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gimme-mor · 3 years

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ACOTAR THINK PIECE: ELAIN AND THE CONCEPT OF CHOICE

*DISCLAIMER*

Please take the time to read this post in its entirety and truly reflect on the message I am trying to send before commenting. My goal is to use my background in Gender and Women’s Studies to deconstruct the behaviors and comments I have seen on Tumblr and Twitter, and, more importantly, bring awareness to the ACOTAR fandom. I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who tries to twist my words and say I am attacking people and their personal shipping preferences. In fact, I AM CRITIQUING THE ARGUMENTS THEMSELVES NOT THE PEOPLE USING THE ARGUMENTS.

As someone who has been a long time lurker on all sides of the ACOTAR fandom, the growing toxicity and hostility has become more apparent to the point that civil discourse is, for the most part, entirely lost. More times than not, the cause of the communication breakdown centers around Elain and the relationships she has with those around her. Before and after the release of ACOSF, I’ve noticed that when the fandom expresses its opinions about Elain and her development as a character, whether in a romantic light or generally, the conversation wholly hinges on the concept of choice. Common examples I’ve seen include:

Elain has been stripped of her choice for a majority of her life

Elain should be able to make her own choices

The King of Hybern took away Elain’s choice to be human when he had her tossed into the Cauldron

Elain did not choose the mating bond for herself, instead it was forced upon her

Elain feels pressured to choose Lucien

Elain should have the choice to stray away from what is expected of her

Elain and Azriel being together represents a different and stronger type of love because she’s choosing to be with him

If you ship Elucien, you’re not Pro-Elain because you’re taking away Elain’s right to choose who she wants to be with and forcing her to accept the mating bond

Elain chose to accept Azriel’s advances in the bonus chapter

When Rhysand called Azriel away after catching him and Elain together, Elain was stripped of her choice to be sexually intimate with Azriel

When Azriel and Rhysand are talking in the bonus chapter, Elain’s choices aren’t at the center of their conversation

If you suggest that Elain should leave the Night Court, you’re stripping Elain of her choice to remain with her family

If you suggest that Elain should be friends with someone else, you’re ignoring Elain’s choice to be friends with Nuala and Cerridwen

Why is the concept of choice exclusively tied to Elain and everything surrounding her character while simultaneously ignoring that other characters in the ACOTAR series have, to varying degrees, been stripped of their choices at some point in their lives? And why isn’t the concept of choice connected to these characters in the same way that it is connected to Elain? For example:

Did the High Lords strip Feyre of her choice to consent when they turned her into a High Fae?

Did Tamlin and Ianthe strip Feyre of her choice to consent when they started to control every aspect of her life in the Spring Court?

Was Vassa stripped of her choice when the other Mortal Queens sold her to Koschei, which resulted in her being cursed to turn into a firebird?

Was Feyre stripped of her choice to know the risks involved in the pregnancy?

Did the King of Hybern strip Nesta of her choice to be human when he had her tossed into the Cauldron?

Was everyone stripped of their choices under Amarantha’s rule?

Was Feyre stripped of her choice to just be a daughter and a sister when the Archeron family failed to contribute to their survival, which resulted in Feyre being the family’s sole provider?

Did Lucien’s family strip him and Jesminda of their choice to be together when they killed her because of her status as a Lesser Faerie?

Are Illyrian females stripped of their choice to consent when their wings are clipped?

Did the Hybern general strip Gwyn of her choice to consent?

Did Ianthe strip Lucien of his choice to consent?

Did Keir strip Mor of her choice to consent to her engagement to Eris?

Universally, femininity is synonymous with weakness and women often face discrimination because the patriarchy is part of an interactive system that perpetuates women’s oppression. Since the ACOTAR universe is set up to mirror a patriarchal society, it’s clear that the imbalance of power between males and females stems from sexism. The thing that sets Elain apart from other female characters in the ACOTAR series is the fact that SJM has portrayed Elain as a traditionally feminine character based on her actions and the ways in which Elain carries herself. Compared to them, Elain is inherently held to a different standard because her femalehood takes precedence over other aspects of her character in fandom discussions. These conversations indirectly place Elain on a pedestal and hail her as the epitome of traditional femininity; and when her character is criticized in any way, it’s seen as a direct attack against women, specifically women who are traditionally feminine. Also, these conversations fall back on Elain’s femaleness when analyzing her character since it can be assumed from a reader’s perspective that Elain, despite being the middle sibling, is coddled by those around her because her ultra-feminine nature is perceived as a sort of weakness in need of protection. However, the fact that the concept of choice is used as an argument to primarily focus on Elain’s femalehood highlights the narrow lens through which Elain, as a character, is viewed. It implies that Elain’s femaleness is all her character has to offer to the series overall and insinuates that Elain’s character development is dependent on her femaleness. To suggest, through the choice argument, that ACOTAR’s patriarchal society constrains Elain’s agency and prevents her from enacting her feminist right to choose while failing to examine the patriarchal structure of the ACOTAR universe and its impact on the female characters in the series, the choice argument ultimately falls apart because it shows that it’s only used to focus on Elain’s femalehood. Furthermore, the implication that Elain’s right to choose is, in itself, a feminist act in the series indicates that the concept of choice as an argument is used to promote choice feminism.

Feminism is a social movement that seeks to promote equality and equity to all genders, and feminists work toward eradicating gender disparities on a macro-level, in addition to challenging gender biases on a micro-level. Historically, feminism prioritized the voices of white women, specifically white women who were cisgender, able-bodied, affluent, educated, and heterosexual. But over the decades, the inclusion of women of color and other marginalized women’s voices has broadened the scope of feminism and caused it to take an intersectional approach when discussing social identities and the ways in which these identities result in overlapping systems of oppression and discrimination. On the other hand, choice feminism, a form of feminism, greatly differs from what feminism is aiming to accomplish. In the article “It’s Time to Move Past Choice Feminism”, Bhat states:

“Choice feminism can be understood as the idea that any action or decision that a woman takes inherently becomes a feminist act. Essentially, the decision becomes a feminist one because a woman chose it for herself. What could this look like? It could really be anything. Wearing makeup is a feminist act. Not wearing it is also a feminist act. Shaving or not shaving. Watching one TV show over another. Choosing a certain job over another. Listening to one artist over another. Picking a STEM career. Choosing to dress modestly or not. The list goes on. At first glance, there does not seem to be an apparent negative consequence of choice feminism. A woman’s power is within her choices, and those choices can line up with a feminist ideology. For example, a woman’s decision not to shave may be her response to Western beauty standards that are forced onto women. Not shaving may make her feel beautiful, comfortable, and powerful, and there is nothing wrong with that. Women making choices that make them feel good is not the issue. The issue lies in calling these decisions feminist ones. Choice feminism accompanies an amalgamation of problems‒the first being that this iteration of feminism operates on faulty assumptions about said choices. Liberal feminism neglects the different realities that exist for different women‒especially the difference between white women and women of color, transgender women and cis women, etc. Not all women have the same circumstance and access to choices, not all choices made by women are treated equally, and not all choices are inherently feminist” (https://www.34st.com/article/2021/01/feminism-choice-liberal-patriarchy-misogyny-bimbo-capitalism).

Just as white feminism ignores intersectionality and refuses to acknowledge the discriminations experienced by women of color, choice feminism and arguments supporting choice feminism have, by default, made the concept of choice exclusionary. The individualization of choice feminism glorifies the act of a woman making an individual choice and, by extension, gives the illusion that women’s liberation from gendered oppression can be achieved by enacting their rights to make personal, professional, and political choices. Herein lies the problem with choice feminism: it (the argument of “But it’s my choice!”) stifles feminist conversations from exploring the depths and intricacies of the decision making process because it’s used as a way to shut communication down entirely, shield arguments from criticism, and condemn those who criticize choice feminism for its disconnection from a larger feminist framework. Contrary to what choice feminism advocates for, it lulls the feminist movement into complacency because women’s individual choices do nothing to alleviate gendered oppression. Choice feminism’s leniency towards choice fails to address the limitations of choice in regards to women’s intersectional identities and enables society to shift the blame of women’s oppression away from the societal and institutional structures in place to women themselves for making the wrong choices that ultimately resulted in their circumstances. Choice is not always accessible to every woman. For instance, choices made by white women are, in some way, inaccessible to women of color, in the same way that choices made by cisgender women are inaccessible to transgender women. Choice is one of the founding concepts of the feminist movement and it “became a key part of feminist language and action as an integral aspect and rallying call within the fight for reproductive rights‒the right to choose whether or not we wanted to get pregnant and to choose what we wanted for our bodies and lives” (https://www.feministcurrent.com/2011/03/11/the-trouble-with-choosing-your-choice/). When choice, in a feminist context, is framed as something that is solely about the individual as opposed to the collective, the feminist foundation on which it stands “leads to an inflated sense of accomplishment while distracting from the collective action needed to produce real change that would have a lasting effect for the majority of women” (https://www.jacobinmag.com/2017/03/i-am-not-feminist-jessa-crispin-review/).

By linking the choice argument with choice feminist rhetoric and extreme acts of progressiveness, it plays into today’s negative understanding of a social justice warrior and normalizes fake wokeness. In its original conception, a social justice warrior was another way to refer to an activist and had a positive connotation; nowadays, the term carries a negative connotation and is:

“. . . a pejorative term for an individual who repeatedly and vehemently engages in arguments on social justice on the Internet, often in a shallow or not well-thought-out way, for the purpose of raising their own personal reputation. A social justice warrior, or SJW, does not necessarily strongly believe all that they say, or even care about the groups they are fighting on behalf of. They typically repeat points from whoever is the most popular blogger or commenter of the moment, hoping that they will ‘get SJ points’ and become popular in return. They are very sure to adopt stances that are ‘correct’ in their social circle” (https://fee.org/articles/how-the-term-social-justice-warrior-became-an-insult/).

Today’s perception of the term social justice warrior is directly tied to fake wokeness because both are performative in nature, fueled by the drive to be seen as progressive, and derail necessary conversations from taking place by prioritizing toxicity. According to the article titled, “Three signs of fake ‘wokeness’ and why they hurt activism”, it states:

“. . . social media did not create activism: it did, however, create a legion of hashtags and accounts dedicated to issues . . . Sadly, fake woke people will use these hashtags or create these accounts, see that as contributing to a cause, and just call it a day; these same people tend to shame those without the same level of interest or devotion to a given cause . . . Ironically, as open-minded as the fake woke claim to be, they struggle to deal with opposition. More often than not, those who fit the fake woke bill will ignore, misconstrue, or shutdown anything remotely opposing their stances . . . Now yes, human nature often leads us to possess a bias against that which contradicts our views, but human nature should not serve as an excuse for irrational behavior. Opposition to our stances on issues helps activists more than it harms: it allows them to look at the causes they champion from a perspective they possibly ignored before, further enlightening them. More importantly, by discovering information that may refute what they believe, they can find and eliminate any flaws in their reasoning and strengthen their arguments. Activism involves opening up to change, something one stuck in an echo chamber can never achieve” (https://nchschant.com/16684/opinions/three-signs-of-fake-wokeness-and-why-they-hurt-activism/).

Rather than critiquing ideas, thoughts, and theories about Elain and her character development with textual evidence, the concept of choice as an argument is used to silence opposing viewpoints. This is similar to choice feminism because the conversations start and end with the concept of choice, leaving no room for a critical analysis of Elain’s character. Although the concept of choice as an argument is intended to shed light on how ACOTAR’s patriarchal structure limits females’ agency to some degree, the fact that it’s only applied to Elain invalidates the point of the argument because it doesn’t include the experiences of other female characters when examining the impact of sexism in the ACOTAR universe. The failure to do so calls the intent of the choice argument into question. As it stands, the concept of choice as an argument frames Elucien shippers and those who are critical of Elain as woman haters, misogynists, and anti-feminists, especially if they identify as women. The belief that a woman is anti-feminist or a woman hater any time she dislikes another woman suggests that women have to be held to a different emotional standard than men. If men are able to dislike other individual men without their characters being compromised, why can’t women? Feminism and what it means to be a feminist do not require women to like every woman they encounter. One of the many things feminism hopes to accomplish is granting women the same emotional privileges afforded to men.

Terms like “oppression”, “the right to choose”, “feminist”, “feminism”, “anti-feminist”, “anti-feminism”, “internalized misogyny”, “misogyny”, “misogynist”, “sexist”, “sexism”, “racist”, “racism”, “classist”, “classism”, “discrimination”, and “patriarchy” are all used in specific ways to draw attention to the plight of marginalized people and challenge those who deny the existence of systems of oppression. Yet these words and their meanings can be twisted to attack, exclude, and invalidate people with differing opinions on any given topic. When social justice and feminist terms are thrown around antagonistically and carelessly to push a personal agenda, it becomes clear that these terms are being used to engage in disingenuous discourse and pursue personal validation rather than being used out of any deep-seated conviction to dismantle systemic oppression. The personal weaponization of social justice and feminist concepts is a gateway for people who oppose these movements to strip these terms of their credibility in order to delegitimize the societal and institutional impacts on marginalized people.

It’s important to question how an argument is framed and why it’s framed the way that it is to critically examine the intent behind that argument: is it used as a tool to push a personal agenda that reinforces dismissive, condescending, and problematic behaviors, or is it used as an opportunity to share, learn, enlighten, and educate? The concept of choice as an argument is extremely problematic because: it limits fruitful discussions about Elain within the fandom; enables arguments that oppose opinions about Elain and her narrative development to masquerade as progressive by pushing social justice and feminist language to their extremes; normalizes the vilification and condemnation of individuals who are either critical of a ship, Elain as a character, or prefer her with Lucien; encourages an in-group and out-group mentality with differing opinions about Elain’s development resulting in politically charged insults; exploits social justice and feminist terms; ignores that harm done on a micro-level is just as damaging as harm done on a macro-level; and cheapens Elain’s character and her development.

There is more to Elain than her being a female who is traditionally feminine. Elain has the potential to be as complex of a character as Feyre, Nesta, Rhysand, Lucien, Cassian, Azriel, Amren, and Mor, and to reduce her character to her femalehood in fandom discussions is a disservice to Elain as a character, the ACOTAR fandom, and SJM’s writing. So I ask this: is there a reason why the fandom heavily emphasizes the concept of choice when discussing Elain that goes beyond a simplistic analysis of her as a character (i.e. using the concept of choice as an argument to reinforce Elain’s femaleness), or is the concept of choice used as a shield to prop up one ship over another?

gimme-mor library

#elucien #elain archeron #acosf #acotar: fandom critical

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terrence-silver · 2 years

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What do you think Terry’s views of transgender people are?

Depends which era of Terry we're talking about.

I think Twig would be rather uninformed simply due to the period and environment he grew up in, which would be around the early 50's. I imagine he was a sheltered, tucked away kid during his formative years and his first exposure to Transgender people might've been in Vietnam and after it, returning to The States, finding the increased awareness hitting it's momentum in protests during the late 60's and early to mid 70's (at the peak of which, he still was in the military and in a POW camp and possibly training in Korea afterwards). I think a young, post-war Twig would see a lot of himself in this community, feeling somewhat otherized himself as a returning veteran with PTSD (furthermore, possibly a returning veteran with PTSD and with conflicting sexual attractions), but that the family and raising he came from would've been so repressing and stifling in mentality and structure, he'd still be in denial of internally relating, just like he'd be in denial about any feelings for Kreese / attraction to men (although, for much, much shorter then Kreese himself would've been), even though these emotions were very much present and have been for a while now and it's simply due to the pressure of society that they're made so complicated. Twig is unsure, Twig is on the road of discovery, Twig is evolving and learning.

By the 80's, I think a once-repressed Twig lacking knowledge would be more progressive then most of his peers of the decade, going through immense growth on the topic. I also think Terry's deeply ironic and morally conflicting of a character. That he'd be insanely backwards from one end (his clear and obvious racial bigotry as a result of his post-Vietnam syndrome) and then extremely forward from another, to the point, that during these particular years, I can literally see him being an up and running charity donor to a great many causes, including the AIDS relief charities in the early 80's, various LGBT and Trans communities and I think that often times in the strictly tight laced, dyed in the bone corporate circles he'd dabble in, being a Billionaire himself, he'd often have an unfair infamy for such ventures, having him be deemed somewhat extravagant for it. Ironically, the truly good, noble deeds Terry Silver does for his fellow man does would be scorned and talked of negatively by his peers in the world of rich pencil-pushing CEOs, but the extremely bad ones, like polluting Third World Countries for profit and bribing judges for criminal indictment pass vastly unnoticed and are even congratulated as simply 'having a knack for business'.

Modern day old man Terry is accepting and champions their rights and it's not for show or social brownie points either --- Terry really is something of a communal paragon of acceptance--- while still being ethically reprehensible and a hidden sociopath. That's what makes him so daunting and complex, I think. That he manages to be both at the same time. Terry is accepting of others finding themselves in a safe and accepting environment, with the resources to do so, whereas he isn't as accepting of himself anymore and frequently hides himself behind masks and personas to keep himself in intentional control and in check --- you can even read that as his deliberate suppression of his own sexuality later in life. I think he admires anyone who is themselves and turns into themselves as they feel they were always meant to be (just like he did, in a roundabout way, since Vietnam, and even though it's not the same ordeal, to him, it could be vaguely comparative and reflective), because he himself so frequently does around this part of his life, shoving down trauma, his past, his identity, his pain, his suffering and his truth behind increasingly newly-minted, clinically washed out facades in order to fit in and keep himself from going unhinged. At least until he has his 'breakdown'. Or as I like to see it, his return to himself.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #headcanons #anon ask #important real life issues #tw; trans issues

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himarifuruya · 3 years

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Diamond Light [ Open Book ]

Preface: Diamond Light is a non-linear series of stories based around my OC Himari Furuya and her relationship with Tamaki Amajiki or Suneater.

TW: Chapters may contain Rated M [18+] content, such as graphic sexual content, canon typical violence and gore, body horror and explicit language.

Chapter Summary: Midterm exams are just around the corner and Himari knows she needs all the help she can get.

If Himari was asked what part of her heroic education she disliked the most, it would have to be the academic side. On top of their rigorous training, the students of U.A. were also expected to keep up with their regular studies. To get anywhere in this world, students not only needed to be exceptional in skill, but in intelligence as well. It was essential, a prestigious institution couldn’t afford to accept mediocrity.

Like winter’s frosty breath, the young hero could feel the chill of midterm exams creeping in. Every student with a lick of common sense would be cramming their brains out to earn the best results. She could only pray to the Gods that she could muster some passing marks.

