#Except its cannon

[jowithavianwings]

Attention all Harry Potter fanfic Writers:

Can we have less Quiet!Brooding!Angsty!Draco Malfoy and more ReginaGeorgeCoded!LoudmouthBother!OverdramaticTheaterKid! Draco Malfoy

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

Jerry and Gerry

[geospiral]

The stage was always Luka’s world, and everyone else was just living in it.

Luka’s first round in the 50th Alien Stage competition was the fourth round, but really it should have been the second given the predetermined matchups. The Segyein were saving his round for later in order to excite the in-universe audience to the previous winner’s grand return.

(There is no dimmed profile in the second bracket.)

Luka being set up to go against either Mizi or Sua was absolutely intentional; the Segyein knew whoever came out of Round One would be an easy target for Luka’s manipulation, which, in their eyes, would make for a good show. When organizing the rounds, it seems like the Segyein try to go for which setups will elicit the biggest emotional responses out of the contestants. They clearly already knew about Mizi and Sua’s intimate relationship with the fact that the contestants’ profiles are most likely created by the Segyein with little to no input from the humans themselves (probably made with the help of the ever-present camera flowers in Anakt).

(translation)

This would also explain why Sua and Ivan were so certain about Mizi going up against Sua in the competition despite them not being told about the round matches yet.

(Take this with a grain of salt because it is possible they were already told who was against whom before this comic, but given how young they look, I'm thinking that it's probably too early for them to know.)

(translation)

If Luka weren’t in this year’s tournament, they would have probably set Till up against Mizi in Round 5 instead since the Segyein are aware of how much she means to Till. They technically could have still done that with Luka in the competition and had Round 6 be him vs. Ivan, but they most likely didn’t want to save Luka’s signature act until the final round, which the Segyein would have believed themselves to be doing given how they don’t seem to know how important Till is to Ivan (probably intentionally on Ivan's part).

(Text: "Intimacy: 70% It feels like I'm being chased all the time, but I can't find any evidence, so the teachers only suspect me!!! I'm so pissed!! He's always done things I don't like, and I don't understand... Anyway, he's a bother.)

Note: While I think the character profiles were probably made by the Segyein, I don't think the intimacy levels from the artbook are. I'm showing Till's intimacy level for Ivan to highlight his comment about the teachers not believing him when he says that Ivan is constantly following him around.

The Segyein knew the two were friends at least, but that seems about it. Maybe that was enough for them to be a possible sixth round setup if they came out of 2 and 3 victorious, but given the vast potential there was for Luka vs. Ivan after a Mizi vs. Till round, I don't think the Segyein knew the depths of Ivan and Till's relationship and therefore didn't care until it became blatantly obvious after the canon Round 6 and could be capitalized upon for the finale.

From a meta perspective, an Ivantill round was obvious, but my personal opinion is that in-universe I think that matchup was more akin to a happy little accident on the Segyein's part.

This is also all ignoring the huge elephant in the room, which is the Rebellion throwing a wrench into the competition.

I think the biggest change in the direction of the competition (not the results of the rounds but in how the rounds themselves were organized) due to the rebellion was how the Segyein decided to have the finale be mere hours after Round 6. If the fifth round hadn’t been interrupted, I think that the sixth would have been performed right after, like how the first four rounds were. Also, I don’t think they would have tried to aid Luka in his manipulation by throwing up pictures of Ivan on the screens and would have just left him to his own devices like in Round 5. But the Segyein wanted to lure the rebels out to save Till, so basically flashing a big sign that says, "THIS GUY IS MESSED UP FROM THE LAST ROUND AND WILL DIE IF YOU DON'T DO SOMETHING" was probably the best way to do it.

This is all to say that I think it's a lot more interesting if Luka was being set up to be the winner the entire time. Obviously he still had to work for it, but I like the idea that almost everything was set up in his favor; he just had to take advantage of it. The Segyein wanted a good show, and Luka knows how to perform. He did not disappoint them.

[capna-honey]

Sigh………thinking about the odinsons having happy trails (especially thor and týr)

[the-stars-are-warring]

I wonder if Sev and Saw Guerrera would get along....

[pigeonwhumps]

Tour

Immortal Cannon Fodder masterlist

Taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @extrabitterbrain @wolfeyedwitch @whumpinggrounds

This is a crossover with Alex & Friends by @i-eat-worlds, who Joseph belongs to!

Aaron takes Phoenix on a tour of Hero Alliance London HQ, and they end up at the cafeteria, where things don't quite go to plan.

4.7k

CWs: immortal whumpee, hero whumpee, abuse, panic attack, ableism, low self-esteem, past starvation, denial of food, fear of punishment, expected punishment, asking to be punished, begging, conditioning, losing control of superpowers, consideration of self-punishment, guilt, flashback, traumatised whumpee, food-related trauma, traumatised caretaker, threats, insults, punch, shove, fear, intimidation

"And this is the cafeteria."

Phoenix stops dead in their tracks in the doorway, looking around.

"It's, um, it's big."

'Big' was an understatement. The place was huge, and always busy, full of noisy heroes, some laughing and joking, some sombre. Some have clearly very recently come off shift.

Unfortunately, Phoenix has been recognised as the hero who got Abbie suspended (even if they're so abused they didn't see anything wrong with her behaviour – but then, so many have swallowed her lies about accessing their medical records to look after them better, why wouldn't Phoenix). The room doesn't quiet, though some of the conversations become more stilted, and there's a few glares. A bit of intimidation tactics from those heroes who can use their powers with any subtlety.

"Come on," mutters Aaron, putting an arm around Phoenix's shoulder in an obvious show of solidarity, "let's fetch some food. You'll love the cinnamon buns."

Phoenix nods, but they're distracted, and for good reason. It's good manners, good practice, good safety, not to use your powers against people in here. It's just one of those things you don't do. If you have a problem with someone, you solve it mundanely. So for that to happen, suddenly... it's a big show of strength against Phoenix and they know it.

"Don't let them win. Don't let the others make you think you don't deserve to be here. You show them something later. If this is going to turn into a contest, you're way more powerful."

"I don't think I am," they murmur, but let Aaron steer them towards the serving counter, grabbing a couple of trays on the way.

"Hey. None of that. You'll be fine. They're fickle, trust me. Ignore them. You've got allies anyway."

Phoenix nods. They still look very small, pressed up against his side. He squeezes them tight.

Aaron's honestly relieved. He'd thought the reactions of the other heroes in disagreement might be worse than that, judging by their behaviour in the medbay lately. It's a shame they recognised them, but hey. Can't have everything.

He tries not to think about how that might be partially his fault.

Phoenix squints at the chalkboard menu. "What, um, sort of chips are they? Fries or chunky ones or... I don't mean to be fussy, sorry. I'll eat them, whatever they're like, please let me still eat." The last sentence is added hurriedly, as if that's a regular problem. And maybe it is.

"Hey. I brought you here to have something you like, it doesn't matter how fussy you are. And if you're worried about the price, don't be, it's free."

That's not completely true. There's some posh things that're just reduced. But Aaron made an agreement yesterday, so if Phoenix wants them he won't have to pay in front of them.

