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stillness-in-green · 3 years

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MVA In Memoriam (2/5)

The Comprehensive Account of the Butchering of My Villain Academia

(Introduction and Part One, Episode 108: My Villain Academia)

Part Two, Episode 109: Revival Party

Chapter 224 – Revival Party

• Mr. Compress’s side comment about how the distance Re-Destro wants them to travel means he must know they have warp capabilities. Also shortens his subsequent line, removing the bit about how their position has been locked onto, leaving only the marveling about the dude on the phone being the kind of person who has access to a satellite camera. Not a major cut, but it did strip out a bit of reiteration on how very Seen the League is. The warp line is another nod to how the MLA’s been doing their research—in particular, it ties in nicely with RD’s observations about the Noumu. He talks, there, about something Dabi said after the High End fight, which means he must also know that Dabi was warped out by an “Ujiko-san.”

• Also Mr. C’s observation that they haven’t broken Machia yet, and his posed question about what to do. Mr. Compress, I’m so sorry that you’re so wordy and lose so many quips and asides because the anime was set on brutally scything out every line of non-essential dialogue it could find.

• Ujiko’s extremely hilarious, “Listening to Villain Radio is my new favorite hobby,” line. Why would you cut this; this line is hysterical.

• The bit where Mr. Compress has the bright idea to use a High End Noumu like the one Dabi used, Ujiko rejects the suggestion out of hand, citing production woes, and Shigaraki says that he wasn’t going to ask for one of them anyway. Aside from being more cut Compress content (or “Comptent,” for short), it helps center the timeline somewhat at a point where the manga is jerking it around all over; it also shows that the League has been keeping up with news from the outside world. It also shows that at least one of them thought about using the Noumu—and since we know Re-Destro did some rationalizing on that scenario too, it’s good to see that it is at least briefly on the table. Further, Ujiko provides a few rare details about the Noumu creation process. Firstly, that AFO is normally involved, so his absence makes the procedure much more difficult (though not, apparently, impossible). Secondly, that Hood-chan was the only Noumu who’d actually reached the testing stage. This will be important later, for Ujiko’s agonizing about unleashing them early/Mirko having to fight four of them at once. Also, I just miss Mr. C’s funny little head wilt when Ujiko immediately turns down his “use some Noumu” idea. Ditto Shigaraki’s blasé shrug and little grin. Again, not to harp on the art too much, but man I wish the anime had kept all the fierce little grins and tight, incensed smirks Shigaraki has through the majority of this and the phone call sequence.

• Spinner’s line, “Without knowing squat about what we’re up against?!” A minor cut, as these things go, but it reiterates that there’s a chance RD is bluffing and the League has no way to know one way or the other, and demonstrates that the League can give Shigaraki some pushback on his decisions without having to worry about getting dusted for the temerity.[1]

• Takes one of Spinner’s lines—“Wait. I get it. Wherever you go, Shigaraki, he’ll sniff you out and hunt you down.”—and gives it to Shigaraki instead. Because fuck Spinner’s growing understanding of Shigaraki and the way his mind works, I guess! It’s especially notable that Spinner figures this out when Mr. C had completely the wrong idea about Shigaraki’s intentions—it demonstrates the way Spinner is gradually aligning himself with Shigaraki’s way of thinking, which we’ll see even more clearly during the War Arc. Also, again, it’s good to see the moments where the League weighs in on Shigaraki’s plans.

• The visual of Twice lashing out at Dabi with his razor-edged tape measure over Dabi’s dismissal of Giran, though all the relevant dialogue was there. Possibly this is because, having cut the CRC bit, the audience has no way of knowing that Twice’s tape measure is razor-edged, so why bother raising the question, “Why is Twice trying to attack Dabi with a tape measure..?” Possibly it’s because showing that attack would require animating movement, and MAN ALIVE, did Episode 109 ever want to do everything it could to avoid animating movement.

• Slidin’ Go’s line about how Deika isn’t usually his turf, but today is a big exception. This makes the hearty affirmative with which Trumpet announces himself a response to Shigaraki’s half-phrased observation about the reason behind the city’s emptiness, rather than a response to Slidin’ Go. It works, more or less, and probably even flows more clearly, all things considered. I’m always sad to lose lines from the vanishingly few named/characterized MLA members we have, though. I like, too, that it hints at the machinations that have to have been involved with setting things up for the Revival Party, and the way those plans were carried out with confidence that Re-Destro’s “bait the League into coming for their broker” plan would work despite the total absence of a response from the League in any of the time Giran was missing/his fingers were cropping up on the nightly news reports.

• A few shots of cameras in the city, which foreshadow Skeptic’s watchful eyes and ability to track the League through the city. In retrospect, this isn’t surprising, since the anime went on to cut basically any indication of Skeptic’s entire plan re: the footage of the League attacking, so why bother keeping the cameras? (Oh, right. Skeptic’s whole thing is cameras and information/disinformation. Skeptic for second-most screwed-by-the-anime MLA member.)

Additions

• Showed Toga having stood back up somewhere during Shigaraki’s explanation of their throw-Machia-against-the-MLA plan. A simply appalling choice. In the manga, she stays crouched down by Twice the entire time Shigaraki has his mask pulled off, because Toga cares about reassuring Jin-kun when he’s in a bad way.

• Rephrased Compress’s dialogue somewhat, also giving him a new line about the MLA’s forces in Deika when the League was still in the hills looking down at the city: “The so-called Meta Liberation Army has a force of 110,000 here.” I assume it was because the scene falls in a different episode than the tactical discussion did (in the manga, they’re the same chapter), so the anime was reminding the viewer of the stakes, but it’s potentially awkward because, er, no, the MLA categorically did not bring their entire army to Deika. We’ll find out as much for sure later, with the note that the regiment advisors weren’t in attendance because they were occupied at the bases they command, but even with only the knowledge we have here, Re-Destro’s statement about his numbers is that they’re scattered all over the country—hence the shot of Japan with a bunch of lights scattered across it to represent said numbers. That said, to be (briefly) charitable, there’s no particular reason for the League to assume that, and they did discuss the possibility that there were going to have to fight 110,000 people. So it makes sense that Mr. C might state as much when recapping for the audience.

Chapter 225 – Interview with a Vampire

• Re-Destro talking about Deika’s geography and why they chose it strategically. The anime dropped so much about the MLA’s planning and information-gathering beforehand; it really made the MLA look ludicrously overconfident. And while they don’t lack for that trait, certainly,[2] this is also an organization that has meticulously grown its membership for generations right under Hero Society’s collective nose; you don’t get to where they are by being unduly foolhardy. Erasing so many scenes demonstrating their caution and forward-planning undercuts the threat they represent to both the League and society at large. Also too, the descriptor of Deika as a nice, quiet, isolated little town in the mountains gives us some hints about how the MLA has avoided notice for so long, when you consider how the Hero business works: because so many people who get into heroism want to make it big, like celebrities, they don’t want to stick around small-town beats, and so the rural areas are understaffed.[3] That’s presumably why groups like the CRC and the MLA grow their numbers out in the boonies: much less attention from the Powers That Be. You can guess at some of that from how Spinner describes the place—“not too small, not too big”—and what Trumpet says about the percentage of the population that’s MLA, but RD adds that key “isolated” descriptor, and says that it’s a place where they “lay low.” That gives us some potential insight into how many—likely the majority—of the MLA came to their beliefs: by being raised to them, because their hometown was infiltrated by the MLA generations ago and they have literally never known anything else.

• RD’s phrasing, “Counter to point one,” when he makes his second point about the Noumu. He acknowledges that it’s counter-intuitive to his first argument, that he knows it would normally be an argument against that opening point, not in support. It’s just conversational padding, really, but “conversational padding” like that does a lot to distinguish character voice, so that not everyone talks the same way.

• A panel showing a trio of unnamed MLA warriors strategizing about how to divide their forces now that the League has split up. It’s the little cuts like this that gradually remove the agency of unnamed characters, such that they’re left looking like unthinking puppets instead of real people with the ability to register and respond to their circumstances. It also points towards the truth of what the MLA warriors are and one reason they’re so dangerous (for all that the manga itself will neglect this most egregiously later on): they’re trained in regiment tactics and accustomed to working in groups. This contrasts them both with villains, who might group together, but certainly don’t usually fight that way, and heroes, who are so unaccustomed to working in groups that it’s cited as part of the reason to have named super moves.

• Curious’s little pageboy-cut middle school kid line telling Toga to back off when Miss Curious is on the job. This is an early example of how defensive the MLA are of people above them in the hierarchy, an important thing Spinner will pick up on and attempt to use against Trumpet. Again, it’s little moments like this that both add some welcome notes of individuality to the MLA warriors (if only by virtue of Horikoshi and his assistants’ traditional talent for distinctive character design) while also fleshing out who the MLA are as a group, and contrasting them with the League.

• Deleted Toga’s line IDing her “on-the-go suck-suck mask,” but did insert a nice little bit of her expression shifting when she whipped it out. It lost a bit of the self-conscious silliness of her support item name in exchange for a cool little animation beat. I don’t dislike it, particularly, but I am, as previously stated, very leery of edits that make the League more polished in their villainy at the cost of their human foibles.

• Curious’s line about having come prepared to counter Toga’s moves, which was supposed to further reiterate that the MLA has done their research on the League; they didn’t just decide out of the blue to target the most notorious Villains in the country without studying up on them first and planning accordingly!

• Curious’s line about how she’s going to get started with some background info while her people use their meta-abilities to keep Toga and her buddies on the ropes. A marvelously characterful line! It speaks especially to that edge of formality the MLA brass observe that even as she’s ringleading this attack, Miss Curious is still set on going through her interview process step by established step.

Framing Shifts

• Made some of Curious’s lines spoken dialogue instead of internal monologue. That’s probably fine for when she’s waxing enthusiastic about Toga’s lack of hesitation in committing murder or how she’ll use Toga’s story to further the MLA’s agenda. It’s less fine when she’s rattling out the entire name, brand and patent status of her support item for no particular reason when Toga is already halfway through trying to knife her (that’ll be next chapter).

• The anime implied pretty firmly that Curious’s bombers died. And like, yeah, that’s always made more sense than the idea that anyone could survive something like that, but I hate it anyway. For one thing, it makes it even harder to credit the idea that Toga’s still on her feet afterward if Curious’s supposedly not-very-lethal explosions merk all her own people. People in this series survive ludicrous amounts of damage, and these random MLA devotees are no exception! For another, it leans into the narrative that the MLA higher-ups throw away the lives of their minions without the slightest care. It’s a lot harder to make that case when it’s explicit in the manga that Curious’s people survive the blood explosions—the blonde in the tracksuit is unharmed enough to snicker about it, and the noodle chef is even doing well enough to continue attacking! I’ve always been of the opinion that the MLA are, yes, willing to spend the lives of their underlings on attaining goals, if that’s what they think is necessary, but that is not at all the same as gleefully throwing them onto the pyre to watch them burn.

Additions

• Some individual shots of Mr. Compress, Dabi and Twice fending off or fleeing from various MLA types. A nice try on getting the group split up, but it feels kind of budget save-y, when we could have gotten actual animation of those fights instead.

• Inserted a quick shot of a headline about Toga’s first attack as Curious was rambling on about why she’s interested in Toga but not the League in general. Actually a fairly reasonable insertion, given how much text is crammed into her talk bubble in the manga while the dude standing next to her is already getting a knife in the neck.

Chapter 226 – Bloody Love

• A panel of interviewees talking about Toga’s first victim being sociable and popular. It gives a bit of context on what he was like, what people thought of him, but given that we know enough about Toga at this point to know that his popularity was entirely incidental to what she liked about him, it’s not a huge loss.

• The detail of the broadcasted interviews censoring Toga’s name. Considering how Japanese media normally treats minors accused of crimes, this is an eyebrow-raising change—the manga censors it because Japanese media outlets would have done the same. No idea why the anime didn’t, unless it’s another of those places where it would feel too “real,” to have something that so closely mirrors real life treatment of criminals?

• Everything about quirk counseling, and whoo boy, that is a loaded cut. There is exactly one other mention of quirk counseling anywhere in the manga, and, curiously enough, it also comes up in relation to a villain: in the U.A. faculty meeting after the USJ attack, Midnight muses that maybe Shigaraki never received quirk counseling in elementary school. It’s a weird little non sequitur there—exactly what sort of program did she expect could single-handedly make the difference between a well-adjusted adult and a gleefully murderous manchild with aims on killing Japan’s Number 1 Hero? Just over two hundred chapters later, we get a hint: a program designed to fit people “neatly into society’s little boxes.” Quirk counseling, then, is not about helping children find healthy ways to process their quirks, but rather, about teaching children what is and is not acceptable in terms of quirk use—and as Curious says, Toga’s admiration of blood was never going to be acceptable.[4] This explanation doesn’t just tell us a lot about Toga—that she wasn’t only failed by the hysterical condemnation of her parents, but also by a society that had no interest in helping her if it didn’t see a use for her—but also provides some insight on the viewpoint of the Meta Liberation Army vis-à-vis mandatory state-funded programs that dictate what “normalcy” looks like to impressionable children. Curious is, of course, not a particularly trustworthy narrator in this, as one might expect of someone who uses language like “society’s little boxes,” but it does track with Midnight’s earlier musing of, “Maybe the anti-social dude never took the program intended to make sure he was a functioning member of society.” That kind of statement—“State-sponsored educational programs are there to program children into becoming unthinking cogs of society, actually.”—is one that it’s all too easy to imagine the people with an eye on broadcast standards taking issue with, even coming as it does from the mouth of a villain.

• Curious’s line, “Let’s turn your death into a legendary tragedy, shall we?” and its accompanying visual of two different papers with imagined headlines. The dialogue doesn’t strike me as crucial—Curious’s fervent belief in Toga’s story is amply demonstrated elsewhere and her intent to turn that story into a legend reiterated in the line immediately following—but it is a shame to lose the headlines. They tell us, in Curious’s own words, exactly the tack she was planning to take in telling Toga’s story to the general public, without the constant namedropping of the Liberation Army that she does when talking about it in person. One headline in particular—The Price of Suppression: A String of Bloody Murders—is an especially useful reference for discussing whether the MLA actually wants, as is popularly claimed, completely unhindered quirk use, even for people like e.g. Muscular who want nothing more than to murder people with their quirks.[5]

• Curious’s initial wait what response to getting Floated, and her people’s focus shifting away from Toga and onto Curious instead. On a surface level, that focus shift helps explain why Toga’s able to zip around the ground and touch nearly twenty people before they even react: because they’re afraid for Curious. It also hurts the ongoing characterization of the MLA rank and file as being fanatically devoted to their higher-ups which, again, is something Spinner is supposed to notice later. It’s the worst kind of plot device if that devotion is completely told to us rather than consistently shown!

• Toga’s internal reflection that she’s seen Ochaco use her quirk, and knows how to use it. It’s obvious from the panel that she knows how to use it, but the manga implies that Toga transforming doesn’t automatically grant her an understanding of peoples’ quirks; it’s only in observation (and possibly love) that she can reach this particular unlock. Leaving out that information leaves open the possibility that she can just do this all the time now, with anybody she transforms into.

• The reaction from the surviving crowd to Curious’s death. See above re: STOP FUCKING ERASING HOW MUCH THE MLA CARES FOR EACH OTHER.

Framing Shifts

• When Toga bolts, Curious in the anime sounded serious, her expression alarmed, like she was actually worried that Toga might escape, even though her dialogue said just the opposite. Maybe you could say that she was afraid Toga would die before she got her statement, but given that she tried to kill the girl herself moments later, I’m skeptical of that claim. Regardless, in the manga, she never loses her smile, and she flashes a Liberation salute as she stands up to give chase. It’s a characterization note, that she’s so wildly confident about this that she never stops being completely enthralled with whatever Toga has to show her.

Chapter 227 – Sleepy

• The last of Toga’s conscious dialogue, about how she’s lost a lot of blood, is fading out, can’t move—but more notably, the way that this state of things makes her feel closer to “them,” that it’s “the same sensation.” And who is “they” here—her victims? The people she loves? More alarmingly, why does the line sound like she’s been this beat-up before, and remembers the sensation? Does that tie into e.g. her comment during the training camp that she doesn’t want to fight too many hero students at once because she doesn’t want to die? Has she actually been subject to this kind of violence before in the past? Does that tie into her still-unexplained ability to erase her presence? It’s an interestingly loaded little line, for being so vague, and illustrative of Toga’s mentality on becoming the people she loves. Which also lets the scene segue nicely into Re-Destro’s observation that, in Toga Himiko’s world, there’s no such thing as “other people.” On which note, guess what else the anime cut?