As luck would have it, she found her chance

Instead of going home that day, she was in the library, sitting beside her work study partner, Tamaki Amajiki. Earlier that day, she found the dark-haired boy at the far table leaned over his study materials with a severe look on his face. It had been impeccable timing considering she had gone there for a peaceful place to work. Seeing an opportunity to get some help, she decided to reach out. As usual, she managed to give him a near heart attack when she seemed to appear before him out of thin air, asking if they could study together.

Much to her surprise, he agreed to it.

Ever since the two started working together at Fat Gum’s agency, they had been seeing a lot more of each other. Part of it was because Togata and Hado began making it a daily ritual to hang out before class, which sometimes led her to get scolded by the teacher for being late. Some of her classmates even joked that she wasn’t really their classmate, but a spy sent by the other class to ruin them.

The rest had been coincidental.

“S-So, what part are you having trouble with Furuya?” He asked suddenly disrupting her train of thought.

“Hm?”

He was looking away from her, fumbling with his mechanical pencil. “I…just thought that if we shared what parts we are struggling with, we could help each other out better.”

There was a grave look on her face as her gaze shifted from her study guide to the disastrous notes she scribbled during class.

“Everything…”

“I-Is that so?” He sounded concerned, falling quiet as he turned his gaze back to his own work. Himari’s attention drifted as well, suddenly feeling a little awkward. It almost caught her off guard when he spoke up again.

“Could you…maybe, show me your notes?”

“Uhm…” Himari thought for a moment, then closed her notebook. “…I don’t want to.”

He surprised her again with a flat look. “Furuya…”

“Okay, okay, but don’t laugh, English is literally my worst subject.” She held out her notebook as if she were handing out her diary.

After Tamaki took the notebook from her, he flipped it open to see what he was working with. She sat there, stiff as a board, watching him slowly sink back in his chair. His brows lifted as if mystified by what he just laid his eyes upon.

“Oh my god…” He covered his mouth with his hand, stifling a snort. “You confused ‘persecute’ with ‘prostitute’…”

She blinked. “What’s the difference?”

Her question sent him floundering, like a fish out of water. “W-Well, a, ugh, w-well, ehhhh.”

When he couldn’t get the words out, she offered him a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I’ve never been really good at this kind of thing… Even when I took the entrance exam, I barely passed the written portion. Guess I just prefer hands-on work.” She then added quickly. “─Don’t think I’ll use that as an excuse though! Even if it doesn’t seem like it, I am very serious about my studies.”

Something about her humor seemed to help calm him down to the point that he chuckled warmly at her words. “I-It’s okay, I understand that this stuff can be pretty dense…and well…b-boring.”

Himari hummed in agreement, resting her elbows on the table with her chin in the cradle of her palms. “Whenever I listen to an English lecture, I feel like my brain melts inside my skull and bleeds out of my ears.”

Amajiki raised a hand, halting her from further exposition. “I get it, you don’t need to include graphic imagery, dummy.”

“It’s more immersive that way though,” she said.

“Next time, ask for consent first.” His comeback got her giggling, usually when she made remarks like that, she often received weird looks or awkward laughter.

She let out a soft sigh. “I know this is a little too much, but it would really mean a lot to me if I had your help.”

He set down her notebook, scratching his cheek. “To be honest, I-I’m surprised that you would want to study with me.” She noticed he began to fidget as he went on to elaborate. “I-I mean I’m really…really bad at t-talking in general and well, explaining things…that’s all a lot of pressure… I-If I screw s-something up, I-I don’t want that to n-negatively affect you. God…I would feel so bad if that happened…I─”

Before he could ramble any further, Himari pushed a finger up to his lips, silencing him. His eyes widened and his cheeks reddened in response to her touch. He sank back into his chair to get away, staring up at her with a bewildered, almost frightened expression.

She stood up from her seat with her ruby gaze leveled with his indigo ones. If she was being honest with herself, she found his expression to be quite adorable.

“Listen Amajiki, you might think I have the wrong impression of you, but I truly believe you are a reliable person.” She spoke in a subdued tone that didn’t waver. “─Honestly, I really hate asking for help, period, but you’re someone I feel comfortable enough to be around; so, it’s not like I’m asking out of convenience.”

As she went on, Amajiki's terrified expression slowly morphed into wonder. He almost couldn't believe that she could speak such kind things so openly; not only that, but these were things she felt about him.

“Uh-Uhm…” He tore away from her gaze with a hand over his eyes. His voice came out shaky, practically rattling out of his throat. “Okay, Okay… Just….”

Hardly a second later, Amajiki had his back turned to her, folded over, and mumbling to himself. Seeing him trembling made Himari sit down, wondering if her approach had been too aggressive. Still, it’s not like she regretted saying it.

As if on instinct, she reached over and gently laid her palm on the center of his back. Not surprised when his entire body went frozen upon contact. Beneath her hand, she felt every tense muscle stiffen. He didn’t retract from her touch though, even as she spread her fingers over his vertebra.

It perked her intrigue when his shoulders started to slack. There was still a fair amount of rigidity in his posture, but not as much as there had been before. He eventually gathered enough of his composure speak. Though, his voice was so quiet she almost couldn’t make out what he said.

“…Thank you.”

Once she pulled her hand away, Amajiki started to shift around his seat, feeling brave enough to face her again. Sitting more properly, he cleared his throat. “I-I’m not sure how much better your scores will be with my help, b-but I-I’ll show you what I know.”

The girl looked up at him beaming. “If I can do just a little better than what I have been, then that’s more than I can ever ask for. Besides, I can't afford to let you down.”

“I see…” The smile that had moved onto his lips made her chest feel lighter, like the flutter of a soft breeze carrying her off to the warmth of summer. It filled her with an aching curiosity, but anything she might have wanted to say had escaped her. She didn’t mind it though, finding serenity in just being in his proximity.

However, the moment was cut short when a familiar teasing voice derailed them. “And what are you troublemakers doing?”

“M-Mirio!”

He had his face phased through a book on the display shelf behind them. There was a playful glint in his eyes, sounding a little too innocent. “Oh sorry, did I interrupt something? Tamaki, you’re looking pretty red in the ears.”

Amajiki’s hands shot up to cover them. “Sh-Shut up!”

“Sorry, sorry, I just saw you guys here, so I figured I would drop by to say hi,” he said. “You’re studying, right?”

“Sorta, though, I think I’m adding more work onto Amajiki’s plate.” Himari replied, ruffling the back of her hair.

“I-It isn’t a big deal at least, it shouldn’t be…” Amajiki’s eyes dropped to her notebook, suddenly recalling the catastrophe he saw. Under his breath, he mumbled. “I hope…”

“Are you busy, Togata? You could study with us too if you want,” she offered.

“Sure, as long as you guys don’t mind.”

"Togata, are you still spying on them?" Hado's inquired from faraway, sounding like she was ready to scold him.

"Uhm...no...?"

After a bit of of bantering, the group invited Hado to join them as well. With the squad united, they hit the books. Time seemed to fly as they dug into the material, reviewing information, sharing insight, and talking through numerous subjects. For Himari, it was like a breath of fresh air compared to studying on her own.

Admittedly, she found it astonishing how natural it felt to be part of their group. Despite her being in the rival class, they had always treated her as one of their own and never as an outsider. She never felt the need to question why either; their genuine nature seemed to shine through any possible doubt that could ever dare try to cloud her mind.

Her attention wandered back to Amajiki, who was occupied with reviewing his exam materials. Since the group had formed, he had been quiet for the most part, offering some dialogue here and there, but otherwise distracted. It wasn’t a painful silence though, but one that was in peace, relishing in a moment.

She thought he might turn away when he seemed to feel her gaze on him, but no. Instead, he offered her his undivided attention. “I-Is there something you need help with?” He asked with a sweet smile adorning his features.

Right then, she was reminded why she was there to begin with.

“Uhm…” She picked up her notebook, showing him the section she had been plugging away at. “Could you look over these for me?”

“Of course.”

Perhaps, it was selfish of her, but she wanted to cling to this group for as long as they would allow. Like a moth to a flame, she was drawn to their warmth.

#tamaki amajiki x oc #suneater x oc #oc x canon #bnha oc

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baekberrie · 4 years

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🌩n o i r - bbh🌩

🌩 Genre: Angst, romance, teacher x student Au

🌩Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

🌩Warnings: no self-acceptance, jealousy

Her face lightened up at the sight of the test being handed on her desk, eyes shining like thousands of diamonds, cheeks tinted in a glittering red reached her eyes as she held up the paper with the impeccable result, a proud A+ impregnated in the white sheet of paper. You could only curve your lips into the most genuine smile you could muster while sending an encouraging nod in her way. Fingers closed around your heart, squeezing it where it'd hurt the most because you knew, that even if you hadn't spoken a single word, you had lied to your best friend. The genuine smile that hadn't reached your eyes, could she see through it? While the other girls complimented her, you could only glance down at the test on your desk, you had turned it around so that no one would've been able to see the result written on it. Not even your friends.

The teacher had written an encouraging 'Keep up the good work!' next to the strong C in the corner of your test, but it seemed as if the letter was laughing straight at your face. It felt ridiculous, that had been a perfectly good grade, a result that encouraged you to give even more the next time, one that showed you that you had the potential to be something even better. But... It wasn't enough, not at all. Not when you had given your all on this test, not when you had told yourself that you'd ace this test with a 100%, not when your best friend had achieved what you hadn't been able to.

"What did you get?" Your friend's voice suddenly shattered your train of thoughts, her curious cat-like gaze bored immediately into your soul, a bright smile curved on her lips- she was delighted and proud of herself, you could almost imagine the swelling feeling of your heart and the yearning to tell your parents about the success, but it disappeared as quickly as it came, overpowered by something unfamiliar, something overwhelming that you couldn't name, but you hated it. It was bitter and it felt as if your heart, your mind, was covered by a black veil that fogged your view.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you feigned another smile, "Secret," you chuckled, feeling slightly embarassed of the result you had achieved, it would just look funny next to her A, wouldn't it? There was no way you could show her. She pouted in disappointment but didn't insist.

Of course, she had to get an A, you thought, like always, just so perfect and good in everything she does, it irks me. I hate it.

Trembling took over your body as you held up the test to the teacher, disgusted and disbelieved in your own self. The adult male didn't miss the painful expression that you hadn't been able to mask. Your gaze snapped up to his when he grabbed the paper, but not actually taking it, just letting the gentle warmth of his fingertips graze your shivering skin. Mr. Byun who you'd til this day always felt drawn to, Mr. Byun who you'd always gaze at with enamored eyes, Mr.Byun with the low and calming voice- with the heartbreaking smile, Byun Baekhyun that you had secretly fallen in love with. Today, you couldn't hold his gaze for more than three seconds before diverting them again, a feeling of shame and guilt pooling within your chest until it's limit, it was too much and you feared that it might overflow, you couldn't bear it on your own. You just wished he wouldn't catch on the layer of water gathering on your irises, ready to cascade down your face.

Although his worried orbs searched for yours, there was no way you could let him see- let him see what you had thought, even if just for a second. He couldn't find out about the somber strings of negativity entangled from every angle of your body, tightening around the font of your feelings. Baekhyun would eventually find out about the horrible person you were- that you envied your friend because she was better than you in everything, that you had absolutely no talent- no capabilities, that you weren't enough, ever.

Teeth drilled into your lower lip as you tried your best to gulp away the thick tears, a metallic taste spread on your tongue as you wished for nothing but to disappear.

"Alright good job everyone, you all did very well on the test, I'm proud. You're dismissed." Mr. Byun announced while adjusting all the tests neatly on his desk, his thin spectacles placed low on the bridge of his nose and eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he glanced down on the papers. Shouldering your backpack, you made yourself ready to leave.

"Miss Y/n," The honey-like voice that you found yourself craving to hear in your sleepless nights, it called you, and you could only stop in your tracks with fear and nervousness. You couldn't tell whether your heart was picking up its rate, was it because you were going to spend some time alone with him?- or because he was wanted to scold you about something? Perhaps your grades. "I'd like a moment with you please," He continued, not giving away any of his real intentions, and intrigued, you watched when he removed the glasses from his face, folded them neatly and soundlessly placed them on his desk.

As soon as the classroom had emptied, he proceeded to close the door, on his way back to his desk was when he loosened the black-tie from around his neck, popping a few buttons of his shirt- giving you the chance to witness a few inches of his milky skin as he sat down on the edge of the table. Even in your darkest times, he could make you wander to such thoughts and you couldn't decide whether he was dangerous or perhaps just a very beautiful dream, an escape.

"Come," He said, and for a few moments you felt as if your feet had been glued onto the floor, but eventually you moved- and walked to where he was sitting. There wasn't anything stern or raging in his eyes and you could only internally sigh with relief.

"Is everything alright?" Oh no, you could handle worried stares, but when people straight out asked you that question, there was no way tears wouldn't well in your eyes because obviously, it was so not okay. Not at all, nothing was okay, not you, not your belief in yourself, you were just a mass of shattered glass, and you started to think that not even his healing voice could fix you this time. "You seemed very upset, do you want to talk about it?" No. But-

It was too late when a sob escaped your lips, one sob and countless tears, now that it had begun, you couldn't control it, and you hated it that he had to see you like this, this weak, this embarrassing. Hands flew immediately to your face, letting your hair cover your condition like a curtain. But no matter how much you covered yourself, there was nothing that could stifle the evidence of your sorrow.

Even though your tears, a shiver covered your spine when you felt the soft hand from before resting on the small of your back, pushing you ever so gently closer to him, you didn't stop him. You didn't stop him when his arm came around your shoulders, letting you come in contact with his strong yet incredibly soft chest as his hand rested close to your collarbone and his head leaned in close to your neck, lips brushing lightly over your ear when he once again whispered; "What's wrong?"

It was hard speaking through your strong sobs, but when Baekhyun's hand slid from your shoulder down to your back and stroke soft circles of heat with his thumb you magically found yourself calming down. You didn't know how he did that, how he with his sole presence could purify your darkened heart.

"I- I will never be enough," You cried, hand fisting a handful of his white, expensive button-up, but he couldn't care less about the wrinkles forming on it as he finally closed both of his arms around your frame, letting you petite body press completely against his.

"Hey," He soothed, "What is this about? " His cheek pressed affectionately against yours, his lips caressing your skin with a touch feather-light and you had no idea if it was safe for him to hold you this close to him in his own classroom, if it was safe for you to give away all of your heart to him right now, to let him hear your throbbing heartbeat, to let him see your weaknesses. But his comforting scent felt like home and in this moment where you felt lost in the darkness you didn't know resided within you- he was the only source of light that you were willing to follow.

"Whatever I do will never be enough, I will never be the best I can be, I just hate everything about myself at the moment. I'm a horrible person, I- I felt envy towards the people I love- I-"

"Y/n," He demanded softly, the sound of his voice vibrated soothingly from his chest as he spoke.

"Don't compete with others, there's no point in doing that. Every student has his own fortes and struggles, you are no different. There are certain things in which you can't succeed at once, you have to fight your way up there." Biting your lips, more tears welled inside of your eyes- not because of sorrow, but because his words hit home, just like the rest of his being did.

"Don't hate yourself for not reaching your goal just yet, don't give up on yourself like that, you have potential, you are amazing and as your teacher, I know you can get there if only you befriended yourself instead of fighting with yourself. You are you, you don't need to look at others, okay?" He said, two fingers lifting your chin so that you could meet his strong gaze filled with sincerity and determination. "Whichever your goal is, you don't have to reach it alone, you don't have to rely on those who make you feel pressured, you can come to me and we'll figure it out. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Your voice trembled but was by now definitely stable enough to form sentences.

"Sometimes, we're bound to feel envious, but it's only in our nature, it won't make you a bad person, you just want to do your best, I know how you feel, but sometimes, we have to be stronger than the envy and force ourselves to ignore those thoughts." Baekhyun was taking in every detail of your face as he let his heart speak, fingers gently combing through your hair and gently curling stray hair behind your ear, you only nodded.

" You're a good girl." He cooed, leaning in to place his lips close to yours, landing on the corner of your mouth, lingering there while all you could do was close your eyes and succumb to the softness of his texture against yours, feeling eager to lock your lips with his- but knowing it's yet too soon for that. When he moved his lips to close them shortly on every inch of yours, leaving pure pecks that wouldn't lead to something more, nothing more but the proof that loved him, and now you knew he did too. And perhaps one day, you'd be comforted by the gift of a breathtaking kiss, like the ones you'd dreamed of.

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I don't know about you guys, but these days, I am this person and I'm trying to fix it.

it kinda sucks, might delete later.

#baekhyun angst #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x reader angst #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun x reader fluff #baekhyun one shot #baekhyun oneshot #baekhyun drabble #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun #exo #exo baekhyu #byun baekhyun #bbh

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queenofthefaces · 4 years

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kyle for the character thing!!!!

Buckle up bc I’m extra af and love talking abt characters. Be aware this is like, entirely personal opinion and personal interpretation and also it’s almost 2am so LETS GO

1) sexuality hc: I’ve always really liked bi Kyle ahsjdkfk and tbh I’ve always found the idea of his attraction to other ppl really interesting

The way I characterize him is that he’s someone who’s like, typically very passive with his attraction. He’ll kind of glance at someone and think they’re attractive but he doesn’t necessarily have any strong feelings towards them or desire/drive to want to pursue anything with them. If he does want to pursue them it’s usually out of a sense of obligation or expectation—like a “well I might as well” or “this is what I’m supposed to do” kinda thing

Except Kyle DOES have exceptions—when he finds someone he feels passionately about, someone he’s emotionally and mentally invested in, it’s like 0-100 in terms of difference, bc suddenly he can’t stop thinking abt that person, how much he wants to be with them, etc. and a lot of that characterization, for me, falls in line w the specific ship I have for Kyle (which is obvious if you’ve followed me for a few but I’ll get Into That in the next section)

2) OTP: KYMAN by far my fave Kyle ship and one of my all time fave sp ships overall. I’ve always LOVED rivals/enemies to lovers ships that specifically have 1) characters who are equals 2) characters who are incredibly intimate and close w one another even if (or because of) it’s in the context of the rivalry 3) the characters have either some level of co-dependence or a need for the dynamic or one another in some way bc the relationship is fulfilling to them and bonus if 4) they’re the only ones that really understand each other

And I jus. Love that. Esp w kyman it’s so much fun taking that dynamic, the codependency and obsession, and just. Playing with it, on a storytelling/character analysis level. And then making it healthy, having them work through issues, bc the idea that “we’re both in way too deep with each other, we can either destroy each other or learn to get along” is jus 👌👌👌

And w kyman I love having Eric be Kyle’s exception. Kyle feels basically nothing towards his other s/o’s in contrast to how deeply he feels about Eric, and for Eric to have just as much depth of emotion in return. It’s fascinating and really fun esp when written from a kind of duo-redemptive story—they both start out toxic towards each other, and their relationship is toxic to other people, but they can’t bring themselves to put an end to it so they finally make it to that middle ground and come out as better peoole, together

This applies to a lot of my rivals/enemies to lovers ships but w kyman in particular there’s the added Funkiness of the childhood friends dynamic which is TASTEY like some nice sprinkles to jus add that extra Flavour. I love the concept of Kyle and Eric forming parts of their entire identities around each other from the time they were in diapers and everyone accepts that they’re always gonna he crazy for each other bc no one has the bond they do it’s so much fun

4) brotp: I should think more abt Kyle friendships tbh I don’t give those as much attention ahsjdkfkfk—tho I definitely have a soft spot for the super best friends kyle + Stan, I just have to work some development into it.

