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amazingphilza · 4 years ago

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twitchcon :: cc!multiple x reader

fluff , platonic , gender neutral ! some mcyt headcanons if you were to attend twitchcon w them

cc’s included in order: tommyinnit , tubbo , ranboo , wilbur soot , philza , technoblade

cw: kinda lengthy for the minors (i think), not as much for the hags LMAO /hj

tommyinnit

this man is so excited to be at his first twitchcon & being able to hang out with all his best friends makes it a hundred times better

when he isn’t at a panel or doing meet & greets, he’s dragging you everywhere to see the whole convention center (clingyinnit)

he is just so at awe despite this not being his first convention to attend

you’d be surprised he gets tired pretty quickly & stops over to the partner lounge

you both rest for a bit against a wall in a pretty packed hallway despite it being an exclusive area to twitch partners

every time a famous streamer walks by he will yell it out and record it then vlog your reaction, even if they’re surrounded with bodyguards & trying to get to another place quickly

he’d zoom in his camera to their face at a horrible angle and be like

“oh my god it is THE ninja. ninja famous fortnite player, HELLO.”

but he gets completely ignored

then the camera pans out to you, still really zoomed in that the capture is blurry

“ninjainnit?”

“EH?”

tommy is so confused, forgetting the bit ninja did on his twitter where he renamed himself ‘ninjainnit’ for a split second

okay tommy isn’t that athletic but he will chase you and the rest of your group down a hallway if he had to

he’d probably find a toy gun from the artist alley/seller booths and shoot you and wilbur with it

but if tommy stumbles across any of the dream team, it’s about to be minecraft manhunt but irl

and he will def play his stream music while walking or smth when he’s bored (or trying to jump dream & sapnap)

** DO DO DO DO MANHUNT MUSIC **

oh my god,, now thinking about it he’s probably the one to open like random doors of empty rooms and steal stuff while you film him

like he will take a random empty glass, a bunch of pens, a freebie t-shirt, everything he sees he takes with him and you’re just panic

“tommy we’re literally not supposed to be here, and i’m stuck here filming you. it’s surely a felony in action”

“well, it’s their fault for leaving the doors open! plus this is great content. who’s the dirty crime boy now, HM?”

you’d tell wilbur about this and he’d scold tommy and threaten him with the same pen tommy stole

tommy probably would also drag you some weird event happening outside twitchcon along with tubbo and ranboo

“pokimane is giving out free pizza to everyone if we go to this one restaurant down the street!”

“we are literally gonna get bombarded. have you forgot you’re like three of twitch’s top streamers? i’d rather pay for all of our meals than try getting free pizza from pokimane against all her other fans”

“DEAL! let’s go to five guys then!”

you unfortunately end up paying for all 3 of their meals and picking on their food instead of buying your own

even with all of them making way more money than you, they still happen to be cheapskates

OR tommy will end up getting a burrito from a taco truck, immediately making a mess of himself, then proceed to complain how messy the food is to eat despite knowing what he was getting himself into before even ordering

“shit my clothes are all ruined now!”

“well that’s your fault you got a burrito, as if it’s your first time having one”

“i mean the food is good, i’m not complaining about that but i don’t think it’s that good that it’s worth costing my red and white shirt, im just saying”

tubbo

same with tommy, he is so excited

i don’t know why but i imagine him overpacking his suitcase and you making fun of him for it

anyway tubbo has his irl backpack on and streaming EVERYTHING

probably spends a lot of time at a bunch of different booths, checking out all the pointless gadgets he could buy for his stream

you’re the one to stop him from doing so

“TUBBO IT’S LITERALLY OVER TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS, STOP. DONT GET IT.”

“WHY NOT?? IT WILL BE COOL FOR MY STREAM AND I WILL USE IT EVERYDAY”

“okay theoretically speaking, how the hell are you going to even bring it home? which—let me remind you—is across the country for you and not to mention the giant ocean separating america and the uk”

“free ship-pang!!!”

“i hate to break it to you tubbo but there is no way you can get free shipping on a FIVE FOOT PC. it’s nearly as tall as you! what are you even gonna do on it, hack the government???”

the arguments are all lighthearted but eventually you give in and let him splurge over a thousand dollars in different devices he claimed he “needed”

i could honestly see him visiting the beaches in san diego and going for a swim or even renting out a boat to use for a bit :D

also he’d bring benson along with him and taking a bunch of scenic photos with it in them

i have a feeling he’s the type to schedule a spontaneous meet & greet because he was bored & gets in trouble for causing a mob in a certain part of the convention

he’s like “oh god, i did not expect this many of the bois to show up AHAHAH oops”

tubbo would def pull a lilypichu and bring his melodica or ukulele and play themes while following random people/cosplayers

at the end of the day, you’d find his bag just stuffed with crap he either got for free or bought in the convention

“how did you get all that stuff? i was with you all day??? and it’s only the first day of the convention, hello?? it looks like you’ve been collecting as if twitchcon has went on for a week already!”

“HA i have my ways, do not underestimate my powers”

lani would probably tag along for the vacation honestly

like whenever someone comes up to her giving her gifts/asking for pics, you and tubbo would tease her about how famous she is

and i dunno but something about tubbo just gives me this amusement park energy and going to legoland and spending the whole day there since it’s near by and because he can

ranboo

he is like a beacon in a sea of people, that’s it .

i honestly just see him causing as much chaos as the other two

ranboo would probably like take someone’s camera whether if they’re streaming or if it’s for the vlog, hold it up high, and point the camera directly above someone’s face

it did not matter how tall you were and if you had platform shoes on, ranboo was a skyscraper next to you

“HAHAH this is how i see you from this height, this is funny”

then he shows you the vid of the recording of him getting like an aerial view of your face

like you see your nose and all your pores and just overall a bad angle to be captured in

“OH GOD RANBOO DELETE THAT, ITS HORRIFIC”

i dunno why but i feel like he’d jump scare every person that was cosplaying as his minecraft character from behind for some reason

“BOO!”

“ranboo i’m not even remotely dressed as your skin—”

“don’t worry i’m practicing it’s fineee”

“you’re like the height of 2 people combined, i think you will be fine as is. you even intimidated the security at the front”

i feel like if he had his own panel he’d like pull up some undertale song in the middle of it and scare all the people in the crowd

“lore but in real life”

probably would get some matching keepsake with you from artist alley/the booths!

i could imagine like a cute keychain or smth :D

i feel like he’s the type to like randomly volunteer as a participant for those mini events in a booth thinking it would be funny but regrets it the moment he’s on stage

after introductions the presenter is like “okay ranboo, you will be given a random meme prompt above your head you won’t be able to see until after and you will have to make a random face to compliment it!”

and you can just tell by his facial expression he’s just thinking

oh god what have i gotten myself into

what is this game? who came up with this idea?

you’d laugh at him the whole time, even after he’s off the stage and finished with that small fiasco

“that was horrible. never again.”

“AHAHAH IT LOOKED SO AWKWARD YOU DID GREAT”

“I CROSSED MY EYES AND PUFFED MY CHEEKS BECAUSE I COULDNT THINK OF ANY OTHER FACIAL EXPRESSION. THE PROMPT ENDING UP BEING ‘WHEN TWITTER CANCELS YOU FOR USING PLASTIC STRAWS.’ AND WHEN I SAW WHAT IT WAS—LITERALLY WHAT KIND OF GAME–”

“I GOT PICTURES AND EVERYTHING ITS PERFECT AHAHAHAH”

wilbur soot

honestly with wilbur it’s slightly more chill

he already experienced twitchcon before so he’s just glad to see his friends again after so long

insists that you explore the convention yourself rather than sticking with him the whole time but you do anyway!

wilbur would probably have like a mini concert and gets you front row seats with the rest of the group

but that doesn’t mean before it that you’re not helping him set up

“y/n please– my amp is so heavy, i can carry it”

“don’t worry! i’m strong” :D

and musically talented or not, he will probably bring you and the rest of his friends up to stage to just vibe and sing a bunch of random acoustic songs

it’s not like some big concert hall stage,, i imagine more like a casual thing w a slightly higher platform from the ground yk?

after spending a long day at the convention he’d also bring everyone across the city to la jolla or smth !

you’d all probably have dinner there and chill, watching the pretty sunset

“this place is really pretty but oh my god im gonna lose my breath hiking up this stupid hill, please slow down”

and wilbur is like ??? because he’s completely fine with his long legs and everything

“just walk faster”

“no, you walk slower”

AHAHAH and for context traversing through la jolla by walking around the town is a bit hard since it’s basically on a bunch of hills (walking up from the beach to a restaurant actually is actually sm work, trust me ive been there)

wilbur honestly doesn’t spend that much time in the actual convention center, he’s probably sightseeing a bit of san diego with you instead

but i could imagine him staying at the tabletop games area playing dnd or smth

“c’mon y/n, come join!”

“uhh i’m not sure, i’m not the best at roleplay and...”

“it’s fine don’t worry!”

he’d pull you in with him and end up enjoying yourself even if it was your first time

and if you’re of age, you’d be wilbur’s +1 at the twitch partner party and make sure mans doesn’t too drunk

if it’s not too late in the night, you two would chill at the beach after the party

it’s just a nice, calming moment after all the loud music mixed with hundreds of conversations at the party

also something about like taking polaroids pictures with wilbur just seems to go hand in hand for me

i’m not sure why but you will be taking lots of pics with wilbur for sure (not necessarily you both in the photo, but of sceneries as well while you’re together!)

philza

literally a dad on vacation with his children, it doesn’t matter how old you are

need sunscreen? surprisingly has it

want a snack? probably has a small granola bar somewhere in his bag

but same with wilbur, he’s more chill like this isn’t his first time at twitchcon

omg he’d def bring you to the artist alley and just buy a bunch of fanart and stuff tho

“oh wow look phil, someone made a giant poster of the dream smp and shit!”

“holy shit that’s so good what the fuck!”

and he’s like rushing to that artist’s stall to buy a poster or print

idk why but phil seems like the person to know where he’s going all over the convention center

he probably had a copy of the directory map but yk

you just have trouble reading it bc all the signs seem to be misleading to you

nothing really crazy screams out to me of what phil would do at twitchcon besides like go to a few events, spend a bunch of time w his friends, etc

HOWEVER i could see him wasting a lot of his time at the gaming area and testing new games that are currently on the works of being developed

like “woah y/n, this vr game is sick, you should try it out!”

ngl i feel like phil would plan a visit to disneyland for everyone, like he gets the tickets and everything but once you’re at the park it’s free reign, y’all go everywhere with not much of a plan

the minors would try to cheap out phil and pay less than the others even though everyone else fully paid phil back and everything LMAO

ok but if he’s feeling nice, phil will buy everyone cotton candy/pretzels :D

and if you’re not hungry, he’d at least get you a mickey balloon

HE WILL HAVE MATCHING MICKEY EARS WITH MUMZA YES .

ALSO STAYING FOR THE FIREWORKS THOUGH OMG

just in general, best idea phil had for taking everyone to disneyland :D

technoblade

surprisingly techno is really calm despite this being like one of his first conventions

but when he finally settles in and gets comfortable, he’s showing the same energy

if you’re playfully yelling, he will yell back

however there’s still those awkward moments that are unavoidable

idk why but something about him makes me think that if you feel tired and want to go back to your hotel room, he’d go with you just to make sure you get there safe

he probably also needs a break from being around everyone else for a moment too LMAO

i could also see him searching far and wide in the artist alley for fanart of himself AHAHAH

walking around with him in the convention consists of someone yelling “BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD” every 5 minutes but you don’t really mind

something about him makes me think he’ll be forced into playing minecraft twitch rivals along with the rest of sbi or smth

and he’s like “oh god, i’m going to be on stage? and people will see my face while i play minecraft?”

“i’m sure it will be fun!”

“i mean i like being competitive and feeding my ego, but i’m not that desperate.. well”

do i imagine techno getting easily tired of being surrounded by a bunch of people and just going back to his hotel room with phil and watching some anime with him? yes

and will you watch even if you have no idea what’s going on? also yes

i feel like after a while of you guys hanging out in techno’s room, the rest of the gang will just slowly join you guys

like eventually everyone is there; you, techno, phil, wilbur, niki, tommy, tubbo, ranboo, etc

and techno is like “wha– where did you guys come from?” because his room is basically packed

and niki could be like “oh we can go if you want!”

then techno just insists that she’s fine “but who let the child get in?” clearly implying tommy’s presence

“OI!!”

eventually techno gives in with the company and someone gets a bunch of board games to play from the front desk

lots of yelling and laughing for sure

when it becomes late at night, techno is like half conscious, you’re on your phone, wilbur is staring out the window & enjoying the night view, tommy is passed out on the couch from tiredness, tubbo & ranboo is still wide awake quietly talking, and phil & niki are helping clean up the giant mess

eventually everyone brings themselves to go back to their own room except tommy who won’t budge

you give techno a look and he immediately understands what you were thinking

he rushes to the bathroom to fill up two cups with ice cold water and handed one to you

“on three?”

“okay.. one”

“two”

“three!”

then both of you pour the water on the poor child’s face

he jolts awake and saying a string of curses

“what the fuck techno? y/n too?”

“get out” is the only think techno says that before tommy rushes out with his stuff and you leave right after

a/n: i honestly can’t wait until conventions open up again though,, phil and ranboo were talking about vidcon earlier and omg.

also i kinda want to take in tommy requests but i’m not sure??? it would be both cc! and c! x gn!reader for sure tho. i love writing him to bits but who knows, maybe i’ll only stick to my ideas,, or not. send in a tommy x reader request, might do it, might not, but he’s my fav cc if you can’t tell so! :D (i dunno if i will keep it strictly platonic, but unrequited crushes and stuff are fun to write hehe,,)

edit: let’s hope i fixed all the grammar mistakes LMAO we love writing late at night :) /s /hj

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makeste · 3 years ago

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BnHA 326: What’s up Kids, It’s Me, Your Old Pal Stain

Previously on BnHA: Ochako shamed the U.A. Clown Mob into letting Deku go back inside his own fucking school by giving them an hour-long speech about how not to be humongous dickheads. Kouta and Gigantic Fox Lady saved the manga by being the only ones brave enough to give Deku a hug. Shouto was all “man, all this togetherness sure does remind me of that promise you made that we would handle Touya together which you immediately bailed on, doesn’t it, Dad.” Aizawa was all, “for the one and a half people out there who thought that my losing an eye and a leg might actually make me less sexy, I’m very happy to prove you wrong.” All Might was all, “[standing outside the U.A. fortress alone in the rain talking to someone or something??].” Like seriously, what was up with that though.