• The entire fucking scene where Re-Destro actually reacts to Curious’ death, the motherfuckers. This lost: 1. RD’s talk about the way Toga sees the world and how that led to society casting her out, which he points to as evidence of said society clinging to old ideals even though the nature of humanity itself has changed. It calls back to his methodology with Detnerat, marrying his lines from the commercial to his overarching ideals; it also shows that he understood very well what Curious saw in Toga, and demonstrates that he can express that understanding and empathy even in the face of losing one of his closest allies. 2. Skeptic’s reaction to Curious’s death, which is pretty sparse, but at least present. He says she never should have been on the front lines—an excellent reminder to the people who’re always going on about how the MLA brass thinks themselves so above their followers: Curious was on the front lines, against the wishes of some of her peers!—and calls her a valuable resource.[6] You can theorize about Skeptic not caring for her beyond her usefulness to the cause, or just that Skeptic is a huge autist who processes his emotions differently than most, and isn’t going to stop to do that when there’s still a battle going on, but either way, you need this scene to do it accurately. 3. Speaking of people who process their emotions in unusual ways, as I said above, this scene also shows Re-Destro openly crying over the deaths of Curious and each and every warrior diving into battle with their hopes for the future. They’re not crocodile tears, either. As was the case with Miyashita, there’s no one in this room that Re-Destro would need to perform grief for: Skeptic clearly doesn’t see a use for tears right now, so I don’t see him expecting them from Re-Destro, and the only other person in the room is Giran, a hostage who the MLA—very probably Re-Destro himself—maimed! It’s not like RD’s tears are going to change Giran’s mind about him (indeed, Giran gets a comedic reaction beat at the absurdity of the dude who started all this up here crying about it)! But RD says life is precious and he cries anyway, briefly, before he ruthlessly turns it off. RD’s valuing of human life—especially his own peoples’ lives—crops up in roundabout ways twice more, both leading the fight with Shigaraki (“It angers me.”) and ending it (“Any more would bring about meaningless death.”). This, though, is when he’s most open about it, to the degree that—as with Machia’s grief—it’s kind of off-putting and strange. Cutting it makes it that much easier for people to get entirely the wrong impression of RD as a character. 4. The delightful scene where Skeptic berates Giran about asking brainless questions and then answers his question anyway. Fuckin’ hell, why cut this?? So much of Skeptic’s character is in this scene! You get moments of his neuroticism later on, but never in so concentrated a burst as this (there’s one other sequence that could compete, but—spoilers—the anime cut that one, too). The exchange also explains the cameras placed throughout the city—which are visually referenced early on—and what the MLA is planning to do with their footage. Without that explanation, the audience has no idea how, exactly, the MLA was planning to use wiping out the League as a springboard for their grand return to the spotlight. That footage is the crucial part of how the rest of the country reacts to Deika in the Endeavor Agency Arc, and the anime never even mentioned it! The audience was just left to assume that all the media came in afterward, not that there was the slightest whiff of footage from the battle itself. 5. Once again brings up Re-Destro’s belief in the power of the heart to move other hearts. We get a bit of that in Curious’s flashback, but here he says it in his own words—as he will also bring it up to Shigaraki. Once again, Shigaraki is going to be challenged about his conviction, which ties back into what Spinner and Ujiko demanded from him earlier in the arc. With so

many people set to be grilling Shigaraki on this front, it tells us again what the arc is for: Shigaraki’s conviction, and him demonstrating it to the people who think he lacks it.

• The panel of Spinner asking how long they’ve been at it and Mr. Compress responding. This line helps manage the pacing, giving the audience an idea how much time is passing as we cut around to different places. It’s also, you know, more cut Spinner dialogue, and shows the beginnings of Shigaraki and Spinner getting split off from the rest by Shigaraki’s sleep-drunk staggering angling him off in a different direction. The rest of the scene is moved to after Toga’s fight with Curious, but not otherwise tampered with.

• The other big reaction to Curious’s death, which is Trumpet using it to rile up the crowd. The group that attacks Shigaraki isn’t just some free-roaming mob—they’re coming at him in a grief-stricken frenzy, which they’ve been goaded into by one of their leaders. This sequence also introduces the campaign van—a vehicle that will have several more appearances—to events, and hints at Trumpet’s meta-ability. Further, it’s one of the scenes that outright states that the MLA is less an army than a religion, in Mr. Compress’s line about how Trumpet is like a preacher rallying his flock. That understanding—that the MLA may style themselves as an army, but what they really are is a cult—is key to the way the MLA members act, from the very bottom to the very top.

• Trimmed Shigaraki’s flashback down, cutting—among other things—the very first lines Hana speaks, and her namedrop. This moment is the first one Tomura gets back, and the very first thing we find out is that he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. The anime also failed to identify Shimura Nana’s relation to Tenko/Tomura and Hana—helpful to remind the audience of a plot thread they haven’t heard about since Kamino. It also cut out the silhouette of chubby baby Tenko and Tenko’s first line, asking why Hana’s showing him this, a line which clues us in that Hana was the impetus here, not Shigaraki as he was back then. Still not satisfied, it also cut the phrase, “Daddy said all that stuff,” which is a clear and ominous warning that there was some conflict going on between young Shigaraki and the Father whose dismembered hand he now wears on his face.

• Left the dialogue but cut the silhouette of an airborne Geten with his enormous ice fists coming in hot behind Dabi when he was smarming about it not being his style to take the pacifist route. It’s not crucial, since we see the fists again shortly (it’s the end of the chapter page, whereas the anime rolls right on into the continuation of the scene), but it’s a shame, since framing Dabi from below with this sudden presence behind him is a much more fun, dynamic angle than the dead-boring medium shot the anime used. Also too, it’s good foreshadowing for the fact that Geten can fly, since he certainly didn’t get that kind of air by jumping off the roof of the mini-mart across the street.

Framing Shifts

• The crowd attacking Tomura came at him from the back of the shot, whereas in the manga, they’re surging forth from the front; that is, the anime had Shigaraki between the crowd and the POV of the viewer, whereas the manga has the crowd interposing between the viewer and Shigaraki. It makes a huge difference in the impact! Running up from a nebulous background distance, the crowd looked small and futile. Crossing directly in front of the viewer as they attack Shigaraki makes them look like the crashing human wave that they are. But, you know, coming in from the front would mean they’d have to be animated with more detail, and again, Episode 109, more than any other episode in the arc, clearly didn’t have the budget to spare on such things.

• The moment Shigaraki first uses the spreading Decay is horrifically clear in the manga. It’s full of speed lines, Shigaraki moving so fast he decays a dude mid-word, but the impact itself is spread over two pages. We watch his hand literally cleaving through the leading attacker’s face, and then are encouraged to linger on the oversized panel below, the intricately drawn crowd, full of individual faces, still intact on the left, scattering to dust on the right, all fully lit, with Shigaraki—still drawn with speedlines to emphasize his movement—the focal figure in black at the center. The anime rendered this moment in two stills—Shigaraki’s hand about to hit the lead attacker’s face, and then the crowd already decaying. There was virtually no movement to it, the crowd was so heavily silhouetted against a glare of daylight that it was difficult to tell what was going on, and the moment stayed on screen for only two seconds before Shigaraki landed and threw up, both actions favored with more animation than one of the signature moments of the entire arc. Hell, it even left the walls on either side of the alley intact, when the manga shows them dissolving into ash as well, decay traveling through the ground in a deadly, destructive radius around Shigaraki’s attack. The anime ever-so-graciously allowed Spinner his line to explain to the audience what just happened, but I think that’s mostly because it would be genuinely difficult to parse if he didn’t. It also gave him a flashback to what we had literally just seen, except this time it wasn’t silhouetted for some reason, so at least the audience got another chance to look at it, I guess? “Am I seeing things? Just now, his decay effect spread to people he wasn’t even touching!” Well, I guess we’ll have to take your word for it, Spinner.

Additions

• A quick shot of a camera, there and gone almost too fast to register. I want to compliment the anime for adding a camera back in, since it removed the shot of the cameras earlier, but honestly, given that it cut all the scenes about how and why the MLA was gathering footage, I really don’t know why it even bothered. Also too, the camera was gone so fast it felt more like a marker for a scene change—which it also was, segueing the scene from Toga collapsing (only to cut back to her later staggering down an alley) to Spinner and the rest still trying to hold their own—than it did something the audience was supposed to really notice.

Chapter 228 – Wounded Soul

• Twice in the opening pages left out scattered members of the MLA that were around for the start of the Dabi/Geten fight. Leaving them out raises the question of where all the people attacking went, but it’s also the first demonstration that Geten is a danger to his own allies. We don’t see any of them dying on-panel or anything, but we do see them having to dive frantically out of the way because Geten demonstrates no care to the collateral damage of his attacks.

• Cut a small flashback, presumably from Twice’s perspective, of finding the site where Toga and Curious’s fight concluded. You can see the ground covered in blood, and a body that looks a bit like Curious if you squint (distinguishable by the sleeves of her jacket), as well as a small group of people kneeling on the ground in various poses suggesting mourning and a paying of respects. Yet another shot demonstrating the depths of care these people have for their leaders, that they’ve completely let the battle fall by the wayside in favor of their grief.

• Drops the “those zealots” phrase from Twice’s, “I’ll rip those zealots limb from limb for this!” line. Damn, the anime really was determined to erase everything that even hints at the Liberation Army being something much creepier and more damaging than just an underground militia, huh?

Framing Shifts

• For all my complaints about the material, I generally like the voice acting quite a bit. I don’t love the first exchange between Dabi and Geten, though. It’s not a fault of the voice actors themselves, but rather the delivery. Geten was very cool and level-headed throughout, which is all right to a point, but he’s a gremlin under that troll parka, and this fight is where we hear him as close as we ever will to how he is before the multi-layered humbling he’s subject to over the course of this fight. It’s a bit of a shame to play him totally straight, without any of the snark he’s so clearly capable of—and without the tick upwards in vehemence his talk bubbles indicate in his last lines. Meanwhile, it’s fine for Dabi to get more heated as the scene goes along, and indeed he does, but he also plays it pretty cool at first. You can tell in the shape of his talk bubbles that he’s completely unruffled during his delivery of that, “Consider this a freebie, just for you: ice melts,” line. The anime had him raising his voice for it, and it just loses a lot of the humor of Dabi’s own snark to have him yelling it instead of just laughingly stating it, voice barely raising enough to give his talk bubbles some straighter lines instead of being all undisturbed curves. (For comparison’s sake, it’s about the same level of angular as Geten’s, “You’d best not think your little campfire can melt my ice!” line, but the anime had Dabi shout his line, while Geten continued at the same unperturbed volume he’d maintained since the beginning.)

• As with Shigaraki’s first mass decay, the shot of Geten’s ice dragon did not make the impact on me in the anime that the manga did. I think it’s mostly the way the ice was colored? The claw’s pretty good, but the head looks blobby and indistinct, more like blue soft-serve than the shifting, sharp-edged, brilliantly bright sculpture-in-motion of the manga.

• Twice’s voice actor did his best to sell the scene of him finding Toga, but I wish they’d kept that tight close-up on his mouth when he says, “Give it up. The girl’s dead.” They animated him leaning closer to the camera, but that doesn’t have the sharpness of that sudden cut to being right there on his lips, like some malevolent thing is using them to speak words so terrible that they can’t even be associated with the rest of his face.

---

Come back next time (and hopefully in less time) for Part Three, Episode 110: Sad Man's Parade.

FOOTNOTES

[1] We would, of course, have an even clearer idea of that had the anime not cut the scene of Spinner shouting in Shigaraki’s face.

[2] It seems particularly strange to me that Curious and RD both mention quirk evolution as a thing they know can happen in extreme circumstances, but didn’t predict that backing the League into a life-or-death corner might provoke one or two members to undergo exactly that evolution.

[3] Mount Lady is the obvious example, but you can look to places like the island in Heroes Rising, too: one hero, and when they retired, a group of high school kids had to go sub in for a while until a replacement could be arranged. It’s not like retirements just happen overnight; the Commission had to have known it was coming. Still, they had to scramble to find someone. It doesn’t suggest they had anybody just champing at the bit to take the post, you know?

[4] In Chapter 140, we see a young Tamaki Amajiki in a class called “quirk training.” It’s uncertain how connected this P.E.-like class is to quirk counseling, but Toga wouldn’t have been getting much help there, either, seeing as it’s all about figuring out how to use one’s quirk in a way that’s “useful to society.” I can think of some ways, but nothing that I expect would be very popular or liable to be explained to a grade schooler in a country with as long a history with ritual cleanliness as Japan. To a Shinto mindset, Transformation isn’t just off-putting or unhygienic; it’s spiritually unclean.

[5] The answer there being, no, obviously not, or Curious wouldn’t, in all apparent sincerity, be trying to characterize Toga using her quirk to murder people as an undesirable outcome, a cost society is paying for its current stance on quirk use. Yes, you can gather that much from her calling Toga a tragic girl, and Re-Destro concurring later, but listen, I will take every line I can get that I can use to push back against the wretchedly widespread idea that the kid whose name means Apocrypha is the be-all-end-all source on MLA ideology, somehow more reliable and trustworthy than every other MLA character combined, including Destro himself. I would very much like it if the anime had not deleted a bunch of my talking points while making good and sure to leave all Geten’s most damning lines intact.

[6] Not that an anime-only person would fully understand why some random reporter was all that valuable a resource, since the anime cut the explanation of what Curious actually does for a living.

#my villain academia #bnha #bnha meta #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #my writing #stillness has salt

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years

Note

more religious Billy pls

trigger warnings for homophobia, child abuse and religious trauma.

From family, to friends, to neighbors, everyone around Billy always said, people like Billy were never supposed to get their happy endings. You sin, you repent, you get to live it up in paradise. But if you don’t repent, you go to hell. It was simple the way they taught it.

And that’s exactly the problem. Billy never knew exactly how he was supposed to earn forgiveness when his sin was just being himself, simply existing, but he tried, for years he did.

He went to every Sunday service and prayed each night like a good Christian boy was supposed to. He did everything he could to make up for being the way he was, from asking out all the pretty good girls at school to participating in the anti-homosexual pushback at the town hall even if he did go home and cry so hard he threw up after that, but those things were all just a performance, cowardly, futile attempts at pleasing the big man in the sky (and at home) that were getting him nowhere near any closer to the pearly gates.

Eventually he breaks. He starts drinking and smoking and screwing around with as many men as will take him out for the night. He grows his hair out long and pierces his ear, gets a tattoo and wears makeup he stole from the church store to sneak it to a gay bar. But still in the end, he just feels worse.

In the moment it’s like a high, like he’s finally getting to see even just a glimpse of who he, who Billy Hargrove really is and not just he was told he had to be, but Neil makes sure to remind him how wrong he is. He cuts his hair with a knife and beats him bruised and bloody, he makes the family go to church on Wednesdays instead of just Sunday, he puts the Bible on his night stand every night and he prays and prays and prays the gay out of that boy, most nights making Billy do it too through his tears.

And Billy tried, desperately he did to believe that all they said and did to him was wrong, that he could be who he wanted without all these rules just to please some unseen dictator that may or may not even be real, but the things he had been taught were so deeply ingrained into his mind. He knew he wasn’t bound for anything better, and he blamed himself for that.

On the floor of the mall, he doesn’t mean to think about it, what will happen after the fact.

He knows he should be thinking about how Max’s life is going to be once he’s not there to protect her, how everyone’s lives will be plagued with all of the destruction he caused, the grief that would come from the deaths of the people he killed. The irony of the Saint-Christopher pendant around his neck when he’d attempted to carry a child to her death instead of to safety.

As much as he’d like to see a familiar face, between everything he’d done, what he put Max and her friends through, all that had happened this past week, he knows he doesn’t have a place in paradise. Not that any of that even matters. He’d had a special spot in hell reserved just for him since he told his momma he had a crush on a curly headed boy named PJ in the second grade and the poor woman almost fainted.

Billy is terrified to be facing it now, but all his life he’d known this was coming, and he thinks he deserves it all the same.

Except, the next time he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see that he’s surrounded by hellfire and tortured souls, instead he’s staring up at a white tiled ceiling, the sound of the steady-unsteady beeping and whirring of machinery filling his head.

He tries to speak, but he doesn’t think anything comes out. A panicky little redhead leans over him in the bed to press one of the buttons. He looks at her face and he concentrates hard, and thinks he knows her, but he doesn’t know her.

A nurse comes at his sister's signal, and they first make sure he’s fully responsive, which is somewhat hard when he can’t speak, and then they inform him he’s been in an induced coma for months. They tell him that anything he saw on the other side wasn’t real, and he was alive that whole time. It doesn’t do much at all to comfort him though. How can it, when he doesn’t even know who he is?

He learns that his name is William, Billy according to the snappy girl who he knows is his little sister now, but whose name he can never seem to remember. His name feels strange in his throat when he repeats it back like a question, “Billy..?” That doesn’t feel like who he is, not anymore at least.

They have to teach him literally everything all over again. All he knew how to do when he woke up was facial expressions and vague, but very painful as he learned, gestures with his hands. Anything else was fair game.

It takes a whole year in the hospital, things going so slowly because of the pain, but even more so because of the setbacks he faces.

Two days after he woke up, when he still couldn’t speak, Neil had showed up. It wasn’t for a visit or even to see his son was going now that he’s finally awake. Neil is there to first ask him what he saw when he died, and when Billy just stares blankly, his vocabulary still too small to articulate anything, to accuse him of being the devil and deliberately mocking Him by coming back.

