#hope the network realizes this was a mistake too

[bisexualbrainrots]

okay but the way tommy's body language changed as soon as buck confessed he was the himbo it set the tone for the rest of the scene.

he even seemed taken aback by his own words and like, immediately tried to fly the scene and looked devastated, it felt like he aged years in a matter of seconds.

in my heart he didn't want that to happen. in my heart he panicked and rushed into a situation that didn't need rushing.

so sad.

[moonstruckme]

Knowing you write for steddie x reader changes everything for me. I love them and they deserve the world. Plus you do every character so much justice I love how you write them. Maybe reader and Steve supporting Eddie at one of his shows? Or Eddie and Reader helping Steve network at an event? Or Steve and Eddie taking care of a drunk Reader after having a "girls night" with Robin and Nancy?

Love your writing and hope you have an amazing Valentines day! 💝 🍫🎀🌹💐

Thanks for requesting gorgeous! Hope your valentine's was amazing too <33

cw: effects of alcohol + weed

poly!Steddie x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

When Steve gets back home, you’re sitting on the floor of the kitchen drinking water out of a bowl with a half empty bag of bread beside you. 

“Jesus,” he says. “This looks kinda pathetic, don’t you think?” 

Eddie, sitting on the counter while he monitors you, shrugs. “All our cups are dirty.” 

“She didn’t want to sit on the couch or something?” 

“No, she said—”

“The floor’s really important right now,” you say gravely. 

Eddie nods. “I kind of get it.” 

Steve huffs a laugh, squatting beside you. “How’s it going, honey?” 

“M’not feeling fabulous,” you mumble, your voice echoing around the inside of the bowl. “Are Nancy and Robs okay?” 

“Yeah, they’re good,” he says. “They’re home safe.” He peers into the bowl when you lower it for a second. You’ve almost drained it. He has to hand it to Eddie; purposefully or not, his bowl scheme has gotten you to drink a good amount of water. “Neither of them would tell me what you guys got up to, though.” 

You’ve just raised the bowl to drink again, and you giggle into your little cavern. 

Eddie, feeling left out, hops down from the counter and takes up a position on your other side. “Ooh, that sounds like trouble.” He nudges your shoulder with his, squinting at you deviously. “What’d you do, huh?”

You set the bowl down, finished. “Nothing,” you say smugly. 

Eddie leans around you to shoot Steve a look, and he rolls his eyes at the showy intrigue in it. 

“Let me guess,” his boyfriend drawls. “You went to that biker bar downtown?”

You shake your head but realize your mistake halfway through, frowning at yourself. “M’not gonna say anything.” 

“That’s no fun! Come on, did you all get secret matching tattoos?” 

You press your lips together. Ignore the eyebrow Steve raises at you. 

“Did you go skinny dipping in the river? Go to a strip club?” Eddie gasps, expression morphing into one of scandal like your face has revealed anything more than a growing amusement at his theories. “Oh my god, you worked a strip club! Baby, you should’ve told us, Stevie and I would’ve tipped you good if we’d been invited.” 

“Quit it.” You go to pinch Eddie’s side. He stops you with a hand on your wrist and a delighted grin. “M’not telling you yes or no to anything, so don’t bother.” 

“Alright,” Steve says at the mischievous look in his boyfriend’s brown eyes, “you ready for bed?” 

Instantly, your good mood slips away. “No,” you say, almost pleading. “M’too dizzy, I can’t go to bed like this.” 

Eddie’s coo sounds how Steve feels. He stands while his boyfriend kisses sympathetically at your cheek, reaching down for you.

“That’s alright,” he promises. “Let’s just brush teeth for now, okay? We’ll give you some time to sober up.” 

It takes some help from Eddie on the floor to get you up, but soon Steve has his arm around your waist, keeping you pressed close to his side as he all but carries you to the bathroom. He hears Eddie moving around in the kitchen, cleaning up your small mess, and takes the opportunity to lean in to whisper, “Okay, are you really not going to tell me how you got like this?” 

You groan, head lolling onto his shoulder. “You’re gonna think it’s so uncool.” 

Steve laughs quietly. “C’mon, babe. You’ve got the D&D master in there, and then a guy who probably peaked in high school. Are you really worried about what we think is cool?” 

“Yes,” you mutter, but sigh in defeat as he leans you against the bathroom counter, getting your toothbrush ready for you. “Fine. We didn’t even go out. We just stayed in Nancy’s basement.” 

He feels his eyebrows go up. “I thought you guys were going to go to the bars.” 

“We were, but Robin brought us brownies to eat before we left, and…and she didn’t tell me what was in them until I’d already had two.” 

“Oh,” Steve realizes, “you’re high, huh?” 

“I had a bit to drink before that, too,” you say miserably. You take the toothbrush from him, all but shoving it into your mouth. 

“You’re crossed?” Steve gives a little laugh, scrubbing his hand up and down your arm sympathetically. Your skin is pleasantly warm, and you lean into his touch like his hands are molding you that way. “Shit, that sucks.” 

“We didn’t even get to go out because of me,” you lament around a mouthful of toothpaste. You’re starting to sound a bit teary. “And I threw up in Nancy’s bathroom.” 

Steve tries to look like he’s taking this seriously, but it’s hard to keep the amusement from his tone. “You couldn’t have known, you know?” He crosses his arms, watching as you scrub the inside of your mouth like you’re trying to rid yourself of this entire night. “Robs should have told you earlier. Christ, no wonder you seemed so much more fucked up than either of them.” 

“What’s going on?” Eddie leans against the doorway. 

“She’s crossed,” Steve says. 

“Steve!” You spit your toothpaste into the sink and look up at him, betrayed. “You’re such a narc!” 

“Aw, baby.” Steve really doesn’t know why you ever wanted to keep this a secret from Eddie. He’ll tease you more for it, sure, but he’ll also baby you way more than Steve ever would. And predictably, you eat it up, responding to his tone with a cute pout. “This is your first time being high, isn’t it?” 

You nod pitifully. “I didn’t even mean to,” you warble, eyes looking dangerously wet. “It was an accident.” 

Eddie crosses the distance to you in two long strides, wrapping his arms around your middle so your back is pressed to his front. “Poor thing,” he coos. “You were tricked, huh?” 

“She was,” Steve says, somewhat crossly. “Robin’s gonna hear it when I see her tomorrow, don’t worry.” 

“No, Steve!” Your boyfriend sticking up for you only seems to worsen your upset. You turn your glassy eyes on him, reaching for his hand. “You can’t tell, please! S’a girls’ night secret, you’re not supposed to know.” 

Steve softens. He can play tough, but he’s never been any match for you when you make your eyes all big and sad like that. He’ll give you anything you want. 

“I dunno,” Eddie says, “I think we should go egg her house.” 

Steve grins, but you blanch. 

“No,” you protest urgently, clearly missing the humor in Eddie's voice. 

“Alright, alright.” Steve tugs your hand toward him, soothing his palm up the inside of your wrist. “We won’t tell, honey.” Eddie rolls his eyes, but they’re full of fondness as he stamps a kiss on your cheek to show his agreement. “Do you want to sit in bed until you feel okay enough to go to sleep?” 

The worry clears from your expression, replaced by something almost approaching shyness. “Yes, please,” you say, sinking into Eddie’s hold. “You guys can go to sleep though, if you want.” 

“Oh, no way,” Eddie says, keeping you securely in his hold as he starts to walk you towards the bedroom. “It’s your first time being high, baby! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” 

You grin like he’s silly, but when your unsteady gaze lands on Steve it’s tentative. 

“We’re not just gonna leave you awake by yourself,” he agrees. “We’ll stay up however long you need us to.” 

“Exactly,” Eddie says. “Okay, tell me everything going through your head right now. Do you kind of feel like you’re watching a TV show through your own eyes?”

[beetlejuicyy]

How about Bada lee angst based from a song, exile - Taylor swift. Bada in Bon iver pov while reader's Taylor. Sorry if there's any mistakes in my grammar, English is not my first language

Exile

Pairing: Bada Lee x idol! reader

Synopsys: you and Bada meet at the the W party after your break up

Warnings: angst

Notes: i love writing based on songs apparently. ty anon for requesting this and i hope you enjoy!!

Masterlist

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

She couldn’t say she didn’t expect you to be here. The W party meant famous guests and a great chance to networking. Bada would lie if she said a part of her was not happy to see you after so long. But she didn’t expect you to be on a man’s arm. And you were ironically enough sitting at the same table just across each other.

I can see you standing, honey

With his arms around your body

Laughin’, but the joke’s not funny at all

You were your ever charming self, paying attention to every word he said, laughing whenever he made some stupid jokes even a middle school kid would find cringe. You were wearing a classic little black dress that fit your body like a glove. You were as gorgeous as she remembered. Of course she saw you everywhere; makeup advertising, promoting your new song, thirst traps on tiktok. You haven’t been in touch for a while but she always kept an eye on you, no matter how ugly things ended between the two of you.

Now you showed up here with that creature. He wasn’t even handsome. It took her utmost control to keep smiling and navigate through all those people, exchange compliments as a possible beginning for future projects. But you were always somewhere in the corner of her vision, introducing your partner to people. Fans on the internet were saying it was just promotions for your new role in a drama. Other people said you were dating for real. She couldn’t tell.

And it took you five whole minutes

To pack us up and leave me with it

Holdin’ all this love out here in the hall

She showed her cool self as always, although, as she stepped on the carpet in front of all the cameras, the lights blinded her and for a moment she felt like running. Bada was still in love with you, she was very much aware of it. As she walked to the sea of people, finding familiar faces that brought her comfort, she tried to hide the toll your presence was taking on her mood. You were the one who broke up with her after all, she could find the minimal amount of dignity left in her to look fine at least.

She couldn’t ignore you though. You worked together before and everyone knew you were close. You flashed her a dangerously frozen smile, large and perfect, the kind you had to rehearse for. On the outside it looked friendly and excited but behind your eyes was emptiness. She waved her hand back at you from the distance, faking excitement. Your partner must have known her because he waved too, eager to get to know Bada Lee, the dancer with all the spotlight on her at the moment. You dragged him somewhere else, away from her.

I think I’ve seen this film before

And I didn’t like the ending

You’re not my homeland anymore

So what am I defending now?

Bada knew she had no right to be jealous. Your relationship was over a long time ago. But the seed of hope buried in her heart gave birth to the thought of talking to you alone. You had broken up several times and made up the moment you stumbled upon each other again. Maybe this could be one of those times when you would realize you loved her more than your ego allowed you to.

The hardest part was finding out you were seated at the same table, across each other nonetheless. She was well aware that death stares at your partner would be obvious. So she looked at you instead. Elegant and delightful, you looked around carefully, making sure you greeted everyone around the table while maintaining your graceful posture. Bada’s stare softened, remembering seeing you after schedule, when you would throw away your high heels and devour the biggest portion of instant ramen she had at home. Carefree and natural, loud and dramatic, full of life. That’s how she knew you. And she knew that behind the meticulously planned behavior you displayed, you were still the same girl she fell for. But you weren’t together anymore.

 Taking another sip of champagne, she quietly went backstage to change her outfit for the performance. She had to let go of these regretful thoughts that didn’t fit at all with her dance tonight. She had to be powerful and charming, deliver what the people liked. What you liked.

I can see you starin’, honey

Like he’s just your understudy

Like you’d get your knuckles bloody for me

You noticed Bada’s eyes were lost lingering on your figure. You were used to people staring at you, especially when you were the main attraction in an expensive outfit at the top of the guest list. But her eyes always unsettled you.

It wasn’t a surprise for you that she was here. After all you had friends working at W who generously updated you with the full guest list before the event. But by the time you found out she was going to be here too it was too late to talk to your manager and go without a partner. You had to promote your upcoming drama in every way possible. But you wished you could have been here alone in front of her.

You noticed, of course you noticed how she was staring at him, questions popping in her head. You knew her better than you knew yourself. And maybe that’s why you weren’t together anymore. Had it not been this time and place, she would have started messing the poor man up out of jealousy. But he had no fault. He was a young guy with a dream of making it big, having just landed the role of his life with you.

Second, third, and hundredth chance

Balancin’ on breaking branches

Those eyes add insult to injury

You looked back at her a couple of times across the table, trying to hide the hurricane of feelings in your chest. How many unresolved issues you had? You stopped counting long ago. Her eyes were cloudy and lost, at times it seemed like she was looking through you. She never tried hard enough to make it work, and loving each other like crazy was not enough to fix things. Or was it?

She seemed happy and excited to be here, you followed her at all times form under your lashes. You were proud of her for winning the competition, but any more than the simple congratulatory text you had sent her would have pushed you back in the same cycle. Breaking up and making up like none of you could make up their mind for good.

I think I’ve seen this film before

And I didn’t like the ending

I’m not your problem anymore

So who am I offending now?

Although you were at work, although all eyes were on you, although you haven’t spoken in months, although she never listened to your complaints, she was looking at you like you belonged to her. Like you betrayed her by showing up with someone else. You wished she would just look the other way so it would be easier for the both of you. Instead, you had to play this stupid game of looking like the total opposite of what you were feeling, deciphering each other’s body language and fake smiles, pushing through the shock of seeing each other in order to portray the role you had to play.

