

Coming into work, you weren’t at your desk. Endeavor’s personal secretary, Violette, was. Normally your desk was crowded with different interns and heroes just talking and getting help. Everyone avoided her gaze except for Shoto, since he knew her personally.

“Hey, where’s Y/N?”

“She’s working from home today.” She replied not looking up from her computer, “Says she has a fever.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, and since I have you here, your father-“

“I’m taking a personal day.” He responded taking his phone out to text you.

“I’m sorry?”

His mind was set. He wanted to take care of you since you do such a good job taking care of everyone, he wanted to help you out. “Tell Endeavor I’m taking a personal day, if I can’t take a personal day, I’m taking a sick day. I know I have enough hours saved up. Goodbye Violetta, I’ll see you tomorrow.” And just like that he skipped out on work and was on his way to your place.

Texts:

Todo: “What’s your address?”

You: Don’t worry about me, I’ll be back tomorrow. I don’t want you getting in trouble.

Todo: “I’m the boss, I’ll be just fine. Plus Endeavor is here, no problem.”

You felt your face get hot, Todoroki was really coming over to your apartment and it was not in any shape ready for anyone but you and your cat to see it. Your phone went off again.

Todo: “Address?”

You take in a sharp inhale and releasing the breath you text him back.

You: -insert address here-

Todo: Thanks Y/N, I’ll see you soon.

You could hear him saying your name and it made you blush. You really liked this stupid man. And the more time you guys spent together the more you liked him and came to term with your feelings that yes, if you can, you will date your boss. And he must like you some bit too. Obviously.

You’re typing away making a list for the interns to give to the hero/sidekick interns when your phone goes off. It’s Shoto. You feel your face get warmer and your heart beat faster. You answer it.

“Hi, uhm, Shoto.” You blush, still not used to just calling him by his first name.

“Hey, I’m at your apartment building.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll ring you in. I’m on the third floor in apartment 34.”

“Okay and I brought you some chicken noodle soup.”

“Oh t-thank you.” You respond walking over to your buzzer, buzzing him in, unlocking the door, and taking a seat on the couch with your computer, draping a blanket over your lap. “I left the door unlocked for you.”

“Sounds good, I’m almost there.”

You turn on the smart TV going into Netflix. You hear his footsteps arriving at your door and watching the door open, you see his white hair as he enters your apartment. He smiles softly at you as he closes his phone and shuts the door behind him.

A smile instinctively just appears on your face and you immediately feel better now that he’s here. “I see you found the place quite easily.”

“Yeah, I just mapped it. No big deal.”

You watched from the couch as he took his shoes off. This boy was looking good wearing a black v-neck, a red flannel, and some nice fitted jeans. While there you were looking like a slump in your pajamas. You couldn’t believe that he was here. Let alone skipped out on work to be here with you.

“Oh, who’s this fella?”

Your cat had gotten off from his spot on the couch and immediately walked over to Todoroki and was rubbing against his legs.

“That’s my cat, Anton. It seems like he really likes you.”

“He’s cute.”

“I know he gets it from his mom.” You give a chuckle as you take your eyes off him to finish up your email.

You hear Todoroki give a slight chuckle. “I’m just gonna warm up some soup for you okay?”

“Sure, the bowls, will be in the cabinet next to the stove, and please help yourself to anything here.”

He gives a nod. You put something on Netflix that you’ve seen a thousand times, but it’s still your favorite. Overlooking your email, you double check that you have a list of things for each group of interns to do, just because you were gone doesn’t mean that they get to slack off.

“Here.”

Shoto said handing you the bowl of soup, it was the perfect temperature. At first you were confused, how did he get this ready so fast without the stove or microwave. You face palmed, maybe you were more delirious then you thought you were, half cold, half hot duh.

“Mind if I take a seat?”

“No not at all!” you said moving the blankets over. He took a seat next to you having his right side close to you since he knew you had a fever. Instinctively you leaned up against him. He was cold, but warm, it was nice it was like being next to a cooling ice pack that was the perfect temperature.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” You apologized sitting back up.

He shook his head, “don’t worry about it. I’m glad to help you.” You smile and lean against him again as you look at the laptop and start eating your soup.

“What’re you working on?”

“A list for the interns.”

“Tell them that I say to run 50 laps around the building.”

You laugh and type that into the email. And after it you put ‘JK love Shoto Todoroki’ you showed him and he gave an approving nod. You hit send and closed your laptop for the day.

“I’m curious how many of them actually do it,” He wonders out loud.

You shrug, “Guess we’ll find out tomorrow.”

You said adjusting your body to being closer to him, trying not to spill your soup.

“So what’s this show about?” he asked invested in the show’s premise.

“It’s about a wizard and a prince, but the prince doesn’t know he’s a wizard, and the wizard always ends up saving the prince.”

“And the wizard is a servant to the prince.”

“Yup, they are best friends even though the prince doesn’t want to admit that.”

“Does the wizard?”

“Well,” you put the bowl down, “the wizard thinks the prince is a Royal Prat.”

“That’s a funny dynamic.”

“It’s my favorite show.” You said with your head leaning on his shoulder. You feel him put his arm around you and immediately you’re starting to feel better. You feel your body temperature go down. You watch the TV for a little bit as your eyelids get heavy and soon enough you’re lulled to sleep by the sounds of the television and Shoto’s breathing.