Needless to say, Neil isn’t allowed in for many more visits.

But it still resets those two days of progress they’d made, and it was like he’d just woken up that same day. This would keep happening every time anything distressing happened around Billy, and they had to find the perfect balance between having too many nurses and visitors in the room at once that he’d get overwhelmed and distracted, or not enough and get lonely and regress.

But once they’re out of the woods with that, things go mostly smoothly. Eating and drinking and walking, he’s gets that all down pat pretty easily, but his memories just aren’t coming back to him. He remembers a few insignificant childhood memories, but it’s mostly the bad things, things like his mother leaving or his father kicking him out for a week when he was fifteen, and so on. He still has no idea what happened to him though, and Max and her mom and the nurses are all telling him these stories, trying to persuade him into remembering, but something is just not clicking.

That is, at least, until he’s allowed to visit with Steve again.

Doctors worried showing him someone who had so many bad memories associated with him might be confusing to Billy, so they held off on allowing visitation from Steve, or anyone else who wasn’t immediate family, but he was at the hospital a few times dropping Max off when Susan was working, and he wasn’t allowed to see Billy then either.

They planned on keeping it that way until they could either be sure Billy’s identity was more secure, or if they were really desperate to get Billy's gears turning, and unfortunately the latter came first, so seven whole months after Billy woke up, Steve is allowed in his room.

The thought process was that the boys were on the basketball team together, at least until Neil pulled Billy as a punishment just before the season ended, and even if all he remembers is beating Steve up, he’s still a familiar face, and it might help, so once when Steve’s about to turn around and walk out like he always does, Max comes back out, wide eyed and flustered looking, and tells him he’s allowed to come visit with her brother.

Nobody can understand why Steve is so teary eyed, or why he says Billy's name with so much desperation, but his reaction quickly gets ignored when Billy responds with a simple, “Stevie.”

It shocks everyone, Steve was the first person who Billy remembered without months of work, sometimes he still called Max by her mother’s name if he was having a hard day, but with Steve it was like there was nothing even wrong. Like it had only been a couple of days since he’d seen him.

Before, if they asked Billy anything about high school, he couldn’t tell them much other than the bad things. But with Steve, those memories that had once been impossible to touch, the blurry images of a past he wasn’t even sure belonged to him, were unlocked, and with time Billy returns to himself. Remembers everything.

His overall progress goes much quicker after that, to the point where they’re planning on letting him out as soon as his medications are all in order, and still nobody can figure out what is so special about this boy.

That is, until a nurse walks in on them, holding hands and sitting on the bed, foreheads pressed together like they’d just been kissing. She goes a little pale in the face, but she says she’s not going to tell. That doesn’t stop half the ward from knowing in less than a week.

Nurses refuse to care for him. Susan starts standing by the door in case anyone comes in. They are told their love was sinful, but it was exactly that that had saved Billy.

Without Steve and what they had, Billy still would have no idea who he was. This wasn’t something the hospital would ever actually admit to Max or his parents, but after so long, they were sure he was never going to have his sense of self back. Because while physically he was recovering, until he had that extra push, he just wasn’t himself.

That was more of a blessing than any holy figurehead could offer. When he finally, after a year and a half in the hospital, got to come home, into Steve’s care because Susan refused to take her stepson back to Neil, his space with Steve offers Billy more comfort and safety than any isolated house of God or reformation camp ever could.

And most of all, Billy isn’t afraid to be himself anymore.

#tw homophobia #tw religious trauma #harringrove #billy & max #billy hargrove #max mayfield #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#thank you for your request anon!

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jetaime-jespere · 3 years

Text

Prompt #19

#19. “Does your life revolve around embarrassing me?”

“Aaron, I need a favor.”

His boss, Rich, catches him as he’s arriving for the day, shuffling a few piles of papers on his desk as he waits for the clock to strike 8. Not a moment before, not a moment after, he thinks. Their shifts are carefully timed, every minute on the clock accounted for. The budget is tight; Aaron’s heard the rumors, questioning of why Ambassador Prentiss needs the amount of security she has. Whispers of cuts have become more and more frequent over the last few weeks. He’s grateful to still have a full schedule of shifts. Others haven’t been as lucky.

“Sir?” Aaron asks as evenly as he can. It’s about to be a long day and from what he’s learned in the months of working there, visits from Ambassador Prentiss’s head of security typically entail some special assignment, one he didn’t sign up for, but is volun-told for. “Is there something you needed?” He knows he shouldn’t ask, but he needs a good letter of recommendation when he ultimately puts in his two weeks sooner rather than later. He has his eyes on something a bit more ambitious, potentially the FBI. He’s already started the grueling application process.

“A big favor.” Rich sounds slightly out of breath, as if he ran the whole way to his office, judging by his red face. He looks annoyed, his face a little pinched, etched with a few more lines than it had the first time they met. Aaron still isn’t quite sure what makes his job so stressful - the Ambassador’s residence runs like clockwork, and now that it’s fall and things have settled down, it’s been relatively quiet.

“I need you to drive to New Haven this morning. I’d ask Harris to do it, but he called off sick and we’re short-staffed already.” It’s the way he says it that Aaron knows he just learned the news too, as if trying to coordinate logistics in his own head.

New Haven. Fuck, Aaron thinks, briefly closing his eyes. What he wants to say is Harris called off for a bachelor party in Ocean City and to find someone else. Instead, he sinks into his desk chair, doing his best to keep his expression neutral. Driving to New Haven can only mean one thing, and while he’s almost certain no one knows what happened over the summer, he can never be too sure. “New Haven, Sir? This morning?” He glances at the calendar on the wall - shit. It’s the coming weekend before Thanksgiving -more traffic is all but a given, and it also means Emily will be home for almost a full week.

Then he remembers he’s scheduled to work doubles most of the holiday week.

Great.

“Ambassador Prentiss called me to her office an hour ago. She’s asking that Emily be driven home from Yale tonight. I don’t know the details, but she was pretty persistent that one of us would go up there and get her. My guess is she got into some kind of trouble, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Aaron tries to hide his annoyance, and more so the slight tug of worry in the pit of his stomach. “What are you talking about? What kind of trouble?” He does the math in his head - it’s a five hour drive to Connecticut without traffic. There and back will be at least a twelve hour day, if not more.

“I don’t want to speculate, but the last time this happened, she got caught underage in a bar and nearly got arrested. We never found out exactly what happened, but from what I heard, it wasn’t good.”

Aaron grimaces; it’s exactly like Emily’s mother to sweep something like that under the rug and completely ignore the bigger issue at hand. From what he’s learned, it’s been a familiar pattern for years.

“The Ambassador approved time and a half for whoever makes the trip. I know you said you need the -”

“I’ll do it,” Aaron says quickly before he can think too much about the circumstances, wondering just what could be so pressing at such a last minute. His situation with Emily is complicated, one that should have never even become a thing in the first place. But it did, and even three months after she’d left, she remains at the forefront of his mind most days, a constant reminder of those hot summer nights in mid July.

There’d been nights at his apartment and early mornings in her room; behind closed doors he’d fallen for her. She’d careened into his world completely unexpected, a welcomed change from his familiar pattern of soft-spoken, yet well-intentioned blondes. Emily was the exact opposite. There had been secret meetings tucked amongst the endless gardens, dinners in dive bars and a few trips to nicer restaurants under the city lights when his paycheck allowed. It was exhilarating and all consuming until it wasn’t, when it all came to a screeching halt a few weeks later.

They haven’t talked since the night before left for New Haven. The night ended with an argument, along with tears (hers) and a ridiculous sense of guilt (his) as he dropped her off just outside the gates of the mansion. Yet she’d been the one to end it, explaining through thinly veiled frustration that it just wouldn’t work, that everything would change and none of this could continue. His pushback had only angered her, his attempts to assure her it could in fact work fell on deaf ears. And as she’d all but fled from his car, it was fear he saw in her face. Fear of possibility for what could be.

All of this, along with their months of silence, means he’s probably the last person she’ll expect to see outside her door. Aaron has a feeling she isn’t quite prepared for what is about to be a very unexpected visit. What he also knows is that neither is he.

…

It’s been awhile since he stepped foot on a college campus, and he doesn’t exactly blend in wearing a full suit and dark sunglasses in a sea of jeans and sweatshirts. He ignores the stares he gathers from the small groups of students all over the campus, finding her building with relative ease.

He nods a thanks to the girl holding the door open, quickening his pace just a little. She gives him a once over, lifting an eyebrow at his attire. “Campus security is the other way, you know. You look a little lost.”

“I’m in the right place,” he retorts quickly, brushing past her and up to the third floor. As he climbs the stairs with a slight burn in his lungs from the exertion, Aaron remembers Emily complaining about that three story climb over the summer, and the memory of her, warm in his arms, almost makes him smile. Almost. But she most likely has no idea he’s coming; it’s impossible to tell what her reaction will be. Anger? Indifference? But by now he’s standing outside her door, and it’s too late to turn back.

Aaron knocks three times, crisp and precise, then waits a few perfunctory moments. No answer. He knocks again, this time a little more insistent, and he hears a soft grunt, a muffled voice from behind the door. What he doesn’t expect is what he sees when the door swings open. A guy, about her age give or take, blinks away the confusion from his eyes, his defenses rising immediately. He’s clearly not expecting visitors, and Aaron, half expecting him to close the door in his face, briefly wonders if he has the right room.

319. It’s right, and this just got significantly more awkward, even as a small bubble of jealousy rises in his throat, one that takes him by surprise. “Who the hell are you?” Aaron asks, instinctively propping the door open with his foot.

“Name’s Rob.” There’s a cigarette in his hand; the room smells like an ashtray and slightly of stale wine, even though it’s the middle of the day. He flicks his eyes over Aaron’s suit and scoffs with an air of arrogance. “What are you, some kind of cop or something?”

“I’m here for -”

“Aaron? What are you doing here?” Emily suddenly pops up behind Rob out of nowhere, looking just as surprised, and slightly embarrassed as realization dawns on her face. “Tell me my mother did not send you here.”

Rob visibly tenses at the mention of the Ambassador. “Your mom’s got the cops chasing you now? I thought you said she wouldn’t find out about -”

Emily’s cheeks flush as she rolls her eyes, taking a sideways look at Aaron. “He’s not a cop, Rob. He just works for her.”

“Basically the same thing, right? You said she basically had her own secret service. You know this guy?”

“Yeah,” Emily sighs with frustration. “I know him.”

Aaron shifts from foot to foot, staring between them both. Being here suddenly feels invasive; he wishes he would have never said yes to this in the first place. It’s clear nothing has changed between Emily and her mother, and everything has changed between the two of them. She’s clearly moved on. Maybe it’s best to make this as detached as possible - a business transaction, no emotions or feelings. “I’m your ride home. Start packing.”

“What the fuck are you doing?” Emily narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest.

“Just following orders.” He scans the room - the counter is littered with empty cans and cups, a deck of cards strewn over the desk in a corner, an ashtray full of cigarettes. “How soon do you think you can be ready to leave?”

“Leave? What about tonight?” Rob cuts in. “Brian and Dan got bottle service tonight. I thought you were going to bring that hot friend of yours. Dan wants to meet her.”

“Bottle service?” Aaron says incredulously, wishing he could wipe the smirk off Rob’s face. “You do know she’s underage, right?” He doesn’t have to look at Emily to know that is enough to set her off, and she shoots him a look that could cut glass.

“Listen man,” Rob begins, swaying on his feet. “I don’t know who you are but -”

“I’m the guy who's going to kick you out-” Aaron begins tersely.

“Just go, Rob. Please just … go.” Emily snaps, presses her fingertips to her eyes, the heat rising to her face like two blood red stains on her cheeks. “I’ll … I’ll call you once I figure this out. Just go without me.”

“Or just ditch your babysitter.” He scoffs but still leans in closer, all but towering over her. Aaron doesn’t miss the way Emily recoils when Rob kisses her cheek. He reminds him of the type of guy who would go from her room straight into another girl’s without a second thought, say all the same things and no one will be the wiser. But the door shuts, leaving them alone for the first time in months. Aaron shoves his hands in his suit pockets and stares out the window as Emily sneers.

“Does your life revolve around embarrassing me now?” she huffs, looping her hair behind her ear, shoes obnoxiously clunking against the floor as pulls a suitcase from under her bed. “Because if so, you’re doing a real bang-up job.”

“No. My job,” he says, placing emphasis on the word, “is getting you back home like I was ordered to do.”

“So they sent you this time?” She sighs, dumping some empty cups into the trash. “Why am I not surprised?” It’s mid afternoon but she looks exhausted, and Aaron wonders if she even got any sleep at all the night before.

“I’m just following orders,” he says again, following her with his eyes as Emily starts tossing clothes into a bag. There’s no thought to her packing process; she opens drawers and slams them shut, pulling out clothes with a little too much force.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks a little more softly this time, keeping space between them both.

“No.”

As expected.

“You can tell me, you know.”

“Nothing happened,” she says crisply, zipping her suitcase shut. But she doesn’t look at him, which confirms that something definitely happened.

“Then why am I here?”

“Aaron,” Emily says almost teasingly, as if any memory of the last time they spoke has seemingly evaporated from her mind. “This is certainly not the first time my mother has sent one of you up here to come get me for some reason or another. It certainly won’t be the last.”

“Seems like an awful lot of trouble for her to go to.” From the tone of his voice it’s clear he doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“You have met her right? The only person my mother cares about is herself. And her career. She doesn’t care who else is inconvenienced by that.”

He can’t argue with her, and decides to drop it for the time being. There’s a five hour car ride awaiting them; plenty of time to peel her walls down. “If we don’t leave soon we’re going to hit rush hour,” he says patiently, checking his watch. “The sooner we get back, the better.”

She’s quiet for a few minutes, finishing the last of her packing. But finally Emily meets his stare, and for the first time since he arrived, offers a smile. “It’s good to see you, Aaron.”

This time, he almost believes her.

...

“So, who’s your friend?” Aaron asks casually, a half hour into their five hour trip. She’s hardly said a word since taking the passenger seat; her only request was to stop at the gas station for coffee and a pile of sugary candy that she’s started to work her way through. “Rob?”

His question gets the shortest of laughs from Emily as she tips her sunglasses down her nose. “You lasted longer than I thought you would.” Yet she gives nothing else, and he knows he has to push her a little harder.

“He’s kind of an ass,” Aaron says without taking his eyes off the road. “You hang around him a lot?”

“Why?” She challenges, less out of anger rather than amusement. She’s known this question was coming since the minute she saw him standing in the door. “Are you jealous or something?”

He says nothing, only turns his head to stare at her. “Answer my question.”

“Sometimes.” Emily picks at the seam of a bag of peach rings, her eyes on her lap. “You’re not wrong, though, in your assessment.”

“And yet you still hang around him?” He doesn’t bother to hide the distaste in his voice. “Seems like bad news. Is he the reason why I’m here?”

“You’re worried,” she says quietly, crossing and recrossing her legs. “I can tell.”

“Of course I’m worried, Emily. I’m fucking worried to say the least. Can you blame me?”

“You shouldn’t. It’s under control.” Her silence is telling, an indicator that the conversation is over as she pointedly turns to face the window. Aaron swallows in frustration, knowing he pushed a little too far.

Connecticut turns into New York, the miles already starting to blend together in the tense quiet. As the traffic thickens and the SUV comes to a stop, the George Washington bridge looming in the distance, Emily speaks for the first time in more than an hour.

“Aaron?” She says hesitantly, her bottom lip between her teeth with worry. “Can you keep a secret?”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #young hotchniss #prompts #not a total angst-fest so things are going in the right direction #I promise fluff is coming at some point

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be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 15

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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*Six Weeks Later*

[Ron]

The flat is small but well-arranged. Bookshelves line the walls from floor to ceiling, maximizing the vertical space that only one of its residents can fully use. The kitchen is sparkling clean, save for two empty red wine-stained glasses in the sink. Usually, the dishes would be washed and stacked away before the clock strikes bedtime, but last night other, more fun activities got in the way.

The apartment's decor is simple — it has to balance the strikingly orange accent wall behind the television. The only other thing commanding attention is the large painting of a cityscape hanging on the wall across from the entry. It's an artistic rendering of a well-known skyline, characterized by neon lights, a replica of the Eiffel Tower, and a series of flashy hotels. Although the portrait might be recognizable to many, it's meaningful to only a few.

As the morning light peeks through the windows, the bedroom's blinds give up on filtering it out. The sun casts a ray across the pillows, illuminating the two sleeping figures entangled together in bed. Gentle and mild, the light is easier to ignore than an intense desert beam, and it takes a few moments for the tall, red-haired man to open his eyes.

When he does, he turns onto his side to bury his face into his pillow. The bed is warm and comfortable — the satin sheets were a worthwhile investment. Same for the pillow, which somehow maintains the perfect combination of cold and cozy. Ever since they bought a new, albeit expensive mattress, his back problems have become a thing of the past.

