#if you allow a CHILD to have enough power over you to manipulate you into saying yes to ANYTHING that might

[honeycrispjamz]

When I say that Coach Ben NOT sitting Misty down and having a conversation with her about her flawed view of relationships affects her for the rest of her life this is exactly what I mean

[shizunitis]

Ghostfire Shen Yuan loyally following the lonely, undying, forgotten Luo Binghe from the original outline.

They never even met.

Shen Yuan had died long before Luo Binghe’s story was set to start. Abandoned by his System, he was left wandering the realms, searching for anything to latch onto, anything to stave off the darkness encroaching on his consciousness whenever he stopped. He keeps himself entertained with little jokes and references that will never reach anyone. At least back home, there were other people on the opposite side of his screen reacting, seeing. Paying attention.

He never would have thought he’d miss the times he was perceived by others. He’d give anything, though. Anything.

He stumbles upon the protagonist as he’s ascending the stairs of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect for the first time. Dressed in rags and heaving with the effort, Luo Binghe is exactly as Shen Yuan had pictured: a little bun, soft and kind and so very brave.

The excitement wears off soon enough. When the tea ceremony is held, Shen Yuan watches, hopelessly trying to stop the cup from hitting Binghe’s head. He lunges at Shen Jiu; let him be identified and exorcised, at least he would have done something with himself, however useless. It doesn’t work. Of course not—nothing can come between Luo Binghe and his fate.

Shen Yuan thinks about leaving. Many times. But every time he considers the possibility of going back to wandering the world, or just passing on… Well. There’s still a lot to see, isn’t there? It will get better. It will.

Only, it doesn’t. Not really.

There’s no harem; there’s no warm comfort offered to Luo Binghe by a sympathetic beauty, no wedding celebrations, no moments of gentle companionship, however brief, however superficial. There’s no camaraderie with the demons underlings, his generals, his allies; it’s all casual cruelty and dismissals, before it’s violence and subjugation.

There’s no joy. There’s no hope. There’s no ‘better’.

Something is wrong, that’s clear. Something is wrong, and Shen Yuan has no one to blame.

This is clearly not the Proud Immortal Demon Way he knows.

Centuries later, when Luo Binghe begs for the heavens to allow him to die, Shen Yuan hears. When Luo Binghe rages against the passage of time, alone in the wreckage of his palace, left behind by everyone he’d ever known, Shen Yuan accompanies him. When Luo Binghe lies down in the Holy Mausoleum and refuses to get up, Shen Yuan waits until he opens his eyes again and leaves the palace.

They end up in a hidden realm so filled with Yin Energy that Shen Yuan can channel it to manipulate his form into that of his former body. It’s not detectable by the living, but it’s there. He feels stronger, too. He can walk, float, fly, interact with what few other ghosts they encounter.

Still, Luo Binghe cannot see him.

Luo Binghe doesn’t talk much. Well, that makes sense, he was never in the habit of talking to himself, but still. It’s lonely.

They end up in a town where a diviner takes one look at Luo Binghe and offers him a free reading. Shen Yuan can’t enter her tent, so he waits outside.

She tells Luo Binghe of the little hanger-on he’s got. A powerful one, too, though he’s still getting used to his powers. He’s been here for a long time, she says. Since he was a child. He comes from far away—farther than even the most distant star.

Luo Binghe begins talking to him. Shen Yuan isn’t sure why, but he’s not complaining!

Luo Binghe also begins meditating again, trying to soothe the damage done by Xin Mo over the centuries. For every meal, he places a few fruits across from him on a plate he’d made himself, which he eats only after finishing his own dish. He makes space by his side whenever he walks on a narrow road. He stops at every landmark and tells stories about them, always starting the same way.

“Do you remember when…” becomes Shen Yuan’s favourite phrase.

One night, Luo Binghe sighs and looks across the table. Shen Yuan places himself so that he’s in Luo Binghe’s focus.

“What is it, Binghe?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t answer him, of course. Still, it feels like a conversation, when he says:

“I wish I knew your name.”

Shen Yuan frets. He’s been trying to manipulate the physical world, but he never got the hang of it. He’d tried drawing in sand, with water, just pushing things off shelves. And yet, nothing.

“I’m sorry, I wish—” he tries, but Luo Binghe is already talking again.

“I wonder if we ever crossed paths when you were alive.” He’s expressed this thought more than once. Shen Yuan never likes to think about how they’ve missed each other, how they’d been set up for failure from the start. “I wonder if we would have been friends.”

Shen Yuan scoffs. Of course not. Him and the protagonist? No way.

But—those cold star eyes, blindly searching for him, trying to land on him… They make him want to say, I would have liked that.

He reaches a hand out to touch Luo Binghe’s forhead. He’s taken to doing it whenever Luo Binghe broods, or makes a silly joke Shen Yuan wishes he didn’t find funny. It’s soothing.

He wishes Binghe could feel it.

When his finger touches the demon mark, it blazes. Luo Binghe gasps, that heavy gaze settling on Shen Yuan’s face.

Shen Yuan startles, and jumps away.

“No! Wait!”

Shen Yuan hesitates. Luo Binghe is looking around himself, eyes begging for even a wisp of Shen Yuan’s shadow.

He can’t deny Luo Binghe this.

He can’t deny himself this.

He reaches out again. This time, he cups Luo Binghe’s cheeks. When those eyes clear of panic and widen in awe, he whispers, softly, “Shen Yuan. My name is Shen Yuan.”

Luo Binghe looks like he’s been handed a treasure so precious he’s afraid to touch it. He hesitates, raising his hands in careful starts and stops, before taking Shen Yuan’s face in them, gently caressing the soft, cold skin of his face. His eyes dance with the haste he takes in memorising Shen Yuan’s features.

Then, he smiles. Helpless and weak and so, so precious. Shen Yuan has not seen hope so bright in Luo Binghe’s face since that fateful day on Cang Qiong Mountain.

“Hello, Shen Yuan.”

[satinroses]

how Yan! harbingers would react to you cheating (separate)

Gn! Reader

A/N: i regret to inform you but there’s no Pulcinella, Pierro, Arlecchino or Sandrone :[ i’m sorry i just don’t know their charas well enough yet/i don’t feel qualified to guess (i haven’t finished fontaine archon quest yet :0) also im sorry scara's is so long... hes my fav :]

Warnings: dark content ahead, if you aren’t comfortable with dark themes please don’t read!! delusions, infantilisation, minor character death, torture, THINLY veiled threats, explicit violence, obsessive behaviour, murder, vaguely implied non-con, financial manipulation

Capitano:

Throughout all the harbingers Il Capitano was the sole member who adhered to a strict code of honour. Despite his obsession with you he had always tried to treat you with chivalry and honour - even if his heart desperately lusted for him to steal you away for himself. It was well known among his fellow harbingers just how deeply Capitano idolises his beloved spouse, seeing you as his own personal beacon of light.

Naturally when the news reaches his ears he refuses to believe such vile insults being levied against you. Instead he has the rumour monger brought towards him so that he may personally administer a punishment for daring to speak against his beloved.

Capitano refuses to believe you would betray him in such a matter unless you decide to tell him yourself or he catches you in the act. He would need a moment to collect himself, his mind racing with thousands of different explanations and reasons. He had never once raised a hand towards you, he brought you gifts from his travels around Teyvat, he never allowed anyone to speak against you and yet you still betrayed him… Then he realises - clearly your supposed ‘lover’ has led you astray. That’s the only logical explanation. That filthy low life had whispered honeyed lies in your ear and in your naivety you had believed them. That wretch has sullied your honour and as your spouse it's his solemn duty to shield you from such vile brutes.

When someone as sweet and virtuous as you exists within such a tainted land it’s only natural that greedy grasping hands will try to stray you away from Il Capitano’s benevolent gaze. It’s not your fault. You clearly didn’t know better. He should have held you much closer to his chest. This was all his own fault.

Alas he cannot turn back time but he can ensure justice is fulfilled. He won't allow the miscreant that sullied his beloved’s honour to parade about without any consequences, so he does as any respectable man would and challenges your new lover to a duel for your honour.

When the first harbinger challenges a man to a duel it’s commonly regarded to be a death sentence and this is no different. Capitano truly tells himself that he is doing this entirely for your own good but the rage in the way his claymore swings down on your beloved’s head tells an entirely different story. Capitano had killed the man with the first swing of his claymore yet the blows kept raining down upon their body until all that remained was a pulverised mass of flesh. Capitano hadn’t killed them, he had butchered them. It’s clear this duel was not as selfless as he would lead you to believe. Despite his vehement denial, this was not for your honour but rather for his own twisted vengeance.

Tears stream softly down your cheeks as you watch Capitano slaughter your lover but once the fight is over he rushes over to you. His hands cup your face as he shushes you gently, cradling you softly as he tucks your head into his chest. Because of his penchant for darker clothing you couldn’t see your lover’s blood staining him but as your face was buried against Capitano’s chest you could feel the crimson ichor staining your face as you inhaled the coppery scent.

Childe:

Tartaglia relished in challenges, exhilarated by new chances to prove his strength and test his power yet somehow this new obstacle was not as enjoyable as he might have predicted - perhaps because he now realised he was losing. All those dreams of marrying you, raising children with you, growing old together felt like mere delusions when he realised that your heart now lies with another.

Tartaglia is commonly regarded as one of the more level headed harbingers, sure he had an inhumane amount of strength and the combat prowess to match yet that was a given to climb as high in the Fatui as he had. In spite of his usual friendly demeanour Tartaglia felt a bitter emotion brewing in his heart. 

Upon learning of your infidelity the eleventh harbinger can’t help but laugh. He truly believed everything had been going so well between you two - I mean sure sometimes he got a little possessive and maybe his feelings for you were so intense he felt like they were going to burst out of his chest, splitting him clean open - but he was human! He had flaws too! He just couldn’t understand what this other guy possibly had. Well it’s not like he’ll need to either.

Tartaglia sets down his bow, instead settling on a blade. He wouldn’t use half his strength to murder the rival for your affections, besides he wanted this fight to be close and personal. He wanted them to see him coming.

He marches straight for your lover, challenging them for your hand in a public setting so they can’t help but feel honorbound to accept. He makes an entire spectacle out of the duel and he ensures you’re there too so you can see just how utterly pathetic and out-classed your supposed lover is, so you can realise he is clearly the better choice. Ultimately your lover stands little chance against the mighty harbinger, struck down with unmatched brutality, the glint in Tartaglia’s eye showing just how much he’s enjoying massacring his rival.

He looks confused when he looks aside from the bloodied corpse left behind to see you struggling against the two Fatui agents restraining you to keep you from interfering with their master’s duel.  “Why are you upset? You were clearly conflicted between us but now your pretty little head doesn’t have to worry about it! You couldn’t decide so I decided for you.” he says before leaning in closer, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers “and if you ever feel conflicted again, come straight to me and I'll be sure to decide for you again.”

Columbina:

You had always felt… unnerved by Columbina. She was always so delicate with you, caressing your hair sweetly, holding you tenderly, brushing soft kisses against your lips and cheeks and yet - something about her felt off, unnatural even. There was something about her that was not entirely human and perhaps that’s what led you to seek comfort in the arms of another. 

When you decided to tell her of this you had expected the saccharine facade to melt, to be met with the monstrosity you feared was hiding behind her angelic demeanour. Instead she simply smiled gently, almost knowingly. Her grin never once falters when she arises from her spot on the floor, patting your head as she skips out the door of the room. You stand in the foyer utterly perplexed by her behaviour but terrified she might inflict her wrath upon you if you lingered. You ran back upstairs to your own chambers, your head buried beneath the blankets as you tried to steady your breathing. You stayed there until the sun began to rise, having half expected Columbina to creep into your bedroom in the night and inflict some bloody vengeance on you. Instead the morning came without incident.

You crept down to the dining room where breakfast was being laid out by the maids. It was utterly silent and Columbina still hadn’t arrived with the only noise being the gentle clattering of porcelain and your own breathing as the table was set. There sat the morning paper in your usual spot, you didn’t feel inclined to read, far too on edge about Columbina’s surprisingly docile reaction to your infidelity. You were about to move the paper aside entirely until your eyes brushed across the headline

“12 FOUND DEAD LAST NIGHT: AUTHORITIES PERPLEXED”

You all but collapsed into your chair as you opened the paper. Vomit bubbling up your throat as you continue reading. 12 people of similar physical appearances were found slaughtered in their homes with no signs of breaking and entering, no witnesses and no sign of a struggle. It's likely the victims hadn’t even known their assailant was in the room until they were already dead. A terrifying tale no doubt but what truly unnerved you was the very clear resemblance the victims held to you. From skin colour, to hair colour, to eye colour, height and weight, you and the victims were near identical with only minimal differences. You couldn’t breathe. Your heart was hammering so violently you swore you could feel it against your very ribcage. They didn't even know their attacker had entered the room until they were already dead… how did you know that she hadn’t crept into your room last night, standing there, deciding whether she would do it or not…

Hot tears welled in your eyes as you heard the soft patter of bare feet wander into the dining room. She sat down in the seat directly across from you, still beaming at you. This smile was different however, her grin was tight against her face and very clearly forced, far too big to look natural on the woman. This smile was not a smile, it was a warning.

Il Dottore:

Quite possibly the worst outcome for both you and your lover. Il dottore is not a man to be trifled with, even his fellow harbingers could acknowledge that. You don't even need to tell him about your affair, he already knew. He could tell from the way you shied away from his touch, how easily startled you were nowadays, how your pupils dilated and breath quickened when you stared at your new beau. 

However Il Dottore is an eternally proud man, his genius and academic revelations had single handedly transformed Snezhnaya into the Military power house of Teyvat. By turning to another for love and affection you had inadvertently snubbed the second harbinger and by your new lover daring to set their sights on something that so clearly belonged to Il Dottore… he wouldn’t accept it.

Dottore’s cruelty was almost as revered as his genius. To think someone had tried to steal away the affections of the one person he found worthy enough to love. Your lover will suffer a fate worse than death, that much is certain. Dottore is never against fresh meat to experiment on, perhaps he’ll see how many parts the human body can lose before dying, or maybe he’ll discover just how much skin he can flay off a man until he eventually dies. Don’t worry Dottore has always strove for perfection in all matters, particularly academic endeavours. He will find a way to keep your lover alive through his experiments for as long as humanly possible if only to ensure his results are accurate.

Now the moment he hears of your affair his mind is rife with ideas for your lover yet don't worry, he has plenty of ideas left for you too. From here on out you will never be without one of his segments watching over you. He will have constant eyes on you. You will never know a moment of freedom from Il Dottore but please don't fret my love, in his cold, twisted heart he does have a soft spot even if you refuse to believe it, so go ahead and dry your tears and be his agreeable little darling again or else he may leave you in the care of some of his other segments who are much less knowledgeable on how to love, on how to be tender with their darling and are far more inclined to simply take what they want rather than ask nicely.

If you still haven’t begun to return to doting upon him, or worse you take another lover… lets just say some of the younger segments have several questions about human biology that even the ingenious Il Dottore would struggle to answer without an example. So shape up or you might wake up strapped to his operating table so his segments can get a good look at how the interior of the human body functions and well… while he’s already gone to the trouble of cutting you open, wouldn't it be a shame if his name just so happened to be carved onto your heart. Don't worry! for that procedure, he'll give you some anaesthesia. After all, he doesn't want your squirming to make him hit anything important.

La Signora:

La Signora has lost and loved before she met you. After her husband's death she encased herself within an icy shell but whether intentionally or not you warmed her bleak broken heart and returned her fire and passion for life. With you she was Rosalyne not the crimson witch and for that she treasured and adored you above all else. 

Rosalyne was all too familiar with the sting of losing a loved one but she had never had her lover willingly stray from her side. To know you would leave her after all she did for you? That you would betray her after she protected you time and time again, sheltered you from the cruel realities of this world and let you live in the lap of luxury… it was clear she had spoiled you far too much.

First she would start with the wretch who dared compete with her for your affections. She plucks his heart out as she did to that pathetic Anemo archon before charring it before his very eyes. Let his last sight be his own scorched heart falling from her hands and into the dust, where filth like him deserved to stay. To think he even thought he could compare with the illustrious 8th harbinger for your love… the wretched fool deserved far worse than what she gave him. Now that she thought of the man again, she could feel the crimson flame in her chest rising as she turned back to the man's twitching corpse. They’d be lucky if even ashes remained once she was done venting her rage on what was left of the man.

As for the matter of punishing her beloved… La Signora had always been a firm woman but for the sake of you and your happiness she had given you certain allowances and privileges such as walks in the garden, visiting Snezhnayan boutiques with her, having your favourite treats imported. That stops now. In her 500 years of life her ire had never once been turned towards you but now, with such a blatant betrayal… even her patience can run out. Perhaps a more permanent reminder of your status as hers is needed. How about we start with searing her name into your flesh with her flame?

Pantalone:

Having grown up in absolute poverty, Pantalone had fought tooth and nail for everything he had, crawling from the slums of Liyue to the very apex of the Tsaritsa’s court was no small feat. The thing is when growing up in poverty one quickly learns to cling onto what they value so it was no surprise that upon falling in love for the first time Pantalone was quick to assert himself into every aspect of your life. He wouldn’t be able to rest easily unless he knew for absolute certain that you were firmly grasped within the palm of his hand.

You were his most prized possession. So when he got news that someone else had spirited away your affections he was filled with the same raw, red hatred he had felt as a boy. The feeling of seeing another have what you rightfully deserve. Since he was a boy he had vowed that whenever someone took something from him he would reap the value of it tenfold. Upon learning of your infidelity you are immediately confined to his estate, all exits heavily guarded by Fatui agents. He encages you within his elaborate mansion not even allowing you to wander into the illustrious gardens. Each door is bolted and every curtain drawn tight as Pantalone refuses to allow the outside world to gain even a passing glance of his darling. The people outside clearly don't understand how to stay away from what is not theirs.

Don’t fear precious one, he doesn’t hold this against you… you’ve always been so weak willed, so vulnerable. It’s no surprise that sooner or later some brute would come and take advantage of your delicate demeanour. It’s really his own failing as a husband but don’t worry, you don’t climb as high as he has without learning from your mistakes and he will make certain that there will never be a repeat of this little incident. From here on out you will be kept firmly in his grasp. No one will see or speak to you without his explicit permission.

If you thought his gift giving was rather excessive before, now it's become suffocating. You're drowning in trinkets and presents. Everyday you're presented with rare delicacies, decorated with precious gems from head to toe and dressed in the finest silk garments imported all across Teyvat with his particular preferences in mind. He will do whatever it takes to keep you with him even if he has to clasp your hands in solid gold shackles to keep you close or weigh your pockets down with rubies and sapphires to keep his little treasure from flying away.

Oh don't worry he hasn't forgotten about that pesky little ‘lover’ of yours. Within an hour of learning of your infidelity Pantalone has the man’s full name, medical records, ancestry and blood type sitting in his hands. You’d be surprised at how eager people are to get in the good graces of the head of the Northland bank and the ninth harbinger. Your affair partner has been blacklisted from almost any job and anywhere that does hire him is immediately bought out or its owner suddenly has Fatui knocking on their door demanding exorbitant amounts of money in “debts” to the Northland bank. Your lover will be financially ruined, any family or friends who try to reach out and support him will similarly be suddenly met with financial ruin. Only once Pantalone has stripped every part of joy from your lover’s life and isolated them from all they love will he be finally satisfied to send them off to Dottore as a little present, after all the Doctor is always enthused by new test subjects.

Scaramouche:

Scaramouche is a naturally covetous man, even in normal circumstances he is undoubtedly the most possessive of the Harbingers. Everyone he has ever treasured has slipped through his fingers, now that he once again feels love he refuses to allow it slide through his grasp again.

Scaramouche would already keep you primarily confined to his estate with only very rare outings. On the occasions he is summoned to the tsaritsa’s side he makes sure to have several handmaidens and guards watching over you and If he must travel from his residence in Snezhnaya he will take you with him for fear of you falling ill or fleeing while he is away but even then you’re confined either to your carriage or the bedroom where Scaramouche is staying.

