#his uncle and aunts are going to murder someone

[errantindy]

This meme again…a friend sent this to spin me up…and she was right, and I had fun. And here’s what they got in our Discord (don’t worry I’m having fun, I swear. 😅):

OKAY.

SO. Here we go.

Luke Skywalker was placed on a desert deathworld into the loving care of his aunt and uncle. Owen and Beru knew Anakin, even briefly. Owen felt Anakin’s loss, after his stepmother and then his father, in a couple of years. He had also lost his mother very young. Owen was devastated and traumatized by loss. As far as he knew, his stepbrother was brutally murdered by the Empire in the Purge.

SO, on that backdrop, we have how the Lars guarded Luke. They loved him dearly and did their very best to keep him close, keep him safe. By the shiny sun-dragons, they fought a Dark Jedi for him. They knew the dangers and felt the farm was the only safe place for him. They stymied every attempt at Luke leaving. Even as they knew, it hurt and disappointed the boy they loved, because they could see he was destined for the stars.

SO, we have two, let’s face it, parents doing the galaxy’s best job of keeping a Skywalker in one place AND almost entire out of galactic events, for 19 years mind you! And then in turn, Luke LOVES Owen and Beru, he keeps himself there on the farm as much as they do. They are sand poor moisture farmers. They can’t afford hands to help, they can barely afford a few inadequate droids, and Luke is taking the lion’s share of work as age and their harsh world grind his aunt and uncle down. He can’t leave them to the dangers and hardship. Presented with freedom and adventure as he’s always wanted….Luke refuses the Call, because his family NEEDS him.

Thus, all that established, how does a thoroughly bored Luke occupy his time? Being, undeniably, the best bush pilot in the galaxy. He and his friends challenge themselves to the most insane stunt flying and driving and skiing events that they can, that anyone could, on a world where everything wants to kill you, EVERYTHING. Your average hotrodder anywhere else in the galaxy isn’t learning to deal with incoming enemy fire as a matter of course.

Luke and his friends are regularly fired on by Sand People and criminals. That’s a fact of life.

And Luke is doing this poor as sand with food scarcity because that is his life.

And when the Empire murders his family and burns his farm, severing his only ties to Tatooine, Luke leaves immediately….and then acts out all that repressed Skywalker insanity in a week. He goes to the local hell hole, gets in an immediate bar fight, flees Tatooine as a fugitive, starts Jedi training and makes good progress IN A DAY, infiltrates the Death Star, frees a princess on a whim and no plan, nearly gets eaten by a monster, and escapes the Death Star, joins the Rebellion, takes their tests, achieves results that exceed their tests with no formal training, goes into battle with no more combat experience than his own hobbies, is more useful in his first battle than his father ever was, then achieves the impossible with a literally impossible shot only he could make, and survives.

THAT IS WHAT LUKE SKYWALKER DOES AT 19 AND ONLY GOES VRROOM VRROOM WITH HIS TOYS WHEN HE AND HIS FAMILY ARE HOLDING HIM BACK OUT OF LOVE.

By age 20, Luke is self teaching himself the Force and Jedi training from WHAT HE CAN SCRAPE UP IN THE DETRITUS AND DEBRIS OF THE PURGE, leading a new elite fighter squadron, and one of the Rebellion go-to operatives when they need difficult missions accomplished.

Luke has as most a couple of months formal training. He is that good in RotJ because he figured it all out by himself otherwise in 4 years.

Anakin at 20: “Boo hoo, they’re holding me back. I guess I’ll commit crimes against civilization…”

Luke at 20: “I wish there WAS someone to hold me back. I guess I’ll continue being a moral paragon with my entire lack of formal education unlike the rest of my family.”

OH and need I further expand upon the classism inherent in the meme?

Leia and Padme were both senators…how did they become senators and, in one case, queen? Hey, their families were wealthy and influential. Huh.

