#actually there are worse legacies i mean at least this would raise a smile on the faces of my bereaved social media followers

[nostalgia-tblr]

u know... if i died before finishing this fic then my abandoned-via-death AO3 account would would be my tombstone and the epitaph would be the word "Cockroboros" right there at the top of the page for all eternity

[nightingaelic]

could you do Fallout New Vegas companion’s reactions to a Courier Six who is also the Lone Wanderer telling their stories from their time in DC? (bonus points for Arcade’s reaction to them hating the enclave, and if that would make him decide to keep his past hidden even longer, or if he would still tell them?)

The logistics and implications of this make my head spin. This is also super long, honestly I should just quit writing reacts and start writing fics OH WAIT

Getting the courier talking was a tough thing to do, but on nights where the moon was full and the coyotes' howls were miles away or at least behind some stout walls, on nights where they were a few beers in and they hadn't seen another living soul in a few days, that Mojave Express deliverer started to reminisce. That wasn't really the surprising part, though. No, the surprising part was what they would remember, fondly or not-so-fondly: A world apart from the desert, a continent away on another coast, and stories of life in a vault, a missing father, pure water and a Brotherhood divided.

Arcade Gannon: Arcade didn't mind these moods, at least when they first cropped up. He nodded along as the courier talked about living in their father's shadow, about feeling cornered by their own family's legacy. He hung on their words about living in the cradle of America's history, about Project Purity, all of the gritty details of modifying a GECK to bring water to a devastated wasteland.

Eventually though, the courier's memories soured, with the arrival of Enclave remnants in their life. Arcade folded into himself with every harsh word, every jolt of plasma that had disrupted his friend's world relived in horrific detail. They gestured angrily as they described their newfound purpose, their battle for power with the fractured Brotherhood of Steel at their back, and their smug satisfaction at the moments they were able to crack open Raven Rock and the Enclave's mobile base crawler and lay waste to their tormentors.

It took a few rounds of these stories before the courier noticed he shrank and grew quiet whenever they neared the end of their story about breaking into another vault to find the GECK. They stopped abruptly one night. "What's up with you?"

"Um..." Arcade scratched the back of his neck and looked away. "Nothing. Nothing, I just... have some personal experience with the Enclave, myself."

The courier sighed. "Yeah, there's a few people walking around the West Coast that have similar stories to mine. Arroyo's full of them, for one. Is it something like that?"

Arcade took a deep breath. "I feel... well, it's a lot closer to home, for me. Close enough to raise questions, so I don't talk about it much."

"Close enough to..." The courier twisted their face up in confusion for a moment, before realization set in and their eyes grew large. "You were... your... oh."

"Mmm-hm."

"Well, fuck me." The courier smiled and popped a cap off of another beer. "I've been doing all the talking, haven't I? Let's hear your story about working with the guys in power armor who ruined my life, right after dad did."

Craig Boone: Whenever the courier started up like this, Boone couldn't help but notice a familiar twinge of regret and self-doubt in their voice. It shone through most clearly when they spoke about their time with the Brotherhood of Steel, the men and women they'd fought alongside and lost during their struggle against the remnants of the Enclave. It was there, too, in their story about returning to the vault they grew up in, setting the chaos that had arisen in their wake to rest, but not being able to go back to the way things were.

Boone didn't pry. He knew that feeling well. Instead, he cracked open bottles of beer, liquor, soda, whatever they had on hand during their nights in the desert, and just listened. He'd done the same for Carla, when they were younger and new to each other and he couldn't get enough of her voice and how it flowed endlessly, easily, the way his never could. He absorbed it all now as he did then: The joy, the pain, the loss, the fear, the triumphs and falls and abandoned dreams that filled the courier up and drove them to travel west, beyond anything they had ever known.

That last part stumped Boone a bit, though. "Why didn't you stay?" he finally asked one night.

They looked surprised. "Stay? Stay where? I didn't have a home anymore."

Boone shook his head. "With the Brotherhood. Or some other settlement."

"Like Megaton?" The courier sighed. "I thought about it. Close to the vault, friendly people, easy work... I guess I just didn't want to wind up... stuck."

They flushed red and looked away from him. Boone knew why they were embarrassed, but he also knew the truth in their words.

Sometimes the courier cried after they had finished, though they did their best to hide it. Boone pretended not to notice. He was pretty sure they knew he was pretending, but he was also pretty sure that pointing it out would be worse than just letting it be an open secret between them. The silence between them endured, but something grew inside it and flourished. Some kind of deeper understanding.

Lily Bowen: The more the courier spoke, the more Lily made connections in her muddled mind. Of course they knew the basic layout of most vaults, they had grown up in one. Of course they were extra-sensitive to the Mojave heat, they had come to the desert from the cooler of the two coasts. Of course they'd been extra-wary around the super mutants or nightkin of Jacobstown, they had only known angry super mutants looking to grow their own numbers through any means necessary.

Their shared experience of growing up inside a vault reminded Lily of happier days, and she often asked questions about Vault 101 during the courier's stories. "Were you sweet on anyone inside your old home?" she asked, with a big smile befitting a proud grandma.

The courier blushed. "That's not very polite, Lily."

"Oh, I'm sorry, dearie."

"No, no it's okay." The courier smiled. "There was a boy who picked on me a lot, but I never figured out whether he did it because he hated me or liked me. His name was Butch. And there was Amata, my childhood friend. She was the daughter of the Overseer."

"Daughter of the Overseer?" Lily grinned. "I'm sure she was a lovely young woman."

The courier looked a little misty. "Yeah. She was. Probably still is."

Lily pulled a handkerchief that used to be a small tablecloth from inside her overalls and handed it over. "Maybe we can go back there together, pumpkin," she offered. "I always wanted to travel to the capital. We can visit your friends, see the sights."

"Yeah, maybe someday." The courier accepted the gift and blew their nose. "I've got some things I need to finish up here before I even think about wandering back east, though."

"Then let's make a list and do our chores," Lily said happily. "Number one?"

"Ohhhh, man." The courier smiled up at her. "I wouldn't even know where to start."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul got a faint smile on his face whenever the courier started up like this, as if their memories reminded him of another place he had come from, another time. While they couldn't have more different backgrounds, pasts- hell, he had several hundred years on the courier, even if they shared the same road today- there was something in the description of the other roads they had walked that made him feel warm on a cold night.

"What's on your mind?" The courier asked him one night, when Raul's smile grew larger than usual.

"Nada, boss," he reassured them. "You're just a good reminder that I can change my mind about the future anytime I'd like. Tell me the one about that radio DJ again."

"Again?" The courier rolled their eyes. "Why? I could tell you a million stories about Underworld and all the ghouls that lived there, but all you want to hear about is Three Dog. You'd probably have more in common with the Underworld folks, honestly."

Raul nodded noncommittally. "Sí, but my favorite stories are about people who had to rise above bad situations and become someone uncommon. Anyone who's able to do that is either fighting for something great or running from something terrible. Sometimes both."

The courier shot him a skeptical look. "Three Dog's holed up in his radio station 24/7, he's not running from anything or out fighting for anything. All that stuff about 'the good fight' is a load of bull."

"Now, now, Six," Raul chastised. "Just because he looks like your average pendejo doesn't mean he isn't doing his part. You even told me his radio show is inspirational for the Capital Wasteland folks."

The courier held their hands up in the air and bobbled them, as if balancing an invisible scale. "The duality of man. Being an average pendejo, or convincing everyone around you that you aren't actually an average pendejo and can pull off miracles."

Raul laughed. "And which one are you, boss?"

"Eh, I'm still figuring it out."

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Cass was never one for fixating on her own past, but she couldn't help but sympathize with the courier whenever they deigned to add onto their unbelievable story. It was hard enough for her to navigate her own damn life: She couldn't imagine being called upon to steer an entire area's destiny.

After another night of recalling their life inside a vault with their dad, then their unexpected loss of him right after being reunited on the surface, the courier stopped suddenly. "I'm sorry," they said.

Cass paused her swig of precious whiskey. "What?"

"I keep going on and on about my dad, and here you are not knowing what happened to yours."

"Eh." Cass took her drink and waved her hand around until the burning swallow made its way down. "S'loads of people in the wasteland without a clue what happened to their pops. I'm not special. In fact, I'd say it probably hurts a bit more, what happened with yours."

"Well, all the same." The courier sank deeper into their seat and examined their own bottle of spirits. "I feel like an open book, tonight. Anything you want to know about where I came from that I haven't already spilled?"

Cass thought for a moment. "Tribals."

"What about them?"

"Does the East Coast have them? You're not the first traveler I've met from there, but none of you have so much as mentioned any tribals out east."

"Mmm." The courier looked thoughtful. "I guess we do have them, though maybe not in the traditional sense. There's a mess of them in Point Lookout for sure, and at least one tribal group in the Capital Wasteland outright, but beyond that things are more... loose. Fewer intact families, fewer intact homes."

"Huh." Cass took another drink. "Maybe that's where my dad went."

She let the courier stew in the awkward silence for a bit before she grinned and reached out to smack them. "Just kidding. Keep going. I want to hear about that giant robot again."

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica usually sat and listened, spellbound, picturing a chapter of her order that had realized the very thing she kept trying to tell the Elders and made the ultimate sacrifice to follow their hearts anyway.

Well, maybe Elder Owyn Lyons hadn't come to the same realization as her, but he had had a change of heart that split his company and cut them off from almost everyone they had ever known. It had been five years since the High Elders had instituted radio silence toward their East Coast chapter, and so far there had been no attempts to re-establish contact.

Veronica prodded the courier for any info she could get about the Capital Wasteland Brotherhood of Steel. The courier let slip pretty early in their friendship that Elder Owyn Lyons had passed away, which wasn't unexpected. The man was 76 years old, after all. She learned on one particularly emotional night that his daughter, Elder Sarah Lyons, was also dead, something she wasn't sure even the Western Elders were aware of. That memory was clearly painful for the courier though, so Veronica didn't press for details.

"And the Enclave?" the Scribe asked one night, arms wrapped around her knees. "Are they completely gone?"

The courier grew cold. "Yes. I made sure of it."

"Right." Veronica nodded. "So the Brotherhood took over the air force base they were at. It must have been chock-full of tech and resources, if it was the Enclave's last stand."

"It was." The courier sighed and shifted in their seat. "And it woke up some of our brothers and sisters to their original mission in the Capital Wasteland. I thought maybe that selfishness had died with Liberty Prime, but... well, I didn't like it, so I left."

"Mmm, yeah." Veronica nodded again, sympathetically this time. "I know how you feel. Felt."

"Feel," the courier agreed. "I just wish there was more I could've done. Maybe there wasn't anything else, short of seizing power."

"You'd definitely get pushback for that in the Brotherhood," Veronica agreed. "But you might get that chance out here in the broader Mojave."

ED-E: At first, ED-E enjoyed the stories, trumpeting and cooing various beeps at the appropriate moments for emphasis. The one time the courier began badmouthing the Enclave, however, the eyebot waited until they had finished before playing back the first tape that Dr. Whitley had recorded before its trip.

The courier listened to the scientist's words from years ago, deflating slightly as it played out. When the tape had finished, they stood up and checked the eyebot over. "He sent you toward Navarro, huh?"

ED-E beeped affirmation, and the courier sighed. "But Navarro was already gone. I'm sorry. I guess I'm... well, me and the Brotherhood of Steel back east are responsible for your previous master's decision to send you away. Might be responsible for more, too."

ED-E beeped sadly. The courier pressed their forehead against the eyebot's metal dome in apology.

Rex: Well, surprising for most. Rex was not most. As soon as the courier got really into their recollections, Rex usually yawned and went to sleep. He stirred when he felt their hand reach down to scratch the ruff of his neck, or pat the glass dome that held his brain.

"Good dog," the courier said, through the veil of sleep. "You remind me of another pup that used to follow me around."

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[sweetcherrypie1967]

In the Name of Love

To everyone around them, what was about to happen had been a complete surprise and not to mention unexpected. But, everyone else didn't know about the secret the two shared. The months of sneaking around Hogwarts just to avoid being seen together, the stolen kisses, the insults they didn't mean, and the fear of what they felt. For if it became public, they'd surely be killed..or worse.

You see, to everyone else, that two despised one another just as they seemingly had for years before now. Even their closest friends didn't have a clue about what they were hiding.

But soon, everyone would know.

The students and staff of Hogwarts gathered around in the courtyard while the Death Eaters were on the other side. Something odd caught most of their eyes though, it was Hagrid. Hagrid, in the midst of the Death Eaters and Voldemort himself, not only that but he was carrying someone.

"Who is it that Hagrid is carrying?" Hermione Granger's panicked voice was heard.

"Who is Hagrid carrying?!" Hermione said louder and in more panic than before.

She got no answer, until..

"Harry Potter is dead," the voice of Voldemort rang out. His voice alone was enough to cause someone's skin to crawl, but for him to say that their Chosen One, their friend, was dead?

No!" Ginny Weasley exclaimed as she tried to rush to the body of the boy she loved.

But her father, Arthur Weasley, held her back as she sobbed uncontrollably as he knew that now wasn't the time to grieve.

They were all still in danger.

Hermione knew this, that's why the only reaction she had was hot, burning tears were running down her face. Harry Potter is practically her brother but he wouldn't want her to put herself or others in danger due to her emotions.

"Harry Potter is dead!" he repeated to the students and staff with grief filled expressions. There were earsplitting screams from those who were close to The Chosen One. Even Draco Malfoy was greatly affected by the loss. Not that he had liked the boy much, but he knew what it meant for him and the rest of the Wizarding World.

"Harry Potter is dead!" He repeated once more but to those on his side of the courtyard, and they laughed.

Draco Malfoy had at this point, not paid much attention to anything else. Lost in the realization that the Light had lost and all was doomed, even he who was on the side who won had still lost. For he had a secret that, once revealed, would make him no different to the ones who had been on the other side the entire time.

He was in love with a muggleborn.

It wasn't until he had heard his father beckoning him across the courtyard that he was snapped back into reality.

"Draco!" His father said gesturing for him to come by his side.

The blond boy hesitated, he could stay. He could be among all the other he would eventually die with, he could stay here and get it over with sooner and not have to live without his love. Then again, what about his family? What would happen to them? Weren't they the ones he had done all of this for, weren't they the ones who got him into all of this in the first place?

"Draco!" His father persisted.

Draco was torn, his family or his beliefs. He I surely took a step forward when a small hand caught his and his grey eyes locked with brown ones.

"Don't do it Draco," Hermione Granger begged him, "stay with us, stay with me."

He paused holding his love's fragile hands tight in his own. Seeing the fear in her eyes, he had made his final decision. He stood tall and more confident in himself then he had been in a long time.

Draco would stay. He would stay for her.

He gave her hand a squeeze and small smile to reassure her of his decision, she smiled tearfully and engulfed him in a hug to which he returned. "Anything for you," he whispered in her ear.

"Thank you," she whispered back before breaking the hug but still held his hand firmly.

"The Malfoy boy has become a filthy blood traitor!" Some Death Eater Draco didn't know called out angrily.

"What is this?" Voldemort called after seeing the exchange, "surely you have raised him better than this, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord, we did," Lucius said without emotion.

"It appears you hadn't done a well enough job at it. So few remaining pure families and with even less heirs to carry on their legacy," Voldemort mused, "the mudbloods have ruined so many good family names, Potter's pet has snuck in and now soiled the Malfoy's name."

"Hermione didn't 'soil' the Malfoy name, I did," Draco spoke up, "it was me who fell in love with her and it is me who will gladly choose her over your worthless cause."

"Love," he said in disgust, "what a foolish choice, I thought you were smarter than that. You should be ashamed."

"Just because you've never had it doesn't mean it's foolish," Draco argued, "and I'm not ashamed, I'm doing all this in the name of love. I'm done hiding from it."

"What a disappointment, I had such hopes for this one," Voldemort said sounding hardly disappointed or even surprised, "I'll give you one more chance, young Malfoy. Join me and you family and live a life like you deserve or you can die here and now right after Potter's whore."

"Don't call her that," Draco growled now seething with anger, "my mind is made up, I'd rather be under the cruciatus than live whatever life you would have planned."

"The cruciatus? I do think that can be arranged," Voldemort said casually right before pointing his wand at the boy.

"Cruc-"

Draco closed his eyes in anticipation for the pain he was about to experience, it wouldn't be his first experience with the curse, but it never came. He looked up just in time to see Neville Longbottom cut the head off of Voldemort's snake, Nagini. Voldemort roared at the sight knowing what it meant even when Draco didn't quite understand.

Moments later the fighting resumed, though now Draco Malfoy was known to be fighting on the other side. They had ran back into Hogwarts, if only for their last time. He and Hermione were fighting the death eaters side by side when they heard Hagrid.

"Harry! Where's Harry?" He cried.

While Hermione instantly looked to where his body had been mere seconds before only to find it gone, Draco cast a spell to prevent her from being injured due to her badly timed distraction.

Everything was happening so fast that, before they knew it, everything suddenly stopped when one voice was heard throughout the Great Hall.

"Protego!" Harry Potter shouted.

Everyone watched as Harry and Voldemort dueled for the final time.

And just like that, Voldemort was dead.

Draco had been helping to heal the wounded, he couldn't help but be angry at himself for previously causing a few of them before changing his side but at least he was making it right. He had actually found that he sort of liked helping people like this. Perhaps it was from the exhilaration of it all finally being over, he could finally have the life he wanted. It was after finishing with a sixth year Ravenclaw he didn't recognize that his Mother approached him.

She had gathered him into a hug, which was quite unusual for her especially in a public place, and he recuperated it. "My baby boy," Narcissa kept repeating. When the embrace ended she looked at him with glassy eyes, "I'm so proud to call you my son. You stood for what you believed in and even found love," she told him.

"Mother-" Draco began, truly moved by her words, when she interrupted.

"Speaking of which, I want you to have this," Narcissa told him taking out a small black box, "I'm sure you know what this is and if you care for her as much as you've displayed today, then I'm sure you won't waste any time in using it."

Now Draco was walking with Hermione down the halls of Hogwarts nervously fiddling with the box in his pocket.

"What is it you wanted to talk about? There's no one around anymore I'm sure," Hermione said.

"So impatient," he joked.

"Well while I do love it being just the two of us, there is a lot going on right now," she said in a similar tone.

"I know, I know you'd rather be with your friends than me," he said not unkindly.

She lightly pushed him, "you know that's not true."

"You're right," Draco said trying to stall.

"Plus the anticipation is killing me," Hermione told him.

"In that case maybe I'll wait until later to tell you," Draco teased.

"No! Please just tell me now," she begged and he chuckled.

He got down on one knee.

"I love you more than life itself as I've shown you today and I want to spend the rest of my existence with you. Hermione Jean Granger, will you marry me?" Draco said pulling out the black box to reveal a beautiful golden ring with both red and green gems in it.

The next words will change both of their lives forever.

"Of course I will!"

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

[fanfic-mind]

Blood on my hands (all that i've gained and all that i've lost)

pairing: merthur

warnings: non

status: fanfic draft, Part 1/? (~ 2300)

It’s yet again an hour of need for Camelot. But the weapon they need to safe kingdom and people comes with a price. Only those who prove that they are powerful and wicked can receive it. The knights of Camelot don’t have enough evil deeds to be worthy of the sword. They think everything is lost - until  Merlin speaks up...

A magic reveal story in which Merlin makes good use of being a morally grey character. Because, yea, Merlin-is-the-victim-reveals are swell and all but he is capable of making his own decisions and some of them are pretty shady. There is still a good amount of Uther bashing included.

Somehow they get into a situation that requires someone with blood on their hands - figuratively (otherwise it wouldn't be a problem because seeing how often Arthur and Merlin and also Gwaine get wounded by just existing they probably wouldn't even have to injure anyone)

Maybe a god of the Old Religion guards a weapon they need to kill the magic beast of the week or to destroy a cursed item.

In any case: they are really desperate. People are dying and this is their last hope, their last resort.

To their misfortune, this weapon is guarded by a very cunning and wicked god and they will only give their weapon to someone who has the power and the will to use it for evil deeds

There is a test that must be passed by the one who wants to receive the weapon. They must prove that they did enough evil deeds to be worthy of it.

Arthur quickly fails his test because despite some wrongs he's done he is way too just and noble to be wicked

The only knight that seems to get at least a few moments more of consideration is Leon who has done some terrible things - however under Uther's orders which isn't quite powerful enough

"Ahh, Uther Pendragon," the god muses, "Him i would have given the weapon. Such rage and blind hatred and, oh yes, so much blood."

Arthur grits his teeth and sets his jar. he wonders if his father would be disappointed in him for not living up to this legacy of his. he wonders - not for the first time - why he wanted to be like his father once and how he managed to end up being so different.

The knights discuss their strategy. non of them is wicked enough to pass the test. they have wicked people in Camelot's dungeons. But Camelot is three day rides off and their quest is really urgent.

They could separate and seek for wicked folk, but the chances seem slim and the risk of them keeping the weapon as they receive it seems too big

People are dying and they need to do something now.

"there must be another way to destroy it," Lancelot suggests, though they've been over this. His eyes stray to Merlin, but Merlin seems caught up in thought.

If there was an easier way to do this, Merlin and Gaius would have come up with it by now. asking the god had been their idea in the first place.

"What if there isn't?" Gwaine argues heatedly. "We can't have waisted six days for nothing. This is probably our last chance."

"so what do you suggest?" Lancelot interrupts somewhat irritated. They temperaments are heated at this point. And suddenly knowing each other’s worst deeds doesn’t exactly lighten the mood. "All of us failed the test. i wouldn't have thought that I'd ever be angry about being found too good and noble."

Gwaine shrugs with a grimace. He hadn't thought that he'd ever be deemed good and noble in the first place.