You jolt awake, feeling as if you had slept for ages, but it had to have only been a couple hours since the TV hadn’t gone into sleep mode. Looking next to you, you must’ve woken up Todoroki too, because he was stirring. Your cat was also laying on his lap, curled up against his right side.

“I’m so sorry.” You apologized, “you came here to keep me company and I fell asleep.

“No, no, it’s fine.” He yawned, “fevers take a lot out of people and your cat just started purring on my lap and I couldn’t say no to a nap too.”

“Yeah he doesn’t normally like people, but he really likes you.”

“I like him too.” He said giving the cat a few pets. He looks at you with his heterochromatic eyes, “Are you feeling better?”

You nod, “Much. I told you, you didn’t need to come by. I would’ve been fine tomorrow.”

He shrugged and gave you a smile that made you melt, “I just like seeing you.”

You felt your face get hot again and you quickly turned away.

“Are you okay Y/N?”

Ahh and the way he said your name basically made you a puddle.

“yeah.” You respond looking back at him. How about I make us some tea and we play a game.

“sure, what did you have in mind? It’s called Question, Fact, or Memory, you can either ask me to answer a question, tell you a fun fact, or give you a vivid memory. And vice versa. If you want to skip, just choose one of the others that you’re willing to share. Easy right?”

He gives you a gentle nod. “yeah, sounds easy enough.” You smile at him and start brewing some tea.

You guys end up playing the game getting to know each other pretty well. You answered all of his questions and you tried to stay away from asking for a memory because of his past. One of your questions was “Why do you call Endeavor by his hero name and never his first or just dad?” Instead of answering Todoroki, gave you a fact that he loves cats and your cat was definitely at the top of the list. So, after that you stayed away from that territory.

You both play well into the afternoon, when you guys decide to make breakfast for dinner, just fried eggs and toast, nothing fancy. Just what you have in the house. You’re eating and laughing together and everything just felt right. Until he got a phone call.

“Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”

You give him a nod as you begin to clear the table into the sink. Todoroki is in the corner of your house looking at your cluttered bookshelf pinching the bridge of his nose. You could only imagine what the phone call was about, but you turned your attention away. Not that it was your business, but you hope you didn’t get him into any trouble.

“Sorry about that.” He says coming over to you.

“No worries, heroes always have something that they gotta do.”

He gave you his signature Todoroki half smirk and nod, “Today has been really fun y/n, but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait.” You reach for his hand. He stops and turns around to look at you. “Do you want to stay the night?” you ask feeling your face get flush, your turn away from him trying not to make eye contact with him.

He seemed to debate for a second or two and you felt like an idiot. You guys weren’t dating and you just became friends with this boy. Of course you had a massive crush on him and you didn’t want him to leave, but fuck. You might’ve just messed everything about this up.

He moved his face in front of yours and you felt your heart race. He places his right hand on your forehead, checking your temperature. “That’s good your temperature has really gone down.”

You nod, “I feel a lot better too. All I have left is this headache, but if I take a shower tomorrow I’ll feel a lot better too.”

He smiled, “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Well, do you want to go to bed early or watch some more of the Royal Prat?”

“I’m ready for bed so I can beat this fever into submission.”

“Alright. I’ll turn everything off out here and I’ll meet you in the room.”

You go lay down in your bed and can’t believe and began to wonder where that confidence came from when you asked him if he’d like to stay the night. You couldn’t believe you asked him and you couldn’t believe that he also said yes. You watch the hallway light flicker off and he walks into your room.

He crawled into bed with you and you curled against his right side. You felt him hold you close, cooling you down, you relax and even after your nap today, you let out a sigh of relief. You felt guilty keeping him to yourself today, but it seemed like he didn’t mind. He was so hard to read. You wondered if Todoroki liked you as much as you like him.

“Good night, Shoto.” You muttered.

“Good night, Y/N.” he responded holding you close.

You felt like out of all the moments in the world. The only one that mattered was this one. Right in his arms and you dozed off with thoughts only of him.

This is, again, one of the first things I’ve actually wanted to write in over two years. So sorry if it sucks. But please, tell me what you think. Thank you to @toxsfandomstuff for posting your headcannon/imagine.

Link Right Here! Please Give It A Read! <3

https://toxsfandomstuff.tumblr.com/post/178037560969/hewocan-i-request-a-todoroki-imagine-where-his

Bonus points if you know the TV Show they are watching!

#shoto todoroki #todoroki shoto #todoroki shouto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha oc #bnha #bnha imagines #my hero academia #mha oc #mha #boku no hero academia

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unfolded73 · 6 years

Text

Enough of Feeling Like This (1/7)

I'm an alcoholic, I don't have one drink. I don't understand people who have one drink. I don't understand people who leave half a glass of wine on the table. I don't understand people who say they've had enough. How can you have enough of feeling like this? -- Leo McGarry, The West Wing

Okay, three things. One, happy endings are cool and all, but they are mostly where the fun part of telling the story ends. Not that I don’t like fluff to a point, but one cannot live on fluff alone. Two, ever since the show started dealing so sensitively with Rogers’ alcoholism after so very much not having done so with original!Killian, me writing this probably became inevitable. Three, finally some of my ideas for Maureen Swan-Jones that I came up with two years ago have found a home.

This story includes depictions of alcoholism, alcohol abuse, binge drinking, you name it. Heed the trigger warnings if you need to.

