#2019 S6 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missmeinyourbones · 2 years ago

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I’LL MAKE THIS FEEL LIKE HOME

cw: nsfw, 18+. minors and ageless blogs will be blocked for interacting. wc 6k. todoroki fam lore. bnha manga + s6 spoilers. angst and fluff and smut and love and

“Do you feel held by him? Does he feel like home to you?”

- Midsommar (2019)

Touya was eight years old when his youngest brother was born—the same age realized that his house no longer felt like home.

And while it never fit the traditional cookie-cutter feeling of a home before then, it was comforting in its own kind of way. It was definite, something that he could hold onto and strive towards. Something that was there at the end of the day, no matter how badly his hands burned or how quiet the dinner table was.

Because before Shouto was born, there was still a chance.

Fuyumi and Natsuo were just as much of failures as he was—it was anyone's game. He could keep pushing, train his hand to defy the science of his body and deal with it. Become what his father wanted so badly he’d kill for. That was home, the knowledge that there was still a chance for him.

But the moment Shouto was born, hair perfectly split the same as his flawlessly cursed body, Touya knew.

Instantly, he knew that his time was over—that there was no saving his dream of making his father proud. He hadn’t been enough, and he would have to live with that, in a house that's no home with a family that lives in the shadow of what he never got to be.

He carries that feeling everywhere he goes. Like an eternal kink in his neck, it weighs heavy on his shoulders and disintegrates the marrow of his bones. Forever the boy without a home, Dabi continues to do what he does best—or maybe worst—and he survives.

But, you don’t remember when Dabi became home to you.

Well, that's not entirely true. Like all other things, you suppose it happened slowly, then all at once.

You remember meeting him when you shouldn’t have. Recognizing his appearance from the local news, you remember the heavy feeling in your chest, like a child who was caught doing something wrong. The fear, the confusion. The part of you that wanted to help, the other than wanted to run.

But you don’t remember how fast it all happened.

Sewing his wounds and scrubbing his blood from your floor. Letting him sneak in to hide out, and waking up to an empty bed. You don’t remember the days bleeding into nights, but you could never forget the way his skin felt against yours.

You remember the impact, but the falling is all a blur. The stranger sleeping on your couch who has now read all of the books on your bedside table. The one who hissed and snarled for you to stay away, now crawls home to you on his knees.

One day he wasn't, and the very next day, he was.

You think that’s enough for you, but Dabi knows it’s too much for him.

…

The sound of your window creakily opening no longer scares you in the middle of the night. If anything, it brings you a sick sense of comfort.

Dabi slides through your living room balcony with ease, far too familiar with the routine of navigating your apartment in the dark. It does the job for him—keeps him out of the cold, gives him a bed to sleep in, a roof over his head. He finds that he enjoys the perks of your shitty building complex.

Oh, and you're there, too. But, he swears that has nothing to do with the magnetic urge that keeps pulling him back to the fire escape on the fourth floor that remains unlocked.

He opens your cabinets in search of something, anything, to fill his stomach in the slightest. He’s thin, almost alarmingly so, if you didn't know him—didn’t know his body is constantly working against him, eagerly taking the destruction he so carelessly puts it through.

Your sudden voice doesn't scare him. He doesn't so much as flinch at your clear tone in the silence of your home.

“Cremation.”

He briefly looks at you over his shoulder, humorously expressionless, before turning his back to you and rummaging through the cabinet again.

“Gesundheit,” he scoffs.

“It’s what your name means,” you breathe, tone still devoid of any emotion he can detect—or deflect.

The realization burns him like his quirk, oddly painless but still alarmingly there. He holds his breath without realizing it, and its not until he coughs that he mindlessly exhales.

Dabi. Cremation.

True, he thinks. It’s no secret by any means, but he still finds his muscles tensing up as if you’d just said something you shouldn’t have.

He doesn’t let his facade falter as he plucks a box of saltines from your cabinet. “Doesn't take a genius to do a basic translate search.”

“It’s not your real name,” you state, addressing the elephant infiltrating the room.

And at this, he fully turns to you. You stand in the entryway of the dark kitchen, arms crossed and eyes filled with sleep (or lack thereof, Dabi isn't sure he can tell the difference just yet).

You're not angry. No, he's seen you angry before. This is different, harder. It's almost stoic. And while Dabi can’t put his finger on the exact feeling of the pit in his stomach, he knows he doesn’t like it.

He sticks his hand in the cardboard box before plucking a cracker and plopping the snack in his mouth. The salt burns the cuts on his lips when he sarcastically speaks, “You’re on fire with the observations today.”

He watches you shrug, expression still void of any true indication of whatever your heart is feeling. The only light in the tiny apartment comes from the stove behind him. He can just make out your silhouette and barely your face through hardened focus and adjusting eyes.

He thinks he’s grateful for that. He doesn’t want to see the details of your dissapointment when you see the real him.

“Figured it was a bit too coincidental,” you rest against the doorframe. Dabi takes it as a good sign, you're not stiff.

“Quirks don’t even manifest until a few years after birth, unless you were unnamed for the first five years of your life.”

Should’ve been, he bitterly thinks. Things would've been easier that way.

He bites his tongue.

The only sound that can be heard is the crunching of his teeth against the cracker he gnaws on. After a moment, he offers you one. You don’t move a muscle at his extended hand. He lets it sink back slowly, defeated, as he clears his throat.

“It fits, doesn't it?”

It’s a rhetorical question, one he doesn’t actually expect you to answer. Because his name is all that’s known of him. Of course it should fit. Because when you look at him—his peeling and charred skin and hand that wields nothing but pain—it’s evident that all he can do is cremate.

His breath hitches when you speak up.

“To some, sure,” you decide.

With the way his chest tightens at your declaration, Dabi decides he doesn't like your tone.

He shields himself with his bark. “What’s that mean?”

“It means I want to call you something different,” you ache, but Dabi can read between the cracks you let falter. I deserve to call you something different, is what your heart bleeds onto the floor. I’m different.

He refuses to let that be the truth.

“Didn't think you’d be one for pet names, doll.” He tosses the half-eaten box back into your cabinet, lazily shutting the wood and wiping his crumby hands on his sleeves.

“I don’t see you how they see you,” your voice is stern now, he hears the determination in your shaky words. “I want to know your name.”

Your real one, the lines read once again. But in a split second, Dabi realizes he’s come too far to ruin whatever this is now.

“Fat chance in hell,” he dismisses, brushing your shoulder as he leaves the kitchen.

