#his uncle and aunts are going to murder someone

[dcxdpdabbles]

Jason: I can't make sibling game night.

Dick: Give me ONE good reason why you can't! We've been planning this for months Jay!

Jason: I know, and I'm sorry, but Danny caught the flu.

Tim: Who's Danny?

Jason: My son-

Damian: I am a UNCLE!? You have sire a child and have yet to introduce me to my nephew!?

Jason: I-

Damian: How old is the child!? Have I missed his first steps? Words? *Gasp* HAVE I MISSED HIS FIRST LAUGH!?

Jason: Danny isn't a infant he's five-

Damian: Five!? I have missed five birth celebrations and holidays, and who knows what else!? All because of you!

Jason: I just adopted Danny! I found him beaten black and blue in the dump. I think some asshole was trying to kill him. My men are searching the city.

Tim: I think it would be a good idea to replace Sibling Game Night with Sibling Man Hunt instead. I think we owe it to Danny for meeting him so late to Hunt down the asshole who attacked him. All in favor?

Damian/Duke/Cass/Steph: Yes!

Tim: Dick, are you opposed to-wait where is Dick?

Jason: He ran out the window as soon as he heard what happened to Danny. My guess is that he wants to find the asshole before you so he can put him into the ground. Don't look at me like that, Dick's always been bloodthirsty and violent. He just hides it better.

[apheliia]

I AM ALWAYS HAPPY TO LISTEN TO THE THOUGHTS RAHHHH 🫶🫶🫶🫶

FAMILY (OF SORTS) — Platonic Fatui Harbingers & reader.

i. SUMMARY: The Fatui Harbingers have a soft spot for Arlecchino's child. ii. CONTENT WARNINGS: None! iii. NOTES: STRICTLY PLATONIC, headcanons, fluff, parent!arlecchino, house of the hearth!reader, all of the harbingers are reader's weird aunts and uncles, gn!reader, they/them pronouns used, 1.6k words. iv. A/N: the fatui are just a dysfunctional found family and i will die on this hill. shoutout to @romaritimeharbor for listening to my rambles about this idea 🫶🫶 also pierro and pulcinella aren't here because i could not think of anything to write for them :')

All of the harbingers knew about Arlecchino’s child; the one that appeared in Fatui Headquarters stuck to her side, eyes cast to the floor. They all saw the way that Arlecchino had held a soft grip on their shoulder, guiding them through the halls with the gentle touch of a parent from the gentle hands of a monster.

The Knave always swore she didn’t play favourites, but from an outside view it was clear that they held a special place separate from the rest. Anyone could see the way they appeared so much more frequently by her side. They were permitted to sit in on meetings, following her like a shadow. Some of the Harbingers guessed that she had picked them to be her successor; that their frequent shadowing was training them to take over once she was gone. Others joked about Arlecchino’s apparent soft side taking over. Whatever the reason, time went on, and the Fatui saw more and more of them.

All of them varied in their opinions of them—some indifferent, some fond—but the Harbingers all cared for them in their own ways.

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Columbina simply adores them. They’re just so small and cute, so tiny and fragile! Admittedly, her idea of ‘tiny’ is rather skewed—applying to anyone she deems weaker than her (notably, this label also gets given to Capitano and Tartaglia, despite their larger size and physical strength. The Damselette is truly an enigma.)

Whenever Arlecchino allows her to watch over them, she is delighted. She has a penchant for pet names, so ‘angel’, ‘my sweet’, and ‘lovely’ are all more commonly used than their name. Sometimes there’s a ‘baby’ or ‘bub’ if she’s feeling particularly affectionate, but no matter the name, it is always dripping with sweetness. She’ll sing to them too, to calm them down or get them to sleep. Her voice is gentle, laced with as much love as she would show her own child.

Some Fatui believe Columbina is a woman formed from hollow sweetness; that behind the lazy smile and soft voice, lies a callous and unfeeling heart, but her insistence on singing them to sleep comes from a place of genuine affection.

When they have to return home, she’ll kiss their cheeks and sweep them into a hug, making them promise to visit her soon.

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The fact that Arlecchino would tear out his throat with her bare hands if he dared to look at them the wrong way is the only thing stopping Dottore from roping [Name] into one of his experiments. Even then, he can’t help but investigate them a bit. Nothing extreme—please put the knife down, Knave—just some simple trials to see how they work. A quick strength assessment, a test of their reflexes, enough to judge the effectiveness of the House of the Hearth’s training.

The segments all had different opinions of them, varying from Prime’s general indifference to some of the younger segments fondness towards them. The latter were less likely to try to trick them into the lab—not that Arlecchino would allow them anywhere near it without strict supervision—and instead focused their efforts on convincing them to help mess with the rest of the Dottores. They proved to be an excellent partner in crime to thoroughly ruin the older segment’s day.

Despite his assertion that he won’t harm them, Dottore tends to be the one Arlecchino trusts least around her child. His unwillingness to get on her bad side doesn’t stop her from insisting Columbina or herself accompany them whenever they visit his lab.

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Tartaglia loves them. The days he gets to see his siblings are few and far between, so he’s always eager to play the older brother for them, and for any other House of the Heath kids that stop by. In fact, whenever any of the children visit, he makes sure to buy them plenty of sugary treats and candies before quickly sending them back to their Father.

(Arlecchino was not happy the first time this happened. It didn’t stop him from doing it every time, though.)

He was the first to convince them to call him Uncle, a feat that he bragged about to the rest of the Harbingers. This small incident would inadvertently lead to a petty competition to see who their favourite is, an event that would quickly spiral out of control with bribery and promises coming from all sides.

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Sandrone is very particular with who she allows in her workshop. When the rare guest was allowed inside, they had to follow three simple rules: do not touch anything, do not move unless I tell you to, and do not talk to me while I work. When [Name] first stumbled into the room, she was prepared to discourteously shoo them out the way she did whenever Tartaglia poked his head in to see what she was working on. But after some extensive begging, she relented and sat them down in a corner to watch her work. 

Even if she is far less fond of them as some of the other Harbingers, she still audibly squeaked the first time she was called Aunt Sandrone. This was covered up with a cough, but nothing could stop the warmth blooming in her chest. It was the first time a living creature had addressed her with such a familial title; some of her synthetic creations had a habit of calling her Mother, but this was a living, breathing person.

After they started calling her that, she quietly told them they were free to visit when she was working—provided they did not interfere with anything. 

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As much as he denies it, Scaramouche has a big soft spot for kids. He’ll swear up and down that he doesn’t care for them at all, but he treats them noticeably gentler than he treats any other member of the Fatui. Arlecchino once caught them huddled against him, using his wide-brimmed hat to shelter from the rain. She never let him forget that moment—the fearsome Balladeer, who notoriously never let anyone close enough to touch him, allowing her child to use him as an umbrella.

They remind him a little too much of the young boy he once considered his family. Whenever he spends time with them, there is something inside that both urges him to protect them in the way he couldn’t protect that child, and warns keep them at arm’s length before they betray him too. But his endearment towards them prevailed, and he begrudgingly allowed them a place in his heart.

Unlike Columbina’s affectionate pet names, the only nicknames Scaramouche gives them are ‘kid’ and ‘brat’, depending on his mood. On good days, they might even get called by their name, though it is a rarity. He cares for them, truly. In his own, strange way.

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Capitano is the best at giving advice out of all the harbingers. He is much more down to earth than Columbina and Dottore, and far less cynical than Scaramouche and Sandrone. He’ll let them ramble about their frustrations freely before offering gentle suggestions on what they should do to help. Even if they aren’t looking for a solution, he’s patient enough to hear out their thoughts, however jumbled and incoherent they may be.

He also likes teaching them skills he deems important for a young person to know. These include cooking—Tartaglia is not allowed to join them in these lessons after he almost burnt down the kitchen trying to ‘help’—as well as sewing and mending clothes.  

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Pantalone never would describe himself as parental. He never cared too much for kids; he hadn’t enough patience to deal with constantly crying babies or needy toddlers. Arlecchino’s child was thankfully far above that age, so they were less unbearable to deal with.

He was quite happy to spoil them with extravagant gifts and treats to win their favour, but the most effective way he does so is simply spending time with them. Trips to luxurious restaurants for lunch, allowing them to shadow him while he works. He also likes to give them advice—completely unasked for—about life, and relationships. Unlike Capitano however, his advice is of a much less helpful; he has a habit of advocating for blackmail for solving problems.

In exchange for a box of the most expensive pastries in Teyvat, he got them to call him their favourite uncle in front of Tartaglia. The miniscule dent in his funds was worth the look of betrayal on the younger Harbinger’s face.

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Signora easily took the longest to warm up to them. When she first met them, it was easy enough to label them as Arlecchino’s brat and move them from her mind. But they kept appearing, in and around the headquarters. At first they were always glued to the Knave’s side, but eventually Signora began to see them wandering alone through the halls. She took note of them—not out of any attachment to them, only out of self-preservation knowing that if Arlecchino found out her child landed themself into trouble while she was close by, it would be her funeral soon.

The sense of obligation faltered when she started to grow fond of them. They were irritatingly innocent, a rarity within the Fatui. Something about the spark in their eyes reminded her of when she was young—when she still had warmth in her heart and blood in her veins. For the first time in centuries, her frozen heart began to thaw with care towards another person, and begrudgingly, she began to accept that they were not as unpleasant as she once believed.

reblogs and comments are appreciated! ♡

[effiestrinkets]

THIS POST CONTAINS THG SOTR SPOILERS

finished sunrise on the reaping !! losing my mind. i cried so much.

here are some long rambling thoughts about my beloved effie trinket and also her friendship/relationship to haymitch abernathy. (yes, i’m back here after all these years lmao)

CW for themes present in the hunger games novels — murder, war, torture, cannibalism

this really is kinda wild to get new canon lore about haymitch and effie’s backstory so many years later. and that it contradicts all of our old fanon headcanons is funny, but honestly i love this canon backstory.

effie wasn’t a child watching haymitch’s games, but she’s actually a lil bit older than him! probably 5-10 years older, right? and imo she’s such a sweetheart even though she’s flawed and capitol-brainwashed. she came in and showed so much kindness to the D12 districts in the 50th hunger games, she met haymitch before he went into the arena and saw his true self. before alcoholism, before the capitol twisted him into something he wasn’t. the moment when he picked up the dropped makeup box for her was sweet.

i just love all of the new details we learn about effie. in the og trilogy katniss is so oblivious and dismissive of effie (no shade ily katniss) so i really enjoyed getting haymitch’s pov and finding out that he feels comforted by her and trusts her

• she had lavender hair when we first meet her!! this to me feels related to maysilee having a lavender dress at the reaping. something something both women are women haymitch grows to love. also love that we see effie wearing lavender in the hunger games movies a lot. lavender is associated with many meanings — calmness, grace, love, devotion, femininity, queerness, royalty, take your pick.

• loved to know effie loved her younger sister proserpina so fiercely and would go out of her way to help her :’)

• she dressed D12 nicely for their interviews and really showed them some small moments of kindness — it was especially lovely to see her and maysilee having moments of girlhood together in what were maysilee’s last hours of normality — and that she was kind to lou lou

• also i enjoyed the hints about the trinket family and effie’s great-aunt messalina and great-uncle silius disgracing the family during the war. knowing it’s ‘hard (enough) to be a trinket’ in the context of the capitol really informs us of so much of effie’s motivations and mannerisms. she’s obsessed with being perfect because their family has clearly been critiqued and shunned at times. her sister’s at the university, not the academy, which means they aren’t part of the capitol elite.

and thinking about what they might have done to be disgraced… silius trinket owned clothes with concealed weapon slots? bloodstains?? plutarch describing silius as ‘depraved’??? it probably wasn’t rebel sympathy because effie says “you win” when vitus says that’s what his grandfather was, so i’m leaning towards cannibalism, becausec also…

in TBOSAS we learn from snow that nero price (a titan of the railroad industry) was a cannibal during the war and served his maid’s leg to his family. his daughter persephone price was a mentor along with snow in the 10th hunger games. it’s implied persephone price, as a child, ate the human meat food that her father provided. much like the myth of persephone eating the pomegranates from the underworld.

can someone with more ancient history knowledge pls expand upon this — i feel like it’s something. now, in ancient rome, valeria messalina was the cousin of emperor nero. she was the third wife of the roman emperor claudius, but had an affair and married her lover silius and as a result, messalina and silius were both executed.

and proserpina (effie’s sister) is the roman name for persephone (confirmed daughter of a cannibal in tbosas)! i personally believe that’s gotta be a sign that effie’s relatives also engaged in cannibalism during the war.