Rated E, eventually. Beta’d by who else? @j-philly-b. Word count this chapter: ~4k.

Chapter 1

“This looks like an… interesting meal,” Killian said as he seated himself at the Charming’s dining room table, his wife beside him. “Are you expecting more guests? Say, twenty or thirty more guests?” Maureen, his fourteen-year-old daughter at the end of the table, snorted quietly. A fall of mostly brown hair (save the bottom two inches, which were tipped in fading blue dye) shielded her face from the adults.

“Sorry, sorry, I decided to clean out the deep freezer,” Snow said as she bustled in and set yet another serving dish on the table for their semi-regular Sunday family dinner. The dining room in the Charming’s farmhouse was warm and familiar, the site of many family gatherings over the years since they’d moved here. Killian met David’s gaze and shared a small smile with him across the heaps of food.

“Is that why we’re having pork ribs with a side of lamb chops?” Emma asked. “And a metric ton of peas?” She picked up the huge bowl, put a spoonful of peas on her plate, and passed it to Killian.

“Yeah, I had way too many peas,” Snow said, wincing. “Sorry again.”

“I’m sure it will all be delicious,” Killian said diplomatically. “Take some peas, Maureen,” he added to his daughter when she tried to pass the dish on to her grandfather without taking any. With an eye roll, she complied.

“Neal called this week,” Snow said as she pushed more serving plates toward her daughter and son-in-law.

“To ask for money?” Emma asked.

“Not just to ask for money,” Snow replied, which scored her a sardonic smile from Emma. “He also told us he’s really enjoying that philosophy class.” “The one that focuses on those depressed French blokes?” Killian asked. Emma’s brother was in his second year in college out in the real world, away from the protective confines of Storybrooke. On top of that, he had elected to go to a school that was far enough away that they hadn’t seen him since the Christmas holidays, nearly four months ago.

“Existentialists, Dad,” Maureen said.

“And he mentioned that he’s still seeing that girl from South Carolina,” David said as he wiped barbeque sauce from his mouth.

“What was her name again?” Emma asked. “Brittany? Tiffany?”

“Bethany,” Snow said.

“Wow, that must be getting serious. I wonder what he’s told her about his family,” Emma said.

Snow frowned. “Nothing about the Enchanted Forest or magic, if that’s what you’re referring to. To be honest, I’m not sure how to advise him on that.”

His wife met his eyes as she tucked a lock of her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear. She’d recently dyed it blonde again after an experiment with red. Although he always thought she was beautiful, he hadn’t been all that fond of the red hair, if he was honest. Of course, he’d never told Emma that.

“Yeah, most people would think he was crazy,” Emma said. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Is advising people on talking to outsiders part of your professional portfolio?” David asked.

“It is, actually.” When Neal had applied to colleges, Emma had used her unique combination of magic and computer skills to create the records and digital trail they would need in order for Neal to be admitted to a school in the non-magical world. It had made her realize that a lot of Storybrooke’s residents needed a similar service. More and more children were growing up and leaving home, and at the same time, some of the aging Enchanted Forest residents were being drawn toward warmer climates in which to spend their twilight years. Meanwhile, there were still occasional immigrants to Storybrooke who came via portal, having heard tales of the technological marvels of this land. It turned into a full-time job for Emma, part counselor, part document forger, part financial advisor. As a result, when her fifth term as sheriff came to an end last year, she’d decided not to run again. Instead, Killian had run unopposed for the office. Captain Hook was now Sheriff of Storybrooke.

“So I haven’t asked yet, but I have to know,” David said, tapping Maureen on the hand to get her attention. “When did this happen?” He pointed at her face, or more specifically her nose, where a tiny diamond stud sat just above the flare of her nostril. Killian saw Maureen’s shoulders tense in reaction to David’s scrutiny.

“I got it done last weekend,” she mumbled, keeping her eyes on her dinner plate.

David arched an eyebrow at Emma, who shrugged. “She’d been asking for months, so we figured she was serious about it. I think it looks good on her.”

“She’d look more of a proper pirate with a gold hoop, though,” Killian said, giving his daughter a grin. Maureen rolled her eyes again in response, although he detected a tiny quirk of her lips.

“Just don’t get any tattoos, young lady,” David said. “Not until you’re at least eighteen.”

Emma snorted. “How old do you think I was when I got this?” she asked, raising her wrist to indicate the fading buttercup tattoo.

“There’s something I wanted to talk to you all about,” Snow said, firmly changing the subject. “As you know, we have our twentieth annual Storybrooke Fair coming up in a few months.”

“Has it really been twenty years?” Emma asked. The Storybrooke Fair had been Snow’s brainchild, started a couple of years after peace had finally settled in Storybrooke for good, while Regina was in charge. With Snow White as mayor, the fair had gotten bigger and more elaborate each year.

“Yep, and I was thinking that we needed to do something really special this year.”

Killian was certain Snow said that every year, but he smiled at her nonetheless. “Such as?”

“Such as a ball. A real, honest-to-goodness ball with formal gowns, musicians, a feast, dancing… What do you think?”

Emma shot Killian another glance. “I don’t know, Mom, a ball? How many people in Storybrooke these days know how to do that kind of dancing? Or even own ball gowns?”

“Fifteen percent of the current population only came here to Storybrooke within the last few years, Emma,” Snow chided.