He smiles at the mountain of fluffy blankets beside him, topped with spirals of bushy brown locks. There's so much goddamn hair. It looks like a plush volcano of cushions is erupting with curly brown hair. He can't decide what he loves more: the explosion of brunette, the bright orange Chudley Cannons t-shirt, the black mens' boxers that have a little too much fabric for a woman, or the person it all belongs to.

Well, technically, the Cannons t-shirt and boxers are his, or at least, were his. But marriage is about sharing.

"Morning, wifey."

Hermione groans and covers her face with a pillow. "Too early."

Ron slips an arm around his wife, encouraging her to turn toward him. She obliges and snuggles up into the crook of his arm, where she fits perfectly. He presses a kiss to her forehead and nuzzles his head into her hair.

It would be easy to stay like this forever, ignoring real-life responsibilities. In a way, their bed has become an escape from reality, an oasis built upon the lessons they learned in Las Vegas. Defined by frequent 'I love you's, reprieves from work, and late-night explorations fueled by a glass of wine and the need to destress, it's the place that keeps them anchored to the magic. Who wouldn't want to stay forever?

But alas, they can't, as they have Maid of Honor and Best Man duties to attend to. Today is Harry and Ginny's wedding, and within a few hours, they need to transition from the carefree vacationers they became in Vegas to the highly organized planners helping to orchestrate the festivities.

Ron groans. Although their friends know they're together — they put on quite a show back in Las Vegas, after all — they haven't revealed the extent of their relationship, and the worst part about being in public together is pretending that Hermione's just his girlfriend.

"We should just tell everyone," murmurs Ron into Hermione's hair.

She chuckles and snuggles closer. "After the wedding. Let's not steal their thunder."

Steal their thunder. To be honest, Ron has frequently fantasized about stealing Harry and Ginny's thunder. A small part of him is jealous of their hen and stag weekend in Las Vegas and their elaborate wedding. Ron wants everyone to celebrate him and Hermione, and as time passes, he grows more desperate for them all to know.

"I want to steal their thunder."

"I know." Hermione gently pushes him over on his back and slides on top of him. The movement is swift and natural, and as always, she fits like a glove.

"Hmmm, hi," he says right before their lips meet. The kiss lingers; Hermione's teeth lightly latch to his bottom lip, driving him wild. Without breaking their kiss, Hermione shifts some of her weight onto her hips. She knows exactly what she's doing, and if Ron doesn't stop this train, they'll be late.

"Er-my-nee," he groans, pulling away. She pouts at him with her wide chocolate brown eyes, and it's all he can do to resist tangling himself back up in her arms. "Can I ask you a question?"

"What?"

"Do you wish we had more thunder?"

Hermione brushes a tuft of hair from Ron's forehead. "Sometimes. But I still wouldn't change a thing."

Ron smiles as she leans down for another kiss. Her fingers thread into her wild curls, prompting him to flip her over and land on top. He groans when she wraps her legs around his waist.

"You know we don't have time for this," he says between kisses. "We should get rea—"

"Shhhhh." She pulls him into her embrace and tightens her leg lock around his hips. "There's always time."

"Hey!" he teases, then leaning down toward her ear to whisper, "I take offense to that."

Ron doesn't give her time to respond before connecting his mouth to hers for another kiss. He can smell his cologne from the night before on her skin, yet it still tastes like Hermione when his lips travel from her mouth to the nape of her neck. A soft moan escapes her lips and sends him into a tizzy that leaves nothing else to do but get lost in her.

Six weeks in, and he's still convinced he'll never get sick of snogging Hermione Granger.

Plus, she's right — there's always time.

Harry and Ginny's wedding is just as elaborate as their weekend of partying in Las Vegas, but of course, classy. The venue is a converted warehouse, which initially horrified Molly, Ron and Ginny's mum, but it's unrecognizable after a few hours of decorating. They tie the knot underneath a trellis of climbing vines and twinkling lights illuminating the exposed brick wall behind them. Cafe lights drape from the ceiling beams, filtering the room's color just enough that everyone appears to glow. Each row of seats is marked by a simple bouquet and a periwinkle ribbon that matches the color of the bridesmaids' dresses, and the aisle appears to have been assaulted by flower petals, courtesy of Victoire, Ron and Ginny's niece, who recently discovered the true strength of her throwing arm.

Ginny has insisted that she and Harry walk down the aisle together as equals. Although originally disgruntled at the pushback on tradition, their father, Arthur, chokes up when he watches the pair approach the altar. Ginny's eyes sparkle with rare tears, and Harry can't keep his gaze off her radiant smile.

They're a couple in love, and there's not a doubt in the room.

Ginny's dress is simple — Hermione had said something about satin, but Ron doesn't remember the details. It's one of those dresses that doesn't dare pull focus from the woman wearing it, not that any dress could. Ron's always resented the Weasleys' fiery red hair and the way it sticks out like a sore thumb, but Ginny makes him think that maybe it isn't so bad after all.

While everyone watches the couple, Ron chances a glance at Hermione across the altar. He can hardly stand seeing her in her periwinkle bridesmaid dress, and he hopes to heaven his gawking isn't too noticeable. When he shifts his eyes in her direction, she turns her head back toward the bride and groom.

She was checking him out, too.

He doesn't have to keep his eyes on her for his imagination to run wild. That periwinkle dress turns white, and suddenly it's Hermione walking down the aisle. Her hair is tucked up into a spiral on top of her head, a few wisps escaping to frame her face.

Since it's his sister's wedding, Ron forces the image out of his mind, but he can't stop a wistful smile from forming on his lips and staying there throughout the ceremony.

When Harry and Ginny arrive at the altar, the music slows to a stop, and the officiant steps out from behind a curtain.

"Well, hello, folks!" says the blonde-haired man in a thick, mumbling American accent.

The wedding guests stare in silence at the man, who's dressed in white from head to toe, a greasy black wig barely covering his blonde locks.

Harry and Ginny burst into laughter, which breaks the seal for everyone else to follow suit.

"Yes! You got an Elvis impersonator!" shouts Fred, Ron and Ginny's brother, from the front row. "Someone check Mum's pulse."

With that, Ron snaps his head toward his mum, whose face has collapsed into her hands. Her body is heaving with what can only be sobs, or…

Laughter. Ron grins when he realizes that his mother's laughing hysterically.

At Molly's outburst, the tension and stuffiness of a formal event dissipate, and the ceremony continues flawlessly, having now been marked by Harry and Ginny's personalities. Elvis speaks to their bond, and even though he doesn't know the couple, he manages to capture how they approach life, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves and marching to their own beat. They've written heartfelt but humorous vows, expertly eliciting laughs and tears from their guests while they read them with shaky hands. They share their first kiss as a married couple to a round of applause and a standing ovation. Emboldened by the support, Harry picks up Ginny and drapes her over his shoulder as he skips back down the aisle to a chorus of cheers and whistles.

The wedding party follows the happy couple back down the aisle, starting with Ron and Hermione. They link arms and lock eyes, sharing a small, knowing smile. Ron wonders if she's also imagining the roles reversed, everyone clapping and celebrating for them as they traipse down the aisle after tying the knot.

What would the pseudo-Elvis have said about them if this were their ceremony, not Harry and Ginny's? Would he have spoken to how they disliked each other when they first met, and the utter disbelief they felt when they woke up next to one another in bed? Maybe he'd have talked about their strong determination to get a divorce and straighten everything out, followed by the looming 'what ifs' that kept knocking. What if they gave it a chance? What if they opened their hearts and it worked out? What if it was meant to be?

Maybe Elvis would have told a white lie at their request, saving their families the heartache of learning that they missed the original wedding, even though Ron and Hermione kind of missed it too.

That would be best wouldn't it? They could hire an Elvis to spin a new love story for their family, so they could keep the real one to themselves—not due to shame, but the simple fact that it's theirs.

Ron can't help but wonder.

Rather than a formal sit-down dinner, the ceremony transitions straight into a party. The delicate set-up of chairs and flowers clears into a dance floor. The doors to the warehouse open to an outdoor deck complete with a buffet and a dessert table, and a crowd forms at the bar.

Tugged away by Ginny, Hermione disappears into the crowd, and Ron becomes absorbed by friends and relatives. He'd rather stick with Hermione, but before he can locate her again, he's trapped in a conversation with long-lost family members. Old cousin Barny, Auntie Muriel and her flavor of the week — a scruffy looking man who introduces himself as Argus, and a neighbor who used to babysit when he was a toddler — he smiles through it all.

"Anyone special in your life, Ron?"

"I noticed the way you were looking at the brunette."

"Is it serious?"

"Should we be marking our calendars for another wedding?"

He deflects the expected questions — the ones that could draw attention away from the happy couple — with suggestive 'maybes' and 'we'll sees' although the truth, or at least a version of the truth, is evident on his face.

Yes, there is someone special. Yes, he was probably gawking at the beautiful brunette. Yes, it's serious enough that they live together.

"You're living together before you're married?" Auntie Muriel chimes in her most dismissive, judgemental tone.

Ron gives her a guilty look, a 'we're already married, you just don't know,' but to her, it's an admission of living together in sin.

"Well, I hope for your sake, she's the one."

"She definitely is," he says, nodding in a way he hopes ends the conversation.

Ron eventually negotiates an escape from small talk and heads to the bar for a slight reprieve. He slides into a seat and accepts a generous glass of champagne from the bartender. One sip reveals just how thirsty he is, and he lets out a satisfied sigh of relief before indulging in the rest of his glass.

"Another?" asks the bartender once he finishes.

"Erm, sure. Thanks."

While the bartender refills his glass, Ron takes a quick scan of the room. He's looking for Hermione, but she's nowhere to be found. His search doesn't last long as a certain someone slides into the barstool next to him and interrupts.

"Thank you for being here," says the dark-haired man beside him. "It means a lot."

"Ugh, not you," groans Ron, but his tone is laden with a touch of sarcasm only his best friend can decipher. "Should I say congratulations?"

"Yes, please," grins Harry. "Even though you've said it a million times."

"Well, you should soak it up because tomorrow, I'm done congratulating you," he says. "So needy."

"Cheers to you too," says Harry, clanking his champagne glass against Ron's.

"I've been meaning to ask you," says Ron, remembering Harry and Ginny's elaborate ceremony. "Why Elvis?"

Harry laughs. "Oh, Ludo? We met him at one of the casinos in Vegas."

"And you just asked him to officiate your wedding?"

"Well, he offered, and we didn't have anyone else," shrugged Harry. "To be honest, we were kind of drunk when we agreed, but Ginny wanted to bring some of Las Vegas into the wedding, so it worked out."

"Well, I liked him. I thought it was brilliant."

"I agree," grinned Harry. "So, will I get to congratulate you anytime soon?"

"Congratulate me for what?"

Harry rolls his eyes, aware that Ron is playing dumb. "Do you think you and Hermione will ever get married?"

"What makes you ask that?" Ron looks over at his best friend, and his expression that's full of excitement. Part of Ron loves that he and Hermione are the only people who know about their marriage. Another part of Ron just wishes he could share it all with his best friend. It doesn't feel right keeping him in the dark.

"You live together and seem pretty happy," continues Harry, oblivious to Ron's internal debate. "I'll admit, at first, I thought you two were moving fast, but you seem well suited for each other."

"After Hermione, you'll be the second person to know," says Ron, grinning at his friend.

"I'll take it!" says Harry. "Can I give you one piece of advice?"

"Sure, mate." Ron can't help but smirk — Harry's been married for barely two hours and is already touting marriage advice. Typical.

"If you know she's the one, don't overthink it. You'll just waste time."

Ron laughs softly. "I don't think that will be an issue for me."

"Good. I'm going to find my wife," says Harry, emphasizing the word like he's trying it on for size. "And you should go dance with your girlfriend. She looks like she could use a hand."

Harry motions across the room to where Hermione and Luna are alone at a cocktail table. There she is. Hermione's stiff body language is a stark contrast to Luna's eccentric gestures, and it appears that Hermione has become an unwilling audience for one of Luna's wild conspiracy theories.

"Happily," mutters Ron as Harry saunters off to find Ginny.

Ron meanders across the room to rescue Hermione from Luna's verbal clutches. Since she doesn't see him approach, he decides to surprise her by sneaking up behind her and looping his arms around her waist.

"Hi, girlfriend," he whispers into her ear.

"Hmmm." She seems to melt into his touch ."Hi, boyfriend."

"Sorry, Luna," says Ron, as he slides a hand down Hermione's arm and interlaces his fingers with hers. "I'm going to steal Hermione away for a dance."

"Of course! Have fun, you two," Luna says before turning around toward the crowd and skipping away, presumably in search of another unsuspecting guest to engage with.

"She's a lot, isn't she?" asks Ron.

"She's not too bad, once you get to know her. She's just talkative, that's all."

Ron tugs Hermione toward the dance floor where a smattering of couples intertwine, swaying to one of the rare slow songs in the D.J.'s repertoire. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he tightens his embrace, resting his chin on the top of her head.

"It's a little weird to call you my girlfriend."

"It sounds wrong," she says, her voice muffled by his dress shirt. "I was never your girlfriend. It's probably how people feel when they first start saying 'wife' or 'husband.'"

"I reckon you're right."

Ron reflects on the first time he called Hermione "wifey." It didn't feel weird at all, probably because it was a joke. Eventually, the joke just turned real.

"Hubby suits you better, anyway," says Hermione. She always seems to know what he's thinking, but he doesn't mind one bit.

"I agree, love." Even now, Hermione can still make his cheeks tinge red with a simple statement. "Are you enjoying the wedding?"

He can feel her nodding against his chest. "Yeah," she mumbles. "Although, it was a lot of work. Are you?"

Ron shrugs. "Ours was better, I think."

Hermione laughs. "I'm sure it was. Too bad we can't remember it."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron can see Harry and Ginny embracing on the dance floor, surrounded by his grinning family. A spotlight shines on them, and at the sound of clinking glasses, they lock eyes and share a kiss. When they make contact, the bystanders whoop and whistle. "Maybe they should have gotten hitched in Vegas like us. This is a lot of commotion."

"Well, you know Harry and Ginny," says Hermione as she loosens her embrace to glance over at the couple. "They like their parties."

"They do," he says, tugging Hermione back into his arms. "What would you have done if this was your wedding?"

Ron expects Hermione to take some time for her answer, but surprisingly, she has one at the ready. "It would have been smaller. Maybe a live band instead of a D.J. And red velvet cake."

Ron smiles into her hair as she continues.

"I probably wouldn't have had a huge wedding party. Probably just a maid of honor. Intimate rooftop ceremony. I'd write my own vows. I even have photos of my dream dress."

Ron chuckles. "You have it all planned out."

"I never really planned it, I just knew." She's smiling when she pulls away and meets his eye, but her smile fades into a frown. "But seriously, I wouldn't change a thing."

She must have interpreted his pensive look as disappointment. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Let's plan it."

"Plan what?"

"Our rooftop wedding," he says as the color pink creeps up his neck.

"Ron, we're already married." Despite her deadpan tone, there's a twinkle in her eye and a soft smirk hiding behind her lips.

"Then let's get married again."

She narrows her eyes at him, and Ron can almost see the gears turning inside her head. "You don't think that would be a waste of time and money?"

"No. Not at all. Plus, I couldn't stop picturing you walking down the aisle today, and I'd love to see you in your dream dress."

She leans back and stares at him for a few moments, clearly running questions through her mind. When she finally speaks, her eyes are glassy with held-back tears, and a smile lifts her words. "You're serious?"

"Hermione Granger," he states in his most serious tone. "Will you marry me again?"

Their feet stop moving, and she bores her gaze into his. Her answer is swimming in her eyes, but he waits for her to verbalize it. "Of course I will. I'd marry you every day."

Ron barely has time to smile before she's pressing her lips against his. He responds so enthusiastically that it could very well be their first or thousandth kiss, lifting her gently off her feet. They're probably drawing attention to themselves, but Ron doesn't mind. It's like she's the only person in the room.

That seems to happen a lot.

Ron sets her back down and slides his hands down her arms, landing at her unadorned fingers. He rubs a thumb across her left hand, desperately wishing he had brought the ring. He didn't think to bring it to the wedding.

The ring — a modest emerald-cut solitaire in yellow gold, is still safely stashed in his bedside drawer, hidden by a few football magazines. He had a whole plan that didn't include a quiet proposal at someone else's wedding, but sometimes the best things in life are accidents.

"I have a ring, you know."

"You do?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. "You planned this?"

Ron laughs. "Well, sort of. But I wasn't planning on asking you tonight. Didn't want to steal anyone's thunder."

"When were you going to ask?"

He had it all planned out. A surprise candlelight dinner at their flat. A homemade cocktail — his best attempt at Liquid Luck. Slow-dancing in a dimly lit living room, furniture pushed against the wall to make room. Dropping to one knee in the middle of a dance. Strawberries and whipped cream. It would have been perfect.

But this is perfect too.

"I was going to propose six months in. Since that's when you can finally divorce me if you want to—"

"Right. Divorce," she scoffs. "When did you buy the ring?"

Ron averts his gaze when he answers. He hasn't planned on telling her this part. "In Las Vegas."

"That early?" she asks, her tone suspicious.

He nods.

"You knew you wanted to stay with me?"