Phoenix nods, visibly trying to absorb that.

"Chunky, like a chip shop."

Phoenix's eyes light up at that. "Can I, can I? Please?"

"Yeah, of course. Do you want to go and order? You can have something with it, if you like."

Phoenix looks very confused, but follows Aaron over to the food counter. Aaron pushes them gently ahead of him. Just in case.

The serving lady smiles at Aaron. "Hello, you. How are you keeping? You've made another friend?"

Aaron scowls at her. She's not supposed to reveal how few friends they have.

"This is Phoenix. Phoenix, Mary. She'll probably try and fatten you up."

Phoenix waves a little, and Mary frowns at them in concern.

"Hey love. You new here? I haven't seen you around before."

Phoenix shakes their head. "No. I just, I, um, haven't been here before. Can I have, um, chips and beans please? It's okay if I can't, I just–"

"Of course you can. We've got some left, haven't we? It's not reserved or anything." She plates it up, then turns to Aaron. "Fish, chips and peas, as usual?"

"Yep." Once it's plated and on his plate, Aaron gives her a winning smile. "So... any chance of the biggest cinnamon bun you have?"

"You can't just use charm to get whatever you want, you know." But she winks and plates a massive cinnamon bun.

Phoenix's eyes are like saucers, and they only widen as the serving lady serves them an extra portion of chips and beans.

"Ketchup and other condiments are over there, love," she points out. Phoenix nods.

"Thank you, sir."

Mary watches them go with a slight frown.

"Polite kid."

"Maybe too much so," murmurs Aaron. "They're getting better though."

"Who's on their team? Bit negligent to not show them this place. And they seem off."

"The Spark, Tempest and Nightkeeper."

"Poor kid. Here, take some onion rings to share, they do need fattening up. You'd better go and help them." She nods to the condiments table, where Phoenix is standing, looking lost.

"Yeah. Cheers."

They manouvres their way over to them.

"Hey kid. What's up?"

"Am I really allowed all this too?"

"Yes, of course. And these two," he points at the onion rings and cinnamon bun, "are to share."

"But... that's, um, that's a main dish, and a side and another side and a dessert. I can't take seasonings as well, that'd be, um, greedy!"

"Is it greedy if I take some?" Phoenix shakes their head. "Then why would it be for you?"

"Abbie says that I don't need so much to eat. I don't. Do I? I'm fine."

"I... Phoenix. You nearly passed out from hunger."

"And?"

Aaron splutters a little. "And? Do you not see how that's a bad thing?"

Phoenix shrugs. "I nearly died from it once. Only one person ever saw a problem then, and he was a villain. So it's not a bad thing if I don't eat much. Why do you– I don't understand."

It takes an enormous amount of effort for Aaron to control himself. Sparks don't literally fly, but it's close.

"Your team. I assume they're the only other people you saw then. What did they say?"

Phoenix shrugs, almost overbalancing their tray. "That I was weak. And Abbie said that it wasn't serious because it, um, wouldn't kill me permanently. And then she punished me for accepting outside help. I don't, um, understand why she let me accept your help, though."

"She has to, I'm your team medic and Kai was on your team. And you did say she'd been getting worse shortly before her suspension."

The lights flicker this time as Phoenix looks so damn confused that Abbie might be hurting them.

"That can't be right. She's my mentor, she must have my best interests at heart."

Maybe at the very centre of her heart, surrounded by unbreakable stone. He doesn't say that though.

"Come on. Let's eat."

Aaron drowns their chips in salt and vinegar, while Phoenix hesitantly picks up the ketchup, looking around. When nobody stops them they squirt out a small pile.

"Thank you."

"'s no problem." Phoenix follows Aaron over to a small square table, Aaron glaring at anyone who so much as dares look at Phoenix wrong. They drag another table over to ensure there's enough space for all the food.

"It's a lot of food. Are you sure it's, um, not too much for someone like me? I don't mean to be ungrateful, I just, um, I'm not worth it, and– I'm sorry."

"Yes." Phoenix frowns. "Yes, you're worth it. Everyone is worth food, Phoenix." Phoenix has a look of confusion on their face, tears welling in their eyes. "What's wrong?"

Phoenix's eyes snap up to theirs for a second before darting away.

"It's, um, it's more than I've eaten since Kai went back to his team. That's all."

Aaron's alarmed by this. Sure, this is a big meal, but not overly. And if they're going on solo missions and healing themself they need bigger meals. They need the energy.

Abbie must worry about him finding out during their weekly check-ups now. Just how little proper food did she feed them before anyone found out?

What did he miss during that first weigh-in in five years? Did they start feeding Phoenix with Kai on the team, to make themselves look like heroes who aren't abusive? Phoenix seemed to know then that they needed to eat more, what's changed? Did they just say what they thought they wanted to hear?

How much of that has there been?

"You know it's not normal to eat so little so regularly, right? If it was by choice we'd call it an eating disorder."

Phoenix frowns. "Abbie's teaching me how to survive. It's, um, part of my training. I have to learn because I, um, I'm a bit pathetic and keep being captured. I'm her apprentice, she, um, she knows what she's doing."

Oh, Aaron bets she does. Keep Phoenix weak, reliant on her, with low self-esteem and terrified of their own shadow some days.

Except they're not weak. Not by a long shot. And sparks do crackle from the end of his fingers this time.

Phoenix shoots back from the table, chair hitting the wall, eyes wide.

"No, what are you– please, don't hurt me, don't punish me, I didn't mean to! I understand that I deserve punishment but please, please, let me eat first before locking me away! Please, sir, I'm, um, I'm begging you!"

Aaron holds up his hands and, with great effort, wills the sparks away. Phoenix's sleeves are rolled up and their forearms are changing colour seemingly at random, parts of their face growing fake scales and illusory feathers and all sorts that keep appearing and disappearing. They're terrified and Aaron needs to deal with this before they end up almost invisible again. That would certainly get back to their team.

"Hey. Easy, Phoenix, where do you think you are?"

"In, um, in the flat, I know that, sir. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't show my powers like this, please don't hurt me, please, um, I know I deserve punishment but please."

Aaron glances around quickly. Luckily no-one seems to have noticed or cared. They lower their voice anyway.

"You're not in the flat. You're in the cafeteria. And you're certainly not in any kind of trouble. In fact, I don't even know what you've done that you think warrants whatever 'punishment' you were about to get."

"But you– I– I don't– Aaron?"

"Yeah. It's me. No punishment, and no pain, I promise. Shall we eat?" They're guessing from Phoenix's pleas that Abbie sometimes denied them meals as a punishment, and Aaron's hoping being clearly offered one might help them calm down.

Phoenix nods, arms wrapped around themself. "'m sorry. I fucked it up."

"No, you didn't. Less than five minutes out of a good day? Let me give you a hug."

They nod again, and Aaron crosses to the other side of the table, pulling them in as they lean on him.

"The food won't even be cold."

"Is there, um, someone with powers in the kitchen or something?"

"Yes," says Aaron simply. He knows they're joking but it's true.

