Tumgik
#in a way this show is about grief and loss and hating your heroes while also missing them like crazy
elsaqueenofstress · 2 years
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DID YOU KNOW I RECENTLY HAD A BROTHER DIE, TOO?
the bear / phoebe waller-bridge / lilly dancyger / david byrne / dan pearce / suzy kassem / toni morrison / joseph fink / rabbi joseph telushkin / emily dickinson / richard siken / lone twin network / aanchal malhotra / frank ocean / gabrielle calvocoressi / maurice sendak
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wyn-n-tonic · 1 year
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Did You Think I Had Forgotten?
Word Count: 2.6k Pairing: Santiago Garcia x f!reader (written in third person). Warnings: Unprotected PiV. Talk of murder. Allusion to pregnancy loss (not spoken about in explicit detail). Fucking at a funeral. Author's Note: This may be my favorite thing that I have written. It's right up there with Soft Cries and Sacred Oasis for me.
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Ao3
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He’s got a mean streak.
Deep beneath the calluses of his hands and the surface of his skin, it’s there; golden tan and mean as shit with hard set sable eyes. She’d be terrified if she didn't know any better, didn't know all the shades of softness that warm his cheeks in sun kissed, peach toned blooms.
Santiago Garcia, standing there with a half smile like it’s just another day. Like he’s been around for all this time and all these changes. Like he’s waiting for a hometown hero, movie star style kiss.
She’d fucking hate him if she could.
Not that loving him stopped her from chucking a half full glass of whiskey from halfway across the room. 
He looks down when it shatters at his feet, the amber liquid bleeding into the black of his pants and the shine of his shoes, and looks up at her again. “You still put ice in your whiskey, Sandy Koufax?” 
Ben’s hand fists into his shirt before he can open his mouth again, the starched, black fabric crunching in his grip as he pulls the shorter man away from the mess; the room; her. 
If they were eccentric rich people, this could be written off as performance art—The Scorned Lover and the Man Who Ripped Her Apart. The true bullshit of it all is that he didn’t even have to try. It was all so simple for him, leaving the bed and a note. His cellphone number had been disconnected before he even reached the airport. 
He didn’t even take his fucking clothes.
Back against the closed door, she closes her eyes to fight the welling tears. It’s been two—three?—years, her anger shouldn’t feel like this anymore. Shouldn’t feel so palpable and all encompassing. She got past that stage clinging onto Ben’s hand while his sister and Frankie tiptoed around packing boxes and preparing food like it was a fucking wake. They were downstairs too, she thinks to herself. All that time pretending they didn’t want to fuck each other just to show up here with three rings and an infant between them.
Embarrassment floods her suddenly, overtaking the despair and the rage. A drink. She threw a drink. She threw a glass of watered down whiskey at a mourning man’s feet. She made a spectacle out of her grief that wasn’t even for the man they’d just buried. Of course he was here.
Of course.
This was all his fault, after all.
They should change his nickname to Judge for the way he likes to sentence others into agony. 
She looks down at her feet and then up again, across at the mirror hanging on the bathroom wall that cuts her at the waist. He bought this dress one Christmas, asked her to wear it out the store after he managed to collect his words again. Took her to dinner and then asked her to keep it on a few hours later in the bright white light of their bedroom.
Maybe that smile he wore was for the same memory the dress brings her. But it’s the only black formalwear she has with an appropriate neckline. Tits out in front of old friends at the funeral of another just didn’t sit right.
Pushed forward when the door opens, she breaks her fall on the vanity countertop and swears as she looks up into the reflected eyes of the man who drove her in here.
“Fuck.” 
Who chose black anyway? If this was actually a celebration of life, they’d all be in camouflage and smudged face paint sharing anecdotes of casual racism and laughing about how it makes sense his half functional alcoholism tossed his head against the rocks on another foreign hike.
“He didn’t fall, did he?” She asks, turning towards him. “You did this, didn’t you?”
Santi shrugs. “I played a part—oh, don’t roll your eyes at me, sweetheart.” His eyebrows pinch, hand raised like he’s cutting off the chance of a response. “You fucking hated Tom.”
“So did you.”
“Yeah, but I needed him.”
“And me?”
He huffs a laugh. “That was more that you didn’t need me.”
“Fuck you, Santiago.” There’s venom in her words but they only seem to land at his feet like the shattered glass from earlier or her knees all the times before that. “You’re a piece of shit.”
A step closer, hands in his pockets, and he looks down at her with pity in his voice. “I don’t know what I missed more—your cunt or the way you like to act like one.”
“I'm so glad I burnt most of your shit.”
“Kept the house though, didn’t you?” He asks, closer still.
“It should be you in that box down there.” She regrets it before it’s halfway out of her mouth, brain already grasping to pull the words back in and down her throat. 
Santi leans forward, hands bracing himself against the counter as the tip of his nose smudges against hers. “Fuck,” he breathes. “It's hot when you talk back. Been a while since somebody could give it as good as I can dish it out.”
“Nice to know you’ve been keeping yourself busy in…” She doesn’t know where he’s been, just that he went.
“Colombia,” he finishes. “There was nobody to keep myself busy with, trust me.”
When she licks her lips, she swears she almost catches his too and swallows back the fresh saltwater sobs threatening to surface. “Why should I do that?” 
He stands straight again, palm rubbing up against the grain of his beard like he’s trying to find a respectful way to speak his thoughts. Finally, his shoulders raise and drop just as quickly again. “Nobody had an ass as great as yours”—his eyes dart down her body and back up—“good to see you’ve still got it. Did you end up having kids? Ben refuses to tell me anything.”
“Yours,” she nods, watching as his eyes open against the permanent jet lag of his life. “But don’t worry,” she continues, “he left me like you did. Guess I wasn’t good enough for either Garcia boy. Like father, like son, right?”
Light reflects off the strands of silver in the salt and pepper curls that spill between his fingers. He pushes them up and away, pulling near the roots before relaxing his grip to slide down against the grain of the half grey scruff across his cheeks and he shakes his head. “It was never that you weren’t good enough, mi vida.”
“You have no right to call me that.”
“Don't I?” He steps forward again, less space than before left between their bodies. “My decision was to value your life, your needs, over mine. I did what I thought was best for you.”
She looks up towards the art prints of ocean views hung on the wall, gently swiping at her lower lid, and takes a deep breath. “No, Santiago.”
A beat passes and then another, the tick of his gold Rolex echoing in the silence as his eyes stay on you and yours stay on a fixed point over his shoulder. 
He’s got a mean streak and he’s stroking it with every breath between them. He’ll push until it’s satisfied, masking it with a warm, honeyed citrus scent and a deft tongue until every barrier breaks for him to take what he wants.
And then he leaves for others to pick up the pieces of the destruction that he left.
“No what, sweetheart?” He finally asks.
“No,” She repeats, turning to face him again. “You did what was best for you, Santiago. Just as you’ve always done. Because the only two people in this world that you have ever served is whatever grey faced man who sits in the oval office and—“
“I know what you’re gonna say,” he interrupts. “Don’t paint me like this, don’t make me the bad guy. I loved you.” His head drops towards her shoulder, turned towards her still and he presses his nose into her hair, breath ghosting across the shell of her ear. “I love you.” 
She laughs, arms hugging closer around her body. “You've got a funny way of showing it.” 
“You want me to tell you I’m sorry?” 
Her head shakes and she turns to face him, warmed over by the liquid coal in his eyes. “I don’t think you’re capable of it.” 
Santiago’s lips turn upward as thick, dark eyebrows rise to the challenge. “I am, baby,” he says. “I didn't know—“
“How could you have? Your phone disconnected and every goddamn email bounced right back to me.”
“I adore you,” he continues. “I always have.” He tucks his palm beneath her jawline, gun callused thumb sweeping across the pout of her lips. 
She wants to hate him but she can’t; not when this simple touch feels like the first warmth she’s had in years. Leaning into it against her will, she feels the levees break as a half choked sob claws its way out of her chest. 
He doesn’t even ask. Doesn’t even wait because his body is operating on pure instinct to push comfort onto her distress. It’s why he left before the sun rose. All he wants to do is keep her away from the bad things, especially when they begin and end with him.
He hates even more that she doesn’t even fight it, doesn’t push him away when it’s what he deserves. Because despite all her words, she’s just as in love with him as she was the night before he left.
Mouth opening beneath his, her body molds easily to his form as if she’s done this every day without interruption.
Nothing’s hurried about their touches, no urgency in the way they grab for one another, and neither of them forgot how to make the other melt.
“Santi, Santi,” she pushes back against his chest as his hands make their way beneath her skirt. “Stop.”
“Is there somebody else?” He asks.
“There was Ben,” she tells him rolling her lips in attempt to smooth out the splotched color he wears now too. “It wasn’t serious, I-I—“ 
“You needed somebody warm and sweet and just as broken by me as you.”
“Well…” When he puts it like that. “Yeah.”
Santiago nods, lips pressing back into the apple of her cheek. “That's exactly what he said when he told me. Mi vida”—he shifts his stance between her legs, pressing his hips against hers—“mi alma, I want to come home. I know you don’t believe me.” She doesn’t. “But I need you to.” But she does. “Leaving you, losing Tom…” He inhales deep, trembling lips and soft eyes fighting to betray an otherwise usually cool demeanor. “It could be me in that box down there; and God knows I fucking deserve it, baby. But all I thought about on the side of that mountain as I dodged bullets was you. I thought about what my life would look like if I hadn’t gotten out of bed that morning, if I’d stayed there in our bed and made you my wife like I wanted to. You were in my mind and it put Tom’s all over the fucking rocks.”
“Yet, they said he fell.”
He laughs. “Yeah, well…shot in the head for being a murderer and a thief doesn’t look too good in an obituary.”
“Santi—“
Again, he kisses her. Harder this time and with both hands gripping her hips, he leverages the press of his own to lift her up onto the counter. “It could’ve been me, baby,” he whispers into her, tears buried somewhere deep in his words. “It could’ve been me and I never would’ve seen you again.” Fingers hook into the waistband of her panties and pull. “Never would’ve told you I love you again. I hate myself, sweetheart. I know you never will but I-I”—the strangled pain of relief cuts his words as his zipper goes next—“Let me hold that anger for you, baby.
Vulnerability is his weakness, he yields to it every time. Hard stuff, he can do. He’s stood face to face with war criminals but this scares the shit out of him. She scares the shit out of him. He walked away time and time again from one night stands until she came along and called him a pussy for it. He never did have the balls to actually say goodbye.
He strokes himself in the space between her legs, chests heaving against each other beneath the fluorescent light.
“You gonna fuck me or what, Garcia?”
“Just waiting for you to tell me that I can, my love.”
She barely even says yes before he pushes himself inside of her, bottoming out quickly from the excitement of it all. Before he can even crack a joke, or swear, about the ease with which she takes him, her fingers wrap around the base of his skull. “Muscle memory,” she whispers, pulling him down to squeeze even more distance from between them.
Sex with Santiago has never been just sex. Never something to just get out of the way. To pass the time. Never too mean or soft; rough all around because he was too but tender all the same. Even the quickies ran with that formula, that same slow grind racing against the clock like a well calculated mission. Not this time, though.
This time he’s sloppy, pace stuttering as he tries to catch his breath but he can’t between all the shit flying out of his mouth. How wet. How hard. How many nights he’s sat up thinking about this moment. The way they sound together. The way they smell together. 
He’s coming before he knows it, a grief filled groan right into the crook of her neck. This isn’t how he wanted it. This isn’t how it should’ve been done. He shouldn’t be leaking out of her onto a dead man’s bathroom counter top but here the fuck they are.
Heat blankets her cheeks and she covers her eyes against his stare, bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth as he pulls himself from between her legs. He says something about grabbing tissue but she’s crying before he can even turn around to find it.
“Shh, shh.” Santiago takes her hand in both of his and kisses the back of it. "Baby, what is it?”
“It's you,” she says. “It's us.” Her head shakes. “It's everything and how fucked this all is. And all of it because you couldn’t open your goddamn mouth to have a conversation in the first place.” 
“I know. I’m sorry, baby.”
She tries to pull her hand back from him but he only turns it upward to continue kissing at her palm, nuzzling against the marks of her own lipstick he leaves as if trying to make up for all the touch he lost.
“Did you see Benny’s sister and Frankie finally got together? A whole baby and everything.”
Everything lights up behind his eyes again as he smiles and nods. “They named her after me,” he says proudly. “She’s one person I haven’t let down and”—he shakes his head—“you don’t understand how close I came to ruining her little life too.”
“But you didn’t.”
They stay there for what feels like hours, small touches to prove reality traded back and forth as the noise that soundtracks their own conversation downstairs dissipates down to nothing.
“We should go.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you really burn most my shit?”
She’s halfway to the door, hand already reaching out to pull at the handle, and turns. “Come home and find out.” 
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lesbianchipbastard · 1 month
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please use this ask to scream at me when you finish season 1 💜
I want to see your reactions
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUH HOLY SHIT.
HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HIOLY HSIT.
god. so.
i finished season one at like 1am and it fucking tore me apart. i sat in silence and just stared at the wall for a HOT minute. i couldn't actually comprehend wtf i just witnessed.
and holy fuck i have some WORDS
first off.
ASHE WINTERS WHAT THE FUCK ASHE WINTERS HO YMGOD ASHE WINTERS I LOVE ASHE WINTERS MORETHAN ANYTHING ON THIS STUPID FUCKING GODFORSAKEN PLNET. SHES. SO. :((((((((((((((((((
ASHE WINTERS AND DAKOTA COLE/?? TLIKESRERJKHTAWKJR THEY WRE LITERLALY IN LOVE.
HOLY FUCK THE IMPACT THAT THIS IS GOING TO HAVE ON DAKOTA??
AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON WAVELENGTH. MARK LITERALLY LOST EVERYTHING. HIS SON. HIS FREEDOM. LIKE. WHAT THE FUCK. HOLY UFCK WHAT THE FUCK
IT'S SUCH A SUDDEN ENDING AND I LOVE/HATE IT SO MUCH. HOW SUDDEN THE LOSS IS MAKES IT FEEL THAT MUCH MORE REAL
BUT HOLY FUCK ASHEEEE. SHE MADE HTE GREATEST SACRFIICEEEEEEEEEE OH YM GODDDDDD. I GET PHYSICALLY ILL THINKING ABOUT HER. LITERALLY I WAS TELLING SAMMY THE OTHER NIGHT THAT I THOUGHT ABOUT ASHE WINTERS WHILE LISTENING TO A SAD SONG AND NEARLY THREW UP. SHES SUCH A BEAUTIFULLY PUT TOGETHER CHARACTER SHES SO FUCKING. AUTHENTIC. MY HEART BROKE A THOUSAND TIMES OVER.
THE TRICKSTER?? SO FUCKING METAL.
ASHE GAVE UP EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER FRIENDS.
SHE GAVE UP EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER FRIEDNSSSSS
SHE NEVER HAD FRIENDS BEFOREEEEE
SHE LOVED THEEEEMMM
THEY CARED ABOUT HER THEY CARED ABOUT HER THEY CARED ABOUT HER
SHE USED THE THING SHE HATED MOST ABOUT HERSELF TO SAVE EVERYBODY. SHE CARRIED HER GRIEF AROUND, LITERALLY. SHE HAD A PHYSICAL MANIFESTATION OF HER GRIEF IN THAT ONE PAGE OF HER BOOK, THE TRICKSTER. IT WAS ALWAYS IN HER POCKET. SHE COULD NEVER LET GO OF HER PAST CAN YOU HEAR MEEEEEEE
"IM TRYING."
"TRY HARDER."
AND SHE DID. SHE GAVE IT HER ALL.
SHEEE TRUSTED THEMMMM. SHE TRUSTED THE PRIME DEFENDERS TO TAKE CARE OF WHATEVER WAS TO COME FROM THIS.
AND WILLAIM TRIED TO BURN HER BOOK AUUAOGOUAHGOUAHGOU IM GONNA MAKE A SEPARATE POST SOON JUST ABOUT THAT BECAUSE OAOOAOOAGAGAGAGAUGHAUGAKRTEJRK HO,Y. FUCK OH MYOGD
AND DONT. GET. ME. STARTED. ON. WILLIAM. WISP.
HOLY SHIT.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT.
HE DIED. HE DIED AND HE CAME BACK AND HE JUST. HAS TO LIVE WITH THAT. AOGUHOAUGHAOUGHOAUGHA
AND. AUGHUHUHUHUGAHGUAHUGHUAGUHAGU HIM AND VYNCENT. FUCK I LOVE GHOSTKNIFE THEY MAKE ME SO HOMOPHOBIC.
DAKOTA COLE IS MY SHINING STAR HE IS ALL THAT IS BEAUTIFUL IN THIS WORLD AUHGUAHUUGHUG. FUCK
HE IDOLIZES HEROES SO GREATLY BUT THEY KEEP FAILING HIM. AND HES STARTING TO GET ANGRY. HES STARTING TO GET ANGRY BEACUSE HIS IDOLS WERE THERE. HIS IDOLS WERE THERE BUT THEY WERE TOO LATE. THEY SHOWED UP A MINUTE LATER, NOT A MINUTE BEFORE, THE WAY HEROES SHOULD.
AND OUGH. HOUOUUH. HIS BACKSTORY. FUCK
HE. HE. I CANT EVEN TALK ABOUT HIM I CANT PUT HIM INTO WORDS (SLASH VERY AFFECTIONATE AND POSITIVE)
"BUT I WASN'T DC BACK THEN."
"I CAN BARELY EVEN REMEMBER HER NAME. BUT I REMEMBER HER FACE."
"SHE WAS JUST A KID, TRYING TO GET AWAY FROM SOMETHING TOO."
DO YOU KNOW WHA TTHIS MEANS TO EMEEEE. WHAT HEEE MEANS TO MEEEEEEE. ADKOTA COLEEEEE. BOUCNING HIM AROUND IN MY BRAIN FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER
NEVER BEFORE HAS A CAMPAIGN MADE ME FEEL. SO MUCH. HERATBREAK AND LAUGHTER AND LOVE AND ANGUISH AND JOY.
IM IN PHYSICAL PAIN SLASH POSITIVE. THEYRE. SO. :((((
AND GOD. DEMONKICKS. FUCKCKKKCK THEY WERE IN LOVEEEEE THEY WERE IN LOVE THEY WERE IN LOVEEE
the final 40 minutes of s1 ep24 tore me apart.
absolutely nothing was resolved, but there was so little time left.
and then ashe pulled out that book, and the trickster was out, and ashe was waning, but there were only 5 minutes left.
and she was gone.
she is gone.
ashe winters is fucking gone and im actually going to cry aagain
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qworflordking · 1 year
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Hey! Just to tell you I loved your critique against that Achilles Song book and I agree with you that I hate how Greek (and at lesser or more degree Roman or Egyptian) classics are changed in a nonsense way just to please the modern reader and give them a progressive agenda to the characters.
Just for curiosity, what do you think about fantasy media that is inspired in ancient Greek myths and legends like Percy Jackson books or Saint Seiya?
Dunno, those were my faves when I was a kid (but I have not checked them since at least 10 years ago, lol), but, seeing how the Percy Jackson fans try to portrait themselves as all knowing about Greek culture, while actually not engaging in the classics and refusing to know about Ancient Greek history and culture. The Saint Seiya guys seem more normal, but I'm not sure if Greek people just saw the anime as a gross cultural appropiation like Hercules from Disney or they actually did not mind it.
An interesting ask to receive, thanks! And hm... I don't really know? I haven't read Percy Jackson or Saint Seiya so I can't comment. It all depends on the media in question - it's nice to see so many people like it, but our ancient legacy is kind of all Greece has right now. The economic depression, the ecological impact on the islands that's been happening, the fact that it's mainly considered a tourist destination for wealthier Europeans and the bitter state of the modern Greek youth - and yet we have this legacy we feel so connected to despite all the years between, lmao.
My family is from Sparta - a small rural village just outside it, actually - and so when the movie 300 came out the hype was unreal. Like King Leonidas is a cultural hero, there's still a monument to him in Sparta - they were making a movie about our guy! I saw it with twenty Greeks, all Spartans... and they hated it. They were yelling at the screen, they were so upset, and none of them knew what a Frank Miller comic book was. I recently tried to rewatch it and had to turn it off at the scene with the ephors and the oracle. Don't get me started on Troy, lol.
