#i should change that. i should mold him into something dangerous | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fullfriendnerdclutch · 18 days

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Isaac explained his type to Maya with great details, as Maya asked him to do. Taut model-like physique, hairs on his legs curled up but his upper body smooth with not even a scar, with classic Anglo-Saxon feature that makes the guy can pass as some Victorian era young nobility. His eyes should reflect the depth of his thought and looked like an English pond in the summer, calming and clear. Soft-spoken, matched with his grace and gentle movement that won't ever indicate any sort of danger or threat to anyone that come across him. Isaac wanted his ideal man to be lefty, just because it's unique, and at last, he wanted his man to be fully devoted to him and him only. Maya listened intently while Isaac revealed all that as he's busy typing his work, not even taking a glance to Maya. But once a sultry, manly voice coming out from the bed behind him where Maya supposedly lounged around, Isaac instantly turned around and found himself surprised

"Maya???"

"Well....yes, but not really, as you can see,"

"H---how? W--why? What the fuck is happening here?"

"I enjoyed your company a bit too much. Like, I'm so tired dating these dudes trying to find my Mr. Right when I have an incredibly smart, kind and attentive best friend like you that beat most of those crusty men I dated. So I said, fuck it, I'll be your man,"

"Have you heard how insane that sounded like, and how is this situation totally not something you encountered everyday? Like.....for starter, how the fuck you--"

"It's actually simple. Turns out my family have this kind of power that skipped generations that reemerged with me right after that last eclipse. The said power bestowed us the capacity to change physical form of ourself and the people that we exchanged bodily fluids with. In other words, not only I can change myself, I can change you too since we fucked that one time when we were still sophomore,"

"That....is wild. And I don't want to be involved in any of this. Please just change back, okay?"

"Oh cmon, you literally are having a boner while talking to me now. You like this, you want me, and I definitely want you to be my man. I mean, just imagine how crazy the sex we can have now that I can mold you into any of your wildest dreams too,"

"Maya, no. You are not thinking clear. What the fuck is this desperation? I cannot be your man, and you cannot throw away your life just like that for me. I'll hate myself for that, it makes me feel selfish,"

"Desperation? This is me being kind to you. I cannot help but notice how you've been dating not a single person since we graduated uni. You are certainly lonely so this is me---"

"What is that insane gaslighting you are doing? Stop all of this madness and for fuck sake, change yourself back. It's so jarring looking at you like that. You will always be Maya for me, whatever form you take,"

"No,"

"Okay, whatever. If you want to continue being a nuisance, please sort yourself out. Just.....walk around the neighborhood and clear your mind or something,"

"No,"

"Maya--"

"No, don't call me that! I'm no Maya. Gosh, I hated to do this, but freeze,"

And just like that, Isaac froze in his place with no way of moving a single muscle whatsoever. Then, Maya grabbed Isaac's head and chanted some intelligible words before letting it go as Maya goes back to the bed while waiting for the spell to unleash its full work. Like a breaking ice, Isaac's frozen body started to be able to get back moving and pulsing. It started from the fingertips, that gets thicker and hairier as his finger and both of his hand turned calloused from heavy workout while his feet stretched his wool socks and enlarged to a decent size 13. As blood started flowing once more, the veins in his arm thickened while his legs bursted with muscle and blond hair in an otherwise lanky former runner legs. This built his physique is turning into clearly doesn't belong to a runner. As the pumped blood causing the arm to swole closer to 19 inches, it also affected the shoulder that becomes rounder and sturdier. The long sleeve he worn earlier of course already tattered to pieces while his pants already ripped due to his now incredibly muscular thighs. As the change spread across his neck and torso from the top, his lower body parts perfected itself into a sick v-taper that leads to a snaking 7 inches perfection stuffed into a tight white briefs that left nothing to the imagination. His tiny waist contrasted heavily with his massive back and shoulder, showcasing an insane dedication to his craft which is clearly bodybuilding. When the whole body parts below his neck completed its transformation, he's now a towering 6'6" muscle beast, clearly looking down on most people including the rendered-in-awe Maya. Is this Isaac's deepest desire? Turning into a massive bodybuilder? The power she used on him is to unearth his deepest desire, so having a boulder cannon for a shoulder is clearly part of his deepest desire then? How is his final look going to be? Babyfaced brutal beast? Matured daddy? All will be revealed in the next couple seconds as the transformation move upward

His jaw hardened but his face turned into more square-like, with dirty blonde facial hair framed the angular jawline. From the way his face remained clear and not much visible wrinkle formed, this is definitely a young guy, probably the same age like Isaac's current age, but he can be wrong though. As the lips turned into a smirk, Maya knows that the change is almost complete and that smirk indicated that he enjoys what he sees so far. As Isaac eventually able to move, he's practically no longer Isaac, but an entirely different person altogether. Maya ensured that this new version of Isaac, Maya named him Rod, would be falling head over heels for Maya's new look

"Theo," Rod said in his gruffy voice

Well, that's a good name....

"Why are you not spreading your ass in bed already? You know I have to get back to work later at 1, time is tight so I need to breed inside you ASAP before having my lunch and then get back to work,"

Maya is in shock......Isaac's deepest desire is to be an assertive alpha or something? And it dawned upon Maya, or Theo now, that he cannot acted like brats or said no to Theo's order. Is this part of his desire too????

"You are always one hell of an obedient boy, that's why you're my favorite cum dump. Now say aaaaaa-----

#male transformation #reality change #magic transformation #magic tf #male tf #boyfriend #male muscle growth

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loaksky · 1 year

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— 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 [𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦] | ii

the lowdown — the one where neteyam is dangerously close to losing; but maybe you two are meant to be.

the who — neteyam x fem omatikaya!reader, brief reader x oc (for plot purposes heh)

the word count — 4.4k

the tags & warnings — language, even more emotional constipation, mentions of blood & injury, childhood friends(?)2l, unrequited love, arguably too much back n forth.

the notes — after forever & a day, here is the second installment to btg! thank you everyone for your patience, & i hope you enjoy! (proofread, but not well oops).

part one | masterlist

It becomes apparent to Neteyam that you’re not going to make this easy for him.

Regardless of the soundness of his declaration that afternoon in the forest, despite poking and prodding at the fissure in the facade you wore like an armor, you weren’t budging and Neteyam was growing far too restless and too impatient with the state of things.

It comes as a surprise to nearly all of the clan. The leader’s son was usually always so composed, always stiff-spined and unblinking when it came to the matters of his heart and matters pertaining to you. Now he’s like a pup constantly nosing at your leg, like a baby loud and unapologetic in their cries for attention.

He can’t help it. Not when the tether you have on him has no slack.

And, Ewya, these past few weeks shaded by your shadow have given him ample opportunity to see you in your entirety. To admire how beautiful you’ve grown since you were kids, painfully so. Because you’re not only beautiful outwardly, a mix of soft planes and sharp angles, but your mind and soul are so radiant, Neteyam doesn’t know what to make of himself.

“Maitan,” Neytiri’s voice is firm, but gentle, as Neteyam makes his first move of the morning for the flap of the tent’s exit.

He pauses, throws a look over his shoulder, then comes full stop when he sees the purse of his mother’s lips, the furrow between her brows. It’s like looking in a mirror and his shoulders fall slack.

“Yes?” He clears his throat, then straightens.

“Maybe…” She seems to choose her words carefully. “Maybe you should give it time to breathe.”

Neteyam doesn’t answer, wants to play dumb, because if he gives his full acknowledgement, he’ll have to admit that things aren’t getting any better between the two of you despite his valiant efforts.

He manages a hum before Neytiri continues.

“The last time we spoke about this situation, I know we made it seem like you didn’t have much of a choice in your selection feast,” Neytiri says. “But perhaps things change, and maybe you and ________ are no longer Eywa’s will.”

The thought makes Neteyam physically recoil. Makes the bile rise in his throat.

He’d been so against the two of you at first, didn’t even want to think of the idea of a future with you, but now his heart’s molding to form around the shape of you and he doesn’t think he’d have it any other way.

Especially not now that he’s forced himself in your proximity, has watched you function in your element, seen that you’re far from the peculiar girl he’d spent so much of his childhood running away from.

You’re everything but. You’re almost detrimentally kind, so soft and gentle to the moon and its creatures. And you work hard, dedicate every waking moment to serving your people despite no longer claiming any commitments to marrying into the tsahik’s position. You heal, and you mend, and you fix everything that’s broken, and Neteyam’s forced to watch on the sidelines as you stonewall him.

“Eywa’s will or not, I…” The words are nearly as weighty as his mother’s gaze. “I choose her.”

Neytiri blinks, then blows out a long breath.

“Neteyam, it’s important to realize that a selection feast is not one-sided,” she says. “She must choose you just as much as you do her.”

It’s something he’s been having to grapple with the past few weeks, the uncertainty of things. Your love for him had been a sure thing at the beginning, but now Neteyam’s not so reassured.

“She does, she will.”

He realizes he sounds like he’s convincing himself.

“Her parents have expressed their desire to withdraw from the preparations of your union,” Neytiri says.

The news is rather stale, but still leaves an awful taste in Neteyam’s mouth.

“They want to arrange for a new suitor.”

But that, that’s news to him.

You’re right where he expects you to be, in his grandmother’s tent with Mo’at herself and Kiri, testing a few trials of salve for the new round of candidates trying for their iknimaya.

You’re no longer bandaged up, just sporting a raised scar. The navy blue skin is tough, fused and blends with a few of your stripes, but Neteyam knows it’s there. Has felt and rewrapped the wound so many times that brushing over it with his fingertips is like muscle memory.

But now that you’re healed, practically as good as new, you don’t let him close. He doesn’t know what you feel like, has nearly forgotten the sensation of your hands on his skin.

“Teyam,” Kiri greets happily when she clocks her older brother.

He sees your eyes close in defeat, shoulders deflating because you just want one day of peace.

“Can I borrow ________?” he asks.

You answer before Mo’at does.

“We are very busy,” is all you say, but Neteyam won’t take no for an answer.

Your name leaves his lips firmly, like there’s no room for argument and you finally look up from your task to meet his stony gaze.

For a moment, his expression is familiar, makes you wonder what you’d done to piss him off this time around. But as you stand to your feet to shuffle out of the tent for some privacy, his hand ghosts the small of your back.

“What?” you sigh, crossing your arms over your chest.

Neteyam doesn’t beat around the bush.

“Your parents are trying to marry you off,” he breathes.

You blink.

“I sought this out on my own accord,” you reveal, gaze bored as you watch his face morph into horror.

“You what?” he splutters.

“Just because we are no longer promised to each other doesn’t mean I don’t have the right to companionship,” you say harshly. “I have a duty to my parents to start a new generation.”

The thought of you with someone else makes him sick. Doesn’t even know who’ll claim you as his, but thinks the most violent and ill thoughts of whoever will put their hands on you.

“So you’ll just spend forever with some asshole you barely know?”

Neteyam’s being crass, but he can’t help it. Not when this is the closest he’s felt to losing.

You shift uncomfortably, anger shuttering over your features as your arms tighten over your chest.

“You’re awful, you know that?” you whisper. “You spent so much of our adolescence and young adulthood pushing me away and treating me so horribly.”

Neteyam sighs shakily.

“I know, I know,” he swallows. “And I’m sorry, you have to know that. I just—”

“You what, Neteyam?” you bite. “You’re so used to getting what you want, to everyone fawning over you and doting on you because you’re the olo’eyktan’s son that it feels like shit now that someone doesn’t?”

That one stings.

“Don’t you think you’re being unfair?” you ask, voice watery. “You said that you’d forfeit your responsibilities as the future leader of our people if it meant not having to be with me. Do you remember that?”

He does, all too well. Recalls the shattered look on your face when the words left his lips.

“You were so disgusted by the idea of having to spend forever with me that you were willing to give up everything you worked for in life to avoid that chance,” you spit. “That’s all I think of when I see you, you know. That I’d been so in love with you and the idea of loving you, but you’d rather be nothing than have to accept that.”

Neteyam shakes his head vehemently.

“Don’t.”

“Leave it alone,” you nearly beg. “Leave me alone.”

Neteyam decides to abide, but a greater force must have the cruelest sense of humor. Or perhaps the elders scheme. Because Neteyam is being hurtled into your proximity despite his best efforts to give you space.

Be it opposing teams in the training circle, adjoined scavenger groups in the forest, you’re so close yet so far. The berth between you and Neteyam grows until he can no longer close the distance.

From afar, he’s forced to notice things he’d been too stubborn to realize. Forced to realize that his grandmother wasn’t exaggerating when she’d warned him that there were many young warriors vying for your attention.

At first it’d been comical, watching the way they tripped over themselves to try to catch your attention. The way they’d linger, empty conversations and little trinkets. Neteyam found it laughable until you started accepting the advances. He’d been so absorbed in his duties, in turning a blind eye to you, that he hadn’t realized just how many people were waiting for a shot.

It makes the bitterness brew, knowing that if something doesn’t give, the possibilities of you spending forever with someone who isn’t him increases with every passing moment.

But the look on your face outside of Mo’at’s quarters is burned in his brain, tears that brimmed your sunny eyes lodging a lump in his throat.

A storm roils inside of him that can be felt by everyone near and far, casts such a heavy weight with every space he enters.

You have to feel it too, the yearn. There isn’t a way you’ve been able to cast years worth of pining and wanting to the side so easily. God, is this how you’d felt this entire time? Had it always—

“Alright, you’re done,” Jake grunts.

Neteyam’s drawn from his thoughts, glances down at the spearhead that’s been whittled down to practically nothing. It’s the fifth in his pile and his father looks cross.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes, fingers loosening.

Jake sucks in a deep breath before prying the tools from his eldest’s hands.

“Just take a breather,” he says. “I’ll see you in the evening.”

Neteyam nods once, hesitantly, then concedes, withdrawing from his task to make for anything else that will get his mind off of you.

He’s about halfway to the stream when an elder stops him in his tracks.

“Where are you headed?”

He hangs his head in defeat.

“Off to clear my head,” is all he says in return.

“Care to help with preparations for this evening’s meal?” the elder asks.

He wants to say no, hasn’t helped with dinner preparations in who knows how long. He’d always been too busy with other duties, with learning about the ins and outs of tending to the clan, but the elder is smiling hopefully and Neteyam’s always had a hard time saying no.

“Sure,” he replies. “What do you need help with?”

“The fish,” she says. “Need to filet them.”

He hums in response, thinks it’ll just be him and the elder descaling the village’s catch and fileting them for roasting, but he stalls when he enters the clearing and finds you with your back to him, hunched over a basket.

It’s the closest he’s gotten in days, an aching mix of him keeping his distance and you avoiding him leaving him relying on personal recollections to map your features in his head. He feels like he’s intruding, like maybe he should make an excuse to break away, but you’re peering over your shoulder at the rustling of the leaves and he’s frozen in his spot.

Your shoulders tense, turning your attention back to your task at hand as the elder nudges Neteyam forward and he skids to a seat a few feet away from you.

“I have to retrieve another basket,” she announces, and you both miss the knowing look on her face.

You hum and Neteyam’s looking over his shoulder wide-eyed as the older woman retreats to leave the two of you with many baskets of fish.

He can’t help but sneak glances at you as he begins his work, fingers working over the slender catch like muscle memory.

The silence is tangible, thick like a woolen blanket and pierceable.

He’s flying through his basket, already on his fourth while you still fiddle with the same one you’d been working on since he sat down.

“You’ve always been good at this,” you say quietly, and Neteyam blinks hard at the sound.

He hadn’t expected you to break the silence.

“Maybe you’ve always been bad,” he says, huffing a little laugh as he glances at you again.

“Yeah, maybe,” you whisper.

The memory seems like it was yesterday, when the two of you were nine and you’d revealed your intentions to spend forever with him.

Another uncomfortably long stretch of silence passes with nothing but your nervous breathing and the rush of the river when he finally bites the bullet and turns towards you.

He shifts closer, hands closing over yours. You’re trembling, he realizes, and he squeezes.

“Why are we doing this?” he asks gently.

The implication of his words are weighty.

Your throat bobs.

“You know why,” you say softly.

“I don’t,” he tells you. “I really messed up, I know that, but you can’t convince me that there’s nothing here anymore.”

His fingertips ghost underneath your collarbone, right over your heart.

The look on your face is anguished.

“I know you’ve been patient with me,” he sighs shakily. “It took me way too long to realize that you’re it for me and I’m sorry.”

You’re taking in a shuddering breath and something tells Neteyam to hold on extra tight this time around.

“I’ve given you every part of me,” you say resolutely. “And you..you—”

You don’t even finish your statement, just look up at him with your round eyes and the reality of it all seems to settle like a disgusting feeling he can’t shake.

He’s willing to wait for you twice, thrice as long as you’ve waited for him, but he sees the exhaustion written on your face. Sees what a toll loving him has taken on you regardless of any healing you’ve endured physically and emotionally.

“This is my last time asking,” he whispers. “Promise. Just—think about it. Regardless of your decision, I’ll…I’ll understand.”

True to his word, Neteyam stays away. Gives you all the space you need by throwing himself headfirst into spearheading the next round of warriors’ iknimaya training. And you take advantage of it; think to yourself that the longer you take to put a final end to this all, the longer you can cling to the remnants of your first love.

