#hero sending a threatening letter to villain

[obihiro-division]

Daiki’s Thoughts on Katsushika Division

Akihisa Mashiro

“...I dunno. Jack’s telling me that Akihisa is a dangerous guy who’s killed hundreds, maybe even thousands, which is objectively really bad! Super-duper bad, even! I just… Want to give him a little trust? Like the name he picked, Azrael! People always look at Azrael like he’s bad, but he’s more like an anti-hero. In the American comics my friends showed me or the mobile games I play sometimes, he’s just… Death. He’s just doing his job. Look, I don’t like anti-heroes, but sometimes when push comes to shove, you gotta team with these people for a common goal. So… I guess what I’m saying, is that I wanna keep him at arm’s length. I don’t like him or trust him! I just think I could give him a chance! Maybe… I would need to figure that out for sure by meeting him. That’s only if Jack will let me.”

Touya Kisaragi

“The dodgy weirdo that won’t leave Master Shuu alone! Always creeping around thinking I don’t see him! I mean, I only saw him once, but that was enough for me to run after him and chase him away! And he thought it would be really funny to threaten me! You would have to be bonkers to think that you can hog him to yourself!”

“I’m miffed that Master Shuu doesn’t mind it because I would hate for some person, much less a criminal to follow me around. At least he stopped trying to intimidate me. Shows that I’m the stronger one! Soon, evil will be vanquished! Just need to figure out why someone like him gets another chance. He’s not like Akihisa. He’s pure evil!”

Rintaro Himura

“Sure, he’s a villain, blowing up buildings and stuff. He’s like a classic bad guy. I just don’t know if I can fight him if my family is already dogpiling onto him. Well, Rintaro and the people who let him out. What did they expect, releasing this fiend when he’s responsible for totaling a couple of my family’s hotels? Akimi is the most pissed off about it, since Japan’s his responsibility. Ever since I got into this D.R.B. stuff, Akimi has been sending me letters pestering me about all the things I should be telling this guy. At this point, I want to pity Rintaro. Because if I’m getting these letters from Akimi, imagine the sort of shit he’s getting!”

Death Row Block

“I get the idea of giving people a chance at redemption, but did they really have to pick these villains? Like, real-life villains! The D.R.B. shouldn’t be responsible for teaching these guys about the path of justice. Put them back into their cells and make them try something else! Anything but… Just letting them free! Think about the sort of corruption they’re already feeding into the innocent public!”

[askmstau]

Ngl I really wanna see you just go on a full on rant about the Hero Association lol

(for Scar, if it wasn't clear lol)

"I- hah I have... a lot of words about the H.A. Not very nice words at that, but uh... If you insist? The thing about the Hero Association, is that... they don't care. They don't care about the heroes, they don't care about the civilians, and they barely care about the villains. Like, when I was growing up, they were fine! They were actually good people who genuinely wanted to get rid of terrible people! But- when I became a teenager the people in charge retired, and were replaced with assholes who don't care to send new heroes on life threatening missions because they don't have publicity yet because they're new and they don't make the association money yet. And when they do die because they had a fucking week of training and a single goddamn patrol, they send their worried family a measly letter two weeks later basically saying "Yeah your sons dead, that sucks for you I guess" and fucking- nothing else! No genuine apology, no stating the cause of death, just a stupid "Sorry for your loss" and fuck all else! Heroes are pawns to them, especially if you have a good power, and you're new! They don't care! They don't care- why don't they care? They fucking categorize human beings like their numbers, and treats them like a robot. And the heroes don't know, because why would they? Why would they know? It's not like they've been fucked over by the association, so why look into it? I don't blame them, they're- they're good people, they're doing the right thing, they aren't major pieces of shit, they're doing good, so I leave them be, but. God I hope the association they work under rots in hell. ...Sorry. I- I got a bit heated. Sorry,"

[toliveforthehopeofitall626]

You Can't Always Be Your Own Knight In Shining Armor

Five hours.

Five long hours.

That's how long you had been stuck in a room with dozens of other terrified omegas. That's how long it had been since the league broke into the college you were visiting and kidnapped a bunch of people. Students, faculty, visitors. You were all the same now, omegas shoved into a small, dark room, waiting for whatever would happen next. You weren't exactly sure what was being planned but you knew it couldn't be good. You had recognized several different League of Villain members. 

The door opened up and in walked Dabi. The pyromaniac who looked like he spent way too long in a sun tanning booth. His eyes scanned over the group of you before he stopped at the front of the room. "YN." He called out your name, causing your pulse to race. Why on earth were you singled out? He made eye contact with you, his piercing blue eyes staring down into your soul. "Come here" He ordered. You felt yourself slowly move forward, unable to really feel your legs beneath you as fear ran through your body. 

"The rest of you will follow Kurogiri and Compress out to another location. Your families are all coming for you." He watched the other two villains lead everyone out before grinning, bringing a hand onto your shoulder. "You, however, are so much less fortunate. You see we kidnapped you all to entice the heroes to come and play with us, but I figured we may as well get something else out of holding you all here. So, we send ransom letters out to everyone's family. It is a college known for the powerful and wealthy to go. However, you don't attend the school, do you?" He grinned as he let go of your shoulder and began circling around you. "You had no records. The only thing we could find was an application to be an apprentice to the school's healer. You have a decently impressive resume. Graduated top of your class both in Highschool and college. Lots of volunteer work. I imagine you could have had any position you wanted. Unfortunately, you have no record of any family history. No parents, siblings, uncles, nothing. No social media presence to speak of. If it weren't for your resume and public records, we'd have had no idea who you were. It's a shame that your hard work is all going to go to waste all because you're unwanted."

You narrowed your eyes and reached out to slap him, the offensive comment causing you to be a lot bolder than you'd ever been before. Before you could make the connection, he caught your hand. A sadistic grin spread over his face as he tightened his hand, crushing yours beneath his. You screamed out in pain, yanking your hand back to cradle against your chest as he released you. 

"Try that again and you'll wish you hadn't. The heat houses have plenty of healers that will put you back together once I'm finished with you." His grin widened as he saw the look of horror wash over your face. "Did your situation finally sink in? No one is going to come searching for you. No one knows your here." He stepped closer, running a hand down your cheek. "Maybe I'll just keep you instead. Keep you as my little toy, my plaything." You squeezed your eyes closed, begging for all of this to be over, for it to have been a terrible dream that you could wake up from. 

He took a step away from you and you felt your body relax ever so slightly. "Oh you're going to be a fun little thing to break." Dabi smirked before looking over as Mr. Compress walked back into the room. He was a bit less threatening as Dabi was, being a beta who was a bit smaller than the alpha who had been threatening you. Dabi walked over to him and the two spoke in hushed tones. "Alright little Omega, my friend here is going to make sure you get hidden away for me to have my fun with. I'll be back for you soon." He winked before making his exit. 

Alright this was your chance. You could do this. The door was not too far away from you. If you ran fast enough there was a chance you'd be able to make it through before Mr. Compress got ahold of you. You would just need to wait for the right moment. You watched as the villain came closer to you. You knew what his quirk was, anyone with a half decent television would have known all about the different LOV members. There was no doubt that Dabi was going to have Compress put you in one of his strange marbles before relocating you. You couldn't let him get his hands on you, but you'd use his attempt to catch him off guard. 

Just as you'd predicted he reached for you. You waited until he was moments away from contact before grabbing his arm and using his own momentum to send him into the wall. It caught him off guard. Clearly he wasn't used to civilians, especially omegan civilians, fighting back against him. It was perfect. You bolted for the door, going as fast as possible. 

It was a short-lived victory. You should have known the villains would be too smart to leave a hostage alone with only one other person to guard them. There were two other guards right outside of the door. That was it. This was your only shot at escape and it was already over before you could really even try. You heard Mr Compress groan as he got up and came back over to you. "Don't make this difficult." He spoke as he reached out for you again. This was the end. Game over. There was no hope for your escape now.

[nuravity]

Kugo Sakamata: ♘🔪

Send me a symbol and I’ll try my hand at writing YOUR muse in that situation.

♘: Traveling, preparing to go somewhere, arriving in a new place

🔪: Fighting, killing someone or something, being violent

The ride out of Musutafu was really tiring in itself so that by the time he had to go to the village by foot, he had gotten a good night's rest.

And now he was on his way for about 10-15 minutes towards the village he was supposed to stay at (as a bodyguard for the wise Elder who had been threatened with anonymous letters).

Soon Gang Orca noticed the small cottages in the distance and he quickened his steps...before hearing something behind him although a human ear wouldn't have been able to pick up the sound. He turned. "Trying to sneak up on me?" he bellowed before he unleashed echowaves at a seemingly harmless tree with bushes around it.

The leaves fell off from the impact and a rather lanky man was pressed to the bark. The villainous looking hero stopped his attack and approached the man. "Are you the one who's been threatening the Elder?" he growled but he saw the man move his hand to throw something - explosives, or maybe something relating to his quirk? Whatever it was, Orca's hand slammed the hand above his head, keeping it in an iron grip. "I wouldn't try that if I were you!" he growled before suddenly howling him over his shoulder and continuing his way into the village.

Hopefully, this was their villain.

[infinitymyth]

Part one

Hero chuckled as he read the letter for the fourth time.

The man standing at the doorway wringing his hands at what hero was going to do.. or more likely say next.

“come.” Hero demanded, not looking up from the papers sent to him by villain.

The messenger scrambled tripping over his two feet.

“Burn this shit,” hero said, handing the male the papers. “once their burned, bring me the ashes.”

The messenger nodded and ran out the room, the door slamming behind him. Hero sighed as he grabbed a piece of paper and a pen from his drawer.

Setting them on the desk he began writing.

I’m flattered that you wrote me a letter, darling. I’m honored to know you missed me.

And I’m amused by your attempts to scare me and I’m honored to know that your going to do the exact same thing you said you weren’t going to do..

Didn’t YOU say “ I’m never going to be like you!”

That time you were tied up to my chair. A collar with MY name around YOUR neck. My toture showing all over your delicate body.

My name carved into your very hipbone.. I bet it’s still there.

Anyways, I’ll be waiting for you hun. I’ll be exactly where you want me to be.. but don’t think that your going to have your way.

I won’t wish I was dead. I won’t ask for you to kill me.. I think it will be the very opposite.

You want to hurt me physically. And I understand what you want.

But I.. I want to hurt you emotionally. I don’t have to lay not one finger on you to break you.

I want you to feel the pain of a broken limb without the whispers of my hands across your body.

I want to break and remodel you. Last time you were my pet. You were my kitten, my pup my little mouse..

But you retaliated and ran away. Your an invasive species and I really don’t like hurting the earth, villain.

This time you’ll be mine. You’ll be something I own, and eventually,

Your gonna like it.

I bet this letter has you scared, huh…? Keep in mind that I haven’t seen it touched you and your already scared.

- sincerely hero.

A timid knock was sounded on the door. The messenger walking in with a small bottle of ashes.

Hero chuckled, wrapping the string into one of the holes of the paper. “ give this to him tomorrow. I wanna see his reaction when he tries to guess what those ashes are.”

[versadies]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* YOU HAVE RECEIVED A LETTER, LET’S SEE WHAT’S INSIDE! *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

salutations: fairytale (villain!au, sagau)

addressed to: diluc

content: spoilers to diluc’s story quest, heavy religious themes, violence, burnt injuries, imposter character, angst/no-fluff

post-script: it’s up to you on whether or not this is connected to my previous sagau fics. for now, enjoy !

sagau navigation

when diluc heard the divine imposter creator saying how there’s an imposter who has an intent to kill them, he did not hesitate to start hunting for them.

sure the three archons had a head-start in hunting for the imposter, but that doesn’t mean they had found them already. if the man is lucky enough, maybe the imposter could be somewhere around the nation of freedom if they were that desperate to kill his creator.

and how lucky he was to find the imposter walking around in brightcrown canyon.

how bold of them to walk around acting like they’re not planning to kill his creator.

the man gripped his claymore tightly from the sight of the imposter alone, his thoughts starting to grow darker and darker about what he’s going to do with them.

he’ll make sure his beloved creator will finally be at peace knowing that the threat has been removed by theirs truly.

as he stalked towards you, you immediately heard his footsteps, causing you to turn around to his direction like what a prey does when noticing a predator’s presence.

“…diluc?” you called out, eyes widening in shock from the sight of the familiar figure of the darknight hero. “what are you do— AH!”

the man furrowed his eyebrows when you dodged his phoenix, watching as you look at the man in betrayal, something he mistaken as fear instead.

you won’t be able to miss the second time, he thought to himself as he began to run after you.

diluc has to admit, you’re difficult to chase after - but he’s getting tired of this cat and mouse chase. the sooner he can catch you, he can be able to come back to his dear creator with the head of teyvat’s most wanted person.

how long has it been since he started chasing you? he honestly lost count, distracted by his bloodlust to kill you in the name of the divine creator.

“give me their head,” his divine creator said with the sweetest smile as everyone stood still from their request. “and i’ll make sure the person will be my consort. my only consort.”

he’ll be damned if he won’t become their consort.

“diluc please! why are you chasing me?!” you screamed your lungs out as you continue to run away from the now madman, making sure to dodge every of his flames with the best you can.

you knew it won’t be long before you lose your stamina - and there’s no way in celestia will you be killed in the hands of a delusional character that you once grew fond of.

“you dare act like you have no knowledge on what you’re doing?!” diluc said in anger, feeling intense heat from the handle of his claymore. “everywhere you go, we’ll make sure you won’t be treated lightly — not when you’ve threatened our beloved creator!”