Otoh, I recently enjoyed Hades (the game) though I avoided it for a while. It's bright and colorful, the gods are strange and erratic, and it's tons of fun. Demeter grief-stricken at the loss of her daughter, Persephone avoiding Hades and Hades being angry and bitter - that was great. (I could go into a whole tangent about how people are actually erasing the voices and pain of ancient women when they woke-ify Hades and Persephone, but.)
The essential thing is this: the ancient Greeks were capable of criticizing their own culture. We invented philosophy: the art of sitting around talking about what's wrong with society and how we might fix it. They wrote plays - plays that won awards, that were preserved unto this day! - that served as a feminist critique of their classic heroic myths. Going back to the 300 film, while it's true oracles were often sexually abused, they noticed that was a problem and made changes to prevent that. There's this attitude people take to ancient cultures a lot where they think people were just... stupid, and wholly swallowed everything, and then they're gonna write their critique of their problematic beliefs without considering the humanity and knowledge of people who lived thousands of years ago.
You don't need to completely change the themes and meaning and significance of our stories, but what you can do is humanize them. Rather than hole them up in some white-walled Ivory Tower of Academia bring them out as they were - intended to be funny, intended to make you think - while preserving the historical context. I have dreams of making an Odyssey film (that some EU arts fund needs to give me a billion dollars to make. also, i am a legendary respected filmmaker in this fantasy) that would bring economic prosperity to the Greek islands and also make it /funny/, showing that Odysseus was a trickster figure who fit ancient heroic definitions of being a wild celebrity figure rather than a Hollywood Hero. Making it clear that his wife was just as smart as him and they were a love-match and making Athena buff as hell and swapping into a man's body, even making Odysseus black - none of that would be modernizing the story to suit our woke tastes. It would piss the hell off a lot of supposed "Classics" fans.
Ultimately, though, having fun with the mythos isn't actually harmful. What is harmful, what genuinely upsets me on a fundamental level, is how Le Classics have been incorporated into this great ideal of Western Civilization and then been appropriated by white supremacists. Here's a great blog doing the good work going into it in detail, but twisting ancient culture to fit your own modern ideals is just.... not good for anyone, lol.
EDIT: ...In my last post I was like "why is tumblr recommending me eurofash propaganda" and I just realized. Liking ancient greek culture and the classics is probably why 0__0
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hellmouth-manor · 5 months
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A Dog's Feeling || Hibiki || Trial 3.2 || Re: Her, Masks, Performance
It is a blessing and a shame that this is happening in public.
Hibiki Shinobu is reassured that this is all real, that his reactions are normal. That his heart breaking into a million pieces isn't weakness, no matter how much it feels otherwise.
It is so deeply impossible to pretend this isn't happening anymore. Even that kindness can't be afforded to him, Cassie—Cassansdra—Yukiko. Yukiko. It's such a nice name, isn't it?—she's elected to take everything in one fell swoop.
And she'd known. She wouldn't be shoving that stupid demon's stupid note in his face otherwise.
He'd opened nearly everything in him up to that that specter who promised she'd accept him. There were two things kept close to his chest, one of them being feelings he barely knew how to process. Gratitude that gave way to affection, a hopeless infatuation with someone who seemed hellbent on caring about everyone here no matter how little he—how little they might have deserved it.
Affection gave way to gratitude once again; he'd been thankful to simply exist alongside that brightness he'd never seen before. He'd dropped shameless comments about her kindness being dangerous for him—a catalyst for him to fall even harder, something he was so afraid of. He was so afraid to allow her to know his affection, taint that kindness with pity and let him down gentler than he deserved. He was scared to do that to her, put someone so nice in that terrible position. Or maybe he was scared of how it would feel to know heartbreak after learning heartache.
It was a decision he'd never had the power to make in the first place, it turned out. You don't get to decide your relationship to a mask, you simply get to admire the craftsmanship, enamor yourself with the performances it can enable. It's not your choice when it falls, what its owner does with it when the show is over.
He'd called himself her number one fan.
She'd performed so impeccably, too.
It wasn't just his hurt to bear, though. As was made clear by everyone else's reactions, Cassandra Adams would be mourned by so many. Tears continue streaking Hibiki's face as he processes this, as he ponders the blessing of shared hurt while his head hangs down and he hides his expression. Everyone would bear this together, in whatever ways they deemed most effective. Most necessary.
The shame was in how spurned he felt. To fall apart so messily in front of this audience, body wracked with repressed sobs as he leaned against his podium for support. It was so sickening to let everyone else see this. So perverse, to display his selfish hurt so brazenly.
To pretend he had any right to feel so indignant that anyone else would lay claim to these feelings.
To want, so desperately, for this all to end and the joke to reach its punchline. Sorry for scaring you, it wasn't me, I just thought it would be funny.
You can still be a hero.
Hibiki has to say something, the Shinobu in him still burns bright enough that his tears won't extinguish that rage. That wrath.
The warm familiar. The only friend he can trust. That which can't burn out.
He holds onto the things he can be mad at. He could flare indignantly over how fucking funny it must look. Heather is having her laugh, why wouldn't he assume Hisashi and Olwin aren't having just as much fun? Their stupid audience? Watching him lose everything that kept his head above water in one fell swoop. Laughing. They could burn.
He can't be mad at Yukiko. Not yet. He doesn't know how to hate, right now. His heart wails with grief and shame and loss and yearning.
But he can pretend too, can't he? Pretend he can go on and he can survive. Pretend he doesn't want to forgive and forget and do whatever he has to for this connection not to sever.
Shinobu chokes down his tears, swallows his grief and feeds it to the fire, funnels it all into a forge that will offer back the steel he might rebuild himself with. Nobody will see him break down again. Nobody will ever see him cry again.
Nobody will ever hurt him again.
A deep breath in. Ten seconds. Hold. Ten seconds. Out. Ten seconds.
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"...The joke is on us, then. We…we lost your stupid game. Fine. You…you threw your life away for it, fine. It isn't like you had anything waiting for you outside anyways. Maybe this is the place you want to be in most. I wouldn’t know. I don’t know what to trust anymore. But this...isn't the breaking point. Call us stupid. Look down on us, and laugh, and laugh, and...remember. We've made it through every one of these. We...we started our stay here, with one of these."
In.
Ten seconds.
Out.
Five seconds.
The mask doesn't break
It does crack.
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"...You're going to go down, and then you'll be right back here to deal with the fallout, and nobody is going to make it fun for you. It’s going to hurt. It's all going to hurt. I hope it does.”
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whatissleepeven · 3 years
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Okay so imagine the brothers are offered back their divinity if they kill the MC. How would they react? (Oh or for more angst- get back Lilith in exchange for MC’s life?)
Ohohoho, is this angst hour I sense? Thank you for this ask, and I’m...sorry in advance for the heavy feelings-
(Me: Okay angst time, time to play the appropriate song
*begins playing Spiderman Pizza Delivery Theme*
Me: let’s begin)
Trigger Warnings: Panic Attack (Beel’s Prompt), PTSD Symptoms (Also Beel’s Prompt), Talk of Loss
----------------------------
Obey Me! Brothers’ Reactions To An Ultimatum
Lucifer
Well, he certainly does think about it.
No, not about the divinity...but about Lilith.
They could have her back in their lives? All for the price of one human?
This human, who has caused him nothing but grief and throws themselves head-first into danger.
If this was towards the beginning of the program, he’d be more inclined to take it-
But he doesn’t.
He can’t do that to you. Not you. You, who had repaired their broken family. You, who had seen all of their flaws and strengths and passions and fears and embraced them.
You, who continues to smile so brightly and say his name with utmost faith in him.
He lowers his arm. You look fearful, but...resigned. Like it will be fine, like it was okay if he killed you.
He hates it.
“Does your life matter to you that little?”
You smile sadly, and a small portion of him wants to scream. No no no, it cries out, this isn’t how you’re supposed to be! Your smiles aren’t supposed to be full of sorrow!
“Your sister meant-...means a lot to you. To all of you. Who am I to take that away, huh?”
He walks over to you, his steps measured. You close your eyes, waiting for the killing blow-
A weight settles on your head, giving it a few rubs. “You are worth more than you could ever know. Remember that.”
He continues to walk, heading out the door. A few tears drip from your face onto the floor.
He could care less about his divinity. If he had to choose here or the Celestial Realm, he’d much rather stay here. He knows, deep in his heart, that Lilith lived a long and successful life.
You, however, are irreplaceable.
Mammon
“H-Hey...ya gotta be kidding me.”
“Well?” You grin, holding your arms out. Your stance is peaceful, like all you’re asking for is a hug. But he knows better.
Divinity and Lilith? All for killing-...
For killing you?
He hates this. He hates the look in your eyes, hates the trust you’re showing him, and hates your bleeding heart that’s just waiting to be taken for granted. Hell, it already has been taken for granted.
“What do you think you’re doin’, playin’ the hero? Wanting to sacrifice yourself? You think that’ll make us happy?!” Tears gather in the corners of his eyes.
You lower your arms, shocked. “Wha-”
You let out a small oomph as he tackles you into a hug, pulling you close.
“You’re trembling, ya idiot.” He mumbles, and you feel something wet drip onto your shirt. He’s crying, you realize. He’s crying because this hurts him.
“Mammon...I-”
He pulls back to clamp his hands down onto your shoulders. “Save it!” He barks forcefully, making you blink. “Ya really thought I’d give all this up? For something that’s already happened? I like what we got goin’ here. My brothers like this life way better than the ones we had in the Celestial Realm. Everyone’s happier lately, and it’s ‘cause of you.”
The minute trembling that ran through your body before returns in full force, tears pooling forth as you grip his shirt. He pulls you back into the hug, and you feel safe. That’s right; he’s your number one protector, the Avatar of Greed.
How could you forget that?
He grins, reaching a hand up to ruffle your hair in a playful manner. You laugh thickly, your tears still falling. “You’re stuck with the Great Mammon, and don’tcha forget it!”
Because you are his priceless treasure. Not Lilith, not some stupid divinity...
You.
Leviathan
Leviathan has always been the outcast.
His passions, his fears, his confidence...All of those are wildly different from his brothers’. He’s not as close as Beel and Belphie are, or as Lucifer and Mammon are, or as Asmo and Satan are.
He’s the black sheep of the family.
“Y-You’re leaving it up to me...?”
You nod. Oh, how he wishes this was just a run-through of an anime script. You two would spend long hours into the night reading the lines and acting them out, repeating each scene until it was done flawlessly.
But reality is far too cruel.
“It’s your family. Your story. I’m just a side character, if you will.”
Your smile is cynical. He wants nothing more than to throw his spare Ruri-chan blanket around your shoulders and force you to marathon the entire series of “I Love My Best Friend But I Get Everything Back If I Kill Them...I Have A Choice To Make!”.
He takes a step forward. Then another. “You...Why would you do that?”
You laugh, a warm sound that serves to make his stomach knot with dread.
“Because I love you guys, why else?”
Silence. He doesn’t know what to say. What’s the right thing to do? What can he do, with his small confidence?
He’s struck with a memory, of the two of you gaming in his room. He had felt terrible due to his brothers critiquing his love for anime to the point he started to berate himself for it, and you merely patted his shoulder while telling him words he’d never forget.
“There’s things only you can do, Levi. So when you start to overthink...just feel, and let your body handle the rest.”
It’s time to take you up on your advice.
“Ghk-!” You stumble as he lunges at you, the both of you toppling to the floor. He’s crying, clinging to you like a lifeline.
“I-I could never kill the Henry to my Lord of Shadows...Every Lord of Shadows only has one Henry...!!”
Leviathan has always been the outcast. He still is, but when he’s with you he feels like he belongs.
Satan
“No.”
“...Huh.” You blink at him. You’re not sure if you heard him right. Did he just-...say “no”?
“No.” He says again, his eyes narrowing. “Please tell me you’re joking about this.”
Why? Why would you throw away your life like that? For their “happiness”? Give him a break.
“What do you think you’re accomplishing by doing this?” His voice starts quiet, growing in volume as he steps towards you. You backpedal, not expecting the angered response, which only serves to fuel his fury.
“Do you think it’d make us happy? Do you think we’d jump at the chance to sacrifice you for something that’s better long forgotten? Do you really think so little of us? Well? ANSWER ME!!”
You flinch as he gets in your personal space, only to freeze when arms wrap around you and squeeze you tight.
“I was born from Lucifer’s wrath, the only bona-fide demon among my other brothers. For a long time, all I knew was anger and hate,” he whispers, stubbornly refusing to look at your shocked gaze. “I began to read to learn more, to be able to feel other emotions. But the anger and hate stayed, concealed by the thin veil I constructed to make myself more likeable. More polite. More charming.”
He wanted nothing to do with Lucifer. He wanted it so bad it hurt. So he built himself a brand-new personality, becoming someone others could rely on, all so he could spite him.
And then you came along.
Your eyes water as you realize that you feel him shaking. “I never met her, you know, but I’ve seen her through his eyes. I feel his lingering pain, and sometimes it makes me want to tear my own chest out,” he says, voice wobbling. “But to ask you to do that...to give you up for something I have no right to feel upset about...it’s something I won’t do. Ever. Not when you saved me.”
You rest your hand on his back as you return the hug, a choked sob escaping you. “Satan, I-”
“You saved me.” He whispers fervently. “Do you understand? That means everything.”
You claw the back of his shirt, your breath hitching as you succumb to your tears. You both end up falling to the floor, hugging each other like your lives depend on it.
He doesn’t need divinity he’s never had. No, not when he has you.
Asmodeus
“Oh, love...you...”
He could go back? He could go back and get his little sister back?
But if he did, then you’d-...you’d...
“I know how much you miss being the Jewel of the Heavens.” You say, sitting next to him. It’s supposed to be a quiet night, one where you both relax and take care of each other, but then this opportunity appeared and-
He...didn’t know what to do.
- No, that was a lie. He knew exactly what to do. There was only ever one option for him.
“I’m hurt.”
You look over at him, surprised. His voice is small and he’s pouting, but there’s a tremble in his bottom lip as his eyes shine with unshed tears.
“I’m hurt, you know!” He repeats, and by now you’re pretty sure your mouth hangs open. “I’m hurt that you’d think so low of me!”
You scramble to explain. “Asmo, that’s not-”
“But it is!” He cries, interrupting you. “It’s exactly that! Did you think I would actually take that chance?!”
Your eyes soften. You go to place a hand on his shoulder, only to still when he slaps it away. “...Asmo.”
He throws himself at you, wrapping his arms around your neck as he clings to you. You don’t have the heart to throw him off, wrapping your own arms around him.
“We’ve come all this way because of you.” He murmurs against you. “And you’re the only one who loves me for me. Although, my looks are definitely a strong point-”
You chuckle weakly, feeling your own tears start to fall. He smiles once he hears you, happy to know that he lifted your mood even if it was just by a little.
“-if I gave you up, these past years would have been for nothing. So, no; I won’t do it. Besides, have you seen the following I have down here? I’m on my way to becoming the Jewel of Devildom!”
You move one hand to rest on his head, a warm smile spreading across your face. You don’t notice how he looks at your expression with awe and adoration, giving his head a few pats.
“I know you can do it.”
Well. With you by his side, he can do anything.
Beelzebub
This isn’t happening. This- This can’t be happening.
Not again...not again...!
He grasps his chest and stumbles back from you, and he hears the way you call his name with worry in your voice. You sound far away, he thinks to himself. Are you already dead? Where is he? Did he fail again? Is this the Celestial War? Maybe that’s why he smells iron, hears screaming, hears himself screaming. It’ll explain the pain at least, and he would chuckle if he wasn’t too busy gasping for air.
Ah, his heart feels like it’s on fire it hurts so bad. Is it tearing itself in two? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do...he doesn’t know who to choose-
It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts. It hurts...!
“Beel, can you hear me? Take deep breaths. Okay? Please, breathe!”
- Huh?
He feels something on his face. What is that?
Oh, this warmth...It’s almost like-
Your name falls from his lips. You sigh in relief, sitting back.
“I’m glad you’re okay. How do you feel?”
How do you feel? You just said it was okay if he chose his angel status and Lilith over you, and you’re asking him how do you feel?
He lowers his hands, frowning at you. “...Why did you ask me?”
His voice is small. Fragile. Your heart breaks at the sound of it, tears building as you see his form shake.
“Why did you ask me, when the last time I did something I murdered my sister?”
You pat his arm, reaching a hand over to give him a side hug. “Remember what Lucifer said. She wasn’t murdered; she lived happily as a human, right up until she died of old age.”
All the more reason not to do it.
He sinks into your hold. You shoulder his weight with no complaints. “I can’t do it. You’re family; I-” he swallows past the lump in his throat, tears streaming down his face. “...I love you too much.”
Because he could care less about his angel status. Because Lilith already lived her life of peace. It still hurts, but you were the one to hold his hand when he had nightmares. You were the one who saw past his intimidating form and hung out with him.
You are important, and Beelzebub will take on the Celestial Realm himself if anything happened to you.
Belphegor
...He’s quiet.
Well, it’s to be expected. He hates humanity, and it’s his younger sister we’re talking about here, not to mention how close they were.
“So?” You ask as you lean back, the wall of the planetarium supporting your weight. “I don’t mind if you choose her and your status. It’s-”
“I could give a rat’s ass about my status as an angel.” He snaps. “Just shut up for a second and listen.”
You shut your mouth. What were you gonna say to that? An angry Belphie is not a Belphie to speak lightly with.
You jolt a bit as you feel hands lightly smack against your cheeks, smooshing your face. He tugs your head so that you’re staring at him, and it’s then that you notice how his eyes waver.
“I killed you,” he says, his brows furrowing, “I killed you. And yet you’d let me choose?”
You snort, raising a hand to cover his own. “Yep. Your move, Sleeping Beauty.”
He doesn’t understand. Why would you give him that power? He had robbed you from your family when he took your life. He temporarily washed out your future.
Did you really trust him that much...?
“It tore Beel and I apart when we learned she was dead. I-...I blamed myself.” He starts, and you don’t have the heart to stop him. Not when you already made peace with your end. “I started eating less, sleeping more. I despised Lucifer, and I despised all of humanity for taking my little sister away from me.”
You remained quiet. He lets out a frustrated huff, shaking you a bit.
“And then you came. You freed me from that place, you mended what was broken, and you-...you forgave me. And I will never betray that trust; not now, and not in the future.”
He bumps his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. You close yours as well, feeling the tears drip from your face and onto the floor. He’s...choosing you? Over everything he’s ever wanted?
What did you do to deserve someone like him in your life?
“So don’t you forget it, you idiot.”
2K notes · View notes
officiallallorona · 3 years
Note
I am intersted to know why your feelings about Wanda are complicated.
And what do you think about Vision?
I guess because I feel like the MCU can't decide if it wants to make her a heroic villain or a villainous hero so it keeps trying to have it both ways. And that mainly manifests into a lack of consequences for her actions or even feeling like she should have consequences. Like in Civil War, she has that line "I can't control their fear. Only my own" and it's supposed to be empowering and "yeah girl, kick his ass!" But like, no. You're an ex-Hydra volunteer with vast power who has cost people their lives. Even if unintentional, take some responsibility over that, hon. It's like when police officers get offended that BIPOC are afraid of them. It's like, consider WHY fam. Consider the history behind that and realize that you do have a responsibility to do your job right so that people aren't terrified you're a force for evil. Also, I'm not going to get into full Accords discourse but at the end of the day, I think of them as superhero gun control and the fact that so many of the Avengers said 'fuck the wishes of 117 countries that are wary of a largely American militarized force and thus want oversight' still doesn't sit well with me in general. I also don't like that her Hydra past was swept under the rug as "she's just a traumatized kid who lost her parents." You still don't join a Nazi organization! And the fact that she mentally violated all of the Avengers (particularly Tony and Bruce) and then was just accepted into their ranks like it was nbd? It's a bit much for me. Particularly since she never got held accountable for her role in creating Ultron (like the narrative said "oh but she lost her brother!" and decided that was enough).
You get hints of this in WandaVision too. Monica mournfully telling Wanda "[the townspeople] will never know what you gave up for them" and Wanda saying it won't change how they see her. It's this moment of "oh it's a shame that Wanda will never be understood" but again, Wanda is responsible for how she got perceived negatively. The idea that it's sad that this whole town of people she victimized (more mental violation, keeping them away from their loved ones, etc.) don't empathize with her loss is just...squicky to me. This Vox article explains that better than I can though.