It agonizes you, thinking of diverging paths with Neteyam, of being with someone else when you know fully well that the hold that Neteyam has on your heart is ironclad.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself, no matter what solace you search for in another, it will always be him.

But there are people counting on you, counting on him, and with each passing eclipse, your duties to the clan grow far heavier. Dancing around this is becoming tedious, so you take the plunge.

It’s why you finally give into Raime, a quiet boy in the village. He’s two years your senior, the most accomplished hunter in his lot, and he’d been the first to express his interest in you when you’d told your parents you wanted to search for new suitors.

It’d been rocky, tumultuous, at first, but he’d been understanding. He’d known about you and Neteyam, had admitted that he knew the feeling of wanting all too well.

“...and Mo’at was so angry that—”

You stop because Raime hasn’t stopped smiling at you since you started speaking and your cheeks are warm.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he assures quietly, eyes glancing back down at his task at hand.

Ironically, the two of you are huddled in the clearing near the river, skinning the village’s catch and preparing for the evening’s meal. Like always, your fingers are fumbling and Eywa must have a funny sense of humor because Raime skins, guts, and cleans like he does it in his sleep.

He notices the silent struggle, corner of his lips quirking up higher as you fruitlessly move a stray hair away from your face with the back of your wrist.

He rinses his hands in the river, dries them on his loincloth. You notice his fingers in your periphery, but he’s stopping himself.

You look up, see his hands near your face, and your throat bobs.

“Can I?” he asks gently.

You don’t know what he’s asking permission for, but you nod nonetheless, heart going soft and stomach frenzied because you’d never known such a tender kindness from a man in all your pining.

Raime’s fingertips are gentle against your temple, threading his fingers through your hair softly to tuck the stubborn strands out of your face.

“Thanks,” you hiccup, searching his chiseled features.

He hums and you tuck your chin, trying to hide the blooms of purple over the apples of your cheeks.

His weight shifts closer, fingers ghosting over yours as he settles like a guide.

“Head to tail,” he says softly. “Knife over the rib cage, not through it.”

The bones easily lift and you let out a triumphant breath, smile growing as he pulls the next fish and walks you through it hand-over-hand.

You’re too engrossed with the foreign feeling of affection, with allowing yourself to melt into a new beginning, that you don’t even realize the eyes that have spotted you.

Neteyam had been waiting patiently for your decision, but nestled among the foliage, he sees the soft grin on your lips, the dent of your dimpled cheeks, and he gets his answer.

Raime is a man of few words, Neteyam comes to find out. He’s got him cornered, right before eclipse a few evenings later, and the look in his eye is a warning.

“Be good to her,” Neteyam says, voice calm like the eye of a storm. “You’ll pay if you’re anything but.”

Raime doesn’t protest, doesn’t argue, because he knows with far too much familiarity what the nuances are between the two of you. Knows that your hearts are still bound by the most stubborn of threads whether he likes it or not.

So all he does is nod, throat visibly bobbing.

And for Neteyam, well, it would do.

You decide against a selection feast. Because Raime holds little status in the clan and you no longer train to lead, you both agree that you’ll come together as one on your own terms.

Toeing a relationship with Raime is simple, easy. But things seem a little too quiet, too good to be true. You’re used to the chaos, the storm that thunders when loving someone, and while you don’t think you love him quite yet, you think that like all things, you could learn to.

The two of you idle near the hometree, picking herbs, laughing about younger villagers’ antics, the hunts he participates in, among other things when you catch the whispers.

Did you hear about olo’eyktan’s son?

Your ears twitch.

How unfortunate.

Self-consciousness pricks the back of your brain momentarily as you strain to hear what the gossip’s all about. Raime doesn’t seem to notice that your attention is divided, still laughing quietly about a particular villager’s plight with training.

Think he’ll be okay?

Who knows, heard the fall was pretty bad.

Your brows furrow, brain shifting gears to the younger son. Neteyam was too careful, too cautious. But Lo’ak, on the other hand, was careless, daring.

You want to settle on the idea that Lo’ak’s gone off and hurt himself, but then you see Kiri off in the distance, eyes wild and searching.

When you two lock eyes, she’s crossing the trodden path hurriedly.

“Kiri–”

“Please,” she breathes desperately. “It’s Neteyam.”

Neteyam’s injuries make your heart squeeze. He’s bruised, blood mottled under the surface of his wounded skin, and he’s broken his arm.

You’d heard the conversation before you entered the tent. Despite being hurt, Jake was laying it on thick.

“What the hell were you thinking!” Jake’s voice echos.

“Just needed to clear my head.” Neteyam’s voice was scratchy, weak.

“After what happened to ________, you know there’s absolutely no flying or traveling alone! Especially not as far out as you did!” his father chides. “You could have died, Neteyam!”

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“This really impedes on your duties, you know that?” Jake bites. “You–”

“I’m sorry,” Neteyam repeats again, voice a hoarse whisper.

He sleeps now, the smallest of furrows between his brow bones. His broken arm is wrapped tightly, resting over his stomach as his chest rises and falls with every breath.

His parents had left you with him after your quiet request for a moment, but you don’t wake him.

Instead, you’re digging through your satchel, finding the solidified salve wrapped in the center of a balmy leaf. You wedge off a piece, warming it between your palms as you work over shallow wounds and purpling contusions.

Your heart had pounded so hard in your chest hours prior when Kiri had told you that Neteyam was hurt. It made you absolutely sick to your stomach, body wracked with nerves as you followed her frantic strides.

As you kneel before him now, working softly over his skin, you realize that letting this go isn’t as easy as you thought it was going to be. It’s further solidified when your eyes burn and you’re surprised to blink back tears.

“Wow,” you whisper shakily to yourself, knuckling away the tears in annoyance as your chin tilts towards the apex of the tent to stop them from falling.

The salve is still warm in your hands when you feel a set of fingers ghost over yours.

Your gaze snaps to Neteyam who watches you with sleepy eyes, hooded and struggling to stay awake.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you swallow. “You okay?”

“I’ve been better,” he says softly. “A lot better.”

You nod simply, hope he doesn’t notice that you’re trying not to cry, but Neteyam’s learned to read you so well over the last few months. Comes with the territory when you’ve been orbiting the same person for years.

“You’re crying,” he observes hoarsely. “Why?”

The corners of your lips twitch downwards, the familiar burn behind the bridge of your nose forcing more tears.

“I’m not,” you argue weakly.

Neteyam looks shocked, making a move to sit up.

Your hands are on his shoulders, gently restraining him as you shake your head quickly.

“You need to rest,” you warble.

“Why are you…are you…”

“You scared me,” you say weakly. “I thought–”

You hiccup and his face softens.

“Hey, I’m fine,” he assures you. “I’m good.”

You bite the inside of your lip, smooth the rest of the salve over his uninjured arm, and his nose twitches at the scent. It’d been the same one his grandmother had slathered over his cuts and bruises; the one you’d made especially for him.

Despite knowing you’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Raime, it makes something triumphant settle in the pit of his stomach knowing you still carry around something you’d made thinking of him.

But he doesn’t say a word, keeps the comment to himself. Instead he watches you with bated breath.

Then you surprise him, forehead meeting the firm planes of his stomach. His expression twists, uninjured hand ghosting over the back of your head momentarily before resting the full weight over your loosened braids.

“Wha–”

“I can’t do it,” you whisper, voice muffled against his skin.

“Do what?” he croaks.

“Be with him.”

He stills.

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows, waiting for your next words with anticipation.

“I can’t help it, Neteyam,” you sigh shakily. “Not when it comes to you.”

He knows what you’re trying to say, but he can’t bring himself to act on it without hearing the words with the utmost clarity. Needs the confirmation that you’re done fighting it.

When he doesn’t say anything, only presses his fingertips through the roots of your hair, you crack.

“It will always be like this,” you whisper. “No matter how much distance there is, it’ll...”

You push away gently to glance at his face.

“It’ll always be you.”

Neteyam can’t help the smile that grows.

“If I…” you swallow. “If I give in, you have all of me.”

“Only way I’d ever want it,” Neteyam says, trying to tamp down the hope ebbing into his voice.

“But would you be able to say the same?” you challenge quietly. “It only takes once.”

He sits up despite the sharp look you give him, traps your fingers in his uninjured hand and presses your palm to his chest. You feel it, his heart, fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird under the skin.

“Promise,” he murmurs, wincing when the skin over a particularly imposing wound stretches too taut. “I’m all yours, ________. I meant what I said. Union or no union, it’s you and me.”

A shiver rips down your spine as you nod, teary-eyed. You move to press your face to his chest, but his fingers skim your jaw, cupping the back of your neck as he brings your lips to his.

You’d imagined this moment a million and one times and even if the moment is fleeting, you feel the weight of things solidify around you.

Neteyam’s kiss is bruising, like parting means letting you go for the final time.

You only do when you feel something wet brush your jaw, breaking away momentarily to ghost the fingers not trapped against his chest over your cheek.

The most minute of furrows twitch across your features before you realize that Neteyam is crying, yellow eyes rimmed red and watery.

“Sorry,” he whispers, swiping the back of his wrist over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Your heart softens, melting, as your thumb brushes over the carve of his cheekbones.

“It’s okay,” you assure him quietly, and the expression on your face is devastating. It’s like you’ve morphed back into the girl who pined and yearned. It makes his gut twist with guilt. “We’ll be okay.”

He nods hesitantly, hand coming around your wrist as he presses his cheek further into the cradle of your palm.

He doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, such silly human words he’d heard his father mutter to his mother time and time again. But in the moment it feels right.

“I love you,” he says gently.

You blink hard, spine rigid. Can’t help the smile that threatens to crack your full lips.

“I love you,” you assure him.

And from the other side of the tent’s flap, both Neteyam’s parents and yours catch whispers of the rekindling of a dying flame. Your mother, always in your corner, murmurs soundly with a relieved grin.

“Eywa makes no mistakes.”

an — do i lowkey hate this, yes lmao, but i will go absolutely nuts if i don’t get this out sdfjksdfaj, love you all <3

taglist; @nao-cchi , @jkiminpark , @philiasoul @amart-e , @s-u-t , @junieswrlds , @tayswiftlovebot , @dumb-fawkin-bitch , @neteyamo , @fanboyluvr , @mazemymirror , @theycallmesia , @girlpostingsposts, @athenachu , @hiya-itsamber , @morks-watermelon , @sanfransolomitatm , @lovedbychoi

#neteyam x reader #neteyam imagine #neteyam fic #neteyam angst #neteyam fluff #neteyam #atwow #avatar way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar the movie #avatar

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notapersob · 28 days

Text

@mcythorrorgiftexchange

@turtlecase

Grian watcher god fae reference? Mayhaps?

I hope this is horror-y enough? Sorry I really struggled. Turns out this event collided with the last 3 weeks of college and I got super busy and struggled to come up with ideas. Thus drawing does have a short writing thing attached to it (under the cut) but I wrote it a year ago so I didn't wsnt to submit it for this event all by itself.

The writing thingy --->

Its neck snapped and cracked, contorting itself. The thing swiveled it's head around to stare at Scar. Six black wings tore out of its skin. They were covered in eyes. They all stared at him, glowing a dim violet.

"What a peculiar little thing you are" a voice echoed. It sent chills down his spine. He had never felt so small.

Scar could make out what resembled a human face but it looked wrong. It cracked when the thing moved, stitching itself back together. Scar wondered what was under the mask. He couldn't seem to look away, he wanted to know. Like a moth to a flame. Not realizing the danger till it was too late.

"What are you?" Scar tried to back away.

The creature trilled, it laughed at Scars ignorance. "That is of no importance to you,"

"But-"

"Hushhh, you've ran yourself into something you do not understand. What is your name?"

He wasn't sure how he should answer. "You may call me Scar"

"You're funny," it smiled. A talloned hand reached out. It's whole hand was covered in what looked to be a sort of mold. It was black like the sky. Where it warped a deep purple grew in place. The fingertips were sharp. They gently traced the scar across his lip, then moving to his hair. It was curious. Well, so was he.

"What can i call you?" Scar tread carefully. He may be curious but he would like to stay alive. Though, he heard stories where unfortunate humans became eternal servants to the fae they angered. But that's not the worst they can do. Maybe death would be a gift.

The hand left his hair, leaving it a mess. He pushed it out of his face. "Hmm, I dont know, why don't you choose"

"Oh" Scar was surprised. "Uhmm."

"Is something wrong" it's head tilted, or twisted. It was a little unnerving.

"Well, to be honest I wasn't expecting to still be alive, let alone have enough time to think of a good name to call you."

"I could change that" it smiled deviously, the glow of its many eyes flashing bright purple and dimming just as fast as they appeared.

"As much as I appreciate the offer, It would be preferable to avoid death for the time being." Scar laughed nervously. He racked his brain for a good name for his new... friend? He tapped his fingers nercoulsy together trying to think of anything… bread.. Butter.. Wheat.. Grain. Graaiin.. Grian. Grian? For the life of him he cant understand why bread was on his mind. He thought of food when he was nervous and right now a nice good loaf of bread might just make him forget he’s face to face with some sort of eldrige god or something. "Hmmm, does... Grian work?" Scar offered.

"Yes, I think that'll do" it said excitedly. "Gri-an.. gria-nnn, grian" it tested the sound of the name.

Scar laughed. "So are you a girl, a boy? Neither?"

"None, all. It changes, does that even matter? I am a being beyond your mortal rules."

"Cool ok" Scar whispered, wiping his hands on his dirt covered jeans.

The wind picked up. The purple leaves spun up in the air. Grian slowly lowered himself from where he was hovering. His wings folded inward. Scar thought he could hear bones snapping. Grian landed on the ground. They looked a lot smaller then they had before.

He now only had one set of wings with significantly fewer eyes. Scar looked at Grian's face. Where the white of the eyes should be, they were black. He had short golden brown hair, the longest unkempt strands reaching his shoulders. He was a whole head shorter than Scar. He used to stand at least seven feet tall. He was beautiful. His pointed ears were decorated with silvers and golds.

"I owe you now." Grian grabbed hold of Scars hand, all too eagerly. His grip stung, the humanoid bird not quite understanding what a normal amount of strength is. A bright ring of light surrounded the point where their hands joined. The white swirls landed on their arms creating a beautiful pattern. The light disappeared into his skin. He blinked his eyes, getting used to the dark again. The swirls left white marks on his arm, it looked like some sort of abstract tattoo.

"Whoa". He knew he should probably be concerned by what just happened but this was the most spectacular thing to ever happen to him.

#grian hermitcraft #grian watcher #grian #hermitcraft #scarian #grian fanart #mcythorrorgiftexchange

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mangoisms · 11 months

Text

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter seven: you be the parachute | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.2k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

After making a hearty dinner — tomato soup and grilled cheese like he did when you were hurt — you change out of your work clothes into something you’re more willing to get dirtied and you advise Tim to do the same.

You have a specific pair of jeans that have several paint stains on them, as well as one streak of dark clay that refuses to leave. The same goes for your shirt, though with less stains and more just ratty and old, something you don’t mind getting dirty. Tim does the same, changing into an older pair of jeans and an old t-shirt from his time in high school. Though the both of you need to don windbreakers for the biting winds and drizzles of rain, you shed them when you enter the class, hanging them up along with your belongings and pulling aprons over your clothes.

Hana, the one who oversees the class, waves at you. “I don’t think we’ll be getting many people, so just help yourselves. You know where everything is and what to do.”

You give her a thumbs up and lead Tim towards the back of the class. A few other people are here but they are already working on their own things, talking softly to each other, voices drowned out by the spin of the wheels.

His eyes take in the class curiously. Several wheels are near you, along with some modeling stands and other desks for glazing and painting. You go over to the shelving unit at the back, where in-progress projects are kept.

You have a little figurine of a duck that you made for him that needs to be painted and fired again after that. You aren’t sure if you can do it without him suspecting who it’s for, though. It’s a joke gift, really, after talking to one of the science aides about the lethal geese that hang around the Reservoir at Robinson Park and the considerably calmer ducks. It’s a birthday gift, though you’ve been thinking you want to do something else in addition to it, something a little more meaningful. You just haven’t found out what yet.

“So?” you prompt.

“What are you going to do?”

“Not sure, to be honest. But for you… I think just to be safe, we should start you off with the molding stuff.”

He narrows his eyes slightly at the wheel, then the molding table.

You smile. “Or, let me guess, you want to try your hand at throwing?”

“It can’t be that hard,” he says.

This is a not-so-familiar side to him but one you’ve noticed regardless. Tim can be a bit… arrogant. Or at least, come into things assuming he can do it without issue. This, you guess, is a byproduct of the rich boy upbringing, which makes sense. Truthfully, it is not so bad compared to some of the other breeds of rich boy in this city but still.

“I know you were reading how-to guides while we had dinner —” he opens his mouth to protest but a raise of your brow silences him, a slightly sheepish look coming over his face “— but it really isn’t as easy as it may seem.”

“Well, I have you,” he says, which flusters you — the intended effect, you think, by the small, satisfied smile that tugs at his lips.

“Alright, fine,” you mumble. You don’t try to get him to just sit down and wait for you to collect things, spying the curious look in his eyes, so you let him shadow you as you collect everything you — he — needs to get started.