“i’m telling you the truth! i don’t know what you’re talking about!” you yelled, letting out a gasp when you tripped from a branch you failed to see moments before, causing you to fall on the grass.

shit.

diluc saw his chance to finally summon another phoenix, cueing him to swing his claymore and send a phoenix to your direction as you try to stand up.

you tried to dodge again, but you were too late as the flames went pass to you and burn your whole back, causing you to scream out in pain and fall back to the ground on your knees.

what have you done to be treated this way? you thought to yourself, breathing heavily from the intense pain on your back. you need to move now! you need to ignore the pain and—

you cried once again when you felt diluc’s boot on your burnt back, clenching your hands into fists from the pain you received. make it stop, make it stop, MAKE IT STOP

“it’s about time you give up.” he spat out, slowly raising his claymore upwards as your vision began to blur from your tears. i’m sorry, i’m sorry, please leave me alone

you slowly exhaled, closing your eyes in defeat. perhaps you weren’t meant to be in this world nor in your home.

just when you thought you were going to die, you felt the weight on your back lifted.

…?

you hesitantly tried to look at the red-haired man, only to see him staring at you as though you have two heads.

why.. why are you bleeding gold? diluc thought to himself in horror, paying no mind to your confused gaze at him. what is the meaning of this?

he drops his claymore, slowly backing away from your weakened body.

it can’t be.

“y..your grace?” he whispered shakily, his hand slowly reaching out to you, only for his heart to ache when you retreated from his hand coming closer to you, watching you slowly backing away in fear.

“i’m… i’m sorry, please let me make it u—” without letting the man finish his words, you didn’t hesitate to stand up and run away, not bothering to look back once.

diluc watched as you ran away until your figure disappeared in his view, his eyes growing dull in realization.

he failed his true creator.

[steelandscience]

ok hear me out

What if Jayce and Viktor weren’t ACTUALLY rivals… they just pretend to be for the public.

It started out when Jayce came to Viktor with a snag in his hextech research. Viktor was happy to help— especially because he needed Jayce’s eyes on a new metal hand design he was working on, and he knows Jayce’s mom has prosthetic fingers.

But the public wants them to be rivals, so they decide why not? It gives them more of an excuse to see each other.

They start to send little love letters planning their next stunt. They sneak out to meet each other in order to design special effects equipment in the labs late at night so they can fake explosions and smoke and stuff. They have to wear disguises to go over to each others’ places (Jayce prefers fake moustaches and Viktor likes the excuse to wear fancy Piltover clothes Jayce bought him). Their speeches are so loud and dramatic because they are both drama queens and like to make a scene with villain / hero monologues that they’ve workshopped together over wine. They like to compete to see who gets the most followers. (“You make have some posters,” Viktor teases Jayce one night, “but I have a whole cult.” Jayce smirks and hits his shoulder. “So you haven’t heard about my parade then, yet?”)

It keeps the bills paid, you know? Everyone in Piltover is thrilled to donate to the hero stopping That Evil Robot Man in the undercity. Meanwhile everyone in Zaun will gladly fund Viktor to hurt Piltover in any way he can (and of course because he creates the best prosthetics and biotech around for injured mine and factory workers). They split the earnings so that they can keep doing their research together, and they can fund their own projects.

And so help them if ANYONE touches the other person… they loudly proclaim they are each other’s mortal enemies, and that they will be the one to kill the other person, because suddenly it means that the other is “off the market” so to speak. No point in threatening someone else’s mortal enemy. That’s just bad manners, everyone knows that.

(“I’ll kill you before you touch another person,” Jayce roars, narrowly missing Viktor. “I didn’t know the Defender of Tomorrow was so hell bent on destroying the world around him,” Viktor shouts back, allowing the hex claw to send a laser at Jayce’s feet. But while they make dinner together they apologize, of course, even though they know the other didn’t mean it. Jayce helps Viktor mend his leg— Jayce always was better at soldering— and Viktor mends the singe marks in Jayce’s suit jacket, embroidering them with a little V just for Jayce to see in private. The best kind of aftercare follows a fake fight to the death, and they both know it.)

It’s all very tragic and exciting to the public… old research partners turned rivals. Brothers who want the other’s blood. Ex-husbands now out to kill each other because the other one strayed too far from their moral compass. It sells better than any of the plays topside or in the undercity.

Only Caitlyn knows they’ve never signed the divorce papers.

[recklessfiction]

Okay so the three story ideas I have are these:

The first is the one I did for Nanowrimo this year. A corpse gets brought back to life against its will and spends the novel searching for the scumbag that brought it back so that it can die again and be at peace. Its been a little finicky to work out, it would probably be something of an urban fantasy. Definitely the antagonist would be the wizard that brought the corpse back to life, though for what reason I'm not sure yet. There's an idea that he resurrected it for someone else, paid to so that the corpse would then act in a servant role kind of. The only problem being that the job was botched so the corpse isn't a zombie but a revenant with retained memories and personality. I'm definitely thinking a Courier Six chasing Benny across the Mohave vibe but the wizard will be a lot more of a Villain.

The next story is one I've also mentioned. A story set in the Regency era where a swindler, very much a Mr. Wickham character, tries to con a rich family by wooing one of their many daughters. As it turns out, the entire family, the head matriarch included, are all cosmically horrifying beings. Our unfortunate, piece of shit protagonist discovers this but only too late as the eldest "daughter" and heir to some unknowable, twisting, sprawling throne at the edges of the galaxy, has already fallen deeply in love with him. I have thoughts about this one, that the dude is traveling around after his latest scheme and he hears about this really very strange noble family a few towns over. They have 8 daughters and the mother is a widow. No one has ever seen the faces of the women before as they all wear long veils with bizarre embroidered patterns. They really are very odd but, someone mentions, they can afford to be. The moment our boy hears how rich they are, he's already gone and his fate sealed. Its during his "confession of love" to the eldest that she reveals her true form to him and man when I tell you he's out of that house, he is GONE. I just need to decide if the family pursues him under the false idea that he's just a little frightened. B/c they all believe he's also in love with her, and if she can just remind him of that well there you go. But he KNOWS he's in too deep.

The last one I got the idea for the moment I saw that fucking Jason Mamoa is in a new children's netflix movie called Slumberland as THIS fucking untrustworthy looking motherfucker:

Look at this hot topic ass motherfucker, I'm so excited.

Anyway, its kind of a guilty pleasure idea. A love letter to my younger self. Its a Narnia book for adults, a down the rabbit hole kind of book. A dude is babysitting his niece who gets taken to another world, very standard, she's the hero, very brave, lovely child. While she's gone, the uncle is freaking the fuck out b/c he's lost his niece, until the girl's "guide" (think peter pan, the tin man/cowardly lion/scarecrow, Skullduggery Pleasant, that trope of character) appears in the house. The uncle goes fucking nuts, believing this dude kidnapped his niece and he just starts beating the shit out of this friendly magical wizard until the guy is like "she's in trouble I'll take you to her" before disappearing into the closet. Without much choice, the uncle follows him in and ends up in this pleasantly magical yet nefarious world of wonder. He has to save his niece so that she can save the world etc. Its rejecting the idea that kids have to take on these HUGE responsibilities as they age and become independent. Narnia sends its kids to war, Alice in Wonderland threatens its kid with death, as do most other western isekai stories. That's all great and exciting for kids to read but as an adult now, I'm more interested in letting kids be kids for as long as possible. Giving them independence, letting them save the world, but giving them the safety of a net to catch them if they fall or if things get too heavy. Also as an adult, I want to revisit those magical worlds I built as a child. Not the edgy ones of my teen years where everything was dark and evil, but where there was wonder and joy and an undercurrent of evil beneath all the pretty.

So those are my three story ideas I'm very slowly developing and I love each of them very much!

[padawanlost]

I have a couple of questions about Karen Miller/Traviss (are they the same person?) who wrote the Clone Wars novels. Are they still considered canon? Also, I heard that Karen Traviss was abused online or something, was that over her Star Wars novels? Really, I mean that just takes toxicity to a new level.

This is a hot topic but one that desperately needs to be explored because to this day people are still spreading misinformation about that happen as a way to ‘defend’ their points. So, here we go:

Karen Miller and Karen Traviss are not the same person.

Karen miller wrote novels like  The Clone Wars: Wild Space and the Clone Wars Gambit series.

Karen Travis wrote novels like The Clone Wars movie novelization and the Republic Command Series.

Both, in my opinion, are very talented writers but both also suffered thanks to sexiest and overzealous fans. There are many reason why they became ‘infamous’ but the main reason is their political stance. They both had a lot of sympathy for the clones and the enslaves citizens of the GFFA, and both were not shy about calling out the Jedi Order and the Senate for their inaction. Of course, jedi stans hated them. To add insult to injury, Karen Traviss was the writer who ‘killed’ Mara Jade (btw, this wasn’t her idea but she’s still hated for it).

Karen Miller ‘crimes’:

Her biggest ‘offense’ was being mistaken by Karen Traviss (more on that later). Beyond that all she did was write Anidala and portraying Anakin and Obi-wan as good but flawed people. This is the kind of stuff she wrote:

“Coruscant was out there. Padmé was out there. There was a heart in his chest, beating, but it was only an echo. She was his true heart. She was his home.”  - Karen Miller’s Clone Wars Gambit: Siege

“He saw himself a candle. He saw himself behind a wall. Brick by brick he tried to raise it. Brick by brick, it was destroyed. Every death was a hammer blow. Every loss a chisel. The Sith were a wily foe, they knew where and when to strike. They were drawn to weak places, to old griefs and unhealed wounds.” - Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space

To weep for a fallen comrade was to display unseemly attachment. A Jedi did not become attached to people, to things, to places, to any world or its inhabitants. A Jedi’s strength was fed by serenity. By distance. By loving impersonally. Karen Miller. The Clone Wars: Wild Space

Nothing particularly edgy or offensive. Imo, she’s one the best prequel writes in the game.

Karen Traviss ‘crimes’:

Beyond killing Mara Jade, she’s known for being critical of the Jedi and Republic and advocating for clone wars. She supported the highly offensive and controversial idea that clones were human being who deserved the freedom. She also believed that love (romantic or platonic), family and friends were not inherently evil and that Order made mistake by banning them.

Karen Trraviss is also know for writing so much of what we know of Mandalorian culture and she struck a nerve that too.

She wrote things like:

“The only thing [the clones] all had in common was their appearance—although they were starting to age differently, she could see that now—and what the Republic had done to them. Apart from that, they were individuals with the full range of virtues and habits of random humankind, and she now felt completely at home with them. If she had a side in this war, this was the one she chose: the disenfranchised, unreasonably loyal, heartbreakingly stoic ranks of manufactured men who deserved better.”  Star Wars - Republic Commando: True Colors by Karen Traviss

Serenity, my backside. Passion. Passion and anger and love. That’s what this galaxy needs, not serenity. Passion for change. Anger at this brutality. Love-buckets of it, for everyone, love between child and parent, between spouses, between brothers and sisters, between friends. We need more attachment, not less. Attachment can stop us from tearing ourselves apart. The Clone Wars: No Prisoners by Karen Traviss

He wanted to ask her why only a handful of Jedi objected to a slave army, and why they could claim to believe in the sanctity of all life and yet treat some life as being exempt from that respect. [REPUBLIC COMMANDO: TRUE COLORS BY KAREN TRAVISS[

Fandom (over)reaction:

Because of her ‘polemic’ takes, she started getting a lot of hate from the fandom. She used to interact with the fandom and her reward was to get constant death and rape threats. Some fans threatened her with ‘corrective rape’ to change her mind about the Jedi Order and other topics. Apparently, she responded by calling these fans ‘talifans’.

And the fans used that reaction to further vilify her. she was accused of hating the Jedi Order, of favoring Mandalore over them, getting the size of the clone army wrong, of ruining the OT by killing Mara Jade and now, of attacking fans. She was basically bullied out of the franchise.

However, her depictions of Clones and Mandalorians as heroes, while portraying the Jedi as petty or villainous, frustrated some fans, who felt that her stories and characters were counter to Star Wars. These fans wrote negative reviews of her books, and created a petition to George Lucas to stop Traviss from writing further Star Wars books. Traviss also received rape and death threats. Traviss wrote about these experiences on her blog, attacking the fans who created the petition, and likening them to Muslim extremists by calling them "Talifans." Traviss ultimately retired from Star Wars writing due to the threats she received.  [x]

It got to point where she had to write an open letter to the fandom explaining she DIDN’T hate the Jedi Order, she just didn’t believe things like war crimes and slavery should be so easily overlooked.

“No sane human can hate someone who doesn’t actually exist. From a writer’s perspective, the more super-powers characters acquire, the harder it is to develop logical story arcs and true human drama…but I don’t have any real feelings about fictional characters that stay with me once I step out of character-point-of-view-writing mode and get on with my life […] My real problem, then, is not with fictional Jedi, but with the people who refuse to believe they can do wrong. – Karen traviss [x]

If you want to know more about this, check this out :)

Now, back to Karen Miller

A few years ago, a popular sw tumblr tried to discredit Traviss writing by spreading the info that  she was a sexualizing Ahsoka with Bail so people started hating her for that too. Thing is, Karen Miller was the one accused of doing that but here is the deal:

Neither Karens ever wrote Ahsoka interacting with Bail Orgarna. What actually happened was that someone wrote a fic about Bail sexualizing Ahsoka on fanfiction.net, someone read it and decided the writing style was similar to Karen Miller’s so OF COURSE it must be Karen Miller who wrote the fanfic. Thanks to that genius level of deductive work, over the time people started saying that Karen Traviss wrote about Bail wanting to fuck Ahsoka as extra proof that SHE IS EVIL and should not be taken seriously.

Conclusion

Regardless of what you feel about someone writing, it’s NEVER okay to send them rape or death threats. Never! unfortunately, some hardcore jedi stans still spread the ‘karen traviss was attacking us’ without explaining exactly transpired between her and the fandom. According to their narrative, she was the *only* one in the wrong. That’s why there’s so much misinformation about her and what truly happened online.

My take on this ‘controversy’ is very simple: stop sending rape and death threats to women. I don’t care if you agree with her or not. The moment you believe a women *deserve* to be rape or killed, or support those who do, you lose any more ground you might think have. The situation becomes even more dire if it’s done to protect FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. 🤦‍♀️ I swear...this fandom....