But all that said, I couldn't help but root for her a lot of the time while watching the show. I finally found myself invested in her and Vision (whose dynamic was, prior to WandaVision, developed mostly off-screen therefore making it hard for me to care). Even as she was doing something so wrong, I got attached to this messy human making an even bigger mess of her grief (I mean, I'm a Tony Stark stan. I love mess). And her powers are so cool. I love witches forever, okay? I'm also still hoping her and Vis get to say "hello" again! I just really hated the spin the show made that her doing the right thing at the end was some big heroic sacrifice instead of just...her not going full villain to keep what she wants.
Also as for Vis himself...I can take or leave him if he's not with Wanda. I'll always have some fondness for him because he's JARVIS' legacy. But also I really miss JARVIS. And for a character that's so powerful, I think the MCU kind of wastes him a lil bit.
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strawberry-nugget · 3 years
Text
Stargazing [through the five stages of grief] | K. Bakugo
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★Pairing: Bakugo Katsuki/ reader
☆Synopsis: after Izukus sudden death you and Bakugo find comfort in each other
★Warnings:18+, minors do not interact, sexual themes(SMUT), aged up characters, grieving and coping mechanisms, depression as part of a stage of grief, language
☆A/N: I wrote this for @starstruckkittensweets​ 's  Summer Romance Collab collab I also cried multiple times while writing this for so many reasons. Dedicated to my friend @aichiin in hopes this is any comforting to her <3
★Word Count: 10.6K
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i. denial | 3.28 am Just when you think silence is going to engulf you in lethal restraints, he's got you. Held and embraced, away from all the evil in the world, pouring a fountain of tears in the burgundy of his tank top. The beauty of the seashore is unmatched at this time of the year -end of July- honey colored sand spreading to as far as your eye can see, lining the white foams of the water perfectly. It shines under the moonlight beautifully golden, as if Midas' touch has grazed each and every speck of sand; it's almost a pity to watch some weather away in the soft evening breeze. Not many stars are visible with how bright the moon is and you simply can't stop thinking about it, the numbness in your heart as you're trying to spot the only few constellations that you know, but even them seem unable to shine brighter than the light of the moon. But he- he shoots a hand to the sky with one eye closed as he mutters something under his breath. It makes your heart pause. You don't catch it though -whatever it is he said- ears deaf to the feeling of being pressed too tightly into his broad chest -to an asphyxiating point, even- but you catch your heart fluttering again for the first time in weeks. A good sign, you guess, the little excitement that you feel can overthrow the buzzing void in your heart, or your head. "That's the Hercules one right? You've been trying to find it for years huh?" You feel the humming in his own hollow chest more than you hear the soft muttering that leaves his lips. This heat he usually emits is probably gone by now, from how tight he's holding you and you're not entirely sure why he's putting on that show for you. The soft pretending of searching for the stars when he won't let your face turn to the direction of the sky, or why he just so effortlessly knows all the constellations you've been trying to find. Under any other case you'd call him a show off, a self contrasting asshole and his sloppy hold around your chin and neck proves that you've never been this close, as expected. He doesn't know what you like or how you'd rather be held, or even, how anyone would like to be held and you don't know anything about how to handle someone like him but social expectations don't matter when comfort is needed, or whatever Mina and Ochako said. The air smells like salt and seaweed, musty and a bit heavy, but refreshing at the same time. As refreshing as hot July air could ever be yet you still find the breeze chilly, so you coo into chest even more, throwing a leg over his thighs, and flexing your palm on his ribs. In response he soothes his hand down your shoulder, trying to create some much needed friction for you. "You can drop the act now" You mutter, rubbing your cheek comfortably onto the soft cotton of his tank top
"What act?" "Trying to comfort me, trying to use me to comfort yourself" There's hurt in the way you talk, and it jabs his heart peculiarly, making him push you off his chest just one but so he can meet your gaze. When he does, you realise you've never been met with such a serious look, and your mind vibrates in what your own confrontation towards him should be. "I mean, why be comforted? We're strong. We're heroes, we-" He shushes you, with a gaze and a snake-like lisp sound that rattles out of his teeth. "What's insufferable for me, I'm guessing, is even worse for you" He clears his throat just when his voice gets a bit raspy from laying on his back "and I'm a hero, it's what I should do. He would have wanted this as well you kno-" "He would have wanted you to be yourself not try to become him" You nuzzle your nose deeper into his chest, avoiding his eyes and the prying stars that decorate the sky above, feeling watched, betrayed by how they're able to shine so brightly despite the loss you're feeling. But then again, why wouldn't they shine? Isn't life just supposed to move on even after a loved one isn't with you anymore? Stars aren't supposed to go out, to become more or less as time goes by, they've seen distraction and glory and fall -it's only you who finds
it cruel that they can still shine in times like this. "He would have wanted me to be better. It pains me more than you to admit" Katsuki has never shown such an appreciating side of himself when it comes to your late friend. Or he has and you've just not been there to witness. Or, perhaps, you've chosen to turn a blind eye to anything that's ever brought them close because you weren't the most fond of him since childhood. Yet, a feeling inside your chest commands you to oppose him and his word. Even by the comfort of his own chest. There's no denying that you've wanted to hate the one who's nothing but comforting you, but you find yourself stuck between grief and a burning heart. It leaves you numb, maybe, to think that he so graciously holds you as if nothing else in the world matters. When this shouldn't be the case. "Why, why does this have to happen to us? We're supposed to save people, losing people is-" "The biggest part of the job" He finished your words for you, strobing that little rattle of reluctance he senses in your voice "We didn't-" "Sign up for this?" You nod at his inquiry "in a way I think we did. He always pushed himself and if you say you never saw it coming, you're lying" "I didn't" "There you go" "No, no" You shake your head "he was strong. This shouldn't have happened, it's unfair and it's-" "It fucking damn is unfair but there's no rematch for him. I wholeheartedly agree, it shouldn't have been like this. We shouldn't be here, days after his damn birthday, hollow and mourning. He should have been here, we should be celebrating" He's not going to call him an idiot. Not anymore. Not even because he's hurt you or anyone as a matter of fact, but because he's come to respect his dead, he's come to lose the attitude when it comes to seeking help, or giving it. It's something Izuku has taught him, a strong moral that no longer rests in the back of his head as a possible value to characterise a hero. It's rather a reality, such a strong wave of consciousness and coinsense that washes through his body all the time. You think, qualities of Izuku, wash through your soul in waves too. "But suggestion is oceans away from reality" Katsuki whispers and just then, the tender touch of his fingers lingers in between your locks. Only for a split second, and for the sole reason of flicking some hair on top of your ear, to shield it from the chill of the air. You're not certain if you act on your grief's accord or not when you grab onto his wrist to prolong the soft petting of his hand on your head. But he complies with you wordlessly, sighing out a heavy bubble of air off his lungs. "That's not the hercules one" You whisper "Huh?" "The constellation" It's oddly satisfying how you coo deeper into his chest, even if you can't see him pop one eye open to peak at the sky "that's Ursa Major" "Like fuck it is Ursa Major" "Katsuki, is this your first time stargazing?" You ask quietly and he wraps a hand around your waist to drag you a little closer towards his chin. When he does, he rests his chin onto your hairline. "I can't believe I opened a goddamn map for this and couldn't even distinguish the hercules one from the Big Dipper" You hammer out a little giggle. It sounds mechanical but still, he mimics you, and you can not only feel the vibrations in his chest, but the movements of his chin too, as he mellowy rubs his soft skin on your hair, soothing his lips on your head from time to time. The breaths he lets out of his nose are silent, yet you feel them calming you down, so warm and so calming against you. "The Hercules is a big constellation but it's not bright at all, you have to catch it on a moonless night and it's usually gone too early" Katsuki sighs. The process of taking in your words in analogy with late Izuku is too strong and it's too early for him to touch a subject that even so reminds him of the situation. It's more than enough that you two got to talk about it tonight, or rather, about your feelings, but at one point the line is drawn on what's harmful to his soul. A sole mention of the condition of a constellation should be making his stomach churn, and it definitely shouldn't make him hug you tighter into him. For one, the phenomenon of the constellation's nature has been around for longer than he has been who he is, and will still be when he's not. This small coincidence, even if it rubs salt to the wound, is not the fault of a small mass of stars gathered together to form something human eyes can recognize as a kneeling figure. Izuku's life is probably just a parallel to the greek myth of hercules, or so, he likes to glorify, but when it comes to him, there's noass of stars for anyone to remember him by.
Izuku falls and dies so long as the memories of his friends live, finding shelter behind a myth, a legend, a course change in the history of humankind that lead to this specific moment. Him, mourning with you, on the beach that Izuku cleaned years ago, feeling his heart ache in sync with yours. And maybe, maybe if- "If I close my eyes and fall asleep, will I wake up and realise that this is all a bad dream?" You ask as if you don't know what the answer is going to be and he tries to not indulge in feeding you a void of hopes just to make you feel a bit more sure of your future, or try to convince himself he'll have a good one too. He wants to reply positively, just as much as he wants to wake up too in a reality where Izuku is still alive, and he's got to say everything he's ever wanted. He knows, some nights he'll find himself thinking he would like to go back and change the course of his own history, whatsoever, to never hurt Izuku for naturally having qualities he had to work for, or change the fact that he's been harsh and cruel. The 'why us' inquiry that arises in his chest as he's stroking the slightly greasy hair on your scalp is what's left to bounce in his head for now, eating away every curly corner of his brain, turning any other thought into a wasteland, yet, still his answer to you is what he would rather not hear, bathed in a cruel nature he's tried so hard to lose from his persona. "I wish it were just one bad dream" There's so many questions in his head; are you asleep? Or will he hurt you by trying to force himself into accepting Izuku's death? Are you prone to being hurt and pricked by how raspy and serious his voice sounds? Because you don't make a noise, nor a sniffle, and your hand isn't tightening around the collar of his shirt anymore. He wishes too, it's all a bad dream. For the lover that you lost, and for the person he's known better than anyone, the person that knew him better than anyone. But it's not. And the mellow sound of waves crashing on the shore bears a tune to convince him to forget, but the water won't reflect the stars he can see with his bare eyes. Thus he's asleep before the lurking darkness in sound and sight gets him too. Just for a while, just until it's his own turn to face oblivion. A small part of his brain, though, convinces him he'd face any oblivion so long as he gets to fall asleep in your arms like that, over the soft, warm sand, on a chilly July night. 
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ii. anger | 9.47 pm If you could only know the reason you're yelling, tears wouldn't be spilling from the corners of your eyes, down your cheeks just to drown on your overly stretched mouth, wetting the lips that are stinging in splits and bruises of dehydration. He's not one to back down while facing the disdain of his own feelings. When that disdain should be directed on how petty the cause for your irritation is, you're both focused on the snap of nerves inside each of your heads, chests heaving as you're staring at each other dead in the eye; you, from the cold seat of your couch, Katsuki, from the numbing howling that seeps through the cracks of your front door. The bags in his hands are heavy with groceries and the weight of this peculiar, unspoken agreement to settle together. It's hidden in the affection behind every piece of vegetable and fruit in the tote bags. Even if the night is young, he's got a look in his eyes that mutters how
willing he actually is to grab a pot and a spoon and cook for the two of you. But you know- he shouldn't put pressure on himself after a late patrol for a chore you were supposed to fulfill. If only he wasn't on your ass about ordering take out. "You can't fucking order again." He speaks, grunting more so than accentuating the words as he probably should. But he's irritated you, so much that you've spent the last ten minutes yelling at each other while standing frozen in your places. Probably, a neighbor has heard and your mere response to the alarming social anxiety that arises from that fact is apathy. You're already directing a big amount of angry spouting at the blond, there's no such room to experience other feelings right now. "Fucking hell, Katsuki just stop! I don't fucking care if you think ordering isn't fucking good. I can't cook right now. I won't cook" You say in a higher pitch "and you won't cook either" When he opens his mouth to speak, you roll your eyes, away from him -you just know what he's going to say- though you instantly regret it. The sight of him frozen, with bags in his hands before your door is upsetting, and begs to stir up your mind in horrid imaginations of him throwing a tantrum at you and leaving you, of him never opening up his door to you ever again. Maybe, just maybe you should have thought this through better before yelling at him. "Fuck you" He says through greeted teeth and scrunched up nose huffs "fuck fuck fuck fuuuuck" He's not a punching bag, he's the only person who's here for you and your heart won't forgive you if you lose him. Your head turns or snaps to his direction, eyes too gooey to meet his gaze properly, but you still do look at him so desperately, you're sure your heart makes a ripping sound at its very seams. And that firm dedication of his to closing himself off is evident again; in that wet anger in the corner of his eyes, seeping like magma just at the tips but never falling down on his cheeks. In his pursed lower lip -and oh, will it be so infuriating to think, you don't wanna fight, you just want him to press those lips against your forehead and forget those arguments that always arise? As he's headed for the kitchen, step after step and upper lip overlapping the bottom one to hide his irritation, his eyes are averted from you and you chase after him with counted movements; a little limp to your left leg by sitting on it for a long time bubbling up inside your bones. Unwillingly, non-eagerly. Regret and remorse for yourself are feelings that rush through you, making your tongue run faster than your mouth, making your head dizzy with guilt and drowning you of a trillion of things you want to say to him. "Katsuki" You plead with half a breath, eyebrows forming an impossible frown above your eyes "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have yelled, i-" "Fucking save it. Order if you want, I don't care" "Katsuki-" He huffs air too harshly out of his scrunched up nostrils again and shuts his eyes closed, hands resting over the groceries as he's leaning over the kitchen table. Not once in the minute he's taking from himself does he spare you a glance, but you can rather listen to him mutter a soft 'be patient' under his own breath. To himself, you realise, but your heart's too heavy as you anxiously suck your upper lip inside your mouth, wondering -will an apology fix this? It may irritate him even more, and taking the risk is probably not worthy of him getting riled up, but you go for it nonetheless, hidden away behind the stall that separates the kitchen from the living room. Your little hiding spot for the moment, a place where you can safely hide behind as you choke on your own spit, trembling at the thought of any possible outcome of your next choice of words. "I'm sorry, I'm just, I'm snappy lately" He won't respond and you notice how he's counting his breathing with eyes still shut, though, ever so slightly; that's your sign to step back, give him space and time as you make your first step to the living room. Though small glimmers of regret
springle inside your heart, landing in small needle-like jabs on every stretchy wall of the overly sensitive organ, your brain begs to be the voice of common sense, just to push you to just give him space. But what if he doesn't want space. What if he wants to be held? Like you do. What if he doesn't want to fight? "I'm sorry" You mutter under your breath, again Your step is almost crippled as you try to approach him, lost and scared at the sight of him still struggling to compose himself still. The guilt in your gut is immense and spreading like a wildfire on rotten land, but you feel like, perhaps, you -and him consequently- soothe down when your hand touches his shoulder, or, when your forehead rests easy on the crook of his neck, just after you out your weight on your toes, You can't help but repeat your previous statement. "I'm sorry, talk to me, tell me if you're good or not" He grunts, letting out a short breath in the form of a sigh. 'I'm not', you translate and your chest tightens Your right hand comes to curl around his chest over his shoulder, your left, mechanically even, cripples around his waist enough so you can press his back into your chest. "Fuck i-" You don't make a move to shush him "I feel so bad, I just. What would he have to say about me if I left his girlfriend on her own, to eat crap everyday. That's not healthy for you. I shouldn't be fucking yelling. I shouldn't-" He's so out of breath, that you consider punching some air into his lungs, with the softest CPR to have ever been performed, but the thought leaves your head immediately, your heart drowning your stomach in guilt at the imagery of your lips on his. The snap to reality after that little moment is so intense, you don't know how you handle yourself and your heart. "I shouldn't be yelling" In all your years, you've never heard him be so sincere while being so furious. When it's true that he's nothing of getting into drama or anything of sort, Katsuki is always too prideful to admit when he's made a mistake. You figure, it's unfair to still judge him as if he's his UA self, or his middle school self even. He's a different person now, having lived through so many events that could crush even the most strong willed person -and that's what he gets from admiring All Might, you think- and all he's ever done is try to be here for you. Understanding each other in such difficult times is mandatory and compromise is a foundation that you both need to work on. You find yourself opening your mouth and shutting it again for several seconds as you're trying to voice it. The dry, chapped feeling of your lips colliding makes you want to shut your eyes and wordlessly communicate your thoughts to him, but it's impossible. For your quirk isn't transmitting your thoughts to others, nor is it keeping track of one's thoughts. Everything you do to comfort him, has to be done by yourself, strictly. "Katsuki, I don't want you to-" You nuzzle your face into his back in hopes that perhaps, it muffles the intensity of your speech "I don't want you to overwork yourself for me. Izuku-" His name is whispered like words of sin or ruthless statements of atrocities, when it shouldn't "-wouldn't let me do that to you." He doesn't talk, or sigh, or even place his hand on yours and a whole minute passes like that. Or two, or three, or an eternity. The clock is ticking so loud that it's unbearable, his heartbeat muffling your ears while his scent is musking your nose. It's a funny thing, that perhaps, everything feels so warm, so comforting like this, you'd like to keep hugging him, if he allows you too. For as long as this minute's eternity can last. "Don't leave me cause I'm angry and snappy" It's so barely audible that you think he's only trying to calm himself down again, but it strikes you like a swift slash of a sword to your chest to realize the weight of his words. You thought you were the only one feeling this way. 'Don't leave me'. As if- as if it's an option that's hunting the depths of his chest, or perhaps as if your situation isn't a granted part in your lives for a little over a month. You're not one to inquire of a person in panic why they said what they said or if there's a cryptic meaning behind his very words. Because, frankly, there isn't. He's pretty clear, even while being tenderly desperate about it. And oh, you feel your heart pull and pinch at the thought of it.
"I'm not leaving" "Good" When he turns to face you, he's gripping onto your palms like it's painted out to be for dear life, a plea to not let him go as he turns his body around; you feel as if he needs you, as if, you're necessary to comfort him as well. You're too far gone in the joy that gathers in your stomach to hear him utter the words "I'm not leaving either" but you find some meaning of this statement in his embrace, when he shoves you into his chest. There's a little awkward cripple to your gaze that causes you to steal a stare outside the window or, perhaps, it's something bigger, or even the drive in your heart to hope for something more as an outcome for this. In the worst case scenario, you're pleading for forgiveness, if, by any chance, Izuku is still out there and can witness this little happening. That's when you find it, and truly, you have to catch a second glance at it to feel certain about what you just saw. Subtle little shimmers of stars, painting a large part of the sky, patiently awaiting to be noticed, in agony and tiredness that only a hero could recognize. And if you're a hero, you can feel it too, the kneeling of the legs, the flexing of the arms -it's all there- drawn by little stars of other galaxies in front of your very eyes, after searching for them for years. That's perhaps what people mean when they say, happiness is found in small things. Katsuki's arms around you, his faint breathing grazing the skin of your nape tenderly as he's calming himself down is more than enough, but the sky tonight has managed to make a compromise for the two of you, shining the diamond colors of the hercules constellation to the two of you. It's a blink and you'll miss it, no reason to break away from his arms, so you coo into his mellowy neck, speaking against his skin. "I found it, the hercules constellation" "What? Where" He's not shook at all as he speaks, and it doesn't surprise you either; there's this dazzling tranquility in the air, so much for getting you to calm down after such rage, but you'll take it over anything else, anytime. When Katsuki seems to detach his resting lips from the crook of your neck, he lays the side of his face on the very spot, inquiring again about the location of the constellation. You're more than happy to provide him with an answer. He drags you to the balcony with slow steps, a million steps away from the lights of your apartment as it seems before snapping his head towards the sky, squinting his eyes to comb through any star he could probably set his gaze on. You help him find it, not because it's before his very eyes, but because something inside you is flickering to rush you. Hurry it up. Look at the pretty stars and embrace him again, because it feels good, and you don't mind that you get mad at yourself for thinking this way. You don't even want to question your morals as thoughts of holding his hand pass through your head. Maybe a finger or two tangled in his like messy strands of hair, too hard to detangle- maybe that'd be comforting. Perfect even. Despite your best efforts to tickle his pointer finger with yours shyly, you come to realise he won't respond -you better behave, or, you should have know, but the insecurities that make you question everything are as evident as they'll ever be- you wonder if you've made him uncomfortable. But he's wrapping an arm around your shoulders, by grabbing that hand you're using to guide his gaze across the constellation and this time you can't help, but tangle all of your fingers through his, like a hair clam, fitting so perfectly, your heart cracks even more than last time. "I can pop some rice in the rice cooker and you can buy some Teriyaki" He sighs, though not once does he pry his eyes away from the stars
And that's where you feel a weight lifting off your shoulders, only to drop to your stomach; it's not a half hearted compromise, rather, it's sincere, something so eerie and far away from the usual 'take it or leave it' Katsuki Bakugo, but… you'll take it. With a broken smile and a coo into his shoulder. You turn to look at the stars as well, and Katsuki cracks a small smile now that you can't see it, because compromising actually feels good, relieving or whatever. He doesn't want to think about whether, in any sense, he's on your mind or not, he'd rather show you a piece of his own mind, a crack opening to see inside his heart -it's almost too painful that he has to be the one to calm things down. He's never been one to do so, but standing on his feet right now is mandatory. For you, him, whatever the two of you have got going on, because if not, coping won't be effective. He likes to think, you have each other in this, and that's enough for him. To keep things peaceful he has to take an occasional step back, and if that's the price to pay, he guesses he will. Izuku may be gone, he may have turned the two of you into what seems an unfixable broken mess, but at least he's left you with each other. Perhaps, he'll once appear again, in the form of new love, or a smile on your face at the sight of an old childhood photo, and things will be fine again. If only he could have been kinder, or better, or not as competitive, he wouldn't be sorry or trying to fix his own self. For now though rice and teriyaki ought to be the only problems he wants to face.
