#i’m metaphorically groveling at their feet

[captn-lovelace]

that was crazy but i’m finally in my new place! we hired movers and it was so much easier than my last move, so i felt like weeping on my hands and knees in thanks and reverence for the ‘two men and a truck’ dudes lmao

also shoutout to my mom who meticulously planned the multi-day car trip. my brother was driving a diff car, following us the whole way, and she got walkie talkies so we could talk to him when there wasn’t cell service. actually a genius move tbh

[asterdisaster06]

Something In The Orange

simon "ghost" riley x john "soap" mactavish

Pt 1. Pt 2. Pt. 3

summary > “I’m tired of you disappearing for weeks and then waltzing back into my life like it’s nothing.”

“Better than me disappearing for good.”

“Is it?”

. . .

word count > 1.8k

warnings > simon riley pov

a/n >  hi guys, i think this one will really grind some gears (: although, it's shorter chapter because I’m not sure there’s much to say here. . .

ao3

Ghost had received the call; he had looked down at his phone, seen the caller ID of ‘my love’ staring back at him, and he still chose not to pick up. If you had asked him why he had done that then versus now, his answer would probably have changed significantly. Although, he’s not entirely sure he could tell you his motive. It wasn’t born out of malice though, that he could be sure of. Nonetheless, he knew damn well that he had fucked up as soon as Price refused his call. He had never done that in all the years Simon had known him. If that wasn’t enough, so did everyone else.

Simon “Ghost” Riley was well aware that how he acted was not what his love deserved. He knew that he should have tried harder, done things differently, called him back time and time again. He didn’t know how to though. It was similar to riding a bike - something many people knew how to do by being taught by their parents. Simon was never taught; whether that was riding a bike or how to have a healthy relationship with someone that he was supposed to show love and affection to every day of every month of every year.

The fact that he could never break the cycle ate at his bones and drove his young mind crazy. He wanted so desperately to get help, admit he needed it, grovel at Soap’s feet like he deserved. To worship the very ground MacTavish stood upon and kiss all of the scars left on his heart and soul. All that he was able to do was hold Soap’s head between his collar and jaw, well aware that there was no weight at all. There was no intimacy in the very essence of what used to be love and devotion that would’ve driven the two to the ends of the earth for one another. The gesture had been empty for far too long.

Simon awoke in the front seat of the car that he had parked off in the middle of nowhere. If he was being honest with himself, he had no clue where he had driven to. All that the broken man knew was that he was running away from the very thing that has kept him semi-stable all this time. He regretted it with every fiber of his being, knowing it wasn’t the life that he had promised his beloved. Far from it.

To Soap he was just a man, to Simon, Johnny was all he is. There was no identity separating Ghost from Simon beyond the person he had left in the dust. If Simon could change all of this, he would. It was a slow and steady decline into how exactly the two had gotten to this point; one that Simon wasn’t aware of until the straw that broke the camel's back. It sent a jolt of pain down his spine that he no longer remembered what the fight was even about. To think, this is what it culminated in. He had poisoned himself again, and something in the orange sunrise told him Soap was never coming home into his arms again.

Staring down at his scarred, rough, and dusty hands stained with the metaphorical blood of his once beautiful relationship with the Scot. What he wouldn’t give to be taken back to dancing in their bar on the corner where the wood used to creak. The memories he once held in such regard were tainted by the light shone upon them by the laughter of Soap. The very same laughter that was carved into the ribs of the British man who felt it stab him every time his heartbeat. Something that he wished sometimes faded into nothingness, the very same way that his connection with Johnny did.

Where the hell was he supposed to go? A part of him wanted to run back and beg for forgiveness from someone who sure as hell deserved ten times better than him. Wanted to prove that he could be better and heal the cracks with time and patience one day at a time. Wanted to find hope that his life could be any better than it seemed at that moment. The other part of him forced pride to choke its way up his throat, presenting as a lump that made it hard to breathe. Stones in his lungs wanting to keep him exactly where he was and start anew. Shame erupting from his soul that told him he deserved to be shunned like a dog out on the streets. A life destined to live off scraps and die from getting hit by a car.

He needed to hear Soap’s voice again, the very same one that had been waiting all night to hear back from a living man that haunted him. It sent a flash of regret and humiliation through Simon’s veins. Although, he knew he deserved all of it and more if he truly was going to attempt to make it up to the love of his life. Who was he kidding about moving on and establishing a new life? It would never compare to the one he had built from the ground up with the foundation set in blood and unbroken promises. He would rather die than never, ever see Soap or feel the gentle touch of him again. Simon was damned if he went back, and damned if he didn’t, but he wasn’t one to give up. Not again. Not ever again.

Simon RIley wasn’t a man to back down from a challenge. He was a flight risk, that’s for sure, but he was willing to fight tooth and nail when it came down to it. He didn’t care how long it took, how many years, whether or not Soap would even hear him out. His mind was set on bandaging the wounds that had been inflicted on the relationship and left to fester for far too long. Infected with inflammation running rampant and flies buzzing all around the necrotic flesh. It had been done from the moment he had left the shared apartment with the last view of Soap being one that tore at his heart. A view of the Scottish man with tears running down his tired features; features that Simon knew damn well were so very close to giving up. He wasn’t stupid, well, maybe he was, but he knew that he had to clean his act up.

It’s the exact reason why his first stop after revving his black truck up - a truck that held so many memories of star gazing in the bed of it with his lover - was to a small town. One that he had visited many times before; one that he had befriended an old woman after preventing her from getting mugged. An old woman that owned a small pawn shop where Simon had spent countless hours staring up at the cracked ceiling while pouring his heart out to her. Maybe it was a tad unorthodox, but she had always made the best tea and encouraged him to speak his mind.

Soap had always accused him of never getting help, never talking to anybody, never trying. And it’s not like Simon blamed him, especially with the damning evidence of a torn-up letter from the facility Price had recommended them for therapy specialized for ‘people like him.’ There was an entire argument with his little spitfire about how Simon didn’t want to be looked at with pity. Didn’t want to speak to someone who was paid to identify issues that Simon already knew he had. He had tried it before, both specialized and not. Neither one felt like it was enough, and Simon never was all that interested in an acting career. That’s why he stopped going, stopped the medication that made him throw up everytime he took it - and the doctors didn’t do a damn thing to help that symptom - and why he tried to act better for Soap. Wanted him to be able to depend on someone that wasn’t so broken, but being confronted like that felt like he was being told he was fragmented and unable to be what Soap wanted. He tried, so fucking hard, but he couldn’t do it. Having to face that thought head on alongside it being thrown in his face was too much.

He couldn’t even tell his lover how much it pained him, because he knew they would keep trying like they always had, and it wouldn’t get them anywhere. Soap was like that, always determined to help Simon in a way he never could himself. Simon supposes that’s why everything had built up this far. Piled under the carpet until it couldn’t be ignored. Sometimes all Ghost needed was patience and silent comfort. Sometimes Soap was impatient and loud in his attempts to help. He could tell that it was breaking his sweetheart more than he would let on. Simon could always read him like that. Simon wanted Soap to stop pouring his heart and soul into someone Riley felt didn’t deserve it. He supposes he could’ve been nicer about getting that across, but he’d add it to the list of things to explain and apologize for.

Simon suspects that he never told Soap about him talking to the old woman because it would mean admitting that running away helped him. It wasn’t something he was proud of, and he was less proud that a pure stranger was able to aid him more than his own boyfriend. It would’ve made Soap feel like he should let Simon abandon him like that, which wasn’t something he wanted to let happen. It was a roundabout way of trying to protect Johnny. Or there was another theory in his mind that he wanted to keep it to himself for selfish reasons. To have something to himself away from the military life and taskforce that Soap had conquered easier than Simon could even imagine. Both in the tactical, domestic, and social way. He admits to being jealous there, but he didn’t want to seem it. This ‘him’ time was his way of protecting the one aspect of his life that was truly his own. What therapy was supposed to be as Soap said.

He acknowledges how stupid his actions were despite the complex reasoning behind everything. He should’ve been able to open up and explain his little quirks and behaviors before it had gotten to this point. However, he was going to try. If it was too late, he couldn’t tell. But the older woman encouraged him to do so. It was the least he could do after putting Johnny through hell and back as she said. As she said right after handing over the complexically designed ring that he had ordered the day he had left the shared apartment. The same fateful one two weeks ago to the day.

Simon Riley stared down at the engagement ring clasped tightly in his hand, hoping that he could turn this all around before it was too late.

[cairos-wing]

Merlin Tumblr seems to be unhappy with me in a very positive way and I’m here to make it worse

-

The axe had to fall at some point.

He wasn’t really sure if he meant a metaphorical one or a real one, and he wasn’t sure where it would come from either. Serving Arthur was a non-option thanks to the growing tension between them (Merlin was never sure if Arthur was about to hit him or grovel at his feet) and Gaius had forbid him from going further than the lower town, expression bouncing between a wince and overwhelming guilt whenever he caught sight of his burns.

So Merlin spent his days wandering the streets of Camelot, helping people where he could and where they would let him, waiting for Uther to re-execute him or for Arthur to call for it instead.

It was made worse by being completely unable to remember how he had gotten to the pyre in the first place. Even the memory of the morning sometime before had grown fuzzy, and the forest was completely a blur.

After that, brief agonizing flashes of flame before nothingness, and waking to Gaius’ hand in his, and the short flash of Arthur leaving through his bedroom door.

Though the work gave him something to do, every movement felt draining, and if the work didn’t tire him, keeping a firm hold on his magic did.

Having his fears realized, and the fear of the flames truly burned into him, his paranoia of re-living it kept everything in silence, clamped down as hard as he could, and it left him feeling detached.

It was easy to remember to do so when, despite Gaius’ protestations, walking around woke eveything up, the burns rippling up his feet and calves with every step.

Though he was long past the point of causing any real damage, it didn’t stop any pain from happening, and any healed skin was simply mangled and pulling at itself, stretching and conforming around what little nerve control he had left.

Though his magic had done all it could before he had stopped it, letting it free couldn’t heal more than this.

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure he wanted it to.

Hear me out:

Merlin dies. You decide how. Bandits, a quest, a flower, poison, defending Arthur, tripping down the stairs. Story stays the same.

Arthur, quite understandably distraught, demands a knight’s pyre. Uther, who will (at this point) do anything to have Arthur be a levelheaded crown prince again, agrees.

Merlin does his whole “Emrys is immortal” thing, and comes back into consciousness in the flames. Burning.

Merlin dies. Story stays the same.

Gaius retrieves Merlin after he is rescued, screaming, from the flames, and manages to convince Uther that Merlin was comatose and is now suffering from some rather extreme burns.

Arthur has to deal with not only knowing that his closest friend, maybe the man he loves (you decide) is a sorcerer, but that he made that man’s worst nightmare (besides Arthur himself dying) come true, and Merlin has no idea.

Merlin has to deal with not only the nightmares and trauma that come from burning in such a way, and the tension that grows as he waits to discover what Arthur will do to him, but fear from believing that Uther was the one who had him burned, because he learned of the magic, and the King is merely biding his time, perhaps until he can pass Merlin’s death off as an accident so that Arthur may not be so distraught.

Camelot watches as its strongest people fall apart.

[bansenshukai]

a little drabble -- izuna&tobirama fake engagement (907 words)

--

“Senju!” Izuna yells as he slams open the door.

Tobirama looks unfazed– he doesn’t even look up as his brush glides against the inkstone before returning to make a row of barely-legible characters. Izuna doesn’t bother to check what he’s writing; he’s seen enough to know that it’s fuuinjutsu, and he has no interest in ever touching sealing theory or the minutiae of minor tenketsu control.

“Uchiha,” Tobirama replies. “Is there a reason you’ve come to bother me outside of my working hours?”  His voice is as cold and unreadable as always, and even though Izuna knows he needs Tobirama’s cooperation, he can’t help the little flare of rage that spikes at the complete indifference Tobirama displays. 

Izuna pulls the fan from his sleeve and tosses it on the desk, where it barely avoids smearing the scroll Tobirama’s working on. Tobirama’s brows furrow just the slightest, and he reaches for the fan.

“We’re getting engaged,” Izuna tells him haughtily, injecting every last drop of Uchiha pride into the steel of his spine, willing Tobirama to agree easily. “That’s the courting fan my father gave my mother to commemorate the start of their relationship.”

Tobirama stares at the fan in his hand without blinking. It’s an old thing now– Izuna had to dig it out of storage, since Father had hidden it deep away after Mother had left. Still; it’s richly patterned and printed on the finest Ame silk, and the gold beads dangling from the teak frame are worth over two months of civilian wages, even if the rest of it is hideously old fashioned.

“Why would you give me this?”

“To get engaged, Senju, did you not hear me the first time? I thought you were supposed to be a genius,” Izuna retorts. It’s a petty and stupid thing to say– he knows firsthand how much of a genius Tobirama is. 

That goddamn Hiraishin. No shinobi should be capable of creating an entirely new branch of fuuinjutsu– he’s heard Tobirama claim it’s ninjutsu, not fuuinjutsu, but the base of the technique is rooted in seals. If you need Uzumaki Ryo’s Compendium of Fifth Order Seals and Runes to decipher it, it’s fuuinjutsu, no matter what semantics some stuck-up Senju wants to claim otherwise.

Tobirama just looks at him. “Why?”

Izuna narrows his eyes. “Why are you asking questions– so ungrateful, after everything the Uchiha have done for Konoha, don’t you think you owe it to us to just say yes to a simple request? And you owe me personally. The humiliation I had to endure, after my mortal enemy forced his way into our clinic and shoved his chakra through my stomach with all the manners of some lowborn farmer who’s never seen an etiquette book in his life–” 

“Should I have not saved your life,” Tobirama says flatly. It’s barely a question, so Izuna doesn’t deign to treat it as such.

“What good does saving do anyway,” Izuna mutters bitterly. “Saving. Hah. Do you see yourself as the Uchiha’s righteous savior, come to save our clan from its barbarous leader and archaic traditions? It feels good doesn’t it– having our clan fall over themselves to grovel at your feet– woe is me, I’m Senju Tobirama and I receive too much praise from my former sworn enemy!”

Tobirama continues to give him that even, lidless gaze; devoid of blinks. It’s rather like a snake– he thinks snakes would have suited Tobirama as a summons, low-bellied and conniving little creatures they are, but of course he has tiger summons instead. It’s things like this that make Izuna skip the evening prayers at Ameratsu’s shrine. If Senju Tobirama gets to have the greatest of all cats at his beck and call, there is no higher power in this universe.

Izuna glares. “It’s a cover. A distraction. A ruse. With the rumors about your older brother and mine, we need to give them a bigger fish to fry. Metaphorically.”

“I can catch any size fish you’d like to eat,” Tobirama tells him absently, and picks up the fan, tucking it into his desk. He turns to the side to pick up a kunai, evidently done with the conversation.

Izuna gapes, unable to believe the sheer gall of it all– is Senju ignoring him– how dare he– and he hadn’t even bothered to return the fan–

And now there is blood, beading up in shiny droplets where Tobirama has used the kunai on the back of his hand.

“If you’re performing a blood sacrifice to get me to leave your office, you could just ask instead.”

Tobirama doesn’t respond. He dips his thumb in the blood, presses it on a blank sheet of paper and flares his chakra through it, then picks it up and hands it to Izuna.

Izuna stares at it. “Senju, why did you just hand me your trash? I’m not your personal maid, surely you can afford to hire someone.”

Tobirama has returned to writing his fuuinjutsu scroll. “Engagements run both ways, Uchiha. The fan is your token, that paper is mine. A blood seal is the Senju tradition. Announce it as you wish, that seal cannot be forged and will do away with any who doubt your word.”

Izuna tucks the piece of paper away in his pouch. “What a barbaric tradition,” he mutters, and makes sure to leave the door slightly open on the way out.

[keilemlucent]

long days for bad people

(r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~6k

Being a prized, adored possession was far better than you thought it would be.

warnings: light daddy kink (no age play, just the name in mostly jest), spit kink, crying kink, degradation, brief descriptions of blood + violence, kidnapping (consensual?? read a/n), brat taming, light sadomasochism, mind break, praise kink

------

here it is, mafia au, villain hawks, dom, brat tamer, soft(?!) hawks. what more could you want? 

there’s briefly described kidnapping at the beginning of the fic but it is reiterated throughout that this is consensual! no yandere/stockholm stuff in this fic. 

i’ve been working on this one for a while and i’m happy to finally share it. hope y’all enjoy!!

||||||||||||||||||||

You shouldn’t have fucked around with the League.

God, it was common knowledge in the parts of town and circles you inhabited. Of all criminal syndicates, mobs, to fuck with, the League wasn’t one of them. They were known for their complete cruelty and violent delights. The League had such a reputation due to the fact that they openly left bodies carved up and burnt as they pleased.

But, you were a fucking idiot and got involved anyways.

It was a small loan, Giran almost seemed to scoff when he gave you the cash. You and your almost-stranger of a roommate were just very late on some bills and were going to lose a lot of material items if you didn’t scrounge up at least two paychecks in about three days. 

You swallowed your pride and took the first and easiest loan you could get. That just happened to be with gap-toothed, wide-grinning Giran of the League. He, you knew from what you’d heard, was somewhat fair in matters like yours. 

You had two weeks to pay him back.

...

You didn’t make it in time.