I love exploring their friendship as smth that deteriorates bc they grow apart as people, but then they realize they don’t WANT to grow apart and have to work to stay friends bc being friends isn’t as easy as it was when you were 8. It brings this really cool development that confronts Stan’s passivity towards his friends/his nihilism and Kyle’s entitlement and lack of emotional sensitivity and how they both need to make some compromises (but esp Kyle, bc I can see Stan as someone who tries very hard to not get much feedback).

In terms of Kyle being friends w other people I’m thinking it would be pretty situational. I can see Kyle getting some really eye opening perspectives from other ppl if he opens himself up to their views but that requires knocking Kyle down a few pegs lol, it’s fun to have him learn to recognize his own assumptions abt ppl and learning to value them as individuals yanno?

3) notp: honestly? Any other kyle ship. I can personally only see Kyle w Eric ahsjdkfk kyman endgame all the way. For me, a lot of other Kyle ships like, don’t make any sense, a lot in part bc I see Kyle as someone who has a lot of issues w socialization, entitlement, and selfishness along with his UNENDING OBSESSION w Eric Cartman (which also somewhat stems from those issues bc of Kyle’s sense of self identity vis a vis the rivalry)

Like, I can’t see Kyle sitting down and forming a meaningful romantic relationship w anyone else bc like, no one can provide the fulfillment, engagement, drive, and push/pull of Kyle’s relationship w Eric. Kyle would leave at the drop of a hat to confront smth Eric was doing and I don’t think he’d ever compromise with that. And someone who does compromise on that probably isn’t someone Kyle would want to be with in the long run.

I think the only ship I can see would be like, poly m4 bc that draws on pre-existing dynamics and doesn’t break or try to divy up Kyle’s attention. (Even tho like I said I don’t like Kyle w anyone else romantically)

5) 1st hc that pops in my head: my Kyle is autistic as fuck. Characterizing him as autistic gives a lot of insight into how his mind works and why he acts the way he does—a lot of his thought processes are just. What makes the most logical sense to him. It’s just that those trains of thought are on KYLES logic and that’s when he struggles to realize when he’s crossed a line or overstepped a boundary. Or how his brain is usually always “self-centered”—not in a morally negative way, just in that it’s not a natural reflect for him to remember other people.

And a ton of other things as well( including a fun hc of Kyle trying to use his autism as an excuse for being a dick, until Also Autistic Craig steps up like, no dude you’re just an asshole bc you’re not trying to do better). And bc as an autistic person, I really relate hard to Kyle to the point where if he were real I’d probably hate him bc we’d be too similar lmao; I think esp when I was a kid I acted a lot like Kyle—the self righteousness, the bossiness, the belief that my way was the only way that made sense and everyone else was just Wrong, the anger issues, etc.

It’s why I’m tough on Kyle a lot of the time, but it’s also why I love thinking abt his development, bc I know firsthand that he can mellow out, change, become a better, more wellrounded and emotionally aware person, and how he can make an effort into doing so

6) oh shit I didn’t even mean for this but obviously one way I relate to Kyle is the Above autistic hc and how I characterize him. Like I said, I acted a LOT like Kyle when I was a kid, so I know he’s an irritating little shit, but also brilliant and too thoughtful for his own good sometimes.

But another thing: I characterize Kyle as someone who is a natural leader, but hates being in official leadership positions. And this is also smth I’ve kinda written due to personal experience. But also from the way kyles often portrayed in canon—in the games, he’s always a support role, always a healer, ranged fighter, or someone who boosts and buffs allies

I see Kyle as the type of person who can easily take control in, for example, a group project situation, or when he’s hanging out with Stan and they’re only doing what Kyle wants to do bc Kyle comes up with all the ideas and Stan just goes along with them

But I can’t see Kyle as someone who’d want to be, like, student counsel president. (That’s more Wendy’s wheelhouse) Mostly bc there’s too much responsibility that it’s just exhausting, and more than that, those official positions are STIFLING. They run on someone else’s schedule and they’re creatively constructive. You can’t fully do your own thing bc you have to be constantly aware of how the group works and what the group wants. I can’t see Kyle as being happy in that position bc he’d get sick of having to conform his ideas to what other ppl want—he just wants to do his own thing.

So instead, Kyle would be more comfortable in a supporting role. Bc in a position like, for example, secretary or VP, he can still have a lot of influence, power, and knowledge, but he’s free from those restrictions that come from being the face of a group. And he’s also free from the social obligations of being a leader, esp in having to deal w other groups in like a business sort of way. AND if the group falls, Kyle won’t take as much of the blame, bc it’s probably not his fault anyways so why should everyone point fingers at him. It’s much less pressure.

(And it’s also kinda inspired by his role in the CBAA??—Cartman’s perfect in the CEO/face of the company position bc Cartman is comfortable with and relishes in the attention and social aspect of being the face/leader of a company, and Kyle can reap all the benefits of being a part of that company, including being an integral pillar of the company, w/o the deficits. If Eric and Kyle ran a company they’d work together, sure, but Eric would crumble without Kyle’s support, and Kyle would hate the stifling pressure of the head position, which makes them a perfect pair.)

(And again this is based on personal experience—I’m a natural leader. People listen to me, I can organize groups, and I’m a good mediator, but I hate when it becomes Official bc I can’t just. Do my own thing as I want to and it’s far too much to keep track of and most of it doesn’t interest me. It always irritated me when my parents tried to push me into like running for student president bc I just kept thinking abt all the work I’d have to do that I wouldn’t care abt)

7) what gives me secondhand embarrassment about Kyle? Well. Just......how much he reminds me of when I was a stupid kid. He’s such a little shit oh my god Kyle shut the fuck up YOURE NOT GHANDI. When Kyle’s being entitled and stuck up, when he thinks he’s better than other ppl, and when his own big mouth and pride are what fucks him over I’m just oh my god. Oh my GODDDDDD SHUT UPPPPP.

Mostly it’s secondhand embarrassment bc I’m jus oh my god ur an idiot—but again bc I know he has the ability to grow out of that and look back on himself with a grimace at how dumb he was ahsjdkfkfk

8) cinnamon roll or problematic fave? Definitely the latter, I love Kyle and I love when he’s happy and contented but him as a cinnamon roll kinda character feels so flat to me. I love him as a problematic fave he’s so much fun as a disaster. He’s complex—he’s tough and caring and angry and compassionate and an absolute fireball of EMOTIONS but he tries to act like he’s a logical rational person and I jus? He’s so much more fun and dynamic when he’s allowed to be messy

(Of course this is long why wouldn’t it be AHSJDKDKKFKGLGLH)

#long post #kyman #south park #kyle broflovski #fl5k #creo talks

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dabistits · 5 years

Text

in the blood: connecting the backstories

With the arc concluded and what I imagine is pt 1, the pre-AFO bits, of Tomura’s backstory revealed, I thought I’d finally sum up one of the major points of this plot. Scattered throughout the arc were three major backstories—Himiko, Twice, Tomura—that could use some piecing together. It doesn’t seem like they were chosen at random or were primarily subordinated to good timing, and instead were written because they parallel and reinforce certain themes in Tenko’s past.

Here’s my typical disclaimer that these connections may not have been intentional at all, but, y’know. We’ll pretend Horikoshi is a competent writer and etc. etc. Of course, there’s also the question of what conclusion all these narrative threads points us towards, and I’m chronically afraid of making a wrong prediction so I won’t do that on this post lols (it’s also not 100% clear, which I’ll address). Nevertheless, I think it adds significance to consider Tomura’s past with the addition of framing it through the other two backstories, considering what they say about Quirks, society, and the characters’ internal processes about where they fit in the overall scheme of things.

(note: some screenshots below the cut contain mild gore!)

I. Quirk repression

We encounter this for the first time in the MLA arc through Himiko. Although we’re not privy to Himiko’s thoughts during the flashback, Curious makes an assertion that Redestro later repeats: that Quirks can, to some degree, influence a person’s disposition. Transform elicited in Himiko a desire to drink blood (in order to develop a bond of closeness), which was largely viewed as deviant, and she was pressured to suppress not only her impulse, but her Quirk as well. This idea of Quirk=disposition is also repeated with Tomura, who Redestro asserts is only capable of destruction.

Without being told Himiko’s perspective in the flashbacks, we don’t know how her experience with suppressing her desires went, nor whether she experienced any adverse physical effects from doing so. Tomura, however, is clearly stated (by AFO, so it’s worth taking with a grain of salt) to experience unbearable itchiness whenever he represses his urge to destroy, a sensation which only seems to abate when he uses Decay. So for the moment, the message seems quite clear: suppressing one’s Quirk is akin to suppressing one’s self, and even more drastically, there may be physical consequences to doing so.

On the flip side of Quirk repression, then, there’s Quirk liberation. That’s what the Metahuman Liberation Army is going for, of course, but the three characters discussed here also found relief through their Quirks: Himiko in finally shattering her mask, Twice creating his crime gang, and Tenko eliminating that which he hated. Embracing their Quirks is portrayed as a way in which they achieved not only emotional pleasure and fulfillment, but agency as well—an increase in control over their own lives and fates—finally allowing themselves to do what they were “meant” to. This is, supposedly, a move which empowers oneself.

II. Quirk trauma

But that’s not entirely true.

Just as Quirks can be liberating, they're shown to be harmful when used without restraint, turning against their wielder and instilling suffering. Twice’s clones eventually went out of control and began to fight each other for claim to the original, and Tenko’s Quirk awakening killed his entire family. Both experienced trauma involving the people closest to them, Twice being confronted with “his own” betrayal, while Tenko witnessed the deaths of his family at his own hands—in the aftermath, they’re both left completely and utterly alone, abandoned by those they believed they could rely on, with uncertain recollection about how events actually transpired.

Then it’s no coincidence either that Twice’s and Tomura’s chapters focus on arriving at the truth of their traumas. Twice, after having spent an indeterminate length of time trapped in the uncertainty of his own realness, is forced into confronting his fear of disappearing after Skeptic orders his arms broken; in surviving this, he’s able to confirm that he’s the original Twice, once and for all. Tomura is likewise pushed into recalling his repressed memories (let’s assume right now that they’re the real memories) as his last connections to his family—their hands—are destroyed one by one.

It’s through the discovery of this truth after being confronted with their greatest fears or insecurities that they’re able to embrace the full strength of their Quirks, returning to a default, ‘pre-trauma’ state. Twice is able to create doubles of himself once more, and Tomura becomes able to unleash a stronger version of Decay. While Himiko’s case is much less drastic, the new characteristic of Transform also seems to be linked to her reaffirmation of her ‘truth’ as well. Those ‘truths’ may sound positive or negative, motivated most obviously by self-preservation in Himiko’s case, self-actualization(?) in Tomura’s case, or protective instinct in Twice’s.

Personally, I place a lot of (if not most) importance on Twice’s motivation in this arc, because his past and desires most strongly encapsulate the themes we see repeated across all of these backstories:

III. Alienation and belonging

Perhaps the strongest thread that pervades these three stories (and Spinner’s too, which we have less to go on at the moment) is the feeling of alienation. The four of them found themselves constantly rejected by those around them: Spinner due to prejudice, Twice never getting support nor sympathy after being orphaned, and Himiko and Tenko in particular being denied by their own families, both of them compelled to stifle their own desires, whether it be to pursue her instincts or to voice his dreams. They were positioned as outsiders, set apart from everyone else.

That’s why I believe it’s significant that one of the primary purposes of this arc seems to be to bring the LOV more closely together, from Spinner’s questioning and renewed loyalty, to a central conflict of this arc plot being a rescue (among other schemes from the MLA, of course), to giving the LOV a way out of the aimlessness from the beginning of the arc. Of course, past alienation and present cohesiveness also contrast each other as narrative foils, and this is most clearly exemplified in Twice’s chapters because he’s babey, which more extensively linger on his feelings towards his current situation and friends, who he sees as a remedy to the loneliness of his past.

The other characters haven’t offered the same reflection towards the LOV, but it’s not a stretch to say that the group provides them with something that wider society could not. People who accept Himiko’s “normal,” who enable her to pursue her love (for good or ill); who take Spinner seriously despite being a mutant with a “useless” Quirk; and to some degree, even Tomura seems to have achieved what he once wanted. Tenko was a child who made friends with lonely kids, who wanted to be a hero, presumably to save others, but was rejected by his family at every turn and had no one save him at a time when he needed it most. And even though his life as Shimura Tenko is long gone, Tomura currently finds himself as the leader of a group of outcasts who are looking out for him, fighting through a small army to save one of their own. The irony is poetic.

IV. Tragedy or Agency?

Which begs the question: what do we do with this information and how do we interpret these characters? Are they just cruel and unrepentant villains, or should we sympathize with them as people rejected by a prejudiced society? Really, this arc offers room for both readings.

At one end, we have Himiko and Tomura, who view their decisions to become ‘villains’ as liberatory. Whether or not certain painful events in their lives affected their choices seems to matter very little to them, or perhaps those events were even a blessing for leading to the choices they made. They decided to embrace their natures even if those traits were violent, distrusted, and societally shunned, and they do not consider this eventuality as particularly unfortunate. Himiko rejects Curious’ interpretation of her life as pitiable, and Tomura likewise asserts to himself that he’s untroubled by the deaths of his family. They both represent their pasts as not a tragedy.

On the other hand, we have Twice, whose backstory chapter bears the maxim that also appears on the cover page of vol 24, and thus has the privilege of setting the tone for a major portion of this arc: “All it takes is one bad day.” Twice’s backstory (ironically enough) reads uniquely more self-aware than the others’, both about his own decisions, and about the conditions surrounding him (i.e. how other people’s decisions affected him). He was aware of the way others viewed him and how that caused his alienation—best exemplified by how disposable he was at his workplace—and of his reasons for pursuing a “solution” that only dug a deeper hole.

Thus, we have the “one bad day” part of the narrative. Twice, who was orphaned early on and isolated from his peers, got into a motorcycle accident with one of his firm’s clients. His boss hits him and fires him, leaving Twice aimless until he comes up with the idea to Double himself. Twice’s backstory interprets "one bad day” as a truism about instability, particularly in a society which appears to have few safety nets and a lot of prejudice—essentially, the chapter posits that one incident of bad luck can put someone on a worse path, especially when people act in their own interest instead of in sympathy or aid. Okay. See where this is going?

We’re presented with two narratives here: that ‘bad paths’ are either predetermined by an individual’s disposition and are liberating to embrace, or they are often the result of an individual’s circumstances and influenced by other people. Nature versus nurture. The arc does not definitively come down on either side, so I’ll stick to observations and limit on drawing conclusions.

Tenko’s backstory also fixates on a day. The turning point in his life was the day his parents’ rejection of his aspirations culminated in physical violence from his father, setting off the chain of events that led to Decay’s awakening and killing his family; in the aftermath, he was also further alienated in a busy city where no one stopped to help him until he was conveniently ‘found’ by AFO. The “one bad day” lies in the fact that Tenko was entirely salvageable; neither his hatred nor his fractured relationship with his family were conclusive in a five year old’s state of mind, and they both could have been remedied if they had the chance.

So that leaves us with two different takeaways. Can Tenko be thought of as having taken a turn for a better, more self-actualized existence—a not-tragedy—or was it indeed a set of circumstances that should rightfully be considered unfortunate because it was fixable? The resolution of this arc seems to come down pretty firmly on the side of the first interpretation: by embracing his destructive ‘nature,’ Tomura has awakened the full scope of Decay’s power, subdued the Meta Liberation Army, and gained their resources—he’s more influential than ever before, and he’s put himself at an advantageous position to take down hero society. So, clearly his internal monologue must be self-aware, because the narrative is rewarding him for embracing his purpose.

V. The League of Villains and Self-Destruction

But I do have a caveat to add, and it has to do with self-destruction. I’ve talked about Tomura and self-destruction, but that’s not really just a tendency limited to him. It proliferates in most (if not all?) of the LOV members, in more or less obvious ways. Spinner’s crisis of self-worth and subsequent seclusion was arguably self-destructive, as is Mr. Compress’ tendencies to run away from conflict. These are more metaphorical and without much elaboration yet. On the other hand, for a more literal take, there is Dabi, who burns himself alive whenever he uses his Quirk.

Himiko’s is somewhat a mix of both figurative and literal. Transform lets her take on someone else’s appearance, and she has an obsession with ‘becoming’ her objects of affection; it follows that if taken to the extreme and if she’s successful in 'becoming,’ she erases her own identity in the process. It’s no different than the ‘mask’ she assumed until middle school; she trades one mask for another, more appealing one, and her own ‘self’ is what gets destroyed.

Then there’s Twice. Double first started off as something that gave him comfort when he found himself utterly alone, but from there only lead to even more mistakes. Using his doubles to commit crimes as an ‘easy out,’ every decision Twice made thereafter piled on to conclude in his doubles’ murderfest. What began as comfort became the conduit for his own, literal, self-destruction as his doubles turned on each other.

Similarly, by the end of 239, Tomura has fully unleashed Decay. Like the first time he used it, he found it liberating, a release for all the emotions he experienced and repressed. Much like the rest who embraced their Quirks, it was a source of pleasure and comfort, but not without consequences: as shown by the damage one to his right arm, his body can’t sustain that kind of use. Decay too much, and there will be blowback in the form of starting to injure himself. It is, again, a form of literal self-destruction.