"Oh." There's silence for a minute, before they say, tentatively, "I think, um, I would've liked that job. If I had the right sort of powers. I can't save the world that way, but still. It would be fun. And I could, um, make food for people who've been rescued. It'd be a waste of my immortality but I wouldn't be immortal in this scenario. What, um, what other jobs are there here that aren't on the, um, front line?"

Aaron recognises it as a tentative attempt at an olive branch they mistakenly think they need, and leads them gently back to their seat. He takes a bite of his fish.

"Well, there's plenty in medical, for starters. Nursing's a big one. And liaisons. I think you'd be good at that."

"Liaison? What, um, what do they do?"

"Well, first of all, it's not like a medical liaison job on the outside, if you know what that is, so put that thought aside. They're called medical advocates, or patient liaisons. A medical advocate works with patients who are struggling, usually psychologically. Patient advocacy, helping them through trauma, explaining things in their terms, informing us of things we might need to know. Like your sensitivity to general anaesthetic and healing. Long-lasting trauma. A lot of it's in the word liaison, to be honest. And we never have enough of them."

He's trying to think of a way to ask them if they'd like to help with that while Indigo and Segun won't let them in the flat and all they can do is solo missions until Abbie returns, when they hear footsteps behind them. Aaron thinks hopes that they'll just go past, but no such luck.

"Can I sit here?"

Aaron snarls and whirls around, before noticing who it is. "Oh! Hi Joseph."

"Hello there. Still as protective as ever. Phoenix? Mind if I sit here?"

"Yes, sir. I mean, you can, sir," they murmur, going quiet. As Joseph smiles and takes the seat next to Phoenix, carefully blocking their view of one of the heroes whose gaze is boring into them, Aaron notices them curl over their meal, ever so slightly.

One of these days he is going to hack Abbie into a hundred pieces. Without knocking her unconscious first.

"Thanks." He picks up a chip and pops it in his mouth. "So, what were you discussing before I interrupted?"

"Non-frontline jobs here. For example, Phoenix, Joseph works as... what exactly do you do? You're medical, I know that much, but what specifically?"

Joseph shrugs. "Frontline Paramedic. Found out the title recently."

"Okay, maybe not the best example of a non-frontline job, but we're still better than you."

"Not true."

"Oh, come on. Your only decent output is your cinnamon buns and you know it. And we don't even need you to make them anymore, not now we have the recipe."

Phoenix snorts, taking a hurried mouthful of beans to cover it up. "Sorry, sirs."

"'s okay," shrugs Joseph. "How's your injury?"

"It's healed, sir. Completely."

"Good." Aaron can tell he's a little surprised at the speed – it was a large gash, after all, and Aaron's not sure if he knew about Phoenix's healing abilities. It's refreshing to meet someone else who actually cares about their health, especially for non-work purposes. "While I'm here, can I have your phone number? Just for the purpose of sending cat memes, I promise. Nothing nefarious."

"I'll kill him if he does," says Aaron helpfully, when Phoenix hesitates. "And you can always block him if he gets annoying. No-one would blame you."

"O-okay." Phoenix takes Joseph's phone and enters it in. Then he looks between them calculatingly. "If you, um, don't mind my asking, how long have you known each other?"

"Since med school," replies Aaron easily. "We took the same international elective on helping patients with psychological trauma." Like Phoenix. At least... well, at least all this is good practice.

Phoenix nods. Aaron thinks they were right. Phoenix would make a great liaison, especially if they were a little more confident.

"Aand now I'm stuck with you," sighs Joseph theatrically.

Phoenix giggles. Actually giggles, and Aaron wasn't expecting that. "This food is amazing," they say between bites. "It's been a long time since I had chips and, um, beans or onion rings. I don't understand though. My team always complain about my cooking. If it's so bad, why don't they, um, order me to fetch food from here instead?"

"I don't know," lies Aaron sadly. In reality, he can make a pretty good guess. He's just not sure Phoenix is ready to accept it yet. "Go on. Eat up. I want you to try part of this cinnamon bun."

Aaron is the first to finish, and he carefully cuts up the genuinely massive sharing-size dessert.

Phoenix eats slowly, but their eyes pop out of their head as the scent wafts across the table.

"Wow."

"Mary must love you."

Aaron shrugs with one shoulder, feeling a bit awkward. "I saved her son. Physically. You remember after they closed the schools? Some people... didn't do too well. Even six years after the event, when I started, he wasn't doing well."

That's the understatement of the century. Joseph flinches minutely, dropping his fork.

"That's when the medical advocacy role was created. After the abolition. But a token apology and a new role in which there aren't enough employees does not reparations make. It certainly doesn't help enough." They sigh, then turns to Joseph, whose eyes have turned glassy, and taps him on the shoulder. "Hey. Breathe. You've got a cinnamon bun to eat, remember? No blood on your hands."

"There is a lot of blood on my hands," he breathes, but takes a bite of the bun anyway. "These really are delicious. Does Mary save them for you or something?"

Aaron smiles. "Yep."

Phoenix bites their lip, looking up for a second before locking their gaze on their bun like it's the most fascinating thing they've ever seen. "You– you said– well, um, you won't let me go back to living in the cupboard and, um, you won't let me pay you back, I'm sure I could but you won't let me and I still don't understand why, and you've done so much, and... and... and I... I, um, I... never mind. Sorry. Doesn't matter, it's stupid."

"Go on, spit it out," says Aaron gently.

"I– I– I, um, I– yousaidyoudonthaveenoughpeopleandindigowonttakemebackyetandiknowidonthaveanytraumaorexperienceanditsastupidideabutmaybeicouldhelp." They flush bright red after speaking all in a rush, and as Aaron tries to process the words he's heard, Phoenix says quietly, "I told you it was a useless idea. I'm sorry. You can punish me for it if you like."

Aaron shakes his head. He's understood the words now. Did Phoenix just make a suggestion? Not just a punishment one, and not pushed, one of their own accord.

But he needs to respond, or it might be the last suggestion Phoenix ever makes.

"It's not useless. Not in the slightest. I'd love to have you work in the medbay, even if it's only for a few months. And I'd never, never punish you for making a suggestion."

"Oh." Phoenix's eyes flicker upwards, and they must see the sincerity on Aaron's face because they smile. "Really?"

"Absolutely."

"I know it's a lot to ask but, um, will you not tell Indigo or Segun? Please? I don't, um, they might give me something else to do and, um, I'd be better helping you if you, um, think I'd be good at it, even though, um, I'm not sure, and I'm not supposed to– please don't tell them, please, please, sirs."

"I won't, I promise. Joseph?"

"Never."

Phoenix doesn't look much more relaxed, but they glance at Joseph with what appears to be a fraction less fear than before. They finish up their chips and take a bite of the bun, eyes going wide.

"Thank you, sirs."

"It's absolutely no problem. Really. You like the bun then?"

Phoenix nods enthusiastically, almost forgetting about their fear in their excitement. Aaron's heart aches. Over five years without even knowing they exist.

Their left cheek starts to turn the colour of the wall behind them in their enthusiasm. They haven't noticed, and when Joseph opens his mouth to potentially mention it, Aaron catches his eye and shakes their head. That would be a very, very bad idea.