When she performed she was breathtaking like she always was to you. Her facial expressions, the way she would enjoy the song, play along with the audience, her flirty looks for the camera all of those things melted your heart once again, after months and months of trying to lock it up.

I think I’ve seen this film before

And I didn’t like the ending

You cheered for her. You had been supporting her all this time from afar anyway. But you could sense the shift in your heart and recognize the same pattern that always led to your making up. You swore to her on the night you broke up that it was the last time. You simply couldn’t work out. With every time you went back to each other your issues grew deeper and deeper the more you avoided talking about them.

You quietly excused yourself to the bathroom after the performance, a perfect moment to disappear unnoticed. You took a good look at yourself in the mirror. Perfect, without a single trace of the pain you felt inside.

So step right out, there is no amount

Of crying I can do for you

You had ran out of tears long ago. You only needed time to breathe, a break from the theatre play you had been performing tonight. You could go back makeup untouched, voice cheerful in any minute. Because you weren’t going to cry because of her.

I couldn’t turn things around

‘Cause you never gave a warning sign

Bada was taken over by the people requesting pictures and sharing impressions on their performance. She saw you watching, she was sure, but where did you disappear now? She never knew what you were up to, what you were truly feeling or thinking. You knew so well how to hide the ugly aspects of life that you hid from her too, even unintentionally. She couldn’t know you were in the bathroom almost crying because you never looked the least affected by her.

Your partner showed up in front of her, as he had been waiting in line to get the chance to exchange some words of admiration. Bada greeted him politely, like any other person. He seemed to know nothing of your history.

Now I’m in exile, seein’ you out

You appeared out of nowhere, grabbing him by the arm, apologizing once again for disappearing. As close as you were, the closest you had been the entire night, you felt like an invisible wall separated the two of you. It was your cue, your turn to tell her how amazing she was on the stage. Your lines were already thought and well aligned with the social script like always.

“I can’t wait to watch your new drama.” She took you by surprise, and you lost your composure for a moment. Your partner laughed and thanked her. You wanted to reach out and grab her hand run away right then.

Now I’m in exile, seein’ you out

But there was this wall between you, separating what you had been from what you were now.  

“You’re as good at dance as I remember.” You chimed in, earning a shy smile from her as she looked to the ground, thanking you. That’s all you could do. “See you around, Bada.” You said, your voice taken over by the nostalgia you had been feeling the entire night. The words weighted heavier than you had planned in your head and you wondered whether it was a mistake.

“I’ll be around for sure.” She said. The other members of Bebe called for her to take a group picture. With awkward smiles and lingering eyes that yearned for each other you both turned around, tending to your own business.

[venus-giirl]

"Run, butterfly"

Gyutaro Shabana x fem reader.

Fandom: Demon Slayer. Word Count: +1k. Rating: dark romance, enemies, persecution, bloody kisses, obscene words. N/A: Okay. It's been a long time and by that I mean I haven't written anything on this social network for over a year. I'm doing well. I've been fine. I just wasn't finding myself with the perfect inspiration to create scenarios for the characters I love so much. And this lets me down about myself. But now, after finding my inspiration again I'm back and I'm writing new scenarios for the dear readers who read and support me. I want to remind that English is not my native language, but I use the translator for the texts I write. So I apologize for any mistakes in the translation or if you find any "her" instead of "him". I try not to make this mistake and I try to reread the whole text carefully. Without further words, here I bring you a fanfic of Gyutaro as a tribute for being the last character I wrote and the one who has had more support. Thank you very much to all of you for that. I hope to come back with much better writings and with more variety of characters. Questions are open :) Kisses, enjoy it

BEAST

You should not have gone out on the mission alone, at night. Going on your own when you were a pillar might have been easy, power coursed through your veins, and fire burned in your determination. But you were still too much of a novice to ever reach the position of pillar. In fact, this goal was so fuzzy in your life that you didn't mind being a simple demon hunter.

But damn it, even low-ranking hunters knew the number one rule of a demon hunting mission; don't go out fucking alone and without telling at least someone in the squad. The steam from your breaths trickled past your lips in little white, ephemeral clouds. Your legs were cramped, you'd been running for over twenty minutes. And with good reason. The same carmine-colored eyes had been haunting you the entire run. A great laugh with a ring of madness escaped from your captor and you couldn't help but feel a pang of some fear along with a sensation settling in your belly. Perhaps it was the fact that if you failed to escape you might be devoured.

"Run, little butterfly. I'll catch you." The thirst for blood and madness built up in every word the demon screamed at you. In an attempt to throw it off, you twisted to the right side of the road. Several trees prevented you from running in a straight line and a feeling of emptiness settled in your stomach when, without realizing the situation, your body fell forward. A pang settled in your hands as they rested on the ground to break your fall. Startled, you quickly sat up and tried to crawl as best you could across the small bed of fallen leaves that lay beneath you. However, a breath coos against the back of your neck and your skin bristles as you hear his voice croon again;

"You are mine." Claws imprisoned your neck, spinning you around so that you were face to face and nose to nose, with the demon above you. His beaked white teeth gleamed in the distant moonlight that was hidden behind your powerful body. His muscles tensed in a delicious shiver at having captured your bunny. After a grunt of satisfaction, Gyutaro said again:

"It makes me so horny when you run away from me. The fucking rotten blood swirls in my fucking crotch when you do that. When I chase after you to hunt you down." A moan escaped your lips as the grip on your throat grew more powerful and prevented you from breathing.

"Gyu…" You managed to say in a sob. "You…you scared me." Your eyes gave off a gleam of terror that only managed to increase the demon's arousal.

"Mmhm… Did I scare you, butterfly?". His nose buried itself in the hollow of your neck to smell your sweet, soft scent of roses and cinnamon. He pulled away from you slightly and looked at you in an angry glare from under your neck. "Haven't the fucking pillars taught you not to go out alone in the woods? So useless are they that they let one of the best slayers wander alone. Some other demon might hunt you… and that would piss me off."

Then it opens its mouth and its powerful fangs dig into the soft juncture between your neck and shoulder. You groan in pain and your hands reflexively grab strands of his wavy hair. He hums and his body hovers closer to yours so that you can feel the hardness of his crotch between your thick thighs.

You had known Gyutaro for a couple of years. The answer to the question of how he hadn't killed you yet was still unexplained. Let's just say he was infatuated with you. Your scent was the first thing he mentioned that he liked and that he didn't want to get rid of you. You met the same way this whole initial event had happened; a chase. The first time he tasted your blood he let out a hoarse moan as if he was a starving animal and had tasted the best of morsels after decades without encountering anything like it.

"Ooh, God. It tastes even better when it's running scared through your veins. So hot". His eyes lowered to your lower lip, which you were biting as a slight blush grew on your cheeks in a shy reflex.

You had long denied to yourself that falling in love with a demon was out of the question. They had only one option in their mind; to kill. And you had always heard that they could not feel love. Love which blossomed in your chest with every passionate night you spent with him.

Thoughts of the past settled in your mind; the creaking of the bed as he rode you to orgasm, the sound of the sheets tearing under his sharp nails that never dug deeper than they should into your soft skin to hurt you, the sound of his heavy breaths on your neck and soft breaths of your moans that filled the lonely cabin you lived in. And all those obscene and beautiful words he whispered in your ear.

Intoxicating.

"You're thinking of everything I could do to you, aren't you?". Gyutaro noticed your small absence and noticed how you squeezed your thighs together to manage to retain the heat that emanated from your sweetness and that even he might be able to smell. His undoing. He continued, "You're thinking about how I could fuck you on these cold, dead leaves. About how I'm going to make your body arch beneath me and how your mouth is not going to moan, no, but scream my fucking name in search of your delicious orgasm." His weight became even more intense on your body and you moaned against his lips as he came on you with a murderous glint in the irises of his eyes. "And on how I'm going to end up filling your womb with my thick fucking demon load".

You didn't know at what point you had fallen in love with this demon, nor when the end of your story would be, but what was really clear to you was that you would take every opportunity offered by this sinful illicit love between a guardian and a demon.

[yiichan]

𝟎𝟐 - 𝐘𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧

pairings. idol!ot13 x m!14thmember!oc. word count. 0.8k. genre. parellel universe au, extra member au, angst.

warnings. major character death, depictions of mental illnesses (depression, self-harming etc.), mention of self-harming, slight OOC.

writers notes. is it too late now to say sorry?

no beta i die like men, but still mentioning @sousydive

network: @mansaenetwork

[open] series taglist.

chapter index | navigation | main page | kofi | ao3

Jeonghan thought he was dreaming. 

In a nightmare. A terrible, soul-sucking nightmare that he just couldn’t get rid of. 

But it’s real. It’s real as he stood lifelessly in the mourning hall, the smiling photo of Gyuhan staring back at him. 

The members were scattered around the hall. Seungcheol was drinking silently with Chan in a corner. Vernon sat next to a puffy-faced Seungkwan, who had a tired Seokmin dozing off on his shoulder with his tear-stained face. Junhui and Minghao flew back from China almost immediately, sitting silently in a corner, while Joshua bowed to the incoming mourners, exchanging small conversation with them as Mingyu accepted the condolence envelopes. 

Then Jeonghan realized. 

Gyuhan only had them. 

In the decade that Gyuhan has been around, Jeonghan knew that the others didn’t really see him as family. To them, Gyuhan was an abnormality, something that was different and strange. They had lived a life without Im Gyuhan, but yet…

Someone nudged him. Wonwoo walked over, sitting next to him. The two grown men sat in silence as the mourners came and went. Idols, producers and entertainers came in and out, and their own families were resting in a corner. 

“Drink some water, hyung.” Wonwoo’s voice was hoarse as he passed a bottle of water to Jeonghan. The older man accepted it, but did not open it to drink. His fingers gripped the bottle tightly, his eyes on the picture in the middle of the hall. 

When the group died in the car crash in their previous life, Jeonghan was resentful. He was resentful when he woke up and thought he went back in time, until he realized that he and the members had transmigrated into a parallel universe. 

Gyuhan is someone unfamiliar.

Jeonghan disliked him. 

The moment Gyuhan entered the melon green room, Jeonghan felt the goosebumps creeping along his arms. He immediately thought of this as a conspiracy, and Gyuhan was someone out to harm the other members and him. 

It took him eight years. Eight whole years to realize that Gyuhan had done nothing wrong. 

This is a parallel universe, after all.

But when Jeonghan realized his mistake and theirs, it was already too late. 

Little attempts were made to make up for everything. The invites to dinner, the small conversation making. Telling off fans who insulted him. Posing for photos during fansigns. The small links of their fingers, skin-to-skin contact in shows and stages. 

But Gyuhan remained distant. He politely declined each of their invites, except the ones where staff members joined. He gave monosyllabic answers to their conversation attempts, shutting it off pretty quickly. He would quickly retract his arms after linking them together with them for a photo, as though he had touched something dirty. 

He had shut himself away from them. 

Just like they had hoped for the first eight years. 

“Woozi-nim just woke up, I’m going over to the ward.” Jeonghan snapped out of his thoughts, his attention turned towards the manager and Seungcheol. “Do you want to come with me?”

Jeonghan hears Seungcheol mumble a hoarse reply, and he turns his attention back to the bottle in his hand. 

Out of the thirteen of them, Soonyoung took the blow the worst. He had stormed out of the dorm when the news dropped, and had been uncontactable ever since. His mother and sister were sitting among their families, whispering among themselves. 

Jeonghan thought about the day when they debuted. Their families had stepped forwards, putting the ring on them like what they expected. But when Jeonghan looked over to Gyuhan, he was a little taken aback when he saw the manager putting the ring on for him instead. 

Back then, he felt nothing. 

But now?

“On some days, hyung,” Wonwoo started slowly, taking off his glasses. He took a small cloth out of his pocket and slowly wiped the dust on the lens away. “I thought our previous life was something that we have dreamt about. The world where there are only thirteen members of SEVENTEEN.”

Jeonghan slowly savored Wonwoo’s words. He looked up at the photo again, of the smiling Gyuhan. He looked happy, yet the smile did not reach his eyes. It was like Gyuhan just smiling for the sake of the photo. 

Jeonghan was drowning in the endless sea of regret. Wonwoo remained silent after that, his glasses perched on his nose. The older male suddenly stood up, heading towards the exit. 

The air felt like concrete. Jeonghan hurried out from the hall towards the corridor, where he swiftly avoided the fans and reporters gathering. 

Escaping towards the fire escape, Jeonghan gasped like a fish out of water, the fiery tears rolling down his cheeks once again. 

How can they do this to an innocent soul? How could he do this to an innocent soul? 

“I'm sorry…” Jeonghan leaned against the wall, covering his face with his quivering fingers. He slowly slipped down, chanting out apologies like a mantra. 

But the person that needed to hear them isn't around, not anymore.