“Yeah, and at least twice that number are people who grew up here, living entirely modern lives.”

“So we’ll order the ball gowns. And we can offer dancing lessons at the community center.” Snow grinned widely, her eyes on her granddaughter. “I’ll admit, I do have an ulterior motive.”

Killian could sense where this was going and he knew he needed to warn Snow away, but he didn’t know how.

“What ulterior motive?” David asked.

Snow gestured to Maureen. “Maureen, of course! She’ll be turning fifteen, so the ball can be her official debut! After all, she is a princess of Misthaven like her mother. And we never got to have a formal debut for Emma, so—”

“Wait, what?” Maureen said, looking wide-eyed at the adults around the table. “No way.”

“Oh, I know, it may not seem like something you would like now, but trust me. A lovely dress and a handsome boy on your arm, and you’ll change your mind.”

Killian could feel his daughter bristling. “Pretty sure I won’t,” Maureen said, setting down her fork. “May I be excused?”

“You hardly ate,” Emma said.

“I’m not hungry. May I be excused?”

“It’s fine, love, go ahead,” Killian said, not wanting this to turn into an argument.

She pushed back from the table, picked up her plate, and carried it to the kitchen, her back stiff as a metal rod.

“Sorry, Mom,” Emma sighed. “She’s just… moody.”

“It’s okay, I’m sure she’ll come around,” Snow said, apparently completely undeterred by Maureen’s reaction to the idea of the ball. Killian wasn’t so sure she would, but he kept his mouth shut. He reached for his water glass, wishing it was rum, and then focused on his meal.

“She’s a little young to be getting her nose pierced, isn’t she?” Snow asked.

“You’re the one who’s got her falling in love at this ball of yours,” Emma said. Killian was amused at the way his wife had come around on the nose piercing. When Maureen had first asked for it, Emma had said the same thing Snow was now saying. They’d fought about it several times before Emma finally gave in.

“What do you hear from Henry and Ella?” David asked.

“All good things,” Emma said. “Henry sent the first draft of the new book off to his editor last week, and Ella and Tiana have a whole fleet of food trucks all over Seattle.”

“They really are settled in Seattle for good, aren’t they?” Snow said with a frown. “I was holding out hope that they might come live here in Storybrooke, near family. Or at least not three thousand miles away.”

Emma sighed. “They like the city.”

“Maine has cities,” Snow argued. “And Boston isn’t far. They could at least move closer so that we would get to see them more often.”

Killian could feel frustration rolling off of Emma, and he sympathized with the fact that she was being put in the position to defend her children’s decisions. He took his wife’s hand and spoke up. “It may have been a curse that brought them there like a curse brought you here, but it doesn’t mean they haven’t put down roots. They have ties to the community.”

“Henry’s wife is a lot like you, Mom. She’s a leader,” Emma said. “She’s even thinking about running for city council because even with her evil stepmother gone, they are still dealing with some of the same issues in that neighborhood: affordable housing, the need for good-paying jobs…”

Snow sighed. “Okay, I get it. Well, maybe I’ll give them a call and see if they can fly out for the weekend of the fair.”

“Good idea, sweetheart,” David said as he leaned back in his chair and away from his plate of denuded bones. “Oof, I ate too much.”

Maureen spent the rest of the visit curled up on the sofa, texting rapidly to someone on her phone. As soon as he could without seeming impolite, Killian commented that they all had to be up early for work, and once Snow had loaded them down with several plastic containers of leftovers, they said their goodbyes and left.

As Killian reversed the car out of the driveway, Emma turned around to her daughter in the back seat. “I’m gonna need you to be a little more polite to your grandparents next time, please.”

“They insulted my piercing—”

“No they didn’t—” Emma tried to interrupt.

“And then Grandma wants to put me in a big poofy ball gown to dance around like an idiot? I’m not doing that.”

“Grandma came from a place where balls were a really big deal. I used to feel the same way you do, but then when I found myself at a ball with your dad—” Maureen groaned loudly. “Mom, I know the story, you don’t have to tell me the same fucking story—”

“Language, young lady,” Killian said, glaring at his daughter in the rearview mirror.

“You can’t make me go to a ball.” She leaned back against the seat and folded her arms.

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The rest of the car ride passed in icy silence. A memory suddenly popped into Killian’s head of Maureen sitting in her car seat and pointing out the window at everything she saw. A mailbox! she would cry. A fire hydrant! Everything was a joyful new discovery to be made.

As soon as they pulled up in front of the house, Maureen had the door open and was running up the sidewalk to the front door. “Next she’ll be opening the car door while we’re still moving and hitting the pavement at twenty miles an hour to get away from us faster,” Emma grumbled.

Killian leaned over and kissed his wife on the cheek before following his daughter into the house, his arms loaded down with leftovers. There were at least two large containers of peas; it would take months to get his wife and daughter to eat that many peas.

“Thanks for your help with carrying the food,” Emma snarked at the back of her daughter’s head. Maureen had flopped onto the sofa in the living room, already glued to her phone again.

“Sorry,” Maureen responded, not looking up.

“Have you finished your homework?”

“Yeah.”

Emma seemed unable or unwilling to stop herself from picking at her daughter like a scab she couldn’t leave alone. “Are you sure, because don’t you have a math test coming up soon?”