You’re quick to follow—as you always are, he’s begun to notice. You're like a mosquito constantly buzzing in his ear. No matter how many times he swats and repels, you come back stronger. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t hate it.

“Please.”

“No,” he’s even quicker to bore. “M’not dragging you into my shit.”

Too late, the voice in the back of his mind laughs. He’s always been his own worst enemy.

“There's more to you,” you continue to press, wanting something tangible, more from him. “You're not just what they make of you. You're a person, someone's son, someone’s–”

“Don't,” a balloon bursts behind his eyelids. His voice comes louder than ever before and it unsettles you, him, and the floorboards beneath your toes.

“Don't you ever...fucking say that again. You hear me?” With his finger in your face, Dabi shakes. He prays to whoever is listening that you see it as fury, and not what it truly is—fear.

And based on the tears flooding your eyes, he’d bet money he doesn't have that he’s right. In the silence of your home, you nod.

Dabi decides he’s had enough for one night, done enough to make you hate him just the right amount to forget about fixing him.

On the way out, Dabi mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “Say something stupid like that one more time and you'll never see me again.”

…

Dabi is exhausted.

His burner rings obnoxiously through the bedroom in the middle of the night.

You’ve begun to associate the loud melody with the feeling of a knife—the blade cruelly trickling its tip against your skin. Cold, sharp, barely applying enough pressure to make you hyperaware of its potential to rip everything you've ever known away from you with a mere movement forward.

You never know who’s on the other end of the line, and this time is no different. When the infamous sound sends a chill up your spine, Dabi answers it without a second thought. He wordlessly picks up, listens intently, and hangs up as quickly as it rang.

Then, he’s out of bed and putting his shoes on.

He knows you're not asleep, so there's no point in pretending to be when you crawl out of bed and follow him to the den of your home.

He grabs the remote, flicks the television on, and eagerly surfs the channels until he lands on the local news. Endeavor runs through the barren and obliterated streets of downtown, defending the city and fighting some… creature. You don't miss the way Dabi’s eyes don't blink whenever the hero is on screen.

He’s too focused, too emotional when it comes to him. It's unlike anything you've ever seen from him, and you're tired of pretending not to see the smothering fire in his eyes whenever the man is brought into discussion.

The reporter on the screen flips to another battle somewhere else in the city, with other heroes and other creatures and other things that should matter right now but for some reason don't. Because when Dabi finally takes his eyes off the screen to slip into his shoes, you spill.

“Why him?”

He harshly tightens the laces of his boot, “Huh?”

“Endeavor,” falls from your lips, and he nearly hisses at the sound of the name on your tongue. “Why him out of all heroes?”

He hesitates in the slightest. The average eye wouldn't have noticed his pause, but you know him. You see the way he clenches his jaw and fiddles with the staples sealing his chin.

He merely shrugs before tying his other lace, “He’s number one.”

“He wasn't always,” you contest, a bit too accusatory for his liking.

“Why does it matter?” Dabi bites. Bites the hand that feels him, shelters him, listens to him and chooses to remain quiet with what it knows. He bites the hand that loves him, and he almost regrets it when he sees your slight shock.

Almost.

His stomach churns as he watches you slightly falter before finding your footing once more. “It seems to matter to you.”

So it matters to me, your heart aches to drill into his rock-solid mind. His eyes feel hot on your skin as he shakes his head and stands from where he sits.

“He’s not a good guy, none of ‘em are.”

“How do you know?”

His grip on his coat tightens in frustration. “I have a ton of shit on him. He’s not the savior you think he is.”

“I don’t think he’s a savior,” you retort, and it comes out a bit childish, like a belief you wish to convince yourself of. “I don’t know him.”

“But you trust him,” Dabi is quick to jump, almost as if you've fallen right into his trap. He looks a bit wild, as if you’re prey in his hands, saying all the right things so sweetly just for him to do what a predator does and hunt. Sink his teeth into your flesh and ruin you for the thrill of it.

“Cause he’s the face of the fuckin’ country?” he coos with a venomously fake smile. “Cause he’s big and strong and always does the good thing, right?”

He’s trying to scare you, you know this—but you’ve never been scared of Dabi. Not when he’s tried to make you be, not when he’s done unspeakable things. He doesn’t scare you, but he’s upsetting you. He’s being mean, which isn't new to you but still rare enough to sting.

“I trust you,” your voice cracks, making his stomach churn with shame, “so if you don’t trust him, then I trust you have a good reason not to.”

Silence overtakes the room and Dabi’s chest burns with bile rising.

You trust him? On what grounds? What reason has he given you to just hand over your patience without a fight, without a reason?

Most importantly, if the thought of you trusting him makes him sick to his fucking stomach, then why does he find his lips moving before he can stop himself?

“He beats his kids.”

The television cuts to a commercial. A car drives by below, honking furiously at something or other. He says it casually, eyes looking away from yours.

Your voice is barely heard, “His kids?”

You didn't even know he had kids. Come to think of it, you knew of one boy. Fire and ice who attends the hero facility downtown that's always getting into trouble. Set to follow in his father's footsteps, according to the tabloids.

Dabi’s face doesn't falter at your surprise, immune to the violence he knows lives within his words. “Wife, too.”

The pieces don't add up in your mind. Dabi’s never been one for morals, not one for evening the tides and setting the universe straight when it comes to what's right and what's wrong. He does what he wants, he’s selfish. So why on earth would he care about a tragedy that doesn't involve him?

He interrupts your thoughts when he walks over to the front door. The sound of him fiddling with the lock makes your heart drop—because it means he’s leaving, and for how long, you never know.

“Doesn’t anymore, apparently, but he did for years,” he scoffs in disgust. “Claims he’s turned a new leaf. Wants to be father of the year, all of a sudden.”

Leaving before you can process any thoughts to convey into words, he sneaks through your door without a second thought.

“The good guys aren't actually good, y’know,” he warns as he leaves you.

You don’t see him for two weeks.

…

Dabi doesn't fuck you with caution.

It's the same every time. Rough, quick, desperate. You on your stomach and him towering behind you. He doesn't look at you or say much other than a grunt or curse here and there. Always pulls out, if he even cums, and always leaves right after, if not in the middle of the night.

But that doesn't mean it’s not good. Because fuck, it's great.

While short-lived and based on nothing but selfish, primal needs, it's a private moment of feeling nothing but him. His hands are everywhere and his teeth are never too far behind. His skin is on fire and his pace is nothing short of eager.