[daydreamed-snippets]

TW: Graves. Claustrophobia. Panic Attacks

The first thing the hero was aware of was the sound of their own breathing. 

Measured, shallow, slowly inhaling, and exhaling in the quiet. They breathed in, noting that they were on their stomach and that their ribs expanded unencumbered. Good. That meant there weren’t any ropes securing their arms to their body. That was a small victory in itself.

Still, sound was of little consequence to the hero if they couldn’t see anything. Their power depended on sight, on the ability to stare down a target, and the dilation of irises to push illusions into the target’s mind. With no light and no line of sight, the hero was effectively powerless. Left with a handful of acrobatic tricks, and the uncanny ability to run like hell when things got too hairy. 

Use what you got. 

They could almost hear their cousin’s voice in their head, berating them with that parental tone they carry. You call yourself a hero, for godssake, you can’t always rely on your powers. Improvise.

So the hero curled their fingers against the floor, fingernails scraping across the wood. Ok, maybe they were in a closet, or a crate, or box of some kind. The air was stale, unmoving, and humid. The darkness was oppressive not even the faintest sliver of light to be seen. Defiantly more of a crate than a closet, or else, they surmised, they would be able to see the seam of the door. And the air would be cleaner.

They guessed the supervillain didn’t think them a threat in total darkness, powerless and dazed. Not when the hero was stupid enough to underestimate them as they did. Sneaking into their compound, the hero assumed the element of surprise was on their side. All they had to do was find the server room, and plug in a drive that carried a virus strong enough to crash the supervillain’s whole system. Wiping out the computer’s memory completely. Just slip in and out without anyone knowing. Even if they were caught, they had reasoned arrogantly, all they needed to do was ensnare the supervillain’s gaze, trapping them in a hellish landscape.

They couldn’t realize it then but it was a stupid and reckless idea. They didn’t account for the level of security they encountered in the compound, nor how quickly and how many henchmen showed up when the alarm was tripped. They certainly hadn’t planned much of an exit strategy. The hero just saw red when it came to the supervillain. And when they became surrounded they knew it was impossible to hold everyone’s gaze. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

So the supervillain threw them in a box to rot… or to torture later. 

They tried not to let that crowd their mind as they moved on to other observations, letting out a long, sharp breath through their teeth, frustration evident. But they couldn’t shake the thought that this showed just how green they were to the field of heroics. Only a novice when you looked at the big picture, what an idiotic kid caught up in the…

That trail of thought stopped when they felt their breath blow back on their face like they were mere inches from something. Air caught in their throat. Suddenly they were keenly aware of a consistent rising and falling beneath them that they didn’t notice before. Something solid and soft and nice. They were on someone; their face planted in the crook of a neck. 

The person moved and the pleasantness of warm skin brushed against their nose. 

“Try not to move too much,” the person said, strong fingers tracing up their side in a tantalizing touch. 

A transient moment washed over the hero. Their body going instantly ridged like a deer caught in headlights. Flattening their palms on what they imagined was either side of the person’s head, the hero shot upwards rising several inches before they butted their head against a wooden ceiling. 

“What the hell?!”

“I did say try not to move too much,” the voice came again, the inflection rich, vibrant, and horrifyingly familiar. “Steady your breathing. In my estimation, we don’t have much oxygen left.”

No. 

Gods no. 

They remembered that voice all too well. It often called to them in the catacombs of the city’s slums, laughing when they stumbled over their own budding abilities. Teased when the hero was forced to retreat. Mocked them for shivering under the villain’s frigid powers, like a little whelp left out in the cold, they would say. 

The villain had said a lot of things to them amid battle in a voice as slick and as icy as their capabilities. 

“Wh-what is this? What’s going on?” Arms shaking, the hero forced themselves to perform an awkward plank, elbows bent, rising on their toes so that their body wasn’t touching the villain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” came the courtly reply, and the hero could imagine a sardonic smile play across the villain’s lips. “We’ve been buried alive together.”

Blood drained from their face at those words. No wonder the air felt stagnant and hot. No wonder their breath was shallow, quickly becoming labored. It felt like a weight slammed into their heart and their stomach flopped, threatening to overturn. 

“No. No,” they gasped, unable to catch their breath. “H-how do you know?”

“You’re a heavy sleeper, do you know that?” The villain asked it like it was the most curious thing at the moment. “I woke up shortly after they lowered this makeshift coffin into the ground. I could hear them toss dirt onto it. Luckily this wood is flimsy enough. I managed to put a small hole in the lid with my shoe before you roused.”

Oh.

They just bumped their head on the lid of the coffin they were buried in. 

They just bumped their head on the lid of the coffin they were buried in. 

The villain’s words soaked into their soul, stirring up an unknown and until now dormant phobia. They were buried alive with the villain with no way out, and only minutes of oxygen left. Seconds even. They could feel the CO2 building up, stifling their lungs. Walls pressing in on them. This coffin wasn’t meant for two people, it wasn’t big enough, there wasn’t enough room.

It can’t end like this. 

The hero had only taken the Covenant’s oath months ago. They weren’t really supposed to be an official hero yet. Their request to be recognized as one was a desperate attempt to stop the supervillain’s rampant crime spree in a part of the city the Commissioner didn’t give a shit about. Their training had been pushed off, their commencement a letter in the mail. They hadn’t even stepped foot on the top level of the city yet.

They need to get out. 

 “No, no, no, no, no, no. This can’t—” they rasped, choking.

“I did not say that to make you panic, little gorgon,” the villain said, taunting and saccharine and smooth. Why so smooth? They were going to die here too, didn’t they see that? “Pattern your breathing. You will use up more oxygen if you panic.”

How could the villain be so damn calm? Both of them were in over their heads. Literally. This was it. The hero would die here, in the arms of their enemy no less.

They couldn’t get a breath.

“What are you doing?” the villain asked, perceiving the hero’s rising panic as they dropped their head, forehead pressed against the villain’s chest.

“I can’t, I can’t breathe! It’s too—I can’t—”

“Yes you can, settle your nerves. You’re hyperventilating and that will use up all of our oxygen before we have a chance to think. Listen to the sound of my voice. Breathe when I do.”

No, they couldn’t. It was too hot. They were sweating. Burning up. They were in the pit of hell and there was no possible way they could force air into their lungs. They were going to vomit and suffocate, their descent into death was going to be painful. 

Their hands flew to their collar, pulling frantically at the material that hung around their neck. It was constricting. Tightening like a snake. Moving to strangle them. The hero’s elbows dug into the villain’s sides, earning a swift groan.

“You need to listen to me,” the villain said, but they didn’t. They couldn’t. They needed to get some air, they needed to get their shirt off. They were going to die if they didn’t. They clawed at the fabric, ripping it. It was too hot. It was— 

“I’m going to touch you now.”

Deliciously cold hands skimmed over the base of their neck, pushing back their shirt so skin met skin. A gentle grip pulled the hero’s head up, exposing their throat, sending the hero’s hand skittering away tasked again with the job of holding themselves up. The villain blew out a brisk wind, and the temperature cooled in the coffin considerably. The hero no longer wanted to scratch at their uniform. 

“Lay your hand flat against my chest,” the villain commanded. “Put your weight on me.” 

“What? No…”

“Just do it,” their voice held a different kind of ice to it. The mocking tone is gone. “Trust me for once. Our lives depend on it.”

The hero complied. 

“Marvelous,” the villain murmured. “Now, inhale when you feel my chest rise. Exhale when I do.”

Beneath their palm, the hero could feel the quickened beats of the villain’s heart, contrary to their serene words. They were anxious too, but the villain still kept their breath steady. Their heartbeat being the only tell that anything was amiss. For some reason that made the hero feel better, and they relaxed a bit.

“Hearken to my voice. Breathe in through your nose, fill your lungs until you can’t inhale anymore. Hold it as I do,” the villain said, demonstrating. “Then let it out through parted lips.” 

The hero acquiesced. 

When the villain took a deep breath, the hero mimicked it. When the villain exhaled, the hero did the same. They attuned themselves to the villain, resonated with them. Pushing everything out of their mind except for their placement on the body beneath them. The villain might as well have been a beacon of light in the darkness of that coffin. It blinded the hero as if they could see, brows furrowing at the villain’s nearness, eyes tightly shut. Obeying their voice, focusing on them until there was nothing outside of that sole moment. They became too aware. The villain couldn’t move a muscle without the hero being painfully attentive to how broad their shoulders were, how their ribs flared out, and how their waist tapered to narrow hips. They smelled like sweat and dirt, and some strong earthy soap. Intoxicating. 

Slowly, they guided the hero’s head back to their neck. The two resting comfortably as they did before. “You’re doing lovely. That’s right. Nice even breaths,” they praised, hands leaving the hero’s neck to stroke long fingers through their hair, driving shivers down their spine with a gentle touch. “Can you talk now?”

The hero’s heart ricocheted. They fought once again to get it under control. They hesitantly said, “yes.”

“What were you doing in the supervillain’s compound?”

“How did you?” the hero swallowed, breathing quickening. A cool hand was at the nape of their neck again, calming them. “How did you know I was there?”

They felt them smile against their forehead. “I had my suspicions, unconfirmed as they were, but the way your breathing has changed just now is telling me everything I need to know. Maybe we should do this more often. Cuddle, I mean. I may just uncover all of your secrets this way.”

The hero was silent. They didn’t trust any reply they gave not to have a squeak in it.

“It was a joke,” the villain said, ambivalent, conveying anything but. “You’ll have to admit this brings new meaning to ‘lying with the enemy’.”

They licked their lips, voice horse. “It’s sleeping,” the hero said in a whisper earning a questioning hum from the villain. “It’s sleeping with the enemy.”

“Now there’s a thought.”

Hating the blush that crept up to their neck, the hero decided it was wise to go back to the question at hand. “I, uh, broke into the supervillain’s compound. I tried to upload a virus to their computer. It didn’t work. I was caught. I ended up here.” Duh, the last part was a no-brainer. Their mind stumbled on. “How, umm, why did the supervillain put you in here? I thought you worked together.”

“We did, but we disagreed on certain matters,” they said in a careful voice. This was the first time the hero was aware of it. They shift their head, wanting more. Obligingly, the villain continued. “I assume you found out that the supervillain has been experimenting on the people in the slums as I did. That part of the compound was hidden away from me. I had no idea how many bodies the supervillain had piled up back there. My discovery angered them, and I can only assume their best revenge was to bury me in here with you.” The villain shifted, getting comfortable. “Perchance they thought we’d kill each other in here. It would have been an effective torture.”

“Why didn’t you kill me? You said that you were awake before me. Why not strangle me in my sleep?”

“I needed you alive, little gorgon, not even I can escape this tomb alone.” The villain’s hands came back, stroking as they went. “And I wanted you to trust me. I know our past is...complex, but it doesn’t have to be like that. We can start anew if you want to do that.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I imagine you want to live, no?” The light teasing in their voice was back. “Well then, we must move now.” The petting stopped, and the hero missed it, much to their chagrin. They shouldn’t get used to this. The villain was still the villain after all. Even though they did help them calm down, diverting a catastrophe. 

The hero could feel the villain tense beneath them as they reached up towards the coffin’s lid and pushed. “We are going to punch and kick our way through the top of the coffin. As I said, I couldn’t do much on my own with your body weighing me down, but if you work with me, we may be able to break the lid.”

“How?”

“You’ll turn around in a moment, and push your legs upward when I kick. We’ll both lift the lid once it starts separating from the rest of the coffin. That’s step two. Once the top of the coffin breaks, the soil will start pouring in. We will need to push the dirt down to our feet. More will pour in and we will do the same with it until this coffin is full and you can sit up. Since it’s a newly filled grave, the dirt hasn’t had time to settle and harden. It will be strenuous, hero, but feasible.” 

The villain paused. “I am going to unzip your outfit,” they said after a moment. Chilly gradually brushed down towards their chest fumbling with the location of the hero’s zipper. “Lift up for me.” The hero found that they obeyed almost immediately. They stopped themselves midway.

“Why?”

“This is step one. We will need to cover our faces with our clothing so we don’t suffocate while attempting to rise from this grave,” the villain explained, calmly, like it was a simple thing. Except the hero was wearing a jumpsuit. An onesie. Not Covenant issued, but something similar. Their cousin and some neighbors pulled their money together and had gotten the hero an upgrade when they had received the commencement letter. They were ecstatic at the time. Now they regretted it. Nevertheless, the villain’s fingers made deft work, drawing the uniform from the hero’s shoulders and shimming the one-piece down their legs, allowing the hero to kick out of it. 

“Now do the same to me.” 

Luckily the villain wore a simple jacket, with a side zipper and a light shirt underneath. The hero didn’t have to fumble much in the dark, though they did have to scoot down, back scrapping against the top as their chin rested on the villain’s stomach just to get the jacket off. With how cold the villain's hands were, it was a wonder they weren’t making comments about how hot the hero’s face was. The hero was sure they were entirely red by now.

Pushing that out of their mind the hero grabbed their abandoned uniform and placed it in the hands of the villain who wrapped it around the hero's face. The hero did the same with the jacket to the villain.

“You’re going to turn, and on the count of three we are going to kick,” the villain said loudly, voice muffled. The hero turned and braced their legs against the lid. Counting in their ear, the villain brought their legs up against the lid. Again and again and again until the wood split, and dirt tumbled in. The hero worked to push most of it down. They punched the lid, channeling their anxiety and their anger into their fists, hands breaking on the wood, blood flowing from cracked knuckles. Hands on their back pushed them, and the hero wrestled to sit up, fighting against the weight of the dirt. Fighting to cheat death. The claustrophobia was almost too much to bear, any moment feeling like they would succumb again.

They broke the surface. 

Clawing at the ground they lifted themselves out with the last of their strength, ripping their uniform from their face, collapsing on the ground mere feet from the grave. The villain followed soon after, comparable to a zombie from a crypt. For a long while neither budged, breathing deeply, staring at the morning sky. 