Despite his confident and cruel demeanour Scaramouche is a deeply insecure man who truly believes himself to be unworthy of your love however he cannot help himself from craving your sweet affections and doting all for himself. He dresses you in identical colours as himself, he hand paints his signature red eyeliner under your eyes every day, he ensures you smell of his favourite things and that you are dressed in traditional Inazuman fashions.

If you somehow managed to cheat on him Scaramouche would go utterly ballistic. You thought you had seen the sixth harbinger angry but the outburst you had seen couldn’t even compare to the tempest he would unleash upon you or any other person who dared to seek your affections. His estate would be a mess, shattered vases, broken chairs, torn clothing thrown about the rooms. Nothing survived his enraged outburst as curses and insults were thrown towards the man who dared steal away his beloved’s affection and adoration.

Scaramouche was restrictive before but now its unbearable. When he returns home after hearing the news he finds you waiting by the door for him, bowing politely as he had commanded you but instead of greeting you with a kiss or throwing off his elaborate hat he instead practically leaps towards you, his hand enclosing around your throat bringing your face to his as he hisses out

“You ungrateful whore. Do you really think I don't know about you and them? Did you really think you could hide it?”

He watches for a moment as your eyes widen as you realise what he's insinuating: he knows about your infidelity. Your eyes instantly flood with hot tears as you realise the torment that's about to be inflicted upon you. Unlike usual he takes no amusement in your distress, too overcome with the conflicting emotions bubbling inside him to even focus on how pretty you look with tears in your eyes.

His grip moves from your throat to your hair as he threads his fingers in it to grab you by the scalp before he drags you up the staircase of his estate. Too overcome with terror to be able to walk properly instead you allow him to drag you along by the hair as your trembling legs attempt to hobble after him. 

Upon reaching your chambers he throws you down on the ground. You try not to take notice of the clump of your hair entwined in his fingers. Instead of punishing you however he instead turns back around, not even sparing you a glance as he storms out of the room, slamming the doors shut behind him. You lay splayed on the floor as he left you cradling your aching scalp as you wait for him to return with some device manufactured to inflict as much pain as possible.

Scaramouche does not return for many hours. It isn’t until the moon is high in the sky that the bedroom door opens and you see the balladeer return. The room fills with the coppery scent of blood, you’re certain if you had a lamp on you would see Scaramouche painted crimson. After several seconds of simply staring at your form the balladeer finally approaches you. Your whole body tenses as he bends down to lay himself on top of you, his head burrowed in your neck… was he about to rip your throat out with his very teeth? He could probably feel how hard your pulse was hammering under his cheek.

You waited for pain but it never came. Instead you felt the harbinger begin to softly shake, gentle sniffles being buried in your neck as his whole body curled in closer to yours. Your neck grows damp as Scaramouche tightens one arm around your waist and the other behind your head as he straddles your lying form. He uses his arm positions to pull you even closer to himself, his grip is verging on pain as he pushes your bodies together like he’s attempting to merge you together, to ensure you could never stray from his side. You half think you’ve imagined it when you hear the harbinger whisper in a hoarse tone

“Why can't you just love me?”

Maybe it was a sense of pity or you simply wanted him to calm down and get off you but regardless you wrapped your arms around him, cradling him softly. The harbinger’s cries ceased for a moment and you thought perhaps you had somehow managed to ignite his rage again but instead his shoulders began to shake violently as the intensity of his sobs picked up, wails coming out of him like a wounded animal as he clutched you close to him. 

Only as the sun began to rise did Scaramouche manage to clamber out of your embrace, staggering out of the room. You stayed on the ground for another hour, trying to ignore the tacky, dried blood encrusted on your kimono. You changed your kimono before going downstairs for breakfast, hoping to gain an understanding of Scaramouche's mood, however as you went to push the doors open they wouldn’t budge an inch. He had locked the door tight behind him.

[tealvenetianmask]

Hell's royalty has a culture that enables Stella's abusive behavior.

Point 1: Keeping up appearances is valued above all else. And I specifically mean the appearance of things being the way they're supposed to be. Conformity basically.

Conformity in this culture seems to include a kind of stoic dignity ("you know excitement is unbecoming of a goetia"), an air of superiority ("don't bow to that one- he bows to us!"), and, of course, some good old fashioned toxic masculinity ("cease this bitch crying").

Individuals at the very top are not immune. Even though he gets past it, Asmodeus seems to spend a lot of time and effort on keeping his relationship with Fizz quiet in order to keep up the appearance of fulfilling his "lust" role.

Point 2: The members of the aristocracy who don't conform are seen as the problem, not the members who are being cruel.

Speaking of Ozzie, there's a chance he'll face real consequences for getting out of line . . . Mammon seems pretty confident about getting revenge. Also, if Ozzie had decided that his reputation was important enough to avoid stepping in to help his partner, well . . . I'm just saying. Cultures of conformity create bystanders who stand by and let abuse happen. So it's good that this guy has the courage (and a good heap of privilege and power) to enable him to step out. Yes, I realize that the crowd at Mammon's celebrated Ozzie and Fizz, but the crowd was distinctly NOT aristocratic.

Now look at Stella's party- this woman is not subtle about being cruel to her husband.

She calls the party a "Not Divorced" party. She openly talks negatively about Stolas in a blatant attempt to humiliate him. She's not trying to hide that she hates the man.

Because he's . . . an oddball. Gentle, not as polished as others in his social sphere, awkward and mostly friendless, probably autistic. And importantly, I think, not traditionally masculine.

So Stella has no need to hide that she treats him poorly. She's proud of it. And her social circle seems to support her in it, or at least, they don't push back. Because based on the aristocracy's unspoken (or if we look at Paimon, very much spoken) value system, Stolas's failure to fulfill all of his expected roles gracefully is worse than Stella's cruelty.

Point 3: Stolas's parenting, while much better than his own father's, still reflects this value system in some ways, and that's . . . complicated.

In some ways, Octavia is doing great. She has her own interests (music! gothy fashion!) that don't seem to be based on any role prescribed to her by others. She has a genuine bond with her dad that's based on care and not on molding her into some ideal princess.

But Stolas still puts on an facade in front of Via. We know that he pretended things were fine when they distinctly weren't for most of her childhood. We could argue endlessly about whether Stolas was right (as Georgia Dow explained in her video) or wrong to stop himself from explaining the situation with Stella to Via in Loo Loo Land, but honestly, the man could let his nearly grown up daughter know that abuse was happening without all out trauma dumping. It would enable her to make more informed decisions, and I think she would want to be able to do that.

Instead, Stolas keeps it to himself. Because he feels like Via SHOULD have this picture perfect childhood. Look at the pictures that are up in his palace. Look at his attempt to gloss over the fighting in the household by taking Via to an idealized childhood destination.

A part of him still thinks that good parenting is keeping up appearances, and that the ugly things are best kept hidden. Look at how hard he still tries to avoid crying in front of people. The values he was taught as a child are part of him.

And while it's not his fault (it's Stella's fault, obviously- these are HER actions), his inability to be open allows Stella and Andrealphus to scheme and (we'll see . . .) probably manipulate Via because of her lack of knowledge.

We're meant to see the moments where Stolas breaks expectations and behaves raw and even a little unhinged as triumphant. Sleeping with Blitz. That is the sound of a fucking divorce. Actually going through with the fucking divorce. Insisting on it. Appearances be damned.

And yeah, more of that please. Because if the people around Stella stop caring about aristocratic social trappings, all she'll have going for her is her shitty personality.

Thanks @akirathedramaqueen for inspiring this post with a conversation.

[deaddovedecadence]

if requests are open, i'd like to ask for a fic of yandere batfam caring for a sick reader (i've got 1 foot in the grave rn 🤒) with forced infantilization (if that doesn't squick you out, hopefully) gn reader would be preferred. thank youuu 🙏

They are in fact open and fun fact, ive never done infantilization before so im super excited. I think what I'm doing to do is like a mini fic of each batfam member and how they're deal with you being sick. I'll totally do a gn! reader but they might come across as non binary.

-

Alfred: not the worst but not the best. Fussing over you all the damn time whenever you have even the faintest bit of even a cold because he’s lost enough people, you will not be one of them. He tucks you in bed. and will read to the books he read when he was young, smiling to himself with you fall asleep from the drugged milk. Over all a 5/10

Bruce: Doesn’t really believe in it. Thinks that forcing you to be strong will make you, an oldest daughter even stronger. Still when you get sick he’s so gentle with you, cooing that he loves you and that soon you’ll be all better, that your dad is here now. It hurts so badly because you know who he is and yet he’s so fucking gentle with you. 5/10

Dick: Honestly he’s like this all the damn time. Says that because you were an oldest you ought to relive your childhood. Holds basic respect over you to make sure that you do what he wants when he wants because you know that he’ll go back to that coddling cooing cruelty if you don’t. When you’re sick it’s turned up to the max because he likes taking care of people who can’t fight back. Likes being able to hug you and hold you and love on you all he wants. 8/10

Jason: He’s definitely more gentle with you than he is with his siblings but definitely has rough edges. He sees you as someone that needs to be protected but in the manor you are more equal. He fusses when you’re sick for sure because even though he knows that you have the best medical care, he still remembers all the people he lost in crime ally. He’s not obvious about it because he doesn’t know how to be but yikes does this man watch over you like a hawk. 4/10

Cassandra: Thinks that you’re weak and needs her care in a way that her siblings and steph do not. Cass respects strength and the ability of people to take care of themselves ,and you in her eyes can not do that. So when you fight, she forces you down, humming sweet lullabies from cultures all over the world. When you’re sick it proves her point because the rest of them would have been over this by now. You need her. 7/10.

Tim: uses it to manipulate the fuck outta you. Tells you that you are weak, that your sickness is proof you need their love and attention. Will drug you to be dependent on them will you’re ill and probably made you sick in the first place so you’d learn that you belonged in the family, that there is no going back for you. Calls you a child even though you’re older then him.

Duke: They almost coordinate with Tim, making sure that you never suspect any of them. Duke’s power is words, they know how to spin them and manipulate them and make it so that you aren’t really sure of what’s real and what you dreamed up. A gaslighter to the max. Loves and respects you but thinks that you need to stay here, you aren’t strong enough to be a bat’s lieutenant. 7/10

Damian: While Dami does think that you are weak, he also thinks that. there is a value to you that the others do not quite understand. You soothe the family and act asa merger so that even when they anger each other, they come back for you. Damian is very intuitive and this allows him to understand you better even if he lacks empathy to those outside of his family. Even when you are ill he worries over you but demands you heal because you are strong. 0/10

[pirateshelly]

One thing that really fascinates me about interview with the vampire (the show) is this sort of tension between power and powerlessness in all of the characters. Because it doesn't present becoming a vampire as something that just gives you power and magically makes you completely detached from all human concerns and struggles.

And that seems to be something Lestat does very much want to believe, and he's in enough of a position of privilege that he's able to convince himself it's true, and it's a fundamental area where he just cannot understand Louis because Louis CAN'T pretend even if he wants to. (And of course Lestat cannot ACTUALLY separate himself from "human troubles" the way he likes to think he can, he just has an easier time pretending than most). Because as much as becoming a vampire grants these characters supernatural power it doesn't just magically take away the very tangible human ways that they were previously vulnerable or powerless.

Becoming a vampire doesn't negate Louis' struggles with racism; in some ways it amplifies them with how he is alienated from his own family and community; his closest connection becomes Lestat. He loses his economic independence and becomes socially dependent on Lestat in a way he wasn't to anyone as a human because in some ways becoming a vampire made him MORE vulnerable, despite granting him physical strength/speed/etc. The promise of freedom in vampirism Lestat presents to Louis (that I do think he does genuinely mean, but "freedom" means very different things to Louis than it does to Lestat) is never fulfilled.

Likewise Claudia learns the hard way with Bruce and later with the coven that she may be a vampire but the world still looks at her and sees a vulnerable young black girl and that will always put her in danger.

Claudia rescues Madeleine then turns her into a vampire, but rather than protect her from future harm the "crime" of turning her becomes the very thing that gets her killed by yet another angry mob.

And 514 years as a vampire will never be enough for Armand to truly trust or believe in his own power. Because the first 200 or so years of his life he was literally never once allowed any agency at all over his own identity or his own body (child slave sold to a brothel, sold to an abusive master, captured and violently indoctrinated into a vampire cult for centuries). No amount of material strength and power is going to undo the psychological effects of that. (And I know some people like to read his frequently passive demeanor as simply manipulation and a way of catching people off guard (because how could someone so old and powerful possibly feel a genuine sense of fear/vulnerability/etc 🙄) but to me that's an incredibly disingenuous reading of him. But that's a different rant for another time!). Being a vampire does not save him from being horrifically abused, nor does it save him from the lasting emotional effects of that abuse.

And I think there's something interesting to be said about the way that, in order to survive safely, they have to feed on the most vulnerable members of society (people undesirable and therefore least likely to arouse suspicion) in order to go unnoticed. If they want to live they have to prey on those vulnerable in possibly the same ways they themselves once were (and in many ways still are).

There's a frequent argument I dislike that we shouldn't be viewing any of these characters through too human of a lense because they're literal monsters (to be honest it's an argument I see most often made when people simply don't want to talk about the show's complex depiction of racism/misogyny/abuse/etc and used to dismiss those as issues "too human" to be relevant to a story about a bunch of monsters with a supposedly alien sense of morality), but I think the show itself makes a huge argument that for these characters there is no escaping or separating themselves from the very human struggles and vulnerabilities that marked them before they ever became vampires. It's like a sort deconstructed power fantasy.

[itsabouttimex2]

Ok, ok, HEAR ME OUT-

How about lmk Monkeifam and Bullfam with a Y/N who isn't afraid to throw hands —

Like i mean in a response to trauma or manipulation, becouse i fell it isn't explore enough in this situation -

Sure, your loved that you belived was a friend trapped /kidnapped/gaslight you is heartbreaking and of course you are gonna be sad and more incline to behave butttt-

There is always the other way of absolute rage that comes in once you realized you have been trapped/kidnapped /gaslight ecc- like i don't care anymore, i wanna throw hands, those people are death to me.(even thought this isn't the smarter choice considering the strenght of some of the people here) like them breaking Y/N down so they can comfort them to manipulate them, but then unsurprisingly the get the biggest smack/punch of their life . Just- wow the audacity.

Throwing Hands

Bullfam & Monkiefam

“…is this some sort of pathetic attempt at ‘rebellion’, Y/N? I am not impressed.”

Your hands straight bounce. Like punching a bag of wet cement, the Demon Bull King’s skin just shifts around under your fists, never breaking or bruising. You only shatter yourself against it, leaving you worn and looking foolish.

He might not even punish you, given that it’s likely that you break a wrist on impact.

“Now, look what you’ve done to yourself, foolish child. Did you truly think your mortal flesh could stand a demon king’s might? Well, now you know better.”

You lost your temper and struck him. Immediately, you learn better than to do that ever again, and he considers it lesson enough.

Surprisingly merciful, all things considered. (Partially because he finds it somewhat funny.)

I once said in my yandere alphabet that: “Red Son doesn’t want to waste his time doing something like caning or whipping you”. And though I think that viewpoint is usually true…

This changes that. It’s maybe the only situation where he would actively engage in any form of normalized torture “corporal punishment”.

Being physically attacked switches Red from ‘mildly reasonable, if a bit hair-trigger’ to ‘vicious and cruel’. Through brute force alone does he wrestle you into submission, binding your arms behind your back with a pair of metal cuffs.

He tosses you onto the nearest bed and couch before burning the lower half of your clothing off. He then takes up a thin metal rod to utilize in “disciplining” you, sharply lashing it down against your now unprotected skin. He’ll leave puffy, bleeding welts from the top of your rear to the bottom of your thighs, ensuring that you won’t even be able to think about walking for at least a week.

Problem is that not only does it not solve the problem of you being scared and angry, it also just… makes him feel bad afterwards. It breaks him, seeing you weep brokenly over his bed. Blood sluggishly trickles from the skin he’s lashed open, and you scream your lungs out into the sheets as you try to adjust to the pain.

And then he “has to” (wants to, in truth) settle in for some awkward form of aftercare, offering lotion and bandages. When you don’t accept, he forces you to drink a cup of honeyed tea loaded with sedatives because you won’t stop shrieking.

Antiseptic while you’re asleep, a few stitches here and there, then the lotion and bandages he tried earlier. And then a few cautious back rubs, trying to calm your fitful slumber.

“Gods, Y/N… what have I done to you? I… I was just… I was… no, I… I’m sorry.”

An outright dodge. Princess Iron Fan has no time for your nonsense. For trying, she’ll lock you into whatever room has been set aside for you, barring the door with powerful magic.

One shallowly-filled bowl of food every two days, adding just a little bit more to it each day. One ceramic cup of room temperature water every four hours. A change of clothes every three days. Instead of brute force, Iron Fan teaches you through deprivation.

After a month of this, she might see fit you allow you back out of your room, letting you mingle with the family you have been forced to adopt.

After writing her a letter of apology, of course. Two pages. Pray you have the mind to keep your pencil steady.

So very many tears to deal with, probably on both ends. MK knows that he’s doing isn’t all that great, sure… but it’s because he loves you!

Can’t you love him back, please? Ok, he’s been manipulating you! Maybe he’s been driving some friends away! Maybe he’s sent a few clones to tail you around the city! But, please, please- you can’t stop loving him! He just can’t risk having you hurt!

“Please, Y/N! You don’t understand! I’m just trying to keep you safe! You can hit me again, hit me as many times as you want! Just- please, Y/N… I need you. Please…”

His last resort is stuffing you in Shuilian Cave, given that you can’t escape with his or Sun Wukong’s help. Maybe a few ropes to keep you in place. He’ll cry with each knot tied, begging you not to hate him.

Sun Wukong tanks your punch and gives your head a little pat, frowning at the display. “Sorry, bud. Trust me, I know I’m not exactly the good guy here. Go ahead and let it out. I… kinda deserve it, huh?”

The Great Sage knows you have every reason to be upset. Really, you do. All there’s only so much waylaying of emotions to be done, unfortunately. You were going to crack eventually.

He stands firmly in place, one hand rubbing your back while you break your fists against his body, watching you scream and cry. The man is just… unsurprised? He’s starting to realize that he messes up a lot of things.. So just letting you whale on him seems fair, gently trying to shush your angry tears while your skin grinds to bloody pulp against his shredded abdomen.

“How about I make us some tea,” he offers afterwards, surveying your destroyed hands. “And I’ll patch you up. Then… I think you’ve earned yourself an early bedtime for the rest of the week, bud.”

“Oh, kiddo. Do you know what “screwing up” is? After this, they’re gonna put your picture in the dictionary as an example.”

Macaque does not tolerate having hands laid on him. Not by friends, not by enemies. And certainly not by his little student, who is supposed to be wide-eyed and placid, in awe of his every move and strike.

You are supposed to be sweet and respectful. You are supposed to be kind and loving.

And he’s sure that with a little bit of “training”, he’ll get you back to that disposition.

He’ll snap his fingers with an angry snarl, shadows springing all around you like cold wires. You are gagged with a cold ebon muzzle, both your hands locked inside a cuff of swirling black and purple. You want to act like an animal? Macaque will chain you to the wall by your new muzzle and treat you like an animal.

Maybe a few days spent so on a chain so short you can’t lay down will teach you better than to raise a hand against “the only person who even loves you, Y/N!” ever again.

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER FOURTEEN: TRIPE

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, child abuse and more (check the tags)

Read after the cut

-

By some sense of duty, or else an undug tendril of guilt, Will volunteers himself to oversee your evening routine alone. You allow him this, being in scant possession of what slim tolerance has borne you through Hannibal’s accompaniment thus far.

Will proves himself to be far less involved than the other man would have been in his stead. He leans against a wall with the nonchalance of a prison warden as you shower blood and spend alike down the receiving drain, allows you to pad into your bedroom, towel-wrapped, to select a clean nightdress and sanitary products with his head turned nobly aside.

You cannot determine if his distance from you is through respect for your condition or some lasting dislike of you, neither of which holds entirely true.

More likely it is that he does not see you as his child, yet, nor quite with the equality of a lover.

Still, as you get into bed he cannot help but come to you, uncertain as he his of his purpose.