Your back is arched as your face is pressed to the mattress. You feel his cock throb as it swells against the insides of your walls with every rushed and eager thrust.

“Fuck, please,” he hears you breathily whine, and you feel his smirk against the skin of your back.

He uses your polite desperation to reward you, snap his hips extra hard and bury himself to the hilt of your cunt. He sits and burns inside of you, grip tight on your waist as he pulls you as close to him as he can without swallowing you whole.

His tip dances directly at the opening of your cervix, just barely brushing the overly tender spot with a feather-light prodding that somehow feels like too much and not enough. He lets himself continue to stretch you, to mold you, to enjoy the only thing he believes was made for him before he ruins it.

He feels you repeatedly clench around him as you mewl, “Please, more please.” You’re already completely spent when you plead, “Please, Dabi.”

And just like that, a switch is flipped inside of him.

His grip on your hips tightens, “Don’t.”

He goes to pull out of you completely, but your cry from his movement halts his hips. “Oh, nnnngh, Dabi—!”

In a whirl, you're flipped onto your back and met with a harsh gaze.

“Don’t,” he growls into your throat, “call me that.”

Frozen in place from both shock and pure need, you airily gasp when you feel his cock head brushing itself through your folds. With a scarred wrist, Dabi swipes his tip between your folds, eyes fully absorbing and watching your expression twitch with every sensitive brush.

“Touya,” he tells you through a slack jaw, watching your eyelids flutter at the teasing.

He pushes himself into your cunt, not fully, but enough for you to cry in slight release, before pulling out to where his tip is the only part of him swallowed by you.

“Touya,” he repeats, nearly chanting as he aches to engrain it into your system. So it’s all you’ll ever know, the only word your tongue will ever taste from now on, no matter who is sticking what inside of you. He works to make your body remember that the only thing it should think of when feeling the slight stretch of your throbbing cunt is—

“Touya,” he bleeds. It almost doesn’t even sound like a word. “Say it. Touya.”

And you do. It crawls breathy and drunk from your throat as if your lips were made to form its syllables. Like a holy mantra falling from your lips, his whole body shivers when he hears your sweet heaves.

“Touya,” is whimpered into his lips.

He holds his breath for a beat, before shakily recollecting himself from his quickly approaching high and readjusting his grip on your jaw.

“Again, fuck.”

“Touya,” you gasp at his now snapping hips. It’s deeper, slower, and even more desperate than you thought it was before. It's messy and tired and he cradles you in his palms as you chant his name like a prayer.

Touya. Touya. Touya.

He abruptly finishes inside of you, his spurting warmth easily sending you over the edge, too.

While it was something that was always offered, Touya has never once come inside of you, always choosing to pull out last second, if he finished at all. You savor the moment, letting him rut his cum into you until your both dry with exhaustion.

Breathing returns to a normal rate and Touya lets himself soften inside of you. With his head burrowed in your neck, he makes a move to pull out of you. To leave, your chest tightens at the realization, so on instinct, you let your legs wrap around his torso, crossing your ankles and keeping him as your own for just a little bit longer.

Without a fight, he lets you. He lets himself stay inside of you as he drifts to sleep in your hold.

“Touya,” he hears you coo, listens to you taste it on your tongue and determine that you like its flavor.

“S’pretty,” you decide in a sleeping daze. “Fits you better.”

Dabi drifts to sleep thinking about the irony of that statement.

…

The puzzle pieces itself together rather quickly after that.

It turns out Endeavor does have kids—four, to be exact. Three boys and a girl, all different equations of fire and ice and grief.

It's not hard to find articles on what happened at Sekoto Peak. What happened to Touya Todoroki, the boy who died for nothing, who you now know somehow sits alive on your couch with a bowl of ramen noodles and a wet head.

He focuses on the television before him. A cheesy horror film from the late 80s plays through the grainy screen. His feet are resting on top of the coffee table and the bowl in his lap is steaming. He uses his chopsticks to dive in regardless of its heat.

Sitting on the opposite end of the couch, you can smell your eucalyptus shampoo in his hair from where you sit. Though his head is still damp, you can tell the color has gotten lighter. While still practically jet black all over, you're able to see the slightest tint of light peeking through his roots. You know better than to ask, but you're sure your guess is as good as any.

Touya must feel your gaze on him because his eyes flicker to the side where you quietly admire his profile. Through a mouthful of noodles and steaming broth, he mumbles.

“What’re you doing?”

You smile at the lack of enunciation in his words before innocently shaking your head. “Nothing.”

Unconvinced, his eyes narrow. “Why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” he accuses.

You roll your eyes out of habit though your heart is anything but irritated, “What, I can’t look at you, now?”

He uses the next bite he takes to hide the smirk growing on his face. “Not with that stupid look on your face.”

He takes pride in watching you get flustered, scrunching your nose and giggling out a horrified, “What look?”

He reaches across the couch to close the gap between the two of you, before flicking your forehead.

“That look,” he declares.

He doesn't move back to where he was sitting. He lets himself remain next to you, your head lightly resting on his shoulder as the sound of the movie webs throughout your living room.

It’s easy, too easy. It’s natural and warm and feels like the closest thing to a home he’s ever held in his calloused and weeping palms.

And Touya is selfish.

He wants to grasp onto it, white-knuckled and pressing crescents into his palms—he wants to keep you. Wants to keep this. But he knows better.

Touya knows that the stupid look on your face was one of love. Pure and undeniable. But he doesn't let himself think too much about it.

…

The weather changes with the wind, and it’s colder in Japan when Touya gives you a piece of him you never thought you’d get.

He’s just arrived back from god knows where doing god knows what, but you’ve learned not to question it. You welcome him in every time with a warm smile and an urge to hold him, and he thinks maybe thats why he hears himself suddenly spilling.

“Saw him today,” he breathes evenly.

His words hold no context, no prior conversation triggering his statement. It just exists in the space between the two of you on the couch, and the ball is in your court.

Your head tilts in careful thought, “Who?”

“Downtown,” he ignores your question, “cornered him for a second and everything.”

And though you know nothing and shouldn’t be able to understand the man beside you, you do.

You feel his pain in the way his eyebrow twitches, how his fingers crack against his palms. You might not get it, but you try. You’ll always try for Touya.

You encourage him, “And what happened?”

The wind howls outside, and you feel your home settle beneath its harsh hit. The walls crack with movement as the two of you remain seated beside one another.

After a moment, Touya clears his throat.