But soon somebody did move. They were always the first to move. This time, crawling over to the hero, wildly panting. The villain was covered in dirt, hair mused and blood dripping from cuts on their legs—but their eyes. Those eyes were iced, intense, dissecting the hero’s alive. 

With a fright, the hero realized that their mask was removed when they yanked off their uniform. They were exposed, identity laid bare, and in nothing but their undergarments no less. They turned their head, hiding their face in shadows cast by the dawn.

Tsking, the villain’s cold hand shot out, seizing their chin, maneuvering their head the way they please so that their face was turned towards dayspring. “None of that. Not when we’ve been so intimately acquainted,” they said, a honeyed inflection. “Now I get to see the face behind the mask.” They smiled, admiring how the hero’s eyes widened in fright. “I didn’t expect you to be so fetching for a vagrant playing the hero. You always did run away whenever our battles went poorly for you. I’ve never gotten a glimpse before.” 

Drawing themselves up to their knees, the villain loomed over them, bringing both hands to cup their face. Something in their eyes gave the hero chills, all instances of compassion and kindness gone. Replaced by a sick kind of affection. 

Improvise!

Defiantly, the hero raised their chin, staring bolding at the villain’s eyes, willing their powers to trap the bastard in a nightmare. To keep them from doing whatever it was that swept through their villainous mind. 

But nothing happened. They were too weak to call upon their power. Shaking, exhausted, both hands laid useless at their side, crippled. The pain of their knuckles screamed at them, needing attention, needing an outlet. The hero mewled feebly, a single tear streaking down their cheek as the villain’s hand wrapping around the hero’s nose and mouth. They clamped down cutting off the hero’s air supply.

“While I would love to say it’s nothing personal,” the villain said quelling the hero’s jolts and jerks as the latter’s eyes drifted closed after a violent struggle, body going lax in their hands. “That wouldn’t be the least bit true, would it?” 

Scooping the hero in a bridal style, mindful of their broken hands, the villain looked towards the skyline, chuckling. “I’ve had my eye on you since you started sniffing around into our little operation, gorgon. Though the method could have been different, it was nice of the supervillain to drop you in my lap so to speak. And I’m not one to waste this golden opportunity to take you to my lab and slice you up bit by bit. I will make sure to take detailed notes. I’ve never experimented on a hero before.”

[after-witch]

Big City (Yandere Shigaraki x Reader)

Title: Big City [Yandere Shigaraki x Reader]

Synopsis: You’re about to leave for a new university in a new city in a new country. Your friend doesn’t seem pleased. You agree to meet up before you leave in the hopes of keeping your friendship alive.

For request: hi can I request one with maybe yandere dabi or shigaraki (upto you) with a darling who almost barks at them when they get kindapped cause they were about to get into their dream college and were about to fulfill their lifelong dream and now because of the situation its ruined. Like they worked so hard all their life for it. How would they react?

Word Count: 2000-ish

notes: yandere, kidnapping

You mindlessly check your messages for what feels like the tenth time in the last hour, despite knowing what you'd find: no response from Tomura. It was... unusual. A little worrying. But mostly, it was frustrating. You had too much on your plate to deal with managing his moods right now, or managing anything but arranging your flight and your luggage and confirming your schedule for the upcoming university semester.

To say that Tomura had been unusually quiet and unresponsive since you gave him the news would be an understatement. You didn't think it would matter that much. Your friendship was purely online, anyway; he'd shut down the idea of meeting in person, saying he was too shy about his appearance. But you didn't mind. 

You gamed, you texted, you send each other screenshots of people saying ridiculous things online. You talked over the phone about, well, everything. Truthfully, he was your closest friend, though that wasn't saying much. Your family wasn't in the picture, and you found it hard to get close to anyone, found it hard to open up to others.

So when you immediately called him after reading your acceptance letter, gushing about the news, his lack of a response was... deflating. But, you chalked it up to Tomura being... Tomura. Sometimes he got moody or seemed to get annoyed by ordinary things. He gave you a 2-day silent treatment for boasting about getting the autograph of your favorite hero. But you had learned how to navigate his moods for the most part, but it was hard to manage anything when he wouldn't even respond.

You're about to close the app when a message suddenly pops up:

Hey. Sry I haven't been talking. Kind of going through stuff. Since your leaving.... can we meet in person before you go? Just lunch. I'll pay. (Maybe)

Your fingers shake a little above the screen. A first meeting? Now? Right before you leave? You think back to your late night gaming sessions, your conversations, the closeness you feel between you and think--why not?

*You're And...  yes. (NOT MAYBE) Where do you want to go?

**

You lean your back against the brick of the shopping complex and pull out your phone. Tomura had named the time, the place--and asked if you could meet up behind the complex where it would be empty. You agreed, of course. You know that he's shy. Maybe he wanted to meet you without crowds around first. He's a few minutes late so you pull up your messages, thumbing through them without much thought. You're bored. You switch over to your email and recheck your flight schedule, the gate times, the rules and luggage limitations. You've read them a thousand times but each reread brings you closer to a much longed-for reality: an overseas university with a stellar reputation and a practical guarantee of a job in the field after graduation. Sometimes you could hardly believe it.

You're contemplating taking a selfie when a voice suddenly speaks from behind you, distinct and firm.

"Finally."

Before you can turn, before you can think, you feel a sudden grip on your arm--and everything goes black.

**

You wake up some time later. Your head feels fuzzy, your vision slightly off, like you've been napping too hard. Maybe you have, you think, as your vision clears. But you're not in your stripped down bed in your packed-up apartment. 

You blink and blink and take in a bedroom that you've never seen. It's messy, wrappers, cans, paper plates strewn about. The air smells stale. You look down and realize you're sitting on a mattress on the floor. Your hand slips into your pocket for your phone, but it’s not there. Shit. 

Your back is pressed up against the wall which is perfectly fine, because it's then that you see someone sitting on the other end of the mattress.

You jerk back with a start, but there's nowhere to go. The person--a man, you quickly note--is sitting with their legs crossed. Their face is obscured by a dark hoodie and messy hair and you don't even think before you shout out the first words which spring to mind:

"What the fuck?"

The figure gives a chuckle, dry and short. "Sorry. Had to do it this way. Guess you're not used to Kurogiri's quirk, huh."

His voice makes you feel strange. It sounds familiar. It's something you've heard before. On TV, maybe or--oh. Oh.

"Tomura?" The query comes out high-pitched, almost whining. You're in disbelief. It has to be--

Tomura, and his reaction seals it, it definitely is Tomura, practically giggles as he breaths out a sigh. It's an odd sound coming from an imposing figure, but is it really an imposing figure if it's your friend?

He raises his face and the hoodie shifts downward. Your eyes are drawn to his lips, chapped and a bit scabbed over. You want to cringe when he pulls his lower lip back to bite on some of the dry skin.

"Tomura," you say, letting out shaky breaths of your own as the reality of where you are and what's going on begins to seep in, "Tomura, what’s going on? Did I pass out in the parking lot?" He brought you here, maybe. Maybe the blackness was you blacking out and hitting the pavement and that's why your head feels funny and Tomura just brought you to his house because he's so shy that he didn't want to get the attention of the staff at the shop or the police or any random passerby on the street who for some reason didn’t see him dragging you along or--

Your thoughts still race as he snorts. He relaxes a little, his shoulders slumping as he scooches a little closer on the mattress.

"You seriously don't recognize my face?"

You feel your own face scrunch in confusion. Of course you don't recognize his face. Tomura never sent you pictures. He said he was too shy. And, you don't mean to be mean, but you can kind of see why, because--oh. Oh fuck. Oh fuckity fuck fuck fuck.

You get it. And he gets that you get it, because he's got this sort of sour smirk on his face as you inwardly ask yourself what in the flying fuck was going on with your life if a notorious villain secretly befriended you then kidnapped you then brought you to his bedroom of all places.

"I don't..." The fuzzy feeling is back as your neck begins to ache and you swear a migraine is coming on. "I don't..." You don't finish, you can't finish.

"You don't what," he spits out, annoyed and frustrated and whereas before his frustration was something for you to manage and recede with silly pictures or playful chiding, for the first time it makes you nervous and you shrink your shoulders in.

"I don't--I'm not," you finally say, you finally do spit out, "I'm not anyone important. I don't know if you're looking for a ransom or... whatever it is you want, but you know I don't have anyone who will pay it."

He scratches at his scalp and sighs, and you recognize in the tone that he's calmed down, somewhat. At least you have that going for you, sitting in the apparent bedroom of a villain. Speaking of--you eye his hands. He follows your look and shoves them in his pockets before speaking.

"You were leaving." He looks away and itches his cheek. "Going to some fancy foreign school. What would you even need that shit for, anyway?"

You stare at him. This feels like a conversation that could have been had, say... over text, not after kidnapping you from behind a cafe.

"It's my dream. I told you about it all the time. I worked my ass off to get a spot at that school."

The numbness of anxiety has begin to edge away and you cross your arms. You don't want to look scared. Or mad. You try to look normal, you try to think normally, because if there's any way you're going to get out of this situation, you have to remain calm. 

You try to imagine that it's 3 am and you're talking on the phone, having an argument, a testy patch of friendship. But it's hard to ignore that he's a villain who brought you here for some unknown reason; a villain who got you to trust him (but why?) and talk to him (but why?) and fuck, how many private things had you told him in the middle of the night? So many texts and emails and late night conversations.

It suddenly dawns on you that you don't know how long you were out. You have a plane to catch and luggage to finish and you're here instead. You take a breath in the hopes of further steadying your nerves. You look at Tomura, who has been watching you for the past minute with an impassive, hard-to-reach expression. 

He doesn't seem to be... threatening. He didn't try to hurt you or threaten to hurt you. Maybe, maybe this was a case of... you know how things can be online. How people can get obsessively attached. Maybe he thought you were dating. Maybe he had a crush and didn't express it and years of isolation made it impossible for him to just y'know, talk to you like a normal person. He's awkward and shy and inappropriate and okay, okay, okay. You can work with this.  You've had your fair share of online... situations. Like most people. You just have to deal with them with delicacy.

You breathe. You smile, a little. And you scooch just a bit closer to Tomura, whose eyes widen in surprise at your movements.

"So... Tomura?" Your voice is soft and placating and oh so very chill. The kind of voice you've used with him before, when he was being a grumpy ass-hat pissed off about losing to you in his favorite game.

"Yeah--Yeah?" He says, clearing his throat. You want to smile harder because you think oh, good, I've got him here.

You mimic his earlier movement and give your hair a little ruffle, a little scratch. "I guess we can just order delivery for lunch, huh? I have to be home by eight, so I can get my stuff together for my flight tomorrow." You give your lip a little gnaw, in a gesture that probably felt cuter in concept than execution. "Oh! Since I can stay a little later, we can totally game while we eat, right? I owe you a rematch for last time."

Saying all this, being so sweet and kind, acting like nothing has changed, feels really, really surreal. But you push through it because the best course of action with guys like these is to placate them and get them to let you go on your way, then ghost like hell once you're out of their reach. And what better way to ghost than to move to a completely different country?

He stares at you for a moment. You think he must have been expecting you to cry or yell or scream or call him a creeper. Which he probably is, but he doesn't need to know that you think that. At least not until you're safe. You see a quirk of a smile before he flat out begins to laugh. It's a hard laugh, a wheezing laugh, one that has him slapping his thigh. Your skin feels light and numb and your body begins to shake a little in uncertainty and anxiety and just a bit  of anger.

And you can't help it, you have a mouth, you really do--

"What the hell is so funny!"

His laugh tapers off and he wipes a bit of drool from his lips (ew) before regarding you with an expression that seems wild and strange and definitely not the response you were expecting.

"Why would you need to catch a flight? You're not going anywhere."

His answer sends an instant ice-cold knot to your stomach. You huff out a breath. Maybe you can still salvage this, maybe.

“C’mon, Tomura.” Keep saying his name, you think. These types of people like it when you acknowledge them. “Don’t be silly. We’ll still talk and game everyday like we always do, and--”

Before you can think he’s suddenly right up against you, his arm pressed up practically against your ear as he looms over you, keeping you pinned to the wall. His eyes look manic and he’s smiling and it’s not a nice smile, but one full of hidden intentions that make your stomach drop and drop and drop.

“Don’t worry. We are going to talk and game everyday. As long as you’re good, anyway.”

You ignore the implications in his words--what does he mean good?--and try to argue, try to reason.

“But… the school… my degree…” You look up so you can blink away tears. You hate crying. “You know what it means to me. It’s my dream,” you whisper. He’s supposed to be your friend, why can’t he see that?

You instinctively begin to shake as you feel a finger pet your cheek. It’s supposed to be soothing, you think, but all you feel is icy anxiety and fear overtaking your nerves. He practically coos at you as he continues, his rough knuckle scratching you.

“Don’t worry. You can always think of a new dream.”

[vicious-vixxxen]

Could I request older, pro-hero Deku with a chubby male s/o who gets ridiculed because people don't think someone of his size is good enough for the Number One hero

((Ah I may have gotten a little too deep with this one, so apologies nonnie in advance for the angst. Topics like this relate a lot to me personally. So here ya go.))