• effie told haymitch he was being brave and said he deserved to look beautiful 🥹

• she’s a fake leather hater, lol, this fact goes so well with film!effie loving mahogany

• she was so nervous before haymitch went into the arena that her hands were shaking, and she reminded him not to step off the plate for 60 seconds so he wouldn’t die

• she promised to get his token to his love (leonore dove) if he died in the arena

• she believed in a positive attitude to get through anything :’)

• post-games, she stood strong in the face of peacekeeper bullets and she was already faking positivity and she was determined as ever, ‘you can’t keep effie down’

• while everyone else saw haymitch as a vicious animal and had him chained up, she trusted he would never hurt her and stood by him

• she watched over haymitch at the victory party in the capitol when he was in a cage

• when they needed a new escort and plutarch suggested effie, she came even though it wouldn’t be easy for her. being an escort is a way for her to climb the social ranks, but it’s also so challenging and puts effie in line of president snow’s gaze

• after his family and leonore were killed, she tried to motivate haymitch to keep living when he was suicidal and she helped him to bathe and get cleaned up and doted on him and she took the knife out of his hands when he started sleeping with it

• she tried to keep haymitch sober on the victory tour despite all the booze around them

i love her so much u guys. she’s such a misunderstood character with a lot of love in her heart <33333

she’s brainwashed by the capitol from birth and she’s certainly got all of their superficiality, like she worries about trivial things like ageing and cares too much about how she looks, but in her heart she’s good and kind. she’s clearly just trying to survive and not get herself or her family killed by the regime.

plus, i’m now thinking of all of this in context of the other novels.

how in the hunger games haymitch tries to hug effie when she’s drunk (but she pushes him away bc she’s worried about looking perfect for the reaping), and how they bicker (more so in the films) but trust and actually get along with each other, because now we know they’ve known each other 25 years at this point and in this time, and that means they were mentor and escort to 46 children who died before katniss and peeta came along.

effie tries to help katniss and peeta, as best as she can, and she grows to love them. she just wants them to be safe and hates to see them hurt. and she wishes she could make sponsor deals… and she and haymitch are “of one mind” and really do work well together as a team. and effie hides her smiles when the other 3 are being kinda traitorous. she’s got a rebellious streak herself.

then in catching fire she’s even more of a mother hen to peeta and katniss, she stops drinking in solidarity with haymitch while he’s trying to be sober, she gets them all the gold bangles to be a team, when effie stresses about being behind schedule and everything not being perfect because of delays haymitch sides with effie when katniss is rude to her, effie fusses over the kids all the time, she freaks out when peeta and katniss do the seneca crane / rue moments to the gamemakers and haymitch sides with her warning them not to be rebellious. effie is so deeply aware of how rebellion gets u killed and she keeps her mouth shut to stay alive. just like haymitch does. GAHHHH.

and, the detail in sotr that effie hates needles, but then in mockingjay (the book) she ends up a prisoner of the capitol and gets tortured and starved and probably gets drugged to all hell. and haymitch and plutarch have a hard time keeping her alive. bloody hell.

now, onto the hayffie of it all.

book!haymitch loves leonore more than anything, and he still sees visions of her throughout his life including into the epilogue, post-war. i always wondered what suzanne collins would do after the films leaned in harder into the hayffie romance angle (thank u woody and liz lmao) and i do like that she kept it aligned to the original books — it’s very mature and realistic. they do care deeply for each other, but it’s not some glossed over romance given the deep trauma haymitch has been through.

book!haymitch by the end of his games, after everyone he loves is murdered, believes that he cannot love anyone or they’ll die. he closes himself off completely. of course he’s not going to allow himself to become romantically linked to effie and have a relationship with her. he’s broken and an alcoholic and trying to win a rebellion. katniss, in catching fire, thinks he could’ve had any woman in the district, but he doesn’t. he can’t.

but in the epilogue, now that the war’s over? yeah he worries that his liver is gonna fail him, but he’s still only in his early 40s and they do have great medicine so who’s to say what happens between him and effie in the next 40-50 years of their lives? maybe they stay just friends, maybe they become romantic. i think that’s all open to interpretation. SOTR really doesn’t rule out romantic!hayffie to me. in fact i think it gives us some delicious angst potential (hello fanfic) wherein he loves effie but will always love and mourn leonore.

anyway, i am just so glad to know more about effie trinket and glad we got to see her again. she is so special to me. i need an effie book please and thank you. ❤️

[4mrplumi]

ZERO (i) : SCAVENGERY . (ms/next)

-> plot synopsis - you don't think you're as odd and horrifying as the news makes you out to be. but you have never much cared for the validation of others, and certainly not theirs.

-> batfamily x serial killer reader. playlist (wip) ask 2b added to taglist

-> tw; gn reader, guns, referenced assault, violence, toxic relationships, eventual fem love interest, bug taxidermy, unhealthy coping mechanisms, murder, sociopathic tendencies, full on master list.

> a/n; horribly in love with the idea of a self-sufficient classy mean judge. reblogs and interactions appreciated!! a lot (●'◡'●)

in fact, you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition, their thanks.

you won’t say you’re not petty, not childish, not absurd and not disgusting for what you’re doing, but you’ve heard it innumerable times before, and don’t mind it now. in a matter of days, the limits you’ve placed on yourself have become the bane of your existence.

bright, technicoloured posters with you favourite bands and characters hang on the walls, music playing merrily on a small portable speaker you’d bought with your self-earned pocket money. it all provided the perfect image of a regular teenager, to the extent that you weren’t really creating a civilian identity like your family, but living through it. normally.

it makes you giddy, and you know it shouldn’t, to be so unsuspecting. your grades are mediocre, but your teachers praise your work, you’re not popular enough to go be invited to every party, but enough to be friends with three quarters of the grade, not dedicated enough to a franchise to know it super well, but still enjoy it through multiple perspectives. normal, exceptional, and normal.

that’s what makes it all the more rewarding to do what you do. since being adopted at eleven, you’ve pieced together the caped identities of the monolith you call your family with lovely colour-coded pin boards and pictures. you know they escape into the night to fight not criminals, but fight crime, beating and getting beat in the process.

you think it’s tedious, but you never comment. there’s not much you remember prior to coming into the manor, except the raw experiences from fleeing cheerfully down unkempt, spray painted, molding stairway chambers with your friends away from an angry neighbour, laughing the whole way down. sharing fries for one among six to seven people, since money was hard to get by and harder to go around and listening to the one person who could afford school talk about it. pushing your friends on the swings and them tying your laces in return, since the swings were too far from the ground to push yourself, and scratchy velcro was for “sissies”.

you could say your childhood was rugged, but fairly kind for a gothamite. you weren’t given the life of a gilded richman’s son like tim, or the hard street crime life of jason. you weren’t raised by assassins or masters like damian and cassandra, not clever and determined like duke, not gifted with athleticism like dick. normal, incredibly. lucky, even.

you cannot think of anyone when you think of family. you considered your group of friends (acquaintances does your relationship better justice, but at ten, everyone was a friend if they didn’t wear a badge and a cap) family, but you knew that’s not what the word meant. they’d go back home to fighting parents, single mothers, thieving fathers, earning siblings or aging aunts and uncles. you would go home to a quiet one-room apartment and a poor quality mattress.

it’s not fair to say you weren’t cared for. the neighbourhood considered you their darling child, your friends’ parents sending you food, aunties reading you stories and elderly residents providing comfort when you wanted the rare support of an adult. but you had no family because by your accord, you would have to return home to them for someone to be family.

it’s the opposite now. you return home from school to bruce wayne and his entourage of misplaced children, but your interactions are stiff as stone. you go out to diners and have the most soulless conversations, stay in the house and refuse to partake in their exchanges.

because you are different. their morals are aligned to your guardian’s, of justice and strength and so on, so on. your morals are aligned with your survival, no one else's, selfish, scavenging. you cannot get along on a base value, because you don’t belong to their nest of canaries. you are, as a silly buzzfeed quiz at five in the morning said, a shrike.

yet still, you seeked the warmth of family. the resurgence of that feeling you once had in your old life. you could never return, having now experienced the fruits of luxury, having lived too far from “home” for far too long, with the added weight of a bruce wayne shaped shadow that followed you. the immense danger it would bring to yourself and those around you would be preposterous, unimaginable, but no more horrifying than the awkwardness you'd receive from you old not-family. scrutinising stares, untrusting glances, forced waves. no, no, it wouldn’t do. you don’t want to feel miserable. 

it’s enough that your presumed family already gives you those looks. sneers from damian, concerned glances from cassandra, brief unease from dick, ignorance from tim, you could go on and on and on. and you’re not stupid. you only have yourself to blame.

your vanity, as the buzzfeed quiz had said, in curling cursive font that sometimes turned to boxes on the ui, presented itself as a horrifying ignorance. unlike a peacock’s gushing beauty, your pretty-factor extended only as far into first impressions. when someone gets closer, enough to see the white of your eyes, they shrink away.

crude comments, satirical dismissal, and sharp judgement are things that have, in air quotes, made you unlikable. when watching a documentary about bug-taxidermy on one of the tvs, damian had walked in and commented on the generous “inhumanity” of it. instead of justifying the practice with explanations of how ethical it was, you’d scoffed and called him dramatic. he antagonised you, and you couldn't care less.

mean things left your mouth without hesitation, “who cares” and “you’re doing too much” at the simplest things. but you didn’t do it on purpose. growing up, kindness was reserved only for people in your circle, barterers of goods and generosity. you were polite to the old ladies who brought you food, nice to the new kid who looked at you for guidance, and offered support to people who’d offered that to you too.

you had no obligation to be kind to the wayne household. they had done nothing for you, other than pulling you out of a blood stained alley and providing you a home you didn’t ask for. you weren’t let in on their family bonds and not given the chance to create mutual trust with them, and were not keen on it after their whitewashed kidnapping either. 

perhaps you had the frayed edges of low-class living from gotham’s alleys, but you also had firmly set, stich, stern and strict guidelines about your behaviour. you would not make the first move, and you would not do more than fulfill debts. one favour for another, never more.

that’s what makes your secretive secret side job exhilarating. you have no need to do what you do, except for a sense of duty. the term itself, obligation, is unfamiliar, exciting. like many, but not the majority, the batman and his menagerie’s morals seem too high standing for the crevices of gotham’s underworld. only the red hood can relate, and even he is too far from the truth in your eyes.

death was a permanent solution to the wrongs of people. but you could not simply just wipe out a criminal from the street and call it a day. the only striking similarity between you and bruce wayne, was that the two of you didn’t fight criminals, but fought crime. you snuffed it out as it started hinting at the surface, not waiting for a track record or a ticket list on a license. nothing was forgiven, because you were not obliged to forgive.

you did not forgive, but did excuse. the theft of food, the death of someone too touchy, the fractured ribs of a parent too cruel, were excused. because like you, the suspect, the criminal, was also simply bartering. a favour for a favour, a wicked death for a wicked life. they would be let off from your radar, until someone else got to them. you were not obliged to save them. you are duty-bound only to rid. 

out of habit really, you resorted to violence. seeing a lady bothered by a fellow too close a few months back, you did what came naturally without the supervision of domineering adults and officers and shot him point blank. for a second, the woman stilled, painted in blood from the spray that arced to her, before screaming in horror and fleeing, without so much as a glance in your direction. 

you were unperturbed by the lack of thanks, with a hint of humour at the thought, since it meant you were not indebted to her and she was not to you. 

but it’s the realisation that comes shortly after, that a fine or a scolding would not similarly scare away the man, and he was now well taken care of. and you think of the other scummy people hiding gotham’s crowded basements, and think of their freedom. it makes you angry, it always has, truly it does. death was not an uncommon occurrence in gotham, the murders and abductions, cruelty and pain all as abundant as the trash, poverty and crime within the city. why was it only an offense when it came to the people who perpetuated it?

comfort does little to save victims. a bag of cash and a pat on the back will not rid them of their memories, sadness, or their losses. you are neither sympathetic nor can you relate, but you are angry. have been angry. on their behalf. the world is a rotten and sick place, and this city is especially so. and while batman is a poor janitor, the red hood one too late, and the monolith of your family too distant, you are decided. you’ll wash this place clean like a broken truck, knowing it’ll never work again, but look pretty as it remains.

and you, a good-for-nothing, always scorning, useless kid, are unsuspecting. you are grateful for their ignorance. you do not need their recognition or their thanks.

> a/n i think this is a solid part one for a prologue bit. the crow choir series is getting a bit neglected because i want to think over its intricacies a bit better. in contrast, this is a very kick and throw kind of plot line, more fun to write for.

i've been super nervous to post on tumblr but am enjoying it. hopefully will upload the next bits soon, interactions so very very appreciated! esp ideas in comments or asks, because it makes me feel like i'm not wiling away the time i should use for other things (T_T) overall just feels nice too.

thank you for reading!!

[asha-mage]

🌶️

The MCU's Spiderman is not a poor execution of Peter Parker's character concept. He's not even poor execution of Miles Morales's character concept.

He is a poor execution of Terry McGinnis's character concept.

Peter Parker and Miles Morales both have so many fundamental pieces to their characters that are just missing for the MCU's Spiderman. Familiar names are floating around him- Aunt May, Mary Jane, Ganke Lee- but the fundamental ideas that make up Peter or Miles arcs just are not there. Themes like Miles's family expectations, Peter's constant money struggles, and the balancing act of doing good vs trying to live your own life are all absent. Even the idea of power and responsibility isn't properly introduced until the THIRD MOVIE when that really should been the central theme from the beginning.

Rather the MCU Spiderman has way more parallels with Terry McGinnis. Both are young hot shot teenagers who end up being taken under the wing of established and experienced hero who is on their way out. Both have complex relationships with their mentor which in a lot of ways serves as the driving force of their character arcs. Both gain high tech suits which enable their heroism. Both are viewed (or at least supposed to be viewed in MCU Peter's case) as heirs to the legacy of this hero.

It falls apart when you get into how they are different. While Uncle Ben is implied to have existed and be dead by the time MCU Peter is introduced in Civil War it's never actually confirmed and never properly comes up. Meanwhile the death of Terry's father is essentially the inciting incident of Batman Beyond: it's what motivates and drives Terry and the murder and it's fallout are the main focus of the first two episodes of Batman Beyond.

What's more MCU Peter's relationship to Tony is grounded in the fact that Tony just shows up one day and essentially taps him to join the Avengers. Bruce by contrast initially tosses Terry out on his ear, and when Terry turns up seeking justice for his father Bruce can't offer him anything but 'go ask the cops for help', and when that goes exactly as poorly as Terry said it would, Terry breaks into the manor steals the Batsuit and goes to stop Powers himself. Terry has active agency in his own choice to be a hero, which helps define his relationship with Bruce and to heroism. While MCU Peter was doing his own superheroics prior to Tony showing up in Civil War (not that he ever does much of that in future movies) his relationship to Tony is defined by Peter's dependence on him and his quest for Tony(/the Avengers)'s approval. And because they don't even bother name drop Uncle Ben or flashback to him, we're left with the impression that the main thing driving MCU Peter is that quest for approval. His motivations are never more complexly explored, and we don't even really see him just running around Queens stopping muggings or car crashes or anything that hints he enjoys or feels the need to actually help people.

And I think that gets into the final and most important difference between the two. Gotham not only needs Batman, it visibly and obviously and terribly needs Batman. Batman Beyond leans into this because decades without a Batman have left Gotham a cyperbunk dystopian hellscape. The city needs someone to stand up to the darkness, to be a symbol of hope, to be aspirational. Terry taking up that mantel means fighting supervillains, yes- but mostly it means doing what the original Batman did. Solving murders, stopping muggings, rescuing people from burning buildings or fighting off street gangs like the Jokerz.

But even in the earliest MCU movies, New York only needs superheroes when the current world ending threat shows up. Otherwise the city is all bright shinny clean streets filled with haplessly content citizens. This is the only reason that Vision's position of 'Our very strength invites challenge' in Civil War makes any sense- because the only purpose of these Superheroes is usually to fight a threat they where somehow responsible for creating. And this problem hits 'friendly neighborhood Spiderman' the hardest because he only has a responsibility to use his great power to solve problems, if their are problems in need of solving. Most of Peter Parker's (and Miles Morales's, Gwen Stacy's, or any other Spiderperson's) day is not fighting alien armies or netherworld gods. It's stopping break ins, rescuing people from car crashes, or dealing with other small scale local threats, that none the less benefit from someone with his abilities to make them better. Either New York in the MCU is an ideal utopian city where the police have everything handled apparently (which ha!) or Peter is apparently not interested in stopping bad things from happening. He spends so much of the first movie basically begging Tony to give him superhero things to do, not realizing that he could go outside and find people that need help on his own.