“Will you give me a goodnight kiss?” you ask, part in bitter jest, and part in annoyance with his indecision.

That a man can fuck and beat you in throes of black delight and still skulk about like a repentant sinner would have confounded you in the days before you became accustomed to such duality. To what end, and upon what strength the latter side subsists is now the greater puzzle, for it is this that drags its heels and restrains Will from his full devilry.

“Well?” you say, brusquely. “What are you waiting for? Dad’s permission?”

Will gives a hard laugh, one hand kneading the back of his neck.

“I admire your commitment to the part, but you don’t have to keep it up so seriously when it’s just you and me.”

“I promised I would,” you remind him. “Why can’t you? You had no issue kissing me in front of Hannibal. I don’t see why it’s a problem now.”

You see Will’s fingers go to the bridge of his nose, wanting the guard of the eyeglasses he’s neglected to wear.

“It’s not genuine,” he says, flatly. “The only reason you’re asking is to manipulate me.”

“So what?” you say. “Scared that it’ll work?”

“Not scared, no.”

“Sure you’re not.”

There is something hysterical in your tone, the cut string of a trapped and weary madness.

Will examines you, aware of the power play you’re attempting over him, intrigued by it, despite himself. Attracted, even.

His gaze is like a stone in the sun, all heat, all black, all blue.

He knows what revulsion you must push past to test him like this, still slightly high from the forced euphoria of fucking, and the drugs. You’re beyond consideration of the consequences, irrational, barely attached to the tongue and teeth that bite at the air in their ire.

Still Will hangs from your words like a pilgrim knelt before an oracle, dependent on your answer.

“Haven’t you had enough of me kissing you tonight?” he asks.

Sniffing, you turn to face his gargoyle shadow on the wall.

“So it’s a no. You’d make a really terrible father.”

“One...”

“Not my name.”

So Will says it, gently, and you roll back towards him, your heart quick and high behind a rail of bone with the thrill of his appeasement.

Your truce, the union of flesh: they’ve altered Will, for as he looks at you a second time his pupils are the chasms between worlds, wild and deep.

Kneeling up on the bed, you make a trellis of both hands through his curls and clutch him to you in an ungainly kiss. Will stumbles in the force of it, his arms spilling about your back so as not to fall upon you with all his weight.

You gasp against his lips with eagerness to take what he has taken, to fallow the rose flesh of his inner mouth, the lathe of your tongue churning. Will is too surprised to kiss you in return, but as you hitch one leg after the other upon his hips you feel the vine of him against your groin, wanting you again, as always.

You think of him fucking you now, pinning your wicked hands with the nail of his fist as he thrusts through a sheen of blood. Though you despise him still, your loins smart with interest in engineering the act rather than merely suffering it as ever before.

At last Will returns your kiss, but briefly, and with a knowing restraint before he lays you back upon the bed again.

You grasp at his face in an attempt to reclaim his lips. He pushes you lightly away.

“Hey,” he grins. “You made your point.”

“Oh?” you say, coolly. “And what is my point?”

“That I like kissing you. That I want to kiss you, whether Hannibal’s here or not.”

“Right,” you say, twisting a corner of your quilt around one finger for something to do with your hands. “But you never would have picked me. Like, if I was in one of your FBI classes. If I was your student. Would you even have noticed me?”

Will laughs again, with a startled unease, as though the notion is foreign to him.

“Starting affairs with students isn’t exactly my style. I turn up, I teach. That’s it. I don’t get personally involved. Or didn’t, till now. Letting people get close is... uncomfortable for me.”

He glances down at the bunch of quilt in your closed knuckles. Unlike the ever-tactile Dr Lecter, he makes no attempt to take it away.

“So how come you got so close to Hannibal?” you ask. “Didn’t you say you had reservations about him?”

“He saw me even when I was making an effort to turn away. He and I have commonalities I can’t ignore, and enough differences to keep me wondering who he really is. There’s a lot even I don’t know about him, and there are times I wonder what I’m doing letting him in.”

You’re on the verge of another question as Will steps sharply back from the bed.

“We can talk more tomorrow,” he says. “I’ll still be here in the morning. But if you want my thoughts about Hannibal then it’s only fair that you tell me a little about you in return. If this is going to work long-term I need to know who you are.”

Then he goes over to the light switch and closes you in behind a shutter of night.

*

 

You’re roused from the saccharine heat of your bedcovers the following morning by Will rapping on your bedroom door. His face appears in the crevice between it and the frame as though wary to trespass, the broken spell of your desperation in his eyes.

“It’s so early,” you whine, noting the bare line of sunlight beneath the curtains. “And I feel like death, thanks to you and Dad. Can’t I stay in bed?”

“Hannibal just rushed out to an emergency appointment,” says Will. “One of his patients is having some kind of crisis, so it’ll be just you and me for a while. You want coffee? I was about to make some.”

An apology, you think, something to alleviate the swaddled and perspiring misery of your comedown.

“Sure,” you say, weakly. “Black, please. Sweetener, if there is any. The low calorie version.”

Will’s brows rise.

“You think Hannibal keeps that around?”

Reflecting on the little paper sachets that had been favoured throughout high school you say, “Ha. I guess not.”

Within twenty minutes you’re sitting up against your pillows, one hand gripping a delicate, steaming cup, the other soothing your stomach through which bites the first monthly cramp.

Will takes a nearby chair, eyeing the bars on your window as though assuming your daily view through the glass.

Though you loathe him still in his unpredictable oddities, you’re keen to make closer yet the allyship you’ve struck up with him, watchful though he is of that very attempt. If he will not help you escape, then a friendship at least may fortify the sanity you fear will leave you in this quasi childhood.

Will doesn’t seek your regression quite as Hannibal does— a cantankerous teenager is as young as he perceives you, the sick girl that never grew up. This house, then, is a Neverland in reverse, a sumptuous den of brutal sex.

Closing your eyes against such thoughts, you take in your coffee, each dark mouthful a long-acquired taste. You remember forcing back cup after cup of it, trusting it over plain water in the belief that it would burn calories as you drank.

Suddenly you’re acutely nostalgic for the days spent in your childhood room, scrolling through online threads of ailing young women in a community of mutual suffering.

It occurs to you that you may never feel so entirely comprehended without judgement as you were there again. You understand Will rather more through the thought, his convergence with Hannibal a relief to so lonely a monster.

“Tell me about ‘Dad’,” you say, into the silence. “You said you would, last night. Like, who even is he? Where did he come from?”

Will blinks, stirred up from his own brooding thoughts. In the dreary daylight he has the face of a beautiful invalid, all its angles skirted in shade.

“Hannibal’s from Lithuania, originally,” he says. “He had a younger sister, Mischa. She died a long time ago. I don’t know the finer details of what happened to her. She’s the only family he’s ever talked about, and even then it’s been bare bones.”

You sit up straighter, envisioning a young girl with Hannibal’s eyes, and none of his appetite.

“Huh,” you say. “That makes a lot of sense.”

"Hannibal would disagree. He doesn’t put much stock in the past making him who he is.”

“Seems kind of a weird thing for a therapist to say. He’s always digging into mine.”

Will looks at the floor, as though distinguishing some new pattern from the grains in the carpet.

“Hannibal views himself as... separate from other people. Being that he acts outside of ethics and the law in his own profession, I’d guess that what’s between us isn’t his only secret.”

“I’ve tried to tell you,” you say, tapping your coffee cup with bitten fingertips for emphasis. “I’ve known this for so long. But since you’re going along with his games how can you even judge him for whatever horrible things he’s doing?”

“Without knowing what he has or hasn’t done,” says Will, slowly, “I can’t say that I do.”

He gets up from his seat and paces before the window, his hands gesticulating like pigeons frenzied into startled flight.

“You assume that what I’m trying to learn about Hannibal—the core of who he is—is something ugly. But that isn’t what I’m afraid of. It’s the possibility of him lying to me. I don’t know if I could forgive him for that after the bond we’ve made. After what he encouraged me start with you.”

“You shouldn’t trust him,” you say, urgently. “Don’t. You don’t need him.”

Scoffing, Will says, “Jack seems to think I do. Alana— she’s convinced I’m one nudge away from disappearing so far into a case that I kill someone without even knowing it. Hannibal's the only one that doesn’t think of me as broken.”

You consider informing him of his suspected encephalitis, that Hannibal surely withholds this truth and more so as to keep his favour.

In the end you retain your silence; better that Will discovers the manipulation alone and behold how he has been misled upon this trail of darkness.

“Enough about me,” says Will, abruptly. “I know that someone hurt you, long before Hannibal. Before me. Someone you've never forgotten.”

Alarmed by the twist in conversation, you stammer, “I— I already told him some of it. I said I didn’t remember. But I was lying about that. I just don’t know if it was only one, long night, or it happened other times. I don’t know which is worse.”

You pause, slightly breathless. Like a portent from the white lips of some phantom you know that you must tell Will the truth, adhere him to your weeping heart with empathy for you.

“I was just a little kid,” you say. “And he was an adult. Nearly family— I used to call him Uncle Lee. Hannibal probably told you that. Anyway, I got my ‘wrong’ feeling about him way before he did what he did. Like I knew it was coming. Then he came into my room alone one night and... it happened.”

You put down your coffee cup, almost knocking it from the bedside table with the shaking of your hand. Will comes away from the window at once, dragging his chair to your bedside to listen. He neither speaks nor looks into your eyes, aware that you can bear neither without faltering.

“He touched me,” you say, “and the whole time I couldn’t even face him. I don’t even remember what I felt. Maybe I didn’t feel anything at all. Just stared at the ceiling or whatever. He did stuff to me that changed me forever. I felt like a tiny old person in a kid’s body, after that, knowing about things I wasn’t supposed to know.

“And the worst of it was still having to see him after. My parents— I tried to tell them, but I couldn’t get the words out. They just thought I didn’t like him. So he came back to the house, now and then. Never saw any consequences.

“I’ve always wondered if I was the only one, or if there were others. He was a plumber, or something; he could have access to people’s daughters anytime he wanted. Just walk into their room and... you know. I think maybe he did do that, a couple of times. Who knows.”

Your restless fingers pick at the gold embroidery on your bedspread, working it loose from the velvet. One of Will’s hands folds over yours, gently holding them still.

“What I always think about is how he treated me, afterwards,” you say. “I tried avoiding him, but it didn’t always work. One day he cornered me at the top of the stairs— my parents were in the kitchen, so it was just me and him.

“I must have been maybe twelve or so. Not far off thirteen. My body was changing. I was growing up. He said, ‘you’re getting a little chubby, you know. You ought to do something about that before you look like your mother.’

“Then he smiled at me, and just walked into the bathroom like there was nothing wrong with what had just come out of his mouth, or what he’d done to me all those years ago.”

Inhaling an unsteady breath, you try, with dubious success, to smile.

“So now you get why I’m like this. And knowing it wasn’t my fault, that Leland Frost is just a predator... it doesn’t fix anything. Like, where do I go from there?”

“He injured you,” says Will, softly. “And it may never stop hurting. But you can recover. No matter what you believe, it is possible. His shallow cruelty is not your compass. You don’t have to live on the basis of an insult.”

Scowling, you pull away from Will, trapping your hands under your armpits.

“How can I change when I’m reliving what I went through every day? Why does Hannibal think this’ll heal me? Why do you? Oh, yeah. You don’t.”

“I want it to,” says Will.

You snort dismissively.

“Yeah, yeah. Not so long ago you would have punched the air to see the back of me. You don’t want to share Hannibal with anybody.”

Will leans back in his seat, arms folded; it takes a moment for you to register that he is, by some subconscious impulse, copying your posture.

“I’m not sharing Hannibal with you,” says Will. “I’m sharing you with him. And I want to do that. You knew it before I did.”

His gaze snaps to yours, more arresting than his hands on you had been.

“You’re more like me than I cared to admit. Hannibal was right about that. And though everything about you should repulse his sensibilities he finds you adorable. You clearly don’t appreciate it, but there it is.”

You yearn to deny him, to condemn this speech as sophistry, but you are silent, as much a congregant to him as he has been to you.

“Leland Frost tore you down because he saw that you were growing up and away from him,” says Will. “He knew that one day you’d have a life, and achievements, and people that really cared about you. He was going to fade out of your world, and he couldn’t stand not leaving a mark.”

“I just don’t get it,” you whisper. “He loved me. Why did he do it?”

Will shifts his chair even closer to the bed so as to lean into you, his expression tender, tragic, sombre with a father’s sympathy.

“Leland never loved you, and that’s no reflection on you or your worth. It makes him weak, that he could throw away the relationship he had with you over an urge.”

You don’t have the strength to rage against the whited sepulchre in Will, not when he speaks the truth you’ve always yearned to hear from another. Pain winds through your body, throat to gut, great, twisting pulses, as though eviscerated on a blade of past.

What advice would Will give for you to survive what he and Hannibal have done, and will do?

Nothing. Not a word. He knows that the structure of the home, even comfort from those that afflict you has changed you in so short a time. Your desperation to be gone from him he senses, too, and with it your lust to be loved.

Will holds your hand for a long time before he speaks again, on another subject quite as dreary as the last.

“When you said it’d been years since you...”

“Since I last had my period?” you ask, touching your stomach through the sheets. “Yeah. It has been.”

Your body, the betrayer, making a scarlet banner of your betterment through cruelty.

“I never wanted it to come back. Having it again means I’m not as sick anymore, and that’s like... messing up for me.”

Will's head tilts, his face carved up by the shadows thrown from your barred window into a lattice of snow.

“Failing to die is barely a failure at all,” he comments.

You shrug yourself further under your bedcovers.

“It is if what’s happening to you is something worse,”

“Is it always so bad, being here with us?”

Will’s hand rises. Doesn’t quite touch your face. You turn your head away, but not cruelly; he’s not a bad man, you decide, only contorted so utterly from the ways of his fellows that he is some creature other, or from before, the flint-armed hunter of the caves.

And like such a creature, he seeks your answering affection for want of some warmth in the dark beginning of the earth.

You allow him to kiss your forehead, clumsily, inclined towards him as though you were not both aware of the fiction that allows this contact.

He can only guess how far you’d run from this, had you your chance. How readily you’d betray him.

*

 

You’re much recovered by the time Dr Lecter returns, having been hydrated and energised by a selection of unnamed supplements Will had you take with lunch; there is a cure for every ailment in the makeshift laboratory of the kitchen, it seems.

Hannibal discovers you at your usual perch of the parlour couch, writing in your journal with a blanket tucked loosely around you against the October cool.

Will stands to greet his companion, setting aside a book you’d offered him from your shelf to peruse, its cover depicting the bloody half-brain of the sun on a desert horizon.

“I didn’t expect our charge to be in such high spirits,” says Hannibal, with unmasked surprise. “Thank you for caring for her this morning, Will. I’m aware that whatever time you can spare for us in the midst of an investigation is very precious.”

Likely aware of your eyes on him, Will says, “I’m glad I stayed. I appreciated the company. How’s the other patient?”

“Suitably quieted. I doubt that I’ll be called away again on her behalf. Still, I made the most of the journey home.”

Hannibal reaches into a shopping bag looped over one arm and produces from it a wrapped package of fresh meat, marbling the paper with blood.

Grimacing, you say, “Ew. What is that? Looks like an organ.”

“It is. I’ll be making trippa alla romana tonight. It’s an Italian dish made from cow stomach. Don’t turn your nose up till you’ve tried it. Have I served anything to you yet that you haven’t enjoyed?”

*

After dinner, all three of the household recline, full and talking lazily before the fire. Had your company been any other than your abusers you would almost be content, for having been allowed to leave the table after a valiant half plate you are not so guilt-soaked as you’d have been had you finished it all.

You had, in fact, disliked the meal, a first in Hannibal’s house. The thought of the organ, plucked from the rib of a butcher’s shelf, had struck bile to the back of your mouth from the first bite.

A cup of chocolate, warmed to a froth and unadorned with cream is set in your hands instead, which you drink in feline licks to make it last.

Will’s phone shrills abruptly in his pocket. Frowning, he glances at the lighted oblong of its screen and starts at a familiar name.

“It’s Jack,” he says. “I’d better take this.”

He promptly exits the room, speaking with clipped tones into the device.

Alone with Hannibal, you become acutely aware of him looking at you, not quite with suspicion, but not so far from that.

"I see that you and Will are becoming close,” he says, at last. “I’m glad to see it.”

Humming vaguely, you snatch up the journal again and weave your pen about in a pretence of writing.

Hannibal says, "Still, it saddens me that—for all your pretty words of promise—you display a lesser willingness to befriend me.”

You do not answer, pressing your pen so hard against a page that it blots through to the other side.

"Put your journal down a moment, Little One,” says Hannibal. “I’m speaking to you."

Without looking up, you answer, "I don't know what you want me to say."

"You needn't say anything at all. It's your behaviour I wish to change."

In a flounce of irritation you throw the journal upon the floor, its spine creasing.

“I do what you say, and I don't fight you anymore,” you say. “Isn't that daughterly enough?"

"For the purposes of your treatment,” says Hannibal, “it is not. You remain closed to me, parted only by narcotic aid. I'd prefer you to open to me of your own volition. With Will, you prove yourself increasingly capable of that.

“I’ve given you all you’ve asked for, and more, and yet you show little gratitude. I wouldn’t wish to remove these luxuries for you to appreciate my endeavours.”

You look at him, then, this man both jealous and performing jealousy to groom you into his concubine, and in looking see that he will deconstruct your room into the barest cell, should he not have his way.

"I do appreciate what you’ve given me," you hastily protest. "I do, Daddy. You don’t have to take anything away. But I— I just don’t know you the way I know Will.”

“But you do,” says Hannibal, rising to sit beside you, a dangerous proximity. “That’s why you are so afraid of me, is it not?”

You begin to object, trailing off at the sound of approaching footfalls as the younger of your captors returns, listing in the churning swell of stress.

“It's the investigation,” says Will. “Another doll’s been found. Savannah Belmont. It’s too soon to be the Lover’s kill. He has a cool off point between each abduction.”

Hannibal straightens in his seat, rapidly alert.

“A copycat, then.”

Will nods, his throat tightening. His eyes touch your face briefly, and you offer him a small, close-lipped smile, an extension of comfort from across the room. His shoulders drop from their rigid line, and when he speaks again the frantic note in his voice is tempered slightly.

“Definitely a copycat,” he says. “The Lover disposes of the dolls by throwing them into rivers like garbage. No attempt to lay them to rest. Savannah was put on display, placed in a chair on a dirt bank as though she was waiting to be found.

“Both killers meant to degrade their victims, but only the copycat’s is implied to understand and accept that humiliation. Savannah Belmont died aware of her inferiority in the eyes of her murderer.”

You find yourself sitting on your hands to prevent them from betraying your agitation with their unsteadiness. Your leg, however, you cannot control, the right foot gyring an inch above the floor.

Hannibal eyes it without speaking, folding your reaction into the lengthy tome of his mind.

“The victim’s stomach was missing,” says Will, turning to pluck a bottle of whiskey from a nearby cabinet like some bronze fruit. “That’s new. The Lover’s mutilations are all with the purpose of fitting the bodies of his victims inside their silicone casings. He has no surgical skills.

“This new killer obviously has expertise. Savannah’s stomach was cut precisely from her body with the clear intent of taking it as a trophy.”

“Her stomach?” you repeat.

You feel the heaviness of meat within you and are chilled by the coincidence.

Hannibal could not have known what the copycat would take to reference it, could not have known of his existence to begin with, and yet as you glance at him under your lashes you don’t quite trust the seriousness of his expression, his eyes gleaming dimly as tarmac in the rain.

“You mustn’t worry, Little One,” says Hannibal, turning to lift you up onto his lap. “The Lover can’t hurt you. We will protect you, always.”

He settles your head against his chest, which resounds with the slow beat of his heart and the machinery of organs digesting his own rich meal.

The monster knows of your renewed distrust and is unthreatened by it, declawed and tooth-filed as you are by his influence over you and all the passageways of the world you’d otherwise cross in your escape.

“Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy,” you mutter, against his shirt, and the warmth of Hannibal’s palm cups your buttocks with a tormenting friction, both threat and tease at once.