© yiichan, 2024 origin of divider

[redladydeath]

Some Vox human life headcanons that have been developing in my head over the past few weeks

He was born Vaughn Oxright in the late 1910’s/early 1920’s to a well-off, show-biz couple from Philadelphia

Was a child star from the ages of about 5 to 9, mostly doing live dance acts at mid-sized theaters across the US. That phase of his life was ended by a leg injury that never healed properly (neither he nor his parents wanted to slow down long enough for it to fully heal and he kept dancing on it until long-term damage was done), and his family had no choice but to settle back down in Philly.

First realized he was interested in men at age 11 when he became super attached to an older boy in his church’s youth group. He became very clingy and started sending the boy dozens of increasingly intense totally-not-love letters, which made the boy uncomfortable and got Vox switched out of the group. The fact that this was obviously a crush went unsaid, but not unnoticed by those involved. The rejection was devastating for Vox, and he swung hard into homophobia and petty displays of masculinity afterward.

He stayed out of show-biz during his teen years, but still participated in dozens of events and competitions— any opportunity to perform and receive praise.

Was drafted into WWII as a young man. Never saw combat on account of his old leg injury, but was instead assigned to work as an electrical engineer, building radar tech and other telecommunications materials. It was outside of his intended field of study, but he took to it quickly and became very close with the other men on his team. It was the last time in his life he could remember feeling truly happy.

Realized he was really, embarrassingly into BDSM (or at least the 40’s/50’s equivalent) via pulp novels, plus how excited he was made by the head of his team being cold/condescending towards him when he first joined. Took this secret to the grave, but always kept a stash of retro-style erotica wherever he was living.

After the war, he decided to get back into show business. Started dating and quickly married a girl from a wealthy, well-connected family. Things started off okay, but only took a few years to devolve into simmering animosity. He was self-absorbed and inattentive, she started using pills to cope. Neither of them had any interest in getting a divorce though, given the times and the damage it would do to both their reputations. They had two kids who were basically raised solely by their nanny. Their parents both loved them in their own ways, but were too wrapped up in themselves to pay them very much mind.

Vox quickly got involved in the television industry, using his good looks and charm to rapidly climb the ranks and land a job as a presenter. He was a pain to work with for anyone he deemed beneath him, but he was a great networker and could schmooze with the “important people” like nobody’s business.

Despite running in some pretty elite circles, his TV career never quite reached the heights he wanted it to. He was, objectively, quite successful, making good money and being the face of his own show, but he wanted to aim higher. He managed to finagle his way into a film role, hoping it would kick-start a new phase in his career, but despite being a great performer, Vox just wasn’t an actor. The film bombed. He didn’t take it well.

When he walked into the studio one day in the mid-50’s, ready to shoot another show, he had no idea it was to be his last day on Earth. He was just supposed to introduce a musical performance alongside his co-anchor, that was it. But for whatever reason, the crew decided that this time, they wanted them to do it using standing microphones. However, due to a mistake by one of the tech guys, Vox’s microphone was not properly grounded. When they started counting down and Vox put his hands on the mic, several hundred volts of electricity went coursing through his body. His heart stopped almost instantly. He didn’t have time to even register what had happened to him, just the sound of screams and the faint smell of burning flesh.

[superbat-lmao]

I think comics have a closer proximity to fanon works than most other forms of canon works (movies, tv, books, podcasts, etc) because of how many possible authors contribute different storylines.

Meaning, while I love Jayroy in fanon, I can completely understand why it wouldn’t work in canon. Too much uneven characterization where Jason’s actions towards the arrowfam aren’t justifiable even if their friendship remains possible. And it’s so easy to imagine crossing lines of canon into fanon since even canon can contradict itself.

So something I undeniably love about Jayroy fanon is how each character is written as someone who believes they just aren’t worth it, and they find someone else who believes basically the same thing about themselves and they’re both wrong.

To simply things in fanon, Roy’s struggles with addiction and Jason’s struggles with violence mean that in their respective narratives, they’re the black sheep of their families.

Roy typically struggles with a sense of self worth, of wanting someone to stick around through the bad and where his headspace actually goes because of addiction. He was one of the first titans and to have so many of your peers succeed (or die) when you’re struggling definitely fucks with you in major ways.

Jason has a complicated relationship with everyone, including himself. The pit made a lot of things worse but his grief over wanting his father to avenge him and thinking his death changed nothing, or his stance on punishing criminals, all of these things separate him out from the batfam’s code of ethics. He is constantly living in the shadow of himself and can’t figure out how to actually move on with his life.

And when these are the characterizations people are working with I love that the narrative is “two people who believe they’re fundamentally broken realize they aren’t and rely on each other until they get better”.

Like, neither of them is asking the other to change. Roy is okay with Jason’s version of justice and Jason sticks around through cravings and meetings. Neither thinks that their families were right about them, that they’re fuck ups beyond hope. Because they don’t have to be.

And so many of the other storylines of superhero’s is that, even if they’re at a low point, or have made mistakes, they can change. They can see the light and reform their actions and become better people and fit into new dynamics if they can’t go back to old ones.

And while a lot of fics will soften Jason’s actions, there are some where Roy still sticks around. And if they change, it’s not because someone demanded it of them in order to be worthy of being loved. It’s because someone who loved them gave them the time and space to figure out who they are and loved them regardless. They didn’t withhold support, they provided it even when the other failed and saw them through to the other side.

And sure, in reality that can be a recipe for toxicity, of people hurting each other over and over by claiming that love should be unconditional in order to justify horrible things, but in comics where magic is real (and sometimes a stand in for PTSD ) and so are aliens and vigilantes and addiction, then the standards for what a person is capable of withstanding, what a relationship is able to withstand, need to have room for grace too.

That the only way people stop suffering is by having support networks. And while in some cases it doesn’t work, in this one, it does.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Can I request Bruce finding out about oddducks past relationship? I’m in love with their dynamic and how Bruce is taking things slow for her sake

Bruce paused outside your office door when Clark glared at him and felt his cheeks darken slightly. He supposed it shouldn't shock him that he was there- you lived in the same city. And he'd learned from Lois that one or both of them would come drag you away from your work when they hadn't heard from you in a day or two. Or just when you'd been a little less social than usual.

"Wha-" Clark broke off and took a deep breath. Remembering the frustration in your voice. And how thoroughly you'd shut down any and all attempts to talk about Prague OR the subsequent coffee dates that weren't dates OR the text conversations. "Give it a minute," Clark said, leaning against the wall. "She's on the phone with her mother."

Bruce frowned and nodded slowly, "Alright-" The thud of either a forehead or a fist hitting the desk and a noise reminiscent of a cat being stepped on made Bruce jump and Clark winced, holding out a hand to stop him from opening the door.

"She's fine- relatively speaking." He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He could hear both sides of the conversation as clearly as if he'd been in the room. And he wished he couldn't.

"What the hell-"

"Listen," Clark said quietly, aware that your hearing- while not super in any capacity was still fairly sharp- "Let's take a walk."

"I don't need another shovel tal-"

"It's not about that," Clark said jerking his head toward the door, hoping the world's greatest detective would figure it out as he walked down the hall where he knew he could find coffee to bribe you with and an empty student lounge.

Bruce followed, glancing hesitantly towards your office door, trying not to feel unnerved when Clark shut the lounge door and put his foot against it to keep it from opening.

"Two- almost three years ago, things were... bad," Clark said hesitating, weighing how much detail he could give without saying anything that would upset you if you found out about it. "A very long story short, she wound up being the other woman in a profoundly fucked up situation." Clark pinched the bridge of his nose, "She had no idea until his wife showed up. With their kids- it was... horrible. And to this day, her mother refuses to believe she didn't know."

Bruce nodded, wrapping his brain around that. True, he didn't know you well. But- he could believe that you'd either write off or not notice any of the massive red flags. And it made him feel sick. "And so her mother-"

"Well. She tried to get a guardianship first of all. And now failing that just refuses to let her live it down."

"She's a doctor-"

"Who reliably pays her own bills and has an extensive network of close professional associates... Including members of the press who may or may not have threatened to blow the whole story up if she didn't back off," Clark said.

Bruce snorted, "So now what?"

"She doesn't go home much and only actually calls her the day her period starts so she can get all the unpleasantness out of the way at the same time," Clark shuddered slightly. He wished he didn't know that. But he did. And now he knew better than to eavesdrop on girl's night.

Bruce smiled just a little and Clark exhaled slowly, "She really didn't know-"

"And you never checked?" Bruce countered.

"I was- well frankly I was too wrapped up in... everything to really see it. She was happy. Or at least content it looked like so I let it go."

"And now you're overcompensating and doing the same thing as her mother because?" Bruce folded his arms and felt his eyes narrow. You'd not said much about Clark and why he was so against it. Bruce assumed that you didn't know. Or that you might have been trying to spare his feelings. But it was impossible, he realized for you not to know. And a lot more likely that you were tired of being treated like a child.

"I'm not-"

'Not letting her make her own mistakes and trust her own judgment and punishing her for being lied to-"

"It's not like that."

"Sure sounds like it."

Bruce could see the gears spinning. He could see the Kryptonian trying to be angry. Trying to find some justification for righteous indignation. And he saw the moment there was none forthcoming when his shoulders sagged.

"It broke her heart, Bruce. She was hurt and confused. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep- it just. I'd never seen her do that. Not even when her grandparents died."

"I don't want to hurt her," Bruce said quietly. He wanted to run back to your office and kiss you until you couldn't think straight. Then call your mother and yell at her.

"Just- Please tell me you don't have a wife somewhere?" Clark snorted.

"No," Bruce said rolling his eyes. "That was a publicity stunt. We never even filed papers-"

"Jesus Christ."

"Kidding. Kind of."

[stardomtrash]

Giulia recently did an interview talking about, among other things, the shitshow that has been going on behind the scenes in Stardom recently.

There's just A LOT going on here and it's gonna get salty so I'm gonna put this under a read more.

First off, he's a translation of the relevant parts of the interview. I used ChatGPT-4 as I find compared to other platforms it provides the most coherent translation. Obviously, as this is machine translated, it misses nuance and some context, so don't take it as gospel - pinch of salt necessary for consumption. But I digress...

Here's the translation of the interview with wrestler Giulia:

Interviewer (Kaku): The conversation shifts a bit, but this month, Giulia, you expressed your determination and dissatisfaction with the staff's response on Twitter. Or earlier, at the strategy announcement meeting, you spoke up to the president about revising the 5★STAR GP schedule. It seems like you've been quite outspoken recently. Has a lot been happening during this period? Giulia: Yes, a lot has indeed been happening. I'm the type of person who often voices my opinions. This has led to conflicts in various aspects of my life, even before becoming a wrestler - with friends, family, work, school. I've always been the type to speak up when I think something is wrong. This might not be very Japanese-like. Normally, people hesitate to speak up, especially women and most of our staff being male. I think there were many things people wanted to say but couldn't. Kaku: Hmm. Giulia: I've felt this strongly and have tried to communicate it internally within the company and through the media. But nothing changed, in fact, things seemed to get worse. The final straw was the handling of the Ushiku event (operational mistakes and insufficient announcements), followed by the subsequent responses (staff interactions raising questions). I wrote on SNS (Social Networking Services) hoping it would reach (Owner of Bushiroad) Takaaki Kidani… I just had to write it. Kaku: Yes. Giulia: Otherwise, nothing would change in this organization. I was frustrated to see what Rossi Ogawa had built up breaking down… We had momentum until last year, but since this year, it's been crumbling. That's why I spoke out. Kaku: There's been a packed schedule, and things seem to be moving too fast, without giving time to "get into" the feelings before the next match. How did the wrestlers feel about this? Giulia: Exactly that. I realized how great Rossi Ogawa was. He prioritized the wrestlers' feelings. That's no longer the case. Kaku: Hmm. Giulia: Wrestlers, especially women, have various emotions, and these clash to create a story, a battle, a drama. But now, (laughs) it's like we can't do that… One thing after another is arranged without considering our feelings. I think that's the difference from Rossi Ogawa's time. Kaku: I see. Giulia: Fans understand how we feel in the matches, who our rivals are, who we hate, and see the intense rivalry. Rossi Ogawa used to see this and set up matches accordingly… That's gone now. The reason isn't just the packed schedule. Kaku: A separate issue. Giulia: Yes, it's different. What the wrestlers want to show and what the "company" wants to do are completely different. I've been able to create various rivalries, like with Tam Nakano or Suzu, because Rossi Ogawa understood the wrestlers. Now, all of that is ignored. So, the fans can't get emotionally involved, and the wrestlers feel like expressing their emotions is pointless… Something really needs to be done about this (laughs). I hope the new president, who says he loves wrestling, will listen to the wrestlers' voices.