Today on BnHA: All Might is all “here I am in Kamino having a belated mid-life crisis because Deku abandoned me and I’m a terrible mentor and everything sucks and I hate myself.” Stain is all, “don’t make me come over there and give you a ten page speech about why you’re still the goat while menacingly holding you at swordpoint the entire time” because idk if you knew this guys, but Stain is pretty crazy actually. Anyway so he does that, and then All Might gets all emotional, and then the lady from chapter 92 shows up and gives All Might’s statue an encouraging pep talk, and then Horikoshi is all “and it even stopped raining lol can you believe this shit I’m not even a little bit subtle,” and he really isn’t. But I still got emotional anyway, because seeing people reassure All Might that everything he’s struggled for his entire life hasn’t been in vain just got to me okay. Horikoshi knows I am weak to the All Might feels and he just goes for the jugular every time, that bastard.

lmao. “in the neverending downpour, All Might is...” yeah, thank you, glad we’re getting right to that then

“All Might is driving 95 mph in his busted ass car in the pouring rain, is what he’s doing.” huh

so basically a day or two after his adopted child refused to accept the handmade bento that he packed with love, my man is out here acting like he’s got nothing to live for anymore. this sure bodes well for certain prophecies on which the clock is still ominously ticking down

his fucking face though omg. is it weird that I’m kind of hoping more people ambush him just because I think it’d be funny to see them get their asses kicked like the last bunch

(ETA: or maybe he will just stand there openly not giving a fuck and basically daring them to stab him!! get it together please All Might.)

side note, “anti-hero supporters” is such a strange way of saying “people who hate heroes”, which I’m assuming is what they actually wanted to say?? this makes it sound like it’s a group that really loves antiheroes. “these Hannibal stans have been a real menace lately. time to go deal with them”

ha ha ha, fucking ouch

are you really gonna do it Horikoshi you bastard. are you really going to let that be the final encounter between the two characters whose relationship you once described as the vertical axis of the entire fucking story. are you really gonna?? huh??

huh

you’re telling me you were driving 112 mph and you still didn’t get there in time. you’re losing your touch old man. lol Todo’s ice is almost fully melted already, how late were you

(ETA: so apparently this is taking place after the end of chapter 325, meaning he went to U.A., hung out for a bit, saw the kids come back with his bedraggled half-dead protégé in tow, watched as they shamed the civilians into some long-overdue character development, and then was all “welp, time to go argue with the hero-hating faction or something because I’m feeling useless.” and Edge just let him go, just like that. though to be fair I have to imagine it’s pretty hard to say no to All Fucking Might.)

also belated lol at the fact that the kids were all “yeahhhhhhh we are definitely not gonna touch that thing, let’s just leave it here, he doesn’t need it anyway.” probably the right call to make since they couldn’t get a hazmat team on such short notice

fuck. ha ha ha fucking ouch part two

All Might please put that thing down before you get gangrene. also yeah, you dropped the ball, good for you to acknowledge it. nobody’s perfect and you did your best. but yeah you could have handled a lot of things completely differently. but I still love you

is Horikoshi really putting this flashback here. are you serious. what kind of fucking sadist

look, I swear I’m not one of those people that runs up and down the street shouting “DEATH FLAG!!” at every third panel lol. but this shit screamed Death Flag when we originally got it, and it’s screaming DEATH FLAG!!! even more now. like with the capital letters and exclamation marks and all. and that’s just a fact. I don’t like it but that’s how it is

ffkdjslk

“DID YOU READ THE SIGN??!” Horikoshi asks while zooming in maniacally because he thinks we’re blind or something. lol what

-- though actually, it only just occurred to me that this sign is actually written in English. I never really paid attention up until now and had been assuming it was written in Japanese and translated by the scanlators, but the writing here is clearly part of the original image. anyway so maybe that’s why he’s zooming in?? just to make sure everybody pays attention lol

okay fuck this

see, this is the whole problem right here. once again All Might is all on his own. Deku’s self-destructive angst spiral was fortunately brought to a grinding halt because he actually has support from his friends and family and teachers and classmates. but All Might never had that same kind of support, and it’s made all the difference between the two of them, and not in a good way. Katsuki wasn’t wrong when he said All Might and Deku were both cut from the same cloth. but now when it’s All Might’s turn to go all “I WALK A LONELY ROAD~~” once again, there’s nobody in sight

just, after forty plus years of him carrying this torch, I just wish someone would finally come along to let him know he doesn’t have to. all those things that he wanted to say to Deku are also things that he needs and deserves to hear himself. Aizawa was making a little progress there, but now he’s got his sad zombie cloud boyfriend situation to deal with, and we can’t expect him and his perfect hair to solve all our problems. someone else has gotta step up

oh my god

“you rang?” never mind I take it all back sob

omg why am I laughing. shit

this man truly has the best PR game in the series. we were truly convinced he was gonna suddenly become a good guy and defend All Might against the other villains or some nonsense. as if this wasn’t the same man who decided on a whim that Iida Tensei deserved to be paralyzed, and that his fifteen-year-old brother deserved to die for daring to be upset about it

lol even All Might is all “I genuinely never saw this coming” lmao

just want to say, for the record, I have always harbored a very sensible hatred toward Stain. feeling very vindicated right now. good job Past Me

adsfklwkfsdwgkj

ffffwefjslkg. ghsdlkg. dsfkkkslkjldwkjrg

STAIN: heard you talking shit old man

ME: smh that’s what I thought you’d say you dumb fucking Stain

STAIN: how dare you talk about All Might that way

ME: gljfljgk

(ETA: in hindsight I have no idea how I didn’t clue in sooner that he didn’t recognize him -- or, well, ~didn’t recognize~ him, to be more accurate lol. I think it was the whole “is that a slight against the heroes?” thing that threw me. Viz’s translation makes it much clearer that he’s offended on behalf of All Might specifically, not heroes in general. anyways.)

sob. so All Might is all “yeah I don’t blame you for not recognizing me in this sweet leather jacket”

good thing he still knows how to do this party trick

A+ reflexes on Stain’s part presumably pulling the sword back a few inches to keep this dumbass from impaling himself with his whole pufferfish routine. can you imagine if that was the gruesome death Nighteye foresaw. and he was just too embarrassed to say anything

lol anyways guess I was wrong about Stain everyone

way to fucking go, Past Me. you really biffed this one

oh wait

Stain sure is one wacky rollercoaster ride

oh fuck me lol I forgot how much I did not miss this

(ETA: “this here is the sacred ground where All Might gave up the last of his power and turned into a shriveled old man!! please ignore the part where I admit to knowing all about that, and yet pretend not to recognize said man when he’s standing two feet in front of me.”)

Past Me, I know we’ve had our ups and downs these past ninety seconds, but I’m really starting to think you were on to something. this dude has always been kind of insufferable. always acting like his high horse is a fucking giraffe when it’s actually a Shetland pony

dammit now he’s got All Might going off on a depressed monologue

oh my god my heart

shit

why the fuck does that hit so hard. he became a hero because he couldn’t bear to just sit back and let bad things happen to people who didn’t deserve it. I mean that’s basically the same as every hero ever, right? so why does it still hit so fucking hard every single time though. what is it about seeing someone so determined to stand up for other people and fight on their behalf. it just never loses its impact no matter how many times I see that determination mirrored in so many of my favorite characters

“I wanted to make the world a better place.” omg. but you did, though. like seriously, I feel like people are always dogging on him for not being 100% perfect, and fandom really doesn’t give him enough credit for everything he still managed to accomplish. this man came of age at a time when Japan was by all accounts a total shitshow, and singlehandedly managed to bring about an era of peace that lasted for four fucking decades. can you imagine having peace for that long?? that’s longer than I’ve been alive. shit

and he gave people hope. he inspired them and protected them and made them feel safe. and no, he couldn’t save everyone, because he’s only one fucking dude (and also because the whole time AFO was also out there desperately working to undermine him so that he could keep preaching his narrative of “heroes are bad actually”). but you know what he did do, is inspire multiple new generations of heroes who, if they can all manage to work together, will finally be able to accomplish everything he never could

so yeah. forty years of peace, and inspired the “that’s how we all became the greatest heroes” generation -- that’s a fucking win in my book. talk about having a net positive impact on the world. lol anyways now I’m all fired up and ready to fight anyone who tries to talk any shit about you, All Might

“but what if I talk shit about myself” okay listen up All Might I’m gonna need you to try just a little bit harder to work with me here okay. please calm down and stop blaming yourself for every single bad thing that’s ever happened in the world. do you remember that time Bakugou was blaming himself for Kamino, and you gave him a hug and told him it wasn’t his fault, and that he was only a boy, and that even though he was strong, even strong people can struggle with the burdens they place on themselves, and that you were sorry for not seeing that earlier? do you remember all of that? that’s what I want someone to tell you too, dammit. anyway please stop breaking my heart please and thanks

wtf

are you dead All Might

I don’t even have the slightest idea what’s happening lol

oh snap did he grab him so they could hide??

hold the fucking phone. don’t tell me this person in the background with the umbrella is here to actually do something decent??

oh my godddd

and here come the feels. oh boy. okay don’t mind me, I’m just gonna sit here sobbing over this fictional lady and her simple act of kindness in this weekly shounen manga that I care about way too much

FUCKING DAMMIT AND HERE’S A SECOND HELPING

DON’T MIND ME, I’M JUST GETTING DISPROPORTIONATELY EMOTIONAL OVER THIS WOMAN’S DETERMINATION TO HONOR A MAN WHO SACRIFICED EVERYTHING TO SAVE HER AND COUNTLESS OTHERS. I’M JUST HAVING SOME FEELS OVER HERE ABOUT HER HEARTFELT, DOESN’T-EVEN-KNOW-ANYONE-ELSE-IS-WATCHING FEELINGS OF GRATITUDE THAT COMPELLED HER TO COME OUT HERE AND MAKE THIS SMALL BUT POWERFUL GESTURE. I’M JUST OUT HERE GETTING ALL PROFOUNDLY WORKED UP ABOUT STATUE MAINTENANCE AND THE HUMAN RACE. NEVER MIND. JUST IGNORE ME AND CARRY ON

holy shit. I was not even remotely prepared. you can’t just do that to me. you can’t just leave all these death flags on my lawn and then suddenly shift gears to show me the best of humanity in a chapter where I was expecting the worst. that fucks a person up lol

OH ARE WE STILL GOING

my heart. you see that, All Might. your legacy is so much more powerful and meaningful than you think

...has. has Stain actually been giving All Might a pep talk this entire time

I give up lol. this dude is a fucking enigma

YAYYY

it may just be a metaphor panel, but I’ll take it lol. I missed them. nice to see the traffic light trio front and off-center. I know the whole “this is the story of how we all became the greatest heroes” thing had left some questioning whether certain characters would continue to play a central role in the narrative, and hopefully this will help to ease those concerns just a bit

anyway, so idk if it’s getting a bit chilly down there in hell, but damned if Stain didn’t just give an actual decent fucking speech

I have to say, earlier when I was whining about All Might not having a support squad, I really was not expecting Stain to be the one to come over and pat his head and reassure him that he made the world a better place

-- okay LISTEN

YOU CAN’T JUST COME INTO MY HOUSE AND HIT ME WITH THOSE ALL MIGHT TEARS AGAIN GODDAMMIT THIS ISN’T FAIR. my god. first 317 and now this

holy fucking shit

“I’m just gonna pretend like I haven’t been stalking him for two days and didn’t see the entire Deku bentogate thing go down, and then I’ll give him the whole big speech that I rehearsed, and then I’ll turn around and be all ‘BUT IF YOU’RE A TRUE HERO’, and then I’ll toss him the super-secret AFO wifi password that I stole from Tartarus. god I’m such a badass. fucking give myself chills”

so basically what you’re telling me is that this whole time my “what’s up kids” characterization of Stain from this shitpost has actually been 100% accurate. just want to make sure I’m understanding this right. okay then

“and then I’ll dramatically spin around and be all NOW COME KILL ME BITCH”

it must be so much fun to write Stain. drawing this coked-out maniac who talks like a chatbot that was trained to speak by reading Alan Moore monologues. that must be a trip

anyway so All Might is still crying, the awesome lady from chapter 92 is admiring her handiwork totally oblivious to the batshit insanity going on fifty meters to her right, and it’s finally stopped raining lol

“THE RAIN WAS A METAPHOR YOU SEE” yes, yes, we got it lol. thanks for that Horikoshi. don’t think we needed any help putting the pieces together on that one but I appreciate the effort

so that’s the end! and as I mentioned in another post, I had the count off by one chapter, but next week should be cliffhanger week! so break out your U.A. Traitor bingo cards, friends and fiends. either that or something else happens that I’m completely not expecting at all. which, based on my success rate with Stain predictions, I’d say is more than likely lol

mmm but anyway, so now that the Hug Deku 2021 campaign has finally come to an end, what’s it gonna take to get a hug for my struggling bento-preparing jacket-rocking world-weary death-flag-waving husband who is the worthiest man to ever live and deserves the fucking world, goddammit

#bnha 326 #all might #yagi toshinori #stain (bnha)#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha

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finelinevogue · 3 years ago

Note

can you write about harry helping reader cope with really bad anxiety ?

this is going to be based off the anxiety that i’m more aware of, but i appreciate that it’s different for everyone and i apologise if it isn’t accurate to you <33

The world felt like it was about to end.

It was as if the sky was pushing in to the ground and decompressing you and your lungs. It was like the ground was about to swallow you whole and your legs were too glued to save yourself. There was this heaviness on your shoulders that weighed as much as a car, sinking you until you drowned. You were afraid that you wouldn’t be able to overcome this feeling.

You stood to the side of the stage with shaky hands, holding your script tight. People moved all around you, rushing to make sure everything was in place backstage for the on stage, completely ignoring you. It was as if you were invisible, so much so that someone actually bumped into you and didn’t even apologise. It made you feel quite insignificant and only boosted your mentality for not being able to do this.

You were at a competition, see. A poetry competition.

Harry had encouraged you, about a month ago now to be brave and enter yourself in for this competition. It was called ‘Prized Poetry’ and it was a huge thing in London, where poetry laureates such as Carol Ann Duffy and Simon Armitage have performed before - and now he was a judge too. You’d had to submit an entry form at first, explaining why you should be given the chance to enter the competition. Harry had spent hours going over it with you, perfecting to the every syllable. You’d gotten through, obviously with your talent, and made it to the first stage. Then the second stage, third, fourth and now fifth. The fifth and final stage.