“Nothing,” he bitterly laughs to himself. “Absolutely nothing.”

The tea in your hand buzzes heat through its mug, and it feels like Touya’s touch. When he’s careful and cautious and places his hands on your stomach, treating you like glass he needs to mold.

“Looked me dead in the eyes, felt my fuckin’ flame, and—” he cuts himself off at the emotion crawling into his words with a cough, “and nothing.”

You say nothing, but Touya knows that nothing needs to be said. He can sit on his couch with the tea you made him and the look you're giving him and he knows he can trust you. As much as he doesn't want to, he can.

With his head hung low in shame, he rips off the only bandaid he’s ever had for the deepest wound he never got the chance to properly clean.

“He’s my old man,” he harshly swallows.

After a moment of silence, he drags his head up from the floor.

You're still looking at him the same, eyes dancing with love and some sick want to understand him.

You simply reach across the cushion and squeeze his hand.

“I know,” you whisper.

And in what Touya imagined to be an earth-shattering conversation, he feels the corner of his mouth pulling upwards into an ironic smile.

“’Course you do,” he laughs under his breath. It's not malicious or accusatory, it's a matter of fact.

Because of course, you know. Of course, you would see through his master puppetry and barring fangs. Of course, it wouldn't change how you see him.

Of course.

In what should be a terrifying moment, Touya lets himself smile. He shakes his head as he sighs, “Father of the fuckin’ year, right?”

…

“M’gonna do something,” Touya tells you solemnly one afternoon in bed, “and you’re gonna hate me for it.”

The freshly setting sun shines through the window, and you can feel its heat warming up your legs through the frame. The rays feel oddly contrasting to his cloudy day words.

You open your eyes to find his. They’re already looking back at you, glasslike as they flicker across your features. Like he’s searching for something neither of you have an answer to.

Your foot brushes against his calf as you shift to face him.

“I could never hate you,” you softly remind him, “you know that.”

Touya fights the urge to roll his eyes, and you bite back a smile at the agitation wrinkles forming on his forehead. Your fingers move without thinking, using your thumb to iron and smooth over his delicate skin.

“Fine,” he huffs, but you don’t miss the way he softens beneath your touch.

“I’m gonna do something and you’re gonna yell at me for it,” he follows up more gentle this time, like a tainted whisper afraid to be too loud in the honeyed quietness of your home.

It fills your stomach with a familiar sense of unease.

“Well, do you deserve to be yelled at?”

He softly smiles, one equal parts of happy and sad, “Probably.”

You return the look as you sit on his words. He’s treading lightly, which is a thoughtful change compared to his usual acting on impulse.

He’s cautioning you. Preparing you for something bitter, and while you appreciate the warning, you know it can’t be anything good. It feels a lot like the breathtaking sunset before a disastrous overnight storm.

Your voice is a whisper when you meekly ask him, “Can you tell me any more?”

And though the look on his face is regretful, his answer comes all the same.

“No,” he swallows.

And like the saint you are, Touya doesn’t know why he’s surprised when you merely bob your head in understanding and smile.

“Okay,” you nod.

You expect that to be all. Because Touya’s never been one for words, let alone more than the bare minimum amount needed. And you were deemed lucky enough to get a vague warning.

That should be the end of the conversation, but it’s not.

Touya reaches for your wrist and his fingers dance along the bone lightly. He doesn’t remove his eyes from where they bore into yours when he breathes.

“M’sorry.”

The words are foreign on his tongue, and his smallness unsettles you. Something feels wrong, like nausea brewing and waiting for bile to finally strike.

You sit up, cradling his face in your palms as you coo words of reassurance. He feels cold, his body temperature ironically contrasting the heat that runs through his veins. He’s trying so hard to keep whatever he knows inside the clear cage of his mind, but you can practically hear the cracking of the glass beneath it’s weight.

“Hey, no,” you exhale between kisses to his hairline. “No, don’t start that shit.”

Because while he doesn’t tell you everything, Touya tells you enough, and it’s more than you ever thought would be true with someone as out of reach as him.

He may not tell you he loves you, but he says it through his eyes. He doesn’t tell you how he has so much respect for you it could swallow him whole, but sometimes, in the glimpse of his stolen glances, you can feel it.

He can’t tell you what he’s going to do, but he can tell you he’s sorry. And that is something in and of itself.

Touya closes his eyes at the affection. He wishes he could freeze time and savor this moment forever. Keep it as a souvenir to place on his shelf and keep him company on lonely nights to come. He doesn’t want it to end, doesn’t want to be anywhere else that isn't here, right now, with you.

He does his best to soak in how your lips feel against his as you promise, “We’ll figure it out, yeah?”

But he’s not so sure, because while you think he’s apologizing for not being able to tell you more, Touya is apologizing for the hell he knows is to come.

…

He’s dead. He has to be dead.

The screen in front of you feels like a cruel joke as it flashes clips of the scene. Not Dabi, but Touya, on national television—spewing venom to the entire country with a smile. .

He speaks slowly, solemnly, like he's thought this through. Like he’s rehearsed and planned this all along. He speaks like a spiraling politician, and it cuts like a blade in your back.

You think about the television screens across the city right now.

A family whose gameshow night got rudely interrupted. A cafe whose workers are making their final lattes for the night, sweeping the floors and washing the counters as his rambling mindlessly plays in the background. You wonder if anybody is home at the Todoroki residence, if the television is on, or if it was unplugged years ago.

Touya is dead, and he warned you.

That’s why he did this, why he planned this to unfold the way it did. He told you that you’d hate him, and like a fool, you told him he was wrong.

A knock on the door is barely heard over your heavy breathing, and you debate on answering it.

It has to be the police, or maybe even a hero—looking for you, now an accomplice blinded by a mirror you thought was a window.

Your brain starts to spiral with thoughts that make your chest heave.

Did Touya turn himself in? Go down without a fight? Did someone see him leave your home? Had they known this entire time?

Maybe they were waiting for the right moment to strike, for the dominoes to ripple so they can make their move when you’re too weak to defend yourself. Maybe he double-crossed you, blamed whatever he could on you before driving a getaway car in the opposite direction of your apartment. Maybe he never cared at all—maybe the realest thing you’d ever known was orchestrated from beginning to end.

Another knock comes, this time more urgent and harsh. And there’s no point in prolonging the inevitable—so with tear-stained cheeks and shaking shoulders, you open the door.

And it’s Touya.

With white hair and soggy clothes, he stands in the hallway of your crumby apartment complex.

