#because he's inevitably a part of this... shitshow!

[olath124]

"Let's cross our sharks!"

In answer to this:

Damn how bad it was, why?!?!

Or the beginning of Vlurt. The pairing nobody ever wanted.

Of course, Vlad belongs to @ouroboros-hideout ...

Are you happy?

[cheesus-doodles]

BFF Rindou’s the kind of person that, if someone asks if he’s dating reader, will be like “Of course not. Why tf would I date that loser? I have standards.” On the other hand if someone thinks reader is dating Kakucho, Izana, or god forbid RAN he gets super defensive like “Why the HELL would they date him? They barely even know each other. I know everything about them. If they’re gonna date anyone it’s gonna be me.”

Previous Yan BFF Rindo Ask | Rindo's Valentine Day Short

Masterlist

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Oh no ABSOLUTELY 100%, this will be such a shitshow

I would think that this baby boy has definitely considered it - dating you that is, but from a more logical point of view. You were so helpless in his eyes that he was sure you would get yourself killed, kidnapped or worse, coerced into dating some guy, that the only way to plug the gaps from the start would be just to date you. But Rindo first off, is a delinquent, one of the feared Haitani brothers, and obviously he has a reputation to keep up. And second, he's supposed to play the part of your grumpy, reluctant bestfriend who was just being dragged along by your silliness, scolding you when you do something he doesn't like or approve of. You were supposed to seem more like his playful puppy that him, as a big bad delinquent, looks after begrudgingly. He can't be caught dating you, you know? That would totally ruin his reputation. Even if everyone knows just how soft Rindo acts towards you, though no one says a thing because he will find them and beat the shit out of them.

Even still, no doubt that somewhere down the line, seeing how close you are with your bff, someone somewhere would have the balls to ask Rindo if the two of you were dating, or if he was planning to date you at some point in the future. Seems like an innocent enough question if it came from anyone else: but the highest likelihood is that Rindo would be hearing it from Ran of all people. And his face would immediately turn red, but with anger or embarrassment not even the older Haitani could tell. Embarrassment at being called out, anger at the mere idea that others thought he saw you like that. Whoever it was that asked that unfortunate question, Rindo would be sure to try his best to shut them up before they tipped you off. No way he was going to date a loser like you, was he? Not in his wildest dreams, absolutely not. Deny, deny, deny. Proceeds to go and get his regular dose of cuddles from you afterwards when he inevitably loses to Ran.

On the other hand, this baby boy will not happy in the slightest if he hears even a rumor that you might be dating anyone. Absolutely not, no way in hell were you dating anyone. Rindo doesn't understand why you had to find someone else to be with; you already had him, your bestfriend, after all. No one else was needed in your life. If it was just some random soul that took a liking to you, and you to him, no doubt that Rindo would be quick to put him out of your life permanently and painfully. A brick to the back of the head and then breaking each and every limb is usually a good start - and if that poor person had the audacity to foul your innocence by holding your hand, this baby boy didn’t know if he would be able to stop himself from killing them outright. But at least if you went after a normal civilian, Rindo could deal with it.

But if you were dating Izana or Kakucho, there was nothing he could do but be mad pissed. There was only so many times he could stand to get his ass kicked after all. Would try his best to convince you that this was a mistake behind their backs, that dating someone as dangerous and unstable as them (cough the irony) was bad for you. That only he knew everything about you. Would he actually ask you to date him instead? Depends really. Did he feel shy and embarrassed? Yes. Did he like you that way? Who’s asking? But was he sure that he was the best for you? Yes. 100% yes. So no, Rindo will not ask you to date him, but he will stew and pout and try to take up every second of your time that he possibly can to get you away from your “boyfriends” (he doesn’t believe they are anything more than ants, if you asked him, but he wouldn’t dare say that in front of those two demons).

And it'll be absolutely the apocalypse if its Ran of all people that Rindo thinks you're dating. Would actually march you straight to where Ran was and start a fight with the older Haitani, cursing and swearing at Ran that he knew you were off limits. That Ran knew he wasn’t supposed to touch you, that you belonged to him, all the while you were sat at the side, humming to yourself and maybe sipping on a cold drink. Would be even angry enough to move out from their shared apartment for a few days and take you with him, much to his older brother's amusement. Takes his frustration out on some poor souls from a rival gang because he can’t beat his older brother, and he’ll have to go back and stay there, no matter how much he wanted to just move in with you. Rindo would even continue to grumble to the unfortunate victims of his brutal beatings, whining and complaining to his captive audience about how it was so obvious that he was the best for you, and that you should date only him.

Everyone knows Rindo wouldn’t do that though, so he just has to suffer through watching you be shy and blush. Poor baby boy.

[onlycosmere]

Cosmere/Magic the Gathering

'What IP do you most want to see in Magic the Gathering?' Thunderwoodd: Stormlight Archive!

thyfoolish1: Brandon said they reached out to him and he was excited and ready to go but they haven't gotten back to him. I think this was Dragonsteel last year. So there is hope.

Egi_: Even after the shitshow with the free book he gave them on the condition it wouldn't be commercialized and then WotC commercialized it?

Brandon Sanderson: I knew what I was getting into working with a big corporation. Like the proverbial frog giving a ride to a scorpion, I don't see justification for complaint regarding the eventual sting. I love the game, and the designers, so that's really my metric. As a note, everyone I worked with on the narrative team was wonderful.

I don't want a passing secret lair of five cards; I am interested in a full-blown set, so with that constraint, I wouldn't foresee a Stormlight or Mistborn crossover until one of several things happens:

1) They burn through the bigger properties that match MTG's vibe like LOTR did. Fantasy, or science fantasy, properties that feel legit as a big expansions. As mentioned in this thread alone, there is a pretty deep mine there. Dune, Witcher, Elder Scrolls, Arcane/LoL, Westeros (if they're feeling spicy.) A hobbit set is all but inevitable as well.

Considering they'd be unwise to put these sorts of things out too quickly, and should really give them time to breathe, we're looking at ten years easily before they're out of larger fish to fry. Stormlight is big for a book series, but without any shows/films/games, I'd suspect it doesn't have the casual word-of-mouth reach their marketing team looks for to justify the extra expense of licensing fees.

2) Said bigger properties decide they aren't interested, leaving things popular but without media representation. If they ever decided to experiment with a book-only series, I suspect I'd be very high on the list to approach.

3) Cosmere gets one of said media properties, something I'm actively trying to accomplish--but it is slow going, as I'm in the fortunate position of being able to be very picky about partners, and prefer to take my time.

I've made it clear to them that if a large-scale set were in the, ahem, cards, I'd be willing to make frequent trips to Seattle to be part of the design team on said set.

awakenedjunkofigure: If any author deserves the pick of the litter for production companies, it's absolutely you. Can't wait to see what your books would look like on-screen!!

Brandon Sanderson: Well, the answer to what they'd look like on screen is "Expensive," which a part of the problem...

schloopers: Any large consideration in your mind for spoilers versus fully representing a world or story?

Stormlight you’d of course want all 10 Orders, so spoilers are far as those are concerned are a given.

But maybe a legendary creature “Iron Eyes” instead of any spoiler specific proper names?

I ask because I have so far gotten one friend in the playgroup to start reading, and a couple full sets would for sure help in garnering interest, but I would worry for the story beats getting too greatly revealed out of context.

I don’t know, maybe it’s just unavoidable. I’ve had several Dr. Who episodes “spoiled” for me through that set.

Brandon Sanderson:  This is something I haven't given a lot of thought toward, but I perhaps should be mulling it over. You make a good point.

Thunderwoodd: Woah! Can’t believe you responded. Huge fan! And I loved your commander cube! Saw it on Game Knights right after I finished Rhythm of War.

Curious, do you think the Radiant orders could correspond to guilds or color wedges?

Brandon Sanderson: Yes, I've done thought experiments on that, and think guilds could actively work for them without too much trouble. Problem is, would we want a Stormlight set or just a Knights Radiant set, because ten guilds for ten orders is already a high demand. It might be better to make a wedge set, but the problem there is that the Radiants are actively all colors, so it would be hard to cut out any save black. (Willshaper individuality and artistic expression could be green red instead of red black, for example.) So maybe five four-color wedges? I think the lore could support this, and be something that MTG has had trouble conveying without the expansive worldbuilding an entire book series could provide.

Radiants and sapient spren (all but black, to indicate the inherent selfless Radiant cause)

Human Nations (all but green, to indicate triumph over nature, which is an antagonist on Roshar.)

Singers (All but blue, to indicate the lack of ability to plan for the future, dearth of scholars, and onset of madness in the fused.)

Non-sapient Spren and wildlife (All but white, to indicate lack of overriding societal structures.)

Secret Societies (All but red, indicting the deliberate and conscious planning of these groups.)

Four color signpost uncommons would be WILD, even with hybrid mana. So I can see the design team balking. This (four color guild set) is almost certainly something they've explored and specifically decided not to do.

mediocreattbest: It’s crazy coming onto this post to say “any cosmere set!” And then see you actually replying. Out of curiosity, would you prefer just a stormlight set or a cosmere-wide set? I’d love to see characters through their stories (like we had with the LotR set)

Brandon Sanderson: I'd prefer Stormlight or Mistborn alone, as the planets themselves are so much a part of the stories.