Kaku: Did you hear the new president's greeting today? Giulia: I did, I did. Kaku: Any impressions? Giulia: Impressions? He seemed fresh and clear-cut, which is good. But I'm a bit distrustful of people (laughs), especially towards the company. I'm the type to dive deep into things, so I'm watching how he responds. It's hard to build trust immediately, and I think President Okada (Taro) feels the same. I can sense that he's being careful in the same space. Kaku: Is he trying to respect the wrestlers? Giulia: Or is it that in the same space, with just a greeting, I can feel whether he's being considerate or looking down on me? Kaku: You mean through the president's gestures? Giulia: Gestures, or the aura he gives off. That's what I felt, so I hope he's a good president (laughs). Kaku: So far, you've felt good about it? Giulia: Yes. Kaku: His tie was also red. Giulia: The red tie of passion. Regarding Words Giulia Repeatedly Shouted Before Reaching the Comment Booth at the Osaka Event Kaku: Lastly, I'd like to include this comment if possible. When you were heading backstage in Osaka, it wasn't officially recorded, but (before reaching the comment booth) you said: "Please, let me have a normal match, I beg you, I beg you!! A normal, a normal match would be good…" What were your feelings behind those words? Giulia: Exactly that. The original plan for that event was the World of Stardom Championship, but it was canceled, right? Honestly, I don't think that match (the Moneyball final) should have been called the main event. It was more like a bonus match. The audience expects to see a main event, especially when a significant title match was canceled. We can't be playing around. This ties back to what I said earlier, about the disconnect between the wrestlers' feelings and what the company wants to do. I thought with that lineup, we could have shown an amazing six-person tag match without any weird gimmicks. Kaku: Yes, yes. Giulia: So, isn't that enough? I keep thinking. We didn't even know what was prepared, and then on the day of the match, baby powder falls in the ring. It might be fun for some, but it's incredibly dangerous. It looks funny, but it's slippery and doesn't make for a real match. It was really dangerous, especially in such large quantities. I have a bit of an allergy, and inhaling it caused symptoms. It was really itchy, and my nose and throat… There are minor details, but the ring was so slippery, we couldn't even do proper rope work. Climbing the corners was also dangerous. There was no proper planning. Just, "Okay, go do it." Kaku: Hmm. Giulia: I'll do it. I'll give it my best, but I wonder what the audience thinks. Do they want to see something like this? Maybe now, more than ever, we need to show a heated battle. Isn't that the essence of professional wrestling? To show a heated match, especially at times like this. Why are we doing this? It was really embarrassing. (Note from Kakutou Log: Despite Giulia's views due to this year's events, the match was exciting, with team play and enjoyable elements.) Kaku: I heard that outcry loud and clear, and I really took it as your soul's cry against the staff's response and your proposal to the president at the strategy announcement meeting. Giulia: Thank you

So, as you can see, everything is on fire. I went OFF on Discord about this interview. The baby powder spot... I just cannot even. I don't want to get angry again. I'm exhausted.

I thought it was a dangerous spot at the time, and that if they were going to do it, they should have pulled that box last... but to not tell the wrestlers at all they were going to use baby powder is dangerous as fuck! Every wrestler needs to go into a match knowing EXACTLY what's in store for them. Wrestling is dangerous enough as is and I have NO TIME for anyone who makes it needlessly and recklessly more dangerous.

FUCK. ALL. OF. THAT.

And to top it off, Giulia has mild allergies to the stuff...

As you can see she was heartedly embarrassed to be a part of that match and didn't even want a weird stipulation in the first place, but she had to tow the line. Honestly, after reading that interview, I cannot blame her for considering going to WWE. Girl, RUN.

Stardom has been a shitshow as of late for a multitude of reasons, some preventable and some not. The injuries have been coming thick and fast, and I've already spoken at length on that. But it seems that the booking side of things, the whole process, has changed backstage, and that seems like a big contributor to why things just aren't working so well anymore. Giulia pulled no punches in this interview, and to talk about how Rossy just doesn't seem to care anymore, that he's not letting the wrestlers tell the stories they want to tell, and he's not letting matches come together naturally... Giulia said that it's harder for both the fans and the wrestlers themselves to get emotionally invested in the product at the moment. I've been struggling to connect with it as much as I did a good few months back, and now I know that the wrestlers aren't as happy themselves... yeah it's harder to enjoy something when you know the people you love don't have their hearts in it as much as they once did.

If Giulia leaves for WWE it will be a damn shame, and not in the least because they'll lose a locker room leader who isn't afraid to speak out harshly against management on behalf of the talent. There seems to be management shake-ups going on right now, so we'll see if that changes anything.

I hope the product improves going into the new year and they make all the changes they need to in order to rebuild the hype they lost post Oedo Tai/QQ match, which I'd argue has been the last really great thing Stardom has done. There's been some stellar matches and it's obvious people are trying despite everything working against them, but some changes at a higher level need to be implemented to get Stardom back on track, starting with Rossy giving a shit about the booking again.

[solitaireships]

✨ for someone you haven't gotten to write yet?

✨ - "you look…nice."

At first I wasn't sure who to write for bcs I've written for pretty much all of my F/Os already but then I remembered. Miguel has never gotten a fic, and this prompt really is perfect for him. So have a little bit of Miguel and Piera cute moments as they get ready to go to an investor's party

Rating: Teen (kinda. There's cursing, but it's the 2099 version)

Genre: Fluff

Words: 1263 words

Divider by saradika

Piera zips up the back of her dress, getting ready at Miguel’s apartment for an Alchemax party he was invited to. Normally she wouldn’t come to these— Alchemax doesn’t like the press being present, they're always nervous that a secret could leak and fall into one of their rival companies’ hands. But tonight she’s not going to be there on press business, instead coming as Miguel’s girlfriend and plus one.

She’s glad to let the focus be on him tonight. It’s rare that he gets the recognition that he deserves, and has Alchemax’s brightest mind— and sharpest tongue— she’s sure that he’ll be busy dealing with countless corporate bigshots tonight. Ones who will then also quickly realize they made a mistake in talking to him.

Piera’s also pretty sure that’s part of why Miguel invited her along. Even if he wasn’t her boyfriend, he would have made sure that someone came with him so he wouldn’t lose his mind fielding infinite annoying questions about his work from people who only care about their bottom line. Neither of them are the biggest fan of parties, but at least she can be a grounding force for him as he deals with all of the mindless smalltalk and networking tonight. 

If nothing else, Piera’s glad for the opportunity to get to dress up. It’s not often that she gets opportunities like this for her to go all out, so she wants to look her best. And with this being something rare for her, she decided to try something new to mark the occasion. 

Piera’s always liked fashion from the 1950s— the vintage feel is interesting to her, and something that she carried into her costume as Spider-Woman. But this is the first cocktail dress she’s worn styled after those aesthetics.

The light purple dress is cinched around her hips, its skirt flaring out and stopping just below her knees. The sweetheart neckline of it shows off her chest more than she’s used to, and her arms are on full display with its sleeveless look. She debated about wearing the pearl necklace she has on tonight, worrying it would draw too much attention to her bust, but she can admit it goes well with the white faux fur wrap she has and the gold rings glittering on her fingers. She styled her hair for tonight more than usual too, managing to get it into Hollywood waves. 

As Piera looks at herself in the mirror, it’s hard to believe that this is really her. She can recognize herself of course, but it’s so different from her usual look that it takes a second for her to process. It’s rare for her to feel this good about her appearance, and as she scoops up the pair of white heels she’s going to put on before leaving, she hopes Miguel likes the way this look came out as much as she does. 

“Miggy, I’m ready to go!” Piera calls once she makes her way out to the living room. 

His voice calls back from the bedroom, “Hold on a second, lover!”

It doesn’t take long for him to come out, though it gives Piera enough time for her to put on her shoes. And as Miguel comes out, she gets a chance to enjoy the view of him in his suit.

It’s a custom tailored one with a dark blue jacket and matching pair of pants. A bit of gold embroidery is along the lapels of the suit, matching with a golden tie. He has a white button up shirt on along with it, and he’s wearing a pair of shiny new brown shoes. It all goes well with the yellow tinted glasses he always wears, the large circle rims of them hiding the unnaturally bright red color of his eyes. 

Miguel does up the buttons of his jacket as he walks into the living room, hiding the way his stomach peeks over the waistband of his pants. Piera thinks he looks handsome in the suit, it shows off his broad shoulders well and he does always look good in blue. He always dresses nicely for work, but she likes seeing him dress a little more formally, a little more to show off his looks. 

She really is lucky to get to call him her boyfriend. 

“I’ll just need to grab my keys,” Miguel says. “Do you have the ones for the car already?”

“Yep,” Piera confirms. She’s glad that she was able to get a dress with pockets in it. 

“Alright, let’s—”

He pauses, eyes wide behind his glasses as he looks at Piera. His eyes roam over her, one hand idly reaching up to adjust his tie. 

“Wow. You look… nice,” Miguel says after a second. 

“Oh. Thanks.” 

Piera’s never been good at taking compliments. It’s hard to believe them most of the time, and with how overactive her mind usually is, she can’t help but worry that he paused because he doesn’t actually like her dress. 

But any worries about whether Miguel meant it or not fade away as he takes Piera’s hand in his, guiding it up to give her a quick kiss on the back of her hand. It makes her think of something out of an old movie, one of the ones that she was only able to find recreations of in the library since the film was long lost to time. Piera tries to ignore the way her heart flutters at that, keeping her composure. 

“You look handsome, by the way,” she says. 

“Figured I should put some effort in. It’s not every day that Tyler lets me come to these things. I think he’s scared I’ll call an investor a glitch to their face. Might as well dress up a little for the occasion,” Miguel says with a grin. 

“The occasion of getting to go to an Alchemax party, or the occasion of bit-talking an investor?” Piera teases. 

“Only one of those is an event worth celebrating.”

“True.”

Miguel lets go of Piera’s hand, going to get his keys. “But at least I’m not going to be suffering through hours of boring corporate talk that makes me want to throw myself into the sun alone this time.”

“I’ll do what I can to distract you,” Piera offers. She says it jokingly, but she’s genuinely glad to help him get through this. Given his complicated relationship with Tyler, she’s more than happy to keep his mind off of things. 

“Thanks,” Miguel says. He tucks his keys into the pocket of his slacks, checking his watch. “Alright, we’re already going to be a couple minutes late. Are you ready to head out?”

“I could’ve been ready earlier if you told me,” Piera says, making her way over to the apartment door with Miguel. 

“We’re not going to want to be there the whole time. Being late is good,” he assures. 

“If you say so.”

Miguel opens the door, motioning with Piera to go ahead of him. “After you.”

“Thank you.”

“You know I’m always glad to follow your lead,” he says.

“And I’m gonna be trusting you to lead us through this god awful party,” Piera replies.

Miguel scoffs. “The only thing I’ll be leading us towards is an exit after an hour of suffering through everything.”

“Mhm, you’ll get to be my hero again then.”

“Only if you're mine by never leaving me alone tonight.”

“Sounds like an easy job,” Piera says as the two of them make their way to the elevator. After all, she’s always happy to spend time with Miguel.

[fate-magical-girls]

For the choose violence ask game. (1, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, 18, 22, 25) for Hank Pym and Hal Jordan.

There's so much I want to say about both these characters that I'm gonna do answers for Hank, and then answers for Hal later.

Warning: potential fandom-enraging takes ahead.

Hank Pym

The character everyone gets wrong

Domestic abuser is not the be-all end-all of Hank Pym's character, but it can't be discounted either, because he's not just the sweet, sad, relatable guy most of his fandom find him to be. Hank is the sum of all his parts. Partly because of the writers' divided interpretations of him, Hank is a person who will realize his mistake, work very hard to ensure they never happen again, make a lot of progress, but then hits a point where he stops watching himself and backslides. His compassion, courage, and patience are real, but so is his insecurity, jealousy, and occasional moments of self-centeredness or self-destructiveness. Once he gets too comfortable in a romantic relationship, everything starts being about his needs and his comfort level, with him not noticing whether or not he could make his partners uncomfortable. To his credit, if they point this out, he usually does apologize. (For example, proposing marriage to Jan on the date of their original anniversary) He's also capable of being toxic and spreading his misery to others, especially during a depressed episode, such as his attempt to destroy almost all AI in Rage of Ultron. There's moments when he feels entitled to acceptance in the superhero community, if not also to forgiveness. He also built a prison where shrunken supervillain inmates are terrorized by ants serving as guards, and named it Lang Memorial Penitentiary, presumably because he and Jan found it funny. That said, understanding and dealing with his own flaws makes him very forgiving and empathetic toward others, even those his fellow heroes would consider lost causes.

3. Screenshot or description of the worst take you’ve seen on tumblr

Anything that considers Janet Van Dyne responsible for the marital abuse she suffered, or that considers her as THE toxic one in her marriage with Hank Pym. Just during the marriage itself, Jan was as supportive as she could be, given the constraints of being written during the 80s. It was Hank who was too prideful to admit he had problems as their marriage decayed. Both of them made mistakes and mistreated each other here and there, but it's ultimately Hank who did worse.

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

Hank Pym, but it's more of a love-hate-obsession for him. Most of the Hank Pym fandom tends to defend him and use him as mental health advocacy. They're right that Hank is struggling, and he is relatable, but he's also a grown man with his own agency and flaws that don't stem from his bipolar disorder. Also, just because of the changing times, characters in his same position, such as Moon Knight and Hank's own daughter, are shown seeking out therapy and a support network to handle their conditions responsibly. Hank is consistently portrayed as someone who, due to both pride and bad experiences with SHIELD handlers, refuses to do that. I hope that when Marvel does bring him back, they'll address that point. I like Hank Pym for both his virtues and his flaws, and if Marvel lets him deal with his condition responsibly, I'll probably stop emphasizing his flaws.