While you hate him—are in terror of him, always—your form is increasingly enamoured by his touch as though it knows that it must be so, or die.

“No need to thank me for performing my duty to you, Little One,” says Hannibal, into your ear. “For you belong to me, and to Will, and you must never forget it.”

[sugar-grigri]

Hey! Have you noticed the visual parallels between the gun fiend and Chainsaw man in this latest (152th) chapter?

The parallel between Aki and Denji in the last chapter

No, I hadn't noticed, and I like that others have because I might have an explanation for this parallel.

Fujimoto likes parallels, but this time he does it the other way round. Let me explain: for me, and according to my interpretation, he had already made an explicit reference to chapters 78/79 in this chapter:

Chapter 142 exploited Denji's relationship with others, but also with being a CSM, just as Fumiko's speech only reinforces the fact that even when she places herself as a victim, she reinforces Denji's position as a martyr.

Even when Fumiko argues that she saw CSM as a child, the chapter proves her wrong, whether through her unsuccessful manipulation techniques, her many contradictions, but above all her behaviour is typical, allowing Denji to deny the pain he suffered by killing his brother.

I won't go into it again ((if you want to know more, the link is above)) the only thing you need to remember here is that Fujimoto still intends to exploit Aki's death, albeit in a subtle, poetic way in part 2.

In chapter 152, Denji suffers because he has decided to; his suffering is his own, he demands it and even sees it as a means of experiencing pleasure. What's more, this chapter follows on from chapters 150/151 in Denji's claim to his own identity: I WANT to be CSM, and no one is going to stop me. The negative consequences are mine because I've decided to.

Whereas during his confrontation with Aki, Denji's identity was stolen by his "fans" (a theme dealt with in chapter 142), who positioned themselves as the only suffering parties (ignoring Denji's), and it was the frightened, bruised men and women who decided that CSM had to save them, had to act and kill.

So chapter 152 is more than an awakening, it's Denji who takes back the right to suffer if he has decided to do so. Before, it was always the others who decided, but instead of taking the plunge and saying: I'll never let myself suffer again, this time the martyr doesn't want his suffering to be taken away from him.

Because if we take away Denji's suffering, he won't turn into a CSM anymore

If that's taken away, his memories of Power and Aki are fragmented

These last two sentences are actually linked, because Denji has learnt to love just as much as he has learnt to suffer through Aki and Power. Aki's curse is to have been possessed by his sworn enemy, the Gun Devil, who reclaims his rights over the man who tried to resist him: to be there to make Aki's family suffer, always, even the second time around.

As the curse repeats itself, Aki's mind is stuck in his childhood, when it hadn't yet been broken, so he's blindly enjoying himself. Because, paradoxical though it may sound, it was when Aki realised the cruelty of this world, the loss of loved ones, that he tried to protect his family - the greatest act of love. Suffering is an awareness.

Aki had gambled on his suffering before, wasting his years of life with almost no ties. And when he began to change his perception of wanting to do something for his family, those wasted years didn't leave him enough time to protect his second family.

While he was escaping the suffering of his first family, he didn't even realise that he was causing the second to suffer. Fate was simply amused.

It is just as much for Power, a bestial being by nature who has already learnt about the suffering of losing loved ones with Meowy's kidnapping, Aki's anguish possessed at the door, bringing a birthday cake to Denji as an act of kindness, before realising that she would rather die than let Denji die. Suffering is also what brings destinies together and intertwines them.

Power and Aki are symbols of the same thing: when suffering began to be reflected in others, materialising in the fear of losing a loved one, fate turned against them.

So what Denji is doing is a narrative attempt to free himself from his fate, if he starts to fear more for Nayuta than for himself, if he stops being CSM for her, then the passage of suffering turned against oneself, there will always be someone to catch the ball. So Denji ends the cycle.

Denji will see no-one but his pain, Pochita, he will ignore even the flames that tore him away from his animal family, he will push back to Nayuta. It's a retreat into his own identity in the final chapter, a futile attempt to escape from a pain even worse than the pain of being cut in two, the pain of seeing another part of himself ripped away: a loved one.

Now we've pretty much understood the parallel. But don't forget the beginning of this post, Denji is doing exactly what Aki is doing.

Chapter 152 is the hero's attempt to regain control of his destiny, as if suddenly aware of the suffering inherent in the work, wanting to reverse it, to turn it into pleasure.

But he will not escape his fate. Denji may laugh, but only fate will have the last laugh.

[arospecsyourblockdudes]

One thing I always come back to thinking about in terms of Bingge v Bingmei is how they allow themselves vulnerability.

To put it plain and simple, Bingge does not. Who’s he going to open up to? Mobei-jun? His second in command, the guy who really always has to trust his authority, absolutely not. Definitely not any of his wives because I don’t think he sees them as real people. His own Shen Qingqiu is dead and also hated him. He’s got all these walls up, in the form of power and authority and seduction and wealth and cannot let those come down because in his experience it gets you hurt or worse

But our Binghe very much does. Sure, his tears and puppy dog eyes are 75% of the time a way to manipulate SQQ into letting him have his way, but 1. A lot of the time he’s manipulating SQQ into giving him hug and kissie or something like that and 2. Before you can start sniffling and crying as your one-hit-KO weapon you have to know that the person you’re sniffling and crying at isn’t going to think less of you for your tears, that they aren’t going to make fun of you, that they’re just going to sigh fondly and let you win. In the wedding extra, Binghe is very open about his anxieties over not being good enough and being rejected. Which, if you’ve ever told someone that you have a lot of anxiety over something involving them you’ll know, takes some guts. Overall, he’s a bit of a clingy needy loser and his husband (also a clingy needy loser) loves that about him

Imagine Bingge seeing this weak and pathetic version of himself, one that gets fussed over and allows it, one that cries and gets pouty like a child, and that’s the one that’s loved and happy. The version of him that directly contradicts everything he thinks about himself

[furiousgoldfish]

If you've found yourself in that childhood hell with a narcissistic parent, where every year you gain you get treated worse, and the older you get, the more unworthy and unlovable you are, this is why it's going on.

Narcissists are unwilling to be parents, but they're ready to take advantage of every possible benefit they think parenthood has. The perceived benefit is how the world sees them, someone feeling sympathetic or engaged with them, getting popularity based on your kid's talents, abilities and successes, people having compassion for their 'parenthood struggles', and of course, the idea of unconditional love. For them, not for the kid. They also then go on and take extra stuff, like having their personal emotional caretaker, or a target for all of their anger, someone to feel superior to, someone they can violate, insult, touch, beat, and blend with, without any kind of consequences from the outside world. There's very few scenarios that would allow them such power over another person, and parenthood happens to be one of them.

So, why do they prefer small toddlers rather than grown-up children? Because toddlers gain them attention. They can go with a toddler in public, and have people gush and admire the cuteness. They can sometimes teach toddlers to do little dances or sing for the audience. They can do pretty much anything to small children, and children won't complain or understand what is going on. They can neglect their toddlers and nobody will know. They can punish small children for crying. They can convince small children that they exist only for to make the narcissist's life easier.

Once children start developing boundaries, start saying no, and no longer gather the attention of the crowd, that is where narcissists are no longer getting as many benefits from parenthood and start emotionally abandoning the child, and shaming the child for 'growing up' and 'not being as easy to control and manipulate'. And this is not how normally things work, you don't stop loving your kid when they're growing up, you don't value them according to how much attention you can get using them. Sometimes, if a kid has a special talent and is able to get them attention via child contests or tournaments, this kid will not be obviously immediately abandoned. But it will be clear to this child that the 'love' is completely dependent on how well they do and how far they succeed. The second they stop, they know that the parental love will be withdrawn and they'll be rendered a failure.

Narcissists will ask you to go not just out of your comfort zone in order to give them what they want, they will ask the downright impossible, and when you inevitably can't give it to them, you will be discarded, and possibly punished. You will degraded from 'special' and 'important because you can do this one thing for your parent', to nothing but a target for rage, forced to feel like you deserve it because you couldn't do what no child can - make a narcissist act like a normal parent. They convince children that they would be loving and thoughtful parents, if only the child was not so x, and y, and z, and the list is endless. Endless excuses not to love their child, because withdrawing that love will make the child absolutely desperate in their attempt to please the parent, and be good enough to deserve love.

This is not what would normally happen to a child. We're meant to be celebrated for growth. Our progress into adulthood should be about us, about what we can do now, how much new experiences and excitement it brings to have a bigger body, how much more capable and safer we are, what new skills we can develop, new games we can play, better connections and understanding with others we can now achieve. It's not supposed to be about whether we are of a benefit to someone, our growth is about us becoming a happy adult! Appropriating this entire process and reducing it to 'grovel endless to deserve love, and feel guilty for growing because you're of less use now' is absolute torture to a child, who doesn't understand that it's not meant to be this way, that they were never supposed to be a tool to use.

As we mature with the narcissist continually building this narrative of us not being good enough to deserve love, we end up having no other narrative, and believe that we're fundamentally, intrinsically lacking in something, and this makes us unlovable. It has nothing to do with the truth, and everything to do with a continuous lie that someone made up about us when we were still small, that we exist as a tool and a resource, and every hint of free will and desire and personal goals and boundaries is us failing to live up to that use. We were never meant to be exist for them, there was no achievable goal, us even trying to 'deserve their love' was nothing but a waste of our time and energy. We're not unlovable. We just don't a parent. We had someone leeching off of us, taking instead of giving, convincing us we don't deserve attention, care or resources, unlike them, who deserve to take it all.

For any normal parent, everything about you would have been good enough, you would have been a source of joy and celebration without ever even trying to deserve it. Nobody has to deserve parental love, it's either given by default, or there is nobody willing to be a parent to you. Being unwilling to parent you, they have no right to expect anything from you. You did not break the parent-child bond, because there never was such a thing in the first place, they betrayed you from the start.

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 20}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: The push and pull of memories and power emulate the waves you watch from your balcony as you seek more and more solitary time with the wedding looming closer.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, angst, we meet readers betrothed and he needs his own warning, reader's mother also gets her own warning, kidnapping, reader is being kept against her will, hostage situation, use of narcotics, use of drugs, sedatives, self-depreciating thoughts, ptsd symptoms, medical trauma, past medical trauma, feelings of inadequacy, sexual themes, sexual content (not detailed), non con touching, unwanted advances, emotional manipulation, unnecessary display of possession, memory loss, controlling family dynamics, marriage set up, sold into marriage, din pov and reader pov, lemme know if i missed any other big ones!

A/N: this marks the middle of the maldovan arc! we've got two / three more chapters before we delve into season two events with our dear tin man. my feelings have been all over the place but hopefully i channeled them well into this chapter for y'all ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

Din was used to situations dissolving quickly from what he thought they would be, shifting into quick successions of movements and scenarios his instincts allowed him to maneuver with ease.

But the sight of you covered in nothing but bubbles from a foaming wash, bent over the side of the large communal bath had been something he wasn’t prepared for. Especially since the last time he had been intimate with you had turned out disastrously. His own emotions and devotion to something that wasn’t you tainting the moment and turning it from heated excitement to sour devastation.

The bubbles only reminded him further of the time before that, when you had been propped over his lap, both of you bare and exploring each other’s supple and scarred skin for the first time in the dim candlelight of a bath. It had been…thrilling to see the way your eyes had been overtaken by the pleasure he pulled from you, the sounds you had made…Maker, it had been such a good moment and he wishes you felt that same comfortability around him again. He knows you must to an extent, because he doesn’t see you exchange words beyond pleasantries with anyone around the palace but him.

But even so, with your memory restored he was fully aware that you might not want to be with him in that way ever again. He would have you as you wanted him to, even if it was in no ways at all. His want for you to be comfortable, to be your own person far exceeding his own desires. He only wished you were to stay beside him, his protectiveness over you never waning and increasing as the days continued on, the same he was beginning to feel over the child. You were all three bonded.

And then the sudden appearance of your fiancé, the man who got to hold you and kiss you free of worries was there in the same room as you clad in nothing but a towel with your hair weighted down and damp. The touches he had seen up until that point had been nothing but fleeting, the touches he had witnessed next everything but, setting his blood to boil. The harsh way he had pressed himself to you, trailed his fingers over the sensitive skin between your legs he knew the feeling of all too well, the way he had been rough with you enough for you to cry out. It had been something he was unequipped to handle. His mind had gone blank as his vision hyper focused into stark lines and too bright colors as if he had activated a sensor for his helmet with the touch of button.

The quiet way you had followed him back to your room in a flowing robe with ad’ika cradled in your arms had been another thing he hadn’t been prepared for. The version of you he knew was strong, a fighter, not one to let such things slide. Serving well deserved justice to those who picked on you and those around you, on those who deserved it. The you in front of him now? She was scared, on edge, hesitant. And he didn’t like it at all.

“Mesh’la, you don’t have to heed his command.” He hears the way his voice is strong, but it isn’t for him.

No, all of his strength is for you. A flame he tries to keep healthy and bright even as the situation is something he’s quickly realizing may be far too deep for him to help you escape from.

“I do have to, he – he’s to be my husband, he has to be happy with me. My…my mother would do something if this was to all fall apart because of me.” His heart steels, you need him. You need him now more than you ever had, even back at that compound he happened across you in the largest stroke of luck and sheer circumstance he’s ever experienced.

You had unwittingly helped him, you and the child, to realize that while he devoted his life, mind, and body to the Creed and his way of life: he also needed something for himself. He had been…lonely, if he was completely honest with himself. Leading a life chasing after credits and determined to work any job, hunt any quarry, commit himself to more and more and more in order to achieve the goal of helping to perpetrate his kind long after the world had merely watched on as they were picked off one by one, scattered among the stars in a heartbreaking way.

You had helped him to realize that in order to do so, he needed a little bit of saving himself. And he’d be damned if he didn’t try to help and return the favor now that you needed it in more blatant ways than he ever did. He wanted to return the favor, he wanted you back in his arms, aboard his ship, laughing and sharing bits of food across a table that wasn’t a table. You had been blossoming into someone he felt intense emotion for, love for, someone he yearned to be back by his side and in his bed, whispered words of affirmation and the same love back to him beneath the sheets and in the darkness of his personal quarters. He missed you even with you standing a few feet away from him. Because the person standing before him certainly missed him, even if you didn’t realize it.

“Then leave.”

“Maker, I can’t do that. I don’t even know who I am.” The look you give him is so unlike any other he’s ever seen and it clatters inside his ribs, the urge to move forward and embrace you. But it would be a line crossed, to do so.

“But I do.” He decided to use his words instead, to try and hold you up.

“You what?”

“I know you. I know who you are.”

“From before?” The hope that curls around the simple question almost pulls the truth from him, he’s unsure why he falters in voicing it.

“From…from now. I know you, mesh’la, and you deserve better than this.”

“He’s…he’ll hunt me down. I know it, in my very bones I know it.” The words seem so matter-of-fact, as if you were aware of them subconsciously. The fear and life of solitude you had led because of the very notion of people being after you something your body remembered even if your mind could not. He recalls how isolated your home in the desert had been, how hard it had been to even find the humble building. How it must’ve been a mere shadow of the life you had lived up until that point, but one you had willingly created in order to avoid further conflict and loss.

But yet, here you were standing in front of him having lost everything that made you who you were.

“I’ll protect you.”

“Aliit, you have a child. You have a wife.” And there’s the anger he’s seen flare in you before, the will to not put up with things you didn’t agree with.

“I’ve told you, I do and I do not. She…she is much like you. In a situation she can’t control.”

“Then go save her.” You make it sound so simple, so easy a feat. If only you realized…but when you repeated the words with solid frustration he felt something brim over the top of his chest.

“I’m trying to!” He lets his own frustration get the better of him and he realizes his mistake when you cower. His own flames of anger and anxiety dousing yours to nothing but shadow and smoke.

“Apologies, I…shouldn’t speak so plainly with you. You are working, probably trying to earn credits to fix your situation. I apologize.” You won’t look at him, avoiding his eyes as he tries to catch them across the room. He’s messed up again, and now his punishment is delivering you to the door of the man who is about to do whatever he wants and you’re going to let him. To appease your mother, to fall in line with what you’ve been forced to believe are your duties.

“Mesh’la,” He steps close to you, now in the doorway to the large closet. His words trail off as you turn with a blank face so reminiscent of how you used to look at him. The robe is untied by your hands and falls to the ground. He averts his eyes, not wanting to impinge on your privacy even as you expose yourself to him.

“You heard him, he commanded you to dress me yourself should I not want to. Practically gave you permission to touch me, is that why you don’t want me to go. You want me all to yourself?” Digging into one of the elaborate boxes atop a shelf you throw whatever was inside it at him. It’s all lace and thin straps, a bright baby blue that looks like the shine of starlight on his armor when he polishes it in the cockpit of the Razor Crest. It makes him sick, stomach churning at the connection.

You’re breathing heavily, shoulders shaking and eyes tinging pink as he sees the tears you’re trying to fight off shine in the whites of your eyes as he dares to look up from the floor where the garment had fallen. “All men are the same, doing whatever they want. Taking whatever they want. At least this way I get something out of it, even if…even if it feels like it’s all wrong.”

Your words trail off, the power behind them waning as you refuse to break the connected gaze from him.

“It is wrong, he’s not…he’s doesn’t love you.”

“No one loves me.”

He freezes, taken aback by the conviction in your words even as you speak so quietly, your face still schooled into an expression of no emotion.

“No one’s come to my side after my accident. It’s as if…I had no life before it, no one who was by my side. It’s why, it’s why I’ve taken what my mother says as truth, there’s no evidence to suggest otherwise. Even if it does feel wrong.”

His chest aches, his heart crumbles and settled heavy in the pit of his stomach. He’s failing. He’s completely failing at his task of saving you. He’s making it worse, and he thinks again that maybe you’d be better off without him here mucking things up if you’ve accepted this as your life. You just said so yourself that it seems to be a good set up, better than anything you even remotely recall. But…it would be a betrayal to leave you in the hands of a woman who tormented and tortured you, manipulated you to her will alongside a man who was beginning to show his true colors.

He had. He had come to your side the second he had figured out where you were. But…but maybe it was too late. Your memories warped too much for him to bring them to the light. He thought…he thought he had seen glimpses of clarity in your eyes as he and Cara fight to keep you away from the mind flayer, from the doctor who was the reason for your lack of awareness.

“You have a wife.” You whisper, as if it was the one lie you were being fed that you didn’t want to accept.

“I do and I do not.” He repeats, unable to string together any other words as he sees the way you’re trembling. He’s about to throw the whole plan of slowly getting your memory and mind strong enough to tell you the truth, to blurt it all out in the hopes that it helps you to understand, but you’ve lost the spark of your old self as quickly as it had come to life and he’s missed his moment. Again.

“You have a wife and I…I cannot have you the way- you are not mine to want.” You seem to pull yourself from your inner musings, digging through another pretty package of ribbons and silk. The matching set is a soft pink and you pull on both pieces before bending to retrieve your robe. “Please escort me to Prince Cala’s room.”

The walk to the prince’s room had felt just as damning as the one he had taken to hand ad’ika over to the Imps.

Din begins to slip more Mand’oa into his conversations with you, hoping for recognition. Hoping to right his wrongs of that fateful night in which you had laid with another man. You didn’t talk of what happened, though he doubted he would be the first you would turn to should something of that caliber occur. He doesn’t ask, knowing that in the deepest part of who he was, he wouldn’t be able to handle the knowledge of your answer should you give him one.

He was being put on patrol of the grounds every morning, his night shift of watching over your hall given to others, never the same person. Probably due to Prince Cala’s command that no one is to get too close to you. But he traded with those who were given the post, giving away what little credits he had accumulated from being ‘employed’ by the palace and anything they voiced wishing they had. Cara making the trips into the city markets to retrieve whatever it was they wanted as she was shifted to duties to prepare for the wedding that loomed closer and closer.

The whole ordeal was reminiscent of his younger days, made it feel like he was back in training or just thereafter as he worked whatever and however many jobs he could get in order to prove for the covert. Though he was significantly older in years, the issue of not getting enough sleep only seemed to upset ad’ika. The child had become increasingly fussy, lashing out in the only ways he knew how and unfortunately one of those ways was slamming doors and throwing food.