"maybe there's a way out of that," Arthur says. He hasn’t spoken in a while and all heads turn towards him.

"what do you mean, Sire?" Leon asks, looking uneasy as if he already knows and doesn't like it.

"If you're not noble enough, you proof your nobility by doing good deeds," Arthur starts matter of fact. "so, logically, if I'm not wicked enough, i prove my wickedness by doing an evil deed."

The god smiles a toothy smile.

"To murder just anyone obviously isn't evil enough" Arthur says, looking at the god with disgust. "so it must be somthing worse. murdering a friend, for example."

"My king, with all due respect, this is madness," Leon say carefully.

"sir Leon, that's the point." Arthur says sourly.

"is that really it?" Gwaine shouts at the god who watches his outburst unimpressed. "You want us to slaughter each other?"

the god laughs, distant and hollow and the earth seems to vibrate with it. "The weapon can only be taken by those of power who are wicked and cunning enough to wield it." the god repeats his earlier words.

"So there's not even a guarantee," Gwaine says, throwing up his arms. "Arthur, let's just leave and see if we can find something else."

"there is nothing else, Gwaine, you said so yourself!" Arthur returns. His expression is incredibly pained but determined in a way that makes them all shudder. Leon, Percival and Lancelot unconsciously get into fighting stance.

Gwaine takes a few steps to put himself between the king and Merlin who is the most vulnerable

Arthur nods to himself, seemingly coming to a decision in his head.  Tehn he draws his sword . "If either of you kills me while i try to kill you, that might be enough too" he muses

They all stare at him in horror, unable to believe that he will go through with this.

"My people are dying," Arthur says, his tone pleading, "if i have to sacrifice my good conscience to help them - well, it is a price i must be willing to pay. I'm sorry. But all of you swore to protect Camelot at all costs too."

Arthur halts for am moment then nods grimly. "Don't try to sacrifice yourself. I'm sure that's not what he's looking for" Arthur nods towards the stony god who smiles.

"you can't be serious" Mordred whispers.

"I'm afraid i am. Now, it's been an honour. truely. and i hope - i hope I'll still have your respect afterwards. Though, i can understand if you can't trust me again."

"that's enough."

They all turn around. Partly, because they had forgotten about Merlin who has been uncharacteristically quiet the whole time. and partly because they have rarely heard this sort of tone from him. harsh and demanding. a voice more fit for a king than his manservant.

They stare at him and he makes short eye contact with Arthur before he steps forward, in front of the statue that the god is using as a vessel.

"test me." Merlin says. his voice is determined and his shoulders are set.

Arthur let's out a short laugh, because clearly this is absurd, right? Merlin is the best and kindest of all of them. Actually, coming to think of it, if he's really honest, Merlin probably is the reason Arthur is not like his father. Merlin makes him better. Merlin makes him want to be better.

A few of the knights share his sentiments, laughing slightly hysterical with tension but still perplexed over this development.

Only Lancelot steps forward with a frown as if to pull him back, but merlin raises a hand without looking at him and he stops in his tracks.

Arthur who was about to say something stops too.

The god looks more alive than before he seems to stretch himself to his full height as if he has waited for this

"welcome" he starts as he has with all of them. "young warlock, tell me your deeds."

lancelot tenses, casting a worried glance back at the king who stands there, sword still drawn, eyes fixed in Merlin as if he doesn't understand any of this

Lancelot doesn't either. Even if Merlin is a sorcerer - what evil deeds can he possibly have done? Saving Arthur's life over and over without ever seeking credit doesn't have a ring of evil to him.

"I am Merlin, and they call my Emrys." Merlin starts.

Some of the Knights gasp. Emrys is a name they know by now.

Lancelot wonders whether Merlin considers his identity an evil deed in itself. The possibility breaks his heart a bit.

"I was born with magic. I am the most powerful sorcerer there is."

Merlin takes a deep breath.

"i lied to all my friends. I let them think they can trust me, that they know me. But they never will. I could kill them just by looking at them. I am magic and i killed many behind friends backs and before their eyes, but never revealed myself to them"

"I am a slayer of my own people," he continues, his voice hard, "I killed many creatures and men of magic to protect their murderers - the king and his son. I did it out of self-righteousness and out of selfishness because...” for a moment, Merlin halts, but then he continuous with the same hard tone as before, as if something is forced out of him, but he wants to stand for it.

“I loved Arthur more than my own people. i let many of them die even though i could have helped them if i had revealed myself. But i couldn't bear the thought to be separated from him so i stayed quiet and watched them burn."

The god nods Merlin on. They all stand in shock. They know from before that Merlin won't be able to stop telling his deeds before the god thinks he is done.

"I killed the witch Nimueh even though she told me i have to pay with a life to save Arthur's. Instead of giving my life as i promised, i killed her."

"I killed Mary Collins, Afanc, Aulfric, Sophia, Cornelius Sigan, Myror and many more. "

Merlin's voice falters a bit, but he seems to pull himself together visibly, because his voice is clearer again when he keeps speaking.

"My betrayal to my people is so great, my wickedness so deep, i considered to kill a child on the mere possibility that he could threaten what was mine in the future."

Mordred makes a quiet stricken noise.

No one dares take their eyes off Merlin, but Merlin himself turns his head slowly.

There is a gasp of horror when they all see that his eyes are glowing yellow with magic.

Up until now, no one except Mordred and Lancelot had truly believed it.

"I tried to kill Mordred when he was a child and i wish his death even now though he is kind and serves Arthur."

Lancelot looks at Merlin with complete bewilderment as Mordred sobs.

Merlin doesn't answer Lancelot's gaze, he just turns around again.

They can hear him take in another breath and it sounds more halting than before.

"I knew that my friend had magic and i saw her turmoil and her fear of being killed. of being burned by her own kin like all of the others. but instead of helping her, i left her in the dark. I told her to trust me - she trusted my - and then i poisoned her."

Merlin stops for a moment, his voice sounds rough as if speaking becomes quickly more difficult.

"I gave Morgana poison in full intend and watched her as she died and i regretted when she was healed."

"Only i had the power and knowledge to save her, but i turned my head from her suffering, i killed her when she didn't know better than to turn to her sister, it was me that made her what she is today."

There is another short pause. Lancelot is desperate to see Merlin's face. To demand how this all really went. Because though he knows that Merlin is bound to say the truth by the power of the god, he still thinks there must be a mistake or a trick. This is not Merlin. Merlin would never...would he?

"I conspired with and freed the dragon that attacked Camelot which led to the death of many innocent people. I attempted to kill Arthur on multiple occasions."

Lancelot frowns. This one he knows to be untrue. Merlin didn't want to kill Arthur. it was Morgana's doing that he went after him.

"i saved Uther Pendragon's life - more than once. I let him live even though he slaughtered my people. I saved his life even though i didn't have to. I never killed him even though i had many opportunities."

Merlin pauses then, looking up at the god.

"Do i really need to go on?" he asks and it sounds almost indifferent. except they know Merlin and they know how his face looks when he sounds this way.

The god leans their head to one side slowly. the stone his vessel is made of groans.

"You are worthy, young warlock. More than you know. Into your hands i command my sword."

Suddenly, there is noise and light and they cover their eyes, everyone except for Merlin and Mordred.

They can't be sure but they think they can hear Merlin's voice through it all, speaking a foreign tongue. Then, it's over.

When the air clears, Merlin stands alone, the stone vessel of the god has crumbled to pieces, a big sword in his hand. For just a moment, when he turns around to face them, he looks nothing like Merlin at all. His eyes are golden, and his face is grim, lips pressed into a thin line. His posture is straight and majestic and he holds the sword like a warrior. His appearance strikes them with fear. He looks like power incarnate.

The others notice from the corners of their eyes that Mordred kneels before him. and even as they are completely bewildered, they have an urge to do the same.

The next moment though, it's all gone, and Merlin looks like he's never handled a sword before. His eyes are blue and his cheeks messy with dust and tears. He sinks to his knees and the weapon falls from his hands - is pushed from his fingers as if through magic, landing on the ground with a strange sound.

Merlin looks after the sword with disgust clear on his face. Then he looks up and suddenly he looks afraid.

To be continued

[misterewrites]

Bonding (Kainora week)

Hey everyone! E here and with a special oneshot ! My friend is help running kainora week over here @kainora-week and I agreed to at least write one thing for her so it is day 3: Formal Wear.

Set between season 3 and 4, Jinora is asked to make an appearance at a Earth Kingdom Noble party as a part of a deal to ensure they turn over power to Prince Wu when the chaos finally is under controlled. Kai is tagging along and isn't exactly thrilled about the idea.

That's it for me, almost done with the next underground chapter but till then enjoy, have a great week, stay safe, wash your hands and wear your masks!

if you want a easier place to find and read it, check it out over here at https://archiveofourown.org/works/30242472

“Are you mad at me? This has to be some kind of punishment. Some kind of cruel torture for all the scams I ran. Mako put you up to this, didn’t he? Jinora how could you?!”

Jinora let out a tired sigh “Kai, you’re being more dramatic than Ikki.”

The master airbender gently fixed her boyfriend’s collar, loosening it to allow her fellow airbender actually breath.

Kai took a deep breath, ignoring the burning sensation he felt in his cheeks “More dramatic than Ikki? Now you’re just trying to hurt me. Sorry!” he rose his hands in surrender at Jinora’s raised eyebrow “I-I just never dealt with this.” he gestured to his formal Earth Kingdom Attire.

“I know” Jinora agreed softly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the clothing “But you’re going have to. At least for tonight.”

“I don’t see why I have to go.” Kai fumed “It’s just a stupid party for a bunch of crusty nobles.”

“This is more than that.” Jinora’s voice became firm “With the chaos in the Earth Kingdom, alliances are important. These nobles are agreeing to turn over their power to Prince Wu when Kurvira finally calms everything down.”

Kai scoffed, rolling his eyes with distaste “Rich people giving something up willingly? And I’m a pink platypus bear.”

Kai’s blush worsened as Jinora playfully pinched his cheeks “My cute platypus bear and now you’re pink.”

“So.” Kai replied quickly, trying to hide his embarrassment “Is your dad okay with this? Me and you on this mission. Alone. Together.”

Jinora gave a halfhearted shrug “If he’s got a problem with this, then he’s got a problem. There’s no real option. With all the turmoil in the Earth Kingdom, we’re already stretched thin. Dad needed an airbending master here to show we support this show of unity and since he’s busy trying to negotiate with the spirits in Republic City, it’s me. It isn’t like we have another master just laying about.”

“And me? Why am I here?”

“Because” Jinora answered simply “Having someone born and raised in the Earth Kingdom might keep the nobles calm.”

Kai was not convinced by that response “You’re aware I hate the Earth Kingdom, right? You’re really telling me no one else was available? Not even Otaku?”

Jinora gave sly grin “Well, I didn’t exactly tell anyone else.”

“I’m a terrible influence on you.”

“And I’m a positive one for you. Balances out. As all things should be.”

“And I’m guessing he made you promise no romantic hijinks on this trip?”

“I made no so such promise.”

Kai cracked a smile “Alright, maybe it won’t be as bad as I think it’ll be.”

-----

“It’s worse.” Kai huffed, eyeing the giggling group of noblewomen with disdain.

Kai knew it was going to be a terrible time the moment they were announced to the rest of the party: Everyone spared them a single glimpse then proceeded to ignore them.

“Not a very friendly bunch, huh?” Jinora murmured awkwardly.

Kai scoffed dismissively “Don’t take it personally. They’re jerks to everyone.”

“I guess…”

Kai glanced to his girlfriend, the frown on her lips tugging at his heartstrings. He yawned loudly, knocking Jinora out of her stupor. She tilted her head quizzically at him and flushed a bright red when he wrapped an arm around her lovingly.

“Kai! What are you doing?! There’s people around.”

He couldn’t help but smile at how easily he could make his airbending master and general badass girlfriend turn a lovely shade of red.

“You can’t sulk, that’s my job. You’re the eternal sunshine ball remember?”

“True….” Jinora replied though unconvinced by Kai’s words.

Kai nudged her softly “Really. You shouldn’t take these people seriously. Most of them made their money by just existing, living off their family’s legacy and doing nothing with it. But you?”

Jinora felt Kai’s hand slip into hers and give it a squeeze.

“You’re a master airbender.” Kai beamed with pride “You are the granddaughter of avatar and you didn’t just sit on his legacy. You’re changing the world, you’ve saved the world. You can talk to spirits and you make a cute spirit projection thingy.”

Jinora’s fake smile melted into a real one.

Kai’s cheeks were tinged with pink but he didn’t stop “You have done amazing things, selfless things. Don’t let anyone make you feel lesser especially these plebes. I think we wasted enough of our time. We made our appearance and I think it’s safe to assume the nobles are going to keep their promise. They probably wanted to say they got an airbender to show up so they can boast to their friends.”

Before either of them could stand, the group of giggling noblewomen made their way over with a glint of familiarity in their gaze.

“You there!” The oldest one called, pointed at Kai as if he was an attraction at the zoo.

“It’s Kai.” He muttered with barely contained rage.

“Whatever.” She waved him off, uninterested “I’ve seen you before.”

“I doubt it.”

“Yes I have.” The woman insisted “I know have and since I’ve had the finest education, I know I’m right.”

Kai bit his tongue. This was an important mission and it was important to keep civil. Jinora should be proud of him given his usual response was to run away or throw an ill timed comment.

“You were a bus boy.” The noblewoman said with such certainty

“No. I doubt he’d have the hand eye coordination.” one of her friends sneered.

“And that hair?” the other chuckled cruelly “No one would’ve hired him.”

“True.” The leader replied coolly “But I know I’ve seen you somewhere. Somewhere embarrassing.”

“Kai…” Jinora whispered but he was too caught up keeping his rage in check to notice his girlfriend tugging at his sleeve.

“You were poor!” The noblewoman beamed cheerfully. She stood up proudly as if somehow her outburst was something of worth.

Kai’s cheeks burned brightly with a mixture of shame and rage but the trio paid him no mind.

“Yes.” The noblewoman continued, unaware of the rising tensions she had caused “You were out somewhere in the countryside. Some armpit little town daddy was forced to visit and dragged poor me along.”

Her lackeys cooed comfortingly.

“You were doing these little flips and tricks in hopes people would give you money. Of course you barely got a thing so naturally your clothes were just awful. No flair, no style. No wonder I didn’t recognize you. These fancy duds are nice but I’m guessing they’re borrowed. There is no way in a million years you could…”

“Stop it.”

Kai blinked, unsure he heard Jinora correctly. He never, ever in his several months knowing his girlfriend heard her speak with such a dangerous edge in her voice.

“What did you say?” The noblewoman turned up her nose, clearly offended at being interrupted “Do you know who I am? Who my father is?”

Jinora gave a false smile, its coldness sending chills down the trio’s spine.

“You missed the part where I cared.” she spoke with a steely calm “You will not disrespect my fellow airbender in this manner anymore.”

“Airbender?” The leader quizzically titled her head before realization dawn upon her “OH! You mean...him? And yourself?”

Jinora gestured to her traditional air nomad attire “So not only are you unnecessarily rude, you’re blind.”

“How dare...”

Jinora took a step forward, a vicious gust of wind trailing behind. The trio trembled under the sudden cool breeze.

“I understand you’ve lived a sheltered life.” Jinora spoke with the same cold smile “So I will say this once. There are more important things than your silly little shallow problems and the next time you think you can threaten me, I want you to remember I am not only an airbending master, I am the granddaughter of avatar Aang himself. It is my duty as an air nomad to enlighten and help people. Consider this your first lesson.”

Kai could feel his heartbeat speed up at the sight of his girlfriend, fierce and protective all for his sake.

Jinora held his hand tenderly as she motioned for them to leave “Come on Kai, let’s go have some real fun.”

“Yes sweetie.”

[missdawnandherdusk]

Something Old

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One    Part Two    Part Three    Part Four    

Part Five    Part Six    Part Seven    Part Eight

Part Nine

Summary: Now that winter break was upon you, you finally had time to look into what your mother told you about as well as confront the other parent in the situation, the one you dread to think about and the one Draco had to live with.

A/N: Hello my darling loves! We’re finally getting somewhere with plot! And lore! And Latin! ((Seriously, something is lost when you know Latin and can translate the spells on the top of your head... it’s less... magical. But funny because the spells mean exactly what they’re doing and I don’t know if that a cheap lazy move or brilliant.)) Let me know what you guys think! Also I’m toying with the idea of uploading this to AO3... would you guys want that? Love you guys, stay safe. 

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg​ @queenfeatherwings​ @fanficflaneuse​ @go-whovian-universe​ @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise​ @dietkiwi​ @katsukink​ @takemetothekingdom​ @strangerr-things​ @tmnt-queen​ @mccloudchloe​

Snape eyed me as I smiled through my exam, on cloud none the entire way. I had gotten through my History of Magic exam no problem and now Snape wanted us to recreate our Bellum Amoris antidotes. Weeks of worrying and I was finished with the second fastest time.

Draco beat me by a few minutes—he was allowed to the ingredients first—and we walked out of the exam hand in hand, not caring much about anyone who decided to gawk at us.

I was in too good of a mood. The term was done for the winter, I had finished all of my exams, and I wouldn’t be alone for the holidays when I remained at Hogwarts this year as I had the years before.

“I told you, you had nothing to worry about,” Draco nudged my shoulder. “Except beating my time of course.” A grin stretched across his face. “Which you couldn’t of course,”

I rolled my eyes and let out a laugh.

“I think I’ll be okay missing one point because I wasn’t as fast as you,” I drawled.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re dreading the fact,” He teased back as we made our way to the Great Hall. “Have you heard anything from your mother?” His voice lowered.

“Not yet, thought I suppose she’s waiting to hear from me,” I mumbled. 

“You didn’t answer her!?” Draco grew agitated.

“I did,” I reaffirmed, giving him a look. “But I said that I would talk about it later when we had time to... figure things out? I didn’t know what to say...”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” He reassured as we entered the Great Hall that was really magical with the Christmas decorations and warmth from the people within.

“Y/n! Draco!”

We both tensed until we saw Hermione waving at us along with the four Weasleys and Harry. No one was glaring at us—Draco—so I took that as a good sign as we sat down for dinner.

It was easy to sink into the familiarity and safety of the school, but with the Yule Ball coming, worry nagged at my mind. It was a big deal and an even bigger deal to pure-bloods. Another occasion to show off and “be better” than everyone else. My mother wouldn’t care, and I knew that... but Draco’s parents—father—had to have something to say about it and it worried me.

“Have you heard from your father?” I asked in a soft voice during dinner when the others were concerned with the upcoming task for the tournament.

His expression darkened as he glared at his plate.

So, yes then.

“Dray,” I whispered softly, rubbing his arm softly. “What happened?”

“Not here,” He said curtly, his eyes dancing around the merry scene around us.

I nodded and we both put on masks of calm and ease through dinner. His hand held mine throughout and we both lost our appetites. Maybe I should have written my mother a bit more than the vague note I gave. She would know what to do.

____________________________

Draco had gotten the letter last night, before he sent you the invitation to dinner. It what prompted him to send it in the first place. He knew that you could take away the depressing cloud that hovered whenever his father spoke to him.

And you did, almost easily. When he was with you, it was easy to focus on your smile, the way your hair fell into and out of place constantly, the way you almost danced down the hallways because you always gave off the demeanor of not having a care or fear in the world. It rubbed off on him. He’d rather be frustrated with the simple secrets that you kept than frustrated with the conflict about family and legacies.

And you were exactly what he needed last night. Your warmth, and comfort, the games you played and gentle touched you gave and small sounds that were his now to hold. But there were

still dark moments of the night that he couldn’t escape when his father’s words weighed him down.

Draco would never understand how you managed to pick up on the fact that his father had sent him something. Maybe he hadn’t given it away and you were just worrying again.

After dinner the two of you split up for some time, to drop off books and changed from school uniforms and in your case hopefully to find something warmer to wear.

Draco almost didn’t want to take you up to the Astronomy Tower because it was so frigid outside. He racked his brain for anywhere else to go in the school that offered solidarity and warmth. He could sneak you into the Slytherin dorms... but it might pose a danger to you as his house wasn’t as welcoming as yours had been to his relationship with you. The library seemed to be the best place at the moment to finally start looking into what was going on.

He met you outside you Common Room, as always and the two of you walk together. he had taken your books from you the moment you stepped out and though you gave him a curt you, you said nothing.

“I was thinking maybe we go to the library,” He offered. “It’s too cold for you in the Tower.” You hummed in agreement, silent in your thoughts again.

“It’ll probably be empty because of the end of term,” You mused, nodding as if you had settled on the idea.

“You’re quiet again,” He noted, the notion bothering him more than he thought.

“Thinking,”

“Now there’s an idea.” He teased as the two of you sat in a back table in the vacant library. 

__________________________

It wasn’t the same as being alone with him in the Astronomy Tower, but it was much warmer being surrounded by lit fires and a million books.

“Where do you want to start?” The question slipped through as I pulled out parchment and quill to take notes.

I knew the last thing he wanted to talk about was his father, but that’s what worried me the most. It was all for naught if his father could get between us and make whatever this had become into a tragedy. As if he knew this, he slid a folded parchment over to me, not meeting my eyes.

Taking it, I took a breath in and opened it: 

~

Draco,

I have heard many rumors about you, and I pray that none of them are true. You have been raised better than to fraternize a Lupine let alone allow her to kiss you. It is atrocious behavior and it will stop immediately.

They are a disgrace to pure bloods everywhere and are almost worse than the Weasleys. I have raised you with higher standards than this. I am appalled to even hear that these things might be going on.

I do not want you to go near her. I want to hear nothing of you being with her or the people she considers friends. Do not believe her lies or the things that she tells you. It is what the Lupines do. They lie and bend the truth into something that is horrendous. It is what they have always done, and you know this.