"Of course, I did. Didn't you know, too?"

She smiles and answers him with another kiss. This time it's slow and loving, taking its time. Their bodies seem to melt together into one.

"That would have been so sweet," she says when they eventually break free.

"We can stick to the original plan if you'd prefer that—"

"No!" Her eyes widen as if she's afraid he'll take it back. "When have we ever followed plans?"

Ron grins. There it is — that spontaneous Hermione that only he gets to see. "And you were worried 'Vegas Hermione' would disappear completely," he says, tucking a hair behind her ear.

"I guess she's here to stay," says Hermione as she nestles her head into the crook of Ron's neck where it fits so perfectly. "I love you so much, Ron."

"I love you more, fiance."

Ron can't help but wince at her new title. 'Fiance' sounds just as odd as 'girlfriend,' and it'll only be true for a small fraction of their lives together — not enough time to get used to it.

"I still like 'wifey' better," she says as though reading his mind.

He does too. "Then I guess we have another wedding to plan."

"I guess we do," she says. "And what about our real wedding? Do you want to tell people?"

"Should we?"

"No," she says before securing her arms around his neck. "That wedding can stay ours."

Ron smiles as his lips meet hers. The desire for everyone to know is still there, but less so. They'll get to celebrate a 'real' wedding together, their guests blissfully ignorant of Ron and Hermione's little secret. It's a perfect plan, really.

Someday they might reveal the truth. They might let it slip in conversation, or accidentally admit it to Harry and Ginny after a few cocktails, or decide to tell their future children.

But until then, their original wedding can just be theirs.

*THE END*

#be11a_vegas #Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #romionecom #hpromione #muggle AU

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transgenderteensurvivalguide · 3 years

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Why is it that people seem to always support trans women more than trans men?

Lee says:

If you’re part of an online forum community that is primarily transfeminine, for example, then there’s going to be a lot of resources for transfeminine people.

But if you’re part of an online forum community that is primarily transmasculine, for example, then there’s going to be a lot of resources for transmasculine people.

And just as there are particular online spaces and communities that tend to be predominated by a certain group, there are also IRL ones that are primarily transmasculine or primarily transfeminine even if they are not explicitly defined as such.

If you feel like you aren’t being supported enough in the space you’re currently in, see if you can find a community that does focus around the resources you’re looking for!

As an example- you may have noticed that the transmasculine post-op community on Tumblr is pretty small. There definitely are multiple bloggers out there, and I think I actually follow all of them, but this isn’t really a thriving hub of phalloplasty information or support, or a large community of transmasculine folks who are post-op and post-transition (Thanks, Tumblr NSFW ban!).

So instead, I seek out the spaces where the community I want to be a part of actually is gathering. Now I’m part of many different transmasculine lower surgery groups on Facebook (over 20 of em lol), I’ve attended IRL transmasculine lower surgery support group meetings in person, and now I’m in two different Zoom-based transmasculine bottom surgery support groups.

I also believe that if you want to see more of a particular thing, you should be a part of putting that thing out there! So I still maintain my transition sideblog here on Tumblr, where I will eventually document my phallo when I get stage 1 in May. And that’s how I support the transmasculine community, in my own way. So if you want to see more supportive posts for transmasculine folks, start typing!

We also have to remember that uplifting transfeminine doesn’t automatically occur at the expense of support for transmasculine people. We aren’t trying to tear each other down, so being resentful of the transfeminine community for the people who support them isn’t a good look. Transfeminine people can never have “too much” support!

I do think that there are certain spaces online that tend to focus on positivity and support for transfeminine folks, and there’s nothing wrong with that- again, yes, transfeminine people do deserve support! Transfeminine people often face the brunt of society’s violent transphobia, and it’s important that we recognize the way that trans women specifically are targeted more than other groups are.

Trans women are often hypervisible and a lot of transphobic movements are aimed at them as a result; bathroom bills because transphobes don’t want “men” in women’s bathrooms, banning trans athletes because transphobes don’t want “men” to take over women’s teams, trans people being banned from gendered homeless shelters because transphobes don’t want “men” to sleep in the same room as women, and so on. When you listen to any of these politicians who support these gross things, you’ll hear them constantly talk about the “danger” that trans women pose (while insisting on gendering them as “men” and refusing to recognize that they’re even women). Trans men aren’t even an afterthought.

Being culturally hypervisible in the media means you’re the target of a lot of hate and the recipient of a lot of support, which is all happening at the same time. On the other hand, the transmasculine community at large is less visible in the media which means we often slip under the radar as a community which of course does tie into the erasure of the community. Transmasculine people more often slip under the radar on a personal level too, because many transmasculine people are able to pass by at least 5 years on testosterone and many choose to go stealth as soon as they’re able to.

That doesn’t mean that all transmasculine people can pass or want to pass, or that transmasculine people don’t face transphobia and violence either, or that the vitriol targeting trans women doesn’t invalidate us as well or affect our rights too, or that we shouldn’t get to share our experiences or ask for support.

We can and should talk about transmasculine people’s experiences as well, and transmasculine voices shouldn’t be erased. Studies have shown that suicide attempt rate for trans boys is approximately 20.9% higher than it is for trans girls, for example, and there are many similar statistics showing that trans men struggle in many ways and face a lot of discrimination, which of course deserves acknowledgement.

Experiencing discrimination and subsequent mental health struggles isn’t something that should be glossed over, yet there are many pseduo-progressive folks in the LGBTQ/feminist communities whose posts can sometimes come across as “men are bad and trans men are men so they’re bad!” When you point out that there are plenty of marginalized men out there who need support, people are quick to say “Well, I’ll support you for being trans but I don’t need to support you because you’re a man since men have privilege and therefore perpetuate oppression!” But in the case of trans men, supporting someone for being trans is the same thing as supporting them in being a man, you can’t separate the two.

And you can spend all day talking about in what situations transmasculine people have access to male privilege and in what conditions the privilege applies and so on, but that is a separate conversation from the point here, which is everyone deserves support and that includes trans men (and gay men, and disabled men, and Black men, and Indigenous men, and Asian men, and so on).

Things like body-shaming men for having neckbeards or small penises is seen as okay even though body-shaming women for having body hair or having small breasts is recognized as misogynistic. Sometimes folks respond by saying something like “you can’t oppress your oppressor” which... makes no sense in this context. Making people feel that their bodies are bad goes against the whole body-positive feminist movement, and that’s true no matter which people you think you’re targeting.

It’s also pretty obvious that being a man doesn’t inherently make you a bad person, but a lot of the hate and anger directed at men (whether it’s posted as a joke or said seriously by someone who went through trauma) can make it difficult for trans men to recognize that they’re men because they don’t want to become the thing everyone hates.

So how do we navigate allowing marginalized people to vent about groups who have privilege without causing collateral damage to other oppressed people?

Some people have tried to solve it by saying “I hate only cis men, not trans men!” but then of course you’ve created a new issue which is the arbitrary distinguishment between a cis man and a trans man. A trans man can be just as misogynistic as a cis man, and being trans doesn’t mean anything about who you are as a person, all it says is something about the gender you were assigned when you were born.

When you say that you only hate cis men, you’re implying that you don’t hate trans men because you think they’re different than cis men in some way in their thoughts/behavior/actions which is a transphobic assumption.

Or you’re saying you know that trans men and cis men can be identical in their thoughts/behavior/actions because they’re all men, so the reason you don’t hate trans men is ... ?? because they had certain genitals at birth (which they may not have anymore) ?? And that’s also transphobic because it’s saying you hate people solely because of their bodies which they can’t always control or change and implies having a particular type of body is morally wrong somehow or that your body makes you a bad person.

When someone makes a point of telling a trans man that they hate men, it’s sometimes a deliberate transphobic tactic used to make the person feel like having a male gender identity is inherently bad and makes you bad because it’s who you are, so the only way to become a good person is to not be a man which means not being transgender. And this is some how TERFs try and convince trans teens who were AFAB to re-identify as women instead of embracing being men. It’s hard to embrace being something that people have told you is problematic so people try to repress their feelings and ignore who they are.

Yet folks who don’t say “I hate all men” and instead say “the patriarchy sucks but it’s okay to be a man and not all men are bad” have found that statement controversial too.

Even that phrase, “not all men,” is a red flag because it’s primarily used by the “men’s rights” folks who try and defend their misogyny and push their anti-feminist agenda while denying the ways that they personally benefit from the system. All men benefit from the system of patriarchy if they are recognized as men by the system, but that doesn’t mean every individual man is personally responsible for actively perpetuating oppression or that every man is a bad person.

So when someone points out the ways that men are taught to hate themselves by people who are constantly bashing on men in hurtful ways, or the struggles that men face (even if they aren’t struggles unique to men), there are people who just freak out because they think that acknowledging this is in some way trying to say that men can’t be oppressors, or that pointing it out is somehow delegitimizing women’s experiences or part of a pushback against women’s rights because the MRAs have tried to stake a claim over the entire topic.

So any nuanced conversation about ways that we actually can support men and break down oppression and uplift marginalized folks has been silenced because this toxic group has dominated the conversation and nobody wants to accidentally seem like they support those things, so they don’t support anything that focuses on men at all.

Similarly, when someone posts about something that affects trans men people (usually cis people TBH) often will respond with “trans women have it worse with that issue, and everything else too!” which isn’t a helpful response because while it’s important to recognize the way that trans women face multiple axes of oppression, uplifting trans women in a way that makes it impossible for another marginalized group to have a conversation doesn’t help anyone. It’s okay for some posts to not be about or for trans women without starting to play the Oppression Olympics games because transmasculine people also need support and space and allowing transmasculine people to talk about their experiences doesn’t mean that transfeminine people are being ignored.

All that being said, I would argue that people definitely don’t always support trans women more than trans men, and I wouldn’t even say that people usually do so. It very much depends on the space you’re in. While I do believe that there are a lot of positivity/supportive posts about trans women on Tumblr, this is, in many ways, a direct reaction to counter the large volume of hate that’s also actively being directed at trans women on Tumblr. And while there are plenty of “love trans women!” posts, there is also an issue with the lack of practical resources and material support for trans women because most of the content does not go beyond the surface level heart-emoji type post.

So in what I’ve noticed on Tumblr specifically (as this varies depending on the platform you’re using and the space you’re in), there can be more vocal (aka performative) support for trans women but it mostly tends to focus on their identities saying they’re valid women and so on but doesn’t give them much information or material support or anything else that I would deem a useful resource, whereas there might be less support for trans men in terms of “gender identity positivity for being male” but there’s more practical resources and information that they can use to aid in their transition.

Again, whatever you do, don’t complain that transfeminine people have too much support- that’s not the same thing as saying that you’d like more support for trans men struggling with X issue.

And yes, while we do have many things in common, there are some differences in the struggles the community faces and the experiences we have, and it’s okay to want to talk with other folks who are going through the same thing. That doesn’t mean that you don’t care about transfeminine people or that you think they should have a smaller platform or something, it just means you’d like support for your identity and transition (which is wholly unrelated to how much support there is or isn’t available for them).

So if you are looking for more support for trans men and feel like you aren’t getting what you need in the online or IRL spaces you’re currently moving in, you should try finding the spaces that are meant to be supportive communities for trans men and join them, whether they’re specific blogs, Facebook groups, Discord servers, or in-person/on-Zoom support groups, and also do what you can to create the support you want to see for your community!

#Lee says #not really sure what to tag this as #transphobia #discourse #suicide m #Anonymous #trans #transgender #nonbinary #lgbtq #lgbt #transgender teen survival guide #transgenderteensurvivalguide #TTSG

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ramblinganthropologist · 3 years

Text

Fictober 2021 1- “I need you”

Fanfiction or Original Fiction: Fanfiction

Fandom: Mass Effect (with mention to Nijigasaki High School Idol Club)

Summary: FTL is boring. Garrus doesn’t know what to do with himself until he gets a strange message out of the blue. What’s he going to find in that storage room, and who knew humanity’s first Spectre was such a fucking hipster when it came to music?

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It was in his quiet moments that Garrus had to wonder how the hell he had wound up on a human ship in the first place.

Right then, he was having one of those quiet moments to reflect on as he stood around trying to plan his next move. They had just left a planet behind with plans to return to the Citadel in order to report on their findings. That left plenty of FTL time to get jobs that got pushed to the side during busier moments done. Problem was… he had finished all his.

Who knew being efficient could be such a downside? Damn his ability to get things done.

With nothing better to do, he had found himself once again down in the cargo hold, watching as people went about their business. Off to the side, some techs were trying to fix the Mako after it had been put through its paces. Just looking at its scratched, dented hull made his stomach queasy, especially when it revved to life to test the engine.

He was never getting in that fucking thing again if he had any say in the matter. Of course, he didn’t, but it was the thought that counted.

“Yeah…good luck with that.” He turned away, half content to count the boxes. To say he was bored out of his mind was putting it mildly. There was just nothing for him to do right then except people watch and try his best to stay out of the way. Given he was the only turian on a mostly human ship, that was probably something useful. Maybe he could use it as training?

…

Nah. Even he couldn’t float that one.

“Better go find something to do I guess.” He moved off from his box, heading towards the elevator. Garrus only got a few steps, though. Much to his surprise, his wrist began to beep with the sound of a new message.

“Huh, that’s weird.” He flipped his wrist over, the screen soon glowing before him. It was from a human address, that much was for sure. There was only one line of text, but the sight of it made his mandibles twitch.

I need you.

“What the…” Garrus realized it was coming from the Normandy, and nearby too if the trace he had on his omnitool was anything to go by. Well, he didn’t have anything better to do, so off he went to track the source.

It took him down a hallway, then another. It would be a miracle if he found his way back after, but he wasn’t worried about that. The strange message spurred him on as he took a left, and then a right. Then he was alone, standing in front of a door labeled storage.

Well… that was weird.

“Uh… is someone in there?” His voice carried down the empty hallway. “I got your message…”

The skittering sounds on the other side of the door stopped, then it was followed by muffled swearing as something dropped and scattered all over the place. A few seconds later, and the door lock turned from red to green, and the soft clicking let him know he was free to go through.

Well, might as well.

“I’m coming in…” The door slid open, and he stepped through. However, he didn’t really get too far as he glanced around. On the bright side, he was pretty sure nobody was dying anytime soon. On the other hand… what the fuck?

“Oh, hey there. Glad you got my message, didn’t think it would send down here.”

“You know, when you said, ‘I need you’ this wasn’t really what I was expecting…”

Garrus’ eye twitched as he glanced into the room. To put it bluntly, it was a mess. There were boxes everywhere, and some of them had spilled their contents onto the floor. In the midst of this chaos stood was the possible cause, holding a now emptied box and looking rather sheepish as he glanced at the floor around him.

For a small man, humanity’s first Spectre really knew how to make a mess.

Shepard chuckled nervously as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I guess I bit off more than I could chew.”

He put his box on a nearby shelf, sighing as soon as it was down. “These were a lot heavier than I thought they would be. Do you think you could give me a hand getting this put away? I was hoping to have it done before we exit FTL.”

A thousand thoughts ran through Garrus’ mind as he watched the Spectre continue to clean. Firstly, and most importantly of all – why was this his job? Last he had checked, Shepard was the CO on the Normandy. If he had wanted the mess cleaned up, he could’ve ordered one of the crew members to do it without much pushback. That was kind of the perk of being a CO, or so he had been told.

Maybe humans preferred all hands-on deck…

“Uh, sure…” He stooped to pick up a box, the contents rattling as he slotted it on the shelf. Then another box met the same fate. Now they had a little more room to move. “Why are you doing this by yourself anyway?”

Shepard’s cheeks were turning pink as he lifted a box. “I ran out of other stuff to do the last time we went into FTL drive.”

…

Well, shit. He could appreciate that.

The Spectre kept talking as he moved. “I knew it was a mess down here, so I figured I could clean it up while we headed back to the Citadel. Bo was supposed to do this with me, but she’s still in the medbay.”

Bo… Garrus couldn’t put a face to that name as he kept moving. Was there someone named that on the Normandy? Hell, he didn’t know… human names were weird. Whoever they were, he wasn’t too fond of them right now as he continued his menial labor.

“Oh, she’s the big human with pink hair. You know, the other Commander Shepard here?”

… Apparently, humans were psychic. Good to know.

Much to his surprise, Shepard startled chuckling at his startled expression. It wasn’t a bad sound, just odd. Humans always sounded odd to him, and that was with the translator working overtime. Whatever they actually sounded like, he didn’t know and honestly didn’t want to find out. He could live without that mystery being solved, thank you very much.

He didn’t hate humans; he just didn’t really care.

“How did you…”

The human kept chuckling as he reached for another box. “I remembered we never gave you our names when you started working with us. Doubt you’d hear it anyway among the crew, I don’t even know if they know them. Joker does, but hell if he ever uses them.”

That Garrus could understand. Turians were also on a last name basis in the chain of command. He honestly couldn’t remember what the names of his last CO’s might have been, and he didn’t really need to either. It was strange, but oddly comforting to know humans were on the same page.

Then again, as far as he knew it was just because they hadn’t asked. He doubted that, though. They were curious bastards.