“I want to make a mug,” he tells you when you ask, since you need to wedge and weigh out the clay.

“Alright —”

“For you,” he adds, and you jolt.

“You don’t need to —”

He says your name softly, stopping you. You two are close, with him hovering right near your elbow, body heat palpable in the scant few inches between your bodies.

“I know I don’t need to,” he says. “But I want to. When are you going to understand?”

“After you make me a wonky mug, maybe,” you say, lips twitching to fight off a grin, face heating again.

Tim smiles, too, the lightest you’ve seen him today, like a weight physically taken off his shoulders — for the most part.

Your heart skips a beat and you look back at the clay, weighing out a chunk for a mug.

At the wheel with a bowl of water, towels, and the clay, you walk him through everything. You pull up a stool on his right side, to give you control of the pedal and thus, the speed. You run through sealing the clay to the bat — the actual surface of the wheel that spins — then centering it. After you make a divot in the center with your thumbs, you are ready to push into it, to start creating the walls.

Well, he is ready. Under your watchful eye and careful instructions, of course. And inserted reminders about his stance.

“Elbows on your thighs.”

“You didn’t do it like that,” he complains but does as you say, anyway.

“I’ve been doing this longer than you,” you remind him, grinning. “Okay, come on. We can start making the walls now. Use your index and middle finger to slowly push down.”

Your foot finds the pedal again, the wheel humming as you press it, making it spin once more.

Tim, hands now covered with wet clay, hesitates.

Your foot eases off. “I promise you, this clay is more scared of you than you are of it.”

“I’m not scared,” he mutters, but you know him. Tim Drake is a perfectionist. There is little that escapes his sharp eyes. You would wager a guess that he doesn’t want to mess up. And how can you mess up if you just… don’t touch the clay anymore?

Yeah, you get it.

“Think of our ancestors. We’ve been making pottery for thousands of years. They made mistakes, too. Those mistakes are treasured now, you know.”

“But I don’t want to make a mistake. This isn’t for future anthropologists and archaeologists,” he says, a little petulant. “It’s for you.”

Oh, wow.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You clear it.

“Well, perfection is a false ideal, anyway. The nice thing about things like this is that it’s handmade and that it’s not perfect. So, here.”

You lean forward, inserting yourself into his space (for the sake of this clay, that’s it) and pressing your hands over his. Your hands are covered in wet clay by now but because it’s still wet, it’s not too unpleasant. His hand is warm, too, which is… not what you should be focusing on.

“Like this,” you say, folding your index and middle finger over his, tilting your head sharply to get a good look at the clay. Your foot finds the pedal again and the wheel hums, abiding by your wishes for more speed.

You instruct his other hand to hold against the outside, to help shape it more. But he hesitates again, so you scoot further into his space, until your knee is pressed to his, your arms brushing, and you can place your left hand over his.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “I know I’m in your space.”

“I don’t mind,” he says quietly, breath ghosting over your ear and you have to suppress a flinch at how close he is. Everything about it makes your pulse jump to unhealthy heights but you force yourself not to let it carry you away. Trembling hands won’t help anyone right now.

“Alright,” you say, and together, you slowly, slowly pull the walls to dimension. Every motion flows into the next. Two fingers to lower the bottom inside with his left hand. Three on the outside from his right hand. Tim is pliant under your instruction, when ordinarily you might expect some pushback.

But you can’t do everything.

“Three fingers inside, one thumb outside. Gotta keep going while I grab the sponge.”

He grunts quietly in acknowledgement, seeming to focus more now as he does as you say. Your hands are only away from each other for a short few seconds as you grab the sponge, lightly pressing it to the bottom, pulling excess water to prepare to pull up the walls even further.

“Here,” you say, and he takes the sponge from you, holding it still against the bottom of the clay. “Good. Keep it there. We’re in the home stretch now.”

He lets out a slow breath. You can feel the exhale against your cheek and resist a wild shiver. His breath smells like spearmint, the gum he’d chewed on the drive here.

You swallow, staring at his hands, which doesn’t really help your pounding heart, just cause… Tim has really nice hands. Long, slender fingers, surprisingly calloused but still soft, somehow. The knuckle of his left pinky is a tiny bit wonky and he says he accidentally broke it playing football with a friend when he was a teenager and it didn’t heal quite right.

You should stop thinking about his hands. Too bad that’s kind of a thing with pottery.

“Four fingers inside. Keep your thumb out.”

He says your name. “Help me out a little.”

“You’re doing good.”

“But I can do better if you’re guiding me,” he says, a little beseeching, breath warm against your cheek in a way that has your heart skipping a beat.

Jesus.

You think you might spontaneously combust. It’s not the weirdest thing to ever happen in Gotham. And no one could blame you, either. Frankly, you’d like for anyone to be in close quarters with Tim Drake when he asks you to do something for him and try to say no. Or retain full function of their brain. Impossible.

“You’re doing good, way better than I did on my first try throwing a mug, but alright,” you mutter, sliding your left hand over his, forcing you once more into close proximity with him. His right hand holds the sponge as you instructed.

With his left hand, four fingers press to the inside and a thumb on the outside, helping further lengthen the walls slowly.

You feel the fingers of his left land part just a little, yours nearly slipping through the gaps, and you knock your knee against his. Doesn’t affect him, either, since, ignoring your earlier reminder, his elbows aren’t sitting there anymore.

“Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t need to,” you grumble, face heating.

You know what he’s thinking about. That stupid scene from that movie from the, like, eighties. You know the one — the one with the… weirdly sensual pottery scene. Hana told you all about it on your first day of class. That that wasn’t how things went and if anyone did want to do it, they could do it in the privacy of their own home. Not, you know, in class with all of you.

And, to be clear, that isn’t what is happening here, either. He knows better than that.

(You think.

Probably.)

“I’m sorry,” he says, in a tone that tells you he is not very sorry at all; it’s teasing, if anything, in a way that makes you want to catapult yourself across the classroom to get a little space between you.

That is the unbearable part of this.

You kind of want to shove your stools back, put your hands on his cheeks, and kiss him for, you don’t know, a really long time. Forever, maybe. Of course, that’s not biologically possible but it’d probably be a nice way to die and in Gotham, crime capital of the United States and of horrible, miserable deaths, that’s, like, gold, right?

The thought shrivels something inside of you, reminding you sharply of what did happen today. That six people are dead.

You shove the train of thought away immediately. Now isn’t the time to think about that and you don’t want to set him off, either. This is about him and you would hate for him to notice the shift and start comforting you.

It’s a two-way street, you know that, and it’s fine for you both to be equally comforted but thus far, you haven’t been able to do much for him. You want to, though. He seems to be handling everything that happened today worse than you, for reasons you aren’t sure of, and you want to be there for him.

Luckily, it seems like he didn’t notice.

“Have you seen it? Ghost?”

“No, and I am not interested in seeing it,” you say matter-of-factly. “I’d like to keep my experiences with pottery untainted, thank you very much.”

Tim laughs and the sound goes straight to your head. Literally. He’s still close to you, so you feel the warm exhale from his lips, spearmint tickling your nose and making you want to do inappropriate things. To him, preferably.

Anddd you don’t need to be thinking of that right now. Okay. Alright. You’re chill. You’re cool.

“Look,” you say. “We’re nearly there. Just a little bit more length…”

He focuses again, actually concentrating on lengthening the walls of the mug now. A minute passes before you nod and pull your hands back. He does the same. Your foot eases off the pedal.

You grab a ruler, recalling the measurements you two had agreed upon, and measure the height of the walls and the width of the cup itself. It’s bigger than a normal mug, but since he insisted on it being a mug you didn’t have to baby, it’ll have to be high fired to get that durability, which will make the clay shrink.

Tim waits as you work, seemingly bracing himself.

“Looks good,” you say, pulling it back and setting it to the side, sending him a small smile. It does look good. The walls need to be smoothed with a rib and there’s one part of the rim that looks… a little wonky but it’s not bad. Not bad at all.

When Tim scrutinizes it, reaching forward, you gently push his hands away. “It’s fine.”

“But —”

“It’s cute.”

“Not the word I’d use.”

“And supposed to be mine, so, I think I get the final call.”

“You know what you are?”

“The soon-to-be proud owner of this mug?”

He doesn’t expect that and you know he doesn’t expect that because he flushes, pink rising in his cheeks in a… decidedly tempting manner.

But of course, Tim Drake is not one to let himself be overtaken so easily.

“No,” he says slowly, leaning forward, into your space, holy hell, you think you might actually spontaneously combust now as he gets close enough for you to see the silver flecked in blue irises, thick dark lashes framing them, the sharp but not unpleasant scent of eucalyptus clouding your senses and, huh, you know, this isn’t very platonic of him, not very platonic at all but the thought of Tim Drake flirting with you is a laughable one —

And naturally, as you think that and promptly freak out internally because it unfortunately makes logical sense, you are an adult, you’ve never been in a relationship but people have flirted with you before, thank you very much — well… Tim takes advantage of your brief moment of shock. So, you don’t see his hand dip into the bowl of water, softening the clay on his fingers and then —

“You’re bossy,” he finishes, eyes twinkling in a way that tells you he doesn’t seem to actually mind and then you’re gasping, jerking away as he smears some of wet clay on your cheek, facade breaking as he grins, the force of it making his eyes crinkle.

“What are you?!” you hiss. “Twelve?!”

You would know.

He laughs, of course, and you can’t truly be mad at him, no, not at all, even if it’s the kind of messing around that Hana would side-eye you for, but fortunately she has her back to you two, deep in conversation with the few pairs of people who came to class today.

Absolutely no one is paying attention to you, so, you think it’s only fair that you return the favor and he lets you, well-aware of you dipping your hand back into the water and then smearing an even bigger streak over his cheek. (While you also ignore the feeling of the soft skin, warm to the touch, warmer than usual, his flush having not left quite yet.)

And the fact that he lets you, watching you with a gaze full of affection and a mischievous grin, has the rapidly-unspooling warmth in your chest become too much. Like you are a star about to go supernova.

But with that comes relief. To see him back to himself, no longer looking so… haunted. You can’t tell the full extent of what you would do to protect it, to protect a small bit of happiness for him to have whenever he needs, but you think it’s a lot. Anything short of murder, maybe.

(Even that depended, though.)

“Here,” you say, shoving the rib into his hand. “Smooth it out. You’re on your own now.”

Tim doesn’t protest, still smiling faintly as he does as you say. You scrunch up the side of your face, feeling the clay on your cheek.

He does an okay job — not the worst, anyhow — and then you guide him through taking it off the bat and centering it upside down for trimming the bottom. After doing so, you work on pulling the handle just using the molding stand; instead of waiting for it to dry, you apply a little bit of heat, then you apply it to the mug.

“That’s it?” he asks, going to the sink to wash his hands.

“That’s it,” you affirm, putting the mug in the shelving unit right beside it. “It needs to be fired once before you can glaze it. Then again after that. You can come in whenever, just tell them you were with me.”

“Are you going to work on anything?”

You hum thoughtfully, glancing at the clock. You got here at seven and it’s about to be eight. The center doesn’t close until ten but if he has places to be…

“I was just wondering,” he adds, stepping away from the sink to let you take his place, drying his hands on a paper towel. Clay is still smeared on his cheek, grey standing out against the pale skin. “That way I can help. Or watch if you’re tired of my… amateur efforts. Either way. This is… nice.”

You soften considerably at that, glancing down at your hands, watching the clay fall away under the warm water and soap. After everything… you think you finally have an idea about what you want to do.

“You can help me, then. Think I’d like to make a mug as well.”

Tim nods and tears another piece of paper towel, running it briefly under the water, presumably to clean the clay from his cheek.

You finish washing your hands just as he finishes cleaning the clay off his cheek. Your hands will get dirty again but the clean feel is a nice break before you do.

You dry your hands, then, still using the damp paper towel, attempt to clean the clay off your cheek.

Tim snorts quietly.

“Am I close?”

“No.”

“Aw.”

He smiles and holds out a hand. You relinquish the paper towel to him and he dampens it under the water, then reaches up to press it to your cheek.

You resist letting tension take hold of you as his eyes focus on your face. Like always, you are unused to the sharp attention he gives you but part of you is endeared, too, seeing him dedicate himself to the task. Tim doesn’t do things in halves. Only absolutes. It’s not great for your heart.

To distract yourself, your eyes stray to where his streak was once. The skin is clean, but this close, you spot a few leftover flakes of grey clay.

“There,” Tim says, gently patting your cheek with the dry end of the paper towel.

“You’ve still got some,” you mumble, taking the paper towel from him and switching to a cleaner patch on the damp side, then gently dabbing his cheek.

“Thanks,” he says, his eyes on your face, the look there making your heart pound out of rhythm.

You pull back, not as gentle as he was about patting the spot dry — his cheeks are still warmer than usual; the thought of it being because of you is a dizzying one — then toss the towel.

“Ready?” you ask, fixing your apron.

Tim clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck when you glance at him, his gaze elsewhere. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Right.”

You two spend another hour there throwing the mug. Tim is the one sitting adjacent to you this time, helping in the beginning but seeming to settle as you go on, apparently happy to just watch you do your thing.

You… try to prod about any preferred glazes or designs, mostly by asking what he thinks would look good, and you get some useful bits of information that you’ll be able to use the next time you come here. Or, well, sometime after that. This mug requires a bit more work than usual. At least for what you have in mind for it.

But it should be ready by the time July rolls around.

The sun has set when you two step out. The rain isn’t coming down as hard as earlier but it’s still drizzling, making streets and sidewalks glisten under street lamps and traffic lights.

In a considerably better mood than earlier, the two of you stop at O’Shaughnessy’s for a shake and fries, then return to Rose Oaks. You keep the food at your place while he heads up to change and you do the same. You check on the boys while you wait for him to return, finding Manny and Diego climbing into the little shelf on the side, while Sid dips in the saltwater pond.

You smile faintly and go back to the couch. On the coffee table, for once clear of schoolwork as you are officially caught up before finals, the bag of fries sits next to the drink carrier, holding two medium chocolate shakes.

Tim returns a few minutes later, letting himself in with the spare key he has, now dressed in sweats and a black t-shirt that stretches flatteringly over his shoulders.

In the mood for something light and nostalgic, you switch on Ice Age, the two of you relaxing on the couch and eating your dessert. Sleepiness weighs down on you with more time that passes.

Tim finishes his shake and fries after you, leaning forward to set them on the coffee table. When he sits back, he is closer to you, your arms pressed together. The warmth of his body and the faint scent of eucalyptus lulls you. It doesn’t help that you shut off the lights, the only light coming from the TV, showing the white snowscapes from the movie.

The sound of your name is a surprise but not unwelcome. Especially not from him and how he says it, syllables wrapped in a sleepy kind of warmth. He’s tired, too. You understand. Even if he may have been at his place for most of the day, it must’ve been emotionally draining to deal with everything else.

You lean your head on his shoulder, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Yeah, Timmy?”

His hand finds yours in your lap, slightly calloused fingers gliding against yours, a softer palm following.

You feel his head lean against yours. “Thank you. For today.”

“Thank you for letting me do it for you.”

Tim squeezes your hand and you think he’ll pull back.

He doesn’t.

Instead, with some movement, you find the blanket thrown over the back of the couch now draped over your laps.

With his hand in yours, the comforting scent of eucalyptus surrounding you in tandem with his body heat, you surrender too easily to the pull of sleep.

(Later, in the early morning when the sun hasn’t risen but is just about to break the horizon, you stir, not finding yourself in your bed like last time but instead held tightly in his arms, your legs tangled beneath the blanket which isn’t really necessary, with the body heat he emanates. In his sleep, Tim breathes slow and soft, warm exhales of air tickling the skin of your forehead as you two share a pillow. And too sleepy and warm to care, you burrow into his arms, which tighten around you in his sleep, close your eyes, and drift back to off to dreamland.

A few hours later, you’ll wake again, but alone this time, disappointment gnawing at you at the realization.

At least until the bathroom door opens and Tim steps out, his hair mussed, pillow creases still on his cheek, and he bids you a sleepy smile and asks what you want for breakfast.

And this is when you will realize you are past the point of no return. But you don’t care that the chances of him returning your affections are so laughably low that it actually isn’t funny. You don’t care about any of that. You just care to keep him around. For as long as you possibly can.)

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x y/n #tim drake x you #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #batfam x reader

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gnpwdrnwhiskey · 10 months

Text

Late Nights & Love Stories

Pairing- Jack Daniels x f!reader SunDrop

Word Count- 1.4k-ish

Warnings- my normal sap & cheese & mushy silliness. some angst I guess, Sunny's been having A DAY. mentions of death. not smutty, but maybe smutty-ish for a second there, lol. reader has an established nickname but no mentions of physical characteristics.

Author's Note- for anyone keeping track, this takes place two weeks after New in Town. Also, I'm taking liberty with Jack's full name, lol. Big ass thanks to @wildemaven for listening to me babble about this forever and helping me pull it all together. 💕

You held out for two weeks. Two long torturous weeks of Jack stopping by the bakery every morning, charming every woman he comes in contact with on his way to the counter to place his breakfast order and remind you he's just waiting on you to say yes.

Two weeks.

It's longer than you made him wait for anything the first time around. But the circumstances were different then, it was temporary, you were never supposed to see him again after your assignment. This time the stakes are much higher.