He waits until Phoenix has finished before saying, "Do you want me to fetch you a leaflet on medical advocacy jobs once we've finished here? So that you know exactly what the job entails before you decide for certain whether or not to take it."

"I, um, I'm sure I do. But I'll, um, take a look at it if you, um, think it's best. Are you sure I, um, would be any good?"

"Hey. Stop putting yourself down. I love you, kid, but that has nothing to do with how good I think you'll be. I wouldn't have offered out of pity, would I?"

Phoenix shakes their head. "I'll, um, I'll take the trays up," they say thickly, gathering up the plates and clearly not about to take no for an answer. Joseph looks about to object but Aaron shakes his head.

"Let them gather themself," they murmur, once Phoenix is out of earshot, heading towards the furthest deposit point.

"I am going to murder that team of theirs."

"Just... do it cleanly? I don't want to have to heal them."

"Noted."

They watch as Phoenix deposits the trays, then just stands there for a minute. They raise a hand to their cheek quickly.

"Oh, kid," Aaron murmurs. Then they frown as one of the heroes who was glaring and intimidating the most earlier approaches Phoenix with intent. "I think we might need to intervene."

The other hero – Gorgeous Warrior, Aaron thinks his pseudonym is, and that's a bit much, even for someone of his ego, the name Kevin certainly not enough for him – gets into a conversation with Phoenix, and at first Aaron thinks hopes it might not be too bad, that he might be wrong.

Then Phoenix takes a stumbling step back, and Kevin takes one forward, pressing them against the trolley.

Fortunately, it has wheels, so they're not trapped for long. Unfortunately, all the trays are on the upper levels.

Aaron sees what's about to happen before it does, but he's too late to do anything about it as the trolley topples over with an almighty crash.

The cafeteria falls deathly silent. As Aaron approaches he can hear Phoenix's whispered pleas. White smoke rises around them, and Aaron is forcibly reminded of Morticia Addams, although this isn't relaxed smoke. It's their terrified friend, hiding behind their illusion powers because they can't do anything else.

Aaron doesn't know why their powers are so prevalent today of all days, not when they must've generally been more controlled with Abbie to avoid 'punishment' and permanent damage, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is that they're terrified and the man doing it is supporting Abbie, their abuser, with a smirk on his face.

Even what she's done publicly, accessing Phoenix's encrypted medical files without their permission, is bad enough, and he's smirking.

"Please. I'll do anything, please don't."

Aaron plants himself firmly behind Phoenix, Joseph on their other side. He's a bit unsure about interfering but... right now, Phoenix needs obvious allies, not to deal with this themself. Right?

"Hey. Back off."

Kevin sneers. "What? Can't handle me on your own? Powers too weak to do anything except hide, like a fucking coward?"

Phoenix flinches. "I– I– just leave me, um, leave me alone."

"Coward. You can't expect anyone to take you seriously with that stutter. Abbie's doing her best with you, despite all your issues, and you got her suspended. You should've been grateful for her to take you despite the damage to her reputation. Should've been grateful to all of us for taking in someone so weak and keeping you alive when we didn't need to."

Aaron feels a rush of anger and the lights in the cafeteria burst, sparks flying, the only illumination now except for the setting sun. Before he can do anything direct to Kevin, though, he becomes aware of Joseph moving beside him, shoving at Kevin.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare put Phoenix down like that. And you are way out of line with those comments. What makes you think they're okay?"

"What the hell?"

Kevin looks genuinely confused, like he doesn't understand why they'd care for Phoenix, and that just makes Aaron angrier. He pulls his arm back and lunges for Kevin's face. Their fist hits the area around his eye with a crack.

"Get the hell out of here," they growl. "Before we make that look like a bloody picnic."

Kevin turns away, walking maybe (hopefully) a little faster than normal. Aaron glares until he's out of sight, then turns to Phoenix, touching them gently on the shoulder. They jump a foot in the air.

"Want to help me clear that up?"

Phoenix nods, bending down with Aaron to clear up plates (Aaron stops them touching the sharp shards). Joseph doesn't help, "keeping watch" instead, and Aaron suspects that he, too, saw the terror in Phoenix's eyes when they looked at him.

"You're not a coward, Phoenix. And you're not weak. I, personally, think your powers are amazing."

"But, but, um, they're not useful. Not like yours. Sorry, I, um, I can't stop that. Stutter. Tried."

"You don't need to stop it. I like you. All of you. Hmm? Don't apologise for yourself. There's someone I need to introduce you to when we get a chance."

Phoenix continues gathering trays, not looking at Aaron. After a minute they whisper, "Abbie used to use him for, um, for medical procedures. Because I, um, couldn't go to medbay."

Aaron's jaw tightens. He knows exactly what Phoenix is hinting at, even if they can't say it. But the fog is slowly dropping, even if their camouflage is nowhere close to it, and he pulls them into a careful hug.

"Shall we get out of here, kid? All the people, and the lights and the noise... it's too much for you, isn't it? I should've seen that, I'm sorry."

"'s okay. But, please, if you, um, don't mind."

"Of course. You okay with Joseph coming?" Phoenix nods, and Aaron helps them to stand on wobbly legs. "We're going somewhere more private. Do you want to come with us?"

Joseph glances at Phoenix quickly before nodding. "Sure. Where are we heading?"

"My room. If you're okay with that, Phoenix?" Phoenix nods, clinging on to Aaron tightly. They're really not hiding their fear of Joseph but Aaron doesn't know what else to do. He can't deal with this alone.

Phoenix walks with them robotically, Aaron's arm the only reason they don't fall, and doesn't seem to even notice as Aaron steers them into their room, sitting them down on their bed.

"Abbie's going to kill me," they whisper. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't, um, I didn't mean to stand up to him, but I did and Abbie's going to, um, she'll be so angry when she finds out. Please don't tell her." They look up at Joseph, back to themself suddenly. "Please don't tell her, sir, please don't, um, don't tell anyone, except you can but please."

"I won't," says Joseph, handing them a mug of hot chocolate and wrapping their hands around it when they don't move, "I promise."

Phoenix sniffles. "I can't control my powers. I need to. I can't, um, I need to but I can't learn, please, help me."

"Phoenix..."

"Please!" they cry. "I can't... it looks, um, it looks terrible and it's useless and what's the point if I, um, I can't even control it?"

"I'm not putting the cuffs on you, and the only reason I'd ever even consider it would be if you were putting someone in imminent danger. Which you're not."

He is, though. His powers are getting seriously out of control when he's angry. And he needs to get them under control, by any means necessary.

Joseph squeezes their shoulder, sort-of threateningly. "I know what you're thinking. Don't you dare."

Phoenix buries their head in their hands. "I don't, um, want to be useless," they say, voice muffled and choked, "I want to be good."

"You are. Stop putting yourself down. I like all of you. All of you is amazing, because you are. If you like, we can start your training soon, as a medical advocate and with more advanced first aid, because I think you'll be fantastic at the former and you desperately need the latter." Phoenix nods. "Great. Just promise me one thing?"