“It’s fine, Mom, I’m on top of it. You don’t have to treat me like a child.”

Killian put the last of the leftovers in the fridge and reached for the half-full bottle of rum on the counter, pouring himself a generous splash.

“I wouldn’t treat you like a child if you didn’t act like a child,” Emma said.

With a huff, Maureen propelled herself off the sofa and stomped up the stairs. They heard the door slam a few seconds later.

“The next time you slam that door, I’m grounding you!” Emma shouted.

Killian swallowed the rum quickly and refilled it. “You can’t let her push your buttons so easily, love,” he said without looking up from the amber liquid swirling in his heavy crystal tumbler.

He heard Emma sigh. “I know. You’re right, but she makes me furious when she acts like she doesn’t give a shit about anyone.”

Turning around, he gave her a half-smile. “It’s not that she doesn’t ‘give a shit,’ you know that, she’s just a miasma of hormones. She feels everything very deeply.”

Emma walked over and gave him a kiss on the lips. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more patient.” She took his hand. “Coming to bed?”

“In a few minutes, love.”

“Okay.” He watched Emma mount the stairs, her hips swaying slightly as she walked. With a heavy sigh, Killian picked up his bottle of rum and made his way toward the back of the house. Letting himself out onto the back porch, he settled into a rocking chair. The night was chilly, but being able to look up at the stars calmed him, and the rum gave him a false sense of warmth that made it easier to ignore the wind that blew in from the direction of the ocean. He refilled his glass, setting the rum bottle on the floor and propping his feet up on the porch railing.

For the longest time, he’d felt that he and Maureen had been on the same wavelength. Even as a baby, he could sometimes get her to stop fussing just by looking into her eyes, communicating with her on some deeper level that even Emma couldn’t reach. When she was a toddler, he was always the favored parent. She had run to Emma when she had hurt herself, seeking the healing touch of her mother’s magic, but she had run to him when she was frightened or sad or excited, words spilling out so quickly that he could scarcely understand them.

Maybe things had started to change when she was ten, when she learned that he’d been a villain who had killed his own father. But in any case, puberty had made her even more distant, and the connection they’d shared now seemed broken forever. Yes, she fought more with Emma, terrible shouting matches that sent him retreating into his den to escape the storm clouds of anger. But as volatile as their relationship had gotten at times, his wife and his daughter still talked. Maureen still confided in Emma occasionally; he’d hear them whispering together behind his daughter’s closed bedroom door. Later he would ask Emma what they talked about, and it was usually some social difficulty: a friend at school who had suddenly said unkind things to her, for example.

He hated how jealous he was of Emma for even those brief moments of connection with their daughter. Maureen was becoming a stranger to him, and he had no idea what to do to change that. He had no idea if he even should; maybe he’d reached the limit of his abilities as a parent and she was better off with him as a somewhat removed presence in her life.

He used to think, back when Henry lived with them, that parenting a teenager was a strength of his. But he and Henry had always had a particular connection, and perhaps it misled him into thinking he was a better parent than he actually was. Or perhaps he’d been a good parent once, before waking up in the morning became a little bit harder, before he’d started to feel his age quite so keenly.

Killian didn’t know how long he stayed out on the porch, but when he finally noticed the way the cold had settled into his bones and numbed his fingers, his rum bottle was empty. Standing with a groan at the ache in his back, he detoured to the shed to throw the empty bottle in the recycling bin before letting himself back into the house.

As he made his way up the stairs, he bumped into the wall, almost knocking a school picture of Maureen down. He grabbed it, carefully adjusting its angle, then gripped the banister and continued to climb the steps more cautiously.

Emma was asleep, burrowed under the blankets with only the top of her head exposed. Killian undressed, collapsing into bed and letting the alcohol pull him into a fitful sleep.

~*~

Emma’s alarm sounded and she reached out quickly, waving her hand over the phone to silence it. She sat up, noticing that Killian still slept, his gentle snores filling the room. He’d let his hair, now flecked with gray, grow a little longer lately and it swept down over his forehead, almost covering his eyes.

“Babe, you were supposed to be up a half hour ago,” she said, pushing on his shoulder. “Wake up.”

He groaned, rolling away from her, and then finally pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed as she left the bedroom to wake Maureen.

Killian used to be such a consistent early riser that Emma didn’t have to set an alarm most of the time. She could count on her husband to wake up with the sun’s first light, and to have a steaming cup of coffee ready for her when it was time for her to get up. Those days seemed long gone; lately, Emma had to shake her husband awake for him to make it into the sheriff’s station anywhere close to on time.

Emma opened her daughter’s door and flipped the light switch. “Time to get up, Maureen!”

There was no response, but Emma didn’t expect one, not on the first try. It usually took three tries before she even got a groan out of her daughter, much less an indication that she was actually going to get up.

Continuing to stand in the hall, Emma browsed her phone while she waited. “Come on, baby, up and at ‘em,” she said as she scrolled through the news.

“I’ve got a stomach ache,” Maureen moaned from her prone position in the bed.

“No, you don’t, you’re fine. Go get in the shower.”

Her daughter sat up, her brown and blue hair a tangled cloud around her head. “If I go to school today, I’m gonna end up puking at school.”

“Well, then you’ll puke at school. Go get in the shower.”

With another groan, Maureen staggered to her feet and lurched over to the pile of laundry in the corner of her room, digging through it for something to wear. With a shake of her head, Emma left her to it and returned to her bedroom to start getting ready for her own day.