You were close to the amount, notably. You scrounged and clawed your way into getting the cash back. You weren’t much of a pickpocket, but you snagged some odd jobs around the apartment building that you and your roommate were still fortunate enough to keep a room in.

After one particular job, a nasty carpentry gig that you weren’t qualified for, you returned home tired and worn.

Sure, you were a day late on payment. But with this last gig, you were so close. The League would have to pity two, stupid, stupid young girls?

They didn’t, you realized, as you stepped into your apartment.

Your roommate's slain corpse was laying over the arm of your cheap couch, eyes vacant and mouth dripping blood onto the old beige carpet.

You dropped to your knees, horrified and completely stunned.

“You should’ve known better,” it was a hum from across the room, from a figure you didn’t even know was in the room until then. “Really, you’d expect folks to be smarter.”

Your mouth dried as the figure moved from the nighttime shadows, flashing a dazzling smile and ruffling crimson wings.

Hawks.

You’d heard of him, everyone had. Terrifying, fast, precise, and cutthroat. He took orders and didn’t ask questions other than snark. He talked too much, fucked too much. 

“W-wait,” You didn't know why you were pleading, but you had to try, right? “I’m so close, wait—”

Hawks sauntered up to you wielding one of his feather blades, the red of blood mixing with the filaments of his feathers.

He crouched down in front of you, tsking, “I don’t like begging, angel. I’ll make this quick for you. Your friend there?”

Hawks jerked his finger behind to your dead roommate.

“She fought, pleaded, begged, all that normal shit I don’t like hearing when shitheads like you two don’t make payday,” his voice was slow, talking about death like some casual thing. “I’ll make this nice and fast if you don’t run your mouth anymore, how about that?”

You swallowed, nodding.

The small percentage of your brain that was fully functioning figured dying quickly was a much better way to go than whatever the hell had happened to your roommate. There was far too much blood for that to be quick.

Hawks hummed, the tip of his feather blade tipping up your chin so you were forced to meet his gaze. You vaguely heard the pitter-patter of your tears hitting the carpet below. Blood rushed in your ears as you stared death in the face.

Hawks appraised you.

You watched the metaphorical cogs and wheels turning in Hawks’ skull as he looked you up and down before flashing forward, gathering you in his arms and flying from the apartment. 

Your first thought was obvious as you clung to him in the open air:

He’s going to drop you and kill you.

When you screamed, tears growing thicker, he slapped a gloved hand over your mouth, “I’m giving you an out, kid. Trust me. You’ll prefer this over death.”

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 Your new existence was certainly better than death.

If you were ever caught and convicted of any of the illegal things you participated in, you’d be fucked, thrown into prison until you rotted, until you were just dust and bone.

But, until then, you worked for the League.

You had groveled at the feet of their leader, Shigaraki, hands clasped on your lap, claiming your worth, or maybe lack thereof. Not many attachments, not many people who’d miss you, a semi-useful quirk. 

With a boot shoved into your skull, he sneered that you’d be the League’s new errand dog. 

The real reason they accepted you was due to the threatening air Hawks was exuding and the fact that their old ‘errand bitch’ had died the week prior. They needed a new body to act as a civilian and do things that only an unsuspecting-looking ‘civilian’ could. You fit the bill, and Hawks had taken a liking to you.

 Oddly, working for the League was actually pretty okay.

You got your own room. It was small, but you only had to share a bathroom with the somewhat unhinged Himiko, but she was fairly nice once she warmed up to you. Everyone lived in the League’s HQ and went about their business, getting drunk at their bar front each night.

Most of the mess happened at night, but it was important to put on a nice veneer and keep spirits high. Not to mention that no one would dared to fuck with the League, anyways. The cops and federal government had long been paid off due to the resources that the League had acquired for them. 

You felt somewhat untouchable.

A lot of this confidence was due to the fact that you had become Hawks’s... Keigo’s...

‘Songbird’

As he liked to call you, anyway. 

Keigo was the general, loveable annoyance of the League, but his connections were invaluable and his skills were unmatched. Despite how he could grate on people (read: Dabi and Shigaraki), he was respected and feared just as much as everyone else was, if not more so. And being his metaphorical and literal pet had its perks.

Sure, the first time he had you come to his ‘office’ and he fucked you against the window until it was smeared with cum and blood was a bit surprising, but god, if you didn’t fucking love it. Being Keigo’s personal fucktoy came with protection, pleasure, and a surprising amount of genuine attention. The dude was lonely, and so were you. The two of you made a good ‘couple’, if you could even call yourselves that. The sadism he doled out was always counterpointed by affections that did seem genuine. 

Keigo was fond of you, and you of him. Maybe your brush with death had twisted something in your head, to even allow yourself to get close to a man like Keigo, but you couldn’t make yourself care. 

You were comfortable and content. 

...

[bird boss]: hey babe ;^) get to my office in the next thirty minutes 

[you]: what if i don’t

[bird boss]: do u really want to find out

[you]: ...

[you]: im just curious 

[bird boss]: don’t get cheeky songbird 

[you]: u make me wanna u know

[you]: i know it gets you riled up

[bird boss]: tread lightly kid

[you]: oooo i gave you some guff over text

[you]: what’re you gonna do about it?

[bird boss]: use your imagination

[bird boss]: 25 minutes now, songbird

[bird boss]: don’t make this worse for yourself <3

 You set your phone on your cheap duvet, quickly primped yourself to see Keigo. He wasn’t too strict about your appearance but wearing dark clothes and some of the more expensive gifts he’d gotten you over the months he’d been screwing you never hurt. Something about ownership with him always got him hot and bothered. 

You tried to remind yourself frequently that Keigo saw you as some sort of possession, but a possession with feelings.

Meandering through HQ was always a bit daunting, despite your protections. Your skimpy outfit choice and hardly-hidden lingerie made you feel a bit more like an object than you liked too. 

There were hardly hungry mouths around the League, they kept you all fed, but god, were there starving eyes. 

Dabi wolf-whistled as you walked past him through a common room, shouting something about how Keigo was collecting his pound of flesh for the day. Maybe a line or two about being a whore, but that was all flavor at that point. Keigo called you far meaner, more sinful things. And hell, it wasn’t like Keigo hadn’t... shared you on more than one occasion. 

Maybe you were a little fucked up for enjoying your lifestyle to the degree you did, but why not indulge where you could? Life was far shittier scraping paint off old fences and picking up cans to just scrape by. 

Opulence was a breath of fresh air. And if you were Keigo’s fuck toy? Then, god, you were Keigo’s fuck toy.

When you arrived at Keigo’s office, you knocked gently on the door, quickly adjusting your skirt and blouse. 

The door opened, though no one was behind it. Only a single one of Keigo’s feathers allowed you entrance. 

His office seemed daunting and extravagant for a man who did most of his ‘work’ in far-shadier, far-bloodier places. The walls were covered in mirrors and old paintings, something out of vanity and pride, knowing how Keigo saw himself. There were several black leather couches scattered around against walls, some stained by your various... activities. There was a broad desk parallel to a back wall made entirely of windows. 

Night had fallen, leaving the room lit by a few lamps and warm fixtures. 

“Hey, boss,” You hummed as you stepped in, shutting the door behind you just before the lingering scarlet feather flicked the lock on the door.

And the other one.

And the deadbolt.

You swallowed thickly. 

As much as you enjoyed a lot of the perks of your... position, it was also daunting.

Keigo was daunting, all bloody colors, vanity, and hunger. 

He sat behind his desk, wings puffed up, and partially extended over the back of his chair. The desk chair was massive, specifically acquired so that you would have enough room to properly straddle his lap for hours on end if he so wished. 

Keigo idly clicked around on his desktop computer. He leaned slack and back into the chair, legs spread wide and exuding casual confidence that reeked of his own ego. 

Keigo normally wore a mix of black and red, as edgy as it was. He liked to seem clean, hide the stains of sanguine that undoubtedly lingered on him no matter how he tried to cleanse himself. His black slacks were pressed, the seams pristine. The black shirt he wore was rolled up to his elbows, the buttons of his red vest undone as well. His black tie hung half-undone and limp around his neck. His tousled gold hair was mussed as normal, ruffled by his flights. His feathers might’ve needed preening, but you doubted that that was the reason he called you to his office. 

And based on the deep set of his brow and the sickly smile on his lips, he was already on edge and in a mood. 

“Songbird, come over here, will you?” Keigo sat back from his typing, watching you from across the room. He took you in the same way a parched man sucks down red wine, greedily and soon to be fucked. “On my lap.”

You complied, despite your earlier attitude. You padded across the room, going around his desk. 

As you moved to straddle his lap, worn hands gripped your waist. His amber eyes gave you a warning, crinkling at the edges, “Not like that, sweetheart. Do daddy right.”

Oh, so it was one of those moods. 

Maybe you were Keigo’s sexual punching bag so he could exert control on something he could later kiss better and patch up. 

Sure, he was going to fucking ruin you, but part of the fun with him was that the more it hurt, the nicer he was after. And, all things considered, with some of the... other folks the League brought in to satiate its member’s desires, you fared far better. Keigo cared about you, in his own particular way. 

You tried to lean over his lap yourself, but his hands and feathers positioned you perfectly as he wanted. With the tight grip he had on your waist and shoulders, dragging you just as he liked, it was easy to see his need for control. 

Your head hung off of one of his thighs as you squirmed in his lap. His bulge already pressed into your ribs, a wonderful reminder of the reward you’d reap later on. Keigo’s hands gathered your hand to the small of your back, a feather replacing their grip a moment later.

“Sit with me while I finish this shit,” Keigo grumbled, going back to clicking the desktop. His leg bobbed absentmindedly, his free hand rubbing over the curve of your barely-covered ass. “Be a good girl, (Y/N). If you can stand that.”

He laughed under his breath. 

You let your head dangle limply downwards, blood rushing to your cheeks. 

You’d thought you’d be in for more of an ass-kicking, but it appeared Keigo was taking things unusually slow. You knew better than to complain, but kicking up a bit of metaphorical sand couldn’t be that bad, right?

“I dunno,” You hummed, kicking your legs lightly. “I don’t think you like it when I’m a ‘good girl’, daddy.”

“Watch it.” A single, sharp smack to your butt was hardly enough to shut you up, but Keigo did so all the same, rubbing over the covered flesh a moment later, “I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you sure about that?” You wriggled, intentionally pushing up against his growing erection.

His breath stuttered, a smirk pulling at the corners of your lips. The hand on your ass didn’t rear again, rather Keigo kept thumbing smooth circles as he continued to click around on the computer. He might have been actually doing work. Or, he was ignoring you, egging your sass on. 

“If you didn’t want anything, why’d you call me in here?” You asked, way too cheeky for the way Keigo’s body was practically vibrating underneath you. Pissing him off had consequences, of course, but you weren’t in the mood to play ‘good girl’ that day.

“I told you, I want you to sit with me,” Keigo pinched your ass. “But, you’re too mouthy to do just that one thing. You’re usually better than this.”

“Am I?” You played innocent, craning to give him a wide smile. “Hadn’t noticed. What I am noticing, is your already-hard cock, dear.”

“Oh, ‘dear’?!” Keigo paused on the computer. “Cheeky. Cute.” 

Keigo would just dig in more, lean in, before ‘snapping’, if you could call it that.

You gulped as his hand swatted at upper thighs, his nails almost knicking your skin.

“Up and don’t get smart about it.”

Oh, you were going to be remarkably smart about it.

You rose but hardly stayed upright for long. Sliding down to your knees, you pushed at Keigo’s legs, “Wouldn’t you prefer me down here? Just for a treat while you finish your work?”

Keigo clicked his tongue, gaze flickering down to you, “Fine. Behave yourself.”

Yeah, right. You both knew that that wasn’t going to happen. 

You were already tucked underneath his desk, undoing the fly of his pants. 

You pulled his cock from his trousers, pumping his cock to full hardness. Smearing around preek for a bit of extra flare before inching forward.

Wrapping your mouth around Keigo’s dick was somewhat of a feat— he had a decent girth to him, so you usually took the opportunity to warm him (and yourself) up with a bit of tip-kissing and kitten licks.

But, you were feeling bold.

You spit on his dick, a move that normally would have earned you plenty of verbal snark, but anything Keigo could’ve said to you was swallowed as you took his cock down to the back of your throat.

You sucked around it, massaging the vein on the bottom with the flat of your tongue. Drool began to pool at the side of your lips as you let the head bump your throat, gag reflex be damned.

All the while, Keigo had stopped moving above you. The fabric of his trouser balled up in his ringed-fingers as he gazed half-lidded down at you. 

You smiled around his dick, looking up at him innocently as you began to slowly bob your head. His wings fluttered, twitches and air stirring around you. 

Keigo stifled a laugh, a hand tangling in your hair, “All that talk earlier and now you’re treating me to a blowjob without even me having to tell you to? Dove, you’re too much.”

You pulled off of him to reply, “I can only try.”

Before he could reply, you spit on his dick again, and went back to slurping around him.

You held the base of his cock in your hands, twisting and spreading spittle. It almost felt like your actions were for show, but Keigo’s eyes were rolling back in his head all the same.

You smirked.

A drool pool from your mouth, puddling in your lap and soaking your skirt. Not like you weren’t already dripping from the sinful sounds Keigo stopped trying to hold.

“A-ah, that’s it, angel,” Keigo fucked into your mouth with his hold on your hair. “Just like that.”

Your hand rose to play with Keigo’s balls, teasing at the sack as he cried out a high moan above you. 

Considering the performance you were giving, it was unsurprising to feel him tensing above you. You’d been on your knees for him hundreds of times; you’d learned to see the little twitches and puffs of breath he’d give when he’d get close to coming. 

You pulled off his cock with a pop, detangling the hand from your hair in the motion. It was all fast enough that Keigo couldn’t have stopped you in his hazy, pleasure-filled state. 

Based on the look of rapid disbelief he was giving you, your trick had worked well. Knowing Keigo’s... tendencies made you hesitant to push him too much in the past, but for whatever reason, you were feeling stupidly bold. 

Consequences.

“Sorry, daddy,” You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Didn’t feel like swallowing today.”

Keigo’s disheveled appearance was more than gratifying. Knowing how easily you made him come undone by that point was one of the perks of your position.

His hair was more than ruffled, strands and tufts chaotically curled around his cheeks and ears. There was a bright blush on his face, spreading from his nose to the apples of his cheeks, down his deck. At some point, he’d popped the buttons at the top of his shirt. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, half-panting and based on the darkness in his brow and the far-too peachy smile on his face, Keigo was fucking pissed.

His wings stood on end.

You gulped from below him.

Maybe you pushed your luck too far.

Maybe. 

“You’re playing real cute today, aren’t you songbird?” Keigo didn’t move, but his feathers twitched above him, wings flaring out even farther. “Real fucking cute.”

You were fucked.

Good.

A few feathers flew from Keigo, one snagging at your wrist, wrapping around it, and pulling you up from the desk.

You wobbled as you stood, dragged across the room as Keigo leisurely followed behind you. When you tried to set your own pace, Keigo swatted your ass with a huff, “You never learn, huh? I thought I’d trained you better than this.”

You opened your mouth to spit some dickish retort, but you were cut off as Keigo’s shoved you onto one of the leather couches.

“Don’t.” Keigo’s tone was acidic as he stood over your, wings still flared out. “I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your cute bullshit, dove, and you still decided to test your luck, huh?”

You kneeled on the cushions, sucking down air, shaking with anticipation.

“You don’t feel like swallowing today? That’s fine, I can work with that,” Keigo shrugged easily from above you.

Keigo had an... active sexual imagination, and you could tell by the crook in his lips that he had something devilish planned as retribution.

A sharp slap came down on your cheek, Keigo catching the opposite jaw and keeping you from recoiling too far. You blinked as the pain spread around your skull like licking flames against a frostbitten body. 

You wanted more.

A little grin stretched against your mouth as Keigo rubbed at your cheeks with his thumbs, “Aw, you always get so sweet like this, dove. You can be a good girl if you try, can’t you?” 

His actions carried candor and his words absolute torment. 

Despite how Keigo was trying to goad you into submission, you had a bit of spark left in you. 

Plainly, you spit on him.

The glob of saliva landed on Keigo’s cheek, under his eye.

He blinked at you. 

You continued to smile.

His own expression grew strained.

“Oh, songbird,” Keigo damn near lamented, wiping away the kind gift you’d given him. His voice was smooth without any bit of waver, all of the sexually-charged anger rolling just beneath the veneer. “You’re just being pain slut today, aren’t you?”

You were, absolutely. You could feel your arousal wetting your panties, the heat of the strike from your cheek beginning to boil something in your gut. 

“You just need a bit of special attention today, right? That’s all.” Keigo tsked, fully removing the tie from around his neck. “You just need a little reminder.”

“Reminder of what?” You asked, tilting your head quizzically. 

Keigo flipped you, feathers pushing and bracing you as needed while nimble hands tore off your clothes without reverie.

“Plenty of things, especially with this attitude you’ve got today,” Keigo’s tie looped around your wrists, binding them together at the center of your back. 

“You definitely need a reminder of who’s the boss around here,” Keigo shoved you forward, stomach flush with the back of the couch.

You reeled from the pace of it all, shifting your knees for any bit of stimulation you could get. Keigo’s feathers were slicing and pulling your clothes from your body faster than you could keep track of. It was overwhelming, making your mind swim in the best possible way. You throbbed. 

“Maybe a reminder about who fucking provides for you,” Keigo’s own clothes were shaken off, dropped to the floor and forgotten.