"What? I mean, anything, sir."

"Stop promising you'll do anything for people. You have no idea what they'll ask."

[rotten-machinery]

so like!!!! i got an idea!!! there are probably iterators made to make malware, either for data scraping or straight up taking out any "political competition" for their ancients. well WHAT IF THERE ARE MALWARE HUNTER ITERATORS?!?!? made to track the malware back to the iterator it was created by, and send em a protocol that deletes the code that lets them create malware in the first place. HOWEVER, this proves to not be as effective, as an iterator can relearn how to create malware. there are no more taboos now that the ancients are gone, no more laws, and no more stupid little rules the iterators have to go by. so what if like malware hunters made a total system shutdown protocol (deletion of all code for the iterator, basically kills em rather quickly) (can't relearn how to make malware if you're dead) to combat this, malware creators made another protocol that tracks down malware hunters, and basically also deletes all of their code (cannot delete someone's code if you're dead) smh karma 1 behavior

[lokh]

sometimes i feel like im in a glass closet except theres no closet and im holding a bazooka

[gas-station-chai]

“Jesus, Jack. Will you ever get over that? It was a fucking accident.”

“Will you ever get over your fucking ego???”

[marymunchkiin]

NO 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

[richardcaldwell]

.

[sincerelybubbles]

the team noticing how comfortable shy bau reader has gotten with hotch and they all find it very sweet

Slipping Into the Light warnings: brief mentions of cannon typical violence paring: hotch x shy!bau!reader

||||

The bullpen is its usual brand of chaos—agents moving between desks, papers shuffling, the hum of conversation filling the air. It’s comfortable, routine. Nothing out of the ordinary.

At least, until she walks in.

The team barely notices at first, too caught up in their morning tasks, but then—then, something odd happens.

She walks past Hotch’s office, and without a second of hesitation, she reaches out and knocks twice against the open doorframe—light, quick, easy.

Hotch glances up from his paperwork, and instead of his usual curt nod or unreadable gaze, something soft crosses his face. It’s barely there, a flicker of warmth before he schools his expression. But it’s real.

And then—then—she says, “Morning, Hotch,” like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal.

Not Good morning, sir. Not a quiet, hesitant nod in passing. No, just Morning, Hotch, said with the kind of familiarity that suggests it isn’t the first time.

He returns it with a quiet, “Morning,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And that’s when the team starts paying attention.

Morgan’s head tilts up first, brows knitting together. Emily, mid-sip of her coffee, pauses with the cup just short of her lips. Reid frowns at the exchange like it’s a puzzle he hasn’t figured out yet. Rossi just smirks.

The door to Hotch’s office closes a moment later, and she moves toward her desk, entirely unaware of the looks being exchanged across the room.

Emily recovers first, setting her coffee down and leaning toward Morgan. “Morning, Hotch?”

Morgan shakes his head, almost in disbelief. “That’s not normal, right? She doesn’t talk to anyone like that. Not even me,” he points out, sounding offended. “And I’ve been workin’ on breaking her out of that shell for years.”

Reid blinks, clearly running through past conversations in his head. “She’s never greeted me like that before, either.”

“Or me,” Emily agrees, before throwing a glance toward Rossi. “You?”

Rossi just takes a slow sip of his coffee, unreadable.

“Something’s up,” Morgan mutters.

Emily hums in agreement. “Something.”

||||

It happens again the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

Each time, it’s something small—something easily overlooked if you aren’t paying attention. But they are paying attention. Because once profilers start noticing something, it’s impossible to stop. It becomes a game between Emily and Morgan, noticing the small ways you've warmed up to Hotch.

Easier smiles, passing him in the plane when you would usually wait for a larger gap, conversations continued when he walks into the room rather than screeching to a halt like before.

It's nothing massive to the untrained eye but, well, they are trained to notice breaks in patterns, to see when things change and how they do.

Like today.

Hotch walks into the bullpen, coffee in hand, heading straight for his office. Nothing unusual there. But as he passes by her desk, she glances up from her file, eyes flicking toward his cup.

“Did you eat?” she asks, casually—too casually.

Hotch slows just a fraction, just enough for the team to catch it. “Not yet.”

She hums, glancing at the time. “Bagel shop’s still open. They have fresh bread until nine.”

“I’ll be fine,” Hotch assures, but he lingers. Just for a second.

She gives him a pointed look before returning to her file. “Mm.”

That’s it. That’s the whole exchange. And yet—

Morgan immediately turns toward Emily. “You seein' this?”

Emily nods, hiding a grin behind her coffee. “Oh, I’m seeing it.”

Reid, who has been diligently pretending not to be part of this entire conspiracy, clears his throat. “I mean, she could just be concerned about his health?”

Morgan gives him a look as Emily snorts. “She’s never told us to eat.”

“She’s never told anyone to eat,” Morgan mutters, shaking his head. “Except Hotch, apparently.”

Spencer frowns slightly, watching as Hotch disappears into his office. Then he looks back at her, catching the way she glances one more time at the closed door before focusing back on her file.

“Okay,” he admits. “That was weird.”

“Thank you,” Emily says, throwing her hands up.

Morgan shakes his head, settling back into his chair. “I’m just saying, that’s not nothing.”

||||

It happens again later that evening, this time in the briefing room.

They’ve wrapped the case, a particularly grueling one, and now it’s the slow process of debriefing, paperwork, and waiting for the jet to be refueled in case they actually need it tomorrow - they've been able to help over the phone today but everyone is certain tomorrow will bring a tragedy the necessitates travel tomorrow or the day after. The team is scattered around the table—some flipping through reports, others making half-hearted attempts at conversation, everyone running on fumes.

She's tucked into the corner of the room, curled over a file, her pen tapping absently against the paper. If she stops moving, she’ll fall asleep. And she doesn’t have the energy to be embarrassed about that.

The door opens, and Hotch steps in. The conversation dulls, but only slightly—it’s always like that when he walks in. Not because they’re afraid of him, but because his presence naturally shifts the atmosphere.

She barely looks up. “Coffee?” she asks, already moving to stand.

Hotch shakes his head. “I got it.”

She pauses, then settles back down, flipping a page. “Okay.”

That’s it. No hesitation, no stammering, no overthinking the fact that she offered in the first place. Just easy.

And that is very interesting.

Morgan narrows his eyes slightly, tilting his head as he watches her. It’s subtle—probably something even she hasn’t noticed—but there’s no way in hell he’s imagining it now.

The old her would’ve never spoken to Hotch without being spoken to first. Would’ve never offered him something so casually, so easily, like it was second nature.

And Hotch—

Hotch, who usually doesn’t acknowledge small gestures like this, doesn’t even bat an eye. Doesn’t make a comment, doesn’t pause, doesn’t do anything other than react without thought.

Which means this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

Emily catches Morgan’s look and raises a brow. You seeing this?

Morgan smirks. Oh, I’m seeing it.

They share a knowing glance, and then—just to test the waters—Emily leans forward, setting her elbows on the table.

“Hey, Hotch,” she says casually. “Since you’re already up, can you grab me one too?”