The bathroom door was closed and the shower was running, so at least Killian was up and moving. Emma laid out some clothes for herself and then went down to the kitchen to start the coffee while she waited for her turn in the shower.

It was a morning like any other: three bodies going about their routines with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Maureen made one more attempt to plead illness, but Emma was implacable in the face of her daughter’s complaints, putting a bagel in her hand and shooing her out the door. Killian grabbed a cup of coffee and his car keys, kissing her on the cheek quickly before he too was gone. The house echoed with the silence of their absence, and something about it made Emma shiver suddenly. With a shake of her head at that odd reaction, she gathered up her purse and her packed lunch and made her way down to her car, parked in front of the house.

The yellow Bug had finally died a few years before. She’d had every part in it replaced three times over, but finally, she had to admit that it wasn’t worth the money to keep it running. Laying it to rest had been difficult, and even though she knew it was just a car, she had cried real tears when she walked away from it for the last time. The little compact SUV (not yellow, but orange) she drove now was more comfortable and safer and had such a complex computer in it that it could practically drive itself. It was better than her VW Bug by absolutely every objective measure, but she still sometimes felt a pang of longing for that old car.

Mounting the stairs to her office, she poked her head in at the doorway across the hall, as she usually did when the occupant wasn’t with a patient.

“Hey, Archie!”

Archie Hopper looked up from his desk and grinned. “Good morning, Emma. Busy day today?”

“Not really.” She glanced at her phone. “Two appointments with new clients, and then I’ve got to teach Jasmine’s cousin how to establish a credit rating. You?”

“I’m only seeing one patient today, but I’ve got my trainee coming in.”

“Oh, great!” Archie was planning to retire from his psychotherapy practice soon, but Ashley’s daughter Alexandra had recently returned to Storybrooke with a fresh new college degree and was training to take over for him. “Tell Alexandra I said hello.”

“I will. How’s the family?”

Emma knew he meant it as an idle question, and she resisted the urge to collapse on his sofa, pouring out all of her troubles. She could tell him about Maureen’s anger and moodiness, and how hard it was to be patient in the face of that teenage maelstrom. She could tell him how with every year that passed, Killian was a tiny bit more withdrawn. That the things that used to bring him joy seemed to have lost their luster. That the Jolly Roger hadn’t moved from the dock in months. That she couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t enough for him anymore. That she’d started to think that a belief in a happy ending, a happiness that could truly last a lifetime, had been terribly naive.

“The family’s good, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Chapter 2

#cs ff rec #captain swan ff #maureen swan jones fic #eoflt fic #my fic #tw: alcoholism #tw: alcohol #tw: alcohol abuse

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tjroewrites · 6 years

Text

The Winner Takes it All

Pairings: Castiel x Reader

A/N: The reader’s home life that is described in this pic is, in summary, mine So, this one-shot is pretty personal for me. Basically, I wrote down what I wish someone would say to me. But hearing it from myself was empowering enough. I hope anyone that lives in a similar situation reads this and hears what they need to hear to give them hope for their future. Thanks for reading, y’all.

Prompt: The reader and Castiel play a game of Uno.

Warnings: Mentions of family death. Broken homes. A bit of angst (c’mon, you can’t be that surprised. This is me we’re talking about). Fluffy ending.

Word Count: 2.7k

Y/N slapped her card onto the table with a smirk. “Blue six.”

Cas squinted his eyes. “My card was red. I thought the colors had to match.”

“But both cards were a six.” She wagged her brows. “As long as the color or the number matches, it can be played. Doesn’t have to have both.”

“This game is strange.”

“Quit whining and play a card.”

They were the only two in the bunker. Dean and Sam had left for a beer at one of the few bars within the Lebanon city limits. Y/N was still feeling the effects from last weekend, when Dean had suggested a ‘family outing.’ The next morning, she woke up on the bunker’s kitchen floor with her shirt on backwards and a half empty Coors Light still in her hand. Yeah, she needed a break after that one. And Cas wasn’t one to enjoy one of Dean’s buck-wild escapades. So, there they were, seated across from one another at the table in the middle of the bunker; Y/N sipping on a soda while Cas watched. When Y/N had suggested a round of Uno and he had looked at her like she was speaking in tongues, she knew what their night would consist of. Dean and Sam would go wild in the Kansas streets. Y/N would school Cas in the art of a classic card game.

Cas searched his hand before settling on one. He gently slid a yellow six on top of her card. “Is that allowed?”

“There you go.” Y/N smiled. She played a yellow two. “See, you’re getting the hang of it.”

“Human games are so intricate. There are so many rules.”

“Angels don’t play games up in heaven?” She watched him sift through his cards and plan out his next move. His eyebrows furrowed. His head tilted slightly. His lips moved in a subtle fashion as thousands of strategies played through his mind. Everything he did, no matter if it was researching a monster or washing his hands, he put so much thought into. So much effort. Less because he needed to, more because he actually cared about the outcome. There wasn’t a man on the planet with more compassion and drive than Castiel. She took another sip of soda to hide her smile. “What do you do to pass the time, then? Twiddle your thumbs?”