In conclusion MCU Peter Parker isn't 'regular Peter Parker but not an underdog', or even 'Miles Morales but white'. He's 'Terry McGinnis but without any agency in his own heroism'.

[midnightshindig]

Ahhhhhhhh why are you so good at embodying the characters when you write??! (Teach me👀)

This has been on my mind for awhile, but Mark x platonic ride or die bestie headcanons. I just feel bad for him yknow? Home boy/girl/babe is ready to rock the next enemy’s ****shit**** if they make things a smidge stressful for him or his loved ones. But is also simultaneously very considerate/sweet in their own dumpster-fire way. No matter what dimension, what decision, what future, they’re there because they care. Oh imagine them being like an older sibling figure to Oliver or later on Uncle/Aunt figure for Tara!

Thank you for your time - hope you’re doing well 🫡✨

Mark & Bestie!Reader

Okay so here's where I tell you all my shameful secret:

I had one of those etsy accounts where you pay to get a letter from a fictional character in middle school...

I made like over a thousand dollars with it before deactivating it for school reasons. and that's how I'm so well versed in getting into character. Is I used to get paid to do it.

My one tip is to-- obviously-- understand the character. But not from their perspective, from YOUR perspective. You have to get it and find a way to be them that is still you or else it's too unnatural and you feel cringe

ALSO IDK WHAT THE FUCK A TARA IS BUT I WILL SMITE YOU. Please no comic spoilers <3 (/nm)

anyways hcs under the cut!

Mark was a pretty feeble dude in high school pre-powers

and William-- as a scrawny gay kid-- can only protect him from so much

Which is why when you-- tall ass feisty ass chomping-at-the-bit Y/n-- came into his life, you clicked instantly

It was a classic case of Muscle and brain

except you were both Mark's protector AND his geography tutor

sooo.... idk what Mark really brings to the table

I'm kidding I'm kidding!

you and Mark are absolute homies and you're so happy to have met him

....

especially when he GETS SUPERPOWERS???

All those years of you beating down cruel jocks and trash talking snobby snoots have finally paid off

because now this 18-year-old dweeb owes you like basically a lifetime of free flights to wherever

ohhhh and you abuse this power SO much it's not even funny

"Mark, I feel like Pizza-"

"Oh no..."

"In Italy!"

"This is the fourth time this month!"

"Chop chop, super boy."

Not to say you're using him, though

you're still the same gung ho supportive riot you've always been

When Cecil is getting in Mark's space and business, you're the first person up from your chair to bark at him to

"SHUT THE FUCK UP"

Like "Mark dude I really don't like you taking orders from some politician snob. He's bad news."

and he'd come to an "I told you so moment" with you in a few years.

But you never hold it against him.

Mostly.

You're also one of the only people who Mark listens to when he's wrong

"I'm not leaving Eve!"

and you fucking kick in the door like

"Mark- your eight year old brother is out there ALONE and DEFENSLESS against MURDEROUS YOUS. Debbie is who knows where and if you don't take the fight to them, they're going to bring the fight to you with my head on a stick." You jostle him and shove him by the shoulders

Mark, frazzled and annoyed "no! I'm not leaving her-"

"Shut the FUCK UP." You stop, holding him sternly "Eve is going to HATE YOU for this. Get the fuck out there and let me handle things here." your face softens "I'll make sure these pigs don't touch her."

Powerless though you are, this brings him enough comfort to agree to go back to fighting

Eve can't thank you enough for this when she wakes up weeks later

Mark has a lot of power imbalance issues

it's good that he has someone so staunchly opposed to him who loves him so much

but you're not here to corral Mark into what YOU want him to do

for example

"Y/n, I don't know what to do, Cecil won't stop using D.A Sinclair and Darkwing- but they're murderers! How can he expect me to just work with them?!"

You took a long sip of your sweet tea, perched comfortably on your gaming chair

"I mean, I don't know, Mark. They seem under a tight leash, and doesn't everyone deserve a chance to make up for what they did?"

"Ugh- not murderers. Not guys like that." Mark is conflicted, folding his arms

You spin in your chair casually "I think you're dead wrong, but if you want to storm the capital and fuck up Sinclair yourself, I'll back you."

Mark nods in appreciation, his soles hitting the ground when he didn't even realize he was floating

"Thanks, Y/n.... I appreciate that."

"You know it, man. I'll overthrow a government for you any day. Your powers, my smarts-"

"Yyyyyou have a C in physics-"

"Ah ah aH! HONORS Physics. For second years. In college. and I'm what?" Mark opened his mouth to answer before you cut him off "I'm a first year! So blah blah blah YOUR superpowers and MY smarts." You took another drink of sweet tea "We got this."

You're the only person Mark really trusts to babysit Oliver

Since you're the only person Oliver is too scared to disobey

like not that you beat the kid or anything

you're just intimidating

He sees how you boss around his older brother- his whole WORLD- and he's like... damn gotta get in my pjs and brush my teeth before 8 ig

But you're pretty lax with him

"Hey Oliver, wanna go to the skatepark tonight?"

He's like bouncing on his toes all excited "yeah!!"

"Okayyyy but you gotta eat your peas and fly me there"

so he eats his peas and you get the hilarious visual of an eight year old holding your hands as you dangle helplessly in the air

he's literally too little to hold you any other way lmao

Mark never knowssss

Oliver is in bed by the time anyone gets home

and you're on the couch flipping through and prank calling every telepalm reader in their yellow pages

"Oh hey, you're home!" with a big, mischievous ass grin

and then Mark joins you on the couch and prank calls hella telepalm readers with you

You help him not lose his teenage boy-ness

and he needs that

so

so desperately

[cloakedsparrow]

Bat Family AU wherein only Barbara and Tim know Huntress' true identity. So when Tim needs a fake relative after Jack's murder, instead of hiring a complete stranger to pose as his uncle, he hires Helena to be his fake aunt.

As a teacher, she is against him dropping out of school but she knows him and listens to him, so she realizes how hard the last few years have been on him, especially with how often he had to change schools. They compromise, with her signing him up in a homeschooling academy. He does a lot better and even starts taking AP classes in several subjects since his training has caused him to advance in them. Not having to get up early for school or hide so much from his teachers/classmates/parental figures(s) also takes a lot of pressure off of him.

Helena gains access to the Robin's Nest Tim builds in or near their building. She also upgrades her suit and staff using some of the materials and specs from his suit and gear. They both are very good at recognizing when the other is getting close to someone who isn't good for them, or pushing themselves too hard, and they intervene.

When Barbara eventually learns that Helena is posing as Tim's aunt (probably because Helena told her) she's like "Okay, I expect this kind of thing from Tim, but why would you agree to this?!"

Helena points out that she needed to find a way to supplement her teacher's salary if she was going into keep up the vigilante gig anyway; Robin's new computer set up rivals Oracle's; and this way she can make sure the bambino does his homework and gets enough sleep.

Barbara realizes that both Robin and Huntress have been on top of their game lately.

Once she calms down from realizing that Tim just needed a decent parental figure all this time, she and Helena start trading notes and working together to keep Tim and Cassandra from turning out like Bruce, Dick, or Jason.

Whenever they learn about this, Bruce and Dick will be insulted. Jason and Alfred will add their own notes to help.

When Tim's report card comes back with straight A's and Cass has learned to read all the street signs, Helena and Barbara take them out for pizza and gelato to celebrate.

Occasionally, Tim reminds Helena that she's just supposed to pretend to be his aunt. She ignores this and reminds him to do his schoolwork and eat something before patroling.

It works.

[hoo-n-i-ki]

Cold One. (Chapter 2)

Anyone but her.

PAIRING - Volturi!Riki x Cullen!fem!reader

GENRE - Twilight AU

CHAPTER WC - 7801 (I got carried away)

WARNINGS - Vampires, graphic violence, blood, death (like a lot of it). Very plot heavy. Morally grey Riki (this is a complete work of fiction and is in no way a representation of him).

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

The throne room is silent, save for the footsteps of a messenger approaching the dais. The hooded figure kneels before the three kings. Aro, perched on his throne, eagerly extends a cold hand for the messenger to press his own against.

Excitement flickers in Aro’s eyes—then, he laughs.

“Well, well,” he muses. “Carlisle has turned another for the first time nearly a century.”

Riki, leaning against the carved stone walls with his arms crossed, finally looks up. Very little intrigues him after exactly 200 years of this life, but hopefully this is something as rousing as the Cullens’ hybrid debacle from 18 years ago.

Caius scoffs in distaste. “I assume this one will be another vegetarian?”

“If Carlisle turned them, he must believe they’ll adapt to his way of life,” Jane says simply from the side, youthful face as stony as ever.

“Pity. Setting up yet another for an eternity of insatiability.” Marcus shakes his head.

Aro hums. “What do you think, Mind Stealer?”

Riki’s crimson gaze meets the ancient ones. “He’s sired several, before.” He shrugs.

“Such apathy,” Caius sneers.

“Someone has to keep an eye on the bigger picture.”

Through his several altercations with them, Riki knows that this coven doesn’t seek trouble, but they’re always at the center of it, and it always finds its way to Volterra.

They are a family of honor. As honorable as he once was.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Present day.

The crack of thunder drowns out the sound of the victim’s screams.

You finish feasting on the redhead, and toss her corpse into a nearby dumpster like she’s nothing but an empty sack.

To be fair, that is true.

Let the cops find her. Even on the off chance that they could trace this back to you, then what? You can now take 20 of their strongest in a heartbeat.

As you saunter out of the alleyway, a lone car drifts by, music playing in the dead of night.

“Ooh, you set my soul alight,” you sing along to the familiar tune beneath your breath, off-key.

This is what sets your soul alight. The hunt. The taste running down your throat like no expensive champagne ever has.

Your heart? A different story. Perhaps it’s your human self’s dedication to saving lives rather than ending them trying to peek through.

But your heart stopped a month ago—so it certainly does not win this battle. It is merely a symbol, just like your humanity altogether.

You are now certain of three things.

First is that you are now a vampire.

Second is that your parents were murdered by vampires.

And third is that you are now a murderer.

You strut without a care in the world. Even if someone were to discern your features despite the dark, Vancouver is full of interesting characters. No one would bat an eye at some messy hair, and you could easily play off your blood-stained lips and red eyes as some new goth makeup trend.

You consider chasing the car’s driver, but you’re full.

For now.

So why you ended up finding yourself at your aunt and uncle’s neighborhood? You can’t really tell—you’re just going off on the instincts that have carried you thus far.

There weren’t any street cameras back when you lived here, but just in case there are now, you use your speed to move so fast they wouldn’t even be able to catch a single glimpse of you, and you enter the damned house without a sound.

The only problem, probably, with being a newborn is how heightened your emotions are. This isn’t you, (Y/N), you have to endure, Carlisle tried to tell you the last time you saw him.

But he doesn’t know a single thing about you.

He doesn’t understand the bitterness you carry.

You’re 11 years old, standing in this same doorway, clutching your school bag that’s soaked from the rain because they conveniently forgot to pick you up.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting so pitiful,” your aunt sneers, “if you weren’t so ungrateful, perhaps we’d actually want to help you.”

She wipes imaginary sweat from her brow as she flicks through primetime channels. “Do you know how hard it is to take care of a child that isn’t even ours? We had plans, (Y/N). You ruined them. We should’ve sent you to a foster home.”

You’d scrub the floors until your fingers ached, only for her to find some invisible speck of dirt and make you do it all over again. You remember how they’d lock the fridge at night, how they’d turn off the hot water before you could shower, how they always reminded you that you don’t belong there.

And your uncle’s attention would only come in the form of disappointment. “The chores aren’t done? Didn’t we feed you last night? Maybe you need to start earning your keep before you start demanding so much.”

But the chores were always done—just not in his wife’s eyes. Demanding so much? The only thing they give you is a roof over your head—and even that comes with strings attached.

You never forget.

And now you truly don’t belong in this house, so let’s see if they recognize you.

Your lips curl into something between a grin and a snarl in preparation as you hear footsteps coming down the stairs.

“(Y/N?)” Your uncle gasps as he rounds the entryway.

You can only imagine what he’s seeing. It’s what you saw that first time you looked in a mirror after you woke up. You, but not really you. A version so polished it almost gives off the uncanny valley effect.

You wonder if he noticed your eyes. If they’re unsettling him as much as the dreaded man’s did to you.

“Hi, uncle!” You chirp.

He gulps. “Um. How did you get in? We had the locks changed years ago.”

You inwardly scoff. Of course they did. Surely, the second your 16-year-old self left, they decided that you’ll never be welcome here again. It was probably your aunt’s idea—he’s always been her puppet.

You’re glad you’re seeing him first. That way, you can save the best for last.

“Hm? Aren’t you happy to see me?” You ask, faux confusion dripping from your voice.

Your uncle takes a step back, bumping into the console table behind him. The lamp wobbles, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are locked onto yours.

Then—her voice.

“Who the hell are you talking to?”

Right on cue.

You hear her heels clicking as she approaches, the sound triggering something deep in your bones. An old instinct, long since buried. But that fear isn’t yours anymore.

She steps into view, arms crossed, annoyance painted across her face. “Oh, it’s you.” Her gaze flicks over your bloodstained clothes, your too-perfect features, your red eyes. She scoffs. “God, you look ridiculous.”

You grin. She has no idea.

Your uncle makes a noise—half gasp, half whimper. She turns to him, irritated. “What is your problem?”

That’s when you strike.

You’re on him in an instant, fingers wrapping around his throat, lifting him clean off the ground. His feet kick uselessly.

“You should’ve been nicer to me. I would’ve spared you.” You fake-pout.

A choked gurgle escapes him, cut short when your teeth sink into his flesh.

The first time you were forced to scrub wine stains out of the carpet, you cried. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but the red wouldn’t come out.

Now, you don’t care if the stains never fade.

Your aunt screams.

You drop his lifeless body and turn to her, licking the blood off your lips.

She stumbles back, trembling, clutching the silk of her robe as if it’ll protect her. “What—what are you—”

You mimic her earlier words, tilting your head. “God, you look ridiculous.”