It was true. Keigo always made sure than you were taken care of, in more ways than one. Despite how fast-paced and laid back he could seem, he was always on top of making sure you had more than enough material and immaterial pleasure whether than be in the form of food, fucking, or otherwise.

You yelped as a smack fell across your ass. A feather caught the elastic of your panties, snapping a moment later, leaving you fully bare before him. 

Keigo’s worn hand came to press at your throat and jaw, tilting your head back as he climbed behind you, “Maybe, you need a reminder about who keeps you safe.”

This phrase was softer than the others, a sweet kiss pressing to your cheek and his voice a bit more gentle. It was jarring at the skin still stung from his earlier strike, but you cherished the heat besides. 

Once again, true. The folks in and outside of the League were greedy. There were plenty of unwanted souls that stole glances at Hawks’s prized songbird. There were starved eyes that tore into you whether you were dolled up for Keigo or not. There had been some... close calls, one could say, but Keigo always was there, in the end, unafraid to get his hands dirty. 

“You know what the most important reminder is, dove?” Keigo rolled his hips against you, cock wedging between your thighs.

“N-no,” You stuttered, brain turning gooey as Keigo’s arms snaked around your waist, sharpened nails leaving indents in your hips.

He nosed at your neck, leaving a few love bites in his wake.“‘N-no’, what?” 

“I don’t know,” You leaned back into Keigo’s chest, rubbing your thighs around his cock. 

 “Oh, songbird, you sweet thing,” He chuckled, all teasing and self-indulgent. “I’m the one who makes you feel good.” 

He was so right, wasn’t he?

With the way he’d learned your body over the last few months, he’d had some undeniable pursuit to make you feel the best. 

Keigo was inquisitive by nature. He had kept you on your back for hours while he finger-fucked you, watching every twitch and roll of your hips to figure out just the right ways to break you. He’d kissed and sucked and slapped every inch of you, sussing out the perfect ways to make you writhe and cry for him. 

Sure, you were an absolute terror to him sometimes. Not to mention that Keigo jumping you covered in the blood of that day's targets was as macabre and horrifying as it sounded. 

But, fuck, if he didn’t know how to bring you to ecstasy that fucking ruined you in the best way. 

Keigo got off on watching you shatter for him. It was the reason he’d torn you from that cheap, bloodied apartment in the first place. A kind, naive little morsel that he could play with as he wanted. You didn’t complain. Fuck, you reveled in his attention. You gave it back to him, like the fucked up, semi-divine being could be any more debauched than he already was.

Corruption spreads, but you’d never complain. If being plucked from struggling for pennies to being fucked stupid by a man who could kill you at a moments notice, a man who would kill for you, somehow poisoned you?

You’d die with a bitter taste on your tongue and a smile on your face.

 Keigo rubbed at your clit, nipping at your neck, and rolled his hips greedily. His cock was covered in a mix of your slick and his own preek, easily sliding between plushness of your thighs.

“You love pushing me, acting all tough,” Keigo chastised, clicking his tongue. “I mean it when I say it's cute.”

You don’t have any more quick retorts in you, not when his fingers are down your throat, gagging you as spittle dribbles down your chin onto the leather below. It was sure to leave a mark.

“Behind all that bark and snark, you’re just a good girl, aren’t you?” Keigo punctuated his words with a bite and nip to your neck. “Just needed a reminder, right, dove?”

You whimpered against his fingers at the praise, grinding against Keigo’s touch needily. 

His fingers pushed pinched your tongue, breath curling over the shell of your ear, “What are you?”

You mumbled against his fingers, “A g-good g-girl.”

It was humiliating in the best way. Keigo’s light laugh at your attempt. The way he nuzzled his nose into the sweat at the crook of your shoulder was just aloe on the burn.

“I misspoke, if you can believe that,” Keigo’s cock pulled out from your thighs. “Songbird, you know what I meant to call you?”

You squirmed at the loss, but he was quick to hush you. His fingers left your mouth with a thick trail of spit. 

“You’re my good girl.” 

You melted in his arms.

Falling back against Keigo’s chest, you craned your neck to lock your lips to his. 

Maybe that was it, why all the filth didn’t bother you. Because you had worth. Maybe it was insecurity, or maybe it was self-aware in the face of your lived experience. Before being taken, the life you’d lived made you just a rusty cog in a dying machine. You wouldn’t have amounted to anything, probably. 

But with the League?

You were the prized, beloved consort of an angry god. 

Keigo owned you, body, mind and soul, and you let him. That’s not even to mention how you had him wrapped around your finger. He adored you, under all of it.

Fighting with him was for sport, not blood.

Keigo licked past your lips, pressing his cock to your cunt teasingly. You whined against him, wriggling in his arms.

“What does my good girl want?” Keigo loved making you beg for him, claw for any bit of stimulation. He liked it even better when you were already soft for him.

Stray tears pricked at your eyes, “Y-your cock.”

He pinched the meat of your thigh, shaking his head, “Not good enough. Speak properly, dove. Clear and correctly.”

You swallowed, searching for the words in your own haze.

Your words were willed to be solid.

“I want your cock, daddy.” 

It was just enough.

Keigo pushed forward, the head of his cock already stretching your cunt. Consider the girth of it, the lack of preparation stung and burned more than you would’ve liked, as good as it felt to finally be filled.

Keigo cooed at your soft tears, keeping your face to his with a firm hand on your jaw. He shushed you, far too sweetly while licking the salt from your cheeks, “Relax, angel. Big breaths.”

You nodded, sputtering as he speared into you. Keigo’s free hand went back to toying with your clit, encouraging the tension to drain from your body.

As he bottomed out, you shuddered, falling back into his chest. Keigo’s wings fluttered, twitching in wait. Hot breath fanned over your face, Keigo groaning and locking his jaw. 

The stimulation was overwhelming. You had expected Keigo to be meaner, considering how mouthy you’d been. 

Yet, it made sense. Keigo had figured out one of the better ways to make you break was softness. 

(Truthfully, it made him crack in the same way, but he’d never tell.)

“Feel that?” He asked, just barely rolling his hips. 

Keigo released your jaw in favor of wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, tugging you as close he could manage.

“Uh-huh,” You panted. 

You could, the kiss of his cock head against your cervix was almost uncomfortable. The delicious pressure and sensitivity already had you reeling in his arms, unsteady and wanting.

“I fill you up so good, don’t I?” Keigo praised his own ego, his cock, but he wasn’t wrong. The curve of his cock rubbed against all the right spots. He stretched you just right, the burn ebbing away into a need for more, more—

“Please, Keigo—” You gasped. Your legs shook as Keigo slammed into you, shoving you forward and into the wall.

His pace was brutal. Hands and feathers kept your back in a harsh arch as he rearranged your insides to his liking. He was kind enough to keep stroking at your clit, bruising your hips and babbling filthy nothings. 

“I’m the one who makes you feel this good, only me, right, dove?” Keigo growled into your ear with a particularly hard thrust.

You nodded against the wall, aware of the drool slipping down your chin as your mouth lolled open. Your insides were hot like white flames, searing any ability to use coherent speech. 

Keigo snickered at your state. Slowing, he gripped your ass cheeks. You yelped, inside jumping as he pried them apart. You flinched, hole twitching as he spat down, the liquid cool against the flushed skin.

It was little moves like that, Keigo just subtly making your shudder and feel dirty that got you the most fucked up and fucked out.

You pressed back on his cock, panting against the wall and keening. You would’ve spoke, if you could, but anything that you had the ability to say would’ve been torn apart by Keigo’s sharpened, silver tongue. 

“My filthy little dove, huh?” Keigo sneered, watching you try to bounce on his cock the best you could. “Such a glutton when you get broken down like this, needy whore.”

The pleasure of Keigo’s cock tearing up your insides was all you could focus on through the fog of your mind, desperate and wanting and greedy.

“Y-your,” You corrected, the words bubbling from your lips, disjointed and messy. “Yours.”

Keigo may have been avian, but he purred like a damn cat at your admission. He held you like a possession, cock throbbing as he fucked you just right. 

“God, you’re sweet, angel,” He nipped at your jaw before wrapping his hand around your throat. “Even all fucked up, you know who you belong to so well, don’t you?”

You nodded, rolling your hips back. 

Keigo must’ve taken pity on you, squeezing at the sides of your neck. Cruel as he could be, he must’ve noticed the way your thighs and knees trembled against the leather. Keigo knew the cloud in your eyes well— how to get you hazy and how to fuck you perfectly through the fog.

He fucked back into your dripping cunt, pace harder and faster than before. You were helpless to do anything other than fall forward into the wall, cheek squished against the scarlet. 

“Who’s brat are you?” Keigo squeezed a bit harder at your neck as you swallowed against his palm.

“Y-yours—!” You squeaked out, mind going numb from the stimulation and pressure.

A wicked sneer curled against your ear as Keigo’s movements grew sloppier. His tongue lolled over your shoulder, messy kisses and slobbery bites and marks left in his wake. He was close, but you weren’t far off easier.

“Little bird,” It was sweeter, closer and hotter. “Can you come for me? Come all over my cock?”

You nodded.

“Not good enough.” Keigo bit down, nearly breaking the fragile skin of your neck. “You know I like words, angel.”

You gave him words, plenty of them. 

Nearly incoherent pleads and cries poured from your bruised lips as Keigo pounded into you. Each blabbering wail was met with Keigo groans and grunts, condescending little phrases spitting over you without release.

Your lack of leverage and use of your arms made you thumping against the couch and wall, vision darkening on the edges as the pressure in your gut and the hold on your throat remained. 

You were breaking in his arms, tears rolling down your cheeks as you held yourself from cresting. The exertion of it all was taking its toll, legs jellied and chest beading with sweat. 

Keigo sensed it, shifting his hips to hit the spongy spot in your cunt, “Come, dove.”

You let go.

A sob shattered in your throat as your climax crashed through you. Keigo released your throat, holding you by your bound arms as he bottomed out. His own harsh cry panged against yours as he stuffed you full. 

Surprisingly gently, he rocked his hips against your own, letting the ambient throb of your cunt milk him dry.

You came down, rolling and spinning as you sucked down air a bit too fast. Keigo panted behind you, though the sound seemed dull.

The pressure from your wrists released, soft thumbs rubbing at where the fabric had bitten into your forearms, “Hey, angel, you with me?”

You could only nod weakly, exhaustion and aches creeping in. 

Keigo repositioned the two of you, setting himself against the arm of the couch, wings up free to drape and splay over the floor. He dragged you with him, pulling you to lay on his chest. The stickiness of his spunk, your slick, and general sweatiness might’ve been uncomfortable, but you weren’t quite lucid enough to care.

“How are you feeling? Still feeling a little mouthy?” Keigo teased, already knowing your answer. 

You muffled a groan against his chest, shaking your head against the sweat of his chest. 

“Awww,” Keigo chuckled, fingers brushing over your cheeks, “Is my dove a little fucked out?”

“Keeeigo, b-be nice.”

Your voice broke, parched.

Keigo snorted, pressing a kiss to the side of your forehead, “I guess I can manage that. Just for you, though. Can’t let the others see me get all soft.”

You wouldn’t; seeing Keigo warm and gooey, both of you mutually fucked-out, was a pleasure only you got to indulge in. And you loved every moment of it. 

++++++++++++

taglist: @sinclairsamess (msg me if you’d like to be on it!)

ko-fi

[amjustagirl]

oh my god nikki

what the fuck

WHAT THE FUCK

WERE SO CLOSEEEEEEE AND YOU JUST-

😭😭😭😭😭

NO BC THIS CHAPTER IS AMAZING AS ALWAYSSS

i loved reading ever bit of it! from the dialogue to watching samu grovel without actually grovelling i’m in love with this man your honour and you did him so well

and the last chapter too, it hit me right in the feels with his father and everything oml you dealt with the way he would’ve handled grief in such a beautiful way good lord was i sobbinh in tears

10/10 will throw a metaphorical brick at you if you leave me high and dry with my mans like this

10/10 will patch u up after throwing said brick and nurse u back to health with lots of viet food and sleep bc u need to take care of yourself

10/10 will frame this chapter somewhere in my house and create a metaphorical shrine

10/10 would tattoo this entire fic in my brain somehow

ilysm jiejie and bussin chapter as always 🤌🤌✨💕

HAHAHA mwahaha QUYNH.

i love miya osamu with all my heart and i feel like his grovelling would be a lot more....restrained unlike atsumu, who honestly just tosses himself at the feet of kaiyo. he's such a quiet, reserved, measured character with fire brimming deep deep inside him, and so i rly wanted to explore how he would react to a year of stress and sadness, even as he's buoyed by success and the love of his family!

i hope you'll like this next chapter then :)

(and YES to vietnamese food, brb am booking tix to hanoi next)

[dorki-c]

His Guardian Demon |Chapter 1, Part 1: Are you really alone?|

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Demon! (Reader)

RATING: 16+

Tw: Bullying, implications of posession, supernatural being: demons.

[Recommended song for this chapter: Good Morning by Kendall Miles]

[Masterlist] [Next --->]

In this day and age, even if most people had quirks, then its guaranteed that most people had a demon.

And Izuku Midoriya’s demon was most definitely a strange one…

“Morning!” An eerily smooth, sweet exclamation echoed in the vacant morning thoughts that were somehow cleared by the nights companion called sleep.

Throwing a freckled arm over his eyes in an attempt to shield himself from the thrown open curtains, they showcased the large flashlight covered by the small bits of condensed water migrating from one location to another.

“Go away.” Muttered Izuku as his hand swatted the red smoke bothering him. Frowning at the reaction, they grabbed his feet and pulled them to the side, emitting a few soft grumbles from the green-haired boy.

“Get up sweetie!” Only he could hear their voice—or voices, he isn’t sure if they are just one or more voices—"It’s a school day!” Turning to look at the ceiling before his lacklustre and semi-exhausted trance was interrupted by two vibrant scarlet eyes staring into his forest green eyes.

“Com’ on.” They pleaded, “get up.” Drifting his gaze to the window, then to the figurines, to the posters, and finally looking straight up into the ‘human’ floating above him- they weren’t quite human- as the lower half of the body was more like hazy red dust (or fog, he isn’t sure).

Fully swinging his legs off, Izuku yawned. “Do you know if Mom is up, (y/n)?” Raising a hand to cease his yawn, he rubbed his eyes before softly smiling at the shrug you gave him.

“I’ll go check!” The red mist of your body disappeared for a few seconds before popping up, by startling him, when he was about to pull out the black and white uniform of his school- he nearly slammed the closet door open.

“Miss. Inko is up and making breakfast! I think it’s—” Your body swished away again, allowing him to place his middle school uniform on the bed and travel out of his room to the bathroom where he peeked past the corner, to see where you are.

Though Inko was unaware of your presence- she couldn’t see you- the mother knew (y/n) existed. She’s always known.

On the corner of your vision, you fluttered to his side once he entered the bathroom, where the boy had started to brush his teeth. “She’s making bacon again.” The bored tone of your voice rung through the bathroom, however with a foamy white toothbrush hanging downwards as it dripped paste in clumpy bits, Izuku didn’t bother with even responding because he still remembers the last time he argued with them.

Although he didn’t look behind him, the boy looked up to see the reflective glass.

He remembers—no, that’s wrong— Izuku can discern the empty temperature of your misty hand resting on his shoulder. Whether he can’t (and might never) see you eye to eye in the mirror of his home, he knows your always there: watching, listening, and observing, each and every situation that is presented in front of him.

In a way, it’s kind of reassuring.

.

.

.

“Hurry! Hurry!” Though he doesn’t know where certain personality traits of yours came from, Izuku really needs to “Hurry!”  out of the apartment door so he can get to school. Although that school has no benefit for him and his dreams, he still needs to go it.

On the way, your endless chatter filled his ears where the boy subtly forgot about the upcoming day where all he does is anxiously grip his bag and hide himself under the chaos that is his homeroom classroom.

At least a few exciting things happened this morning! Like, take for example being able to watch a new hero’s debut (and record even more facts about how you regard ‘thief’ demons to be the equivalent of a filthy gutter cramped to the brim with overweight pigs)!

Oh, and let’s not forget that his homeroom teacher is a goddamn asshole. Jeez, if he was brave enough—and had a quirk- then he could’ve easily shoved the pole, that was metaphorically hanging out of his teacher’s asshole, upwards.

Letting his bag drop after laxly sitting in the cheap plastic chair of the middle school, Izuku could only predict the events that could happen today.

Though what he didn’t expect is the flailing quirks to erupt around him as y/n cloaked themselves around the backside of his torso and rested their chin on top of the endangered thick forest that was indeed his hair.

(He always brushes off your ‘if you didn’t brush your hair when its wet, then it wouldn’t be so curly’ comments, however, there might be some truth in it.)

With the flying papers scattering similarly to shit hitting a fan, he could feel a short, but overwhelming tension snaking itself through pubescent boy like a rattle snake hitting a traditional drum where the vibrations rumbled through his body.

It didn’t quiet down even when the homeroom teacher decided to call him out on applying to the one, the only, best heroics high school ever: Yueei High school!

Though Izuku expected his peers to laugh in his face as he wormed his way back into his arms, the low hiss of his misty friend as what (y/n) would call “the scummy filth of society” would inch closer and closer to his body in an uncomfortable way before Bakugou (or as (y/n) cringes every time Izuku cries out that annoying “Kacchan!” nickname), shouts at the ‘extras’ in the room that nobody can take his pristine and ‘mighty’, 1# Pro-hero throne.