So now it's two weeks (and one day) and you've had your steak (and lobster), he's filled you in on what happened in his life in the last six months (a whole hell of a lot), and then he walked you back to the little apartment above the bakery you've been staying at since you've been home.....

.....and then he just left.

You should probably go back upstairs, try to get at least a few hours sleep. Instead you decide to take a walk. And you can lie to yourself all you want about where you're going but you and the devil on your shoulder egging you on know exactly where you're headed.

And you've been going bat shit stir-crazy ever since. You've taken a shower, you've put on your favorite pajamas, you've called Ginger for a much needed catch-up (um, hello new Agent Whiskey, congrats on the promotion you didn't tell me about!), changed back into street clothes, gone down to the bakery and prepped what you could for Maddie in the morning and you're still not settled.

Jack opens the hotel door in a white tee and a pair of gray flannel pajama pants you already know are so incredibly soft to the touch, it makes your fingers itch with want.

"Sunny?" His hair is a mess and he's blinking bleary-eyed at you and it's obvious at least one of you was able to sleep tonight. "It's like 2am. You okay?"

"You didn't kiss me."

"What?"

"On our first date, you walked me home and you kissed me. Tonight, you didn't kiss me."

"I wasn't too sure that option was on the table, seein’ as how you made me do quite a bit of begging just for a date, sweetheart and...."

"Jesus Christ, Jack, shut up and kiss me."

"Yes, ma'am."

And oh God it's better than you remembered, better than a kiss has any right to be, and you immediately feel all that restless energy you've been carrying around all night start to shift- desire laced with something else, something darker, something needier- as he pulls you close and molds your body to his, one large hand splayed on your lower back, your hands tangled in his hair.

He tastes like sleep and cigarettes and it should be off-putting but you don't care, you don't care, you don't care. You're lost in him- his mouth, his hands, his warmth- and it's too much and it's not enough.

You're vaguely aware of him kicking the door closed and pressing your back against it and Christ, that's a dangerous idea because you've been in this situation before and you know exactly where it leads and the one rational brain cell left in your head is screaming at you that this isn't what you came here for but that doesn't stop you from rolling your hips into his, trying to get closer, to feel that friction, to feel anything besides the gnawing desperation that's been eating at you all night.

Jack's no stranger to one night stands- the frantic rush, the all-consuming desire- but even as you lick into his mouth and grind against him, even as he grabs the back of your thighs and lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around him, even as he flashes back to taking you like this before- quick and dirty against the door in his office in New York during the middle of the day, even as he delights in the sounds he's pulling from your throat, he knows this isn't the route he wants to take with you this time around so he breaks away with one last soft kiss that you try to turn into something more.

"Hey, whoa, easy there, SunDrop," he whispers as he slowly lowers you back to your feet.

"Christ, Jack, I'm not a friggin horse," you mutter.

"Aww, honey, don't sell yourself short," he grins. "You're about the prettiest filly I ever did see. 'Bout as skittish sometimes too."

"That was horrible, you're horrible. Why do I even like you?" you laugh.

Or you mean to laugh but it's more like a sob. You're not really sure where that came from except he really did throw a lot at you at dinner tonight- including the fact that he kinda sorta almost died. And maybe it's just hitting you now, that he could've been gone and you never would've known.

And then you're burying your head in his chest and fisting your hands in his tee and crying in earnest.

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's okay. Whatever it is, it's okay," Jack manages to scoop you up and carry you over to the bed, sitting down and cradling you on his lap. "What's with all the waterworks, Sunny? Talk to me."

"You died," you sniffle, bringing one hand up to trace lightly over the star-shaped scar at his temple. "You died and I didn't even know."

"Just for a little bit, sugar," Jack laughs softly. "Ginger brought me back good as new."

"Jackson Lee Daniels. It's not funny."

"No, ma'am, it certainly is not. I do not recommend it. Worst headache I've ever had in my life."

"And yet you're still making light of it," you mumble, crawling off of him to lean against the headboard.

"We all have our coping mechanisms, sweetheart." Jack sighs, moving to sit next to you and pull you close. "I got one more story to tell you if you think you can handle another one right now."

"Not if it's about you dying."

"No, sugar, it's about what happened after. Maybe it'll put your mind at ease some." He feels you nod your head against his shoulder and takes a deep breath before he continues.

"See, there's understandably some memory loss when you come back and I made a damn fool of myself hitting on Ginger before she flashed this old polaroid of my wife at me, and there was this blinding rush of memories- everything came back to me, all the pain and anger over everything I'd lost and I was more determined than ever to rush off and stop those Kingsman fellas."

"I was spouting a bunch of nonsense but Ginger, God bless her clever heart, grabbed my arm and said 'one more thing, Jack' and then she showed me a picture of you, SunnyD. And there was another rush of memories, good ones- laughing with you in the kitchen, dancing in the living room at the cabin, gasping my name as you came apart underneath me the first time we made love."

"And I realized this was a chance to start over, to let go of all that hurt and anger and build a new life. With you, if you'd have me. You saved me, honey, you and Ginger both did."

You're quiet for so long, Jack's starting to think you've fallen asleep. "Sweetheart, you still with me?"

"Yep. So, what you're telling me is like in a sense, I totally helped save the world?" You say as you sit up on your heels to look at him, hands clasped to your chest and batting your eyelashes. "Because you loooovvveeee me!"

"That's what you took from all that?" Jack laughs. "I just poured my heart out and that's all you got?"

"No," you wave a dismissive hand. "I mean I'm still processing, okay? It's been a long day. Full of surprises. So many surprises. But- I am glad you're alive and you're here and I maybe kinda probably love you too."

"Fine, you keep processing. But ya know, sunshine, I never actually said I loved you."

"Oh, but it's totally implied in the huge, world saving heroic gesture, cowboy. You totally love me, like head over heels stupid in love...."

"Hey, Sunny?" Jack asks, reaching out to pull you back into his arms. "Shut up and kiss me."

"Yes, sir."

#agent jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x female reader #agent whiskey fanfiction #jack whiskey daniels #jack daniels x female reader #jack daniels fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #jack x sundrop universe

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wallflowers-in-the-wind · 9 days

Text

Does Penelope deserve her happily ever after with Colin in season 3?

A look into the first two seasons as well as contemplating the third.

As controversial of a topic this is I find myself at a loss preparing for the new season of Bridgerton. It is no secret this season will be the one where Penelope finally breaks out of the mold of “the girl in yellow” and has her comeback as the season’s hidden gem. After what she had overheard Colin saying behind her back many fans have been rooting for her to prove to the ton that she is no simple wallflower.

I however find myself wondering if Penelope even deserves her happily ever after. Perhaps the director had made an error in rushing Penelope and Colin into the spot light and Benedict should have had his chance to shine with the reveal of his other half. By doing so it would have given Penelope the chance to prove how much she has changed from the past two seasons making her romance much more sweeter in season 4.

When we look back when we first meet Penelope she is a sweet girl in love with her best friend’s brother. But that sweetness turn sour as the season progresses. I still have not forgotten what she had done to Marina. While it can be argued Penelope was doing it because she loved Colin and wanted to protect him she chose the most nuclear option because she felt she had no choice. This is one that wasn’t even present in the book series and makes things much more tragic for Marina if Bridgerton continue and shows us Eloise’s happily ever after.

But with this addition comes with the consequence of changing Penelope from a shy girl harassed by those around her and trapped in yellow by her mother who writes a gossip paper to have her own voice to fight back into something much darker. While it can be argued Marina brought her situation onto herself she was a young girl who was in love and manipulated into believing she was alone by Mrs. Featherington. What I find makes it more tragic is that Colin would have married her regardless if Marina had told him what had happened to her instead of finding out through Lady Whistledown. And for those who read the books we know what awaits poor Marina after her mental health takes a turn for the worse unless the director’s change that as well.

The next and still ongoing feud is her massive fight with Eloise when she found out Penelope is Lady Whistledown. One that will carry on into season 3 and with good reason. Penelope’s choice to keep her identity as Lady Whistledown had to be her greatest and worst decision.

While Eloise is known for being very outspoken it has often come back to bite her. During her hunt for the author she had pestered everyone she knew and accidentally caught the attention of the queen who gives her the task of unmasking the author (a ridiculous thing to ask a child). This is something that could have been prevented if Penelope had told her but the secrets that are published are the most scandalous and eye catching with no one spared from her quill (even the queen). If she were to know this it could place her in even more danger or make their friendship more strained than it is currently.

The sad part is that Eloise in the books never found out this way. There was no betrayal between them and she thought her best friend being the author was wonderful.

However, Penelope’s paper in the show has been proved to change the opinion of even the highest of ranking officials. One she may not comprehend how powerful that is. She had already proven how vengeful she can be when someone tries to steal the man she loves through dishonorable means. Even if it means throwing Eloise under the bus to prevent her identity being know. Something we all see backfire when Eloise discovers her secret.

Yet as much as people point out how childish Eloise is and how she doesn’t understand how the world works the problem is Eloise has never been given the chance to understand. And she points out how much she wants to learn.

Yet in the span of two seasons she had nearly been put in danger by the Queen’s demand, watched her best friend become a different person, and learned that same best friend betrayed her and was secretly the author she had been searching for who nearly destroyed her life to save her own. Penelope has been just as childish but more spiteful yet hardly anyone ever points that out. At the end of the day both girls are barely in their twenties with no real knowledge of the world beyond what they have been raised to believe and what they have seen.

If Penelope wants to prove she is the right woman for Colin she will have to show herself to be more mature than she had been in the past two seasons. Eloise will certainly not allow this version on Penelope near her brother if she has anything to say about it. And if the rest of the family knew what she had done I have no doubt they wouldn’t as well. Penelope has a long road ahead of her if she plans to redeem herself beyond a simple wardrobe change.

#random thoughts #bridgerton analysis #eloise bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #marina crane #Eloise deserves to be upset #Penelope needs a wake up call #preparing for season 3 of bridgerton #I think this will be the most exciting season yet.

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imminent-danger-came · 10 months

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Shoutout to MK for immediately gathering his friends after Monkey King was sealed into the scroll! Even if it was dangerous, he called them and didn‘t try to do everything himself!

CHARACTER DEVELOPEMENT /pos

let‘s see how long that lasts. I‘m expecting some CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT /neg sometime in the future. I mean, sure, it looks like Wukong started his healing arc. but MK ? Not so much

Sure he had been hoping it would be something small. But he was lying to himself and knew it, the thing overpowered Wukong in 5 seconds flat after all.

But he still ended up being seperated from everyone.

Somehow it legitimately feels like a decent chunk of the season focused on how MK was different from his mentor but still ends up making similar choices… almost like he can‘t escape being like Wukong. Being worse than Wukong. Like it‘s desti- 💥get‘s shot💥

Both MK and Monkey want/ed things to stay as they are. Only MK wants to keep that by staying as he himself is now too, while Wukong wanted to become stronger to protect what he has.

But the world is going to mold MK into one of the most powerful beings to exist whether he wants to or not. It‘ll drag him down kicking and screaming if it has to.

Wukong leaving to get stronger vs. MK leaving because he‘s too strong and doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

Wukong leaving his friends behind by choice vs. MK‘s friends being taken from him, time and time again, even when he asks for help.

Young Wukong intentionally aggravating powerful beings and causing massive destruction vs. MK doing the exact same thing entirely on accident. When he‘s trying to help even.

FIGHT.

On one hand, MK leaning on his friends at the beginning of s4 seems like a good thing (and it partly is!), "we're stronger together" and all that. On the other, I can't help but feel part of MK's reliance on his friends—which alone isn't necessarily a bad thing—comes from a place of "I can't do anything on my own" (thank you trigram furnace scene). MK is this very interesting mixed bag, where he wants to be right by his friends sides yet in the same vein believes he should be able to do it without them.

MK leaving in 4x08 was out of the belief that "everything he does just makes things worse", and that if he had stayed he would eventually hurt the people he cares about. In ROTSQ MK went off on his own to procure the trigram furnace to try and prove that he could do it alone.

Mirror MK: "Listen, every time we get in trouble, we turn to Monkey King or our friends or SOMEONE. They tell us a story and we find that smidge of motivation we need. Well—now we're on our own. It's just you."

Ultimately, both of these decisions come from the same place: MK's lack of belief in himself. In s2 and s3 he's not strong enough, but in s4 when he finally has more power he's "too strong", he's "destined to cause nothing but pain and suffering".

I think back to the 3x14 "to pain" scene a lot, because holy fucking shit how can you not, but particularly this line-

MK: "You still think that the universe really wants anything, from any of us?" Lady Bone Demon: "Don't you?" MK: "I try not to think too hard." Lady Bone Demon: "So it would seem."

-in tandem with this line-

MK: "I don't know if all of this happened because it was destined too—but I have to believe that I found the staff so I could use it for good. To help people."

-along with MK's s4 arc, drives me INSANE. MK never thought himself destined for anything, he considered himself a "regular noodle delivery boy with the powers of the Monkey King." But in s4 that distinctly changes, and it does so in such an interesting way with how MK's foil with Wukong develops.

Watching MK go from believing he's not anything special (1x09 and 2x05 you bitches) to believing he is chaos incarnate has been a wild ride, and one that I expect to only continue to go down. Pair that with Wukong being forced to come face to face with the hurt he himself has caused (3x10 and 4x11), and boy are we sure in for a time!

The tragedy of both MK and Wukong is that they hurt people and cause pain when they're trying to exactly the opposite. Different paths, same inevitable end—except the student usually goes farther, don't they?

#MK continues to be ''2 steps forward 4 steps back'' the character #god SWK starting his healing arc while MK hasn't is so real #Like. With SWK in a little bit better place we'll be in prime position for an MK V SWK fight #Which thank you anon for the food #Like. Both of these Monkeys need to realize that relying on people is okay. Hurting people is inevitable. Both are part of life.#I need the SWK V MK fight to be like ''I will hurt you and you will hurt me and that is part of loving'' like that is my dream.#That is everything I could want from something like that #Like HMMM WE'RE SO CLOSE. SO CLOSE I TELL YOU #asks #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk MK #lmk SWK #lmk Sun Wukong #lmk analysis #yeah that's right I still like lmk #I am multi-fandom track drifting SO hard rn #had a breakdown about Viren and Callum before writing this so you know how it is

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missathlete31 · 1 year

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Nowhere to Run- Chapter 4

Five months after The Confrontation and things are not looking good for Maverick- (WARNING- MAVERICK GOES THROUGH IT THIS CHAPTER- I apologize in advance but this is an ANGST WRITING ZONE, be warned)

I feel like posting two chapters today. Please note if you’ve missed chapter 3 you can find it here- https://www.tumblr.com/missathlete31/712311725180026880/nowhere-to-run-chapter-3

It had been five months since the Navy decided to make the Daggers a permanent squad and not a day had gone by smoothly in Maverick's opinion. It had all started with Hangman's confrontation, a memory which seemed to be destined to plague the older pilot's mind forever. Jake's words that day were like knives, slicing the peaceful charade that Maverick had clung so hard to after the mission. After almost losing so much, including his own life and the life of his godson, the aging Captain just wanted stability, was that so much to ask? The team needed it too, they were all lost in that post adrenaline clinginess that pushed pilots to dangerous addictions found in bars and strangers bedrooms. But not the Daggers, not his Daggers, they just wanted a place to belong, or so Pete's naive mind told him. This was his own chance at that familial unit he always longed for and yet Seresin had to destroy it all in just a matter of seconds.

The adult part of Maverick knew the fallout was his own damn fault for bringing up such an explosive topic and in a public forum no less but never in his wildest dreams did he imagine how destructive things would have gotten; how raw and how real. The wounds left behind were gaping, the slashes making Pete feel exposed; his choices questioned, his judgment scorned, his leadership capabilities almost completely gone.

So much in Maverick wanted to be mad at Hangman, and a younger version of himself would have been. He would have lashed back, (similar to how Bradley did), stood up for himself and ripped Jake Seresin and his haughtiness into a whole other stratosphere. But Pete wasn’t that type of man anymore, not after decades of Ice running interference, playing blocker, and molding Pete into something resembling a commanding officer in the Navy.

Maverick didn’t fight Hangman that day but he also didn’t talk him down. He stood frozen as the room erupted in emotion and tension. He could have stepped up and called order to the group, he should have as an officer and as their leader, but instead he stayed quiet.

There was so much he wished he could change about that day, so much he wish he had articulated to the blonde or even to the rest of the group. Maybe he could have salvaged the team, or at least salvaged the relationships on his team. But no. Instead Maverick stood in that hangar frozen with guilty thoughts and feelings of inadequacy and now all the pilots that had been under his command were struggling.

When the dust settled from the altercation only four original Daggers were left: Rooster, Phoenix, Fanboy and Fritz.

If Hangman’s words had any positive, it was that it made Bradley a permanent fixture to the Captain Mitchell's side. Rooster defend Maverick without hesitation and though Maverick knew that half the argument was due to the two younger pilots absolutely hating each other, a part of him felt warmed by the steadiness of having Rooster in his corner. After Jake had left and Bradley moved to leave as well, Pete followed his godson, the two talking out Bradley’s frustrations and giving each other what the other needed. For Bradley it was support and guidance, for Mav it was a family.