“We don’t have thumbs.” He placed a card. A yellow four. “We have wings.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Time is not so much of a concept in heaven as it is on Earth.” Y/N picked through her cards. She settled on a green two. “Thousands of earth years could pass and it would feel like nothing to an angel. I have lived for millennia and it feels similar to a blink of a human eye.”

“So, these last few years on earth have probably drug on for you.”

“Yes.” His eyes darted from the card she placed and back to his hand. “But not in the way you think. I have enjoyed my time on Earth. Regardless of the obstacles and trials I have faced.”

“You don’t have a card to play, do you?” Y/N quirked a brow.

He sighed. “What happens now?”

“Draw from the deck ‘til you do.”

He began to pull from the pile one by one. He huffed out a breath after the third card. “None of these are suitable to play.”

“Then keep going.” Y/N snorted.

He grumbled something under his breath.

“Come again?” She asked. A grin split her face. He was a sore loser. How adorable.

“I said, this game is frustrating.” The tight line of his lips relaxed after the fifth card. “Finally.” He all but threw the card on the pile. A green eight. “I have bones to pick with the creator of this game.”

Y/N laughed. “I’m sure he’d love to sit down with an Angel of the Lord and discuss his family-based card game.”

“Family.” He repeated, training his eyes on her. “Did you play this game with your family?”

Her family. Memories of her early life came pouring through her mind like a freshly thrown flood gate. Her baby sister’s smile. Her father’s laugh. Her mother’s hugs. It felt like yesterday that she was still living at home, attending the local community college and working at a sandwich shop. Now, she was a hunter; living in an air-tight vault in the center of the states with two problematic brothers and a fallen angel. It wasn’t what she pictured her future to be like. She wondered if her father would have been proud of her. She sniffed. “My dad wasn’t one for card games. Unless it involved sports of some kind.”

“He was an athlete?”

“Best golfer in the state.” Damn, she didn’t have anything. She drew a card from the pile. A wild card. She placed it on the table. “I choose red.”

He tilted his head. “We can choose colors?”

“Only if it’s a wild card.” She pointed at her play. “If you play this card, you can choose the color. In this case, I choose red.”

“So that is what that card is.” He muttered, a smile playing on his lips. Oh, no. She didn’t like that look. He cleared his throat and let his face fall into that same expressionless stare he was so good at. “You said the card is red?”

Y/N nodded. He studied his hand for a moment before speaking again. “You said your father golfed. As an occupation or for leisure?”

“Leisure. Could have gone pro in his younger years. But he married my mom instead.”

“So, he chose your mother over his athletics.” He put down a red card. It was a skip. “I assume this is playable.”

“It’s a skip turn card.” Y/N must have been speaking in tongues again by how he looked at her. She chuckled. “It means that the next player can’t go until next round. Since there’s only two of us, you get to go twice.”

“I see.” Cas’ lip pulled in the corner. “Did he regret his decision?”

She hesitated for a moment. “Sometimes, I think he did.” He looked up at her from his hand of cards. The lump in her throat swelled a bit more. It took a couple of hearty swallows just to push it down. “Don’t get me wrong, he loved my sister and I. Raised us up right and made sure we had food on the table. But him and my mom… they couldn’t ever sort the shit out in their marriage. I can’t remember them saying that they loved each other one time in my life.” This was not how she imagined this conversation to pan out. Judging by the way his eyes nearly rolled out of his head, neither had he. “Jesus, I’m sorry, that’s some deep shit right there. I haven’t even mentioned that to Dean or Sam yet.”

Cas began to set the cards down onto the table. “Y/N, we don’t have to- “

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t wanna tell you.” She straightened up in her chair and cleared her throat. “It’s just been a long time since I’ve even talked to anyone about that. Kinda weird to hear it out of my mouth again, you know?”

“I think I do.” He lifted the cards once again but didn’t take his eyes off her. “I appreciate you sharing with me. Self-disclosing about such affairs can be…difficult. If not painful.”

“It doesn’t hurt as much anymore.” His stare returned back to his cards. Hers didn’t. “It was so long ago. Years. But sometimes when I look back it feels like last week.”

“When was the last time you saw your family?” He played another card. A wild draw four. That bastard. “Green.” He offered a smug smirk.

Y/N groaned and drew four more cards. “Had to have been at least five years ago. Before I was a hunter.”

“Do they know that you live this life?”

“Never got to tell them. They died a few months later.”

She didn’t want to see his expression, so she looked back at her hand. She had nine cards now, thanks to Cas. Four reds, a yellow skip, a blue switch, two regular blues and one green. She placed the green card.

“That’s why I became a hunter in the first place.” Y/N continued. “I left home to try and find myself. Traveled around the state for a while. Met some new people. Saw some great cities. I felt like the life I had been living wasn’t leading me anywhere. Figures, the second I leave…” She trailed off, her gaze flying to the ceiling. Her eyes burned hot behind her eyelids. Damn it, not right now. Not in front of Cas.

“It isn’t your fault.” He finally said, placing another card. A green zero. “How could you have known?”

“I should’ve been there to protect them.” She drew two cards until she found one playable. A yellow zero. “If I hadn’t left for my stupid fucking adventure, they’d still be here.”

“You can’t think like that.” A wild card. “Green.”

“Jesus, you got any greens in your hand or what?” She had to draw three until she found one. He cracked a smile. “You’re killing me over here.”

“Quit whining and play a card.” He threw her words back in her face. Y/N snorted.