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iii. bargaining | 7.30pm "What if I could have prevented this?" His voice is anything but loud, his chest too hollow, bouncing the voice of his concern around the broadness of his muscles, just to graze into your ears in soft vibrations. The statement alone makes you perk up and swoon your face away from him, hands laid flat and firm against his petrocals as you're finally fixing him with a gaze. Saturdays always bite his ass and Sundays are ever so depressing. This weekend is no less easy for the two of you. Katsuki's barely able to slur words without hissing or cursing, seeing as his jaw is bandaged up by being sliced by a villain at work today, and you've both decided that it's best if he gets to have an early night. "You'll be fine by next week, I'll help you change your bandages" He shakes his head before he buries his face behind his palms, as if trying to hide his emotions from you; you give him the right, with a worried face to match the situation "Not that, shit- no 'm taking 'bout Izuku" Oh You can't really place yourself into why but you've been having the same thoughts as of late. It's only natural, you dare say, to convince yourself not to be persistent on guilt tripping that little mellow voice in your head that tried to tell you that everything's going to be fine in the end, but it's in vain- for every time this happens you have to find a new way to occupy yourself to shove the destructive thoughts away. It's probably not right in any sense, to prompt Katsuki to ignore the problem as well, but the thudding of your heart -always matched perfectly by the raindrops that hit on the roof of the house hard enough to make you feel oh so concerned- commands you to find a new coping mechanism to add to your little pile. "I- I just-" A look in his eyes and you're lost in a trance of whether you're going to break his heart by momentarily avoiding talking. It is more than enough to convince you to voice something, anything, but every word that sparks at the back of your brain is washed by astounding waves of anxiety that have your tongue swim in the sea of your mouth. You don't come up with anything to say for as long as a moment lasts. "It's like- I should have been there! I turned down that fucking call because I was sure he could do this on his own" "Katsu" "He fucking- I fucking- I-" "Hey, stop it-" You plea "It doesn't make it any different, I know that but-" He snaps
quicker than you can imagine, prospering away from another call of his name that slips from your lips. Irises turn away from you in wrinkly eyes, furrowed brows and pursed lips. His heart is palpitating so fast, his eyes flicker in what you can read is pain, maybe, you could take some blame to yourself. Not that you have any right trace if thought to come up with comfort, or rather, not like you have it in you to let Katsuki assign this all on himself. "I could-" You start, yet your mouth is dry "I could have been there as well-" It's such an awkward miniscule moment that you share but it's enough to make your heart feel like it's breaking in regret. You're only left to wonder if your friends are feeling that way too, about Izuku's call for reinforcements that Katsuki turned down, that none of them tended to on time. "Don't put this on you" Your stomach, unable to cooperate with any plea of yours to not drown in anxiety, stirs its contents to it's desire, making you sit up; Katsuki's embrace is too void for you right now, your chest is way too hollow for you to not feel alienated. It's in moments like these that you know trying to handle yourself or your life with each other is probably a mistake, a false emotional dependency that should not exist otherwise, and you always hope he gets to prove those intrusive thoughts of yours otherwise. You're taken aback when warm hands find their way around you; it's unexpected and you flinch, but you're soothed the moment your brain processes who it is that's hugging you, bringing you back to reality and breaking your short lived dissociation. He presses his ear onto the crook of your neck, this time, not hissing at the way his wounds ache as his skin tubs on yours. He notices that certain way your breathing's working and he sighs in relief, or sorrow, for he's too scared to ever speak of what's hiding in his chest, or what's adding to him feeling so twisted and evil. "Wanna go for a ride?" He says, unexpectedly, surprising even himself by how absurd it sounds "Where to?" "Niko" He purrs and you let out a giggle "That's too far silly" "I 'on know, heard it's pretty this time of the year" You finally turn around to him, only slightly so as to not disturb his embrace and ruffle a hand through his hair, and pause just before your lips find his forehead. Somewhere deep inside of you it hurts for this to feel so casual, a loving interaction with Katsuki of all people. It feels like some sick trick of betrayal but your eyes are burning onto his skin while your world moves in slow motion. A hand on his cheek isn't as harmful as the addition of another one, yet you still go for that choice, dry lips inevitably set onto pale pink skin, pressing a soft kiss of comfort. "We could go at that spot, near UA, we used to go there a lot when we were high schoolers" Katsuki's words are calm and collected, hidden between gritted teeth so he can appear like his chest is fuller than yours, but what you don't know is that his heart is trying to beat out of his chest, like it's the most secretive, harsh prison. He briefly wonders if by knowing so, you'll hurt as much as him. But your kiss on his forehead, the warm place in which he rests face against your chest it all points to you feeling the same- it's there and he can read every single sign, whether he wants to deny them or not. "Should I get dressed?" A grunt this prolonged means yes. And truth be told the set and scenery of this small driving outlet is almost idyllic; a silent car ride, tainted faces and the gloomy watery corners of one's eyes to match the pouring rain, the slow, mellow music matching in beats with the squeaky wipers. What a perfect, diligent harmony you've got. It feels like a cut to another scene in a slow paced movie. The time is still stuck at 8.15, signifying how it wasn't long ago that you were starting to drown in a pool of bargaining -and voicing it out loud- and a part of you is still sad for thinking that maybe, for Katsuki, you're a coping mechanism. A full rembrandt of what's left of
Izuku's that he doesn't want to give up. You keep wondering if that would be the case had he still been alive. Would he ever have such an attitude stored inside of him for you had you not been dating Izuku on what now counts as ancient history? He parks his car on a narrow little road that splits the woods in half and turns the engine off. Seeing that it's November already, you think about how this is a bad idea, you know how cold he gets, and he's not wearing any jacket but you keep it to yourself. Perhaps, had Izuku been here, he would have brought an extra jacket too. For now, it's foggy windows and died down warm breaths. Thus, with a quivering lip you settle lower into your seat and sigh. "I- I know you like stargazing" He coughs, vermillion eyes pacing back and forth between you and the rain that's clashing on the car's glass "and I got an app and a window on the roof of my car" "But it's raining" "Who caaaares!" He grunts when you pout and turns away from you, something that makes your stomach coil abrasively. You want him to look at you, you want him to- As ridiculous and bitter as it sounds, you're tired of asking yourself if any of this would be happening were Izuku still here. Because he's got a stupid little fucking app on his phone for you. Because you're dying to press your lips onto his skin again. Half an hour ago feels like an eternity has passed already. He cares about you enough to open the app -and switch the location of his phone on- and that's more than enough actually. You glue your eyes to the bright screen and follow it as it pops us with a dark window, asking for confirmation that it's authorized to use the camera of Katsuki's phone. A part of you sinks in the silent death of love at the thought that, yes, he downloaded this just for you. Joy in little things, you figure, is what keeps you grounded, it's what ultimately pushes you to rest your head on his shoulder as he lifts his phone up, facing it on the small opening on the roof of his car. "Can't see past all this water, dammit" "So?" You coo, and the previous small irritation in his voice dies down with a grunt that comes from the depths of his chest. "The app's fine. Feels just like stargazing." You've never done anything similar with Izuku. And there's not even a spec of comparison clouding over your head, despite the guilt that settles in your stomach once again. Looking up to Katsuki, you can see his jaw tensing in the slightest, most probably in pain -you wonder, does his wound still ooze- and you can't help but feel like your eyes are stinging. You sniffle nonetheless. And Katsuki retreats his shoulder, letting your head hang without support as he turns to you. "Maybe, even if we can't see them, they're still there and-" You purse your lips to the side of your cheek, thinking of a reply, anything to say to make his words seem like they've come out of his mouth. "You've turned into quite the poet lately, haven't you?" Your answer should be that no, he hasn't, he's just hurt and confused, numb and afraid, but in turn you're all those things as well, or so he speculates by looking in your eyes. Because he can read people, he can read you, and as much as this has been established, he can't find it in him to speak a word on it. Then again, what's the point in holding anything in if you're going to die one day? The life of a hero is expendable, he's got his rise and fall as number one set in stone, so why should he hold back? He can't bring Izuku back even if he wants to, and he can't possibly stop himself from feeling for you. He remembers finding salvation in holding Izuku down and apologizing. He now finds humility in words that are spoken from his mouth that slip past his consciousness. "I love you- Don't care if it's fucking raining or not- Fuck" There's no time for you to think of a response before he throws a fit; his phone is slammed on the backseat, rocketing to the floor, and the click of his door is heard before he steps out of the car and slams it shut. He's lucky- the rain covers most
of the scream that he let's out and fills the buzzing void in your chest, your head. He said the words first, and your head is pulling you instinctively to your right, just where he was a few moments ago, you want to see if he's facing you, you long to feel your eyes meet his. You manage to collect the only ever courage you have left and push the thought of Izuku away from your mind, click your door open and shoot out of the car. Just like him. Like you're his echo. "Don't say a fucking word" He dismisses your open mouth, as if he can hear your breath clearer than this deafening rain, but you're not having it. "But i- i" "Shut up, as if you know-" "But I feel the same way" You whisper "What" He yells, and you scream at him to get back in the car, so you can talk, clearer. Though when he does, he's burning his eyes on your lips, then your eyes, then he never makes any move towards you, as if everyone and anything is on you. But none of you takes the bigger leap towards each -justified, because there's trembling in your movements and hesitation in your heads. And then your lips meet his. Tenderly, painfully, religiously Your first kiss is cursed by numbing ache, but it feels so right, like the warmest summer evening, or the most hazing bonfire during a cold winter night. Regret can't eat you alive for that one. And Katsuki, even with his lips still pressed against yours knows he will think about this kiss as a sin and a betrayal for far too long, he knows it'll torment him through the darkness of whatever tonight could mean. If only he gets through this night, he'll be fine Tomorrow you'll wake him up with a soft "how'd you sleep'' again and he'll be fine. The void and guilt inside his chest will get filled up with the warmness of being embraced first thing in the morning. Perhaps in time he'll convince himself that Izuku would never mind what's going on between the two of you, if you're meant to be endgame.
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iv. depression | 12.07 am
Soft bubbles that smell like carnation and the auburn flicker of the fire that shines on top of a plethora of candles set the atmosphere for this evening. The lack of bright light -being that the whole city has been in a black out for several hours- is gentle to yours and Katsuki's eyes. What should have been matched with some of the artificial warmth the heater next to the bathtub, that should be providing for the two of you. Instead, it's him that keeps the temperature high.
Your muscles hurt and his wounds ache, as always, after a tiring day of hero work. You guess that's your daily nature; after hours and hours of overworking your body and soul, two people like you only get to spend the little time they have together like this. Late at night, curled up against each other, borderline sleeping in a bathtub. You're sure the water has a pinkish red tint to it -somewhere, a wound of his or yours is bleeding more that you'd like to believe is natural.
Katsuki is unbothered to check who's wounds are worse.
For the first time in a while, his mouth isn't dry, or chapped, a killer to his heart, for he can't find the right choice of words to spell to you. He should be fine with having you curled up against his chest, but somewhere along the way he finds it hard to experience the warmth he's trying to emit. And he thinks he finds your response to this unspoken mind trick when he cups your hands with his, checking at your fingers. Not a single prune or puckered line to clasp a non indifferent reaction from the back of his brain.
He's content with the way time seems to have stopped, trapping you in a moment filled with cold granite tiles and blood spoiled water that smells like lavender. In a movement he abandons your hands, watching them float over his. You hum -it's warm and welcoming, as if you're saying you're content too- and rest the back of your head to the crook of his neck.
His only reply is to nuzzle his nose into your neck as well. Placing a tiny kiss to the skin against his lips, tangling his fingers through your wet hair.
Small reassuring acts of
love with nothing special into them help you relax completely into him. "Kinda nice that you can see the stars so bright tonight" If you're looking for a cynical answer, then Katsuki's ever your man. "Of course they'd show when it's pitch black outside. What'd ya expect?" With your eyes glued to the glass ceiling for a long while you wonder, what did you expect really? Words that spiral in your brain are always spoken, leaving you numb and inquiring, searching for an answer in the deepest curves of your brain. When burning your eyes into his will never work, he decides to let his gaze melt holes in the vast of his bathroom windows. The beauty of minimalism leaves him cold and lonely, as if there's facelessness in the black veil of the sky that mimics the inside of his home. He curls into you by pressing you against his chest tighter. You never ask him why his bathroom is built the way it is -with that little corner window in the ceiling, neither does he know what he'd answer to you were you ever in a position to. He doesn't know how to apologize for being who he is, or his that window makes him feel like he used to be assured and secured on what was assigned to him by birth. (His parents’ money, a strong quirk.) He doesn't know how to apologize for still living in traits of his life that could make you feel like he's been everything but fair to Izuku. And all you probably think about, he convinces himself is that It'd be ironic to say that you mind having a view of the stars while having a midnight bath. It's a full moon tonight too -the glowing sky orb floating just above the furthest line of the horizon, illuminating the sky. And you, with your eyes shut by now and facing the glass ceiling, seem like you feel the weight of the moon pulling you in. What Katsuki knows for sure is that you have a terrible migraine that has you frowning horrendously. It's because of the fool moon, you'll say when the blond asks you why you're suffering, it always gives you migraines and he'll sit by you as you're making him his bath, holding your hand while he asks you to join him. He's nothing but a lover of roughness and void, he doesn't know how you're still with him, or how you ever fell for him. He feels slow, like a worn out tire, washed to a shore by the sea. But his hands, calloused and sculpted harshly even only by the -not so many- years of being a pro, aid to your comfort, not in his need to be a hero -more like, in his need to be human, or not feel inadequate, to not feel like his life is a pit of guilt because Izukus is over. And it has been for a long time. And his, is taking turns so abruptly that his gut churns and pleads. Two bulky thumbs run over your eyebrows, smoothing the short coarse hair and soothing the bone, swooning the sore pain away; it feels like custom made heaven, sweet and fluffy, and the water in the bathtub won't get cold, nor will his hands. You're so relaxed into him, bones turned into jelly and skin tingling at his touch. Every circle he's rubbing on your forehead is releasing tension you didn't know you had piled up. The soft splashes of water are merely inaudible when compared to his heartbeat, but you can't feel it. Not yet. It's not tense enough for him to feel like his heart is beating out of his chest. "You any better?" Cold. Brutal. Almost as if his hands belong to someone else, but that's Katsuki for you, or anyone else as a matter. You turn your head to him, wearing a tiny, worn out smile as you lean you mean into him, clashing your lips over his, bumping your nose to his cupid's bow when you're done. Katsuki, you're sure, closes his eyes in a feeling that doesn't seem pleasant and you do the most expected thing -retreat. It hurts; watching you slip away, turn your head to face the stars outside of his window, wiggle your body away from his, to collect your knees and press them against your chest. It's devastating how a small denial to a kiss can harm you in such a way. It's either his fault, or yours. Because somewhere deep inside his head he's convinced
himself he's a rebound. Someone you'll get over when you start getting better. And he's probably convinced himselfhes viewing you in this way, somehow. "You could have at least kissed me back" You whisper, shivering. The water is cold, finally, it was so nice while the warmth washed over your skin. Almost like a lie. "I-" He huffs, buries his head into his wet palms. He can't speak, for if he does, the crack in his voice, the high pitch of it, will snitch on his torment. He tries to shove it away, when he shoots his hands to your direction, trying to pull you into him again. When it doesn't work, you swear you see the corners of his eyes sparkle just a tad. It's alienating, when you've seen him cry and have numerous break downs, more times than you've seen him smile or laugh, you feel like you're foreign to the slight emotion that gathers in his eyes, now forming a pit, never spilling down the harsh lines of his cheeks. The moment a salty streak appears on his skin, you can help but wonder, what would happen if only you could stop your own tears from falling. You can't ask him to talk to you, it's more than obvious. You're deprived of any logical sentence forming mechanism in your brain, knees like jelly, arms heavy as two whole buildings in the verge of collapsing. One word of his and your heart will unleash all the ache that gathers slowly in your throat. "'M not just here cause Izuku died" There you go, not once, but seven times, feeling your heart pierce holes in your body, hanging from his every word, cursing yourself when you grasp his meaning. Wild and unleashed and raw, a plea, an inquiry. A way of masking his insecurity and it's your fault he's feeling this way. "You're not," You start, lost and perplexed "I love y-" But it does down faster than you would have wanted it. You turn your head away from him for a second. With the moon so high, and the city lights non existent, you can distinguish the Taurus constellation, just below the moon, and so very faint. Your throat is tight, your neck is sore, your voice won't come out -you wonder why astrology is right about Taurus controlling the throat- and you don't know how to make him feel good about himself. If only you can show him the constellation he'll be fine, right? Do zodiac constellations make him as excited as they make you? Or is that just a role he's taken upon himself to stick with you? His lips clash with yours, water splashing around you as he shifts, and he hugs you close to him. It's your cue, to close your eyes and move your lips in sync. Its a sullen form of desire, that dangerous one, where you get his lips to bleed from how hard you bite down onto his lip and twist and pull and clash him into you again because you can't get enough. You tell yourselves you have to live for this present, even if the past makes it unbearable. Just when your hearts feel like they'll jump out of your chests and dissolve into the lavender smelling bubbles, this time painting the water in a deep carmine, you clash your chest to his and he feels as if, he's wanted, here and now, even if the feeling won't last for long. And then it's hands that roam bruised skin, fingers than dig into softness or thick muscle, fingernails that dig into scalps painfully, until they draw blood as your teeth clash. It's passion, and only in the way your hips ghost over his, swaying in the water, as he's grunting "see, am kissing you back" and "We'll never be clean at this rate" "I'll massage your head when we're done" You breathe, pulling back for a second, as he sucks a spot on your neck, handling your back just to press your chest to his face. "Fuck, I love yo-" You shush him with your mouth on his, forehead sticking to his when a slit on your nose gets smashed when it scrunches against his cheek. He doesn't have to say it, you don't have to hurt him like this. It almost doesn't matter -the cold- when he pulls you to the edge of the bathtub and buries himself into you, you simply shiver by the way his thumb rubs your clit, thrusting your hips in rhythm to
meet his. And he bites on to your collar bones, eyes teary and heart heavy after he lets you set the pace, occasionally thrashing into your touch, his gut churning more and more as you go. It's only when he takes matters into his own hands -lifting you and pressing your back again the wall, putting out some candles I'm the process- hand on your face to shove some hair away, and legs wrapped securely around him that you both find release. Screaming in agony, crying in what could be mistaken for pain, sticking your foreheads together as your breaths tingle into one hot huff of air that travels up and way from you. You lock eyes with him, just before he lets his body collapse into the water, limbs numb and sore. "Please don't leave too." You whisper, sinking down just behind him, fetching for the shampoo bottle from behind you. He doesn't respond. Instead, he mimics you and rests his head on the crook of your neck, eyeing you backwards, pressing his lips into an upwards line. You're not sure you'll be able to get over this void soon, and you can't help but plead. Later, as you're washing through his hair, you show him the Taurus constellation and his eyes beam like a child's when he says "hey I'm a Taurus" all while tending trying to tend for the bite that he left on your shoulder. He doesn't ask to find the cancer constellation. You don't remember where to find it. The moon is too bright for you to even try.