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

So she didn’t “come down.” She was always at this level. It’s just that people didn’t realize it.

She was elevated beyond her level via Harry who in turn was elevated beyond his level via the brf's propping him up with all the cover ups and bigging him up beyond his abilities and what his position warranted. She was an unknown quantity -- people bought into her in large part bc they bought into Hero Harry. This is a case of water seeking its own level and this shitshow is essentially a crash happening in slow motion on a world stage bc two idiots who had been elevated far beyond their levels were stupid enough to buy into their own hypes and proceed to torch the very scaffoldings holding them up lol

Even nepo babies still need to have some abilities to succeed and Harry has none. Hero Harry worked bc he had some v powerful institutions propping him up: the brf, the UK government, the military, a cooperative press, and also an enormous goodwill from the public. But it only worked within the royal parameters, and even then it was only delaying the inevitable -- he was a ticking bomb who was always gonna blow up sooner or later. He has nothing to offer in the real world but he thought he was the shit and they were holding him back so he got out so he could unleash his star power outshining his brother and getting paid for it lmao

The brf shot themselves in the foot with their enabling and mishandling of this loose cannon. Meghan did them a solid by taking him outta their hands to implode away from them and also providing them with a fallguy for their mistakes.

Exactly, the big fake here was Harry.

I would add that Hero Harry worked because people wanted to believe that Diana’s son had reformed and found a role for himself. That’s also why the Harkle wedding worked. People wanted that happy ending, not realizing that they’d been sold a false image.

[milkypompon]

The Ruse Ch. 1

pairing: Nathan Bateman x CompanyRival!Reader

summary: Nathan wants to buy out your father's business, but the latter is skeptical of closing the deal with the BlueBook owner. The solution? He's going to seduce you.

content: 18+ mdni, thoughts about sex and kinks, enemies to luvrs

wc: 2.4k

a/n: As requested by a wonderful anon!! THANK YOU, I've been on a bald, billionare kick

beta read by the amazing and adorable... @lovable-liar

|| Next >

Ex Machina || Main Masterlist

“Look, you provided tech parts to BlueBook for almost a decade. Then, you up and left to start making phones, tablets, etcetera with my ideas. And I get that it’s a family-run business. It’s adorable, really.” Nathan sighs and clicks his pen, “But I have to say, in a lack of better terms, you’re running an absolute shitshow.”

Your father leans back on the swivel chair, only one of the twelve occupied because Nathan was pacing around the room, and the other board members weren’t privy to the conversation. 

He was fuming, but he knew that Nathan was right. 

The said shitshow was a repeated cycle — inevitable karma, if you will — that Nathan Bateman, a genius and billionaire, and your father, a now sorry excuse of an entrepreneur, experienced it to the highest degree.

But truthfully, the latter was hit the hardest.

In the past year, your father’s employees designed and crafted the high-end electronics at NovaTech. Over time, they used it as a stepping stone to build their own companies from the ground up, evolving into something worthy of praise. 

He couldn’t keep up with the competition, especially now with the brightest minds walking out.

“I’m doing you a favor by buying you out instead of watching you sink into bankruptcy.” Nathan continues, “Call it an act of a good Samaritan. Or, if you’re not into the hippie bullshit, just see it as me taking back what’s mine.”

Your father frowns. “I bet you’ve been bribing my employees to start working for you, eh?” He throws his hands up in frustration, struggling to find the right words. “It’s all part of a stupid, elaborate plan to drive me out of business!”

Nathan drops the pen, it clatters onto the glass table. He says in a low, steady voice, “Do you seriously think I have time to fuck around?”

He grumbles a “no” and swipes the buy-sell agreement from the manila folder.

“Look at you! Finally coming to your senses.” Nathan opens his arms, an agreeable and friendly stance, though it was anything but that.

“I’m just reading over it again, Bateman. Just making sure you’re not ripping me off.”

“God, it feels like I’m trying to get divorce papers signed.” He tucks the document back into the folder. “Think about it, man. You could throw a retirement party with the greens and have more than enough to tan your ass in Bora Bora.”

—

The next night was the BlueBook Ball, Nathan has a way with words, but it’s a glorified event for rubbing elbows, sickening niceties, and serving tooth-achingly sweet mixed drinks for the wives of big names in the tech field.

Nathan could play the nice guy for only so long. 

He’d been breathing down his own neck to get the documents signed. It was a one-way ticket to the clientele who turned him down because of their loyalty to your father.

In hindsight, he should’ve dealt with the meeting the morning after the gathering while your father was hungover and loose-lipped, ready to nod along with his plan for the buyout.

A perfect yesman. 

Nathan was a scientist first and foremost. 

Hypothetically, he knew it could’ve worked.

And he was a businessman second. 

Technically, he knew others played just as dirty.

Nathan ran a hand down his beard and reminded himself, Just one more night of persuading him and I’ll back down from NovaTech.

Can’t keep on wasting my time.

–

You’re accompanying your father tonight. He stated that it was a gateway to understanding the social aspect of running a business. 

Deep down, you knew it was a sloppy attempt to get you out of your studio and away from tinkering at the new prototypes. 

You begrudgingly agreed because at least it was a chance to abuse the open bar and cling to the side as a wallflower after snagging a few drinks.

But there was the issue of the black-tie attire. In other words, slipping on a tight dress paired with red-bottom stilettos could cause a twisted ankle if you took the wrong step. 

Or danced too hard.

Surely, Nathan Bateman wasn’t the type to throw it back and party like that, right? 

You shake your head, not in a professional setting. 

A faint buzz from the intercom beside your bed draws you out of the bathroom. 

“Hey, sweetie! The helicopter’s here to pick us up.” Your father reminds you.

You check the time on your phone and frown slightly, then press the button on the intercom to reply. “Dad, you said we weren’t leaving for another hour.” 

Another buzz.

“I’m sure they can send another one for you when you’re ready.” 

“Alright, fine. I’ll see you there.”

–

The helicopter ride wasn’t your first, given your father’s affinity for buying new and shiny things for you in hopes of proving that his late hours at the office during your childhood were all worth it—a weak compensation for being raised by maids and butlers.  

The green land and the snow-capped mountains stretching on for miles was a distraction from the thought of showing up without the person who was supposed to be your guide for the night. 

Everyone would be nameless for the time being or blurry faces you’d soon forget. 

You pull the aviation headset over your ears, a thought dawning over you. 

You don’t even know what the host looks like. 

He was surely an enigma, sitting on a fat pile of money and keeping his head down to work on god-knows-what in a facility you were headed to located in the middle of buttfuck Alaska.

Photographers rarely shot photos of him due to his constant refusal to participate in panels, and overall, there were few published sightings of him on the mainland. 

Even then, it was like he took down the photos.

Perks of being one of the wealthiest men alive, you suppose—a false sense of privacy.

The landing, as gentle as it could be from a helicopter, didn’t help to settle the churning at the pit of your stomach. 

A voice from the earpiece cracked to life, “Follow the path. You’ll know when you’re there.”

Before you could ask about the lack of people in sight or even the distant sound of music, the pilot answered your question.

You carefully step out, noticing the stupidly rolled-out red carpet on top of plants and fallen branches. The least he could've done for someone with more money than he could spend was pave a sidewalk.

This must be a sick metaphor. Struggling to walk in nature to find a haven built by a human.

Your ears perk up after about fifteen minutes of walking at the muffled sounds of talking. There were finally signs of life apart from trees and birds. 

No way could you keep walking the last stretch without a break, especially with your calves on fire. All you needed was a hard drink, a bench to sit on, and maybe even a bed for a quick nap. 

The tree stump nearby was the best you could do for now. You veer off the velvet path before your right heel sinks into a mud puddle.

“When I see that man…” you mumble under your breath. Then you were quickly reminded that you wouldn’t recognize him even if he were in front of you.  

There was no point in stopping now; you were late, and now, your right shoe was dirty. 

You trudge on for a few minutes. Standing before you was a wooden facility with glass panels reflecting the foliage. If you looked the right way, it almost blended in, but there were far too many edges and faces. 

A little too perfect. 

Squinting your eyes at the windows inside, you find the guests milling about, politely throwing their heads back to unfunny jokes. A few men were clean-shaven, while others had a trimmed beard. They all had their shoulders rolled back with a champagne flute in hand.

Any of them could be Nathan Bateman. 

Maybe he was close to being six feet under, white-haired with a few loose screws in his head. 

How else was it possible to survive in a place like this?

You surely wouldn’t. 

You unclasp your clutch to find your phone and shoot a text.

Dad, where are you?? 

The message flickered green…

No cell service

He was supposed to dumb down the guests for you tonight, teaching you the whosits and whatsits. But that was the least of your problems.

You’re sure that you’re going to be murdered without a witness as the sunset dips below the horizon. The branches cast shadows against the neighboring trees, a disturbing illusion of a dismembered figure.

You could already imagine the headlines. 

Daughter of NovaTech Gone Missing in Buttfuck Nowhere Alaska!

There was a light chuckle behind you, making you flinch. “Are you lost? There should be a map for a place like this, huh?”