Izuku Midoriya x Chubby!Male!Reader

“That’s...such /bullshit/,” You huffed, fist clenched into the folds of the magazine, before flicking it across the kitchen with a huff- tears already stinging at the corner of your eyes as it landed split open- your face plastered over the centerfold article. ‘Is #1 Pro Hero Deku’s Husband /TOO/ big?’ The article practically shouted up at you- big, bold red letters smeared over your face, hiding the smile you’d had that night. You’d managed to secure a spot at one of Izuku’s favorite restaurants- mostly by promising the owner you’d be in and out of there within half an hour- he wasn’t the type to fawn too heavily over Pro Hero work, so ‘Deku’ being your husband didn’t hold much weight with him. But you’d been excellent patrons of his since they’d opened, in your second year of high school together. So you managed with what seniority you held. And seeing as how Izuku had only been able to snag thirty minutes between patrols, it was the perfect opportunity to scarf down a quick bite, and chat in- what you thought had been- the privacy of one of the uppermost floors of the establishment. But of course, sleazy as they were, the paparazzi had found a way to catch the both of you eating. A little too fast, a little too messily, just to be able to enjoy the atmosphere together, and have ample room to chat with one another before Izuku had to get back to his patrols. Which was fine, for Pro Hero Deku- six foot seven inches tall, two hundred and ten pounds of pure, lean machine muscle. The epitome of health and wellness, and what it meant to be strong. Able. And then there was you. A little too soft around the sides, cheeks /too/ plump/. Stomach /too/ pudgy. Thighs /too/ thick. God, you looked like a pig, food smeared on your chin, a bowl between you and your husband. ‘I guess we know where his priorities really lie’ the magazine quoted, from some random asshole on the street no doubt. Jesus Christ. “Bunch of fucking assholes.” You were angry. Of course you were angry. Fists held over your eyes to keep the tears at bay. But you were sad too. So, so fucking sad that this shit kept happening. Izuku’s management tried and failed countless times to keep shit like this from spreading. But people loved a good slam piece, as much as they adored seeing Deku’s latest accomplishments splashed across every newspaper, and TV report. Sick fucks. Whatever. Water under the bridge, you told yourself. Throat feeling tight, eyes burning with unshed tears, as you took a few deep breaths, and headed back towards your bedroom. Turning out lights in the house as you went, before stripping and crawling into bed. Thoughts running a mile a minute, as you stared up at the ceiling in silence. The only real noise the quiet sound of a car or two passing the house every now and again. You couldn’t help the way your open palms slid against your chest. Pressing, and kneading at the soft, pillowy flesh of your sides, and stomach. Grimacing at yourself, you recalled how fit you used to be during your high school days. What a dynamic you and Izuku had. Fresh on the scene after high school, no one could compare to the two of you. Kiri and Katsuki came close, but never quite managed the spark you and Izuku had. Professionally speaking. But Izuku just kept climbing higher, and higher- your quirk was good, but limited in its capabilities, which meant a halt in your hero placement a year or two after graduation. But you did what you could. You helped people because you wanted to help people, ratings be damned. But the harder Izuku worked, the more help he needed managing the world that came with climbing to number one. So you patrolled less and less, in favor of working with his design team on costume upgrades. Merchandise. Izuku trusting you and Inko to work directly with his management team, as he knew you all shared a hive mind of sorts when it came to design, and marketing. Pro Hero life for Deku was saving people. Kissing babies, and countless interviews. It was grueling, and tiresome, and he needed a team behind him to take care of everything else. So that’s what you did. Long hours spent at home alone, working through the night on various Deku projects. Meant less patrols, less gym time. You had no need for those things when you were kept busy with Izuku’s team, and you did good work! Fuck, you did great work, and Izuku praised you nonstop. Sure you’d gained a little weight at first, but it looked good on you. At least you thought so. And so did Izuku, if the way he drooled all over the expanse of your thighs the first time you’d gotten a night alone in nearly a month was any indication.   But as time progressed, you cared a little less about your appearance each day. You took care of yourself, and you were far from unhealthy. But there was no denying you had filled out substantially. You didn’t care, and Izuku didn’t seem to care either...but the media sure did. Closing your eyes suddenly, you took a deep breath. Holding it in for several seconds, before letting it out shakily. Tears finally falling as you did so, and you rolled over to snuggle into Izuku’s side of the bed- face smushed into the other man’s pillow, to breath in the soft scent of his cologne. His musk. Drifting off to sleep sniffling, dreaming of the glory days the two of you held together. Izuku hadn’t planned on coming home tonight at all, it wasn’t in his schedule to. But when he’d taken five to break for a snack, he’d ran into Kirishima at the agency. Chatting quickly, recalling rather suddenly that it had been several days since he’d seen Y/N. Scratching at the nape of his neck awkwardly, hunched over slightly muttering excuses to himself. He may have been big, and strong, but to his friends, Midoriya still held fast to those traits that made him who he was. Even back at UA. One call to Bakugou from Kirishima later, and the two of them were taking Deku’s shift, sending him hurrying home- a smile as bright as the sun on his face as he charged up, and bolted from the agency as fast as he could. Fingers crossed that you weren’t asleep yet. His dreams were dashed, but not unpleasantly so, when he landed outside however, and found all the lights in the house were off. It was late, and he appreciated you getting your rest. Knowing all too well how often you’d stay awake working on things for him. Izuku’s heart overflowed with love for you when he recalled all you did for him. For the both of you. He couldn’t imagine being as cemented in the top spot, as capable of doing what he did, without you there. You and his mother were his whole world, keeping him afloat at even the hardest of times. He...he was nothing, without you. So knowing you were in bed, getting your rest, made him smile. A smile that was soon replaced with a recoiled snarl as he entered the house- beelining to the kitchen for a glass of water, wherein he found the magazine spread out, as though left for him on the kitchen floor. Another one. Another article attacking you. Shaming you. Making fun of you. The kitchen was alight with green sparks as Izuku picked up the magazine, sneering at it when it came clearly into focus, before promptly stomping over and throwing it into the trash. Chest heaving as he sat with the knowledge that you’d probably been worrying over this again all evening. While he was out. Combing the city for villains, while you were here, dealing with...god. Hero suit boots already at the front door, Deku removed his socks as he made his way back to your bedroom quietly- leaving them in the hall- a nasty habit of his he’d never been able to break. Letting himself into your room, his heart breaking at the site before him. He wasn’t sure how long you’d been crying, but it was long enough to leave the salty, humid scent of tears in the air as he entered. And there you were, huddled up with his pillows, breathing softly- face smeared with tears, their tracks glinting back at Izuku as he rounded the bed, and just stood there. Feeling so powerless. Too big. Normally he’d clean up first, but being sure he couldn’t wait one more second, let alone the twenty minutes it would take to shower, Midoriya acted quickly. Removing his Hero suit silently, left in nothing but a pair of fitted boxer briefs- before sliding into bed next to you. Pulling his pillow gently from your grasp, to settle behind his own head, before gathering you up and into his arms. Shifting you almost entirely onto his front, before you stirred. Izuku’s stopped breathing when your eyes fluttered open, and your nose wrinkled- wanting to smile as you noticed the heat beneath you, the strong scent of Izuku’s skin filling your senses. Glancing up at him, your sleep idled mind offered only one clear thought. ‘He’s home’. Try as you might, however, the pressure from earlier in the evening boiled over again- mixing with the overwhelming sense of love you felt at being able to see him. Feel him. Smell him. Just /be/ with him. Everything was still, and quiet, a pin drop could be heard. Until you hiccupped, once, twice, before choking on a sob as you pressed your face flush against Izuku’s chest, and cried. You cried, and cried, and cried. Trying to recall the last time you’d seen him, your sleep clouded mind coming up blank. All you could see was that stupid fucking picture in the magazine. Izuku held firm to you as you cried, eyes shut tight, tears threatening to spill right alongside yours. Old habits die hard, he thought idly. He didn’t shush you, or try and quiet you down. Offer words of encouragement, nor did he berate the magazines, or spew on about how much hell he was going to put them through for this. He simply held you, stroked your back, and kissed the top of your head over and over, as you covered his chest in tears. Finally settling down after a few minutes, and simply breathing together. Your ears pressed against Deku’s wet chest, listening to your husband's heartbeat. Allowing it to calm you. Arms finding their way under Izuku’s body, holding each other now. Tight, almost too much. But neither of you complained. “I love you,” Izuku finally whispered, though it was so full of sentiment- of meaning, almost harshly so, it caught you off guard. “I love you more than the world will ever know, or understand, and I’d drop off the face of the planet tomorrow, and leave them to fend for themselves, if it meant proving to you how wonderfully, beautifully, exquisitely perfect you are to me.” Fucking…”I wanted to /stop/ crying, you fucking jerk,” You laughed wetly, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks as you lifted a hand to swat at the side of Deku’s head- both of you snickering wetly now, as you began to card your fingers through his hair with the same hand. Snuggling impossibly deeper into the man’s chest, as his words rang in your ears. He meant it too, the voice in your head whispered. Your chest tight as you imagined him giving up all he’d ever worked for, just so you’d understand. You never held any doubt that he loved you. As you were, as you had been- however you’d be tomorrow, or the day after. But you struggled a lot, internally. You always had. It would be a struggle you’d live with till the day you died, you were sure of it. But even so, you reasoned, then and there, that if even then, you knew how deeply, and unequivocally Izuku cared for you- loved you. That thing’s would always be okay. No matter what. “I love you too,” you sighed back finally, clearing your throat, and closing your eyes as you felt yourself quickly drifting again. “So so much, ‘zuku.” Peppering Deku’s chest with kisses till you fell asleep, Izuku was sure if his heart swelled any more, it would burst. Waiting till you had fallen back asleep fully, he rolled the two of you over. Caging you into the mattress beneath him, and falling asleep that way. Guarding you even as the two of you slept. Keeping you safe from everyone, and everything.  Midoriya’s only other thought, besides you, before he slipped into unconsciousness, was to call into the agency the next day, because he wasn’t going to going in for a while. ((Really enjoyed writing this one, got me in my feels, and made me feel all warm, imagining Deku holding me at the end of a  long day, when I could care less about feeling good about myself. Thanks for the opportunity nonnie, hope you enjoy.))

[effei-s]

What shatter-me Warner would do.

The fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

Here’s the thing: Warner from original trilogy had character arch. More important: he was a character.

He was mean, villainous, cold, cruel murderer, with daddy who basically bought him regency (like come on, if it wasn’t for Anderson no one would even think about giving him that position; n for nepotism), but he also was deeply traumatized and abused his whole life and had little to none normal human interactions. I loved that fact that the only good thing he did (killing Fletcher because he was abusing his family) resolved into a complete catastrophe (Anderson killing children and wife) because Warner didn’t think it through. He tried to do the right thing and failed miserably, because he was more concerned with making a spectacle for Juliette. And after that he still had the audacity to paint himself as a hero who saved poor family from terrible tyrant in Ignite me.

I didn’t expect him to act and think like a human being. He didn’t need to act like a normal human. Warner gas lighting Juliette in the first third of ignite me is Warner’s thing to do. Him yelling and throwing tantrums and making scenes in Unravel me is Warner’s thing to do. Him forcing Juliette to do things she doesn’t want and traumatizing her in the process in Shatter me is Warner’s thing to do. Him wanting to torture Adam to death is Warner’s thing to want.

There’s a few reasons for this:

a) he doesn’t know how to communicate with people other than giving them orders or making threats;

b) he truly believes that he’s in the right here (he doesn’t see himself as a bad guy in Juliette story, more like a knight on a white horse);

c) he’s physically unable to be honest with himself and always has someone to blame for his own mistakes and failures;

d) he’s ‘results justify the means’ kind of guy.

Changes for good, with trauma that deep, when you basically don’t have a moral compass, don’t happen over night.

Was his ignite-me arch made sloppy? Yes. Everything was too info-dumpy and too convenient (Juliette forgetting that Warner was going to torture Adam to death; Juliette feeling that she’s the one who needs to apologize; Leila’s entire character used only for a sob story; Adam turned into a douchebag so Warner would look a more suitable love interest, etc). But it still was an arch. And the finale of ignite me was so open I really could imagine that, little by little, in the future, he will start to trust people more and really gonna help Juliette and co to make the world a better place. And his redemption arch wasn’t finished in the slightest, and I would even say that it was only the beginning of it, but it was implied that things will get better from there (the most important part of that being him genuinely wanting to make things right with Adam and James; he’s the one who makes the first step and initiate the bond).

So what went wrong in new three books? Ehm… everything, to be honest. Instead of developing a character that was already there, she decided to give him a new personality. Actually it can be said about every single one of characters, but Warner just happened to be the biggest victim of them all.

Let’s look at Restore me.

Okay, we have his pov, and I never thought I would say it but… Warner is kinda dumb. He’s supposed to be this military strategy genius, someone who knows how RE works from within and… it turns out that he just as clueless as Juliette. More than this, we never actually see him do ANYTHING except fucking Juliette. And for some reasons he never helps Juliette with her work??? There’s so much paperwork and instead of helping her to sort though it he’s… just not there???

Those stupid long monologues about how she’s capable to do anything mean nothing if he doesn’t actually help (as we can see at the end of restore me, when Juliette gets captured).

That fact that he doesn’t immediately check if Castle’s words are true? And instead of helping Juliette with Haider (telling everything he knows about him and his family, preparing her for the dinner) he fucks her??? This is a dumb bitch shit. And maybe you didn’t noticed but Shatter-me Warner wasn’t a dumb bitch.

After all, there’s a simple reason I never wanted the job of supreme commander myself—

I never wanted the responsibility.

It’s a tremendous amount of work with far less freedom than one might expect; worse, it’s a position that requires a great deal of people skills. The kind of people skills that include both killing and charming a person at a moment’s notice. Two things I detest.

Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted power because power meant that he could have control over his life? Remember shatter-me Warner who wanted to work with Juliette as a team to change the world? Yeah that’s him now.

No personal ambitions allowed when you’re a walking dildo, I guess.

Off the topic, but Mafi really enjoys making Juliette stupid as fuck:

“Oh, yes, of course,” she says, remembering. “I’ve gotten a bunch of letters about that. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal.”

Let's continue.

Hurting Haider would be enough to start a world war.

Warner says and then Juliette threatens Haider, a foreign official on a diplomatic mission, and instead of being even a little bit worried and think about possible consequences, Warner thinks this:

But I can only smile at her. I want to scoop her up and carry her away. Take her somewhere quiet and lose myself in her.

Okay, I guess it’s official, there’s sperm inside of his head instead of brain cells. I can’t find any other explanation for this clownery.