You want to laugh at the irony of it all. The first time he uses your actually door instead of window, he's a new man.

New hair, new name, a new look in his eye—one that swims of something you can't put your finger on. He’s alive and in front of you, and regardless of the anger overflowing your cup, you need to feel him.

So you pull him through the threshold, inside of your home, and against your skin. You feel the wet leather of his jacket, and smell the ash from the battle mixed with the coffee he had before he left this morning.

He’s here, and you love him.

“I hate you,” your cries vibrate against his chest as you weakly push and punch at his shoulders. “I hate you, I fucking hate you.”

Touya lets you sob into his shirt. It’s covered in your tears and blood that’s not his. He lets you thrash and scream and crumple beneath his hold.

He wants to say I told you so. I told you you’d hate me.

“How could you do that,” he makes out between your hyperventilating and sobs, “how could you do that to me?”

His throat restricts with tears that can’t come as you melt against his body, “I would have never done that to you.”

“I’m sorry,” Touya breathes, and he repeats it. Says it again and again and again until it all bleeds together into nothing but syllables and sobs.

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m home, and I’m sorry.

…

The bedroom is cold, the window slightly cracked open as Touya shuffles your quilted blanket off of his clammy body.

He always runs a bit hot at night, though he’s ironically ice to the touch when his quirk isn’t at work.

Now on top of your comforter, his scarred palm lays open to you. He flinches every now and then as you delicately draw shapes into it with a painted fingernail. His eyes are closed, but he’s able to recognize the swirling form of your movements, the same ones you’ve drawn every night since he came back home to you.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s felt this at peace.

After everything, he’s still here. And not only is he still here, but he’s okay with that, because he’s with you.

“I've never—” he hesitates, but the darkness illuminating the room gives him a surge of confidence.

“I've never had this,” his voice is pained, nearly softer than silence itself.

He feels your finger stop swirling for a moment, but it resumes just as quickly as it halted. He feels you alter your pattern, and with cleaner lines and softer edges, he’s able to recognize the heart you doodle on his skin.

“Had what?” you gently ask.

“A home,” Touya breathes, before correcting himself, “where I’m wanted.”

You smile and Touya feels so loved he nearly makes himself sick. He feels so held, so wanted, so right in your bed and beneath your delicate fingertips.

The stranger in your home. The outlaw who smells of your perfume. The boy who never got a second chance, but the man who got a third.

Touya has so much love for you that he doesn't know where to put it all.

But for a moment, when he looks at your smile and feels your fingertip tracing his palm, he sees it as you offering your open arms to hold any excess he can’t carry.

He feels you grin against the scarring of his wrist.

“Well,” you kiss the tender spot where skin meets stitching, “you might wanna get used to it.”

#i am very very proud of this pls be kind to me thank u love u muah #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x you #touya todoroki x you #dabi x you #dabi x reader #dabi fic #touya fic #touya todoroki fic #dabi smut #touya smut #touya todoroki smut #touya angst #dabi angst #touya todoroki angst #dabi fluff #touya fluff #touya todoroki fluff

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raayllum · 11 months ago

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Mirrored Paths Trilogy #2: In the Name of Love, I Would Do Anything For You —Callum & Viren

Part 2 of a mini meta trilogy dissecting Callum, Karim, and Viren's parallels, with a special emphasis on S5. For the general overview, and if you want to read Karim and Viren's parallels, you can read that analysis here. It is useful to read but not necessary in order to understand this one, as this meta is Part 2 and will discuss Callum and Viren.

Now, I've talked a lot about Viren and Callum. Like, a Lot a lot. Therefore, I'm not going to repeat too much of their Arc 1 buildup here, and focus more loosely on their S5 parallels in particular. However:

If you're interested in their pre-season 4 buildup, check out these metas: How Callum and Viren have parallel arcs in S2, Relics, Rage, and Magic: The Callum-Viren Foils Meta, the foils screencap compilation post I've been cultivating since Nov 2019 pre S3 (updated to include past that point)

If you're interested in post-S4 thoughts, check out these metas: The Interlocking of the Cycle’s Wheel with Viren, Claudia, Callum, and Rayla, How Viren and Callum stack up flaws wise, I sure do love foils that switch, How Callum's morality differs from Ezran and Rayla's (and always has)

If you're interested in post-S5 thoughts, check out these metas: What did Viren and what does Callum want?, How Callum and Viren sacrifice (written post-S4 but updated with S5 screencaps), Why ramp up the foiling?

Now I'm not gonna expect you to read all that because 1) I'm aware I have a problem, 2) it'd be time consuming as hell, and 3) I'm going to summarize the most important takeaways for you to understand the foundation this next section of meta is built on. (None of it is complicated, mind you, but just to make it clear where I'm coming from.) If you have read all those metas, or even made it this far on this one, thank you for enabling me reading and I hope you('ve) enjoy(ed).

Now for the key takeaways:

S5 went basically exactly where I've thought Callum would go since S1/S2 and Viren since S3 re: Viren giving up dark magic and having an atonement arc/breaking away from Aaravos, whereas Callum — in order to free and save someone he loves, specifically Rayla — chooses to chain himself further to Aaravos

Although still very different, Callum and Viren are worryingly, exceedingly similar in many ways, largely in their agreement that dark magic can be a useful last resort and in their devotion to their loved ones (aka "in the name of love" + the "I would do anything [for my family/loved ones]" parallel

Where Viren is willing to put certain things (the kingdom, his own quest for power, humanity) above his family (and wrongfully so), Callum is not. He says he would do anything, and means it (thank you post-s2 me, you were the realest bitch)

Rayla and Aaravos are foils, particularly in their dynamics with Callum and Viren respectively. They are both banished, exiled elves who were seen as being/are too sympathetic towards humans, they mentor high mages of Katolis, hunt each other's high mages, and S6 will put Rayla and Aaravos vying for Callum's destiny (control) to the test as his two paths (although choosing Rayla over Aaravos may not be mutually exclusive, but that's another post). Rayla killing Viren unintentionally put him on a path to stray from Aaravos, whereas Callum saving her / their relationship is what has consistently putting him on a path towards Aaravos

Now, S2 and S4 definitely have more parallels between them structurally for our two high mages. S2 is linked above, so I'll focus on S4: asking to die but being refused by Claudia and Rayla respectively; being reunited with someone they love after two years; Callum attempting to shut down his feelings in Rayla's absence / upon her return much the way Viren did in his time as high mage; the mirror and general framing, particularly in 4x01; sharing a (re-)birthday; their impatience in 4x02, which is also a parallel with Karim; the pawn intros; Rayla interrupting Callum's investigation of the mirror while Viren likewise attempts to diverge paths; picking up what they'd been refusing to all season in 4x09 within seconds of each other, and similar framing to boot, since dark magic led to Viren's destruction, and Rayla will possibly (unintentionally) lead to Callum's:

Let's get into it: S5

Now, S5 is less obvious in some ways. The one big framing parallel they get, beat for beat, is Callum going to investigate Aaravos in the library, placing his book on the same table, being interrupted by the librarian (which is honestly more of a running gag than something tangible), the script being magically washed away, etc.