VI. To conclude:

The arc ends on a firm note about Tomura’s growth, and the direction thereof, concluding that Quirks affect innate drives which our antagonists have accepted and been rewarded for; however it follows on the heels of contradicting points about how that very acceptance and overindulgence ends in self-destruction. Our antagonists have been strongly linked together via backstory, highlighting the similar sources of conflict they’ve experienced. Familial strife, instinctive drives, the price of overindulgence, and the indifference of society are all elements that deeply influenced these characters, and their stories are continuations of how they conceptualize these elements with respect to their own senses of self. Again, assuming that we’re dealing with a competent writer, we can assume that these themes will be revisited as the story continues; namely, addressing to what degree a Quirk determines a person’s future (ideally, there should be a convergence of the messages brought up in this arc with those brought up with Shinsou and Monoma), coming to a resolution about the disputes of personal versus societal responsibility, and deciding how the narrative itself feels and wishes to convey about our antagonists and their struggles.

#shigaraki tomura #bubaigawara jin #toga himiko #shimura tenko #tomura shigaraki #jin bubaigawara #himiko toga #bnha meta #for those who want to know what to expect #2.4k words and 6 parts lulz...

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contrariian-archive · 5 years

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NPCS ( PERCY )

here’s percy’s friends & family !

MARGARET VICTORY

percy’s mom, an identical twin born in 1976. she is a strong woman who returned to college when percy was fifteen and now works as an administrative assistant in a marketing company. percy adores her mother & greatly looks up to her, though she also acknowledges that margaret has her faults; still, the relationship between the two of them is probably the healthiest percy has with any of her parents.

LOUIS POTTER

percy’s father, born in 1971. though the two were very close when percy was a child, as she grew older she found her father stifling and over-protective, and began to realize that he often guilt-tripped her. now she harbors some resentment towards him, though she has so many positive memories associated with louis ( bike rides, hikes, playing make-believe, working on his old jaguar ) that she’s currently deeply conflicted over what her relationship with him should be as she grows older.

MICHAEL MILLER, SR.

percy’s (former) stepfather, born 1969. he and her mother married when she was four, and remained married until late last year, when they split up. percy’s mom had been cheating on him, but she’d made it clear before then that she wasn’t happy in the marriage, and mike did nothing to mend things. percy still sees him as a father figure, though that’s become strained recently, as he was arrested for putting a hidden camera in margaret’s room to try and catch her cheating on her new boyfriend.

JANICE RICHARDSON-POTTER

percy’s stepmother. originally margaret’s best friend, some falling out happened between them when percy was very young, and janice married louis. as a child percy strived constantly to gain her stepmother’s approval, but nothing ever seemed to be enough. as janice went back to school ( first for a teaching degree, then for nursing ) her temper got worse and worse, and percy got more and more used to screaming matches between her stepmother and her father — often involving percy and her perceived shortcomings. now percy dreads going home for breaks, because she never knows what will set janice on another rant about percy’s selfishness, naivete, or a thousand other negative terms that have been thrown at her since she was fifteen.

FAITH RICHARDSON

janice’s daughter, percy’s oldest sibling & only sister, born 1990. the two are very close despite the nine years between them, mostly due to their mutual love of art and video games. faith often baby-sat percy when they were younger, and though they have their arguments ( and though faith often tells janice things percy would rather keep a SECRET ) she was by far the most open & accepting of percy’s sexuality & when it comes down to it, the two of them are in the same boat when it comes to janice’s berating.

MICHAEL MILLER, JR.

michael’s son, percy’s oldest stepbrother, born 1998. there’s only nine months between the two of them, and since percy was the more mature child, she was more often left in charge than not. additionally, michael ( mikey ) was — and still is — physically smaller than percy, which meant she wasn’t afraid of getting into a fistfight with him when they were children. the two have grown distant recently as a result of their parents’ divorce, a fact percy somewhat is saddened by; but considering michael’s deeply conservative political views, she figures she’ll live.

NICHOLAS MILLER

michael’s son, percy’s middle brother, born 2002. the two tended to band together against mikey as kids, though there were plenty of times percy was angrier at nick than she was at mikey. some of her favorite childhood memories are building blanket forts with nick and then playing hangman together, but there was also the time she tried to frame mikey for something and got nick in trouble instead, or the time that she kicked nick into a wall ( she was eight, he was five, he claimed she couldn’t beat him in a fight. she did) . he used to be smaller than her, but he’s shot up recently — not that she sees him very often, partially because of their parents’ divorce but also because he lives in south carolina with his mother and goes to military school.

AIDEN MILLER

percy’s youngest brother & only half brother, aiden was born in september of 2008 , making him nine years younger than her. despite that, the two were always closest among the siblings in her mother’s family. they fought the least & percy never treated him with disdain they way their other brothers did, in addition to her desire to be the best big sister she could. now that she’s in college, she tries to keep in touch with him as much as she can, often going home when her mother needs a babysitter so she can go see her boyfriend. aiden’s grown to be quite sassy ( mostly percy’s doing, though margaret has her moments ) , but he’s a big goofball at heart , and percy has plenty videos of the two of them doing dumb things to make each other laugh.

JAMES VICTORY

james is percy’s second cousin on her mother’s side, but as the two are only a few months apart in age, they’ve been incredibly close since they were little. they don’t get to see each other as often as they’d like, as they live in different states, but both james and percy share a love for theater and music, and the physical similarities between them have led to more than one joke about them secretly being twins. james has surprised percy with visits on more than one occasion ( her high school graduation, for one ) , and every time he does she nearly tackles him with a hug in her excitement.

SHANNON TAYLOR

percy’s best friend since seventh grade; born on august 28, 1999, she’s exactly 10 days younger than percy, so they often celebrate their birthdays together. they met in science class, and bonded over harry potter, queen’s under pressure, and the fact that they both played clarinet. percy has always considered shannon her best friend, and since they go to college in the same city ( shannon’s a forest resource management major ) , they’ll often grab dinner or go grocery shopping together. despite this ( and despite rumors that swirled around them in ninth grade ) there are no romantic feelings between the two of them. in fact, shannon didn’t even know she was a lesbian until their freshman year of college.

SAMUEL D’AGOSTINO

samuel, sam, samwise — he’s the oldest of percy’s high school friends by a few months, a flamboyant accounting major with the build of a noodle. he and percy met in eighth grade english, bonded over lord of the rings, and their friendship was cemented for life when he made her a red velvet cupcake as an early birthday present. her mom teased her about it ( i think he has a crush on you ) , to which percy responded “mom, he’s gay.” she didn’t know it was true at the time, and was mostly just trying to get her mom off of her back, but she was right. sam’s often the butt of jokes because he’s bad at making sure he’s free to hang out with the rest of them.

LEAH SIMONE-ROGERS

the other lesbian of the group & the second oldest, leah was adopted from china when she was a year and a half old, and once won a game of never have i ever by saying “never have i ever been white or white-passing.” she’s the most athletic of them, having done crew through high school, and is a brilliant biochemistry major at a pretty selective college. though she can come off as unfriendly to outsiders & often initiates the teasing among the group, she loves her friends very much. she likes to make fun of percy for being bad at using chopsticks.

#persephone potter.#i GUESS that's where im sticking this???#my name is puck with a b & i've been afraid of insects all my life || ooc.#npcs.

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sandersstudies · 6 years

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Okay, so I said for 1,500 followers I would rant about my ship opinions. Want to make clear from the start that if you disagree with me, you are still totally cool and valid. Got it? Okay, let’s go.

This is a pretty long post so I’ll put some of it under a cut.

Analogical Okay, so obviously “My Negative Thinking” sparked the interest in this one, and Moving On only strengthened it. I can see this one being romantic or platonic, and I like both, but prefer platonic mostly because I see logan as a bit paternal. This is a relationship that could be a two-way street. We’ve seen Logan be a bit protective of Virgil (”Virgil, are you okay?” in Moving On GETS me), and I think Virgil would also be very protective of Logan. The biggest calming thing for anxiety is always logic, but sometimes logic needs to learn to trust gut feelings. Whether romantic or platonic (or even paternal), I see Virgil going to Logan when he needs a clearer perspective, and I think Logan has a great amount of respect for Virgil - Patton and Roman are impulsive and removed from reality, while Virgil seems like he could understand Logan’s point of view. Overall, a loPlatonic 9/10, Romantic 7.5/10.vely pair.

Platonic 9/10; they understand each other; somehow both are the protective Mom friend at the same time.

Romantic 7.5/10; both would have trouble expressing their “feelings” but if they both learned to communicate it would be beautiful.

Logicality I’ve liked these two together since the beginning. Unfortunately, I think that lately we’ve seen that these two have some problems they need to work through first, especially on Logan’s end. I think that logic and morality/emotion are much more essential to the human mind than anxiety and creativity, and I think that Logan and Patton reflect that. A lot of people write pining/flirtatious Logicality, but I prefer that “old married couple” domestic aesthetic. I think Logan and Patton are incredibly protective of each other, but that leads to some barriers they need to break down. Logan is scared to be silly in front of Patton because Patton needs reigning in by somebody who is 100% logical, but sometimes Logan takes his authority and logic so seriously that he isn’t considerate of Patton. Meanwhile. Patton is lovingly pressuring Logan to admit that sometimes being silly is fun and important, because he wants Logan to be honest and unabashed about enjoying things. Unfortunately, they’re pushing each other in opposite directions.

Platonic 8/10; this is probably the most romantic-leaning ship I have, so I’m biased.

Romantic 9/10; damn I love them so much but they have some communication issues to work out to be healthy.

Logince Never seen these guys as a romantic ship. That said, I think the potential for a partnership is incredible. They’re a classic brains/brawn pair and I see them in an amazing fraternal/platonic relationship. Rather than enemies to lovers, these two are rivals to partners. If I was going to call any two sides each others’ “bros,” it would be these two. Logan is very lawful while Roman is very chaotic, but I think we see in “Fitting In” and “Why Do We Get Out of Bed in the Morning?” that these two have a lot in common: both are short-tempered, determined, resourceful, ambitious, strong leaders (maybe even a little self-righteous, arrogant, and stubborn). These two are both very dominant compared to Patton and Virgil - they both want to be in charge, and I think that would be detrimental in a romantic relationship. However, I think that as friends this would be friendly competition, pushing each other to be better. It’s another classic dynamic to see two characters who see each other as “the one to beat” but then realize that they could beat EVERYONE if they would just work together.

Platonic 8/10; still some stuff they need to work out, but once they do they’ll be unstoppable.

Romantic 3/10; I just don’t see it, and I think their personalities wouldn’t be good for a romantic relationship because the communication isn’t there.

Moxiety Like Logince, this has never been a romantic ship for me. Patton is just obviously coded as “Dad” or “Best Friend” in every interaction BUT the thing that really gets me is that Virgil is just as protective of Patton as Patton is of him, which makes sense. Our Anxiety is in place not just to protect our physical body, but also our feelings, and Patton is Thomas’ heart. I feel like Patton and Virgil have each others’ full trust, and “Can Lying be Good?” really made this evident. When “Patton” acted strange, Virgil didn’t think “my friend is doing a bad thing,” he thought “this isn’t my friend.” He knows Patton that well. With Patton learning to accept his feelings, I think he and Virgil are huge supports for each other. I honestly think that while Roman and Logan were having drama for the last two videos, Patton and Virgil have just been having Best Friend time. Heck, is anything softer than these two? Villain-coding a character and then revealing their vulnerability by having them befriend the softest of puffballs is adorable.

Platonic 10/10; they’re BEST FRIENDS you guys, look at them. Wouldja just LOOK at it?

Romantic 4/10; they have the communication and trust, but I think they’re so much better for each other as best friends.

Prinxiety Ah, classic enemies to friends to lovers. I’ve never been a huge stan for this ship, but heck if it isn’t cute. It’s Tumblr goth bf and Instagram prep bf. I think their love languages would be very different, but if they could learn to communicate and respect their differences, the potential is there. I think that lately we’ve seen effort on both sides for these guys to include each other. Roman’s been kinder about his nicknames, which is a good start. Also, let’s face it: Virgil’s face when Roman changes in to his 2.0 outfit screams “I am gay.” I think no matter what, these two will bicker a bit, but it could range from something that’s an actual problem all the way to something more endearing; imagine an hour on the couch going back and forth about which Pixar movie is the best because neither will relent. Also, there’s something to be said for anxiety both encouraging and stifling creativity, and creativity both causing and relieving anxiety. There’s delicate balances there to be explored, especially when creativity, in Roman’s case, is loud and presentational. Romantic elements aside, I also like seeing these two as annoying brothers who deeply love each other but simultaneously piss each other off.

Platonic 6/10; not my favorite, but bickering brothers or friends is still a very nice possibility.

Romantic 7/10; come on, guys, it’s a fandom classic, and the enemies to lovers dynamic is just so fun.

Royality Excuse me but this is the most under-appreciated ship in this whole fandom. Two honest good boys who are filled to the brim with love? Two dudes who would 100% have compatible love languages? Two guys who would spoil each other with affection and tiny gifts? Hell yes hell yes hell yes. Romance and emotion go together, guys. These two would have more PDA than any other pairing because embarrassment? How dare anyone be embarrassed by TRUE LOVE? The only possible concern I can think of is that Patton is very giving while Roman is very egoistic, but I think we’ve seen that both of them would be very giving to a romantic partner. These two would be all about dramatic displays of affection, but they also would have their peaceful moments when they need them. Mostly I just see them creating things for each other and never letting anybody forget how much they love each other.

Platonic 8/10; good stuff, but this ship is very romantic-leaning in my eyes. However, a brotherly relationship is also an incredible idea.

Romantic 9/10; as long as Patton takes care of himself and Roman learns to care about others, these two would be adorable.

LAMP (I’m assuming a LAMP where all four are in a relationship with the other three, but I know that there are other versions as well) I’ll be up front and admit that I prefer pairings to poly relationships in my ships, but let’s face it: LAMP is adorable. It has all the benefits of the other ships, but with third and fourth parties to balance out some of the cons. These guys are famILY and they are, in canon, the only “people” in each others’ lives. I don’t have much to say because this ship is essentially everything I’ve said before about the other ships.

Platonic 10/10; famILY

Romantic 6/10; good stuff, but I have a personal preference for pairings; still great because they all complete each other.

Deceit Ships I’m not putting down people who like these ships; that’s your business. However, I’ve seen too many people get hurt, REALLY hurt, by dishonesty in their relationships to support these. Even if Deceit isn’t 100% a villain, which I can see, it still isn’t healthy to put a character who is all about lying into a relationship. The most important things in any relationship are honest communication and trust, and those are both things that aren’t compatible with Deceit. That said, I’ve seen some morally grey fics and headcanons about Deceit where he has some interactions with the other sides I quite like. Let’s face it, one way or another the other sides are stuck with Deceit, and I think he at least has the potential to be something other than an evil being. Whether canon will support these depictions of Deceit is TBD (totally believable, dude? No, to be determined).

Platonic 2/10; I’ve seen some good stuff, but we have little canon material for Deceit; the other sides should be cautious while interacting with him.

Romantic 0/10; I have a personal relationship with dishonesty and manipulation that means I just can’t get behind these ships.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #royality #logicality #analogical #moxiety #prinxiety #logince #LAMP #deceit #ts deceit #tw deceit #logan #Patton #roman #virgil #studysaysstuff #studystuff

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singingcookie · 6 years

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Mamihlapinatapei-- IzuOcha please?

Wahhhhhh these two were the first thing I thought of when I read that word so here it goes!

Let it be known, I’ve never written anything with so little dialogue in my life

Mamihlapinatapei - The lookbetween two people in which each loves the other but is too afraid to make thefirst move.

It was no secret thatMidoriya Izuku was not used to interacting with girls—at least not beyond thescope of being paired with one for class projects in grade school and juniorhigh. Before going to UA if he were pressed on the subject, he would tell youthat he didn’t really hang out with anyone, least of all girls! Hero researchtook up a lot of time, after all.

It wasn’t that henever found girls interesting. It was more like he wasn’t interesting. Why bother a girl—or anyone for that matter—withhis quirkless, fanboy self? So he never went out of his way to speak with anyoneunless absolutely necessary. That courtesy was extended back to him by nearlyeveryone in school, with Kacchan being a weird (and often unpleasant)exception.

Which was why,when a complete stranger had extended a kindness unto him in the form ofstopping him before he could trip over his own two feet, he had found himselfincapable of words. Sure, the feeling of being weightless had freaked him outat first. It was definitely a factor in it. The person in question also being apretty girl—well, that didn’t exactly do him any favors either.

As if to make theinteraction even more unreal, she had spared some words in his direction.First, asking if he was alright. He didn’t answer that, too busy freaking abouthovering in midair. Then she helped to straighten him out, apologizing forusing her quirk without asking. “But it’d be bad luck if you fell, right?” Hecould only stare with wide eyes, hands clutching tightly to the straps of hisbackpack. Someone was talking to him…?

She looked awaywith a close-eyed smile, saying almost to herself, “Aren’t you nervous?” Hewas! Definitely!! Especially now with the pressure of having to hold aconversation. Izuku stuttered like an idiot, trying to form some kind of words. This could be afuture classmate! And she had reachedout to him.

He had no idea inthese moments, how this girl would change his life. But looking back, it was nomistake, even if she had stopped him from tripping—he still fell hard in somekind of way that day.

“Let’s do ourbest,” she said, paying no mind to his stammer. She waved, tossing a quick byeover her shoulder as she hastened to the building ahead. And he was left dumbfounded.He had just talked to a girl! She had initiated the conversation! As expected,UA really was something else…!

And that provedtruer after being accepted, Izuku had grown up trying to remain as unnoticed aspossible. But as time went on, his classmates continually sought him out. Whetherit be for advice, to give praise, or—and this was the hardest one to adjust to—justbeing around him. And he did his best to return the actions back to those aroundhim. Yeah, he was still awkward; but he thought he was getting the hang of itthe longer things went on.

Even talking tothe girls in the class wasn’t as hard as he thought it might be. They were allnice to talk to. Not to mention, that all of their quirks were so interesting! Yeah,he was getting the hang of being around girls too!

A thought thatwould waver whenever a certain light would shine into view. He consideredUraraka a friend, first and foremost; and he tried his best to treat her assuch. But he could not deny that there was a stirring of something more whenshe would get too close to him, encourage him with everything she had, or whenhe caught her with a smile like someone had given her the moon and stars.