How was Anakin general and considered one of the most powerful Jedi in history? Huh, he was inducted as a member of an elite order of, face it, elite government agents with nigh unlimited funding, and the support of his unethically secret senator wife and the supreme chancellor (and galactic puppet-master).

What was Luke? A sand poor farmboy on a desert deathworld who worked tirelessly completing his chores so he could have some joy ‘midst his poverty level existence.

Huh. FANCY THAT, not having rich, privileged legs up in the galaxy makes it hard to have high social standing and power. WEIRD.

Guess he ought to pull himself up by his bootstraps….oh wait he doesn’t have any because of the oppressive Hutt “taxes.”

[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.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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. 

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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.  

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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.

⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

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. ❤️

[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'.

[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!!

[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

[ladyloveandjustice]

I've been reading some older Batman stories and I love how in Batman #20 Bruce actually loses custody of Dick because a lawyer says 'this man is too much of a SLUTTY PARTY BOY to take care of this child" and it works. Bruce's like 'darnit I can't tell them I'm only a slut because of my secret identity!!!"

Bruce is SO SAD without his son, look at him sitting alone moping in front of his fireplace.

It's kind of neat how this story had the "Batman needs a Robin" themes like, so early on. As if Bill Finger was somehow anticipating years of discourse .

"HOW CAN I LIVE WITHOUT THAT BOY'S STUPID-ASS PUNS!"

Literally if Robin goes away Batman gets so depressed he can't even fight. This is like the whole breakdown after Jason died and Tim's entire thesis about Robins condensed into two panels. It's really interesting to see an early comic go "yeah Batman used to work alone, but now that he has Robin, he needs him. Why would you want him to be alone again? He's a mess without him, There's no joy in that."

"YOUR STUPID FUCKING PUNS ARE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL THINGS ON EARTH AND NEVER LET ANYONE TELL YOU OTHERWISE"

BTW the people who've taken custody of Dick are his EVIL uncle and aunt, who only did it so they could get some money out of Bruce.

And Bruce is like "oh man whatever will I do about this :("

"omg I literally forgot I'm Batman and I fight criminals. Alfred what would I do without you reminding me about things like this". See this is why you could never kill off Alfred he's always been the braincell of this family. (I also love Bruce's yellow cravat here)

I thought it would be revealed that this wasn't really Dick's uncle or something, but no! Dick had an evil uncle that heard his brother was murdered along with his wife, orphaning his nephew, and then his nephew got taken in by a millionaire and was like "awesome I can make money off of this". Comics love bringing old characters back, I'm surprised I've never seen one bring back Dick's evil uncle for the drama. I need to see modern Bruce Wayne battle for custody.

"Sir I know Bruce Wayne is a slut but he's also a good father. Also he's super cool and smart." "well I trust your judgement Batman"

Bruce is like "I could never make a deal with crooks" but then has no problem tricking the judge by testifying for himself in court lmao.

but the funniest thing about this story is they just...do it all over again in issue 57? See under the cut.

They were literally like "well it's been long enough they won't know we already did this" and we get version that doesn't involve Dick's evil uncle, it's someone Bruce exposed for running a phony charity just wanting to make him suffer, thinking that losing his son would hurt him more than killing him.

like they just want to throw Dick in an orphanage. This one does put a little more work into arguing for Bruce as a bad guardian, they make it look like he got into a fight at a nightclub etc.

But yes, Bruce does testify for himself in court as Batman all over again, in person this time.

champion of the law.

The empty Batman suit here is so disturbing. why.

[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.

[vanityvixen]

Sworn to Me

Aemond Targaryen

Chapter 3

Summary: You hated Aemond with every fiber of your being. Your half-brother had done nothing but make your life a never-ending storm since being betrothed as children after he lost his eye. However, there is a thin line between loath and love.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Targaryen reader

TRIGGER WARNING: Graphic violence, murder, sexual assault, rape, domestic abuse, trauma, child death, animal cruelty, incest, manipulation, emotional abuse, mental health struggles, and sexism. Viewer discretion is advised.