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v. acceptance | 6.59 am
The last rembrand of a star shines in a portrait of purples and oranges. The beautiful afterglow of the previous night, the first ray of sun washes its shine away, almost entirely, before a second can come. To paint the sky in blues, sprinkle the marine shade as to spoil the darkness' leftovers.
The night star, or morning star, tolerates a third, then forth ray of sunlight, and your watery eyes flicker at the scene, your head curling deeper into Katsuki's chest, humming as his hand wraps tighter around you, rubbing frantically over your skin to create some friction. It's only then that you're reminded how beautiful warmth is.
Your ear is cold -after Katsuki's doing while playing with the roots of your hair- and you tuck it under a few strands, instantly noticing the difference in temperature. Katsuki is cold as well, shivering slightly even with the blanket that's wrapped around the two of you. You can't help but wish that you were in bed, curled in a blanket cocoon, sleeping in the most sappy, eerie way.
But spending the night at the beach in early September night's has been a favorite activity of yours for the past few years. Long gone are the July nights spent in agony at the beach in Musutafu, nights that have allowed you to know Katsuki like the back of your hand. You can't take them back, replace them with memories of a happier process of getting to know him. You're not sure he wants to do that too.
He yawns slightly, squishing your head under his elbow to rub his tired eyes, breaking the loudsy inhale to chuckle at your pretend squirming. Avoiding your hair as to not hurt you while scratching the stubble hair on his cheeks -flinching slightly at it- before he moves your hair away from your ear, laughing trumphically at his doing.
"Nooo, I'm cold"
He chuckles again, running the tips of his fingers through your hair and tapping his palm over your ear. "Better now?"
"Katsu!"
You smile into his chest, trying to muffle your giggles, deciding to cook into him further.
His heart might as well burst. He thinks to himself that this is more than something he could have asked for, years of putting the effort in being with you awarding him in moments like this. Moments where he can see Venus shine faintly in the sky, feeling blessed by the planet of love as he places kisses to the top of your head.
I'm times like these, it's hard to look back and remember he used to beat himself over trying to convince himself he was drawn to you only because Izuku died. It feels like there's more behind it. Some karmic pull, some aligned stars, fates arranged in such a way that
you were meant to end up in this moment. Even if none of this is true and he's lost in superstitial bullshit, trying to explain things with something that bears no resemblance to simple logic, he figures there aren't any fresh wounds in his body. Time has flown since the last time he caught himself bathing in his own blood, but he's not reckless any more -neither are you- he doesn't go tormenting himself with wounds that will take long to heal. He can't remember times that have been tougher than this. But he's attached to the warm sand, moist still from the night's angry chill, so much that he slips one hand out of the blanket and sinks it low into the ground. It's so pleasant that he doesn't feel the ground pulling him in, or down. He's got a heart that will withstand his will to get up any time he wants to, and a pair of legs that will at his command, a chest that heaves with breaths while you're showering him with kisses. He won't get to spend an eternity like this, not even as many years as he thinks will be enough for him to enjoy this, but he's figured that there's eternity hinged in every moment, of taking care of yourself before you take care of someone else, so you don't hurt others around you. He's surprised with how much he's changed; he is aware that change is inevitable, through all the compromises that he's had to not condemn, all the soft words he's forced himself to say to you, to himself, to the point he's become softer, mellowed. Knowing he'd never forgive himself if he came to lose you to his grief. "We should get up, I'm sure Mina and Ochaco will be freaking at this point." He chuckles, hiding his tongue in the back of his mouth, as if to fish for a reply. "Kirishima and Denki will-" "Let the fuckers do as they wish, it's my wedding day, I decide when I show up. I can't with this enthusiasm" "Oh my god" You fake gasp, clapping your mouth "this is it? You're not going to marry me? You've lost your spark? Oh me. Oh my, whatever do I do?" You laugh, feeling the vibrations of his chest as he's laughing too, ruffling your hair in the messiest way he can imagine "There, now your hair is unfixable and I get to say it's you who left me at the altar" You burst out in giggles as you're trying to get up -efforts wasted in vain, because he's pulling you back onto him, for a kiss, one that makes your lips feel like cotton candy that slowly melts away, fuzzily yet so watery and with such delicacy. He gets up soon after you, folding the blanket neatly -too neatly- only pausing to take in the moment. Blue blotch after blue blotch is flooding the sky, almost every hint of purple gone, giving in to that warm tangerine light of the early sun. Katsuki sighs and you link your arms around his elbow. Content, happy. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't much of those himself. There's nothing holding him back. And so, he guesses, this is goodbye. The official one. Not melded with an apology, not fueled by regret. It's a silky woven letting go. There are no tears left for him to shed, there's no more trembling to violently shake your body awake at night. There's nothing but good in the memory of Izuku. Not even the subtle wish for him to be here, and happy with you. As the bright, starry light of Venus is outshone by the sun, he places another kid to the top of your head. "I'll see you at 5" "I'm going to be fashionably late" You argue, turning around to wield your hands around his neck and almost linking your lips to his. "Don't you fucking dare" He kisses you "Or what? You'll blow everyone to pieces?" He kisses you again, then again, then once more. "Might as well" And that's Katsuki for you, even in the calmer, softer version of himself. The personification of the twilight hours, even if he's going to bed at 10pm, wiggling his feet under the covers until you join him. He's the only reason you're still sane and you won't ever lose him. He won't lose you, in return.
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Text
The Glitch
I get the Broken Reality au is a haha funny joke but there’s been some legit great art for it and since Butterfly is over and I haven’t gotten into the groove of my other projects yet, I decided to try some flash fiction of my interpretations. Note that this is very small and informal; I used whatever idea came into my head over the course of an hour or so instead of the weeks of planning that go into my usual fics. This was an experiment for fun. But if people enjoy the concept, I may be tempted to expand on it.
Credit to @lollitree @moonpaw @gentrychild​ @owlf45​ and @cyber-phobia​ (I’m sorry if I missed someone I lost track of how many people were involved in this mess).
Content working for reference to infant death.
Please enjoy!
The city shut down for a typhoon warning.  Thunder rumbled in the distance.  Dark clouds blocked the sun so much that by mid-morning it still looked like it never bothered coming up.  And yet the humidity made it too hot for coffee.  Inko didn’t know how to feel.  Work would have been a good distraction.  But she didn’t want any coworkers or clients to see if today got to be too much.  And it was already shaping up to be.  She caught herself making two plates of food for breakfast.  
Inko sat alone in the kitchen.  She couldn’t bring herself to finish her own plate.  Sickness set in fast.  The food had been cold for a long time before she summoned the strength to get up and throw it away.  Then she stood over the open trash can a while, debating whether to try and hold it together, or just throw up and get it over with.  She eventually managed to keep her stomach steady enough to go back to her bedroom.  There was another trashcan in there anyway.
A sound stopped her.  From her office.  The distinct sound of something heavy falling onto the carpet.  Right as she walked past the door.
Please not this again…
She opened the door with her eyes closed.  Her mind conjured a familiar image.  A bedroom full of books and hero posters.  Bright colors and personal touches.  A child’s room.  Inko opened her eyes to her drab home office.  Some of the older case file binders slipped off the pile again.  She really needed to sort those into storage. Not today though.  She didn’t bother to pick it up.
Inko walked faster than normal the rest of the way to her room.  She doesn’t want to face the temptation to search for old toys she remembers storing in the empty closet.  Or search the walls for scuff marks from action figures tossed into them she could always see even after the walls were painted. She hid her planner on a tall shelf and put the ladder away to make it that much harder to go through it over and over looking for doctors’ appointments and school events she knew were coming up.  Finally reaching her bed brought no comfort.
Of course she knew today’s date by heart.  She hadn’t put it on a calendar in the fourteen years since she used to look at it every day.  Inko stuck her head under her pillows, as if they could block out the silent noise of her memories.  Memories of before, the time even when she was by herself, she was never alone.
Fifteen years now, today.  With a shuddering gasp, the tears finally came.  Thunder crashed outside.  It’s not fair!  Why is it still this hard after this long?  Phantom kicks in her belly joined the growing ice there.
The hardest part was she still felt like that sometimes.  Like she wasn’t really alone.  Inko didn’t believe in ghosts, but the lost of what could have been was more than haunting enough.  She felt it watching her.  Judging her. Waiting just long enough for her to settle down into a peaceful, content existence before it reared up to plague her heart all over again.  Cliché hauntings like spooky faces in the mirror or blood coming out of the drains would have been preferable.  Those would be generic enough not to remind her directly.
Rain started outside.  Her phone lit up with a notification she ignored in time with a thunderclap.  The storm was getting closer.
Maybe I should call Hisashi, the thought crossed her mind.  Maybe he’s going through this too.  She bit her lip bloody.  Her frustrated memories weren’t in question like the others.  Probably not though.  I don’t want to talk to him anyway.
Hisashi had been stuck in the denial stage of grief, which often came off as him acting like he didn’t take hers seriously.  Not a year, not even half a year looking back, after they came home from the hospital, he wanted to try again.  
“We can’t let mourning hold us up forever,” he said.  “And it’s not like we lost a once in a lifetime opportunity!  We’ve got at least another twenty years to keep trying!”
But we did lose him! she had wanted to scream.  Still did, years later.  Why didn’t he understand?  He was your loss too!  Inko wanted for the next roll of thunder, then shouted.  
“I don’t just want any baby!  I want Izuku!”
The lights went out.  The temperature rose five degrees instantly when the ceiling fan stopped going.  The rain stopped.
Power outage.  Inko sat up with a sniffle.  Turns out the notification was a warning about roving blackouts.  Of course.  Oh well. I wasn’t really in the mood to cook tonight any-
Thunder boomed even louder than before, making her jump.  Then another.  Lightning flashed outside at the same time.  It was right on top of her.
What?  I thought the typhoon wasn’t supposed to make landfall until later toni-
Another crash.  It vibrated through her bones.  Then another. The lightning lit up her whole room. Except for a shadow on the wall. Inko jolted to look, holding her breath, and found only her own shadow in the next flash.
“I’m such an idiot…”  She went for her phone again.  For peace of mind, she decided to use her data to check if an evacuation order went out. Or any updates at all really, since the weather came so much faster than the news said.  “Nothing,” she sighed annoyed.  “I hate being alone for weather like this…”
A new notification pinged.
[Mom]
Inko blinked rapidly.  The message remained.  All of her insides turned inside out in an instant, and she started crying again. Was this someone’s idea of a sick joke? No one ever got a chance to call her that.  She touched the note to open it, but nothing happened.  No app or source was displayed.  Nor did it go away after a few seconds like normal.  
“Wha- What’s going on?” she wept.  In a mix of sorrow and rage, she wound up to chunk the device across the room.  But she froze.
Outside her window, floating against the pitch-black sky, were two small orbs.  Perfectly circular and glowing.  Watching her. She didn’t dare move.  
Another ping.  She looked without moving.
[I’m sorry]
“…  What?”
For a moment, all the sounds in the world dropped out.  They all came back at ounce.
Lights flickered.  Both the ones inside and the lightning going outside.  Multiple strikes laid on top of one another.  No relief.  Thunder pounded over and over like a drum solo.  It shook the whole building.  Inko ran into the closet away from the window.  She slammed her hands over her eyes but it didn’t help.  Her terrified cried were whispers to the screams of the storm.
A child’s scream.  She heard it. Each flash of light came with a cry. The distinct sound of a little boy calling out in pain blended with unyielding nature.  It came from every direction.  Every hair on Inko’s arms stood up in fear.  She felt the charge in the air.  But she had to go out.  Her baby was crying for help.
She burst from the closet into the living room.  All the lights and appliances turned themselves on and off.  The TV showed only static between its flashes. Something drew her too it.  The storm was deafening.  It pounded through her head like a heartbeat.  The beats got faster.  The static flashes started to look like a face.  Her usual caution was abandoned as she fell to her knees and touched the screen.  The snow cleared for a single instant.  Just long enough to look like the blank eyes from the window.  She felt the heartbeat there too.
Then it stopped.  All of it. The noise and lights all went quiet and dark.  The TV went completely cold in an instant.  Inko, stunned, palmed over it looking for something.  Anything.  The pulse. Warmth.  A burnt fuse or faulty wire.  But nothing.  The rain started again.
She pulled her hands back to her lap.  Her heart was still racing and tears kept flowing down under her chin. She looked around.  Everything in the living room and kitchen looked the same. No sign of the earthquake-like convolutions the whole appartement experienced only minutes ago.  Inko combed the entire space for evidence.  An object knocked off the shelf.  A picture frame fallen from the wall.  The notifications.  Toys in the closet or scuffs in the wall.  Still not a sign.  She even stepped outside her door to check the sky.  Only light rain and shattered thunder, just like the news said the day before.
There was only one thing out of place.  Back in her bedroom, the bottom drawer of her nightstand hung open.  Inko had to steal herself before approaching it. There were only two things in there: a little green blanket, and a picture of the ultrasound.  The most recent one from her last appointment. The doctor said he was doing fine.
“Izuku…” she whispered to it in her hand.
She remembered the squealing little bundling being put in her arms for the first time.  The first time he smiled at her.  Teaching him to walk, then immediately launching into play.  Him coming home with bruises and scrapes after the kids at school were mean to him, and crying in her arms.  Then, him coming home with his first real friends in a long time. She made them all dinner. Katsudon.  That was Izuku’s favorite.
Only she didn’t remember.  The same way she didn’t really remember the toys and scuffs.  Those were fantasies.  Daydreams of what could have been.  She just thought about them so often they felt like memories. Especially today.  It was his birthday after all.  They’d fade back into vague dreams by tomorrow.  They always did.  
And she would be left with reality.  The silence.  The cold, still little hand between her fingers.  Soft cheeks without blush.  Eyes that never opened.  Clutching him too tight to her chest, knowing the second she let go he would be gone for real and it would all be over.  
But it was never over.  Inko went through this same torturous song and dance every year for fifteen now.  All the guilt and dread would subside slowly over the next one, until it all came back at once.  Just like this.
At least it’s done for now, she tried to reassure herself, climbing back into bed. It still wasn’t even noon yet.  Plenty of time for another breakdown.  Hopefully the next one won’t be, feel, as loud.  She sighed heavily into her sheets.  This sort of thing can’t be normal.  I should really try therapy again.
Against her better judgement, she kept the blanket out, and clutched it to her chest.  Static electricity pricked her fingers.  With her other hand, she reached across the bed, and tried to imagine someone else there. Not Hisashi, never him anymore.  Izuku.  He was fifteen and happy, but the storm was making him nervous so he came to lay beside her.  She remembered it like it was now.  If she closed her eyes, she could feel his warm, soft skin, with a healthy, if a little anxious heartbeat just underneath.  The mattress warped as he sighed.
“We’ll be okay.  It’s just a little rough weather,” she promised.
“Okay, Mom,” Izuku answered quietly.  “…  I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”  I’ll start trying to get myself together tomorrow.  For now, let me have this.
Izuku didn’t respond for a while.  “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.  Happy birthday.”
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garthofshayeris · 3 years
Note
I've seen you've talk about how rebirth Garth is not real Garth and I believe you obviously mean personally I am still annoyed over Roy's clone from n52 that everyone keeps acting like is Roy is still a thing, but how is he different?
I’m so glad you asked! It sounds obvious, but typically people like a character for their personality or their story arcs or their character development. Like, why else would you like a character, right? So when there are huge changes to the things that make you like the character, uh…there’s not much left.
So, obviously with reboots some things are going to be changed. Maybe someone’s appearance is altered. some of their backstory is switched up, some personality traits get dropped or added. What sucks about Rebirth Garth is they changed everything about his character, none of it for the better. And for a character who, until now, has had a major part to play in Aquaman and other dc comics for about half a century, it’s honestly pretty insulting. So many creators poured their hearts into shaping him into a character before the reboot. There was so much love put into his stories, that the comparison to rebirth is so, so noticeable. Like…if Dick Grayson was rebooted with a completely different backstory and personality and was only vaguely related to the Batfamily, I think fans would be rightfully upset. I feel the same about Garth.
His personality, or whatever attempt they made at one, is bland and boring. He’s a brute who likes fighting and….that’s it. Compared to preboot Garth who is consistently sweet and sensitive and emotional and good. He’s just a good guy who thinks of fighting as a last resort, because he would rather use his words than his fists. It was such a lovely, refreshing take on a male character (and one who is in big name comics like Aquaman and Titans and JLA) that to lose one of his key elements is terrible sad and disappointing.
Garth’s story is, ultimately, completely tied to Arthur’s. They bring out the best and worst in each other. Garth is Arthur’s foil, from the start he is there to complement Arthur as a hero and they’re part of each other’s arcs. And his backstory heavily influences how Garth acts and what he does. His story is one of grief and loss and identity and overcoming stigma, prejudice, and taking control of your destiny. His story is about healing. Or it was.
Because Rebirth Garth doesn’t have any of that. He is, essentially, a completely different character who happens to be named Garth. Sure, he mentioned offhandedly that when he was in Magic College he had a girlfriend who Died Tragically and then they never mentioned that again. It’s a cheap imitation of his Tula storyline, told in like 2 panels, because Tula is also a completely different character now. They’ve spoken in canon once. Two characters who have been so closely joined together for 50 years barely know each other now. This is the same for every other character who still exists in Aquaman canon (they’ve written out a ton). He’s never even spoken to his other love interest in preboot, Dolphin, at all.
Let’s get back to Magic College though. Garth’s powers (or the few he retained from his original power set, though honestly he just like glows now? They’ve never really explained what he can do) are there because he went to underwater Hogwarts and I guess you can just do that and become magic. In comparison, preboot Garth has magic because he’s an abandoned prince from a long line of powerful sorcerer-kings. But power corrupts and his father is murdered and his mother flees, and although she abandons Garth as birth he is so haunted by their deaths that they plague his nightmares. His powers are earned through an incredibly moving journey that includes (among other things) closure from grief and the literal act of taking ones destiny into their own hands. Garth earns his powers because he is pure of heart, because he is brave, and because he loves so, so much and because others loved him. And when he uses those powers in other comics, you remember the meaning behind them. So Rebirth Garth being magic “just because” is so reductive, so boring, so uninspired. I’d rather him be an average atlantean.
But Garth has absolutely no history with the Aquafamily. Giving us an emotional story with him now would be meaningless because he has no part in the comics or the Aquafam. Sure, they mentioned once that Arthur “raised” Garth but…there’s no evidence of that. They don’t speak to each other in Rebirth. There’s actually no way Arthur could have done that in the canon timeline, but it doesn’t matter because they make no attempt to show he’s even part of the family. Garth has been to exactly zero life events for Arthur. He’s never met Arthur’s daughter. He’s never shown just hanging with the others, and they hang out with assholes who tried to kill them before. He is never there. But we are told, once, that he and Arthur like each other. This character means nothing. You can write him out of the few issues he appears in and nothing changes. He’s completely worthless as a character.
So his personality is gone, his backstory is gone, his character themes and growth are gone…surely he still looks the same?
Wrong. He’a ugly. I’m sorry, he is. Everyone is always posting pictures of him saying he’s so pretty (and comparing him to his look on TT:YO as if those aren’t completely different continuities?) but he looks like every other black haired character in DC right now. He looks like Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson and Time Drake and every other fucking guy it’s boring and it’s stupid. He has ugly straight hair (a far cry from Garth’s usual big, curly locks) in a boring ponytail because apparently YJ and TT are the only source the artists ever used to draw him. And his eyes. He has blue eyes. BLUE. When his character has had purple eyes for his entire existence, when his purple eyes have been a major plot point for his entire existence, when his purple eyes were his one defining trait for his entire existence. Insulting.
And he has eye tattoos. Sure, you say, because we all know Garth got his eye scars while training with Atlan (also now a completely different character) when claiming his birthright (written out of canon) to gain his powers (written out of canon) so yeah, maybe they’re just tattoos now. Except some dumbass at DC couldn’t be bothered to put them on the right side of his face. Yet another defining character trait completely fucked up because nobody at DC cared about making this character. He exists to tick off a box, to say “hey, look, we brought back a character you guys wanted. Buy our comics.”
So, when I say Rebirth Garth isn’t the “real” Garth, this is what I mean. The characters are different in every way that makes characters matter. He’s a character who shares a name and nothing else. And I hate him.