You flick your head back quickly, and a stocky man with a piercing gaze set behind a pair of glasses stares back at you. But his eyes weren’t any less pointed, even with the obstruction. It was as if he knew things you didn’t, keeping the cards close to his chest. Or more like he knew something about yourself that you were only beginning to grasp.

For an audience like this one, he was dressed plainly. A crisp white shirt, taut across his chest, paired with black slacks. You had to give it to him for having the guts to throw the required attire out the window.

Maybe you could get along with this guy.

A non-conformist. 

It’s refreshing.

You offer him a smile. “Yeah, this asshole had us walk what felt like a mile to get here.”

Oh my fucking god… She doesn’t know who I am. The corner of Nathan’s lip twitches up by a degree.

“Yeah, tell me about it. I stripped halfway through the walk.” He plays along with a smirk.

“Explains the whole lax look?”

Nathan pauses for a moment. 

“... Sure. And you?” He cocks his head toward your muddy high heel tucked behind your other one in an attempt to hide it, a cute curtsy, almost. “Is that horse shit?”

“God, I hope not.” You grimace and look down.

Nathan could count on one hand the amount of people that didn’t see him as a potential business partner or an escape during nightly escapades. 

He mentally shakes his head. Maybe having contact with an actual human being was getting to him. Besides, he has to set things straight…

He takes a few careful steps near you as if placating you. When your eyes meet his again, and you don’t pull away, he places his hand on the small of your back.

You could feel the heat through your thin, silk dress. 

“C’mon, I’ve been here a handful of times. Let’s find you a bathroom.”

“And a map while you’re at it.”

He grins. “Like little fold-up ones you find at amusement parks?”

“It’s the only thing that would work around here. God forbid there’s cell service here or something.”

“Dude who owns this place must be an asshole to cut it off like that.”

“Right?!” You bob your head alongside him, grateful to have someone who didn’t feed into the billionaire's bullshittery. 

–

You hate to admit it, but the estate was straight out of Architectural Digest. 

Nathan steers you toward another building. It was a simple square, detached from the main facility, but still held the similar reflective panels, this time on all sides. 

“What’s this?” you prod, dodging a patch of dirt, “A fancy portapotty?”

He fishes out a slim silver card from his back pocket. 

“Is that what I think it is?”

How this man you just met knew the way around the place was beyond you, but you’d do anything at this point to remove the cakey, stickiness of the mud clinging to you.

“Yeah, a keycard. Every main guest gets one, and you haven’t?”

“No, I’m just my father’s plus one tonight, so I’m technically not listed.”

You don’t have to tell him.

Nathan knows exactly who you are.

In his defense, he greenlit the guests tonight by running a background check. He even went the extra mile by requiring them to walk through a metal detector. Especially after the experimental happenings of the Turing test, he wasn’t going to cast a blind eye to an android coming in to hack at him again. 

Or worse, a jealous competitor. 

And that’s exactly what you are. 

Well, not you, necessarily. 

But your father, so by extension, you were a part of whatever plan your father was stirring up. Or at least that’s what Nathan garnered. 

Nathan swore to himself that he wouldn’t act like a petty teenager. But he needs a safeguard to protect his company and decrease the chances of his clients or sponsors from pulling out after they found out about one of his androids going rogue. 

His ego was a liability. Sure enough, to be the cause of his death.

But it also brought him this far, along with his craftiness.

He’ll agree with a quip or two about your annoyance with the BlueBook owner, so you’ll lower your guard. Then boom, bam, thank you, ma’am — dial-up his sweet talk and ease in, persuading you that Nathan fucking Bateman is a trustworthy guy. 

You’ll put in a good word for him to your father. 

“You rarely go to these things, huh?” He tilts his head. 

“Is it that obvious? I usually stay in my studio, drafting up concepts.”

“You’re a designer,” he observes. 

“Something like that.” You shake your head. “But if my dad had a hand deeper into my life, I’d call the shots in NovaTech later down the line instead of playing with paint and wires, or at least that’s what he says.”

And there it was.

“A tortured artist and daddy’s girl,” he takes note.

“Well, how about you? I’m sure you got a sob story of the century to give yourself a buzzcut,” you tease back.

“Smartass.” Nathan presses the keycard against a wall. There was no indication of a slot to insert itself in or tap on—a sleek design hidden from plain view. 

The soft click of the door unlocking brings his attention back to you. “Go ahead, I’ll wait out here. Gotta have you looking your best when we get in there.”

A simple ruse from yours truly.

pt. 2 coming soon (lmk if you'd like to be tagged!)

I'd love to hear your thoughts and my inbox is always open for requests or if you want to chat!

[chdarling-tle]

“What the fuck was that?”

Sirius stood frozen amidst the milling crowds as Lily Evans — one-time foe, part-time pretend girlfriend, and, apparently, full-time psycho bitch — strolled away, heedless of the inevitable shitshow she’d left in her wake.

“Well, I’m no expert,” said Peter from beside him, his voice glinting with sarcasm, “but it looked like Lily Evans just snogged your face off.”

“Yeah, thanks, Wormtail. I worked that bit out myself. Come on.”

Sirius pushed through the tangle of jutted elbows and bulky bags that clogged the corridor as their peers spilled out of classrooms, feeling rather like he was macheteing his way through the jungle in search of his game. For James had already vanished into the throng along with Florence, a fact that both annoyed and troubled Sirius.

It wasn’t like James not to wait for his friends.

“You might not want to look so ticked off about her snogging you,” advised Peter as he scurried to catch up with Sirius’s determined strides. “She is supposed to be your girlfriend, remember?”

This was prudent advice, but Sirius wasn’t sure he was capable of following it at the moment. Because he was ticked off. In the stumbling aftermath of Lily’s kiss, it had taken him a moment to work out precisely why he was quite so irritated, but the answer, when it arrived, was simple: It had been the look on James’s face, glimpsed from across the corridor as Sirius tugged himself back from Lily’s ambush. It had only lasted a moment, that worrying expression on his friend’s face — for James had turned quickly away then vanished into the crowd — but Sirius had seen it all the same, and now it lingered, needling at him, admonishing him.

James had looked…hurt.

Read on Ao3

[thecountesstribe]

I always say I hate getting into a fandom because of the inevitable discourse. You shippers remain some of the absolute worst part of the fandom. I'm not saying all shippers btw. The shippers who draw art of their favorite couples and “ship” different characters but also respect other people's “ships” cause y'know it's fiction and stuff at the end of the day, y'all are cool people. Just wanna say I love your unproblematic asses. You see the others, please go bite the dust. Why the fuck are you so mean? These people are NOT REAL!!!! The new season of hotd hasn't even started and y'all are already back on your bullshit. Being racist and sending death threats towards the cast and other people in the fandom and just overall being fuckin vile human beings because “your ship doesn't make sense or have chemistry or yadda yadda yadda blah blah blah” STFU!. LEAVE THE ACTORS ALONE, LEAVE THE PRODUCERS AND THE SHOW STAFF ALONE. LEAVE OTHER PEOPLE ALONE!! GO OUTSIDE AND BREATHE THE FRESH AIR, THE SHIT IS NEVER THAT SERIOUS. SEVEN FUCKIN HELLS MAN. Let's use Beth and Harry for an example, the stuff that comes from some of your accounts are absolutely vile and I wish you the fuckin worst. Then y'all love quoting “but they're not following the source material” to justify y'all being racist and nasty towards them. I have some news for you. If you read the books and not just gloss over what you wanna read you'd know that their characters were inevitably endgame had everything went right, there was no such thing as “BROKEBACK WINTERFELL”, as fun as that plot would've been, Jace and Cregan had a brotherly relationship and “Sara Snow” was just Mushroom only account and he wasn't even near or in Winterfell, so it was probably just his “fevered musings” she probably 100% didn't even exist, it was a campaign to slander Rhaenyra and her children and that's canon. Calling Bethany all sorts of vile things cause you're not in the writers room and can't write your headcanons is sick. Sending death threats to Harry is absolutely mental. Seek professional help!! Not just them alone but you get the gist. Please just try to be decent people. You don't have to like something everybody else probably likes but you also don't have to be a CUNT for no apparent reason. IT'S JUST FICTION. LET'S JUST WATCH THE SHITSHOW AND HAVE FUN.

[atmilliways]

Wrong On The Money (32)

part 32 of ?? | 1207 words | Teen+

Blackmail fic on Ao3 | on tumblr

Summary:

Steve bursts through the door like some sort of floppy haired, athletic puppy. “Hey Eds, look who I found!”  He’s dragging someone behind him by the wrist, and a very nonplussed Jeff waves hello.

(cw references to Billy's racism)

32.

Eddie has finally moved up from bed rest to shuffling around the house sometimes as long as he takes frequent breaks. Which he’s happy to do, because his PT exercises always kick his ass right into nap time. The new couch in the new living room is actually comfortable, and it's a relief to escape from his now over-familiar bedroom.

Steve bursts through the door like some sort of floppy haired, athletic puppy. “Hey Eds, look who I found!” 

He’s dragging someone behind him by the wrist, and a very nonplussed Jeff waves hello. Mouth dropping open, Eddie raises one hand for a weak wave back. 