Chapter 2 — Chapter 3 — Chapter 4

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Walking to the carriage, ready to take me to the Sept, I felt ever so lonely. That is all I can be now that my suspicions of Alicent corrupting the minds of the ladies of the court to spy on me are slowly becoming tangible.

The dress had been selected so thoroughly—the hues of red, the green shade I had come to loathe, and the necklace that would weigh my neck down like a chain. With two days left, there was nothing I could do, no escape from this horrid reality, and no one left but my dying father and distant sister.

Then suddenly, I heard a voice behind me—that dreadful voice.

Aemond.

He had found me alone, distracted, staring out at the sunset. His presence was imposing, his footsteps loud.

“I’ve never seen you so solemn. You usually have a handmaid with you. Why the change in behavior?” Aemond asked.

“I have my reasons. Must I always need a companion wherever I go?”

He raised a brow at my rude reply, his mouth curling into a small, devilish smirk. He chuckled dryly and shook his head.

“Of course not. I’ll be in your company, and we’re getting married in two days. I must make my presence known,” Aemond replied.

“You need not. The realm already knows of your existence well enough.”

He leaned in close to my neck—close enough to see every detail of his scar, yet not close enough to hear the loud beats of my heart. So close that his breath skimmed the shell of my ear.

“You should learn to be nicer to me. You are to be my wife. I won’t tolerate defiance,” he whispered.

“I am a dragon. Obedience is scarce in someone of my nature.”

He straightened, his body taut, his chin held high.

“The largest dragon bends to my command. You will learn. A dragon submits to another far stronger.” He scoffed.

“I am a dragon who will not abide by your will. I must provide heirs—nothing more.”

“You may be a dragon, but I am your rider. I’ll force you to submit, even if you are defiant,” Aemond declared.

I did not speak to him any further as I continued walking toward the courtyard, the carriage still waiting for me.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

The day before my supposed wedding, my sister Rhaenyra arrived at the Keep. Elaine told me the reason for her return was to confirm her son—my nephew, Lucerys’—inheritance.

“Sister,” I greeted her with a smile as she entered through the main doors of the Keep. “I am sorry the others are too occupied to give you a proper welcome.”

“It is fine, sister. I only wished for you, regardless,” Rhaenyra assured me.

I greeted the rest of her family—my uncle Daemon, her children Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey, my cousins Baela and Rhaena, and her two babes.

Jacaerys soon pulled me away from everyone to speak with me alone.

“I missed you, Aunt,” he said with a smile.

“Dear, you have grown very lovely. I missed you too.”

“Have you been well?” he asked.

“Yes, I have. And how is Vermax?”

“He has grown very large—half your dragon’s size, I assume,” he laughed.

Before I could respond, I sensed that ominous gaze upon me. Was it Aemond? Why was he here now, when he had clearly said he was too busy to greet them?

“Nephew. Wife.” His voice cut through the air.

Jacaerys noticed the man behind me, and a scowl formed on his face before he masked it with a halfhearted expression.

“Good morrow, Uncle.”

Aemond spared him only a glance before I turned to face him.

“I need to speak with you,” Aemond said, his tone final.

I shot Jacaerys an apologetic look before following Aemond away.

He led me briskly through the gardens, his demeanor brooding as he guided me to a secluded area, away from prying eyes. Once he deemed the location far enough, he spoke.

“You should be more careful about whom you spend your time with.”

“Can I not speak with my nephew? And why did you call me wife?” I asked.

His voice dropped to a low hiss.

“Nephew or not, you shouldn’t be in such close proximity to any man who isn’t me. Particularly not one day before our marriage. Do you understand that?”

“Fine.”

“Good. Change your gown. Mother needs us in the throne room in three hours.”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

[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.

[mewnewew]

Sir Crocodile x Chronically Ill!Reader pt.10

I feel awful about not posting for so long ngl

Tagged accounts: @tsumu-senpai @joyfulllittlething again, lemme know if any of yall wants to be tagged

pt.9 pt.11

The entire day before the damn wedding you were feeling ready to murder everyone including yourself purely because you had a mild headache that wasn't going away and the next was you remembered every single thing you said to Crocodile.