She is nothing more than a she-demon come to ruin everything that I have built for you and to steal everything that I have worked all my life to give you.

You are a Malfoy. Do not forget that.

I am beyond disappointed to hear this. Correct what has been done immediately. 

Your Father,

Lucius Malfoy

~

I frowned at the letter as I read it a few more times, trying to figure out what I wanted to address first. At the moment, I just wanted to send this to my mother and see what she would do knowing the fire in her was stronger than mine. But I didn’t do any of that.

Instead, I placed the letter down and looked up to wary blue eyes. “Well,” I whispered. “What are you going to do?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do?” He snapped; a soft look from me and he took a deep breath, calming.

“If... I know that I’ve dragged you into this. And that you didn’t have much of a choice. So, if you want to... I...” My gaze fell to my lap as I tried to find the right words to tell him... to let him go.

“Why would you think—”

“Because I don’t want you to get talked down to like this by someone who’s supposed to love you!” I threw the letter on the table. “I’m... I’m not worth ruining... You shouldn’t be treated like an errant child because you’re talking to me,”

“I’m always treated like an errant child Y/n,” He scoffed. “Now at least I have a good reason.” 

“What?” I looked up, the frown returning to my face.

“Nothing I ever did for my father has been good enough. I think landing in Slytherin was the last time he was actually proud of something that I did.” Draco picked up the letter and rolled his eyes, tearing it in half.

“What are you doing?” I demanded.

“What I should have done when I got this letter,” He muttered, tossing it into the nearest fireplace.

I marveled at him, a small smile playing at my lips. I had hoped he would choose me, but now that he had, something heavy was lifted from my shoulders. Though I still wasn’t quite taken with how his father talked to him, but I knew it wasn’t my place to go against Lucius no matter how much of a...

Never mind.

“Now, to the books?” He sat back down, picking up the book I had taken from him not too long ago and he leafed through the pages.

I smiled and wrapped my arms around him, hugging him tightly for a moment and whispering a small thanks before we settled in to read. Taking another book—The Nature of a Soul— from the stack, we got to work. My eyes scanned the table of contents and then the pages.

...Every person has a soul created of the either stars, or earth. Those who have earthen souls are born without magic, but those with Souls of The Stars will grow to be wizards. It is not genetics that decides but the universe itself...

I scribbled down notes as I read, leafing through pages.

...Souls born of the same matter bond to another. It is rare for a Soul of The Stars to bond, but when it does happen it is the work of the universe and no man or magic can break it. This was known as the Consentire Animi Pace. Seers of our kind have often prophesied about Great Darkness that would take hold before these Animi came to unite what was unraveled by generations past. Millenia has passed since this foretelling and it is doubted to exist...

I nudged Draco and showed him the page, watching the way his eyebrows furrowed slightly and he gnawed on his lip when he read something due to concentration. It made me smile.

“Great Darkness?” He muttered softly.

“You know as well as I do who it could be,” My voice was soft and hesitant.

I knew that Draco’s father had fought alongside Voldemort in the first war and I wondered what happened if it came down to it, what would Draco choose? With what I knew from Harry’s

adventures and life story, the threat of Voldemort loomed now more than ever. Was that the Great Darkness that the text referred to?

“This talks about a prophecy,” He murmured, pulling the book that he was reading. “That might be what this is, I can only make out some of it...”

He showed me the carpet page filled with intricate designs and detailed lettering. Some of the page was burned away, leaving half in its wake. I ran my hand softly over the artwork before reading the script:

Nox defluet et malum surget. 

Dos Animī consentiens

Eō die, nox non vincet

Cum illī ...

I stared at the text, grabbing my parchment and slowly translating.

“What do you know?” I asked softly. “What could you translate?”

“Nox is night, malum, evil...” His brow furrowed again.

“Night... falls—will fall and evil will rise. Two souls... joining?” I wrote down what I could. “On that day, night will not conquer, because these souls...”

“You can read this?” He was baffled.

I shrugged. “Just some Latin. Mother taught it to me. That’s why spells are so easy for me... it’s just Latin all I have to do is translate.”

“Bloody hell that’s genius,” He muttered.

“But some of the prophecy is missing... I think most of it probably.” I mused, leafing through the book to see if I could find anything else.

“Do you really think that this is about is though?” He asked softly, timid. “Even if it’s not... it’s still something to know. And it might be important.”

“The only person who would see this as important is Trelawney.” Draco scoffed, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe she’s the one we really need to talk to if prophecies are caught up in all of this.” I thought aloud. “Did you find anything else?” I looked up from my notes.

“Nothing of use. You?”

“Souls apparently are made from either stars or earth and magic or muggle has nothing to do with genetics,” I shrugged, reading over my notes. “So that’s new I guess.”

“What do you mean it has nothing to do with blood?” He snapped.

“I read it; I didn’t say that it was law. And what does it matter anyway? Magic is magic, no matter who uses it or doesn’t.” I defended, narrowing my eyes.

He grumbled and folded his arms sulking.

“Draco,” I chided, but gave up the notion.

I knew it would take time to undo what his father had engrained in him. Maybe this was step one.

Soon after finding nothing more about the prophecy or soul matter, Pince said that she was closing the library for the night and that we should head to bed before curfew. Returning the books to their proper places, Draco and I walked quietly along the halls.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you.” Draco sighed, taking my hand. “Forgive me?” 

I nodded and offered a small smile.

“We grew up in different worlds, it was bound to clash eventually.”

“Doesn’t make it right for me to take it out on you,”

I raised an eyebrow at him, a smug smile finding its way to my face.

“Yeah, yeah shut up.” He muttered.

“One step at a time,”

We walked along in thought, no words needing to be spoken. Pausing outside the Gryffindor portrait, Draco leaned down and pressed a soft and gentle kiss to my lips.

“Goodnight Y/n,” 

“Goodnight Draco,”

There were words stuck on the tips of our tongue that neither of us dare to utter but felt all the same:

I love you.

.

.

Part 11?

[sgrayonderii]

trials of izanagi

SSM20 #8: Let’s play pretend

Sakura tells Sasuke the reasons why they should get married. RTN!AU (Rated T)

When his father calls for a family meeting, Sasuke half fears it’s been finally revealed that he was the one that burned down the garden shed and not the neighborhood teens as he claimed. 

But when his mother also arrives with a stern expression, Sasuke realizes this is worse than a bit of light arson. 

He fidgets at the dining table nervously as he watches his father nod to his mother to begin.

“As you know,” she starts, “you are getting to age where one should consider settling down.”

Sasuke groans. 

“Mother!”  But she raises her hand to silence him. 

“Sasuke, this is a good opportunity for you and the clan.” 

“What about Aniki?” 

His mother’s face adopts a sour look, not pleased to be interrupted. “Your brother has his own duties. You should only concern yourself with your own.” 

Sasuke tries to protest once again but his mother’s stony features leave no room for argument.

“I’d expect you not to embarrass yourself or the clan,” Her expression is one of usual exasperation at his antics. “Sasuke, it is time for you to grow up.” 

---

Sasuke has always been quite bitter that his brother is allowed to gallivant around the countryside with his band of questionable acquaintances while the responsibilities of their clan are dumped onto him.

And it’s not that he doesn’t want to get married either! Having spent so much of his life devoted to his family’s whims, Sasuke at least wants to choose who he wants to spend his life with. 

Secretly, he quite enjoys the daydreams where he comes home to have a quiet night with the love of his life and what he is sure to be their small squadron of children. 

So Sasuke comes up with a plan.

He supposes if he makes himself an utter unmarriageable fool, this nonsense would be over. Even a name as prestigious as Uchiha would not be enough to secure an engagement if he is the most undesirable human being in the world.

So the day of the marriage interview, he tries to look like the failure his family assumes he is. Sasuke puts on a sweat suit he wore out to training two days ago paired with his sandals and mismatched fuzzy socks. He doesn’t brush his teeth and doesn’t even style his hair. He even spends a few days trying to grow a beard.

Sasuke looks like an absolute disaster. Which is quite a hard thing to do he might add; curse his beautiful face!

He arrives at the casual diner he had chosen feeling confident and clever, because what could be more disappointing to start off a potential marriage than a place he knows has more health violations than he has fingers?

That is until he realizes who his mother managed to set him up with. 

Sakura-chan, beautiful as ever, is sitting in the sticky booth the hostess leads him to with a cup of what he is sure is black coffee. 

Sasuke immediately regrets every life choice he has ever made. He wonders whether activating the Izanami right now would save him from dying of embarrassment. 

A thousand thoughts are running through his head all at once. Is this a joke? What is Sakura-chan doing here? What about Menma? Should he turn around and walk out like nothing happened?

However she glances up at him with those lovely eyes of hers and Sasuke cannot help but blurt out the most pressing thing tumbling around in his short-circuiting brain. 

“I thought you wanted to get married for love?!”

 Not missing a beat, “Good morning to you too, Sasuke. I see you know how to impress a lady.”

Sasuke wonders if he can throw himself out the window.

But his pride dictates that he cannot embarrass himself anymore in front of Konoha’s fairest, so he squares up, grits his teeth, and slides into the booth. 

“Don’t change the subject,” taking in her own outfit. White coat and business casual. So it must be clinic day. “Why are you here Sakura-chan?” 

He cannot think of any reason why Sakura would suddenly want to marry him; Sasuke has always considered the greatest tragedy and irony in his life is the fact that the love of his life does not feel the same way. So he waits for her explanation. 

Sakura, to her credit, always is cool and collected and is logical to a fault. She does not shy away from his questioning facing him directly to answer. 

“Your mother asked me to consider a marriage into the Uchiha clan.” 

Sasuke rolls his eyes, “Just because you two get along doesn’t mean you have to humor her, especially when it comes to getting married!”  

She takes a sip of her coffee, now not quite looking at him. Almost guilty. “She told me that if I married either you or Itachi-san, your clan would back my bid for Hokage.”

Anger bubbles in his stomach. Envy burns down his throat. Betrayal is bitter on his tongue. It is one thing for his mother to meddle in his life, it’s another for Sakura to be so callous as to use his love for power. 

“Why are you meeting me then?”  His brother might be a flighty vagabond, but Itachi is the heir and he is the spare. 

She seems to understand what he is truly asking. “Sasuke, you are a rising star in the Konoha. The people of this village trust you greatly.”

“You can’t stand me.”

“You’re annoying but I don’t hate you.” She smiles sadly, as if enjoying a particularly cruel joke. “I don’t think I could hate you, truly.”

“Sakura-chan, with all due respect, between your father and the Fifth’s recommendation, I don’t think you need my family at all.”  

Sasuke takes a deep calming breath to hide his frustration, trying to act nonchalant, “But if you still want to get hitched Kitten, I’m all for it.” He even throws in a lighthearted wink. 

She ignores his last comment. “My father and Tsunade-shishou are popular with the people, but the council is not fond of either of them. Too peace loving apparently.”

“My family isn’t very popular with the council either.” 

“But the Uchiha clan is one of the oldest clans in Konoha, its influence is enough to convince other families. Enough to over rule the council.” Sakura smiles wryly, “In return, the Uchiha clan will have ties with the Hokage office. Think of it as a strategic alliance.”

This is just like Sakura, cold and calculating. Sasuke does not hate it; her ambitions are part of her charm.

“What’s in it for me then?”

“If you do accept, your parents would be satisfied you are an upstanding, successful citizen and will no longer have any right prying in your affairs.” 

He doubts that it would stop them but allows her to continue, “I also don’t plan to…interfere with your extramarital activities.” Sasuke begins to feel a sense of dread as Sakura continues, “A marriage of convenience if you will.” 

This is his boiling point and he finds himself shouting. 

“No, it’s a sham! How you could have completely given up on love?!” 

Sakura is a woman who has always been loved shallowly and one can only be the object of admiration for long before realizing  it’s only empty reverence. The one thing she always craved is the unconditional love she lost so long ago along when her parents passed.  Sasuke cannot believe Sakura can give up that so easily. 

“You’re the one who doesn’t understand anything Charasuke!” She is now equally angry, “Do you think I want to use my husband’s name to get the Hokage’s seat!? How everything I’ve spent my life working for amounts to nothing in the eyes of the council?! ”

“It doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice your own happiness for this!” Because even now, even though his affections for her are unyielding and painful and true, he just wants her to be happy. 

To find love and be loved, even if it isn’t with him.

“I’m running out of time!” She is shaking now, in anger, in frustration, in a hopelessness Sasuke has never seen. “Tsunade -shishou told me that the council is considering making Menma the Hokage after she retires.”

“Menma? What? He can barely carry conversation!” And he is impulsive. Just as likely to start a war as he is to end it. 

Sakura looks sick, “Menma has a strong shinobi, but that’s all he is. He is not suited for politics. He only knows how to end conflicts with shows of strength.”

“Do you really think that Menma will actually accept the position?” Because regardless of their disagreements, Menma is still his best friend. Menma isn’t the type to seek power wantonly. 

“Maybe, maybe not. But he is now married to the Hyuuga family. And you know how easily he can be influenced.”

Sasuke wants to defend his friend’s honor but he admits she has a point.

“So when your mother came to me about this...I don’t know I just thought this might be my only chance. 

I know this is unfair to you, which is why we can just pretend to be a married couple in name only. You are under no obligation to change your ways Sasuke.”  

Sakura is resigned to her fate to a supposedly loveless marriage and Sasuke hates it. 

“But I cannot let Menma and the council turn this village into a battlefield. I cannot let them ruin my parent’s legacy.” 

This is insane. It’s not right. She may be the logical one, but he has always been the romantic. 

This is not at all how he imagines their life together would be. 

Sakura takes in his uncharacteristic silence as the end of the conversation and gathers her things. 

“You don’t have to answer me right now, just think about it.” And with that she departs, leaving him alone in the booth. 

---

Sasuke has always pretended that his family’s obvious favoritism and Sakura’s indifference towards him, never bothered him. 

He distracts himself with pretty girls and pretty flowers. But really, he just does not have the courage to face the reality of being the fallback and second place. 

That no matter what he does or how hard he works, he will never measure up to the Uchiha’s prodigal son or even his best friend. 

He just wants someone to look at him and only him.

And maybe that's why he has always been so drawn to Sakura, the daughter of fallen heroes. 

Because maybe she just also wanted someone to see her tears. To realize what was underneath her facade. 

The pretty girl who cries when she is alone so she doesn’t bother anyone else, yet in front of the rest of the world is the image of stunning grace and confidence. Who heals him when he bleeds and listens to him when he cannot bear the expectations of his family anymore. 

He admires her bravery. He falls for her kindness. 

Sasuke loves her, he has for a long time. 

He wonders if she knows this. 

And so that’s why he is waiting outside the clinic later that afternoon, in his best clothes, clean shaven, with a bouquet of lavender flowers. 

No more pretenses. 

He will give her his name, the world, and their marriage will be anything but loveless. He will make sure of it.

A/N: This was an AU of another AU WIP that went of the rails. Thank you for reading! Happy SSM20 and stay safe!

[bookandcranny]

Beatrice - Chapter Three

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat.

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Gianna was too stubborn to call out of work in the morning, but stubbornness only got her as far as until the gallery manager saw her flagging at her station and urged her to go home. The fumes from the conservators’ delicate chemistry could be dangerous on a good day if you weren’t careful, she reminded her, nevermind if you were already feeling sick. She wasn’t sick, just tired. At least that’s what she was telling herself. Still, she stopped by the drugstore just in case the faint nausea and light-headedness were indeed early signs of some bug.

On impulse, she also picked up some hair bleach and a box of dye. She hadn’t done anything new with her hair since before moving and her brown roots were starting to look more like branches. Normally this wouldn’t have bothered her except, well, for the first time in a long time there was someone she really wanted to look good for. If she was going to ask Beatrice out, first she needed to be in an attractive state of mind.

All her vanity was in vain however; by the time she’d arrived home whatever sickness had grabbed a hold of her was setting in in earnest, leaving Gianna feeling weak and off-kilter. With the last of her strength she managed to force down a couple painkillers along with a cold glass of water before collapsing into bed. 

When she woke up from her addled fever-sleep her skin was clammy and cold. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and forced herself to sit up, squinting in the dark of her surroundings. Something had woken her. The sound of that finicky overhead light blowing out after she’d passed out with it still on. Somewhere in between the passing out and now, night had swept over the city, but as was its nature, faint fluorescent light still streamed in from the world outside her window. She hobbled over and pried it open.

Though the breeze made her shiver, it also brought with it the sweetness she’d come to recognize as the combined scents of the Rappaccinis’ garden. The familiar smell revitalized her somewhat. Actually, she felt remarkably improved after just a few short minutes of sitting by the window. Maybe all this was just chemical fumes messing with her head. She’d never had a problem with it before, but she’d been working longer hours lately. That combined with the recent stress, of course it would leave her feeling poorly, she thought. 

Down in Casa di Rappaccini there were lights coming from every window and shadows moving before them. Gianna had never even entertained the idea of the family having company. Dr Rappaccini really didn’t seem like the kind of man to throw a house party in the middle of the week. 

Gianna pushed up the screen and went to climb down to her usual spot. It was only when she was hovering with her hands on the railing and her blanket still slung around her shoulders like a cape that she realized just how bad an idea that was. She was liable to break her neck or worse trying to climb down in the dark with a fever, and Beatrice certainly wouldn’t be gardening at this time of night. She was probably inside, socializing and having fun, impressing their guests with her vast horticultural knowledge and reciting poetry in Latin or something. Though it might get her attention, lurking around outside her party on the fire escape was not the way to get a woman to like you.

She returned to her apartment and to her bed, pulling the pillow over her head as if to guard against any more bizarre dreams. After a time, she managed to drift back into uneasy sleep, while violet eyes kept a watch on her window from below.

In the morning Gianna roused to a concerned call from work, but her groggy reply was more than enough to secure her another sick day. She went back to sleep for another couple hours, woke, forced down some more pills and some leftover stir-fry, slept, and finally woke again feeling not quite recovered, but at least somewhat rested.

She staggered to the bathroom and washed her face. Her skin was oily to the touch and her eyes were bloodshot but otherwise she didn’t look too bad, she thought. Recalling the night before, she went to sit by the window and indeed the fresh air made her feel worlds better. Whatever it was that was slogging through her system, she reasoned, couldn’t be too bad. Probably just some twenty-four hour flu or something.

As she leaned her head out the window she caught sight of Beatrice working in her garden as usual and she was out and shimmying down the ladder before she could remember her decision not to.

“Hey,” she called, her voice still slightly rasped with sleep.

Beatrice looked up and beamed at her, although her smile faltered slightly to see the loose curls plastered to her brow. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” she huffed, trying to pinch some life back into her cheeks. “I’ll be alright, just a fever or something.”

“That’s why you weren’t here yesterday. I looked for you.”

Something in Gianna’s gut twisted hotly. “You missed me?”

“Of course I did.” 

It was a much more frank answer than she’d expected, and Gianna felt herself blush. No need to worry about her color after all.

“I was worried, I guess. You were acting sort of strange the day before. I thought I might’ve done something wrong.”

“No way,” she assured. Wow, I really am that obvious. “I was just sleeping this thing off most of the afternoon. I sorta thought you’d be too busy to notice, with the party you were having.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “My father was having one of his dinner socials. I couldn’t have gotten away for long either way but believe me, I would pick you over any one of his colleagues in a heartbeat.”

Gianna raised her eyebrows. “Isn’t that kind of thing hard on him? With his health, I mean.”

“He hires people for all the preparations and cleaning up after. Father can’t get out very much because of his condition, so this is how he… connects, I think. Otherwise he wouldn’t talk to anyone at all.”

“We all need to connect I guess.”

She nodded, looking away again. “He has his colleagues bring people for me too. Sons or nephews, you know. Boys he thinks would make a good match for me.”

“Oh. That’s… oh.”

“It’s sort of old fashioned, I know. I don’t really-- I don’t like any of them that way. You’re right though, we all need to connect. I used to think I didn’t need anyone else, but lately…”

Cautiously she met her gaze. Her brows were knit together like she was trying to piece together some puzzle in her mind. Gianna thought she should say something, offer some reassurance, but the image of Dr Rappaccini and his equally decrepit associates presenting her with an array of their eligible legacy offspring turned her stomach so sourly that she had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing something venomous.

Luckily or not, before either of them could speak there came a call from within the house.

“Beatrice, come here, girl!”

Gianna bristled but the young woman only turned and said sweetly, “Coming, Father!” She gave Gianna an apologetic glance and then added in a low voice, “There’s something important I want to talk to you about, but I don’t think I can do it here. Come over tomorrow?”

“You mean… like, in person?”

“Yes! Tomorrow my father is going to be out of the house from two to four o’clock. That doesn’t give us long but it’s the only time I can do it.”

Do what, she wanted to ask, bewildered and enticed all at once. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to just get coffee somewhere?”

“The code for the door is 5214. Meet me here. I promise it’ll be worth your time.” She fidgeted her hands together. Her eyelashes fluttered. “Maybe I can even show you around the garden.”

Something about the way she said that made Gianna suppress a shiver. 

“Of course I’ll be there,” she said. She hated to miss more work than she already had, but she doubted they would suspect anything. Even now her fingers trembled and some of that clamminess was returned to her skin, but oddly enough, she was feeling better than she had all week.

-----

The name placard next to the buzzer read G. Rappaccini. It didn’t sit right with Gianna, the conspicuous absence of the apartment’s other occupant.

Even though she knew she was expected, she felt compelled to announce herself. She pressed the buzzer and after a moment a quiet voice came through the intercom.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” she said.

“Oh.”

She frowned. “Is that still okay?”

Beatrice let out a sigh. It sounded thin and tinny through the crackle of the speaker.