She turns to run. You let her. For just a second.

She barely makes it three steps before you cut her off, slamming the door shut with one hand.

She gasps, spinning around, eyes wide with terror. “Please—”

“Please?” You chuckle. “Please?” You lean in, voice dropping to a whisper. “You never listened when I pleaded.”

Then, you take what’s yours.

Afterwards, you finally step outside, not caring enough to hide the bodies the way your parents’ killers did.

The night air is cold and crisp, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked pavement and something else—something vaguely familiar. You stiffen.

“Newborns. Always so messy.”

The voice is warm, teasing. You turn just as a towering figure steps out of the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, dimples flashing.

“Hey, little sis.”

Your jaw clenches. “Emmett.”

From behind him, Rosalie emerges, golden hair cascading over her shoulder, arms folded like she’d rather be anywhere else. Her sharp eyes flick to the bodies inside the window, then back to you.

“I see subtlety isn’t your thing,” she remarks dryly.

Your lip curls. “What are you two doing here?”

“Looking for you,” Emmett answers. “Carlisle was hoping you’d come back on your own, but…” He gestures vaguely at the crime scene. “Yeah. That wasn’t happening.”

You scoff. “And what, you’re here to convince me? Because I’m not interested.”

Rosalie rolls her eyes. “You’re barely over a month old, and you’re already acting like you know everything.”

“I know enough,” you snap.

Emmett sighs, stepping closer. “Look, I get it. You’re angry. You think we don’t understand, but we do. We’ve been there.” He gestures between himself and Rosalie. “But this isn’t the way.”

You bark out a laugh. “And what is? Playing house with a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites?”

Emmett doesn’t flinch, but there’s something softer in his gaze now. Something that makes your throat tighten.

“Come back with us,” he says. “Just for a little while. Hear Carlisle out.”

Your eyes flick between them. Rosalie’s expression is unreadable, but Emmett… Emmett is genuine.

You glance back at the house, at the bodies cooling inside.

Then, after a long beat, you sigh. “…Fine.”

You follow the couple as they run to Victoria, your feet taking you faster than a helicopter could have. The ocean breeze whips against your face as you make the leap from the mainland to Vancouver Island, landing on the rocky shore with grace.

Within moments, the Cullen house is in sight, nestled in the trees, glowing softly against the dark night. Emmett and Rosalie lead you inside, not a word spoken, but the tension in the air thick enough to taste. You cross the threshold into a house that doesn’t feel like home but feels oddly familiar all the same.

Carlisle is the first to greet you. He’s calm, even in the face of your obvious disdain. “(Y/N),” he says with a warm tone. “We’re glad you’re here. Let’s sit down, please.”

You look around at the family, noting their stiff postures, their eyes full of… concern. Each couple stands off to a side, watching you, even the dhampir girl with brown eyes with her werewolf—now human—mate, who has long since healed from the tiger shifter attack since the last time you saw him.

Carlisle gestures for you to sit, and you do so reluctantly, crossing your arms. “We need to talk.”

You don’t respond at first, your eyes narrowing as you keep your attention on him. Carlisle continues, his voice steady. “There were questions about you at the hospital. They asked if we had seen you. I told them you had to leave suddenly. Your uncle fell ill, so you went to take care of him.”

You freeze for a second, a bitter laugh slipping from your lips. He did indeed fall.

“Does Dr. Park know?” Not that it matters. It’s not like you’ll be returning to that open buffet of death.

Carlisle nods. “He knows, but he can’t say anything without directly implicating himself. It’s why he just… let us go.”

“Our chief convinced the tigers to make a treaty with the Cullens—with you—to leave them be as long as they no longer turn anybody else or drink from locals,” Jacob, the wolf, speaks up.

Which drags your eyes once more to Renesmee, next to him. There is blood coursing through her veins, and her scent is very sweet. It doesn’t beckon you as strongly as human blood does, but it doesn’t stop you from looking.

Bella follows your eyes, and her head whips toward you instantly, eyes narrowing. “Stay away from her,” she warns, voice low and dangerous.

You raise an eyebrow and lean back in your seat with an exaggerated casualness. “Relax, Bella,” your voice drips with amusement as Renesmee rolls her eyes, her vampiric side giving her enough courage to not be phased by your red gaze. “She smells good like perfume, not like food.”

She’s still tense, growling ever so quietly, but her shoulders relax a bit.

You roll your eyes and turn to Carlisle. “I’m obviously not welcome here. Can I go now?”

He sighs. “You are always welcome here, (Y/N). You’re one of us now—this can be your home. We really needed to make sure that you were safe.”

“Safe?” You echo with an incredulous laugh. “I am safe. You want to weaken me with your animal blood.”

Carlisle’s eyes darken, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he waits for you to continue, and you do, your emotions swelling as the words slip out without thought.

“Do you know what my entire life has been about, doctor?” you ask, the last word bleeding with mockery. “It’s been about studying so I could get away from my aunt and uncle, or wondering what happened to my parents—why they were murdered, why I was left behind, and working on how I could be the savior I couldn’t be as a three-year-old. But now? Now I know, and now I can live.”

The room goes silent. The family watches you, each of them processing what you’ve said. You don’t look at them as they exchange glances. You don’t need to. Your mind is already made up.

You stand to leave, but Carlisle doesn’t back down. “I understand you’re angry. But what happened to your family… it doesn’t have to define who you are now.

“What you call weakness, is actually anything but. It’s the strength to endure, to be able to live publicly. You can learn to temper the cravings, if you would just allow yourself to try—you’d thank yourself for it, in the long run. And you’ll never have to be alone.”

You can feel the anger rising within you again. You’ve heard this speech before. The right way. The safe way. You’re done listening to those words.

“I don’t feel alone,” you growl, eyes locking with Carlisle’s, and your voice comes out cold, controlled. “And don’t treat me like I’m broken, because I’m not. I’m free.”

You’re not sure if you’re convincing them or yourself. If this is true freedom, or if you’re letting yourself into a new cage, one barred by thirst.

The Cullens are silent, watching you carefully, but you don’t let your voice waver. Every single one of your senses is telling you what you want, so no one is going to take that from you.

“Don’t worry.” You turn to them one last time. “For saving me, I’ll respect you enough to not drink from locals.”

You step outside, where the only sound accompanying you is the crunch of leaves and snaps of twigs beneath your feet.

Until another set of footsteps catches up to you, and you groan.

“I know what it’s like.”

You turn around to see the quiet one—Jasper.

“The hunger. It’s like an intrinsic part of you that you can’t outrun. And I didn’t. When I first turned, I couldn’t fathom living without it. Every human scent, every drop of blood, it felt like I was drowning in it… and I enjoyed that drowning.”

You quirk an eyebrow.

He groans, as though remembering his red-eyed days pains him. Whether out of temptation or guilt, though, you can’t tell.

“It wasn’t like I decided to become vegetarian overnight,” he continues. “At first, I kept giving in. I slipped up, again and again. But I needed to learn that I’m now different, and that I can’t spend an eternity surviving instead of living.”

You cross your arms, but it feels like your armor is starting to crack.

“It was about progress. Day by day, it’d get easier. Of course, I had Alice through it all.” He smiles fondly at the ground at the thought of the pixie girl. “She was my anchor.”

You don’t respond right away. You feel your jaw tighten as you scoff inwardly. An anchor. Right. How nice for him. Alice might have been there to hold him steady, but you? Nada. Romance, connection, it all seems so… impossible with your current circumstances. You’ll never have someone like Alice, and you sure as hell won’t let yourself rely on anyone else. Not now.

Jasper watches you closely, sensing your hesitation, but he doesn’t push. He simply waits.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” you say, the words leaving your mouth before you can stop them. The idea of controlling the thirst, figuring out a whole other way to live this life that still feels so foreign, it’s completely overwhelming.

Jasper gives a quiet, knowing smile. “I can train you, if you want, because I didn’t know if I could, either. But I didn’t let myself give up. And neither should you. Not if you want to be more than just alive.”

For a moment, silence hangs between you, and then, finally, you nod. “Okay. I’ll let you train me. But don’t expect me to be easy to work with.”

His grin widens just slightly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from a newborn.”

A week.

Two weeks into this stupid training.

And it’s not getting any better.

You’ve always tried to be someone who dealt with things head-on, but this… this is something else. The thirst is an ever-present beast, gnawing at your insides, and yet, no matter how hard you try, the animal blood just doesn’t sit right with you.

Jasper’s patience is a constant, though. Every time you fail to control your desire for human blood, he’s there, offering gentle guidance, but it feels like you’re fighting a losing battle. And you hate it.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Jasper urges, his voice calm but persistent. “You’ve got this. Just focus on the hunt.”

You growl, fangs flashing as you push through the motion, trying to force yourself to focus on the deer in front of you. But every time you go in for the kill, the blood is just… wrong. The taste is foreign and metallic, the warmth lacking. This hunt isn’t the same.

“I don’t get it,” you mutter under your breath, stepping back from the animal. “Why can’t I just do it my way?”

Jasper sighs. “Because, (Y/N), that way isn’t sustainable. You’re a doctor, for fuck’s sake. You will have to live with the guilt for eternity once the newborn frenzy passes.”

You were a doctor.

You’ve been trying, for weeks now, to make the animal blood work, but it’s just not you—not the current you, at least, and to hell with that meek, old version. It’s too bland, too unsatisfying. Like trying to replace a steak with a bowl of cereal.

“This isn’t living.” You shake your head. “This is sacrifice.”

Before Jasper can respond, a smooth voice breaks through the tension.

“What a nice surprise!”

You both turn to see a black-haired girl leaning lazily against a shadowed tree, arms crossed, watching you intently with a smirk playing at her lips. You catch the now-familiar smell of immortality. A vampire with the relaxed air of someone who’s seen a lot and doesn’t care to hide it.

Jasper’s eyes narrow slightly, recognizing her. “Misora.”

“Jasper.” She nods coolly, pushing herself off the tree and taking a few steps forward, her gaze shifting to you. “And who’s this? A new recruit?”

You glare but say nothing.

“Carlisle turned her a couple months ago, and I’m trying to teach her how to hunt animals.” He turns to you. “Misora is a nomad. We traveled with the Mexican coven around the same time, over a century ago.”

“Still not fond of animal blood, huh?” Her smirk widens, voice dripping with casual amusement. “You know,” she continues, her voice low and thoughtful, “forcing yourself to drink from animals is never going to feel right. It’s unnatural. But that doesn’t mean you have to give in to the bloodlust completely. You just need to learn how to control it in moderation.”

Jasper stiffens at her words, but Misora doesn’t seem to care. Her gaze never leaves yours, her confidence only growing as she speaks. “You’ve got that thirst in you. I can see it in your eyes. But the trick is not to drown in it. You can learn to kill subtly. Take what you need, don’t waste. You’d be surprised how much you can get from a little. You’re a predator, after all. You just have to think like one.”

She walks by close enough for her red eyes to shine beneath the afternoon sun, and for her skin to sparkle as brightly as you and Jasper’s.

You look at her, stunned. “You… drink from humans.”

“Of course I do,” she responds with a chuckle. “Why would I waste time hunting animals? Humans are far more interesting. And, let’s face it, they’re a lot more filling.”

Jasper steps between the two of you, his eyes flashing with warning. “I don’t think this is the kind of training (Y/N) needs.”

Misora raises a brow, clearly not intimidated. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve taught her all about controlling her impulses, Jasper. But there’s a world out there beyond your little rules. She needs to learn how to survive in it. You can’t live in a bubble forever.”

She is speaking your language.

“You’ll never feel alive if you’re constantly fighting yourself. Live for what makes you feel whole,” she says with a knowing look.

You feel the pull of her words, and for a moment, you’re caught between the two very different perspectives: the Cullens’ careful, controlled existence and Misora’s unapologetic freedom.

You turn your eyes to Jasper. “Well. I already gave your way a try.”

The girl grins as you walk over to where she stands in the clearing.

“I’m gonna teach her the Nishimura way,” she laughs in Jasper’s direction and drapes a hand over your shoulder as she leaves, and without a second look, you choose to follow.

Your life is too long for you to not explore every option.

Over the span of just a week, the girl helps you adapt to the art of subtleties—of doing what you want, but having the peace of mind that you did not cause a ruckus.

Not that you’d ever felt guilt at your messiness, but you’ll take the Cullens’ word for it that you’ll be hit with more sense after the newborn frenzy passes.

See? You did gain something from the righteousness they spewed.

“So where are you from?” You ask your new mentor.

“Japan.”

“A long way from home, huh?”

She remains quiet for a second, jaw clenched, not turning to you. “There is nothing that makes it a home for me there, anymore. Hasn’t been in over 150 years. It’s why I travel all over, except Japan.”

“How did you turn?”

Misora doesn’t speak right away, her lips pressing into a thin line. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve overstepped.

“I was sick,” she finally says. “I knew I didn’t have long.”

Something tightens in your frozen chest. “What kind of sick?”

“Didn’t have a name for it, back then, but it was the same thing my father had. My body was weak. My bones ached, my breath was short. Healers tried, but I always knew.” She shrugs. “So I lived as much as I could. Climbed mountains, even when my lungs burned. Ate what I wanted, danced even when I was coughing blood.” She pauses. “I wasn’t afraid. I made my peace with dying. I was surrounded by my mother, my sister, my friends, and if I’d died, I would’ve been with my late father and brother.”

Her smile is all sorrow, but you can do nothing but listen with furrowed brows.

She lets out a short, humorless laugh. “But I woke up, and I was this.”

You don’t have to ask what this means. The blood-red of her eyes, the effortless grace in her every movement, the unnatural stillness that clings to her. The inescapable weight of eternity.

“I don’t even know who did it,” she admits, voice bitter. “One moment, I was dying, and then… I wasn’t. Instead, I was forced to live long enough to be the one watching everyone I love die.”

You don’t know what to say. You think you should say something, offer some kind of condolence, but what would that even be worth? Misora doesn’t seem like she’d appreciate it anyway.

“I hate this,” she says, her voice raw, but her expression carefully blank. “I hate this immortality. It’s a curse. A joke. But I have to make the most of it, I guess.”

You glance down for a second, before deciding to ask the question you’ve been wondering for a while. “So why do you bother being discrete? Fuck this world and its rules. It’s not like anybody could harm you, anyways.”

“Oh, but there are people who can.”

You frown. The Cullens—Carlisle, especially—always made it sound like it’s morality.

“If we’re that powerful, we should be able to handle it.”