Seas, you felt awful. What possessed you to say those things?! It made sense that you were aware of them but instead of normally just working around and into it and slowly letting him aware of it (if he wasn't already) you threw it in his face, like a bomb. You groaned, throwing back a glass of water, trying to forget the memories. And on top of that, you even called him defensive! If a time-time fruit could be found you wished you could eat it and go back in time to hide that snail away from your drunken self, awful taste and all.

For now, you have to deal with the last few preparations needed for the wedding tomorrow. The bride's dress was perfect save for the fact that she wanted some pockets at the side to hide her speech in, so you had sent it to the tailor's for altering. However, considering that your general group of helpers (nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts, cousins, and their significant others) were all already assigned to either run behind or help with something or the other. Meaning you had to go collect the now-altered dress. Oh well, you supposed that a trip to town would be refreshing. You needed to do quick checks on the preparations for the bachelorette party as well anyway.

Your family had a horse carriage as did most people on your island, so you used that to go to town. Walking into the tailor's shop, you were rummaging in your bag for the receipt.

"Where was it-oomph!" You stumbled into someone's chest. Both your bag and their dress fell onto the floor. The pair of you both immediately bent down to pick both items up already starting with apologies.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I-Paul?" You froze looking at the stranger.

"....It really is you. H-how've you been?" Stuttered your ex-boyfriend. 

Now yes, you had gone through relationships before Crocodile. Kind of helped with understanding him, honestly speaking. But Paul was the longest. He was the longest out of the few relationships you had, where the only reason it didn't work out was the fact that he was very......negative. The man was not in lack of self-respect, he was just never positive about things when it was just the two of you. It was as if he felt that he just had to be when it was just you two even if the situation did not ask for it. It was a problem, but he never put the negativity on you.....until one day when you were anyway quite peeved about the dosage of medicine you were prescribed and he grumbled about your personality. That's when you cut it off. 

Your friends were all supportive, anyway being quite disapproving of him, this just settled the situation in their eyes. But seeing him now was....a whole new experience given the last time you talked to him was 3 years ago. Things did not end well between you two, and you always got the feeling that even though he apologized profusely after that outburst he didn't really mean it.

"I've been fine, actually. Got married" You said, snapping yourself back to the present.

"Married?! To who?" He yelped.

"Sir Crocodile," You said quietly, a tone of satisfaction dipped in.

He looked at you for 5 whole seconds before bursting into laughter.

"Oh...you always did have a great sense of humor! Sir Crocodile, you say. Hahaha!" He bent over and a lick of anger raced up your spine.

In another part of your mind, your brain compared his and Crocodile's laughter. Oh, you did not like Paul's laughter at all. In fact, you kind of missed your husband's laughter.

He stood up again, a dopey grin on his face. "So what brings you back?"

"Cousin's wedding. I have to help plan it as per custom." You said disdain for the man evident in your tone.

"No kidding! Well, that must be a lot of work. You have a plus 1 to the wedding yet?"

You deflated slightly. "No, I was going to invite one of my friends."

"Wel,l I'm free. When's the wedding?" 

"Tomorrow, but-" You started. Like Hell, you would want your ex to come as your plus one.

"That settles it then!" He clapped a hand to your shoulder. "I'll be your plus one"

"Now wait a minute-"

Suddenly a ringing sound pierced the air, placing a hand in his pocket, he pulled out a snail. He lifted the receiver. "Yes?" His brow furrowed. "He did what?! On my way, hold on!" He snapped starting to leave.

As he left, he called back to you. "Don't worry I won't forget!"

Oh, what did you land yourself in, now?

+++x+++

Miles away, Crocodile was smoking a cigar looking at the wedding photo of you two, situated in the hallway between the casino and his office. He had been in a sullen mood for the entire day, your parents had sent it a few months after you were married, and as he gazed at you then, having a polite smile on your face, he had a sudden pang of loss. He missed you.