8. Common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

Hank doesn't want to be an Avenger and/or Jan is always dragging him into superheroics when he's more comfortable in a lab. Hank does want to be an Avenger. Moreover, he wants to fit in as an Avenger. He wants to be as impressive and as powerful as the rest of this cool crowd, or at least, he wants to find a niche and be useful. Hank is a person who expresses affection through practical measures, like nursing people when they're sick, or providing them with the info and tech they need to get something done. Tied into this is his low self-esteem where he thinks that if he stops being useful, his friends will no longer want to be around him. That's why finding out Iron Man is Tony Stark proves to be so devastating for him -- he's no longer sure why his cooler and better friends keep him around. It's also why he keeps on redefining himself -- he's trying to be accepted and fit in. It's true Hank has taken physical and mental health sabbaticals, but the Avengers, as strange and stressful as they are, are his only friends outside of colleagues like Bill Foster. Hank needs the Avengers to be his support system, and he definitely wants them in his life, even though he's nervous about how he can keep up with their pace.

Another opinion is that Hank is bad about expressing affection and attraction. Like I said, he expresses affection through practical measures. He is bad about doing emotional labor and remembering comfort zones, more than even Marvel's other geniuses, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have a love language. He's not a smooth talker and he's an introvert, but he can be deeply romantic. He lets Maria Trovaya's memory as well as Jan's memory cast shadows over his heart long after their presumed deaths. He remembers special dates and anniversaries and always tries to do something special for his loved ones to commemorate the occasion. He does spend a lot of time in his lab, and his passions are primarily that of the mind and not the body, but he has no problem initiating intimacy with either Jan or Tigra, or even seeking out one-night-stands. I actually think there's moments when he's more uninhibited than his teammates, especially if he's swinging toward a manic episode, and he's demanding some intimacy from his significant other even though they're in a public place (in the worst case scenario, they can just shrink down and hide in plain sight).

9. Worst part of canon

How Janet was killed off and Hank was essentially rewarded with Tigra's love in the wake of Secret Wars. Sorry to the Tigerant shippers out there, I have some issues with that plot development. For me, it feels skeevy that Hank Pym is essentially given a fresh start because Jan isn't around to make him feel guilty about his mistakes anymore. It gets worse because Tigra was originally a second-wave feminist character. Even before her transformation into a weretiger, she was strong, determined, and refused to be put down or infantilized by the men around her. Her original character arc in West Coast Avengers was about her reconciling the two sides of her soul and realizing that her Greer side wasn't a weak little woman who needed men like Hank to comfort and protect her. Her Avengers Academy years were alright, since she was a good teacher and a good mother, but she also didn't feel like the way Tigra should be. All her edges were filed off and she became an accessory for Hank Pym's happiness. However, I do concede that they seem happy together and fans want their favs to be happy.

As it pertains to Hank himself, his not-quite death in Rage of Ultron. He died almost as an afterthought, and he's only ambiguously dead because Ultron fused into his body. If Marvel really wanted to retire him, they could've chosen a better way to do it.

10. Worst part of fanon

Anything that posits that Hank, Greer, William, and Nadia should form a happy little family without Janet being involved. Jan is Nadia's mother in everything besides biology. Just because Hank is Nadia's biological father and Nadia wants to meet him doesn't mean she should be cut off from Jan. And Jan being Jan probably means she has a split custody agreement set up and ready to go just to prepare for eventualities.

Also, the opinion that Hank, Greer, and William would continue to have a happy, drama-free relationship as time went on. Personally, I think that Hank's insecurities need to be taken into account. His original conflict with Jan leading into his manic episodes was that she was richer, more successful, and performed better in battle than he did. Even if he's gotten past most of his toxic masculinity by now, he still needs to be careful about backsliding. In a way, Greer really is perfect for him because of her lack of employment or respect from the hero community at large means she never triggers his insecurities. He doesn't feel an obligation to respect her or compete with her the way he would with Jan. Greer, being the free spirit and semi-loner she is, also doesn't need Hank's attention or emotional labor to keep loving him. She can just drift in and out of his life as needed. Of course, she might have some strong opinions if she thinks Hank doesn't respect her. There's also the issue that Hank and Greer are from two different worlds, even more so than him and Jan. Sooner or later, as William begins dealing with his cat soul and cat instincts, Hank will want to impose some sort of discipline while Greer wants to give him space to figure it out on his own like she did back in the day. And that would lead to conflict. On the other hand, Hank and Jan would mostly agree as to how to coparent Nadia. I also think that William is mostly his mother's son, so while he would always love Hank as his dad, there would be a gulf between them where they don't share very many interests and thus can't really understand each other. If you factor in Moon Knight, William might vibe more with him as they both understand the thrill of the hunt, and Hank would really start feeling competitive.

12. The unpopular character that you actually like and why more people should like them

Hank is a niche character in and of himself, and I wish more people would love him with all his flaws attached. He's a bit of a paradox, both an ant of a man and someone who casts a long shadow. There's a lot to hate about him, for obvious reasons, like being selfish and insecure. But there's also a lot to love about him, like his curiosity and idealism and his compassion for even the smallest creatures, such as his ants. You can't call him a good person, but he's still a well-rounded character. I also like Eric O'Grady and find him a very distinct character. Like Hank, he's heavily flawed, maybe even more than his predecessor, but he still tries to better himself. He still learns something about letting go of his selfishness and being a hero. Eric's original death was being crushed to death like an ant while protecting a child. Regardless of Remender's writing quality, I can appreciate that he did find the courage to step up and sacrifice himself when cowardice is something he struggled with for his entire existence.

18. It’s absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on…

Both of the other Pym-Van Dyne kids. There's William Grant Nelson, Hank and Tigra's son, of course, but there's also Katie Summers, Jan's daughter with Alex Summers. There's a lot of stories you could get out of them. Katie was stolen from her father's arms by Kang the Conqueror when the Avengers needed to go back in time and erase the bad future that she was born in. Kang's child-rearing methods leave a lot to be desired because he typically dumps children in specifically selected bad future timelines that traumatize them into hating everyone they used to love, like Black Bolt's son Ahura being made to slaughter his own ancestors across time or Archangel's twins being thrown into a mutant concentration camp. How would Hank, Jan, and Nadia deal with Jan's daughter as Kang's angry and traumatized lieutenant? And for William, I've already talked about how I think he and his father might not always understand each other, but there's also the issue of his dad not just being his dad anymore. In a blended family scenario, Hank is also Nadia's dad and Katie's stepdad of sorts. How would William handle not being able to monopolize his father anymore, especially when Nadia shares more of his interests? And for that matter, how does Nadia deal with Jan having a daughter of her own, a daughter that she deeply missed for a long time?

Also, Marvel should hurry up and let Jan design a toyline with Hank's help. She can design the dolls' looks and Hank can help build the miniature accessories.

22. Your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Hank Pym has hobbies that aren't just science! He plays the piano, snaps candid photos, watches anime, enjoys junk food, and he and Jan both collect stamps. And for the record, back in the Tales to Astonish era, Jan was always trying her hand at stand-up comedy by telling ironic horror stories to people she hung out with. Her performances rarely went over well, especially not with Hank. I like the idea that he and Jan held open mic nights for the Avengers or attended fandom conventions together, because couples need to share some hobbies. He's also good at barbecue, so I imagine he cooked for Greer sometimes.

And neither here nor there, but Hank, Jan and Greer are all characters with horror roots. Hank starts out as a sci-fi horror protagonist, an arrogant scientist whose experiment backfires. He then becomes the psycho-horror villain of Jan's story in the lead-in to their divorce. Tigra was modified from standard superhero The Cat into a horror B-movie style weretiger that was at once attractive, exotic, and dangerous. Someday, these three should deal with some horror story tropes...

25. Common fandom complaint that you’re sick of hearing

Hank deserves to forgiven for his mistakes with no strings attached because the likes of Carol Danvers and Tony Stark have done worse and been accepted back into the fold with a slap on the wrist. If anything, Hank was forgiven and accepted back with no boundaries attached way too easily during the Stern-Englehart era. By the end of Trial of Yellowjacket, he does have a moment of clarity where he apologizes to Jan, but his other teammates like Cap were trying to apologize to him for not doing more to help him. He was then quickly invited back to be the Avengers West Coast's tech support, and while he still felt guilt and self-hatred, most of his friends, his ex-wife included, forgave him for his misbehavior as Yellowjacket. It got to the point that trying to finally hold him accountable and give him harsher consequences 20 years down the road instead looked jarring and out of character. Carol and Tony, for their parts, were let off easily, but Tony, at least, went on an apology tour and deal with some animosity from his friends for a while. To date, the only Avenger who made a big mistake and still gets overshadowed by it, but deals with it responsibly by accepting her own guilt in the matter and accepting that people are right to view her with suspicion until she proves that she has well and truly changed is Scarlet Witch. Hank always falls short of that final part, because there are moments when he thinks he has indeed done enough to deserve unconditional forgiveness.

I do think Hank deserves a chance to be forgiven for his mistakes, but I also think that he needs to accept responsibility for himself, mostly by getting himself the right sort of treatment to make sure his manic or depressive episodes won't overpower him again.

[cassiopeialake]

ok after thinking about it a bit here’s my pitch for an abbott/sunny crossover since that seems to be what we’re in for

Title: New Uniforms

Logline: After Abbott's new uniforms are misprinted, Melissa is forced to call in one of her shadiest connections - but it may end up costing her more than she bargained for.

Outline:

- the school gets new uniforms for the kids but there's a misprint and the shirts say "ABBORT" (tbh the whole pitch is based around this. i just find it very funny. i hope they do smth with abbort elementary at some point)

- they scramble to find a solution but the district won't give them more money. they need someone with an embroidery machine who'll let them use it for free

- melissa knows a guy who's into some real shady stuff, he used to run a sweatshop in vietnam. probably has a couple machines still lying around.

- she and janine (and maybe a few others idk) set up a meeting with the gang. however unbeknownst to them the gang kidnaps them (mac thought this was a kidnapping/squeezing the teachers for money kinda deal. dee: you idiot, they're teachers they have no money!)

- they're "interrogated" for a bit

- it's revealed that mac and charlie went to liberty elementary (the rival school) and they gain some respect for the abbott teachers bc "those abbott kids were tough, man! took a few more punches than it usually does to knock them down!"

- frank appears and they get to negotiations. he'll fix the mistake for them, but there's a catch

- the gang (specifically dennis) wants the leftovers from the seventh graders frog dissections. the teachers are grossed out so he clarifies it's "not sexual" and the teachers are like...well those frogs were just gonna go in the trash anyways...

- the deal is made and the gang starts working on the shirts, we get a cameo from sewing charlie ofc

- however when the teachers come back in a week to check in on the finished product we realize that they "fixed" the spelling mistake by removing the extra B and spelling "ABORT ELEMENTARY"

- something something plot happens to make them fix it (melissa has dirt on frank that she threatens or something idk. she dangles a frog in front of a salivating dennis)

- at the end they go back one final time to pick up the finally correctly spelled shirts

- we find out that mr johnson knows charlie through the janitorial network, they compare rat bashing sticks, etc.

And that���s the episode (or at least the A plot)! I missed a few of the teachers and how they would interact with the various characters but i think that wouldn't be too hard to put in at the end or just add more characters in the scene where they first meet. like ava for sure needs to go toe-to-toe with the gang

but yeah that’s the pitch - tbh i’m quite proud of this only because i feel like it’s pretty realistic, like i wouldn’t want an over the top crossover with the characters fully intersecting lives or even sets, i feel like the idea of skimming into this underbelly of philly but then immediately getting out suits the tone of abbott better. i think also this should work for anyone who hasn’t heard of sunny before or isn’t familiar with the characters.

[anyon-else]

Father, Save Me! I, the Traitor (The Red Room pt.1) | Since you'd met her, your singular goal in life had been to keep Sakura safe. And you were certain that the man who came to "rescue" her was a threat to that goal. Kakashi, on the other hand, just wanted to be able to save his student while avoiding as many roadblocks as possible. Having to haul a homicidal Black Widow back to the compound just to get Sakura to safety was not one that he'd expected. (Marvel AU) – spotify playlist | read on ao3

Pairings | Kakashi Hatake x Black Widow!Reader + Sakura Haruno, Sasuke Uchiha, & Naruto Uzumaki

Warnings | Mentions of scars, mentions of death, allusion to suicide, abuse, threats of death

Word count | 1.7k

(next chapter) | (series masterlist)

"Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never once beautiful. It was just red."

Kait Rowoski

Scars are an inevitable part of life.

They become a part of whoever bears them, telling a story of pain and perseverance—of battles won and of wars survived.

You were a map. A complex network of scars that marked the different battles you’d been forced to fight and the people you’d been ordered to kill.

You used to hate them. You hated that they were a constant reminder of your failures. A reminder of your weakness.

It was Sakura who helped you realize that they didn’t have to be a brand of shame. In the eyes of someone more hopeful than you’d ever been, they became a mark of strength. 