The arrival of foreign people of all species to the city and to the palace in particular signal the days of your relative freedom coming to an end. Endless discussions of hushed plans are shared between him and Cara, as they realize they don’t have the currency of time on their side any longer. If there was one thing Din wanted to prevent, as if he truly had any control over things, was the binding of your person to another.

Two weeks, they had only two weeks and the days begin to fly by with no signs your memory returning.

Until he’s suddenly sat across from you one quiet night and you speak words of Mando’a back to him.

Ner kar’ta. Your voice sounds so sweet, so cherished in its damning innocence as you look to him with confusion in your glittering eyes.

Din’s moving from his seat beside you, kneeling before you in a way he never had with another. His hands holding yours and he revels in the warmth of them in his own. He carefully asks if you know what you just said, if you realize the enormity of what just happened, what had just fallen from your lips. He fills his heart swell when you say you think it means exactly what it does.

The words he’s only whispered to you once before as he lay bleeding and struggling to breathe, are repeated lowly. No longer a desperate plea for you to leave him behind, but an affirmation to bring you back to him.

He’s sure he’s far too focused, something he knows you don’t like, direct attention, deliberate attention.

But you’re looking back at him with the same sharpness in your eyes even as they remain partially shrouded, hope filling him and making his heart quicken as he searching for anything, for everything in them so close.

But then the door to your room, to the sanctuary you had both found is suddenly opening and the woman who had caused this entire ordeal is stepping over the threshold with a raised voice full of thinly veiled distrust and aggression born of fear.

Tension fills the room, your mother in the doorway while you and Aliit remain beside the small lounge set up of chairs, small sofa, and low table. The soft atmosphere between the two of you shattered as the woman barged into your room at far too late an hour. Making you wonder how often she had done so before your sleep had become hard to maintain. What was she doing checking on you under the cover of dark, midnight skies and twinkling stars? A pinch in the crook of your elbow, the column of your neck both flare to life and you worry for the things she could’ve done to you while asleep, before Aliit had taken over the post of night guard.

The rattling of fine porcelain trills, the cups of tea on small serving saucers Aliit had prepared in quiet seeming to irritate your mother as her eyes dart from the set up to the man behind you, to you. A glare marring her beautiful but aged features. Her skin pale unlike yours, though you were seeing underneath the mask you were realizing she always had carefully in place. Hiding and covering things she didn’t want others to see, didn’t want to reveal.

“Stop doing that!” She snaps, dominant hand pointing harshly at you and your body reacts far quicker than your mind. A hand of your own raising up and waving broadly, manipulating hers to lower to her side.

“Tell me.” You demand, patience gone and emotions focused. She sees something in you, at that moment, something that causes her to take a step back and it makes you feel powerful.

“You and the Prince were on holiday. Off on some crowded planet to enjoy in each other’s company as you shop and attend a gala in honor of the news of your engagement. Someone high up in the ranks of the New Republic happy of the coupling. Some startled you as they approached to congratulate you, always so jumpy, even as a young girl. You tripped over your dress, hit your head on the corner of a table.”

“Why don’t I have a mark from the fall?”

“What planet were we on before that allowed me to get the attention of Prince Cala?”

“We were home, darling. K’ath. He was interested in the armor we sell in the wharf.”

“You don’t let me make armor anymore.”

“No, Prince Cala wishes for you to learn other skills that are fitting for royalty of this planet.”

“I don’t mind that, but I wish to reclaim the one thing I can recall from before my accident.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I said no, San! I don’t know where this is all coming from, Maker you must be so confused. So out of it you’re manifesting things that simply aren’t true. This is your life, darling, this is it. What we had before…it was not what I wanted for you. But this – this is what you deserve. A nice place to spend your days with no stress, with no worries.”

“Leave.”

“Darling-“

“I wish to rest! Both of you leave, right this instant!” The rattling of the porcelain is loud, followed by a rather startling pop as the glass of one of the windows cracks.

“Remove your mask.”

Din keeps his eyes trained on hers, reading the woman with an intensity that only seems to fuel her distrust of him. He knows he hasn’t done the best at keeping his emotions in check while scouting out the palace and trying to remain close to you, he does. It was a task he hadn’t been prepared for in the slightest, something he realizes and feels shameful of. You needed him to be able to keep his head and to go about this mission as if it was any other, you needed him to be able to act as he always does: stealthily, calculated, levelheaded, deadly focused. But he wasn’t, his heart and emotions getting the better of him in a way that could be detrimental to your well-being, to your life, to his and to ad’ikas.

His pause, the twitch of his bare fingers upsets your mother further.

“There are people, someone in particular that may come after her.” She doesn’t budge, keeping her stance in front of the man back at his post outside your door. The moonlight filtering into the lantern light hallway barely enough to see the ire and suspicion in her expression. The slight resemblance to you unnerves him, the reality of this woman being tied to you by blood and fate too heavy a thought when you were so kind and good to him. “Remove your mask, Aliit.”

He doesn’t want to. He can’t. And certainly not for someone as ingenuine as your mother. But…for all the beskar he donned and had been able to share with you, for all the weapons he had in his cache to protect you, for all the skills he had developed over a lifetime, none of it had been able to prevent you from being taken away from him. His Creed had allowed for it to happen, even if it by way of inadvertency. So perhaps…perhaps the display of his face would be the one thing that had jumpstarted this entire situation would be able to salvage it. To give him the time and chance he needed in order to stay and work on allowing out to heal enough to know the truth.

Holding his breath, Din reaches up to unclasp the pin keeping the flowing piece over his cowl. It falls to the right side of his face as braces himself to lower the cowl with steady fingers, though his mind is anything but calm.

He never wanted to show his face, let alone to someone so unfounded in their own beliefs, if the woman had any. She wasn’t deserving, but you….he had been struggling with the desire to show you. But she was premature in her gloating victory, because she waves a hand at him just as he’s beginning to pull the fabric down. He stills, worried he’s been found out but that doesn’t seem to be the case as the woman’s stern face breaks.

“Oh, good. I was worried for a second.” She smirks, knowing she had won the heated exchange, the power of her command being heeded going to her head in the worst way. “No Mandalorian would be foolish enough to throw away their very Creed for someone like San. Maker, I love her. But she’s such a fool sometimes, a little misguided. No idea how she even caught the attention of the person who was supposed to bring her back to me. Must’ve used her body, since her head seems to be empty.”

Resisting the urge to snarl and show just how deep her words cut, Din just nods at her, bowing his head slightly before resetting his coverage over the cowl. An insult to him, he could internalize and ignore. But an insult to you was stirring his instincts to protect, to shield, to kill.

“What is the meaning of this? Sending my handmaidens away and ordering guards to follow me around from now on,” Prince Cala is sat on the edge of your bed, two guards on either side of the bed. It’s early, the sun barely cresting over the horizon and the sky shifting slowly from dark to light as it does so. Alit has to still be on the other side of the door where your mother had ordered him to remain for the rest of his shift, overriding the royal man’s direct orders.

“My dear San, I’ve sent your handmaidens to tend to things for the wedding. The ceremony will be in a week’s time.” He curls a hand around your wrist, bringing it up to kiss along your knuckles and down the inside of your arm. His lips are soft, but his touch feels wrong, it feels charged: changed. “You’re mine.”

He’s suddenly hovering over you, knees on either side of your waist and pinning you beneath the covers as he brings his face close to yours. His handsome features twisted into a smirk that made your insides lurch. His hands bring your own above your head, pressing them into the plush pillows and gripping far too tightly. Trying to squirm is useless as he lets all of his weight press into you, pushing the breath from your lungs and cutting off the shout you were about to make.

“That guard of yours is to be sent to patrol the city streets, he’s not to come near you again.” He repeats his possession of you, his lips beginning to trail hard kisses down your neck. His breath is hot and sticky against your skin and you try to close your eyes tights in an effort to make the moment go by quicker.

One of his hands trails down your body, boldly giving your chest a squeeze over the thin covers before it’s gone from you completely. But you don’t get to revel in the touch of him gone because there’s a metallic clink you hear the clicking of a syringe just moments before it’s plunged into your still trapped arm.

“No.” You can’t help the venom and distrust that seeps into your voice, the feeling of being trapped, of being herded consumes you and it’s ugly how it sticks uncomfortably to your insides. You had already partook in countless meals and cups of tea, strolls through the gardens and around the different buildings and halls of the palace. All in the name of entertainment for the guests you didn’t want to interact with. The feeling of being on display, of being paraded around annoying you beyond anything else had since you had woken up in that infirmary bed.

You didn’t like the attention, how direct it was. How people fawned over the tone of your skin in comparison to theirs, how they felt entitled to reach out and caress your skin or face when complimenting you or the dresses you wore.

Head pounding, you feel energy flow through you, something so foreign yet familiar. The same energy that had filled you back when you had confronted your mother a few nights ago. The very same that clattered porcelain and shattered glass though you hadn’t even been looking at either of those things, they were merely in the same expansive room as you. You had tried to focus, in the quiet solitary of that same room, your room, the only place you were truly left alone for only the hours of the night as Aliit dutifully looked over you from just inside the doorway.

His eyes watched you without giving you impression he was doing so with purpose as you tried and succeeded in harnessing it to move random objects around the room. It was…a powerful feeling to wield such a power.

It fills you now, as your mother turns to face you and you clench your fists at your sides to quiet the thought of using it against her. Something in your mind warning of you letting her know that you are conscious of it now, her reaction to seeing you unintentionally wield it telling you it was better kept a secret.

“Excuse me?” Your mother demands from where she has begun to lead you from within your quarters, she’s quick as she grabs at you, your hands twitching with the urge to push her away the second her fingers are curling around you.

“I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” You flinch away from her, her touch far too tight around your wrists. It was as if you were shocked, your body recalling memories you couldn’t consciously do so and you feel the weight of metal heavy around your wrists in her hands around you, around your ankles and neck. Pulling you down, zapping you of any wherewithal for the body you inhabited. You close your eyes against the feeling, mind conjuring up the darkness of a room that feels far too familiar, that is filled faintly with the scent of salted air and willows native to your home world. “I wish to be alone in the week before I’m to be someone else’s.”

Breathing deep, the feeling of the air around you shifts to that of an arid land. Dry, bone-shattering heat suffocates you, your body too exhausted and dehydrated to even produce sweat. The cotton feel of your tongue thickens in your mouth as your head swims with the influence of narcotics and sedatives. The hush of a door opening blinds you even in your mind’s eye, a lone figure silhouetted in the front of the room you feel is so real around you.

A modulated voice speaks out, calling your given name and it startles you. The figure standing in front of you is swathed in shadows, making you believe it’s the one you had done your best to hide from until that very point. But the figure moves, revealing he’s not donning all black nor breathing with the assistance of a compressor.

He’s not the one who expertly wields a blade made of the same energy you feel coursing through you, red and blinding as it buzzes menacingly. The feeling of a handle is strong, the weight of it in your hands as the red spurs to life to form a weapon of your own. It diffuses to white and you feel a sense of calm, of kinship, of connection with the figure in front of you that you now know is armored in beskar.

Your eyes snap open and you seethe at the sight of your mother in front of you, of her still touching you, looming closer. She’s the reason for your feelings, every single one of them. The realization slams into you and it hurts. Your breath catches, lungs burning as you feel like no air is enough to breathe. You’re pulling away from her with more vigor, even as your mind swims at the lack of oxygen to function.

She’s the one who had first shackled you, keeping you under her control with the guise of hiding you away from those you had run home and away from. Their reach endless and their efforts never ceasing.

She was supposed to be a safe haven, someone you could return to after years of being separated. She was supposed to be someone who looked after you, protected you. But she had enslaved you instead, following in the footsteps of those you had run from though her power over you had been in the form of sedatives and metal so heavy it was debilitating. Not the same as the livelihood of someone you feel in your heart, someone who had since passed, someone who had given you a reason to live, taught you all he had to teach, cared for you with all the love he had to give. Donning the same metal you feel around your body, damning you where it had once saved you. The same metal you feel curling over your shoulders, a gift from someone truly good, who exuded care and honor. Someone who was associated with the one who had hunted then set you free.

Someone you could feel very close by. Accompanied by two others that called out to you in their familiarity as you stand in front of the woman who claims to be your mother even as she controls and tears you down to nothing more than errant thoughts she easily manipulates without a second thought.

“Darling, this is highly inappropriate.” You mother frowns, refusing to let you go, as if she knew the hold she had on you had crumbled away. “The medic should’ve…he should’ve fixed this.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me!” The commanding sound of your voice like a stranger’s in your own ears, someone who you don’t recognize. The windows of your room rattle, the tapestries float into the air, that power you feel deep in your very bones all around you, ready and willing to be harnessed.

“There is, San, you’re having delusions. The same thing happened to your father, that’s why I sent him away.” The woman insists, her knuckles whitening with the force she’s holding to you even as you step back, trying to get away from her. You raise your hands to push at her.

“That’s a kriffing lie!” You can’t help the burst of energy that flows from you, knocking you both to the ground. She’s yards away from you, her hands scrambling for something that had been flung from her pockets. A remote. Before you could even think of what it could be for, she’s pressing the button down in the center of it and your vision blacks out as something bright and burning flows through your veins.

Lethargic, your body is heavy as you leave the infirmary. Even as you move as silently as you can, mind humming with paranoia of being seen, of being tended to, of your mother. All you wanted right now was to see Aliit, to feel the calm only his presence seems to bring you. Especially as the wedding draws near the palace compound become crowded with guests invited by the king and queen, far too many of them displaying New Republic badges and pins. Something that was spiking adrenaline and worry in you for reasons you didn’t know. They had once been helpful, you thought, as the war raged on and landed on the shores of K’ath, their aid had helped to keep the economy afloat and food on the table.

But now, the mere mention and sight of their affiliation sent your instincts into a hum, the feeling of needing to run settling deep in every muscle of your body.  

The room you were in was small, but done up as a bedroom. Colorful tapestries and a four post bed complete with a headboard that had metal rings fastened at the top that unnerved you the longer you gazed up at them from where you lay against the pillows.

The guards are playing some sort of dice game, gathered at the end of the hall when you peek out of the door to the main part of the infirmary. A flash of lightning brightening the scene for you to see as clear as if it was the middle of the day, not well into the night at the only source of light was the lanterns fastened to the walls.

As you round the last corner to the hallway that held your bedroom, the safety of which you were seeking out, thunder rumbled outside. The storm was picking up, the rain falling down in sheets when you pass by a window. The wind shifts and the rain lashes against the windows in a manifestation of your heightening anxiety.

Just as you step into the hall, lightning strikes something far too close. The sharp crack of it hurting the very nerves of your body. The tall, wide shadow in the hall that turns to face you distorts from vague darkness to shiny metallic. The figure is swathed in beautiful armor for a the briefest of moments until the hallway is thrown back into darkness.

But it happens again as the lightning begins to stream down from the storm clouds as heavy as the rain.

The light of the lanterns bouncing off the polished surface of the glinting armor as the man begins to walk towards you. The dark visor across the sporadic flash of a helmet blends into the darkness, making it hard to gauge exactly who it is beneath. It’s overwhelming, the streaks of blinding light through the windows, an assault on your eyes and mind as you try to right yourself from where you must’ve leaned into the wall.

Thunder sounds and you realize you had tensed up, muscles protesting the steps you so desperately want to take, just a few yards to the door. To your room, to safety.

You feel a harsh current flow through your body again, sending you crashing to the floor as your words turn into a scream. Thunder drowning out the sound as it echoes in the hall, rain beating down against the windows. The figure now only a few feet away rushes to your side, catching you just before you could crumble completely. His arms are strong around you, cradling you as you thrash and convulse as more currents strike through your body, no longer a distant occurrence outside of the windows. Seemingly in time with the lightning lighting up the sky in blinding flashes.

But it’s not armor that you feel against your body, it’s the soft give of flesh beneath flowing fabric. Heart thudding at the realization, you realize that the armor hadn’t alarmed you, it had calmed you in its fleeting appearance. It had ben familiar, it had felt like…it had felt like something that had been missing from you the moment you had woken up in a bed and city you didn’t recognize. The presence of a shadowed figure you had tried to fill with the prince, only for it to not fit snuggly together like puzzle pieces. It felt so similar to how Aliit’s presence soothed you.

It must be him, you think as you feel yourself slump against the ground, the figure holding you lowering you both to the ground as the storm raged on. As you gazed up at him through bleary eyes, the silver armor glinted, the darkness of a visor glittered in the flashing light, and then it was clouded by the backs of your eyelids as you felt another current ravage your body. Behind them, you see the crisp image of the armored man standing atop a ramp leading to a ship, a small green figure in his arms as he turns to you and your heart jumps, the prickling of tears sharp as you realize what’s been missing all this time. What’s been hidden in plain sight beside you this whole time.

“San, it’s okay. It’s me, it’s-“ His voice is unmodulated, no vocoder distorting it. But it’s him and your heart swells.

“Din.” You breath out, eyes snapping open and finding his own. The man you loved was staring back at you, his helmet, his armor, all of it was gone to reveal a sliver of his face to you.

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[newtthetranswriter]

The Little Pink Bird

Word Count: 6787

Paring: Rody soul x gn! Reader

Warnings: Talk of blood, canon typical violence

Summary: When Quirks first appeared so did Soulmates, being able to find your soulmate with the help of a tattoo that appears when they receive their quirk. Y/n spent their life with a little pink bird on their shoulder. What happens when they meet said little pink bird in another country?

A/n: Hello, welcome. First off I love Rody and he deserves so much more love than he gets. Second I’m addicted to soulmate au’s, probably because I’m a hopeless romantic but anyway I thought this Idea was cute so I went with it. Anyway enjoy and as always remember to hydrate or diedrate.

    Back before Quirks appeared everyone went about daily life wondering what it would be like if they could meet their perfect match. Always hoping that the one that they settled down with was their one true partner. Unfortunately for those who lived before quirks it was impossible to know for sure. But that all changed when quirks started appearing.

    As quirks became more prominent and widespread, people also began to notice that mysterious tattoo’s would appear on a random part of their body. At first it was thought to just be a side effect of quirks, but after people began reporting that when they met someone who’s quirk reassembled the tattoo, they would feel like they found their missing piece. The idea that these marks changed the way people looked for their partner, searching out the one who matched their tattoo.

   Over time it was figured out that the marks appeared when one’s soulmate got their quirk. And so not only were kids excited to finally figure out their own quirks but to decipher their soulmate’s quirk and try to find them as soon as possible. It was easier for some, then it was for others. For example someone who’s soulmate had a mutant type quirk would have a picture that looked like the mutation, or if the quirk was fire they’d have a flame. Of course this left people with quirkless soulmates at a disadvantage because they would have to wait for their soulmate to find them instead of searching for the matching quirk. Now that you understand how soulmates work in this lovely world, it’s time to actually get into our story.

   I, like most children, was extremely excited to get my quirk and find out what my soulmate's powers were. When I was five I became the first out of the two of us to get a quirk. My quirk allowed me to manipulate plants and use them in a variety of different ways. I can use them to heal, as well as use them for a few defensive attacks. The only drawback of my quirk is that I have to have access to plants for it to work. So I tend to carry different plant seeds, it doesn't matter what the plant is, I can make it heal or strong enough to attack.

  Anyways, after developing my quirk, I waited impatiently for my soulmate to get theirs so I could finally find them. Sure I was young but many parents will go to the quirk registry to find their child’s soulmate and in hopes of introducing them young so they don’t have to wait long to find them. So when the little pink and purple bird appeared on my shoulder, my parents raced to see if they could find out who my soulmate was. Unfortunately for everyone involved, the person whose quirk was symbolized by a little pink bird, most likely did not live in Japan and if they did they weren’t registered. So, my hope for finding my soulmate early was crushed and I was destined to find them when the world decided it was the right time.

   I suppose having to wait to find my soulmate was a blessing in disguise because while many people my age were spending time planning their life around what both them and their soulmate wanted to do, I was free to plan what I wanted to do. Sure my soulmate was a factor in my choices but for the most part I was free to follow my dreams. So when the time came for the U.A. entrance exams I participated.  With my versatile quirk I managed to score a place in Class A.