He didn’t knowwhat to make of these feelings. This was his first real friend since childhood. She had done so much for him, andregardless of anything else, he wasn’t about to ruin that. Yeah. It didn’tmatter what these feelings were. If she didn’t want them, then he would keepthem hidden under lock and key. They couldn’t ruin anything if they didn’t makean appearance.

Izuku did hisbest to contain himself. Just managing to stifle these feelings to the pointthat the only hint anyone could have were the blushes that would stain his cheekswhen they were together.

Uraraka Ochako couldn’t tell when exactly her own feelings for a certain green-hairedclassmate had manifested. Not really. She hadn’t helped him out at their firstmeeting because she thought he was cute or anything like that. It was just theright thing to do.

Okay, maybe therewas some kind of spark during theentrance exam. But it certainly wasn’t attraction! They hadn’t interacted sinceshe had caught him outside; but she could only watch in awe as that unassumingboy leapt into the air to take on that zero pointer that had come close tocrushing her—blowing it away with just a single punch!

At first, she hadsat there, slack-jawed, when the robot let off a series of explosions as itburst apart. Then she heard Present Mic’s voice call out the two minute timelimit, knocking her out of the stupor. She gave a light shake of the head andsearched the skyline for the one who saved her. She spotted him descending veryfast—no, he was approaching the ground face first. He was falling again…and thistime, if she couldn’t reach him…!

She had beenunable to react in time to free herself from the debris in the minute before. Shehad already felt so sick after using her quirk as much as she had. Thatfamiliar sensation of nausea had started to creep in. Ochako strained herselfto reach back, touching the pads of her fingertips to the rubble crushing herright leg. Her stomach churned angrily, but she swallowed hard—she would put itaway! She had to catch him!

The next minutewent by in a blur. Looking back, Ochako couldn’t properly recall the finerdetails of what happened. She remembered stumbling as she had gotten to herfeet. And she knew she found a remnant of another robot not too far away. Shehad climbed atop it, activating her quirk and just managing to slap that brave stranger in the face—which doesn’tsound as nice as it really was, considering she saved him from certain deathwith that action.

She hadn’t gottento properly thank him after that. She had gotten so sick. And not two secondsafter he declared he needed to earn just one point, Present Mic announced theend of their exam. He had collapsed after that, only to be healed up byRecovery Girl and taken to the medical wing to make sure he was safe to headhome. But she couldn’t get him out of her head.

Not only had hebeen so brave to jump headlong into danger, but he had clearly done it with nothought to his own safety or the results of the exam. She couldn’t believe hispassion, and if anyone deserved to get into this school, it was him!

She had been sohappy to find out he had, and that they were in the same class, even! No, shehadn’t liked him back then. Wanted to be his friend, absolutely. Admired him,surely. Felt inspired by his drive? Definitely. But who couldn’t be? Dekuworked so hard. And no matter what obstacle you put in his path, he could finda way around it. He was amazing.

But she hadn’tbeen thinking of him in that way. Orat least…she didn’t think she hadfelt that way. Not until sparklingAoyama had forced her into considering it. Did this go beyond normaladmiration? Did she want something more? She did like how things stood now. Sheliked being able to speak with him about things, having a friend that thoughtshe was special too. Yes, this was good enough, wasn’t it?

But then herthoughts on the matter started to take a turn when she was attacked by thatcreepy girl, Toga at the training camp. It had gotten into her head. No, shecouldn’t deny that. What Toga had said…it was close to her feelings. And that—itterrified her. Would her admiration turn into that? That twisted ideal ofwanting to completely become someone else…?

And then so soon after,Ochako was forced to deal with other negative results of this—this whatever itwas that she felt!—for Deku. The pangs of jealousy that rang through her in hisinteractions with Hatsume when he went in search of a costume upgrade. And thenwith that girl from Shiketsu in the Provisional License Exam…

That was when shemade her decision. Like when she used her quirk to save him on that day theymet—and now, to save herself. Yes. She would put it away. Maybe someday, theidea could be revisited. But she couldn’t do anything that hindered her journeyto become a hero.

She couldn’tcompletely quash the butterflies that arose whenever he did somethingparticularly spectacular. No, it didn’t even need to be that remarkable.Sometimes, when it was just the two of them, enjoying one another’s company shecould still feel it. But it was different than before.

These weren’tmoments where she was wanting to emulate him. They were little moments whereshe wanted to do her best to make him smile or laugh. Or the urge to reach outand touch him in a show of comfort. Or sometimes she wanted that for no reasonat all.

It wasn’t hard tothink of one another as friends. Because that’s what they were. What they always would be. But in those moments alone withone another. Sometimes, they would have a brief thought of relapse. Was itreally for the best?

Izuku, lookinginto that shining face, and wondering if just maybe he should take the plunge.Wouldn’t it be something? It would be so easy to do. He was so flighty with contactordinarily that he could probably do something as simple as taking her hand inhis own. And she would know that something had changed. He knew she could bevery insightful about people. His mangled fingers twitched forward at thethought.

Ochako wouldcatch herself glancing into those intense, green eyes; and it was as thoughthere was an electricity buzzing through her. Something crackling within herand insisting that it was different now. That this was okay. And it wouldn’t behard to reach out, to put her hand to his cheek. To lean in and finally closethat respectful distance that he had always kept between them. Maybe he wouldwant it too. Her hand rose ever so slightly.

But what if I’m wrong? The light would leave their eyes in thatmoment, each of their movements jerking to a sudden stop at the thought. Howcould they go on? Each would look over the other and think, I couldn’t have made it here without you…

And how couldeither stand to ruin that?

#Izuocha #Midoriya Izuku #Uraraka Ochako #OTP:You're My Hero #I'm nervous haha dialgoue is my crutch so idk if this is even any good #sorry if there's typos it's really late here rn #Anonymous #BnHA #the cookie sings #Izuku Midoriya #Ochako Uraraka #MHA

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violetsystems · 3 years

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#personal

The mood indoors lately is a lot more calming than it was maybe a year ago. A lot of that has to do with me growing through all of this. I’ve been left to myself for the most part which I think is for the best. I haven’t really had anyone to brag about the positives to other than writing here. I’ve been working on setting up the apartment to be a little more energy efficient. This sometimes has adverse reactions like when I fuck up and shut off processor game boost on my computer and try to do a stream. I’m pretty sure the BIOS reset itself. If there’s one thing I’ve become more conscious of the last year it’s how much I use of everything. Last summer I dived head into a catastrophic situation by ruthlessly creating normality for myself. I made a monthly budget. I kept myself cash forward and away from credit. I analyzed what I spent and why. I navigated an unprecedented situation almost effortlessly according to some people. But I can assure you with great confidence a lot of people in real life weren’t actually there. Which is why I’m extremely skeptical when people from your past magically show up at your doorstep. Whatever the reason. However believable or wishful thinking it is in these times that we can just pick up where we left off. I have the unfortunate habit of keeping tabs on everything. It’s what got me through a year of total uncertainty. And one thing for me is certain. Serendipity and synchronicity may exist in my life still. But for the most part I’ve seen the same old tricks evolve slowly over time. Last Saturday I went out to check the mail. Coincidence or not, someone I knew from years ago was fixing my neighbor’s bike. Within the first seconds of saying hi, the person was already hurling stuff at me that they shouldn’t have known about. How I lost my job at the school he attended a year ago. A job he kept mentioning I applied for at a video game company where his friend works last November. How he’s been buddy buddy with the neighbor who just moved in. How serendipitous for this all to happen in America after a year of what I’ve been through? It’s been more than a year if you want my post mortem on a dead issue. I projected as best as I could. That I had applied for the company but was focusing on other opportunities outside the city. I had an envelope in my hand the entire time I had been waiting for. Information about my health insurance from my old employer. I went in and set it on the table and remembered a book on the shelf I had on loan from the very same person out front. I grabbed it instinctively as if to settle all debt and contact. Went back out front and returned it to him with out much commentary. The next day I blocked that person following me on twitch. Insane I know. I only have two or three followers. Most bots. It’s like I’m shooting myself in the foot in the face of opportunity. I also reported it. Which makes me the asshole for shutting people out of my life who were never invited back into it in the first place. I know how all this works by now and I will be gaslighted into the stage of history. I think our confidence gets tricked often when we refuse to accept a sinking status quo. We’re made to feel guilty through isolation. Why am I so mean? I brought this all on myself. The last year. I reached out to an entire network of those people I worked with and serviced on LinkedIn a year ago. That network of people fell silent apparently scared to go on record talking to me on a digitally monitored platform. Why now? The shitty irony of the situation was the mail in my hand. I opened the envelope after I returned the book I never read. Something about ayahuasca and a cosmic serpent. The envelope was more revealing. My health insurance was officially covered for the next three months due to a subsidy. There were also three months from April to June I had been paying where I owed nothing. So it’s pretty much covered through the end of the year. That is if I don’t find a job immediately like the video game company everybody from the past I keep holding at bay just happens to be friends with. The same token I post an article about led wireless light security on a professional website and people from Shenzhen I don't even know visit my profile. Which do I really want to connect to at this point? The past or the future.

That past largely has gotten it all wrong. If it got it right I would not be sitting here bathed in crimson light at my kitchen table listening to 0pn at six thirty in the morning. It wouldn’t show up to my doorstep unannounced leaving me to question the motives after a year of exile. I get that it is the summer. This city can be a blessing or a curse. It’s an easy city to disappear in. Affordable at times but often extremely bitter towards people who go their own way. It judges everything around it based on a meat and potatoes Midwestern mentality. Sophistication and creativity is stifled unless it’s part of a broader narrative that the city and the rich people who own it can leverage. There really isn’t a place for you unless someone has their say and can roast you. The negging is tribal and it punishes people who don’t offer up their entire life story for public record. When you do offer up your side of events, it’s buried. Like a zombie I rise from the grave to remind people weekly that I have no power in changing any of this. I’m stuck in between the worst of everything and the best right around the corner. I’ve been around the world and yet nobody wants to hear about it unless they can explain it for you. People take words out of your mouth and insert themselves back into your life without any thought. It’s like the city, state and communal shit pile of neighbors and acquaintances owns your future. If you try to do it alone, they’ll let you know. Societal pressure is on all sides. If they can’t corral you in with politics, they’ll isolate you until you break down and plead for help. A year later, the only real help I focus on is monetary. I shudder to think staying another year here alone and yet it seems completely hopeless and futile to hope for anything else. A large reason I want to put the past behind me is how utterly fucking irresponsible and worthless it is. People think they know who you are because they spoke to you when you were drunk. And since you don’t drink or get invited to anything social, people feel the need to engineer entrapment on your doorstep when you are beholden to the importance of the mail. It’s not like my mail ever comes on time. I’m looking at the fourth package in a few month that needs to be redelivered because it never made it to my doorstep. I have not just given up on things getting better here. I have taken evasive action and shut down pretty much everyone and everything that savored the opportunity to ghost me. There is no excuse. Not even a pandemic. No real alibi to leave someone to rot after twenty years of service. They forgot. I don’t forget. I’m constantly reminded that I’m lucky to even have a resume that points to how overqualified I am for everything. Apparently getting a job isn’t about skill or experience. It’s about who you know. And I’m supposed to throw my arms open to the universe and thank the heavens that some pseudo commie spy has an in for me at the video game company for less than I’m worth. That’s the real story. I’m worth more than that. You don’t just spend a year ignoring me and suddenly create a situation where my confidence is pressured into letting these people back in. That is the very definition of entrapment to me. So much so that it hurts to think about how close to home I feel unsafe. I literally walk out my door and I cannot avoid people trying to crowbar their way back into my good graces. That’s not normal. None of this has been normal. And so I react the way I do. I block people. I say no. I isolate what’s working and what isn’t. And it sucks. The feelings of guilt that were orchestrated for the very purpose of sowing doubt in yourself and your decisions. Men mostly trying to assert their authority and their freedom to dictate and pick apart your life. It’s fucking foul what happened on Saturday. And the foulest part of it is that I would be gaslighted for even questioning the timing.

So I don’t. That’s the biggest trap of all this. Me reacting. Me getting even outside of writing. I don’t really want to connect to my past at all. I know how much baggage it is. I know how much of my life got thrown away because I didn’t turn out as weak as people thought I’d be. I know that moving forward is painful because letting go is hard. And yet I don’t really have much information that would lead me to trust the people who have been absent from my life. It’s bullshit. And it’s harder still to realize that I have to feel awkward because I feel unsafe. I’m the one who has had to tiptoe around all of this. I do it well. Obviously there’s things in my life that are welcome. Things that inspire me without being overbearing. Friends that keep in touch without any sinister connections or agendas. People who keep tabs on me without acting like the secret police. It’s such a tumultuous and unprecedented time! Let’s celebrate it by reconnecting to the same old bullshit. Let’s all make the same fucking mistakes. Let’s pretend it never happened. I’m fine with that. Just leave me alone. There is nothing worth reconnecting at this point that isn’t already strapped in for the ride. There is nothing really for me to become other than gainfully employed in a job that I like. At current that is working for myself. I wish it were more lucrative and sustainable. But folding back into the fray after being left alone for so long is a dead end. I’ve pushed myself further than I ever would have in the past. I’ve become another person entirely. I know when I’m off putting. I know when I have no reason to smile it away. And I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with this much vitriol for a city that just wants to pretend it’s my own problem. You get burnt by these slime for years and people don’t want to believe it’s true. It couldn’t happen here. It couldn’t be that bad. That guy is just blowing it all out of proportion. Forget the fact he’s travelled half the world alone. Forget all the things we ignore that he’s done while we weren’t watching. We know him best. We’ve watched him his entire life. If that were really true, what has anyone really learned? I’m in pain? Yes. I hurt so deeply from all of this that I’d rather just forget it and move on. But there is nowhere to go. Everyone has their say or I stay invisible. And what is there to offer? In this city apparently nothing. I can’t find a job unless I go get drunk with the bros at the bar or the noise show? I’m supposed to take a pay cut when I already worked for a non profit. If you ask me I want none of this. I want better things for myself. And I’m not going to sell myself short because I’m scared it will pass me by. Look at the last year. How much shit just pretended I was dead to the world? That was apparently my fault. Every time I’m faced with that accusation by the peanut gallery on the street causes me emotional pain. The real truth is that it was never worth my time. And I learned that a long time ago. A year ago to be exact. I was meant for better things. And unfortunately the way things are, you have to take charge. Of your life and your destiny. Sometimes you have to say no. Sometimes saying nothing at all is the biggest fuck you. I know how it feels. Nobody said anything substantial to me for about a year now. Maybe that’s why a simple like in my dash means far more to me than a fake setup and an offer I can’t refuse. This isn’t The Godfather. This is the departed. And I’m already far removed from what this city thought it could trick me back into. That’s the baggage that doesn’t deserve to be brought into the future. So don’t worry about me holding up the flight. All I have is my carry on and a clean slate. We can fly anywhere. If I stay around here alone they’re going to clip my wings for good eventually. It’ll be made to look like an accident. Just like the entire last year. And they’ll keep doing it because nobody calls them out for being wrong. <3 Tim

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kingofthieves · 4 years

Text

She Used to Love Me a Lot (Ch 1)

Rating: T

Words: 1868

Summary: What happened in between the pages on Paraiso? What happens when a couple with that much history is forced to go to therapy to keep cover on a mission? More than you might think. This is a collection of drabbles based on what I think might have happened in between Romy’s therapy and ass kicking sessions in Rogue and Gambit.

Notes: I’m finally posting this on tumblr lmaoo. This is my first fic on this account, it’s chapter one of what I plan to make a 6 chapter story. This is the first fic I’ve written in a LONG time, and my first ROMY fic ever despite having shipped them before I knew what shipping was. This was inspired by me going to actual real life therapy lol, I thought about whether Rogue and Gambit, specifically Gambit, were given time to work through individual issues as well as the couples therapy.

ao3 link

Remy was uncomfortable, no scratch that, he was nervous. Really, truly nervous. It had been a long time since he’d felt anything more than mild apprehension, but here he was. His leg bounced and his shoulders were tense. He cursed himself for leaving his cards back in the room, his hands itched for something, anything to fidget with. He leaned his head against the wall and blew out a sigh, willing his leg to still. Years of thief training kicked in as he clamped down on his nerves. It was ridiculous, he thought, he was the greatest thief in the world, not to mention an x-man. He’d stolen items worth millions without batting an eye, and saved the world more than once. But this, this set him on edge.

“Mr. Lebeau?”

A smartly dressed woman had poked her head into the waiting room, it bothered Remy that he hadn’t heard her coming, being so wrapped up in his nerves.

“Oui.” He answered curtly, Instinct kicking in as he assessed the woman. She had a small bird like frame, with spectacles perched so far down on her nose it was a wonder they didn’t fall off. He felt himself relax ever so slightly at the fact that she looked untrained in hand to hand combat, there was a good chance this was one of the actual therapists working on the island.

That’s what he was here for after all, therapy. Specifically couples therapy, with Rogue. What he didn’t realize when he signed up for the mission was part of the treatment involved individual therapy. Something he was now dreading. His and Rogues session earlier that afternoon had been explosive and uncomfortable, sure, but at least they’d had each other. As strained as their relationship was at times, they were still friends, and teammates. When it came down to it they had each other’s back for this mission. So as Remy made his way down the hallway after the woman who’d called his name, alone, he couldn’t help but feel trapped, isolated, on his own against what anyone else would see as a totally non threatening person.

It wasn’t just that he was afraid of physical violence, but the concept of baring his soul to someone he barely knew did not sit right with the thief. In fact, it went against every fibre of his being to sit down in the big overly plush chair across from this woman, and not bolt for the doors. He’d already located at least three exit points almost without realizing it. He was so caught up in his own mind that he didn’t even realize the bird like woman was talking to him until she said his name again.

“Mr. Lebeau?” She asked. He hummed a non committal response, eyes still casing the small room, and so she asked again.

“I was just asking how your first day has been, have you had a chance to see your room yet?” Her voice was sweet, and lower than Remy had expected given her small stature, almost as if she was trying to be intentionally nonthreatening. Remy didn’t buy it.

“Rooms fine.” Was all he said.

“You seem tense.”

He wanted to roll his eyes, but stifled the urge with extreme effort. Instead, he steeled himself for what was sure to be an uncomfortable hour.

Later...