“I have to go back to the store,” Steve says, all but bouncing on the balls of his feet as he circles back to the door. “I kinda forgot about groceries for a minute there, so, still need to get those. But you two should catch up!”

“Uh, okay?” Eddie says, and Steve flashes him a grin and two thumbs up before disappearing again. 

“What,” Jeff starts, sounding shaken, “just happened?”

Eddie shrugs. “Steve Harrington.”

“He knows where you live? He calls you Eds?”

“If it helps, the nickname is new. And, uh . . . he kind of lives here too. Loooong story.”

Jeff shoots him an incredulous look. Then he asks where the PBR is, shaking his head when Eddie admits that he can’t drink on his meds so there's none in the house. (“I can have one beer,” Eddie has whined many times, but always gets a blunt no from Wayne or Steve in response. He’s given up on sulking about it.)

First, they sit on the couch with a can of Coke each and catch up. 

Jeff’s family did leave Hawkins, but only until it was declared safe again. They’re staying with his aunt on the outskirts of town—and Eddie doesn’t know her number, which is why his calls never went through. Jeff’s actual house is still undergoing repairs before they can move back in. He’s taking a year off before college to take some of the financial pressure off his parents.

Gareth and his mom are camped out in a hotel, taking advantage of the government’s emergency subsidies for families whose houses were totally leveled. They’ll probably stay in town and buy new. 

“Frank’s folks had to move, though,” Jeff admits. “He’s on the other side of Roane County now. The high school over there doesn’t even have a D&D club.” A pause. “Oh, and I wrote to Margaret, she’s coming to visit next month to, and I quote, ‘take in the ineffable shitshow that is Hawkins, Indiana.’ I think New York is getting to her, man.”

And shit, it’ll be good to see Margaret again, same way it’s good to see Jeff and it’ll be good to see Gareth. Frank too, whenever he can swing by. Because the thing about being suddenly folded into a new friend group of monster hunters is . . . Eddie still misses his old gang. One is silver and the other’s gold, and all that bullshit. 

Eddie, for his part, gives a perfunctory explanation of the house (“Government restitution for our old place and my criminal record going through the meat grinder”) and Steve’s presence (“We talked it out, the past few months he’s just been . . . paying rent in advance”). 

Silence creeps in. Eddie sips at his Coke, slurping it in little mouthfuls as if that might continue to delay the inevitable. 

It doesn’t.

“So . . . what the hell happened, man?” 

Eddie tries not to look directly at his friend. “You mean to Hawkins?” He’d signed a shit-ton of NDAs while high off his ass on painkillers, but that still feels like the easier question to answer. 

“Dude, everyone knows about the earthquake,” Jeff scoffs. “I mean with Harrington. If you talked it out with him, why is he playing the Alfred to your Bruce Wayne?”

Thinking back to the demobats, Eddie snorts. If only Jeff knew. 

He doesn’t tell him, though. Not because of the legalities—fuck that shit, this whole mess was the government’s fault to begin with, he’s pretty sure. It’s just that, Eddie wishes he didn’t have to know. He’s not going to inflict that on a friend. 

But he does explain about Steve, more or less. 

“Okay,” Jeff says finally. “So you’re telling me that gas leak a few years ago killed Barbara Holland actually in his backyard, and the government covered it up but he still felt guilty for some reason, so he started making up for it by being less of a douchebag.” Pausing for a moment, Jeff frowns as he goes over it in his head the same way he would a campaign, ticking unspoken points off on his fingers. “The timeline works, I guess. . . . I don’t remember him causing much trouble for anyone after that fall. Hagan got worse, and Hargrove was a fucking nightmare, but the worst Harrington did was not be quite popular enough anymore to keep them in check.” Jeff looks up at Eddie. “And then . . . he started babysitting nerds? Our freshman nerds.”

They’d literally seen Steve pick the kids up from Hellfire games all school year—from a distance at first, and then close up once the blackmail had been set in motion. But Eddie gets it, because he hadn’t understood it at first either. 

“Dustin’s got him wrapped around his little finger,” he confirms. “All the little shits do. Remember when he came to school with his face all rearranged by Hargrove? Asshole was gunning for Lucas.”

That makes Jeff’s eyebrows twitch together and his mouth set in a grim line that Eddie doesn’t often see. Eddie can practically see his opinion on Steve going up based on Jeff’s own run-ins with Hargrove. “Christ.”

“Yeah.” Eddie plays with his now empty Coke can, pushing the aluminum sides in and then popping them back out again. “And then I fucking blackmailed him.”

“Not very successfully, though,” Jeff points out, scratching at the side of his jaw. “Not if his real motivation for giving you money was wanting to help out and work off some of his guilt about Barbara. Actually, he’s the one who led you on, and nobody was being intimidated by anybody. Which—I’m not going to say I told you so, but I definitely called it.”

Sputtering, Eddie tugs the tab off his can and flicks it at him. “Dick!”

“And are you still crushing on him hard?”

This time, he throws the whole can, but Jeff ducks it. 

“That’s a yes.”

“We’re friends now,” Eddie hisses, pulling hair across his face to hide his embarrassed flush. “He saved my life, and based on his cooking alone I think he’s slowly becoming Wayne’s favorite son. I can’t—”

“You said Steve was the one who brought up living with in the first place,” Jeff points out. “He knows you were both at that club for the same reason, maybe he’s . . . you know, interested. Did you ever think of that?”

“No,” Eddie grumbles, lying. “Look, Steve didn’t want to live under his asshole parents’ roof anymore. That’s it.”

He refuses to read anything else into it. That way madness lies, and too much seeing what he wants to see rather than what’s actually there. 

[katzell]

Midge and Lenny's alternative adventures

Enough luxuriating in my feelings about Midge and Lenny's goodbye at the airport. Here are some future adventures I'd love to see them have.

Midge and Lenny go on a tour together but after getting tossed off their train by some Christian fundamentalists they wind up roadtripping across the midwest trying to get to Chicago before their show. Susie forbids Midge from ever gigging with Lenny again.

While on a USO tour of military bases in Europe, Midge gets invited to perform at a diplomatic show in East Berlin. And what do you know? Lenny is also on the bill! It all would have been a fun little trip in and out through Checkpoint Charlie if that cat hadn't decided to adopt Lenny and Midge hadn't been convinced they could smuggle it out. How were they to know the cat already had a (high-ranking) family! Susie reaffirms that gigging with Lenny is verboten.

Midge gets offered obscene money to be one of the headliners on an international cruise. She's been in a dry spell because of some Watergate jokes that were honestly pretty tame! At the last minute Lenny gets added to the bill because the male headliner dropped out. Susie reluctantly agrees that they need the money. Of course trapped on a ship winds up being Lenny's worst nightmare so the two of them make a gettaway in Barcelona. Susie's life becomes a living nightmare for months dealing with the breach of contract.

Midge and Lenny never get married, never even properly date. But, yes, there is so much sex. Great sex. The best Midge has ever had. It's distracting really, which might be why she's always a little relieved when they inevitably have to go their separate ways. Love is one thing, but Midge can never let herself become part of someone else's life again. And Lenny is relieved not to carry that responsibility.

But sometimes they argue. Sometimes they have screaming fights and don't speak for months, even years. Lenny doesn't tell Midge things that Midge feels a real friend would know! (But they don't. Lenny doesn't really tell anyone everything). Midge gets stubborn and won't admit when she's wrong. And boy can she be wrong.

During one extended period, Lenny lets himself get talked into a marrying a nice, funny girl who is sweet to his kid and doesn't mind his dicier habits. She's not that sharp, but she's cool, you know. Easy to be with. Then Midge crashes the wedding and by the end of the night he's ready to follow Midge out to her car and speed away into the desert. The annulment goes through in a matter of weeks.

Midge marries three times. Lenny catches the first one in the paper. Some drunken shenanigans in Las Vegas that got out of hand. Lenny sends her a postcard saying "Mazel Tov." Mysteriously Midge writes back, "Once is an accident, twice a coincidence, three times a fucking problem." The second marriage to the singer was widely covered by the press from the moment they were caught exiting his hotel room in the middle of the night. Lenny sent another postcard, "The thing that concerns me most is your shit taste in music." Six months later Midge sends him a ticket to join her at a Diana Ross concert.

The marriage to the media mogul is the one that really pisses Lenny off. It's in the middle of one of their longest dry spells and Lenny sees it as the culmination of their argument: Midge tying herself to wealth, excess, and privilege instead of the subversive values he thought they shared. He almost doesn't go to the wedding, but a nasty part of him want to see this shitshow go down. The feeling deflates when he finds her crying in the bathroom, only an hour after the opulent ceremony. He offers to take her away, but Midge only dries her eyes and says, "Don't worry. I'm going to make him bleed." The divorce settlement becomes the stuff of legends and Midge has Lenny headline the benefit for Midge's new charitable foundation. The endowment will keep the organization is healthy financial shape for decades.