“Easy to be the bigger person when you don’t have half the deck in your hand.”

Their sudden silence seemed to echo off the walls of the bunker for a lifetime. Cas played a green nine. Y/N played a blue nine. Cas put down a wild draw two. Y/N tried not to flip the table. Who the fuck shuffled this deck? She had just drawn two when he broke the quiet moment. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You said that your parents did not love one another.”

“Still hung up on that, huh?” She scanned her hand with the utmost concentration. She had at least fifteen cards now. He had five. She had to buckle down if she wanted to win this one. “Like I said, not a big deal. I’m an adult now. I don’t give it much thought.”

“Are you afraid that will happen to you?”

Her heart sputtered in her chest. She knew what he was referring to. For their ‘family outing’ last weekend, they had settled in at Pooches bar near the center of town. It was the only pub that got rowdy on Friday nights. A few drinks in and, as usual, Y/N had started to feel it. It was about then that a young farm hand began to chat her up: bought a round, spun her around the dance floor, let her beat his ass in a game of pool. He was easy on the eye. Genuine. Respectful. The kind of guy you bring home to meet your folks. It was clear he was more interested in getting to know her than he was in a quick fuck and leave. It wasn’t the first time she met a guy like that. Lebanon may be smack dab on the corner of ‘redneck’ and ‘blue collar’ but it sure bred some wholesome men. But even after knowing all that, she still couldn’t open up. Still couldn’t put herself out there. So, just like every other guy, she slipped out without hardly a goodbye. Left him out to dry like a line of fresh laundry on a summer’s eve.

Was she afraid? She’d never thought about it like that. Thought it was just the down side of being her father’s daughter. Let as few people into your inner circle as possible. Easier to live that way. But maybe it came from somewhere deeper. Deeper than her father’s lessons and her natural God-given beliefs. A part of her that she could never outrun, no matter many miles she drove.

“Maybe.” She wasn’t sure he’d even heard it. What a stupid thought. Of course he did. He was an angel.

Cas looked at her. Really looked at her. The kind of look that every girl dreamed a man would give her. A gaze so soft, a pool of blue coating her in his warmth and protection. An entire summer sky shone back at her. Her breath caught. “Why?”

“Because my parents- “

“You are not your parents.” His cards lay abandoned on the table. She hardly blinked before he was in the chair beside her, his fingers around her wrist and squeezing gently. Together, they lowered her cards to the table. “You are your own person. Your parents’ way of life does not dictate your future.”

Y/N couldn’t formulate a sentence. So, he continued.

“They made their choice. That was theirs to make. It isn’t your fault that they ended up that way. No matter how much you blame yourself.” She didn’t realize how much she needed to hear his words until he spoke them. Tears pooled in her eyes. “You can’t punish yourself for their actions. You are free to make your own choices. Have your own experiences. Fall in love, take risks, enjoy what this life has to offer you.”

When she nodded, the floodgates opened. Years of buildup fell from eyes and trailed down her cheeks. He held her face in his hands and wiped them away with his thumbs. “You are an independent woman, Y/N. A strong and comforting force in this world of uncertainty. A bright light in the dark. You are capable of anything and everything.”

There were a select few that knew about her family history. Her best friend from community college. That random gas station attendant she had broken down in front of on her way back from her family’s service. Her long-lost aunt who had moved to the United Kingdom a year after her sister’s passing without hardly a goodbye. But none had really understood where she was coming from. Bruce from the Gas n’ Sip just offered her a Cola and an awkward one-armed hug. Christine had forced six tequila shots down her throat to numb the pain. Her aunt just avoided it all together. But Cas… he understood. The force of heaven was hardly the traditional ‘Nuclear Family’ ideal. His entire existence was full of nothing but inner-family conflict. He was derived from chaos. He was chaos. But wasn’t that all she was, too?

“So, what’s next for the great Y/N Y/L/N?” His voice was a rumble from his chest. Like the gentle roll of thunder during a summer storm. Truly a phenomenon worth experiencing. Worth knowing. And just like that, she knew exactly what was next.

When their lips met it was exactly how she imagined it. Soft. Fleeting. Unhurried. Natural. If it had been an hour before she would have ducked away with a beet red face and a mouth full of apologies. But not now. She was too far gone to care. She had no apologies to offer.

They pulled away. And then he smiled. That rare, toothy smile that showed a mixture of both Jimmy’s time and his own. Enough to make her forget everything. Enough to give her hope.

“You are.” She pushed her chair until their thighs sat flush against each other. Their lips all but touching. Her fingers finding the hair at the nape of his neck. “You are my next adventure.”

The next morning, when the brothers asked about their night, it was with groggy voices and steaming cups of coffee. Cas sat in his original seat from their game of Uno and watched Y/N clean the forgotten cards from the table.

“Looks like the game ended with a bang.” Sam nodded toward the remaining cards scattered across the wood. She finished packing them inside their box and closed the flap. “Who won?”

Cas met her stare. He had to bite his lip to keep from grinning. The boys hadn’t noticed his mis-matched buttons or his crooked tie. Not yet, anyway. Y/N just shrugged.

“Me.” She smiled. “Definitely me.”

Castiel Tags: (not sure if this is how it works, bear with me)

@kristendansmith

#castiel x reader #castiel x you #castiel x y/n #cas x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural oneshot #supernatural one shots #the readstiel collection

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