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Pebbles bounced off the rocks in front of Remy, exploding with the small charge he’d imbued them with. In one hand he held a pile of more pebbles to throw, in the other a sheet of paper he’d gotten after his session this morning. He huffed in annoyance, the last thing he’d expected from this mission was god damn homework. He was already feeling uneasy from this mornings sessions, the last thing he wanted to do was spend his downtime doing even more self reflection. Granted, he didn’t really know what he had expected from this mission. He’d jumped at the chance to spend some time with Rogue, and as usual when it came to her he didn’t stop for a moment to think about the consequences. He’d heard Kitty say “Rogue” and “couples retreat” and he’d been sold. Even if Rogue had zero interest in the couples part of this mission, he was still excited to spend time with her. He had meant what he said when he told her she was still his best friend, and he missed his best friend, especially with all the Avenging she’d been doing lately. They hadn’t been able to just sit and talk in months, it was wearing on him.

Which was why he was kicking the shit out of himself for sitting in this secluded alcove, avoiding her. But this morning had been a lot, and they’d been given free time this afternoon. The last thing he needed after all the shit that’d been aired in their sessions, both individual and not, was to have to pretend to be unaffected by it. And he didn’t want Rogue to see how much it had shaken him, at least not yet anyways.

And it had shaken him, more than he’d realized. Talking so openly about such sensitive topics to people he had no real reason to trust had worn on him more than he wanted to admit. By the end of it he’d been so keyed up he was having trouble keeping his empathy under control, which meant he could pick up on the shit storm of emotions going through Rogues head too. The psyches were not thrilled by the therapy either, it seemed, and so Rogue had been even more touchy than when they’d first landed. So now he was here, hiding from her and trying to get a handle on his emotions. The therapists had recommended they use their free time to reflect on the days sessions, and work on the exercises they’d been given, but he doubted they would approve of him slinking off to hide in some rocky alcove and sulk.

He glanced down at the sheet of paper in his hand, reminded of it by his thoughts. It was a simple exercise, or at least that’s what the therapist had said. Something about countering negative self thoughts. He didn’t quite understand how these lists and questions were going to undo years of sin, but he’d accepted the task nonetheless. The idea was that if he did this exercise enough, he wouldn’t need the paper, and he could stop his spirals of self hatred before they began. He scoffed at that, throwing another handful of pebbles at the rocks in front of him, flinching as he realized he’d charged them a bit too much, and cracked one of the boulders in half. As far as he was concerned, all of his self hatred was well earned, and to try and counter that, to even consider forgiving himself, it just wasn’t moral. He held the sheet in both hands now, staring at it so intensely it was a wonder it didn’t combust. He had half a mind to tear the thing into pieces and toss it in the ocean. Instead he crumpled it in a fist and tossed it over his shoulder. He knew it was useless, the therapist would likely just give him a new one, and if he wanted to keep his cover on this mission he’d have to at least look like he was attempting to listen.

He stared out at the water. The sun was beginning to set, sending light pinks and yellows dancing across the still water. He sucked in breath at the view, and couldn’t help but think of Rogue at the sight of such beauty. Rogue, his heart ached at her name. They had fought this morning, during their first session, and he had been so cruel. He hadn’t meant to, but they had so much pain, so much history between them, and she was so damn stubborn. They were like a bomb waiting to go off on normal days, but combine that with the pressure of a new mission, and deliberately poking at their emotional wounds, and they’d been set off in the most explosive manner he could remember. And it hurt, having her cuss him out like that, so he reacted the only way he knew how, by lashing out in turn. Of course by the end of it both of them had just been more frustrated than before, and he wondered if these therapists had any idea what they were doing. After though, during a small break before their individual sessions, there’d been an odd sense of calm that had washed over him. He would have blamed it on his own adrenaline petering out if he hadn’t also picked up on Rogues passive demeanour. It had been hard to remember exactly what they’d argued about, what insults they’d hurled at each other, but he knew it had been cruel.

Of course that strange calm had instantly worn off the moment Rogue had been called away for her individual session, and Remy was stuck wringing his hands and waiting anxiously for his own. He thought the individual sessions made no damn sense, after all the whole point of this island was a couples retreat, why separate the couple? He’d said as much to the therapist, who had spouted off some bullshit about self improvement often being the key to improving relationships.

He paused in his thoughts, picking up another handful of pebbles he threw them one at time, this time letting them explode before they touched the ground. Self improvement, he mulled over the words and started to come to an unsettling realization. How many times had his relationship with Rogue gone south because he’d gotten it in his head that she’d deserved better? Nearly as much as she’d pushed him away. He threw the final rock in his hand, watching it detonate with a faint pop! Maybe these quack doctors had some merit after all. He definitely didn’t deserve forgiveness for his past, but Rogue deserved a lover, or at least right now a friend, who wouldn’t run away from her due to his own issues. Maybe this wasn’t exactly what Remy’s therapist had had in mind, but it was a damn good start. Huffing out a breath, he let his tense shoulders relax for what felt like the first time that day, and looked over his shoulder. He spotted the crumpled up paper he tossed behind him earlier, caught in between two jutting rocks. Standing up, Remy took a moment to be thankful he hadn’t charged the damn thing. He grabbed the paper, smoothed in out as best he could, and took a pencil out of his pocket. He walked back up the shore to where he’d spotted a picnic table on his way own, and began filling out the little sheet. Making lists and answering questions, building himself a plan for when his thoughts started to spiral down that all too familiar path.

The sun had moved further down on the horizon, the pastel colours from earlier melting into brilliant purples and oranges, and this time Remy let himself smile when he thought of Rogue.

#x men #rogue #gambit #romy #fic #romy fic #paraiso #ao3 #fluff

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stilitana · 4 years

Text

Lo and Behold | 10k | completed

Jon and Martin make up for lost time, before lost time makes for them.

Yet another safehouse story, needed to offer something to the between-seasons void. This is about scars and healing and reciprocity.

“A monster is not such a terrible thing to be. From the Latin root monstrum, a divine messenger of catastrophe, then adapted by the Old French to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr. To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.”

— Ocean Vuong, from “A Letter To My Mother That She Will Never Read”

The safehouse was small, and dusty, and after the tumult and chaos of leaving the lonely, the unbroken silence of its unbreathing walls and the rolling hills all around seemed remote as the surface of the moon. A quiet, otherworldly dreamscape where the sky was powder blue, the air cool and fresh as clear water, and in the distance the hulking purple forms of mountains.

For all its tranquility, Martin cannot mistake the place for the lonely – that endless foggy coastline where he had waded through water that never rose past his hips no matter how far he walked, where there was not another soul any more reachable than the pale sun, like a clouded white cataract, not even so much as the silver flash of a fish. For one thing, there was the town just down the road with its quiet, pleasant bustle, regular people going about their lives and minding their own business. For another, there was Jon. Jon who had, ever since taking his hand and leading him from the lonely, hovered around him like a watchful shadow, if not at his side then keeping watch from nearby. The presence is...a lot to get used to, after so long on his own. After getting so comfortable with being alone. And it might be funny, if it weren’t so sad, if he weren’t still a little numb and hollowed out, that after everything, it’s Jon who is clinging and vying for his attention, as if it were something of value.

Jon set about taking the place apart once they got inside, Martin standing by idly, unsure of what to do with his hands, which felt like anvils sitting useless and heavy on the ends of his wrists. He opened all the cupboards, the cabinets and closets, even checked under the bed, and Martin does not comment on the way his hands tremble or his breath catches as though he is steeling himself to find something terrible, a body under the baseboards, a bloodstain.

There is just one bedroom. This makes sense – Daisy had hardly needed to splurge on a safehouse suited to accommodating guests. Martin followed Jon inside, where Jon yanked open the closet and the medicine cabinet, eyes narrowed, and then he knelt down by the bed, wincing as he did so.

“What exactly are you looking for?” Martin said.

“Something. Anything.”

“Do you...have a reason to think there’s anything to find?”

“Not exactly? Oh. You mean do I—know there’s something here. No. I’m trying not to, you know,” Jon said, waving a hand in a vague gesture he probably thinks is more helpful than it is. “See things.”

“Is that even possible for you?”

Jon sat on the floor, hands in his lap, looking small and vulnerable and lost, and Martin can only distantly wonder at how the sight fails to make his heart clench. Instead it elicits only a deep-seated ache, like an old injury warning of rain.

“I don’t really know,” Jon said. “But I think I should try.”

“...Okay.”

“Okay?”

Martin shrugged, managed a halfhearted apologetic wince. “Sorry. Still feel a little...my head’s foggy.”

“Of course. Of course, I’ll keep—you lie down, rest, I’ll, you know,” Jon said, reaching up to use the bed to help him stand up with a small, pained sound he can’t quite stifle. Martin held out his arm to offer a hand too late, and Jon took it once he was already half risen, which left them both standing awkwardly clasping hands. A year ago, Martin would have let Jon go as though burned, stammered apologies. A year ago Jon would have let him, face a mask of carefully maintained indifference which Martin would have interpreted as disgust. He knows now he has a hostile attribution bias—tends to read neutral expressions as negative. The seeds planted in his upbringing having grown up into a choking mass of weeds making him second guess the most harmless interaction. Now he just feels tired. And Jon looks lost.

Jon cleared his throat and let go, looked down, gestured awkwardly at the bed. “Right,” he muttered. “Leave you to it, then.”

“I don’t want to sleep, Jon. I didn’t mean...I’m fine. Or I will be fine. I just wanted you to know it’s not that something’s wrong, or—not that right now is wrong, just—my mind’s moving a little...slow, right now. It’s getting better, has gotten better, already, than it was, but...you know.”

Jon nodded, and Martin isn’t sure he’ll ever get used to seeing how open and unguarded so many of Jon’s expressions are these days, as though all that has happened has flayed him of all his past masks and reservations, left him naked and exposed. There is real sympathy and understanding and acceptance in Jon’s expression and he doesn’t know how to handle that. Even if, when he’s being honest with himself, he has to admit it’s been there for a while now. Since Jon woke from the coma, at least. All the more reason he’d had to pull away.

“I do know,” Jon murmured. “I mean I understand. Is there anything I can...do, for you?”

Martin is momentarily breathless, as though something heavy has struck him in the chest and winded him. His head full of this dull, hollow ringing like an upturned bell. “You don’t...have to take care of me, Jon.”

“What?”

“I mean, you’ve done enough.”

“Oh,” Jon said, voice careful and controlled. “I see.” He swallowed, and Martin watched him schooling his face into a wary mask of aloof detachment, the way he has seen Jon do so many times. It doesn’t quite work anymore. There’s a fragile, haunted quality to all Jon’s careful movements now which belies his composure and leaves him looking...breakable. Trauma will, Martin supposes, do that to you. The thought should horrify him. It will horrify him, as soon as he works up the courage to let all the emotions he’s been bottling up seep back out, but that’s...he’s not ready for that.

“You’ve already done...more than enough.”

Jon blinks at him, and for all the time they’ve spent together over the past—how long has it been, a day? — however long since they left the lonely, Martin thinks this is the first time Jon has really stared at him. With a fixed intensity, as though trying to know him by sight alone. And Jon...has changed. There’s no denying it. His eyes, his gaze, bears a faint pressure, a warning tingling feeling that raises the hair on the back of Martin’s neck, as though he is being stared at by something behind him as well. And he knows that Jon could push, could wield that gaze like a weapon and break him open. Knows that Jon could tear secrets out of him like pulling teeth. And he knows that he won’t. No, that’s not right—he believes that he won’t. Because, even through the lingering fog in his brain, he must admit to himself that the truth is this: he believes in Jon. Still. After everything. It’s still him.

“Martin, this isn’t...this isn’t the lonely talking, is it?”

“I think you know it’s more complicated than that, Jon. I don’t think it’s one or the other, anymore, I think...we probably shouldn’t try too hard, trying to determine what’s us and what’s...it. Slippery slope, and all.”

“I...yes,” Jon murmured. “But that doesn’t...doesn’t that bother you?”

Martin shrugged. He’d never been much of a shrugger, before, but now, well. He just doesn’t have it in him to trip over himself coming up with appropriately personable reactions. The memory of how he used to contort himself trying to appease everyone all the time alone exhausts him. “It could, if I let it. But honestly, I don’t want to. Bad things have always happened, things you have no control over, that change you and get under your skin, even before we had names for them and thought of them as entities. Maybe no one is ever themselves. Maybe we cling to a sense of solid identity because we’re attached to the illusion of permanence. I don’t...really care, which is true. I’ve just decided not to. We couldn’t change it before, can’t change it now, we can just...do what everyone else has always done, I guess. Our best.” He shrugged again, too emotionally drained to bother with embarrassment, the sort he always used to feel whenever he spoke his mind, especially to Jon, ready to be scoffed at and made to feel small and stupid.

Instead, Jon lets out a shaky, shuddering breath. “I wish I could...you really think that?”

“Yes.”

“In the lonely, you said—” Jon broke off, wrapping one arm around his middle, his other hand coming up to press his knuckles to his mouth as he breathed through his nose, as though bodily holding himself together. His voice was muffled by his hand when he spoke. “I know you’re you, I know you’re still—Martin, I could—I knew it was you, that’s how I found you. And in the lonely, you said—you said—”

Martin’s heart manages a little pang, not of panic but of exhausted sorrow at the thought of Jon saying back to him what he had confessed in the lonely. He doesn’t think he can stand it, not now, and wants to stop him, but can’t bring himself to speak.

But Jon doesn’t mention the confession. Jon said, “You said I was me.”

Martin blinked, thinking back. It’s not that he doesn’t remember saying I see you, Jon, because of course he does. Of course he does. It’s just that...it had seemed so obvious, so true and so right, that he’s unsure why Jon seems to be falling apart right in front of him over it.

Jon heaves in another labored, shaky breath, still holding himself and staring at the edge of the bed. “Did you—did you mean that?”

And Martin recalls leaving a tape with Basira, and a note, Talk to him. And he remembers a terrified young woman describing the monster in her nightmares, and recognizing it as Jon, his Jon, his Jon who gets that dear little crease between his brows when he’s thinking, who smiles like he’s taking a risk, who was all eyes, and he was all eyes .

Martin does not need to think about his reply. The truth is as always beyond reproach, beyond reason or doubt or evidence to the contrary, the truth is not fact but feeling and faith, the truth is simple and down in the marrow. He is so tired of overthinking, of second-guessing. “Yes,” he said.

Jon made a small, pained sound, curling in on himself and pressing his hand hard against his mouth. “I didn’t realize—how badly I needed to hear—but I don’t think I deserve to,” he said, his voice catching and breaking on something that’s part sob and part the choked, somewhat unhinged beginnings of a laugh. His voice was ragged, strung-out, teetering over a great gulf of loss so vast Martin knows they could free-fall through forever. And Martin is tired of loss and free-fall and of isolation. And Jon is falling apart in front of him, tears brimming and leaking silently from his strange, familiar eyes, shoulders hunched and body curled as if to protect his core, and it is the simplest thing in the world to at last give in to his most natural impulse, and Martin reaches out slowly, giving Jon time to pull away. When he doesn’t, Martin takes Jon into his arms.

He expects Jon to tense up, and for a second he does, as though braced for pain, and then he gives. He uncurls his arms from around himself and wraps them around Martin’s back, presses his face into Martin’s chest, sucking in a wet, shuddering breath, and Martin can feel it through the rise of his sharp shoulder bones, his ribs. He rests his head against Jon’s and holds him and it is so easy, and it hurts more than anything, and it doesn’t hurt at all.

“I’m sorry,” Jon said, his voice nearly inaudible. “I shouldn’t be—you don’t have to—”

He tensed as if to push away, but Martin holds him, gentle and firm as he can. “Please don’t go,” he whispered, and Jon obeys as though it is the greatest relief in the world to be told to stay, to be held in place, and he makes ugly, painful sounds as he tries to silence his crying.

Martin rubs his hands down Jon’s back in a way he hopes is as soothing to Jon as it is to him, and Jon’s arms are wrapped tightly around his back as though he’s trying to make them into one being, and it’s almost too much, overwhelming in its closeness after all the loneliness, but Martin knows that healing often is painful, so he holds on and makes comforting nonsense shushing sounds, because he can’t quite cry and can’t think of anything more to say.

He doesn’t know how long they spend like that. He’s lost his sense of time. But eventually Jon’s sobbing gives way to sniffling and Martin realizes that his shaking is no longer from the strain of trying to hold back tears but rather his body trembling with exhaustion. “We should sit down,” he mumbled. And then—“Do you want tea?”

Jon laughed, once, choked and gutted. “Tea would be...divine.”

“Tea would be divine,” Martin repeated, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Jon untangled himself from their embrace, eyes puffy and red, his face splotchy from crying and flushed. “It’s been a long day,” he said, and Martin is helpless to how endearing the defensive prickliness in Jon’s tone is.

Jon followed him into the kitchen and sat on a stool, and Martin felt his gaze on him as he prepared their tea. They sat at the little dining table afterward and Martin couldn’t recall the last time he had felt this – companionable silence, the pleasure of letting his own thoughts wander while someone else did the same close by. He is aware, now and then, of Jon raising his eyes to stare at Martin. Jon had never been one for prolonged eye-contact, had even actively avoided it when he could, and the staring isn’t exactly new, but it is...different, now. For a while Martin ignores it, and then, experimentally, turns to meet Jon’s gaze.

Jon blinked and looked down, cringing. Martin didn’t know what to make of that, exactly, and didn’t know how to broach the subject, so for now he let it go.

“We should probably...there’s no food here,” Jon said.

“Have to get to the store.”

Jon hummed, staring at his mug. “We could both...go?”

When he looked up tentatively, Martin was ready to meet him, smiling and relieved.

In the little local grocery, Martin grabs a basket and Jon trails behind him through the brightly lit aisles, eyes darting this way and that, as though trying to see in all directions at once. “What’re you in the mood for?” Martin asks. He has decided he is not going to lose his mind at having found himself dumped abruptly from a nightmare into some parody of domestic bliss with Jonathan Sims, of all people, acting like a couple on vacation. He has decided that the way Jon keeps close to him, as though grounded by Martin’s presence, is not going to break his heart. He has decided to accept all things as they are, except for the things he cannot accept, which he is pretty sure they have earned a momentary respite from, hard-won though it was.

“Oh. I don’t care,” Jon said, gazing listlessly at the shelves of food. “Up to you.”

“You can have whatever you want, you know.”

“I haven’t been shopping in a while.”

“But you have been eating, haven’t you?”

“Er. There’s always something lying around in the breakroom,” Jon said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Jon,” Martin sighed.

“It just – it's not like it’s easy to do much cooking, in the institute, you know.”��

“Still. What about the others?”