Hotch glances at her, then at Morgan, who looks far too interested in his answer. He exhales sharply, amused but unamused, and turns toward the door.

“No.”

Morgan barks out a laugh, and Emily grins, triumphant.

And in the corner, she remains blissfully unaware, still flipping through her file, still tapping her pen, still completely oblivious to the way the entire team is slowly piecing this together.

||||

The next moment happens in Rossi’s office.

She hadn’t meant to end up here. It’s late, past the point of pretending she’s being productive, but she told herself she’d finish one more report before heading home. Somewhere along the way, she’d wandered, coffee in hand, and now she’s leaning against Rossi’s doorway, blinking sluggishly at him as he flips through a leather-bound journal.

“Long day?” he asks without looking up.

She nods, then remembers he’s not looking. “Yeah.”

He hums, setting the journal aside. “And yet, you’re still here instead of going home. Or is it that you don’t want to go home?”

“I was going home,” she argues, though they both know she’s lying. “I just… got distracted.”

Rossi leans back, eyeing her with the kind of gaze that makes it impossible to lie. Not that she’s in the habit of lying to him—especially since he’s usually at least five steps ahead of her anyway.

She glances at the clock. 10:42 PM. She exhales through her nose, rolling her lips together.

“You should get some sleep,” he says, but there’s something else in his tone. A lilt. An implication.

She squints at him. “Why do you sound like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something.”

Rossi shrugs. “I know a lot of things.”

“Right,” she mutters, narrowing her eyes.

He’s enjoying this. That much is clear. She doesn’t know what he’s enjoying yet, but she’s sure he’ll make her figure it out on her own.

And then—

“Oh.” She blinks. “Wait. No.”

Rossi smirks.

Her stomach flips. “You know?”

He doesn’t answer, just reaches for his glass of scotch, taking a slow, measured sip.

She feels heat creep up her neck, spreading across her cheeks.

He knows.

Which means Hotch told him.

Which means Hotch talked about it.

Which means—

“Relax,” Rossi drawls, interrupting her impending spiral. “It’s not like he gave me a play-by-play. He just mentioned you two had dinner.” He pauses, then grins. “And that it went well.”

She shifts her weight, suddenly too aware of herself. Oh.

It’s not that she thought Hotch would keep it a secret forever, but hearing that he’d told Rossi, that he’d spoken about it in any capacity, makes it feel… real.

More real than the way her heart stuttered when Hotch had smoothed a hand over hers at dinner. More real than the quiet, steady confidence he’d had in their them-ness while she was still fumbling over the weight of it.

Rossi watches her carefully, still amused but softer now. “You okay?”

She nods, pressing her lips together. “Yeah. I just—”

She gestures vaguely, words failing her.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Go home,” he says again, more insistent this time. “And tell Aaron I said you’re welcome.”

She sputters, eyes wide, and Rossi just laughs, already reaching for his journal again.

She doesn’t know if she’s embarrassed or endeared, but as she slips out of his office, warmth tucked into her chest, she thinks maybe it’s a little bit of both.

||||

The moment is small. Blink and you’d miss it.

Hotch is standing by the coffee maker in the break room, pouring himself a cup. She wanders in a moment later, her movements unhurried, her posture looser than usual. The case they’d just wrapped had been rough, but the team was back home, safe, and exhaustion was settling in around all of them like a thick fog.

She steps beside him, reaching for the sugar, only to find his hand already on it.

She blinks up at him.

Hotch smirks, just barely. “You were going to put in two scoops.”

Her eyes narrow. “And?”

He hands her the spoon, ignoring the way the corner of his mouth twitches. “And you always complain that it makes the coffee too sweet.”

She exhales, glaring at him for being right, and scoops one spoonful instead.

“You should get your own coffee if you’re just going to judge mine.”

“I was here first,” he reminds her. "Making my own coffee, not yours."

“I was letting you make mine for me.”

The words are out before she fully registers them, her lips parting slightly at the realization.

Across the room, Morgan and JJ freeze mid-conversation.

Hotch stills, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around the handle of his mug. He watches her, slow and appraising, and then—

He leans in. Not much, but just enough. “You've got me there. Here." Slowly, he places the cup in her hand, a spoonful and a half of sugar poured in, slowly curling her fingers around the mug for her. Pleased at the reaction he so easily brings forth.

And then he walks out, leaving her standing there, fingers curled around her coffee cup, ears burning.

Morgan lets out a low whistle. “Damn.”

JJ, still wide-eyed, elbows him. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Oh, it’s already a thing,” Morgan mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. “Did you see that? She flirted back.”

JJ presses her lips together, fighting a grin. "Still, not our business." She insists, despite the way warmth curls in her stomach at the thought.

||||

The jet hums beneath them, a steady, soothing vibration. The case had been long and brutal, but it was over, and they were finally on their way home. The team was scattered around the cabin—Morgan and Emily playing cards, JJ half-dozing with her headphones in, and Rossi nursing a glass of something dark.

And her?

She was sitting stiffly in her seat, her arm propped awkwardly against her side, doing a terrible job of pretending she wasn’t in pain.

The gash on her ribs wasn’t deep. She’d already been patched up at the local hospital—stitched, bandaged, and thoroughly instructed to take it easy. But “take it easy” apparently translated to everyone treating her like she was made of glass.

Emily had tried to grab her go-bag for her earlier.

Morgan had asked if she wanted him to get her a drink—when had he ever done that before?

Even Spencer had hovered like a worried sibling, his gaze flicking toward her every few minutes like he was expecting her to keel over.

She could deal with that. What was harder to deal with was the fact that Hotch hadn’t said anything at all.

Not until now.

“You need to rest,” his voice cut through the low hum of conversation, steady, sure.

She looked up from her untouched cup of tea to see him standing in front of her, arms crossed, expression unreadable to anyone who wasn’t her.

She sighed. “I’m fine, Hotch.”

“You’re in pain,” he countered, not unkindly.

“I’m always in pain after a case,” she pointed out, arching a brow.

His lips twitched in a way that was almost—but not quite—a smile. “This is different.”

He knew. Of course, he knew. She should have expected that.

Her shoulders eased just a little. “I just don’t want everyone fussing over me.”

“They’re only fussing because they care.”

She couldn’t argue with that. But still, she rolled her eyes, shifting slightly in her seat—only to wince when the movement tugged at her stitches.

Hotch sighed and sat beside her. “Case in point.”

She huffed, tilting her head back against the headrest, aware of the small, knowing glances being exchanged around the cabin. No one said a word, but she felt it—the way the energy shifted.

Like they were all watching something unfold, something inevitable.

She kept her gaze on Hotch. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” His voice softened just enough to make her chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with her injury.

And despite the pain, despite the exhaustion pressing down on her limbs, she found herself... warm.

Because he knew her. Knew when to push and when to step back. Knew how much she hated being coddled, but also knew exactly when she needed to be told to stop pretending she was fine.

It wasn’t suffocating.

It was steady.

It was him.

||||

The bar was too loud, too dimly lit, too full of bodies swaying and pressing together in a way that made her head ache.