“Yeah, of course, come on up. Do you remember the code?”

Gianna punched in the numbers and made her way to the apartment. At least this complex had an elevator, saving her the strain of the climb. She was feeling less shaky but at the expense of her appetite which had vanished and made her wary of taking on too much additional strain. Her heart was pounding as it was, watching the floor numbers slowly tick by and thinking about how soon the two of them would be in the same room for the first time. 

Beatrice had never been too eager to meet up with Gianna outside their customary rendezvous, which Gianna had always attributed to her not wanting to leave her father alone for too long. She’d never analyzed her motivations too closely because doing so would mean having to take a serious look at her own.

The truth was, Gianna was scared. This thing she had with Beatrice was different than any relationship she’d had before, for reasons she couldn’t confidently place, and she was afraid that somehow breaking out of the pattern they’d established between them would change things, would tarnish the magic of it somehow.

Too close now to turn back, she stepped into the apartment. Right away the high ceilings and lavish spaciousness inspired a pang of envy. The furniture was antique, yet in pristine condition, everything so clean and crisp that it looked like something out of a catalogue. Not exactly homey. There were several signs of life however: books piled up on an end table in the living room, dishes drying in a rack by the kitchen sink, a stack of empty boxes piled up next to the garbage can. 

There was no TV or telephone, though she supposed that wasn’t so uncommon anymore. But paired with the furniture and the sterile environment it gave Gianna the feeling of being cut off from the modern world entirely. The very idea was stifling to her.

On a table in what she supposed was the dining room there was a floral centerpiece, dead and rotted. Freesias and baby’s breath were shriveled with blight and yet the dead petals remained frozen in place, refusing to fall. Gianna wondered if they’d somehow been preserved that way intentionally. She couldn’t imagine why, ugly as they were.

Soft footsteps padded across the tile behind her, and for a brief moment the anxiety resurfaced, seizing at her throat. 

“Gianna?”

She took in a deep breath, letting floral sweetness flood her senses. “It’s me, Bea.”

Beatrice looked different. Most notably because she was wearing canvas coveralls that seemed to be too big for her, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows to make room for a thick pair of gloves. For all the times she’d watched her working in her garden, Gianna had never seen Beatrice actually dress like a gardener. It made her feel a little silly for dressing up herself. She’d, perhaps optimistically, assumed that the first time they met face to face without the span of the alleyway between them would be a special occasion worth dressing up for. Maybe Beatrice didn’t see it that way.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Beatrice asked. “You don’t look so good.”

Gianna forced a grin. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just happy to be here.”

“Here, sit,” she beckoned. “I wasn’t even thinking. I’ll make you some tea.”

“That’s okay, really. I’m not much of a tea person.”

“You’ll like this tea, trust me.”

Gianna found she didn’t have the energy to protest and soon she was sitting in the kitchen holding a steaming mug. It was far from her drink of choice, especially in the summer months, but she gave in and took a sip for politeness’ sake. 

It was good. More than good, it was delicious! As soon as it was cooled enough she drained half the cup in one go. Almost as soon as she had, she found herself feeling better. Her headache was gone and nausea abated. In fact, she was starting to feel hungry.

“Good, right?” Beatrice smirked. As if she had read her mind, she fished out a box of cookies from the cupboard and slid them across the counter to her. “It’s a family recipe, made with herbs from the garden. Everything that grows there is medicinal. You just have to know how to handle them.”

“That’s incredible,” she said between bites. Now that her appetite was finally back it seemed to be making up for lost time.

Beatrice flustered prettily. “It’s not hard when you get to know the plants like I have. The garden was my father’s before it was mine, we grew up together.”

“So the flowers are kind of like your siblings,” Gianna joked.

She beamed. “Exactly like that. Drink your tea. You have to drink all of it for it to really work.”

Gianna did so.

“I know I didn’t say it before,” Beatrice murmured. “But I’m really glad you’re here too. To see you, really really see you, I can’t… there aren’t words, Gianna. It probably sounds crazy but sometimes, when I couldn’t see you, when I couldn’t speak to you, I started to worry you’d disappeared and I would never find you again. Sometimes I even worried you were never real at all. That’s why I… I was afraid to invite you over here. I was afraid to break the illusion, to lose you.”

She stared, speechless, her mouth gone dry. 

“I know how that sounds, I just-- for so long my world has revolved around taking care of father. I didn’t think I could have this, didn’t think I’d even want this. Not as much as I do, at least.”

“Beatrice,” she whispered breathlessly. “I know how you feel.” She reached across the countertop to touch her gloved hand. “I know what it’s like to want something and feel like you shouldn’t. I know what it feels like to be stuck in the shadow of parents who don’t understand you. I promise, you’re not crazy, and you’re not alone.”

The girl made a wounded noise, half gasp and half whimper, and clamped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what--”

“It’s okay.” She threaded their fingers together. “It’s okay.”

Beatrice shook her head. “Gianna, I have to tell you something. Something important. Before we get in too deep or you hear it from someone else, I want you to hear it from me. I’m not normal.”

“I know, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“No!” she cried, frustrated. “I’m not--”

The door creaked open and she spun around, pulling her hand away. Standing in the doorway was the hunched form of Dr Giacoma Rappaccini himself.

“Ah, good,” came the rasping voice of the elderly doctor. “You made the tea. I trust you’re feeling better now, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna tensed, unsure of how to respond.

“Father, you’re home early!” Beatrice chirped with false cheer. “I’ll make you a cup too then.”

“No need,” he said with a dismissive wave of his leathered hand. He set down his bag and shut the door behind him. “I had some this morning, remember? Ah, you might’ve been out in the garden then. You have been busy today.”

She shrunk back under the weight of his stare.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir,” Gianna said stiffly with a hand outstretched. “I’m--”

“I know who you are.” His laugh was the sound of dry reeds in a breeze. “Gianna Alexander. I’ve been keeping an eye on you ever since you started to show an interest in my daughter. I was curious to see how things might progress between you two, but considering the circumstances I decided it might be time to intervene.”

“Father--”

“Beatrice,” he reproached. “Going behind my back? Making secret meetings? You know better than that. Apologize to our guest.”

After only a moment’s hesitation she turned to Gianna and said, “I’m so sorry, Ms Alexander.”

Gianna balked. “What? You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re mistaken,” said Dr Rappaccini. “You see, there are proper steps to be taken in situations like this. My daughter should’ve spoken with me so I could arrange a proper interview. We could’ve had dinner. It would’ve been so nice.

“Instead, I had to find out what you were doing and pretend to leave my own home unawares just to get us all in a room together. I’m getting too old to play these games with you, Beatrice. It’s disrespectful to me and it’s disrespectful to our guest.”

“I’m sorry, Father.” Her voice had become empty, almost robotic, and she cast her eyes to the ground. Gianna felt a dawning sense of dread at the sight.

“Now then,” The old man pulled up a chair and sat with his hands folded over his lap. “Shall we get down to business? Beatrice, as you know, is a very special girl. In fact she’s the product of years and millions of dollars of research. 

“I’ve dedicated my life to studying the medicinal properties of plants and cross-breeding exotic species to develop into natural pharmaceuticals. Eventually I realized that no amount of remedies I could create in my lifetime would be enough to fix every inherent flaw of humanity, so I shifted my focus. Instead of searching for the perfect cure, I decided to create the perfect human being, one immune to mankind’s deficiencies. From my experience with altering and combining the genetic structures of various plants, I crafted a new, superior breed of human. Beatrice is the product of those tireless efforts.”

Gianna’s head was swimming. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Dr Rappaccini smiled ruefully. “I’ve long accepted that I likely won’t live to see my quest come to fruition. It took trial upon trial just to bring Beatrice into the world, and she’s only the first step. More accurately, the first generation.”

He put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “Someday, my Beatrice will be the mother to a brand new species, a new humanity. With their drastically increased lifespans, immunity to disease and disorder of the body and mind, and overall genealogical superiority, my creations will rapidly become the dominant species on earth, replacing the feeble excuse for intelligent life that exists now. And, well, with all that revealed, it’s obvious why I couldn’t let this little game of yours continue, isn’t it?”

He looked at Beatrice with an expression that was as a mockery of compassion.

“Socialization is fine, even healthy. I don’t blame you for that. It’s my own fault really, for not providing you with more enrichment and opportunities for companionship here at home. I’ll be more mindful of that going forward. In fact, if you want to continue these little play-dates I am in full support, as long as they’re supervised from here on out. Not for a while though, of course. That’s just what happens when you break the rules, my girl.”

Gianna stood up, slamming her hands down on the counter. “Are you completely insane? This is a person, your daughter, not a pure-bred show poodle!”

Dr Rappaccini spoke to her calmly, a faint amusement in his wrinkled features. “I don’t blame you for your anger, Ms Alexander, because I know it stems from ignorance. Beatrice is special but she also has a volatile, toxic nature the likes of which you can’t comprehend. She needs a guiding hand to help her control herself and make the right choice. Isn’t that right, Beatrice.”

“Yes, Father.”

Gianna stared at her friend in horrified awe. “Beatrice, you can’t possibly be okay with this.”

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. She gave no indication she’d even heard her. It was as if she had been hollowed out, only the fragile husk of her remaining.

“You can throw as big a fit as you want,” Dr Rappaccini said snidely. “But as long as you are a guest in my home I have to insist you abide by my rules.”

Gianna glowered. She spared one last furtive glance towards Beatrice. Her chest ached. “Then I guess I’m leaving.”

--

next chapter

[icedthoma]

Out of spite with Todoroki, please. Congratulations on being here for a whole year! Hopefully you will be here for many more!

6. Out of spite

Pro hero AU! 

Thank you so much lovely anon!! Hope you enjoy! (Also a big thank u to @katsukiscaramel for all ur help)

You were pretty sure you were the only person in this entire agency that hated Todoroki Shouto. 

Well, hate might be too harsh. You didn’t love him, that was for sure. A graduate from the prestigious UA high (who got in on recommendation), a powerful quirk and connections to the hero world, his future had always looked bright. Meanwhile you were over here having tragically failed the entrance exam at UA, having to go to a hero study course at a lesser known academy instead. 

Well, you were thankful for all the hard work you had put in over your high school years that helped you become the hero you were today. It just seriously pissed you off how some people had everything laid at their feet from a young age solely because of their renowned last name. And to you, Pro Hero Shouto was one of them. 

Which was why you felt absolutely no guilt whatsoever working at his agency just because of the good reputation it would give you. If he could use his father’s last name to get him into UA, why couldn’t you use his hero name to add to your resume? You honestly needed all the help you could get. 

It wasn’t uncommon for you to watch several of your coworkers develop a hopeless crush on Todoroki, only to get crushed themselves as they came to the eventual realization that they absolutely had no chance. It also didn’t help that he was painfully blunt with his words, yet frustratingly oblivious at the same time. Todoroki Shouto unknowingly left a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he went, and you were definitely not going to be one of them. 

“Y/n.”

Shouto’s voice called out to you from where you had just passed his office, back at the agency for a short break before you resumed patrols, and you instinctively groaned. Plastering a smile on your face, you backtracked and stuck your head into his room. “Yes?”

“Come in, please.”

Wondering briefly if you were about to get fired, you edged in and stood with your hands behind your back, looking anywhere but the hero sitting at his desk. “Did I do something wrong, sir?”

“No,” Todoroki said quietly, and you were uncomfortably aware of his gaze on you from the corner of your eye. What could he possibly want with you? 

The silence stretched on for an uncomfortable minute before he sighed and grabbed a stack of papers, straightening them despite the fact that they were already neatly together. “The--the coffee machine is empty.”

“W-what? Do you want me to refill it?” you asked. You couldn’t believe your ears. He called you in here to refill the stupid coffee machine? 

“Yes.” You couldn’t see his expression because of the papers he was holding. At least you were spared the view of his smug face that had succeeded in wasting your time. 

“Yes, sir.” Biting down the rising retort on the tip of your tongue, you quickly dashed out of the room before he could say anything else, and so he couldn’t see your fuming face. Who did he think he was? You were just as much of a hero as he was, not his personal assistant. 

“Hey, Y/n!” 

“Save it. I’m not in the mood right now,” you spat out, walking right past your fellow coworker on your way to the break room. 

“Woah, cool down. Aren’t you supposed to be out on patrols right now?”

“Yeah, before someone called me into their office and had me stand there for a whole minute just to tell me to refill the coffee machine.” You let out a noise of frustration, hands tightening into fists at your sides. “I honestly don’t get what you see in him.”

“Not this again,” your friend groaned, rushing forward to keep up with your brisk walking speed. “I swear you have some personal vendetta against him or something. Is that why you decided to apply here? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer--”

“I am not,” you protested, refilling the machine like the dutiful sidekick you were. “Do you actually need something from me?” 

“Oh, right!” she exclaimed. “I almost forgot. I was asked to tell you that you were requested to be at a mission briefing after you got back from patrols. Which was why I was surprised to run into you!” 

“What? By who?”

“Who else? Todoroki, of course.” 

------------

This day could not get any worse. 

Folding your arms even tighter against your chest, you forced yourself to focus on the folder in front of you and not on the red and white-haired man across the table. You and Shouto were to go undercover at a large party happening in a few days to apprehend a villain involved in several illegal drug deals--or something along those lines. 

Awkward silences always seemed to follow you and Todoroki around, and this time was no exception. “I...look forward to working with you,” he offered after a moment, holding his hand out. 

You may not like him, but that didn’t mean you were going to be rude. Plastering a smile on your face, you reached out and shook his hand firmly. “Likewise.”

Sidekicks usually patrolled around the city or were backup when necessary. So why were you the one chosen to go on a mission of this type with him? 

Probably because fate hated you.

In a few days, you and Todoroki were headed over to the party, dressed somewhat formally and masks in hand to match the theme. You had to admit Shouto did look rather dashing in his white suit that complimented his eyes well. Next to him, you felt like a boring mud puddle. 

“Do you see him anywhere?” he asked quietly from where the two of you were seated at the bar. His eyes seemed to shine from within the mask he was wearing, dual colors of blue and brown glittering at you. 

You shook your head. “No.”

“Well, in that case...” Shouto took a sip of the water glass he was holding. “Let’s talk.”

Raising an eyebrow, you mirrored his actions and drank from your own glass, looking at him from over the rim. “About what?”

He shrugged, one hand supporting his chin and the other lazily spinning his drink around. “Anything.”

“I really do think we should be focusing on the mission,” you said, ignoring the prickly feeling settling upon you to do another quick once-over around the slightly crowded venue. You couldn’t believe him. Why was he wasting time trying to make small talk? 

“Well, we came early,” Todoroki pointed out. “It’s likely he won’t be here for a while. So...why don’t you tell me more about yourself? While we wait.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought the two of you were on a date from the way he was acting. “Um, okay. I’m Y/n L/n, and I’ve been working as your sidekick for a year and a half.”

He laughed at that, a quiet chuckle that he tried to muffle with his hand over his mouth. “I know all that already. What about what got you into wanting to be a hero?”

Sighing, you went along with his antics. "I wanted to make my mark in the world of heroism. Everyone told me it would be hard since I couldn’t get into all the fancy schools like UA, but I’m going to prove them wrong.” 

 “You applied to UA?” You could hear the surprise in his voice. 

"Yep, though I failed the entrance exam. But you went there, right? What was it like?”

“Well, I had to meet very high expectations because of my father’s legacy,” he sighed, forming a small cube of ice within his fingers to plop into his water. “I always felt like I wasn’t doing enough.”

“But you’re practically perfect--” you blurted out before you could stop yourself, instantly slamming a hand over your mouth afterward. “Crap--that was out of line, I--”

“You...you think I’m perfect?” Todoroki repeated, and you really couldn’t tell whether he thought that was a good thing or a bad thing. You also weren’t sure which you would have preferred. 

“Well, yeah. You have a strong quirk, graduated from the UA to start your own agency only a few years after, and you’re popular with the ladies. You’re on your way to a shining career in herosim.”

“Did you really have to mention that last bit?” 

“I mean, it’s true. I can think of five people who’ve had a crush on you in the past month.” You couldn’t stop your tone from going a little flat at the end, mostly because the fact so many people wanted him romantically was the bane of your existence. Why was he acting embarrassed about it, anyway? As far as you knew, getting people’s hopes up was his hobby. “We’ve been sitting here for too long,” you murmured, grabbing his hand to tug him to his feet. “Let’s dance.”

He allowed you to pull him to the center of the dance floor, lacing his fingers with yours and letting his other hand rest on your waist before you even had to ask. In between glancing around the room for the villain you were after, you cast multiple side glances at the side of Shouto’s face. Calm and collected as usual. 

Todoroki Shouto had the life you could only dream of. Regardless of your every struggle to claw your way up in hero society, you knew you would never attain his level. You were destined to be nothing more than a sidekick who could be ordered around at a higher ranking hero’s whim. You still hadn’t forgotten how he had made you stand in his office for a whole minute in silence before sending you off to refill the coffee machine, of all things.

It wasn’t fair, and you hated it.

“Todoroki.”

“Hmm?” You almost went cross-eyed at how close he had ended up being after turning his head your way. His nose was barely brushing the tip of yours, his every exhale like a ghost whispering across the surface of your skin despite the mask you were wearing. “Did you spot...him?”

Without thinking, you closed your eyes and leaned in, raising your mouth to his before the rational part of your mind caught up with you. His lips were soft and fit perfectly against yours (though, to be honest, anyone would probably say that if they were kissing the Todoroki Shouto). You didn’t expect him to reciprocate the kiss, however, his lips opening slightly for a moment only to press harder against you a second later. The crowd was your ally, no one bothering to look upon the two of you when there were many more masked figures around you doing the same thing. 

You broke away, only noticing now how his grip on you had tightened ever since you had initiated the kiss. Your face was burning with shame, and you couldn’t believe that you had kissed him in the middle of your frustrations, in the middle of a mission. In a complete contrast to what you were feeling at the moment, Todoroki was actually smiling. His mask was slightly askew and his face was beet red, but he was giving you the biggest grin you had ever seen from him despite the terrible mistake you had just made. 

“Wow,” he breathed, the hand on your waist flying up to run through his hair. “I never thought...you felt the same way I did.”

What? 

Shouto was rambling now, voice uncharacteristically brighter and not letting you get a word in edge-wise. You listened with growing horror as he told you briefly about his past, and how his friends at UA helped him work through his trauma to become a better person and believe in relying on others. “I love how you’re so hard working and determined to pursue what you’re passionate about,” he said earnestly. “I feel like we have that in common, because we’re so different from what everyone else says we are, or what we should be. I tried to find reasons to talk to you more often, but I only ended up making things weird, like--”

“The coffee machine,” you finished vaguely. 

“Yeah,” he said, giving your hand (that had been encased in his this whole time) a gentle squeeze. “I apologize if I’m talking too much, I’m just so...”

You had been horribly misinterpreting this situation the whole time. It all made sense now. From the awkward way the two of you always interacted to why you of all people were requested to go on a mission like this...

How could you have judged him upon first glance, without even knowing his full story? You saw his family fame and strength and automatically assumed he had no problems in life whatsoever. The scar on his face was a sign of the pain he had faced in his past and overcome. How could you let your jealousy over something you couldn’t control overwhelm you to the point that you had kissed him out of pure spite? 

He didn’t deserve to be lied to. Out of all the people he could have chosen to crush on, he chose you (a horrible decision, really). You had to tell him the truth. 

“Todoroki,” you began hesitantly, already dreading the conversation to come. “Listen, I--”

“Wait,” Shouto hissed, pressing a finger over your mouth to gesture at a spot behind you. “He’s here. On your left. Are you ready?”

It was unnerving how quickly he slipped from looking like he was on cloud nine to focused on the mission, and it only made you more uneasy. Not trusting your voice at that moment, all you could do was nod, and he gave you another of those rare smiles you never saw offered to anyone else. 

“Oh, and you can call me Shouto.” 

------------

Apprehending the villain was child’s play while working with pro hero Shouto. You had to admit you were slightly distracted the whole time at the fact that he had allowed you to be on first name basis with him literally seconds before. 

But in no time at all the villain was being carted away by the police and you were standing in front of Todoroki once again in the middle of the road, his face illuminated by the bright lights of the city at nighttime. “Good work today, hero,” he said, taking off his mask to put it in his pocket, and you winced. After you told him the truth, would he still think the same way about you? 

"I’m sorry,” you said, voice shaking despite your best efforts. 

“What? What for?”

You explained everything to him. How you hated him in the beginning, purely because he had (or seemed to have) the life you wished you had out of your own self-interest. How you had judged him without even getting to properly know him first outside the rumors. 

You could see the light in his eyes visibly fade the longer you kept talking. “Why did you kiss me, then?” he asked, voice pleading at the end like he was still trying to hold on to any hope that things between the two of you were going to turn out okay. “You wouldn’t have kissed me if you didn’t return my affections, right?”

“I kissed you out of spite,” you whispered. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

He scoffed, turning away so all you could see of him was his back. “To you.” 

As he began to walk away, you saw that he had taken the mask from the party out of his suit pocket. There was a small thud as he  let it fall from his fingers onto the concrete sidewalk, continuing down the road and leaving you on the sidewalk with nothing but your own regret to keep you company. 

------------

one year event masterlist

[grapefruitsketches]

Untamed Spring Fest - Day 14: Butterfly

2,601 Words

The Junior Quartet, fluff, hurt/comfort, post-canon. 

“Whoa - Zizhen, be careful! If you can’t even make this step, we’ll start to think you’re a fierce corpse yourself!” Lan Jingyi laughed as he caught the Ouyang heir before he tripped over Sizhui’s doorstep.

“She is beautiful like the dawn, kind like a… a… like ripples on the pond!” Zizhen sang, off any key he might have been trying to hit.