Your previous poems were a mixture of long sad poems, haiku poems and even a short story just to see how well your talent for writing really was. You’d passed with flying colours every single time and you couldn’t have done it without Harry. He was there for every late night, with a cup of tea or a second opinion, you spent changing and tweaking your work. He was there with flowers after every single performance, after he’d spent the entire show watching you with awe. Every single time he’d cried. Every single time he’d kissed you with pride. Every single time he came. Not today, though.

Unfortunately, for you and for Harry, he was in New York doing some press for a jewellery brand that he was the new face of. He had called you last night, explaining that he didn’t know whether he’d be able to make it or not. He couldn’t face-time you though, because seeing the disappointment on your face would have killed him inside and he was selfish for that.

“Hello!” You excitedly shouted to him down the phone.

“Hi, baby.” Harry replied, his tone of voice sounding quite flat in comparison to yours.

“Uh oh. Someone’s sounding sad.”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, before breathing a deep sigh. You just knew he was stroking a stressed hand through his fluffy hair, with his eyebrows furrowed too and all you wanted to do was kiss them away.

“What’s up, sunshine?” You asked, hoping the little nickname would help him feel a bit more yellow.

“Y/N…” Well that wasn’t a good sign if he was calling you by your proper name, “I.. God I don’t know how to tell you this the right way…”

You knew. You had a feeling and you just knew. It had been a worry you’d had at the back of your mind ever since he got on the plane to leave for New York, but hoped that it wouldn’t ever become real. Unfortunately, that’s what it had come to.

“You can’t come tomorrow night, can you?” You asked quietly, your mood quite grey now. There was a little dark thunderstorm rolling in over your head and it would stay there until you could find some sunshine again - find some yellow.

“N-no. No I can’t.” Harry sighed heavily and it weighed upon your shoulders than probably his.

“O-okay.” You tried your best to not make him feel bad, because he was 4,000 miles away and you weren’t there to hug his cries away.

“I’m so sorry, baby. Truly. So sorry.”

“No it’s okay. It can’t be helped, you know?” You let out the slightest of chuckles to try and lighten the situation, but you felt so heavy and grey.

“But you’re going to be amazing. I just know it. We’ve practiced it so many times and your poem is just stunning, there’s no way they can’t like it.” Harry tried his attempt at cheering you up, knowing all the doubts that were creeping into your mind in that moment. He wished he could hug you, because then at least that would mean he was there with you and ready to take a seat in an audience that he was sure you were going to win the competition of.

“Thank you.” You smiled, only slightly.

“I love you, Y/N.” Harry reminded you, almost terrified that this would somehow make you un-love him and leave him. You could never. Would never.

“And I love you, H.” You meant it.

“Get some rest now, okay? I’ll call you before your performance tomorrow, alright?”

He hadn’t called.

Your eyes started to tear up at the thought of him not being here. You couldn’t do this without him. You didn’t know how to.

Anxiety is something that you’ve suffered with for a very long time, but managed to overcome facing different situation. It always felt like the world was about to end, for you. It was an unstoppable feeling, unless Harry was there. Harry had this aura around him that brought you peace and calm. He made you feel easy and powerful. He was the reason that you’d gotten this far in the competition, because you would always know he was in the crowd watching you - feeding you his power and making you brave.

Your lungs ached at the thought of you being powerless today. There was no being brave today. No Harry, that was the worst factor of all. Not only did you need him here to remind you that you were alright, but you wanted him to be here. This was such a big thing for you to be doing and you’d love for someone to watch and be proud of you. Your parents were never going to be those people and you were lucky that you had Harry instead. Only, now it felt like you didn’t.

“Y/N, you’re on next.” A man with a clipboard and a headset spoke to you and brought you away from your shaking thoughts.

“O-oh okay.” Your eyes were wide with terror and your hands shook a little more. You had taken some pills to calm you down, before, but your anxiety was that bad that you felt at any moment your knees would crumble underneath you and be victorious on showing how powerless you were without Harry - without someone to support you and be proud of you.

“Our next talent is a woman who has inspired us all with her writing. Her scores have been the best in the competition so far, but will she able to actually hold up that trophy by the end of the night?” No, you thought, as the man on stage introduced you to the audience of 500 and the judges.

He walked off and gave you the thumbs up to walk on. Your legs needed a bit of persuading to actually move, but once you were anyone could tell that they were shaking nerves. Your body language gave away that you were completely out of your element and that this wasn’t easy for you. The spotlight on the stage blinded you and you found it hard to actually see anyone in the audience, let alone the judging panel.

There was a podium where you would stand and perform your piece, so you walked over to it, tripping slightly on the step up. Bloody heels. You felt like everyone was laughing at you then, your head swarming with all kinds of whispers they would be chattering;

‘What is she doing up there when she can’t even walk without shaking?’ ‘Is she really worthy of all these high scores?’ ‘She looks nervous.’ ‘Why is she even here if she can’t stop her hands from shaking?’

One of the judges cleared their throat in the microphone before talking. “Miss L/N, you know the rules. No prompts or paper with poetry.”

His tone made you blush and tears creeped into your eyes. You were so stupid to have brought your poem with you. Your hands shook as you didn’t know what to do with it. You felt so exposed up here, as if people in the back row could hear your heart about to beat, beat, beat out of your chest. Your throat felt dry and you just didn’t know what to do.

You wanted Harry.

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, sounding so unsure of yourself which probably didn’t look good in a speaking competition for your poetry.

“Someone please come take Miss L/Ns paper please?” The same judge asked and then you saw someone run over to your side to collect the paper.

“Be brave.”

You turned as the touch of the persons hand kissed against your skin, electrifying your body like a tree on Christmas day.

He was here. Harry was here.

The tears in your eyes grew, but Harry quickly shook his head as if to tell you ‘not now’. So you breathed a deep breathe and smiled so brightly at him. He was here. He was in front of you, or more accurately to the side of the stage. God knows what stunt he pulled to get to be there, but you didn’t care. You swore you’d never loved someone more than in this moment. He ran off quickly, taking your paper with you and sticking his thumbs up at you as he fled.

You got to admire him for a brief moment. He was in a black non-fitted suit, with a white wife-beater shirt on underneath and then his old-school vans. He was in his travelling outfit. He loved being comfortable, but keeping a decent sense of fashion, when he was travelling cross countries. Your favourite pair of shoes were vans too so he often said that he wore them because they reminded him of you.

“Are we ready now, Miss L/N?” A judge asked, bringing your attention back to the audience when Harry nodded your head determinedly at you. You faced the audience, rolling back your shoulders and clenching then unclenching your fists. You felt lighter. Freer. You could, well… you could do this.

“Yes, I am.” You spoke much more confidently than before. You had to squint a little, but you could tell that the judges were smiling at you. Your heart felt a little more full at that. There was a sense of pride for you, even before you began.

“Okay, when you’re ready. Introduce yourself and your poem, but please wait before reciting the actual piece.” A woman judge explained. You could tell the audience has settled into their seats more, watching you with beady eyes.

Be brave.

“Thank you.” You nodded to the judges, before beginning. “Good evening all! My name is Y/N L/N and the piece of writing I have chosen to share with you tonight is called ‘Anxiety’. I wanted to choose this piece because it means something of significance to me. I have suffered with anxiety for some time and yet it feels new and stronger every time that I experience it. It’s that shadow that follows your everywhere, even when there’s light. The topic that our short written poetry had to be based on, for those of you whom had forgotten or had just woken up from a nap through the other acts,” that earned you a laugh you weren’t expecting and it made you a little less nervous, so you started to be more expressive in yourself, “was called ‘you’. For such a short word, there’s so much to unpack, especially about myself. So I decided to unpack how I feel about my anxiety, because although it may look a very small part of me from the outside it’s such a huge part of me on the inside and I would like to share that with you tonight. I would like for you to see my shadows.”

The audience clapped, even though they weren’t really supposed to. You briefly looked to the side and saw that Harry was shaking his head in awe of you. Probably because you hadn’t told him that you had changed what poem you were going to perform. The ones you’d worked on with him had been about courage and strength, but you didn’t seem to click with it even after weeks of practice. This, however, you’d written from heart, last night only, whilst having an panic attack when reality hit you that Harry wouldn’t be with you.

“Thank you Miss L/N. Give us a moment please.” They went quiet and you stopped to breathe for a moment, taking in the air of the theatre. It smelt like old wooden staircases and freshly painted walls. It felt snug and comforting. “And when you’re ready, the stage is all yours.”

Be brave.

You gave one glance at Harry and a simple smile was all you needed.

“The world is ending, I can feel it. The crushing weight of the world is burying me deeper, caging me until I can no longer breathe. The walls are closing in, faster and faster. With everyday i’m away from you, they close faster. I’m suffocating, but you still hear me breathing. I’m terrified, but you calm me. I’m alone, but you still hold my hand. Trapped, oh what an isolated feeling but you, i’ll always have you and suddenly the world keeps on spinning.”

It took a moment, but when the roars of the audience applauded you couldn’t help but freeze. You cried. Your heart sung happy songs. You nodded your head too thank them all silently, because you couldn’t quite get the words out anymore. You’d shown your shadows and people stood to remind you that you weren’t alone in having them.

You turned to see Harry and he was clapping just like everyone else, whistling through the use of his fingers - which, you’d be lying if it didn’t turn you on slightly. He mouthed ‘I love you’ and you nodded your head whilst the tears dripped from your eyes, letting him know that you knew and you very much felt the same way.

The other poets came and joined you on stage, seeing as you were the last act. There were only 3 of you and you’d watched the other two perform. They had been wonderful. One of them had performed a piece about love and the other about their children; both so sweet and loving, so passionate and comforting. So different to yours. Yours had been heavy and moving, exposing and sad, but it was you and that’s what you’d been asked to be.

“What a brilliant show, aye?” The presented walked on stage and let the audience clap together momentarily.

You stood the far right of the stage, further away from Harry who was in the left-wing. The other two poets, Henry and Silvia, were standing in line with you - Henry in the middle. He had spoken about his children and Silvia about love. They both congratulated you as they walked onstage and you smiled and thanked both of them. You couldn’t stop thinking about how desperate you were to see Harry again though. That one simple touch had left you burning for more ever since and you’d be dammed if you didn’t have him near you again within the next 10 minutes.

“Let’s hear from what the judges thought. Tracey?”

“Absolutely beautiful, all of you. Your introductions were great and your poems even better. I think for me, Henry, your poem stood our the most to me just because I have children also so I can relate to a lot of the moments and feelings you touched upon. Very well done.” Tracey spoke and you smiled because she was right, Henry’s piece had been so moving and simple. It was spectacular and you’re sure his kids would be proud of him.

“Yvonne?” The presenter turned to the next judge.

“Well the competition has seriously shown us some talent like no other this year. I don’t think we’ve ever had this higher standard before, so pat on the back to all of you. Um, Henry, wonderful poem and really heart-warming. Silvia, your poem was awe-inspiring and i’m so glad you had the chance to share that with us. And Y/N, thank you for what you did tonight.” You smiled and nodded a thanks back to Yvonne, her words meaning a lot more than a few adjectives of praise.

“Finally, Simon?”

“Couldn’t agree with the other two more. I think that you’re all credits to yourselves and you should be proud of yourselves. One person touched my heart a little more than the others this evening and I silently thank them for that. Some seriously stunning performances and yeah, i’m excited to see what the future holds for them.” Simon answered, looking at Silvia as he spoke, so it was clear that it was her work that had touched his heart.

It made you grow very nervous, however.

Each other the judges had said their praise, but had praised the other two poets slightly more so than you. It gave you a unnerving pit-belly feeling that you hadn’t done enough - that maybe you should’ve stuck to your other poem with Harry. Why had you changed it last minute? You gulped back the lump in your throat and looked down at your feet, not feeling brave enough to look up at the audience or judges anymore. You’d done your part and it didn’t feel like it was enough. You just hoped that you hadn’t let Harry down too badly.

“And now I think we should announce our winner.” The presenter announced, making the audience ooh and aah. You started to fiddle with your fingers, picking the skin around your nails to keep you grounded. You closed your eyes and kept your head down, not wanting anyone to see your disappointment when your name comes last in the ranks when you should really be happy for the other two. You’d put your heart on the line tonight, but maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe you had to be something more - something special.

Someone walked on with the award trophies and envelopes. The third place holder got a gift voucher to Waterstones of £50 and a small bronze trophy. The second place holder got a gift voucher to Waterstones of £100, a stationary items to help continue to write and a silver trophy. The third place holder got a gold trophy, obviously, but the other prize was far more worthy; a definite publication of your own poetry book via Simon Armitage’s publication company - something you’d dreamt of forever.

“In third place…” You closed your eyes a little tighter and whispered internally to yourself ‘be brave’ until you would actually believe yourself. You couldn’t get that far though because, “Silvia Fallon.”

What? You hadn’t come last? What? Your eyes opened and you turned to watch Silvia accept her award and applaud her with the congratulations she deserved. Wow, you couldn’t believe that you weren’t holding a bronze trophy and a waterstones gift card right now. Silver it was then!

“In second place…” You rubbed your hands on your dress, de-clamming them before you’d have to walk over to the presenter to shake his hand and double kiss his cheeks. As you smiled out the audience, “Henry Lucas.”

What.

Your heart had stopped beating. You weren’t walking over to collect silver. No. You were cupping your hand over your mouth, shaking like a leaf in the wind and knees about to crumble beneath you as you realised what this all meant. What you’d achieved.

“So that means our winner of Prized Poetry 2021 is Y/N L/N!” You sank down to the floor, crouching over yourself as you started to cry and cry.

Was this really happening?

Warm hands brought you out of your shell, cupping the side of your head to bring your attention to them. To him.

“You won, baby. You fucking won!” He smiled so brightly at you that you could’ve sworn he was just a visual dream. You were shaking in his hold and still crying, his eyes red too over your deserved success.

“I-I won…” You spoke in shakily disbelief.

“I’m not kissing you until you go collect your prize, petal, so please go and chuffing collect your prize!” He laughed, and helped you onto your feet. You were a little shaky, because all eyes were on you once again, but you deserved this. You hadn’t expected this at all so you were also just a bit taken aback by this whole experience. The journey had been far greater than anything before it.

Harry’s hand left yours and you walked across the stage to shake hands with the presenter and the judges, who had now come up on stage to congratulate you all. You thanked each one of them, twice, and held up your trophy in the air as you walked back across stage.