“Ah. Well, she was pretty banged up from the last mission, no surprises there.” He put another box down. “Though she seems the type to sneak out of the medbay when she gets bored.”

That earned him a snort of laughter from Shepard as he continued to work. “You can say that again.”

“Fine. She seems- “

Shepard held up his hand, chuckling a little. “Sorry, that’s a human expression. You don’t have to actually say it again.”

Humans and their damn expressions. You think he would’ve learned by now to never take them at face value…

Still, Garrus kept on his work. With the two of them, the work went faster. Before long, a good chunk of the floor had been cleared. There were still plenty to be moved, but at least they could get by without bumping into each other. His carapace was still vibrating from having slammed into the human a few times, so he was glad for that.

“Alright, just a few more.” Shepard sounded cheery as he grabbed for a box on a nearby table. It must have been heavy, because he grunted and pulled back hard. Maybe a little too hard – the turian got to watch as he started to lean back. “Oh sh- “

It was instinct that led Garrus forward. Instead of the floor, the human hit the front of his armor with a hearty thunk. At least the box didn’t hit the floor – his talons were soon on it, steadying it. Just like he thought, it had been heavy – too heavy for the human. Even he felt a bit of the strain as they stood there in the middle of the floor.

“Fuck.” Shepard’s expletive hissed between his teeth as he and Garrus did their best to get the box where it needed to go. “Damn thing was heavier than it looked.”

The turian resisted an eyeroll as he slid it into place. “How about you sweep the floor and leave the box lifting to me? The only shelf space left is above your head anyway.”

That was probably a mistake. He hadn’t been around many humans, but he knew the smaller ones often had issues if their lack of height was brought up. Being on the Normandy long enough had shown him its CO was smaller than most of the crew by significant amounts. Maybe that was why he braced for the fallout.

Instead, Shepard nodded. “Yeah… that’s probably for the best. Thanks for the save, Garrus.”

He glanced around, and his pink cheeks started to turn red. “Uh… I can’t get the broom if you’re keeping me pinned against the shelf. Mind backing up a little?”

Huh?

Garrus blinked as he realized the position he was in. Shepard was right – he had the smaller man up against the shelf without any room to get out. They were practically touching they were so close, and he could actually smell the human thanks to the lack of distance. Surprisingly, he was rather sweet – kind of like a baked good.

Did humans make that smell naturally? If they did, he was kind of jealous.

“Oh… right, sorry.” He backed up, allowing Shepard to slide out. The human was soon grabbing for a broom and beginning his task. This left him to do the same, and then were soon absorbed in their individual chores.

Thanks to this, they fell into a rather easy silence that Garrus hadn’t found since coming onto the Normandy. While he didn’t exactly enjoy this kind of grunt labor, there was a weird sort of calm to it as he continued to shift boxes around. In the end, it was all work with his talons and none with his brain.

With everything they had been going through, he needed the break.

“This boulevard that leads to tomorrow has flowers blooming along it…”

A soft voice drew him out of his weird state of meditation. He turned around, still holding a box, to investigate the source. Much to his surprise, he saw that Shepard was still sweeping up. Not only that, but he had also started to sing as he cleaned.

“I’ll take the courage that you gave me and hold it close…” He was still sweeping, his voice barely above a whisper. It was surprisingly high, especially compared to his speaking voice. “We made this promise with smiles… And I’ll make it bloom…”

He broke off into humming at that point as he moved the broom across the floor. Garrus’ translator was going overtime as it translated. Songs were much harder than speech, so it took a few moments of feedback for the translation to spit out. However, it was doing so against his visor soon enough, a turian voice in his ear.

That… well, it wasn’t a song he would have expected from a space marine. Frankly, it sounded more appropriate for a teenage girl.

“And I promise to you… I want to tell you so many thank yous~” Shepard held the last note, pointing his broom at the last moment. Then he swirled around, obviously following some unknown dance routine. Unfortunately for him, that made him face Garrus.

Well… shit.

The color drained from the human’s face as he stopped singing abruptly. His cheeks turned pink as he put his broom back down on the floor and started to sweep faster. Something about his posture made the turian feel… well… kind of guilty.

Why, he had no idea. It wasn’t like he had done anything…

Still, Garrus frowned at the tension that filled the room. His mandibles twitched as he tried to think of an excuse or something to break the ice. However, he couldn’t find anything to say. They didn’t exactly cover catching a fellow soldier singing a strange little song during cleaning in basic for obvious reasons. He was kind of on his own.

He hated that.

“Sorry… I forgot I wasn’t alone.” Shepard’s voice was back to where it usually was as he kept his eyes on the floor. “It would be great if you didn’t tell anyone about that, thanks.”

Garrus allowed a nod as he picked up the last box to put it away. “Uh, no problem. I don’t think I’ve heard that song before. Is it from Earth?”

“I’d be surprised if you had, it’s old as hell and from a really niche genre.” Shepard chuckled rather sheepishly as he reached for the dustpan once he had finished with the floor. “God, that must make me sound like such a hipster.”

It did, but Garrus wasn’t going to say it. After all, the guy was kind of his CO at the moment. Kind of went against the code, you know?

“Could you… send it to me maybe? I’m kind of curious now.”

Now he was the one being stared at. Shepard had stopped sweeping, and his wide eyes were trained. Garrus felt his mandibles twitch as he looked around the room, wondering if he had said something wrong. Was he not supposed to ask? Did humans have some weird taboo about asking for music from people?

Spirits, knowing him he had walked straight into some diplomatic snafu. Oh well, he’d had a good life…

“You really want to listen to it?”

There was no denying it – Shepard sounded excited. Garrus in his relief almost missed the fact the other man’s posture had completely changed. No more was he turned in on himself in embarrassment. Now he was wide open, eager – his eyes were practically sparkling.

Talk about a change.

“Uh… sure. You have my address, so send it over.”

Shepard was already typing on his omnitool, grinning. “I’ll send a few over. If you like them, I have plenty more. They were a little different from the other groups in their company, but I really enjoy listening to them. A few even made it to my battle playlists. What can I say, nothing like chase or dive to get you going.”

Well… at least he wasn’t the only one to make battle playlists. That was good to know. At least they had something in common.

Garrus nodded at this, seeing the email already in his inbox. “Thanks, I’ll let you know what I think once I listen.”

He glanced around the room – from the looks of things, they were done. “Do you need any more help, or should I get going?”

“Oh, you can head off. I just need to finish sweeping.” He was smiling now. “Thanks for your help, Garrus. You’re a real lifesaver.”

Something about that made his stomach shift. Garrus at least managed a nod as he left, the door sliding shut behind him. He should have started moving, but something made him stay by the door, quiet.

He was probably wasting his time… but…

“The future we envisioned… let’s make it a reality someday…”

Yep. He was singing again.

Maybe that was why Garrus stayed by the door for just a bit longer to listen. Sure, there were better singers – and ones who could do it without blushing like idiots – but something about the Spectre’s voice was soothing. He had a nice voice, even if most of the time he used it to get the crew out of trouble.

He could get used to listening to it…

“Shit, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He shook his head, but yet Garrus didn’t move. After all, he wanted to hear the end of the song. Maybe later, he could compare the two. Until he had to, however, he was content to stay by that door.

Maybe he’d get an encore out of it. If all their FTL went like this… maybe the Normandy wasn’t so bad after all. He could get used to this.

#fictober21 #ramblinganthropologist's writing #Alistair Shepard #Garrus Vakarian #Alistair is a pure aspect in the pure-cool-smile triad #just in case anyone was in both fandoms lol

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datawyrms · 4 years

Text

More Than Lost (2/2)

Dannymay day 9, Glow. A continuation of this, but you can get the gist without if needbe :v

Danny’s hazmat suit wasn’t simply misplaced, it was missing. Despite checking every reasonable place in the lab, and several nonsensical places, the suit did not turn up. Danny never used it, he had almost seemed embarrassed about it, much like Jazz was. How had it just up and vanished? It wasn’t even a reasonable thing to steal, not many scrawny fourteen year olds were in the market for hazmat. Even if a ghost had decided to try and steal some Fenton tech, taking Danny’s suit and ONLY Danny’s really wouldn’t help. Though ghosts could be completely erratic it still didn’t feel like the correct answer. Surely if a ghost had stolen it, they would have flaunted their ‘win’ over the ghost hunting couple, much like how Phantom casually used a stolen thermos with zero remorse daily, to going as far as stealing the Ecto-Skeleton and defacing it with it’s own ghostly attributes.

A human wouldn’t bother stealing it, and if a ghost had, they would know by now. So why was it missing? Her eyes rested on the Boooomerang, the choking weight of concern setting back on her chest. She couldn’t be certain if the ghost had meant it to be a small taunt or credible threat. At the bare minimum it showed the specter was back in the human would, and didn’t care if the ghost hunters knew it. Was it so cocky to think they were no threat to it? Or was it a reminder that it knew exactly where their children lived if they angered the beast again?

Thankfully Jack could always be trusted to drive such concerns away with loud bravado and strong embraces, even if he might be a tad too optimistic in this case.

“Don’t worry Mads, that ectoplasmic punk’s got another thing coming if it thinks it can threaten the Fentons! The house will know if it sets one slimy foot inside!”

“I know Jack, something just doesn’t feel right. What if it already did something?” her hands fiddled with a pen, unable to write down any reasonable actions the ghost might have taken, or relate anything to the missing hazmat.

“Oooh! I can take the Fenton Environmental Ectoplasmic Entity Detector for a spin! I think I’ve managed to have it filter out the standard amount in our house. All thanks to your calculations!” his grin was infectious.

“Aww, I know implementing them was all you sweetheart.” Still, having Jack do a quick sweep of the house would be comforting. Knowing the pesky pretend ‘hero’ ghost had not approached their children might quiet the strange dread she couldn’t shake from last night.

Jack accepted a peck on the cheek before racing off to finish re-assembling the device while she busied herself with going over the ghost shield schematics. Phantom had a nasty habit of appearing inside areas protected by the green domes, and the sooner she figured out what flaw the terror was using to get through, the better. If she could tune it to reject any quantity of ectoplasm, she would. Unfortunately with the portal, and that whole little problem with the entire town getting dragged into the ghost zone almost everyone in Amity had some level of contamination. Nothing worrisome, but enough that it could harm humans if she wasn’t careful in accounting for that. Maybe a mode for full deflection at night?

The paper was soon filled with calculations and tiny sketches so that Jack could have a helpful visual, completely losing track of time.

“Maddie?” Jack’s lack of joviality was more worrisome than anything else, her attention towards her work gone in an instant.

“The scan wasn’t good?” she asked, privately hoping he simply had failed to get the invention working completely.

“Er well. It definitely tracked a ghost leaving the portal.” he rubbed the back of his neck, showing his wife the glowing trail the ghostly intruder left highlighted on the small screen of the device. “The problem is it completely loses it after it goes upstairs-”

“Into Danny’s room?” she finishes, heart in her throat. If that thing had done anything to their son…

Jack nods, managing to keep his voice steady. “It can’t still be in there, but it doesn’t pick up anymore shed ectoplasm after that. Maybe I over compensated and the ghost was just moving too fast to shed enough ambient ectoplasm?”

“Or that monster has a way to suppress expelling ectoplasm for brief periods. It is in our world far more often than most ghosts manage.” She tried to focus on the possible solution instead of the horror of where the ghost had been. At least it had not gone after Jazz as well, it had likely planned to but ran out of time. “We’ll just have to give the kids a good check after school.”

“And some spector deflectors! You think they might complain less about wearing them if they look like a watch?” Jack was pacing, hands moving as if he was already planning on cobbling the idea together. “Is the belt too ‘uncool’ for the kids?”

“When it comes to their safety, we don’t care how uncool it is. It’s a good idea though, Jazz might prefer it.”

“Alright! Operation: Hands off My Kids, Ghost Scum! Is underway!” Jack seemed a bit more at ease with an actual plan of attack, sprinting off to the lab without barely a second glance. They’d just have a big dinner to make up for all the meal skipping, it was fine.

She knew Danny had always been a bit leery of their inventions, and had expected some pushback from the boy, but she hadn’t expected Jazz to be so vocally opposed.

“Mom this is the fifth time you’ve accused me of being a ghost! Your obsession with them is making you see symptoms that don’t exist!” she pointed an accusing finger at the both of them before grabbing her brother by the shoulders. “Come on Danny, we don’t have time for this.”

“It’s not like that Jazzy-pants! We know you aren’t a ghost, but one of those putrid piles of protoplasm might have done something to you two.” Jack insisted, blocking the exit to the room, barely managing to weather the teenager’s glare.

“We’re much better at detecting ghosts now sweetie. No blasts or goop, no invasive checks. It’ll only take a few moments, then you two can get going, okay?”

“Absolutely not! We are not indulging in your paranoia, I know I’m fine, and I know Danny’s fine, and that should be enough for you.” she almost seemed to be shielding her little brother as she went on. “Your inventions fail all the time, and you’re trusting that over us?”

Danny was remaining strangely silent throughout the argument, as if he was hoping he could become invisible if he scrunched in on himself enough. He was rather timid, but he’d usually have some sort of complaint by this point.

“Well, okay. I guess you’d know if your brother was possessed.” Jack admitted. “Just to make sure you two stay that way, I got you some Fenton Watches! It tells the ghosts that it’s never time to try to touch you!” He held the green and silver timepieces proudly, not noticing how Danny visibly recoiled more firmly into his sister’s grip.

“Oh and become complete social pariahs? Danny has enough trouble connecting with his peers and you’re going to try and force that on him? Honestly.”

That finally got a reaction from her son, the boy glaring at his sister. “Hey! I have friends!”

Jazz gave him the patented sibling ‘Shut Up’ look before going back to glaring at their parents. “I’ll let you know if we start acting out parts of the Exorcist. Until then, all of this? Paranoia, and we’re not indulging it.” With that the redhead forced her way past her father, brother in tow.

“Maybe the ghost did get to Jazz.” Jack muttered, glancing at the stairs the two went up.

“It might have. That’s okay, we can use the EctoIlluminator at dinner. When she understands ghosts are a real threat she might stop protesting so much.” Maddie clutched the flashlight-looking device firmly, trying to keep calm. Something was definitely up with the two of them, now that she was looking more closely. Has this ghost problem been a long term one? They had tried to stop assuming any oddness was ghost related after the incidents Jazz mentioned, but perhaps they had been wrong to do so.

Jazz was still putting up the defensive front, eyeing their served meal before touching it. “If this has any sort of magic ‘ghost detector sauce’ I’m tossing it and ordering something.”

“It’s just food dear.” Maddie started eating her own meal, feigning casualness as she watched the two picked at their food, Jazz eyeing every bite as if it was going to jump up and do something, while Danny just looked too tired to eat with any speed.

“So how was school?” Jack prompted, apparently bothered by the silence.

“Long.” Danny muttered, still chasing a pea with his fork instead of using his knife to help pick the vegetable up.

“Maybe he’d have more to say if you asked about his interests. Or anything that wasn’t school and ghosts.”

“Jazz.”

“What? It’s true! If they actually wanted to have some family time they could at least try to be interested in us as people.” Jazz crossed her arms, apparently satisfied by the wince Jack made.

“Jazz.” Danny repeated, a frustrated edge in his tone.

“You’re right Jazz. We’ve been so busy with the portal and all the ghosts that we may have been a little more distant than you would like.” Maddie felt a pang of guilt, Jazz’s accusation mirroring her own worries. If they had paid more attention, would they have caught that something was wrong sooner?

“When I was a teenager I never wanted to see my folks! Thought you guys might be the same as your old man.” Jack apologized, and Jazz actually smiled at him.

“No, I take after dad. Can I go now?” Danny asked, already half pushing out of his chair.

“We haven’t even had dessert, hold your horses kiddo.”

The boy slumped back into his seat, glaring at Jazz. “Whatever.”

Jazz ignored it, going off on a tangent about her day and future plans, Jack nodding and adding comments about his time in high school as Danny continued to do his best to melt into the chair. Other than a few glances at each exit of the room, the teenager seemed to be incredibly bored.

Everyone seemed distracted enough to run the quick test, slipping the EctoIlluminator out of the cupboard along with the box of cookies that was being used to hide it from view.

The beam of light passed over Jazz with no reaction other than her own, a furious “MOM, we JUST talked about this!” as she got to her feet and moved surprisingly quickly in the direction of her brother, but Maddie’s wrist was faster.

The half awake teenager grunted at the bright light, eyes narrowing to block the worst of it. Yet the glowing green that replaced his normal blue hue and shined back at her confirmed their worst fears.

The ghost using Danny as a meat puppet didn’t seem to notice the change, shielding himself with an arm. It was strange, as if there was an entire separate layer hiding under his skin, almost like a glove. Had their son been possessed so long that the ghost was everywhere, not just in his mind?

“Can you not flash light in my eyes mom?” the ghost asked, blind to their reactions.

“I knew it.” Maddie nearly growled, weapon out in seconds as Jack got to his feet.

Danny’s body swallowed, trying to look at both of them at once. “Knew what? You’re kinda freaking me out here.”