And maybe, just maybe, Midge and Lenny did get married after all. The captain of the cruiseliner said something about them being husband and wife that night they got tanked as they were heading into Barcelona. Neither properly remembers, or really minds. Marriages are dumb anyway. What matters is who sticks around.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Thicker Than Blood (Aemond x OC) Chapter 3

Word count: 1379 words

Last part —> next part

We stand in the throne room as Otto Hightower sits on my grandfather's throne about to hear claims for a title that is Lucerys' birthright. Jacaerys stands on our mother's right side and Luke and I stand on her left. I give my little brother a soft smile and squeeze his shoulder as I wait for what is inevitability going to be an shitshow to start.

People continue to file in and I look around the room impatiently as the anxiety starts to set in. My trepidation is not helped when my gaze fall upon Aemond. His eye is already fixated upon me, an emotion behind it that I cannot discern. He must feel no shame in being caught staring at me because when I turn away bashfully, with the excuse of fussing over my brother, I can feel his eye boring a hole in the back of my head.

Otto begins to speak.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." Otto says, probably creaming his breeches in excitement of possibly disinheriting a son of Rhaenyra. "As Hand I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters."

I highly fucking doubt that.

"The crown will now hear petitions. Ser Vaemond of house Velaryon."

Vaemond walks up, giving my mother the nastiest glare he can conjure up.

Cunt.

"My Queen. My Lord Hand. The history of our noble house extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Old Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name."

Gods this man is dull.

Daemon and mother make eye contact. It's as if they're having a wordless conversation. My mother nods to Daemon.

Interesting.

Vaemond goes on saying how he is Corlys' closest kin, his closest blood.

"The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

"As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." My mother pipes in. "If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition."

"You'll have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard." Says the Queen, the spite in her voice apparent. This was obviously personal.

I wish I could wipe the smug smirk off Ser Vaemond's face. what joy it would bring me.

"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognise it."

To myself, I can admit that Ser Vaemond speaks only truth. But life does not run on truth, he is either ignorant or stupid to believe that he has any right in challenging our family. The man thinks with his heart, not his head, speaking this way will have him end up dead.

Mother nods, unimpressed.

"This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours." Ser Vaemond turns to the Hand and the Queen.

"My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition."

I notice Luke look over to Aemond. I feel our uncle's stare switch from me to my brother.

"I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor... the Lord of Driftmark and the Lord of the Tides."

"Thank you Ser Vaemond." Otto says. "Princess Rhaenyra, you may speak now for your son, Lucerys Velaryon."

"If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will stat by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very--" My mother is cut off.

I try to hide my smile as I see my grandsire in the doorway.

"King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." The Hightower cunt removes himself from my grandsire's seat.

Vaemond and Otto share a sneaky, concerned look.

It's lucky that the King came because they obviously had a plan.

There is a long span of silence as the King makes his way to the Iron Throne, the Queen looks anguished and my mother looks hopeful. Mother and grandsire look to each other and then he looks to the Hand.

"I will sit the throne today."

"Your Grace."

The Kingsguard attempts to help him up the steps but is quickly brushed off. My father follows instead and I have a soft smile at the tender show of affection as Prince Daemon places the crown on the King's head. I feel Aemond's stare on me once more.

"I must... admit... my confusion." The King huffs out. "I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present... who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys's wishes is the Princess Rhaenys."

"Indeed, your Grace." Rhaenys steps foreword. "It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son... Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed. Nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons, Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys's granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree."

My heart drops into my stomach. I hope what I heard was a lie, that it is Rhaena marrying Luke and that is the end of it. I hope nobody notices how tightly I am squeezing my hands together, I feel as though I am about to shatter my bones. My entire life's plan has just crumbled before my eyes as Baela sends a quick smile to Jace. Every thought comes to my head.

What does this mean for me? What if I don't find a man as good as Jace? I'll never be Queen. Did I even want to be Queen?

I will not kid myself by saying I was in love with my twin brother. Loved him? Yes. But in love with him? I was happy for that to come with time. Now I have no idea what will become of me. Jacaerys was safe, this is not safe. I feel as though I am hyperventilating and I still feel his goddamn eyes on me.

I am broken out of my panicked state by Ser Vaemond shouting.

"That!" He points to Luke. "is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine."

"Go to your chambers." Mother tries to send us away. "You have said enough." This time she speaks to Vaemond.

"Lucerys is my true-born grandson." the King speaks. "And you are no more than the second of Driftmark."

"You... may run your house as you see fit... but you will not decide the future of mine. My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned... I will not see it ended on the account of this--"

"Say it." Father, hisses.

"Her children... are bastards! And she... is... a whore." The crowds gasp at his absolute audacity.

"I..." the King unsheathes his dagger. "will have your tongue for that."

Dark Sister slices through the air as my stepfather relieves Ser Vaemond of half of his head. His body slumps to the floor.

"He can keep his tongue." I can see the hint of a smirk coming onto the prince's face.

"Disarm him!" Otto shouts.

"No need."

In all the commotion and stress, the King falls to his throne.

"Call the maesters!" The Queen shouts.

Everything is happening in such a rush, I hardly have time to think as the King is escorted away. Daemon returns to my side, a spot of blood on his face. I absentmindedly reach for my handkerchief.

"Kepa?" Father. He turns his head to me and I wipe the blood from him.

"Dōna riña." Sweet girl. He smiles softly and tilts my chin up with his finger. It's an affectionate gesture, meant to calm me I suppose; it does little to quell the deep feeling of dread that is once again rising.

taglist: @valeskafics

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 3: your victims, they're getting stronger

(summary) | dabihawks, seroroki, todofam!reunion, dabi & aizawa shouta & all might, todoroki touya & league of villains, dabi & giran

Shouta seriously wanted to bang his head against a wall.

“Why are you calling me in? This isn’t my jurisdiction,” He’s a fucking underground hero, for Gods’ sake, not a detective.

It was finally Friday — 'fucking Friday, the last day of the working week!' — and just when he was about to head home and take a well-deserved four-hour nap, he gets a phone call from the city’s primary police headquarters.

“Our apologies, Eraserhead. The suspect-slash-witness requested to specifically speak to you. He hasn’t spoken a word since.”

“What the f — ” Shouta is so confused, “‘Suspect-slash-witness,’ What does that even mean?”

“Uh, look, you should really just come down here, sir.”

Shouta sighs, “Give me ten minutes.”

Nothing could prepare him for the sight of the notorious League of Villains Dabi sitting calmly in the metalled interrogation room — shackled hands clasped casually as an obnoxious whistling tune continuously pushed out of scarred lips — having the audacity to look bored.

Shouta hears his own neck crack when he whips his head towards the head officer who brought him here, “What, exactly, is going on here?”

The lead officer shrugs their shoulders and shakes their head, “He just… walked into the station and told our front desk that he wanted to report the alleged murder of the eldest Todoroki child. We apprehended him, but he didn’t even try to fight back. When we got him here, he just said he wouldn’t say a single word until you came — said he had information that you’d want to know.”

Shouta’s heart thuds loudly in his ears, “Murder of the eldest Todoroki child… Todoroki Fuyumi’s dead?”

But Todoroki Shouto seemed fine in class. In fact, these past two months have been the happiest Shouta’s ever seen his student be. Shouto’s smile is wider, sometimes big enough to even show teeth. He participates in class more, raising his hand so much to the extent that it’s almost become a competition between him and Yaoyorozu Momo to see who could answer Shouta’s questions the fastest. He’s become sharper during his training sessions, focused and determined in a way that finally looks like ambition, instead of a fated burden.

The officer is shaking their head before Shouta really starts to panic, “No, no — the villain, Dabi, said a different name. Our front desk told us the name of the victim was ‘Todoroki Touya’. ”

Shouta has never heard that name in his life.

He takes another look at Dabi through the interrogation glass.

‘Blue eyes, white hair, fire quirk. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

He turns to the officer, “Not a single word of this situation leaves this room. The Commission, press, other officers and heroes — no one knows about this until we have everything sorted.”

The officer nods, “Of course.”

Shouta takes a deep breath and mentally prepares himself for the absolute shitshow he’s now inevitably become a part of.

He walks into the interrogation room and sits down in the opposite chair from Dabi. The whistling stops.

“What is your real name, Dabi-san?”

Scarred lips turn up into a smirk and Shouta likens the expression to a lucid zombie. Raw and consciously chilling.

“You’ve figured it out, have you?” and Shouta must have let something slip from his carefully curated mask because the villain’s head falls back in a cackle, “Well, no wonder your students talk so highly of you! My own father didn’t even recognize me — practically had to shout it in his ear!”

Shouta doesn’t know what to say.

He’s always known Endeavor was a particularly gruff man and so, Shouta has tried to keep a close eye on him whenever the hero would make his presence known. However, having a secret villain son was definitely not something Shouta could say he suspected.

Shouta clears his throat, “You told the officers you have information. The kind that I, specifically, would like to hear. I’m here now.”

“Hey, now,” Dabi — ‘Do I address him as Touya? Todoroki?’ — unclasps his hands and lays one flat on the table, “Good things don’t come for free. I’ll tell you everything I know, on my terms.”

‘Ah, negotiations,’ Shouta leans back in his chair and watches the man across him closely. Dabi’s forehead seems to be untouched by scarring so his eyebrows are quite expressive, furrowing into a serious valley, all playful demeanor now lost.

“And what are your terms?”