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ravysu · 3 years
Text
Sannin headcanons and thoughts
The last thing I would like to post for the sannin week. It is still 24.04 here! :D @sannin-central
This is long. Spoiler alert. Mostly Orochimaru, some Tsunade, a little of Jiraiya (because his story is pretty clear and spoken and idk what I can add). Also I recommend to read this meta about Orochimaru, it has influenced me a lot and has some good points. Sorry for any posible grammar mistakes. Also I really should put here a lot of references to the manga or anime but it was something that was piling up for a year and I'm soooooooo lazy. After all, those are just headcanons. Also: Im not excusing Oro's bad stuff here, Im trying to understand the reasons.
Ive already posted some hcs, here, here and here.
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1. First if all, the chronology pic of sannin lifetime based on the info i found on naruto wiki and also some statements about wars from this post. It was tough considering what a mess naruto’s chronology is.
2. Sannin story shows what it cost to be a legend. They're like Team 7 but more realistic. Tsunade literally carried the war but left with nothing and developed a ptsd and have problems to just live on. Also anger control issues. I think she can be pretty bossy and stubborn which is not always nice. Jiraiya is the hero of the day but also very idealistic and can ignore some important details in the real word whether its the fight (he always injured during flashbacks maybe because each time he took too much to handle and on the one hand it's heroistic but on the other is a mistake that can lead your team to situations like in that Iwa cave) or your friends issues (I bet he saw what's going on but thought it's fine until Oro actually got red handed and left). He lives in his world and may have problems to get out to see it through someone else's shoes. As for Orochimaru, it seems like he was a normal guy for 20+ years (I mean, he didn't do crazy criminal shit and had something good in him and it was stated somewhere that it was his teammates influence. It is obvious they considered him as a friend, I don't thinks it was for nothing) but we mostly know his darkest side. Despite being a moster he is a human that have empathy and some ordinary human traits (man just decorates every bit of an environment he is in lol).
3. Tsunade was the leader of team Hiruzen.
4. Tsunade sometimes hit Jiraiya for some stupid things he did or said but never touches Orochimaru even if he did something same. Jiraiya complained about it once and almost got another hit.
5. Jiraiya had problematic parents that didn't care about him much and a lot of time he was wandering in the streets.
6. Judging by the look of Oro bangs and hair, he sometimes cut it off. A stress relief huh? And the fact that he doesn't do it now in Boruto..
7. It was shown that Tsunade and Orochimaru was acknowledged before they become a team. Maybe they did just before, or maybe some longer time before. I prefer the second option and hc that they met because both had no real friends - Orochimaru seemed weird and scary for everyone and Tsunade was Senju so everyone wanted to hang out with her but didn't really care. They weren't seen as what they were - people put the labels on them. But they didn't care about each other's labels and actually saw each other in true lights.
8. Tsunade knew it was an accident and it's not right but still she blamed Orochimaru for Nawaki's death for some time. It was something that seriously damaged their friendship and the team. Orochimaru was mad but also guilty, after all, he was responsible at least as a shinobi since Nawaki was under his watch. So he started to act cold and emotionless and was trying to distance himself from his teammates.
9. Jiraiya was in Ame while Dan died.
10. The whole his orphans mission was a bit irresponsible tbh. They already fought Hanzo and as he stated the conflict between Konoha and Ame is going to an end with Konoha's win. It's weird to stay here for three years in the middle of the war while there were other lands to fight. He left his teammates for some idea. Maybe that caused another crack in their team friendship.
11. If Tsunade would have find a way to live on with her trauma and follow the will of fire and stuff it would affect Orochimaru as well just as her grief affected him. It's like he would get an example that you can live on with this pain. So death isn't above human capability and we are not just the slaves of mortality (sounds stupid but i dont know how else to describe sorry). But as we know what he actually saw is that it broke her crucially to the point she couldnt be herself again. And so the death is above everything.
12. Oro wasn’t just acting as a cold pragmatic bitch in that cave but also tried to save Tsunade. Jiraiya knew it and that’s why he showed this sign to him like "I see what youre doing here" and that stunned Oro because he would prefer to look rather like a cold pragmatic bitch hehe
13. Just a thought. People in the village probably treated Oro as a foreigner or just wouldnt accept him because he looked so differently and had a weird attitude. That's why he sometimes didn't feel that Konoha is his home. After the wars where people were treated as means and tools, even the children, he himself developed this view on people - he dehumanized them and used as the means to his goals, just as his village did. Funny thing some people were straightly dehumanizing him too like Ibiki thought that he was a demon (tho he was a child). And he probably weren't the only one. Anyways the point is that it's logical that Orochimaru don't care about anybody but some few people, he's the product of his era. He's like Naruto that would chose the hatred way. But naruto had some good and understanding people around him and.. Orochimaru had them too, but match how Iruka treated Naruto and this Hiruzen's "I sAw tHe mAliCe in This cHiLd fRoM tHe BegGinNinG". And oro didn't even have a big ass evil fox in him. sry i hate hiruzen
ANYWAYS the moral of the story is not "go criminal if they hurt you" but always treat people like people. Waving my hand to Kant.
14. The reason why Orochimaru didn't pick some good morals to stick with through the hard times no matter what (like, idk, Jiraiya or Naruto) is because 1) I think he is/was pretty depending on people around him 2) the war fucked him and his friends up too much (Nawaki incident + Tsunade) 3) twisted addictions (though I don't think he's that sadistic, we never saw him torturing randoms just for fun, it was always some science experimental shit. He tends to get fun out of cruelty only when it's personal) that maybe developed as a way to sublimate anger and sadness caused by his parents loss (that's what they share with sasuke - unlicke naruto, they knew their parents and it's other kind of pain. Sasuke developed a revenge issue and Orochimaru - cruelty pleasure which... is kinda the same but less epic and more occasional lol).
15. Speaking of that, Orochimaru cared for Sasuke because he saw himself in him.
16. Oro hold grudges against Hiruzen for not choosing him to be Hokage not only because he was ambitious and/or egoistic, but also because Hiruzen was some kind of a father figure for him and his approval was important tho i doubt he was aware of that. He also probably could tell that Hiruzen was suspicios about him when he was a child and that led to many conflicts and was hurting as well.
17. Tsunade knew things weren't pretty with Orochimaru after the wars but she never expected them to be this bad. During the week that she was given in her arc she thought not only about how much she wants to see Nawaki and Dan again despite how wrong would it be but also was trying to bury all the good memories she had left of Orochimaru so it would be easier to kill him.
18. She poisoned Jiraiya exactly because she knew he would not let her do it. Jiraiya was always hesitant to kill and inclined to forgiveness, while Tsunade, as mentioned by Orochimaru, could be merciless (so much so that he was not surprised when Kabuto suggested that she wanted to use Jira for Edo Tensei).
19. That was one of her traits that scared Jiraiya and fascinated Orochimaru.
20. Remember how Oro grabbed Jiraiya's neck when the latter was trying to cover with hair jutsu? On the snake, in Tsnade's arc. Orochimaru could have easily kill Jiraiya by pulling the sword out of the mouth (arteries are right there) but he didn't. As well as he could kill Tsunade when she was still shaking - just aim for the neck or the heart. Instead, he just injured her lung and kicked her which is not a big deal for the kind of shinoby like her at all.. Also he helped Anko not accidentally kill herself but it would be way much profitable to let her do it. "Orochimaru has no feelings".
21. The reason he suddenly wanted to kill Tsunade instead of forcing her to heal his arms as it was planned (which is weird since it will not going to get him heals and he kinda said that he wouldn't want to kill her just minutes ago) is that not only she refused to help him (he thought he could work it out) but she also prefered the village over him (from his point of view). Out if everyone she was the closest to being able to understand him since the village caused her painful losses too but nevertheless she agreed to be on it's side.
22. He wasn't fighting her back in the end partly because he thought he deserved that. Somewhere deep inside hahah.
23. Tsunade got a fear to develop deep bonds so they probably weren't very close with Shizune (also the way she knocked her down in this hotel.. oh).
24. Orochimaru will be here when she'll die.
25. Orochimaru's eng dub to Tsunade: "I often wondered what it would be like to ring that pretty neck yours". No comments.
26. Orochimaru is either bi/pan or ace. Anything or nothing lmao
27. Hiruzen knew about at least some of the Oro’s illegal experiments and was okay just as he was okay with the Foundation all the time. Because it’s useful. Then he has discovered he went too far OR he knew everything and oro just became too inconvenient because of his methods. The way Orochimaru tells Sasuke about reasons they are well treated as the criminals is based on in his experience with Hiruzen.
28. As you may know the lyrics in Orochimaru’s music theme goes “don’t talk with the silence of the heart”. It was taken from one Indian song that also had lines like “don’t question life too much”, ”pain arose somewhere in the chest”, “don’t speak to the wounds of the heart”. Though I’m not sure 100% because I was translating it with some hindi dictionary with like zero knowledge of hindi
29. I like to think that this “silence of the heart” theme and the fact that he called his village a hidden sound village are somehow connected. The hidden sound is the possible explanation of all things waiting to be listened to but the truth is silent and you know it deep in your heart and it bothers you. The world is silent just like the life is meaningless but people can only hear. *Sigh* anyways
30. Orochimaru’s journey is the one about accepting death. When he saw Karin released her chains while was trying to get to Sasuke he understood that the death is a part of human’s strength.
Can’t wait to feel that everything I wrote is wrong or not enough or stupid and obvious lol. Anyways, it’s something that I wanted to share until I move to some other fandom.
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pigeonp0st · 3 years
Note
Hey can you do a fic where reader is under mind control of some sort from an enemy and is forced to attack Nat and the rest of the avengers and Nat has to talk her out of it and calm her down something rlly intense and angsty pls
Natasha Romanoff x Reader #6
Words: 2,177
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Warnings: Agnst
(tell me if there’s more I should add)
Notes:
I realized after I finished writing that I didn’t have Nat talk R out of it like you asked...I solved it in another way...i’m sorry!! I hope you enjoy anyways, thanks a lot for requesting (and sorry for spelling mistakes...there’s probably a lot) also sorry for this in general...I’m disappointed in it and the ending...I was sleep deprived and delirious for half of it...
———
It was supposed to be a simple mission, and a simple day. You and Nat had planned to head to the beach for the first time in a long time afterwards and everything. It was supposed to be a good day.
Good day...ha.
The sad truth is, is that things don’t always work out the way you expect them to. Sometimes things go horribly wrong.
Sometimes you get mind controlled by the ‘big bad’ and hurt the people you love most. Or maybe that stuff only happened to people like you. ‘Heroes.’
——-
You were conscious. That was the cruel agonizing part of it all. It’s that with every swing of your knife, every landed hit, every plea that fell from their lips, you knew what was happening.
You knew what was happening but could do nothing about it. Well...you could, technically, but it hurt. It hurt to fight. The pain was similar, you imagine, to what it feels like getting burned alive and then ran over eighteen times.
You didn’t think you could do it. Your will power wasn’t that strong. You would probably die trying to gain control—
It hurt. It hurt. You didn’t want to. You couldn’t, you—
Natasha. Natasha was saying; “fight it, Y/N, fight it,” and to you and to the pain that fighting the mind control caused, she may as well have been saying, “die, Y/N, die”
And yeah. Okay. For her, you will. For her you must.
Tears were running down your cheeks, it was the one thing the mind control didn’t have control of. It was...weird. Weird feeling such an immense amount of pain, such an immense amount of suffering, and being unable to show it. Unable to scream. You were silent, but your body felt loud, your head felt loud.
For a long minute you couldn’t hear them, you couldn’t even register the things you were seeing, all you knew was pain, everything outside of that was illegitimate.
Then, silence. For a brief, blissful moment before it was gone again. Nat’s arms were around you, and you were shaking, but completely still otherwise—finally, finally, you weren’t hurting them— “You’re okay,” Nat whispered, and how could that concept, in a few moments of agony, become something so foreign. Have you ever been okay before? Have you ever lived without this much hurt?
———-
“Nat,” you croaked, the words shaking almost as roughly as your body. “Natasha, kill me.”
Those three words, said with an immeasurable amount of desperation, were just as much not your own as your body was at this moment. They were said in a moment of pain.
Somehow, Natasha knew that. She knew that. She knows what you look like when you’re experiencing physical pain. It’s been seared into her mind countless times, but that doesn’t prevent her heart from aching as much as it does when you start begging.
“Natasha please, please baby, please. Somebody, please! Before it—”
And then you were screaming, and Natasha hates how it’s even worse than the begging.
Somehow you’ve managed to gain control of your vocals, but your body isn’t yours again, she realizes it when you start struggling against her arms…it’s a terrible thing to realize.
“Stop,” Nat yells, so obviously terrified and raw that half of the Avengers freeze where they’re circling you. “Stop fighting it, it’s okay, it’s okay.” She holds you as tightly as she can, with her eyes screwed shut. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
And god, she hates the way it sounds like a goodbye too, but she just knows that even if you could register her voice right now, you aren’t going to listen.
You’re going to keep fighting to protect her and the others, because it’s what you’ve always done.
So Natasha takes a deep breath, in and out, and tries to think about her options. She tries to think about her options with you struggling and trying to reach for your knife, and the Avengers circled around her with nothing but ashen expressions that speak of nightmares to come, and she doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know.
There’s no safe way for her to knock you out for a long period of time, not ones that won’t cause long term problems afterwards, but she doesn’t need any because suddenly your body stops struggling, and stops moving, and you’re slumped unconscious in her arms.
It’s a great relief for everyone until Natasha lifts her hand from your pulse, and says, shockingly and terrifyingly devoid of emotion; “I think she’s going into shock.”
——
Everything is a blur to Natasha after that. She recalls yelling, lights, arriving at the hospital, a countdown of; one, two, three, and then she’s sitting in a seat next to your hospital bed wondering when everything went so wrong.
——
All Natasha hears when she closes her eyes is you screaming in agony at the top of her lungs, and all she feels is the phantom touch of your cold ashen skin against her hands.
You’re okay now, Natasha reminds herself. You’re going to be okay, but there’s something deeply traumatizing and everlasting about the moments where you’re sure everything won’t be—the moments you’re almost sure the love of your life won’t be.
Hearing someone you love beg you to kill them, seeing the person you love most in so much agony, it’s...scarring...but Natasha will be strong. She has to be, because being weak hurts too much, but more importantly; you need her to be.
As traumatizing as the experience was for her, she knows that yours was just as bad—if not worse. You were strong for her, so she’ll be for you.
Like protecting her to you seemed like your only option, even while you were hurting so much because of it, it’s Natasha’s only option too.
So she’ll keep it all together, until you’re back to normal and she doesn’t have to anymore.
——-
Natasha startles when you wake up. She physically startles, because the first thing you do is start sobbing, sobbing hard enough to make Natasha concerned that you’ll start hyperventilating.
“Are you okay?” Natasha asks, up from her seat in a flash to be by your side, “is he still mind controlling you? Are you still hurting?”
You aren’t looking at her, Natasha realizes with a large amount of grief. You won’t look at her, but you’re shaking your head no to her questions, and she supposes that perhaps you are okay—physically.
She wants more than that for you, so she sighs, heavily and sadly— because she can’t protect you from this anymore than she was able to protect you from the mind control—and wraps her arms around your distraught form.
“It’s okay,” Nat mumbles, and then winces and corrects herself because it’s so clearly not. “It will be okay.”
That she is sure of, but you aren’t.
“Natasha,” you force out (Natasha tries not to remember the way you said her name yesterday), “You’re covered in- you’re covered in bruises and cuts...baby, i’m so sorry.”
Your voice cracks on sorry, and Natasha closes her eyes to prevent her own tears from falling. “It wasn’t you,” she whispers fiercely, “i’m not mad at you. Of course i’m not.”
“You should be.”
You pull away from her then. Natasha feels the loss in her heart, she’s sure.
All she wants to do is hold you in her arms and never let go, but with the amount of unjustified shame you’re feeling she doubts you’ll let her.
“Your arm,” you stutter, “did it need stitches?”
Natasha won’t lie to you, so she says nothing—instead she tries to meet your haunted eyes. It’s a useless attempt.
She knows what you’re remembering, and she hates it. “The cut on my neck...it wasn’t that deep. It shouldn’t even scar.”
“I didn’t ask you about the cut on your neck, Natasha.”
Natasha tenses where she’s standing, caught off guard by the loathing in your voice until she realizes that it’s not directed at her, but at yourself.
Your eyes finally, finally, meet Natasha’s. They’re tear brimmed, scared, and unbelievably angry. “I’m going to kill him,” you rasp brokenly, “Natasha, i’m going to kill him.”
——-
Nat says nothing. She just continues to stare back at you.
“He had no right, Natasha, he had no right to do that to me,” your face is crumbling now, anger turning back into devastation in an instant. “Nat, why—why was it me? I—god, i’m so angry, i’m so—i’m so sorry. I’m sorry, i’m sorry. God...what did I do?”
Natasha still says nothing, why isn’t she saying anything? You want to yell at her, you want her to yell at you, you want—you want.
“Is Clint...is he okay?” You ask wobbly.
You remember vividly the moment you stabbed him, and the betrayal on his face, the betrayal on everyone’s faces until they realized you weren’t in control of your own body.
“He’s okay,” Natasha says simply. Then, “the man who did what he did to you...Wanda is handling it. She’s able to block out his mind control.”
“Okay.”
“Can I hold you?”
“What?”
Natasha shifts where she stands, looking down. She’s never looked more uncertain. “You didn’t seem to want me close before...I wasn’t sure…”
Oh.
“Nat,” you whisper, heartbroken, “I don’t trust myself. I don’t trust I’m me.”
Natasha tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and leans down to kiss your temple. You want nothing more than for her to get away from you. You don’t want to hurt her ever again. You can’t. “Oh baby,” she laughs a sad sort of laugh, “you’ve been handcuffed.”
And that, for whatever reason, starts another wave of unreleased tears, but you're laughing now too...if only at the insanity of your situation.
You feel restricted by the handcuffs, trapped in the way you were during the mind control, but you also feel safe. Safe from doing harm, so you allow her, between breaths, to join you on the hospital bed.
She lets out a relieved breath when you do, both because she’s allowed to hold you, and because you’re laughing...yeah it might me a manic sort of laugh, but it’s something.
Something is better than nothing. It’s a start.
——
“Natasha, I can tie my own fucking shoes.”
Nat looks up at you from where she’s crouched by your feet, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Then why’d you ask me to do it?”
“W-What? No I didn’t.” Mind controlled. You were mind controlled again. Fuck—
“Yeah you did,” Natasha reminds gently, “while you were eating your disgusting jello.”
Oh. Yeah.
You release a shaky breath, laughing quietly all the while, because wow. Wow. You’re losing your mind. “I totally remembered that...they just slipped something into my jello…”
Natasha watches you carefully for a few moments before rolling her eyes and getting to her feet. “Tie your own shoes.”
“Asshole,” you mutter bitterly under your breath. Natasha pretends not to hear you and simply presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“I love you,” she confesses quietly. Natasha’s been saying as much over and over again since you first awoke.
“Now I feel like the asshole. Just go get the discharge papers.”
Finally, Natasha laughs.
——-
You’re healing still, emotionally, the Avengers and Natasha are very aware of that. They’ve been as gentle as they can possibly be with you since you left the hospital a couple of weeks ago, but now—now it’s time for an intervention.
So naturally, you press the big red emergency meeting button Steve hides in his room and force everyone to meet in the living room.
“I’m not sad anymore,” You announce to them all when Wanda asks why the fuck she was woken up for.
The grumbling immediately quiets.
“Well,” you pause, considering, “I...am. Deep down. I’m tryna work through it but it’s kinda hard now that I'm forgetting a lot of what happened.”
Natasha sits up at that, alarmed. “You’re forgetting?”
You wave your hand dismissively. “My mind is blocking it out. I’m traumatized...but pretty okay otherwise.” The others don’t look convinced, so with an annoyed groan you relent. “I’m thinking about seeing Steve’s therapist. You guys should too.”
A chorus of protest instantly comes forward, not to your surprise...but Wanda...Wanda does surprise you.
“I am, too.”
Then Natasha, “I...was actually considering it myself.”
Well then.
“I’m also considering making my own sitcom,” Wanda continues, resting her head in her hand. “What do you guys think?”
“Stick to therapy, Wanda. Stick to therapy.”
At that, everyone comes forward in agreement.
You’re sure, in that moment, that with these people you’ll be okay.