Shatter-me Warner would… Shatter-me Warner won’t be in this situation in the first place.

Someone tries to kill Juliette and Warner does… nothing about it. He never goes to check the body of the assassin himself. He thinks that Nazeera hides something and he still allows her to go around and doesn’t even interrogate her when Juliette says that Nazeera was there at the moment of the attack. He doesn’t find it even a little bit suspicious? That guy who had tremendous trust issues in the original trilogy? Remember him? Yeah, that guy. Shatter-me Warner would lock Nazeera and Haider up and demanded answers. Shatter-me Warner would be angry as fuck, and would try to kill Kenji with his bare hands, because Kenji was stupid enough to leave Juliette alone. Shatter-me Warner wouldn’t stop until he had answers (and the head of a person who wanted to kill Juliette on a plate).

New Warner is too busy feeling sorry for himself to actually do anything about it. And after one chapter it’s completely forgotten, like that fact that someone tried to kill her is not important at all.

And then Castle enters the picture with his stupid and sloppy info-dumping (I guess Mafi never heard of ‘show don’t tell’ rule). And says this:

“She can’t lead this resistance,” he says, squinting at something in the distance. “She’s too young. Too inexperienced. Too angry. You know that, don’t you?”

and if that wasn’t enough he also says this:

“It should’ve been you,” Castle says. “I always secretly hoped—from the day you showed up at Omega Point—that it would’ve been you. That you would join us. And lead us.” He shakes his head. “You were born for this. You would’ve managed it all beautifully.”

AND HE’S STILL ALIVE AFTER?

This is a fucking treason right there. And Warner A-OKAY with this.

Shatter-me Warner would strangle him right there. Or better yet, he would go along with this until he has 100% evidences of Castle’s betrayal and then he would kill him. Or he would kill him simply because Castle was withholding important information and earlier in books he put Juliette in a great danger by sending her to Anderson without telling her the truth (unravel me).

But not this Warner. New Warner is far more concerned with fucking Juliette then helping her or looking for a way out of this situation (because now he has dick instead of a brain).

After my father’s revelation, my thirst for information became suddenly insatiable. I needed to know more—who these people were, where they’d come from, how much we’d known—

WHERE AND WHEN DID WARNER IN PREVIOUS BOOKS DISPLAY THIS?

When I say that Mafi simply forgot her own characters this is what I mean. Warner from original trilogy didn’t give a flying fuck about them. He thought that they were weak and stupid.

I will lose her.

And it will kill me.

He said this shit and after he nearly had a panic attack because he imagined her dating someone else? Oh, come on, how more pathetic can he get?

There are words for this kind of behavior: toxic codependency.

Oh wait wait! I know! This is not Warner! This is Edward Cullen disguised as Warner! The mystery is solved!

Oh, he fucks her again. Apparently it’s the only thing he’s good at. What a character! The layers! The complexity!

And then Lena came into the picture.

Until that moment I was more or less okay with Warner. Yes, I was very confused, but I was ready to give Mafi benefit of the doubt. He lost his father and was dealing with grieve. We all can act out of character in the face of a tragedy or drastic changes.

“Why do you keep pressing this? Who cares if I’ve been with other women? They meant nothing to me—”

And there I felt in my guts, I’m not gonna like what next to come.

Haider was exhibiting suicidal tendencies. Self-harming. And I got really scared. I called Warner because I knew Haider would listen to him.” She shakes her head. “Warner didn’t say a word. He just got on a plane. And he stayed with us for a couple of weeks. I don’t know what he said to Haider,” she says. “I don’t know what he did or how he got him through it, but”—she looks off into the distance, shrugs—“it’s hard to forget something like that.

Oh, so Warner's words about how he never had any real interactions with anyone before Juliette were bullshit. About how he doesn’t understand people were also bullshit. About how Juliette was the first person who was not afraid to speak with him freely were also bullshit. Because all of the sudden he can help someone heavily depressed. Someone with suicide tendencies? Someone who harms himself? And now he has an ex-girlfriend who’s ready to beat the fuck out of him and calls him mean words (she clearly doesn’t fear him)?

Now his entire character in the first trilogy doesn’t make any sense. And his excuses don’t make any sense.

Bravo, Mafi! Bravo! This was the fastest character assassination I’ve ever seen.

She says that Lena was in love with him—really in love with him—but that Warner broke her heart, that he never treated her with any real affection and she’s hated him for it.

Oh, so he’s not only stupid and absolutely useless, he’s a fuckboy. And if there’s one thing I HATE, it’s fuckboys.

There’s a big-big-big difference between someone who has one-night-stands and THIS SHIT:

“You’re upset, I understand. But it’s not my fault you feel this way. I don’t love you. I never have. And I never led you to believe I did.”

“She and I,” he says, “it was—we were nothing. It was a relationship of convenience and basic companionship. It meant nothing to me. Truly,” he says, “you have to know—if I never said anything about her it was only because I never thought about her long enough to even consider mentioning it.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t two years of anything serious. It wasn’t even two years of continuous communication.” He sighs. “She lives in Europe, love. We saw each other briefly and infrequently. It was purely physical. It wasn’t a real relationship—”

So he despised her but used her for sex? WOW. Cool. He can go and trip over a fucking knife or fall out of the window for all I care.

“Everything in my life was different before I met you,” he says. “I was lost and all alone. I never cared for anyone. I never wanted to get close to anyone. I’ve never—you were the first person to ever—”

And how exactly he was able to help Haider with his self-harm then??? If he didn’t CaRe for anyone before Juliette?

This was the moment when Warner from original trilogy died in agony.

Okay, let’s see real quick what we have in Defy Me:

He thinks about escape but never really does anything to escape;

(anderson is the one who opens his cell;

he stands in front of a guy who murdered his mother and doesn’t even think about her, yeah I can see how important she was for him;

/again, shatter-me Warner would probably demanded answers, but not walking dildo, walking dildo cares only about Juliette. his excuse in ignite me 'i did it all for my mom' doesn't make any sense now, because he actually doesn't give a flying fuck about her/

he gets captures one minute after he “kills” Anderson;

nazeera is the one who gets him out of there;

super soldier taught his whole life how to survive, everyone. useless as fuck)

He doesn’t know anything about jewelry.

(super ooc, i know what Mafi was trying to do here: she tried ‘sherlock holmes doesn’t know that earth revolves around the sun’ thing Arthur Conan Doyle did, but the problem is WARNER IS A FASHIONISTA, or he was).

He wants to get married because…???

He sees a woman who tried to kill Juliette and he’s a-okay with staying at her place, because she said that it was actually a message (???).

Castle is still alive.

Nazeera who knew all this time about Anderson and was working for him is also alive and well.

Oh and he doesn’t care about Anderson being alive and being a real threat to Juliette (fucking her is more important for him, as usual).

His complete disregard for Juliette’s safety only makes me hate him more with every new book.

Imagine me.

First and foremost: don’t call imagine-me Warner shatter-me Warner. Don’t insult shatter-me Warner like that. With shatter-me Warner Anderson would have to try very hard to get to Juliette. It would be ‘Warner made 100 back-up plans, but Anderson knew him too well and created 101 plan and that’s how he managed to win’ kind of situations.

But walking dildo is too busy feeling sorry for himself (as usual), he just sits by her bed FOR TWO FUCKING DAYS, doing absolutely NOTHING to make sure she’ll be safe.

Nooira says that Juliette should be killed and she’s still alive for some reason.

He’s entire persona is that he’s rude to people (but not bbc’s sherlock holmes kind of rude, when he’s unbearable dick but he’s actually smart and really gets shit done, so we can tolerate him). He’s just rude.

He doesn't care about Adam or James's wellbeing (remember Ignite me Warner who really wanted a family? Yeah that's him now).

But he has gruppies now, because he’s hot and everyone in the sanctuary wants to fuck him.

Oh and he proposed to Juliette. HE PROPOSED. THEY ENGAGED! DO YOU HEAR ME??? THEY GONNA BE MARRIED! HE PROPOSED TO HER! AND SHE SAID YES! THEY GONNA MERRY!

Because god fucking forbid we forget about it.

(mafi really thinks that her readers have the mental capacity of a golden fish, huh?)

I lost count how many times walking dildo implies that he's gonna kill himself if Juliette is not with him (disgusting).

Then our walking dildo cures Juliette by the power of petting (it’s not power of love, lads and gents; you want to see love go watch defenders on netflix; mafi already copypasted elektra’s arch from that show into imagine-me Juliette, you can do yourself a favor and see how this trope can be executed without borderline on sexual assault petting scene).

18-old girl marries a fucking sociopath believing he’s actually a good person.

(we all know how shit like this ends, people like that don't change; and this 'he's different with me cuz i'm very special and i'm gonna teach him the right way' it's really harmful message considering that the audience of those books are mostly teenage girls).

Trust me, there's nothing revolutionary in this trope, it's tale as old as time.

Here's the thing, good written character always defined by connection to other people: friend, lovers, enemies, family, foes, acquaintances, even some random strangers. It's the easiest way to establish what kind of person they are.

Walking dildo doesn't have any of that because all of his "character" revolves around Juliette. He's not a person anymore. By the end of Imagine me he doesn't have friends (his relationships with Kenji or Haider non-existent), no family connections (no talks with Adam or James), even enemies or foes or even people that don't like him (because everyone wants to fuck him, because being hot is his only character trait).

His only family and friend is Juliette. And you know what? It's fucking boring, overdone and lazy as fuck. And insulting to the character he once was.

No redemption arch, no character arch at all.

Happy end.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 20

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader      Content: Language, possible errors  A/N: Some ppl asked for a playlist... so ofc I made one! 

Series Playlist or Chap 20 Playlist

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 20: Little Lion Man

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

When Regulus was younger, his aunt Andromeda and Sirius were obsessed with Muggle stories. Andromeda would send them loads of books every month to the local Muggle post office to prevent their parents from confiscating them. He remembers the ten minute walks there and back, Sirius holding his hand tight, even stopping to buy ice cream during the warmer seasons. They would greet the delivery men and women, picking up a heavy stack of wrapped books before waddling out, each boy mirroring a large grin.

Every night at twilight, when their parents were asleep, Sirius would crawl into his bed and read to Regulus in a hushed voice. He would read a different story every night, lulling him to sleep. Sirius spent hours gushing about the fantastical tales Muggles wrote; how magical and mystical their minds were despite not having an ounce of magical blood. From Superman to Batman, the Joker to Daleks, Prince Caspian to King Miraz; Regulus quickly learned that they all had one common theme: the good guys and the bad guys.

Regulus often spent his time grappling with the notion; what made someone good? Because the definition changes depending on the person.

Were the good guys good because they were selfless — passionate? Those deemed good never let themselves be seen as selfish. The heroes would sacrifice themselves for the greater good, even going as far as giving up their loved ones. Or maybe it was because they went against the odds. But villains did that too.

So he re-worded the question; what made someone bad? Was it their selfishness or greed? Was it putting themselves above others? Did they know they were on the wrong side of history? Make a mistake, once, twice — but surely, that didn’t make someone bad. Did it?

If virtue is understood by both sides, then the bad guys would immediately cross that line time and time again. They lacked wisdom and truthfulness, filled with too much pride and vanity.

But now as he began to grow up far too quickly for a fourteen-year-old boy, he realized that there was more to people than just being good or evil, a saviour or tormentor, light versus darkness.

The definition of good and bad depended on who told the story and Regulus didn’t know who controlled his; him or his parents. The line was so blurred that he couldn’t objectively make the decision himself anymore. Was he more bad than good?

Laughter — rich and inviting beckoned throughout the library, snapping him out of his thoughts again; but it did nothing but chip away at his heart. Regulus got up, shoving his books and parchment into his bag, making sure to hide his face before they saw him. Today, the Marauders had come earlier than expected and he was caught off guard. He’d been doing everything to avoid them out of pure shame.

Before he went to turn, he eyed Sirius from the shadows. He smiled, carefree and happy, clinging onto Pettigrew, ruffling his hair like he once did to him.

What made them so special, so loved and cherished by Sirius? How were they able to make him laugh so effortlessly, able to brighten his day with a mere glance? What made them more of a family than he ever was to him?

But he knew, it was their family’s values and it had been taunting him every waking moment.

It’s not like he didn’t want to escape that night, but he wasn’t Sirius. He was never as bright or strong or as good as him. Sirius was bold and courageous and certainly had more bravery than he would ever have. Regulus was far too weak, a puppet for his parents to control. Sirius was everything Regulus was too afraid to be — a reminder of what he could have turned into.

Besides, there wasn’t a single doubt in his mind that his parents would have killed Kreacher had he left. And this way with Sirius gone, it left Regulus to be the sole heir. Sirius was free, not being hunted down by his parents now that he bore the title. That was his gift to him, freeing Sirius of all the responsibilities, pain and grief. He owed him that much. Besides, Regulus had already mourned the childhood he never had; that made everything easier.

The day Sirius left was the day before they were set to leave for Hogwarts again and the impact of his absence was massive. He no longer heard the thumping of loud Muggle music nor the clanking of piano keys or doors slamming shut. There wasn’t any screaming aside from his parents shrieking at him for taking his father's wand. The stairs creaked; he could even hear Kreacher padding his way to his room.

It was eerily quiet and lifeless in that damned house, and he was only gone for a day.

Regulus hadn’t been taking it well. Nearly every night, his face was pressed into a pillow muffling his sobs. Sirius had kept his promise, he hadn’t talked to him since.

If only he had a scarlet tie…

Ha! He could laugh; he’d been trying to get his attention in little ways. He’d even gone as far as growing out his hair to match his — coping by writing letters every night with words he wished he could’ve said before storing them in a box under his bed. Forever unsent. Hell, Regulus was a coward, every bit as pathetic as Sirius deemed.

Ever the winter break, his parents were relentless, dumping everything that was meant for Sirius onto him. Letters were sent daily; there were talks about an arranged marriage, lumps of money now being transferred under his name, getting the dark mark… and he was being watched. Every interaction he had, his parents always knew. Especially with Muggleborns; he had to limit his interactions with them to almost nothing, or it wouldn’t end well for either.