   Being part of the top hero class at the top hero school was sure to give me amazing opportunities. When work studies came around many different Prohero’s sent offers. As much as I wanted to pick a hero who’s quirk and fighting style matched my own, I decided that having a chance to learn from the No.1 Pro didn’t happen often. So I accepted the offer to do my work study at Endeavor’s agency along with three of my other classmates. And only time would tell how smart of a choice that was on my part.

  After only a few weeks of our work studies, Endeavor was called for a mission that was crucial for the greater good of society. Being his trainees, Bakugo, Deku, Shoto and I were dragged along for the mission as well. We were sent to stop an organization known as Humarise from executing their plan to destroy quirks. When we first arrived at the Humarise base in the country of Otheon, the trigger bomb was nowhere to be found. After relaying this information to headquarters, we were informed that none of the bases had the bombs we were sent to disarm. In Spite of the failed mission we were instructed to stay in the country and wait for further information, as we couldn’t just give up and let these maniacs kill millions of people for no reason.

   While waiting for information, us rookies were sent out to run errands. I was trailing behind Bakugo as he complained to Shoto and Deku about being an errand boy. While zoning out from their conversation I noticed a commotion happening in a store as we walked by. “Hey guys.” I said, trying to get their attention.

   “WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Bakugo shouted as he wiped around to look at me. Being used to the blonde's explosive attitude; I just pointed to the door of the store where a villain busted out flying past us holding a case of what we could only assume to be stolen jewels. 

   Registering what was happening my three companions launched into action. I followed them knowing that chases weren’t my strong suit, deciding to hang back slightly and help if anyone got hurt. I watched as Shoto and Deku raced down an alley after one of the guys, deciding they had that covered, I helped Bakugo take care of the thief he was chasing.

   After dealing with the thief, we meet back up with Shoto learning that Deku had gone after a third culprit who apparently was waiting in the alley. We all made our way back to the hotel where we were staying. 

   “Idiots! We're right in the middle of an important mission. You should leave the petty criminals for the local authorities to take care of!” The three of us were now being yelled at by a very furious Endeavor.

   “I thought heroes were supposed to assist those in trouble.” Shoto argued back at his father. 

   Bakugo, who was leaning against the wall nearby, decided to also talk back to the flaming man. “You're the one who's supposed to be teaching us. Maybe you shoulda explained how to ignore crimes.” He said with a smirk. I had to fight back a laugh at that, he had a valid argument.

   I just watched as Endeavor’s anger started to bubble over. “That's not what I said! And Deku? Where'd he run off to?” He asked, realizing the fourth member of his trainees was nowhere to be seen.

   Sighing, I joined the conversation. “According to Shoto, He's following someone who was

working with the jewel thieves. I’ve been trying to call but he's not picking up his phone right now.” I explained waving my phone.

   Hearing that Endeavor’s flames shot up once again. “You slackers! I shouldn't have brought you with me even if you are doing your work studies!” He exclaimed, before he could continue ranting about how we should have stayed in Japan, Shoto’s phone started ringing.

   “It's him.” He informed us as he answered the phone. “ Midoriya, hey. Do you have the suspect?” He asked, pausing to let Deku speak. “What?” The question confused all of us. It sounded like Deku was panicking from the noise barely reaching me from Shoto’s phone. “Calm down! Tell me everything that happened. Start from the beginning.” He told the panicking boy.

   There was a moment of silence while we waited for Deku to explain what happened to Shoto. The silence was broken as Clair, one of the heroes we were teamed up with, opened a door to an office nearby. “Endeavor. Emergency.” We all turned, waiting for her to elaborate. “It’s about Deku.” Hearing the boy’s name we all moved to find out what was going on.

   Upon reaching the conference room we all watched as the news anchor on the tv spoke next to a picture of Deku. “Once again, according to recent police reports, the suspect, who is thought to have killed twelve people, is at large and considered by authorities to be highly dangerous. He's a Japanese hero. Uh, called Deku. Real name, Izuku Midoriya. The entire nation is on the lookout. There are also reports that he has an accomplice…” The anchor went on to further explain as we all stood shocked and looked at Shoto as he raised his phone to his ear.

  “Midoriya. What did you really do out there?” Shoto asked, hoping for a clear answer as to what the hell we just saw on the news. “The news. They're saying you're wanted as a suspect for mass murder.” Shoto went on to explain after Deku presumably responded confused to the first question. There was a pause as Deku responded. “We'll look into it on our end. You stay off the grid for now. They'll track you with GPS. Once you turn off your phone, don't forget to take out the battery.” Shoto told Deku before hanging up the phone.

  We all looked at each other stunned, “What the hell is going on? Deku would never kill anyone.” I was amazed by the strange turn of events. Bakugo, Shoto and I all looked at each other trying to figure out how to help our friend.

  “You three stay here, I’m going to speak with the police.” Endeavor said, looking at us pointedly. There was a grumble for Bakugo but we all nodded understanding that clearly something major was happening and we needed to stay put.

  While we waited for Endeavor to return with any news on why Deku is a suspect, I decided it was a great time to lay down on one of the couches in the office. While I tried to recharge some energy, Shoto was busy doing something on his laptop and Bakugo had stormed off to do who knows what. After around thirty minutes of sitting around Clair came in to talk to Shoto.

  “Shoto! I just got this report back from a detective friend of mine.” She started, and I was then reminded of the car accident that happened while we were chasing the jewel thieves earlier in the day. “It appears the car you saw was attacked by a Quirk. The strange thing is, the driver was a member of Humarise.” Clair explained, catching my attention.

  “Wait, Humarise?” I asked, getting up from the couch to join the conversation.

   Shoto looked at me equally surprised by the turn of events. “Well, did he survive the accident?” Shoto asked, hoping we would have a lead of some kind.

    Clair sighed before responding. “He's comatose, in critical condition. Police are standing watch outside his room in the ICU.” She explained.

    “So we can't interrogate him yet.” Shoto reasoned.

    “And there's one other thing, too. It looks like the stolen jewelry was left scattered nearby the scene.” Clair added on to the discoveries that came to light.

    I couldn’t hide my confusion as I tried to figure out what happened. “Huh? But why?” I asked, but before anyone could answer Shoto’s phone chimed.

    “It's a message from Midoriya.” He explained as Clair and I leaned closer to see what the message said.

    “What does it say?” Clair asked, unable to make out the message from where she was standing.

    “Keep eating lunch with strawberries and make sure you eat the dinner in the fridge, too." Shoto read off the message in a confused tone. “Why is he telling me what to eat? This is odd.” He looked over at me.

   Taking another look at the message I realized what it was. “This must be some kind of code. See the first letters of each line spell out K-L-A-Y-D.” I explained.

   Shoto looked at me before looking at the message again. “Clever.”

   Clair gasped. “What does this mean? Did he flee to the neighboring country of Klayd?” She asked, looking at the two of us.

    “If not yet, he must be heading there.” Shoto answered, putting his phone in his pocket.

     I nodded following him out of the room, turning back to inform Clair. “Which means, We’re going to. Please tell Endeavor.” I said as I followed Shoto out. Clair just offered a nod in agreement. 

     As the two of us began to leave, we ran into Bakugo. “Bakugo, come with me.” Shoto informed him while grabbing his arm and pulling him along.

     “Get your hands off me!” Bakugo snapped. As we exited the building he spoke again. “It's about Deku, huh?” He asked.

     Noticing the cops trying to hide that they’re watching us. “We’ll explain later, but first we should lose the cops.” I explained earning a nod from Shoto and Bakugo. After finally losing the police, we made our way to the train station getting tickets to Klayd. Once on the train Shoto explained to Bakugo what we had found out and where we were going. With all of us on board with the plan we decided to rest on the train while we had the chance.

    Time skip to meeting up with Deku and Rody at the train station.

    The train had stopped close to the border to pick up new passengers. While waiting for the train to continue moving the three of us noticed what looked to be fighting on a cliff side. We were going to ignore it until Shoto spoke up. “It’s Midoriya. We need to go.” Looking back at the chaos I also noticed the black tindalls attaching to the helicopter where the majority of the attacks were coming from. Recognising them the three of us grabbed our gear and headed to aid in the fight.

    While Bakugo and Shoto focused on attacking the villains, I moved to check on the young man who I assumed to have been traveling with Deku. After helping him off of Shoto’s ice, I led him to cover behind a rock so we weren’t in the crossfire of the fight. “Are you okay? Did you get hurt anywhere?” I asked as I quickly looked him over for any noticeable injuries.

    “Uh, no I’m good.” He responded while scratching the back of his head.

    I nodded in response before turning to make sure my friends were doing ok fighting. After watching the Helicopter crash, Deku ran over. “Rody, are you all right?” He asked the guy sitting across from me. 

    Registering he was spoken to, he turned to the green haired hero. “Yeah, but I'm not sure how. Where is it?“ The brunette asked, looking around frantically. 

    As if on queue Shoto approached holding a beat up briefcase. “Midoriya. I grabbed this.” He announced, earring a sigh of relief from the boy.

    “Thanks, Todoroki. But how did you find us?” Deku asked as he looked around at the three of us.

    “All thanks to their flashy attacks. Shoto spotted you from the train.” I explained.

    Shoto nodded, before looking at the new member of our group. “Is he the one you were talking about on the phone?” He asked.

   Deku nodded. “Yeah, that's right. He's been pegged as a criminal, like me. His name is Rody Soul.” He introduced his new companion.

   “Hey, thanks for the assist.” Rody said, looking at Shoto. After he finished his sentence my attention was drawn to the familiar pink bird that jumped from his hair onto his shoulder. Seeing the bird I was immediately reminded of the matching mark on my Shoulder. Of course my moment of surprise caused me to zone out from the conversation currently happening around me.

   I tuned back in, when I heard Shoto mention something about useful intelligence, followed by Midoya gasping and grabbing the case. “What’s the matter Deku?” I asked, looking at him confused.

   “A compartment.” He stated, looking at the bottom of the case. After we all saw what he was talking about, he moved to open it to see what was inside. The only thing that came out was what looked like a puzzle. “What is this? How does it work?” He asked as he began turning the pieces.

  This went on for a few minutes of Deku trying to solve the puzzle while Shoto and Bakugo offer not so useful tips. I on the other hand kept glancing at Rody, curious if my assumption about the little pink bird was correct. While watching the brunette I noticed him getting impatient as the young heroes failed to solve the puzzle. “Hey Rody, are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, noticing his impatience. 

  “Uh yeah.” He answered before looking back at Deku. “Deku, can I see that for a second?” He asked, reaching for the puzzle.

   Deku looked confused but nodded. “You know how to solve it?” Shoto asked as Rody sat on the ground.

   “I did a puzzle like this before when I was a kid.” He explained as he began working on it. “Let's see. Like this. And this. Aw, yeah. I think I got it.” He announced as the puzzle popped open revealing an sd card and an odd purple and black piece of what I assumed to be plastic.

   After it became clear that none of us knew what the unidentified object was we turned our attention to the sd card. “We need to figure out what's stored on this card.” Shoto said holding it up.

   I quickly pulled out my phone checking for anywhere nearby where we could see what it was. “Okay, there's a town at the foot of the mountain. We can investigate there.” I announced, earring a nod of agreement from the group. We all gathered our things and began the trek to the town.

   As we were walking I noticed Deku, wince as he accidently Bumped his shoulder into a wall. “Hey are you okay Deku? Do you need me to take a look at your shoulder?” I was concerned.

   Deku being well Deku tried to brush it off as nothing but turns out our newest companion is a snitch. “Actually Deku was shot with an arrow.” Rody announced earning a look of betrayal from the hero.

  “You were shot? And didn’t think it was a good idea to tell someone? Especially the one person around who can heal you.” I said, looking at him like he was stupid. “As soon as we get somewhere to look at that card you’re letting me take care of it.” He just nodded slowly, and before he could argue I moved to walk ahead of the group.

  Skip to looking at the contents of the card

  We had found the small town and asked to use a computer at a hotel there. Once inside Deku plugged the card into the computer loading it up. The screen was quickly covered in various folders. “So many folders. Where do we even start?” He questioned aloud. 

  Bakugo pushed Deku out of the way and began looking through the folders. “Hey Deku, while Bakugo deals with that, come sit down and let me take care of that wound.” I said motioning to the chair I was standing next to.

  I watched as he sighed before moving to sit down, taking off his shirt so I could have access to the injury. “But Y/n we’re inside, are you sure you can heal it without any plants around?” He asked.

  “Did you hit your head? You know I carry seeds around for when you idiots get hurt now sit still.” I said while pulling a few seeds from my pocket holding them close to Deku’s shoulder while activating my quirk. The seeds quickly began to grow wrapping around his shoulder before they began glowing a light bluish green color. After only a few minutes the wound was completely healed with no sign it had ever been there. With Deku taken care of I turned my attention back to the computer, missing the look of realization that flashed across Rody’s face.

  “I found it. It’s this video file.” Bakugo announced opening a file. 

  The screen changed to show a man with an eye patch who then began talking. “Hello. My name is Alan Kay. Along with several other scientists, I was kidnapped by Humarise.” He explained earning shocked gasps from the five of us. He went on to explain how Humarise forced the scientists to build the trigger bombs and how the first attack was just a trap to lewer out the heroes. He spoke of how the plan was to then detonate the rest after having all of the top heroes gathered and in turn decimate the hero population.

   After explaining the villain’s plan, he included that the unknown item that was in the case was a key to disarm the bombs from within the Humarise base. Shortly after the video ended, the other occupants of the hotel ran out screaming. Our attention was quickly drawn to the Tv where a news anchor was reporting that in less than two hours the trigger bombs were going to explode. A map of all the locations showed up on the screen.

   Seeing the map Rody immediately reacted. “No, it can't be. That circle's in Otheon! My house is inside of it!” Hearing the distress in his voice, my body moved on its own to try and calm him by placing a hand on his shoulder.

    Also realizing what that meant Deku responded. “Oh, no.” The five of us were now on the verge of panicking.

    “We should send this to HQ and have them order the hero teams to retreat before it's too late.” Shoto said moving to the computer, planning to send the file.

    Before he could finish, Bakugo cut in. “We can't do that.” His statement pulled Shoto’s and Deku’s attention to him.

  “The heroes are out there looking for the Trigger Bombs. Even if they're the actual targets of the terrorist attack. Even if they know this is a trap. As long as there are people who need help, the pros will never leave them and run away. That's what makes them heroes. Humarise counted on this when they came up with their plan.” Deku stated.

  We all paused and nodded in agreement. There was no way the heroes would run and leave innocent people to die just because they were the targets all along. “Then we use that disarming key. It's up to us to stop those bombs.” Shoto said, we all turned to look at him surprised. 

  “But how do we do that?” I asked. “We don’t even know where their main hideout is.” I agreed that we needed to stop the bombs, but that's easier said than done.

  Bakugo moved quickly before he started opening files on the computer. “On it! The answer has to be in here somewhere. You're an idiot if you make a key without telling people where the lock is! We look for the place that wasn't part of their announcement. This is where their base is!” He announced as he layered the map of the announced bomb locations with the map of the Humarise bases in the computer. Marked clearly was the one base that didn’t have a bomb over it.

  “Kacchan, Can you find where the bomb controls are?” Deku asked as Bakugo started clicking through more folders.

  “Let me work, ya damn nerd!” He shouted as he looked for the controls, eventually pulling up the base’s floor plan.

   Deku looked over the image. “The furthest area underground.” He said, trying to think of how to get there.

   As if voicing everyone’s thoughts, Shoto spoke up. “So we know where it is, but it's

more than 400 kilometers away from where we are.” Hearing that the small amount of hope that we could actually pull this off started to crumble.

  “We can make it.” Rody announced drawing our attention to the other computer in the room. “I think I know how to get us there.” He said while pointing at a map of what looked to be an airport nearby.

   Having no other ideas on how to reach the base, we made our way to the airport and acquired a plane. Once on board the plane, we quickly changed into our hero gear preparing for what would potentially be a very dangerous fight. 

    As the base came into view, Bakugo, Shoto, Deku and I began to get ready to jump from the plane. “That's it! The base! Going in for a landing. Brace yourselves.” Rody informed as he flew the plane closer.

   Thinking for a moment I spoke up. “No, Rody you should turn back, it’s not going to be easy.” I explained hoping he would understand.

   “Extras like you should stay out of the way.” Bakugo exclaimed as Shoto opened the door for us to jump. Shoto made a comment of agreement. After Deku allowed me to hold on to his back, as I’m the only one who can’t move through the air with my quirk, we jumped from the plane. As we got closer to the ground, members of Humarise began firing on us. “I don't have time for you idiots!” Bakugo shouted as he began returning fire.

    Once on the ground, we used our quirks to break through the lines of resistance. Making our way into the base. “Bakugo, we'll leave these guys to you!” I shouted as I trapped a few people in vines from the rock formation.

    After leaving Bakugo to deal with the group out front the rest of us moved into the hideout and began the trek to the controls.  We were making great time using Shoto’s ice to glide down the halls, that was until lasers fired and broke up the ice block sending us tumbling to the floor. After disarming the laser with his flames, Shoto ordered us to continue on while he held off the approaching members of Humarise.

    Nodding Deku and I began racing down the halls as fast as we could manage. We faced a few opponents as we made our way through, easily taking them down with either Deku’s Air force or me throwing seeds that sprouted into entangling vines trapping the attackers. Eventually we reached a large room that appeared to be some kind of library with a golden statue of a baby in the center. “This is the deepest room in the base which means the trigger bomb control system should be on the other side of those doors.” Deku explained.

   I responded with a simple nod before we moved towards the door. Before we could get close a laser fired at Deku’s feet causing both of us to jump back in surprise. “How dare you? This is not a place where someone so diseased should set foot.” We watched as a blue man wearing robes approached looking pissed that we dared enter the room. “You have entered a holy stronghold that will bring about the salvation of humanity.” He continued to speak.

   “You think this is what the world needs? The Quirk Doomsday Theory hasn't been scientifically verified!” I shouted as metal barriers began to rise around the room.

    Deku looked around in confusion before joining in my questioning of the man. “You're basing your crimes on nothing but a rumor! How can you accept something so uncertain and use it to justify doing such terrible things?” He yelled as Flect descended the staircase to be level with the two of us.

    “Pure humans are being threatened by the sickness of Quirks. Of that there is no doubt. As time passes these powers will mix, evolve, and run rampant, driving humanity to destruction.” Flect preached as he looked at us in disgust.

    Deku immediately went on the offensive. “You don't know that for certain! Whether you have a Quirk or not doesn't matter. We're all alive. We're all human beings!” He yelled trying to convince the villain across from us.

    Flect just sighed. “The gravely afflicted are beyond our help. I suppose I shall have to force you to atone.” He said as if it was fact and like he had any chance at beating the two of us.

   “I'll stop your Trigger bomb if it's the last thing I do!” Deku announced as he launched his first attack on the man. I watched in amazement as Deku was sent flying backwards smashing through the metal wall behind him, and Flect was left with no sign the atack hit except for the robe was wearing being blown off.

   As I helped Deku out of the shelves, Flect approached. In hopes of stopping him I flung more seeds that I had used my quirk on hoping to trap him in his place, only for the seeds to be flung elsewhere leaving the vines to just cover the floor. “That's right. I was born with this cursed plague myself. A disease that can't be cured. I automatically reflect all I come in contact with.” Flect explained seeing the bewildered looks on our faces.

   Deku looked around for a moment before moving to attack from multiple angles. “So even though you have an ability of your own, you still think they're somehow evil?” He asked blasting bolts of air.

   “You would question me? Quirks are a tragedy. Because of this ailment, I was never once held by my parents, never knew a caring touch.” Flect limentied as Deku’s attacks were sent back at him. “Even my closest friends, and those I gave my heart to left me, their feelings repelled. I watched them all leave me, one by one. Since I reflect everything, I couldn't even choose death for myself. A Quirk that cannot be controlled leads to a life of suffering. But I can save others from this misery. These meta powers will trample no more hearts.”