Dabi raises a thin eyebrow and sits up straighter, blue eyes boring into Shouta with an intensity that makes his skin itch, “I want immunity,” and Shouta represses a scoff — ‘of course’ — until, “For the original League members. I don’t care what you do to me, but I want a guarantee that you will take public legal action against the murderer I name today. If you don’t accept my terms, or if something happens to me, I have people in every corner of Japan who will release everything I know. Your precious Number One Hero will fall and your society will be reduced to shambles,” Dabi slides over a piece of slightly crumpled paper to Shouta, “These people will be under the law’s protection.”

Iguchi Shūichi

Okuta Kagerō

Bubaigawara Jin

Sako Atsuhiro

Shigaraki Tomura

Toga Himiko

Shouta’s eyes widened, “That’s completely out of the question. No amount of information erases the crimes the League has done.”

Hooded and ice-like eyes look up and down Shouta’s body, slowly. The gaze looks lazy, nonchalant, maybe even on the wrong side of vulgar — but it makes Shouta feel like the roles have been completely reversed, like he is the one being watched, studied, profiled.

“Your friend, the one whose body is occupied by Kurogiri — what was his name?” Shouta’s spine stiffens, “Shirakumo Oboro?”

Shouta doesn’t answer, couldn’t answer, not with the way his throat tightens at the memory of seeing his old friend trying to pry his way out of whatever monster they’ve stuffed inside of him.

Shouta says nothing, but it’s exactly the confirmation Dabi needs.

A cadaverous smile stretches its way across the villain's face, “Don’t you want the bastard that did that to him? I’ll give him to you — lead ya straight to him ‘n turn a blind eye when you get your hands on him.”

Shouta tries his best to keep his face emotionless, but his palms ache at the indents his nails have pressed into the skin, “One arrest does not equate to the liberation of six dangerous criminals.”

“Ha! You think that’s the only information I got? Please, that was just a tease,” Dabi rolls his eyes, “Six people are not going to destroy the world. But over a hundred thousand?” Dabi tongues his cheek briefly, “They might have a shot, at least at taking over Japan.”

Shouta’s chest tightens, ‘Over a hundred thousand? Has the League really grown so large? Are there really… over a hundred thousand people who believe in the League’s cause?’

The mere idea feels ludicrous, “Immunity for a single individual is already hard enough to get approved. But for six major villains? Have you lost your mind — Bubaigawara Jin is an S-ranked criminal and Toga Himiko is an A-rank!”

Dabi snaps, “She’s fucking fifteen!”

Shouta’s eyebrows raise at the outburst, “So was the boy you kidnapped. Or did you forget that? You didn’t seem to care about him being fifteen.”

Dabi gives him a disbelieving look, “Oh, you mean the same boy you chained up to a pole and muzzled for millions of viewers to watch…?”

Shouta doesn’t have anything to say to that.

He remembers seeing that terrified look in Bakugou’s eyes when the Commission’s employees held him down and chained him up, the humiliated flush on his face, threatening tears Shouta knew had spilled the moment the boy was alone. He’d vehemently protested afterward, but it didn’t matter by then — the damage was already done, and even his colleagues begged him to drop the matter. He had felt so ashamed of himself.

Dabi speaks up again, and this time, his expression has softened — gone is the sneer, instead replaced with a neutral look, “He was also the strongest one.”

“Fifteen.”

Dabi’s slender finger points at Shouta, “Pot,” then at himself, “Kettle.”

Shouta grits his teeth, “This isn’t helping your case.”

He doesn’t need a lecture from a villain of all people, and he especially doesn’t need said villain to actually make some fair points.

“Look, All For One was after the strongest ‘n the angriest. Out of all your precious students, it was either Bakugou or Shouto. The choice was a no-brainer, and I’d do it all over again. There're only so many people I can give a shit about. ‘M not a hero,” Dabi huffs, looking away from Shouta and crossing his arms.

“No, you are not.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Dabi purses his lips and scratches at the seam of his left wrist.

Shouta speaks up again, “Bakugou told me about the conversation you two had during that time.”

“Don’t really classify that as a conversation.”

Shouta hums, “Yeah. I’d almost call it a ‘lecture’.”

Dabi quiets for a moment, a thoughtful and faraway look on his face, “… What’s his home life like?”

Shouta tilts his head, furrowing his eyes in suspicion, “Why do you ask?”

Saddened blue eyes meet his own, and Dabi says with the utmost sincerity, “I recognize something in him. It’s the same thing that’s in me,” and then that look is gone with a blink and a click of the tongue, “Better check up on that.”

[ 7 months ago, August

Shouta likes to think he’s an observant teacher.

He notices the ways in which Bakugou has changed since Kamino. The boy is not as loud anymore, sticks himself to Kirishima Eijirou whenever he can, makes an effort to actually speak to his classmates instead of straight-up ignoring them, and leaves Midoriya Izuku alone, for the most part.

Shouta also notices the way he constantly tugs at the school-issued tie of his uniform loose at the knot, no longer in rebellion but as if to free himself of some kind of restraint, seeming to breathe a bit easier when his neck is left untouched.

Today, Shouta notices the way Bakugou loiters at the entrance door of his classroom, waiting for everyone to leave until it’s just the two of them alone.

“Sensei?” Bakugou fidgets with the backpack strap on his shoulder, shoulders that are practically hitched up to his ears, “Can I… fuck.”

Shouta tries to make this a bit easier for the boy, “Close the door, take a seat.”

Bakugou does, slipping into his usual seat and looking at his shoes. His vulnerable behavior strikes a chord in Shouta. He knows his students are supposed to soon be the protectors of the city, but he can’t help being reminded that they are still children. Growing, frightened, confused children whose brains haven’t even fully developed. Children who are being thrown into traumatizing situations without the proper facilities to patch their hearts back up.

Shouta clears his throat, “You’ve been… quieter, lately.”

Bakugou picks at a nail, the distraction seeming to help the young boy in loosening his tongue, “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

Bakugou puts his hand down, “Is it… Am I fucked-up for being, for thinking — ugh, shit. I don’t know how to say this,” Frustrated hands run through blond spikes.

“Start with the easiest thing,” Shouta says in what he hopes is a gentle enough tone to assure his student that he’s safe and heard.

The boy scowls, his hands fisting and unfisting on the desk table, “I… I’ve been re-evaluating. Coming here…” Shouta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but he waits for Bakugou to finish, “Bein’ a hero used to mean I was strong and important and, fuckin’ — I don’t know, worth a damn. And, now, all of that, it just feels like a pile of shit.”

Shouta hums in understanding, “Seems like a lot of pressure you’ve put on yourself, placing all your worth on the title of a hero.”

Bakugou lets out a bitter chuckle, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. He’s still not looking at Shouta, and the walls this boy has around him make Shouta’s heart ache.

“Yeah, well. You’ve met my mom. I think bein’ a hero is the only thing she wants from me. After all, it’s me who wasn’t strong enough to prevent — ”

“Bakugou,” Shouta stops the sentence before the boy has a chance to finish it, his voice firm. He will not have his student blaming himself for getting kidnapped.

Bakugou finally looks up and Shouta sees the tears in his eyes.

“You cannot blame yourself for getting kidnapped.”

Bakugo’s chin starts to wobble, “But I-I was the only one. They targeted me because I reminded them of — of their own fucking selves!” Both his fists slam down the desk, and thin twin rivers stream down ruddy cheeks, “I act like a villain, people don’t think I belong here! And… and they were right.”

“No, Baku — ”

“Sensei,” Bakugou begs.

Shouta stops to listen. He tells himself to calm down and reminds himself that his student has more to say and needs someone to listen.

Bakugou takes a breath to calm himself down. He’s been doing that more often — trying to self-soothe, ground himself back to reality, mentally shoving bare toes into the roots of the earth and feel this city’s humidity on his skin, constantly trying to stay present with the company he keeps, “They were right. The way I acted, before… I didn’t realize it until now but, I have so much anger and-and fucking hate just building in me, and I thought I could just work it away, and get stronger and make myself better, but it didn’t change anything.”

The revelation makes the teacher in Shouta proud, but he’s honestly confused about how his student got to this point. Shouta has, admittedly, not had many conversations with Bakugou ever since the kidnapping, but he knows All Might has, “May I ask, then, what has changed?”

Bakugou laughs shortly, bitter and disbelieving, “Is it fucked up to say getting kidnapped changed me for the better?”

Shouta shakes his head, “Bakugou… You didn’t need to go through trauma to change for the better. Trauma doesn’t build inner strength like that. It’s a misconception taught in action films and distasteful hero-propaganda.”

“Shit, Sensei, no, I don’t mean it that way,” Bakugou pinches his nose in frustration for a moment before his carmine eyes settled back onto Shouta, “Gettin' kidnapped ‘n bein' held captive by them was fuckin’… It wasn’t that. It was what he told me.”

“He? Who?”

“That patchwork piece of shit,” Bakugou grumbles, “I thought he was tryin' to convince me to join them but it felt more… Like a warning. Kinda like one of your lectures, but he said it in a way that made me wanna shit my pants.”

Shouta leans back in his chair and hums in curiosity, “Can you tell me what he said?”

And so Bakugou did. ]

“You’re not a very good recruiter.”