Misora laughs—actually laughs—but it’s sharp-edged. “Tell that to the Volturi.”

“The who?”

“The leeches who think they’re kings,” she says dryly. “They’re the reason we hide. The moment a vampire gets too flashy, too ambitious, too noticeable—” she drags her thumb across her throat. “Gone.”

You tilt your head. “And they’re strong enough to make everyone listen?”

“They have numbers. And power.” Her pale fingers flex at her sides. “There are vampires in their ranks who can do more than just be strong and fast. They can blind you, torture you, there’s even one they call the Mind Stealer, or the Puppeteer—very few people actually knows his name, but he can make you do whatever he wants with a single thought. If he wanted, he could make you kill yourself, and you’d do it with a smile.”

A chill runs down your spine, remembering the moments you behaved quite noticeably. Did Emmett and Rosalie clean up after you?

Misora scoffs. “Cowards, all of them. They hide behind their pretty little powers, thinking they’re gods.” Her lip curls. “Aro, their dear leader, is the worst of them all. Slimy little bastard.”

You smirk at her words. “Not a fan, I take it?”

She laughs, sharp and cold. “Not in the slightest.” There’s a dangerous glint in her eye. “If I was able to, I’d rip those smug assholes apart, just to watch the dust settle.”

So you follow in the cynical, but lively vampire’s footsteps.

In the span of another week, you feel more spirited than you did in the two months before. Hell, in the 22 years before.

Every night, you and Misora scour various cities, blending into the nightlife, finding your prey with ease. Her laughter is infectious, and her confidence bleeds into your own.

Tonight is no different.

You lay your lovely squad of victims near a warehouse deep in the city—somewhere no one should care to notice, but you’ll clean up after yourselves regardless.

Then you indulge.

Your movements are gradually growing more precise, with razor-sharp instincts. You sink your teeth in before the woman can scream, drinking deep, feeling the familiar rush flood your senses. The warm tang of fresh blood coats your tongue, leaving you buzzing with energy and satisfaction.

You wipe the corner of your mouth, chuckling at something Misora’s saying, but the laughter dies in your throat when moonlight casts a silvery glow over the woman crumpled at your feet.

A middle-aged woman. Her face is ashen, eyes wide open, unseeing, accusing. Your hands shake as you take her in. The faded scars along her limbs. The slight dent in her chest where a surgeon once worked to save her life.

Your hands worked to save her life.

The memory crashes into you like the most vicious wave. Around six months ago, your first week as an intern at Victoria General. A late-night car crash. Blood pooling on the gurney.

You’d stabilized her, alongside Dr. Cullen.

And now, you’ve killed her.

Your breath hitches, the remnants of her blood burning like acid in your throat. Memories flood back—the beeping monitors, the tense urgency as you prepped her for surgery, the relief that had filled you when it went well.

Something inside you breaks. Your knees buckle, hitting the cold, hard ground. The weight of your actions crashes over you, suffocating and heavy. This isn’t just a random victim. This is someone whose life you held in your hands—twice.

“(Y/N)?” Misora’s voice is sharp, alarmed. She crouches beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

You shove the body away like it burns. Your fingers tangle in your hair, pressing into your scalp, like you can dig into your own skull and tear this moment out.

But you were never able to do that.

“I—I knew her,” you choke out, eyes glued to the lifeless body. “I saved her. I saved her, and now she’s dead because of me.”

You were a doctor. You were supposed to save people. Not this.

The breaths you don’t even need, just taking them in because you need to feel human right now, rattle in your throat. The newborn instincts that have ruled you since your turning are drowned out by something deeper. A guilt so raw it feels like it’s killing you. The heightening of emotions makes your horror so unbearable, it’s sickening.

Misora’s expression shifts, her usual indifference faltering, shifting to worry, as she processes your turmoil. “Shit.”

The world tilts, spinning around you, and all you can see are the faces of the people you’ve drained. Were any of them people you saved, too? Are you undoing all the good you did in your human life?

Misora tugs at your arm, desperation seeping into her voice. “We need to get you out of here.”

You don’t resist as she hauls you to your feet, your body numb as she practically drags you away, leaving the carnage behind.

The night blurs past you.

And suddenly, you’re at the Cullens’ doorstep. The house is quiet, lights dim against the backdrop of the dense woods. Misora pounds on the door, her urgency echoing through the trees.

Esme answers, her eyes widening at the sight of you. Blood on your trembling hands. Red eyes shattered. “What happened?”

“She’s breaking down,” Misora blurts, a rare tremor in her voice. “She needs help, and I’ve never dealt with this before.”

The Cullens are there in an instant, guiding you inside, their faces painted with concern. But your gaze remains fixed on the floor, unable to lift the crushing weight pressing down on your chest.

For two days.

You don’t hunt.

You don’t move.

Carlisle sits with you in quiet understanding. Esme’s soft voice tries to soothe. Jasper subtly tamps down your emotions when they get too overwhelming. But none of it fixes the gaping hole inside you.

You don’t know how to live with this. You can only sit with the haze of guilt and horror hanging over you like a storm cloud.

But then Alice gasps.

Your head snaps up, and find her with her fingers gripping the back of the chair, knuckles like stone. Her golden eyes are distant, unfocused.

She’s the one that can see the future.

“Alice?” Jasper’s voice is low, worried.

Her voice is barely a whisper, laced with dread. “The Volturi. They’re coming.” She turns to you, eyes shaking. “For you.”

The room falls into a suffocating silence, everyone’s eyes on Alice as the reality of your actions settles over them. You share a glance with Misora, and it hits you.

You didn’t clean up after yourselves.

Now you’re gonna be the prey.

You brace yourself for the fallout. For Carlisle’s disappointment, for Esme’s soft but inevitable grief. Maybe even for Bella to suggest running and get her own little family away from everything, or for Rosalie to outwardly scoff that this isn’t her problem.

But Carlisle steps forward, his expression calm, steady. Decisive.

“Then we prepare.”

You blink. “What?”

His voice is firm, without hesitation. “We stand with you.”

Your chest tightens.

Esme nods, her warm, unyielding presence wrapping around you like a shield. “You’re family now,” she says softly, like it’s the simplest truth in the world. “And family doesn’t abandon each other.”

Alice finally blinks, the vision fading, and when she refocuses, there’s something sharp in her gaze. “They’re not here yet. We have time.”

Jasper crosses his arms, his posture shifting into something subtly protective. “Not much, though.”

Emmett grins, cracking his knuckles. “Doesn’t matter. Let them come.”

Rosalie exhales sharply through her nose, but there’s no venom in it. “You’re a reckless idiot,” she mutters, but then, after a long pause— “And if you die, it’ll reflect badly on us.”

The words are sharp, but the meaning underneath them is clear.

She’s in.

A lump forms in your throat. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve their loyalty. Not after what you’ve done.

But they’re giving it to you anyway.

“I’m staying too.”

You snap your head toward Misora.

She leans against the wall, arms crossed, but her usual smirk is gone. There’s no amusement in her eyes, no mischief. Only something cold. Determined.

“You don’t have to—”

“Oh, shut up.” She rolls her eyes. “I messed up right there with you. Do you think I’d let you die alone?” She shoves her hands into her pockets. “You’re annoying as hell, but you’re my friend, now. And besides, the Cullens are gonna need someone on their side who actually knows how to fight dirty.“

Jasper arches a brow but doesn’t argue.

Night shifts to dawn. Saturday shifts to Thursday, and the air isn’t any less thick with anticipation.

A suffocating stillness settles over the clearing outside the Cullens’ house. As the sun starts to rise, your skins begin to glimmer, a show of beauty despite being braced for a fight. With bodies coiled like springs, golden, crimson, and even two pairs of brown eyes lock onto the shadowy figures emerging from the trees.

A group of five. No fanfare, no grand entrance—just the soft rustling of their cloaks as they step forward, but the air of authority that radiates from them is unmistakable.

“Why is it always your family, Carlisle?” A blonde girl, barely a teenager, starts.

“Lovely to see you again, Jane.” He responds with a curt smile at her.

There’s a guy who’s identical to her, another guy who’s insanely tall. But it’s the fourth one that steals your breath away.

The moment you see him, something in you stops.

He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

Of course, all vampires have an unnatural allure, but him? It’s something else entirely. Sharp jawline, full, rosy lips, hair as dark as the midnight sky. His presence is quiet, effortless, but every movement is precise, lethal in a way that doesn’t need to be flaunted. And his eyes—deep crimson, glinting like polished rubies beneath his hood—fix on you, unreadable.

Jewels. Not the bloodstains that are your eyes, that are the eyes of the vampire from your childhood, but rubies.

You should be afraid. You are afraid.

But a part of you can’t look away.

Until Misora gasps. A choked, disbelieving noise.

She’s staring at him, wide-eyed, something breaking across her face.

Edward stiffens beside you, his eyes flicking between them as he reads her thoughts. “Riki is your brother?” He murmurs.

Your gaze snaps to Edward, then back to Misora.

Misora, whose lips part soundlessly, whose expression is stuck somewhere between recognition and denial.

“Riki?” she echoes, like the name is foreign in her own mouth.

You whip back to her, confusion knotting in your chest. “I thought you told me your brother was dead.”

Her hands clench at her sides, voice barely above a heartbroken whisper, “My brother is dead.”

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

For the first time since Riki became the Volturi’s most valuable weapon, he is distracted.

He doesn’t get distracted. It’s not possible. His gift demands complete control. His mind is a fortress—impenetrable, untouchable, locked into his duty like an ironclad machine. He does not waver. He does not hesitate.

And yet.

When his eyes land on her, something fractures.

She is standing among the Cullens, body tensed. She’s afraid, but she’s hiding behind the bravado of a newborn. But all he can see is her eyes. They aren’t golden like the rest of the coven. But it’s not just the color that pulls him in—it’s the weight behind them, the quiet storm she carries in her gaze.

She is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

A foolish thought. A human thought. One that shouldn’t exist in his mind.

But it lingers.

Then, he sees the other pair of red eyes—a stranger vampire who didn’t stand with the Cullens 18 years ago.

At first, he doesn’t register who she is. Because this girl—no, this woman—is not Misora. Misora was fifteen. Misora was still human, still soft around the edges, still warm. This person standing before him is none of those things. She is tall, fully grown, her limbs no longer awkward with adolescence but poised, sharp. She does not have a heartbeat.

And yet—

He knows.

Knows in the way an older brother knows his little sister, no matter how many centuries, how much distance has warped them apart.

For the first time in decades, something cold and dangerous slides under Riki’s ribs. An emotion he was never supposed to feel again.

What have they done to you?

Jane is saying something. Bringing up all of the newborn’s victims.

Riki isn’t hearing her.

The words slip past him, distant and irrelevant. Even the steady presence of the guard beside him is background noise.

His focus is fixed entirely on his baby sister, except she’s not.

He takes a step forward, the movement small but purposeful. The Cullens tense. The girl with the beautifully scarred eyes watches him with something unreadable in her expression, but he barely registers it.

He does the only thing he knows how to do.

“Step forward.”

The words are soft. Deceptively calm.

Misora flinches.

And something inside Riki wrenches.

The command had been soft—barely more than a breath—but the moment the words leave his lips, he sees the exact second she realizes what’s happening.

She knows.

She knows what he’s doing. Who he is. What he is.

A flicker of resistance shudders through her, instinctive and useless. His grip is too strong. His gift—so carefully honed, so ruthlessly wielded—is absolute.

And still, she fights.

Misora has always been stubborn.

Even now, as her body jerks forward against her will, her jaw locks tight, her eyes burning with defiance. The others react immediately—a low growl from the golden-haired one, a blur of movement—protection, Riki realizes, they’re protecting her—but before anyone can intervene, Misora lifts a hand. Wait.

Riki swallows against something thick in his throat.

He tightens his hold, his gift slithering into her nervous system like an iron vice, seizing control of her vocal cords, pressing against her prefrontal cortex. His voice, when he speaks, is measured. “What is your name?”

Misora’s jaw locks.

But against her own will, against every ounce of resistance in her body, the truth gets wrung from her throat. “Misora Nishimura.”

The sound of her voice, of the name he hasn’t heard in centuries, his name, hits him like a stake to the heart.

“This isn’t the newborn we were sent to kill,” Demetri leans in to whisper, “this is her accomplice.”

But Riki knows, and he doesn’t care. Not anymore. He holds up a hand to silence the guard—his peer in title, but Demetri knows which one of them is truly in charge.

“When and by whom were you turned?” He forces his expression to remain neutral.

Her teeth clench. She’s fighting so hard.

Something curdles in his chest. This is the girl that used to play fight with him, when he’d come home from a long, painful day with the Yakuza. She didn’t fight against him. She’d tug on the sleeves of his kimono, demanding his attention.

“1832. I don’t know who turned me, I was sick.” A tremor runs through her limbs. Her eyes burn with fury, with desperation, with something pleading.

And for the first time in 200 years, his hands start to shake.

And he lets her go, taking a second to steady himself.

He turns to the other girl—the one who isn’t his sister, the one he should’ve questioned first. The one who, for a split second, had stolen his breath before the rest of the world fell away.

But now, he hesitates.

It’s a minuscule thing, barely a fraction of a second, but in his line of work, in his particular skillset, a fraction of a second is an eternity. It’s the difference between absolute dominance and doubt. Between control and chaos.

“You’re working with her?” He asks Misora, voice quieter than before, almost contemplative.

He shouldn’t have asked. He should’ve commanded. He should’ve taken the answer like he always does, forced his will into her bones the way he’s done with so many others.

But he doesn’t.

And Misora—now free, her limbs shaking, her breathing ragged—fixes him with a glare that’s both razor-sharp and filled with something wounded, something raw.

And then she scoffs, a harsh, humorless sound. “Eat shit, Riki Volturi. Or should I say Mind Stealer? Or Puppeteer?”

The name lands like a strike of lightning, coming from her mouth.

Not Nishimura. Volturi.

His jaw tightens. He doesn’t let himself react. Doesn’t let himself acknowledge the way it burns. But she’s staring at him like he’s nothing, like he’s a stranger, like he’s already long gone.

He remains silent as he sorts his mind for what to do. A side of him that has long been dormant is now resurrected, and he doesn’t know what to sacrifice.

“You hesitated.”

The other girl with red eyes.

The girl with eyes like his. Maybe his eyes are even as broken as hers, right now.

One whose voice sounds like music to his ears.

Carlisle and Esme try to tug her backwards, but she’s already caught his attention.