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any worse at poetry than you usually are, but good for your drunk-self for proving me wrong!” Jingyi dragged his friend over to the table and sat him down. “Why did you even challenge that old man to a drinking contest? You’re the lightest light weight I know.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sizhui said cheerily as he entered his room behind his friends, grinning as if at some private joke. He turned to Ouyang Zizhen, “Who are you talking about, Zizhen?” Sizhui asked kindly, but had a hint of amusement in his eyes.

“Only the most beautiful, the loveliest, the…” Zizhen paused, scrunching his face and scratching his chin, “I can’t remember.”

Jin Ling shook his head, sighing heavily, “I don’t know why I’m friends with you.” Zizhen only shrugged in response, grinning.

The four of them had just come back from the annual Spring festival in Gusu, planning to stay over in Sizhui’s room given that Jin Ling and Ouyang Zizhen would not (could not, given Zizhen’s current state) travel back that night. Jin Ling rolled his eyes, and took a glance around the room.

His eyes widened.

Zizhen, who had followed Jin Ling’s gaze but didn’t have the benefit of a sober man’s restraint, blurted, slurring his words almost incomprehensively “What’s up with all the butterflies, Sizhui?” He gestured vaguely at the dozens of grass butterflies decorating the room, disrupting the otherwise very-Lan appropriate, minimalist aesthetic.

Jingyi whacked him over the head, “He invites you to stay in his home and you ask such rude questions? You should have stayed away from that special Emperor’s Smile brew when you had the chance.”

But Sizhui only smiled, deciding to answer Zizhen’s question, “They’re stories,” he said, as though this explained everything.

Jin Ling turned to him, “Stories?” He raised an eyebrow.

Sizhui nodded, and sighed, “They’re all from…” he pursed his lips and glanced quickly at Jin Ling, then the floor, “They’re from Wen Ning.”

Jin Ling gaped. Zizhen swayed, though only from the wine. Jingyi glared at Jin Ling, challenging him to comment.

Sizhui explained, “He made all of these for me.”

Jin Ling looked around the room, taking in the various colours and sizes of the butterflies, “He made… all of these?” he asked, incredulous.

Sizhui nodded, a bashful smile on his face.

“They’re so pretty!” Zizhen remarked.

Jingyi rolled his eyes, jabbing Zizhen in the side, “Of course they are! Did you expect an uncle to give his nephew an ugly gift?”

Sizhui hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jin Ling, worried at his reaction to the subject of Wen Ning. Jin Ling didn’t seem bothered, though, just curious.

“Why did he make you so many?” the Jin Clan Leader asked.

Sizhui flushed, “They’re each… Well, he makes them, and he tells me a story each time he gives one to me. A story of one of my… my family members.”

Jin Ling blinked, understanding dawning on his face, “What kind of stories?” he asked.

Sizhui glanced around at the various figures, smiling softly, “All kinds of stories. What they were like, things we did together, life in the Burial Mounds, memories from Dafan Mountains, that kind of thing.” His smile faltered as he finished. He looked back to Jin Ling, who had unconsciously reached for Suihua, touching it gently and nodding.

Jingyi steadied Zizhen in a seated position, and made his way to Sizhui, touching him lightly on the shoulder, “Sizhui…” he said.

“I’m ok, Jingyi.”

Something that sounded like choking came from the other side of the room, and the three junior cultivators closest to the door looked up to see tears streaming down Zizhen’s face.

“So each of these,” he blubbered, looking around, “Each of these is one of your clan members?”

Sizhui nodded, “I know it makes things seem a bit messy in here, but it’s nice to have them around.”

“Sizhui…” Zizhen cried, “That’s so… so beautiful…”

It was Jingyi’s turn to roll his eyes, “Be quiet. You’re making Sizhui think about depressing things. Tonight is supposed to be about having fun.”

But Jin Ling was intrigued. “What were they like?”

Lan Sizhui leaned forward, “I’ve heard so many stories.” He looked around the room, and stood up to grab a butterfly dyed a vibrant orange, “This one is Fourth Uncle. He used to carry me on his back when I was little, while he planted vegetables.” He put the butterfly down, and picked up deep red one, adding excitedly, “This one is Wen Ning’s sister, Wen Qing. She was apparently the best at getting me to stop crying, and the best doctor in the world.” He blushed, looking around to see if the thought of him wailing like an infant would make his friends laugh, but they all looked on, nodding, or, in Zizhen’s case, leaning forward on the table, chin supported by both hands, smiling dopily. Encouraged, Sizhui reached for a pair of butterflies sitting side by side, one blue and white, the other red and black, “Uncle Ning made these to be my fathers, so they could always be with me even when they were away.” He paused, stroking the two tiny sculptures softly before returning them to their perch.

He shook his head, “I mean, each one has a story but…” he sighed, looking around fondly at the display, “Well, I don’t want to bore you. Like Jingyi said, we should be having fun.”

“Family memories are never boring.” Jin Ling said firmly. His grip on Suihua tightened. Jingyi, who was currently trying to force Zizhen to drink some water, nodded vigorously.

Sizhui smiled at the two of them, “Well if the two of you agree on something, that must mean it’s true.”

“I disagree though.” Zizhen barely avoided falling flat on the table as he pointed forward wildly. The three others turned to him, one curious, one angry, one annoyed. Zizhen went on, “Yours might be interesting but… my family story is…” he exhaled heavily, “Very. Boring.”

“Why do you say that, Zizhen?”  Sizhui asked. Jin Ling and Lan Jingyi, who had seemed set to ignore this interjection, looked to Sizhui, mirroring each other’s single raised eyebrows. Sizhui cast them a glance that prevented any interference.

“Where do I start?” Zizhen grumbled, “I mean, my dad’s a coward - you saw him at the Burial Mounds. At least your uncle,” he looked at Jin Ling, “actually had personal stuff going on with the Yiling Patriarch, and wasn’t just siding against him because everyone else was.” He bit his lip, “And my mother? I mean, I love her, but she’s hardly as intense as all of your ancestors - Lan Yi, Madam Yu. They were awesome.” He took another look around at the butterflies, “And look at all these! Sizhui, your family’s story is incredible! Refugees, wrongfully accused! Your fathers are the Yiling Patriarch and Hanguang Jun, who have the most incredible love story in history!” He looked around to his friends, then down to his lap, “I mean… it’s stupid, but… I don’t know, it’d be nice to have some epic story like that as my legacy, you know?”

A silence worthier of the Jingshi’s name fell on Sizhui’s quarters, before Jin Ling broke it.

“Yeah. It is stupid.” The other three looked up at Jin Ling’s harshness. He sounded more like Clan Leader Jiang than ever, “You want a legacy? You want a family tragedy worthy of those stories you spend all your time reading? You want the heroic deaths of your parents put up on a wall by the person who orchestrated their murders? You want to grow up with one uncle who’s too sad to talk about them and another who worshipped them too much to tell you anything meaningful about their lives? Fine. I’d trade you in an instant.” Jin Ling huffed, crossing his arms. Tears grew out of the corner of his eyes, and he wiped them away fiercely, sitting down on the floor. He gritted his teeth, “An. Instant.”

Zizhen gulped. “Jin Ling, that’s not… I-“ He looked helplessly around to his friend, his inebriated mind only now catching up with what he had said, and what it must have sounded like to the others, “I’m sorry, of course I wouldn’t…”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it that way.” Jingyi jumped in. Zizhen looked to him gratefully. Sizhui was trying to look anywhere but any of the other Juniors’ faces, choosing instead to linger on a few of the more prominently placed butterflies.

Jin Ling’s shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his frustration, “I know… I just… I mean…” he looked to Zizhen, “Your dad sucks,” he said bluntly. Zizhen recoiled in surprise, Sizhui blinked, torn away from his thoughts and contemplating jumping in given the turn to more personal attacks. Jin Ling went on, his desperate expression and the group’s understanding of this subject’s significance to him preventing further interruptions, “But at least he’s there, you know?”

Zizhen put a hand over his chest, nodding earnestly, “You’re right,” he said, genuinely apologetic, “I shouldn’t be so selfish.” He paused, following Jin Ling’s eyes, which had drifted towards Suihua, “But Jin Ling?” he added, “Your parents were amazing. I wouldn’t trade my parents for anything, but I’m still jealous of the ones you got.” Jin Ling didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth twitched in appreciation. Zizhen took this as a sign to keep going, looking up as his voice shifted to the tone he usually used when he was reciting his most recent love poem to them, though his voice was more garbled than usual, “They had the most epic romance. They fought to the end to protect the things they loved.” He looked at Jin Ling, “To protect you.” He pointed sloppily at the golden-clad teen.

Jin Ling coughed, once, twice, but this was only a fruitless attempt to stop the tears that came anyway. Sizhui placed a hand on each of his shaking shoulders.

“You’re still stupid, but… thanks, Zizhen,” the Jin Clan Leader managed, “Sorry I said your dad sucks.”

Zizhen shrugged, and clasped his hands together, going into a bow which only ended with a faceplant into the table. He was asleep immediately.

Jingyi rolled his eyes, “Idiot.” But he smiled, alongside Sizhui and Jin Ling (although the latter still had tears streaking his face). Jingyi stood up. “I’m gonna go grab some blankets for all of us, and I guess we can just cover him up there if he’s comfortable. No use in him catching a cold before our night hunt tomorrow.”

Sizhui nodded, arms still wrapped around Jin Ling’s back comfortingly, “Thanks Jingyi.” Jingyi nodded, and left.

“Jin Ling?” Sizhui tilted his head, trying to catch his friend’s eye, “Are you okay?”

Jin Ling sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve, “Yeah. Yeah it’s nothing. It’s no big deal. I shouldn’t have yelled like that - Zizhen was just being his stupid drunk self anyway.”

Sizhui patted his shoulder before standing up. “I have something for you,” he said.

Jin Ling looked up, watching Sizhui as he walked towards a shelf not far from the butterfly-Yiling Patriarch and butterfly-Hanguang Jun’s places. The Lan disciple stood there for a moment, scanning the various figures before reaching for one that Jin Ling couldn’t quite see. Sizhui cupped it in his hands and made his way back around the table to Jin Ling.

“I want you to have this.” Sizhui said, opening his hands to reveal a delicate grass butterfly, light purple with what looked like dried lotus leaves weaved decoratively into its wings.

Jin Ling looked to Sizhui in confusion, but reached out and took the butterfly anyway.

Sizhui smiled. “While I was still living in the Burial Mounds, my uncle, the Ghost General, he brought me a bowl of soup one day. He had brought it all the way from Yiling. When he told me this story, I tried to think back. I think I can remember that day just a bit - it was a delicious, but stone-cold soup, better than anything I’d eaten in a long time.” He sighed. Jin Ling was confused, wondering if Sizhui was just getting pointlessly sentimental so far past the Lan bedtime, “When he gave me this butterfly, my uncle told me that the soup had come from the nicest woman he’d ever met, and the best cook too. He told me that it had been from Wei Wuxian’s sister, that she had given it to Uncle Ning but that he couldn’t eat it so he had wanted me to have it instead.” Sizhui looked up at Jin Ling in time to see realization dawning on the other boy’s face, “I only remembered the taste of the soup when Uncle Ning told me this story. When he gave me this.” Sizhui held up Jin Ling’s hands, which were still clutching the carefully woven insect. “I think he’d want you to have it.”

Jin Ling held the butterfly up to his face, stroking the sides tenderly, “This…” he gulped, “The Ghost General made one of these… this one is… my mother?”

Sizhui nodded, smiling. “He almost cried when he told me about her. Jin Ling…” Sizhui caught his gaze, “She was an amazing person, kind even to someone like Wen Ning who most of the world hated at that point.” Sizhui sighed, “I’m sorry I don’t know more about your father but, knowing you? He must have been amazing too.”

Jin Ling smiled, though his chin trembled, “Sizhui…” he held the butterfly close to his chest, “Thank you.”

Sizhui smiled, “No need. We all need something to remember people by, right?”

Jin Ling nodded, looking around at the memories of all the people who had been incredible enough to be related to Sizhui.

By the time Jingyi got back, heavy blankets gathered from the guest rooms, he had to cover up not just one but three cultivators. He would make fun of Jin Ling for drooling on his sleeve the next day, but was happy to see the peaceful expressions on all three of their faces.

--

“I am never. Drinking. Again.” Zizhen groaned, holding his head and plodding along behind the others. The four of them followed Wei Wuxian and Hanguang Jun for what was sure to be an exciting night hunt.

Wei Wuxian laughed, “I’ve said that to myself more than once. It never works out.” He punched his husband lightly on the arm, “Right, Lan Zhan?”

Hanguang-Jun only said “mmm” in response, but Wei Wuxian could see the hint of a smirk on his face. Wei Wuxian glanced back at the Juniors. All except Zizhen, who was still too hungover to offer more than a half-hearted grin, laughed with him. It was then that Wei Wuxian noticed, contrasting sharply against the golds of his robes, a little purple butterfly dangling from Suihua’s hilt. Sizhui, who had followed his father’s eyes, looked to him and smiled, confirming Wei Wuxian’s suspicions.

Wei Wuxian sighed happily, turning to look forward again. I’m glad you can still be at his side, Shijie.

[sumeshi-t]

hinata shoyou x reader | hanahaki x reincarnation au; a chaotic mix of fluff, crack, and angst.

song: lifetime by ben&ben

a/n: a three-part fic because i didn’t want it to get too long in one post. this is my first time working on an au and hinata so i hope i did him justice. beta-ed by @taeiliee ​ iloveyou mom always <3

i. 》 ii. 》 iii.

*:･ﾟ✧ "Tangled with another's eyes–nevermind, you were never mine," ✧･ﾟ: *

Your fingers drummed against the table, eyes intent on the ginger sat before you. “So, what do you say?”

He looks away, avoiding your gaze, fidgeting in his seat. Hinata Shoyou wasn’t sure why he was feeling nervous under your gaze, especially when you were the one basically asking him for a favor, “B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

When you don't respond, Hinata decides to raise his eyes to look at you—your face looks solemn, and somehow… something about it, something about you just draws him in. This time, you were the one staring outside the glass wall of the antique cafe. His heartbeat quickened, breath getting caught in his throat—

‘...beautiful,’ was the only word he could find to describe that moment, even if your eyes had a faraway look in them. Hinata knew your true wish was that this never had happened, and that you were talking to Kenma instead.

If only he never went back to the restroom.

You tried not to heave a sigh at your impulsive and brash decision, and at his innocent question. But what can you do when your life's on the line? Ten years left in your life may seem like a long time but, “It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

You had the sudden urge to cough, and, upon doing so, Hinata could only watch as your pale hands covered your mouth, and the sound of coins dropping to the floor entered his ears. There was a bit of blood that ran down your nose, and he immediately reached for a table napkin. More than guilt, it was worry that bubbled from his chest. 

Even if you had explained it—this sickness—that you had, he still found it ridiculous.

You saw nothing but the disbelief in his eyes, desperate to get a grasp at this uncanny reality.

You saw yourself in them, in his constricted pupils and lids widened—reminded of the first time you discovered that you were sick with a rare disease you thought only exists in fiction.

The Hanahaki Disease, a disease acquired from garnering an unrequited love, was something that no medical doctor could cure nor control—anthosectomy, the surgical removal of flowers, was nothing but a temporary solution.

One must be loved in return to be free from it. 

Apparently in your case, the disease has “mutated”. That instead of flowers or petals blooming from your lungs, money would begin to collect in them, beginning from coins and eventually into large bills as it grew worse over time.

You only discovered this fact just two, about three weeks ago, during breakfast, after a lone coin dropped into your cup of coffee, mocking you as it floated; the aftertaste of iron and aluminum on your tongue. 

“Our family inheritance… came from their chest—even your mother’s.” your father muttered regrettably, with a hint of disgust, back turned to you in the study. 

“I didn’t expect for you to catch the disease this early, and you’re doing so well with your current business projects,” he heaves a sigh, fingers grazing through the spines of the books, before pulling a velvet-covered hardcover, worn out from time.

“How long… has this been going on, dad? Is this some sick family tradition?! So… does this mean…?” you couldn’t even say the words—you haven’t even confessed and yet, having this disease only meant that Kozume Kenma didn’t feel the same way you did.

Finally, your father sits before you, sliding the title-less book towards you. He explains further that you read its contents—the ancestral diary—about the history and the findings made by your predecessors.

He calls for your name softly when your wide eyes never left the book in your hands. He looks over you sympathetically, “I thought that by hiding this from you, I was protecting you from harm.” Your father’s eyes squinted, wanting to reach out to you but his conscience telling him he failed you as a parent was stronger.

“But y/n, don’t give up… don’t be like them, like me,” your father says this with blood dripping from the corner of his lips, before clutching his chest, spitting bills of varying amounts out his mouth. 

“I never thought ten years would pass by so quickly,”

You look at him, mortified at his pallid face, standing up in worry, going to his side. “Who…?”

With a weak smile on his lips, your father utters your mother’s name, voice just above a whisper, tender and soft at hearing her name come from his own lips.

“And I don’t regret it. Loving her is the best decision I’ve made, even if she didn’t want it.”

You spent the next week with him, until he breathed his last, inevitably leaving you to face this battle of love and pain on your own.

As if everybody’s expectations from you weren’t high enough already, now that you were alone, it skyrocketed through the roof. Even as you knelt before the portrait of your father, refusing to talk to anyone on the first day of his wake.

You heard their whispers, you knew their motives—nobody really cared about the life of a rich man, they only cared about the man’s riches. You shut down any and all talks about businesses to potential or lifelong business partners; the least they could do was respect you and let you mourn.

On the third and last night of the wake, someone unexpected came to pay his respects.

“Kenma…?”

“Hello, y/n. I…” he looks away shyly, a few strands of hair falling to cover a portion of his face. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to squeak out. His hand reached out to you, holding a tiny plastic bag filled with your favorite snacks, all over a black-white envelope.

Seeing Kozume Kenma in a formal suit, bun loosely tied by his nape, awkwardly scratching his cheek; you could feel the ice in your heart being slowly thawed by the scene before you. You would’ve finally smiled; you would’ve pulled him in just so you could cry out into his chest.

But you felt suffocated, and the slap of this impossible reality you couldn’t dodge stung against your bare and open heart, pulling you back and keeping you rooted in your place.

You knew his apologies were meant for condolences—but your father wasn’t the only one who died. You mourned for your own demise, wishing you could bury these hidden feelings along with his ashes and leave everything behind to start anew.

But secrets turn into regrets, and buried feelings would only grow.

Your fingers brushed against his skin as you took the plastic bag in your hands, the sensation sending sparks to your nerves. You didn’t hear yourself mutter your gratitude, only the sound of Kenma’s soft gasp. The back of his hand wiped the tear stains off your cheek, “How long have you been holding back, y/n?”

‘A long time, Kenma,’ you wished to answer, but you knew you or your words didn’t matter to him as much as you’d have liked to. Even through the tears that blurred your vision, the love in your eyes for him was clear.

Kenma awkwardly pulled you close, a hand behind your head to press your face against his chest, while his other arm remained by his side. His actions strongly reflected how he felt nothing more for you than just a friend and a board director—he didn’t even choose to hug you.

But the unheard truth didn’t stop you.

Behind the lids of your eyes, you saw little moments of joy you had shared with Kenma—maybe it all began with an inevitable meeting in your office, unlike the usual video conferences he would attend. Working with someone your age with the same prospects and visions was rare for you in the world of business—you mused, this feeling was mutual.

Then the meetings became less about business, and more for just the heck of it.

You daydreamed about him, seeing his smile from the corner of your eyes when you were alone. His intelligence was a given, so maybe it was his soft-spoken, honest nature; or the way he was athletic even if he stayed in his house majority of the time.

That was the tip of the iceberg.

Because really, it was more of feeling so at peace when you were with him. You couldn’t hold back being yourself when you were with Kozume Kenma because despite hiding behind several secret doors you’ve put up all your life, the scrutiny of his sharp, cat-like eyes opened each of them, finding you over and over.

You didn’t want to lose that sense of familiarity. So, you chose to ignore the signs that you were indeed falling for him. And by doing so, your life was now reduced to a mere ten more years, caught at crossroads, burdened with making the decision between continuing your family’s horrible legacy or carving out your own place in his heart and have him learn to love you.

The words of your father echoed in your head.

And it bounced off your lips, “Kenma… please stay, just a bit longer,”

“Kenma, are you he—oh?”

Hinata Shoyou peeks from behind the corner, checking if he didn’t get lost in your family’s large home. His presence made you shy away from Kenma, clearing your throat before the ginger-haired man was introduced to you.

He offered you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen, fitting for the shade of his hair and contrasting the dark hues of his clothes. “Kenma and I go way back, he actually sponsors me!” his cheeks were dusted pink, both embarrassed and excited. “Now I play for a team in Division 1,”

‘Ah, he’s that kind of person,’ was your initial thought. Hinata Shoyou seemed so easy to read, pure and unadulterated intentions out in the open for everyone to see. What’s fascinating was that he makes it seem so easy to not let that be a vulnerability.

Spending a few hours with someone whose energy was bigger than him—cliché as it sounds, but it was akin to standing beneath the rays of the sun. Hinata Shoyou radiates warmth upon your frozen heart, even if for just a moment.

It was a different kind of peace. And you looked forward to seeing more of his large smiles.

Just… not this soon.

Maybe it was fate playing tricks on you. The timing was quite impeccable.

Kenma went ahead first, Hinata had to go to the restroom. Soon as you stood up to see him out, you cough, coins falling to the floor. One of them finds its way towards Hinata, rolling and stopping when it hits his foot.

“Oh? Lucky!” he picks it up, hears more coins hitting the floor that he has to look for the source. Hinata sees your back hunched over, money around your feet. As he was approaching you, he said sheepishly, “y/n-san, is this yours? I was about to take it—!”