Well…if it isn’t for the fact that you always exclaim that Bakugo has a golden spoon shoved so high—

A smoking calloused hand interrupted the green haired boy from his retreating thoughts. “HUH? YOU THINK YOU CAN GET INTO THE HERO COURSE, DEKU?” With that crude mouth of his, almost every fibre of Izuku’s weak being held back from pushing himself up from the ground and scooping the shit, from the metaphorical golden spoon stuck up Bakugo’s ass, straight into the flaxen haired boy’s mouth.

But he wouldn’t.

So, he sat there and got thrown around- took every single last shred of Bakugou’s pointless trash talk about him being an “useless Deku” and even let his hero analysis notebook be tossed out of the window, that he was coincidentally grovelling to Bakugou under.

To say he was scared or absolutely horrified when Bakugou said that he should “take a swan dive off of a roof and hope that in his next life he could get a quirk” was an understatement.

(What would Bakugou do if he did it?)

Though when he was about to be grabbed by the cusp of his collar, a corded slither of something delved into his body and released a blood curdling scream where a blinding red light enveloped his vision allowing a second to follow where he pushed through back into his body to shout “don’t touch me!” in retaliation to the bullies and (y/n), where one group scrambled away from him and the alternate whisked away into thin air.

I’m sure you can figure out who did what.

When picking himself up from the ground, (after who knows how many minutes) the green-eyed boy felt his eyes frantically chasing after a target which had left ages ago. 

Though with a shaky pause in between stuffing his notebooks within his bag and keeping (y/n) in his peripheral vision, once he exited the building, only to find his damaged notebook in a koi pond, Izuku retrieved the book from the nibbling and greedy fish to find that Lady luck had graced his book’s pages to be still intact.  

(Thank Allmight that plastic covers exist…)

“I’m sorry your notebook got thrown into a pond…” Murmured (y/n) as they swirled in front of him, although most of their body was manifested as a thick fog of vermillion. Although he could always make out small gloppy objects trying to imitate certain features of the human body, take for example the inky clobbered mud-like feet.

“Why are you apologising? You nearly got us killed…” Something undiscovered flew into his speech like it was…meant to.

“I know.”

He knows that (y/n) knows exactly what happens when that takes place. He hopes they know how invasive it felt when the millisecond of the event was comparable to those ‘out of body experiences’ or something similar to those.

“Remember what they do to thief demons?”

Yes, his demon, his protector, knows exactly could happen to both him and them, if (y/n) became a thief demon.

And Izuku wishes that would never happen.

Taglist: 

@glitterfreezed, @miriobaby, @sweater-weather-seven, @nyanyabisjjj, @quietlegends, @dragonsdreamoffire​, @candybabey, @honeylavender13​​

CREDITS: 

All content and art used within this story belongs to their respective owners. PLAGARISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED! 

Art credits: Dorki-C and @glitterfreezed​

[braindeacl]

Ouroboros | Solo ft. James

SETTING: Eilidh’s trailer. TIMING: After this.  SUMMARY: Eilidh and James have a fight that’s all too familiar.  WARNINGS: N/A.

“Falbh dáirich fhéin!” Voice was more growl than words. “You always gotta find something to bitch ‘bout.”

There was a distance between the two. Symbolic. In a way. But James had no mind for metaphors. No, he stood a way aways due to lingering instincts. Lingering memories. As if the space could lessen the voracity of those words. As if that bit of added time to reach him would erode away some of the bite. It never worked. Each syllable crashed against him—turned to harsh ripples from that anger. But it ricocheted in turn, causing his own to bubble in the pit of his stomach. Flinch of his head was soon replaced with a twitch on his mouth. A sneer. “Something? This isn’t just something! He- he attacked someone. And you’re just…”

“Just what?” Eilidh knew what words lay just under the surface. Scared to breach, for it knew a predator lurked in the skies. A knowledge born from repetition. They had this argument before. It may as well be written on their lips. Waiting for those moments to be let out. Ball rolling on a set path. Her question was not in curiosity. It was a challenge. Would he knock the ball left or right?

“Encouraging him!” James knocked it with fervor. They assumed their roles—throat preparing their points, only in wait for their turn. They could skip to the end. If they wanted. Minds already set in stone, but their mouths gushed in enduring frustrations. As if that gushing could push that stone. A stubborn belief that they could move the other off their respective paths. And that belief kept them firmly in their own. “I told you it wasn’t a good idea to train him.”

“He’s scared!” That fear imprinted on her mind. Made home with her anger, kindling it with each remembrance. And she wanted it to stay that way, in a memory. “That fucker is still out there!” The one who had made and then casted aside. “And now we got all these fucking other ones.” The ones who threatened to unmake and, too, cast aside. But she will sharpen his fangs and harden his knuckles and mold his form. And they, instead, can unmake those seeping in. Together. Eilidh took a step forward. Another challenge, though this was more overt. Showing not just in her advancing feet, but a spark in her eyes. “What you want him to do? Grovel? Cry? Sing a fucking song?”

James would’ve matched her step. In reverse. But just one would send him through and out the trailer. Back already pressed, as much as it could with a body that could never press, against a wall. And it was tempting to make that step. To watch her face get replaced with plastic and metal.  But he settled for crossing his arms instead. “N- no, but I also don’t want him attacking people. And he’ll get a lot better at attacking people if you keep training him.”

“I’m gonna give him a knife. Biggest fucking knife.”  

“This is serious! Don’t treat this like a joke.”

“And don’t treat this like we aren’t talking ‘bout Milo. Milo!” She saw the way each utterance of the name made those corners of his mouth tighten. Reminder that this wasn’t some creature he saw in every shadow, in the darkness within each blink. This was someone they knew. “What the fuck. Thought you fucking cared ‘bout him.” More than the other ones. Those passing souls in the river of life. He had seemed to keep pleasantries up longer than usual. But that’s what they were. Pleasantries. Washed away, too, when the rains decided to come. Their roles were casted in silver—refusing to rust. “But you’re talking like he’s some- some fucking beeEeeast or whatever.” 

“I do care.” He always did. But anxieties were happy to paint a new picture of Milo in his brain. Melding what he knew and what he feared could be. What a part of him knows all creatures like Eilidh and Milo were destined to be. At least in moments. At least in thoughts. Monsters. And he would do his best to stop the catalyst that was Eilidh’s actions. To keep that damn painting in his head staying there, instead of reality. “That’s why I don’t want you corrupting him.” He blinked. Eyes twitching in half attempts as he continued. “Er, uh, that’s-”

“Oh fuck off.” Surprise didn’t meet her eyes. She always knew of his feelings. Said in many ways, in many actions, in many years. But hearing them aloud, from his voice and not the one in her head. It brought a twinge of pain. One as old as this argument. And in that continuity, she had hoped those feelings had lost stamina. But his voice betrayed otherwise. “This isn’t ‘bout me. You just can’t see him passed all that monster-bullshit clouding your eyes.” 

His shoulders tensed. Bringing those crossed arms up with them. As if they wanted to strangle him. “I’m not calling him that! You said that! Not me! You just… Ugh!” Before those arms could press against his neck, they flung out. Pushing the topic away, with force of body and words. “I’m not- I’m not doing all this again. You never change.”

Eilidh smiled, but there was no joy in the action. Defensiveness in his posture, and deflection in his unease voice. She had struck a nerve. The smile was of triumph. But a hollow one. An old one. This has all happened before. “Aye. And never will. Not on this.” Her teeth clicked, clicked, clicked, clicked, clicked.

That clicking beat against an already tense silence. As if that tension had a heartbeat. But when she stopped, it did not die. Only continued. Much like the two who turned a home into a battlefield. But the white flag had risen and Eilidh intended to return to the former. First to walk over to some sense of commonality. The tense air followed her. It had no other choice, for the windows were closed tight and there was nowhere to dissipate. But she gave it no power. It tried its best to poke and prod. But many before had tried just the same. And her nerves had long shriveled and died.

James was not so lucky. Standing frozen, still trapped within the confines of his role. And of his anxieties and his fears and his worries. He watched Eilidh flip that switch so easily—turned night to day. From one of those creatures in the dark, to a roommate. And it enraged him. How easily she could shove all this aside. Did it matter to her? Did anything ever matter, in the long run? The silence was suffocating. Nearly choking him out. But he managed to grunt, “Why does it matter to you? You’re going to leave him anywa-”

He wasn’t allowed to finish. A salt shaker shot through the air. Phased through him to shatter on a wall. The contents blasted out. He was littered in that shrapnel. And with that, he was gone.

---

James wasn’t sure how long he was out. He never was. A minute could feel like an hour could feel like days when he was… removed. The shadows in the trailer were noticeably larger, engulfing most of the inhabitants. Hints of night soon to come. What felt like a second had been many hours, for last he knew it had been noon. And Eilidh was nowhere to be found. Perhaps having lost interest in waiting. Or not wanting to wait at all. He sighed, and while the weight of it wanted to carry him down, and it managed to do for the rest of him, his hands rebelled. Rising up to cover his face. He knew he had crossed a line. And he was still pissed. Part from Eilidh’s actions. And part that he still felt guilt despite that. But the guilt remained in its own rebellion. He knew he had to find her. Eventually. Hesitance to enter that lion’s den made him sluggish. With time, that snail’s crawl led him out of the trailer. 

And right into a circle of salt, surrounding it all. 

[a-ghostlight-for-roman]

how to never stop being sad

Summary: Following his brother's acceptance, Roman's life felt like it was falling apart. His family was turning against him, that awful snake was being allowed in their home, and worst of all, he still couldn't seem to do anything right, no matter how hard he tried.

How does he choose to deal with it?

Not in a good way, that's for sure.

Warnings: Gore/Death/Violence (none actually occur but it is described), food mention, cursing

AO3 link

Chapter 1

Repeat to yourself that they’re not really gone

Time has proven

That fooling yourself into believing a lie

Is the most effective way

To deal with things you have no control over

Roman was fine. Completely 100% percent, absolutely fine, and he would tolerate no thinking to the contrary. Things were abnormal, sure, but he was coping. Maybe he felt a bit (a lot) guilty for letting things in the Mindscape get so bad, but it’s okay! He’s managing! Maybe he’s surrounded by people that barely tolerate him now, but he’ll fix it!

...eventually.

Right now, though, he’s in his room. Alone, as is usual these days. Usually, he’d ask Patton or Virgil to hang out with him, but after the last video, things were… Tense, to say the least. 

Patton wasn’t mad at him, of course; he wasn’t ever truly mad at any of them. However, Roman would have to be stupid not to notice the disappointed looks Patton gave him when he thought he wasn’t looking or the way that after Roman left the room, he always made a point to talk to Janus afterwards, as if he needed special attention just for enduring Roman’s presence.

Things were a little better with Virgil, but he was frustrated with Roman for tolerating Janus’ presence at all. Despite his obvious vitriol towards him, he still outright refused to talk about what exactly Janus had ever done to him. So Roman was forced to choose between Patton, his father figure who’d never meant to do him wrong (who had acted like Roman was unreasonable for sticking to the very moral rule set that Patton had imposed on him since they were children), or Virgil, who Roman had been wrong in not listening to before, & who was obviously extremely hurt and betrayed by both Janus, and now his own family.

He still hadn’t quite been able to choose, straddling the line between adhering to Patton’s kindness policy towards Janus and respecting Virgil’s feelings. It didn’t really work-- rather, it just seemed to leave them both dissatisfied. Roman could hardly stand it.

...but it’s fine. Really. It’ll blow over eventually. He isn’t quite sure how, exactly, but things always turn out alright in the end, right? There’s always a happy ending.

Except when there isn’t, but… bad endings only happen in Remus’ stories, & he doesn’t have power here in the Mindscape.

...except he sorta does, now. After his video, he’d (albeit reluctantly) been accepted. His ideas were considered, even valued, now. Sometimes, he was even chosen over Roman. Not only by Thomas, but also by the other sides, at times; Logan may think he’s slick, but Roman’s seen him specifically request his brother’s assistance in the Imagination, in the living room, in the archives, in his room- It made Roman sick to think about, and whenever he walked through the house, he could see evidence of his brother’s influence littered throughout. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand the appeal. When had society fallen so far as to value a duke more than a prince?

---

Roman hadn’t thought he’d been in his room for long; he’d only meant to duck in to get a breather after having to endure Remus’ maniacal ramblings for nearly half an hour, but it seemed he’d been brooding long enough to attract Logan’s concern. He heard a knock at his door and broke out of his haze, looking towards it.

“I apologize for bothering you Roman, but I was wanting to inquire whether you were alright. It’s been an hour,” Logan said. Had Roman really been away for that long? No wonder Logan was checking on him.

“Yeah, Specs- Sorry. I’ll be out in a minute, just finishing a project,” he lied. Logan was so cold, calm, rational- Surely he would look down on Roman’s groveling simply because he couldn't deal with his brother for more than a few minutes. As much as Roman was full of himself and proud of his work, he thought if Logan talked down to him, he’d break down and cry.

“We’re currently 'hanging out' in the common room. You’re welcome to join whenever you finish. I look forward to hearing about what you’ve been working on.” Roman could hear his footsteps slowly grow farther from the door.

Shit. Now Logan thought he’d been working on something, so now he had to do something-- he couldn't just show up empty-handed. They’d see through his lies in an instant. He’d be just as bad as Janus, imagine what Virgil would think--

He took a steadying breath. Okay, yeah, he’d lied, but that wasn’t so awful, he just had to make it right. He just had to make something, and that shouldn’t be so hard, right? That’s his job! He’ll just think of something real quick, and it’ll be done in a jiffy, and then it won’t be a lie anymore, and on top of that, he’ll have something to talk about! Talking parts were hard to come by sometimes when you had to find something that would include the two people you hate most, your former-enemy-turned-best-friend, your dad and your colleague (as he insisted to be called), but everyone was always eager to hear his new ideas, so this would be perfect.

---

It was nothing special, but it would do. He hadn’t had the time or energy to think of a concept for a whole scripted video, so instead, he’d written the next Shoutout Sunday. Simple, but it had to be done, and it was already Friday, anyways. He closed his notebook, and stood up, keeping it under his arm. He never knew when inspiration would strike, so he tried to carry it with him whenever possible. He opened his door and stepped out from his room, making his way down the hallway past the multicolored doors of the other sides, pointedly avoiding looking at Janus’ signature black and yellow-colored door. Out of sight, out of mind.

As he walked into the commons, the conversations faltered for a moment, but everyone quickly returned to what they were doing. Remus was noticeably absent; Patton and Virgil were curled up on the couch, sharing a blanket between them and speaking in excited whispers; and Logan and Janus were speaking across the counter separating the living room and the kitchen while Logan made dinner on the stove and Janus leaned with his hands crossed under his chin. 

Roman lingered by the stairs for a moment, caught off guard by the lack of greeting, but continued to the side of the couch not occupied by Patton and Virgil. He’d hoped to share his script with Logan, but he was busy at the moment, and he so rarely was this casual with the others; Roman figured it better to let him be for the time being. He pulled his notebook from under his arm and summoned a pencil from his desk. If he couldn’t share his idea, he might as well get started on the next.

He spent around five minutes doodling a new creature to introduce into the Imagination when Logan finally seemed to notice he was there.

“Ah, Roman! Apologies, I hadn’t noticed you were here. What was the idea you were working on?” he asked. He turned off the stove and fully turned to Roman, looking past Janus. Roman was almost ashamed to say he felt a certain degree of satisfaction that Logan had put aside his conversation with Janus in favor of speaking with him. Keyword being "almost."

“Well, it is a most illustrious, melodic creation--” Roman sunk down from the living room and rose into the kitchen, laid his now open notebook on the counter, and gestured towards it with a bow-- “Behold, the newest Shoutout Sunday!” He smiled and rose from his position, bouncing on his feet a bit as Logan rested his chin on his hand, looking thoughtful, and read it. Logan gave a slight, satisfied smile.

“So you’ve worked ahead of schedule, then. Wonderful! Good work, Roman."

“I know,” Roman replied, beaming, “I shall have a new idea by the morn-- perhaps I can even start the next video script!”

“So long as you do not burn yourself out, Roman. Otherwise, I look forward to your next contribution.” Logan closed Roman’s notebook, handed it back to him, and then opened a cabinet, gathering bowls for… Whatever healthy monstrosity was in the pot on the stove. Roman could only guess what it was. Some sort of soup, maybe? “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight, Roman?”

“I’m afraid there are simply too many ideas and too little time, I must return to my work!” Roman replied. Janus narrowed his eyes at him from across the counter.

“I wouldn’t be witnessing any self-neglect right now, would I, Roman?” his voice dripped, cool and patronizing. It carried a lilt of care, but it was clearly faked-- Patton would have scolded him if he’d been listening. Roman rolled his eyes.

“No, I am simply dedicated to my craft! Creations don’t come from thin air, do they?” he replied. Logan tilted his head, brows furrowed.

“...They do,” he said. He raised his palm, and atop it, a paper appeared. “As you can clearly see, I’ve just summoned this piece of paper- Now, it’s not on par with many of your creations, of course, but I’m sure you understand my point. Just last week, you summoned me a new Rubik’s Cube. Don’t you remember?”

Virgil snorted from across the room, and Roman sighed. “Yes, Specs, I- I remember. I meant that metaphorically.”