A scoff from the guard behind him. “Hesitated?” the vampire sneers, like the very idea is laughable. “The Mind Stealer doesn’t hesitate. Don’t delude yourself, newborn.”

Riki doesn’t react.

Alec takes a step forward, eyes gleaming with malice. “She’s wasting our time. They’re wasting our time. Kill the two girls and be done with it.”

Kill them?

Anyone but her.

Misora stiffens beside (Y/N). The Cullens brace themselves, prepared to strike.

And Riki exhales his first breath in two centuries.

Slowly, deliberately.

“No.”

Silence.

Absolute silence. Like the Earth has stopped rotating.

“What?”

Riki doesn’t look at Alec. He doesn’t need to. His focus is elsewhere.

He takes a step forward. Towards Misora. Towards her.

The Cullens shift instantly, poised for defense, but he doesn’t stop.

He’s barely taken another step, when he’s met with white-hot agony.

The force of it is instant, an explosion of suffering detonating inside his skull. He crumbles to his knees before he can stop himself, hands clawing at the cold ground.

A curse tears from his lips.

Jane. He doesn’t have to see her to know. He can feel her amusement, her punishment from here.

“You dare defy an order?” Her voice is sweet. Delighted. “How strange. Have we gotten soft, Mind Stealer?”

Another wave of pain. It burns. He grits his teeth, locks his jaw, and endures.

Through the ringing in his ears, he hears something. Murmuring. The Cullens. Something fast.

Then the pain stops.

It’s not gradual. It doesn’t fade. It just… ceases.

Riki gasps, shuddering. He blinks up at the sky, disoriented, reeling, and realizes he’s standing.

Not collapsed. Not writhing.

Standing.

He turns, dazed, and then he sees it.

The translucent shimmer of a shield encasing him.

Bella Cullen’s eyes are locked on him, jaw set, hands clenched at her sides. And the shield he found his way around 19 years ago is protecting him.

The murmurs behind him are hushed, but Riki hears everything.

“This shouldn’t be possible.” Felix’s voice is low, urgent. “Chelsea’s gift, she’s supposed to bind us. Our loyalty. Our devotion.”

A beat of silence.

Then, Demetri exhales sharply. “She does. But her ties don’t work when opposed by true love.”

True love.

There was a time when he would’ve mocked such things—love, feelings as a whole, even—after spending a century with the Volturi, and forgetting how to feel them, to begin with. He would’ve thought they were a liability.

But Misora is not a liability. She is his sister. And he truly loves her.

The realization settles into him like fire in his veins. Steady. Absolute. And love—true, unbreakable love—frees him.

So he does what would’ve once been unthinkable.

In a flash, he turns faster than any vampire could expect.

His power surges outward, deadly and precise. He seizes two minds at once—Jane and Alec, the Volturi’s twin nightmares, their most precious weapons besides him.

Their limbs jerk violently against their own will. Jane’s eyes widen in shock, and Alec lets out a strangled sound of protest.

Let them scream. He isn’t focusing on their vocal cords, right now.

They reach for one another.

Gasps ring out, but he doesn’t stop to relish in the astonishment. Jane’s shriek is cut short as her own hands grasp Alec’s throat. Alec’s arms move like a puppet’s, seizing her head in turn.

With their own hands, they rip each other’s heads off.

Silence.

Horrified, disbelieving silence.

The twin blades are reduced to nothing but limp, severed bodies.

The Cullens stare. The newborn stares. Misora stares.

Even Felix and Demetri are frozen. The two guards—once his comrades, witnesses of centuries of executions—stagger backward, fear flashing through their crimson eyes.

And then they run.

They don’t fight. They don’t look back.

They flee, blurring into the trees, retreating to Volterra. To Aro, Caius, and Marcus. To report the unthinkable.

Riki doesn’t stop them. His hands are still shaking, but he doesn’t care to.

Because for the first time in centuries—

He is free.

☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾✦✧†✧✦☽✦✧†✧✦☾

Ok tbf I really could’ve cut this into two chapters and I do think we have lost the plot slightly BUT DO YOU SEE THE VISION

Comment if you’d like to be tagged on the next one (where the romance starts) :)

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Finale

@angelengene3011 @wrldhypen @opheliaas-stuff

[averagewriter-inthedark]

A Family Affair 🔥| House of Dragon Headcanon

Being the cousin of Viserys I, Daemon, & Rhaenys would look like: 

You're the youngest of the bunch, born roughly five years after Daemon in 86 AC by one of the many offspring of King Jaehaerys I and his wife Queen Alysanne Targaryen and were raised in the Red Keep alongside your family members. Despite being younger, you were close with your many cousins, specifically Rhaenys, Viserys, and Daemon. Clinging to them like a little shadow and viewing the three more like older siblings than cousins. 

From a young age, you displayed courageous and sometimes controversial characteristics. Claiming the mighty Silverwing as your mount on your ninth name day, henceforth you were dubbed "The Daring," by the Court and the Seven Kingdoms. The nickname applying as you got older for your sharp tongue to the Lords and Ladies of Westeros, as well as fighting on the frontlines during conflict in the name of your King & Gransire. 

You were highly more favored by the Court opposed to your older cousin, Daemon, aka the Rogue Prince. The vision of duty, honor, and loyalty, you were what every Targaryen upheld. So much so that some believed you should have been a contender as Jaehaerys' heir. But unlike Rhaenys and Viserys, who were the eldest grandchild and eldest male relative, you were unmarried with no children. Something you had no interest in obtaining and was your main criticism by the Court. Had you been, then the Lords of Westeros may have drawn to your favor as the future ruler of Westeros. A fierce warrior and respected member of society. 

But you can't lie, you and Daemon were more alike than what the Court desperately tried to ignore. Where Rhaenys and Viserys were on one side of the coin, you and Daemon were on the other. The only thing that made Lords and Ladies believe otherwise was the fact in public settings you two were constantly at each other's throat. Constantly bickering, exchanging childish insults, and calling the other out. To them, you both despised each other. Unaware that behind closed doors Daemon is the first person you go to when you're suspicious of someone and vice versa. And when Viserys is crowned King, naming both you and Daemon to his small council, you two know better than to trust anyone else than each other. Not blind to the cunning snake that is Otto Hightower. 

Speaking of Otto Hightower, he's not your biggest fan as you can expect, but he tolerates you far more than Daemon. Otto hates that you, like Daemon, can see through him and verbally question him during council meetings. But unlike Daemon, Otto doesn't have to worry about you causing scandal and knows you would never bring dishonor to the Targaryen name. Really you two ignore each other, and only exchange pleasantries when in public at Court. And Otto knows better than to cross you. The one time he suggested Viserys try to arrange a marriage for you, you hunted him down and made sure he thought twice before ever trying to rid you of the Red Keep ever again.

"Next time it crosses your mind to plot schemes against me, my Lord Hand, remember what happened to the last man who tried." There was rumor the last Master of Coin had been murdered, coincidently after suggesting you had no place on the small council. Otto had his suspicions, but never questioned aloud. "You would not dare." "To not, would be an insult to my name." 

As your cousins had children you became an aunt/uncle figure to them. Rhaenyra in particular loved to be around you, trailing you like a little shadow like you once did her father and uncle. She liked to stand close to you during small council meetings and accompany you to the Dragonpit or training yard. And you were quick to notice her affections for Daemon as she grew, something you brought to Viserys attention to which he brushed it off as her being young and having a silly crush. When the King named her heir, you bent the knee and swore to her as the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. As for Laenor and Laena, you sometimes surprised them at Driftmark to which Rhaenys was grateful. Each time you brought gifts from Kings Landings and your travels, as Viserys tasked you with maintaining domestic and foreign affairs by visiting the Great Houses and Essos. 

You were no fool when Viserys announced his intent to marry Alicent Hightower following the death of his beloved and your cousin, Aemma. Alicent was Rhaenyra's closest friend, therefore there were times she joined you and the Princess at Court. She was a young, sweet thing, and it filled you with rage that Otto had enlisted her to seduce him in his goal to merge the houses and hopefully put Hightower blood on the throne. But most importantly, you were furious with Viserys, "She is a child, cousin, and your daughter's best friend, nonetheless! How could you do that to Rhaenyra?! Do you not see what place you've put her in?" And when you openly accused Otto of scheming Viserys was quick to shut you up like he did Daemon the year before. By the end of the heated argument, which the maids and guards feared could turn violent, you expressed your disappointment in your cousin before taking leave. Finding Rhaenyra to say goodbye, leaving her tear-stricken and taking Silverwing to head for the Stepstones to help Daemon and Corlys with the war. 

It would be years until you returned to Court, alongside Daemon following the victory against the Triarchy. Viserys welcoming you two back with open arms, and you resumed your place at his small council. You met his young children Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond, then little Daeron came along. And you were quite displeased with your cousin after observing how closed off he was with them, the children displaying happiness whenever you were near and trailing you like a little shadow. Reminding you of when their half-sister and cousins were their age.

Aemond liked to shadow you more than his siblings, as did Daeron before he was sent to Oldtown. Which is no surprise given Aemond wanted to be a skilled warrior like you and Daemon. Pleading with you to teach him how to wield a sword and claim a dragon. Helaena liked to show you her bugs, and while you didn't understand her riddles you never treated her like others in her family. You'd sit with her in the gardens or the library and keep her company in between her lessons. As for Aegon.....he was a sweet child who turned into a menace resulting in you having to knock him down a peg. You knew it was due to his mother and grandfather's influence, but that didn't excuse his behavior. While you never laid a hand on him, all you had to do was give him a look and it sent him running with his tail between his legs. 

This trait of being an aunt/uncle continued as Daemon had daughters with Lady Laena, who you visited in Pentos at least twice a year, and Rhaenyra having sons with Laenor. Again, you were no fool. It was obvious the parentage of Rhaenyra's sons was questionable due to their physical traits. But you kept your tongue silent and loved them, helping raise them as Targaryen Princes. Lucerys clung to you if his mother wasn't present. You dotted on him, as he was the more emotional one of his brothers. Especially when the topic of his future to Driftmark was brought up. "Worry not, my sweet nephew, you've a long way before taking your seat on the Driftwood throne. Until then enjoy your youth. Leave all the politics and boring stuff to the adults." 

Though the children were technically not your nephews and nieces, you viewed them as such and would go to war for them. Sometimes trying to hide them from the harsh reality of what it means to be a child born into the Royal house of Targaryen. Their future was something you feared but didn't show. And whenever you, Daemon, Viserys, and Rhaenys found yourselves in the rare company of each other, it reminds you there is no stronger bond than the blood of the dragon. 

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part eight

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

TW: Murder. Non-Con.

series masterlist |

"If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary You and I go from one kiss to gettin married." - loml, Taylor Swift.

(TARGARYEN RESIDENCE. 2008)

It was a hail mary from the beginning. Two people who had everything to lose, plotting to have more than they could handle. "She must've known." Alicent breathes, playing with the rosary-styled bracelet on her left wrist. "- I told you not to cheap out on the assassins. We'll get the money back anyways." she scolded.

Her grip on the bracelet tightened. Viserys' took a deep breath.

"I did not hire mediocre mercenaries. It was a recommendation from the goddamn Governor of Texas. If you're searching for good mercenaries, you're not gonna find them because people who kill people for a living don't have a moral compass." he gritted his teeth. His anger doubling at every second he spent in his wife's presence.

"I couldn't care less about their moral compass. You should've hired someone who had a follow through." she hissed, glaring at him. "I'm sorry but I'm not the one who wanted Olivia L/N dead." he groaned, standing up and attempting to exit the door.

She stares at the side, the sight of a crucifix snapping her back into reality. "I don't like the role that you're giving me, Viserys." her voice cracked, her fingers dancing along every bead. Along every Hail Mary. Her breath hitched for a second.

Fearing the person that she's become.

He made her this way. He manipulated her, made her believe that the love that they shared was true. He made her fight for every scrap of his love. He made her a monster. Now, she was finally thirty, fifteen would never cross her mind. "You're the one who wanted to give your children part of Aemma's company. I was following your wishes." he tried to flip the table at her.

Our children. She wanted to correct him.

It might've been her idea, but he didn't give her a choice. Her children would live in poverty without the money that Aemma provided. Alicent didn't have a job. She didn't even finish High School, and it was obvious that Viserys wasn't going to be around for long.

"Don't worry about Olivia. She doesn't have the guts to sue us. I hope that you learn to be content with what you've been provided. Not everything has to be handed on a silver spoon." Viserys remarked.

Aemond breathes. "They're fighting again." he spoke through the landline. Fighting was a normal occurrence in the Targaryen Household, it was always about the inheritance.

"Mom ought to accept that the old man isn't gonna leave us a single dime." Aegon chuckled. His older brother long accepted the fact that Viserys hated all his children from his second-marriage.

"- Rhaenyra has always been the golden child. I don't know why we bother." he added with an eye-roll.

Aemond pressed his lips closer to the microphone. "Dad hired someone to kill Aunt Olivia." he dropped the bomb, and the other line answered with silence. "- Mom figured that if Aunt Olivia died, then all the shares would go to Dad, and there'll be enough for us." he whispered, careful not to be heard.

"He'd rather have someone murdered than give us a tiny piece of Rhaenyra's billion dollar inheritance? I study in New York. I should kill Aunt Olive, make Mom proud for once." his lips pressed into a thin line, seriously considering that random thought.

The younger brother responds with a chuckle.

"You won't do that Aegon. You're not actually a murderer." he laughed, thinking that it was his older brother's way of making a joke. Aegon licks his lips. Right, not a murderer.

OLIVIA L/N FOUND DEAD IN AN NYC APARTMENT WITH NO CURRENT SUSPECTS, POLICE SOURCES SAY.

NEW YORK -- Police sources are revealing more details about a murder in Manhattan. They say that the New York City Police Department is currently conducting investigations about possible motives for the crime.

It happened in Upper Manhattan, sources say that the first person that found the body was Ms. Olivia L/N's daughter, then a neighbor that chooses to remain anonymous.

Olivia L/N is the co-founder of Dragonpine Brewery, which has now expanded into different industries including real estate, technology, and pharmaceuticals. She currently owns 49% of Dragonpine Brewery, but all shares are expected to return to Viserys Targaryen, who too, owns 49% of the company.

The medical examiner ruled her death a homicide due to the blunt force trauma to the head, and stab wounds on her stomach.

Anyone with any information is asked to call the NYPD's Crime Stoppers hotline at 1-***-***-TIPS. ALL CALLS ARE KEPT CONFIDENTIAL.