Looking at the clock he huffed and marched to his office where Nico Robin stood, holding a few documents. "Clear out my schedule till the week's end" He barked, grabbing the snail which you two used to communicate.

"Oh? Going somewhere?" Came her casual but alert reply.

He looked at her over his shoulder. "I'm going to go get my partner back."

[takaraphoenix]

Another one!

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

I would love to get a Peter POV from One Hale of a Problem when the 3 parents show up at Chris's house. Particularly the part where Stiles is revealing what he did during the 2 years Peter was in a coma!

Oh that's a fun one! And by fun one, I mean painful one :3

So you gave me the option of one specific moment. But. You know me, I do not control the words. So, rereading the scene, I was stuck by the staged visual of Peter wiping Kate's blood off his claws and I went "Yeah, no, we gotta start there". So. Uhm. I accidentally wrote 3.1k of this. Oopsie. But yeah, due to length, the Peter Feels are under the cut.

One Hale of a Problem: The Truth About the Coma Years

Claudia and Noah accused Peter of being 'theatrical' when he didn't clean the blood off his hands until they reached the Argent house (Claudia's exact words had been 'See, this is why you got bullied in middle school for being an absolute theater kid, Piotrek', which was, quite frankly, just rude and uncalled for). He just wanted to drive home to the Argent that he was the Left Hand of the Hale Pack and that he would never allow the Argents to take his family, his pack, from him again.

Besides, Claudia was being just as dramatic by posing in beta-shift and with the Alpha-red eyes on display to intimidate Chris Argent the moment he opened the door, so he really didn't think she had a leg to stand on.

It was when Stiles yelled out from the bathroom, offering the Argent a shower because Stiles had 'made a mess' in the man's lap when Claudia looked as ready to commit murder as Peter. If this man was doing the same thing to Stiles as Kate had done to Derek, then Peter was going to tear the man's spleen out and crush his heart.

He'd always been a mentor to Derek, his nephew had always been precious to him. Learning about Kate and how she had preyed on a vulnerable, mourning teenager, abusing him sexually to get the information he needed to kill their family? Peter had yearned to kill her since then and finally he got to sink his claws into her.

But even the very thought that another Argent was preying on Peter's son? His blood froze in his veins and the world froze around him.

"Mieczysław Stilinski Hale," Claudia spoke very slowly and calmly. "We need to talk."

"Full name," Stiles winced and tried to shrink in the hoodie. "Which one blabbered?"

It wasn't Stiles' hoodie. It was too big on the boy and it reeked of the Argent. Peter shot a narrow-eyed glare at Chris Argent for it. To cover their pup in his scent like that was simply shameless.

"Blabbered," Peter repeated with a huff. "Isaac came home, crying and distressed, telling us that Kate Argent shot you. He cracked and told us the truth. Once he cracked, Malia and Cora followed."

Peter turned his glare back onto Stiles now. The memory of Isaac, fully falling apart in worry over his brother, centered Peter in a different anger again. Not at Stiles. Never at Stiles. But at Kate. Seeing Isaac cry and hearing him tell them that Kate Argent had shot Stiles and that Isaac didn't know where his brother was? Peter hadn't been that afraid since the fire.

Even Stiles' reassurance that Chris Argent had supposedly saved him did little to ease Peter. His wolf was in overdrive, the threat to his family was too close, he had come too close to losing someone else. It would take a while for the protectiveness to ease again.

"We're gonna come back to Chris and you later," Peter assured Stiles when it looked like Stiles was distracting from their conversation at hand. "But for now, I would like to talk about you and Kate Argent."

He wasn't going to let Stiles get away with whatever was going on between him and Chris Argent, but the threat to the pup's life had priority right now.

"She killed everyone," Stiles whispered softly, staring at the ground. "She killed grandma and aunt Talia and uncle Damon and uncle Aaron and aunt Fiona and Sloan and Jason."

Peter's eyes stung at the pain and grief in Stiles' voice and at the memories flooding Peter.