Therefore, with all of the above out of the way, we have three main things to consider:

1) Their dark magic dreams from 2x06 and 5x03 respectively, in which they face mirrored reflections of each other

I wrote after S2 that I thought Callum refusing his dark counterpart in 2x08 was ultimately going to end up being more about actively being a dark mage than doing dark magic ever again, mostly because — while we didn't know if the show would ever put him in said position — I always figured Callum would do dark magic again in well, about the exact circumstances canon forced him into in 5x08. (And it was extremely satisfying, lemme tell you.) Viren giving up dark magic was more surprising, but they've always been switching foils, so the exchange makes perfect sense on that level.

I talked really briefly about some of the similarities between their dreams, but I wanted to touch on some here as well:

Their choices are both framed around objects of Aaravos. For Callum, it's a key he initially rejects. For Viren, it's the mirror, but instead of connecting to and looking to Aaravos to help him, he looks to and accepts himself.

Viren has to reach forward and connect with himself, whereas Callum pulls away from his mirror self

Viren's dreams are about dismantling his justifications (or the why) behind what he did, whereas Callum's skip over his justifications and instead focus on what he did. Both of these accordingly inform their identity

Viren is saved from literal drowning upon waking up, Callum is saved from a more metaphorical kind

Freedom is the cornerstone of both reflective scenes. Viren and Callum both leave their initial dreams being free (or freer than before). While this holds true for Viren until the current end of his arc (5x09), Callum in 5x08 is handed a sharp reminder that freedom is no guarantee, and how that may continue

The path metaphor that was running loosely throughout their arcs ("I am offering you a path forward [with dark magic] / Callum's tendency towards shortcuts / "I'm afraid, Rayla. What if I'm on a path of darkness?") is now being brought to the forefront here through Viren both being made actively aware of his choices per path ("Because I have followed a dark path") and him deciding to get off of it in 5x09.

2) Both being driven to desperation and resolve to try and save someone they love (Claudia, Rayla)

I figured that, per Viren getting an atonement arc at all, that what would make the most sense is S5 forcing Viren and Callum to confront their moral horizon lines about what they were, or were not willing to do, in order to save Claudia and Rayla pre-S5. For the S4 reasoning behind that, I'll recommend one of the metas linked above regarding those four and the Interlocking of the Cycle's Wheel. I was very pleased to see a decent chunk of it come to fruition. I figured Callum would be able to save Rayla at a steep cost, and Viren would be unable to successfully save Claudia (cause consequences have to catch up to you sooner rather than later, and they tend to catch Viren first and Callum second).

This is, of course, perhaps most exemplified by the show chipping away to the core of dark magic, which is what are you willing to do to save the people you love, even against their will, and that Callum has every good reason to be worried, accordingly, about a very exploitable part of himself.

Which we'll talk about more when we get to:

3) Viren revoking dark magic and Aaravos, whereas Callum does dark magic again and worries he's further tethered himself to Aaravos

In season 5 in a lot of ways, Viren comes to fully understand and accept Harrow's rebuttal to dark magic in 1x02, which was, "We may not pay now, but we will pay the blood price eventually! What do you think got us here? Dark magic!" The blood price went from Sarai's unintentional death, to Thunder's purposeful one, to Zym's false one, to Harrow's 'real' (?) one, and so and so forth.

Viren tried to ignore the sunk cost fallacy by believing it was already too late to turn everything around, and that doubling down to skirt consequences would continually work... until it didn't, and he had to accept the only person writing his fate was himself: "Every step forward is a choice," and thereby another chance to do the right thing, or make better choices, under the circumstances you have — to at least try.

This parallel, then, between Viren doing what he can to set himself free vs Callum chaining himself further to Aaravos is, in a lot of ways, both the most dreadful and happiest potential parallel and contrast between on a few different levels. Let me explain:

S6 as the Fall, S7 as the Rise

I talked about this pre-S5, citing it as a reason I believed Viren and Callum were ultimately switching rather than solely contrasting foils — re: Viren getting better in S5, and Callum getting worse in S5/S6 — simply due to the fact that given that S6 will be TDP's 11th hour, things might be going okay for the antagonist crowd, but the protagonist side of things, particularly Callum, will need to be hitting rock bottom.

Thus, it seemed pretty obvious from a structural standpoint, as well as Stars (and destiny by extension) having an association with Aaravos that S6 would involve Callum playing his part in Aaravos' plans, with S7 being the reclamation of his agency and therefore defeat of his narrative Rival for well, narrative control. S6 being Callum's fall, S7 being his rise — stronger than before, and freer and more magically in tune than ever.

Prior to S5, it was typically accepted (by myself included) that while purposefully very similar to one another in both framing and personality, that mirroring would eventually shed, and, come S7 Viren would ultimately provide a contrast to Callum, with Callum breaking away from Aaravos in ways Viren was never able to, and this would be the Big Defining Difference between them in terms of like, narrative cohesion and plot. (Emotionally, the biggest difference has always, arguably, been that Viren is more world focused — to his detriment in arc 1 in particular — than focused on his loved ones, whereas Callum is deeply and sometimes dangerously devoted to the people he loves.)

However, S5 makes that previous contrast prediction untrue, because Viren does break away from Aaravos (in fact, just an episode decidedly before Callum seems — metaphorically at least — to take a step towards him). Therefore rather than just being a contrast, Viren is meant to be a true mirror in equal measure, simply because by virtue of letting Viren break away from Aaravos' control, when Callum eventually does so, he will likewise — once again — be following in Viren's footsteps, just in a positive way rather than a 'negative' way like before. If Viren was meant to solely be a contrast — as has been theorized previously — than Callum staying under Aaravos' control would actually be the provided ending. Of course the show isn't doing that for Very Obvious Reasons, but I think it's worth noting that now, in order for Callum to have a happy ending at all, he has to follow in Viren's footsteps — all of them. Rather than being one of solely warning and foreboding, Viren's narrative has turned into one of hope for Callum, too.