(PRESENT)

Daemon couldn't stop pacing and forth. Luckily, the bullet didn't hit anything important. You could still use your ankle normally in the future, but it would take time to heal.

"It's a medical miracle. It's the first time I've seen it happen." he remarks, trying to calm himself down.

The entire thing was difficult to process. He found it hard to believe that Aemond suddenly lost all semblance of normalcy and broke. "The gun wasn't registered. He could face charges, unless Alicent drives by with her golden chariot and bribes the judge again." he rolled his eyes, unwilling to let his nephew live scot-free.

"I told her about Aemond's past, the case with the girl and Nick. She could've confronted him about it, brought memories that he couldn't handle. He could've been guilty." Rhaenyra suggested, shaking her head. "Where is he?" Daemon's eyes narrowed.

He peeked through the halls, searching for his nephew's familiar silver-gold locks. "Down at the police station. Jace tells me that Aemond's shaken. Unable to form any statement." she adds with a deep breath. Aware that the story was reaching its climax.

"Alicent won't let him speak anyways. Where's Helaena?" he paused, reminded of his youngest niece. "She's babysitting the kids. Daemon, role-calling everyone won't be enough to distract you from Y/N. She's a wall away, I can hear her heart monitor from here." she pointed out.

Clearly as nervous as he was.

"I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe that we're given a second chance at everything, but we're still making the same mistakes." he sat down on the bench beside her.

He wanted to be a better person. Make his life worthwhile, but with the people around him repeating the same mistakes over and over. "I feel like I'm trapped inside a paradox. We'll die, then we'll get reborn and repeat everything again. It's like that show we watched. Are we in the Bad Place?" his eyebrows merged together.

"I don't know, Daemon. It feels like hell, but then I see my sons and I wouldn't trade this life for anything else." she had a bitter smile on her face. A nurse steps out of your room.

Daemon rises to his feet.

"Is she awake?" he inquired.

"No. I don't think that I'm at liberty to say this but - being unconscious for this long isn't normal. They'll do some tests, but I'm sure she'll be fine." the nurse felt inclined to speak out, seeing Daemon's worried face.

"Are you her boyfriend?" the nurse asked.

Rhaenyra's face softened. "It's complicated." she bit her lower lip.

(HARRENHAL.)

TW: NON CON SCENE (WILL STATE WHEN IT'S OVER SO YOU CAN SCROLL DOWN TO IT)

You breathe in the smell of smoke. Harrenhal was a curse.

"You will die here." you whispered, the prophetic visions finally finding solace inside of you, like they've found solace in Alys.

"You dampen the mood." Aemond pours himself a goblet of wine. "- it will not stop me from having my way." he reminded.

"I know." you whispered.

"We won't be needing this," he stated, cutting swiftly through your gown. He was staring at your body with the intensity of a thousand stars - you could've sworn that it was love - but it was not. "Why are you doing this?" you whisper, covering your breasts.

He does not acknowledge the use of your tongue. He ignores you. He presses a kiss to your jaw, inhaling the scent of your jasmine perfume. A prisoner has never lived more lavishly than you. "Riñītsos," he answered, hands trailing down to pull yours away.

"You sleep beside my sister knowing such stain is upon your honor." you gritted your teeth.

"Stomach up." he commanded - eyes twinkling with lust. "Legs open," he added - seeing you in the vulnerable position.

You couldn't remember anything that happened afterwards.

(NON-CON SCENE OVER)

"I care not about what he's done to your husband. I care more about what you had to go through." Alys looked at you in a crestfallen way. She vowed to protect you, but her visions clouded her judgement. Made her believe that Aemond was their savior.

"It'll be the same tomorrow, Alys, unless you can remedy this curse then rid yourself. Leave my presence." you pleaded, unable to stare into her eyes. The same eyes that you looked at in the mirror. "You may think me cold, that all I've ever grown to love is him. I thought that I could control him, but he is like the wind." she shook her head.

"You cannot catch the wind, sister." your breath quivered.

"What I've done is payment for my sins," she started.

You snap out of the trance. Eyes finally meeting hers.

"What did you do?" you asked.

"I killed him." Alys admitted, only then did you realize the streak of blood of her cheek. "I'm sorry." she apologized, falling to the floor.

"I forgive you." you bite the insides of your cheeks.

You've watched your sister hold the enemy softer than she's ever held you. You watch her let peace slip through her fingers. You watch her betray you and you forgive her, because this is the role she must play. You cannot resent the dancer for the actions of the song.

"There will be a boat going to an island near the Ghiscari Empire. I hope that you find peace there." she handed you three dragons. "What about you?" you tilted her head, feeling the tears trickle down your cheeks. "I must stay." she reminded.

It was the last winter that you'd spend with this body. You lived sixty more years without your husband. Now, you were old and frail - there were lines on the sides of your eyes. Wrinkles that weren't there when your husband was still alive.

"Have some tea." Serenei's daughter beckoned.

You complied.

Feeling every bit of your consciousness slip away.

You had a vision the night before, that this would be your last life. You already broke the karmic chains and learnt all your lessons. There was no need to restart the pain and suffering.

But you sharply argued with the gods.

Told them that you had to be reborn. You needed to see Daemon. You needed a life where you could be with him longer, and happier.

The gods granted you that gift.

And thus, here you are again.

Your throat felt dry; like you haven't drank water in a thousand years. You hear the machine beeping beside you. A feeling of someone's hand on top of yours.

You opened your eyes.

"Daemon," you whispered.

"I remember."

next chapter>>

OK THIS LINE

You've watched your sister hold the enemy softer than she's ever held you. You watch her let peace slip through her fingers. You watch her betray you and you forgive her, because this is the role she must play. You cannot resent the dancer for the actions of the song.

WAS COPIED FROM @faiIwife on twitter. IT MADE MY LIFE IM SORRY.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can Jay read me to sleep pls? Family holidays mean I need comfort

Same. This fucking blows. Here's not that, but some Jason anyway.

"Stephanie," Dick said taking a head count of the assembled ladies in the party, "where is Y/N? We seem to be missing one particularly charming beauty-"

"Is she not-" Stephanie looked around the crush and bit her lip, "Oh dear."

Dick traded looks with Tim as Cass glanced at Jason who's Jaw had tensed as he scanned the crowd. "What happened?"

"She must have stepped away for a moment. She said she wasn't feeling well and Miss Vivian and Mr. Graham- you know how very proud they are of their library-"

Jason felt his heart kick up a notch. The Library. Right next to the room where a bunch of lecherous old fools and idiotic young dandies would be drowning their common sense and their manners at the gaming tables with appalling amounts of alcohol. And you were by yourself?

That would never do. Before he could think, or even grab one of his sisters to drag with him, he's gone. Not entirely sure how or why he feels like you need to be protected but. Hell if he's going to let some old codger ruin you and then make you out to be a scheming little harlot.

He wound his way up the stairs and through the hall, forcing himself not to run. But the relief that washed over him when he realized you were still alone- it was short-lived.

"Y/N?" he called softly. The room was dim but for a the moon and the streetlamp's light coming through the window. "Are you-"

"I'm quite alright, I just- I'm sorry, Mr. Todd. I'll rejoin the party in a moment."

Jason edged closer the the sound of your voice, leaving the door ajar and took a deep breath. You didn't sound alright. You sounded desperately unhappy. And it needled. "Jason," he corrected, gently.

"I-I don't think-"

"I think," he said, forcing himself to keep his tone light as he worked toward your voice, "That my sisters will never stop scolding me if I don't give you permission to just call me Jason." You'd tucked yourself in a dark little corner, obviously intending to have a little cry, a sulk, or maybe just... a moment's peace but. He couldn't feel bad about interrupting you.

Not when you looked so much like a painting. Three weeks since he'd seen you. And all he could think about was how lovely you would look with a garnet necklace. And some less gentlemanly part of his brain added 'and nothing else'. Making him grateful for the darkness in the room so you couldn't see him blush.

"If you're sure-"

"Quite sure," he said, kneeling in front of your chair and offering a fresh handkerchief. "Don't cry, wildflower," he said, "Whatever it is-"

"It seems like every time we talk all I do is cry or faint," you murmur.

"Sometimes you make very funny jokes," he said. "Did someone ruin your slippers? Do I need to send Stephanie after them?"

"No I-" You break off and shake your head, "It's not serious. I shouldn't trouble you with it I just. I guess I'm being foolish-"

Before he could stop himself Jason gripped your free hand and bent his head to kiss it, "If you were being foolish you'd be crying in front of everyone and causing a scene," he said. He didn't add that you were foolish to be alone. Not now. Not when he was so close and the room was so quiet you hardly needed to do more than whisper. "Tell me?"

"I-it's going to sound so terrible."

"I promise it won't." Last night he'd tracked a murder suspect. And the night before he'd had to question a grieving widow.

"I- my Aunt and Uncle have decided that I'm to pay them back for my room and board. Which means that at the end of this Season I'll have no money and I just- what else is there?"

And when you start to cry in earnest, hiding your face in your hands, trying to make yourself smaller for comfort, Jason feels his heart twist. "Don't cry," he pleaded. "What else is there? Wildflower-" He stopped and pulled your hands from your face, tilting your chin up carefully and as he wiped your face, he couldn;t help it.

The air was thick. So heavy and full of the scent of your perfume that if he didn't do something- anything- Before he knew it his lips were claiming yours.

Not as tenderly as he wanted. Or as chastely. But when you squeak in surprise and then... melt. He can't stop. He just can't. You taste exactly as good as you smell. And your lips- like ripe, sweet fruit. All he can do is keep going.

And it's not untl he hears a crash that anything else registers at all.

[ftl-faster-than-life]

Trying to articulate the eldritch horror aspect of the Speedsters is really difficult because it's hard to put into words…You're Wally West, you're nineteen years old. You loved your deceased uncle more than almost anyone (except your aunt, but she's dead too.) You're working with a nutritionist to try to understand why your powers have changed since his death (you never needed to worry about starving to death in five minutes before.) She tells you something you don't want to hear: That power you're using came from that dead man. He wasn't human, not since before you met him, in being hit by lightning he became it. He was an energy source with a smiling face.

He was some kind of monster.

Because then he met you and you got hit by lightning, too, the accident was identical except it wasn't an accident, not really. He remade you in his image--not just with the silly tailored down costume you were happy to wear, proud to be like your hero. He connected you to him, fed you power. Made you into his companion because he was lonely in his inhumanity. Made you not-quite-human, too. You remember how much the idea that he wasn't entirely human haunted him and how he clung to the things that made him ordinary. Denial.

And now he's dead, and your powers are on the fritz, and you have two kinds of dreams: The ones where he rejects you and takes his powers back and you're left with nothing. And the other ones which are stranger (you don't have to unpack those first ones, really, the meaning is obvious.) You dream that you're talking to a dead man. He still cares about you, still wants to look after you, asks you about your week like he used to and tells you you're doing a good job, he's so proud of you. It's harder to believe these ones.

You keep looking for a way to fix your powers, you need to be faster but you can never quite push past a certain point. A man from the past tells you it's all in your head, you're afraid of being faster than a dead man, you don't want to replace him. You're damned if you're going to let anyone else do it, though. You push past that limit which you grudgingly acknowledge really was self-imposed. You nearly die anyway…but you're saved, last second, by a bolt of lightning.

You say thank you, because you know that was him.

You spend years getting faster, more powerful. You have a spiritual connection to the power that's unrivaled by anyone, past or present or future. You're the Fastest Man who Ever Lived. Sometimes you still see signs of intervention in your life, in other speedster's lives. He shows up for your cousin, then disappears again.

Then one day….he comes back. Not as a time traveler, not as a brief manifestation. He's alive and breathing and at first you feel pure relief… then you feel nervous.

What does it mean for you if he's alive?

The other shoe drops soon enough, you don't even get to the Welcome Home parties before the reveal: He was dragged out of the Speed Force by his worst enemy, who has remade himself in the process. He's not like you anymore, he's like him. They're unique, two of a kind. Connected, it turns out. It takes all of you to beat him this time.

Your uncle's got something on his mind, though--a murder over a decade old, his mother's. It's unnatural, a change to history written by his enemy. He's desperate to make it right. He wants to save her.

They fight. You're not there for this confrontation and afterwards, you aren't anywhere. He draws the entire Speed Force into himself and with it, he takes you. And your cousin, your kids, your mentor…Every other speedster.

You, your friends and family, all spend the next years in a strange state: Not alive, not dead, you never existed and no one remembers you. Then one day someone does--he does. He draws you out, fully formed and as you remember yourself (as he remembers you.) You fall into his arms and he holds you and you know the love you're feeling is real.

No one else remembers you at all at first, which isn't his fault it turns out. You're angry and you have every right to be but lashing out at him doesn't feel right either.

But you know he'll forgive you, so you let your helpless anger and grief break against that forgiveness.

Then someone, an enemy from an era you can't go back to, offers you a way to save your children. To get your life back.

All you have to do is destroy the power that is shared with you. Your uncle begs you to reconsider. He reasons with you. You can't help but see that for what it really is, a selfish plea for continued survival from that force.

You make the choice.

Because ever since you were nineteen, you've known your uncle was some kind of monster.