As soon as you met Harry he didn’t hesitate to bring you in for that promised kiss. You didn’t care about the call last night anymore. You didn’t care about him not being here today. He was here now and that was more than enough to seal your heart with forgiveness. It was moments like this, his lips enveloping yours, when you were brought to the realisation of how yellow your world was. There was no grey with him. He, just like you were to him, was your yellow and that was a privilege to be. Your Harry made you feel so much more than a shadow. He made you feel brave. Protected. Calm.

Loved.

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littleredwing89 · 4 years ago

Text

AGENT OF CHAOS - PART THREE

Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Everything flew by him in a blur as he sped through the streets of Gotham. His foot slammed down harder on the accelerator desperate to get there faster. Every second counted. He knew all too well what The Joker was like. The way his face slipped as you defied him, terrified Jason. He’d seen that look right before receiving a crowbar to the face.

Warnings – Language. Kidnapping. Stalking. Mild Violence. Angst. Hurt.

Word Count: 4,870

A/N: This is the final chapter everyone, sorry for the little delay, I was working on a few of the actions scenes to ensure they were good. I really hope you all like this xoxo

~~~

It had been almost a month. Every lead turned into a dead end. Nothing. Much like the Joker himself, no one knew a thing. The whole thing was tearing Jason apart. He’d barely slept. He’d maybe had 3 hours per night. If that, and he was convinced the only reason he got sleep was because Bruce had slipped him something in his coffee.

The fourth cassette tape came with a dead yellow rose and a rotten apple. He pushed play on the recorder and swallowed thickly as the grainy camera zoomed in on your face. You looked pale. Your cheeks looked hollow and your once colourful eyes looked gaunt. Haunted.

“Well Jason, I’m a man of my word...I’ve been looking after her so good”, Joker laughed hysterically and smoothed his hand down your cheek, smacking it lightly. The slap caused you to jolt in the chair. A sharp gasp flew out of your chapped lips.

Jason felt Bruce’s hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. The notion sent a brief wave of calm through Jason. Maybe this was how Bruce felt all those years ago...when he received similar tape of ..of himself. Jason turned back to the screen and focused his eyes. Searching for a clue. Anything. Something to bring you back to him.

“She’s been such a good little princess bird boy...she’s done everything I asked...and more”, Joker whistled happily as he tapped your nose with a wicked smile. Jason felt his heart stop and looked directly into your eyes through the screen. Good he wanted to hold you in his arms and never let you go.

The tape skipped and replayed the same thing back, “...and more”. It skipped again, “...and more”. Jason growled and the tape paused before going completely black.

His fist smashed into the computer keyboard, pieces of black plastic scattering across the desk. Jason released a loud sobbing noise and sank to the cold stone floor of the bat cave. His eyes scrunched shut tightly, imagining you were in front of him. Giving him that silly smile you always did when you first woke up. It was one of his favourite smiles. You had hundreds of different types of smiles. The one you gave him when he hugged you randomly. The one you’d give him when he told you a stupid joke. The one you’d show him when you were both standing down one of the grocery aisles for no reason at all.

“Jason...son - we will find her - I promise you”, Bruce’s deep voice shattered Jason’s illusion of you in his mind.

“It’s been so long...what if-”, Jason ran a hand over his face. The stubble was longer, causing him to itch.

“Don’t”, Bruce warned, “don’t think like that. We will find her”.

~~~

The last cassette tape Jason received was covered in a dark, red sticky substance. Jason knew what it was but he didn’t know if it was yours. Before Jason could even think about playing it, Bruce had prized it from his fingers.

“Jason we need to analyse the blood, it might give us a clue”, his voice was stable and deep. He attempted to reassure Jason with a firm grip to the shoulder but it did nothing. Jason felt empty without you.

“We need to watch-”, Jason started but was interrupted by Bruce.

“No, I’ll watch it. You need to get some sleep, let me do this Jason. Please”, Bruce pleaded desperately, “You haven’t slept in over 48 hours”.

Jason laughed but it was hollow and sharp, “You really think I can sleep knowing she’s stuck with that fucking psycho?!”.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand over his face, “Jason I know you want to get Y/N back”, he placed the cassette onto a high tech scanning machine, it bleeped repeatedly as it scanned over the material, “But we all need to be working together and that means recharging our batteries”.

Jason scoffed and pushed past Bruce looking over the computer scanner typing something into the system, “So you’re telling me you went and had an eight hour sleep when Joker caught me?”.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jason”.

“JUST STOP!!”, Jason's voice cracked as he shouted and for a moment, he sounded like the broken man in the abandoned shopping mall that long Halloween night many years ago.

“I-I need to do this Bruce. I-I have to, for Y/N”, his voice was scratchy and raw.

Bruce simply nodded and turned around. He extracted the cassette from the blood stained cloth and pushed it into the player to the right. Bruce took a secondary glance to Jason, giving him one last option but Jason just stared at the screen, waiting to see what the tape would show.

The second the tape played, the batcave was filled with your screams. They sounded broken and dry. Jason’s heart shattered. The shards stabbing him painfully. As you came into view on the camera, your long h/c hair was matted and stuck to your face. Blood staining it a deep red.

The Joker came into the view of the camera and smiled wide, his teeth showing.

“Jason, I see why you’re so attached to this woman, she’s very fiery...her spirit is impenetrable”.

A flicker of evil flew through his eyes at that word and a sick smile slid onto his lips, “but that’s fine. I’m sure I can find more penetrable spots”.

You tug harshly at your binds as he turned and came closer to you, a small blade held in his gloves hand.

“Hold still princess or I might accidentally cut an important part of you...or slit something”.

The blade cut the straps of your top, and the material fluttered down uselessly to the floor, exposing your padded black bra. The Joker whistled appreciatively and winked back at the camera.

“I say Jason...maybe I’m missing out not having a significant other...especially when they’re as beautiful as this”.

Jason had edged so close to the screen Bruce had to pull him back. Tears were running hotly down his cheeks and he swore he tasted blood from biting down on his bottom lip.

Your voice echoed through the empty warehouse room and through the camera speakers, “GO FUCK YOURSELF”.

The Joker smirked down at you and the blade was pressed against the skin of your neck.

“You should watch your manners, princesses don’t speak like that”.

You gulped and looked into his soulless eyes and laughed. It almost sounded as maniacal as his.

“I’m not your fucking princess”.

You spat at his face. Your spit mingled with blood from the earlier smack around the face.

“He’ll come for me...I know he will. And when he does, it’ll be all over for you”.

Something snapped and you saw his eyes darken. His face twisted and the scowl was demonic.

“You filthy fucking bitch!”, he roared and dropped the knife to wipe his face.

Joker turned to the camera and glowered, “I hope you’re watching Jason whilst I teach this rotten little whore some manners!”.

The first blow caused you to cry out in agony. It was harsh and fast. The sound to Jason was ear splitting. The second hit was drawn out and heavy. Designed to bruise. The third was sharp and felt like hundreds of tiny needles piercing your skin. The Joker was laughing wildly all the way through it. Never ceasing his treatment. As he swung his arm back for the fourth hit, the camera jarred and caught a window. Streams of light shone through. Jason could just about make out a sign. It was blurry.

“REWIND AND PAUSE IT BRUCE! There!!!”, he called and waited for Bruce to zoom in.

“Can you clear up that image...that looks like a road sign...”.

Bruce skipped the tape back several seconds, muting the sounds on the screen. The sounds of you getting smacked in the face shaking him to his core.

“THERE!!! LOOK!! Can you see?!”, Jason pressed his face as close as possible to the screen as Bruce paused it, the image flickered but the road sign was obvious.

ACE CHEMICALS.

Before Bruce could even react, Jason had launched himself across the cave, guns strapped to his thighs.

“Jason!”.

Jason ignored Bruce and grabbed his helmet, securing it into place whilst dropping extra magazine clips into his inner jacket pockets.

“Jason, we can’t just go in there all guns blazing. That’s what he’ll want! We have to think about this”, Bruce reasoned and moved into his path.

Huffing in annoyance, Jason’s modulator covered it easily, “I’m going to get her whether you come with me or not”.

Bruce looked stunned for a split second before softening his voice, “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you - they’re clouding your judgment Jason”.

He knew he was right, deep down. But the pressure. The torture you must have endured. Everything. It weighed down on Jason and began to suffocate him slowly. The more time he wasted, the worse it was going to be. He couldn’t do it.

“Let me get into my suit and we’ll tackle this together”.

Nodding briefly, Jason watched Bruce make his way across to the darkened corner of the cave where his suit was behind a glass panel. As Bruce pressed his palm into the wall, the biometric scanner bleeped. The case slid open slowly and Bruce began to take out the suit piece by piece. The batarangs refracted the light they caught from the computer screens.

Fuck. It was taking too long, these precious seconds. He could be half way there by now. His bike was too far away, in the garage at the front of the manor. He side eyed the batmobile and swallowed thickly.

“Fuck it”.

Taking the keys from the secret sliding panel on the desk, Jason leapt into the batmobile before starting the engine and speeding out of the cave. He swore he heard Bruce shouting, he was certain he heard several curse words too. Unlike Bruce. But it was taking too long. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t leave you. You needed him. You couldn’t wait any longer.

~~~

Everything flew by him in a blur as he sped through the streets of Gotham. His foot slammed down harder on the accelerator desperate to get there faster. Every second counted. He knew all too well what The Joker was like. The way his face slipped as you defied him, terrified Jason. He’d seen that look right before receiving a crowbar to the face.

“Come on...come on!!”, Jason cursed to himself, hitting the steering wheel in fury. All the money Bruce had and it wouldn’t go any faster? He took a sharp turn heading towards the abandoned warehouse behind ACE Chemicals. He was so close. So much closer to reaching you. He’d deal with Bruce later. He couldn’t have waited any longer. Bruce would just have to get over him ‘borrowing’ the batmobile.

Swerving another corner and narrowly dodging the underpass columns, he pulled up in front of the derelict building. Almost all of the windows were smashed and hued green with mould. Maybe some of the toxins spewed from the factory had helped taint the glass further.

Grabbing both of his pistols, Jason left the car and headed towards the building fire escape. He could hear voices chattering.

“Joker said to keep an eye out for Batman”.

A goon; Jason noted peering around the brick wall spotting two of them. He noticed the metal railings above them creaking slightly in the strong winds.

“It’s been over a month now and there’s been no sign of any of the Bat freaks, it’s fine, let’s go grab a beer. He won’t even notice”, a second one encouraged the other smirking.

“You really want to cross him? He’s fucking nuts. I’m surprised the girl has even lasted this long with him, you know what he’s like”.

Jason’s fist tightened around one of his guns at the mention of you. It had to be you. Silently firing his grapple gun, he flew up the side of the building and made his way towards the goons.

“Trust me”, the first one spoke again, “He won’t even realise we’re gone, plus we might find some chicks to-”.

Perching on the railings above them, Jason leapt down cracking the base of his pistols onto one of their heads.

“Pleasure to meet you both”, Jason kicked out at the second goon hearing the sick crack of his ankle snapping.

Spinning on his heel, Jason grabbed the other goon and threw him face first into the brick wall knocking him unconscious immediately before turning back to the other man on the floor whimpering in pain.

“Where is she?”, Jason’s voice was strained even with the modulator protecting him.

The man refused to answer, dragging himself away from Jason with his hands, mud covering his palms.

Taking a large step, Jason reached the man on the floor and purposely stood onto his swollen ankle before aiming the cocked pistol towards his skull.

“I won’t ask again, where is she?”.

The screech from the man was deafening as Jason applied a hefty amount of pressure to his fractured bone.

“Basement!! She’s in the basement!! Please!!”, he begged as his eyes flickered nervously to the gun.

Jason rolled his shoulders before smashing the hilt of his pistol into his skull knocking him out cold. He turned back towards the fire escape and grappled back up to the roof. He’d have to make his way through the building to get to the basement. To you. And if he knew Joker, he wouldn’t have made it that easy. The two idiots on the front door were a sick joke. Tormenting Jason. Getting you back wouldn’t be an easy task.

~~~

Silently dropping through the window on top of the building, Jason landed onto one of the rusty steel girders. It was dark but his helmet adjusted the night vision so he could see clearly. Several goons patrolling an old foreman’s office in the centre. You had to be in there. He needed to take these idiots out quietly before getting to you.

Swinging across to the next rafter, Jason looked down at the first unsuspecting moron. With the stealth of a panther, he landed silently behind the goon before wrapping his arm around his meaty neck. He struggled against the iron grip of Jason’s forearm but the pressure only intensified the more he thrashed. Eventually the squirming stopped and the goon fell limp in his arms. Jason dragged him across to a darkened corner and dumped him behind some barrels.

As he grappled back up to roof beams, he looked down across at the two henchmen digging out a packet of cigarettes. The idiots had left their guns resting against the far wall. Jason had to chuckle to himself, Joker really was hiring morons. Weren’t these guys supposed to be protection?

Jason creeped across the rafters towards the two men and grabbed both of his pistols. He had to be silent. He couldn’t alert Joker to his presence.

“This is my last smoke”, one complained bitterly as the cigarette perched between his thin lips.

“I’ll get the next packet, quit your whining”, the second growled and patted his jacket for a lighter, “Fuck, where did I put my lighter?”.

“You’re a fucking moron. You asked to come for a smoke and you don’t even have a light!!”.

Now was his chance. Jason landed between them both, his boots thudding as he hit the concrete floor, “You know, smoking is bad for your health”. Before either of the goons could react, Jason lifted his elbow into the larger man's throat before smashing his pistol into the other man's temple, causing him to drop onto his knees. He slipped his guns back into his holsters quickly before turning to the other goon. He dodged the larger man’s grapple before twisting with ease and kicking out his kneecap. The man gasped but the elbow to his throat had killed off his voice.

Jason threw a heavy right hook into the larger man's nose and watched the blood trickle down his face. This seemed to only infuriate him more and he launched himself towards Jason viciously. Gripping both of his arms, Jason flipped the man over his body and slammed him into the floor hard before hammering punch after punch to his face, knocking him unconscious.

He turned quickly to the other man who was scrambling on his knees for the gun resting against the far wall.

“Sorry bud, but that can’t happen”, Jason grunted and landed a heavy kick to the goons stomach. The man yelped but it was quickly cut off by Jason as he slammed his boot into his face. He dropped onto the floor instantly.

Jason panted heavily and looked around the room, his helmet advising him of one more goon loitering around the door of the office. Looking down at the floor he noticed the floor grates wrapped around the room and more importantly under the henchmen’s feet. Perfect.