“y-y/n…y/n-san… are you… okay?”

Hinata flinched as you glared at him, voice seething, words through gritted teeth. “Don’t you dare tell Kenma.”

Hinata nods once, pocketing the coin he had in his hand on instinct, before scurrying away.

You let the incident pass, as you had the cremation and burial to worry about in the meantime. But a few days after, all it takes you is a phone call to Kenma and a few texts to Hinata—which leads you to the present wherein you and the athlete agree to meet at a café.

“Now that you know, here’s the deal I’m offering you, Hinata-san. I’ll sponsor you in exchange for your silence. And…” you take a sip from your coffee, watching him from over the rim of the cup. Hinata was uneasy, confused, and shocked at the illness you had. It was as if he were in a volleyball game, forced to take in so many things at once.

“Hinata-san, go out with me. Let’s date. What do you say?”

“E-Eh…?! B-But, why should we date? I know I wasn’t… meant to see that, and I swear, y/n-san, I would never tell Kenma! We can just end it at… that,”

“It’s not enough. Please, Hinata-san.”

Hinata stood quickly, contemplating just how he was going to help. He has to bite the cheeks of his mouth, looking over you with worry as hundred and five hundred yen coins spilled from you. You felt his hands slightly shaking when he gave you the table napkin, and in return you motion for him to take a drink so he could calm down.

“Sorry about that—so, do you agree to be my boyfriend? If you need time to think of a response, I can give you two days, because I have to go in a few minutes,” you say this, looking at your wristwatch while slowly gathering your things.

“y/n-san,” Hinata began, still standing by your side, looking down to meet your gaze. “I… I agree. Because I want to help you in any way I can, just to give back, with how generous you are and… because you don’t deserve this. But why does it have to be me?”

His words struck something within you, but then your own sorrows blocked him out. “Your timing was just perfectly terrible. I’m sorry for dragging you into my problems, Hinata-san.”

Hinata felt his pulse quicken at how you looked up at him from beneath your lashes. His unease somehow was replaced by something. But your next words broke his trance, “There is only one condition that you have to follow,”

With a smile that never reached your eyes, Hinata feels his own heart break at how you were like a broken porcelain doll, red lips moving so easily to convey words, convey the one law you’ve forced him to follow and would eventually break—

“Never fall in love with me.”

cheese cult: @akaashichigo @drainedjaz @haikkeiji @annalyn-annalyn @sosugasweet @cali-writes-sometimes @simping4ratsumu @shishinoya @ushiwakaa @akaashit-baeji @kxgeyamasmilk @agaassi ​ @hanibuni ​ @cupofkenma ​ @kawanisshi ​ @milkandc00kiez ​ @thiccbokuto ​ @shinsukestan ​ @sufiawrites ​ @wakaitoshi ​ @skyguy-peach ​ @fern-writes-ig ​ @briswriting ​ @kawaiikraykray ​ @bubbleteaa ​ @miyuswriting ​ @raevaioli ​ @ouikarwa ​ @hakueishirei ​ @pineapplekween ​ @estherwritess ​ @keiji-n ​ @achoohq ​ @badlywritten-hq ​ @mochibeaa @oinkanna ​ @chxrry-wxne ​ @spudicide ​ @airybby ​ @asranomical ​ @karmasuna ​ @nekoglasses ​

gen. taglist: @yams046 ​ 

[dailyandrewandaaron]

Could you maybe write something post-canon where Neil’s ableism comes up and he and Andrew have to sort of navigate it’s effects on their relationship/have some type of discussion over it? Or alternately if you’d rather not, something about bi Katelyn?

not quite that but heres something about ableism 

-

Its not the words so much that bothers Andrew but the silence that always followed them .  

Renee would only smile placidly when Allison named him monster and nobody challenged her but instead took it up for their own use

Aaron would offer no defence when he was named crazy only shrugging as if it was an indisputable truth

kevin raised no objections when he was called joyless , empty , agreeing that he had no purpose in life beyond himself

nicky would laugh  in the same breath as saying he was soulless  as if it was an in joke between them

Neil  did this too  - yes even him

He would later denounce their attitudes one by one pretending to be shocked theyd treat andrew so -  but it was hollow coming from him -knowing  before  their first meeting even he was already psychotic midget and this  is what he would remain -  even after - even when it means something

now - andrew wouldve been fine with a legacy of fear if that was all it was  but it was not  -  not  if he - not if he was - a midget - . yes , thats what cements it , what caused them to hold  him apart  from and below them - it shows  in their eyes - his lack of humanity -  

is he a threat or  is he a joke ? oh , certainly he is both-  they are afraid of him but they show him no respect  

he is that sort  of monster . The kind that  isnt only feared  it is  also pitied. the sort where people think it is a cruelty that he even  lives at all - being what he is  

they call him ruthless  to his face and whisper  midget behind his back

sometimes its  the other way  around  

and that is almost worse

. andrew encased himself with mystery and aggression hoping he could inspire enough fear that his height was never made light of in this way.  

his brother shared this particular burden . Aaron shouldered it by being unpleasant enough that he avoided the types who  would think to patronise in that sickening way due  to their stature  and by commiserating his lack of presence with the fact he was spared the condemnation of being the evil twin -  being short on its own is not monster  worthy status

being short and - crazy - well theres no hope for you there

kevin of all  of them knows the best the feeling , Kevin has words of his own . launched at him from the catapult of ignorance and prejudice  cripple, retard handicapped  he recognises the ripple of pain that surges through him when wymacks  mouth form the words

 Its the same as goes through his own body when neil says psycho , 

when Aaron says evil , 

when nicky says soulless , 

Allison says monster

- Yet Kevin does not defend him. He likes it that  he is one step above him this way.

You have two hands you only have one brain.

Neil in their secret moments tells him he is not worthless that he alone is his love but he never takes back those earlier words never soothing the wounds they made. Neil wont take any of it back

Its his own fault Neil says for not telling them the way it was,  for not explaining- because of course ,of course it needed explaining. This couldnt just be accepted

-but you see  Neil that he is andrew minyard .His reputation went before him . He was monster before he'd even arrived.

You could fight that or you could embrace that and  use  it as your shield . andrew chose the latter.

it kept people off his back at least

He'd known that Aaron was afraid of him skirting around his presence keeping Kevin or Nicky between them pausing before he got into the car hiding and suppressing his other relationships to not raise his ire. His brother who loved him enough to kill still found him a danger

Nicky who had left a happy life for him who had stayed without a deal and didn't leave the moment he could. Nicky  who spent years trying to keep them safe who had sacrificed for them. He believed it too or he had  no scruples in pretending and laughing about how he was soulless. This is a deeper insult from Nicky who actually believed in souls but long ago he'd given up the thought that Andrew would be hurt by such a thing. When things are said to nicky andrew says dont use that word but when things are said to andrew nicky doesnt intervene

Renee is stronger than him. Her fight methods are better. she knows that. She is teaching him he doesn't scare her in the way he scared the others but still she treats him delicate like he'd explode if she pushed too far. She has no problem fighting him but she is afraid not for herself but that one day he would betray her trust and use her careful teaching against those she protected. She would take Allisons side of course she had done before - she stays quiet when allison rants about him

Allison knew him the least but claimed she knew him the best. When you are already  monster , as in her eyes he was ,every thing you do becomes monstrous. She expected nothing less of him. Of course he would be violent . of course he would hurt her .he is a monster

Matt had reason enough he supposed to revile him though he had helped in the long run he distrusted him. Thinks he would hurt Neil. As if he would. A if he would do the one thing that would destroy him. But of course of course Andrew doesn't feel things. people were collected if they were useful. Matt was not useful enough and so he was not chosen. this is how he views it. Doesn't know why beautiful Neil would chose such a strange and damaged person as Andrew. He thinks Neil is an innocent and knows not the darkness of his soul which is assumptions in itself

Dan - he did not know truly what Dan thought of him but it was not warmly. She viewed  him as something to be handled to be put up with to reach a higher goal. His skills were needed his person was not. She kept him and his at arms length enough to say I'm not with them. Now there was a them and he was their leader. She left him alone which he was grateful for but she doesn't bring him in doesn't let him close she doesn't want to hear his voice she doesn't think the psychotic midget has anything useful to say

Seth was his least favourite and that was no secret. He was prejudice in a very boring way. Just the kind that hated those who were not like him and didn't care enough to change that. He hated Kevin the most but andrew , was a close second. His ideas about life having value  didnt extend to the likes of Andrew Nicky and Kevin. Not even Aaron was normal enough for him.

Wymack was a rare thing in Andrews life a older man that he trusted. That he could trust with his family. He knew that wymack would not hurt him -not physically. Nobody thinks Andrew cares what he is called. Wymack didn't hate Andrew he knew that . wymack was actually rather fond of him but he never stoped  using the words.

perhaps you know such a word. it burns deep into your body .It's not icy the shock of it, its hot , white hot. The word is such a noise that it fills you to your lungs.

It drowns you in hot water and you can hardly breathe. He doesn't know if wymack believes the words he calls him but he doesn't stop. He can't say they hurt for it would break the illusion. If they knew Andrew could be hurt by words then it's all over for him he might as well put a knife into his own belly .So  Andrew knows it wont stop .

Wymack would scoff if he ever mentioned ableism. It sounds made up but it surely is not.

Neil would tell him there's no such thing -but how would he know? The only other disabled person he knows is kevin whom he'd called a cripple.

I don't hate disabled people neil would say and  genuinely believe thats enough  That that's the most he can give. Andrew supposed that is what most people think is the best they can do.

that's not what ableism is anyway. Well. it is. but that's not all.

Andrew knew ableism well

The word is new to him but the feeling is not

The experience of it is nothing new

Andrew knows ableism  is not just hate  ignorance and prejudice. It's is not just violence. It is not just fear of the unknown.

Although it is all those things It is also choosing not to acknowledge the difficulties you face .

Choosing not to stop using the words.

Choosing to laugh and not to listen

Choosing not to care because it isnt about you

It is when you are hurt and nobody does anything because nobody thinks that's a thing that could hurt.

When you are hurt physically and everybody shrugs that's just how it is for people like you

You are different so your pain is not important because most can ignore it.

It is the silence that follows the slurs when not one single person says you shouldnt say that

Not your brother.

Not your cousin.

Not your boyfriend.

Nobody

Such is ableism.

when nobody raises it because nobody believes there is such a thing

So it continues unchallenged

because .

Well None of us were offended

say the abled bodied team members 

[dadzawa-adopt-dabi]

secret baby ch 10

(oof this is a long chapter! let me know if i forgot to tag anything!)

The first offer of business Dabi gets is for one of his neighbors, a nice elderly alpha woman who can't bend like she used to, she stays in the apartment with him the first few times as they build some trust between them. As Dabi cleans up for her and makes the trips down the block to the laundromat for her. At the end of the day she sends him home with leftovers, some cash and pretty decent leftovers.

Him and Kiyoko get invited back several times as she spreads the word to her friends. Eventually he strikes a deal with a young couple for a free house clean and meal made in exchange for a burner phone to get contact with his customers.

It takes a few weeks , Dabi is getting used to running his own business. He takes Kiyoko with him to almost all of his ‘appointments’, despite one of his customers offering to babysit for him. He places her in a room separate from the one he is cleaning in but close enough to hear him talking and singing to her and she doozes the day away while he works until he picks her up and they go to his next appointment. She has a special basket designed to let her wings poke through and Dabi carries her in a baby backpack to the appointments he can. Sometimes there’s mold and he has to leave her behind, sometimes he has another nurse Karen for a client, someone who judges him for bringing Kiyoko.  His first client eventually clues him into an omega in the building who watches the buildings kids for a small fee.He still brings Kiyoko when he can't bear to leave her with his babysitter, a consistent fear of something happening to her keeping him close. Sometimes when he brings her he gets paid less because Kiyoko's crying supposedly bothers his clients. It's only ever a couple dollars difference but every dollar counts when you're raising a kid by yourself.

Eventually he has keys to most of his clients places of residence as he cleans for busier and busier people. His networking slowly starts paying off as he starts making enough to squeak by on rent while keeping himself and Kiyoko fed. It’s close and it won't last but it's enough to get them through the month. It's stressful and he can feel the strain of it wearing on his health.

Kiyoko is 3 months old when his body snaps under the stress,just at the age where she can giggle at the funny faces and noises Dabi has been making for her lately. He’s canceled all his appointments for the next few days, head bent over a toilet when she giggles for the first time. Dabi feels like crying from all the stress, he’s sick and tired and is just barely going to squeak by on rent again unless he can reschedule all his appointments again. He’s cooking and cleaning his apartment and other peoples homes and is probably just sick from the anxiety and stress of being a single parent. Maybe actually sick from a bug he unknowingly caught and has now transferred to his daughter. He makes a note to make a doctor appointment for both of them as he heaves.

And his daughter is laughing, giggling at him as he makes funny noises to her. He kind of feels like crying, he wants someone to rub his back. He wants Hawks, he has no idea how Hawks would react to this. If he would be caring and sooth Dabi while he held their daughter, Or if he would tell him to clean up when he was done being dramatic. 

He’s doing everything by himself, trying to stay under Enji and Hawks radar. It's been months and they haven't come looking but that doesn't mean they wont. He honestly doesn't know if him and Kiyoko can make it. If he should call Hawks and come clean. Maybe he wouldn’t be as bad as enji had been, for a moment he wavers in indecision. The want to have Hawks close is something he thought would fade with time. Instead the want is only growing with every obstacle put in his path.

What steels his resolve is the chubby smile and giggle Kiyoko gives him as he turns his phone over in his hands. Maybe isn’t good enough for him, and it's not good enough to risk for Kiyoko. He reminds himself firmly. Dabi wipes his mouth and stands up. It’s not like he can call Hawks anyways when he left his old phone and Hawks number with it on his table. He can do this, for Kiyoko, he has to at least try.

“Something funny princess? You're the best thing to happen to me okay? No matter if I'm worrying my head off or you laughing at me as I lose my lunch. You're the best damn thing to ever happen to me.” Dabi scoops her up and steps into his tiny shower with her.

There’s not going to be any fear from her parents in Kiyoko’s life. No screaming and yelling. No being blamed for things she had no control over like being sick. Dabi isn’t going to be Enji and he’s not going to raise Kiyoko with someone like him either.

Dabi’s nest isn’t as big or well made as Kiyoko’s considering he’s had less practice doing it for himself and nothing ever feels quite right after they are both clean making faces at her. She giggles at nearly anything he does. It makes Dabi’s heart feel light again every time he hears the sound. He starts up a rumbling purr for her, the best one he can manage, still full of hiccups and uneven despite how happy she makes him. He’s going to do the best he can and it’s just going to have to be enough to get them through. No amount of how much easier life would be, how much less stigma he would face, status and comfort will ever be worth his daughters safety.

He purrs Kiyoko to sleep and follows moments after.

He gets up after their nap Dabi gets up after their nap feeling a lot better, maybe it has just been the poor sleep and eating habits. Whatever had made him sick, Kiyoko doesn't seem to have caught it. He's been checking both of there’s regularly to make sure she doesn't catch anything from traveling with her after a client brought it up with him. It's been something of a miracle that he hasn’t gotten sick. Kiyoko hasn’t shown any signs of getting sick as easily as he might have as an infant. He doesn't know if he got sick as often as an infant as he did as a child. He knows he was sick a lot as a child, remembers struggling through fatigue to get up and help fuyumi.  The constant exhaustion with the pain from bruises and then having to go ‘train’ with his father. Feeling nauseous and like his knees would go out from under him but he had to take care of the house before enji came home. Rei had been too much of a nervous wreck to take care of him and too busy ensuring the days of depression and neglect got taken care of. Her panic and screaming at them that enji’s anger was all their fault made things worse in those days. It was never anyone's fault other than enji’s that he hit his kids and wife, even as a kid Touya had known that, had repeated it to himself as he treated his and fuyumis burns and bruises. Had told Natsou as he grew older, asking Touya why neither of his parents cared for him and if it was really their fault. Just as he had known that his mother had not wanted to have him or his sister, born as part of a contract agreement for an arranged marriage.

Then Enji had decided that he couldn’t train Touya to be a hero. That Touya was weak,always had been, he would better serve enji’s legacy as a bride married off to an alpha with a strong quirk. Most likely a hero. Touya had been 17 and told that within the year enji would be looking for ‘appropriate’ suitors for someone born of enji. He’d started sneaking out and stashing away everything he could. Eventually he would meet Hawks and being as drawn to him as he was, eventually conceive Kiyoko and jumpstart his runaway plan.

“Hey no fever Kiyoko! Good job! You beat those germs!” Dabi coos at her shanking thoughts of the past from his head. Picking her up and scenting the top of her head as he searches for his phone, if he’s feeling better then he can start rescheduling his clients. He bounces her as she giggles and he talks on the phone, no amount of wishing for Keigo will do him any good. It’s not like he’s wishing for only keigo either, he’s wishing for anyone to help him more often than not despite knowing that he will never accept the help, he doesn't trust anyone enough for that. Keigo just happens to be the alpha he knows best outside of his family.

Most of his clients can’t reschedule and Dabi starts reworking his meal plans for the month, mentally stretching what money he will make to keep them with a roof over their head and the lights on. He’s going to have to ask for another extension on rent, the landlord has been getting increasingly frustrated with his problems but there’s not much more he can do.

It's a couple of weeks later when Dabi takes Kiyoko with him while he runs down to the laundromat for a last minute client that lives in his building. The man needed his clothes with his uniform done but was too busy that evening to do it himself and had offered Dabi cash. So despite the late hour meaning he couldn’t leave Kiyoko with the usual sitter he agreed. 

There’s a young couple fighting outside and Dabi tenses as he tries to ignore it while carrying Kiyoko and the bags of laundry through the dark nearly empty lot. Couple’s argue, they get mad at each other and fight, it's normal he reminds himself and he doesn't want to get involved.He leaves Kiyoko sitting in her carrier on top of a started washer and goes back outside for another bag of laundry outside the door. He couldn’t open the door with both bags and his baby so he had set one down and now had to go back for it. It’s not at all to keep watch on the fighting couple in case someone has to call the authorities.

Maybe they were breaking up and this had been their meeting point or maybe they had a fight here with no one around and whatever it was said was the last straw.

There’s another person hanging around outside,smoking, who raises an eyebrow at him but doesn't say much. Other than them and the arguing couple the place is empty.

“He has to learn at some point! I've got a say in how you raise him like it or not he’s my kid too.” The male of the pair points at a car in the parking lot. Ignoring the potential witnesses watching him.

“Get the fuck away from me, I said we were done and I meant it.” The woman who is getting yelled at by her partner in public growls at him. Dabi’s head refuses to turn away, he knows what comes next but can’t look away. 

He doesn't want to see it, see what comes next, but he’s frozen. His weight shifts, when the guy raises his hand to his girlfriend and the next thing Dabi knows he's let loose his quirk and the man is ash. The woman opens her eyes from where they've been pried shut and screams. She doesn't thank him, she runs to her car and drives off with her kid. Peeling out of the parking lot and almost running him over in her haste. As fast as she can while Dabi stares in shock at where a person used to be.

The other woman who had been smoking steps forward to kick at the small pile of ashes and dark spot left on the pavement.

“Well that's a neat trick.” she gives him a long look and then looks inside the mat at Kiyoko. “she‘s yours right? You on your own sugar?” she grabs his wrist without asking, ignoring his hard flinch, and drags him inside to sit down as she gets two bottles of water from the vending machine. Dabi snatches the cold bottle and tries not to curl into a ball, stares at Kiyoko’s giggling face to distract himself as he presses the water to the back of his neck. Cooling himself down and jolting him back to the present.

He takes a deep steadying breath and looks over at the women. She looks a lot calmer than he feels, she changes out her wash like nothing just happened and comes back to sit beside Dabi.

 “Yeah it's just us, please don- i didn-” he feels like he can't breathe much less beg her not to call the police. “You’ll never have to see me again.” 

This is the closest most convenient laundromat to his building, only a block away, but he would gladly go to one across the city if she doesn't call the police. Calling the police means Enji finding him, it means signing over his rights to Hawks. There's no way to hide Kiyoko from Hawks if Enji finds out. He’s been climbing rabidly in rankings, always on the news, on a magazine cover or giving an interview. Kiyoko with her red wings and gold eyes means you don’t have to be a genius to guess she’s his child.

“Actually I have a job offer for you, I know a guy who knows a guy. He can hook you up with some big cash and all you gotta do is take out the trash like you just did out there.” The mystery woman grabs Dabi’s phone from him. “I can tell that you're already running yourself ragged as is. Quick easy cash in hand, we call him the broker but he’s also known as giran. Has his hand in all kinds of things so if you're not up for ditching bodies ask for something smaller like delivery, he's good at working with you based on your needs and comfort level.”

“Thank you,I'll think about it but no promises.” Dabi carefully takes his phone back. She’s not going to call the cops and is instead giving him a way out. He wants to doubt her and some part of him still thinks this is a trap. The cops never show up even after she leaves and he doesn't delete the number.

@ruelukas22 : im unsure if you still want to be tagged in updates or not! please let me know

[devnicolee]

The Chosen Ones (4)

Word Count: 10,377

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

“What is going on with you? I mean... I have never known you to be this reckless," the king of Wakanda exclaimed as he wore a whole in the carpet of his sister's room, pacing back and forth endlessly. 

Asha rubbed her forehead, shame and frustration growing as her brother's lecture drew on minute by minute. 

"T'Challa, I said I was sorry. I do not need a lecture. Believe me, I feel horrible enough as it is!" She tried to say. 