[breadandblankets]

how i hc duke's relationships with the other (main) bats

bruce: mentor/friend/weird HS teacher u bond with kinda thing, i think bruce on his end still feels simmering guilt for not being there for duke when he needed him, duke feel simmering resentment towards bruce for being another adult that left him, this will boil over at some point but then they'll get over it, they will never be that dumb nuclear found family thing, i think doug and elaine would like bruce tho so maybe one of those friend of the family situations where u call someone ur not related to aunt/uncle

cass: very very good friends, would probably consider her a sister from another mister if u will, i would hesitate to call her a best friend *gestures at all of war* but i think she's up there, i really love the headcanon that there is some tension on duke's end because cass has the ability to be more efficient but she actively chooses not to, i think for a long time duke is going to be holding some unhealthy and unrealistic standards both for himself and also people around him, like everything else this causes tension then erupts before it gets resolved, cass i think would know about said tension the whole time but have no idea how to bring up the issue or how to even think about resolving it so it drags on

dick: i think duke holds a grudge for the robin war thing, and i think he fucking should iykyk, (the way he just leaves duke on a roof??? with cops????, i was shouting at my fucking comic) idk i think dick would probably make light of it for a while but duke would be real fucking clear that he remembers and won't be forgiving and forgetting any time soon, i think they're acquaintances at best but realistically, coworkers

damian: like cass Extremely good friends, found family if you will, honestly i think they got a lot of their interpersonal issues out of the way before duke becomes signal, so really its a matter of time before they actually become friends and not just acquaintances, they're old man young to me, i think they do old man things like feed birds in the park and play Go together, i think damian is probably one of the only people duke doesn't hold to his standards, he thinks damian deserves to be a kid, making damian be a kid is probably some of the only time that duke is forced to relax by proxy, therefore duke and damian's friendship is strongly encouraged by bruce who is out of his depth for what to do with both of them and throwing them at each other seems to be working (👍 parenting)

tim: i honestly don't think they know each other well, like i think they may have talked once??? so i don't have shit to base their relationship off, generally i think they're amicable if distant, like a coworker you say hi to at the coffee machine

babs: i Need them to interact, honestly it would be really funny if duke meets babs for the first time as oracle and he's just like??? you're my favorite librarian? and babs is like !! we missed you when you stopped volunteering!!! and duke has to be like yeah that was the joker, i think they would have a good relationship, they don't work together all that much cause oracle doesn't run duke's ops and duke isn't usually on the night shift but they know they can call each other in if they need. one of duke's few trusted AdultsTM

jason: i think rocky at the start, duke would definitely have some Memories of the red hood, that would probably be a hill to overcome, but i generally think that jason will eventually move into a more positive position in the city even with the shadows of all that stuff following him ofc. they are absolute Assholes to each other in a way that is clearly affection, jason will let duke get away with anything up to and including murder, duke will never let jason get away with anything, its like a typo in the group chat

steph: re same as tim, and babs practically nothing to base the relationship on BUT i think they would get on like a house on fire, like cass: sister from another mister energy, steph is giving duke the "you just found out ur dad is a supervillain" support he needs, they are the only bats successfully going to college they probably go to events on campus together, idk they have so much potential as the forgotten robins and all that, i think they should bully bruce together that would be so fun.

[crepesuzette2023]

Ivan Vaughan writes about John and Paul

This is just a relatively brief excerpt from Ivan Vaughan's book, which, for the most part, focuses on his life with Parkinson's disease. (From what I can tell so far, it's absolutely fascinating: far more than 'simply' a memoir, it's a reflection on illness, the mind-body connection, science, psychotropic drugs, patients' autonomy...and much more.)

But since this blog is climbing the drainpipe to the John & Paul business, and there's been some recent discussion of Mark Lewisohn's claim that John was such a bad boy Ivan's mother sent her son to a different grammar school to separate the two, I thought the following might be interesting.

And the ending of this chapter also gives some context to Paul's reaction to John's murder—another topic about which ML has interesting opinions.

This isn't to pile on ML, but more...as words from someone who was there.

(CC: @mythserene, @anotherkindofmindpod) I met John when I was three or four years old. One wet morning there was a knock at the front door. My mother opened it, and looking down, found a boy a bit older than me, smiling, but preoccupied with the effort of remembering what he had been rehearsed to say.

‘I believe a little boy lives here. I wondered if you might like to come out and play.’ He stood there in the porch, rain pouring down behind him, with a pair of slippers under his arm.

‘Come on in. What’s your name? You live round the corner don’t you?’

Next day I went around to the house where he lived with his aunt and uncle. We played with Dinky cars. I was surprised by his generosity and willingness to share his toys; he was happy even for me to take some of them home. When his Uncle George came home with some sweets John readily shared them. There was an immediate bond between us. He was older, read books, and his great intelligence and experience were apparent. I accepted his leadership but I was determined to preserve my independence. From the warm security of Aunt Mimi’s control, John accepted me into his life.

John was a member of his local library and immersed himself in books so that by the age of five he was already a fluent reader. I was still in the infant school when he started at Dovedale Road Primary School, but we played together after school and weekends. There were numerous parks, a golf course, and fields full of tangled growth and trees — just right for playing cowboys and Indians. In one barren area with large lumps of hard earth we played football and cricket. We spent hours digging all tracks to race our Dinky cars. Our most exciting game, though, was ‘fires’. We would go to a large area of waste ground and simply set fire to the straw and watch the place. I have never understood why nobody stopped us.

John’s gang comprised, besides himself, Pete Shotton, Nigel Wally and me. I was the youngest and was constantly having to prove my worth. I feel privileged to be John’s friend since he was nearly two years older. He protected me against Timmy Tarbuck and his gang on the rare occasions when I made the mistake of confronting one of them.

John and I went to different grammar schools, but I used to hear about the chaos and riots that seem to be a daily feature of his schooling. I’d rather lost touch with him when I went to university, and did not see him again until sometime after I was married. Then one day, as I was playing with my little boy Jus on the steps of our house in London, white Rolls Royce turned into the road. John jumped out followed by a woman I have not met before.

‘Hello, Ivy! This is Yoko.’ (…)

My attachment to both John and Paul ran deep and occasionally I would go to great lengths in order to see them at a moment’s notice. Maybe Paul saw our continuing friendship as a way of maintaining simple values he held dear. Jan liked Paul, though she did not see much of John. She was not the least bit mesmerized by their fame. She enjoyed eating at expensive restaurants in sampling London’s nightlife, into which Paul took us from time to time. But, should the effort to come to great, she was willing to let the relationship fade.

A month after telephoning John in New York [with the news of the Parkinson’s diagnosis; their first conversation in years], a heavy parcel was delivered. It was not until I was reading the titles of the books it contained that I realized they had been sent by John and Yoko. There was one by Arthur Janov, author of the Primal Scream, and one entitled Mind Magic. How to Get Well had on the fly-leaf a message from John that read ‘to start looking’, and The Snow Leopard had a note saying ‘to relax’. This last book gave me the greatest pleasure and I frequently re-read passages from it. Its author, Peter Matthiesen, lost his son through illness and journeyed in Nepal and in Inner Dolpo on a completely pointless journey to catch sight of a snow leopard. The peace he found travels across to the reader from each page.

John’s accompanying letter urged me, in punning language, to keep my spirits high and strongly suggested that it was up to me whether I sank or swam. I must not lose faith in myself.

Ten weeks later he was shot dead. Paul and I did not contact each other about it; in fact, we never brought it up in conversation. I hardly reacted outwardly at all. The day after John’s death, however, a colleague said that he supposed I was very upset at what it happened. I heard myself say: ‘I don’t know what I feel. I don’t know that I feel much at all’. As soon as he had gone, I instinctively made my way to a room where I knew I could be alone, and I wept profusely.

-- from Ivan-Living with Parkinson's Disease by Ivan Vaughan. 1986.

[the-unknown-fandom]

(MY) EPIC Headcanons

I love Jorge work so much (Suffering/Puppeteer are my favorites). I also like to thank OSP for giving a brief summary of the Odyssey.

After Odysseus kills/murders the suitors he spends a month relaxing with his son and Penelope.

Odysseus tells Telemachus about his Uncle Polites/Uncle Eurylochus.

Odysseus tells Telemachus about his adventures.

Circe becomes an aunt to Telemachus and a mother figure to Odysseus (Because I said so). Even though Circe doesn't come to Ithaca she sends letters to them.

I'd d like to think Odysseus was a heavy sleeper but became a light sleeper during his adventures.

During the song 'Underworld' Polites was singing open arms, but was holding the baby from the song 'The Infant and the Horse'.

When Ody first met Penelope he LITERALLY tucked a hair behind his ear. Penelope found it cute. Telemachus gets that trait whenever he is flustered & reminds Pene of his father.

Hermes is the Grandfather to Ody. (When researching how Hermes is related to Ody it was tricky and I gave up).

Penelope is the man in the relationship (Change my mind).

Odysseus was scared as shit to go near water because of Poseiden. Took him a few years to heal from that.

Odysseus doesn't know this, but Athena thought Odysseus as a son, a companion, someone closes to her. Even after their falling out, Athena goes out of her way to protect Odysseus. Which is shocking even to the gods. Gods aren't really attacted to mortals.

During Thunder Bringer Zeus actually consider to spare Odysseus crew if Odysseus was to sleep with him (whether he wanted to or not), but Hera intervened. Hera is very protective of men who are very faithful to their partners (Ex: Ody). Plus she knows Odysseus will always stay faithful to Penelope and she loves that about him.

Helena of Troy (after being rescued) had nightmares, even with her husband she's still scared that Paris or any of the trojans coming to get her back to Paris. Menelaus really wanted to rip Paris part by part because of the pain he caused to his wife.

During his childhood, Telemachus would always sleep next to his mother, Telemachus always feared that one of the suitors would violate his mother when he wasn't there to protect her.

Hermes gave Odysseus magic weed- Athena almost beat the shit outta him for that.

(In the Odyssey) Hermes did NOT like Calypso after what she did to Odysseus. Ares had to restrain him from going after Calypso.

Odysseus learned some flirting tips from Circe that he tried to use on Penelope (It didn't work, but he did get a kiss!), Penelope tried the same and Odysseus was a flustered mess.

Athena checks up on Ithaca once n' a while, Odysseus knows this and always left a window opened for the Goddess to watch over his family and kingdom.

While Poseiden was attacking Odysseus for blinding his son, half of it was because he was claimed by Athena, but now because Odysseus wasn't claimed by Athena anymore, Poseiden could do more harm.

Odysseus is a short king (that we almost stan ✨️), he was at the height of his father when he was in his early teens. Odysseus was recored as the shortest king of Ithaca, his son being only 2 inches higher than him.

Odysseus comforted his sister about Eury's death. Eurylochus was married to Odysseus younger sister, Ctimene, making Eurylochus Odysseus brother in law (Odysseus actually helped Eurylochus marry his sister, because he knew Eurylochus was the right and prefect husband for his sister.

(Will update this soon)

[alwaysforevermaybenever]

YANDERE FARMER BOY: INTRODUCTION

× cw: general yandere stuff; getting lost; large families; implied scary relative; stalking; manipulation; murder; cannibalism

× note: kenji my beloved

⌗ A country bumpkin who just moved to the big city with his father, mother, four sisters, three brothers, grandparents, other grandparents, uncle, aunt, six cousins, dog, cats and cow. His family isn’t big at all, it’s normal sized! Your family is just pretty small, you know?

⌗ He was lost, wandering in the busy streets when you found him. He looked so pitiful and innocent: who in their right mind wouldn’t stop to help him? In the end, you directed him back to the apartment block he lived in with his family. (They brought up the entire floor.)

⌗ His family was so thankful they gave you their home grown watermelons - they’re super delish, and completely natural, unlike those supermarket fruits with nasty preservatives. 

⌗ From then on, you keep seeing this farmer boy everywhere! The park, the mall, the shopping centre, even in your neighbourhood! He must have a terrible sense of direction, huh? Either that, or he’s stalking you. 

⌗ But that can’t be it! Who’d think that? He’s a sweet summer child, with not a single mean bone in his body. Sure, he may be a little naïve, but he’s an honest and compassionate person. He treats everyone he meets with kindness and respect, and gains a lot of friends as a result. In fact, he’s already quite popular with the local community!

⌗ You think that after four months he’s pretty used to the city, but he still insists on you visiting him at his apartment - his siblings miss you! (So does he.) Everywhere you go, he’s right behind. You’re going to buy some groceries? What a coincidence: he’s been sent on some errands as well! Visiting the post office? He’s free right now, so he’ll accompany you!

⌗ If you ever try to excuse yourself from his clutches, he’ll attempt to guilt trip you into staying. His grandparents have been waiting to see you for a week already! His grandma even made your favourite snacks - won’t you visit? If that doesn’t work, he’ll resort to sticking to you like glue. It’s okay if you don’t know he’s there. He’s just protecting you, okay?

⌗ He loves to spend time with you, because you’re the person who noticed him and helped him! Everyone else ignored him because he looked poor, but you didn’t care about any of that! You’re such a blessing! He’ll be sure to treasure you forever and ever.

“Hehe, thanks so much, [Name]! You’re always so nice to me! I’ll be sure to repay you in every way I can.”

⌗ He may be from the country, but he’s no fool. He comes off as naïve, but that’s because he believes that he should only retaliate when the other person hits first. That way, it’s self defence!

⌗ Humans are scum. Of course, the only exception is his family and you, whom he loves with all his heart! He'll be overjoyed if you’d become part of his precious family too!

⌗ If anyone bothers you or even looks at you wrong, he’s already onto them. He may not be able to really read the room, but he still knows when someone holds hostile feelings or thoughts. After all, he knows plenty about hostility. The villagers were full of that hateful feeling when they drove out his family. That’s why they came to the city, y’know? But it’s not all bad; he met you!

⌗ Humans are like cows. They’re fat, and they make a lot of noise. They’re also quite dumb. Whenever a cow misbehaved in his old village, he would just give them a hearty slap. If that didn’t work, he’d knock them out. And if the cow continually made trouble, it became dinner’s beef. There are lots of similarities between cows and humans, actually!

⌗ Don’t worry if the beef patty tastes a little tough or gamey. Him and his mother assure you that it was just a really active cow. It mooed a lot, and ran around everywhere too! It was too bad the cow was getting too big, and too expensive to feed… Indeed, what a shame. 

⌗ His family can’t wait for you to move in with them! You practically sleep over with him everyday, why don’t you just stay there permanently? He’s a very (abnormally) strong boy, he can help you move all your things into an empty apartment! They have an empty unit anyway: it’s perfect for you to live in with him! 

⌗ His younger siblings are absolutely in love with you - each and everyone of his siblings claim that they’ll marry you when they grow up, but he’s quick to scoop you up in his arms and proclaim himself as your future husband! Wouldn’t that be a dream come through? Oh no, now the cousins are here too! They’re all clamouring for your hand in marriage! In the commotion, he whisks you away to kiss you feverishly (he’s jealous).

⌗ His parents live in the first unit with his youngest brother, and his brothers and sisters live in their respective apartment units. His uncle and auntie have their own apartment, as do his cousins and their two units. His grandparents have a unit, and his other grandparents have one too! With you and your lovely farmer boy sharing a unit, that makes nine units in total!

⌗ But wait, doesn’t this apartment complex have ten units per floor? As long as you don’t inquisitively ask about unit ten at the end of the hall, or the rotting stench that seems to waft from it, everything will be fine and dandy! You don’t need to know about the family’s extra beef stash.

“You make me super happy, [Name], and I’d love to spend the rest of our lives together. You’re always helping me, so I’ll make sure to repay that a thousand times over. Imma make you so happy, you’ll never wanna leave me!”