He lifted one of the grate coverings quietly and slipped under the flooring. He crouched down and edged around the room. The last goon was much larger and bulkier, with a machine gun strapped around his wide chest.

This goon seemed smarter than the others. Looking around and even checking up in the rafters. He grunted and pressed a button on his jacket, “No boss, still no sign of them...nothing Sir”.

The voice that patched through sent a chill down Jason’s spine. It was a tone that would be forever cemented in his mind, a reminder of his own torment.

“If you get ANY inclination the bat or any of his costumed freaks are in the building, you tell me immediately”.

“Yes boss”.

The static of the radio crackled before cutting off completely. Jason cursed mentally. This had to be precise. Perfection. He had to disable the henchman’s radio unit. Padding over his jacket he searched for the disrupter shooter he had. It wasn’t there. Fuck. He’d fucked up in his rush and left it behind. Fuck. Bruce was right. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Then he heard it. A soft ping from above him. He knew that sound. Jason looked up from the grate and spotted Nightwing hidden in the shadows with his own disrupter. Pointed directly at the goon’s radio system.

“Thought you might need a hand”, Dick patched into Jason’s com line.

Jason growled under his breath, “Thanks”.

“Shall we take this moron out together?”.

“Yes”, Jason muttered before switching his com off and inched closer to the goon.

The second Nightwing flew down from the roof beams, Jason jumped out of the floor grate and kicked out the back of the goons knees. He cursed loudly before Nightwing’s foot landed in his face.

Jason swore he saw a tooth fly out of his mouth along with a glob of blood. He aimed several hard punches to the side of the henchman’s head whilst Nightwing disabled his gun and radio with a graceful poise.

“All this for the girl? She’s nothing but a shell”, the goon smirked across at Jason before choking at the next punch.

“Joker’s hollowed her out...she’s nothing”, he spat out.

His temper flared and his hand subconsciously reached for his pistol. Dick realised and before anything could happen, he landed an electrical ecrisma blow to the goons head, knocking him out cold. His body crashed onto the floor with a loud thump.

“Jason-”.

“Don’t”, Jason cut him off, “I’m fine”.

He took several steps towards the office door and swallowed thickly. You. You’d be in there. You’d told Joker with the last ounce of confidence left that he’d come for you. He’d never leave you. You were right. Jason would never have stopped looking. Ever.

His hand rested on the door handle, trembling only slightly. What if he was too late. What if this was just another trick?

Drawing his hand back almost as though the door had burnt him. He frowned. He couldn’t think like this. No. He had to be strong. Just like you had been in all those videos. You’d been fierce. Your spirit still pouring through to him.

Jason glared angrily at the door and took a step back before kicking it open furiously with his combat boot. The door flew open wildly and as the dust settled. He saw Joker stood in the middle of the room, a sick, satisfied smirk sat proudly on his demented face.

~~~

“Jason my boy! It’s a pleasure to see you again”, his chuckle was deep and sinister, “I see you're still hiding your face though...is that because of what I did?”. The Joker’s eyes danced with delirious joy at the memories.

“I’d have thought you’d have embraced all your scars by now Jason...”, The Joker edged forward leaving you tied up behind him.

Jason rounded The Joker, clicking a button to the side of his mask, revealing his face, his eyes hidden with the domino mask, “I’ve got nothing to hide from you, clown”.

Jason let his eyes run over you for a second. You were bruised and bloodied. Clothes torn and tattered from mistreatment. Your eyes. God. Your beautiful E/C eyes. Red raw from countless tears. Somehow you still managed to give him a smile from behind The Joker. His heart fluttered. God he’d missed your smile.

Tearing his eyes from you he looked back towards The Joker and held his pistols out at him, finger hovering over the trigger. Jason felt the burn mark on his cheek stinging all over again. Pain ever present.

“You don’t have the guts”, The Joker laughed again and walked forward pressing his forehead into the barrel of the gun.

“You wouldn’t dare pull that trigger. I’m your Ace card Jason. You can’t kill me. You want to but you can’t...something will always stop you”.

Jason felt his hand shaking slightly. Everything was throbbing in his mind.

“Even after everything I’ve done to your girl, you still can’t pull that trigger”, The Joker taunted further and grinned sadistically.

“If only you knew where I’d touched...what I’ve done...”, he pushed further into the cold metal of the gun and winked at Jason, “Go on, do it, I dare you...if you don’t- I’m just going to keep coming back and who knows what I’ll do to our little princess next-”.

BANG.

A gun shot blasted through the air. Smoke drifted slowly from the barrel, dancing into the darkness around them.

“JASON!”.

Nightwing had thrown one of his ecrisma sticks to Jason’s gun, knocking it off target. The bullet shattered the brickwork behind them, dust erupting.

Crashing down through one of the broken windows on top of the office roof, Nightwing flew towards The Joker tackling him down onto the damp, concrete floor before he could launch himself at Jason.

Still startled, Jason watched Dick wrestling with The Joker on the floor, punches flying back and forth.

Dick turned to Jason, “Y/N-Jason!! Go get Y/N!! I’ll handle this!”.

The Joker was shrieking with laughter underneath Dick, blood pouring down his lip and from his nose.

“Ahhhh another boy blunder!! I must be lucky!! Two for the price of one!”.

Dick threw another punch and reached for the second ecrisma stick on his back, “I can’t wait to cart you back to the Asylum. I hope you’re looking forward to your 5 star stay in a windowless cesspit!”.

Jason could hear Joker continually laughing at Dick, until the sharp sound of electrical buzzing cut him off with a loud scream.

He almost fell over his own feet as he raced towards you. Jason quickly untied your hands and the second they were free you flung them around his neck, sobbing into his neck. Your tears dropping onto his brown leather jacket.

“Oh baby”, Jason stroked your hair and held you tightly to him. He was worried he was crushing you but you seemed to be squeezing him back just as hard.

You didn’t stop sobbing. The overwhelming emotion of being wrapped in his safe, strong arms make your knees buckle. Jason caught you with ease and lifted you up, “It’s ok baby, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you”.

Jason was one step away from breaking down himself but he needed to be strong for you right now.

You pressed your skin against his, the scratch of his stubble a welcome sting against your cheek. His scent overwhelmed you. Leather. Gunpowder. Smoke. And something distinct you’d never been able to place.

“Jason”.

“Shhh, it’s ok - nothing is going to hurt you, I’m here now - I’m a bit late but I’m here”.

~~~

It had been one week since you’d been back home. Two weeks if you counted the first week you and Jason spent holed up in the manor. Bruce had insisted. You sat in the bathtub, knees pressed up against your bare chest. Silence. All you could hear was the faint crackle of the bubbles every now and again. The clinical white tiles of the bathroom made you feel a little cleaner.

However, no matter how many baths you took, showers you stood in, you still couldn’t wipe the feel of the slick purple gloves off your skin. Your skin. Skin that was now marred with yellowish bruising. Almost faded physically but not mentally. Looking over the marks you felt yourself transported back into the desolate warehouse. The dank smell of stagnant water filling your nostrils. You choked and coughed loudly, suddenly feeling the oxygen clam up your throat. Drowning in the memories.

“Y/N??”.

Within a mere second Jason had flung open the bathroom door, red tinting his cheek and a little sweat on his forehead, “Sweetheart are you ok?”.

You noted how he chose to call you sweetheart now and not his usual princess. A stark reminder that this whole ordeal had affected him too, more than he’d admitted. You felt the guilt eat away at you. Shame burning at your feet.

“Y-yeah, I’m ok”, you mumbled quietly and swirled some of the water and bubbles around you, “I just accidentally swallowed some of the bath water, I’m sorry”.

Jason nodded although not quite believing you. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the tub taking a deep breath, “It’s ok to not be ok sweetheart...I know it can be difficult to admit that...I know that more than most”, he wiped a stray bubble from the rim of the tub. He looked at you deeply before continuing, “I’ll be here for you...whenever and whatever you need”.

You sat silently in the water and he moved to get up. Maybe he thought it was best to leave you alone, let you uncover your own emotions. Process what had happened. You gripped his wrist and looked up into the crystal blue of his eyes, “Jason”.

“Yeah babe?”, he turned his wrist in your hand and linked his fingers with yours.

“I love you”.

He smiled and squeezed your hand before whispering back, “I love you too, more than you know”.

He looked over you and moved to sit back on the edge of the bath. His spare hand reached out and cupped your chin lovingly, stroking over your skin.

“We’ll work through this together Y/N, I promise”, Jason murmured and leaned forward kissing your forehead lightly, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do...anything at all”.

The words, the touches, the kiss. It made your heart flutter and you fell even more in love with him. Jason made the impossible possible and you had no idea how he managed it every day. You felt so lucky.

“I - I struggle some d-days”, you admitted and with those words you felt a little lighter, “sometimes all I want is for you to hold me and not let me go...Sometimes I-I f-feel like that for hours...”.

“Well then I’ll hold you for hours”, he said simply.

You scoffed lightly but before you could protest or think of arguing back he was stepping into the bath water fully clothed.

“Jay!! You’re going to flood the bathroom”, you gasped loudly, watching the water splash over the sides like dramatic tidal waves. Water dispersed all over the bathroom floor to make way for his broad frame, “What are you doing?!”.

Jason sunk down into the water behind you and wrapped his arms either side, pulling you back into his clothed chest. He rested his head on your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss there, “Holding you for as long as you need me to”.

You felt yourself melt into his warm embrace. Tears made their way down your cheeks at his endearing show of love, “Jason”.

“Shhh, just let me hold you baby”, he cuddled you tighter into him, his fingers stroking your hips under the water, brushing away the bruises. Marking you with his own special touch.

Relaxing under his soft caresses, you hummed lightly and closed your eyes resting your head back against him. He smelt like leather and spice. You felt at home. He was home.

“Jay”.

“Mmm?”.

“Please call me princess”, you whispered quietly into the air, your eyes still closed.