His mind reeled back to that night, where his parents and extended family toyed with that blonde Muggle, leaving her half-dead on the dining table, the image branded in his head. It made him sick just thinking about it, he never knew what happened to her, he was too busy trying to muffle out her screams.

Regulus had been questioning everything he was taught. Sirius’ words echoed in his head; was he willing to kill Muggleborns solely because of their blood status? He's a believer in old values and traditions: yes, blood should be kept pure, but to kill Muggles… that was completely different. He’d seen how his dearly beloved aunt was burned off the tapestry, threatened and almost killed for marrying a Muggleborn — a Muggleborn who he’s met and liked and respected. His family tortured them for the sake of it and more. That wasn’t the move of someone good, those were the actions of someone evil; filled with greed, spite and selfishness. But how was he going to stop a whole bloodline from their mania?

Some may call it obedience, the way he’s listened to his parents all these years blindly, but to him, it’s respect. But did he believe that? Did they deserve to be respected? He was miserable and this wasn’t a healthy way to show filial piety.

What did he believe in?

Perhaps there wasn’t such a thing, good or evil, maybe there was only power.

Regulus was lost and confused and most of all, lonely. He remembered Sirius promised him once, before the day he was set to leave for Hogwarts for the first time, that he would never be alone. What a funny thing, promises.

Tears were forming fast and if he didn’t leave then, they would fall any second now. He needed to get out of the library.

Regulus asked himself again; what made someone good or bad — or rather, was he good or bad? He’s veering towards bad.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

After catching word from Mary that Remus’ birthday was approaching, Y/N had been knitting him a sweater in her spare time (or trying to). It was sweet, simple and showed that she’d put effort into it, especially since he taught her. Although, the sweater was lopsided and she hadn’t quite gotten the hang of a certain stitch or how to close sections. Perhaps she should use magic.

Her fingers fiddled with the needle, looping the yarn over the other side. Without looking up, she made a sharp turn into the library before crashing into a hunched-over figure; sniffling and a complete mess.

An apology dangled from her lips before recognizing the figure as Regulus. It had been two months since she’d last seen him and in short, he looked like shit. His skin was grey and lost all sense of a youthful dewy glow. If Sirius had dark eye circles or Remus looked tired, Regulus beat them by miles.

Y/N stood there awkwardly, unsure of what to do before gently patting his shoulder. “Regulus?” She asked softly, nothing more than a whisper.

There was a flash of pure terror as he looked up, his eyes nervous as his head spun around to look around the place like he always did. He looked mad, almost unhinged as his hands gently pushed her away, signalling for her to leave. “I — I can’t be seen around you.”

“Can’t? What are you going on abo —” She cut herself off, ignoring the matter entirely. He clearly wasn’t in the right mindset.

His voice was strained, quiet as he kept on murmuring, he almost sounded angry. “You can’t — we’ll both get in trouble. Y/N, go — please… ”

At this, Y/N felt her skin rise in small goosebumps. She looked back to the library, just making out her friend’s figures before looking down at Regulus again. She wasn’t going to leave him like this: crying and delusional.

She took a deep inhale before bending down, picking up her needles and yarn off the ground and slipped them into her bag. She placed a cautious arm around Regulus to keep him upright. “Come with me.” But Regulus wouldn’t budge, not until she flicked down her hood, obscuring her face.

She led him up to the astronomy tower, walking and twisting around before setting him down on a nearby bench, making sure to lock any entrances. They sat in silence, aside from Regulus attempting to regulate his breathing. The cold whipping wind tossed his hair and sank into her bones. With a few charms, they were both warm again, but still able to breathe in the crisp air.

He remained quiet. Y/N didn’t push. Instead, she began babbling softly about random things to distract him. When she heard a sharp exhale of air, mimicking a half-hearted chuckle was when she knew he had calmed down.

“Thank you,” he muttered. It’s quiet, barely above a whisper. Regulus’ cheeks were pink, colour finally returning to him from either embarrassment or the cold.

“Any time,” she smiled warmly. Her hand reaches into her bag, fishing out the snacks that were meant for the study group: blackberries that were for Remus, a muffin for Marlene, were now shared between them. She tried to encourage him to eat, to regain any sort of energy.

He listened without complaint, a tense yet thankful air engulfed them. It was only until he finished the food, about an hour gone by, was when he spoke again. “Why are you being so nice to me.” It’s not even a question, just an odd accusation.

She thinks for a while, searching for the best answer. “I wished someone was there for me when I was going through a hard time.”

“But you don’t know me.”

Her eyebrows raised, “Well, let’s get to know each other then. I’ll tell you something about myself and then you can go?”

Regulus looked up at her with a calculated expression, cautious and looked uncomfortable but he nodded.

“Let’s start simple. I have an owl named Celeste.”

He gulped, looking back to the entrance. His answer came delayed, strained and she wondered if she had pushed him too far. “I play the violin.”

Y/N smiled largely. “The violin is beautiful! Hmm… I can’t ride a broomstick to save my life, unlike you.”

At this, he smiles — a real genuine smile that causes his eyes to crinkle and sparkle. “Really?” His eyes burned with curiosity before he looked down, “I can’t swim.”

“Swim?” She repeats, chuckling to herself, “Who doesn’t know how to swim?”

“You’re making me feel grand. Terribly uncalled for.”

Her eyes rolled, “You should learn. It can save your life one day. Who wants to drown?”

“Maybe I’ll ask McGonagall — I heard for tougher punishments she’ll throw you into the black lake.”

“You’re the perfect candidate then.”

After a while, way past curfew, Regulus seemed cheerier; his tear-stained cheeks now replaced with a smile and relaxation. That day, Y/N unaware, was a day Regulus would never forget.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

March 8th, 1976

“Sirius, shut up.”

“You’re the one yelling!”

“... Right.”

Excused from their afternoon classes because their Puffskein was about to hatch, the Marauder’s dorm was bustling with panic and bickering. When Y/N partnered with Sirius for their project, she expected fighting (which happened every day) but not for Sirius to be like this. He’d been running around the dorm, grabbing warm towels, bowls of water and taking out his panic on her. He gripped his textbook, flicking through notes to see if they had everything. It was as if he was preparing for the birth of an actual baby.

She silently watched him, her mind thinking about Regulus rather than their project. This was the only time she and Sirius were alone and wondered if she should mention his freakout the other day but stopped — it didn’t take a genius to know they weren’t on friendly terms.

Since that night, she’d seen Regulus almost daily, but only at night before their study group. She would spend an hour or so with him before the Marauder or girls came barraging in; Regulus left before they appeared. The entire situation left her deeply confused, worried and most of all, suspicious.

“We need Kettleburn —”

Annoyance began nipping at her. “Calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down!”

Sirius paced, both firing snide jabs. Too preoccupied in his panicked state, he didn’t hear the quiet cracking of the white shell, forming the shape of a lightning bolt before cascading over.

“Um, Black?”

“Let’s not start. How are you so —”

“Get your ass over here now!”

Sirius pressed his lips together immediately and rushed over, both huddled side by side near the roaring fireplace. The shell twitched, cracking more and they both gasped in amazement. The process was faster than either expected as they saw the small tuft of cream fur peek out along with a pair of black eyes. Its long pink tongue slipped out, already looking for its first meal. Y/N scrambled to grab a nearby dish of dried spiders to feed it while Sirius cradled it in his hand. His smile was wide, buzzing with excitement as he observed it. His hands gently glided over the soft fur as it emitted a low humming sound.

A deep chuckle erupts from Sirius and she could feel the vibrations from how close they were. His laugh, which once made her cringe, now made her skin feel fuzzy and heart flutter. But, it wasn’t like that, she thinks. Of course not! She still wants to jinx him, maybe even throw him into the fireplace. Yes, that’s it.

She snaps out of her violent thoughts when she finds Sirius already looking at her, a pretty flush to his skin as he observes her softly. Her brows crinkled; instead of a frown or on the cusp on an insult, he smiles.

“Do you want to hold it?” Y/N nods eagerly. Sirius shifts his body, placing the Puffskein in the palms of her hands. It’s incredibly soft, adorable and when it leans into her, falling asleep, she swore she fell in love.

“What do you want to name it?” She mumbled, afraid that if she were any louder it might wake it up. Sirius takes a long time to ponder and Y/N braces herself for an insult, already thinking of a plethora of her own.

“It looks like porridge… Oatmeal!”

“Are you serious?”

“I’d be worried if I wasn’t.”

Y/N tries to suppress her smile but fails. The Puffskein did look like a grain of oatmeal. Plain and simple, she liked it.

“Hello, Oats! You’re so cute — I could just eat you up!”

“Morbid much.”

Hours went by before they ultimately decided to head down to Kettleburn’s office for an examination of Oats’ health. Sirius cradled it in a small blanket, shielding it from the rest of the world. Marlene and Dorcas were standing by the sidelines, joining them as they walked past.

“Yours hatched already? Aw, it looks so cute!” Dorcas squealed. Her hands reached out, giddy as Sirius gently placed it into her arms but not without fretting. Marlene only looked down at her with a soft gaze, her face becoming pink as she wrapped an arm around her.

“Give it a rest. She’s not going to drop it.”  

“Now you, McKinnon?! I’m a father now! Our kid deserves the best care! Right, L/N?”

It catches her off guard. Sirius trying to include her in a conversation? That’s a new milestone. “Of course; the proudest parents.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

Once done with Kettleburn, Sirius went to bring Oats back to his dorm, parting as Y/N went to find Lily who took her notes for her afternoon classes.

Out in the courtyard, walking around in the snow, both Lily and Snape wandered around before she picked up a snowball, throwing it at him. Snape sent her a deadpanned look as Lily kept hurling snowballs. Most missed him, others hit him before he retaliated and threw some back.

Y/N halted, watching the scene play out and debated whether or not to approach them. But decided to, shouting while striding up to them.

“Petals!”

Lily’s smile grew before her head whipped to her. She stopped her snowball fight, getting up to bounce her way over to her. Snape followed in suit, but as Lily began to babble on and on about what she missed, Snape’s eyes bore into her, vice versa.

“I’ll see you later, Sevy! We need to go,” said Lily, already turning to walk away. Y/N lingered back a pause, just enough to see Snape draw his wand and shoot a spell at her. She had just enough time to block it. Whatever spell it was, it sparkled like a firecracker. If Snape could easily send a hex or jinx her way inboard daylight with Lily just a little ahead, what was he willing to do had they been alone.

His angel persona around her was dropping quickly.

“Whiskers!” Shouted Lily. Her arms raised in question. “Get over here!”

A flurry of thoughts bombarded her before she could process them. She was about to cause a scene, yell and scream until that nasty sneer fell off his face until she felt a tug on her arm. Lily hooked her arm around Y/N, pulling her away. But she still had her wand drawn, ready to block another spell. She tossed one last look at him; he smiled wickedly.

“Are you okay?”

She had enough tip-toeing around Snape. She remained tranquil, gave him the benefit of the doubt and respected their friendship but that was enough.

“No, I’m not actually,” keeping her tone as soft as possible, trying not to sound defensive, “Why do you waste your time around him?”

Lily paused, her eyes going wide. An offended expression crossed her face as she took a moment to digest the remark. “Sev? What are you getting at?” Her tone was guarded which had Y/N debating whether or not to drop the conversation entirely. A fight with Lily was not on her to-do list.

“I just think you should be careful around him.”

“I can look out for myself,” she grumbled, “Severus has been there for me for years. I know how to separate myself from the wrong sorts.”

“I’m only saying this to look out for —”

“I know, but he isn’t like what you’re thinking.” Lily didn’t look mad, just tired as she nodded sharply. Taking a stack of parchment from her bag, Lily handed it to her and walked faster. “You’re around Potter too much. He isn’t like what he says he is.”

Y/N felt annoyance blossom in her chest at the accusation of James but bit her tongue to avoid more conflict. Right now, they trod on dangerous waters.

Neither spoke to each other for the rest of the day.

[theinkmage]

Home

"Do you wonder?"

"Wonder what?"

"Wonder what we would become."

"I leave that up to fate. It's not really my place to decide."

"It can be." The hero said, reaching up to cup the other's face in his palms, forcing him to look directly into his eyes. Brilliant purple meeting stormy grey, like the sizzling flash of a lightning bolt on the cusp of dawn. "If you let it."

The villain looked away, pursing his lips. "Not everyone is as lucky as you."

The hero sighed, his hands falling away, fingers tapping listlessly against his thighs. "That I admit, but my point still stands." After a pause, he continued, "If I didn't know better, I would think you were scared of failing. That would most certainly explain your reluctance to meddle with fate."

He could almost predict the villain's response to that.

"I'm not scared of anything," the villain snapped, glowering at the city that sprawled before them from the rooftop of the building.

The hero had guessed right after all.

"And fate is fixed. It's supposed to be inevitable because it's determined by the cosmos. You can't change it." There was a hint of desperation there, barely, but the hero had known the villain long enough to pierce through his veiled attempts at subtlety.

"Yes…" the hero said slowly, staring resolutely at the villain.

"I sense a 'but' coming."

"But…" the hero let a faint grin slip onto his face. How he had missed these friendly banters with the villain when they were younger. "Destiny isn't."

The villain blinked, the epitome of baffled. "Destiny isn't what?"

"Destiny isn't fixed. It isn't determined by the cosmos. Even if your fate was given to you at birth, you don't have to follow its course. You can change it, by embracing your destiny."

The villain looked ready to argue, but the hero jumped in before he could. "And who's to say what's what? All we have are pre-conceived notions that are rubbed off onto us from the people we are surrounded with. They may be right, they may be wrong. For all you know, your notion of fate may be wrong."

"If you go according to that bizarre philosophy of yours, everything's going to end up wrong, you nitwit."

The hero snorted, his lips quirking up to the side. "The sky's grey."