You met Sakura when she was assigned on her first mission as your partner. She was barely thirteen then, but she had showed incredible promise from the time that she was first recruited. However, her control over her emotions had not yet been refined. She still hesitated in the face of a routine assassination. Her empathy was her fatal flaw, and it was a problem that the Headmaster expected you to solve. Whether you achieved that end through continuous training or through force was inconsequential to him.

Black Widows did not have time for hesitation or remorse. They lived in a world where defiance was equal to death. That was the first lesson Sakura needed to learn if she wanted to survive in the Red Room.

The first time Sakura saw you, you didn’t blame her for flinching. Your face hadn’t looked normal for a long time, and you’d come to expect the reactions you often got. A long, jagged scar ran from your jaw to your shoulder, and improper care had made the healing process slow and painful. Now you had the mark to show for it.

“A scar is not the mark of a mistake made,” the Headmaster had once told you, “It’s another lesson—that you are stronger than whatever gave it to you.”

You’d repeated those words to Sakura when she got her first scar. It was what you told her as she cried in your arms, begging that you take her away when she was twelve and had been ordered to kill for the first time. It was what you kept repeating to yourself after you were reassigned and had to leave her behind for almost a year. But the empty words didn’t help, and your guilt stayed with you like a curse sitting on your shoulder. Even when you saw her again nearly a year later, the guilt was even heavier on your shoulders.

And despite the life that you desperately wanted for Sakura, you were far too late. Once someone was recruited into the Red Room, there was only one way to be free. It was a fate that many widows had succumbed to, and one that many others would inevitably meet.

One way or another, Sakura’s life had ended the moment she became a Black Widow. 

“You’re not going.” 

Naruto’s heartbroken face barely made a dent in Kakashi’s resolve. He’d made up his mind on the matter weeks ago when he first started planning this mission. “You have too much of a personal stake. You’ll just end up getting yourself killed trying to save her.”

“What about Sasuke? How come he gets to go?” 

Naruto looked close to stomping his foot, and the whine in his voice did nothing to convince Kakashi that he was ready for this kind of mission. 

“Because Sasuke doesn’t let his emotions determine his actions.”

Naruto was practically hanging off of Kakashi now. Kakashi understood his student’s desperation—he’d felt it far too many times when missions became too personal. The difference now was that Naruto didn’t know when to sit back and let someone else take care of a rescue. It was just another lesson that Kakashi needed to teach his student. The reality of the situation wasn't ideal, but Naruto would have to come to terms with if he ever expected to go on missions alone.

“You will be here when Sakura comes back. The most important part of this mission is her recovery, and that will likely take a very long time. You’ll be here waiting for her when she’s ready to begin that process.”

Naruto still looked unhappy with the arrangement, but he let go of Kakashi and gave a half-hearted wave as he boarded the jet behind Sasuke.

“We’ll bring her back, Naruto. I promise.”

Sakura’s resistance to her rescue was more aggravating than anything else. Sasuke had his arms hooked under her shoulders and was attempting to drag her towards the jet, but she was thrashing and throwing herself against him to try and knock him off balance. He grunted as he struggled to keep a firm hold on her, but she managed to free one arm and swing her elbow back into his jaw. She spared a second to look concerned as he fell back before she was sprinting towards the door of the HYDRA outpost that they’d found her in.

Kakashi was getting too old for this.

Once, Sasuke had shown the same resistance to Kakashi’s help. The only difference was that the boy had seemed furious at the time, wholly unwilling to accept any form of kindness. Sakura, on the other hand, was more than willing to escape her prison—until suddenly, she wasn’t.

She had almost reached the door that they’d dragged her out of when Kakashi caught up to her, but his presence did nothing to halt her course. With surprising and unexpected strength, she shoved him against a wall and kicked him to the side. His momentary distraction gave her an opening to knock him to the ground with embarrassing ease. She took little care to make sure he was alright before she was throwing the door open.

Sakura’s sharp cry when she saw what was on the other side nearly made Kakashi’s heart stop. He prayed that he hadn’t just allowed her to die—not when he had just gotten her back. When he turned around, Sakura was wrapped in another woman’s arms, shoulders shaking with sobs.

“I thought you were dead!” Sakura was crying, face buried in the woman’s shoulder, “I-I thought you died because of me–”

“Sakura, look at me,” the woman said, voice hoarse and strained, “I’m alright. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Kakashi got to his feet, but he immediately knew he’d made a mistake in revealing his presence. Within seconds of catching sight of him, the woman had switched positions with Sakura, and a gun was pointed at Kakashi’s forehead. Involuntarily, he glanced at the scar that started at her upper lip and disappeared under the collar of her shirt. It was wide, like it had been reopened multiple times before it healed.

Does Sakura have any scars like that?

The thought had him glancing back at his student, but her attention was consumed by the woman threatening him. He was only slightly offended by her priorities.

“Wait, Y/N, he’s here to rescue us! He won’t hurt you!”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” she said, voice dangerously low. Kakashi looked between the two for an opening to get to Sakura without getting her or himself killed, but there was nothing he could do without risking getting shot before he could reach her, “this is a trap, Sakura. Get out of here, I’ll be right behind you.” 

“It’s not a trap!” Sakura was practically sobbing, tugging on the woman’s arm, “Please. We have go! We’ll be safe with him, I promise!” 

Kakashi hadn’t anticipated this. He hadn’t anticipated someone trying to protect Sakura. Sure, he knew that HYDRA would try to take her back and keep her from escaping, but not at the cost of their own life. This woman was shielding Sakura completely, desperate to keep her covered against Kakashi with no knowledge of his skillset. He glanced over her shoulder at Sakura, who looked incredibly nervous, though there was no hint of fear directed at the stranger.

“Sakura–” 

“Don’t talk,” the woman snapped, voice sharp. The warning in her tone was clear. Kakashi’s jaw snapped shut, “I know a trap when I see one. Sakura, remember what I told you? This is a trick. They’re trying to test our loyalty by showing you someone you trust. They’ve used it on me countless times. You may think you know this man, but you don’t. He’s just a HYDRA agent in disguise–” 

Sakura struck the back of the woman’s head with a stone. Kakashi was getting whiplash from the sudden changes in loyalty, but Sakura looked horrified at her action as she dropped the rock and fell to her knees next to the woman. 

“Help me!” Sakura begged, looking up at Kakashi with wide, desperate eyes, “Come on! We have to get her into the jet before someone comes for us!” 

“No,” Kakashi grabbed Sakura’s arm, pulling her away from the unconscious woman, “she’s a risk that I’m not willing to take. If I bring her back to the compound, she’ll end up hurting Sasuke or Naruto–”

“I’m not leaving without her. She won’t hurt anybody as long as she knows that we’re both safe. She’s just scared!”

“Sakura, I will not let HYDRA hurt you again.”

Sakura stilled for a moment. He thought that he’d gotten through to her and let his grip on her arm loosen.

With a growl, she twisted to switch positions with him. She kept hold of his hand and pulled it up to his opposite shoulder blade, and he couldn’t help but wince when she pushed upward in silent warning. He knew this move. He’d taught her this move. One thrust upward, and his arm was broken. 

When had he become her enemy?

“Not without Y/N,” she snarled, voice unrecognizable—hardened from the years that she’d spent in this hellhole. Kakashi glanced between the stranger and Sakura, weighing his options. The woman was motionless on the ground—not a threat right now, but she would be unpredictable once she woke up. 

This could be a trap, he told himself, she could be a HYDRA agent trying to infiltrate us. 

He supposed that was the same line of thinking that led to this woman's suspicion of him. The thought crumbled his already weak resolve.

“Fine,” he met Sakura’s eyes, “but until she can show me that she won’t hurt you or the others, you won’t be alone with her. She’ll stay locked up, got it?”

“But–”

“No. I shouldn’t be bringing her at all. If she comes with us, you’ll both have to follow my rules.”

There. There. Finally, Kakashi saw a glimpse of the Sakura he knew. The Sakura who was taken from them so long ago. Her lip jutted out in a pout, her eyebrows scrunched together, and her hands clenched at her sides. That was enough to get him moving towards the woman’s limp body.

If it was both of them or neither of them, then Kakashi supposed he would have to compromise. At least he’d have all of his students back with him, safe under his care.

(next chapter) | (series masterlist)

Author’s note | This is basically a Black Widow AU, so if you haven’t seen the Black Widow movie, it might be slightly confusing. I try to explain things better in the next part, but let me know if more context is necessary after that. 

title is from "Blood for Blood" by Sarah Sparks

[rebelrainfall]

to break open a heart

Hello from your Secret Santa, @andorerso! It’s been so much fun writing for you, I hope you enjoy! 💜💜💜

ao3 link

If Jyn were a more positive person, she might think that all things considered, they’re lucky. They’re lucky it wasn’t the stormtroopers at the end of the street that hauled Cassian away. Lucky the woman who processed him wore kelly green to match her hair, not Imperial grey. Lucky there likely won’t be a match for his biometrics in this database.

Looking up at the decaying black building in front of her, nothing at her side but a single knife at the small of her back, Jyn doesn’t feel very lucky.

Still, there’s no hesitation in her stride on the way to the front desk of the building, praying to whatever power might be listening that the being behind it, the same green-haired human who took Cassian away, won’t recognize her. Yesterday when they’d met Jyn was a redhead, thick glasses obscuring part of her face, and she can only hope the change is enough. She would have preferred an entirely different disguise, to be sure. But desperate times, and all that shit.

Those desperate times, of course, being this: the Alligare Syndicate has at least two dozen containment cells in this building they disguise as a hotel. Cassian is in one of them.

Jyn has no idea how long she has. As lucky as she may be it isn’t the Empire she’s up against at the moment, the Imperials at least follow measurable and predictable protocol. She’d have some concept of a timeline, some awareness of how long the bastards would be delayed by the paper trail up and down before someone with the authority to wield the knife made their way to him.

The Alligare Syndicate, though, who ran Cassian’s forged papers just slightly more thoroughly than they could hold up against… 

They don’t have nearly the resources the Empire would, and even if they discover his real identity, they aren’t likely to have any prior knowledge of Cassian Andor, threat to the Empire. But they do have near-total control over the city, a network the size of which is unknown to Jyn, and from what she’s seen of them, they’re far more efficient than most criminal syndicates she’s ever seen. She has no idea what they’re capable of, or what they might do to a prisoner.

And Cassian is in their hands.

It could be too late already, a traitorous voice in her head whispers, and she shakes it away, because there’s no time for that, but it nags at her all the same. Took you nearly half a day to be back here. Pathetic, Erso, he could be dead a dozen times over.

“How can I help you?” The woman at the desk asks as she approaches. Her words are polite, but she does a poor job hiding her hostility. “Just a single room for you tonight?”

“I’m here for a visit, actually,” Jyn says pleasantly, adopting the Corellian accent Cassian taught her on the way home from their first mission together. “My husband was brought here, could you direct me to him? His name is - “

“We don’t allow visitors,” the woman says flatly.

“Please, ma’am. I brought his medication. He’s a human man, you brought him in early this morning and he needs - “

The woman rolls her eyes. “Give it here, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

She leans over the low desk to reach for the bottle in Jyn’s hand, and it’s the mistake Jyn was hoping for. Not giving her time to realize what’s happening, she jumps over the desk, her knife to the woman’s throat and her arms twisted behind her back before she can even think of hitting whatever panic button Jyn suspects is hidden under her desk.

“Human man. You brought him in this morning. Take me to him, now.”

“This isn’t going to work. You’ll never get out of the building,” the woman promises, shockingly defiant for a being held at knife point. 

“Do you know how many bones are in the human hand?” Jyn asks, almost pleasantly.

“Can’t say I do,” the woman growls.

“Twenty-seven,” Jyn says, squeezing one of the woman’s trapped hands meaningfully. “And if you don’t take me to him right now I swear on his life I will break every single one of yours.”

To her credit, the woman still appears mostly unshaken. After a loaded moment, though, she gives in with a nod, still glaring daggers at Jyn but showing no sign of trying to fight back. 

“No need for that,” she grumbles. “The keys are in my desk, gonna kill me when I reach for them?”

“Tell me where they are.”

With a bit of tricky manoeuvring she keeps the knife at the woman’s throat while she fishes in the indicated drawer, coming up with not only a set of keys (analog keys, for deadbolt locks. Another thing the Empire doesn’t use), but, to her delight, a small blaster.

“You should really keep weapons like this locked up,” she says flatly, checking it’s unloaded before slipping it into the waistband of her trousers. “Now. Let’s go.”

-

Jyn doesn’t know what to expect when the woman unlocks the door, the blaster still pressed to her side, but somehow what she finds disturbs her more than she’d prepared for anyway. It’s a well-lit room, the fluorescent light spilling into the much darker hallway. There’s no visible system of restraint nor sign of violence, no evidence of any of the many methods of interrogation she’s known used. If she didn’t know better, she’d almost want to believe Cassian hadn’t been hurt at all.

Which is why it’s more than a little disturbing to see him on the far side from the door, crowded into the corner of the bright room like he wants to disappear into it, giving no indication he’s even noticed the door opening.

“Cass?” She ventures, only realizing she’s slipped up calling him by his real name after the word has left her mouth. It’s fine, she thinks, they’re fine. Lots of names could have the nickname Cass.