“Whatever you want...princess”.

~~~

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises @internalsealpanic @batarella - thank you both for proof reading this and all the help you have given me - mwah mwah. xoxo

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~~~

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linkspooky · 4 years ago

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Who is it who really needs saving?

is the question Dabi asked when Tokoyami came to rescue Hawks in the middle of the raid war arc. Dabi asks this question just after Hawks stabbed twice in the back with the justification that it would save people, despite the fact that Twice was also a victim too, and also someone in need of saving. Dabi’s question is especially poignant because it asks who is hero society invested in saving, a question that is repeated by Twice who believes Hero Society only saves the good victims, and Himiko as well who asks if Heroes save people, then was Twice not a person.

I bring this up because chapter 299/300 end on another parallel between Dabi and Hawks. Both of them have their backs being shown, however, Hawks is already healing due to the nature of his quirk, whereas the permanent burns on Dabi’s skin has already gotten worse. Hawks and Dabi also have opposite goals at this point, Hawks to support Endeavor, and Dabi’s ultimate goal is to bring him down. However, Rei’s words over Endeavor’s panel add another layer of complication to this. “Those regrets and guilt, the rest of those have borne that burden much more than you have.” Endeavor is suffering, but he’s not the one most in need of saving. I believe next chapter rightly, Rei is going to point out that the ones most in need of saving are the ones who suffered the most because of Endeavor’s actions. Endeavor was never the one in need of saving, and in need of redemption in the first place, rather it was Dabi.

1. Started From the Bottom Now We’re Even Lower

Hawks and Dabi are seeming opposites even from their origin points. Hawks was born in a poor household the son to a minor villain, Touya a rich household the son of the number two hero. Hawks family name basically means nothing to the point where the hero commission easily erased it, whereas Dabi’s family name has dominated his entire life. Touya from a young age was given everything he needed to become a hero and his father even encouraged him, while Hawks was on the run from the law and couldn’t even leave his small house without getting yelled at.

At first, Hawks was born with a quirk that both of his parents disapproved of as they constantly asked him what his wings were even for, and seemed disgusted by his mutation. While at the same time, Touya was born with a quirk that his father was happy with, a fire quirk even stronger than his own which Enji thought gave him enough of a potential that he didn’t need to worry about finding an ideal hybrid quirk. He could pass all his techniques onto his firstborn son who seemed eager to learn.

The only real similarity between both of them was that for both children, Endeavor was clearly their favorite hero. Touya was eager to please his father and train with him in order to inherit his hero techniques, and when Endeavor captured Hawks father, it convinced Hawks that heroes were real.

However, both of them experienced a sudden reversal of fate. This is where circumstances for both of them flipped. Touya’s quirk was in fact revealed to be a very harmful hybridization of his parents two quirks, he inherited his father’s flames but even hotter, while at the same time inheriting Rei’s sensitivity to fire which made th overheating flaw even worse on him causing his quirk to deliberately harm his body. Hawks however, is an ideali hybridization of both of his parents quirks. His mother Tomie has a quirk that creates eyeballs and seems ideal for searching, watching and locating things, while his father’s feather quirks on his arms that could sharpen into blades turned into wings on his back that were both capable of searching and detection like his mother’s eyeballs and sharpening into blades like his father’s.

At first it seems destined that Touya was ging to become a hero, while Hawks had no hope for him, but because of the nature of their quirks the opposite happened. When Hawks was young he was able to save a busload of people from crashing which got him recruited by the hero commission. While it’s implied that Touya kept trying to train on his own even after Endeavor stopped the training and abandoned him in favor of Shoto, and because of that Touya had his training accident at Sekoto peek and burned to death.

Dabi and Hawks are seeming opposites, but they’re actually quite similar if you think about it. Both of them grew up in abusive households that are intentionally paralleled, they have controlling and physically violent fathers, and mothers who are coded as mentally ill, Tomie was unfit to take care of a child, and Rei was eventually pushed to a breaking point where she was unable to anymore and then forcibly separated and institutionalized by her husband. Both, also experienced a separation from their mother, Rei was hospitalized around the time Toya finally died, and the Hero Commission promised Tomie support if she cut all ties from him. Both of them also dreamed of becoming heroes, and tried their best to, even Touya after his father rejected him kept training on their own.

The only difference between them is circumstances, Hawks was saved because he was born with a useful quirk, Touya despite his father being the number two hero was never saved.

2. We’re the Heroes, Who Don’t Do Anything

In fact it’s implied that Enji intentionally looked away and forced himself to forget Touya’s suffering. For instance, the first time Touya trains with Enji he’s shown wearing a sleeveless shirt. Every time after that, Touya has long jacket sleeves on. When he’s crying to Natsuo, when he’s pulling out his hair, and the last memory from before his death, every time Touya is shown hiding his arms. We also know that Dabi, has burns that go all the way up his arms which is exactly where his flames emerge from. It’s also the place where Touya burns himself when Enji remembers training with him for the first time.

It’s likely that Touya was walking around with burns up his arms from the training he was inflicting on himself, and Enji simply didn’t notice because his unreliable narrator status, he forgets everything he has done to other members of his family, or intentionally downplays the severity of it in order to avoid the guilt and consequences of his actions. Hence why he can say things like “I never meant to neglect you” to Natsuo, when we saw him call Natsuo and the others failures from Shoto’s perspective, because in Enji’s perspective he’s just a good father who went wrong somewhere along the line, whereas from Natsuo’s perspective he never really acted like a father towards him at all.

Enji only ever sees his own intentions, and not the impact his actions had on others. He only saw his heroic ambitions, and not the way he taught Touya that his only value was his quirk, and then completely tossed him aside as a failure and ignored all his suffering when Touya kept trying to get his attention. That he intentionally neglected Touya until either an accident or a suicide claimed his life.

Either way it’s a running theme that Endeavor hesitates when it comes to saving his own sons. Despite seeing himself as both a hero and a father, he completely fails in both roles to them.

He froze when it came time to save Natsuo from Ending, and the second time when Shoto was begging Endeavor for help against Dabi, Endeavor chose not to do a single thing. In fact the only thing that moved him was Deku’s pep talk that exclusively stoked his ego and called him a good mentor, which caused Endeavor to finally move into action.

Endeavor is a hero in name who has no interest in directly saving others, because his number one priority has always been to stand at the number one spot and feel like he’s accomplished something. He didn’t notice Touya was most likely continuing the training on his own, and was spiraling that badly until after Touya had died, and even after that happened he still continued the training with Shoto like nothing happened, even mentioning that Touya was a small mistake.

When the wounds from Touya’s death were still fresh, it seemed like barely anything more than an afterthought to him. There are some people who even theorize that Enji only believed Touya was always alive because he had never truly faced the guilt of Touya’s death and his role in it, that it was a comfort to him to believe his son was still secretly alive out there.

The signs were obvious that Touya was spiraling, but he was neglected so much that Endeavor the number two hero who prides himself on most cases resolved didn’t notice what was going wrong with his son until he literally burned himself alive, and even then that wasn’t enough to stop him from mistreating his other son and forcing him into painful training.

Touya’s neglect is as much abuse as Shoto’s favoritism and training, that’s the point of the golden child / scapegoat dynamic, they are both being abused. Enji was the only parent in the household, and if his kid was burning himself, and injuring himself all the time and it got to the point where the child literally died because of a lack of adult supervision, Enji could be prosecuted for manslaughter in a court of law. There are cases where adults just, do absolutely nothing for their kids, and those kids sometimes die of neglect, starvation, because of their parents completely failing to take care of them. It’s just as sinister a form of abuse as physical abuse. In both cases a child’s needs aren’t being provided for by their parents.

Dabi is someone who could have been easily saved by his father paying attention to him, and should have been saved by the man who prides himself as the number two hero, but he was left to rot. This is a running theme with Endeavor, he’s a hero who continually fails to save his family.

Dabi’s situation is also a metaphor for hero society at large. Who are the types of people that Hero Society prefers to save? Those who are useful to it like Hawks. It intentionally turns a blind eye to cases like Touya, Tenko or Twice. If Touya did have burns on his arms from training but was able to cover them up just by wearing long sleeves, and Natsuo was the only one who knew then that goes even further to explain Dabi’s specific obsession with discrediting Endeavor.

If Dabi’s father had just acted like a hero, or acted like a father then he would have been saved. If Dabi’s father had noticed the person most in need of saving was right next to him, the incident where he burned to death never would have happened. Which is why Dabi’s grudge is specifically against heroes who do not act like heroes. Heroes who, cannot save anyone because they are too self involved to perform the duty of saving. He shares Stain’s obsession with ideologically pure heroes, that only heroes who put saving others selflessly over everything else should be allowed to exist and the rest are pretenders to the title.

Notice how Dabi pulls on the scars on his face when begging the people to think about this, about who should really be allowed to call themselves heroes.

Dabi’s entire arc revolves around this question. Who are the real victims? Who are the ones that really need to be saved? Dabi is a character of mystery and subversion who is constantly hiding his real feelings.

Dabi is commented on being heartless about Twice’s death, but his actions contradict his words. Dabi goes out of his way trying to avenge Twice even after it’s already too late to save him, even burning up his own body to do so. He tried so hard we see literally there are new scars growing on his back the next time we see him Post-War Arc.

I’d also like to bring up that while Hawks accuses Dabi of feeling nothing about Twice’s death, Hawks is the one who killed him, and who after the fact shows no regret in his actions because he’s completely justified it to himself. He even remembers Twice like he’s some kind of old friend he took inspiration from, and not a person he manipulated into trusting him then killed. My point is it’s a reversal, Hawks is set up as the one who cares about Twice as a friend, but really was only using him. Dabi claims he was only using him, but he’s the one who showed an actual emotional reaction to Twice’s death and made an effort to save him.

If I were to say this is one more point of foiling between Dabi and Hawks. They both don’t see themselves as victims and because of that they deny the victimhood of the other.

Dabi accuses Hawks of becoming a murderer because his father was a murderer. Hawks when he learns the truth about Enji, takes Enji’s side over Dabi’s, believing Endeavor being the true victim in need of help in that situation. This is because Dabi and Hawks both deny their own victimhood, and they project that on each other. Dabi denies his victimhood and pretends to be the villain instead, he’s the villain who is going to take down Endeavor and therefore he’s not suffering. Hawks denies his own victimhood and his abusive past and pretends to be a hero, he’s helping Endeavor become a better hero, so therefore all the abuse Endeavor committed is in the past so therefore he doesn’t have to think about it. Both deny themselves and therefore deny any similarity in one another.

They’re also two people fatally wrapped up in their own circumstances they turn a blind eye to the suffering of others. Dabi assumes that Shoto is “good” and therefore, must have been raised with love and had it better than him and was raised with love. Whereas Hawks assumes that Twice is “good”, and therefore worthy of saving because he helps other people. In both cases, neither Dabi nor Hawks really understand Shoto or Twice, they’re just judging them by their own projected standards. Dabi only understands his childhood as Touya desperately trying to work for Enji’s attention, so Shoto who had Enji’s attention must have had it good. Hawks was saved because of the bus accident where he saved people as a hero, so obviously it makes sense he reach out to try to save another good person who just had bad luck.

Despite the fact that both of them are pretty much emotionally dead and in deep denial of their true feelings.

Dabi has also made a show of how little he cares about Natsuo, while at the same time his most famous line from the pro hero arc is “overthought things and snapped...”

Dabi is also the only one who notices it’s dangerous to bring Tokoyami onto a battlefield. This is when he asks the question, who is it who needs saving.

We learn at around the same time, the hope from the Pro Hero arc was intentionally a set up by Dabi to bring Endeavor down, and show everyone eventually that Endeavor hadn’t truly changed.

These are all small details yes, but keep in mind we’ve really only gotten crumbs of Dabi’s characterization so far because his perspective is one that has deliberately been kept from us. We see his past through almost everyone else’s eyes but his own - because so far the focus has been on Endeavor.

Just like Dabi set up Endeavor’s earlier success only to bring him down, this might also lead to a reversal in the narratives. In 299, Hawks believed Endeavor to be the one in need of help. We are also as an audience set up to believe that the narrative arc will focus around Endeavor’s redemption. This is before the series revealed the circumstances of his son.

However, Endeavor and Dabi are literal opposites. They’re inversions of each other. Dabi pretends he doesn’t care any more for his family and will go out of his way to hurt them, that all he cares about is revenge, but at the same his ideals are heroic. In his actions and ideals he’s the one calling for a better society. Dabi is the most independent and distant from the league it’s true, and so far he’s denied their friendship, but at the same time it’s Dabi who is the most idealistic of the league. Shigaraki wants to destroy the current society, Himiko wants a society that’s easier on her, but it’s Dabi who has the ideals for a society he wants, one where heroes are held to standards and act like Heroes. It’s dabi better than anyone else who makes the standards for mass appeal. Because, deep down Dabi still has heroic aspirations and drive even if it comes from Stain of all people he’s inspired by. He has some sort of ideals, a world he’s trying to create.

Whereas, Endeavor doesn’t have any heroic ideals at all. His idea of being a hero has always centered around fame, status and the ranking of number one. He’s a hero unconcerned with saving people, only defeating villains to prove his strength. Endeavor presents himself outwardly as someone who is trying to do what’s best for his family, and working towards being the best hero he can be but his intentions are revealed to be selfish, at the same time as Enji’s narration is revealed as unreliable. It may have been set up for an inversion all along, with the setup being that Enji is the one who needed to redeem himself, when Dabi was pushed to the background. Around this time Rei also tried to reassure others, that he was trying to carry his regrets with him.

However, as soon as Touya’s identity is revealed, Rei’s stance reverses. Now she properly calls out that, Enji hasn’t been carrying his regrets at al.. Instead, he’s been forcing his family to carry the burden of it while he gets to go play hero in front of the public.

As soon as Touya is revealed to be alive, it’s not Enji who is the center and focus of conversation but rather Touya. In 299, Hawks believes that it’s Endeavor whose in need of saving, but we’re shown that Endeavor only really seems to pity himself in this situation.

It’s Rei who shows up to remind us, who really is in need of saving in this situation. Not Endeavor but rather those who have been burned the most by Endeavor’s actions.

Which may be the ultimate parallel between Hawks and Dabi as well, Hawks can’t see himself as a victim so he can’t realize who the victims who need his help the most is. Whereas, Dabi in the future may receive the change of heart he needs to reopen his heart again and accept others, and therefore learn to accept himself. Dabi is set up for a reconciliation between his two selves, Touya the victim and Dabi the villain. While ultimately, Hawks will intentionally turn his back on Keigo the victim, because he can only ever see himself as a hero.

I’m not suggesting that Dabi is good or Hawks is bad, or the other way around, not something as simple as that but that Dabi is open to change, and this will lead to him eventually opening up to others. Whereas, Hawks who is given practically every opportunity to change, and even escapes killing Twice with no permanent consequences, (his wings are growing back, and he even is freed from the hero commission) chooses to support Endeavor once again. It’s Dabi who calls others to think and reevaluate, and is actively trying to create a change in the world, whereas Hawks only interest is protecting other heroes and not the victims that heroes themselves create. Because in his mind heroes are good and that fact will never change.

Because Dabi is the one trying to create change, while Hawks continues to cling to Endeavor I believe we’ll eventually receive a reversal for both of them. Just as the narrative around Dabi has changed from irredeemable villain to person in need of saving, we may see exactly what was foreshadowed in this panel happening. Dabi walking towards the light, while Hawks falls further and further into the shadows - because it’s Dabi who is looking for that light, while Hawks chooses to remain in the dark. Hawks was saved once, and now he believes that everyone who is good gets saved, unless they are unlucky like Twice. It’s Dabi who knows the truth, that there are heroes who don’t save people, and it’s Dabi who is at least trying to confront that truth head on and change it rather than just ignoring it.