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shoutaaizawas · 4 years
Text
↳  ❝burn❞ dabi x fem!reader → part V
summary: touya todoroki, your childhood friend was dead or so you thought. things get more complicated than you ever thought they could. word count: 2.7k+ tags/warnings: angst, mentions of abuse  a/n: i'll be gone for a while but im hoping to have a couple parts done while im away. enjoy this until i return~ spoilers for chapter 265 of the manga. also im sorry i need to get better at writing action scenes. masterlist
part IV part V part VI
It was a night you had tried to forget but it always replayed in your mind, over and over. How could you forget that night? You would always carry the weight of it, the grief, the guilt.
It was a gut feeling. You were always in tune with Touya for better or worse. It had been a bad night, Enji had yelled and screamed at him and it was the breaking point. Touya knew he would never be enough to make his father proud. His quirk wasn’t the perfect quirk Enji wanted but Shoto did have that quirk.
Once Enji knew he had his perfect child Touya was even more neglected. Before that, he was at best a backup if Enji couldn’t have the child he wanted.
This pushed things to their limit. Touya had enough of never being enough. Sure, he hated his father more than anything but deep down there was still something in him that wanted his approval. Touya reasoned the best way to prove himself was going against his father’s biggest rival.
It was probably stupid but when you got that gut feeling that something was wrong with Touya you would go to him just to make sure. You hadn’t been wrong. You found Touya changing late at night and you knew he was up to something.
“What are you doing?” You questioned.
“Proving myself.” He said.
“By running around at night?”
“No, I’m going to find my father’s rival and show everyone that I’m strong enough. That I’m good enough-” He cut himself off taking a shaky breath.
He didn’t have to finish that sentence for you to know what he meant. How many nights had he opened up to you in his most vulnerable state? He had told you how through it all, even with how awful his father was to him he just wanted validation. He wanted his father to be proud, to be supportive, to love him. What kid didn’t want that? You knew that he just wanted to be good enough to be loved.
Touya was good enough to be loved even if Enji Todoroki would never see that.
“You are good enough, I know you want him to understand but this is dangerous.” You said. “This isn’t the right way.”
“You can’t change my mind.” He said as he walked past you.
“I’m not going to let you go alone.” You said as you followed. “What kind of friend do you think I am?”
“The best.” He said as he looked at you with that playful smirk you loved so much.
You wished more than anything that you had stayed home. Over the years all you could ever thing was what you could have said, what you could have done to stop him, anything to change what happened.
Touya had tracked him down to an abandoned building. Before you stepped in you knew this was a bad idea. Things only got worse once you found him.
The fight was bad, indoors there was only so much you could do. You could use your quirk but you had a disadvantage in a smaller area. It was bad, Touya’s quirk was getting out of control. More so than you had ever seen it before. The heat from his flames was nearly burning you.
Endeavor had caught on to his son sneaking out and followed but he had not been fast enough. The villain collapsed the building, with a rumble you knew that you had no chance of protecting yourself from the debris that came crashing down.
Your eyes opened to find Endeavor over you, guarding you against the debris. You quickly realized that if he had saved you where was Touya? Endeavor burnt the rubble away freeing the both of you. Standing up you looked around but there was no sign of Touya.
You screamed and screamed for him but there was no reply. Looking at Endeavor you saw his face fall.
“Why didn’t you save him? Why did you save me?” You screamed at him, hitting his chest.
You tried pulling up the rocks, looking for any sign of him but there was nothing. You screamed his name hoping for something, anything to tell you he was still alive.
The villain had disappeared and Touya was gone. Endeavor had been doing the same thing as you, looking for any sign of him but he realized it was useless. Sirens approached and he pulled you away from the scene and to the ambulance. You screamed punching and kicking but it was pointless against his strength.
“They’ll look for him. They can search better than us you need medical treatment.” He said putting you down on a stretcher.
“This is your fault! He did this because of you! Why couldn’t you just show him, love? Why couldn’t you tell him you were proud of him?” Tears streamed down your face as you sobbed.
Enji stared at you with a solemn face before he turned to the search and rescue team.
You were taken to the hospital to have your injuries treated. By the next morning, you were told that the only thing they found was a pile of ashes.
Touya was dead. Your best friend. The only person you had ever loved and you never had the chance to tell him.
After it all, you found it hard to care about anything. Hero work seemed so pointless. Your classmates tried to help you, cheer you up but it was an impossible task. Eventually, you were a loner, you went to school and did your work but didn’t connect with anyone around you. What was the point if you would just lose them.
Most days you would sit under the tree you and Touya always sat at and remember all the good times you had with him.
You remembered all the times he had patched you up after a rough training session. All your scrapes and bruises were worth it for the disgruntled look on his face as he kneeled in front of you with a first aid kit.
“Touya with how good you are with a first aid kit I think you might consider interning for Recovery Girl.” You would tease.
“Only for you, rain drop. Only for you.” He would always reply.
It hurt being there, under that tree thinking about him, knowing you would never see him again. Students passed and gave you a sad look.
It was odd, that night was present in your mind often but lately, it felt like you couldn’t push it away at all. You missed Touya, you always missed him. How often did you see something he would have liked and thought of him? How often did something happen and you wanted to tell him? It didn’t matter how long he had been gone, his loss was fresh as the day it had happened.
There was no connection that you could see between his death and the situation with the hero commission but it still felt personal.
You had pushed for more information but were unable to find anything. Your last resort was risky but you had a feeling it was the only way you would get a real answer.
Walking into the hero commission’s building your heartbeat in your chest. You knew it was dangerous but you were in this so deep, you couldn’t walk away without understanding what was happening.
You had scheduled an appointment with the commission to report on villain activity in your patrol territory. It was something you had done here and there and something a lot of heroes did to keep them informed.
But the real reason for your visit was different.
“Thank you for visiting us again, if you have everything written down in a file you don’t have to stay and explain it all, we will review it and deal with things as necessary.” An older man said. “Just to clarify have you found that we need more heroes or less in your area?”
You handed them the file. The man took it and set it down not even opening it.
“Things have been quiet so for the time being I think some heroes could be put to better use in other areas.” You said.
“Good to hear.” He said. “Thank you for your time.”
“Thank you for yours.” You said as you turned to leave.
This was your time, now that you were deep inside the building all you had to do was find where they kept all their files. Of course, they had a lot of different file rooms but you wanted the one that had the information they didn’t want out there.
It was unmarked but had a serious lock on the door. Obviously, they didn’t want people in there. You looked over your shoulder confirming there was no one around and no cameras before you started to pick the lock. You thanked your internship with a hero that specialized in more subtle hero work.
It wasn’t easy, especially with how shaky your hands were from nerves but finally, the lock clicked and you knew you were in.
Opening the door quietly you moved in looking around all the shelves. You had to be quick but you wanted all the right information. Most of it was unmarked. As you glanced over the information you were disturbed.
The hero commission had a program where they took in children with promising quirks and trained them into weapons. The most notable one being Hawks. Skimming through more of the information you found Hawk’s file. He was in fact was working as a double agent. What horrified you, even more, was that the commission approved the killing of Best Jeanist. Everyone thought he was missing but he was dead.
The paper slacked in your hand at the realization. You kept reading, you would have time to process this later. Looking over more files you found evidence of them killing off heroes and covering it up to keep this information from getting out.
A shiver went down your spine. You were now one of those people. If they found out you would be another casualty. You grabbed the most incriminating papers and folded them up and hid them in your pocket. You had to get out before someone knew you had been there.
Once you were out and around the corner you let out a breath you had been holding. You made it out but that didn’t mean you were safe. You had to decide what to do with this information before it was too late.
That night you couldn’t sleep, all you could think of was all the children that had been taken from their families only to be stripped of their identity and treated like soldiers. How could an organization that was supposed to stand for justice and heroism do something like this? It was wrong and that was just the tip of the iceberg of their misdeeds.
You were just one person, what could you do?
Enji Todoroki. Your interaction with him stuck in your head. He claimed to be a changed man, or at least a man trying to change. If you approached him with this information he might want to help, even if he didn’t want to you could guilt him into it.
The thought of working with him made you sick.
Hawks was a more dangerous option. He was a victim of their system, there was a chance he would want to get out. There was also a chance he would be the one trying to kill you if the commission found out you knew.
Perhaps it was your pride but you chose the more dangerous option, tomorrow you would talk to Hawks and see how it went.
As you left your house you had a bad feeling. Someone was following you. You tried not to look like you knew as you walked along the street. There were people around so you were most likely safe for now.
You had been wrong. A weight collided with you and you were thrown into the street. You were disoriented but you tried to gather your senses quickly.
The man that stood over you was familiar, he was a villain. You hadn’t fought him before but you knew his face. He had a teleporting quirk. As you stood up her appeared behind you a knife in hand. You swung your elbow back, hitting him in his ribs. He was quick, as your arm went back he took advantage leaving a gash across your arm before you hit him. He let out a sound of pain but recovered quickly grabbing your arm and flipping you onto the ground.
Your lungs burned as the wind was knocked out of you. He leaned down to grab you by the collar of your shirt but you kicked him in the stomach knocking him back. Standing up quickly you used your quirk to push him back with a gust of wind before you summoned a lightning bolt down on him. He let out a grunt of pain.
Even while he was still in pain he teleported behind you so quickly you couldn’t react. He kicked you to the ground, hard. You landed on your face, unable to brace for the fall. Your head was spinning from the impact. He placed his foot on your back holding you down, not that you could move with how disoriented you were.
“The hero commission sends their regards.” He said leaning down close to your ear. You had expected another hero to come after you or even an underground vigilante but a villain?
You let out a scream of pain as he dug the knife into your side. Great, he wasn’t going to go for the killing blow he was going to torture you first.
You waited for another stab but you were shocked when a burst of flames blew over you, knocking the villain away. When you rolled over you expected to see Endeavor, which would have been odd considering he wasn’t over here very often.
When you saw Dabi you were confused.
He walked past you towards the villain saying something you couldn’t quite make out before he let out another burst of flames turning the man into a pile of ashes. You flinched at the heat from his quirk. He turned to you looking at you with an odd expression.
Why was he here?
He didn’t say a word as he picked you up in his arms and walked in the direction of your house. Did he know where you lived?
“Where are you taking me?” You asked.
“Your house.” He said as if you should have known.
“How do you know where I live?” You asked.
“A hero is stalking me and you didn’t expect me to do some stalking of my own?” He said in a teasing voice.
“Oh.” You said. That made sense you supposed. You were in over your head, you should have realized that when a villain was trying to kill you for the hero commission but being carried home by a villain was somehow more confusing. “Why aren’t you trying to kill me?”
“One attempt on your life in a day isn’t enough for you?” He joked.
“Are you the one who took me home after that night in the alley?” You asked.
“None of your business.” He said.
It seemed you weren’t going to get a straight answer from him. You supposed that made sense. You got home and he opened the door and took you inside setting you down on the couch.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” He asked.
“Under the sink.” You said. “Wow, so you not only saved me but you're going to patch me up. I’m starting to think villains aren’t as bad as they’re made out to be.”
Dabi returned kneeling in front of you looking at you with those familiar blue eyes.
“Only for you, raindrop. Only for you.” He said.
The realization hit you and it felt like you couldn’t breathe.
“T-Touya?” You could barely the name out. He looked at you with shock, it seemed he didn’t mean to say that out loud.
a/n: i swear i didn’t mean to leave it on a cliffhanger but it was getting really long and i didn’t have much time to finish it all
taglist:  @flowersgirl02 @wesparklebitch @moon-write @strangely-charmed @ibookishqueen @tomomoni @why-so-red @grungy-pansexual @sugarandsoft @pansexual-potterhead @ha-tep @milegonzalez96 @prettyinblack231 @jadepersonaldriscal @nanamichan @multi-madison @e-wwis @itlivesintheanime
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jeongyunhoed · 2 years
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Past-Present-Future Black Dahlia
Two major tragedies bring Lee Mirae closer to the edge as she goes through the stages of grief in a more violent manner that would affect not only her relationships with her boyfriend Jeong Yunho and her half-brother Choi San, but also has her becoming closer with the immortal mutant Kang Yeosang. Fueled by rage, grief, and pain, along with a very rude awakening that has Mirae spiraling out of control and questioning everything she holds dear.
Group: ATEEZ Member: Yunho Pairing: Jeong Yunho / OC Genre: Action, adventure, angst, fantasy
Watch Out! : Violence, blood, death, grief and loss, major character deaths, use of weapons
Anything else? : Mentions of other idols of course as well as other characters. SuperM, Dean, Chanyeol, Zelo, soloist Park Jihoon to name a few.
Author’s Note: So, here is the end of the series! Sorry if the ending was a little blah -- I really couldn’t wait to finish this whole story already. Thank you for reading it if you have. 
Listen to: All About You - ATEEZ, Halcyon + On and On - Orbital
Masterlist
Chapter 10
“Where did he go?” San looked around. The being transformed back into Mirae, whose hair, except for the streak, had also turned partially white at the ends. 
“Not to be that kind of person, but as long as he’s away from here, I don’t care where else he goes,” Jongho said. 
“What now?” Hongjoong turned to her, noticing the change in her appearance and the vacant expression on her face. “...Mirae, are you okay?” 
She glanced at them, all of whom were looking at her with hopeful eyes. Mirae was trying to process everything that just happened. Did she really just do what she did? From the looks on Junhong and San’s faces it seemed to be the case. She didn’t feel any better, but she realized that she had come a long way from where she was. If Hyuk and Chanyeol and even Jihoon could see her now. 
“I’m fine,” Mirae said. “I-I never thought I’d get to what you told me before,” She glanced at Junhong. 
“Grief tends to do that to people,” Junhong replied, a small assuring smile on his face. “On the bright side, everything is fixed, save for this window,” He looked at the broken glass behind her. “And the fact that we’re in someone else’s building.” 
“By now, people know who we are too,” Seonghwa spoke. “Our pictures, videos of what we did, would be going viral by now.” 
“I don’t think there’s a way to stop it either,” Yunho shook his head. He held out the gem in his hand. “But we need to do something about this.” 
“There’s no doubt they’ll come for that when they get around to showing themselves again,” Wooyoung said, looking at all of them and then at the gem in Yunho’s hand. “We need to put that away, that’s too powerful for any one of us to handle.” 
“Where do you suggest we put this away?” Yeosang questioned. “It’s too much of a risk to keep it around here.” 
Just then, the jewel glowed and after a moment, it disappeared. They stared at Yunho’s empty hand, amazed. “Well that answers your question,” Mirae pointed out. “The jewel is sentient. It knew that we didn’t want it, so it disappeared.” 
“If there was a way to understand how that diamond moves, I would’ve found a way,” Junhong said quietly. “If it left us, let’s hope that it doesn’t come back, or at least is in the right hands.” 
“That’s all we can do?” San spoke, a slight frown on his face. 
“That’s all we can do, Sannie,” Mirae replied. “Those people outside that we tried to protect will be coming back in here now that it’s over. I hate to imagine what they’d say when they see us going home.” 
“Me too. If it was anything like what happened to me in Morocco,” Yunho shook his head upon remembering. “It wouldn’t be pretty.” 
Mirae sighed and looked back out the window. “It’s getting dark, there’s nowhere else to go but home, now that it’s all over, and we all need to shower.” 
The rest of them laughed. “Can we get something to eat first? I know a good barbecue place,” Wooyoung suggested. 
“By all means,” Yeosang waved his hand at the broken window, the shards of glass putting itself back together. “No doubt people will recognize me now, I might as well do what I want. I will need to keep myself from doing any more magic if I don’t want to feed on people as constantly as I might do so now.” 
“Where do you think those guys went?” Hongjoong mused as they walked out of the office, seeing the shocked expressions of the employees who seemed to be aware of the ruckus that occurred moments ago. “Do you think they tried to make their own little world again?” 
“It is possible,” Yeosang replied. “However, I must reveal that I can’t guarantee Mark won’t come back if I’ve killed him not too long ago.” 
The mention of the immortal made Yunho glance at him. “We can’t really kill him for good?” 
“We are immortals, Yunho. If we kill each other, we get reincarnated. It’s something I forgot to tell you,” He said. “You will never really be away from Mirae if Mark tries to go after you, same as me.” 
“You mean we can’t get rid of you at all even if we tried?” San chimed in. 
“I’m afraid not, I’ll always be here to torment you and ruin your day,” Yeosang replied with a sly smile on his face. “Admit it, I must have proved myself to be a valuable member of… this cabal of people.” 
“And I never thought we’d have executive Kang on our side,” Hongjoong said. 
Yeosang glanced at Mirae then cleared his throat when he noticed Yunho caught him. “Well, since I helped my dear Mirae the first two times, three times the charm, isn’t it?” 
Mirae sighed. “Service elevator might be good for all of us to go down at the same time. We just have to figure out where it is.” 
“We don’t need to,” Yunho shook his head, gesturing to a dimly-lit hallway that likely led to the store rooms and the janitor’s closet. “I don’t know where we’ll be, but at least we’re out of here,” He said, as the rest of them grabbed onto him and they vanished. 
It was the ten of them in the almost empty barbecue restaurant Wooyoung suggested, with Yeosang paying the owners to allow them to stay late while they ate. The owners turned on the television, paying attention to the news that was on. 
“In what was one of the most disastrous attacks since the goblin invasion five years ago, robotic machines caused chaos. While there were no casualties, there was some property damage. However, shortly after the attacks, the damages caused from the chaos were easily repaired, all thanks to ten unidentified people who risked their lives to protect the citizens that were caught in the crossfire,” the news anchor said, and photos and video footage of the attacks. The restaurant owners gaped upon seeing their faces on the television. It then switched to the news correspondent, who was talking with some of the people who witnessed the incident.
“On behalf of the citizens, we would like to thank them for keeping us safe,” One person said to the camera. “They just left like that without telling us, and they repaired everything too.” 
“Superheroes! Those were superheroes!” One kid said, almost excitedly. “They saved us!” 
“Just another day,” San muttered in between bites of rice. He could sense that the restaurant owners were staring at them after realizing who they were. 
Yunho glanced at Mirae, hearing what she was thinking while they ate. “Do you really want to leave this place?” He asked quietly, making the rest of them look. 
“I’m thinking about it,” Mirae said. “We’ve been exposed somehow, and even with those people saying thank you, I feel like I’m too dangerous to be around here.” 
“They could say that about each and every one of us, even Junhong hyung,” Hongjoong said. “Was this what it was like from the train station incident? I remember Chanyeol hyung talking about it.” 
“Yeah. People didn’t take too kindly to what happened even after the whole thing,” Mirae nodded. “We’ve had coffee thrown at us. They don’t like this kind of thing, that’s why I live quietly. That’s why we’ve been living quietly.” 
Junhong put his chopsticks down. “You know, maybe times have changed. Maybe people who didn’t like things back then would’ve changed their minds now.” 
Yeosang sighed. “I believe he is right. Times have certainly changed, there is a chance that people of our kind would be received well, but that doesn’t mean we should go around showing off.” 
“Then they’ll really hate us,” Wooyoung ate a big piece of meat. “So, after this, what’s next? We go back to our homes and move on, isn’t it?” 
“That is the plan, there’s nothing much else we can do, is there?” Mirae replied. 
Seonghwa waved his hand and the bottles of water and soju poured themselves into their respective glasses. He raised his own glass, making them do the same. “Can I say something?” He asked, the rest of them nodding. “I haven’t been a mutant for very long. Actually, I haven’t been the type to do what we just did for good for very long, and I don’t know where I’m going with this, but I do want to say that we did well out there.” 
They clinked their glasses and took sips. They suddenly heard the sounds of something cooking from the back and after a moment, the restaurant owner came back out, bringing over a large pot of ramen to their table. “This is to thank you, for keeping everyone safe out there,” They said.
They stared at the pot, then glanced at her. “You really didn’t have to-” Mirae said. 
“But it is the least that could be done. All of you are owed a great debt that seems impossible to pay off by the rest of us. Please, have some of the noodles, it’ll go well with the meat you’re eating too,” They said. 
“We will eat this well. But for the record, we didn’t do what we did to get something in return,” Mirae said quietly. 
“That’s even more noble,” The restaurant owner said. “All of you are heroes in a world of flying men and monsters. The goblin invasion seemed to reveal to everyone that humans and animals aren’t the only living things walking the planet, this one seemed to be another reminder that we’re not alone. Please eat and enjoy. You are all welcome to return here as much as you want,” They bowed before walking back into the kitchens. 
Mirae turned back to her food, as did the rest of them. Yunho kept glancing at her and he put his spoon down to hold her hand. “We’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” He whispered. 
She laced their fingers together. “I know I will be, as long as you’re around, as long as San is around. I took you and San for granted all this time.” 