“That was not a metaphor. According to Oxford Languages Dictionary, a metaphor is 'a figure of speech in which a word or phrase is applied to an object or action to which it is not literally applicable.' Would you like an example?”

“Not now, Logan. I’ll be taking my leave-”

“Aw,” Patton interrupted, “why not stay? You’ve spent so much time up in your room- Now, I know sometimes we need our alone time, but spending some time with your famILY won’t kill ya!”

“Did someone say kill?” came Remus’ shrill, excited voice from by the lamp where he’d just appeared.

“Not that kind of kill!” Patton rushed, “there will be absolutely no killing on my watch, mister!” Remus put his hands on his hips and blew a raspberry at that, exaggeratedly pouting at him.

“You’re no fun,” he replied. “Nothing wrong with a little casual murder to pass the time! Everyone dies sometime, might as well make it exciting.” Patton grimaced as Virgil’s eyes went wide and he groaned.

“...Everyone dies sometime. We are going to die. Thomas is going to die. Death is inevitable,” Virgil mumbled shakily, though it was still quite loud once the tempest tongue kicked in. He put his hands in his hair, but before he could pull at it, Patton led his hands away.

“Now Remus, that may be true, but there’s no need to dwell on it, especially when you know it will upset Virgil,” Logan said with a strict tone.

“Oh oh, I wonder who’ll go first when Thomas dies? Think it’ll be all at once, or one by one? I vote Roman-”

“Won’t you just shut up?” Roman spoke up, voice raised. “You’re harming Virgil and you know it. Keep your ideas in your side of the Mindscape; We don’t want them here.” His fists balled up as he glared at his brother. Oh, what he’d give to be able to walk up to him, to punch him square in the jaw. He’d love to unsheathe his sword and bury it right in his fucking stomach, to watch the emotions flicker through his eyes as they slowly went glassy and he collapsed to his knees, the blade continuing up through his skin like it was paper, the blood leaking through his clothing and pooling around him on the floor-

Roman blinked hard, brows furrowed. No one had responded to him yet, because it had only been a moment. What kind of thought was that? Certainly not one becoming of a prince. Was Remus messing with him somehow? Roman knew he could project thoughts into Thomas and the others’ heads, but Roman had never experienced it himself-- Why would Remus give him an intrusive thought right now, especially one so gruesome as to include his own gory death by Roman’s hands? He didn’t look like he had done anything, but he had to have, right? Roman didn’t come up with ideas like that. He was light creativity, he was good creativity!

Patton must’ve noticed his distress, as he quickly looked between the two. “Oooookay,” he began, “Remus is being a little inconsiderate of Virgil. And that isn’t okay! But that doesn’t mean we don’t want him at all. Everyone messes up from time to time!”

“But he’s doing it on purpose!” Roman exclaimed. He gestured his arms towards Remus and waved them incredulously. “I mean, look at him! He doesn’t even care!” 

Remus didn’t respond, continuing to stand in his spot, smiling and unblinking. Janus cleared his throat, gathering their attention. 

“I’m sure Remus just loves being talked about as if he isn’t here. Regardless, it’s hardly fair to criticize him for one incident that’s a result of his function as intrusive thoughts, especially considering that you’ve shown a pattern of worse behavior over the past… What, three years?” He looked towards Logan for confirmation.

“Yes, approximately that long, although that’s a misleading usage of the information. He’s improved over time,” Logan responded.

“Only if you consider his treatment of Virgil exclusively. Regardless, you've proved my point,” Janus said, sounding satisfied. “If it took Roman three years to warm up to Virgil, why does Remus only get a few months? Not to mention that he’s just being told that he’s unwanted and to leave, you've never experienced despite your actions, and which is preposterous notwithstanding.”

Virgil finally ripped his hands from Patton and covered his ears, shutting his eyes tightly.

“Shut up shut up shut up!” he said frantically. Patton bit his lip and looked around the room.

“Listen, usually I’d encourage a healthy family discussion, but now’s really not the time to be doing this-- Roman, please go to your room. Remus, I’m not mad at you, but I’d really appreciate it if you would go ahead and leave for the night, too.”

Roman stared at Patton for a moment, mouth agape and brows furrowed. “My room- Patton, I’m not five! This isn’t even my fault-”

“Don’t argue, Roman,” Logan cut him off, “Do as Patton said. We’ll discuss this more in-depth later.”

Roman gave a loud scoff as he trudged across the room and began making his way up the stairs. He gave one last glare to Remus, who’d finally begun to move, and then continued to his room, where he fell backwards onto his bed. He closed the door with a flick of his hand, and stared at the ceiling, letting out a resigned sigh as he reminisced. Why was everything so backwards nowadays, he wondered? When had the dastardly acts of his brother become the new norm, overshadowing his own heroism and creativity?

It wasn’t as if Roman could even do anything about it, either; Patton’s decisions on what was right and wrong was like the word of law in the Mindscape. Sure, Roman could challenge his thinking, but he hardly wanted a repeat of his… Frog incident. He couldn’t bear it if he distressed him that much again. All Roman could hope for was that one day, sooner rather than later, someone would either talk some sense into him, or he’d come to the realization himself that Remus was merely a parasite to their famILY.

For now, at least, Roman could dream. 

‘Patton loves me just as much as the others. He’s a dad! Dads love all their children equally.‘

‘Even if it seems like it sometimes, no one really hates me- Well, besides Remus.’

‘...And even if they do, I can fix it.’

Even if it meant lying to himself.

[redstainedsocks]

Broken Bonds

So, here we are, the start of @amonthofwhump‘s Escape!Week. I currently have six pieces written and I hope to hit all seven and advance certain aspects of Kit’s story through this hit of inspiration. For this first prompt, broken bonds, I went a little more metaphorical (broken relationship bonds, rather than broken restraints), but it jump starts the beginning of... well of what else is to come this week ;) I will be hopping around in time a bit during these prompts, but there will be a consistent thread of Kit’s Story through some of them.

Without further ado...

Warnings: Box Boy Universe, pet whump, dehumanization, victim blaming, brief reference to noncon, violent whumper, head injury, untreated injury, blood, bad language, manhandling, collars, brief choking, rough treatment, character thrown down the stairs

This is set at the end of the Gamble storyline, when things have deteriorated significantly for Kit because of Emile’s actions and choices. This is rough, but I promise it leads to better things... eventually

[Masterlist]

Word count: 1.2k

“Are you listening?” Emile strode forward, turning Kit by the shoulder.

“Yes sir.”

“Well then act like it, at least look eager to please,” Emile said, pinching his arm. “Pretend that you want to make a good impression if nothing else.”

What Emile had just told him would happen again in a few days made his stomach drop, made his blood run cold. He wasn’t sure he could force a smile, or make his eyes look eager, no matter how much he tried. “But I don’t,” he said.

Emile rocked back on his heels. “Excuse me? Don’t what?”

“Want to do… any of it.” He dropped his toothbrush into the sink and leaned back against it, clenching his jaw. The words still tumbled out, despite his teeth and his tongue trying to hold them back. “I don’t want to please your friends, I don’t want them to touch me, I don’t want to go with them.”

“And do you think it matters,” Emile said, crowding forward, “what you want? Do you think I give a flying fuck what you would prefer? You’re my pet, you do what I say, when I say it, and we need this money.”

“It should matter,” Kit mumbled, looking at his feet.

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s my body, it… I’m the one who does it. It should matter what I want because… because…” words failed him, he just felt it, deep down. He should get a vote, he just knew it. “Because it happens to me, not you.”            

“You think it’s your body, do you?” Emile pushed on his chest until his hip bumped painfully into the sink. “You think you’re in charge of it? I bought you,” Emile jabbed him again, “I own you.”

Kit breathed through his nose, trying to quell the frustration that bubbled up and choked him. He didn’t ask to be owned, he didn’t know why he’d ever agree to it, why he should ever give in to it. He was here now, yes, wearing Emile’s collar, living under his watchful eye, but he felt the question growing in his mind every day. Why would he let this happen? And how could he look exactly like everybody else and be treated so differently? And more than that, why would Emile want him and choose him when he was so clearly a disappointment?

“Well maybe that was your first mistake,” he hissed.

Emile’s face tightened, his brows drew together. “Are you calling me an idiot? Calling me out on my own decisions? You have no right.”

Kit didn’t see the hit coming.

The punch knocked him sideways and he stumbled into the wall. Hands grabbed the front of his shirt and swung him around, Emile’s large hand clamped over his face, and slammed him backward. His head collided with the mirror on the opposite wall, and he felt it crack under the force, even as his own skin split and his head span.

Hot liquid poured down the left side of his face and only as he slid to the ground and saw red drip onto his hand did he realise it was his own blood. He whimpered, and tried to curl up and cradle his head but Emile’s hand yanked at his collar and he choked, hands blindly reaching out to crawl forward so he wasn’t strangled.

“Ungrateful, fucking disgrace of a pet. More trouble than you’re worth.” Emile said, spittle flying as he ranted. Kit barely heard the words but wanted to shrink away from the anger lacing his voice.

Emile hauled him through the upstairs apartment and Kit scrambled after him on hands and knees, dizziness coming in waves. They reached the stairs and Emile shoved him down, kicking his back to make him tumble to the landing halfway down, and then rushed past to drag him down the remaining steps.

Bruises and scraped knees added to the litany of hurts and blows and worries but there wasn’t a moment to get his bearings.

“Please, please, sir, hurts.” He was slurring, tongue too heavy in his mouth alongside the blood that slipped past his lips and the throbbing in his skull.

Emile dragged him to the pet storage area, grabbed a chain, and locked his collar to one of the rings in the middle of the floor. The chain was short and Kit was forced so low to the ground he could barely lift his chin, left to sprawl on the floor or lean over his knees.

“I should ring Dreggs right now, Kit, send you back for re-training. Would you like that? Go and see how low he can bring you down this time?”

Tears sprung to Kit’s eyes at the mention of Emile’s favourite pet trainer. He shook his head and then groaned as a wave of nausea that swept over him.

“You only came out whole last time because I pulled you out before he’d done his worst. Maybe buying you was my mistake, but this,” Emile prodded at his bleeding head. “Will be your last, I won’t tolerate your disrespect any longer. I’ll get it beaten out of you.”

Kit whimpered, opened his mouth to beg but Emile shoved the toe of his shoe under Kit’s chin and nudged his jaw closed so hard Kit’s teeth ached.

“Just as I thought, the mere mention of it has you a quivering mess, but I think I will, if I can scrape together the funds. You won’t manipulate me out of it this time. Maybe a mindless version of you is what I need more now anyway.” Emile kicked him as he walked away and Kit flinched, then put a tentative hand to his head. He swayed slightly before he curled up on his side next to the place he was tethered.

“Clean yourself up,” Emile barked at him and a towel and a box of first aid supplies were thrown over.

He shakily picked them up, trembling and numb. As he probed his small wound he wondered if any shards of the mirror were embedded in his skin. It didn’t feel like it but he couldn’t see to check.

The moment of its breaking kept replaying in his mind, over and over. It felt like something else had broken too. Finally snapped. Some facade cracked. Whatever grudging, fearful, respect he had for Emile had finally splintered. He’d talked back, spoken his mind, finally broken free of the chains that wrapped around his thoughts and told him to be good and obedient, but it didn’t make him any safer, or any braver. Quite the opposite.

Because whatever made Emile hold back from truly damaging Kit had also been broken in two. Things had been getting worse for months but he’d never lashed out so violently, or so suddenly, or caused such a severe wound without meaning to. Kit was supposed to remain functional and presentable, that he wouldn’t be after this showed how badly things had deteriorated. This wasn’t a punishment, he’d just found himself at the end of Emile’s fists, and the last shred of his self control.

They were at odds, and he was terrified of what that meant because it didn’t feel like he could repair things this time, not with any amount of grovelling or begging or good work.

The lights clicked off and he gasped, shivering in shock and with blood loss. Trapped. Chained down. Beaten and bleeding in the dark.

Alone

No-one to help. No-one to care. Except… except maybe Libby, if he could just get her a message.

Tag list:  @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump, @kiretto-laorentze, @lonesome--hunter --let me know if you want to be added or removed!

[green-eyed-whumpster]

My OC Universe: Rowan 58

I accidentally uploaded the wrong chapter. I’m sorry. I share custody of a single brain cell with my friend and they currently have it for the week.

Chapter 58 Summary: Sweet, sweet, sexy catharsis! Rowan finally snaps in the face of his abuse. (Taggers: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk, @tears-and-lilies)

Trigger Warnings: Reference to previous abuse, verbal abuse, dehumanisation.

As promised, Rowan lurched awake to find a guard rousing him for Marie and Cordelia. Alexander was absent this time, a difference that unsettled Rowan. He was so used to seeing him and his mother together that it felt wrong when they were not.

“Oh, my dear husband,” Marie smirked, tone sarcastic and cruel. “You do not look well at all!” He growled at her and jerked, angrily releasing some of his fury through the useless act. He looked mad, dark rings under his eyes, a flood of dried blood from his nose to his chest. “Please allow me a small experiment,” She said, letting her careful eyes wander to Rowan. “I was hoping to ask you both a question.” Cordelia lowered William’s gag as sharp footsteps clicked along the hallways. William’s face lit up at the prospect of rescue and he leaned forward. “Hey! I’m the King! Get in here this instant!” He demanded, not considering the fact that the sound was present before Marie ordered the removal of his muzzle, and so wasn’t likely to belong to a sympathetic creature. As if to accentuate this, Marie chuckled softly, rolling her eyes as the footsteps stopped right outside the door and the tall shadow of the figure obscured the doorway. Mere moments before revealing himself Rowan caught a whiff of a familiar perfume, placing the name as Merek’s face appeared and he stood beside Marie. “You-Mer-how dare you betray me like this!” William roared and Cordelia curled her fingers into his, now unkempt hair, ripping his head back and forcing a whine from his throat. “If you do not remain silent,” She rumbled dangerously. “Then we will take extreme precautions to keep you silent.” The threat was clear. And William wasn’t finished with use of his tongue just yet. He had to content himself with glowering at his duplicitous advisor, perhaps hoping he combust from the sheer hatred seething from his face. “You never mentioned that your tradeswoman was a mercenary thug.” He snarled at Marie. “She certainly has her uses.” The Queen replied proudly, smiling at Cordelia. “What a strangely satisfying sight.” Merek commented curiously, drawing attention to him. “I think it could only be made better with tears.” Marie smirked. “As if I would ever allow you to see me humiliated like that.” William growled, earning a grin from the pair. “We’ll see,” Marie sighed, picking at an invisible imperfection on her thumbnail. “I’ve reconsidered what I said the previous evening,” She said, catching the unwavering attention of both imprisoned creatures. “If I were to say that one of you would be released, who would you choose?” It was a pretty obvious question, and no one was surprised to hear William speak first. “Me, of course.” Marie glanced towards Rowan, who’s face had fallen and had curled against the wall, already defeated. “What about you?” He glanced up and shrugged. “Why would you choose me? I’m not even worth the dirt under your shoe.” “What if I weren’t to choose? What if I made you both choose?” She asked. “I am the King. I should leave!” William demanded. “How am I supposed to rival that? Even with the promise of death, I couldn’t face condemning another to it.” Rowan sighed softly. “I’d strangle the slut myself if it meant I could take back my throne!” Something in that moment shattered. 

Rowan could almost physically feel it, his soul, cracking from the strain of hiding and suppressing his feelings for so long. Suddenly his breathing came fast, and he felt unfamiliar rage course through his veins. “You never loved me at all, did you?” He asked softly, retrieving a scoff from the King. “You were a pretty little cock-sleeve. And a pretty poor one at that.” “You gave me jewellery, you trusted me in your bed, you showered me with praise, and what, it was all pretend?” William sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes. “It was like having a puppy.” He said. “You keep if loyal, but when you’re tired of it you drown it.” 

Rowan had been compared to animals before. He had been used in metaphors like this before. He had been completely dehumanised to his face before. But now it was just too much. Too humiliating to realise he was, and always had been, nothing. “You tortured me!” He yelled, feeling his voice crack as it was raised above its normal pitch. “You-you allowed your men to ravage me and humiliate me! And made me believe that you were saving me from them when in fact you were just transferring ownership!” Tears pricked his eyes like needles, tears that had been forced down almost since he arrived. 

“I was abused, by you, and your staff, and your men, I was raped! And you blamed me for it! Forced me to witness as you had them executed, threatening to do the same to me if I ‘let’ it happen again! You forced me to get drunk to entertain you and your friends! You let everyone talk down to me and talk about me like I wasn’t there! Or like I couldn’t hear what they were saying, like I didn’t understand every word they called me! You poisoned me for your own entertainment!” 

The hatred and frustration broke over his lashes and he struggled to keep his voice from wobbling and relinquishing his power before he had finished. “I was forced to beg for you to rape and abuse me! To thank you for the opportunity to be taken! To grovel at your feet while you fed me scraps of your food like a pet! I wasn’t even human to you! Just some creature that no one would object to you mistreating! You gave me to your friend to fuck! And when he tried to murder me you had me punished! I was refused any morsel of dignity while your advisor had the soldiers line up and remind me of what you claimed to save me from!” 