Bradley sticking with him had been a pleasant surprise to Maverick. After the mission and then the loss of the Dagger Squad, Pete had tried to seize onto the young Bradshaw with both hands, a notion that seemed to be encouraged by Rooster. He started coming over to Pete's hangar to work on the Mustang, he joined him for dinner, the two even took a trip to the cemetery together to pay respect to Bradley's parents and talk about the mission. It was everything Maverick had hoped for but the rejection from 16 years ago made him leery of when the bubble would burst. After the loss of Ice, Maverick didn't think he was strong enough to handle Bradley leaving him again as well. It wasn't right, he knew it wasn't, but anything the older man could do to keep Bradley by his side he would, his own career be damned.

As for the rest of the Daggers things weren't as simple.

Phoenix staying seemed like a given in the beginning but Pete assumed he was going to lose her after Bob left. The woman, defying expectations once more, stayed put, firmly by Bradley's side but with a few more walls up now that so many of her teammates had bailed. She wasn't the same pilot as she was before the mission; the teasing gone and the confidence hollowed down to a harsher cockiness that never felt right from Natasha. She lost her heart and instead of being a steadfast welcome-committee for their newcomers, Lieutenant Trace seemed to become their resident bully. Phoenix had single-handedly scared away three separate WSO's that she didn't feel were up to her standards. Maverick had meant to sit her down, to talk things out with her, but he felt so off-footed since the Seresin incident that he wasn't sure how to even broach the topic anymore. So the Captain gave the female pilot space and pretended to ignore how lifeless their Phoenix was becoming.

As despondent as Natasha looked, she held nothing to Fanboy. After Payback announced not only his declining of the Dagger Squad but his actual retirement, Maverick assumed Mickey was leaving just as quickly. Instead the young pilot stayed on but unfortunately without any of his life and spirit. Payback was Fanboy's best friend, almost like his older brother and having managed successfully one of the most difficult missions ever attempted in Naval history, Mickey was coming down from the adrenaline very lonely. He still kept up his jovial mood as best he could but something crucial was missing and instead of cheering everyone up, Mickey just became another reminder of what they had lost. Things were hopefully going to turn around now that Fanboy was flying with Phoenix. After sending yet another WSO packing, Fanboy offered to back-seat with her. Maverick couldn't tell who looked more thrown off from the prospect but they both eventually managed to agree. The first hop didn't end in tears, yells, or a crash, so Pete was encouraged.

Billy Avalone was Maverick's biggest surprise of all though. Fritz was a talented pilot, one of the best of the group, and Hangman wasn't wrong when he said that the last week of training featured Fritz, Fanboy and Payback hitting the targets and the time fluently. Yet Maverick didn't pick him for the mission, and if the older man was honest with himself, Fritz was never even considered. It was Rooster and Hangman if it were two pilots going, and the minute Maverick claimed the team leader spot, it was Bradley as his wingman; nothing else to decide. When the yelling had started in the Hangar and Fritz's skills brought to attention, Maverick assumed it was a one way ticket for Billy to split. Instead, Fritz stayed at North Island. Mav had later found out it was because the Avalone family lived close by, but it still meant something that the kid stuck it out with the team; a decision Maverick knew he was probably regretting at this point.

There were just too many spots to fill.

The list of Naval Aviators that had volunteered to join them was long and distinguished, but also a revolving door. No one seemed to last beyond a week or two. Personalities clashed, fights were always raging between someone in the locker room, and it bled out into the skies. The whole process reminded Pete a lot of his time at Top Gun but with more viciousness. Perhaps because the stakes were higher, or maybe because the original Daggers were mourning the loss of the team they could have been, but it seemed like every other day Maverick was being called into Admiral Simpson's office about yet another pilot calling for a reassignment.

Some egos were too high to curtail, others too low to build up. Some people gelled well under Maverick’s tutelage; others rolled their eyes and were back with their old squadrons by the next morning. The frustration on everyone’s part was reaching a breaking point and Pete knew his chance of running this team was diminishing with each frown on Admiral Simpson’s face. Maverick’s time was nearing its end and he no longer had Ice to buffer his fall. He was on his own, no parachute in sight.

Maverick headed up to his plane for the first hop of the day with little excitement. The joy he used to have with the prospect of training the best of the best had slowly numbed down to an obligation, something he never wanted when it came to flying. He saw it in some of the other’s eyes as well and the pain that that caused him, hurt even more. He sighed, his hold on his helmet clenching tighter as he chastised himself. He owed it to the pilots he still had, the pilots that were being brought in, to give it his best. Resolving himself, Maverick found some pep, deciding the first hop of the day would be the perfect opportunity to run some of his old tricks. He was going up with two planes, a double and a single. All three pilots were replacements. The duo, Xavier “Professor X” Jones and Benjamin “Sherlock” Harrington, were working well and a fairly decent acquisition. They gelled well with the others and Sherlock had even flown in the same squadron as Bradley once during a deployment in Japan. Maverick was happy with their skills but was more impressed with their teamwork, the two flew together like naturals after only two months.

The single pilot was a different story. Adam “Flash” Scafer was the newest tryout for the team. He was young, painfully so compared to some of the others, having only graduated Top Gun about a year ago. Flash had shockingly blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a cocky attitude. All three combined made him a ghost of two blondes that still haunted Pete’s mind. His teamwork definitely needed work but it was his skills that worried Maverick the most. The kid acted as though flying came so naturally to him but Pete found he lacked the normal instincts of a Naval Aviator. Everything seemed to take an extra second before Flash moved, almost as though he had to think it through. It wasn’t necessarily the worst thing to think out there (no matter how much Maverick stood behind his ‘don’t think, just do’ mantra), but Lieutenant Scafer would then over-correct or push to make up for that split second of time, leaving him flailing and his plane erratic. Pete was convinced the kid wouldn’t make it past the week.

Despite his shortcomings, Flash talked- and a lot. Captain Mitchell knew he wasn’t the only one who saw the similarities to Hangman, Flash taking over the room like the former blonde did but with none of the finesse. Bradley had already almost come to blows with the kid and he’d only been there three days. Fritz had mentioned to Fanboy in a stage whisper that Seresin must have sent the team his long lost love child just to screw with them, a joke that didn’t land quite as well as Billy had hoped (Rooster had huffed and stormed off, Phoenix following this time).

As Maverick watched the three pilots get into their aircrafts and take to the skies, he decided to have fun and test some limits. It had been a while since he pulled some of the tricks he did with the original Daggers, and he missed some of his daring moves, especially his infamous entrance. Ramming through the small space between two planes, first attempted between Payback and Rooster’s jets during the first day of Uranium Mission training, was always the best way to examine the team’s skill levels. He had attempted it a few times as other pilots took their turns with the squad, Maverick watching as majority stayed in control during the surprise swoop in. There were a few sloppy maneuvers, certainly nothing as clean as from his original Daggers, but nothing life-threatening.

Maverick turned his plane into position, listening to Sherlock fill Flash into their flight plan before Pete came crashing in to their personal space, quite literally. Captain Mitchell flew through perfectly, his plane staying straight and vertical as his speed and velocity caused a concussion of air to ripple over the other F-18 Super Hornets. He smirked as he listened to the initial curse of surprise from Jones, the pilot shifting to his left with a jerky motion. Mav moved to speak in his radio and chide Xavier for the sloppiness when a cry of serious profanities stopped him in his tracks and made his blood run cold.

“Shit!” he recognized Sherlock’s voice, normally so composed and calm on the radio, “shit Flash what the hell-“

“Fuck-“ the blonde had screamed over his teammate instead of answering, the hollering loud and fearful, “fuck!”

Sherlock was still talking, a rambling of mashed up sentence that tried to resemble coherence, "shit- we're- Flash you went left- shit! We're- Fire! X! X!" he cried and Maverick turned his plane around enough to catch the result of what had to be a midair collision. It seemed Flash had rolled left instead of right after Maverick’s trick, sending him towards the other jet where he struck the entire starboard side. Jones’s plane was falling fast, it’s wing crushed and a fire starting along the right side causing them to spin out of control. Pete’s hand shook and suddenly it seemed hard to breath. His mind flashed back to his own tailspin so many years ago, the taste of death filling his sense and rendering him mute.

“Base? Base this is Sherlock-“ the WSO sounded close to tears as he called over the radio, pleading for some sort of assistance in a helpless situation, “we have made contact with Flash, I repeat we have made contact with Flash-“

“We’re going down Sherlock” Jones was speaking now, his voice hoarse as he groaned over the radio. Maverick could picture him, his body fighting the G’s of his freefall while pitifully gripping his stick to get out of it. There was nothing he could do, nothing any pilot could do, except to bail, and yet every pilot always tried to save their damn jet up until the very end.

“Base our right engine is on fire” Sherlock recited, “the whole wing is destroyed-“

Maverick could see the fire spreading, the plane falling closer to the ground with each passing second. Suddenly the radio clicked back on and Admiral Simpson’s voice was booming, “Captain Mitchell what the hell is going on up there?” he asked desperately, clearly unhinged by what he was hearing from the ground. "Who hit who?"

His questions went unanswered as the spiraling plane continued their frantic calls, “Shit! I’m a dead stick Benny" Jones informed agonizingly, "we gotta eject-“

Sherlock sounded like he was crying, a wet sob sounding over the comms, “We’re too out of control-“

“Captain Mitchell?” Cyclone tried again, but when he heard nothing, he turned back to the pilots in trouble, “Jones, Harrington, eject now. Get out of there-“

“But Sir-“

“Pull it Jones! That's an order!"

"I can't-" Xavier's breath hitched, "I can't reach- shit" he cursed with a audible hiss, "the fire- it's hitting the cockpit-"

"Harrington pull the cord!"

“Good speed X” the fear in the WSO’s voice was palpable as he wished his pilot luck in what could be their final moments. Maverick watched in horror as the two-seater erupted in flames just as the canopy flew back. Both seats went up, both cleared the covering but Pete could see the flames that licked too close to Xavier’s body and quickly consumed the right side of his flight suit. He was close enough to see Jones’s frantic swatting before the parachutes deployed and both pilots began a slower decent back down to earth.

Seeing the two parachutes and the movements of both pilots gained Pete back his voice and he zoned back in to hear Simpson’s continual calling of information. He cleared his throat, feeling parched, “B-Base" his voice sounded weak and shaky to his own ears, "Lieutenants Jones and Harrington have ejected. Send rescue immediately”

“Maverick" Simpson's voice seemed to rise in octave with a strange mixture of relief and scorn, "what the hell happened out there? Where were you?”

“I- I’m over the rescue site Sir-“

“I meant when it happened Captain, where were you?"

"Up here Sir, I- I missed the collision," he spoke up, not quite ready to admit out loud his part in the cause of it, "but I saw the tailspin and the fire. Have the burn unit on standby, Jones's suit seemed to have caught."

"How did it-" but Beau cut himself off, knowing it wasn’t the time or the place to get into Mitchell’s actions. Instead he hollered to the other pilot in the sky, “Lieutenant Scafer status?”

“S-Sir?” the blonde sounded absolutely wrecked, long removed from the cocky jerk he was not even an hour ago, and Maverick turned his head to see him circling disjointedly a few dozen feet above him, “S-Sir, I’m so s-s-sorry-“ Adam whimpered.

Simpson's voice softened a fractionally amount at the clearly distressed pilot on the other end, “What is the status of your plane Lieutenant?”

The young man swallowed nervously, “D-Damaged but flyable” he stuttered.

“Get back to base immediately” Cyclone ordered, no room for argument. Pete listened as Flash gave a puny "Yes Sir" before turning his plane and heading back to base. Down below, Harrington and Jones were seconds from touching down, and Maverick could hear the chatter on the radio from the rescue squad that was just taking off. He was about to list his coordinates when the Admiral addressed him once more. "Mitchell head back to base as well."

"But I'm over the crash site Sir-"

"I don't want you in the air anymore" the higher ranking man stated frankly, "get back to base."

"But Sir-"

"Now Mitchell" and then Pete heard the telltale sound of the frequency being switched. The naval captain was cut off from the news of the rescue, resolved to head back to base like a delinquent child; the looming threat of punishment heavy on the horizon.

A hour later Pete sat in the waiting room of the medical unit on base, his legs jumping from nerves as he waited for news. His four original Daggers had all been in to see him, Rooster pale and unsteady, Phoenix stoic, Fanboy sad and Fritz in shock. They didn't last long though, as Warlock ushered them all out and into a lecture room for a debrief, another sign to Maverick that his days were officially numbered.

Now Pete sat alone and in silence, his mind supplying all the noise he could need as it remembered obscure facts about his downed pilots. How Jones played four years of varsity soccer in high school. How Sherlock always kept a pen and pad on him, no matter where they were. How the duo each had one younger brother, one younger sister and a yellow lab. How it was meant to be for them to be flying together, how natural it came to them both. Pete couldn’t help but wonder if the two would ever fly together again or like everything else in the Captains life, he ruined something good once again.

Footsteps heading towards him snapped Maverick out of his own mind and he looked up to see Admiral Simpson walking forward. The man looked like the very definition of stress, his face pinched with worry and his hands clenching at his sides. He nodded to the chair to Pete's left before speaking, "can I sit?" he asked softly.

Pete nodded, not trusting himself to speak as he watched Beau sit with a heavy sigh. The two men sat in silence for a moment, watching the bustle of the medical ward that they both spent far too much time in yet still felt foreign. Finally Cyclone cleared his throat, "Lieutenant Jones is still in surgery," he informed stoically, "once they get the internal bleeding taken care of they will address the burns."

"How- How bad?" Maverick whispered, afraid to hear the answer.

"Second degree on his chest and thighs, right arm is third degree" the Admiral's eyes shifted to Maverick for a second before staring back at the wall, "It's going to be a long road back."

"Can he make it back?"

Beau shook his head, "I don't know, that's up to him." He hesitated for a moment, clearly debating what to say next. "Pete listen-"

"How’s Sherlock?” Maverick interrupted instead, startling Beau as he struggled to refocus. The Admiral ran a hand through his hair and Maverick could see it was shaking slightly, even hardened Cyclone was thrown off by this day. "Lieutenant Harrington,” Simpson paused, "he was able to get away without the worst of it. Bumps and bruises mostly, possible whiplash from the ejection." He looked down at his hands. "I'm concerned about him psychologically though.”

Pete could only nod, picturing his young pilot in question at a table scribbling little notes and observations in his damn note pad. Mav found he already missed him. Pete tried to swallow his guilt but it choked him, “he- uh,” Mav tried again, “Benny’s been through a lot."

"He was the one who had to try to put the fire out on Jones after they both landed. Rescue said he was frantic when they arrived, crying and-" the other man trailed off shaking his head, "I don't know what we will get from him in the future either."

The guilt felt suffocating in Pete's throat. He closed his eyes, thinking of the pilot duo that would most likely never grace the skies again, "I destroyed two pilots today" he whispered only for himself but Admiral Simpson heard as well. The other man looked pained as he turned to his Captain. "Pete" he shook his head, "you're a brilliant pilot and the Navy owes you so much-"

"But my time is up" Maverick finished, meeting his superior's eyes, "I ruined two pilots-"

"Three."

The world had already seemed too close to stopping before but now Pete was sure it had ceased to spin on its axis. His mind went blank, unable to connect the words from his CO's mouth into any form of understanding, "W-Who?" he asked dumbly.

Beau's face split into deep concern, his brow furrowed with it. "Scafer" he explained carefully, too cautious for the normal antagonist in Maverick's life, "he's turned in his wings."

"What?" the shock bled from his voice like a wound, "He- Was he hurt?" Pete racked his brain, knowing that he saw Flash land safely but so he lacked any confidence in himself at the moment that he couldn't be sure. "I thought he landed okay?"

"He did" and now it was devastation on Simpson's features. The Admiral seemed overwhelmed and at his wits end almost as bad as Maverick, "he's turned in his wings. Thinks it's his fault" the man knew he was walking on shaky ground and proceeded with caution, "I was able to debrief him a little before I sent him to medical to be treated for shock. He explained his actions up in the air."

"So he told you everything?" Pete focused on keeping his voice tempered.

"About the maneuver you pulled and his reaction? Yes."

Mav nodded, emotion welling in his throat but he stubbornly swallowed it down, "And ah- will there be an inquiry?"

Beau stared the other man down, watching the unease radiate off him in waves. He knew Pete for about twenty years in total and never had he ever seen the other man's composure so clearly lost. He had heard about the Maverick that appeared after Goose's death, the scared and timid pilot that couldn't engage but this was different. That Maverick lacked confidence, this Maverick , the one sitting on the uncomfortable hospital chair with his legs bouncing up and down and his shoulders hunched, this Maverick lacked his very soul. This wasn't the Ace pilot that Cyclone was used to, this was a broken has-been who would never find his glory again. "A committee will meet to go over what happened, you'll have to appear-"

"Will you be on it?"

Beau wished he could have said yes, despite their initial misgivings he still respected the Captain, but he had been excused almost immediately from Admiral Cain for being too close to the incident, "No, Bates and I were both excused."

Maverick gave a heavy sigh, "I'll be forced to retire" he deduced emotionlessly.

"Most likely." Cyclone admitted and he could see the appreciation on Maverick's face for his honesty. He opened his mouth to say more but a nurse walked forward drawing both of their attentions. "Excuse me but Admiral Simpson?"