Yunho shook his head. “You’ve been learning, and I won’t stop reminding you that you aren’t alone. You don’t have to bear the weight by yourself.” 
“Jihoon, Hyuk, and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, Mirae,” Junhong said. “I know they would be. Just like how the rest of us are proud of you.” 
“And you even got a dye job from your powers too, with your hair now being the way it is,” Mingi pointed out, making them laugh. 
“It’s the mark your powers are leaving on you, through your hair,” Junhong explained to her, seeing her confused expression. “When you tapped into your ability to trap souls, that white streak on your hair appeared. When you turned into an energy spirit, even more white appeared. Who knows what else you can do.” 
“Hang on, does that mean my hair’s going to do the same?” San stared at the elder. 
“Well, you are Mirae’s brother, it’s likely you will go through the same changes in your appearance, mainly your hair, if you push your abilities to the fullest extent,” Junhong shrugged. 
“Then there’s hope for the rest of us,” Hongjoong grinned. “We’d look cool with those kinds of changes.” 
The rest of them, including Yeosang, stayed inside the apartment bases later that night. “Now that everything’s done and over with, I guess it’s back to training for the rest of you, isn’t it?” Junhong said to them. 
“This place is quite plain,” Yeosang seemed to examine the interiors. “I know someone who can do wonders with redecorating.” 
“Speaking of redecorating,” Jongho poured himself a cup of coffee from the kitchen. “Are we still considering the old base that we went to with those goblin corpses?” 
They all looked at each other. “If I may be permitted, we can develop the place, make it nicer, I can have a clean up crew get rid of the blood and corpses but I am afraid I’m not sure where we can dispose of those goblin bodies,” Yeosang suggested. 
“That place does seem like a good choice,” Junhong shrugged. “There’s room in that tunnel for some of you to train using your powers, but no more simulations, just practical training courses.” 
“Good, I think we’ve learned from what happened that set everything off in the first place,” San nodded, glancing at his sister, who raised a brow at him. 
“What do you think, Mirae?” Hongjoong turned to her. 
Mirae looked back at all of them. They still had the same hopeful expressions. “...Me? I mean, there are all these passageways in there that are waiting to be used over and over, and since we took care of the goblins years ago, it would make sense that we’d have that place as a kind of headquarters.” 
“Can we get rid of the rats too? I don’t want to have to run away in the middle of a training session because Remy and his clan are busy going back and forth,” Wooyoung spoke. “Then again, he might be on his way to some kitchen, cooking soup…” 
“Someone’s watched Ratatouille for the recipe of that soup,” Jongho teased. 
“So then it’s settled, we can use that place, we’ll just get rid of the bodies and the blood,” Mirae nodded. 
“Now that I’ve eaten my fill and we’ve come to an agreement, my dear Mirae, it has been a pleasure working with you,” Yeosang turned to her, then paused to see the rest of them watching him. “And...I must admit, even the rest of you. With Ino gone, this whole… operation of ours will need funds, and I am happy to back this up, within reason. As always, my dear Mirae, if there is anything you need, if another investigation comes up again, don’t hesitate to come to Kang Tower. Gentlemen, it’s been nice, but not too nice,” Yeosang gave the rest of them a nod before seeing himself out. 
“Well, I think it’s time for me to shower and turn in, I’m starting to feel the exhaustion sink in,” Mingi got up from the chair, making Hongjoong and Jongho do the same. 
“We better get some rest now too, and I also need a shower. I’ve been in these clothes for a while, I didn’t realize how fast the days came,” Mirae looked down at her now dust and soot-covered clothes. “These also happen to be very expensive.” 
“Looks like it too. Yeosang got you that?” San noticed the details on her sleeve. 
“Yeah,” Mirae shrugged. She followed the rest of them to the door, seeing Junhong clear out the cups of coffee and put back the couch cushions in between waving at them. There was something she still wanted to do now that it was all over. She turned to Yunho. “Don’t wait up for me, there’s still something I need to do,” she muttered. 
Yunho got the idea and nodded. “Alright,” He kissed her cheek and watched her go down the stairs. 
With a small bouquet of flowers in hand, Mirae arrived at the graves of Chanyeol and Hyuk and put half of the bouquet on each of their grave stones. “I miss both of you so much,” She whispered, reading the epitaphs. “We could’ve been on this adventure together, the three of us. Then again, I realize that both of you were with me this whole time.” 
Mirae’s eyes were welling with tears as she looked at the two gravestones. She heard a whoosh from the nearby tree and out stepped Yunho. “Junhong is right, you know. Hyuk and Chanyeol would’ve been proud of you, even if you destroyed some things along the way,” He said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 
Mirae leaned on him as she looked at the gravestones again, and at the flowers she put down. “I hope they are.” 
Yunho kissed the side of her head. “I love you, you know that, right?” He whispered, and she nodded. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere.” 
“I love you too,” She said quietly, wrapping her arms around him.
Yunho kissed her. “It’s always us,” He murmured. 
“Always.” 
“Come on, let’s go home, hmm? We’ve had a rough few days,” Yunho held her hand, lacing their fingers together as he led her towards the tree. Mirae smiled to herself as she followed him, the two of them disappearing. 
A moment later, a glittering object appeared in the space between Chanyeol and Hyuk’s gravestones.
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redloftwingfeathers · 3 years
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I feel like talking about the shit Zelda not only had to put up with but also what she subconsciously summoned herself and you're going to sit and listen and maybe cry with me okay? Okay.
While I don't think that was very cash-money of 'Hylia' to make Zelda wait until she's reached true, unrelenting despair to finally find her light, it made me wonder how everything came into play that made her journey so painstakingly hard, and not just Hylia pulling fast ones from the clouds. (Trust me I wanted to blame the goddess so bad after that moving performance at the spring of power but wait!! there's more!)
Things I'm looking at are specifically Zelda's anxieties of wanting to be a scholar but having to throw herself to the dogs of religion to keep Rhoam happy, the HEAVY depression she carries with not just from the loss of her mother but also just constantly being berated by her father and feeling like she's not good enough for Hylia, the jealousy and anger she harbors towards Link in their beginnings and how it effects her growth.
All of these are things (coming from someone who is very mentally ill) are ingredients that distract Zelda from her goals, intentional or not.
Zelda has a classic case of "I wanna do This Thing (studying, traveling) but I have to do That Thing (religion, strict orders) instead and now the fun is sucked out of it and my mind is buzzing and now I don't know what to do girl (hylia) HELP"
What's even worse is despite her hand-picked maturity, she KNOWS what is right and what she needs to do (her level of self awareness is impeccable sometimes) but she is still just a child in the end, wanting to live her life without dictation, which causes frustration and anger and can lead to self-doubts.
Starting with the loss of her mother, Rhoam claims that Zelda did not cry at all during the ceremony, and that it proved to him he could still be a strong king with how unwavering his daughter was. And although that's shown as an "awe inspiring" moment, it shows Rhoam does not understand how the processing of grief registers differently amongst people, especially children. She may have not showed it when she was, what, 6? (Not every normal 6 year old understands the fragility of mortality) but you can definitely see it affects her later on as Zelda grows older. It may not be entirely visible at first, but the way they portray it in HWAoC (I know its not entirely canon but bare with me on this) she longs for her mother's advice and comfort when her pleas and ideas fall deaf on the king's ears. Her mother seemed to be a very wise and compassionate queen, where Rhoam is a wise and a very bite-the-bullet king.
When stakes are high he trusts what he thinks needs to be done, and he enforces Zelda to finish her training Because she is part of his plan to push back the calamity. He knows protocol, and there's no room for creative thinking when the land of Hyrule is in danger. (Disclaimer: I hate Rhoam but I can also try to see what Nintendo was doing. He's not intentionally mean, he's an assertive dad that wants to see his daughter succeed (and also hella depressed) but he's really fucking bad at it and comes off as a dickhead. He is the embodiment of a boomer that does things the old fashioned way to get things done).
But all of this pressure he is putting on her, taking away things that make her happy so they don't distract her from her duty, shooting down her ideas because he wouldn't know how to even approach it from his standpoint, it really does a number on Zelda and really births her insecurities.
No matter how hard she prays and dedicates herself to Hylia, it doesn't work. Her mind is distracted, filled with fear and very little hope that the magic isn't Working. What even kicks me in the jaw more is that she's putting all of her effort into these prayers, and it's not even her wish she's making. It's Rhoam's wish. Her Ancestral Family's wish. That's why it hasn't sparked. She's praying on the behalf of her father and ancestors and not herself because she firmly believes there's other ways to settle the score. Zelda knows the importance of her role but its just not clicking when someone else is forcing you to do it. It just doesn't work like that.
Moving onto her liaison with Link, she is, well, in the beginning very irritated with him. Even a little bit after being chosen by Fi. But I don't think she MEANS to be angry at Link, he didn't do anything wrong in all honesty. She shouldn't take out her anger on him, but she's jealous, and he exists...so like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
When Link is suddenly chosen by the sword at a drop of a hat?? Yeah she's relieved, but there's also undertones of resentment. All of her Champions are here at the ready and she's still trying to figure out what shoe goes on first. She is the goddamn Princess of Hyrule, one who carries the blood of Hylia in her veins, and this random tiny knight who, mind you, fought tooth and nail to be her escort ends up finding his role before her? She is riding the struggle mule up Mount Lanayru (and I don't really blame her). And when she's exploring the shrines?? She makes it very clear to him she can work independently and does not need an escort, which although understood (freedom is a peace everyone strives for) she is careless regardless of her careful planning and efforts. She's a Princess, wandering Hyrule unarmed (and without her powers) with a horse as her only mode of transportation. You won't see yourself as a target even if they're pinned on your back, and with her determination to utilize these mysterious shrines as more Sheikah tech is being discovered is making her blind in remembering where she's placed in social status. It's dangerous, and I'm glad Link is there to see what she fails to see.
That's another thing too. As they progress and strengthen their friendship, Zelda sees Link as a mirror to question what her role really means. She uses him as guidance to help understand her situation, asking him "If you were told your whole life This is what you're meant to do, to take up your family's legacy...but one day realize this isn't what you want, would you still take the path you've been told to take?" In this case I think it's safe to say this is what Link knew he wanted. He loves being an aid to those in need, and becoming a knight despite following his father's path, this felt like his true calling. The spirit of the hero is VERY strong in his soul, and when he sees someone in need of help [Zelda] he's going to aid them whether they want it or not.
But Zelda still feels so lost, she feels so disconnected from her ancestors, as the previous daughters in the royal families were Given their powers at birth and meant to be awakened when the time has come. They were all given the gift of premonition, to be a medium for Hylia and a messenger of the gods, and overall able to keep Ganon away from the world no matter how many times he crawls back from the depths of hell. Being told your whole life you're meant to be like your ancestors, but not being able to fulfill any of those roles? It makes the past seem like one giant fairy tale when in you're in BotW Zelda's shoes.
No voices, no premonitions, no secret awakenings...Nothing.
At this moment, I finally understood why Urbosa said to Revali about Link. She said he is a constant reminder of Zelda's own failures. Link found his calling by following his instinct. Zelda has yet to figure out what she really wants, and is clouded by judgements not only from her father and people, but from herself too. With every passing day she is undergoing a meltdown, questioning if she is even meant to be apart of this whole plan anymore, probably something among the lines of "Was it meant to be someone else? I'm the only daughter, and yet I can't even do my one job." She lost everyone and everything, she's frightened, it feels like she's lost her faith in the gods, or even dare say, the gods lost faith in her.
But through absolute despair when Link just about gives his life for her protection, that's when it all clicked. She found her power and strength through Link, who was the one that, all this time, taught her about what she needed to do to awaken her powers without even directly telling her. Every conversation she had with him, she saw herself in Link. She saw all the effort he gave into becoming a royal knight, the unwavering determination in his eyes with every Lynel he slew, a never ending supply of optimism and hope no matter how high the stakes were. And yet he was also Free. He followed his path blindly, not even knowing where he'd end up, as long as he knew he was
able to protect those in need. And she wanted that.
He was her mirror, and Zelda managed to awaken herself when that mirror cracked.
Living the burden of being part of a prophecy and saying you're ready for anything, is very reckless. Understanding the heaviness that comes with sacrifice is not truly understood until it starts happening to you.
Zelda found her wish, her independence through Link. Her mind is finally clear and she understands what her role means in all of this.
She is meant to protect, to save, to understand more than just personal loss.
Zelda couldn't stand by idly anymore after everyone told her to do something else and let others handle the job. That was the last straw when Link stood in front of her, shield weak but at the ready when that guardian approached. She saw the desperation and said NO, which finally broke her seal. She chose to sacrifice herself, igniting her powers just as Hylia did for her people. She chose to save her last, literally dying hope, because Ganon cannot be fought alone.
He was the connection, the literal link, she needed to awaken her powers. And I just find that so fucking great.
Anyways thanks for coming to my TED talk I've been typing this for like 4 hours now
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bitch-for-a-rainbow · 3 years
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So there's a blanddcheadcanons post that says that "Kara is the mortal avatar of Rao" and I really don't like it, especially in the context of SG 3x04 (The Faithful). At best, as was pointed out to me by a friend with whom I discussed this post, the House of El is likely blessed and somewhat sponsored by Rao, which probably doesn't do much but produce Krypton's greatest heroes, given what the word "El" **means** in Kryptonian. I'm interested in your thoughts on this (pls post your answer).
    I reject the headcannon solely because if it were true it would mean Coville was right and I fucking hate that bitch.
     In all seriousness, though, this is an idea I've seen a lot and I'm not a huge fan of. I don't know much about Raoism beyond what appears in the show and that which can be inferred off of the show. One thing I would point out though is that El in Kryptonian (while obviously being intended to mean God by the original comic writers) can mean Sun or Stars, and since the Kryptonians in the show are, as far as I can tell, monotheistic, and worshipped only one particular star, the El family is not necessarily named God. It would, however, signify their enormous prestige on Krypton and contribute to the famous El pride (or rather, arrogance). I’m not sure it would necessarily have to mean anything more than that-- that the Els are a respected house who have produced a variety of successful politicians, civil servants, and scientists. And (this time reaching a little bit) that they are perhaps so old and respected that their house name was once a title. 
      There is a certain allure to the theory, for sure. Kara is a paragon character. She always, always does what she thinks is right, regardless of the cost, personal or global, and regardless of what other people might think of it. She has a very direct moral compass, and there are only a handful of times when she doesn’t follow it, all of which involve saving Lena. Ship who you want, but it is notable that Kara routinely prioritzes Lena’s life over that of others given the rarity of that happening otherwise. She never even considered breaking Rick Thompson’s father out of prison when he kidnapped Alex, and all he’d committed was bank robbery. Kara has lines she does not cross (though murder is clearly not one of them). She is a character that has seen some of the worst that sentient life is capable of, has seen more death and suffering than most people could imagine, and she came out of it with an all-encompassing desire to protect others. She lives to give people hope. Plus, the humor of having Kara-- the one person most offended by the idea of being an Avatar of Rao-- turn out to be an Avatar of Rao is great.
       But, I would also say that having Kara want to do good because she is the avatar of a benevolent god is reductive and not particularly true to her character. It is true that helping and protecting people is a large part of the core of who Kara is. But there is a difference between altruism and the self-destructive, bordering of suicidal desperation to save absolutely everyone that Kara practices. And to anyone who doubts the suicidal bit, I direct you to the season 1 finale where Kara literally goes on a goodbye tour because she thinks if she goes out to fight Non she’ll die. She still goes because she has hope, but that hope is that she can at least save Earth with her life. She doesn’t fight because she is certain in the ultimate victory of good and justice. She does it because she more afraid to lose another family than she is to die. Kara doesn’t become Supergirl and risk her own life because she believes in good, she does it because she can’t stand to listen to people suffer-- because she has suffered. To use Alex’s words in 1x13 “You fight everyday to keep people from struggling like you have.” Notably also in 1x13, Kara wakes up from the Black Mercy and her first words are “Who did this to me?” and then she goes after Non in what could arguably be described as a homicidal rage-- a rage that is fueled entirely for personal reasons, not the greater good of Earth (though that comes as an added benefit), which is.... not very befitting the avatar of a benevolent god. 
     A major part of season 1 is Kara dealing with grief and rage. She nearly breaks a guy's arm in episode 6 because he screamed at her for damaging his car, to hell with the children he'd almost hit with it. In season 3's Midvale flashbacks we see her first put both hands through a lunch table, then attack Jake when she suspects him for Kenny's death. She gets better at controlling it as the seasons progress, but during Crisis she very nearly melts Lex. Also not particularly godly of her. 
     Then there is the fact that so much of who Kara is is shaped by fear: fear of the government, fear of humanity, fear of abandonment, and fear of herself. In her civilian life, Kara is, for the most part, unnoticeable. She's polite, soft-spoken, doesn't wear a lot of bold colors or styles, and is often a pushover. As shown by her encounter with Red Kryptonite, Kara would not dress or speak the same way to people without the pressure of hiding her identity (though much of her dialogue is purely the loss of her "don't be an asshole" filter, some of it is stuff she had every right to say before and just didn't). I have always found that episode to be very interesting purely for the fact that Kara doesn't actually seem to be seeking harm on others so much as seeking their attention. Her argument with Alex is almost entirely about how much she hates having to hide and pretend to be less than she is. Kara drops Cat off the balcony and then catches her. She attacks the police when they point weapons at her but doesn't kill or even hurt them that badly, instead of destroying the car they're using as shelter. Red-K removed her inhibitions, made her angrier, yes, but if her goal was to actually hurt people, she could have done so-- would have done so, and with great ease. She goes to a public bar and uses super strength to smash bottles by flicking peanuts. Why do that at a crowded bar? Why not just flick potato chips at the windows in her own apartment?
      This is Kara at her absolute worst-- but does she seek out the DEO agents who shot her out of the sky? Does she go after Maxwell Lord or Non? No. She tries to make people pay attention to her. Her most shameful and hideous desire is for people to give her respect. (Admittedly, respect gained through fear, but still.). Kara's a nice person-- much, much nicer than average-- but a lot of that "nice" is just her avoiding conflict to avoid attention.
      Kara is a good person. Kara inspires people. But that is because Kara gets up every day and chooses to be good and to inspire. It's one of the reasons I enjoy Non as a villain so much-- he and Astra are Kara's narrative foils. They also remember Krypton and grieve its loss. They also were trapped in the Phantom Zone. But where Kara had the Danvers to convince her that some good people existed and would risk themselves just to help others, Non and Astra had Alura sentencing them to eternal suffering rather than helping them save their planet (through the means they thought necessary) and then landed on Earth and found it headed on the same path as the planet they'd just lost. Kara had people to help her grieve. Non and Astra were surrounded by misery. They lost hope. Kara discovered it.
     Kara is the Paragon of Hope because she has been hopeless. Because she has suffered so much, seen so much, and because she chooses to believe in a better future. She didn't have hope her first time in the Phantom Zone. She didn't even have hope for a while on earth. From what we can gather, Kara's choice to start actually believing in the future was a gradual shift that occurred sometime after Kenny's death and has lasted her ever since. For Kara, hope is learned. She chose to hope and she won't let it go, and to assign that incredible victory off to her being a God is an insult to her growth and to her character. 
   Now I personally thought “The Faithful” handled this concept very well. 3x04 is one of my favorite episodes of television in general, let alone in Supergirl. Season 3 is my second favorite season, and that says a lot for its good episodes when the bad of season 3 is so, so very bad (To say nothing of the episode to episode production value, we have the waste of Argo, Mon El’s return as obviously he’s grown he has a beard Mon El, and whatever the hell was going on with Kryptonian genetic engineering eclipse causing witches). To this day I don’t know why Kara had magic dreams. The show did nothing to explain it and I can’t imagine up a reason. 
     But “The Faithful” works because it highlights the whole paragon part of who Kara is. When you realize that every person in the room of Coville’s cult is a person she has personally saved-- that hits hard. Especially since only a fraction of the people she’s saved would ever set foot inside that building with the totally not-creepy, entirely wholesome way they deliver the invitations. (“Your daughter is special. She has been chosen. As have you.”) It works because it focuses on how the average human must view Kara, the ones who don’t see her argue with her sister over potstickers and crush her phone when she gets mad. It works because of how desperately hard Kara tries to be a human. It works because the writers know that we, the audience, do not see Kara as anything but a regular person with irregular abilities: a kind and remarkably devoted person, but not a god. 
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