“Eh, it’s just my day job.”

A loud metallic bang! resonates through the room, shocking the two men and making them whip their heads at the intrusion.

As if Shouta’s day couldn’t get any weirder, he most certainly would have never, not in his wildest dreams, expected to see Number Two Pro-Hero Hawks, frantic and panting, with none other than his student, Todoroki Shouto — ‘who should be in class’ — in tow.

Shouta mentally resigns himself to the fate of six espresso shots, already mourning the lost hope of any potential blissful naps.

CLICK TO READ REST OF CHAPTER 3 ON AO3

[dragonandtiger]

Dreaming To Reality: Oneiromancy Chapter Twenty Eight - 22

It was a bit amusing, in a sick, morbid sort of way, that even in his false world, his garbled memories, Ken couldn’t get away from the loathing he felt - for himself, for this world, for both worlds. Even moreso, it was those dark, twisted feelings that allowed him to inevitably escape his little delusional utopia. No matter how much he wished that he could run away and live in his make-believe world made from childish dreams forever, part of him knew that he never could.

Ken could never come back from what he had done, or what had been done to him. He had no right to wish for any salvation when Keiko, Ryo, and Osamu had been denied it. The constant apparitions he had been seeing of Ryo were proof enough, of his drug-addled brain trying to give himself permission to live, and using the murdered Chosen of Miracle’s corpse to grant him that peace that he would never deserve.

He was so disgusted by himself that it made his stomach churn.

“Of course I couldn’t find Wormmon,” Ken muttered as he clenched his fingers tightly together until they began to shake. “B-because Wormmon is��!” He shuddered, choking the sob that tore from his throat as he bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair.

There was only one place his partner could be, after being consumed by so much taint - straight to the Dark Ocean, with everyone else.

Ken  couldn’t contain his tears as he flopped over onto the floor and curled up in a fetal position. “That son of a bitch…,” he snarled, but tears choked his voice of a whimper. “He was enjoying every second of this…!”

He could only imagine how much joy the entire shitshow had given Neemon. To watch everything fall apart, to watch Ken fall apart, all the while toying with him during his delusions. He should have killed Neemon when he had the chance, but his weakness - his kindness - made him falter. As the Digimon Kaiser, he was able to go far, too far at times, but somehow never far enough… at least not when it came to the wretched traitors who had destroyed everyone and everything he loved and cared about.

Well, his kindness wasn’t going to stop him this time.

Ken clenched his hands together as if he were praying and brought his trembling hands up to his face, pressed against his chin. He kept his eyes closed as he focused on his breathing, attempting to regain control over himself. He didn’t have time for this, he couldn’t afford the luxury of suffering - not when he still had work undone.

The Chosen of Kindness opened his tear-stained eyes to glare at the shadows, the light in his eyes completely gone. He had work to do, he had plans to make, and a final confrontation to orchestrate.

Neemon thought he was the one in control of this sick and twisted game, but he was about to find that Ken was more than capable of playing games too.

Ken was going to kill that bastard, permanently and completely, even if it was the last thing he would ever do.

Then, and only then, would he allow himself peace… in whatever form he deserved.

[foliosriot]

every mile further there’s a part of me that slips away (1725 words)

jason todd & dick grayson ao3 if that's what you prefer :)

this is one of the first times jason’s been out of gotham since bosnia. which means it’s been roughly three years since he was beaten and broken with a crowbar at the hand of a madman. time sure does fly.

but when he imagined leaving gotham he didn’t think it would be just him on his motorbike speeding beyond city limits. initially, jason thought he would be leaving with bruce or even dick, leaving the masks behind. leaving all of the spilt blood and guns and fucking trauma in a great big pile throughout the halls of wayne manor. but his hands were still stained red, guns were still strapped to his thigh and hips, and the fucking trauma still clung to every inch of his being.

and as much as he tolerated being back in the clutches of batman, jason’s skin still itched due to his return to gotham as a whole. because what the fuck is he supposed to do — sit back and pretend he doesn’t notice the not-so-subtle caution everyone uses around him? act like the devil on his shoulder isn’t screaming at him 24/7 to kill every single one of his “family”?

no. he can’t pretend or act anymore.

he needed an out, even if it was for a few hours. so here he was, speeding along a dark, desolate highway in the direction of metropolis. he had no intention of actually going. just needed a semblance of direction. or just a semblance of purpose until the motorbike inevitably broke down.

as he drove, jason could feel bits of his soul sloshing off of him. bits of his soul he would never get back now lost to the nighttime and the wind.

although, his soul sure as hell belongs on the outskirts of such a toxic, corrupt shitshow like gotham. his soul is a twisted amalgamation of distrust and jealousy and absolute fucking wrath. it’s black as tar and all-consuming. the thing inside of him is not pleasant; he hasn’t been pleasant since he arose out of the lazarus pit, terror and confusion overriding his senses. even now, years later, he still feels the aftershocks of the otherworldly chasm electrocuting every nerve and cell until he came back. but robin, the boy wonder, did not emerge. something far more sinister and demented had taken that boy’s place.

jason just kept driving. he willed the bike to go faster and faster until the wind was a horrendous whistle battering against his mask.

his thoughts are too loud in the mask. the thoughts reverberate against the mask’s material, shooting right back against his skin and skull. everything hurt. his thoughts were hurtful. his brain . . .

jason todd is fucked up. anyone who’s anyone should know this. jason todd, the infamous red hood, is a shell of a man, whose once lively, energetic spirit was swapped out with a phantom hellbent on revenge. bruce has tried helping. dick has tried helping. roy has tried helping. but none of it is of any use. jason is a lost cause. he has known that from the moment his heart started beating in the contaminated waters of the lazarus pit.

his eyes are stinging, and it isn’t from the wind streaking past him at high speeds. jason recognizes that his body is producing tears that are now sitting heavily atop his bottom lash line. so he grips onto the bike’s handles until he knows his knuckles are deathly white (even though his hands are hidden by gloves) and just keeps driving.

he doesn’t know how long it’s been until the motorbike begins sputtering, signaling it is almost out of fuel. jason grits his teeth but pulls over to the side of the road anyways. he turns off the bike and just sits there for a minute to take in his surroundings.

trees rise high above his head on either side of the lonely road. the night sky is cloudy, except for just a few stars sprinkled in to the hazy black abyss. silence is pulsing in his ears. it makes him want to scream.

jason steps away from his bike, letting it rest on its side instead of propping it up on its kickstand. he heaves out a sigh before hesitantly removing his mask completely.

the cool air hits his face with a force he didn’t expect. but it is more than welcome. the atmosphere of the woods relaxes him as he strolls out onto the asphalt of the road.

his throat feels tight as he stands on the yellow lines. he can feel his adam’s apple bob slightly as he looks to his left then his right. he’s the only one out here, isn’t he? bruce trained him better than this. god, jason can practically hear bruce’s stern voice telling him how he shouldn’t have gone out alone. how he shouldn’t have driven til his motorbike broke down. how he should have fucking said something in the first place instead of bottling everything up.

but that is why he’s even out here. all of the shit bottled up and stuffed deep, deep down inside of him is rattling, begging for an escape. jason can’t let that happen. what’s gonna happen if he does? he’ll die at the hand of the joker for a second time? ra’s al ghul bringing him back with the help of the lazarus pit again but resurrects an irredeemable monster that needs to be put down once and for all? yeah. no, thank you.

jason tightens his fists. he’s breathing heavily, and he knows he can’t fight back these tears much longer.

which is sort of pathetic, isn’t it? jason has got to be the physically strongest out of the entire bat brigade. he’s gone through unspeakable traumas and murdered too many people. he has so much blood on his hands and he has a soul residing in him that should be burning in hell.

but he can’t hold back a few measly teardrops? what kind of soldier is he?

without much else to do, jason crouches down until he’s sitting on the ground. he crosses his legs, stuffing his hands in to the safety of his lap. his eyes still sting. he can’t fight his emotions much longer.

all he’s felt for as long as he has been resurrected is rage. he has so much of it that he doesn’t know what to do. even when he first confronted bruce alongside the joker hadn’t helped. maybe that’s because he hadn’t gotten any sense of closure. the joker still took jason away from bruce. the joker still found the entire situation amusing while bruce was excusing his shtick of not killing the bastard. even after that sick and twisted motherfucker murdered jason in cold blood.

bruce had accepted jason’s death and moved on. bruce had been determined to take down the red hood. but he had not been anywhere concerned about what all of the shit following bosnia had effected jason himself. that sparked a wildfire deep within jason.

jason felt a sliver somewhere inside of him that wanted to get on comms and alert bruce of his whereabouts. but he stopped himself from doing so. bruce would scold him for sure. his other option was contacting dick, which is a much safer option, yes, but dick is fiercely loyal to bruce and would definitely tattle. what other choice does he have?

jason swore to himself as he got on comms and contacted dick, even if it took several minutes due to being in the middle of fucking nowhere.

dick didn’t seem upset or bothered by his brother’s odd request to track him and retrieve him. he had simply said he was on his way, for jason to hold tight.

so jason reluctantly embraced the silence enveloping him and let himself drown in it. he focused on his breathing so he wouldn’t delve into a panic attack, because that is the last thing he needs right now. still, the silence was oddly comforting as he sat by himself. besides, he was miles away from “home”; why wouldn’t he feel just a little bit comfortable?

before jason knew it, a car was approaching. he blearily looked in its direction just in time for the headlights to flicker off. the interior lights switched on as the driver side door opened then slammed shut. footsteps echoed quietly in the night, and paused in front of him.