He moved to stand, "Yes?"

"Lieutenant Jones is out of surgery," she informed professionally, "If you follow me I can take you to Doctor Mason, he can debrief you on the Lieutenant's condition."

"Thank you" and Simpson moved to stand. He took three steps down the hallway before turning to Captain Mitchell one more time. Straightening his posture he met the Captain with a sharp salute, "it's been a honor Captain."

Maverick stood as well, saluting back, "Thank you Sir." He watched Beau offer a hand out and he took it like a lifeline and shook promptly. "For what it's worth" Cyclone told him, "I'm sorry. We might not have seen eye to eye on a lot of things but I meant what I said when I told you the Navy owed you for your years of service."

Pete struggled to contain his emotions, "T-Thank you Sir.”

"I'll have someone send you an update on the conditions of Jones and Harrington" and then the Admiral left, off to fulfill his duties like the distinguished officer he was. Maverick stayed behind, lost like he's never known before, facing a future that had never seemed more uncertain or more dark.

How is everyone doing? Hate me yet? Thrown this story out the window?

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siflshonen · 2 years

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The Bakugo Presentation 2.0 Part 2

Sequencing My Hero Academia’s “Manga DNA”: A Breakdown of Katsuki Bakugo Part 2

Welcome to the Bakugo presentation 2.0 part 2!

Link to the Bakugo presentation 2.0 Part 1

Link to the Bakugo presentation 1.0: Part 1 | Part 2

Link to the Kirishima presentation

Link to the Todoroki presentation

Link to the Deku presentation coming eventually

Japan and Bullying

Bakugo implied Deku should jump off a roof. Fact. But “canceling” Bakugo over bullying Deku without acknowledging the series’ point that the motive for “evil” and pressures that inspire it are bigger than just one person is, well, reductive to the thesis of the story. It is also culturally naive.

This article from the Atlantic discusses Japan’s current education climate in a general sense through taking a look at Precarious Japan, but it also includes an interesting comment about bullying: “The notorious bullying in Japanese schools has actually been seen by many parents and teachers as a feature not a bug.”

What does that mean? Well, it can mean a lot of things. But here it means that Bakugo and Deku’s peers and authority figures—and especially Bakugo himself as Deku’s osana najimi (childhood friend)—was expected to bully Deku into fitting into the mold of a quirkless nobody. (That’s not exactly why Bakugo did it, but that is the expectation placed upon him by his social role and the thing that has been signaled to him by society as the correct thing to do regardless of his true motive. He takes it too far in the first chapter, “even for [him]” as his classmates point out, but the act itself is borderline socially sanctioned.) This is also why Bakugo and Deku’s middle school teacher announces Deku’s goal of attending UA to the class. He is actively trying to pressure the dream out of Deku via his peers as professional Heroism isn’t something a quirkless person is suited for. While presented much more condescendingly and aggressively than my next example, the teacher’s underlying logic is the same as Inko Midoriya’s fervent apologies to her son upon his quirkless diagnosis and his realization that it compromises his dream of being a Hero “like All Might”.

In fact, from Inko’s perspective or the perspective of a lot of Japanese parents, Deku being bullied for his quirkless dream in context of his dangerous Hero goals can reasonably be construed as a way of “protecting Izuku from himself.” Repeat it to yourself until it sinks in: “The notorious bullying in Japanese schools has actually been seen by many parents and teachers as a feature not a bug.” I am not saying she would approve of Bakugo telling Deku to “take a swan dive off a building and hope you get a quirk in your next life”, but I am saying that the bullying from Deku’s peers overall is something she likely expected.

While Horikoshi has said in interviews that what Bakugo said at the beginning of the series (“take a swan dive off a building and hope you get a quirk in your next life”) was harsh and cruel (and perhaps even a bit too much even for Bakugo), the spirit of what he was getting at (which would be something like, “You’re mental for thinking you can get into UA, you quirkless shitnerd”) is phenomenally on brand for him.

What do I think as a Bakugo fan? I think Bakugo is more entertaining as a character in part because he is legitimately nasty upon his introduction. Who wants a toothless first-act antagonist that isn’t threatening? That’s boring. That’s so boring. I like Bakugo more for being so aggressively terrible in the beginning because it gives us more to unpack, particularly since Deku’s reaction to it is a clue that their dynamic is utterly complicated. The only thing I might change is the phrasing so Bakugo says more directly, “Go die and see if that gets you a better quirk next time, shitnerd” because the insidious, sideways phrasing of “take a swan dive off the roof” sounds more like something Monoma might say to get under an opponent’s skin.

But even more importantly: Bakugo’s role as an early-series representative for the reality of the Hero society in which he and Deku live is established by the complicated relationship the two of them have as osana najimi and bully-victim. Bakugo’s role as a pseudo-conforming bully is also an ideal starting point for his as a character’s journey of awareness of the greater implications of the world around him as well as beginning to look within himself and what he actually values.

Bakugo’s abrasive introduction is an ideal starting point for a character meant to grow into the role of a trickster hero.

My Trickster Hero Academia

An antihero isn’t exactly a trickster hero and a trickster hero isn’t exactly an antihero, but they can overlap. Bakugo’s transition into a “heroic” role isn’t one of exact and consistent conformity. It is instead ambivalent and meant to challenge the social convention by subverting it or using it maliciously to prove a point. Bakugo does this repeatedly (treating Ochako as a legitimate opponent in the Sports Festival; making Kaminari shock himself to lighten the mood; framing the Culture Festival as a challenge and competition rather than a friendly event; Bakugo repeatedly indirectly sniping at Endeavor during their internship; acting up in the Todoroki household in response to Fuyumi and Shoto breaking social convention and discussing their family problems to guests; the harsh dichotomy between what he says, what he means, and how it usually reflects the truth of the world’s reality despite how others try to frame it…)

Usually, the “trickster” part of a trickster hero’s name refers to the character in question stealing or performing the “trick” as an act, but it can refer to general mischief. The Monkey King—the figure on which Goku is based off of and named for—is one of the most famous trickster heroes.

In order for me to explain Bakugo’s most potent tool for the subversion of social convention as well as the most important lens to understand regarding his struggles with identity, I need to explain a distinct feature of modern Japanese social norms.

Honne and Tatemae: Public and Private Faces

Of all the masks and roles Bakugo puts upon himself, this is the most complicated concept and yet the most important to understand when it comes to his forms of self-expression, “Heroic antiheroism”, and status as a trickster hero: honne and tatemae. Or, in English, the “public face” and the “private face”.

I could not possibly unpack all of honne and tatemae. In fact, I’d hazard a guess that, compared to the grand scheme of all Japanese media, the portrayal of it in MHA ain’t even that deep or complex. But the fact that it exists and has bearing on these characters is worth noting. Bakugo’s struggle with honne and tatemae, while distinctly an Eastern struggle, is also a very common one.

The tatemae is supposed to be friendly or socially acceptable, polite, and professional (or at least match the level of formality/casualness inherent in the setting). In fact, in a professional or social role setting (such as those of “matriarch” or “club president”) the tatemae is almost like a role one is meant to play that supersedes all individual opinion, expression, or presentation. The individual takes on the role society gives them for the benefit of the whole and only “removes” it in private spaces and among those intimately close with the individual (and this does not always mean a husband or wife show their honne to one another. Some may also wear a tatemae of “husband” or “wife” in varying degrees depending on the depth of the relationship.)

Conflicts born from a character’s honne conflicting with their tatemae is a standard theme in Japanese drama. This is the best watered-down analogy I can make: honne/tatemae conflicts are like when characters have to choose between themselves or what they love and some duty they must carry out.

More than anything else, the thing Best Jeanist was trying to groom in Bakugo isn’t exactly his whole personality, but his tatemae and the feelings of cooperation that inspire the use of an agreeable tatemae in the first place. Westerners can think of it like Best Jeanist is trying to groom Bakugo’s “professional face”, but the concept is a little more nuanced than that.

Bakugo’s Tatemae

So, because Bakugo is rude, mean, blunt, and generally obnoxious, this must mean he doesn’t have a tatemae, right? Wrong. Bakugo does have a tatemae: one of a loud, overconfident cartoon delinquent protagonist antihero that makes room for the more negative aspects of his honne. While Bakugo has not completely mastered the art of keeping his honne and tatemae separate, he does have both and he switches between them at will. If you understand this, his antics become a lot more interesting because it is apparent that he, while rarely outright lying, implies one thing with his speech while in pursuit of a seemingly contrasting objective.

If you ever think Bakugo is being completely honest on the surface, you’d best make sure he’s not putting on delinquent airs or smiling his most terrifying battle-ready smile. And even then, you’d best think about why he says what he says before you get a good picture of what he is actually trying to express. The shonen delinquent persona, the shonen protagonist slant to his Hero persona, a literal hero mask… all of these are part of his tatemae. It is understood by most Japanese readers that many of the ways Bakugo portrays himself are his own specific and socially required brand of saving face. Paradoxically, this sometimes includes the moments in which he is breaking conventional tatemae social rules.

My favorite example is Bakugo’s accompaniment of Deku during the War Arc. Bakugo says he is following Deku in order to get revenge on Shigaraki (which is not totally untrue) and implies with his face (a tatemae “public face” smile) that he is excited by the prospect. Meanwhile, Deku knows that in truth, Bakugo is trying to take responsibility for All Might’s forced retirement, which he feels guilty for having a hand in. The panels even show Deku thinking about his (literal) “private face” honne. To make it more complicated, Deku doesn’t completely understand that Bakugo is trying to protect Deku because he cares about Deku and not just because it is the most tactically sound thing to do for the wielder of One for All.

When Bakugo declares his Hero name, the self-aggrandizing and unheroic-sounding “Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight” to Best Jeanist, he also declares that he is intent on not conforming to the understood tatemae conventions but will do with them as he sees fit. Best Jeanist said a Hero name represents one’s wish, and that is Bakugo’s: to ascend beyond convention and do whatever he wants as he sees fit.

Inarticulate Angry Young Man: Trapped By Tatemae

Bakugo uses his multifaceted tatemae to express his individuality simultaneously to protect and obscure the same thing from others. But the longer one wears a mask, the more it becomes them. While Bakugo always had a burgeoning sense of tatemae (he pretended to be a confident “superior” to Deku despite being absolutely scared shitless of him, after all. Do you think all of that was childish bluster and not just honne/tatemae? Why, yes, it was! But posturing and aggressive fronting to save face overlaps mightily with the tatemae concept in emotionally immature individuals!), he wasn’t very skilled at completely separating it from his honne, nor was he very good at identifying his own honne in the first place.

Bakugo is, very pointedly, fighting a war within himself and with the entire concept of social obligation as it pertains to his collectivist society. Even when Bakugo switches between his personas or drops his tatemae to show his honne—or fails to articulate himself well regarding either one—he is consistently aware of the bigger picture. Unfortunately, he isn’t always very skilled at expressing himself directly, especially in the early series and it made a nasty combination with his overlapping, underdeveloped honne/tatemae. The result is a very abrasive teenage boy (who happens to have a superpower.) Like I said in the beginning, Bakugo is, at his core, a very common kind of kid you might find in modern Japan.

The ending of the Sports Festival—and every ham-fisted “I should be your rival!” overture he makes towards Todoroki for the duration of the arc—will forever be my favorite showcase of how Bakugo always has more than one motive that he can’t express AND how bad he is at communicating in a general sense.

Not Just Redemption: Bakugo’s Growth Is in His Honne

Some character arcs are not about changing outward behavior, but rather for changing motives behind that behavior and how much a character understands about their world and the people around them. The original Monkey King’s arc is structured this way. Dragonball’s Goku (the Japanese one more than the one in the dub) likewise follows this model. Bakugo’s arc does as well.

Bakugo points this out himself whenever he refutes other characters insisting he has changed. Bakugo’s arc isn’t one of redemption for redemption’s sake, but rather one of self-awareness. Put simply, he makes a change from an antihero (doing heroic things for unheroic reasons) to a trickster hero (and classic hero, as he occasionally does heroic things for genuinely heroic reasons.) This doesn’t mean Bakugo’s presentation (tatemae) changes. This doesn’t mean he becomes polite.

What, the rude exterior is too much for you? Are you still falling into the trap that everything he does is exactly for the reasons it appears at face value and doesn’t have a deeper motive and intentional use behind it?

A Hero Name Is A Wish: Tatemae that Reflects an Enlightened Honne

Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight. I adore Bakugo’s Hero name and I will fight anyone who doesn’t. It’s stupid and self-aggrandizing, gives Best Jeanist the middle finger, and is also points out the fact that he realizes he has “reached enlightenment” after figuratively dying and has ascended to godhood. This ascension to enlightenment is the culmination of the Monkey King’s story in Journey to the West—and it follows that it is a major part of Dragonball’s trajectory for Goku.

Also, his Hero name announcement provides comic relief and an in-story morale boost in the middle of a horrific battle - all while he’s bleeding out on the ground. If that doesn’t exemplify Bakugo’s penchant for redirecting the mood, I don’t know what does. He could’ve just said “I’m still alive!” but instead made the choice to pull a stupid stunt.

I’m not done discussing honne and tatemae yet, but before I get any farther I need to touch on another subtopic.

Osana Najimi: Childhood Friends

What’s an osana najimi, you ask? It’s a childhood friend much like Bakugo and Deku are. Why is it important that Bakugo and Deku are childhood friends? Because in Japan, these kinds of friendships are forged before kids begin to develop, differentiate, and be expected to uphold the honne and tatemae. They are very valued relationships in many Eastern cultures, Japan included, because they have an intimacy about them that is not accessible in new relationships.

Childhood friends relationships (both the romantic and platonic kind) are romanticized in Japanese media. It’s a whole trope. Bakugo and Deku’s status as osana najimi with an early falling out is an interesting take on the osana najimi trope in anime—particularly in how it alters the understood interpersonal boundaries between Bakugo and Deku as bully-and-victim. That’s also why the other characters point out that the two of them are “childhood friends” as opposed to just “friends a long time ago”.

Here’s a Reddit thread discussing osana najimi in Japanese media to give you more to think about.

Childhood Friends Aren’t Restricted by Tatemae

Or are they? I wonder. While childhood friends are supposed to know one another without tatemae, Bakugo and Deku have, through the rift between them, are in a relationship that forces them both to use a tatemae with one another. As Deku points out, they had never talked things out prior to their fight in Deku vs Kacchan 2. Afterwards, they maintain a relationship centered around training because that is the only indication Deku has given Bakugo that he wants from him. The two of them still do not know what the other is thinking nor are they sure where the boundaries lie.

Manga readers’ mileage may vary when it comes to when they believe Bakugo first wanted to apologize to Deku for bullying him, but he definitely wants to do so earlier than when it actually happens in the manga. It’s interesting to watch Bakugo grapple with it even if he doesn’t deliver entire soliloquies about his internal chemistry. I have an (admittedly) emotionally charged post about it here.

Audience anticipation regarding Bakugo’s apology (and the constant denial of it) is a major source of MHA’s tension. Horikoshi does a great job of making the audience (read: me) care about this moment by making us (read: me) care about Bakugo and the hoops he goes through to tell Deku that he’s sorry.

Making the wronged party feel guilty is not the best way to deliver an apology, and Bakugo knows that. In fact, Bakugo does the most legwork between himself and Deku when it comes to communicating. Despite appearances, Bakugo leads the way on the emotional development and goes out of his way to support Deku whenever he can without overstepping the tentative boundaries between them. To tie this back to the honne and tatemae discussion: sometimes (only sometimes. Not all the time! Sometimes he is just a shit in sincerity) Bakugo’s bad attitude is a security blanket for them both!

The greatest compliment I can give Horikoshi’s writing for Bakugo (and many of the other characters) is that he usually has more than one motive at any given time. He may not express them all well or completely (this is usually one part “he’s bad at communicating” and one part “he is upholding his tatemae” and sometimes “In order to discuss this he would be giving out sensitive information he’s been trusted not to share” and also sometimes “holy crap the other people involved in this situation are truly not ready to talk about it! Good luck navigating that, Bakugo!”)

Bakugo’s Apology and the Mistakes of the Previous Generation

Time to step back into the history within Bakugo and MHA’s shonen DNA.

Bakugo’s retrieval of Deku (MHA protagonist with an ambivalently loaded bomb-esque ultimate shonen superpower) from the streets of Kamino alongside the class—as well as his apology—eerily resembles the shade of a classic shonen protagonist from an age gone by talking the new-generation protagonist out of making the same mistakes he did (in emulating the unforgiving, victorious power of the West and becoming a figure just like his predecessors). Considering that All Might, the in-story previous generation superhero mentor (with Western-coded persona), regrets being unable to reach out to Deku and tell him, “don’t make my mistakes” himself, Bakugo’s role as the mouthpiece for the final exchange of 1-A’s retrieval, including language about surpassing All Might, seems to lean even harder in that direction in my mind.

Bakugo was All Might’s proxy and, thanks to all of class 1-A, surpassed All Might in reaching Deku. But he also gave Deku a message that only a classic shonen protagonist who lived through the experience of having the power of a bomb at his fingertips in their shared modern social conditions could.