His eyes are wide and hazy, staring straight ahead, but he blinks at her voice. Slowly, like it takes great effort, he drags his gaze to the doorway, only to flinch away, eyes returning to the floor, when he sees the woman beside Jyn.

“I’m not strong enough,” he breathes, so quiet Jyn can hardly hear him even in the stillness of the cell block. “Make her -- make her go away. I’ll break. It - it hurts…”

In that single moment Jyn realizes two things. One: Alligare has done something terrible to Cassian, something that has reduced her restrained, ever stoic partner to stuttering pleas. And two: the woman in green, the one she holds at gunpoint, has to have been the one to do it.

She’ll make her go away, alright. And she won’t regret it.

The blaster fires in a flash of green light to match her hair. Jyn hardly spares a glance as she falls to the hallway floor.

She’s kneeling before Cassian in a moment, reaching out until he shies away from her hand.

“Cassian,” She whispers, to no response except a slightly louder, gasping breath. “Hey, Cass, it’s alright, it’s me. She’s not going to hurt you anymore.”

“I - I knew you’d come,” he rasps, though he still cringes from her touch when she reaches out again. “I was… You shouldn’t have - you shouldn’t have come but I - fuck, Jyn, I’m so happy you’re here…”

Something is so wrong here. This isn’t the first time she’s had to come back for him, not the first time she’s dragged him from a cell. She’s found him half-dead and incoherent and drugged out of his mind. No matter how beat up he is he’s never so… honest. She’s seen him bleeding out on the floor still insisting he can handle it himself. Something about the sentimental simplicity of his words is jarring. What could they have done to him, to break him open so plainly?

“Of course I’m here,” she murmurs, “Can you walk?”

“I don’t know,” he says, but he allows her to help him up, leaning heavily against the wall. “Jyn, Stars, I’m so - so happy you came back… You should have left…”

“We don’t leave each other.”

Cassian is still rambling, repeating the same few sentences over and over again as she drapes his arm over her back to take on some of his weight. 

“I know, I know. You’re happy I’m here, you think I shouldn’t be. Save some breath for walking, ok?” As far as Jyn knows there aren’t many guards in the cell block itself, most of them stationed around it as a more visible display of power, but they can’t risk calling attention to themselves either way. At her request he goes quiet as they make their way slowly to the doorway. His breathing is laboured and uneven, hitching at the top of every inhale, but they can’t afford to pause long enough for her to understand what it is that’s hurting him.

He’s under the effects of some kind of drug, that she’s sure of. Something that’s left him disoriented and afraid, an effect common enough in psychoactive interrogation methods. Whether whatever pain he’s feeling comes from it as well or from something else she can’t be sure, but it isn’t impossible. The syndicate must have access to better resources than she’d expected, at least in this department. She’ll have to be sure the Alliance knows they’re a genuine threat.

To her relief they don’t seem to have triggered any kind of alarm and the corridor outside is empty, their shuffling footsteps and Cassian’s pained breathing echoing unnervingly in the silence. Of the cells they pass most are similarly empty, doors left ajar to reveal bare and windowless rooms like Cassian’s. The hall feels unfathomably long, but once they’ve left his cell he seems to regain some strength, carrying more of his own weight and allowing them to pick up the pace enough that they’re nearly at the end of it before the next shock to hit Jyn.

“I love you,” Cassian declares suddenly, like that’s something they say to each other. It hits Jyn like a blaster bolt through the heart, but she forces herself not to react. He isn’t himself right now, and as much as she wants to stop, to beg to know what he means, how he could use a word like love for her, they can’t afford to stop. All of this can wait, it has to wait. 

She’s ripped from her spiralling thoughts after less than a moment, her attention snapping back to Cassian when he whimpers almost as soon as the words have left his mouth. “I’m sorry, I didn’t - I didn’t want to say that, I shouldn’t - I’m sorry…” He’s struggling in her loose hold, fighting weakly to get away from her, but she’s too afraid of what he’d do to himself if he succeeded. “You should go, you should leave me here…”

Alright, maybe she was wrong. Maybe this can’t wait. Jyn steers Cassian inside the next open door, casting a glance around to be sure the cell is empty before she guides him to lean against the wall beside the doorway. Whatever this is, she needs to know how to deal with it or neither of them are getting out of here.

“What did they do to you?” She murmurs, holding him upright against the wall. He only whines, turning away from her. “C’mon, Cass, you have to tell me so I can help you.”

The noise he makes almost sounds like a sob, and he still won’t look at her. She can’t see much of his face in the scarce light of the cell, not nearly enough to read his expression, but there’s fear in his posture. Because of her? Force, she prays it isn’t because of her.

“What did they do?” She asks again, gentler, tucking his hair back just for an excuse to touch him. He sways, like he isn’t sure whether to lean into it or run. He’s silent for another long moment, dilated eyes flitting around her face, wide like he’s fighting himself behind them.

“They - I - I can’t lie,” he finally gasps like it hurts him to say, flinching away from the words themselves.

“You don’t have to,” she soothes. Cassian shudders, whimpering. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“No - you don’t - I can’t lie, they gave me something, some kind of drug and I can’t - I’m compromised.” He’s still trying to pull away from her again, though he can’t get far without her there to hold him up and he seems present enough to realize that, at least. “I - I didn’t give them anything important, I swear, I didn’t tell them about - but I need -”

Footsteps at the end of the corridor. Jyn frees one hand to cover his mouth, dread rising in her chest despite her efforts to tamp it down.

This is… this is bad. This is very, very bad.

The footsteps pass them without hesitation, fading back into silence as their owner makes their way down the hall, but Jyn’s horror doesn’t fade with them.

The Empire has many, many methods of interrogation, but there’s something they don’t have that she knows they desperately want. How many times, reading through Imperial memos searching for something important, has she found mention of a hypothetical drug just like this? An interrogation method that would require no physical torture at all. 

A psychoactive drug that would compel its victim to answer every question posed truthfully, no torture necessary. 

The Alligare Syndicate, it would appear, has beat the Empire at this game. 

This is a spy’s greatest fear, the nightmare scenario. And here is Cassian facing it.

-

By some unknowable luck they make it out of the building without incident, and Jyn can send a message to the rest of their crew to be ready for takeoff. By the time they stumble onto the ship Cassian’s carrying most of his own weight, but his eyes are still dilated and glassy and Jyn isn’t naive enough to think the worst has passed. 

“How long ago did they give you that drug?”

“I don’t… I don’t know? I don’t know how long I was there. But Jyn -”

“Shh, it’s ok. Not your fault.” She stops him before he can say anymore. Just because he’s telling the truth doesn’t mean he wants her to hear it.

“No, Jyn, it’s - I can’t stay out here, someone will hear something, I need somewhere… the cargo hold. Lock me in the cargo hold.”

Of course. They may be out of public earshot, but Cassian hardly knows their pilot or the other man on the crew. Jyn doesn’t even know their names, and he certainly doesn’t trust them with whatever truths Cassian’s on the verge of spilling. Jyn kneels to dig a medpack and an emergency blanket from under the bench where he’s sitting.

“I’m not going to lock you anywhere alone right now,” she argues, raising a hand to stop him when he opens his mouth to protest. “I don’t know what else this drug did. We’ll go to the cargo bay, and once I make sure you aren’t dying, then we’ll talk.”

“But-”

“Don’t argue, it won’t work.” Don’t tell me something you’ll regret.

He hardly looks pleased about it but he nods, and when she slips into the cargo hand he follows, closing and locking the door after him.

“Tell me where it hurts,” Jyn orders. 

“Head, leg, lower ribs,” Cassian says, radiating discomfort as he watches her lay the emergency blanket out on the floor. She wishes she could appreciate his honesty, that it were born of anything but torture. This is a sort of nightmare so specifically cruel to Cassian that she struggles to even comprehend it, a hell specially built of his very worst fears. Any question feels like taking advantage of him, helpless against them as he is, but she has no choice, not if she’s going to help him. All she can do is keep her queries as simple and specific as possible.

“Did you hit your head?”

“No, I think that’s the drug.”

“Leg?”

“The Scarif leg, wrenched something while I was blindfolded on the way in.”

“Lie down on the blanket. Ribs?”

He winces as he lowers himself to the floor. “When they caught me, I think. Someone kicked me. It hurts to breathe.”

“Well, keep breathing for me anyway,” She says, rummaging through the medpack, though for what she’s not yet entirely sure. 

“It’s always for you,” He mumbles, settling on his back on the blanket with a groan. 

Jyn pretends not to have heard that.

There’s half a dozen painkillers to choose from, and Jyn spends longer than may be necessary considering them. What she needs is something unlikely to react with whatever’s already in his system, so she picks the most basic. Next she fishes out a heat pack like the one he uses on base sometimes, laying it over his bad knee. She’s stalling, she recognizes that, but she’s hardly looking forward to the next logical step. Cassian’s exposed enough as it is.

“I need you to unbutton your shirt,” she finally says, not quite meeting his eyes, “Just so I can see what’s wrong. Ok?” 

She can tell he’s not in love with the idea, not that she can blame him in the slightest, but he reaches obediently to undo the buttons of his shirt.

“This isn’t how I pictured this happening,” he mutters, and she won’t ask what he means by that but stars, she wants to. Then he lets his shirt fall open, baring his chest, and she forgets to ask entirely.

“Cass,” she hisses, eyes fixed on the mess of green and purple bruising spread across his mid torso, surrounding a shallow but worrying gash just above his navel. In her head she can hear him protesting - it’s not as bad as it looks, I’m fine - and in every other circumstance he’d be saying it. His silence freezes her blood far more effectively than the sight of his injury.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, looking up at her with wide, vulnerable eyes. She wants to lie. She wants to say it’s been a long day, I’m tired, I twinged my back on the way here. But if Cassian can’t lie to her, how cruel would it be to lie to him?

“I’m worried about you,” she says, honestly.

He only looks more distressed at this admission, and a little bit confused. “You should go, I can take care of it myself. This shouldn’t be your responsibility.”

“I’m not going anywhere until you’re patched up.” Jyn says. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I care about you.”

“I - You shouldn’t.”

“Cassian - “

“No. You deserve better than this, Jyn. I get you hurt. You know I’ll let you down.”

“You haven’t yet.” 

He chuckles, humourless. “Give it time.”

Clearly he wants to leave it there, but Jyn can’t. She wants to kill whoever it was that taught him to think of himself this way, but for now the truth will have to do.

“You haven’t yet,” she repeats, because it’s true. “But maybe you will, and even if you do. You’re only human, Cass. You’d never hurt me on purpose. We care about each other, right?”

“I love you,” Cassian whimpers again, looking so miserable she’d burn the galaxy away to fix this. 

“Cassian -”

“You should go.”

He’s scared, and helpless, and she can’t hold any of this against him. Still, it hurts. Jyn wants to shake him or burst into tears or break something. She wants, more than anything, to make him look into her eyes and say the first thing again. Can he mean it the way it sounds? Does he mean it the way she wants it? For a man forced to be honest, he’s certainly finding ways to mix his messages. 

Suddenly the ship jerks violently with the jump to hyperspace. Cassian gives a pained moan.

Right. Yes. Patching him up, that’s what she’s meant to be doing. Her own stupid feelings can wait, even if they’re tearing her apart. Even if he has just shaken her to the core.

“Just let me help you, and then I’ll go.”

Cassian doesn’t answer, staring up at the ceiling. She takes it as acquiescence and reaches for the painkiller again and a bacta patch that will cover the wound and the worst of his bruising. 

It shouldn’t surprise her that he refuses the painkiller, muttering shouldn’t waste it on me as if he isn’t the most important person on this ship both to her and to the rebellion. She doesn't push the issue, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want to.

Cassian whimpers when she sprays the disinfectant onto his wound and the area around, but says nothing. His breathing becomes even more shallow with the pain and force of others she just wants him to stop hurting.

“I’m almost done,” she soothes, “and then I’ll go if you still want me to, ok?” 

He’s just so achingly vulnerable, hurting and trembling and spread half-naked in front of her, his very mind cracked open. Dual instincts are warring in her chest, to be here to protect him, to stroke his hair and promise he’s safe, or to leave him alone before he can admit something he’ll hate her for knowing when all of this is over.

“I… I don’t want you to leave,” Cassian says, fear still written across his face.

“Then I won’t,” she promises, “I’ll stay if you want me here,” but then he’s shaking his head frantically.

“No, I’ll say something to upset you, you should go. I - I’m sorry.”

“You want me to go?” She asks again, as lost as he looks.

“No, I want you to stay. I want you here so badly, Jyn, but you should… you shouldn’t stay. You shouldn’t have to deal with me. I’ll upset you.”

“You won’t.”

“I will, I know I will. Go.”

Force. She’d love to respect his wishes, if only she could understand what they were. It seems even he doesn’t know what he wants from her, so she picks the safer option. “Ok. I’ll go.”

But then Cassian whimpers, breath catching like a sob. Is there a right answer here? She swears she sees tears in his eyes, but what can she do?