“The others? I’m sure that they – they went out, got takeaway, you know. Daisy and I sometimes, you know, we would – but truthfully, it just never...you know. They went out to lunch, and I’d read a statement.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“But you do still need to eat?”

“I haven’t actually tried starving myself to find out.”

“Let’s keep it that way, okay?” Martin said, not at all liking the detached, pondering way Jon said that, as though considering conducting such an experiment on himself. Just to know.

Jon frowned. “I don’t...think I want that to be true. I don’t think I’d like that.”

“Well, you don’t have to find out. I don’t really feel up to making anything too complicated right now, though.”

“Oh, of course not.”

In the end they bought basic things – soups, pasta, ready meals, anything that seemed easy enough to bother with. Jon hemmed and hawed over a selection of green apples for longer than Martin thought at all necessary, scrutinizing each one in turn with a sharp, critical eye.

“You know minor blemishes don’t at all affect the quality of a piece of fruit, right? It’s a common misconception. It’s kind of a big issue, actually – a lot of food gets wasted because of picky shoppers. Like you. You’re pretty much feeding the extinction right now, probably.”

Jon shoots him a look. “I know that. I just – don't like it when they’re. Spotty.”

“You like the idea of an apple more than you like an apple itself, you mean.”

“It’s just a preference, Martin, you don’t need to conduct a philosophical inquiry on the subject,” Jon says, so snotty and prim that it startles a laugh from Martin. A clumsy, genuine laugh, the kind he hasn’t managed in...months now. Jon’s eyes crinkle and he goes back to muttering over the apples.

Back at the house, they eat their hastily cooked pasta while seated on the couch together and listening to the radio, just to fill the silence. There was no television, and Martin suspects the radio is for emergencies more than entertainment, or so he thinks. The food is bland but hot and filling and Martin finds himself...content. Comfortable, warm in a way he’d forgotten he could feel. Beside him, a whole cushion of space between them, Jon is pressed against the armrest, looking impossibly soft. They’d both showered and, as all of Jon’s belongings had been left at the institute, where they’d obviously decided not to return, Martin had given him a t-shirt and pair of flannel pajama bottoms. They were too big, the drawstrings knotted with a bow around Jon’s waist. He had the collar pulled up and was stroking the fabric seam against his lips and Martin knows it doesn’t mean anything, knows it’s just a self-soothing tic and Jon’s mind is elsewhere and he definitely doesn’t realize he’s doing it, but. Still.

He doesn’t want to ruin Jon’s apparent state of uncharacteristic calm, but he knows they have to talk about this eventually, and the sooner the better. So he says, not without reluctance, “Jon. How are you...feeling?”

Jon drops the collar. “What? Fine. Why? Is something wrong?”

“No, I just...well, we don’t exactly have any statements lying around, do we?”

“Oh. No, but...but you know Basira said she’d try and send some, as soon as she’s able.”

“But we don’t know when that might be.”

Jon swallowed, carefully studying how the fibers of the couch shifted as he stroked his finger up and down along the armrest, brushing them forward and back. “No. We don’t.”

“And how long can you go without having one?”

Jon frowned down at the couch, face flushing. “I’ll be fine, Martin,” a familiar tone of curt dismissal in his voice.

“That wasn’t an accusation, Jon. I’m not asking because I think you’re going to go on a rampage and start pulling them out of random passerby.” Jon winced, and Martin rushed to go on. “I know you stopped – that. I know it wasn’t easy, but you did it, and I know you’re going to keep doing it, because you want to, and that’s good. I’m asking for the same reason we just went shopping. Because we’re not trapped in that awful place anymore, and there’s no excuse not to take care of ourselves, and if you need statements to be well, then I just want us to be aware of that.”

Jon’s voice is careful and controlled when he replied. “I was hoping...I had almost hoped it would just...go away. Once we left, I thought...maybe it will just stop.”

“Jon...”

“But...it seems I’m still beholden,” he said, his face twisting into a grimace. “I don’t think it’s going to stop,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you shouldn’t have to – you should get to be free of all this. But you can’t be. Not as long as I’m here, being – this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at himself.

“Jon. Please stop telling me what I want,” Martin said. “It’s been months of nothing but people telling me what they think I want to hear, and honestly, I’m sick of it. What I want isn’t just to get away from the institute, to leave every trace of this behind. What would that even mean for me, or any of us, at this point? It’s been years of this being our lives. We’ve all changed. I don’t know who I’d even be – none of us can just walk away. It’s not what I want.”

“What do you want, then?” Jon said, desperate.

“I want – what I always wanted, I guess. For us to...to try and be happy. I know, I know – nobody's happy all of the time, you can’t make somebody happy, Martin, god I know. But for us to try. To stop pretending that by being miserable, we’re somehow doing – penance, or something. As if us being miserable does anybody any good. Tim and Sasha, you think they’d be glad that we decide to punish ourselves for living, for the rest of our lives? What good does it do? I just want a chance. I just want...to try. That’s all.”

“Oh. Okay, then,” Jon said, swallowing. “I think I can...try. To do that.”

“Good. So...please don’t hide things from me anymore, okay? It won’t do either of us any good.”

“You, too.”

“Fine. And if you...if you really need a statement, Jon, like, it’s to a point where you’re hurting yourself, just...please say something? I’ve probably got a statement in me somewhere knocking around, and I honestly don’t mind if—”

“No, Martin,” Jon said, eyes wide.

“Yes, Jon. Yes, okay? It’s not like what you do kills people.”

“Peter Lukas,” Jon muttered, sounding oddly torn up about it.

“Well...maybe him. But that was...not the norm. He was such a goddamn recluse that probably just having you look at him sent him off.”

“I don’t even know what happened there. I didn’t...I didn’t really mean to. I just wanted to know, and he wouldn’t tell me, and I didn’t understand how he was doing it, and so I pushed, and I – I didn’t think it would – kill him. Maybe he’s still there. In the lonely.”

Privately, Martin is pretty sure that Peter Lukas is gone for good, but if Jon isn’t ready to deal with that reality, Martin isn’t going to push him to confront it tonight. So he just says, “I don’t know. The point is, the problem with you taking statements was more an issue of...consent, than anything. As well as, you know, you making sure you were...making your own decisions. Well, I consent. And I won’t even have you seeing me in my dreams or whatever, since I’m pretty sure I’m still very much linked to the eye, and, well, it’s not as though I haven’t been having nightmares since Prentiss anyway, so if a giant eye or whatever wants to turn up and watch them, well, have at it.”

“But I don’t want to see you,” Jon muttered, turning away. “I don’t...it’s awful, seeing them, not being able to do anything, and at the same time, feeling...it, its...disinterested interest. But – but I can’t complain, of course, it’s not – it's me doing it, isn’t it? It’s only my...the other people, who’ve got any right to...you shouldn’t be okay with that, Martin. I don’t want you making sacrifices.”

“Oh, right. Coming from the person who went around shaking the hands of killer wax people, climbing into coffins, and willingly flinging himself into the lonely on what was for all he knew a suicide mission, sure, you’ve got every right to lecture me about self sacrifice.”

“Isn’t that exactly what you were doing, working with Lukas in the first place?”

“Yes.”

“Then it sounds like we’re at a bit of an impasse here, Martin, when it comes to questionable acts of martyrdom.”

“Maybe. But I did what I did because I – to save you. All of you. To keep people safe. And I know that’s part of why you do what you do, but honestly, Jon, don’t think it’s somehow escaped my notice that you also seem to think you deserve whatever punishment the universe throws at you. Except, oh wait – it's you who seems to go actively looking for the punishment.”

“Oh, that’s not fair – you said yourself you had nothing to live for and that’s why you started working with Lukas – a good way to end up dead, indeed.”

“How did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I just – you weren’t there, when I said that.”

“It -- it must have been on a tape. Wasn’t I...I wasn’t there?”

“Maybe it was an earlier tape, I just...well.”

“It must have been.”

“Right. Must have been. Anyway...instead of arguing over who’s been more self-destructively stupid lately – which it is you, by the way – we should probably rest.”

“Right,” said Jon, and Martin found himself wondering if Jon slept anymore, before pushing the thought away, feeling guilty for some reason, as though it was somehow a betrayal to wonder about the ways in which Jon had been altered. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No, Jon, you—”

“Martin. Please.”

Martin sighed, too tired to argue. “Fine,” he relented, standing. “But at least let me help set it up.”

He brought a few pillows from the pile on the bed, as well as a sheet and a quilt he found folded in the closet, and fussed over the couch for a few minutes while Jon hovered nearby, trying not to smile. When he couldn’t come up with any more excuses to linger, he smoothed the quilt down one last time and turned to Jon. “All right. Well. Good night, I guess.”

“Goodnight, Martin.”

“I’ll be...”

“Right in the other room.”

“Right.”

He did not shut the bedroom door. With it open, the little light plugged into the outlet in the hallway cast the faintest glow into the room, and he could hear Jon shifting around on the couch, a comforting reminder that he was not alone. He closed his eyes and sleep took him.

Those weeks were good ones. Quiet ones. They took walks together into town and in the fields and stayed up very late because it seemed there was no end to their conversation, the conversation which was like a third newborn being held between them, a small fire which needed careful tending and gentle kindling.

Sometimes Martin felt himself overcome by that subtle creeping fog which left him fuzzy and unreal, as though the world around him were made of dream matter, dust and cobwebs. Sometimes he couldn’t sleep. Sometimes his insomnia aligned with the times when Jon was dragged roughly from sleep by a particularly vivid nightmare, and they would sit up together listening to the radio or reading, drinking tea in companionable silence, or making bleary conversation.

On one such night, Martin wakes and finds himself unable to go back to sleep. The clock blinks the time at him: two thirty in the morning. He finds that he doesn’t mind this, not so much. There were parts of the lonely that weren’t scary at all, that just filled him with a great calm. He might be able to persuade himself he’s the only person awake for miles, but that isn’t being alone—Jon is sleeping in the next room, the town at repose down the road.

Or, Jon was sleeping in the next room. Martin hears shifting, a muffled groan. He’s slipping out of bed before his mind catches up with his body, knowing only that Jon is awake and shouldn’t be alone. Three nights in a row now they’ve done this (the fatigue is starting to catch up with him). But this is the first time Martin stops in front of the couch to find Jon hunched over himself, hands over his eyes, shuddering.

“Jon?”

Jon just pressed his hands harder against his eyes and shook his head, sucked in a ragged breath. Martin sat on the couch beside him, leaving a few inches of space between them, and gently put his hand on Jon’s knee. Jon trembled and curled tighter in on himself, mumbled something Martin couldn’t make out.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Jon repeated himself, and this time Martin made out only, “don’t deserve.”

Martin doesn’t push. Doesn’t crowd, or fuss. He’s learning Jon, learning how he works all over again. He hums and rubs light, soothing circles on Jon’s skin with his thumb. “A bad one, then,” he murmured. “You’re awake. It’s over now, and it’s going to be all right.”

Jon made a small, wounded sound that Martin thought might have been intended as a laugh, that bitter, sardonic laugh he used to hear a lot, but it doesn’t quite come off. “I’m going to put the kettle on,” he said, standing, only to be stopped when Jon’s hand shot out and held his wrist. “Or...I could stay here.”

Jon let go of him, and with his hands dropping to twist nervously in his lap, Martin could see the frustrated misery on his face. “Sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

Jon laughed, bitter and hurt. “You can go back to sleep, Martin.”

Martin stood, looked down at Jon, who wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Is that what you want?” When Jon wouldn’t reply, Martin sighed and went to prepare the tea, turning on the warm kitchen light as he did so. When he returned, he handed Jon his mug and sat down beside him once more on the couch.

“Thank you,” Jon mumbled. “For...everything.”

“And the tea.”

Martin watched Jon sip his tea, whole body curled like a comma and pressed against the armrest, hair mussed with sleep, dark circles under his eyes. He said, “You’re very silly, you know that?”

Jon spluttered and looked at him, so disgruntled that Martin smiled. “I’m what?”

“Silly. You’re silly.”

“That--that is probably the last thing anyone would—”

“It’s okay, Jon. Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone, and ruin your professional mystique.”

Jon shifted to turn towards him, gaze comically serious as he looked at Martin as though he were something worth studying. “I’m not—that.”

“What, silly?”

“Yes.”

“Hm. Disagree. It’s part of your essential you-ness.”

“And you’re--strange.”

“And you’re quite boring, really.”

“And--and confusing.”

“Do I confuse you, Jon? Really? Little old me?”

Jon inched forward on the couch, as though getting closer would help him better see through to whatever he was looking for. Martin held very still, as though not to startle something wild and rare. “ Yes ,” Jon whispered. “You always have.”

“Oh. Always?”

“With your, your cheer, looking glad to see me, your damn ‘Good morning, Jon,” and, and your damn tea.”

“That’s all it takes to baffle you? Manners and tea?”

“And your kindness,” Jon said, almost hissing out the word, eyes narrowed as he studied Martin, for once unselfconscious about his own uncanny gaze.

“Even with an all-knowing eye popping neat little facts about the world’s mysteries into your brain, that’s what throws you? Kindness?”

Jon withdrew, and Martin worried he’d pushed too far, by bringing up the eye, but he somehow knows that he needs to say this. Needs Jon to have whatever revelations he’s working himself up to, cogs almost visibly grinding away in that overworked head of his. His gaze remained on Martin, softening somewhat, eyes dark and liquid. “The eye is no good for things like that. No good for much at all, really. But especially not that.”

“Things like what?”

“Anything worthwhile. People. Feelings. It needs me for that, I think. Or so I’ve been told, I think.”

“Then I guess I’m an enigma you’ll have to work out on your own. Tough luck, Jon.”

Jon laughed, a little clumsily, but the sound plucked at Martin’s heart. “You’re...different.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but I mean—”

“I’m not talking about the eye. Not talking about rituals, or statements, or the archives. I know that’s part of it. I’m not denying that’s part of it. But I’m talking about something else.”

“And what...might that be?”

“I’m figuring that out. For one thing, though, you say thank you a lot more now.”

Jon’s face twisted with discomfort. He glanced down, and then forced himself to look back at Martin and maintain twitchy eye-contact, something Martin knew wasn’t the easiest thing for him. Hadn’t ever been. “I--somehow,” he said, swallowing a lump in his throat, “I think that worrying over my humanity has made me realize...how I might have put more of it to better use, while I had some to spare.”

“Yeah? Like how?”

“Martin, I—I have not always been kind. To you.”

“Oh, you have your own ways of showing it. I think risking your life to save me from an eternity in the lonely counts for something.”

“But--before. I was...dismissive.”

“Yes, sometimes you were. But I think I knew you had a heart in there, all along. When you said I could stay at the archives, after Prentiss—I think that’s when I knew I was right. No matter what Tim had to say about it.”

Jon swallowed and Martin watched the scars on his throat stretch. “I...Martin. So you’re saying you...you do know that, that I...”

Martin waited, gave Jon time to collect himself and wrestle with whatever thoughts and doubts and warring impulses were blocking up his speech. “I understand that it’s been...a while, and that you don’t...not anymore, and that’s...I understand, but I just need...I want you to know that I, also...before the lonely, I don’t know how long, knowing and realizing something are different things, but it’s been...a while, I think, that I’ve...felt. For you. Love.” Jon said the word like it hurt.

For a moment they sat in silence. Martin knew he’d been leading Jon along towards something, but now, all his newfound confidence and security fled him and left him stupefied, staring at Jon, face heating, while Jon, looking pale and scared, squirmed and looked away. After a moment of silence, Jon began speaking in a nervous rush. “That is—I think that what I feel counts as—I know I’m not—I've never been—even with Georgie, it was different, but—that's the only other—I don’t know if I can even, given what I am, or if I know how, or—you don’t have to say anything, I didn’t mean to, to, to impose, or, or make you uncomfortable, god, I just—don't say anything, please, unless you want to, that wasn’t a—”

“Jon.”

“Yes,” Jon breathed, as though desperately grateful to have been shut up.

“Sorry, did you just...did you just say that you?” Martin pointed at Jon, and then himself. “Me? You love me?”

Jon nodded miserably, as though Martin were confirming that he’d contracted some kind of horrible disease. “I’m sorry I’m so bad at it.”

“Jesus, Jon—you—do you have any idea...would you come here?”

Martin held open his arms, and Jon hesitated. “You don’t have to do this, Martin. I know you’re stuck with me, given our situation, but you don’t have to...just because I said this, don’t think that I expect anything. You’re always giving.”

“Jon. You’re being daft. Please come here.”

“But I—”

“I want to hold you.”

“Oh.”

And then Jon crawled across the couch and into Martin’s arms. Martin had to shift to make them both comfortably able to lie against the cushions, entwined, and he pressed his face to Jon’s hair and breathed. “Like I said,” he whispered. “You’re silly.”

“Oh.”

“I know you’re still scared,” Martin whispered. “I am, too. And I know you worry, I know you overthink things, it’s what you do, and I love it about you, but this...doesn’t need to be complicated. If you feel that way, and I feel that way, then...then this is easy, isn’t it? See?”

“I see,” Jon whispered. He cleared his throat, and Martin felt it against his chest. “Could we, ah...could we do this, in the bed?”

“Oh. God, yeah.”

Martin stood and offered his hand, which Jon looked at as though it was some fragile, wonderful gift he was worried about leaving dirty fingerprints on if he touched it, but then he took Martin’s hand and let Martin lead him to the bedroom, where they both slid beneath the sheets and lay in the dark close together, facing one another and holding still.

After a moment, Jon said, “This is much more comfortable than the couch. You mean to tell me if I’d just said something earlier, I could have been doing this, for days?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Wow.”

“Quite,” said Martin, unsure if Jon caught his little dig at an impression as Jon only shifted slightly closer, hands curled at his chest. He took them in his own, marveling at his freedom to do so. Did he really get to do this? And that? To brush Jon’s hair out of his eyes, tuck it behind his ear? Rub the pads of his thumbs over Jon’s palms, carefully touching each, one smooth and one scarred? Fall asleep here, like this? After all this time, all the danger and the sacrifices, the loss, the longing, all of it? “Does it...hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“The scar,” Martin said, stilling his fingers just in case.

“Which...one? I have something of a collection going on.”

“I was thinking of the one on your hand, but...do any of them? I just don’t want to accidentally hurt you.”

“Oh,” Jon said, voice full of such wonder, brimming over with something Martin can’t name or place but which about breaks his heart anyway. He wants to cry, suddenly. Wants to shake the bars of the world and scream himself voiceless at all its sharp edges and demand an explanation or at least an apology for how carelessly it handles and breaks its people. He does none of these things. They wouldn’t help. The night is for quiet and calm and healing.