"How… How do you know that?" Claudia asked in a much softer voice.

"I figured that out when I was thirteen. Admittedly, would have done earlier if I had understood sex, seduction and evil gross women manipulating impressionable teen boys."

It made Peter's throat feel tight to hear that Stiles had known, had known for so long now. "You know what Kate did to Derek."

"Der told me," Stiles raised his chin defiantly. "And I knew in that moment, I was gonna kill her."

There was a twisted feeling in Peter's stomach, between mortification and pride. The ruthless look in Stiles' eyes, the fierce determination, it reminded him of himself. When he had first declared to aunt Laura that he wanted to become Left Hand, that he wanted to be able to protect their pack. On the one hand was he proud to see that determination, but on the other hand did Peter find it horrifying that Stiles had put that on himself. Peter, back then, he had told his aunt, had claimed his role as her apprentice. Instead of reaching out to them, Stiles had decided to shoulder this on his own.

"Oh, sweetheart," Peter heaved a sigh and pulled his son into a hug. "You're a pup. You… This was never your burden, nor your punishment to deal. And it won't be. I killed her."

Stiles froze in Peter's arms. "What. You… You killed her?"

"She shot you," Peter huffed, the sound muffled by Stiles' neck. "I would have killed her for what she did to our family anyway, now that she came back to town. But she shot you, she hunted our pups. I had to take out the threat before she hurt any more of our pack."

"Oh," Stiles nodded and burrowed into Peter, shaking a little. "Okay."

Having Stiles in his arms like that, shaking with relief and the aftermath of his fear, drove home just how young Stiles still was, despite his fearlessness. He was still their pup.

"You should have never shouldered this alone, Mischief," Claudia stated sternly. "You should have told us about this, you shouldn't have kept this-"

Stiles tore away from Peter to snarl at his mother in an act of defiance that surprised not just Peter. "You kept this from us! You never told us who killed our family, even though you knew! You didn't tell us when Argents returned to town! No, I had to realize when all of a sudden, Allison Argent showed up in the cafeteria! I had a fucking panic attack when I first met her and Mal had to talk me down from it! So why should I have told you about what I was investigating, when you couldn't even trust us to warn us?!"

Peter's jaw set at the accusation. They had argued long and often about this, never coming to a clear consensus. They didn't want to drag their children into any of this, especially not the wolves that had suffered the broken pack-bonds when the fire had happened. There was no need to tear open fresh wounds and Chris had seemed genuine. Noah and Peter had thoroughly vetted the man and it became apparent to them both that Chris had cut his ties to his family and that he had not been involved in the fire.

Punishing Chris for the crimes of his family was not different than what Kate had done to them. Punishing them for the crimes of individual werewolves. So they had agreed to let Chris and his daughter stay in Beacon Hills.

To hear that Stiles had been able to track Kate at all - it had taken Peter months to find her trail, before he had then lost it again - filled Peter with a lot of pride once again. Truly, that boy was meant to become the protector of a pack, as much as Peter wished it wouldn't be necessary. One day, Peter wouldn't be there anymore, one day the children would be grown and have pups of their own and that next generation of Hale Pack would need a Left Hand as dedicated as Peter was.

Peter thought it was due time to tell Stiles about his plans to take Stiles on as an apprentice, even if Claudia objected. The fact that Stiles had studied up on pack roles and knew what made a Left Hand only made Peter feel all the more validated in his choice.

"Now let's talk about what this is," Noah requested once the pack business was discussion, his gaze wandering between Stiles and Chris.

"It's not what you think, I swear," Stiles argued and put himself between Chris and his parents.

Peter tilted his head surprised by that. The fierce protectiveness Stiles radiated, like any wolf protecting their own. Only that the Argent hunter wasn't one of their own and Stiles shouldn't feel or express that level of protectiveness over the man.

"Oh, it's not?" Claudia asked with one raised eyebrow, her arms crossed. "But you do know what it looks like. Which makes it sound far less innocent that you wanted it to."