First M'Baku... now him? She couldn't take this much disappointment from both of them in the same evening, her heart couldn't handle it. She felt a small, soft squeeze to her hand, knowing it was moral support from her sister. Asha smiled weakly but her eyes didn't leave their dead stare into her lap, she didn't want to look at any of them.

"Apparently you do! I asked you if you wanted out of this engagement, I gave you an out. But now, there are certain responsibilities and obligations that you can't ignore just because you feel like it. And it is just," he took a moment to catch his breath before continuing, "it is highly inappropriate as a new council member and advisor to create a potential scandal of this magnitu-"

"Yes, I am a cheater and a horrible person. The worthless trouble-making, embarrassing liability to the great Panther Tribe. I get it! I have heard it several times today and every day for most of my life, I do not need any more reminders from you!" 

Asha's voice raised to match her brother's and in anger she leapt off her bed, standing toe to toe with him. She could feel the rings on her hands working overtime to tame the beast within as her hurt from the last few hours transitioned to anger.

"Ok, ok! Asha, it is alright. No one is saying any of those things. T'Challa certainly doesn't think them," Nakia inserted quickly, walking over and placing a soothing hand on the young princess's back. 

The two siblings were no stranger to a squabble or two but this was beyond both of them. Unlike T'Challa, Nakia could see that all of this was a symptom of a deeper issue and they would not get to the bottom of it by shaming her choices. She sent a silent but reproachful glare T'Challa's way as she tried to calm Asha down enough to continue. "Perhaps you should go. We will talk to her," she added quietly, seeing the fractures the emotionally-charged evening had sent through the young princess. 

T'Challa hesitated, now understanding that he had misstepped and feeling as though an apology was due. But Nakia simply shook her head and motioned toward the door. He nodded before motioning for Okoye to follow and quickly exit the room. 

As soon as her door slammed shut, Asha felt the weight of the day heavy on her shoulders, causing her to sink down to the floor by her bed. She buried her head in her hands as she tried to stop more tears from falling.

Haven't we cried enough today?

"I would like to be alone, please," she whispered, muffled but still clear enough for the remaining two occupants of her bedroom to hear.

"No, we are not leaving you like this. Talk to us. What happened?" Nakia asked as she crouched in front of Asha. 

Asha didn't move or attempt to acknowledge her question. She knew what they really wanted and that was to unpack that kiss... the now infamous kiss. But what would Asha say? How could she explain it when she was hundreds of miles from understanding the complexity of her feelings toward M'Baku. She always thought love was supposed to be simple, easy, but this was anything but that. In two days, she and M'Baku managed to entangle themselves in a web of all those emotions and that kiss was right smack in the center. Asha did not have the capacity to unravel it all tonight.

Asha couldn't tell if she kissed him because she longed for affection, was angry at the guy she was supposed to be with, was desperate for a different life, actually loved him or because she just wanted to feel something other than sadness. Or if it was some combination of all those things? All of them came with an airplane worth of baggage that could not be reduced to the carry-on sized explanation they desired.

"Nothing happened... M'Baku was comforting me and we got caught up in the moment. That is it."

The women both knew she was lying, that she just wasn't willing to share. But still, they persisted. 

"Come on, Asha. We know you. And w-we understand what you are going through but you have to talk to us and let us in. Let us help you."

Asha scoffed, her sister's ignorance almost made a laugh escape from her lips,. 

"You don't understand. How could you possibly? Neither of you know what it is like to be despised or treated like an embarrassment. You have never spent a single moment in your lives as I have. You don't get it and you never will!" She lashed out at them. She stood up and turned her back to them, taking a deep breath to calm herself.  "Please leave. Now. I wish to be alone."

"Asha.."

"Please do not make me have Alexis forcibly remove you. Just go, please." 

The shaky begging in her voice did the trick, leading both women out of her door. Asha slid back to her spot on the floor, tears making their silent trek down her face. 

She wished she had never allowed T'Challa to convince her to leave this room in the first place, wished she had never stepped a foot in the soft snow of Jabariland, and wished her eyes had never fallen on him. Then she would be happy... or at least, as happy as she was before and that would still be enough. She would be officially engaged in a week, existing in ignorance’s bliss. She would never know what true freedom tasted like, never know what true love felt like and so she wouldn't have to mourn it as she does now.

Sadness morphed into anger and frustration at everyone who forced her out of her safe isolation but didn't warn her that once you have seen light, it is impossible to go back to darkness. 

****

Asha tried to put a smile on her face as she sat in silence in the council meeting, but it was difficult to hide sadness when it is as deeply rooted as Asha's was. Your smile can be as bright as the Sun but it always still shows through in your eyes. She just wanted to retreat back to her room, not see him or Hasani who both sat in the circle of chairs branching out from her brother's. She also just hated being in these meetings to begin with, still feeling as though she didn't belong. It did not help that half of the circle... her mother, Elder Shani and her son all gave her cold reproachful looks that basically told her she didn't belong if she dared give her opinion. And now to make it worse, she felt like there was a giant, "I am a cheater" sign glowing above her head. 

She didn't quite understand why she felt so guilty, she knew Hasani never lost sleep over cheating on her. And his indiscretions were far worse than a simple kiss. But still, as she stole glances at both men, she felt guilty: guilty for cheating and guilty for bringing M'Baku into this mess. And she supposed her life's goal was to not be as carefree and uncaring as Hasani, certainly not the marker of a good person.

But she most wanted to talk to M'Baku, wanted to apologize or explain herself or... well, she did not quite know what she wanted to say to him. They said so much last night while simultaneously leaving so much unsaid. She questioned whether words would even matter at this point. But she felt the pull and desire to say something either way, just to hear the comfort in his voice, ensure that that comfort was still there. There was a stab of regret every time she considered the fact that she may have destroyed their friendship over a kiss, a stab that felt as painful as a physical wound in her body. But those were the consequences, she supposed. A moment of weakness in exchange for one of the few positive relationships in her life. 

"We cannot accept these terms. This agreement with the Jabari is an insult to your father's legacy and all who have fought to control the spread of such a disease in our borders," Elder Shani almost shouted from her seat in front of her brother. 

 The argument ensuing around her snatched Asha's head out of the clouds and back down to Earth where she found the council entrenched in a loud and unruly argument. Asha quickly realized that the Elders had found the one clause in the treaty Asha buried deeply and had simply hoped would go unnoticed. But it seemed little got past Elder Shani, who likely read through it with a fine-toothed comb to find a mistake on Asha's part.

"This treaty is about respecting the Jabari's way of life and integrating it into ours. They have a different respect and custom for mutants or the Chosen, as I believe Lord M'Baku has referred to them. After conversations with my sister and Lord M'Baku, I will not ask them to change their customs and their ways. He has assured me that they will not be a threat to the ways in which we govern down the mountains." 

Asha and M'Baku gave her brother a side eye, knowing that he pulled that explanation out of nowhere. That part of the treaty was added last minute after M'Baku expressed concerns over integrating the Jabari's Chosen into a regressive society. She chose not to bring it up and prolong the talks, figuring her brother would not notice a clause buried so deeply in the treaty's many pages.

"And what if that changes? What if one of them comes down here and creates trouble?" 

"Asha, you met with the people of Jabariland, saw their customs in practice. What do you think?" 

Asha gulped, mouth going dry at the idea of having to defend mutants to the most hostile person in the room, the person who also knew her secret. She glanced at her brother out of the corner of her eye whose smirk clearly told her that this was a problem of her creation that she now needed to fix.

"T-t-the Chosen are a peaceful group of Jabari. They are no different than the non-gifted among them. They have absolutely no reason to fight or create trouble for us down the mountains. Their goal is to use their p-powers to help advance the tribe. It is my belief that they will not be an issue for us." 

"And what if their idea of advancing the tribe is overthrowing us and ensuring Lord M'Baku sits on the throne?" Another elder chimed in. 

M'Baku laughed loudly, as if the idea of wanting the throne was too preposterous to take seriously. 

"I wanted to be king of Wakanda once, yes, it is true. However, since then I have saved your rightful king, risked Jabari lives to overthrow a usurper, and put that King back on his throne. Without my people and I, Killmonger would still be alive and sitting in that chair. Seems like an awful lot of work when I could have just taken the Heart-Shaped Herb to become King myself and left King T'Challa to die. My interests no longer lie in leading this backwards nation." 

"'Backwards?'" Elder Shani shouted, outraged at the insult. "How dare you?" 

"Yes, backwards. A country that has all the resources in the world, offers all the opportunity in the world to its people and still finds a way to hold people back, to limit the power and ability of the more gifted among you. You can call us savages and insult me, I know what some of you say behind my back. But at least, the Jabari treat their fellow citizens with the respect Hanuman demands. When Bast calls you all home to the Plains... Will you be able to say the same?" 

"Enough! That is quite enough," T'Challa called, causing all the tempers to quiet down significantly. "Elder Shani, as always, I appreciate your counsel. However, the treaty is final. The Jabari will not be forced to comply with any law within the Mutant Regulation Act. Lord M'Baku and the Jabari proved themselves to be a loyal tribe of Wakanda ten times over and I will not have that loyalty questioned in this room again. I reserve my right as king to revisit any aspect of the treaty if, and only if, it becomes an issue." 

He and M'Baku shared a respectful head nod before T'Challa continued. 

"Thank you all for a productive meeting. Unless there are outstanding matters, we will reconvene next Saturday prior to the start of the Festival. This year's festival will begin Sunday night at the Falls for the announcement of my sister's engagement and the King’s Exhibition. Thank you all. Wakanda Forever." 

At the mention of her engagement, Asha glanced at M'Baku and she wished she hadn't. His body was rigid and she could almost see the rage radiating off him into the space. 

"Wakanda Forever," they all replied in unison, as the meeting broke up. 

Asha turned around to pick up her tablet and notebook, mainly to avoid the death glare she was receiving from Elder Shani across the room. When she turned back, the older woman was in a huddled discussion with another elder and her mother. Their hushed whispers could not reach her ears but she knew it was likely nothing good. 

She kept her eyes trained on the floor as she walked, until she ran into the hard, broad back of someone. 

"Oh, I am sorry! I didn't see you th- M'Baku," she started to apologize to the unknown person until they turned around and she came face to face with the man she was desperately trying to avoid. She wondered if it would have been less painless to run into Elder Shani as she looked into his eyes, finding no more admiration and love there.

"Yes your highness?" 

His voice matched his eyes... cold and despondent, everything she didn't expect from him. She felt a sense of deja-vu to how he treated her prior to coming to the mountains. She remembered how it felt to be on the receiving end of his coldness and not understand why. She understood why now, but that didn't dampen the sting.

"U-uh, w-well I-I wanted to s-speak with you, actually," Asha stammered as she adjusted to all the things she was not used to from him... his coldness, formality and harsh tone. The silence between the stretched out as she tried to figure out what to say.  

"Well?" he barked. "I do not have all day, I am in a rush to return home." 

His tone hit her like a slap in the face. "N-never mind then, I hope you have a safe journey home." 

He nodded and saluted her with a pained look on his face before turning to head back down the hall. Her eyes glistened slightly, she felt the pressure of tears building behind them but she tried to push those emotions down. They both made their choices and here laid the consequences, she would learn to deal with them.  

M'Baku thought his feet could not carry him back to his carriage fast enough. He wanted nothing more than to flee this palace, and retreat to his own home to sulk and nurse his bruised heart. He thought they had started to build something... something beautiful and as quickly as it was put together, it crumbled. 

"M'Baku!"

He grimaced as he heard the unmistakable timbre of his king calling after him. He wanted so badly to ignore him and if this was a time in the past, he would have. But he respected T'Challa, and was growing to see him as something resembling a friend. So he pushed down his annoyance and heartbreak to speak to his King, praying to Hanuman that this was a short conversation. He almost jumped clean out of his skin to find the King directly behind him instead of down the hall. 

"My king?" 

"Leaving so soon?" T'Challa asked, his tone pleasant and airy, not like someone addressing the man whom he found making out with one of his younger sisters the day prior. 

"Yes, I have matters to attend to at home. What can I do for you?" M'Baku decided to cut the formalities short, he knew T'Challa did not stop him for that. 

T'Challa nodded, his face descending into a more serious look. "Are you in love with my sister?"

He eyed the look of surprise that passed across M'Baku's face before adding, "I speak to you not as King but as an older brother who just wants his sister to be happy. There is no wrong answer here. Are you in love with her?" 

"Yes," M'Baku replied shortly. There was not much else to say, this was all very simple to him.  

T'Challa gestured forward, allowing the man to continue his journey toward his carriage as they walked. 

"My sister always pretends to be happy, never complains about her horrible treatment at the hands of my parents or her regulation to being a prisoner in her own home. She always tries to hide it but it shows... it always shows in her eyes. They hold a certain sadness, or at least they have every single day for the last 15 years. The only other person on this Earth who I have seen with eyes like that died a few weeks ago. I couldn't save him, couldn't undo the injustices my family doled out upon him. But I... I can save Asha." 

"Forgive me, my King. But I don't understand what you want from me?" 

"When my sister walked off the Talon 24 hours ago, she looked like a completely different person. Joy and happiness radiated off her like light from the Sun. It was the first day I looked at my sister and didn't see that sadness. I do not have to be as smart as Shuri or as intuitive as Nakia to know who brought that about. My sister is in love with you. I want you to know that before you get in that carriage and resign to writing her off for the rest of your life. She is stuck between her heart and obligation, what she wants and what she has been conditioned to believe she should have. And Shuri and I are trying to help her but... As a brother, I-I am just asking you not to give up on her just yet."

As he finished, they reached his carriage. T'Challa did not wait for M'Baku to respond, he simply saluted him before turning on his heels to tread the same path back into the palace. Meanwhile, M'Baku just stood there staring after him for a while, another plan to forget Asha slowly sinking down the drain. 

****

"M'Baku!"

He tore his eyes from the mountains, ready to snap at the man foolish enough to interrupt him, only to find N'Danna standing not too far behind him. N'Danna looked annoyed as if he had been calling the chief's name for a while. M'Baku clearly hadn't heard him, trapped in a cycle of his own thoughts, the light wind blowing past, and the nighttime jitters of the forest.

He barely acknowledged his second-in-command, knowing his best friend would just come and occupy the empty spot next to him. And sure enough, he felt his presence beside him as the man dusted the snow off the odd-shaped, massive boulder M'Baku was currently sitting on and sat down beside him.

"You are a hard man to find since returning from the Golden City," N'Danna mused as he took his cue from his chief and began staring at the mountains in front of him.

N'Danna supposed they were really just staring at nothing. He knew mountains were there, visible when the sun was high in the sky. But in such darkness, the best they could see was a vague outline. His gaze fell down to the village below that was still bustling with activity, lights branching out like veins in the darkness. 

"How long have you been out here?"

"Since the sunset."

"You have turned into somewhat of a sunset enthusiast. And why did you decide to come out here on the coldest night of the winter?" N'Danna inquired.

M'Baku shook his head, "I don't know. I have come here every night for the last three days. I say I am not going to come and still I find myself out here all night. Not sure what answers I expect to find out here though." 

N'Danna nodded, both men leaning back and laying against the rocks to look up at the midnight sky and twinkling stars. 

"This is a good spot to find answers I suppose. And being here probably makes you feel closer to her, right?"

The two men turned to each other and N'Danna let out a light chuckle at the disgruntled look on his friend's face. 

"I didn't even get that from your thoughts this time. Just an observation. You have been this way for the last few days, ever since you got back." Silence fell over the two for a moment before N'Danna spoke again. "Talk to me, M'Baku. What is going on with you? I have never seen you like this before."

When he didn't say anything initially, N'Danna assumed he opted to ignore his question. It wouldn't be the first time his friend chose to ignore things instead of addressing them. And so, after a few minutes of quiet, N'Danna returned his attention to the barely visible mountains ahead of them. He was surprised when he finally heard a response minutes later. 

"I fell in love with her," M'Baku stated out of the blue. N'Danna wished he could see beneath the Earth's surface, and get confirmation of his suspicion that Hell had indeed frozen over at this admission. M'Baku had been with many women in his 30 years of living and had never so much as uttered a word similar to "love" toward any of them, such a word was vacant from his vocabulary. Now N'Danna understood, he got it. His poor chief had fallen fast and hard for the first time and was left out in the cold, a cold he was not accustomed to. 

"And s-she rejected me. I was j-jus- And now she is about to be engaged... engaged to a man wh-" words failed him as he tried to verbalize how truly frustrating this all was. But his words resembled his thoughts, jumbled and disjointed as he tried to sift through the complex web he had woven. "About to live her life in hiding and secret again. It just does not make sense!" 

"Why does that bother you so much? It is her life to live. If she chooses to hide and waste it, what is it to you?"

M'Baku gave him an incredulous look, immediately standing from the boulder to pace beside it. N'Danna was a Chosen, M'Baku was baffled that he could not see the issue in all this. 

"Because she deserves better! She deserves what every person like her in these mountains has: the opportunity to be yourself, be raised to see the limitless power of what Hanuman has given you, the chance to do anything. That is what you have! That is what all of the Chosen have. It is not fair that she was stripped of that... Striped of that to be what? Someone of her power reduced to a rung on a ladder for a power-hungry shell of a man. It is not right."

"She is a princess, M'Baku, these obligations come with the territory. I am sure she is just doing what she thinks is best." 

M'Baku scoffed, "Screw the obligations of royalty! We are talking about a woman who possesses powers... a gift that these mountains - Hell I would wager the world has not seen in generations. She is a once-in-a-lifetime gift, limitless power at her fingertips. She is not ordinary, she deserves more than ordinary!" 

N'Danna sighed, sitting up. 

"You speak of the Chosen as if we are Gods and Goddesses M'Baku. That has always been the problem, this altar you exalt us to, you prayed to be one of us when you don't really understand the burden we all carry.  Asha is not limitless, none of us are! Asha was raised to hide, taught to be ashamed of who she was. Her powers are not unlimited. They are faulty, complicated, powerful, rare, stressed, beautiful and malleable just as the woman who wields them. You are so blinded by the beauty of her powers that you cannot see the tragedy in it. And that is why you are so disappointed. Not because she chose another man, but because she is has something you have longed for and she is showing you that not everyone is happy to be gifted... not everyone wants it. She may be a once-in-a-lifetime power, I do not doubt that, but she is also a young girl stuck between impossible choices, stuck between realities."

M'Baku shook his head, "Being with me is an impossible choice? Following your heart, choosing a better life is an impossible choice? I showed her how life could be different. Ok, you say it is not freedom, fine. But it is so much more than what she has now. How hard of a choice is that?"

"Following your heart has consequences, running up here to be with you and throw fire around to her heart's content has consequences. And not just for her... for her family, for all of Wakanda. She is a member of the Royal Family, for Hanuman's sake. P-people learn to love their chains M'Baku. Sometimes they become more comfortable, safer than what lies outside them. You offer her freedom but ignore the price of that freedom. Maybe she is not willing to pay it after only knowing you for two days."

M'Baku sighed and bowed his head, looking toward the forest to his left, the dark branches loaded down with fresh snow from the storm earlier that day. 

"I j-just... I want better for her. I thought I could help bring light into her life and maybe, I just don't know how to accept that I failed. I-I don't know how to go back to life before her," he admitted honestly. 

"Perhaps it is not all about you. You want her, and I understand that. But you did help her start down a path of self discovery. The Asha who left here last week is very different from the one who came here at first. She will find it difficult to retreat to her old life. Maybe you planted seeds that will flourish one day but you don't get to bask in the garden's beauty... it may not be meant for you. I know it is not what you want but you may have to accept that it is all you will get."

The two men stared at each other as his words settled in M'Baku's mind. This was probably the most honest conversation the two men had ever had in their friendship, N'Danna was the only person willing to tell M'Baku when he was wrong, push him down the correct path when he was stuck, straying or stalling to find it himself.

"The King asked me not to give up on her, not to push her away," he offered quietly, the grief of a love lost clear in his voice. 

"Then don't, if you don't want to. She is not getting married Sunday, merely publicly announcing her engagement. So much can happen between now and the altar. But until then, you can stop torturing yourself and all of us," he added with a joking tone and smile, "Let her go and let the chips fall where they may. If she is meant to be yours, Hanuman will bring her back." 

M'Baku nodded slowly. He looked over N'Danna's shoulder toward the center of the cliff they stood on. It was like a movie in front of him, he could see them clear as day. He wished he could go back to that moment, wrapped in the warmth of each other and deep in their own world. It was worth it, he decided, whatever heartbreak he had to endure the last few days or was in store for him moving forward. 

"Let us go home, M'Baku. You got the answers you need." 

M'Baku smiled at his friend and they both walked back to their individual carriages. Before it pulled off, he smiled sadly at that spot again, knowing he wouldn't be back here any time soon. N'Danna was right, Hanuman sent the answers he was desperately seeking. He just had to listen. 

****

Asha felt like she had blinked and suddenly the week was almost over. She was not complaining though. A busy mind meant she couldn't pine for M'Baku, grief the loss of him, or think about her upcoming public engagement, which made all of this official, not some back alley deal between their parents. Staying busy was the only way to keep those thoughts and her looming dread at bay.

She had to admit though, without the allure of M'Baku and Jabariland, Asha realized that her new job lacked a certain appeal. But... she felt like everything lacked a certain appeal these days. 

However, when darkness fell and the palace quieted, it hit her the hardest. She didn’t really need sleep so she couldn't count on it to take her away from it all and sometimes, even the unconscious world was unsafe. She counted at least one dream a night that featured M'Baku in some fashion. 

And that is how she found herself after a particularly packed Thursday, laying in her bed, staring at the ceiling and praying to Bast to let her sleep. But no such luck. She tossed and she turned, and she thought of no one and nothing else but that man up the mountains and their last conversation. 

It is clear that he is falling for you. You could escape... leave all this behind, the panther inside seemed to whisper, desperate to return to its life outside its cage. You hate it here. 