In a way Hawks is someone who has gone blind from looking too closely at Endeavor’s light, whereas because Dabi was failed by Endeavor and fell into the shadows he at least knows the truth about what it’s like for those who don’t get saved, and unlike Hawks can’t keep deluding himself that this is a world where everyone who deserves it gets saved.

#dabi #hawks #toya todoroki #touya todoroki #takami keigo #mha meta #my hero academia meta #my hero academia theory #bnha 299 #bnha 300 #mha 299 #mha 300

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dimensionwriter · 4 years ago

Text

100 Days

Part Three

Part One Part Two

M! Alien x GN! Reader

Warning: pinning

Word Count: 2296

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Today’s the day. A whole month has passed since Experiment 337 became conscious, therefore that means that he is now in the clear to be able to leave his containment. The reasoning for the 30 day period is to see if the alien holds the ability to breath in our atmosphere. So, slowly throughout 25 days, the liquid in the container gains more oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide until it reaches the point of similarities with Earth’s. Then the final 5 days are just checking on the vitals and making sure there are no complications.

And Shark was able to withstand it! Of course Shark would. There was no doubt in your head that that crazy alien wouldn’t be able to. He’s amazing like that.

Do you know how hard it is to try to look professional and calm while speed walking down the halls? Every time someone would stop to ask you something, you did not stop. You would yell the answer or tell them the name of someone who may know the answer while you were way past them. Luckily, no one pointed out how weird you look speeding to your door.

“Examiner, good morning. You made it just in time,” A low voice spoke to you. You looked away from your door to see your vector’s manager walking towards you. He was the one who’s always speaking through your earpiece. You assumed that he wouldn’t bother you anymore, except for meetings, since Shark was now conscious, but seeing him walk towards you told you that he must have found something new that interested him. Sadly, it must have included you.

“Morning, sir. Have they already started the movement?” You scanned your ID card across the reader causing the door to open. Stepping through, you were met with what felt like a completely different room. The container was broken down into its four glass panels and were laying on the floor in the corner. Your computer was now moved into the corner with a wall around it with windows that peered out into the room. In the middle, was a long table that had the main attraction on it.

Shark was still fast asleep, thanks to the sleeping medicine still being pumped into him. His grayish blue skin seems to look almost matte out of the liquid. Glancing at his limb, the black color that it turned to was a completely different texture. What type would it be most similar like?

“Morning, Examiner. We are almost done here. I am changing their vital readers to be inside of them , so there won’t be cords everywhere that could trip you. I have also added a microchip in their neck, just in case they try to escape. It’ll send a big enough shock to take down an elephant,” The vector’s doctor explained walking around Shark and pointing them out. So he had vital readers in his right thigh, middle left arm, and one in the center of his chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to help you guys,” You apologize seeing how much was done without you. You walked over to your metal closet to put away your personal belongings and grab a fresh pair of lab coat and gloves. You actually get a chance to actually use the gloves.

You watched as your manager didn’t even try to put on any of the sterile clothes and just walked in. He’s the manager, so he should definitely know the rules, but is choosing to ignore it. This man sometimes gets on your nerves.

“So, this is the little shape shifting bastard,” your manager teased, poking Shark in his face. Not the bare hands. Who knows what germs this man has been exposed to and he’s directly making contact with the creature.

“Sir, I would advise that you do not touch Experiment 337 with your bare hands. It is unknown the result that may have on them,” the doctor spoke. The dark bags under their eyes made their statement feel a lot more firm then it would have coming from you. He may be the manager, but the vector’s nurse is equal to him.

He let out a small scoff and started walking around the room looking at things. The nurse went over to the corner room to probably make sure the vitals are actually reading correctly. With everyone busy, you walked over to Shark.

With the tips of your fingers, you brushed away at the spot the manager had touched. Woah. His skin was so cold. It felt like you were touching ice. Lightly, you trailed your fingers down his face to see that the texture was actually similar to something that was matte.

The skin underneath your finger begins to poof out. Looking back at his face, you see that his thin lips were spread out showing his sharp teeth. No way. You looked further up to see a pair of black eyes staring at you.

How was…. There can’t. You looked down to see that there was still a tube going up his back that was pumping the blue liquid. It has been confirmed that this formula worked good enough to put him to sleep. How was he awake?

“Do plan on bringing the bed in later today?” You watched as the manager walked towards the corner room, not noticing the two pairs of eyes on him. He disappeared around the corner and your head snapped down.

“You can resist the medicine,” you accused him. He gave a smirk and let out a quiet laugh. His top arms were folded across his stomach. He reached a little and grabbed the end of your lab coat and began twirling it.

“As I have stated before, Yeah and you can’t. It’s not my fault you humans are so, how do I say this kindly, incapable.” You didn’t even have it in you to argue with him. A million questions were flying through your head.

How did he stop the effects of the medicine? Does it have something to do with him being a shapeshifter? How long has he been doing this? Should you report this?

Wait, why are you doubting reporting this? This is definitely something that should be reported. If everyone thinks all aliens are asleep and there’s little security, he could become a real threat. Going rampant, freeing other aliens, or worse, going onto the outside.

Would he really be that much of a threat? He would probably just try to flirt with all of the security and get them to be his ‘mate’ or something.

“Darling, you look so cute when you think so hard,” his voice purred. You looked over at him to see he was smirking at you. His black eyes drifted down a little and that’s when you noticed that his hand holding your lab coat was raised up. He stretched his neck a little to look underneath it.

“What are you even looking at?” You held no personal items in your pants. Maybe he was analyzing the fabric of clothes better to recreate it better. Has he ever held this type of fabric before? You don’t really know where he came from or his history much. One day, you got a promotion to this vector to be an examiner and got assigned to him. No previous records were given to you.

“Nothing. Just enjoying the view,” he mumbled leaning a little farther over to look. Your brain seemed to freeze as you realized what he was doing. This pervert.

Stepping forward, you yanked your coat out of his hand and smacked the back of his hand. The corners of his eyes crinkled a little as he started to softly laugh. He was enjoying teasing you a little too much.

“Examiner?” You turned around to see the Nurse and the manager staring at you. You blinked in confusion at them. Why were they looking at you weird when Shark was clearly awake? “Can you please not smack the alien? They may be unconscious, but I’m sure they can still feel it?”

Unconscious? You turned around to see that Shark had his eyes closed and his arms back in place. It looked like he was truly ‘unconscious’ it wasn’t for the edges of his cheek twitching from trying to hold in his smile. He was trying to get you in trouble.

“I apologize. Thought I saw a bug or something on his skin. However, it was most likely his skin shifting around due to his ability to shapeshift." You hoped they didn't pick up on the bull crap you just let spewed from your mouth. It's one thing for a manager to touch him, but for a subordinate like yourself to slap him, that's an instant ticket to being written up.

"Bugs? Many workers have been moving in and out of this room. It's a small chance, but still is possible," they grumbled walking towards you. They glanced around the room before letting out a small sigh. "I'll make sure to send a cleaning crew in here just in case."

They actually brought it. You didn't know who to thank. Thank the nurse for being kind and not doubting you or the workers for moving around a lot. Well you thank both.

"Whelp, Examiner. Congrats on getting that thing to live for this long. Definitely thought the damn thing was going to kick the bucket ." His harsh laugh echoed through the room. You didn’t say anything, only allowed a tight lip smile to come on your face. The nurse just rolled their at his dumb statement.

“Examiner, you need to complete your training for in person examinations for Experiment 337,” the nurse reminded you. Their eyes drifted down to Shark next to you before looking back up at you. You swear you saw a small smirk appear on their face. “We will be outside waiting for you to finish up in here.”

They dropped their lab coat in the waste bin and slid their black gloves into their back pocket. Scanning their ID, the door slid open and they walked through. The manager appeared confused by their statement, so where you to be honest, but didn’t question it much and just walked out.

Did the nurse know that Shark was awake? If they actually knew, hopefully you won’t get into trouble for it. That would look so bad if you looked like you were hiding stuff for them and you could get written up, or worse, fired.

“Why do you always leave me?” You turned towards Shark to see he was sitting up now. You tilted your head up to be able to look him in the face. Something to document, he’s tall as hell. His torso to leg ratio is a little less even than humans. His legs are quite long and thick making you believe that’s where his height would mostly come from. But that theory is thrown into a fire seeing as his torso was the length of your entire upper body.

“Now that everyone has left the room, now you want to ogle my body. You perv,” he teased, covering his body with his six hands. The claws protruding out of them pressed into his grey skin. Small little bumps and rises appeared all over his skin. It really was like leather in a way. “Honey?”

“First, I know you didn’t just say I was ogling you. You were the one raising up my lab coat to look at me. You’re even more of a perv. Second, don’t call me honey. I don’t want anyone to hear you say that and get that wrong idea,” you ticked off with your finger. He unwrapped his first set of arms to let the elbows rest on his thighs. Gently, he rested his head on them and stared down at you.

“Then, can I call you babe, sugar plum, my starlight, darling, and/or angel? It would please me if all of the humans on this planet knew you were mine. And I do plan on making you mine,” he whispered. He leaned down towards you with a small smile on his face. In his dark eyes, you could see your reflection through them. Did you really look that flustered?

You stepped away from him and walked towards the door. You took off your lab coat while taking steady breaths. This is your job. You are getting paid to deal with this flirty alien. “Well, I see you're still stuck on that whole mate thing. While you continue to go on about that, I have work to do. See you later.”

You grabbed your ID to scan it when a hand landed on top of the scanner. Then another wrapped around your waist pulling you into a hard surface. Two hands went above you to the door while another grabbed your face to tilt it up.

“I’m not joking when I say you’re my mate. I’m adamant that you are and I don’t plan on letting you go.” His usual smile was wiped on his face, but instead a joyless frown was there. The sparkles in his eyes were all gone. He really was serious about this.

“Don’t worry. I’ll let you go. Just this time.” Every hand around you retreated back to him as he turned away from you. He walked towards the metal table with his tail low to the ground. “But next time, I would actually like some time with you. Please.”

All you could do was give him a small nod as you exited the room. Your mind felt fuzzy from trying to process everything. But you have plenty of time in the future to get answers to these questions.

70 days.

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I actually wrote something. It’s something short but I’m proud I actually did it. I miss Shark and this story. Hopefully, I’ll get to get something else out. Anyway, make sure to Like, Reblog, and Comment. I love to see you guy’s comments.

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backburnerdio · 3 years ago

Text

Worldbuilding Wednesday

SoulMedics

SoulMedics are hardware engineers and mechanics who deal with physical damage, replacement, and repair on A.I.s. Capable of working on everything from external cosmetic panels to vital TLN lines. TLN is considered the "soul" of an AI due to how important it is, hence where they get their name. Think of them as A.I. surgeons and medics dealing with the physical rather than data. They have a chilling reputation of being detached and apathetic when it comes to dealing with A.I.s.

Taglist: @everlastinq, @waysofink, @ashen-crest, @spacetimewraithwrites, @idreamonpaper, @stormharbors, @dustylovelyrun, @jaimistoryteller, @abalonetea, @kaiusvnoir (Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed)

Excerpt Under the Cut — 1277 Words

The SoulMedic continued surveying Beau's condition, sitting him on a stool while they recorded the damage on their holo-diagram. Every so often they'd touch his face with gloved fingertips as if he were toxic or disease-ridden, angling his head this way and that, turning to their liking without uttering a word. Colder than Auditors. Eyes fixed on parts instead of him as a whole.

Just outside the open door of the lab, a few Auditors and SoulMedics were still talking to Garnet. The only clue he was a Mediator was his patrol jacket he'd grabbed on their way out, swept-back with his hands on his hips looking none too pleased at whatever they were saying. He shook his head a number of times, but he wasn't raising his voice to where Beau could hear.

"Open buccal cavity for CPU diagnostic," the SoulMedic tending to him mumbled, tapping at their tablet. Beau opened his mouth, right hinge scrubbing making it difficult. It was even worse when he tried dropping the lower panels at his jaw's angle. He had to pry them apart with a hand, completely dropping the jaw ninety degrees, exposing the CPU housing at the back of his throat.

The SoulMedic continued to type away.

Beau glanced at the door again, catching Garnet's stare. He leaned around an Auditor, double-taking a glance. He'd probably never seen an A.I. like this, actual mechanical pieces rather than human cosmetics. A mangled mess of wires and looms. He momentarily went back to the conversation. Beau anxiously waited for the SoulMedic to hurry and finish.

Garnet was staring again when he looked back, this time lifting his brows with a half-cocked grin. And then a wink. It wasn't acidic or spiteful like he'd been at the other station the night before. Beau couldn't smile, all things considered, and instead imitated the one-eyed blink in return.

Stepping away from their conversation, Garnet leaned in the doorway, knocking on the jamb, "Hey, Doc, how's it looking?"

"Honestly, a mess, Lieutenant," they droned. "It's going to take some time if you have somewhere you're supposed to be."

"Nope," he let himself in, waltzing around the number of modules. "I'm on the clock either way. Not leaving without the Beautician."

"We do have a waiting room." Garnet ignored them, inspecting the different lifts and rigs meant for far worse damaged units. He shuffled through drawers, flipping through tools and parts, plucking up some type of circuit board to hold against the light. The SoulMedic rolled their eyes, finally attaching a cord to the side of Beau’s neck from their tablet. Grabbing a stool from a different module, Garnet lugged it over a shoulder to sit beside Beau.

"S'at hurt?" He nodded in reference to Beau's mouth. He gave a slight shake of the head. "Looks insane. I didn't know you had a tongue like that." Leaning down he squinted up into Beau's mouth. "What's that made of? Carbon fiber? Some kinda, uh, loom-mesh?"

"Lieutenant, keep your fantasies to yourself."

"Take it easy, Doc. That's not my thing." Garnet rolled the stool closer tilting in study, "So, that glowing bit, in the back, that's your brain?" Beau made a soft humming sound to confirm. "Why put it there? Why not, y'know, in the brain-pan?" he turned to regard the SoulMedic.

"A shot to the head is fatal for humans, don't you think it would be unwise to subject it to the same?" Their answer made Garnet frown. "Besides, an A.I. can be shut down by a shot to the head without being fatal. Something of a safeguard. No one is going to aim for the neck."

Garnet turned back, face screwed up in mockery. Beau could only smile with his eyes.

“So the neck is mostly plating and hydraulics. Huh,” Garnet chuckled, “so what are we talking? Air-cooled? Heat-sinks?”

“Liquid immersion,” the SoulMedic seemed pacified enough by the need of their knowledge to continue answering.

“Get the fuck out. Seriously?” Garnet glanced to the SoulMedic before back at Beau, “Did you know that?” he shrugged, although of course he did.

“The CPU housing is one of the first stops of the TLN network.” They reached over, gloved hand hovering over Beau’s chest, “It cycles through the cooling pump here, up these low-pressure hydraulic lines here, and back down to the regulator. From there, it enters a high-pressure line to be divvied out accordingly to the limbs.”

“So, TLN, it’s also like a, what? A dielectric transformer oil?”

“It’s much more than that,” the SoulMedic chuckled haughtily as if Garnet were simple. But Beau had never guessed Garnet knew what dielectric oils were. “TLN is capable of carrying energy and information, a type of fiber optic sponge, if you will. Hence how nanite communication from the CPU to the limbs is possible. It has fewer wires than you think.”

“He,” Garnet corrected. Beau glanced to the SoulMedic who went suddenly still.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He,” Garnet turned with a bit more intensity in his voice. “You keep calling him, it. He’s him.” They stared at one another for a moment before the SoulMedic chuckled through their nose, brows arching up their forehead.

“Alright,” was a sarcastic shake of the head. “Although, I’d advise not getting too attached to any units.”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you’re making it out to be something more than it is.” The SoulMedic glared at Garnet with one precise turn of the head. “Of course, it’s human nature to care. It’s rooted in your DNA because it’s central to our evolutionary past. Because we are social creatures. That,” they pointed at Beau, “is not. That is a grandiose tool much like a tablet or your cellphone. How many of those have you had in your lifetime?”