She’d never wanted to come, not really. But Morgan had a way of making things sound like a good idea until she was already in them, halfway slumped over a sticky bar top, nursing a drink she barely had the energy to lift.

"You look like you’re about to pass out," Morgan teased, leaning his elbow against the bar beside her.

"Probably," she murmured, not even pretending to refute it.

She was wrecked. The case had been long and grueling, every hour stretching into the next with little more than caffeine and sheer willpower keeping her upright. When Morgan had invited her out, she hadn’t been sure why she said yes—maybe just to avoid thinking too hard about things.

But now, with exhaustion weighing her down and the music pounding too loudly in her ears, she wished she’d just gone home.

Morgan nudged her shoulder. "Alright, lightweight. You eat anything today?"

The question barely registered before she answered, too tired to filter her words. "I had dinner in Hotch's office."

It was out before she could stop it.

Morgan blinked. Then grinned.

"Ohhhh," he drawled, sitting up straighter, eyes lighting up in that way that meant trouble. "That’s why you two have been acting different lately."

She frowned, sluggish. "What?"

"Come on, don’t play coy now. Dinner? With Hotch? In his office? That’s why you’ve been all up in each other’s space. I knew something was up!"

Oh, God.

Her stomach plummeted, warmth flooding her face so fast she thought she might actually faint. "Morgan," she hissed, suddenly far more awake. "I—I didn’t mean—"

"You totally meant," he cut in, smug as hell.

She buried her face in her hands, groaning. "You tricked me into coming here. I’m too tired for this interrogation."

"You’re too tired to lie," he countered, tapping the bar. "And that’s the best time to get the truth."

She let out a long, slow breath, willing herself to cool down, to deflect, to not make this worse. But Morgan was already grinning like he’d won something, like he had all the confirmation he needed.

He leaned in conspiratorially. "So, how was dinner?"

She didn’t even bother answering. Instead, she waved down the bartender. "Two shots, please."

Morgan laughed, clinking his glass against hers when they arrived. "Now that is an answer."

||||

"I'm so sorry," she groans, squeezing her eyes closed against the admission.

Hotch has the nerve to laugh, covering his face with his hand. Red peers up and over his palm where it covers his expression. "I'm not mad," he insists, "just very amused."

"How is this amusing?" She asks, exasperated, turning to pace across his office.

"I've been opening flirting with you for months, almost a year. It's been a running joke, darling. It's amusing because you're only just now getting the heat for it. For reciprocating it."

"Reciprocating!" She exclaims, injust.

"Oh, are you not? Should I clear my calendar for tomorrow, then, cook for just me and Jack?"

She scowls, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. "No," she pouts, voice near a whine. "I just thought you didn't want the team to know anything was up."

"Oh, so something's up between us now?"

Leave it to him to use this moment to tease you, of course. When she first joined the team, Hotch was broody and withdrawn. It hadn't taken long for her to see his exterior crack, the flaws shining beneath.

He appears as a rule follower, a stickler for what's right and just, but he constantly bends for his team, for the victims, for children. And now, for you, he bends so far from that rigid form people perceive him in she has difficulties seeing his stiffness anymore.

Still, moments like these shock her. Aaron Hotchner is a flirt and an expert one at that.

"Maybe!" She concedes, too flustered to wiggle her way out of his trap. "That's not the point."

"I think that's exactly the point." Hotch catches her wrist, halting her pacing. "But it's okay. I don't mind the others knowing that 'something's up' with us."

"Oh my god," she groans, heat in her face nearly as brilliant as her smile.

[sunderwight]

Reverse Shen Yuan. Person who loves absolutely everything about a story except its main character and the tedious monsters that he fights. Completely obsessed with the protagonist's harem of neglected love interests and army of antagonists and cannon fodder side characters. Transmigrates into the benevolent mentor and is just like "perfect" and immediately starts using their knowledge of the main character to try and ruin his life and prevent his rise to power.

...Actually wait. That's what the story would be if Shen Jiu was the modern guy who transmigrated into PIDW and Shen Yuan was the original SQQ, isn't it?

[solxamber]

Celebrating your birthday with: Rook Hunt

(this was written as a birthday gift for @uniquethingtastemaker, happy birthday again!!)

You wake up to the distinct sensation of being watched.

Not the vague, unsettling feeling of someone possibly looking your way—no, this is the sharp, unrelenting gaze of a certified menace, the kind of intense staring typically reserved for apex predators about to pounce.

Your eyes crack open.

Rook is kneeling beside your bed, hands clasped in reverence, staring at you like you’re the Mona Lisa except more breathtaking, more exquisite, and—most importantly—his.

“Bon matin, ma chère!” he sings, eyes alight with terrifying devotion. “The day of your birth has dawned, and I, your ever-adoring chevalier, have planned an odyssey in your honor!”

You stare at him. You stare hard.

Then you glance at the clock.

5:57 a.m.

Your soul threatens to leave your body.

“Rook,” you croak. “It is not even six in the morning.”

“Exactly! For the day must be seized in its entirety!” He flourishes a bouquet of your favorite flowers from seemingly nowhere, because of course he does. “Rise, my love! Adventure awaits!”

You let out a deep sigh, the kind reserved for tax season and unskippable ads.

“…You’re not going to let me go back to sleep, are you?”

“Non!” He grins. “But worry not, my love, for I have already brewed your favorite morning beverage and prepared a repast fit for the divine being that you are!”

You blink. You process. You make peace with the fact that today will not be a normal day.

“Fine,” you grumble, sitting up. “But if this involves unnecessary cardio, I will run away.”

Rook only laughs, undeterred. Terrifyingly undeterred.

You should have known he would take that threat as a challenge.

Because, of course, breakfast isn’t just breakfast.

No, no, no. Rook has turned it into an elaborate scavenger hunt, complete with handwritten poetry clues and mandatory dramatic readings of each one before you can claim your next plate of food.

Exhibit A:

You: “This one says: ‘My love is as boundless as the sky, vast as the sea, deep as the—’” You squint. “Rook, is this an eleven-stanza sonnet about my eyes?”

Rook, beaming: “Oui!”

Vil, appearing in the doorway with coffee in hand: “Oh, perfect. More nonsense before I’ve even had my morning serum.”

You and Vil share a look. A silent, exasperated understanding forged in the fires of Rook-related exhaustion.

“Do you want some of my toast?” you offer.

“I’ll take the whole plate.”

Rook, who absolutely anticipated this betrayal, simply chuckles. “Ah, but the real reward awaits, mon trésor!”

He gestures toward the final clue—a golden envelope that is far too dramatic for a mere breakfast game.

Inside, you find two words:

“Dress beautifully.”

You should have known. You should have known.

Rook doesn’t do simple outings.

No, today’s adventure includes:

A scenic hike where he insists on carrying you across a river because “only a fool would risk wetting your delicate shoes, mon amour!”

A meticulously packed gourmet picnic, complete with candles, wine, and food so unreasonably fancy that even Vil begrudgingly admits, “At least he has taste.”

Random bursts of poetry recitation, because Rook is physically incapable of letting a moment pass without waxing poetic about your existence.