That Bakugo closely resembles the Second User, a fallen warrior from an age gone by who is focused on the association of victory and life versus failure and death in a literal way rather than a social one like Bakugo, is also something worth noting in this context.

But is it Enough? Lex Talionis and Bakugo

Many MHA fans dislike Bakugo because of his early series treatment of Deku or his continued rudeness. There exists a desire for Deku or someone else to “pay back” Bakugo for his treatment in kind as some sort of retribution, or perhaps for Bakugo to be cowed and his manners curbed into something less loud and aggressive.

While it’s perfectly fine to dislike Bakugo for any reason or find him annoying (I am a fan and I find him annoying), I have to say: this point of view sounds an awful lot like the point of view of the existing hypocritical society in the work. Maybe MHA isn’t the story for those people.

Honne and Tatemae Taken Out of Context: A Note on the Western LGBTQIA+ Community and Bakugo’s Popularity

Westerners don’t share the concept of honne and tatemae, but if you are an individual who has ever tried to “pass” in your current life or former life, you probably understand the paradoxical nature of “fronting” to other people with a social presentation indicating one thing while your personal beliefs and feelings are different. If you don’t, that’s completely fine. Bakugo is a cruddy teen boy with authority problems who is trying to figure himself out. That’s all you need to know. However, speaking specifically to the LGBTQIA+ audience: there sure is a HECK of a lot of correlation between Bakugo’s honne/tatemae experience and a modern queer one.

To Western readers in the pertinent queer weeb community, it’s a well-known observation that Goku-esque shonen protagonist types come off as being somewhere on the grey/ace spectrum. This isn’t definitive for any of these characters, but is just something to keep in mind about how certain demographics perceive them. In Bakugo’s case: he is absolutely and completely uninterested in romance or girls, and not even in the “ew cooties” or “that would be embarrassing!” way. His antipathy and boredom with the concept seems sincere. (And if he’s even so much as emotionally interested in anyone, it is restricted to a specific selection of other guys in his class.)

There is not much in media that the asexual and aromantic communities can turn to, so it may as well be found in characters like Bakugo. It’s about all we’ve got.

A Note on Eastern Fujoshi

While this demographic is not interested in connecting with a queer or queer-coded character because they relate to that experience, Bakugo’s, um, canon relationship with characters like Kirishima, Todoroki, or Deku endear him to fujoshi. It is important to note that fujoshi often (but not always! Not always! The fujoshi community is huge and wildly different in different countries) are homophobic in real life but enjoy the fantasy of two dudes in love for their consumption. The fujoshi view and appeal drawn from the idea of Bakugo potentially being in love with another male character is completely different from folks who are actually part of the LGBTQIA+ community!

Anyway, that’s enough about all that gay shit for now. Back to the questions that really matter.

Tsundere: Bakugo’s Last Mask

Hi, Asuka Langley Soryu from Neon Genesis Evangelion. I’m so pleased you could join us today for this discussion about aggressive, egotistical tsundere characters who wear red-orange and have complicated feelings about the main character of their series.

Bakugo is annoying. As a sincere fan, I’m telling you that he is annoying. Somehow, he makes it work. It’s part of the package. While he is not as obnoxious as a moe-style tsundere squealing “it’s not like I like you or anything!”, the trope is the same. And no, I don’t just mean in a potentially romantic context with his osana najimi Deku. I mean that Bakugo is a tsundere to everyone.

As subtle as some of Bakugo’s storytelling can be, just as much of it is comically unsubtle. Ochako Uraraka seeing right through him and eliciting a look of panic on his face is a personal favorite bit of content.

If a reader is paying attention, they may notice a correlation between moments Bakugo either loses or is not wearing his Hero mask and moments his honne, including his flustered tsundere self, appears. One may also notice that, sometimes, the screen-tone shadows on the top of his face in moments of conflict or anger sometimes take the place of his obscuring hero mask.

Heroine of the Series?

If you didn’t look into that Reddit thread about osana najimi/childhood friends I linked earlier, here it is again for your convenience.

Before I discuss this, I want to once again point out that there are non-romantic osana najimi relationships between same sex characters in lots of media. There’s also plenty of platonic opposite sex osana najimi portrayals. They follow their own set of similar tropes, but what’s interesting about Bakugo is that he incorporates these same-sex tropes as well as the “love interest” osana najimi tropes. No, I am not saying that BakuDeku is canon. I am only pointing out the overlap of tropes present in their relationship.

Osana najimi relationships are often used to evoke security and safety as well as an idyllic past. Depending on the thesis of the work, the main character generally either ends up in a relationship with the (traditionally Japanese in appearance) osana najimi as a representation of maintaining tradition and honoring the past or they end up with the (foreign-looking, exciting, and contentious, and often a tsundere) girl who challenges the main character and represents the future and the outside world.

Bakugo is an osana najimi figure, but he is also a loud, blonde tsundere who is a catalyst for change and mystery for the main character. In conclusion: BAKUGO IS BEST GIRL! AND I DON’T MEAN THAT HE’S GONNA END UP WITH DEKU. I JUST MEAN THAT HE IS BEST GIRL BECAUSE I LOVE HIM AND HE IS THE BEST EVERYTHING!

These osana najimi qualities combined with the fact that Deku saves Bakugo in the series twice inspires some fans to call Bakugo the “Heroine of the series” or even “Princess Kacchan”. It’s just a funny little detail.

Speaking of the ladies.

Shueisha-specific Subversions

I’ve unpacked the history of shonen manga in brief, so I will try to make the culture and history of Shonen Jump publisher Shueisha even more brief: it’s sexist and the standards for portraying women and girls in their shonen series is sexist, too.

The biggest success of the Uraraka vs Bakugo “girl power moment” is that it has a nice execution, isn’t cloyingly preachy (because let’s be real—Aizawa gives a full sermon to the audience over this), and doesn’t come off as insincere. Of all the conflicts Bakugo has with society and its expectations, the presence of this one within a Jump title is notable. One does not usually read about a female character being taken seriously to the point that the male main characters are allowed to trade blows with them as equals in the ring and not be portrayed as a completely villainous thing. That she loses to Bakugo is second to the point—Uraraka performs well, pulls off something legitimately impressive, and is treated like an equal in the ring for better and for worse.

Is MHA the most feminist of titles? Not by a long shot. But the bar is so low that it is notable whenever anything like this happens.

Bakugo’s choice to fight Uraraka in the Sports Festival despite popular opinion is one of the moments that establishes him as an antihero, by the way.

Cartoon Rage!

Horikoshi is a fantastic illustrator and character actor. Honestly, the amount of charm and expressivity his work imbues his characters with is something I can neither overstate nor begin to even put into words.

I don’t spell this out in the slides, but part of Bakugo’s popularity stems from the fact that he has some of the best background gags. I don’t find him as funny in the anime, but in the manga he consistently makes me smile.

I included some well-known anime shots here, too. If one doesn’t appreciate him when he is screaming “SHINE!” (“DIE!”), one doesn't deserve him at his sparkliest. My personal favorite Bakugo manga face is on the top left corner.

He’s My Hero, But He Doesn’t Have to Be Yours Part II

Bakugo combines genre history, media tropes, and the subversion of cultural norms into one character. While this makes him a strikingly complicated portrayal of a teenaged boy influenced by his world, it also requires the audience to understand the greater context surrounding his creation and influence to foster a full appreciation of his portrayal in MHA. Not everyone appreciates that and that is perfectly ok.

Some people like loud and aggressive characters even without the bigger context of why they might act the way they do. Just as many hate that kind of character regardless of these details. It is what it is. As for me, I love him, but more than that, I appreciate you for reading this. Hopefully, it brought value to your MHA-consumption experience.

Thank you!

#bakugo katsuki #bakugo presentation #bnha #bnha meta #katsuki bakugo #great explosion murder god dynamight #GEMG Dynamight #heroaca meta #bnha manga #bnha manga spoilers #tsundere #fandom discourse

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elsewhereuniversity · 2 years

Text

His Name Is

His name is Candy. His name is Candy and he wears names like hats. He takes a new life for each one. He keeps cinnamon hard candies in his pockets and he leaves butterscotch at the foot of his door, next to a saucer of cream. There are peppermints tucked in the pockets of his folders. Sugar necklaces, twizzlers that he ties like bracelets around his wrists. He unwraps caramels and sets them on the smooth stones by the entrance to the forest, giving their shiny silver wrappings to the crows. He spends his time outside in the trees, sucking on honey sticks and always leaving a few drops for who knows what. Candy leaves too quickly.

His name is Dust. He hides in the stacks in the library basement, the mazes of old books that no one but he and the librarians can be trusted to find their way out of alone. (There are no maps, the stacks move too quickly to be documented.) He will occasionally be seen pawing through crumbling volumes in the darkest corners of the basement in the areas where you shouldn’t go if you can help it, and if it can’t be avoided, you should never trust any human-appearing figure or any light you see. Dust knows his way out of the stacks. He knows his way out, but most of the time, he does not leave. Do not question it.

His name is Teabag. It is a silly name, but it suits him. It should not suit him, he knows better. But Teabag will be gone soon. He wears big fluffy sweaters and gold rimmed glasses. He carries a yellowing canvas bag, filled with watercolor paints and abandoned sketches. He spends his time in the garden or in his room, and his hands are always busy with something. He does not rest. His roommate has never seen him sleep.

His name is Red. It is a dangerous name, and it fits him too well. It was hard for him to shed his last skin, and people like this one less. He spends his time in the forest, day and night. The other students know better than to follow his example, but no one has advised him against it. He seems to be doing fine. His clothes are dirty and scratched up, and his eyes are a little too wild. In the wrong light, they glow the green of mold and rot. The groundskeepers worry for him, but he seems to be polite with the fair folk. He makes too many deals. (Any deals are too many, and he certainly makes more than any.) The Gentry flock to him like moths to a flame. We were ready for Red to go.

His name is Atlas. It is too big for him, and he wears it awkwardly, like a kid borrowing his dad’s too-big blazer for school graduation–not quite right, not quite his. It works okay if you think of Atlas as a type of map; he has a weird, subtle way of knowing everything about campus, and he can show you places you’ve never seen before. A cave of purple crystals that can be found on the days where the pool has no bottom– the bottom’s there, I promise. It’s far enough down, though, that you shouldn’t look for it. And the cave is more dangerous than the journey to it. But he goes in and out safely, unchanged. He can show you a trail lined with green ribbon that will show you things you never dreamed of, but never take it without him. Only he knows the way back. The name Atlas says that he’s carrying the world on his shoulders, though, and he is not. Right now, he is not strong enough.

His name is Snapdragon. This one is dangerous, it’s too close to the Fair Folk. They will steal his name and cut out his eyes and if he is ever pulled into Elsewhere he will not come back. We urged him to change his name, and he would not. We urged him to stay out of the forest, and he did not. He has no regard for his safety. He is reckless. He smells like lightning.

His name is Sunrise. You will probably not see him on campus, unless you are somewhere you shouldn’t be. He does not stay still for long. He gives good advice, if you’re willing to listen, but most aren’t. It’s wise not to look for him.

His name is Rain. His name is Rain, and his roommate has not seen him in five days. Call a groundskeeper if you find him.

His name is Stone. He comes and goes with the fog.

His name is Tear. Where is he?

He is gone.

He is a groundskeeper now, effectively. We don’t think he’s officially been hired, but it doesn’t seem like any of the other groundskeepers were either. He knows the school like the lines on his palm, like the crows’ feet around his eyes and the smile wrinkles curling in at his lips. He will find you in the stacks beneath the library, where anyone but him would get lost. He will lead you back above ground, urging you to ignore any strange lights or figures lurking behind creaking shelves. He will rest with you in the garden, and give you herbal tea to help you sleep. You students with wild eyes and dirty clothes, he will pull you out of the woods and patch up the holes in your shirt. He will negotiate your way out of unwise deals with the Fair. He will show you caves filled with purple crystals hidden at the bottom of the pool where you can rest, and will lead you back down the trail lined with green ribbon if you lose your way. He will urge you to stay out of the forest, but should you refuse to listen, he will walk with you and keep you safe. To the students who go missing, by will or by being stolen, he will find you and bring you back. You can find him with the crows and in the trees. Call him by any name, they are all his. (None of them are his. He has no name.) (He has every name. He wears them like hats. He wears them like skin.) He is no one, nothing, nowhere. He is everyone, everything, everywhere. If you seek his help, leave an unwrapped caramel on one of the smooth stones at the entrance to the forest. Give the shiny foil wrapping to the crows, and he will be there.

-Rowan

#submission #long post #stories #his name is #rowan #groundskeepers

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shishibloomy · 1 year

Note

Don't know if you still want Agata asks, but if so Imagine playing video games and cuddling with him. What are his favorite games what are yours.

Yes omg

Mine

Idek where to start but I LOVE horror games. ATM I'm replaying The Evil Within and I love it.

I love the Resident Evil series too. I finally got all the games in the series on Steam so I'm a happy camper

I love the mario party series too. I get so competitive, like dangerously competitve. Same with Smash Bros. Oh and also fighting games like Tekken

I'm kinda into a lot of Nintendo series. Fire Emblem, Animal Crossing ... I don't have my switch so I can't remember other ones

I LOVE roblox too. Idc what people say it's so fun

I've been super into Magic the Gathering too, there's a hot lion in there and im obsessed with him

Agata

I'm gonna start off with games I don't think he particularly cares for

I don't see him as being much of a sports game player (think of 2K games), strategy games (So he wouldn't like fire emblem 😭),

I feel like he would be inclined to playing a lot of games where he could really express himself in since he's always been kind of forced to be in this toxic mold of how a male lion should be

So he really likes Minecraft, Animal Crossing, games like that where you can build a lot... I can see him having a really elaborate Sims game too of all the lions.

I can see him being into horror games too but they're not his most favorite. Funny you mention cuddling.. because horror games = perfect opportunity to cuddle!! He'd really like being wrapped up in a blanket together and playing a good horror game. He's super good at them too and doesn't really get scared (meanwhile, I start panicking once I hear the music change)

I don't think he cares for FPS games too. He thinks theyre boring

He really loves party games. Is crazy good at Mario Party and always wins. He's super good at smash bros too and plays as the cute characters (Peach, Kirby, Isabelle)

I think when it comes to fighting games, he likes playing them if someone else is playing with him. Doesn't care too much for them otherwise (meanwhile i spend a whole day memorizing combos on my own)

He's also a a beast at Mario Kart. I'm decent at it, but I know he would always win

He like's Pokemon too. I personally never got into it, but I can see him being a big fan.

I don't see him being too much of a traditional card game fan. I'd love to show him Magic the Gathering but it's very strategy based and I can kinda see him getting tired of it

Playing with him

I can see Agata wanting to have dedicated times to playing games as a bonding thing and also to relax

He would love playing creative games with you so you two can make something together. Making a really dedicated plan for your animal crossing town and then working on it togeher. Playing two player and fighting the monsters there and just building things.

This is a self projection LOL but he also likes playing silly roblox games together and also making funny avatars.

He likes playful competitiveness in mario party. It starts off as a versus between you two and then once one of you is in the lead, then you start rooting for each other cus you don't want the computer to win LOL. Sometimes you'll play on teams together vs computers and putting them on the highest difficulty so you have to really work together to win

When it comes to horror games, he lovesssss cuddling, especially if he's playing and you're watching him. He also just loves when you watch him play and he explains the game to you. He also really likes watching you play games he's not familiar with.

#agata beastars #shishigumi

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mmvixen · 1 year

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Thoughts on Ep 7-8 (Mostly 8) of The Eighth Sense

I’m not one to post, but omg, the eighth sense is too good. First of all, we all knew that JiHyun was alive because it’s not the end and there were some streaks of light and little hints here and there of his survival. The light is such a JiHyun thing, like did y’all see that literal singular spot light on the bar table when him and Yoon Pyo sat at it? It was meant for JiHyun.

There’s definitely some guesses we could make as to why JaeWon is ignoring JiHyun and we know it’s more than one; it could be that JaeWon believes that every time he finds a safe “refuge” in a person, they end up dead or seriously hurt, so he believes in a sense that he is dangerous. It could be that he believes the world is against him and happiness isn’t something he is allowed to have, or maybe authenticity and living a life that would be more genuine to him isn’t something he’s allowed to have. And with the scare of the accident and the fear of him being the reason JiHyun got hurt (even though he forgets he’s also the one that saved JiHyun), the rumors of something “strange” going on between the two because they went on a trip also scares him back into the role of straight guy who is the envy of the university because he’s perfect and is supposed to have the most popular friends and the perfect girlfriend.

That might also be a part of why, even though he already explained previously, why he didn’t like Yoon Won because she’s not the typical person that would be popular; personality wise she’s just doesn’t fit the mold that the directors have made for the more “popular” people. (Stan Yoon Won though, she’s the realest)

But I digress. Moving on to Tae Hyung and Eun Ji, how fucking insensitive can you be? Would they have acted the same if JiHyun had actually died? The amount of human indecency I witnessed from their attitude is appalling. I understand being upset about the surfing club status and the fact that neither are close to JiHyun, but they knew him and that should be enough to give consideration and empathy for him because he was seriously and almost fatally hurt. Not only that, but the FOUL comment Tae Hyung made, let’s just be glad JaeWon didn’t kill him. Thankfully, AeRi stood up for him and was there, we literally stan a bestie, she’s the bestest.