He felt the eyes on him, every one, and turned to catch the eye of one of the guards at the door. “I remember you!” He chuckled in a weak attempt to cover the way he was falling apart. “You called me a desperate whore, good for only one thing! Was I? Was I good?” They had the shame to look away, turning their back on their mistake. “You had me branded! I will permanently be marked as your property! Men sign their family crest on their weapons, or their silverware, or their clothes! You put it on a person and reduced them to an item you owned. You tricked me into thinking that you had saved me from there, too! That you had missed and desired me! But it was all a ploy to get your stupid, uneducated, whore of a consort to actually believe that you cared for him! You tricked me into feeling some sort of fondness, or care for you. I felt sorry for you when we were first brought down here! I empathised with you, explained away your cruel words as simply being unused to not being in control, but no, that was just you when you were no longer bothered by how your creature felt!” There was a brief pause before a thought occurred to Rowan and he scoffed. “You call me ‘pet’.” He whispered, sniffing heavily as his eyes locked with William’s. “I would wager, I would say money but it’s obvious by how you came to possess me that I have none, so I would bet my life, that you don’t know how old I am,” He said and laughed. “Let alone…tell me, William, what’s my name?” Silence. “What is it?” He roared, pulling against the chains. “Why on Earth would I know?” William replied. Voice just soft enough that Rowan could realise with relief that he was maybe startled by this barrage of his sins against the boy. “Why would you? It’s just a person. A human being that you claimed as your own purely because he was pretty. If I were an average-looking thing you would have left me to die in that barracks. With blood on my ass, and sperm in my hair, and snot on my face. And never would have even given a second thought to the person I was or the people who…the-the people who…” Missed me. “I hate you.” He whispered after a moment. “I despise you. I abhor you. I detest you. I’ve killed two people who both tried to kill me first and felt like dying because of it. But, I think if I killed you, if I strangled you myself, I might finally be able to sleep at night.” He sobbed, too afraid to turn his gaze from anyone else but William. “Not even the Gods could have dreamt up a creature as cruel as you,” He gasped finally, the anger flickering out of him like a candle flame in a breeze. “You are a manifestation of sin, and evil, and sadism.” He felt cold now. Empty. Like all that had sustained him for the three years since he was stolen from Peter, was his suppressed disgust, and now that it was gone, he had nothing left inside of him. 

A piece died with every time he was raped. 

More of his innocence stripped away, until he was left, a shell, a dried leaf that William crumbled into dust just to hear the sound of him break.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

okay so remember when i sent you the ask about rosalie being joffrey’s advisor(and later killing him) and you said something like “i’m sure cersei seeing her as an honorary daughter was soon snuffed out after she learned this” and how talking about ned’s death and cersei i said “one crack in the ice isn’t going to do much if the ice is thick”

okay so you how after the purple wedding(purple wedding=the lion and the rose, then the breaker of chains, then oathkeeper/when brienne, rosalie and podrick leave) cersei starts only referring to sansa as “that murdering whore sansa” “that lying whore sansa”, or “that whore sansa stark”. in rosalie’s eyes cersei was already deteriorating(sansa and margaery’s influence) but the first time she heard cersei call sansa that her image of her completely shattered. and per cersei’s own teachings she doesn’t forgive anyone(not unless they do something great for her or someone she loves or they grovel at her feet)

basically, don’t disrespect sansa or rosalie will take that as a personal insult(unless you’re jon, who if you want me to i will gladly talk about her relationship with him. also arya but she’s closer with jon than she is with arya) and want you dead.

I feel like Cersei probably did start to deteriorate after Joffrey’s death. Would have only gotten worse after Tywin, and particularly Myrcella. The Sept of Baelor incident marking the crashing point of her fall. Not for nothing, but I’m just saying. They wanted a character to go full “Mad Queen?” Well...not saying they didn’t drop hints with their character of choice, but I feel like Cersei’s sanity slippage was foreshadowed and built up far better. Plus it was already in motion...hell, I love that line about one crack in the ice. It’s a great metaphor when it comes to going to war with the Starks/The North. But it also fits Cersei’s fall. And I can totally see how someone like Rosalie would watch it play out. I can still remember a scene between Jaime and Cersei where she called him out on swearing an oath to Catelyn Stark. He basically shrugs it off as “It got me back to you, didn’t it?” She asks if he didn’t mean it, and he dodges the question by reminding her that Catelyn’s dead. Cersei pushes it and starts asking Jaime if that means he would hunt down Sansa and murder her if she asked him to. And when Jaime doesn’t answer, she gets very icy with him. I feel like that was one of the first moments that Jaime really saw Cersei for what she was, even if he always kind of knew. Now I’m just envisioning what it would be like if Rosalie was in the room or even just listening at the keyhole. She and I can agree on one thing though: Do not disrespect Sansa, ever. Unless you’re Jon. He can call her on it when she’s messing up, that’s acceptable. (And yes, please tell me about Jon and Rosalie!)

[ibi-7]

Geralt Does NOT Deserve This

Small rant I will probably bring up multiple times

I really hate, and I mean HATE people bashing on Geralt right now. I have seen countless posts on several platforms about how much people "need Geralt to apologize or else" or "If Geralt doesn't apologize I'm going to punch him in the face" this is disgusting and I can't stand it.

Now don't get me wrong I would like an apology for Jaskier too, I love him, and he deserves one but all of this is ridiculous.

SO many people are bashing him and being so unbelievably mean to him, plus I look through the tags a couple of times a week and I don't see nearly enough of anything just appreciating this lovely man.

I understand why you would be upset with him and want him to apologize to Jaskier who is such a sweet man, undeserving of that treatment

BUT did you all forget?! Geralt has suffered so much. Like so so much and no one wants to acknowledge it?

Like If your only knowledge of this series is the Netflix show, I understand how you could sort of skim over his trauma I guess????? But at the same time no? No it doesn’t make sense like just pay attention.

He never let his guard down before Jaskier. NEVER. (Well technically with Renfri but that's not exactly what I mean) he had never accepted friendship before and believed himself enough for anyone else.

With Jaskier he liked to deny him a lot, but we also have 22 unaccounted for years of them traveling together and Jaskier stayed so you know Geralt had to care for him a great deal.

Jaskier is not stupid. He wouldn’t stay when he wasn’t wanted. In the beginning? Sure. They were strangers and strangers usually don’t immediately like each other. BUT 22 years? On and off? Made sure to find each other??? No dude that is an obvious friendship and one Geralt Liked

And when he finds Yennefer he sees someone like him, and they both really like and care for one another and Geralt is finally starting to think himself worthy of others because these two people want and care for him. So maybe. Just maybe. He can live not a life of just himself and then die bloody and alone on the path. But have others who genuinely care for him.

THEN everything with Yennefer happens and Geralt realizes he doesn't deserve others, he is a monster built for killing and that is it. (Not true just how this poor man's brain works) he can't let others in it will just hurt because Every one always hurts him. Just like his mother and every person he has ever met.

So angry, frustrated, and hurt because of Yennefer, that when Jaskier comes to him, he just snaps. Yelling everything on his mind and blaming it on the closest person to him. Which is Jaskier.

He wants his words to hurt and to sting and to last just like how he's been hurt.

With one point I want to argue he would have done this to anyone who came to him at that moment because just needed to hurt something. Make it feel the same way he does and that just happened to be Jaskier.

And if you don't understand that or think it is wrong. Well that just tells me you have never been hurt so deeply before. When you feel like that. When someone you let your guard down for hurts you. It makes you irrational. It makes you scream and yell words you never would normally say. Because you've been wounded. And wounded animals are the most dangerous. You would and will say the most awful things to make them hurt as much as You do and sadly sometimes you aren't yelling at the person who made you hurt, sometimes hurt you are yelling at your mother, your lover....your best friend.

If this is what happened then I know Geralt regretted it the second it happened. He was so hurt, and he just needed it to go away and people are always bad at dealing with pain.

This man has never been cared for or loved in his entire life, and he gets just the slimmest amount of that and it is ripped from him so fast how can he trust That it won't be again?

I know some will argue “But he’s had Jaskier all this time, yet he still yells at him” well yes, but him yelling at him further proves to me that he was just very upset. He blames him for things out of his control, which to me, means he was just really trying go for where it would hurt, making sense didn’t matter.

Which brings me to my second point:

He knew it was Jaskier he was yelling at, that was his intention. He wanted to hurt Jaskier. Wanted to upset him and make him leave him before Jaskier got tired of him or was angry with him and left on his own. Geralt knew his heart couldn't take that, so he decided to make him leave. It would hurt less (he thought).

If he made Jaskier leave than Jaskier could never leave him. He knew this so he hit where it would hurt. Where it would kill Jaskier. Made sure the venom in his voice was thick enough to disguise his pain. And when Jaskier turned to leave all Geralt could think was (good, at least he didn't leave me, I left him) but of course that doesn't actually matter and within the day he would regret it and wish he never hurt his friend like that.

Geralt is a very special man who needs so much love, and he finally gets a little and it's taken from him. And it hurts. So he can never risk it being taken from him again. Doesn't think he'll survive. Metaphorically. So. He pushed it away before it could be taken away.

Even though we know Jaskier would never leave him, Geralt, at this moment, Can’t believe that.

And for all the people who keep posting like Geralt is some sort of crazy abuser and will probably respond to this like "hey Geralt knows what he's doing blah blah blah" or “So? He shouldn’t be so snippy after a ‘break up’ and hurt Jaskier like that”

Are you forgetting how much this man has suffered? And still how kind and gentle he is? He could be the horrible monster some try to say he is, but he just. Isn't. He chose to be good despite everything because why add more evil into the world?

I know they don't dive deeply Into what happens to him and kind of brush lightly atop that much suffering in the Netflix version but still it's easy to understand how horribly this man has been treated? How why he doesn't trust anyone is so easily explained by his past.

How he could immediately stop trusting someone important that he's known for 22 years if something gave way to the idea that again he is unlovable? That he was mistaken with Yennefer because of the djinn, so why wouldn’t he be mistaken with Jaskier? After all he only originally started following him to write a ballad. He has done that so why would he need him any longer?

If you don't believe this please just try to learn ANYTHING about people who have suffered just half what he has. His mother abandoning him at such a young age would alone make a person act like this. Not counting literally anything else that has happened to him.

Being "abandoned" by Yennefer, hit to close to home and if lost Jaskier the same way he knew he could never open himself up again,

 of course the absolutely stupid but rational idea of making him leave comes to his mind.

I HAVE HAD people try to do this to me, I have gotten really good at dealing with this and never listen and reassure them well into the night and spend every waking second reminding them that I love them and would never abandon them. But Geralt doesn't get that, and he is left to decide this for himself (the worse possible answer literally Every single time)

See I'm tired of people saying Geralt needs to pay. Which implies more than an apology. They want him to suffer. Like seriously?

 Come on. This man? You want THIS man to suffer more? What for some sort of petty gratification? You know Jaskier, even upset Jaskier could never wish more pain on to his greatest friend in the whole wide world. He knows Geralt. He could never hurt him more so than he already hurts.

I honestly believe that while yes, Jaskier is going to be upset and want an apology, he is NOT going to want this weird fantasy some people have of Geralt grovelling at his feet begging for his forgiveness and there is NO way Jaskier would even slightly make him believe he doesn’t accept this apology, 

So stop with the weird making Geralt hang by a thread thing, it is bad and would actually make Geralt’s mental state even worse.

And Jaskier IS smart. He is an intelligent man. I think he might figure this all out on his own. But of course he is hurt. I am always hurt in these scenarios and sometimes the words hurt enough to stab at me months later but that I always remember that that is how the person who hurt me felt, and they needed to make someone else feel it too.

It's not the healthy answer. It's just the natural human response to pain. To inflict it back.

I have so much to say about this but after seeing a post I just started ranting I couldn’t help it STOP being mean to Geralt. Also, I wrote this so fast if something doesn’t make sense I’m sorry feel free to ask about it and if you still don’t see my point may I please ask why?

..... I said short I’m sorry :/

[raeynbowboi]

What Are My Ships 2.0

So, a while ago I did a post on my then viewpoints and opinions of ships within the BnHA/MHA fandom, and needless to say my opinions have changed since then, so this is sort of an update to the last time I did a post of this nature. Like last time, I’ll be going from my OTPs to my Favorites, Likes, BrOTPs, and then my NOTPs. However, whereas before I was mostly talking about the ships I liked, I want to expand this one to give an honest opinion on all of the ships, or at least the popular ones. Also, if I say I don’t like your ship, that doesn’t mean I don’t like you or your fellow shippers. I just don’t like the idea of those two characters together. Frankly, I wouldn’t even really say I’m an “Anti” to any ships except anything involving an adult and an under-aged character, and anything involving Mineta because fuck Mineta.

OTPs

So before I get into this one, I want to clarify the meaning of OTP as I use it. When I say my OTP, it means one of two things: Either A) This is the only person I ship with this character, and I don’t care for them being with anyone else, or B) I do like them in other ships, but nowhere near the level of this particular ship. I usually ship in accordance to the canon of the work. I look for evidence in the text itself, and I build my appreciation for relationships based on the evidence provided. Though I’m just as capable of crack shipping as anyone else, I tend to prefer the ships with a lot of canon content. Furthermore, my OTPs are usually a pairing that as far as the text itself is concerned, they don’t really seem to have any other legitimate love interest. Bakugo for example only really has shipping fodder with Kirishima. Bakudeku is more of a rivalry, and Kacchako is really stretching for something that isn’t there. Bakugo shows absolutely no interest in the girls of his class, and Bakudeku is so abusive and toxic that it’s firmly off my radar. So, since Bakugo doesn’t really like anyone other than Kirishima, as far as I’m concerned, Bakugo only has one actual love interest. The same could be said for Kirishima. The only characters other than Bakugo he has canon reasons to be shipped with are Tetsutetsu and Ashido. However, Tetsutestsu is very clearly being shipped with Kendo, and although Ashido and Kirishima are old friends, Ashido isn’t around for Kirishima’s emotional growth moments. Kiri isn’t thinking about Ashido when he reassures himself of his worth. Kiri isn’t making excuses to be around Ashido. Kirishima has little to no romantic dynamics with Ashido, they’re just two kids who went to the same middle school. So, like with Bakugo, I don’t really consider Kirishima to have any other truly viable love interests. And sure, I was using my main OTP as an example, but I apply this same logic to most ships, except for crack ships.

KIRIBAKU//BAKUSHIMA

So I just explained why I don’t ship them with other characters. But bashing other ships is not an argument, it’s just hating on other pairings. So rather than just gushing about my feelings about Kiribaku, it’s better to explain why I ship them. Kirishima and Bakugo have equal and opposite character flaws. Kirishima is a friendly character that lacks self-confidence. Bakugo is an overly confident character that isn’t very friendly. The appeal of Kiribaku is that they both grow from this relationship, which is like writing 101 when writing a good romance. The couple need to both get something out of the relationship. Kirishima is friendly enough to get Bakugo to warm up and be more of a team player, but Kirishima also has enough of a backbone to call Bakugo out when he’s being an asshole. He’s able to appreciate Bakugo for the person that he is, but he won’t allow Bakugo to mistreat him. He forces Bakugo to recognize him as an equal, and Bakugo responds by addressing him by his name. Something which is very clearly a sign of respect, as he also does this on one occasion with Uraraka during the tournament arc. Kirishima’s friendliness and determination to be close to Bakugo earned Bakugo’s trust and respect, and he rewarded Kirishima’s determination by treating him way better than he treats anyone else. Kirishima on the other hand is a character who is deeply insecure. Dying his hair red, spiking it up the way that he does, modeling himself after heroes he idolizes, Kirishima’s character is clearly someone who doesn’t have a lot of confidence or self-esteem, thus why he models his behavior after others who he views as role models. Where Kirishima would doubt himself, Bakugo is self-assured enough to put Kirishima’s mind at ease. And speaking from experience, Bakugo’s method works. Like Kirishima, I too have struggled with insecurities, and Bakugo’s ‘fuck what everybody else thinks, do it cuz you like it’ methodology actually helped me get over my own worries and doubts. I actually was able to get over my fears of self-doubt because of the things Bakugo has said. And I’m a stronger person for it, just like Kirishima.

MIRITAMA

If you’ve been following my page for a while now, you may already know that I love me the relationship dynamic I tend to refer to as Sunshine and Stormcloud. That is to say, when a happy optimistic and friendly person dates a grumpy, sad, or otherwise “dark” character. Unlike Kiribaku, these two don’t really have to fight off other suitors. If either of them is shipped with Nejire, Mirio with Midoriya, or Tamaki with Kirishima, these ships are all small fries compared to this ship. So small that they really don’t pose any threat. These two have a great dynamic, and both motivate the other to succeed. This is also just a super cute healthy supportive couple. Mirio has never once said anything about Tamaki’s anxiety. He just accepts that it’s part of him, and I would not be surprised if Mirio has helped Tamaki through panic attacks in the past. This pairing is just so wholesome and cute, I love it.