“You think we didn’t notice your threat last night?”

“I haven’t threatened anyone?” the fake insisted, looking to Jazz for support. “Did mom and dad get overshadowed or am I missing something?”

“You’re hopeless.” Jazz said as she stood protectively between her parents and the thing she thought was her brother. “Your gadgets always pick Danny up, stop threatening my brother.”

“Overshadowed, huh? Is that the word you used when you threatened my son?” she ignored Jazz’s outburst, it was for the best that it was solved now. “Sounded nicer than possessing him?”

The ghost frowned, confusion clear on Danny’s face. “Mom, I’m not overshadowed.”

“Humans don’t have glowing green eyes. I don’t know what you did to Jazz to make her defend you, but you’ll pay for it.”

That got it’s attention. He froze for a moment before actively hiding more behind Jazz. “I swear I’m not overshadowed, I can explain-” he was struggling to find words,

“He’s not. Danny is still Danny, green eyes or not.” Jazz insisted, still keeping her position between them and the sputtering ghost.

“Jazz, I know he seems normal, but it’s a ghost impersonating him. Just let us save your brother, okay? Jack lowered his weapon slightly as he tried to appeal to Jazz.

Their daughter just continued to look furious. “I’m doing enough of that, seeing as you’d be shooting at him!” She only spared a moment to glance back at her brother. “You need to tell them.”

“I can’t, look how bad they’re taking it already!” he hissed back

“Either you do or I do.”

“It’s not like they’ll believe me!”

Their argument only made Maddie’s heart hurt. Somehow this ghost had been around long enough to convince Jazz having some ghostly bodysnatcher around was a good thing?

“Mom. Danny isn’t overshadowed, or possessed, or anything else. Put the weapon down.” she squared her shoulders, showing the famous family stubbornness. “He’s just more ecto-contaminated than other people, you know that. He sets everything off.”

“I know you mean well, but the ghost hiding behind you is not your brother.”

“Yes, he is! Listen to me! He’s no different today than from last week! It’s not my fault you can’t see that!” she only had eyes for her mother, not noticing how her large father could be surprisingly quiet when he had to be.

“It might be a very good mimic, Jazz, but ectocontamination wouldn’t make his eyes glow like a cat’s. We know what we’re talking about.” This was agonizing, her own daughter being tricked into defending some filthy ghost so strongly.

Jack managed to hit the thing squarely in the shoulder, knocking it away from Jazz as it yelped and clutched at Danny’s arm, trembling slightly as he got back to his feet. No ghost emerged from the boy, but she spotted as his eyes flared green again, if only for a second.

“Can I go to my room now?” the ghost asked through gritted teeth.

Jack instantly looked apologetic, looking as if he’d run to the boy’s side to bandage any wound he may have gotten.

“Don’t fall for it Jack, it just has a strong grip on Danny. I saw it.”

“No you didn’t! You just shot Danny, no ghost, and you’re still going there’s a ghost? You need to stop this, right now Mom.” Jazz was in her mother’s face, trying to snatch the weapon away. “You need help. You’re seeing things.”

“Fine.” Maddie let Jazz fumble the gun away, keeping a sharp eye on the ghost pretending to be her child. “You said you could explain, so do it.”

Danny swallowed, apparently hoping that she would have forgotten that stammered excuse. “Um. Well. You know that ghost flu everyone had? I’m like that but all the time? Kinda?” he kept rubbing at his arm. “And not sick! I’m fine, really.”

That was quite some time ago now, and a terrible excuse. It almost pained her to address this ghost as her son, but she had to play along with Jazz long enough to get something stronger to cure Danny with. “Danny, the amount of ectoplasm created by that illness would have killed any human exposed to it for more than two weeks.”

“Well I’m not sick! I just...glow sometimes, okay? I knew you guys would freak out, but Jazz saw it and well-” he cut himself off, noting how Maddie’s face didn’t shift an inch. “You don’t believe me, do you.”

“No, I don’t.”

He seemed to be struggling to say something, needing to glance at Jazz before finally sputtering out, “I’ve been like this since the accident, okay?”

Suddenly her boy being possessed didn’t seem like such a bad thing. If he had been ‘like this’ since the accident, could it possibly mean that- “I’m listening.” she managed to force out, hoping she didn’t sound faint.

“After that I uh. Could do weird things. Like the eye glowing thing. I’ve pretty much figured it out, but I was scared to tell you so...I didn’t.” he was mumbling, looking down at his shoes.

Maddie managed to catch Jack’s eye, able to tell he had the same thought, and it broke her heart. How had they completely failed to notice? She crouched down a little, trying to be a little less intimidating. “I’m sorry we scared you sweetie.” she could barely hold the tears back, struggling how to even ask for forgiveness properly. How did you ask your child to forgive you for causing their death and not even noticing?

Jack seemed to have similar problems. “You died in the accident?” the horror in his voice might have been funny if it wasn’t a true statement.

“What? No! I’m fine, heartbeat and everything.” Danny insisted, grabbing at both of their hands so they could feel the slow yet steady pulse. “I’m just a bit. Weird now.”

He didn’t even know he was dead. He must put all his time and energy into looking human, not to fool the world but to fool himself. It would explain why he seemed so tired all the time, burning so much energy to fake a pulse and warmth while barely getting any back from the surrounding air, seeing as how he likely never stepped foot in the ghost zone to replenish himself.

“We’re very proud you haven’t misused that weirdness.” she said, trying to think of a way to ease her son into realizing the truth of the matter.

“Mom! That’s just rude.” Jazz still had a bunch of opinions, apparently buying that Danny wasn’t dead. Of course she would, she wouldn’t want her little brother to be dead.

Jack looked at her oddly, but didn’t argue, deciding she must have a plan. If Danny was a ghost now, that didn’t mean they didn’t love him, but he couldn’t go on pretending to be something he wasn’t.

“...Yeah. Okay, now you know, I have homework so-” he fidgeted.

“Danny, can you just answer something for me before you go?”

“Sure?” his anxiety was contagious, it practically wanted to make her start pacing around the room.

“Did you wear your hazmat suit on the day of the accident?”

“I did. Why?”

“Do you know where it is now?” It would be easier to lead him to the truth by making him realize it himself. “It’s not in the lab.” His mouth slammed shut again, apparently that was going to be his answer.

He continued to struggle over what he wanted to say before finally sighing. “Not really.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this Danny,” she pushed her goggles up so she could look him in the eyes. “The suit is on your body. You lost it when you died.”

“I’m not dead!” his insistence was confident, not the silent acceptance she had hoped for. “I didn’t lose it. It’s just gone.”

Jazz elbowed her dead brother, who gave a bit of a scowl.

“Danny, hazmat suits don’t just vanish. We still love you, even if you’re a ghost.” Jack added his approval and love of his son, but the ghost still seemed obstinate on this point.

“Okay, fine! I know where it is.” he groaned, shooting Jazz another look. “I’m not dead. It just looks a bit different.”

The Fenton parents weren’t expecting that, wondering if Danny had made himself a very long and complicated reason to keep denying his death. “Where is it then?”

“You saw it. Last night. Actually you see it a lot.” the boy rocked on his heels, still looking unsure about something.

“Just spit it out Danny, before they start planning your funeral.” Jazz snorted.

“I’m trying okay! It’s still kind of hard to ignore the being torn apart threats okay?” he said with a huff.

No wonder he’d denied it so long, he must have been scared senseless that they would have treated him like one of those ghost blobs instead of as their son. “We haven’t seen it anywhere.”

Danny let out a long sigh, resting his forehead on his knuckles for a second. “Yes you have. You promise not to shoot?”

“Of course we won’t!” she wasn’t sure what he was planning on showing them, but that was an easy enough promise to make.

“No, he’s totally right to make you promise first.” Jazz muttered, glaring pointedly at her brother’s singed shoulder.

“Yeeeah about that…” Danny looked at them for a while longer before apparently deciding they were genuine. A bright flash, brighter than the flashlight had been summoned two rings of light at around the boy’s midsection before sweeping over him.

He changed from a very human looking boy to what was unmistakably a ghost. A ghost they knew and had fought countless times.

“I guess the ghost zone thought I looked better inverted?” Phantom said, a weak grin accompanying the ghostly green eyes and stark white hair, his frosty glow making the whole room feel frigid. “I really was lost last night.”

All they could do was hold Danny close in a choking hug, tears falling as they struggled to let their poor boy know how sorry they were without words, as their minds couldn’t even begin to think of where to start.

#dannymay2020 #Danny Phantom #Maddie Fenton #Jack Fenton #jazz fenton #my stuff #this got too long #my goodness #also it's super obvious but w/e #i had fun

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once-upon-a-scenario · 4 years

Text

Bakugou/reader: Icarus, Part 3

Part 1 here Part 2 here EDIT: what the hell you’re telling me I never added Part 4?? It’s next week, and Katsuki is ready to take you down. He’s got to reiterate- this isn’t sport, it’s war. (Or: winning is harder than it looks.) (Sorry for the late update, this one got pretty long and I had some plot problems to work out! I think everybody can tell by now that I am not good at update schedules and will probably never have a consistent one :,) Reviews and/or constructive criticism are always welcome- thanks to everyone who’s been showing this series love so far and thanks to all the commenters I’ve had on this blog in general! Kinda kills me inside that I can’t reply to any of you without using my main, but please trust me when I say I am obsessive enough to see all comments and deeply appreciate the kind words ;-; ;-; ;-; Also, hooray for the most unrealistic fight scene ever! I have never done hand-to-hand in my life and it probably shows XD -Mod Eve) ____ For the rest of the week, Katsuki stews. There’s nothing particularly intimidating about you. You’re too mild- too fucking bland, with your polite little smiles and stupidly unwavering calm. Your quirk’s fine, from what he knows, some shit called Reflection that does exactly what it says on the tin: you bounce things away before they reach you. Can’t be a coincidence that you have a defensive quirk- hilarious, isn’t it, how even your biology seems to be cooperating with your pacifist bullshit? And it can’t be a fucking coincidence that your quirk gives you the biggest advantage over certain emitter types.

He contemplates this on the way to school the next Monday morning and scuffs his sneaker spitefully against the sidewalk, palms tingling. He’ll win anyway, though. There’s never been any question about that.

(If you decide to repel his explosions, fine; he’s not an idiot. If you could deflect every attack that came your way, you’d never get hit during training. But he’s seen you go down before.

Even if he has to face you with bare fists, he’ll win.)

Throughout the day, he itches with the urge to get going; the teachers’ words slide off of him like water, and he snaps at more people than usual as they crowd around him like a bunch of buzzing, persistent flies, making his palms begin to crackle until Aizawa-sensei fixes him with a look and he tenses, looking out the window instead of making a scorch mark on someone’s desk.

You’re there through all this, sitting in your corner seat with your gaze fixed on the blackboard, not knowing or not caring about what’s coming.

Either you don’t know, hisses that aggravated little voice in his ear, or you do, and you’re so confident that you STILL don’t give a shit.

(Or there is a third option, a reason that you don’t care, that “I don’t fight for sport” isn’t meant to be a taunt- but fuck if he wants to think about that one.)

It’s more of a headache than it should be worth, so he grits his teeth and reminds himself: today is the day. Doesn’t matter what you think will happen, you’re losing the luxury to ignore him this time. No more standstills.

“We’re sparring partners today,” he informs you during break, only mildly aggressively, making you look up from your textbook with a slight start. Good. You better be on your guard. “Hope you’re ready to lose.”

A beat of silence, and then- fuck you, honestly- you smile.

I’ll do my best to be a good partner. That’s really not the fucking point, and as he stalks back to his own seat, he’d bet anything that you know it’s not.

______

He doesn’t talk to you again until it’s time to spar. Aizawa-sensei eyes him coolly in a way that’s always sort of annoying, because it makes it impossible to figure out what his teacher is thinking of; which makes Aizawa-sensei actually surprisingly similar to you, he realizes. This heightens his annoyance, and he watches you while Aizawa-sensei watches him and the rest of the class files into groups of twos and threes and you…just stare at the ceiling, then nod at him in greeting.

Still with that faux-polite attitude, but whatever. He’s got this. He grits his teeth.

“Hey,” Sero whispers from beside him, “No offense, Bakugou, but is everything ok…?”

“Yeah,” Kaminari chimes in, squinting at him. “You look like you’re thinking of something nasty.”

Katsuki sneers, feeling the beginnings of heat building at the tips of his fingers, already mildly damp with nitroglycerin. “Shut it, Pikachu.”

And it feels like the longest five minutes of his life until Aizawa-sensei finally calls his name and yours, the signal to get in place, get ready, he’s been ready since the cafeteria and before and fuck him if he’s letting you slither out of things this time like a fucking coward with a ridiculously useful quirk.

(Not a coward, that persistent thought prickles at the back of his mind. He squashes it, hoping he’s really not losing braincells at this point. If not a coward, then what the fuck are you?)

He faces you and finds that you’ve stationed yourself a safe distance away, just out of his immediate reach, where you stand very still and refuse to approach. And it’s so very typical of you and yet so very calculated and so much like the most subtle version of a middle finger that the ticking time bomb inside him, the one that’s been steadily nearing its limit since the first time he laid eyes on you and has only sped up since the cafeteria incident, is now seconds away from bursting. These confrontations have always been on your terms, your placid, fluid refusal to respond to his challenges throwing cold water on any spark he’s ever tried to ignite, but here and now, it’s his turn to make the rules. That’s only fair.

“It’s not fucking sport anymore, you know.”

You bow your head ever so slightly. I happen to take sparring very seriously.

And hey, true, at least you’ve switched to a defensive stance now- the type of cautious position that makes him think you’re probably gearing up to use your quirk. Katsuki’s lips curl into something resembling a smile. If you think you’ve got the upper hand here, well, fuck it, he’s going to show you.

He readies his fists.

And as soon as the words alright…start, fall from Aizawa-sensei’s lips, remember, the session ends when one person yields, he leaps towards you with his arm drawn back and a vicious punch aimed straight for your jaw.

He feels a slight resistance, a faint push against his knuckles, stopping him just shy of hitting his target as you swerve out of the way. So that’s Reflection- that’s what it feels like. He almost laughs as he turns to chase you down, because he’s seen, caught just a fleeting glimpse of your eyes widening and the sterile white lights above mirrored in your irises as you stared at him and his clenched fists.

There’s no fucking point in explosions if you’ll just reflect them back at him, but look: from what he’s seen, he assumes you can’t deflect a fist attached to an entire human body.

“Don’t get shy on me now!” he shouts as you dodge his next movement, a little quicker than before. Again, laughs the fire inside him, a little wild, a little pissed off, typical. The fucking stubbornness of you. Trust you to not fight back but you’re gonna see why you should, just you wait-

He hurls his fist forward as you seem to slip to the left but you’re gone before it hits and his punch connects to thin air, sending him off balance and lurching forwards with a quick, sharp intake of breath. You’re not in his line of sight anymore, probably behind him, probably some sort of clever strategy that’s going to prove utterly useless once he figures out your movements. He twists around and there you are, darting away from the kick he aims at your legs and already two steps away before his fist connects with your cheekbone. You’re adapting, getting quicker, and maybe you’re using your quirk in random places because at certain points he feels that faint pushback against his attacks, just strong enough to slow him down by a fraction-

(Come on, he wants a better response than that. Do you really have to be such a shitty sport all the time?)

He swings again, knuckles white, a wordless growl ripping from his throat as the hit lands just the most infuriating centimeter off from its mark; it only glances off your ear, but it still makes you freeze for a split second with a wince and he takes your momentary shock as a chance to reach forward, trying to grab you, drag you back, do something before you’re gone. As he reaches, however, your leg sweeps out to hit against his shin just hard enough to earn a reflexive shout and a small explosion, stopping him for long enough that you can jump back, putting more distance between you. Nice of you to actually move for once, but he’d appreciate it if you’d stop running away and do something interesting for once in your fucking life. This fistfighting is getting real old and he might just blast you if he could be sure that that’s not what you’re aiming for under all your defensive tactics, for him to just hand you the weapons to win, and that’d be just really fucking fantastic- And like this, you go back and forth, him swift and deadly and driving you back with every punch, kick, and grapple, you weaving in and out of his movements like the world’s most infuriating, immovable butterfly, utterly refusing to take a shot back at him unless it’s a quick, disarming movement that’s just not strong enough, and he feels somewhere in-between euphoria and rage, because he’s looking you in the eyes and you’re panting heavily, sweat on your brow, shoulders tensed, but your gaze stays steady. (You stay steady.)