And, of course—

“Why are you blindfolding me?” you ask, as Rook gently covers your eyes with a silk ribbon.

“Ah, but it is a surprise, ma belle étoile!”

Vil sighs in the background. “For the love of—if this ends with you being launched out of a cannon, I will personally end him.”

Rook only laughs. Which is not reassuring.

When the blindfold comes off, you gasp.

Before you is an entire garden, aglow with thousands of twinkling lights, petals cascading from above in a mesmerizing dance.

Everywhere you turn, your favorite flowers bloom in perfect harmony, their delicate fragrances weaving through the air like a love letter written in scent.

You look at Rook, utterly speechless.

He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His voice is softer now, gentler, filled with a reverence that makes your heart stutter.

“You are the most magnificent being in all the world, mon cœur,” he murmurs. “And today, I wanted to honor you the way you deserve.”

For once, you don’t have a sarcastic remark.

You just cup his face and kiss him, slow and deep, until you feel his smile against your lips.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispers.

And, despite the chaos, despite the utter absurdity of the day—

You think, maybe, this was the best birthday ever.

[leviskittywh0re]

i have some random jjk head cannons for y’all so enjoy 🫶

also if you want more of these plzzz lmk!

- SATORU GOJO would definitely be the type of guy as your boyfriend/husband who would let you do anything and everything you wanted whether its putting little bows and clips in his hair, styling his hair into some ridiculous mohawk, putting his hair into multiple ponytails or even letting you do his makeup so he looks like a pretty princess just like you. anything you want he’s on board and he’s gonna have a dorky smile on his face the entire time ^-^ (also you best believe he’s taking pictures of all of it once you’re done to keep on his phone to look at when he’s bored at work from doing absolutely nothing except sit on his ass letting paperwork pile up)

- KENTO NANAMI would be the type of guy as your boyfriend/husband who would focus on your physical and mental wellbeing more than his own and he would make damn sure you’re drinking enough water and eating enough throughout the day so that you’re not on the verge of starvation or dehydration because he knows that he’s not the best with making sure he himself has enough water or food in his body throughout the day being at work all the damn time

- SUGURU GETO would be the type of guy who as your boyfriend/husband would prefer to stay at home with you lounging on the couch watching movies rather than going out to a bar or a restaurant for a date night. he doesn’t like people (or “those damn monkeys” as he calls them) but he wants to spend quality time with you and show you how much you mean to him in his own way

- CHOSO KAMO would be the type of guy who would track your monthly cycle and make sure you’re alright like the sweet baby that he is. yea he may not be a “human” but he’s trying his best and has definitely taken notice as to what products you like and don’t like. he most definitely makes sure yours stocked up on supplies and will quite literally fly to the store to get anything your little heart desires regardless of what time it is or what he’s doing. he will drop ANYTHING to make sure you’re taken care of <3

- TOJI FUSHIGURO would be the type of guy who would make the BEST attempt to cut his gambling and be there for you. he lost his wife which broke him because he wasn’t really there and doesn’t want to lose you. he doesn’t want to be alone again so he will put anything aside to spend as much time with you as humanly possible, hell he’d even take a week off work to go on a little trip w you to get away from work and the busy life just to be with you

[thenightwolf51]

"Danny was born a Wayne" AU except he's Bruce's grand uncle. The result of a one time drunken affair, shortly before Kenneth Wayne's death, to a young unmarried woman who gave the baby up for adoption.

(Whether the Fenton's, and therefore Amity, were just ahead of their times or the DC timeline is shifted a bit so that DP happens in its cannon era is up to you. Dealers choice, though now that i know about her i just love badass widowed prohibition leader Laura Elizabeth Wayne)

Danny grows up knowing hes adopted and loved by the Fentons but something (dealer's choice) happens and he loses his family and friends (maybe the whole town goes too?). In an attempt to avoid a Dan situation he flees into the Infinite Realm and doesn't stop.

He just wanders, time passes in its weird Realms way, not that Danny truly notices. A protector spirit thats lossed everything it protected. Its a wonder he doesn't fade and he actually might've if it wasn't for his human side.

But its a tug at his core that brings him from his near catatonic wandering. Gone before he can even understand it but enough to shake him back to himself. Enough to know that hes nowhere near ready to go anywhere familiar so he continues on, his wandering no less pointless but at least he's aware again.

What feels like a relatively short time later he gets another tug, and this time he manages to follow it.

He follows it invisibly through a natural portal that drops him somewhere in New Jersey and all the way to a fancy hospital room in the gloomiest city he's ever seen.

In there he sees his half brother Patrick Wayne, though he wont figure out their connection for a few more years, holding little Agatha. She's adorable in her little dress and pigtails and her sweet face causes that familiar tug he recognizes from what must have been six years ago given the girls age.

Then a nurse comes in and hands a little bundle to what must be the mother (whos name i cant find) and Danny takes one look at the little core tugger who brought him here and just melts. Even without knowing yet that this is his last remaining family, his instincts latch on and he vows to protect and care for the Waynes.

And he does.

He finds his forgetful brother's documents and keeps Aggy company when everyone else is busy and soothes baby Thomas so his poor sister-in-law can get some more sleep. He ices fevers and bruised knees and helps on later games of hide and seek.

He very rarely becomes visible and only to the children. His grief over the Fenton's convinces him its better to protect his new family from the shadows.

Danny explores every inch of the manor, including secret passages and an underground cave system. He claims a forgotten room in the back of the attic as his own, which over the years fill up with knickknacks, heirlooms, and pictures of the family. Even a gift or two from Agatha, who hadn't stopped believing in their shadowy guardian like her brother did when Danny felt they were too old to see him without drawing suspicion.

The manor becomes his haunt and he always knows where each family member is within it. And when any guests have some no good intentions.

And when baby Bruce is born tugging at his core and with the bluest little eyes, he welcomes the fussy little thing. And makes sure dear Martha never knows just how fussy baby Bruce really is, otherwise she might've never had a full nights sleep.

Danny blames himself for not being there when Thomas and Martha die, and promises to never leave Bruces side, practically becoming the boy's living shadow. Watching over him as he gets older, secretly aiding him in his training. Danny feels a bit of pride when Bruce takes some inspiration from the old stories Thomas told him of the shadowy Wayne family protector when creating his Batman identity, glad his nephew still remembers him even if he hasn't shown himself since the now young man was six.

Danny continues to protect and care for the family in a variety of ways over the years even as the family grows.

Lightening Alfred's workload, softening Dick's falls, calming Jason's temper both pre and post pit, hiding Tim's coffee when the boy hasn't slept in far too long, providing plenty of shadows and hiding nooks for Cass, helping Damian hide the litter of kittens he found.

And no one seems to know he's there, except maybe Cass and he's pretty sure Alfred has been know since he first started working for the family. No one knows, that is, until Duke Thomas moves in and lookes right at him watching invisibly from the sidelines.

(@omnicrafts @dcxdpdabbles @hdgnj @ailithnight @nelkcats @im-totally-not-an-alien-2 i dont know, the main point of all this is that Danny's been protecting the Wayne family for decades and no one, except maybe Alfred, knew until Duke moved in)