"It's not his fault that I have a stupid crush on him!"

Peter heaved a sigh at that. He'd expected something like this, ever since they had been let into the house. After all, he was the one who had comforted Stiles about his crush. The leap wasn't big.

But Peter wasn't going to cave easily, after all, Stiles was the minor in this situation. "The way he smells around you very much is his fault though."

"I never touched your son," Chris' assurance was not as soothing as the man intended.

"Tell me you've never thought about touching him either," Claudia demanded in return.

"Mom, I really don't need this," Stiles groaned frustrated, covering his face.

"I'm not going to lie to you, ma'am. I know lying to a werewolf is a pointless endeavor," Chris sighed. "I don't plan on acting on any of it though, if that is worth anything. He's sixteen."

"Seventeen," Stiles corrected indignantly. "I was held back a year. And I'm a couple months into being seventeen too. Like, eighteen is practically on the horizon, if human age of consent is the only thing that's stopping you from kissing me."

"Kiddo, you are not helping," Noah snorted amused and shook his head.

"Why are you so calm?" Claudia growled, zeroing in on Noah.

Peter had to side with Claw on that. If anything, Peter would have expected Noah to be putting bullets into the man for touching their boy. Or wanting to touch their boy.

"Oh, I recall being a twenty-seven year old deputy who kept getting harassed by two high schoolers," Noah gave Claudia and Peter a pointed glare. "I remember what you two were like when you were seventeen. Stubborn brats competing to seduce me."

That... was fair. Peter internally winced while schooling his features to not show weakness in front of the Argent. He did remember his own father's stern words when Peter had first started wooing Noah. That he was too young, didn't know what he wanted yet. (Which had earned Logan very bemused smiles from Dalia, who reminded her husband that they had been seventeen when they conceived Talia.)

Peter was not going to get into Stiles' potential Daddy Kink in regards to Christopher's age and how much the boy then claimed to be into the silver fox look. He would require wolfsbane laced whiskey for that train of thought and the self-reflection on how much of that was on him.

It was Stiles' fierce and determined exclamation of "He's mine! He's my mate. I can feel it. I know it. My wolf knows it." that truly made Peter crash back into the reality of this conversation.

"Are you… sure?" Claudia asked in a soft voice. "You're young-"

"Stop saying that!" Stiles growled at his mother and flashed his eyes golden. "I'm not a little kid. I'm seventeen. While dad was in a coma and you were overwhelmed with the Alpha powers and dealing with the insurance and getting everything legally sorted about Cora, Derek and Laura, and while pops was drinking, I took care of Derek Cora and Mal. It wasn't Laura. She was too busy dissociating from the loss of her pack-bonds, just like Derek and Cora and Mal and mom. All you wolves were so broken from the lost pack-bonds and pops was drinking and I took care of the family! I cooked, I cleaned, I made sure Cor and Mal didn't fall back in class."

"W… What," Claudia took a step back, her eyes wide.

But Peter couldn't concentrate on either of his lovers. Not even on his son. His gaze stared through them, lost in memories and settling into the cold feeling of a reality he knew nothing about.

Three years. He had been in a coma for three years. Missed three years of his children's and niblings' lives. All he had in regards to these three years were the recounts from Claudia and Noah. And while his lovers had confided in him about Noah's alcoholism and Claudia missing it, this was fully new information.

The way his lovers told it, Claudia had been overwhelmed by all of the new responsibility - as the Alpha, with not just their two kids but three more kids in the house, and coping with her own broken pack-bonds. It was a lot, especially for a new Alpha. And Noah? Noah had been overwhelmed by it all too, while also fearing for Peter's life, but unlike Claudia and the other wolves, he didn't have the remaining pack-bonds to make him feel grounded. He'd lost himself in a bottle.

Both Claudia and Noah had expressed gratitude for Laura stepping up. They noticed, the prepped food in the fridge, the clean house, the fact that the kids didn't miss school. Laura was eighteen at the time, it had been the logical conclusion that the eldest had stepped up to take care of the others. Peter had never questioned it.