”jay?”

just the sound of dick’s voice makes jason want to break down. he’s been choking back the tears for a good several hours now, so he deserves to return to gotham dry-eyed.

when jason doesn’t respond dick crouched down next to him carefully.

”jay? you ready to go?” dick asked softly.

jason sighed quietly as he pushed himself to his feet. he wobbled slightly when he stood up straight, but he regained his balance before dick had a chance to steady him.

”go get in the car,” dick instructed in that same soft tone. “i’ll get your bike.”

dick didn’t need to tell him twice. with heavy steps, jason headed for the passenger side door and dropped into the seat as he watched his brother gather the motorbike so he could get it into the backseat of the car. neither of them said anything once dick was seated and driving back towards gotham.

they had been driving for maybe thirty minutes when dick spoke up.

”you should get some sleep, jay,” he said, his voice still that sort of softness only a worried older brother would use for his younger brother. “it’s late. i’ll wake you when we’re home.”

home. that made jason want to scoff. but he was so bone-tired and drained and numb.

”nah, i-i’m fine, dick,” jason insisted, despite his words slurring slightly.

”jason. you were dozing off when i found you.”

”dick, i said i’m fi—“

jason’s words were cut off by a yawn. he could hear his brother chuckle to himself, but he didn’t have the heart or the energy to badger him.

instead of fighting, jason grumbled quietly to himself as he rested his head against the window. it wasn’t the most comfortable position but he’s had worse. plus, he wasn’t sure the last time he was actually able to sleep. he supposed he could take a nap for a few minutes . . .

[fantasy-the-final-frontier]

Election negativity

Fuck this election. This is the third presidential election I’ve voted in, and its the worst of the three. In 2016 at least I had the slight feeling of success from being part of the majority popular vote. I also was unaware of the utter shitshow that Trump’s presidency would be. In 2020 the candidate I voted for did win.

But this time, in 2024? It’s not even close. There’s a gap of 5 million votes in Trump’s favor. We know what kind of presidency he will bring, and people still decided to vote for him.

I remember the 2008 and 2012 elections - they were when I first started paying some modicum of attention to politics. John McCain and Mitt Romney felt like average and reasonable Republican candidates - people I didn’t agree with, but politicians with a sense of decorum and professionalism. I truly cannot understand why so many people have thrown themselves behind Trump. He’s racist, sexist, queerphobic, xenophobic, and overall just a mean jerk. There’s no professionalism about him. How do so many people look up to him???

I was disappointed when Biden dropped out - not because I like him as a candidate, but because it felt like we were giving up. It took a while for me to slowly start to feel the optimism and hope others had about Harris. Why is it that in both the years I actually had some hope, that I voted for a candidate that I actually kinda wanted rather than just voting for “please god anyone but Trump,” my hopes got fucking crushed.

This was supposed to be the day that Trump got crushed. Like John Oliver said, if Trump lost, he’d be done. He’d be the president who was so bad he failed to get re-elected twice in a row. This was supposed to be the day we got payoff for Trump not dying of covid by having his racist sexist ass lose to a non-white woman.

I’m supposed to be having a good time with my bestie later today. Hopefully the drive to her place will be enough to bury this all under other thoughts so I can enjoy myself. I know hope is supposed to be radical, to be the best way to fight fascism and all that, but right now I don’t have that. I want to believe that things will be like the stories I love - where if you put the work in, you fight for what you believe in, and sacrifice if necessary, the narrative will reward you for that. But it feels like nothing I do will matter, not on any significant scale.

Here’s to 2025 and the inevitable shitshow distracting us from the creep of fascism.

[extasiswings]

scream you dont need to reply to this but i cant message bc we aren't mutuals but i just wanted to say thank you for your hot takes abt the *** article-- i didnt read it bc i know it would just piss me off more BUT seeing the ripples through the fandom (right before a new episode we are excited for nonetheless) had me back in to see what people were saying and yeah, it's just nice to come here and see you calling it like it is :)

You’re welcome! I’m just—*sigh*

The thing is, I knew this was going to be a shitshow. That’s why I preemptively started making posts about it days ago as soon as we heard an article would be forthcoming. And I was prepared to roll my eyes and be frustrated and annoyed at the inevitable pessimistic doomsday despairing. What I wasn’t anticipating was the level of upset from my fellow queer folks, not about the implication (because we’re all still Buddie canon truthers) but because of the rhetoric. And I get it, I do, because it’s incredibly hurtful to have your lived experiences dismissed out of hand, to have someone reiterate the same sort of thing that many of us have had people say or assume about our own identities and relationships and feelings—that our experiences are invalid, that we’re confused, that we don’t actually know what we want or what we’re seeing—the sort of will-they-won’t-they “it’s all just platonic and you’re reading into it” lines that get bandied about so readily for non-canon het couples come with a certain amount of baggage when placed in the context of non-canon queer couples. Because it inadvertently steps into a very particular strain of queer pain. And straight people just…do not get that. The fact that it isn’t intentional doesn’t make it hurt less, but they don’t, and I do think it’s worth acknowledging that. And I also think it’s worth acknowledging that as much as we as fans don’t have a blueprint for this situation (a slow burn non-canon queer ship going canon), neither do the showrunners.

That said, I also do think it is incredibly important for everyone to be aware of the myriad issues involved in this piece. It was written by someone who has a very well-known agenda of trying to claim the show is terrible about queer rep (blatantly false) and queerbaiting (also not true) and is extremely aggressive, combative, and unprofessional in interviews while trying to make that point. We don’t know the questions he asked, or how many questions he asked, or how he went about asking them. We don’t know if the quotes that were published were part of a longer response, and we don’t even know if they were the first response—it is entirely possible that initial answers were more polite/vague/cagey and he pushed and pushed and pushed until he got a soundbite that he could use to paint them in the worst light possible (and when someone is baiting you by asking the same thing over and over and you can’t get specific, yeah, you’re going to get frustrated and say things you don’t mean—and maybe we don’t know for a fact that’s what happened here, but based on prior experience, particularly re the tone and questions of the post-finale interview where he explicitly accused Tim of queerbaiting, it seems likely). So basically…all that to say, I think everyone’s feelings are valid, but I also think it’s worth directing the anger and hurt to the right places—to the person who manipulated the situation specifically for this result for clout and to serve a personal agenda. That’s my two cents.

(Also, as a reminder, this wasn’t the piece they signed up for either—it was just supposed to be a standard PR piece for 5x11 and he asked extra questions because there was time. It wasn’t the focus of the interview and wasn’t necessarily something they were prepared to discuss)

[thereadersmuse]

Oh, Muse. *sighs dramatically and falls to the floor* Like you said in the replies on one of your posts, all this and all this damn time just for Daryl to end up leaving everyone he ever cared about. I kept watching this entire time because there there were always juuuust enough scenes or eps that made me remember how good the show could be and how much Caryl was still a quality ship in spite of it all and this is how they choose to go out. A completely lackluster final season and so many of us holdouts who likely no longer even really care if Caryl does go canon because looking at this entire shitshow they'd prolly immediately kill her so because Daryl has to ride off into the sunset alone crying manly tears and the out of all the Daryl ships the only ones who "win" are rabid NR fangirls ship him only with themselves. You truly were the smart one getting out long ago. It's honestly almost impressive how much so many of us used to love TWD and how AMC just sucked all of that out of us over time. If their goal was to make people feel like we wasted way too much of our lives and kind of wish we never even bothered, well mission accomplished, I guess. I feel like BenAflecksmoking.jpg

Honestly, we are all mentally, emotionally, physically and spiritually the benaflecksmoking.jpg. It's just with twd that the house behind him is actually on fire at the same time.

1. Anyone who stayed watching has my respect. First and foremost. I stopped because I realized I just wasn't enjoying anymore. It did nothing for me. In fact, it just made me mad. Again and again and again. Also, the fandom got so caustic you couldn't even like minor characters that smiled in Carol or Daryl's direction without them making 'victory' cakes when they inevitably died. Wildt. So, I bounced. I understand why people didn't.

2. I think, truthfully, this stings me less than others because deep down I never really thought they would do caryl the justice and love it deserved. I thought the caryl spin off was a miracle, considering tptb's track record, but honestly thought it would probably end up like this after one season. With NR huffing his ball hairs and zooming off on his bike like some real life fan fiction he is writing on a diner napkin and shoving in a writer's pocket.

3. The sad part, like we both mentioned, is this completely negates Daryl's entire journey as a character and it is hysterical in the worst way that NR and tptb are so blind to it. I can't see the spin off succeeding without MB tbh. Twd only had the die hard fans left, most waiting for caryl. And now? Well, they got NR and his self-fanfiction, I guess.

4. My advice to all? For what it's worth? I have none, just gentle love and the promise that there are people in this fandom who will write a better caryl ending than twd could even dream.

Tough times, queens.