Aside from that, THE ABSOLUTE CHANGE IN DEMEANOR FROM JIHYUN OMGGGG. The SASS?? EXCUSE ME? He’s standing up for him, not taking shit, being sarcastic, playful, but keeping his boundaries, being true to himself, and living genuinely authentic. His skin! Anyone else notice that he used to be so pale but now he’s actually more tan and he looks so healthy and happy to be alive, like he’s living finally! Yes, before he was pretty true to himself and did as he wanted, but there was also something holding him back, and fear had to do with it. After the accident, it’s like he’s been released from all fear cause he went through the most scary thing (in the opinion of the general public): almost losing his life, almost dying. He’s not reserved anymore, he’s speaking his mind, he’s going for what he wants, and he’s living completely! He’s doing things that you don’t expect from him like speaking in front of disciplinary executives and telling the truth about the situation. Of course he would stand up for JaeWon, but at the same time, from reserved JiHyun, you wouldn’t expect him to be so firm in his stance or so direct about it. The change had me completely caught off guard, but I absolutely love it and wish to follow in his footsteps. JiHyun did that! He is that bitch and he is slaying.

Oh! And let’s not forget the fact that he said he’s going to collect his man’s after telling Yoon Pyo about having a crush on JaeWon. (And we stan bestie acceptance and support!!) Like sir??? Who are you? Did you-did you just say he is mine and will be mine?? Did you just say the sneaky little bitch can keep her paws off of JaeWon?? (Ooo she pisses me off so bad smh.)

I could literally go on and on about how JiHyun had been acting in ep 8, but let’s switch gears back to JaeWon because boy is struggling! The things he said to JiHyun (I really was about to start the kill JaeWon initiative for hurting the baby, but we’ll give him a pass this time 👀 ) , the way he’s been staring off, the way he sits depressed and low energy, the way he just kind of goes along with Eun Ji even though he still doesn’t like her, the way he seems to have given up. It’s so unfortunate and makes me think that he is being so hard on himself for the accident. He really, truly believes he’s the reason JiHyun got hurt and the result of that is him believing that he doesn’t deserve a “refuge” or a release or anyone to help him do so because it hurts those he loves and if he has to suffer just to keep JiHyun safe, then he’s willing to do it. Even the tone he used when talking to his therapist when saying that he made the relationship deeper and it ended up with JiHyun hurt, it sounded so…self deprecating, almost like he was actually saying, “God, you idiot! You knew better than to do that and now another person you love is hurt, good job!” It’s so sad to see him like that and to see him denying himself of the fulfilling love, pleasure, safety, warmth, and light he could have makes it even worse. Both JiHyun and JaeWon are down bad for each other, but while one accepts it as it is, the other sinks in fear of what consequences could come of it.

Omg, lightbulb!! A switch y’all! It’s the switch! JiHyun is now, pretty much, fearless while JaeWon is so fearful that he’s stopping what will inevitably happen because JiHyun is dead set on fighting for his man despite what he said at the end of episode eight. Even though it was a front for JaeWon and it isn’t for JiHyun, the comparison of the personalities in the beginning to now is definitely there! I love this series so much because really you can analyze it all you want and also just enjoy the surface level and face value of drama and romance it goes through, it’s so multifaceted!

Okay, I’m going to end here because this is way too long and I didn’t mean to get so into it, but yeah, please let me know your thoughts and what you’ve thought of and if I’ve made you think more about something!!!

PS: Anyone else notice the little rainbow on JiHyun’s face when he was sitting up and talking to AeRi on the field? To angle the camera and get the light to reflect so it would make that is absolute genius!! It’s like a symbol for how he’s embracing himself and fully accepting himself! It was so beautiful 🥹🫶🌈

#the eighth sense #the eighth sense drives me crazy omg #I love this series #someone save JaeWon from himself #Jihyun #The throw eunji and taehyung away initiative starts now

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othunderous · 7 months

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[ 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 ] : as sender is about to leave, receiver grabs them by the wrist.

the last thing he wants to do is leave. rey will be fine— they’ll BOTH be fine. her due date doesn’t quite yet approach. logically, there is no reason for him to ignore val’s call for assistance in new asgard. the trip won’t last long; he’s been promised it will only take a few days. thor just doesn’t want to go. they’ve hardly been apart in months, but he prefers it that way. going to sleep without giving his wife and unborn baby a kiss, waking up without the same, isn’t something he looks forward to. so he is slow to ready himself, slow to pull on his armor, slow to tend to last minute organizations to make his absence easier on her. all of her books are as they should be, each room is cleaned & tidied. yesterday, he’d been busy cooking and arranging EXTRA meals so she needn’t worry about doing it; there is nothing left for him to do other than say goodbye.

yet as they stand outside their home— a flourishing garden to his right, an open field that gives way to a lake to his left, and rey in front of him with his hands on her BUMP— he can’t find it in himself to move.

“it won’t be long. two days, three at the most. it’s not meant to be DANGEROUS, but should anything change that, i promise you. . . i will be the very meaning of caution.” one knee lowers to the ground, his hands remaining in their place on her stomach. pushing forth a reassuring smile is easier, more GENUINE, as he addresses their daughter. “and you, my little love, do try not to torment your mother too much in my absence. go easy on her.”

thor stands, leans in toward rey for a farewell kiss. soft, slow, only a hint of longing holding him there longer necessary. he breathes a sigh when they part; their foreheads touch for a moment, just needing a few more seconds of savoring before he pulls away. “i will be back before you know it,” he says as he turns— then he stops. rey catches his wrist, the gentle curl of her fingers around him forcing a pause. when he looks up, there is that familiar PLEADING look on her face. wanting eyes, a pout on her lips.

his smile turns sad, yearning. just one more. allowing himself to be pulled back in, they meet again; he takes his time in letting their mouths mold together, the pressing and sliding of their lips as DELICATE as it is patient. light is the breeze that he hears whispering around them, the rustling of the flowers & trees, the almost imperceptible lapping of the lake. not just in the coming days they are apart, not just in the weeks that follow— thor will carry and cherish this very moment for years to come. he wills it so. he wills his mind to remember the serenity of time seeming to come to a HALT just for them. if not for the lack of change in the sky above, hours could have passed and he’d have been none the wiser.

“it will pass quickly,” he murmurs as he parts from her, slow to open his eyes. “you’ll hardly notice my absence.” a LIE; he already notices, as he’s sure she does too. it’s why they are so reluctant to let the moment go. “and just think. . . how thrilled you will be when i return.”

#lightsiided #thor’s departure of that one meme 😌#𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧. turning page #𝙜𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙪𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧. queue

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piracytheorist · 2 years

Note

scrolling through tv tropes page on Ethan Winters and came across this "Disease Bleach: In Village's game files, his brown hair is revealed to have turned a dirty blond after being killed by Jack and ressurected as a Mold" which i find interesting but also if that is the case then why wasn't Mia's hair colour changed?

"Hidden Depths: It never gets commented on, but judging from the journal illustrations in Village, he's a rather talented sketch artist. He can also read sheet music and play the piano extremely well. Both talent are especially impressive when you consider Ethan only had eight fingers when showing off both skills!" and "Papa Wolf: Village has him braving the dangers of the titular location, the neighboring castle, reservoir and factory to get back his infant daughter Rose, whose kidnapping kickstarts the whole plot. Properly Paranoid: After the Baker House incident Ethan settled into a peaceful domestic life seemingly for good. Even still he couldn't let it go and got military training and an impressive library of books on heavy weaponry just in case his family would be threatened by the mold again. Also he seemingly keeps a flashlight on his person even while lounging at his house. These precautions certainly come in handy. Poor Communication Kills: When Ethan encounters the Deputy, he makes some of the most pathetic arguments to convince the man to help him — he never once even thinks of showing the man his newly stapled-on hand to convince him that there are dangerous people in the house with him. Granted Ethan was most likely panicking and running on adrenaline to properly convey what's happening to him. He's on the receiving end of this trope thanks to Chris in Village."

Sir Swears-a-Lot: (knight in shining armour gauntlets- I keep saying ethan should get a pair of metal gloves) The man swears frequently, and considering the things he has to go through and face. It's not exactly hard to understand why.

Tranquil Fury: Ethan settles into this after either being forced to kill Mia in the ending where he gives Zoe the serum, or after a seemingHeroic Sacrifice if he gave Mia the serum. After a brief moment of sadness, he becomes absolutely livid and becomes determined to find and kill Eveline.

Underestimating Badassery: The Bakers and Eveline thought he would be easily taken over by the Mold and join their family. Nothing could be further from the truth. The same applies to the Four Lords in Village who continuously mock and look down on him till he turns the tables on them. Especially Alcina who goes from smug and mocking to frothing with rage as Ethan kills her daughters one by one. Villain Killer: He has a truly amazing list of villains he's defeated that would qualify in Chris or Leon's service agencies:

In 7, he's defeated the Bakers, whom had been kidnapping and murdering people for three full years until he came. And then he defeats Eveline, who was the source of the Mold, which gains Chris Redfield's notice.

Village makes this even more impressive. He's defeated all the Lords, one being Alcina, who had brutalizing the village and kidnaps their women, and defeats her and her daughters. And then he even defeats Mother Miranda, the Greater-Scope Villain of the series before the Raccoon City Incident and the main source of the mold. He would have been drinking buddies with Leon who had similar feats.

Ah, I love scrolling through TV Tropes pages of stuff/characters I like! It's like a rabbit hole site that takes you to depths you couldn't ever imagine. And you learn some new things too!

But wait, what game files say that Ethan has brown hair? Granted, the only time we see his head is when he's unconscious outside the ship, and his hair is blonde and it's way after he was resurrected by the Mold, but I haven't seen anything about his hair being brown beforehand. And I've done quite the research myself! Did I really miss something?

Anyway, I love the focus on his badassery in the tropes. We love some appreciation for protective husband/dad Ethan <3 Especially the one about Tranquil Fury. "Okay you little bitch, where the fuck are you?" I love how he's just pissed and so done at this point. He just wants to get over it with - and he will! Boi's determined! - but he's gotta swear it out first. I love it :D

#Ethan Winters #Resident Evil #Resident Evil 7 #Resident Evil 8 #anonymous #ask and ye shall receive

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unohanadaydreams · 1 year

Text

Realized I forgot to post the rest of my ramblings on the Mayuri vs Pernida fight from my manga re-read so here is some prime word salad about Mayuri, my beloved idiot.

This feels little too late. Like, Mayuri has really dropped the ball in this battle by disregarding his initial thought regarding the Soul King’s arm being a Quincy.

He should have known already that this ability to evolve involved absorption, something Quincy are notorious for. And what has been all over everything, that would allow this Quincy to absorb?

It feels comical, how much he’s neglected to think about his opponent. Like, I’m a dumb ass and I’ve cobbled together the answer.

Meat ball again, eh.

But see the difference in tone? With Zaraki, Mayuri was so elated to tell him the dangers. He was purely farcical about how dropping Zaraki made him feel.

With Nemu it’s different. We see, again, him lashing out and displaying his frustration with himself. But deflecting that frustration to Nemu. Nemu is the punching bag instead of himself. She is him, but better. Perfect. So she needs to shape up and act like it.

The genius of Nemu is that she evolved DESPITE Mayuri. He demands she does exactly as she’s told and he violently lashes out when she doesn’t. He steals her agency. (even when it's played for laughs his unrelenting closeness when she's a member of WA is really telling).

That isn’t how someone grows and he knows that perfectly well. But he won’t face the fact that he’s scared to lose her. So he pretends disobedience betrays weakness.

Nemu has been taught how to learn and observe and she is the reason Mayuri will live—because she saw Pernida for what he was. Like, despite Mayuri's treatment of her, she is able to understand what's going on before he does.

She's not suffering from delusions here. She's not grasping for something that isn't there. Pernida is a Quincy and Nemu isn't perfect. And Mayuri is fucking spiraling on the battlefield.

And here it is—he does not want to make another Nemu. Even if it goes against the very principles of trial and error, of the science he holds so dear. Of the concept of evolution itself. Mayuri doesn’t care if Nemu never gets any smarter or more powerful—he doesn’t give a shit if she’s a shinigami—he just wants her to live. And he refuses to engage with that. He will never admit it.

He cares SO MUCH about her and what she represents that the prospect of having to start over again and fail again is crushing. He can not STAND having this much emotional attachment toward something. It's not irrational in a fun way, its irrational in a way that betrays his values.

He loves a living, breathing person enough to betray the values he's built his entire life & pride & fulfillment on.

Also really love the blocking of this--he is literally refusing to face Nemu.

Doubt. So much doubt. She's switching up her answer on why she interfered to be more agreeable to Mayuri. She is molding her answer to what Mayuri needs to hear and not the truth.

She already said he needed a shield but now she’s walked it back and actually, she was just trying to get him what he needed to continue the fight on his own.

Nemu isn't lying but she isn't telling the truth. She's just being what Mayuri wants her to be. Which is someone who protects him.

Uuuuh like father like daughter, you fucking shit. But also I think this is Mayuri's way of changing the subject and diffusing the situation. Of course his idea of diffusing is to put her down, but we can't expect anything emotionally mature from a man who has a melt down every time he approaches the thought that he loves Nemu on a human level.

Oh so when Pernida sounds like Kenpachi, he starts to catch what’s going on????? But he hasn’t caught on to the constant mirroring of his own fucking mannerisms????

He's fried his own brain with the elation of discovery and the intoxication of his own ego. I can't think of any other reason why he's been SO slow to catch on to what's going on.

I fully understand what was being attempted with this battle. At once it's supposed to connect Pernida & Nemu as being of rapid evolution while also taking Mayuri down a notch in terms of his intellect ala his battle with Szayel. His "perfect" invention destroyed by a more "perfect" being of evolution. His fall to hubris and self delusion. His perfect tragedy.

But it just kind of feels kind of unbelievable how fully he's misunderstood Pernida. I know he feels like he knows most if not everything about Quincy at the start of Bleach, but you think he would carry the lesson of being defeated by Uryu and go 'there's probably something here I need to look out for'

BUT HE HASN'T EVEN GOTTEN TO THE WHOLE PERNIDA IS A QUINCY THING.

You would just think he would catch on even a teenie weenie bit sooner.

I wonder what Mayuri’s zanpakuto looked like before. I imagine probably older looking, which doesn’t fit with Mayuri’s theme of control and always knowing more. Nothing better than a baby who can do nothing but fucking scream and vomit poison.

But also, I really, really like how they're pointing out all the ways that the technology that made Nemu was appropriated for other projects. Not only does it show the passion that went into the Nemuri project but also that they were finding any way possible to CONTINUE that project. Yes number 4 & 5 were failures, but they deserve to have and need more funding because they can regrow brains and skulls and alter zanpakuto. They were doing anything and everything with the research so they could keep it going. Which, considering the amount of abandoned or axed lines of research we hear about, feels meaningful.

And with this time line, I wonder if Senjumaru really was captain for a short while before Mayuri took over. It would make a lot of sense, as I can’t imagine they left 12th division without a captain from the time Urahara left to Mayuri taking up the same double helm. Personally counting this as a headcanon that can be solidified as may-as-well-be canon. They snark at each other for a reason <3

Akon gives his take, but to me the answer is simple and also embarrassing for Mayuri so he would never ever say it.

He starts calling her Nemu because he doesn’t plan to make another Nemuri. He no longer considers her no.7 but simply THE Nemu.

As I was saying above, he doesn’t want to make another one—he’s very insulted at the idea that he would need to. He’s scared of trying and failing again because the experiment and by extension her existence mean so much to him now. This is the technology that gave him captaincy, purpose, and fulfillment. This was his greatest wish. I’m willing to bet this is part of what landed him in the Maggot’s Nest before Urahara hoisted him into a position of power.

Of course, he never displays these feelings how you traditionally would. Instead he treats her as weak and over reliant and is hyper sensitive when she worries for her own life—because those are his feelings regarding her and if there’s one thing he’s going to do, it’s project!

Mayuri needs someone to protect him from himself at this point. He has blinded himself to how Nemu is still no.7. There were Nemuris before her and there will probably be more after her.

She grows despite Mayuri’s attempts to stall her—to keep her alive at all costs isn't what he's meant to do and she knows that. She's meant to evolve or die trying. But more than that, she has read between the lines and understands fully that just like Jizo, her goal is to protect Mayuri. He is his own worst enemy and right now she's protecting him from his refusal to see Pernida for what it is—something he’s studied tirelessly, much as he bragged to Uryu.

She loves Mayuri and wants to make him proud. She wants him to see that she’s grown and that she has become all the things he wanted of her. First and foremost, a shinigami. And shinigami battle. And they die.

And when you fall asleep, you have to wake up. Her name is Nemuri.

I love her. She is much more human than Mayuri may ever be.

#I love Nemu because you can see all the things she had the potential to be #and you realize that Mayuri squashed all that potential #and he did it out of fear #he did it out of love #but he DID it #and I think that is what is first and foremost mellows him out with Nemuri after Nemu dies #It's not that he lost. It's not that she died even.#it's that she died protecting him. it's that she was convinced that was her purposes #it's that he fucked up his dream so badly and couldn't face it until he had nothing left but a brain #anyway here is whatever this is

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