“What do you need from me, Cassian? Tell me what you need. Please. You know I would do anything for you.” And there are tears in his eyes, spilling silently from the corners as he looks up at her with such distress she feels her heart shatter. 

“I need you.” 

“Cassian…”

“Stay,” he begs, and she’d love it if he would settle on one or the other, but he doesn’t seem to understand it himself. “You - you make me feel safe, and it’s so cold, and your hands are warm…” His voice is thick. “I don’t want you to go.”

And the things he’s doing to her heart now, gazing up at her so desperate and defenceless and handing her confessions that could so easily be turned to weapons.

“Alright.”

Jyn returns everything to the medpack, feeling Cassian’s eyes on her back as she does. When there’s nothing else to occupy herself with she finds herself at a loss, casting her eyes around the room for anything that might give her some idea but finding only Cassian, Cassian and his helpless, fervent eyes.

She ends up with his head in her lap, fingers stroking gently through his hair in hopes of chasing away the pain wrinkling his brow. She wishes he would fall asleep for whatever escape it might grant him, but he seems far too unsettled for that. Still, she can feel him beginning to relax under her touch.

“That feels nice,” He says a few minutes into the silence.

“I’m glad. Do you need anything else right now? How are you feeling?”

It takes him a moment to answer. “Better, I think. Please don’t go.”

“I won’t,” she promises again.

“You always make me feel better,” he says before he goes quiet again for a time, eyes flitting around the room, until they settle suddenly again on her. “Can I hold your hand?”

She offers him her free hand wordlessly in answer. Cassian pulls it to his sternum and Jyn measures her breaths.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“None of this is your fault.”

“I’m making you uncomfortable.”

“No, you aren’t. You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

“You - I keep saying things, and I can’t make it stop, and it’s going to scare you away.”

“Cass - “

“I don’t want you to leave, Jyn. I don’t want to make you leave but I can’t - I keep saying things - “

“Cassian.”

She has his attention, finally, though he still looks so afraid she wants to cry.

“I know you can’t lie to me right now, and I promise that I’m not going to lie to you either now. Tell me you understand.”

He nods, and she’d prefer a verbal confirmation but this will do.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t like seeing you so upset. But there’s nothing you’ve said to make me uncomfortable. I promise.”

“But I said - “

“You said you loved me.” It has to be what he’s getting at. It’s been driving her to distraction. There’s nothing to be gained from avoiding it any longer.

“I. Yes.” And he looks so defeated. Breaking her own rule, Jyn caves and asks him a question she doesn’t strictly need the answer to.

“Did you mean it the way I think you meant it?”

(No. She needs the answer.)

Cassian takes a shaky breath and squeezes her hand, bracing against whatever he thinks is about to happen.

“Yes. I’m sorry.”

Something in Jyn’s chest loosens at the same time her heart stutters. She can’t help the small smile that crosses into her expression, even at Cassian’s obvious confusion.

“Don’t be sorry. I…” She promised to tell him the truth. “Cassian. I love you, too.” 

She can see him wanting to protest. It’s not difficult to imagine what he wants to say. He’ll argue that she doesn’t know all the terrible things he’s done (maybe she doesn’t, but she also doesn’t care), that he’ll let her down (he will, sometimes, but he’s only human. She’ll let him down sometimes, too). That he somehow isn’t worthy of her, like he’s any more damaged, any more imperfect than she is. Like she’s the one of them who deserves better.

It’s absurd. She can’t bear to hear him say any of it.

“I love you,” she repeats. “And I’d rather you didn’t try to talk me out of it. You’re so important to me. Ok?”

For a long, weighted moment, Cassian says nothing. Jyn doesn’t try to fill the silence, waiting on his response. Finally, Cassian meets her eyes again, biting his lip and taking a deep breath.

“I want to kiss you,” he says. “Please.” 

“You can,” she says, and finds great pleasure in the way his eyes light up at that. “But only once you’ve taken the painkiller.”

His attempt at a glare is a little ruined by the stars in his eyes when he gazes up at her.

“Fine.”

As he takes the pill without further complaint, Jyn can’t help but wonder if this particular brand of bribery will continue to work.

[masterofrecords]

Angstober day 27: System Collapse

I probably spent way too much time making sure my sandhi were accurate in this one. Hooray to the one semester of Sanskrit I'd once taken - never thought it would come in useful.

The Flame of the Countless Deaths

The connection between the leylines is tentative, volatile. Hard as he tries, Kalidasa cannot fully feel the other locations, but it’s better than nothing.

Breathe in, breathe out. His heart beats in sync with the weak, dying magic of the world.

He is about to cease to exist. He is everywhere.

Keeping track of time is hard. There is no time where his mind is, and yet the time is everything now. Sounds of fighting reach him, and he isn’t sure if it is his brothers and sisters fighting at the Mrtyunamjvalah temple below, or if it’s echoes reaching him from across the world, the last cries seeping in through the unstable network.

It hardly matters.

The first seals are barely beginning to settle when the first interruption rocks the leyline.

Kalidasa frowns, breathing steady as he tries to pull closer, figure out where the disruption is coming from. One of the second seals comes with a delay, and with it, Qiao Xiu’s unusually terse voice in Kalidasa’s head, “Got off schedule, but we’re fine.”

And it is fine. The seals should be done simultaneously for them to be stable, but on the cosmic scale, some minutes are a minor issue. The disturbance caused by whatever happened on Qiao Xiu’s end dies down as the rituals continue, and Kalidasa keeps hoping. “Take care,” he replies, and listens to the silence once more.

Time passes through him. More hours, more seals, more fighting seemingly everywhere. The powers that don’t want their divinity sealed off are not going to let it go smoothly – those running the rituals were prepared for it, each group made precautions for it.

Some hid the sites, some set up traps, some placed guards. Below Kalidasa, surrounding the circle where the ritual is taking place, are the monks that do not expect to make it to sundown.

Kalidasa wonders – no, hopes that it will be enough.

After four seals have taken root, things go downhill.

“Hoards of demons,” Zamani’s voice follows the tidal wave of unstable magic. “We’ll try to get back on track.”

He isn’t sure why they report to him. There is nothing he can do, he cannot even send the word out without breaking his connection to the leyline. Perhaps, Kalidasa muses, they just want him not to worry, aware that he’s watching over them.

“Do your best,” is all he can think of replying.

Perhaps there is some comfort they gain from knowing he’s still there, for however much longer it might be.

To his sorrow, the leylines do not have the time to stabilize before the next big interruptions. With each seal, it seems, the price of mistakes becomes greater. “Man down. Will try to finish with eleven.”

The few words of comfort Kalidasa can give don’t seem at all sufficient.

He utters them anyway and watches in dismay as the perturbations grow stronger and stronger, no longer needing their missteps to feed themselves. Something is bound to crack, Kalidasa worries, but the fighting seems to have stopped for the most part.

The air is thick with death, and Kalidasa keeps repeating the same prayers for departed souls over and over again. It is all he can do.

Most have completed eight seals when another shock makes Kalidasa jerk, almost throwing him out of his trance. Something goes wrong, somewhere above and on the inside, and Kalidasa isn’t sure where it is in the real world, but he watches helplessly as the connection to one of the leylines breaks, sending ripples through the entire network.

He hadn’t realized before that there is noise in his ears, but it’s growing more and more uncomfortable to the point where he cannot easily ignore it. It is so loud that he almost misses the voice reaching for him through the void.

He barely recognizes Remi.

“I’m sorry,” is all he hears, and perhaps there was more to the message, but it’s gone, dissolved in static as waves of uncertainty wash over the leylines.

Four more seals to go.

The cut off leyline returns slowly, and he knows it’s Remi’s group giving it one more try, no matter how desperate the situation looks on their side. The rituals continue, exhaustion bleeding to Kalidasa instead of finesse as the hours of work take toll on everyone.

The rituals finish in an unsteady cacophony, a rough patch rather than neat embroidery on the fabric between the planes. Kalidasa feels each backlash and winces, knowing they mean more deaths he will probably never learn about.

His magic feels weaker and weaker as more leylines are cut off, but it’s not fully gone. The seals are still fluid, like unfinished stitches, but Kalidasa holds on to hope.

It’s the only thing he can do.

The people of Mrtyunamjvalah leave, knowing better than to disturb him. His own skin feels frayed, and Kalidasa wonders what is happening outside, but dares not open his eyes.

There is still time. There is still hope.

Whatever the outcome, he will be there to witness it.

[wrencatte]

the (hopefully) humorous beginning to what will eventually fill a bad things happen bingo square. the holidays (and the work load they bring) is really taking all my (creative) energy

“Jason.”

He holds up a finger – one second – and peers through the scope. With a quiet, steady exhale, he pulls the trigger and – pop! smack! Vicious swearing drifts up towards his perch and he smirks triumphantly. Deeming it safe, he slides the safety on and flops over to give his brother a winning smile.

“Dickiebird, how lovely it is to see you. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Dick raises an unamused eyebrow. “Did you just shoot Tim?”

“You have no proof.” Branches cracking in the distance has him rolling his eyes. “You know, for little birdies, y’all suck at rural everything.”

He finally gets a huff of amusement, Dick’s lips quirking into a half smile. “That’s why we’re out here, Jay.”

“Yeah, well, no amount of capture the flag is gonna save your sorry asses when push comes to shove,” Jason retorts.

He’s already turning back to his stomach, peeking through the scope for movement. Their urban stealth lessons do jack shit out here in the woods between Bristol residences and the county line. He hears every snapped stick, every rustle of branches. He’s gotten Tim four times, and Damian only twice due to his training with the League.

It helps, though, that they weren’t expecting him to come to this shindig with a sniper rifle full of paint pellets. He grins when he spots the flash of Tim’s dark red hoodie. It widens when it disappears as quickly as it came and isn’t seen again. Good, they’re finally learning.

“Still think we should’ve gone somewhere actually rural,” Stephanie mutters.

Jason follows a trail of dark green as Damian almost-expertly weaves between trees. He’s getting closer to where Tim disappeared, and he grins in anticipation for that fallout. The brats have been getting along a lot better lately now that they realized they had more things in common than just Robin. It’s been an eye opener to see the kinda shit the two of them get into when they put their heads together – and he and Dick are usually the unlucky victims of it.

But right now, they’re tired, covered in paint, and getting sniped from an unknown position. Tensions are running high. And it’s ripe for an epic fight. If someone doesn’t come out of here with blood on their knuckles, he’s gonna be real fucking surprised.

“Well, we would’ve if someone didn’t shout YOLO and fuck off a building,” Jason says, finger hovering just off the trigger. Dick fails to cover his laugh. Steph groans audibly. “How the fuck are you on this comm line anyway? Go away.”

“Babs,” because of course. “Don’t get shot!”

“I’m the one doing the shooting here.”

“Don’t get shot by hunters, you asshole. I prefer you guys without bullet holes, ‘kay?”

Jason rolls his eyes; hopes she can hear it in his voice. “Spoken like a true East Ender, Blondie. There’s no huntin’ in Bristol. Nothin’ to hunt.”

“Oh, you’re so knowledgeable, mister Got-Adopted-by-the-Richest-Man-in-America,” Steph mocks. Jason scowls. “Don’t come crying to me when a hunter mistakes your skinny ass for a deer.”

“My ass ain’t skinny!” Jason snaps – then swears when there’s an audible click of her disconnecting from the network. “New rule, no blondes allowed in the manor,” he tells Dick. Bruce would like that rule – keeps Oliver out. Too bad Barry’s included.

Dick laughs again. “I take it Steph is being a menace?”

“As fuckin’ usual.”

Jason pauses – lets that comment sink in then –

He throws himself to his feet just as Damian and Tim burst out from the bushes and part around a smug Dick like it’s a practice maneuver. Which, considering, it probably is.  

Jason ducks under Tim, bends in half to avoid Damian. He slides out his back-up from behind his back and – holds it against Dick’s temple, his feet braced apart, arm extended outward. It’s a bad position, someone can easily sweep one of his legs from under him or jab his inner elbow to unlock it, but everyone freezes either way.

“You’re such an asshole!” Jason spits. Tim laughs – and, aw shit, he’s inching towards Jason’s abandoned rifle.

Dick smirks. “Takes one to know one!” he says brightly. His arms are casually crossed, his body set loosely. Completely unconcerned. Like a fucking asshole. “I can’t believe it took you so long to notice.”

“Did you set Steph on that?” he demands. Dick shakes his head. Jason’s frown turns murderous. He might become an only child real soon. “This is against the rules.”

“Oh, and bringing a sniper rifle isn’t?” Damian says hotly, even as he carefully sidesteps in front of Tim to hide what he’s doing. “We agreed no weapons.”

“You agreed no weapons. I didn’t agree to shit.”

“That’s now how that works!”

The rules being that they have comms so Babs can call score, but no one is able to communicate with each other. Only Dick, Damian, and Tim have been talking. Dick hunted down Jason and gave away his position on purpose. Steph broke her arm YOLO’ing (which is an exaggeration of what she actually did, she hurt it on patrol) which is why she’s not there and why they decided to do it in Bristol (the real training will come when she’s healed). Her butting in actually ruined Dick-Tim-Damian’s ambush by giving away the comm thing too early.