Jon shifts on the bed, careful to keep his hands in Martin’s. “It’s...it’s not so bad. What about you, is there anything I should...know?”

“No. I mean, nothing comes to mind. You know I’m still...still working through some things, the lonely, especially, but...I was asking you.”

“It’s nothing.”

“What’s nothing?”

“You can’t hurt me. I mean, it’s already done, nothing you do will hurt it anymore.”

“Jon.”

Jon’s voice is careful and brittle when he replies. “There are...a lot, now. Some I don’t think you...it’s just a lot. I’m not complaining. I mean, it means I lived, doesn’t it? But it isn’t...exactly a comfort. Isn’t comfortable. But. It’s fine.”

At a loss for anything to say, Martin just kisses the back of the hand Jude Perry had branded with her handshake, pressed Jon’s curled knuckles to his mouth. Jon’s breath came sharp and then he held it, unbreathing for a long moment. “I would like to make you comfortable,” Martin said. “If I can.”

Jon turned his face away, pressing it into the pillow. “Too much,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jon,” Martin said, making to move away, but Jon held his hands and shook his head, and Martin liked to think he had learned when it was good to push and when it was time to relent, so he let himself drift off to sleep.

They shared the bed from then on. Certain conversations were made for that place—in the dark, side by side, on the edge of sleep, on the edge of the world. They could say things they couldn’t say elsewhere, true things, fragile things. Gradually the lonely’s influence faded and Martin’s mind cleared, although he didn’t think it would ever leave him completely. He thought it had probably been there all along, at least a bit. He began sleeping through the night.

Jon did not. Sometimes Martin would be woken by him getting out of bed, or shifting, although he knew Jon did his best to be stealthy and not wake him. And then they would sit up together or hold each other until sleep overtook them again.

Once he woke to find light filtering past the closed bathroom door, the sound of the shower turning on. “Jon?” he mumbled, rising sluggishly from the bed. He knocked on the door. He did his best not to crowd Jon, but it was four in the morning, and Jon was a creature of habit, so this seemed like cause for alarm.

“What?” Jon said, and even through the door and with the shower running, Martin could hear how thick and choked his voice was. “Go back to sleep, Martin, I’m fine.”

“Are you?”

When Jon didn’t reply, Martin hesitantly put his hand on the doorknob. “Jon, I’m worried. Please. Maybe I can help.”

To Martin’s shock, Jon nudged the door open. He didn’t look at Martin, and moved immediately back into the bathroom, hunched into himself and shivering, still clothed but pulling his oversized t-shirt (Martin’s t-shirt) down over one shoulder, twisting to look in the mirror.

“What are you doing?” Martin said, careful to keep all judgement or accusation out of his tone.

“Corruption,” Jon said, fingers ghosting over his own skin, as though he were afraid to touch or press. “I swear I can – feel it, like they’re still – in me. Inside. Underneath.”

Martin’s stomach flipflopped. He was no stranger to dreams about Jane Prentiss and her burrowing worms, but he could imagine how much worse it would be to have the tactile memory of how it felt to have them digging into his flesh to go with the mental images. And the marks as a constant reminder to show for it. Jon was tugging the shirt down further, twisted away from Martin as though that would keep him from seeing somehow, but in the mirror Martin could see his fingers scanning across his skin, skirting shakily around worm scars, and with a pang he realized how extensive they were. He’d seen the ones that were visible, of course, and had known, logically, that there must be more, but he hadn’t...it wasn’t something he’d let himself think about before.

“I need to get clean,” Jon said, his voice tight and barely controlled. “Go back to bed. I’m sorry. I just need to – I feel – I don’t feel good.”

Martin spoke before thinking. “I could come with you.”

“What?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. He was afraid to push Jon’s boundaries, hadn’t yet figured out where they lay exactly, but his desire to help and care for Jon won out. It always had. “In the shower.”

“You--what.”

“You can say no. I just—just let me take care of you, Jon. If you don’t want that, fine, but—but please don’t say no just because you feel guilty, or like you don’t deserve this, because I am so sick of us dancing around this and missing out because, because we’re scared, of what? Of letting someone take care of you? Just—please, Jon. It kills me to see you...please.”

Jon froze, let the shirt drop back. “Just...just a shower?”

“Yes,” Martin said, although his heart was pounding. It was just a shower, and yet, he well knew the level of vulnerability he was opening them both up to. What he was asking for. He could hardly believe it when Jon nodded, stiffly.

“If you’re sure,” Jon said, his voice oddly flat in his attempt to keep it from breaking. “You can...turn around, now, then.”

“Jon, we’re getting into the shower, I’m going to see...”

“Fine,” Jon snapped.

“We don’t have to—”

But Jon was already yanking the shirt over his head and kicking his boxers off, and Martin did turn around, not quite second guessing this but coming close. He waited until he heard Jon step into the shower and yank the curtain shut behind him before taking off his own clothes.

“Okay. I’m going to—”

“Yes,” said Jon.

“You’re sure this is okay?”

“...If you are.”

“Jon...”

Jon gave a frustrated, needy whine. “If you don’t come in, could you—at least stay there and talk to me?”

“So you do want me here?”

“Martin.”

“I’m coming in now,” Martin said, his voice going high and funny for a moment, because this is absurd, this is ridiculous. He stepped carefully into the shower, averting his gaze for a moment to stare at the wet yellow tiles.

It’s cramped. He is suddenly, awkwardly aware of the amount of space he takes up. He had thought he might have been over this by now. For the most part, he is. But he can’t help the momentary hyper awareness. Then he let himself look at Jon, who was stood directly under the spray, hair pasted down over his face, arms wrapped around himself, staring right back at him. Not without apprehension, but with overwhelming...well, Martin can only really think to call it desire. Not lust, but want. Nerves, yes, but more powerfully, trust. As though Martin could do anything in this moment, and Jon would accept it as his due.

He knows he must be careful.

“What...now,” Jon said.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.”

“I could...wash your hair. If that would feel good. If not, then...”

“That sounds like it could be nice. If you wanted. To do that. To me.”

“Scoot over here then,” Martin said, and they shuffle clumsily to change positions so that he can wash Jon’s hair without the water splashing onto it. He thinks, distantly, that drawing a bath would really have been the easier, smarter thing to do, but it’s too late, and it doesn’t matter. He squirts a too-generous amount of the shampoo he’d bought in town into his hands and says, “I’m going to start now,” just to give Jon a warning. Jon is tense, but nods, and Martin begins working the shampoo into his hair, gentle at first, and then, when Jon gives no sign of discomfort, but on the contrary makes a tiny, needy sound and leans back, he relaxes and knows that this is okay, this is going to be okay, and begins to massage Jon’s scalp. He watches Jon’s shoulders hitch as he takes a sharp breath.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No. No. I just—haven't had...”

“You’re okay.”

“Martin,” Jon says, his voice cracking. “It’s just—for years—everything that’s touched has—hurt.”

Martin wants to do something desperate, then. He settles for continuing to massage Jon’s scalp, and as the minutes wear on, Jon goes gradually boneless under his fingers, and the helpless passivity that overtakes him would be alarming except that Martin knows he needs this, needs to be able to be helpless and taken care of for a moment, and most importantly, he knows that Jon is in capable hands. He directs him under the stream of water and Jon goes willingly, lets Martin rinse his hair and then go about repeating the ritual with the conditioner. When Jon feels his fingers slowing down, he gropes for the soap, fumbling with the cap.

“I’ll do this part,” he mutters.

Martin averts his gaze as much as he can. Not that it does much good. Jon’s body is...it takes the breath out of him like a punch to the gut. He’s beautiful. He holds himself like he’s in pain and if he doesn’t keep tense, he’ll fall apart. He is scarred all over, some of them familiar, some of them a mystery, and the chronicle of harm he has endured is written across every part of him, unmistakable and obvious. Jon catches him staring and Martin looks away.

“Sorry,” Jon muttered.

“Sorry?”

“For,” Jon said, gesturing vaguely at his corner of the shower. “I’m not. I know it’s not nice to see. To look at. Not that I was ever—but now it’s—I know.”

“It’s always nice to see you.”

Jon laughs shakily.

“I didn’t know you were...self-conscious.”

Jon tenses impossibly further. “I’m not. I just know it’s--ugly. And probably reminds you of things you’d rather forget.”

“Are you talking about your scars?”

“What else?”

“Nothing. Just—I'm sorry. I’m sorry, is all. That so much has hurt.”

“Well. I probably deserved a lot of it.”

“That isn’t true.”

“You always see the best in people.”

“I see you .”

Jon shot him a dry, exasperated look tempered by hopeless fondness and made ridiculous by his wet hair dripping into his face, and Martin can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. “You’re a sap,” Jon muttered, ducking his head.

“And you love it.”

“Hm.”

“Jon. I know it’s not—the same, at all, but...I do know a little of what it’s like. Being uncomfortable in your skin.”

Jon blinked, as though confused. “Why?”

“Jon, come on.”

“But you’re--let me do yours now,” Jon said, reaching for the shampoo, and Martin understands what this means, in Jon’s clumsy language cobbled together with half-starts and gestures. Reciprocity.

“I think you might need a stepstool.”

Jon just huffs in response, but he winces when he reaches up for Martin’s hair, and Martin gently catches his wrist. “Jon, it’s all right. I already showered today? I’d honestly rather get warm and back in bed, if you’re...if you’re ready.”

“You don’t always have to be the one doing things for me.”

“I’m not.”

“Another time?”

“Yes. Another time.”

All right then,” Jon mutters, looking down and hugging himself. “Then--okay. The water’s getting cold anyway.”

They towel dry and get back in bed, snuggle under the covers and look at each other. Martin is content to do so until they fall asleep, when Jon clears his throat and whispers, “Did you notice, um...the ribs?”

“The what?”

“I just—I guess I wanted it all sort of—on the table.”

“What...ribs?”

“Mine. Two of them, actually.”

“Jon...”

“I don’t know why I wanted you to know.”

“Know what?”

“I still have ten, so it’s not—I'm fine.”

Martin’s hand went to Jon’s side, lightly holding him, feeling his sides expand and contract with his breath. He can’t...necessarily tell, he doesn’t think, but then, he’s no anatomist, and he’s afraid to...press. In case something gives. “Jon, how?”

“Jared Hopworth,” Jon said, doing a squished version of the hand-waving gesture he uses to be dismissive when he’s uncomfortable. “It’s nothing. I just—the idea was that I needed an anchor, to find my way out of the buried, and I thought—part of my own body would probably do the trick. So. One for an anchor, and one for...payment.”

“ What ?”

"Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

“No, you definitely should—should tell me stuff like this, Jon, I just—how? Payment for what?”

“He just sort of...reached in.”

“God, Jon...”

“I wouldn’t say it was comfortable, but—but it was fine.”

“It was fine?”

“I’m okay now. I could live functionally with even less ribs, in fact. I checked. Online.”

“Well, don’t, please? Why a rib for an anchor, why not, not—I don’t know, something you really liked, or used a lot, like—just the archives, or, or anything.”

“It needed to be...visceral. I don’t know, Martin. I don’t know. It probably didn’t need to be a rib, I just—I mean, I was trying to use one of my fingers, but the damn things kept growing back before I could cut them all the way through, and Daisy was in there, and I just—”

“Jon,” Martin groaned, rolling over and putting his hands over his eyes. “What am I going to do with you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Just--why two? What was the other for?”

“Ah. Yes. That one was in exchange for his...statement.”

Martin rolled back over to stare at Jon. “Say you’re joking.”

Jon shrugged helplessly. “I really...wanted that statement. And. It didn’t seem to matter much. What’s a rib when you’re not...human. Anymore.”

“Jon, I...I guess I’m glad you’re telling me things, but...please. Please try not to think that way, anymore. I know it isn’t easy, just...you can’t do that.”

“I know,” Jon whispered. “You know, I...I think every entity has had a go at me, by now, so—so maybe that means they’re done with me,” he said, with a soft laugh half hurt and half hopeful. “They’ve left their marks, maybe they’ll let us be.”

“They better,” Martin said, pressing a kiss to the back of Jon’s knuckles. “I’ll fight ‘em.”

“You’ll fight them? All fourteen—potentially fifteen—dark powers beyond our comprehension bent upon harvesting our pure mortal terror?”

“M-hm.”

Jon sighed and wrapped his arm around Martin. “What did I ever do to deserve such a knight in shining armor?”

“Hm. Dunno. Might have been your love of small talk.”

When Jon laughed, his breath tickled Martin’s throat, and he held him closer. Martin closed his eyes. Jon sighed and shuffled away, as he usually did when he was ready to fall asleep. “I hope that’s what it means,” he murmured. “That they’re done, and not...I don’t know about this feeling I have that it might be...something else.”

“You worry too much,” Martin mumbled, already slipping under into sleep. “Gonna start getting gray hair if you don’t cut it out.”

“Shut up,” Jon muttered half-heartedly, and Martin can hear the smile in his voice, and all is well in the world as he drifts into sleep.

When Martin receives the box of statements from Basira, he is partially filled with trepidation, but mostly relieved. Jon’s gaze had been getting...hungry. There is no better word for it. He’d kept it under control, largely maintained his composure, but Martin had been able to tell it was wearing him down, and so was glad to have such a gift to bring inside for Jon, whose poise slipped for a moment when he took hold of the box, eyes going unblinking and intent as he made to tear the box open. He forced himself to slow, look up at Martin, thank him and make polite conversation about the cows.

Martin glances back at him, hesitating in the doorway. Jon is seated on the floor still, box opened, papers and tapes spread across his lap and the surrounding tile, unable to wait to find somewhere more comfortable to read. There is a recorder in his hand, the one he had brought, the one Martin had done his best to forget about. It had not turned on at all during their stay at the safehouse, and he hadn’t seen Jon use it once. But not it is in Jon’s hand as though it had never left, as though that is where it belongs, sure as if it is an extension of his body, as though it is operating his fingers rather than Jon operating it. He watches Jon scan the statements with dark eyes, the pupils dilating, eating up his irises. He watches Jon’s hand still over one statement in particular, the little nod of Jon’s head as he recognizes it as the one for reasons Martin will never understand. Jon picks the statement up and clears his throat, and Martin closes the door quietly behind him, pushing aside his unease.

This is Jon. This is a part of Jon that cannot be separated from the rest. Martin knows this. Accepts this. Is determined not to ever let this make Jon thinks that Martin sees him as anything other than as he is. And he is. And Martin would not change him, even if the change might make life easier for Jon, because it is not his place to.

He walks away from the house, letting the cloudless sunny sky warm his face and settle his unease. This is a good thing, he tells himself, firm and leaving no room for doubt. This is good for Jon. Jon needs this. He’s only uneasy because it feels like having the institute back in their lives, but that’s just superstition or anxiety talking, it isn’t true. They’re only statements, and old ones at that. He walks along, looking at the rolling green hills, the distant purple mountains, the powder blue sky. Jon will feel better than he has in days, when Martin returns. He will be warm and pliant and fuzzy-headed with the post-statement drowsiness, and will probably let Martin tuck him into the bed for a nap. Maybe he will not even dream, and wouldn’t that be nice? This is a good thing.

I never knew I could feel like this, Jon had whispered, in the dead of night, to no one but Martin. With awe and wonder and yes, a little terror. Because all awe is terror in part, and all terror awe. Martin had felt it too. The enormity and the smallness, too. The myriad contradictions that made up Jon, made up himself, made their connection. Enduring and fragile, wounded and healing, improbable and inevitable.

That they have both somehow, miraculously, remained capable of gentleness, despite it all, must mean something. Martin is suddenly so, so proud of them both, and so in love, and so impossibly terrifyingly happy that he finds himself smiling as he walks along. He smiles at the rolling green hills and the distant purple mountains while above him the powder blue sky begins to darken to the color of a new bruise. He thinks that he would like to feed Jon ice cream out of a carton. He thinks he might even be well enough now for poetry. Martin looks up.

And the whole world goes wrong.

Jon is slumped on the ground and Martin stops frozen in the doorway, his whole being empty but for the howling tear of wind and the static hiss of tape recorders. His whole being says, NO.

And then he stumbles forward, collapses to his knees, and sees that Jon is breathing, shallow and fast, and that his eyes are darting beneath their lids, a high feverish flush to his cheeks. His skin is hot when Martin lifts him, pulls Jon’s back to his chest and supports his head when it lolls forward on his neck. He is saying Jon’s name but his own voice is a stranger speaking gibberish. Jon had lain on a bed of scattered papers, and Martin sees the statement he must have been reading still clenched in his hand, crumpled on both sides as though he had been squeezing it so hard while reading as to almost tear it in two. There is a thin line of blood under his nose, already dried. Martin does not want to know what these things mean. He does not want to know.

Jon groans and his eyes open and his eyes open and his eyes oh god his eyes—

(And he was all eyes, said the woman with the haunted, hunted look leaning across Martin’s desk, and he was all eyes.)

Is this what she meant? Is this what she saw?

Martin helps Jon to his feet when Jon asks and he blurts out, “Don’t go out there, it’s--it’s bad, Jon, it’s real bad,” when Jon goes for the door. Why does he bother? Of course Jon is going to look out there. Martin even left the door open in his haste, swinging on its hinges and creaking.

“I’m scared, Jon.”

“The whole world is scared, Martin. Because of me,” Jon says, and his face is wide open, cracked, shattered. It isn’t right. It isn’t right. It’s him but it isn’t right. Martin wants to ask what he means but he doesn’t want to hear the answer. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut very tightly and then open them again and be in bed with the clock reading three in the morning and Jon drooling on the pillow beside him, eyes closed, snuffling quietly in sleep.

Jon stands in the doorway and Martin goes to stand beside him, and Jon is standing rigid as though fighting some cosmic force that has him in its grip, and then he looks up, and his face is open, wide open, and his eyes are all open, and the whole world is pouring into them and pierced by them, and Jon’s voice is a tortured mockery of itself, and he is in rapture, crucified by the gaze that meets his own.

“Look at the sky, Martin. It’s looking back,” Jon says, all awe and terror and wonder and joy and devastation, and it wrenches something in Martin’s chest, twists it into knots and crushes it.

When Jon laughs, it almost sounds like laughter should.

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #hrm. i think i might have put this up whilst tipsy and deleted immediately after from embarrassment. o well #also this is canon-compliant...99% cows with a dash of apocalypse you've been forewarned

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