____ He takes you down, in the end, just like he knew he would. There’s a pattern to your evasions and once he cracks it, it’s easy enough to get behind you, out of your line of sight where he makes a gamble- that you won’t be able to activate your quirk in time- and then rushes forward, the blood burning in his veins and the heady, maddening triumph coming out in a shout of almost-laughter as he opens his palm towards you and lets the fire burst out. You stumble, trying to move out of the way, and that’s when he finally gets a grip on your arm and flips you to the ground. He’s on top of you, then, pinning you down. You’re both hot and sweaty and it’s mildly gross- your lip bust sometime during the fight and every spot you’ve kicked him in aches more than he cares to admit. He’ll find bruises in the morning. It’s worth it, he tells himself as he pushes down insistently, making sure you don’t have the space to move. Are you looking? Do you see this? Do you get what’s going on? You lost. You can’t walk away until I say so. And you look up at him, still gasping a little. I yield. And... That’s that. He’s done it. Not that he ever doubted he would. You stay like that for a moment, both breathless and a little stiff. Then he lets you up, sneers when you thank him for a good fight, and makes his way to the cafeteria for lunch alone. Iida and Yaoyorozu team up on him for pinning you and busting your lip, and you smile and tell them it’s ok- you kicked him pretty hard, anyway, and that’s kind of the point of sparring in U.A. People get hurt. It’s no big deal. Katsuki scoffs and quickens his pace, leaving you and Iida’s nagging far behind. It’s a spitefully nice feeling, to be the victor, the one walking away, just like he always should’ve been. He won. You didn’t walk away this time. You know, now, that you shouldn’t have underestimated him. Everybody saw you fight. Everybody saw you lose. He sits next to Kirishima and takes a vicious bite out of a sandwich, making some offhand insulting comment about Kaminari’s latest batch of puns, and ignores the discomfort creeping over him; it’s the pain from the bruises you’ve probably left on him, nothing more, nothing less. Bruises are nothing. They fade. (He remembers the way you looked up at him, though. Your eyes were dull. You’re such a fucking blank slate and apparently, even an actual fight couldn’t get you to look halfway alive. It’s disappointing.) Then again, he saw you look surprised that one time, for his first hit. He gloats, keeping that image close to his mind for a moment, but it merges strangely with the distant way you stared at him when he pinned you to the ground and it taints the feeling of triumph, making him uncomfortable again. You didn’t get to walk away- that much is true. He’s just not sure you knew that yourself. Victory, he realizes, is surprisingly anticlimactic.

#BNHA #Bakugou Katsuki #Bakugou Katsuki x reader #Katsuki x reader #Bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #Katsuki Bakugou x reader #BNHA reader insert #scenario #series #gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader insert #Mod Eve #wow this was a really long chapter of torturing Bakugou #sorry my man #there's more to come #:)))

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rosewould · 3 years

Text

*･༓☾ bloodshot // johnny ☽༓･*

chapter ii // masterlist

*pairing*

you x johnny + some jungwoo (and I guess Taeyong?)

*chapter rating* mature

*warnings* explicit sexual content, mentions of slurs and sexism (it’s another jungwoo smut chapter)

*word count* 3.03k

*disclaimer(s)* Once again I don't think nayeon, johnny, or lucas actually act this way, and this goes for everyone in the future

♥　♡　♥　♡　♥　♡　♥

"Again?" Your eyes lit up. Jungwoo has never had so much drive before.

"I wanna give you all my love and attention until neither of us can take it anymore." He caresses your cheek and you melt into him. Your bed fitted with brown silk sheets and a tan comforter became a sort of sacred fortress in the past two months. Jungwoo has been an angel through the come down of the incident.

"Jisoo told me you haven't been giving her as much attention, though." You lace your fingers with his, noting every mole and mark down his arm. Jungwoo sighs.

"I know... I just hate seeing you like this. If only she was able come and cuddle with us."

It's been a month since you and Jungwoo made it official. It didn't feel like anything changed, you wonder if open relationships always felt this way.

"You just want to watch Jisoo and I kiss." You roll your eyes. Jungwoo shoots up from the bed.

"You guys kiss?!" You snort at his baffled expression.

"No, and I prefer it that way. I'm pretty sure Jisoo prefers our relationships separate as well." You glance at him, knowing he knows you're right. He huffs in defeat before falling back onto the bed.

"Imagine how great the three of us could be, though." Jungwoo pouts, seemingly forgetting about round 4.

No matter how much he pouted, you and Jisoo were 100% platonic. You liked you guys' dynamic and neither of you wanted to change it.

Those two together almost made you forget about all the online ridicule you received. Almost.

You couldn't leave Taeyong. The others, no sweat off your back. Taeyong, however, was your first love. And although you had no more romantic feelings for him, you still loved him. Even if he was dating a girl who made your life a living hell. You could cut off Johnny and Lucas, but not Nayeon. If you had to do anymore streams with that devil you'd scream.

You groan as you die again. Good thing you were near spawn anyway. You hurry and gather your items before the ridicule commences.

"____ you're really fucking everything up. This must be why women are inferior." She purposefully puts a shit-ton of nasality in her voice when she talks to you. It makes you want to rip your ears off your head. Taeyong's laugh reads of disbelief.

"Nayeon why would you say that?!"

You just laughed awkwardly. How do their viewers not die of boredom? It's the same god-forsaken cycle. Nayeon makes a self-loathing sexist joke, Taeyong pretends to be shocked, the chat erupts in response. You wonder if men get off on women constantly stating that they're inferior.

"Ugh just fucking come with me." Nayeon's character sprints off before you could think.

"Wait a minute!" You jump and run at her. You switch to your iron sword, pretending to strike her from behind. Your mind wanders as you pretend to hit her. What has your life become? You almost jump at the sound of Nayeon receiving damage. She gasped like someone killed her dog, not someone accidentally hitting her on Minecraft.

"What the f-" You chut as Nayeon starts swinging her diamond sword at you.

"When did you get diamonds?" You try and jump and avoid her but she still hits you twice. You laugh uncontrollably as you try to get away. Taeyong reacts in disbelief, as usual.

"Girls! Stick to the plan!"

"I only have one heart!" You hurry and equip your shield to defend yourself.

"You hit me!" Nayeon exclaims. You notice the nasality is gone, and that you're having fun. Your smile nearly splits your face in half. You block her attacks and deal a good amount of damage until she dies. You laugh, tears in your eyes. You could get used to this, possibly finally have a female streamer friend?

You stop laughing when you notice how quiet it was. Then you hear sniffling.

"____ why can't you take a fucking joke? You're always so violent over fucking jokes!"

Then issnayeon went offline. She left the discord call. You and Taeyong were silent. Then Taeyong left as well. You were afraid to look at your chat. You clear your throat, suddenly very aware of the webcam pointed at your face.

"That was really odd, I guess I misunderstood the situation." You were beginning to get defensive, but you knew that wouldn't end well. Your eyes flicker over at your second monitor against your own wishes.

Flashes of 'cunt', 'snowflake', and most importantly, 'apologize' were visible from the chat. So you did apologize.

"I'm sorry to Nayeon and her viewers for being childish. I clearly misunderstood the situation," You paused, trying to gather your thoughts and blink away the tears stinging your eyes. You were such a baby.

"I'm also sorry for... uh... forcing my personal feelings and beliefs into a video game and onto Nayeon. I hope you guys understand where I'm coming from and accept my apology. Anyways, I think that'll be it for the stream tonight guys. I'll see you Wednesday."

You knew you weren't supposed to abruptly close the stream, especially without a closing screen. You just wanted to escape quickly. The stinging got worse until warm tears rolled down your cheeks. Everything that just happened was suddenly clicking. You were in for a shitstorm. More tears stream down your cheeks as you feel your phone buzz. You pick it up, blinking tears away.

"Jisoo..." Your voice quivered. Why were you so sensitive?

"Just breathe, okay?" Jisoo spoke calmly and with warmth but all you could think about was the aftermath of all this. Jisoo watched every stream she could, so maybe she saw.

"Could you see me tear up on camera? Was it obvious?" The panic in your voice was very evident?

"What? Who cares about that, ____ Nayeon's a bitch-"

"I do! Now I look like even more of a pussy, and everyone's gonna know that I'm sensitive-" You hiccup, trying not to sob.

"You're not a pussy. If anyone's a pussy here, it's Nayeon. You have to endure mockery from other streamers or your own chat every time you stream, and you keep persevering. Most of those people calling you a snowflake couldn't do the same." The passion in Jisoo's voice made you realize why you loved her. Why you were so glad you met her through Jungwoo.

"I don't want you to ever lose your fire for combatting sexism. Don't let these online idiots distract from the fact that sexism is our reality. You're not a pussy for not tolerating jokes about shit you deal with on a daily basis from people who would never understand."

Your sobs echoed throughout your room. You weren't crying because of the chat or Nayeon anymore, though. It was because of how thankful you were for Jisoo. Deep down, you didn't even believe the things you preached yourself. A small part of you envied Nayeon. The fact that she could laugh at those jokes and even say them herself.

You wondered how much easier it would be if you just... gave in.

You had just come back to streaming two months after the first incident, and now you had to take another break. At least until the internet cooled down. This all spurred from something so stupid, but it just enough for people to further their sexist narrative. Johnny was quiet about the incident, but Lucas was as loud as ever.

"Imagine being so butthurt about a joke." He tweeted. Your thumb hovered over the tweet. You shouldn't. You shouldn't read the replies. You really shouldn't read the replies.

You click the tweet and scroll to the replies, heart pumping.

"People have gotten so much more sensitive, can't say shit these days."

"She was about to cry... over a joke."

Hand trembling, you went to read more for some stupid reason. You were getting so worked up, why were you doing this to yourself?

"You guys scream "it's just a joke" but then cry yourself to sleep when a girl says KAM."

You perk up. People are defending you? That tweet was so close to passing the others in likes as well. You swiped more.

"I'm glad she speaks up against those unfunny assholes. I'm actually pissed she apologized."

"Nayeon is the butthurt one here. Boohoo someone hit you in a game."

"Your jokes aren't funny."

There were still tweets bashing you, but there was significant pushback. You smile. You like all the tweets defending you. This would probably bite you in the ass later, but you didn't care. You even retweeted one.

"I don't even like _____ but this 'controversy' is the dumbest thing to get headlines I've ever seen. You people need a hobby."

You had yet to see the headlines, but Lucas' tweets about the subject were probably the reason it was blowing up. Filled with a shot of confidence, you wanted to see who's name was trending.

At number two is issnayeon. Of course, Nayeon is a lot more popular so her name would be mentioned a lot more. Something else catches your eye near the bottom of the screen, however.

jonssuh.

Curious, you click the topic.

"Since we're talking about ____, can we talk about how you guys called her crazy and never questioned jonssuh?"

The tweet seemed to spark conversation, racking in a serious amount of engagement.

"jonssuh is lowkey the one who initiates all the sexist shit"

"____ is a psycho snowflake, that's why no one questioned jonssuh"

It was interesting to see how split the replies were. Within days there was a rift in the streaming community. You were either Team ____ or Team Johnny. You weren't sure how Johnny got dragged into this when it was about you and Nayeon, but it was truly fascinating.

Speaking of Nayeon.

"Out of everyone involved, she's receiving the most flack." You scan the board, wracking your brain for your next move. All you could focus on was the hum of Jisoo's air conditioner and dogs barking down the hall from her apartment.

"Good. I'm sorry but she started this shit. I don't hate the girl but man she has some issues she needs to work out. Hurry and move by the way! This is why we need a timer."

Every move seemed flawed by this point. You were too hasty in the beginning. You sigh before moving your Queen.

"Well I hate her." You settle back into your chair, folding your arms.

"Yeah. I know." Jisoo swiftly scoops up your queen. You groan, tossing your head back.

"I thought I really planned that out nicely." You cross your arms tighter as your expression soured.

"Sorry babes. Also, about Nayeon. She's a woman, too."

You look up at Jisoo, who's still looking intently at the board.

"Huh?"

"I'm just saying. She's struggling just as much. Hurry and go!"

You roll your eyes, refusing to process her hubbub. You had to focus on how to plan your game better.

For the most part, you ignored the online battle, especially Lucas' endless subtweets. You unfollowed both Lucas and Johnny after this whole debacle, which according to Jisoo only escalated things. It was all out war.

You unfortunately couldn't escape the headlines. Your name was synonymous with oversensitivity now, while Johnny's was synonymous with sexism. You eventually caved in and spectated the battle. There was a lot of support for both sides, but the criticism was loud. Especially well worded criticism from respectable sources.

Instead of calling you a snowflake, popular youtubers argued that your actions directly hindered people's right to freedom of speech.

As for Johnny, people were maturely stating how his actions, while funny to him, were extremely harmful and almost oppressive towards women.

Both sides argued that both your behavior had damaging effects on the streaming community. This was bad. You just wanted respect, goddammit.

The comments were filled with both of your supporters questioning their support of either of you. You sat in your gaming chair for what felt like hours, spinning in circles. What in the world could you do? Your phone began to buzz in your lap.

"Taeyong?" You pick up quickly after seeing the name. Taeyong hadn't talked to you since that day.

"No. Johnny."

Your shoulders drop.

"Why?"

"I don't know if you noticed recently but we're kinda fucked. And if you're referring to me calling on Tae's phone, you blocked my number so," Johnny sounded defeated. You couldn't even find joy in it, it was so pitiful.

"So you're calling me for..."

"We clearly both have some common ground to discover."

"I kinda disagree buddy." You chuckle.

"So what, you want to have a conversation over the phone?" You scratch at your head. What is going through this man's brain?

"No. I want to start collabing with you again. Just me and you."

You freeze.

"How that fuck would that fix anything? You think spending more time together will magically make us get along? You do understand why I don't like you, right?"

"Whatever- look we don't have to actually find common ground. We could fake it so we can stop getting fucked up the ass by youtube essays." Johnny was starting to get his usual pissed off tone.

"Okay, yeah." You shrug as if he can see you. You can hear him shuffling eagerly.

"Really?"

"Fuck no." You hang your phone up before tossing it on your bed. You could handle this on your own. You had a genuine purpose for your actions. Johnny was literally just selfish and using low hanging (offensive) fruit to get more subs. People would understand you.

You adjust your tripod, making sure it was angled perfectly. It was simple, you'd just sit down and be straightforward with your side of the story.

"Hey guys. I know there has been a lot of craziness going on, and I just wanted to explain myself."

You explained how the streaming community made you feel as a woman. How you didn't regret not giving in to the sexism. You felt confident that at least your supporters would come back around.

"You've refreshed YouTube at least 80 times already. I came over here to take your mind off of things." Jungwoo wrapped his arms tighter around your waist. The light from your phone reflected against your glasses. The video got one dislike immediately when you posted it, followed by three more seconds later. By now, there were hundreds of likes and a dozen dislikes. Your lip started to sting as you peeled the skin from it with your teeth. Your eyebrows were knitted tightly together as you skimmed the comments.

R slurs and snowflake's were a given, but most of them sympathized with you. You refreshed, scrolled, hearted, and repeat. As you scrolled more, the criticism came pouring in. You kept scrolling until you found what you were subconsciously looking for. Well worded, damning criticism.

"I love your content and have been watching you for a while, but if these people bother you so much, why do you still interact with them? I remember you saying a long time ago that you and Nayeon didn't get along very well... so why? I was waiting for you to cut all of them off but you never did. I'm glad the guys are gone but why is Nayeon still frequently streaming with you?"

Your initial response would be because of Taeyong, but you knew it was a horrible excuse. It just clicked that you were putting yourself through torture for a taken man who never even showed interest in you once. Did Taeyong really even care about you?

You physically shake the thoughts away before locking your phone.

"Finally." Jungwoo swipes the phone from your hand and tosses it away. Before you could protest, he tenderly kisses your lips. His lips were so soft. With tentative touches, he turned you to fully face him. He threads his fingers through the nape of your hair, deepening the kiss.

"Focus on me, okay?"

He moves one of his hands down your body. He slides his hand under your shirt, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp and flinch at how cold they are. He smirks against your lips, hand squeezing your clothed breast. You sigh against his mouth before nipping at his bottom lip. He slips his hand under your bra. He pinches your erect nipples and you hiss.

With his other hand he cups your panty clad core. You grind into him, encouraging him to go further. He complies silently, sliding his hand into your panties. He sighs blissfully at how wet you are. He curls two fingers into your slick hole. They slip right in, the tips of his fingers brushing deliciously against your walls. Goosebumps crawl up your arms as you clench Jungwoo's arm.

Your senses are clouded as you focus on his touch. He felt so good. You bite your lip as you squeeze his arm harder. No man has ever made you feel this way. You revel in the way his fingers brush perfectly against your g-spot. Why were you worried about Taeyong anyway?

Taeyong. You furrowed your brows, trying to rid thoughts of him. The way tears filled his eyes when he laughed too hard. His intoxicating smell. His soft skin and hair. His kind eyes. His comforting touches.

"____?"

"Why does she still hang out with Taeyong and Nayeon?"

He hasn't been answering your calls or texts...

"Taeyong is like poison to her, she should cut him off."

He never defended you...

"Taeyong is ruining ____."

Did Taeyong ever really care about you?

"____! Are you okay?"

You feel numb as Jungwoo grips your shoulders. He tries to look into your eyes but you keep avoiding him.

"Let's go get cleaned up okay?"

"I think I'm still in love with Taeyong." Tears spill down your cheeks. You've cried more in the last few months than you have in at least a decade. It seems to all tie back to Taeyong somehow. Jungwoo was still for a second.

"Come on. Let's go clean up."

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　끝　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

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