   I tried my hardest to think of a plan. The only plan I could think of was taking the key and running while Deku tried to distract Flect. I moved quickly trying to get close enough to Deku to tell him of my plan only for the lasers around the room to fire directly at Flect. He used his reflection to his advantage causing the lasers to reflect and scatter a few of them hitting Deku.

  I would like to say I was lucky enough to avoid them but unfortunately I was not fast enough. One laser hit me in the thigh and another hit me right in the chest, just narrowly avoiding my heart and instead rupturing a lung. As I collapsed to the ground I used the little strength I had before blacking out to sprout a healing seed near my chest to hopefully heal the hole in my lung before I bleed out or drown in my own blood. The last thing I remember before completely blacking out was the sound of Deku’s screams as more lasers pierced his body.

   To my surprise I awoke only a few minutes later. Realizing I was awake and could still move I quickly looked around the room. The first thing I noticed was the unconscious form of Flect laying in the middle of the room. The second thing I noticed was the large amount of blood leading to the doors to the control room. Standing up I rushed to find Deku and offer help in whatever way I could. 

   As I got closer I could hear what I could only assume to be pained laughter from two people. Reaching the room I saw Deku sitting on his knees laughing with Rody laying across his lap. I rushed forward as best as my still injured leg could carry me meeting the two. “Oh my god, What happened to you? And Rody, why are you here, I thought you turned back?” I asked, taking in the large wounds on both boys who stopped laughing when they realized I was there. 

   “Uh long story, tell you about it later?” Rody said with a slight shrug, wincing at the movement.

   I shook my head, looking to Deku for answers hoping he would tell me what I missed while unconscious. Unfortunately Deku just shrugged, choosing to also postpone answering. “Fine you’re lucky you’re my soulmate or I would make you tell me before helping with that wound.” I started ignoring Deku’s look of shock, instead choosing to grab the few seeds I had left to at least close the boys’ bleeding wounds. Rody was also left speechless as I finished healing the wound as much as I could given my own fading strength. “It’s not perfect but now you won’t bleed to death while we wait to be rescued.” I said, smiling at the boy.

   It took him a second to register what was said but after I pulled the plants away from the two Rody sat up. “Wait, ouch, How did you know that we’re soulmates? You don’t know what my quirk is.” He said shocked, the little pink bird from before sitting on his shoulder also looking stunned.

   I smiled looking at the little bird. “It’s hard to forget such an adorable bird that’s been on my shoulder since I was little.” I explained reaching out to the bird. Accepting the explanation the small bird leaned into hand.

   Rody still had a slightly confused look on his face but I could see the joy in his eyes. “Yeah, that makes sense, also that is Pino.” He said introducing the bird. I chuckled as Pino began chirping happily. “Her actions show how I’m really feeling.” He explained to me as I let Pino sit in my hand.

   “Well then I’m glad to know you’re happy.” I said, smiling at him. “But you should really lay back down, I couldn’t fully heal your wounds, it’s just enough to keep you alive while we wait for Heroes to come rescue us.” I explained nudging him lay back. “You to Deku, I can’t heal anymore until I get healed so you should conserve your energy.” After telling them both to relax I also leaned back on to the floor. While I may have sealed our wounds enough to not die, they were nowhere near fully closed so we all need to take it easy until we could be saved. 

   To the hospital.

   After laying in the Humarise base for what felt like hours, some pros finally showed up and brought us to a hospital in Otheon. While we were there they flew out Recovery Girl to help speed up the healing process so we could return to Japan. Recovery Girl had first healed me and asked me to assist in healing the others so it would go by quicker. I agreed and joined her in checking on the boys.

  While she was focused on healing Bakugo, I turned my attention to my soulmate. “Hey Rody, want a little more help with those injuries?” I asked moving to sit next to his bed. He just nodded and watched as I placed a few seeds on the bed next to him before activating my quirk. The seeds sprouted and vines laid across him before glowing softly.

  While I was focused on healing him, I failed to notice the door behind me opening, until two small children ran into the room.  Turning to the sound of excited children, I was greeted by a young boy and a young girl who looked very similar to Rody. “Roro, Lala, I’m so happy you guys are here.” Rody exclaimed, sitting up. Deciding his healing could wait for now, I turned off my quirk to allow the children to climb up on his bed. “How have you guys been?” He asked them.

  I just watched and listened as he spoke with them not wanting to interrupt the happy reunion. “Oh I almost forgot. Roro, Lala, this is Y/n they helped save my life and they’re my soulmate.” Rody introduced me looking at me with a bright smile. “Y/n, this is my little brother Roro, and my sister Lala.” I quickly greeted them. Soon I was subject to the children’s never ending questions, and honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  To the Airport

   As much as I’d like to say that I was able to stay for a while and enjoy getting to know my new found soulmate and his family, I sadly can not. Once we were all cleared by the hospital to fly home, we were all at the airport ready to depart. As we approached the escalator to head towards our flight I heard a familiar chirp from behind me.

   Before I could even turn around I heard Deku confirm my suspicion. “Rody” He called out, as I turned and looked at the limping burnett. He just chuckled in response before getting closer. “Didn't think you'd be out so soon! Heh.” Deku observed.

   I nodded in agreement. “Ah, they said I was good to head back home.” Rody answered the indirect question. Pino chirped in agreement before flying over to rest on my shoulder.

   “I’m glad to hear it, though I wish I could have healed your leg a bit more.” I said, patting the small bird.

   Rody just shrugged. “It’s all good, I’m grateful for what you did. Although, if I had died stopping those bombs, I would've become a total legend.” He went on to explain.

   Deku and I gave him a slightly concerned look before Deku spoke up again. “That's a morbid thing to say!” We all just laughed in response. “So, hey. Come up with any big plans for the future?” Deku asked. 

   I looked at Rody, curious to hear what he may be planning. “Just going back to my normal life for now. Though, I suppose, with all I've been through, who knows what's in store for me?” He answered, glancing in my direction. Pino Chirped in agreement , confirming Rody was being truthful about his unsureness.

   As Deku was about to keep the conversation going, the overhead announcements informed the airport that our flight back to Japan was now boarding. After exchanging glances with me, Deku spoke up. “Right, I’m gonna run to catch our flight. Y/n I know you will need a moment but try to be quick.” His tone was understanding, he knew the chances of me and Rody being in the same place again soon were slim. After bidding farewell to Rody, Deku started for our flight.

   It took a second for the reality of the citation to set in and when it did I turned to Rody, trying to hold back my tears. “I know I should be running to catch my flight but I can’t until I tell you this. I promise that no matter what happens in the future I will come back. Once I’m officially a pro hero. I’ll come back and we can actually explore what it means to be soulmates.” I explained. “But until then here is my phone number, please feel free to call or text whenever you get the chance. I don’t want the distance between us to affect what we have.” I finished handing him a piece of paper with my number on it.

   Making eye contact with Rody it was clear he was trying to hide his true feelings but staying true to her nature, Pino was on his shoulder, tears filling her eyes. “Yeah of course, just promise to come visit between now and your pro hero debut. Okay?” He said with a bright smile.

   I nodded before pulling him into a quick hug. “I promise. Now I need to run. Tell Roro and Lala I'll miss them and please stay outta trouble.” I heard the announcements calling for boarding again. “See you later, Rody.” With that I turned and ran off toward my flight's terminal. Finally once on the plane I did my best to wipe away my tears before anyone noticed.

   “Don’t worry you’ll see him again soon.” Deku said, placing a hand on my shoulder. I just nodded, already looking forward to the first chance I could get to return to Otheon.

[litnerdwrites]

"Cassian would be such a good father!" "He's such a girl dad!" "I hope we get a Nessian baby in the next Acotar book!"

That would be the start of a horror story. Not because of the risk of death thing, since it was taken care of at the end of ACOSF. No. Nessian are not ready for a kid, and quite possibly never will be at this rate. There are 101 reasons why neither Nesta or Cassian would be good parents at this current stage in their relationship and their personal development, especially if the dynamic we see in the HOFAS bonus chapter is anything to go by.

When you become a parent, you are responsible for your child's physical, mental and emotional wellbeing, and should provide for them within the best of your abilities. That goes beyond food, shelter and clothing. It means support, love and encouragement, fostering a safe, nurturing environment for them to grow up, free to be themselves.

Nessian can't give that. Not entierly anyway. I don't believe that either of them wouldn't love their child. What concerns me is if they would love their child enough.

Cassian has proven time and time again that he will chose Rhysand over Nesta, no matter what. If he can't chose his damn mate, how could he chose his child. What would he do if it came down to choosing between his Rhysand and his mate & child?

We've established that the mating bond is likely to be the Cauldron's form of selective breeding based on power, so it's highly likely that their child would be incredibly powerful too. The IC have been shown to go as far as lie and manipulate their own in order to exploit their powers. That is what happened to Nesta in ACOSF time and time again. Hell, it's been happening since the IC met Nesta in ACOMAF.

It's not beyond possibility for the IC to lie and manipulate or guilt trip Nessian's child the way they did to Nesta, so they can exploit that power. The worst part is, Cassian, thus far, hasn't given us a reason to think he wouldn't go along with it. If Amren, or Rhysand decide they need Nessian's kid to do something "for the good of the court" but Nessian's kid doesn't want to, or is reluctant? Would Cassian really stand up to Rhysand for the sake of his child? He doesn't love Nesta enough to stand up for her, why would he try to stand up for his kid?

Even if he did stand up for NK, (I'm calling his and Nesta's hypothetical kid NK from this point on, to make things easier) what's to stop the IC from going behind his and Nesta's back? What's to stop Cassian, from going behind Nesta's back on the off chance that he agrees with the IC but Nesta refuses to allow it (assuming NK isn't an adult, which in this world is about 50-80 years)? I wouldn't put it past Nesta's own sisters, and so-called family to undermine her rights and position as NK's mother by going behind her back and making the kid do what they want anyway.

They might not even bother hiding it from her and, like the intervention, tell her it's happening, regardless of how she feels. What proof do we have that Cassian would stand up for her or NK? Would stop the IC, for his child's sake, and defend his mate's right as Nk's mother? He wouldn't. Current, cannon Cassian, wouldn't. He simply doesn't care for Nesta enough to defend her rights and boundaries as his mate, so we can't believe he would defend NK from the IC, if it came down to it.

Then there's the issue of Illyria. Some people are of the opinion that the bat boys would send their kids to Illyrian war camps because it's their culture, while others argue that they wouldn't because it was traumatising. Personally, I think certain parts of Illyrian culture needs to become part of their history instead, like the child soldiers, and wing clippings, for example, but that's not the point.

Rhysand claims to advocate for change and equality in Illyria by thrusting a sword into a woman's hand, and basically forcing them to train too. Based on the argument with Devlon in ACOFAS, it's safe to assume that some level of force and authority is being used to make the women train. But handing them a sword and making them train, presumably in skin tight leathers, while men gawk and stare at them, isn't Equality.

Equality, by definition, means that men and women have the same status, rights and opportunities.

Opportunity, by definition, is "A set of circumstances that makes it possible to do something".

Equality in Illyria won't exist until men and women alike have the choice to not be warriors. Women like Emerie are lucky enough to inherit businesses, but the social circumstances mean that while women may, technically, run businesses, social pressures prevent it. They either wouldn't get business, or other Illyrians might refuse to sell business licenses or stock to them.

These same social pressures are what the IC apply to women when they make them train with the men, without considering what they want. These are the same social pressures that the IC would apply to NK if they decided that they wanted her at these camps. Not only would they consent to leaving one of the youngest members of their 'family' with a people who are so openly hostile to them and to women in general, what are the odds that they would hear any objections from NK?

If NK said they didn't want to train, but the IC wanted them to become a warrior, either to help protect Velaris or to, once more, exploit their powers, or their potential strength (Illyrian killing power, whatever that is).

Cassian claims to love his people, but won't provide them with the opportunities they deserve. He doesn't look or listen to find out what they need, and he did the same to Nesta. He forced her to do things she didn't want to, without asking or understanding what she wanted or needed. If his child were to refuse training, or express interest in other areas, would he ignore them too? Would he force them to train as well?

If his child went through something traumatic (which is pretty much guaranteed with the IC as their family), would he resort to the same methods they used to break Nesta? Once again, we have no reason to believe he wouldn't strip his children of their personal choices, all so they become loyal, complacent weapons of the IC.

What's worse, is that those children may even become weapons to use against Nesta. Who's to stop the IC from telling Nesta's own kids lies and stories to turn them against her? They isolated her in an attempt to break her into compliance, what are the odds they wouldn't bar Nesta from her children? They used Elain to strong arm Nesta into doing their bedding, who's to say they wouldn't use her children? Or manipulate her children against her in some way? Who's to say Cassian wouldn't just let it happen, or even actively participate in the manipulation.

Cassian's loyalty and dedication to the IC would always come before Nesta and their potential children. He's not ready to be a father because he could never put his children before his brother or the rest of his family. The truth I'm seeing is that Cassian, clearly, doesn't love his mate, and probably wouldn't love his child as much as the IC. He wouldn't love them enough to stand up for them. He wouldn't love them enough to not manipulate or coerce them into using their body or powers in a way that the IC approves of (yeah, I also never thought I'd have to read, much less write, that a parent wouldn't love their kid enough to not manipulate them). He's unfit, at this point, to be a parent.

Moving on to Nesta, who still has several unresolved mommy issues, clearly. Her mother raised her to marry a prince and, assumedly, be the perfect wife. Given that the way women are treated in the mortal lands, it's not a stretch to imagine that part of that training would mean obeying her husband (or in this case, mate,) and looking the other way if he cheated, amongst other things.

These values may explain why Nesta isn't as assertive against the IC or Cassian as we'd like. Even if it's subconsciously, some of those values seem likely to be so ingrained in her that she can't break away, as we see when she takes Rhysand's abuse in HOFAS bonus chapter. It's also a fair to assume it may be part of the reason she does what the IC ask when searching for the trove. I'm not saying that those traditions and her mommy issues are the only reason why, there's plenty of other reasons why Nesta acts in these ways, including the brainwashing she got in ACOSF, but it's reasonable to assume that they're at least part of the reason why.

Speaking of brainwashing, Nesta was brainwashed in ACOSF. She was beat down and forced into submission to the point where she even tells Gwyn that she's glad Feyre did that for her. Nesta gave up her dream and desires to travel, her power, her autonomy, and her aspirations just to be subservient to the IC. She became barely a shell of who she was by the end of that book.

That's not to say this is Nesta's fault. Not by a long shot. This is a result of abuse at the hands of the IC, her mother and Cassian. Abuse that left Nesta way more vulnerable and malleable than she was before, stripping her of anything the IC didn't approve of. Meanwhile Cassian did nothing. She thought that she had to earn Cassian's love, despite him being her so-called mate. She seriously thought that she, as her parents' daughter, had to earn their love, for fucks sake people.

What happens if the IC decide that they don't like way NK is growing up, or that they don't like how the kid is dealing with potential trauma? Will they push Nesta into believing her own child doesn't deserve her love? Will Nesta, at any point, consider if her child doesn't deserve her love if they don't have an interest in training or court affairs or training their powers? f

Nesta, like Cassian, is unfit to be a parent, for similar, yet very different reasons. Nesta's self hatred and the lack of ability to stand up to the IC (not saying that's her fault) would bring into question if she would be able to stand up for her children. If Cassian won't stand up for either of them, then how would she, if she feels that her kids deserve better, and that the IC are better. If she feels powerless, and weak, because of their abuse, she likely wouldn't be able to stand up to them. If they come after her together, she wouldn't be able to stand up to them.

I'm not saying any of this is Nesta's fault. She is a victim of abuse. Plain and simple. However, it's also reasonable to decide that she'd be unfit as a parent at that point in time, in large part, due to the environment that was created around her. It's not an environment to raise a child. Especially since Nesta is so brainwashed that it took a stranger from another world (Ember) who knew nothing about her pointing out how messed up her situation was for her to begin considering it as a possibility.

Nesta's own self hatred wouldn't allow her to see anybody but herself as the problem, so she likely wouldn't stand up to the IC or Cassian for her kids, in part because it was so ingrained that she had to obey her husband, but also, in part, because she's less likely to be able to fully understand if or how the IC or Cassian's actions hurt them. Or to consider those actions unnecessary. Even if it came down to mating bond divorce being the best option, if kids are involved, she might not end up going through with it, which can often be worse for kids than a divorce.

Nesta would love her kids so fiercely, but it would be difficult for that love to outweigh the brainwashing, self hatred and abuse that has been engraved into her mind for practically her whole life. She wouldn't love them enough for it to overshadow those voices in her head, through, once again, no fault of her own.

Then the kid themselves. Bringing a child into that mess would be just as torturous for the poor kid.

Imagine what it would do to a child, seeing your uncle threaten to kill your mother, while your aunts, and father and rest of your family let it happen. All because your mother tried to do the right thing?

Or, another scenario, is if NK overhears their aunt (Mor) complaining about how horrible their mother is, and how she belongs in a place you were taught was terrible and evil because she's just like them.

What would it do to NK, to grow up hearing Amren, somebody their Uncle and mother trust and love, refer to their mom in reference to how useful her powers are, or to NK themselves by how useful they are to the court.

NK would likely be forced to do things they don't want to 'show a united front' or to train because it sets an example to the Illyrians. NK would be exploited for their potential power, an initiative likely spearheaded by Amren, and trained to be just as blindly loyal to Nyx as Cassian is to Rhysand.

The child would likely be left to Amren to train, with or without Nesta's consent, and even if she did find the strength to vehemently reject the IC's methods of trying to raise her kid, she'd be punished. She'd be locked up and told she was bad for her own child's wellbeing, while breaking down the poor kid the way they broke her down. They stripped Nesta of her autonomy and freedom. If she had a kid, it wouldn't be long before they stripped her of her role as a mother.

At the end of the day, Nessian wouldn't be great parents, because the IC aren't a great family. They have issue upon issue to work through before they can consider their relationship even somewhat functional or healthy, much less bring a child into it.

So no. Nessian doesn't need a kid. They'd be terrible parents and need to figure their own shit out before they even consider having a kid. Nesta isn't in a good place, mentally, physically, or emotionally, to be able to act with the kid's best interests at heart. Meanwhile Cassian is either delusional enough that he thinks Rhysand's best interests equal everybody's best interests, including his kid's. So, he won't bother to stop Rhys or the IC from using the kid however he wants.

Which is why I'm begging you. Please. No. No Nessian kid in the next book. Not in any book. Not unless SJM somehow fixes the relationship between Nesta and Cassian, and by that, I mean figure out how to fix Cassian's character from ACOSF.

(On a side note, Nesta's basically still a kid by fae standards, and so is Feyre. So why? Why would they not wait anyway? Cause ew.)

[geekgirles]

Oropo's OVA: Continuing a Trend

So yesterday I rewatched Oropo's OVA in order to make a screenshot compilation of Echo, and while the fact remains that in terms of plot relevance or even narrative choices the special is a hot mess that only provides information for things that, in the great scheme of things, are fairly minor or we already knew about (the markings on Echo's hands being burn scars, Grougal's blindness, how Chibi died, the fact that Oropo manipulated Nox from the Eliacube...), it should be noted that it at least doesn't change the characters' established characterisation.

With the clear exception being Chibi and Grougal, of course.

But when it comes to what would become the Brotherhood of the Forgotten, Oropo and Echo's characterisation is very consistent to what we already saw in season 3.

First and foremost, it's plain to see Oropo's Eliotrope team is his first attempt at replicating the Brotherhood of the Tofu. As every character introduced shares at least some traits, minor or even corrupted as they might be, with Yugo and his friends.

Yugo's traits are divided evenly between Oropo and Sidaire. While the former shares his physical appearance, darker aspects of his personality, and his position as leader of his team; the latter shares his child-like appearance and original position as youngest member of the group.

Echo's character is an amalgamation of Eva and Amalia's. Like Eva, she's one of the most mature and thoughtful members of the team, as well as acting as the Team Mum. Likewise, their personalities are also similar: both are motherly and poised, but can also be aloof and even aggressive under the right circumstances. However, much like Amalia and her relationship with Yugo, she's Oropo's lover and her powers are more supernatural in nature compared to Evangelyne's (I mean, just compare healing, shapeshifting, sand magic, and chlorokinesis and "voo-doo" dolls to above average archery skills and senses...).