HAWKSDEAVOR

Okay, yes. Endeavor is a total trash mammal abusive dickbutt. But guess what? So was Bakugo, and now he’s won 3 popularity polls in a row. I sort of view this ship as the adult version of Kiribaku. Especially since Horikoshi has drawn some not so subtle parallels between Endeavor and Bakugo. And the overall relationship dynamics are similar. An overly-confident and proud asshole learns to care about other people through meeting and befriending a happy-go-lucky and friendlier young man who earns his respect. Now, I’m sure there are people who don’t think Endeavor deserves redemption, but I for one have always been a supporter of the “Love redeems” trope when done right. And Hawksdeavor is doing it right. Because although Endeavor has a past of abuse and general assholery, that abuse was never targeted at Hawks. This is not an abuse victim falling in love with their abuser. It is a neutral third party helping to rehabilitate an abusive asshole into a hero deserving of the title. It’s also worth confessing that I have not been a victim of abuse, so I might have an easier time forgiving Endeavor and wanting him to grow and change than someone who has been hurt by a parent or anyone else in the way Endeavor abused Shoto. And I want to make it clear, I like the ship. That doesn’t mean Endeavor is anywhere near done repenting and groveling for Shoto’s forgiveness because child abuse is a serious issue, and Endeavor does need to work for his redemption. But, I am at least willing to humor his attempts and give him the benefit of the doubt to at least let him try and repair the damage that he’s caused his family, because he’s at least putting in the effort to be better, and that’s worth at least something to me.

INATODO

I like Tododeku. I do. But I love the weird ass dynamic between these two. Plus it’s an interesting yin-yang personality difference you don’t see a lot. The monotone emotionally distant partner and the constantly screaming overly passionate partner. It’s a bit goofy, but I like it. Their quirks can also fight against each other or work together for something much stronger, which I think is a great metaphor for a couple learning to work together and being stronger as a unit.

DAVE MIGHT Okay, full disclosure, I haven’t actually seen the BnHA movie. But it’s cute as hell, and I ship it. Sadly, I don’t have much to say, since I don’t know much about their dynamic, but anything that gives the story more gay is good in my eyes.

TETSUKENDO

Yes, I have straight ship. But in all seriousness, this one is only an honorable mention OTP, not because I ship it with much enthusiasm. It just doesn’t really have any other viable competition for either member, which qualifies it as an OTP.

FAVORITES

TODODEKU

I know full well that Deku probably won’t end up with Todoroki. Despite him and Uraraka having about as much chemistry as a soggy slice of pizza, it’s pretty clear that Izuchako is the canonically viable ship. Too bad they’re boring, bland, and completely unremarkable as far as romances go. They’re cookie-cutter standard, vanilla-flavored, and and just generic. A big part of that of course is Uraraka’s complete lack of defining character traits, more on that here. At least with Todoroki, there’s more going on in their relationship. They have a more interesting dynamic for starters. On top of that, Todoroki is a three dimensional person with a fully realized personality, wants, hopes, dreams, fears, flaws, and backstory. And Uraraka is... cute. And Nice. And... nice. To quote a show from my childhood, I could stand in a puddle of Uraraka and not get my feet wet, that’s how shallow her character is. Which means that Todoroki is not only more interesting, but due to being his own character, he offers contrasting or complimentary viewpoints, life experiences, ideologies, and character traits to clash or mix with Deku’s to create a more rich and interesting narrative. The girl doesn’t even have interests. When a character is so hollow that you can’t even name more than two character traits before you start having to use synonyms, you’re not exactly creating the next Prince Zuko. And sure, I was nicer to Izuchako in my first post, but I also hadn’t yet realized how completely shallow and flat Uraraka was as a character. So yeah, Tododeku is a major step up in my own opinion.

KAMISERO

I wasn’t always the biggest fan of this ship. When the show started, I didn’t really see it. Truth be told, I still don’t really see textual evidence to support this ship, but damn if it isn’t cute. I’ll be the first to admit this is a ship I started shipping because I saw shipping fanart and thought it looked cute. I like the best friends to boyfriends idea that comes with them, and I think they’re cute together. Plus their hero costumes totally go together.

KAMIJIRO

Yes, another straight ship. See I do have them every once in a while. I can’t really say much about this ship compared to last time. I think it’s cute. Kami makes Jiro laugh. They’re in a band together. And they both strike me as laid-back types. Like they could just hang and that’d be enough for them. Like there’s a reason Jiro’s considered an honorary Bakusquad member. She’s really chill and down-to-earth, which seems like a good fit for this sparky doofus.

SHINKAMI

A lot of fans refer to them as Erasermic 2.0 and I’d say sure, with the exception that Kaminari isn’t as annoying as Present Mic. For the most part, I like their dynamic. It’s cute, and I could see it building up to something interesting. Perhaps what’s more curious is the fact that ShinDeku basically fell off the face of hte earth once this ship came around. Because I see way fewer things of Shinso x Deku than I do Shinso x Kami, so something that popular is probably popular for a good reason.

LIKES

TODOMOMO

I’m honestly only including this cuz it’s a popular ship, and apparently probably where the canon ships are heading. Too bad I didn’t even realize they were being shipped together until I literally saw a promotional thing with them together that said that this was apparently one of the biggest ships in the fandom and I didn’t get the memo, cuz I had no idea these two were a thing in fanon or canon at all. At literally no point have I ever seen anything even resembling intimacy or even genuine affection between the two. They work well together, and they’re good teammates, but as a romantic pairing they came completely out of left field. If you ship them, well good for you, but I don’t really see why. Well at least it’s not abusive or toxic and it doesn’t involve Mineta so you do you.

MOMOJIRO

I won’t lie, as a gay man, lesbian ships tend to go right past my radar. The only times I’ve ever gotten really invested in shipping lesbian characters was when there was heavy canon backing to support the ships. But without canon support, I don’t really go looking for it. And frankly, I don’t see it with this or any lesbian pairing in this series.  There’s no romantic spark as far as I can see. But I guess at least within fanon, I see this ship a lot and it’s fine. It works. Lesbians deserve representation too, so I get it. People look for themselves in media. I don’t judge on that front. I mean, a big part of my disinterest is that the girls are secondary characters. I think Hagakure gets two lines per arc. But for me personally, I’m just not really invested in the lesbian ships of this series. But of the lesbian pairings that are even a little bit viable, Momojiro i guess is at the top. MomoKendo is the only pairing I’ve come close to actually shipping, but it’s pretty clear who Kendo is going to end up with.

HATSUMIIDA

I like Hatsume. I think she’s a fun character. I wish they’d use her more because she actually has a personality. And it’s actually enjoyable to be around. But these two are basically just a couple because Iida has gone from Deku’s best friend to background student ever since the stain arc ended. Honestly, this ship is more of a comedic duo. the Comically Serious with the Comically Wacky. And it’s fine.

TSUKOYAMI

Bascially the same thing I said last time. They’re cute, they’re two smart cookies, and they work well together. They haven’t really done anything new together in a while, so it’s a pretty dormant ship right now.

ERASERMIC

The ship is fine, I just don’t particularly like it. It works, but it’s not really something I actively ship. Mostly I just don’t like Present Mic, I think he’s annoying and his tiny mustache is unattractive. I don’t really have a problem with this ship. I don’t particularly care for it either. It exists. I’m okay with its existence.

IZUCHAKO

Okay, I know I bashed this ship pretty hard in my discussion of Tododeku but that doens’t mean i hate it. It means I’m frustrated with it. It has the potential to be good, but it settles for bland mediocrity. There’s nothing here in this boy meets girl will they won’t they main boy must date main girl cishet ship that hasn’t been done to death by a thousand other shows. It’s boring. And yeah, most of that fault lies with Uraraka not being a real person. And before Izuchako shippers get all defensive, honestly answer me this: Name one of Uraraka’s hobbies. Tell me something about her. Give me any indication that she has any character trait other than sweet, nice, or friendly. Sure okay, she can get competitive, but she gets that way. As in, it’s not an inherent trait. It has to be turned on. And okay, she’s selfless enough to want an easier life for her parents. The problem with Uraraka is that she’s forced to remain this perfect porcelain figure. And a lot of my problems with this ship could be fixed by fixing my problems with Uraraka. Make her a real character. Give her a story arc. Give her interests and hobbies, superstitions, quirky behaviors. Anything. Just don’t treat her like a trophy to be handed to Deku when he saves the day. Believe me, I want this ship to be better. Because this is the flagship couple of the series. So they should be better written. But they aren’t and that’s upsetting.

BrOTPs

BAKUJIRO

Let me tell you, as a huge fan of this BrOTP, it was SO vindicating to see them working so well together during the drill against class 1-B. I genuinely believe that after Kirishima (and possibly now Kaminari) that Jiro probably has the best chance of being called Bakugo’s best friend, and I love that. These two feel like they’d just get along due to their punk/emo/goth vibe, and shared aloofness. I feel like Jiro is good enough at keeping her cool that she is one of the few characters who could just stonewall Bakugo’s angry yelling and just reply with a sarcastic quip about him throwing a tantrum without even looking up from her phone. They just seem like they’d get along once Bakugo starts to respect her more, and I look forward to that day.

NOTPs

My opinions on my NOTPS really haven’t changed, so I’m honestly just going to copy and past them. If you’ve read them before, then it’s unnecessary extra reading, and if you haven’t, then it can still look like a fresh opinion.

KACCHAKO

This ship straddles the line for me, as I do like this pairing, but only as a Friend!Ship. I like the idea of Bakugou sort of bringing Uraraka’s more competitive nature to the surface, and the two becoming sparring partners. It’s just the romantic angle I’m less keen on. The main contention I see for this pairing as a romantic couple is that Bakugou didn’t hold back against Uraraka during the Tournament Arc, but I personally prefer to look at it as a great parallel to the battle between Neji and Hinata Hyuga during the Chunin Exams in Naruto, an anime which was a major influence for Horikoshi. In both fights, a genius and prodigy who stood as an elite among the young recruits was set to fight the primary love interest who was significantly weaker than him. In both fights, both Neji and Bakugou completely refused to hold back and wiped the floor with their opponent. The main difference came in how the fights ended. When Neji moved in for the attack as Hinata was defeated, multiple supervising teachers had to restrain him from killing her while she was barely able to remain standing. Comparatively, the instant Bakugou noticed that Uraraka was collapsing in defeat, he stopped his attack. Heck, part of me even expected Bakugou to retrieve her tournament jacket and give it back to her, but I suppose that would have been a little out of character. My point with this story is that Bakugou had the mindset of a true feminist. He didn’t show mercy because she was at a lower skill level or because she was a girl. He fought her as if she was a legitimately threatening villain, and when the threat was neutralized, he no longer needed to keep fighting. I choose to read this as a recognition of her as a hero in training and even the building block upon which to build further respect between them. So, I can understand why people might ship this pairing, especially since Bakugou doesn’t really have anything even resembling shipping fodder with any other female character, as he doesn’t really tend to talk directly to the girls in his class. Still, for me, I think these two are much better off as friends who push each other to improve, but if this ship is your jam, I don’t see anything too problematic with it.

BAKUDEKU

This is probably the only ship I’d come close to calling myself an Anti for, but in truth, I don’t have a problem with people who ship these two, I just find it too problematic for me to really have any kind of favor for it. My problem with Bakudeku is that it’s mutually toxic. Midoriya shows very clear signs of abuse, whether it be verbal, physical, or mental, as he flinches at the sound of Bakugou’s voice, and immediately backtracks when talking to Kacchan in an attempt to stop him from getting angry enough to provoke an attack. However, Midoriya is just as bad for Bakugou, as it has been said numerous times that Bakugou’s pride is the direct result of endless praise and affirmation as a child from teachers and peers. Midoriya is a contributor to this problem, as even now, he continues to remark on how amazing Bakugou is, thus feeding his pride and inflating his ego. While it is possible for these two to grow past their rivalry and even enter something of a friendship, I don’t like the idea of such a toxic, abusive, and cruel dynamic taking any sort of romantic shape, as it would be damaging to both boys. Granted, some people enjoy darker pairings and others enjoy it for the idea of the redemption and reconciliation, but this pairing simply is not for me. If you do like this pairing, good for you. I am by no means trying to sway people’s opinions to resemble mine. I am by no means saying you can’t like this ship or that you shouldn’t, I’m just explaining why I do not.

[ninwrites]

Shadowhunters 3x16: On Clary’s Actions and the  Consequences For Those Around Her

No, I cannot confirm that there is actually anything coherent here. Just my rambling thoughts, collected as well as I could. For the record, I don’t hate Clary, I just don’t think that the writers consider the impact of her actions on the people around her and I’m getting more than just a little tired of it. Please read at your own discretion.

Also, shout-out to @magnusbicon for encouraging this & @izzybabewoods for the inbox message that started it all. you’re enablers in the very best day and this wouldn’t exist without you.

Here’s the thing.

 In season one, the majority of Clary’s arc was quite self-centred. And that’s fine. For all intents and purposes, she is the main protagonist, and the reason we’re introduced to the rest of these characters - the Lightwoods, Simon, Magnus, Valentine, even the Clave - is through Clary’s connection and interactions with them. As the audience, we’re following her into this new world, and it’s as she learns things that we become aware of them too – we’re not just watching her go on this journey, in a way, we’re going on it too. If Clary wasn’t at the focus of the season, we’d miss out on important knowledge that helps with our understanding of the shadow world and the characters that inhabit it – because it is quite a large and complex world.

 Then comes season two. Jocelyn comes back, who – as much as I adore Luke – is mostly concerned with Clary, and rightfully so. This is her daughter, who she chose to keep in the dark about the shadow world, there’s a lot there to catch up on and to mend between them, and Clary needs somebody who she (supposedly) will listen to, to counteract her rash and impulsive behaviour, because as much as she’d love to think that she knows everything, Clary at this point really has no idea what world she’s come into. There’s a part of her that has already made up her mind about the shadow world, about Downworlders and Shadowhunters and her role here, and whether it’s right or wrong takes the backseat, leaving the season’s arc as the driving force. Or, rather, her part in it. Because – and here’s the bit that frustrates me the most – the character arcs, the desires of others, their hopes and goals and wishes all fall second, or third or somewhere closer to last, to whatever Clary wants. Despite not actually being brought up as a Shadowhunter, she manages to sustain quite the assumption that she is the most important person in the room, and therefore, that whatever she wants comes first.

 Sometimes, this is a good thing. Often, the line is blurred.

 Her intentions often come from a good place, with the consequences falling short because of her impulsivity more than an inherent ill-will. Look at Simon – he’s still in the show, yay! Only … he did die. I’m not saying that I would have done any differently, but from a factual standpoint – it is Clary’s desire to have her best friend back that turned him into a vampire, and by a tenuous, albeit valid thread, it is because of Clary that Simon was coerced and manipulated by Camille; homeless; all of the back and forth mess with Raphael; got turned into a Daylighter; got coerced into joining the Seelie Queen’s court; turned Heidi – and we all know how that turned out; got the mark of Cain; lost his mother; bit his sister; lost the mark of Cain. I’m sure there’s more that I can’t remember, but again, I’m not saying that Clary is the sole person at fault here. However, I am saying that all of this is – per the butterfly effect – because she didn’t think about the consequences past not wanting to lose her best friend. Additionally, I’d argue that through most of the above, Simon didn’t have the support from Clary that he deserved, or that she should have given. In that respect, the relationship between them feels awfully one-sided, and has since the first episode. There are moments, of course, but they’re becoming even fewer and further in-between.

 I could probably write a whole thing on Clary’s relationships with people she supposedly cares about (*cough* Luke *cough*), but I’m getting off point. I want to talk about 3x16 in particular.

 Firstly, the rune power. Maybe it’s just me - though I have a sense it’s not - but Clary’s rune power is getting a few miles north of the city of Absolutely Fucking Ridiculous, and veering towards Overused/Abused county.

 (Does that metaphor make sense? I have no idea).

 Anyway. Being able to just suddenly make a portal to Edom that doesn’t just summon Lilith, but literally pulls her from Edom – from essentially the cage that Asmodeus put her in using Magnus’ magic, which has already been hinted to as just as powerful, if not more, than a Greater Demon – without any resistance? Really? Seems a bit unrealistic to me. Because, either this means that Clary is actually an Angel, for all of the power that she apparently wields, or that she’s more powerful than Magnus, and actual Greater Demons. I personally chalk it up to convenience from the perspective of the writers, but that’s just me. Back to the rune – the idea that Clary has this power at all is already a bit of a stretch, especially with how willy-nilly the writers are when it comes to using it, but now it’s reached a point that is just nonsensical. No Shadowhunter is this powerful, not even the great Clary Fray.

 Then, there’s the part where Clary is the first Shadowhunter to possess this power, as far as we know; there is nobody that has the prior knowledge to train her, so again – for the sake of convenience, I’m sure – it’s something that apparently just comes to her as naturally as breathing. Which – okay. Fine. They don’t exactly have time to show a montage of her learning how to deliberately create these runes. I get that. But that doesn’t mean they have to render this power unreasonable. Creating portals? Cool. Realistic. I don’t actually mind that, even if I think it got a little to Clary’s head. The sunlight rune? Pretty cool, I won’t lie. I liked how that came about – there was a heightened emotion to the moment, it made sense that a rune would manifest under such stressful circumstances. But Clary just deciding that, because she wants this rune to exist, it instantly will? It will work, just by the strength of, what, her willpower? I know it’s quite strong, but this logic isn’t. It’s ridiculous. It doesn’t make sense. It’s cheating for the sake of an easy plot, without minding the six-feet deep holes left behind.

 Now, I’d also contend that as helpful as this power is, it doesn’t magically fix everything around her. Sometimes, it makes things worse. Such as during 3x16.