I don't hate it here, she argued back. My family is here. Well, at least T'Challa and Shuri... Nakia, Alexis, Okoye - they are all here. I couldn't just leave them to deal with whatever wrath Elder Shani could unleash. 

But this isn't for you anymore.

The thought made Asha cringe a little, knowing she could never say that out loud. What would her siblings say? It would devastate them. But it was not untrue, she realized in those quiet, lonely and restless moments in the dead of the night. After her father's death, her life was supposed to get easier with less restrictions and a bit more freedom. Yet somehow, the chains felt heavier and tighter. Pretending to be normal had never been this... this hard. 

She felt like an animal being herded back into captivity after experiencing the wild, a life driven by its own desires. She did not realize what it would take to learn to re-love her chains, the pieces of her soul they siphon from her to do so. She shed them so quickly and willingly up the mountains, savored every second of the sweet freedom it offered her. And just like that she was back here, ripped out of her dreams into reality. She didn't expect it to be so hard truthfully... had no idea the pain she was preparing herself for.

She knew one thing though - this would never be enough, not after she experienced something different. This bastardized freedom her brother gave her just wouldn't do. It was the best he could offer, she certainly didn't fault him for it.  But compared to what M'Baku showed her? This was merely a weak imitation. 

She pulled the fluffy white pillow from beside her on top of her face and screamed into it, loud enough to release her frustration but not loud enough to send Alexis racing into her room, spear raised. Annoyance rippled through her that her body would not just allow her the simple reprieve from this world for another, the downside of sleep being a mere luxury and not a necessity for survival.

This just isn't helping, she ultimately decided.

Her mind drifted around the palace, thinking of all the places she could go to distract her and pass the night hours. Shuri's private lab was an option but she knew the young girl liked to work through the night and was not interested in talking to anyone. Her mind wandered to the library, which was a solid option of unlimited solitude. But even that did not have a certain appeal, she just thought of him and how they first met. 

The training center?

There was an idea she could work with, a space that could not remind her of him. Besides, nothing cleared the mind like a good at was an idea she could work with. Nothing cleared the mind like a work out and thanks to her brother, she had a brand new, never been used training center of her own to test out. It was the only spot that offered any sort of appeal to her now. She slid out of bed and quickly changed her clothes.

Alexis stood at attention, saluting her before Asha told her where she was going and convinced her to take the rest of the night off. 

She walked across the palace and downstairs, entering the main training room and immediately heading for a discreet door on the back wall. One full body scan later and the door slid open for her to enter.

It was beautiful, Asha thought to herself as she walked around the room. It was long and slender unlike the expansive training room on the other side of the wall. The cushioned training mat floor was soft beneath her feet, the tall ceilings overheard would give her just enough space to practice sustaining flight, sleek walls embedded with blue flecks of vibranium that glowed lighting the room in a blue hue.

One thing did confuse her though, the lack of equipment. She looked around, trying to understand the mechanics of the space. It was completely empty, all except for the computer monitor across from the entrance. As if it sensed her presence as she approached, it immediately lit up and offered a menu of training modes for Asha to choose from. Asha slowly took her rings off, sitting them and her shoes together in the corner, before scrolling through the many options and settings. She didn't understand how any of them would work with no equipment but she never got a proper tutorial of the space. But she knew her brother was smart so she chose combat and figured that she would learn as she went.

She walked to the center of the room and on cue, the lights dimmed and suddenly, a hologram of a person came racing toward her. Asha barely had time to think or process before the attacker raised a digital weapon and a loud bang sounded across the silent room.

Before she knew it, a massive blast of air knocked her on her back and let her know that she had been hit. 

"Simulation over," a computerized female voice called throughout the room. "Assailant: 1; Asha: 0."

A small groan escaped her throat as she slowly sat up and tried to catch her breath. 

Once she was on her feet again, she called out, "Again," signaling for the simulation to restart.

She sank into a defensive position as the lights darkened again, focusing her eyes on the wall at the end of the room and preparing for the man to emerge once more. She watched, waiting as nothing happened. But soon, she felt a presence behind her. She turned quickly, not wasting precious seconds this time. She immediately threw a ball of fire at the figure causing it to crumble to the ground and disappear. 

She was so distracted watching the hologram disappear that she was surprised to feel a small blast of air hit her shoulder, directing her attention to a hologram on the window ledge. She was finally starting to understand the mechanics of combat mode, Asha killed that assailant next. This continued for 10 minutes, Asha dodging targets and their weapons. The simulation ended with another sneak attack, causing her to realize that any blow that would be fatal in the real world caused the simulation to cease. 

Still, as she heard the score back, she felt as though she had redeemed herself. Not that it really mattered, there was no one there to see it. Asha: 10, Assailants: 5 was not bad for her second round. 

Asha watched as the computer pulled up a heat signature of the room, red and orange on random spots around the room. She pressed a glowing "extinguish" button, which caused the room to release the targeted extinguisher to those spots, returning the room to normal.

Asha went through combat mode three more times, the assailants and patterns changing every time. They became more complex, she realized, the room analyzing her battle patterns and movements to push her harder. By her last round, Asha had kicked her powers into high gear, certainly more energy than she had ever used. But she looked like a skilled dancer instead of a clumsy fawn as she ran, jumped and dodged blasts across the room. She threw fire, caused diversions, hovered in the air to better examine the full field of attackers. She created life-sized fire panthers that chased down her attackers and killed them at her command like her own personal army. She even realized that once or twice, she could block the blasts with a fire shield, though she couldn't sustain it. The last simulation only ended when a voice overpowered the settings. Asha was directing a panther to attack three figures who were running from it from her position in the air when she saw her brother leaning against the wall in the corner.

"Simulation over," the voice said again as Asha made the fire disappear and landed softly back on the ground. She did not acknowledge her brother initially, walking to grab her shoes and rings as the voice said, "Assailants: 3, Asha: 25."

"I was trying to get to 30," she called, realizing how out of breath and tired she was as she tried to talk and walk over to him. 

The room did a final extinguish of the night as they both moved back into the main training center. She sat down on the floor, exhausted, to drink some water. 

"I needed a training partner. Trust me, you looked amazing, you were just showing off at that point. I am surprised to find you down here. Have you ever even used it since I built it?" 

Asha's chest heaved as she caught her breath. She didn't understand how she felt this exhausted despite only training for an hour.

"Not since Baba. Figured now was as good a time as any. I couldn't sleep. You either?" She looked at the time on her beads: 3 am. 

"Nope. I woke up and tossed around for a bit before something told me that this was the place to be tonight. Now I know why. Train with me," he asked assertively. She knew it was not a legitimate question. There was only one proper answer when her brother wanted a late-night sparring partner. 

T'Challa powered up his suit, the only thing that would protect his skin from burns when practicing hand-to-hand combat with Asha. She sank into her battle stance, ignoring the exhaustion in her body. T'Challa was the better fighter, regardless of Asha's lethal abilities, because he practiced more and had super strength and speed. He knew all of Asha's moves and how to respond while it seemed she could never keep up with him. If he was being honest, these sessions were more for Asha than him.

After letting Asha win twice and beating her once, T'Challa let her fall back on the training floor to rest.  

"That was good, you are getting better," he offered as he sat on a bench next to her. She envied him, she looked like she had just stepped out of a pool of her own sweat while he looked as if he could walk into a state dinner, perfectly unruffled despite fighting for 30 minutes.  

"Thanks," she nodded. 

"How are you? I meant to check in earlier this week, see how you are enjoying your work." 

"The work is good T'Challa. I enjoy it. Everything is good," she responded lightly, hoping that would be enough to end the line of questioning she was sure was forming on his lips. 

They hadn't really spoken since the drama at the state dinner the week prior and she had been kind of avoiding him to keep it that way. She did not want to talk to anyone about this but something felt especially odd about going to her older brother about her love life. She knew T'Challa had his way, she would be single forever so no one could hurt her.

"Asha..."

She turned her head away from him, recognizing that tone. He was descending into full big brother mode, desiring to talk about her feelings and fix whatever problems he thought plagued her. Asha knew he meant well and he tried, but most of her problems... he actually couldn't fix. And this one would be no different.

"Talk to me. Everything is not good. You are not ok. You are different, we can all see it. Don't keep it all bottled up." 

Asha sighed, wiping the sweat off her forehead with the towel next to her.

"If I could explain it, T'Challa, I would." 

"Try... for me. As long as it takes." 

"Before I went to Jabariland, the idea of leaving this palace terrified me. You know how resistant I was to take on this role in the first place. All I could think of is Baba saying that I was dangerous and all the ways I could hurt or kill people. And so, staying here, being a good princess and marrying Hasani... it was prison but it was a comfortable one. Over time, the chains hurt less... the frustration faded and I learned to love and appreciate the life I had. It was not the best but it was enough." 

"But then you experienced something different?" He offered. 

Asha looked at him, appreciating that he was giving her the opening to admit the one thing she thought she had to keep secret to spare his feelings. 

"But then I experienced something different," she echoed. "Thanks to you, by the way," she nudged him playfully. "Something life-changing. He pushed me to the edge and made me rethink everything I had thought about my powers before. Made me see beauty in the flowers where I only saw weeds. And then on top of that... I-I fell in love with him. So fast and hard like I jumped off a cliff. And then I came back here and... reality just hit me like a rhino. I am forced to hide... cannot have the man I love. I j-just don't know how much longer I can do this."

"Do what?" T'Challa asked, pained by his sister speaking so despondently and knowing there was little he could do to help her.

"This," she whispered, gesturing at her hands. "Pretending to be something I am not, hiding the one thing that makes me unique. Every day I get up and I put these rings on and head down to my office, I realize that this is it. All I have to look forward to for the rest of my days is Hasani and a life in the darkness. It will never be enough. Just doesn't seem like much of a life to me anymore."

Asha stared at the wall across from them, a painting of Bast on the training room wall, while T'Challa stared at her profile. The two just sat there for a while, not saying anything at all, as T'Challa thought over what Asha said. It was not that he didn't want to say anything, he just couldn't think of anything appropriate. What do you say to someone who no longer thinks their future is worth it?  

"What can I do?" he settled on. 

He was a fixer, he could help her fix this and forge a path forward.

She offered him a sad smile, "I am not sure there is anything you can do, brother." 

"Nonsense, I am king," he boasted, causing the two to share a laugh. 

"Even kings have limitations, just like the rest of us." She stood up, holding out her hand to pull her brother to his feet. "Come, let us go to bed. There is so much to be done before the start of the festival this weekend."  

T'Challa nodded, knowing she was ending the conversation to avoid talking about it. He knew he would not sleep when he returned to his bed, instead he would be thinking of how to give his sister freedom, true freedom, no matter the cost.

****

"Did T'Challa tell you what this was about?" Shuri asked as they briskly walked down to the throne room, after being alerted of an emergency council meeting. 

"No. We were training together last night, he never mentioned needing to gather the council early. I asked Nakia, she said he didn't mention it to her either. You would think he would trust his most trusted advisor though? Titles mean less and less around here every day," Asha joked. 

She and Shuri shared a laugh as they entered and settled in their seats, finding most of the council already assembled. 

Their mother walked in followed by T'Challa, who looked grim and exhausted. She shared a confused and concerned look with her sister as they all did the customary salute before directing her attention back to her brother. She was so concerned that she didn't even have much time to lament over M'Baku who was sitting across from her. 

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I realize this is unorthodox but this could not wait. I was up for most of the night, thinking and praying about the future of this nation. After deep prayer with Bast, I realized I can no longer sit by while injustice runs rampant within our borders. That is why I will be announcing the repeal of the Mutant Regulation Laws at the Festival of Bast on Sunday, effective immediately." 

There was a beat of silence before shouts and anger erupted among the group as his words settled in the room like fog. The shouts overlapping rants of her mother, Elder Shani and two others were incoherent to Asha as they shouted at her brother. She was still trying to formulate a simple thought, his words were bouncing around in her mind but were having trouble truly sticking. Once she emerged from the shock of shock, she couldn't have been happier, repealing those laws would change so much for people like her. 

The Mutant Regulation Laws were a set of laws, initially enacted by Asha's grandfather and expanded by King T'Chaka, that attempted to limit mutants movements in the country and to limit the increase of the mutant population. The only people excluded from the laws since their inception were the Jabari.

As far as the public knew, the purpose of the laws were to protect citizens from enhanced individuals. The act stipulated that all mutants had to register with the government and general rules to limit the use of their powers, such as forbidding them in public spaces. This registry was first enacted in response to what her grandfather believed was an exponential increase in the mutant population across the four tribes.

The laws were divisive no doubt, like all controversial things. Many loved them, advocated for further expansions, feeling safe knowing that mutants could not inflict their powers on everyone else. The less vocal half, though, saw them as something that made them no better than the discrimination colonizers around the globe subjected their people to. However, only the Royal family knew the truth, that her father's reasoning for expanding the law had little to do with safety and everything to do with his fragile ego. 

As she got older, Asha quickly realized that her father didn't hate mutants because they were dangerous or threatened his country. He hated them simply because they were born with powers he had to win combat to get, powers he had to be deemed worthy for and earn. While they just woke up with them one day, having done no real work to deserve them. As the mantle of Black Panther and title of King caused his ego to grow, he grew equally paranoid that one day, mutants would begin to believe they were the ones actually chosen by Bast and invalidate the legacy of the Black Panther. As the population of mutants grew year after year, his paranoia that he would lose his title of King and Protector grew with it. Soon, a registry to merely keep track of the population was not enough. Soon, he launched a campaign to ensure mutants were the lowest rung on Wakanda's social order. Soon, the registry turned into laws to limit their abilities and resources funding research to find a cure for their affliction. 

In the previous council meeting, M'Baku had echoed the sentiments of half the country... that the policies were regressive and a dark stain on Wakanda. But Wakandans were humans, just like those on the other side of their borders. After being fed enough ammunition, people can be conditioned to hate anyone. 

T'Challa raised his hand to silence the group, adding, "Lord M'Baku was right, this is not the Wakanda Bast promised her people, at least not for everyone. Not for enhanced individuals, who are just as deserving of the same respect and opportunities as the rest of us. The Jabari and their enhanced people have lived in peace for centuries. We can do the same here." 

"Have you lost your mind??" Ramonda asked furiously from her seat next to her son. "That law is part of your father's legacy!" 

"Baba was a great king, but that does not mean he was always right. And on this, I feel he was wrong." 

"Half of your country sleeps peacefully because of those laws," Elder Shani cried, pointing out the large window at the city below. "Sleep peacefully knowing lethal people cannot murder them or hurt them with no thought. What would you say to those people?" 

"Yes and half the country sleeps less peacefully knowing that with all our technology and opportunities and advancement, we are no better than the colonizers who discriminate against people for their race or gender or sexuality. It is not right," Nakia interjected.

"You will end your father's legacy in one day. You will destroy everything he has built, the tribe and country he has created."

"The tribe and legacy he built on the backs of a brother he murdered, a child he abandoned and rampant discrimination of his people! Would that be such a bad thing?" Asha argued quietly, drawing the group's attention (and subsequently, their anger) toward her. 

She almost balked at the looks her mother and Elder Shani gave her but when she looked passed them, she was met with a reassuring and encouraging nod from M'Baku that empowered her to press forward. 

"This is a good thing," she asserted, shoulders squared and head held high.

"Of course you would think so," Elder Shani sneered. "I am sure you were the one that forced him to do this. People like you are destroying our country."

The room fell silent as the other elders stared shocked at their fellow member, seemingly surprised at her very vocal and unwarranted disrespect toward a member of the Royal Family. 

"Elder Shani! Princess Asha is royal advisor to the King, our princess. Apologize at once!" Elder M’Kathu exclaimed.

"I shall do no such thing! The only thing that makes her worthy to sit before us is that crown on her head... her title. She is beneath me, beneath all of us," she spat at Asha, staring at her with such contempt. 

Asha sat rigid in her chair as her future mother-in-law threw her vitriol at her. Asha wondered if this was how out-of-body experiences felt. She could so very clearly see where this train was going, see how her life's secret was about to implode before her eyes in a manner of moments but she could not direct her mouth to say a word or her limbs to move. She just sat, paralyzed and silent, unable to save herself or stop the train that was about to carry her whole family off a cliff. 

"Elder Shani... I would think about what is at stake before you say another word to or about my sister," T'Challa threatened, his voice low and deadly. 

For a split-second, the room saw it - a king no longer sat before them, the Black Panther did. For most, this would have been enough to slam on the brakes and beg for forgiveness. But it seemed Elder Shani was done, tired of pretending to respect someone she felt was beneath her, tired of keeping a secret for a person she despised. And her hate would not be outweighed by her greed any longer, she clearly couldn't take it.

"I told your father! I told him, warned him of the damage you and your affliction would cause him. Even from the grave, you destroy him and taint his legacy. Your kind... your disease destroyed him and it will lead to the end of Wakanda! You are a threat to us all." She took a deep breath before continuing, "Princess Asha is a mutant! The Panther Tribe has been hiding it, lying to their people for decades. Hiding her and t-this abomination from us all! And now she has our King under some spell, convinced him to uproot all the safety and security we have worked so hard to build."

As she spoke, Asha could feel rage rising in her body. It was steady, slowly building with every word that fell from Shani's lips as she spewed her hate and vitriol for all to hear. She tried to calm herself, control her breathing and emotions as she sat there, push them back down so she could get through the night. But it was proving to be impossible. The metal bars of her panther's cage were meaningless, being torn apart like pieces of paper as her emotions reached their peak. 

"That is enough! Take her away!" T'Challa stood before her, directing the Dora to come and escort Elder Shani from the room. 

Asha held her head in her hands as she took sharp, shallow breaths. Her whole body shook as she tried her hardest to not lose it in front of her family and the remaining members of the council. 

"Asha." 

She heard Shuri's voice and felt her hand on her shoulder causing her to jump up. Everyone seemed to back away from her immediately, causing Asha to notice the smoke and small flickers of flames erupting from her hands. The rings around her fingers were completely useless as the flames continued to grow steadily. Asha could only recall one moment in her life when she felt this out of control, the day her brother “died.” 

She got up and backed away to put some distance between her and the rest of the group. 

"Stay back!" she yelled through her gasping breaths, holding her hand out and inadvertently causing flames to fly toward her family. 

The Dora around the room instinctively lifted their spears, the remaining elders fled to the opposite wall as far from her as possible. But her family remained where they were, M'Baku being the brave soul to ignore her direction and approach her, unbothered by the uncontrollable fire escaping her body. Fire that grew stronger and bigger as Elder Shani's words cycled through her brain nonstop, causing her despair and rage to grow. Years of ignoring her emotions, years of trauma and abuse were finally boiling over. Tonight was the final push off the cliff, she could not do this anymore.  

"Asha.. you have to calm down," M'Baku whispered, motioning for the rest of her family to stay behind him. 

He wished he could get her to look into his eyes but as he looked at her blood-red irises and the tears streaming down her face, he realized she looked without truly seeing. 

"You are none of those things. You are beautiful and powerful. You are not dangerous. Don't become what they fear you are."

She heard his voice, understood the words he was saying but she didn't believe them, not when 25 years of abuse cycled in her mind to counter it. She looked around the room and all she saw was fear, proof that her home, the place she loved would never truly accept her. Elder Shani proved that. She had freed her from hiding but she also ensured that Asha couldn't stay here anymore, not when people looked at her like what she always feared she was: a monster. 

She couldn't do it, wouldn't do it, didn't have the strength to subject herself to it any longer. This was her out and she was going to take it. She looked from her family to the window across from her. 

She didn't think about it, didn't consider the mechanics. She just tore herself from the wall she backed herself into and ran toward the window. Her body lifted off the floor into flight as she used a blast of fire to cause the glass to break open for her.

"Asha no! Come back, " she heard her sister call after her. 

She turned back and looked at them once as she used all the energy she could muster to fly away from her, her family, her home and her past for good. 

Night had fallen during the course of that meeting, giving Asha a nice cover so no one could see her flying overhead. She zoomed out of the dome quickly, her mind not even conjuring up a location or place to go. She just wanted as much distance between her life and her as possible, knowing she would run into the border at some point. 

The wind painfully whipped against her face, causing her eyes to blur so she could barely see where she was going. In her emotionally-heightened state, it proved difficult to sustain flight as she passed over the uninhabited forests of Wakanda. As she tried to sort through the wreckage that was her life, she could not concentrate on her task, which caused her to lose height or speed every few minutes. And it just became harder and took more energy to accelerate and regain the height she lost every time she had to refocus. 

This cycle lasted for about 20 minutes before she had to reckon with this hastily made choice. She had no idea where she was or if she was even still in Wakanda, all she saw for miles were forest. She figured she must still be in the country, she couldn't fly that fast. In a short time, the explosive anger that coursed through her in the throne room was long gone, replaced with very real fear. Fear that taking an impromptu flight with no direction, after only one lesson, and without telling one living soul where she was headed was the worst decision she had ever made. 

She realized soon that she had no choice but to turn around and pray to Bast that she could sustain flight enough to get back to civilization. This was not sustainable and she knew it. She frantically looked around for a landmark in the trees, anything that looked familiar and could provide her a spot to rest before finishing the journey. She spotted the temple by the Garden of the Heart-Shaped Herb, silently thanking Bast and deciding that it would be as good of a spot as any to catch her breath. She headed in that direction. However, like a real fire reaching its end, Asha could see her internal fire slowly dying out. 

"No don't do this, we are almost there," she begged herself as the fire encompassing her hands and feet started to die away as well. 

Her mind felt cloudy and it was a struggle to keep her eyes open. Before she knew it, her eyes fell closed, her fire having died out completely, and her body fell gracefully from the sky before thudding in a small clearing in the forest at the foot of the Temple of Bast. 

****

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