Eva is also reflected in Desperia, who, despite her little screentime, seemed to be the most level-headed, rational, and collected member of the group.

Bouillon is a more impulsive and battle-hungry yet less redeemable version of Tristepin, as they both have a tendency to jump headfirst into battle without thinking of the consequences. But, as Oropo said, Bouillon doesn't know how to work in a team, meaning he doesn't share Pinpin's values, such as his sense of honour or care for his friends.

Atone seems to be Adamaï taken to the extreme, as he doesn't let himself be swayed by his emotions (mainly because he just can't feel anything), yet he chooses to follow the much more emotional Oropo out of his own volition.

And lastly, Ripulse seems to have Ruel's flaws (except his greed seems to have been replaced by powerlust), yet none of his redeeming qualities. As he is selfish, self-serving, cowardly, and treacherous.

Interestingly enough, while this serves to establish early on Oropo's desire to have Yugo's life, to be Yugo, it also highlights the same flaws he displayed during season 3. Namely, how he's an overally atrocious judge of character.

Once again, he's allowed a few rotten apples into his basket. As it just wouldn't be wise to have characters like Bouillon and Ripulse near. I'd like to think those two examples are self-explanatory.

On the one hand, Bouillon might be a formidable fighter, but his single-minded focus on battling and inability to "share" with his allies means he just can't be trusted to work well in a group. If you think about it, this ultimately led to his downfall, as he might have stood a much better chance against Grougal if instead of fighting him alone he had allowed his "siblings" to join him, thus, possibly overpowering our favourite black dragon.

And, on the other hand, Ripulse didn't even attempt to hide his treacherous and cowardly nature. But, much like when Adamaï questioned choosing someone as sadistic and deranged as Toxine as the next Sram goddess, Oropo still ignored Sidaire's more than justified distrust of Ripulse, which, if not for Echo, would have cost him dearly.

Sidaire: "You're the most cowardly, Ripulse. When will you get your hands dirty? Ripulse: "As late as possible."

In fact, if you remember, Oropo was genuinely surprised when Chibi turned out to be alive, as his sources had assured him he was long dead. Only for Sidaire to accurately deduce said sources were probably Ripulse, and while he claimed he had always been incompetent, his assassination attempt at the end of the OVA implies he always gives wrong information in hopes of getting Oropo killed or weakened enough to deliver the finishing blow himself.

To make a long story short, one of Oropo's flaws is that he surrounds himself with people that just can't be trusted, thus, endagering his life, that of his truly loyal supporters, and the very goal he strives to achieve.

The other characterisation they managed to nail was Echo's, even though the OVA didn't focus on her nearly as much. To be more specific, it focused on her loyalty to Oropo and how, despite everything, it actually works to the detriment of both of them.

If you think about it, while Echo is indeed staunchly loyal to Oropo and his cause, she's the kind of supporter who just follows her leader blindly, even when rebelling against his wishes once in a while might actually be more beneficial to their goals in the long run.

Once again, the best example of this is Oropo's trust in both Ripulse and Toxine, and how it almost backfired spectacularly on him.

In both cases, it's clear to see Echo is perfectly aware of how neither of them can be trusted, just like she has absolutely no qualms about punishing them or outright getting rid of them if they prove to be more trouble than its worth.

However, it should be pointed out Echo is only willing to reach those extremes if she catches the person in question trying to directly harm her or Oropo. As long as they aren't affected by their actions, they can stay regardless of the danger they pose to everybody else around them.

As I said, Echo's loyalty to Oropo (and probably her love for him contributes to it as well) doesn't manifest in a desire and willingness to do whatever it takes to reach their goal, even if it means going against Oropo's wishes or disagreeing with him. It manifests in almost blind adherence and obedience to him and his wishes.

After all, much like Adamaï and Sidaire, she knew Ripulse and Toxine were trouble and couldn't be trusted, but unlike the former two, she never voiced her opinions to Oropo or even questioned his decision to trust them. Not even after Toxine disregarded their orders and sneaked into her room to kill Eva and Flopin. Instead, she left them to their own devices until they posed a direct threat to her and Oropo.

And that in itself is another major aspect of Echo's character: her inaction and indifference to the wrongs going on around her until they directly affect Oropo or her, despite her insistence that what they're doing is precisely for the sake of the World of Twelve.

Because wasn't that what ultimately caused her to betray Oropo and save the day? The fact that Oropo betrayed her? We all know this. Echo didn't reveal Oropo's plans because she had seen the light or anything like that. She revealed his plans because Oropo had hurt her.

She had no problem with him disposing of the demigods that were no longer useful to him despite insisting they were their children. There was nothing wrong with emotionally manipulating and tormenting the Brotherhood of the Tofu or driving a wedge between Yugo and Adamaï to make sure they wouldn't pose a threat to their plans. And kidnapping children, their pregnant mother, and trying to kill their father was seen as a necessity.

But the moment Oropo revealed she had never been anything but a placeholder for Amalia, the only woman he truly "loved"? Then that's where Echo drew the line, because, deep down, she was always higher up in her list of priorities.

I guess this all comes to show that, even though Oropo's OVA was little more than an excuse to introduce some characters that would have minor roles in season 4 and to have a 40-minutes-long action scene, there are some things that weren't completely butchered by it.

[theenchantresx]

Shadows of the Crown

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC Reader

Trigger Warnings: Violence and war (discussions of bloodshed, massacres), Emotional manipulation, Psychological trauma and guilt, Grief and loss (discussion of family betrayal, loss of loved ones), Mentions of past abuse and cruelty, Toxic relationships

Word Count: 3,500 words

All images are taken from Pinterest: credits to the original owners

The halls of the Red Keep were darker than usual, dimmed not just by the oncoming twilight but by the heavy weight of tension that seemed to seep into every corner. War loomed over the Seven Kingdoms like an ill-fated storm, and its cold winds had finally reached King's Landing. As Prince Regent, Aemond Targaryen was supposed to be the pillar of strength, but even steel cracks under enough pressure.

The fire of his kin was burning him alive.

You had been one of the few who could still approach him without fear of being dismissed. Though "approach" was a loose term—he never truly allowed anyone close, not since he had turned his back on his family. His eye, the one left unscathed, was hard as dragonstone whenever you stood before him. And the one that was lost, now replaced by the sapphire, seemed even colder.

Tonight was no different.

You found Aemond in the council chamber, the stench of conspiracies still lingered in the air. Maps, letters, and spilled wine cluttered the table before him, untouched since the maesters had delivered the latest reports. He stood by the window, tall and rigid, the flames of the fireplace casting flickering shadows against his sharp features.

"You’ve come again," Aemond said without turning around. His voice was like poisoned honey, slow, sharp, and dangerous. "I do wonder, have you come to scold me like the rest of them?"

You stepped forward cautiously, sensing the sharp edge of his temper beneath the calm. "I didn't come to scold. I came because you're alone, Aemond. And you know it."

He turned then, slowly, his single violet eye locking onto you. He was regal, tall, a figure that inspired both awe and fear, but the cruelty in his gaze had grown over time—thicker, more consuming, as if the loss of his family’s loyalty had stripped away the last of his humanity.

"Alone?" He chuckled darkly, stepping toward you with a deliberate slowness that made your heart pound. "It is a crown that sits heavy, not companionship I seek. I need no one."

"You've turned everyone against you," you said, keeping your voice steady despite his approach. "Your family, the council, even those who once supported you. What will your rule be, Aemond, if there's no one left to support you?"

He stopped just inches from you, looming over you like the shadow of Vhagar herself. His lips curled in a bitter, mocking smile. "You think I seek fairness? To be a king like my brother? Weak, foolish Aegon… he was an idiot, and where did that get him, hmm? I will not make the same mistake."

The intensity of his gaze was almost unbearable, but you didn’t back down. "And what will your cruelty gain you? Fear? Power? They’re fragile things, Aemond. They slip through your fingers the moment you think you have control. There’s no peace in ruling with only fire and blood."

His smile faltered, just for a moment, but enough for you to see the weariness beneath the façade. Aemond turned away sharply, stalking back to the window with a frustrated exhale. "Peace?" he spat the word as if it were poison. "There is no peace, not for men like me. Only war and treachery. The time for peace ended when my family betrayed me. When they left me to burn in the fires of their ambitions."

"You’ve betrayed them too," you said quietly, knowing it was a risk to push him further. "Your mother, your sister, your brother… You abandoned your house loyalty for what? To avenge wrongs you suffered as a child? To prove you matter because having the biggest and oldest dragon isn't enough? And where did all this lead you?"

Aemond’s hands gripped the windowsill so tightly you could see his knuckles whiten. His back was to you, but you could feel the violent tension rolling off him. "They never saw me," he whispered, low and venomous. "Not truly. I was always the second son, the lesser, the shadow of Aegon. And now they would dare question my rule?"

"They did see you, Aemond. Perhaps not in the way you wanted, but they cared about you in their own twisted way. You still have time to make this right. You don’t have to—"

"Enough!" He whirled on you, his patience snapping. The rage in his eye was feral, unhinged, as if your words had struck a nerve too deep to bear. He advanced on you again, his tone icy. "You think I will grovel before them, beg for their forgiveness? I am Aemond Targaryen, the rider of Vhagar, the right ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not be questioned by anyone. Not by my family, not by you."

His hand shot out and gripped your arm, firm but not painful, though the threat lingered in the air between you. His touch was cold, as though all the warmth had been leeched from him by the cruelty he had embraced.

"I am not here to question you," you said, meeting his gaze without flinching. "I’m here because I know you. Beneath all this, I know there’s a part of you that doesn't want to rule like this. You’re stronger than the hatred you’re clinging to, Aemond."

His eye searched yours for a long, agonizing moment, as if trying to find some weakness, some opening to crush. And yet, he hesitated. His grip on your arm tightened, but his face betrayed something you hadn’t seen in him for a long time—doubt.

For a heartbeat, you thought he might let go, that the cruelty might crack, but then he released you abruptly and turned his back once more. The coldness returned, the wall between you rising higher than before.

"You think you understand me," he said, his voice softer now, but no less dangerous. "But you’re wrong. I will not bend. And you’d be wise to remember your place."

You stood in silence, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a cloak of frost. There was still a glimmer of hope, buried deep beneath his anger and pride, but it was slipping away, just as he was.

"If you continue down this path, Aemond," you said softly, taking a step back, "you’ll end up with nothing but ashes in your hands."

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The silence between you spoke volumes, and as you turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just witnessed the last flicker of light before the darkness consumed him entirely.

Perhaps one day he would see reason. Or perhaps, like his dragon, he would only ever know how to burn.

And if that day came, you feared even you might not be able to save him.

The door creaked behind you, the weight of your words still heavy in the air, but Aemond's silence held you rooted to the spot for a moment longer. You had seen the fleeting doubt in him, but that spark was suffocated as quickly as it had surfaced. His back remained turned, his gaze locked on the darkening horizon beyond the Red Keep’s windows.

You lingered by the threshold, hesitating. Leaving him like this—angry, alone—felt like sealing his fate. The civil war had already claimed too much; if Aemond fell further into his madness, there might be nothing left to salvage.

“I dreamt of Harrenhal,” you said softly, not quite looking at him. “Before the war… before all of this.”

Aemond stiffened, but he didn’t turn around. The mere mention of Harrenhal twisted something in him, something raw. You had struck another nerve, deeper than the last.

“I’ve seen the ruins in those dreams. I’ve seen you there, standing in the ashes.”

Still, no response. His silence was damning.

You took a breath and pressed on, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. "That place… Harrenhal… it broke something in you, didn’t it?"

At that, Aemond finally turned, his single eye narrowing dangerously. “Broke me? Do not presume to know what I endured there.” His voice was a low growl, filled with a venomous bite. “Harrenhal did not break me. It forged me.”

There was a cold pride in his tone, but beneath it, you heard something else—something darker. You had heard the rumors, the whispers of what had happened at Harrenhal when Aemond had claimed the cursed castle. There had been blood, fire, and a cruelty even you had not imagined he was capable of.

“I know what you did there,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “The executions, the massacre. The blood on your hands… and for what, Aemond? What did it gain you?"

He stepped closer, the firelight catching the gleam of his sapphire eye. “It gained me control. Fear. Power.”

“Power built on ash,” you countered, your voice steady despite the cold dread pooling in your chest. "You didn’t need to kill all those people, Aemond. They weren’t your enemies; they were just… there.”

“They were in my way,” he said, as if that justified everything.

You shook your head, fighting the urge to step back from him. "The blood of innocents isn’t a price worth paying for your throne. Harrenhal… it’s cursed, you know that. It’s been a ruin since the day it was built, and now you carry that curse with you."

Aemond’s lip curled in a sneer. "Cursed? Don’t speak to me of superstitions. I don’t fear ghosts, nor do I fear the weight of my decisions. I did what needed to be done. And if I have to do it again, I will."

“You’ve become as cursed as the place itself,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his. “And it’s driving you mad.”

For a moment, his sneer faltered, and you caught a glimpse of something else—an unease that flickered in his eye before it hardened again. He was quick to push it down, burying it beneath layers of bitterness and pride.

Aemond turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged dragon. “I am not mad,” he hissed, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “I see clearly, clearer than I ever have before. I see the weakness in my family. I see the cowardice in their hearts.”

You could feel the heat rising in your chest, frustration swelling with each word he spoke. “This isn’t about your family anymore, Aemond! This is about you. You’ve let your hatred consume you.”

“Hate is all I have left,” he said, his voice a quiet, dangerous whisper. “What else do you expect me to hold onto? Love? Forgiveness?”

His eyes bored into yours with a cold, mocking intensity, and you could see the bitterness in them—the pain he refused to admit, even to himself. He was a prince surrounded by shadows, a ruler with a kingdom of ash beneath his feet.

But there was something else—something that hadn’t been spoken of yet.

“Helaena…” you said, and Aemond’s jaw tightened visibly at the sound of her name. “She saw all of this before it happened, didn’t she? The blood, the war… the destruction of your family. She tried to warn you.”

The mere mention of Helaena seemed to crack something in him. He turned sharply, his voice trembling with a barely-contained fury. “Do not speak of my sister.”

“She loved you, Aemond. Despite all, she tried to save you with her prophecies, but you wouldn’t listen—”

“Her words were riddles,” he spat, advancing on you again. “Nonsense! How could she save me when she could barely save herself?”

You could hear the agony beneath his anger now, the guilt he tried so desperately to hide. Helaena’s death had wounded him more deeply than any battlefield loss, and you knew he carried the weight of it like a chain around his neck.

“Helaena wasn’t mad, Aemond. You know that. She saw things none of us could. She warned you—she saw this war, saw the death that would come if you continued down this path. And yet you ignored her, even when you knew she spoke the truth.”

Aemond’s face twisted with grief, but it was fleeting, quickly replaced by a mask of cold indifference. “It’s too late now. Helaena is gone. And her words…” He trailed off, his voice low and bitter. “They mean nothing anymore: I faced death and I'm still here.”

“They mean everything, Aemond.” You stepped closer, your voice urgent. “You’ve become the one that destroys everything it touches.”

He recoiled at that, as if your words had struck him harder than any blade. For a moment, you saw the raw, wounded soul beneath the cruel mask he wore, the boy who had once been overshadowed by his brother, by his family. But that boy was long gone, buried beneath layers of hatred and vengeance.

“I am a Targaryen, a rider of dragons, a ruler by fire and blood. I will not be cowed by whispers and riddles.”

You could feel the distance between you growing once more, the coldness settling in the room like a thick fog. Aemond had buried his humanity beneath the weight of his ambition, and no matter how hard you tried to reach him, the walls he had built around himself were too high to scale.

“If you continue like this,” you said softly, your voice filled with a deep sorrow, “you’ll end up destroying everything, just like Harrenhal. There’ll be nothing left but ruins.”

Aemond stood in silence, staring at the darkened horizon beyond the window, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. You could see the war raging within him—the battle between the man he had once been and the monster he was becoming.

But in the end, the shadows won.

“Leave me,” he said coldly, his voice distant. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

Your heart ached as you looked at him, knowing that you had lost him to the darkness. There was no reasoning with him now, no way to pull him back from the edge.

With a heavy heart, you turned and left the room, the weight of your failure pressing down on you. You had tried to save him, but Aemond had already chosen his path.

And it was a path that led only to destruction.

You paused again at the door, Aemond’s cold command echoing in your mind. Your hand hovered over the handle, but you couldn’t leave. Not like this. The ache in your chest tightened, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled from your lips, raw and trembling.

"Am I nothing to you?"

Your voice cut through the heavy silence, and for a moment, it seemed to still the air in the room. Aemond’s back remained to you, his figure unmoving by the window, but the tension in his posture deepened, like a bowstring pulled too tight.

He didn’t respond immediately, and you took a tentative step forward, your heart hammering in your chest. "After everything… after all these years… do I mean nothing to you? Or am I just another piece to be cast aside like the others?"

Aemond’s head tilted slightly, but he still refused to look at you. You could see his fingers tightening around the windowsill, white-knuckled with restrained anger. His silence felt heavier than any response he could have given.

"I stood by you when no one else would. I tried to understand you when even your family turned away. And yet, here I am, begging for the smallest scrap of the man I thought I knew." Your voice trembled, but you pressed on. "Am I nothing, Aemond? Is that what I am to you?"

At last, Aemond turned to face you, and the coldness in his eye sent a shiver through your spine. The firelight flickered across his sharp features, casting deep shadows that only made him look more like the ruthless dragonlord he had become. But in that moment, there was something else, buried beneath the layers of cruelty—a flicker of guilt, of something he couldn’t admit.

“You presume too much,” he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. “You think your presence here makes you special? That your words can change what I have become?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill. "I thought I was more than just another voice in the crowd, Aemond. I thought I mattered to you. But maybe I was wrong."

His eye flashed with something you couldn’t quite place—rage, perhaps, or regret. It was fleeting, but enough to make your chest tighten painfully.

"You do not understand," Aemond said through gritted teeth, his tone laced with frustration. "You cannot understand. There is no room for sentiment, not in this war, not in my world. Feelings, loyalty, love—they are weaknesses, chains that bind me to the past. I cannot afford them."

You felt the sting of his words, but you refused to back down. "You think you’re strong by pushing everyone away, by cutting yourself off from the people who care about you? That’s not strength, Aemond. That’s fear."

His expression darkened, and he took a step toward you, his presence looming like a shadow. "Fear?" he scoffed. "Do you think I fear anything? I’ve faced dragons, war, betrayal, and you think this frightens me?"

"I think you’re afraid of feeling anything at all," you whispered, holding his gaze despite the storm you saw brewing in his eye. "You’re terrified that if you let yourself care, if you let yourself be human for one moment, everything you’ve built will come crashing down."

Aemond’s face twisted with a mix of anger and something far more vulnerable. "You know nothing of what I’ve built, what I’ve sacrificed. My family, my blood, all of it—gone. I have no place for softness, no place for—"

"For me?" you interrupted, your voice breaking. "Is that it? You have no place for me in your life anymore, either?"

For a long, excruciating moment, Aemond didn’t respond. His eye locked onto yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw something—some hint of the man you used to know, the man who had once allowed you close. But whatever softness had flickered in him was quickly smothered by the cold, unyielding mask of the prince regent.

He stepped back, his expression hardening once more. “You are asking questions you don’t want answers to.”

The cold dismissal in his tone was like a blade to your chest, and the silence that followed was suffocating. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall, not in front of him.

"So I’m nothing," you whispered, more to yourself than to him. The realization hit you like a cold wave, and you turned away, your hand gripping the door handle. "After all this time… I’m nothing."

You moved to leave, but before you could open the door, Aemond’s voice cut through the room, softer now, almost pained.

“You were never nothing to me.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room seemed to freeze. You stopped, heart pounding in your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to turn around. His voice, so controlled, so cold, had cracked, just for a moment. But it wasn’t enough—not after everything.

You swallowed hard, closing your eyes as the weight of his words settled over you. “You have a strange way of showing it.”

And with that, you opened the door and stepped out, leaving Aemond Targaryen standing in the shadow of the crown he had so ruthlessly claimed, alone with the weight of the choices he could never take back.