 The biggest thing that pissed me off about Clary in 3x16 is the fact that she decided they all had to do whatever they could to get rid of this rune, because she was sick of it and couldn’t handle it, so that must mean that everybody else has to turn all of their attention and focus towards her, regardless of whatever they were doing before. And what are we told this is prompted by? Her snapping at Simon; (which, by the way, wasn’t as harsh as I think we were supposed to believe. Clary going through PMS probably would have resulted in the same reaction. It was snappy, and angry, and a little rude, but not … evil. Simon looked more shocked than anything. Maybe if she’d snapped at everyone, it would be more believable. But like a lot of this episode, this felt a little bit like a cop-out.)

 Mere steps from this conversation, Magnus was lying unconscious because of magic that wasn’t his, that he’d sold his apartment for, because he didn’t feel like he was worth being alive, worth existing, without his magic, that his magic was all that made him special – which, he’d sacrificed for Jace, no less. Granted, Clary likely wouldn’t have known about how Magnus felt about losing his magic, but I do find it hard to believe that she wouldn’t have even realised that losing it at all would have been an incredible trauma for Magnus.

 Then again, it does feel like Clary only cares about Magnus when it suits her. It’s harsh, but I sometimes wonder if she’d care more if Magnus had died, or if she’d just be upset because she’d lost a resource. This mostly stems from how she’s written, I’ll admit, but it’s still how I feel.

 And I think canon backs me up here. After all, look at what Magnus has gone through at the end of 3A and into 3B alone.

 He sacrificed his magic to Asmodeus, the man who abused and emotionally manipulated him, who probably made him commit heinous acts, of which murder I’m sure wasn’t off the table, all after having to grovel and endure soul-crushing humiliation at the hands of aforementioned abuser, who he most likely had gotten comfortable with the idea of never seeing again, all to save Jace from Lilith’s control (only to return to see the love of his life bleeding out with no way of saving him – I don’t blame this on Clary, but it is a factor that has affected Magnus. How could it not?) After Magnus returns, mortal, mundane, barely half of the man he used to be – his feelings, not mine – he’s ostracised by Lorenzo and ignored by the rest of the warlocks from Lorenzo’s command, excluding Catarina, his only friend at this point. Just there, he’s given up everything for Jace, and whilst it’s possible that Clary doesn’t know, it seems a little far-fetched to assume that Jace wouldn’t tell her. If he did, it seems a bit unfair for Clary not to consider that, but then, there’s almost an assumption that sacrifices made for people that Clary explicitly loves – Jace – matter more than the people who made the sacrifice.

 Then, because he felt so empty and lost without his magic, Magnus had to forego his pride and dignity to ask for Lorenzo’s help – his mortal enemy, basically, who has always disliked Magnus – selling his apartment in the process, his home, only to then be rejected by the magic, resulting in him having to give it up to not die. Because of that, he has to go through the process of losing magic again, even if it’s not quite the same as his own, which would have teared his mental health to shreds, and completely destroyed any progress he’d made towards feeling better, feeling more like himself. Now, I do believe that Magnus understood the weight of the transplant and all of the ways it could go wrong, which just makes this even more painful, because he felt that dying was a better alternative to not having his magic – if it weren’t for Alec, and Catarina, and Madzie, I don’t think Magnus would have had the strength to give Lorenzo’s magic back. Yes, there’s an argument to be made that he only did it for Alec, but I personally think it was Alec’s insistence that he couldn’t lose Magnus – wouldn’t, lose him - that prompted Magnus into remembering that they were people out there who cared for him, and loved him, even if it’s impossible for him to understand why. Depression warps a person’s perception of themselves anyway; add on all of the trauma Magnus has undergone, and in such a short period of time, and it makes sense that he’d find it easier to do this for somebody else, than for himself. I don’t think this makes his decision or his reasoning any less valid, but I’m getting a little off topic here.

 Magnus doesn’t know who he is without his magic, and in this episode especially, but not solely, it doesn’t feel like Clary cares – because without his magic, he can’t help her, and if somebody can’t help her, they cease to matter.

 (Again, this is my perception.)

 Speaking of people who only matter if they can help Clary – let’s talk about Cain. ‘Cause I haven’t seen a lot of discussion on him, and I feel like he deserves the attention.

 Cain has lived with this guilt of succumbing to Lilith’s manipulation and killing his own brother for longer than I think it’s possible for us, as the audience, and the characters of the show to understand. You can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice – he carries this burden with him, and it’s suffocating. Inescapable. He couldn’t get rid of his mark, so cruelly named after him, and now he’s stuck living in a sewer, living off rats, because he’s dreadfully invincible. I have no doubt that he still felt Lilith’s hold on him, like a shadow, constantly creeping around him, that sensation that there’s something over his shoulder, something behind him ready to attack, but there’s not, there never is, it’s just him and his guilt and the sick crawl of Lilith’s voice taking hold of him, the drowning ache that never leaves, because if he’d been stronger, his brother might not have died.

 The last thing he wanted – or needed – was to see Lilith again.

 I can’t even imagine how that would have felt. Seeing the woman who destroyed you, knowing that nothing could ever keep her locked away, that there was no cage that she couldn’t break out of – he probably felt her power leaking out, creeping under his skin, whispering to him even as the direction of her voice was focused on the others. From the moment she addressed him, she had him hooked. Just as he knew she would. Because he warned them – he told them he wouldn’t do it. The only reason he helped was Simon – because he related to Simon, because he could see the guilt in Simon and knew that was no way to live, because he wanted to save Simon from suffering a fate as bad as his own. Cain trusted Simon. Because Simon trusted Clary. And now, he’s stuck with his abuser, because the plan failed just as he’d told them it would, because once again, Clary only thought about what she could gain out of this, and not how it would affect anybody else.

 Because when Clary wants to jump, she doesn’t take the time to notice who could be supporting her fall.

 You know who often has to take the fall for Clary’s actions? Alec.

 I cannot see the actions of this episode as anything less than taking advantage of the fragile situation that Alec was in, for Clary to get what she wanted. The love of his life – and I refuse to believe that Clary doesn’t recognise that, for all of my complaints I don’t think she’s actually stupid – was lying unconscious in the infirmary, and really, none of them could be certain that he’d be okay, that there wouldn’t be further consequences when he woke up. Because, again – he was unconscious!! And Clary, honestly thought – hey, there’s this rune tying me to my psychotic sibling and it’s torturing me so instead of formulating an actual plan and thinking through options to get rid of it, I’m just going to go ahead and summon the mother of demons, to get rid of it for me, and darn the consequences. Never mind the fact that the Head of the Institute has yet to hear of this plan, let alone sanction it - he’s too busy worrying about the health and well-being of his unconscious boyfriend, so why bother him about it and get clearance on a dangerous mission like this, when we could just, go ahead and do it anyway.

 (Because even in this fragile state, Alec never would have sanctioned it.)

 Clary doesn’t take a second to think about the consequences this could have on Alec, and she never really has when it comes to missions; the only thing she has ever considered is how it can benefit her. Stealing the mortal cup from the Institute? Sure, why not. It’s super dangerous and can be turned into a weapon if in the wrong hands, and is locked away for a reason, but rules are made to be broken, right? Season one, whilst frustrating, could be brushed off as Clary just not quite understanding the power structure – sure, Jace did, and he should have done more about making it clear to her as opposed to just going along with her plans because he was thinking with his stele, but again, season one.

 And, sure, there’s that bit in 2x10 where Alec has spent the entire night searching for Magnus’ body in the Institute because, despite his best wishes, he can’t deny the possibility that Magnus is one of Valentine’s Downworlder victims, and Clary remembered that they portalled in – cause, Magnus made the portal, as far as I can remember – but she lost him after that, and hadn’t even thought since then about his whereabouts, or his safety, or even considered that he might have DIED. But, you know. Season two.

 This is season three. The second half, for that matter. And Clary is still thinking with herself in mind first, without even a second to regard how it affects others. If the Clave find out that Shadowhunters under Alec’s supervision took a traitor’s weapon, adjusted it so that it was capable of electrocution and used it to trap a Greater Demon – and Lilith, at that – only for her to end up escaping, all whilst he was preoccupied with his warlock boyfriend/technically making threats to the High Warlock which could, if Lorenzo was so inclined, damage relations between the Institute and the High Warlock – well. To say that they wouldn’t be impressed would be quite the understatement. He could lose his title over this. And then what? Who is going to save their asses from suspension/the silent city then? To be quite crude; if the Clave find out about this, and then pair that with Alec and Isabelle’s investigation into Project: Heavenly Fire, Alec would be fucked. They wouldn’t give him the Institute after that, and he certainly would no longer retain the reputation he spent so long building back up after his not-wedding. I don’t know if Alec would care that much about his reputation, he seems quite content with just doing what he wants and letting people’s opinions be exactly that – their opinions. Of no matter to him.

 However, that doesn’t automatically make them go away. There would still be people dying to see Alec fail, to see him crash and burn, to talk shit behind his back because of their own feelings towards decisions he’s made, both in power and before it.

 Clary doesn’t think about any of that – about anything, really, that doesn’t involve her. And it’s fucking exhausting. I want to like Clary, so badly, because she is a badass character and there’s a lot to admire about her. But I can’t love her when she’s so selfish that other characters are consistently suffering because of it. When sacrifices are made and her response is to completely disregard them in favour of achieving something that she wants. When episode, after episode – season after season – she’s allowed to just do whatever she wants without care to the consequences and how it affects others.

 Clary could be a fantastic, game-changing character. As it is, she feels more like a petulant child who throws a tantrum when she can’t get what she wants, and refuses to listen when she’s told something that she doesn’t want to hear.

 I hope my opinion of her improves over the season. But I won’t be holding my breath.

[jadeender]

Switching Sides

It had been nearly two months Maverick and Curse had been traversing the dark world together. In that time they hadn't come across another dark, not ones like them at least. Being the dark world constantly was mentally draining, the monsters of the land haunted and he had become all to familiar with the feeling of Curse pulling him down into the shadows to hide as a dragon, demon, or some other distorted creature flew over head.

They had only fought a few time, Maverick took advantage of those moments and began to get more comfortable with the dragon’s fang, the sword had been made for him literally and metaphorically as he took to the blade instantly, though he had a suspicion it had to do with retaining muscle memory from Four.

All those times hiding in the shadows had been a good teacher, Curse thought him how to pull himself into the shadows in just a way that they were neither in the dark world or the Light world. Now Maverick was fully capable of doing it himself and even pulling Curse in with him without the other dark helping him at all.

Despite that early exhaustion and worry he was rejuvenated, the dark world was ultimately where he had come from and something felt, right, about the way it strengthened him the longer he stayed.

Over the months he and Curse had investigated the few towns they had come across. The twins were situated where they would have been in the light world but they were few and far between, because the dark and light world's aren't exact replicas. There was a space beyond and a space between where no influence from the light world could be seen.

But in the town's the few shadowlings who knew anything had all told them the same thing, go west. They didn't know what lay west but it had all the shadowlings worried, and the only thing that speaks in the dark world is power, whoever or whatever was causing the thing to the west is powerful.

As Maverick and Curse journeyed the kept to no seen path and often didn't speak.

"When we get to whatever the shadowlings are worried about what are you going to do?" Curse asked. "This is your mission after all."

"I'm going to check it out, anything this big has to be related to a true dark and if it is Callous I can tell the lights what to be ready for." Maverick confirmed. He came on the mission not just to help them but to prove himself, he was done hiding. If the true darks wanted to test him he'd be ready to fight back.

"What about the mirror? That was our original goal after all." Curse questioned. "Or have you forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten at all, we haven't gotten anything from the town's. And we know nothing about what Callous cares about and where he'd hide it. He may even still be wearing it! He's too prideful to think it could be stolen easily. If we find him and see the mirror we'll know, if not we'll come up with a new plan." Maverick said rubbing one of the dragon like scales in his shoulder, a thinking habit he'd picked up, really he'd always fiddled with something while he thought.

With that matter settled they walked along in silence as they continued west, after a little while however Maverick began to feel something, almost like a little buzzing at the edge of his senses. Something was nearby, and something powerful. Powerful enough to leave a trace.

He looked up slightly at Curse who met him with a similar look, whatever was causing this was strong enough for them to affected then it had to be whatever they were looking for. They began to move faster on the verge of a full sprint, subtly Maverick shifted the shadows below feet so they propelled him forward allowing him to pass Curse and go forward.

From a distance he saw the area where the shriveled forest they had been traveling through for the months stopped so he quickly slowed down and stopped at the edge. Below was a valley filled with a silver lake, and at the edge of the lake was a massive construction project. In size it rivaled any of the finest castles in Hyrule but it was not sleek and beautiful white marble. It had been built out of a jagged black stone. It was more like a fortress, but it wasn’t even finished. Hundreds possibly thousands of shadowlings bustled around carrying in materials and working on construction.

“I… I didn’t know shadowlings were capable of this.” Curse said his usual confidence faltering.

“Minions are capable of anything when they have a good master.” Maverick answered. A vision of the armies of monsters he had once lead popped into his head. Though incompetent they always served a purpose when given the correct… persuasion. “And I’m sure we both know who that master is.”

“This could be conqueror’s doing, he’s prideful enough to want an entire empire in his own image.” Curse considered as they stared down at the fortress. “But I doubt he’s competent enough to coordinate so many shadowlings.”

“I’m going to scout it out. Come if you want or stay here.” Maverick said as he prepared to shadow travel across the lake. 

“How are you going to get in there? They’ll know you’re different the minute you step foot over there.” Curse questioned.

“Not when I’m disguised as one of them.” 

____________________________________________________________________________

A short demonstration and convincing later Curse and Maverick entered the castle disguised as shadowlings. While he couldn’t shape shift Maverick had learned how to spin shadows around himself in such a way that he could appear as someone else. He had used it to impersonate Four before. Doing the same for Curse was somewhat draining but we knew he could last long enough to let them scout the fortress.

As they entered the fortress the front foyer was obviously the throne room but it had a sense of force to it, large gothic arches formed the ceiling and from them jutted razor sharp crystal chandeliers. Banners with the symbols of two crossed knives fell from the ceiling, confirming this was in fact Callous’s fortress. The walls were dark and daunted, and the walls were lined with armed shadowlings, each of them bearing a spear and shield. The sentinels stood still and focused.

“How is he controlling so many of them?” Maverick wondered allowed to Curse as they shuffled across the cold black floor following the flow of the construction.

“I don't know, I’ve never seen Callous use his powers, and have never been able to find any record of what they could be.” Curse whispered back as they crossed into the next room, this one an armory. Weapons of all types and origins hung there, enough to outfit an army or two. 

They continued to move beyond in and up through the castle passing room after room, rooms full of monster sized cages, more weapons, and even several lavish lounges likely for Callous himself. 

“He’s planning something big that's for sure.” Maverick whispered. “He has enough here to launch an invasion of the light world and dark world, and win. I don't even want to think about what monsters he intends to catch for those cages.”

“You could always ask me.” Mavericks eyes rose to find Callous coming down the hall. The true darks red eyes glinted as though they were glowing from within, his normal outfit had been switched for one of slightly higher quality, without rips or tears. “That disguise is quite ingenious, anyone weaker than me would have been completely fooled, but alas a true darks eyes will always see through this kind of illusion.”

Callous put out a hand and the shadows creating the illusion ripped themselves of Maverick and Curse, immediately he drew Dragon’s Fang as Curse reached for his sword.

“Ah so its two little erembour come to find out what I’m up to. Being the light’s lap dogs. And even little Shadow.” Callous sauntered forward and eyed Maverick slowly taking in his new outfit. 

“It’s not Shadow anymore, I’m Maverick now.” He refuted standing his ground though a cruel smile grew on Callous’s face.

“Maverick huh? You even took on the name I gave you. You’re remarkable for an erembour, none of the others would have thought to disguise themselves to sneak into my fortress. I see a cunning side in you, and a remarkable control of the shadows. You could do great things if only you had a full darks powers.” Callous remarked walking slowly away. “But you’ll never get the chance, I’ll have my shadowlings escort you out.”

Callous turned back waving a hand. Maverick thought quickly, he hadn’t seen Callous’s mirror on him so most likely it was hidden, and it was probably hidden here. He had to do something, and in the back of his mind and image arose of a tactic he could use. It was time to pull a Vio.

“No wait.” Maverick called out. “I didn’t come here to spy for the lights. I couldn’t be happier to be gone from them. I’m done hiding behind Four I want to learn how to use my powers to grow stronger.”

Swallowing a fair amount of pride he knelt down. “I came because I want you to teach me.”

____________________________________________________________________________

Curse looked back and forth completely stunned, in the time he and Maverick had traveled together he’d never seen Maverick act like this. As far as anyone knew Maverick and Four where closer than any of them, possibly even than himself and Ravio.

Mavericks plea caught Callous’s interest as he turned around and walked up to the kneeling dark. 

“Groveling is a good start, but why would I ever teach you? I’m under no delusions that you’ve completely given up your light loving ways and truly want to assist me.” Callous questioned Maverick standing directly over him. But Maverick was unmoved and spoke again.

“Of course you require proof of my loyalty.” Maverick stood forcing Callous back slightly and turned to look at Curse. “This one volunteered to be my guide when I ‘agreed’ to spy for the lights. And I think I’ll send him back with a very important message, though it’ll take him awhile to get there as dust.”

As Curse processed Mavericks words he attempted to doge Maverick’s strike but a sword coated in shadow sliced directly through his heart.

“Tell the lights I’m done. I’m just joining the winning side.” The look on Maverick’s face was truly cruel. “I learned it best from my own light after all.”

With that Maverick pulled the sword up and out of his body and Curse faded into black dust.