"No, it's black."

"How do you know that the colour of the night sky is black and not grey?"

The villain scowled. "I just do."

"Oh really? Do you know what makes you happy in life then?"

"The two are not related."

The hero merely grinned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned to face the villain completely. Oh, how they had both grown. Into two different people, so different, yet so similar. Their paths had crossed once when they were children, young and innocent and naïve to the works of the world, then separated as they had grown, as they had each accepted Nature's calling. And now, here they were. Their paths had led them back together.

"Do you trust me?" The hero asked quietly.

The villain frowned suspiciously, but a soft "yes" ensued after a period of time.

"Try to keep up then." The hero smirked as he brushed past the villain, leaping onto the next rooftop without so much as a glance behind his shoulder.

The villain grumbled, but the faint traces of a smile etched themselves onto his countenance as he followed close behind.

Above them, the faint crescent of a new moon shone, sending slivers of white cascading over the houses and the grass and the stone of the paths. For a moment, it was just the two of them, silhouettes against the backdrop of a starry night sky and the brilliant moon. Surreal, yet concrete.

The villain could have left before the next rooftop. He could have melted into the shadows before the sight of their old childhood spot popped into sight. He could have gone home or returned to base before standing at the top of that very hill where they had once stood, many years ago. Yet he did none of the above.

"You haven't been here in a long time." Somehow, the hero made it sound accusatory.

The villain lowered his head, scuffing the grass at his feet with the tip of his shoe. That, he could not deny. "I didn't have time."

For a long time, the hero didn't say anything, and the villain began to think that perhaps he had been forgiven and the hero would drop all this that was going on between them. He had never meant for both of them to turn out this way, him more than the hero, but life was never fair. Neither was it predictable.

"I don't think so." The hero mused, plopping down onto the soft green grass, palms flattened against the ground. "I think you were afraid. Of this place. Of the memories it would bring back. You think they would go against what you were taught you would become."

"Who I've become is the path I've chosen for myself. No one else forged it for me." The villain snapped harshly, with a little more bite to his words than he had intended.

The hero fixed him with a knowing look. "Is that what you really think? Listen to your heart, and tell me. Honestly."

The villain bit down on his lower lip before sinking down onto the spot beside the hero. He said nothing. Just stared into the distance ahead, and fixed his eyes on the heavens above. It was going to be early morning soon.

"Doesn't being here make you feel small? Infinitesimal? With the land stretching on as far as the eye can see and the stars littering the sky above? I have always come back here, even after you were gone. It made me feel free, like…like an escape from reality. Here, I…we can be whoever we want to be. No one to forge our paths for us, no one to decide what we could be, no one to force us to be what we could never be."

"Life is rarely that simple, Hero." The villain intoned, hands fisting clumps of grass on either side of him.

"And again, you're right. But that would merely be following what the cosmos has planned for you. Many people lament that life is difficult, that it can never give us what we want. Yes, but a few break through life's barriers, because they believe. They believe in what they want, they believe in a happier ending, they believe in embracing destiny and revolting against fate. You don't have to be who you don't want to be just because others have carved the path for you, because others like you have done it before you. You are not like the others. You are unique, and you are what makes you you. I'm not asking you to drop everything all at once, I'm just asking that you rethink your life choices that you have obviously made not for yourself but for others. I'm asking that you give yourself a chance. Just a small one, in a world that's too big for us."

An amalgamation of emotions rushed through the villain, and his heart ached. The words were on the tip of his tongue, struggling past one another to spill past his lips, yet he could not bring himself to do it. He swallowed the chunky letters back down, tasting bitterness and the acridity of them burning sharp against his throat, pressing his lips tight together, stinging eyes staring resolutely ahead.

They sat on the hilltop for a while, the crickets chirping around them, the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees, the brook singing merrily downstream.

"It's getting late," the hero said quietly after what seemed like eons. "I should go. Rest well, Kaison."

The villain started. He hadn't heard the hero use his real name since they were children. It evoked something in him, a stirring deep in his gut, something primal and raw and so achingly sweet and sour at the same time.

"Did you know, your name means "son of fighter or rebel"?"

The villain shook his head and the hero smiled sadly, slowly rising and making his way past the villain.

"Just now," the villain blurted out in a panic, the hero's back the only thing in his vision. His feet had stopped, and he had not turned around to face the villain, but the villain knew the hero was listening. He always had.

"You asked me what makes me happy. You did. When we were kids and all that. You've always been the one stable thing in my life, even after we went down separate paths. You were always there. You never left."

By now, the villain was struggling not to cry. But it was hard, as the tears pooled in his eyes and he bit down on his lip harder, angling his head downwards to stare at the patch of grass between his feet.

Suddenly, the hero was there, kneeling down beside him, taking his hands into his and holding on tight. "It's okay to cry. It's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to be free, to be whoever you want to be. It's okay to give yourself a chance."

The villain's emotions betrayed him, and the dam broke. It had been more than ten years since he had last cried, since he had last allowed himself to cry.

The hero squeezed his hands tighter. "You don't have to do this alone. If you're ready to try, I'm here to help."

The villain nodded, and he could see the relief in the way the hero's shoulders sagged, the joy in the beautiful smile that broke across his face. The hero pulled him into a hug, one that was long overdue, and that exact same feeling from earlier arose in the villain. It felt like regret, like relief, like a certain kind of joy and bliss, the only kind you could find when you were at home. And it felt like love. The love of an old childhood friend, the love of someone you could call home. It was the love of someone he had loved dearly since day one and had never stopped loving over the years.

As if reading his thoughts, the hero pulled away, cupping his tearstained face in his warm soft palms, resting his forehead against the villain's, their noses touching and their breaths misting in the cool air between them. "I missed you."

"Missed you too." The villain croaked, managing a shaky smile.

One minute, they were barely an inch apart, and the next, the hero's lips were on his. They fit perfectly, like a last piece fitting into a jigsaw puzzle. The kiss felt soft and sweet and slow, something warm and burning that crashed through their veins and threatened to burn them from the inside out. It felt like home, something the villain hadn't had in a very long time.

In the distance, brilliant purple met stormy grey, as the sizzling flash of a lightning bolt appeared on the cusp of dawn.

[analviel]

TIM DRAKE IS NOT ROBIN

It just so happens when Tim was planning to find Dick, his parents suddenly call him to tell him that there's a party or an event or just something on the other side of the world he can attend with them.

Sometimes they do this and Tim always says yes. It's as rare as leap years. Meaning it has happened only three times in his life before. He agonized over it. But you know, Tim's just a kid and there's no guarantee he can actually do something about Batman and Nightwing. Besides, Batman's been managing -if you can call it that- this long, with Alfred by his side, who's words certainly weights more heavily than the neighbours kid. He can afford a couple of weeks away from Gotham. By that time, Batman probably would've gotten his head straight. He's a hero, he's like, really strong, if anyone can get through this... besides, Tim figures Superman or Wonder Woman will do something before he truly crosses the line, right? Why would a kid know better than real superheroes, right? They must just be waiting until they're really needed. Right? Even though Tim personally thinks they should've at the very least locked Batman up somewhere he can't harm anyone or himself if they can't convince Dick to go back to being Robin. They're heroes.

Tim really wants to spend time with his parents. But before he leaves, he sends letters to every place he thinks Dick may be. The Titans Towers, his apartment in Bludhaven, where he lives with Starfire, Haly's circus, even to houses of his friends heroes. (Tim is twelve/thirteen alright. And one that has maybe below average self-awareness and his letters were very polite even if the act itself might've been vaguely sort of threatening).

So Tim leaves Gotham to spend time with his parents. It's busy, his parents keep him busy, and he doesn't have much time to dedicate to the news from Gotham. And really, if this is how it always is, no wonder his parents don't always have attention to spare on their kid in Gotham. So many things to do, so many things to attend, so many people to meet, and even more sites to visit. And the fighting. Tim hadn't realize it was this bad and suddenly thinks that, you know, it might've been better if he did stay back home. He realizes his parents actually brought him with them because they think a kid will somehow... magically fix them...??? Tim doesn't know, adults can be stupid.

Eventually, they realize the wrong in their ways and sends Tim back when his presence proves ineffective. Tim comes back to the city burning.

Well, not literally, but sort of.

Parts of it are burning. But not the whole thing. That's something.

Batman has been missing. And looking into it, at his last appearance, Tim surmise he retained a heavy wound.

(Or he's dead, not like they'll reveal it to the city just to cause more chaos and panic.) Batman seems to be out of the field and that was what Tim wanted, before he would've crossed the line.

Only, thing is, he'd already revealed too much weakness. The Batsignal had been taken down after one too many close calls on the perps they pick up. And the violence only raised from there.

(The first month when Batman and Robin and Batgirl's absence started to become suspicious. The second month Batman is deep in his spiral of violence. The third month Tim follows him around and then makes plants to pick up Dick that doesn't come to fruition and then sends his letters and then leaves. Six weeks with his parents, a few days from and to Gotham, two weeks to get caught up with what happened in Gotham. Batman is out, recovering, resting, dying, who knows.

Five months was all it took for Gotham to go to hell. And all it took was one dead son.)

Spoiler rises.

Gotham has a new champion.

Tim regrets that he hadn't been able to help. Tim will help.

Tim has a new champion.

Spoiler has a fixation on Cluemaster. It's not that difficult to go from there.

As long as, one, you know who was giving the police the answers to Cluemaster's gimmick. And two, that you know there even is a new vigilante because Spoiler is not like Batman who beats perps and leave them on the sidewalk for the police to pick up.

For wearing an almost eyesearing purple costume, Spoiler prefers to keep in the shadows and if not for the time Tim had trailed after Batman's madness, he wouldn't have learned the streets enough to notice the hints.

Tim purchase a laptop, watch tutorials day in and day out, buys pieces from junkyards to fiddle with wires and boards, and leaves Stephanie Brown a gift on her windowsill with a purple ribbon. Tim greets Spoiler over the comms. He calls himself Asset.

(It is not well-thought out because Stephanie takes to calling the mystery person who snuck into her room and refuses to give anything about themselves out 'Ass'. Tim did not actually sneak into her room but sent a drone to drop off his gift. Steph doesn't budge.)

Tim is not yet good enough to hack into cameras around Gotham. He finds he's good with a computer but not that good, his real talent lies not in the software but in the wires and soldering iron and the tiny bug camera/audio he has Spoiler plant around Gotham. If he can't take other cameras, he'll make them. (Also in case someone more experienced at hacking than he is manages to get in the system, Tim has a self-destruct button just for that. Yes, Dr. Doofenshmirtz is a good role models for mad scientist wannabes.)

A week is all it takes for Spoiler and Asset to get all the necessary evidence against Cluemaster. They celebrate. They are thirteen year olds and they just prevented a bomb from going off and put a bad man behind bars. They are high. They find more cases, for the most part C-rank villains and bellow but they also help with the big names by Spoiler planting more cameras and Tim sending the data and feeds for her to drop off to Jim Gordon. He is the only one who knows of the characters that have risen after Batman's sleep and can guess enough from Spoiler's stiff shoulders to keep that to himself.

Then...

Then it is six months and two weeks.

Tim watch from his now multiple screen behind his walk-in closet as a grave is dug out from the inside. Because S&A have put cameras everywhere just in case. After all, it's places you think are of no interest that criminals will sought to make deals in.

Tim does not send his partner to what may be a zombie but instead tells her to clear the direction Jason is stumbling towards. It takes him minutes to realize that Jason is patrolling his Robin patrol. Jason is sent to the hospital and Tim contacts them to list him under the Drakes, paying for his room and every other necessities. Has him transferred to the hospital that Drake medical industries is personally funding. When asked the name, Tim says Alvin Draper. He gets a cab to the hospital, finds Jason knocked out, peers at Robin's face. It's when they're alone, the previously dead boy's hands wrapped in bandages that Tim confirms in disbelief that as far as he knows, the boy matches Jason Todd. As if him digging his way out of Jason Todd's grave wasn't enough. Granted, Tim doesn't even know the shade of his eyes, so he's not the best judge.... Tim snaps a picture from different angles of the room and takes another cab back to Bristol while thinking up a story.

Tim knocks on the neighbour, tells them he's got something of Jason and if he can see Mr. Wayne. Tim is surprised himself by how relieved he is to see Bruce standing alive and well. Or not standing, leg and arm in a cast, an IV beside him on the couch in the drawing room. Tim weaves his story. Little Tim Drake wandering around Gotham, stumbles on a bunch of medic picking up a boy that Tim recognises as the neighbour's dead kid, pays for his hospital bills, takes a couple of pictures after the first aid or whatever and gives Bruce the pictures. Bruce makes his way to the hospital.....

I've lost steam at this point.

You decide if they arrive to see Jason and Bruce and Alfred is all tearful while Tim awkwardly leaves the room to resume his brainstorming on the S&A latest case, or they find an empty bed and Bruce goes on a frenzy tracking his undead lost son.

Additional idea: So Tim not being there didn't kill Bruce, but Bruce has been crippled and Batman is dead now. So without Robin, Batman did die.

Maybe Dick comes back to become Batman with Jason as his Robin, since that's not a combination often seen (Or the Batman Jason and Robin Tim, that's more common, though I'm loath to give up Spoiler and Asset). Around this time Babs comes back to the scene as Oracle with the birds of prey.

Additional additional idea to how they'll work with everyone back on the scene: since the Bats have the fighters and more equipped to report to time sensitive stuff, maybe S&A focus more on cold cases. Where Spoiler goes sneaking around, poking at old cases with Asset in her ears, figuring out puzzles and old clues, making breakthrough after breakthrough and bringing long overdue justice together.

Either the Drakes dies without Batman there to slap the poison out of Jack's hands because he's too busy searching for his son, or maybe they live with Tim able to direct Batman there immediately. Either way, Drake industry sponsors S&A, so now Spoiler also has toys like the Spoil... er plane??? Spoiler bike??? Eh, the name's work in progress.