V: I am free, and so are you.

But in order to talk about salvation, we have to first talk about destruction, namely:

Dark Magic and Death

Dark magic and death have long been associated with each other in series. Dark magic requires killing or consuming a magical creature — elf, dragon, or otherwise — to be used/harvested for power. It affects the souls of those being used as spell parts (Through the Moon) and you can use any part of the body within reason, even their ashes upon cremation (1x03, 2x09), or their final breath (against their wishes in 3x06). Hell, dark magic makes you smell like death (3x01), turns you into a more corpselike appearance, and season two novelization just furthers this association outright during the passages of Callum's dark magic visions/dream:

Callum turned the cube frantically to see which primal was glowing. How could any of the primals glow in this dark place? Something about this cube tied his stomach in knots. It wasn’t natural. A vision flickered in front of his face. Dozens of dead animals in a field. A dead butterfly. A dead deer. A dead unicorn. Cackling laughter. He chucked the cube away from him with all his might. The glowing rune was dark magic. It represented death.

Thereby in 2x08 itself, the rejection dark magic symbolized by the cube is pretty simple. Callum rejects being a dark mage as his primary magic use, he rejects the 'easier' road, he still believes he can possibly access primal magic, and in doing so, he rejects death. He won't become a dark mage, he won't seek out his death or others in order to have control/power, and he won't become a corpselike figure.

But a couple seasons later, we see S4 and S5 reverse and complicate that in 1) having him, literally, seek his own and Aaravos' deaths in order to feel in control/have power, and therefore 2) perfectly foreshadowing his eventual dark magic use/relapse, for lack of a better word. Just as the show leans farther away from "dark magic is easy" (and it is, in some ways, emotionally easier to deal with consequences when you can change them) and more into "dark magic will destroy you — your identity and your body — if you keep using it".

S5, likewise, also starts to break down the negative associations of dark magic being linked to death, and indeed the negative associations with death itself. For most characters in the series, death is solely a tragedy, but for Harrow and Viren of themselves, staring their own deaths in the face — and choosing to die — instead became a vehicle for repentance, change, and subsequent self-actualization.

Death, for Harrow, and more importantly for the sake of this meta, is not just doom and gloom, but a choice and therefore a culmination as well as a chance for transformation. Just as Viren's death in 3x09 allowed him to be re-born with clear eyes (a literal Re-Birthday, if you will), him choosing this next death shows the full scope of his character arc. Previously, he died because he was chasing all the things he didn't have with Aaravos' aid, and by 5x09, he's rejecting Aaravos' help and dying alone in the woods with nothing, yet it feels like a tragic sort of victory all the same.

We also see a more complicated view of dark magic alongside ideas of self-actualization. Previously, dark magic was seen as something that would make you routinely lose yourself (Viren, Claudia) until you had by and large become the worst version of yourself. S5 complicates this a bit more by connecting Callum doing dark magic to his ability to access the Ocean arcanum, as he remembers/mimics the motion of crushing the slug before connection (and parallels Viren's 5x03 hand symbolism to boot):

Whereas Viren unmakes his choice to take on Aaravos' deal in 2x07, Callum unmakes his choice to refuse to do dark magic when it means saving his loved ones. As he states:

To love is simply to know this: the tides are true as the ocean is deep... You don't control anything. But you already knew that, didn't you? Because it's the secret of the Ocean itself. The arcanum. The Ocean arcanum is about accepting depths you can't see, parts of yourself you can't understand, and things you can't control.

Callum fears not having control, and therefore fears his part of himself, where he is now more aware than ever of just how far he'll go for his loved ones, and how exploitable that is, thanks to Finnegrin. And it's not as though dark magic has lost its death associations, merely that those death associations have likewise been transformed. This is particularly evident if you line up 5x08 as the end of Callum's S5 arc (which it is; while 5x09 is fun, it doesn't further any of the main trio's emotional arcs except Rayla, and even that is decently minor)

If dark magic is still linked to death, then both Viren and Callum choose to step towards their own deaths in the end of their respective arcs, just with different meanings and arc placements. If we take Viren's step further that real death vs dark magic death are two different things, then we still have Callum stepping towards his own dark magic death to prevent someone else's (the same way Rayla is spared) even if that means throwing potentially 3+ innocent people and Domina Profundis under the bus in 5x08. But more on that here.

For now, let me break it down more simply:

In 4x09, Callum and Viren both pick up the symbol of something they've been trying to ignore / pass off to others all season. Viren has avoided his staff and left it for Claudia to wield, much the same way Callum passed Rayla off to Ezran and Soren in the previous episodes. Viren refuses to leave the staff behind. Meanwhile, Callum picks up and finally starts fully acknowledging the loss and love he feels regarding Rayla, who he let go on without him. The staff is symbolic of Viren's relationship to Aaravos as well, and it's what ultimately dooms him. Rayla's sword, although quickly discarded so he can help the actual Moonshadow elf, is also a symbol to Callum in the scene that he loves/is still mourning his friend/partner.

In 5x08 and 5x09, Callum and Viren are both goaded by a vengeful elf seeking freedom into doing dark magic to create a secure future for each mage. The elf wants to use them as further vessels for their own freedom/revenge scheme. Viren refuses to do dark magic and instead chooses death, reaching self-actualization. He does this mostly motivated by his own regret and love for Claudia. He refuses to sacrifice Sir Sparklepuff to save his own life and breaks away from Aaravos. Callum demonstrates a willingness to sacrifice others in order to save Rayla, in addition to resorting to dark magic in order to save her. He refuses to sacrifice her to save/keep his own soul free from Aaravos' clutches, even if that means possibly walking steadily closer to his own death. Likewise, this allows him to reach a new stage of self-actualization, but at a steep emotional cost.

Where Viren's ending is tragic but victorious, Callum's season ending is victorious but tragic. But like I said earlier, Viren's story in S5 offers plenty of hope to Callum's future storyline, namely exploring how

Love Can Destroy and Save You

Now, anyone who's been following me for a while knows I love a good "this thing can save and destroy you" and that I have been really fucking excited for S4 taking that undercurrent in arc 1 and bringing it up to the forefront, with a big hitch to Rayllum as a sweet lovely, devastating bonus.

“Wow. So they look identical but they might kill you or they might save you,” Callum said. “Exactly. Just like me…” Rayla smiled.