Peter should have questioned it.

His son, his ten year old son, had stepped up to take care of the household, of his siblings and cousins, on top of his own grief. Stiles should have never had to shoulder any of that. Peter desperately wished he could have been there for him, for them all. Noah wouldn't have drunk if Peter hadn't been in the coma, Claudia wouldn't have had to deal with the legalese if he hadn't been in a coma - because she was a florist, Peter was a lawyer, he would have had an easier time with it and perhaps, it wouldn't even have been necessary; legally speaking, he was Laura, Derek and Cora's uncle. Claudia and Noah were his lovers, but California wasn't ready for a polyamorous marriage, so it had only been Noah and Claudia who had gotten married in the eye of the law. Peter had insisted on it, wanting his humans protected through marriage. However, that had left the two with no legal ties to the Hale children or the Hale inheritance.

It had been a months and years long fight to get custody and to get access to the insurance money. Things Peter could have eased, could have helped with. Instead, it was another thing that Claudia had to take care of. And when she had noticed Noah's alcoholism, after months of him hiding it even from his wife, she also had to take care of that.

Peter couldn't even blame them for not noticing that Stiles had run the household. He could only blame himself for not having been there. And Kate for taking yet another thing from their family. Taking Stiles' childhood that way.

"I spent two years taking care of this family when I actually was a kid," Stiles continued. "I haven't been a kid in a long time, mom. I paid our bills, because you were too torn between taking care of pops and dad and legal stuff and your shop. I went grocery shopping and learned how to use the washing machine and made sure Derek didn't isolate himself from the pack. I know you thought Laura did all of that, because she was a legal adult. But she was barely eighteen and she was a wolf who had just lost most her pack-bonds, including her parents. She wasn't ready to step up like that and take care of anyone but herself. I was human. I grieved our family, but I didn't feel the broken pack-bonds like the wolves did. So I stepped up."

Peter stared numbly at his son at these words. He'd thought Stiles' investigations and his good work as a future Left Hand were due to the boy's clever mind and maturity - and they were, surely, but they were also a sign of how early he had been faced with the horrors of life and how those had forced him to grow up far before any other child his age should have.

Peter wasn't the only one feeling from this realization. Both Claudia and Noah also settled in their guilt, and in their shame. It was Chris who stepped up to comfort Stiles, pulling the boy into a gentle embrace. Peter couldn't help but watch with sharp, curious eyes.

"I'm sorry you felt like you had to do that, baby," Chris murmured, rubbing Stiles' back soothingly.

"I solved a crime that others were stumped on. I got more intel on your family than anyone outside the Argent family ever managed. I kept track of Kate for two years. I picked four betas for this pack, who were good choices and have been good and loyal pack-mates," Stiles' voice was muffled by Chris' chest. "I know what I'm doing. I knew what I had to do just like I know what I want. And I know you're my mate. You make me feel… grounded. You calm my wolf when my anxiety has it clawing at the walls. You make me feel safe, that's why I came here. Because I knew I was dying and… and I didn't know where to go, but my wolf wanted… wanted to feel safe, so it brought me here."

There was a particular stab of pain at these words. When injured and nearly dying, Stiles' wolf hadn't brought him home to his own den, to his pack, to his family. It had brought him to a hunter. To an Argent.

"Oh," Chris' voice broke a little and he pressed a kiss to the top of Stiles' head. "You are. You're safe here. I'll never hurt you, little wolf. I'm going to keep you safe."

It was the gentleness in Chris' voice and the honesty of his words that had Peter tilt his head. Even if Chris was Stiles' mate, these things were always different for humans. Not all humans reacted favorable to these kind of news, or accepted it. This level of acceptance from a hunter was more than surprising.

It was in that moment that Peter knew for sure that Chris was not Kate. And Stiles was not Derek. And though every fiber of Peter's being protested the idea, he knew that he could trust the hunter with the safety of his pup.

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