—Book One: Moon novelization + Callum and Rayla being routinely determined to save each other, even if that means immense danger and harm to themselves (Callum's love for her made him leap off the mountain to save her, and his love for her allowed him to grow wings and save both of them).

This has always been a theme in the show and particularly within their dynamic — "Alright, enough almost killing me" in 1x05 with the lightning spell, only for Callum to save Rayla's life with the exact same spell by the episode's end — most prominently brought to the forefront in 4x07 with their whole "I need you to kill me" "I'm afraid I'll hurt people I care about" [cuts right to Rayla] conversation. If you're interested in more Rayllum thoughts on this, I would recommend my original meta on the subject (pre-S4) and my post-S4 followup.

We even see this theme of the same thing — in this case, Callum's love for Rayla and commitment to saving her — play out as a perfect microcosm in 5x08. As previously mentioned, Callum does dark magic again (a failure in his own mind) and unlocks the ocean arcanum (a victory) precisely because of what he was willing to do out of love, both of these things being good and bad. The dark magic use is bad because it makes him more vulnerable to Aaravos and reaffirms how he'll bend morals he otherwise wouldn't and is upset over it, and it's a good action because it lets him save Rayla. Unlocking the Ocean arcanum is a good thing, because it symbolizes a deeper understanding of himself — good ol' self-actualization — and more useful, magical prowess, but it's also a bad thing because he's upset by this realization of himself to the point of not even really being excited by it.

He would do anything for her, he's realized now that love doesn't necessarily always make him stronger, that this is exploitable, and it scares him. It really does.

Because Rayla saves him and destroys him. And in S5, fortunately, Viren's children do the same for him.

Even though saving Soren is what seemed to truly begin Viren's descent in earnest...

the harm his path has inflicted on Claudia is one of his motivations to finally stepping off of it.

Ezran himself acknowledges the way love interplays with the Cycle in the thematic turning point of the arc, and the series in many ways, back in 4x03 — that love is not in opposition to the Cycle, but indeed one of its many cogs, and the choice lies in how we choose to let that love manifest:

I had a speech planned for today. It was about peace and love and hope. But I think I left something out. [...] We all want peace and we all want love. But violence tests us. In a twisted way, it converts us to its cause. Because pain and loss feel so terrible inside, you want to hate. You want to hurt someone else. So what do we do? How can we stop this cycle? [...] We have to acknowledge the weight of the pain and loss, but open up our eyes and allow ourselves to hope and maybe forgive and love again. We have to give today’s children a chance to inherit a future filled with peace. To give them that, we have to hold pain and love in our hearts at the same time.

If Callum does destroy himself / risk the world for love in S6 (perhaps taking a risk he knows may lead to being possessed, or releasing Aaravos to spare Ezran or Rayla from an immediate death) then love, it seems, is also posed to be what accordingly breaks him out of the possession and brings him back to himself, the same way it allowed Viren to deviate from his previously chosen/enforced path. Reconciling dualities rather than enforcing strict binaries is one of the main things S4 was concerned with, after all ("Just have two cakes!").

All of this, for Callum, ties back into:

His dynamic with Rayla and all its variances (the light to his dark / pain and love / literally freeing himself while metaphorically chaining himself in order to save her / his love for her being his strentth and weakness / "Now you're back. That's kind of good, and it's kind of bad").

His connection to the Key ("I have a feeling that cube thing could help me" to "It's the Key of Aaravos, Callum. No good will come of it!")

Light and dark being both good and bad, and Aaravos heavily representing that trade off ("In darkness, gaze upon a fallen star [...] already tainted by darkness" + the cube flashing a bright glowing white before Aaravos picks him up as a pawn).

The fall (becoming Aaravos' prey / playing into Aaravos' hands) in s6 and a rise in S7 (breaking free by defeating Aaravos)

If dark magic is death, and Aaravos is likewise death / worse than death ("if he takes control of me again, you have to kill me")... death, like for Viren in 3x09, can be Transformation for Callum in 6x09. He just has to 'die' (metaphorically) — to fall, to fail, to succumb to his predecessor's negative footsteps — in order to rise, fly, and follow in his predecessor's positive footsteps while also carving out another new path for himself.

Because Love is salvation just as much as it is destruction, and the story will always hold true to those things.

Other Parallels

Although there aren't as many prominent framing parallels in S5 as there were in S4 — the mirror, on the battlements with Soren, sitting on the Storm Spire, picking up the staff and sword, etc etc — (beyond the hand clasps as symbolic chains my beloved), the most obvious one is from 5x01 in which Callum goes to the library to research Aaravos just like the high mage before him, down to the portrait over the table they place the tome on.

Then there is also framing that furthers the connections they share between Callum-Viren and Claudia-Rayla, diving after someone you're desperate to save (and often from drowning, to boot). Hand outstretched one pictured above, so here's another:

There are also the Aaravos-Magma Titan Callum-Viren parallels that others have pointed out, with Ezran standing in for Sarai:

Given that 4x01 begins and 5x09 ends the arc of Viren's 30 days, and by and large binds S4 and S5 together as 1 arc of sorts (with S6 and S7 being the final arc), it tickles me particularly pink that it opens, in many ways, and then literally closes accordingly with Callum and Viren staring at the moon:

Misc:

In between writing the first meta and the second one, I got loose 'confirmation' that I'm on the right path with my deductions (even if, of course, 'personal path' can mean many things, but I still think it's cool!) from Aaron Ehasz on twitter. Cool beans

I also think it's fun that Viren tries to save Claudia from a 'symbolic' death in the ocean ("Stop! That wave, it will swallow you up!") and Callum saves Rayla from a more literal one of being devoured by a sea leviathan.

Conclusion

First off, if you read All of That, thank you and I hope you enjoyed it. I've been itching to talk about these two and how S5 both built on the parallels they already had, pushed some to the forefront in overt ways ("I would do anything" and 5x08 on Callum's end was beyond validating in every way), in addition to setting up more to come, both good and bad.

I may return to S5 in this manner to touch more on other parallel relationships in the future, such as Viren-Rayla in S5, Callum-Claudia, and Claudia-Rayla, but for now the next proposed foil meta is looking at a dynamic I have not talked much about in Callum and Karim. This will conclude this little 'trilogy' of metas, and I hope you stick around for it, cause it's going to be very interesting.

Callum and Viren have always been my favourite foils relationship in the show, and I hope this meta did a good job of demonstrating why. Thank you for reading and I'll see you in the next one!

—Dragons out

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