Garnet didn’t answer, jaw set, glaring much like the rage he’d shown the night before.

“But live your life,” the SoulMedic shrugged. “It’s your job to police people’s lives, not mine.”

“Yeah, yours is to fix my friend here but you haven’t. So might wanna stop running your mouth and get to work.” He clapped the SoulMedic on the back, nearly knocking them off their stool. Beau reached out, touching Garnet’s knee, brow bending as he signed “No” with a hand.

“Yeah, well, fuck this guy,” Garnet signed in return, eyes cutting over to the SoulMedic who grumbled as he went back to his tablet. “You sign?”

“I know over 3000 languages. YOU sign?”

“Yeah, Valetta taught me. Duh.”

“Well, you’re sloppy and slow.”

Garnet flashed him the middle finger earning a whine of a laugh.

“Lieutenant, if you could please keep your obscenities to a minimum. We could have children come in at any moment.”

“What, you a pediatrician on the side?” Garnet snapped at them, daring a smart comeback. Beau waited until things settled down again, Garnet surveying the room with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. Unsure if he should, Beau reached out again, tapping Garnet's knee.

“Thank you.”

Garnet bent his brow, confused.

“For… that. Correcting them. I…” he hesitated, glancing at the SoulMedic’s tablet, “I like to think I’m more than a cellphone or a tool.”

For a moment Garnet said nothing, staring with a sympathetic frown. Eventually, his hands emerged from his pockets and he signed, “That's because you are.”

Beau had to look away, worrying what might happen if the SoulMedic were to see him cry. Garnet eagerly tapped his knee demanding his attention. “You’re my best friend.” He tapped the sign against his lips and gave another wink.

Beau laughed again, scrubbing on his exposed vocals.

“Okay, best friend.”

#writing #my writing #writeblr #writblr #world building wednesday #tb worldbuilding #wip: tb #tb notes #tb excerpts #beau oc #garnet oc

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years ago

Text

one chance to change your fate - chapter 10

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, character!Thomas, Nico Flores, Dragon Witch (villain), background OCs Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Loceit, eventual Dukexiety, Royality, background Karrot Kings Warnings: Language; kind of a lot of sexual innuendo/references this time around; slight partial nudity (a half open shirt + someone touching the exposed rib area); miscommunication as a plot device Word count: 6117 Notes: a big big thank you to my awesome beta @yougoodfahm!

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

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reminder that janus’s pronouns are ONLY they/them in this fic! do not misgender them please!

Chapter 10

“This way,” Logan said, taking a left turn.

“Wh—no?” Janus followed him anyway, looking back over their shoulder at the right-hand passageway that led to the records area. “Why?”

“I need my staff,” Logan explained, shrugging.

Janus stopped walking. “That old thing? Really? Really?”

Logan took a long, measured breath. “Complex magic requires a higher degree of control to successfully and safely execute,” he explained, for what felt like at least the thousandth time.

Janus huffed, unimpressed, and pouted at him. “I don’t see how a glorified hunk of tree helps with any of that, is all I’m saying.”

“And yet, it does.” Logan clapped his hands together briskly. “Come along, dear. I would like to complete this horrible and distressing objective as quickly as possible.”

Janus crossed their arms. “Logan, the staff is taller than you.”

Logan closed his eyes for a moment. “Your point?”

Janus flung their hands in the air. “You keep it in storage!”

“Yes, for safety. And?”

“How does something that clumsy and apparently dangerous afford you a higher degree of fine control?”

“It’s magic, dear, not the physical realm. It’s entirely different.”

“How?” Janus demanded.

Logan paused. “It just… is. I’m… not quite sure how to explain it.” He stared at the ceiling for a moment, brows furrowed, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “Magic is like… a… river. Sort of.” He grimaced. The metaphor was inelegant at best. “Not exactly. But having a tool external to my own body is often deeply instrumental in allowing myself control over both how I direct the magic’s flow and my own interaction with it.”

Janus gave him another unimpressed pout. “That does not make more sense.”

Logan sighed. “Do you or do you not want me to assist you in this far-fetched escapade?”

“Fine, fine, we can get the staff,” Janus said, giving in far faster than Logan had expected—though perhaps he should not be surprised; this forgery was supposedly for Patton’s benefit, and Logan knew how important Janus’s brother was to them. “I’m just saying, it makes no sense.”

“This is how you react every time I try to explain magic to you, dear,” Logan said patiently.

“Because it’s annoying and confusing and makes no sense,” Janus retorted, still pouting.

Logan ignored the pout to the best of his ability. “It takes a minimum of five years to be certified as a magic practitioner for a reason, Janus. But I assure you that with a little study, you or anyone could easily—”

“No, no, that’s too much work.” Janus waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll just complain about it instead.”

Logan frowned. “That is highly irrational, my love.”

Janus grinned and blew him a kiss. “I know,” they said sweetly.

Logan rubbed his temples and sighed. “Very well.” He adjusted his spectacles and offered Janus his arm, which they took.

“I’m just saying—” Janus began after a few seconds.

“Oh, dear lord,” Logan mumbled in exasperation, and the pair continued to bicker all the way to the storage space reserved for magical items and supplies belonging to the various inhabitants of the palace. It was, in all fairness, an entertaining way to pass the time.

Logan pulled out his key, letting himself in and leaving Janus, who was not authorized to access the room, in the hall outside. The door and the paneling on the walls inside, as well as the individual cases each item here was kept in, were all made of well-polished pine wood, which served as an excellent insulator for magic—its mere presence in the room was a simple yet effective safety measure in case of any accidents. Logan’s staff was in a long, thin pine box on the innermost wall. He opened this with another key and lifted it out with care, the deeply ridged texture of its dark wood providing some measure of comfort in his hand.

Heart in his throat at the idea of being caught—though he had every right to access this room and came here most weeks, regularly enough that he could not imagine his visit seeming suspicious to anyone—Logan scrawled his signature on the records book, noting the item he retrieved, the date, and writing sleeping draughts in the box where a reason for item use could be recorded. This was technically not incorrect; while sleeping draughts were simple enough that he could make them without utilizing his staff if he so wished, the process by which he would seal the bottles later that evening would be easier with the staff at hand. He was not constructing a falsehood; he was simply… omitting a detail. A very large, illegal detail that would be enough to land both himself and Janus in the dungeon for an extensive length of time, should it ever come to light. A detail that made his hands shake as he returned the quill pen to its ink pot and set the log book down in its place.

…It was none of their business anyway.

Logan turned away and left the room, staff in hand; Janus looked over, perking up visibly at his return. Logan smiled a little and offered them his free arm once more. “Shall we, my dear?” he asked, and was proud of the way his voice did not waver.

Janus gave him a dazzling smile back as they linked their arm through his. “Indeed,” they said, in a smug tone that was very likely meant to tease him over his overly formal wording.

Logan rolled his eyes and shook his head, leading the way down the hall. “Do you have a route in mind?” he asked in an undertone once he was certain no one else was in earshot.

“I mean.” Janus shrugged. “There aren’t that many ways into the records room. I was imagining we’d just walk right in.”

“What?” Logan’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat several times before continuing. “Why?”

Janus blinked and shrugged a shoulder. “Less suspicious. We could be there for perfectly legitimate reasons if anyone sees us. Getting seen taking the secret passage in is much harder to explain away.”

Logan frowned. Their logic was sound, but he did not like it.

“Oh, cheer up,” Janus said airily, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple. “We have both been perfectly model citizens up to this point.” They paused and wrinkled their nose. “Well. Except for a few things on my part. But that’s not important,” they went on quickly, waving their hand. “My point is, nobody’s going to see us walking about and assume we’re doing something horrible. Do calm down, you’re so tense it’s like I’m holding hands with a block of wood.” They sniffed. “Not an appealing prospect.”

Logan sighed. “I will do my best, dear,” he said.

Nevertheless, Logan remained tense as they approached the suite of rooms in which palace records were kept. They were allowed to access most of these rooms, of course; Logan and Janus had very nearly the highest level of security clearance in the kingdom. Logan had been here a few times, to look things up or double-check that his own knowledge was correct on various subjects. Even so, it felt different this time as he and Janus came to a halt outside the wide double doors that marked the entry into the record suite.

“And why are you visiting the palace records today?” the guard seated outside inquired in a bored voice, hardly raising their head from the book it was bent over.

“Marriage planning,” Janus said without hesitation.

Logan choked on air.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” the guard said in a monotone, waving them through the door.

“Why did you say that?” Logan asked in a frantic whisper as he and Janus made their way through the first room in the suite.

Janus frowned, tensing up just slightly. “What did you want me to do, tell him the truth?”

“No—I meant—why that?” Had it been some kind of joke? Or had Janus been serious? Why had that been the explanation they’d given? The pair of them had never discussed marriage before—never even broached the subject. Perhaps, in his most private thoughts, Logan might have considered—or, well—daydreamed—at length—about such a thing, but… marriage carried such a weight to it; it was only for when you were absolutely certain about spending your life together with someone. Logan knew, without a doubt, what his answer would be, but, if he was being honest with himself, he was… rather afraid to bring the idea up to Janus. They were so close with their family, and it was traditional to only move out of your parents’ home when you married. Logan wasn’t sure he wanted to ask that of them. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know what they’d say.

Janus’s mouth tightened. “I don’t know,” they snapped. “Forget about it. I—I meant the twins’ upcoming problem, anyway.” They pulled away from him and strode ahead, back straight.

Logan blinked, trying to make sense of Janus’s reaction, then followed. Had they mistaken his meaning? Had he mistaken theirs? “Janus—Janus!” He caught up with them at the door to the innermost room of the suite, the one that would hold the records they were after. “I didn’t—”

“The door is locked,” Janus interrupted in a brittle, cheery tone, not meeting his eyes. “Can you take care of it?”

Logan bit his lip, not liking the change of subject—but the longer they stayed here, the more chance they had to be caught. Efficiency was key at this moment, which had suddenly become perhaps the most inconvenient time possible to have to put off a serious conversation. He swallowed and pushed down his distress and his desire to plead with Janus to tell him what was wrong, pushed them down and crumpled them up small until he could almost pretend it was fine. “Yes,” he said quietly. “Give me a minute.” He adjusted his grip on his staff and glanced around the room; the suite had been empty so far, but still…. “First I’m going to set up a—mm, essentially a magical tripwire. To let us know if anyone is coming.”

Janus watched as Logan traced several runes on the floor in a circle, each one turning into glowing light as he completed it, then tapped his staff in the center; the runes, obeying his command, shot out in different directions along the floor and faded from view. The tripwire was set. Logan nodded to himself and looked up. “Alright. Show me the door.”

The lock looked fairly simple, even though it was strengthened with magic; Logan saw no hint of the kinds of spells he would genuinely worry about, the kind that would retain evidence of tampering. He would, of course, need to be careful when undoing the spell on the lock so that he could reassemble it as they left, but it was perfectly doable.

“I can get us in,” he assured Janus, looking up from the lock. “It’ll take a few moments, though.”

“Get on with it, then,” Janus said, arms crossed and fingers drumming where they rested. They did not meet his eyes.

Logan frowned. He reached out and rested his hand on theirs, curling his fingers around their own. “Dearest—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Logan,” Janus said insistently, lacing their fingers through his. “And now is hardly the time, anyway.”

Logan nodded, though he was not happy with this. “Very well.” He squeezed their hand once and let go, hefting his staff and eyeing the lock once more. A spell of undoing, a more powerful one… yes. Yes, that should suffice. Incantation ready in his mind, he lifted the staff and touched the end of it to the doorknob—

“Logan,” Janus said, speaking in an urgent whisper. “Logan. Logan, is this bad?”

Logan looked at where they were pointing. One of the runes he’d set up only moments before had returned and was sitting at his feet, glowing red. The wire had been tripped.

“Ah. Yes.” Logan cleared his throat and straightened his cravat. “Shit.”

“Someone’s coming?” Janus said.

Logan nodded in confirmation, tapping out a pattern on the floor that wiped away the tripwire spell. “We need to look busy. Find something to read through and we’ll wait them out.”

“No, I have a better idea.” Janus rolled their eyes, mouth pinching tightly. “Since you apparently hated my marriage cover story so much.”

“Wh—” Logan blinked, taken aback. “No, I—”

“It’s fine,” Janus interrupted, almost before Logan even began talking. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. Just—” They glanced around the room. “��Here.” They dragged him over to a desk set against the wall, which they sat on, guiding him to stand before them, their knees resting lightly on either side of his thighs. “Kiss me.”

“…Dearest, is this really the best—?” Logan began.

“Yes. Don’t argue.” Janus yanked open the first three buttons of their shirt, revealing their collarbones and lacy bralette. They reached their hands up to cradle Logan’s face, and pulled him in, breathing, “Make it look good,” right before they closed their eyes and pressed their open mouth to his.

Kissing Janus was almost more instinct than conscious action. Logan guided them to lean their head back just a little more until they were at the angle he most liked, their mouth soft and warm and melding perfectly against his. He slid a hand to the small of their back, his other hand dipping just past the unbuttoned portion of their shirt to let his fingertips barely brush their skin and some of the larger scales on their lower ribs.

Janus broke the kiss with something halfway between a gasp and a whimper at his touch, clutching at his shoulders. Logan took the opportunity to trail kisses down their throat, relishing in the breathy noises of encouragement Janus made as they tipped their head back. He pressed a final kiss, slow and lingering, at the dip between their collarbones, then nipped lightly at the delicate skin of their throat.

“Fuck,” Janus gasped, their long fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders.

“Hmm, not now,” Logan murmured against their skin, pressing a kiss to a patch of scales and rubbing his thumb in little circles on their side where his hand still rested.

Janus made a whining noise that Logan could tell was half there to stifle a laugh. “Logan,” they said, in that particular pretty pleading tone that he liked very much, and he raised his head to look at them.

Their cheeks were flushed and their snake pupil was wide and round, their lips parted, and they were looking at him like he was the only thing worth looking at in the world, and what else was he supposed to do but cup the back of their neck in his hand and draw them in for another deep kiss?

Janus sighed into his mouth, their hands fisting in his jacket lapels, sliding even closer so that the pair of them were pressed all the way together, kissing him greedily, their mouth so warm and perfectly fitted against his, like they were made just for him to kiss, and Logan thought that he would be perfectly happy if he could simply hold them forever, and—

The door behind them opened, and though Logan had been expecting it, he had managed to get quite thoroughly distracted in the last minute or so; he started and whirled to face the door.

The face that greeted him was… quite possibly the worst possible person who could have walked in just at this moment.

“High Advisor Dragov,” he greeted the Dragon Witch breathlessly, face burning hot, stepping in front of Janus to shield them as they languidly began doing up their buttons. “I—I apologize, I thought—we were—you see—I—” He stammered out a few more incoherent sounds before stumbling to a stop.

The Dragon Witch only waited with a single raised eyebrow, hands clasped in front of himself, until Logan was silent. “I understand perfectly, Sir Croft,” he said with the barest touch of condescension. His eyes traveled to just over Logan’s shoulder. “Lairde Dufour.”

Janus didn’t bother to answer, instead sliding one hand along Logan’s shoulder and down his chest until they could wrap his cravat about their fingers and tug. “Let’s go somewhere else,” they said, in a soft, sultry voice that was entirely inappropriate for the present moment, leaning so close to Logan that their lips brushed his cheek as they spoke.

A small part of Logan’s brain was perfectly aware that, logically, Janus’s behavior was helpful and part of the whole not-getting-caught-committing-fraud thing; the larger part of his brain had frozen up at getting walked in on and was having difficulty remembering that this was all an act. He swallowed and blinked several times. “Right. Yes. Apologies once again,” he said to the Dragon Witch, speaking more formally than he strictly had to given his own status. “If you’ll excuse us.”

“I wouldn’t dream of taking up any more of your valuable time,” the Dragon Witch murmured with a smile that was more than a touch mocking. Logan resisted the urge to hide his face in his hands.

“Right,” Logan said once more, offering Janus his hand and helping them down from the desk. He hesitated, but Janus began tugging him towards the door that led out of the suite. Secret passage it was, then. Logan followed in their steps, glad that this encounter hadn’t dragged on—

“Sir Croft,” the Dragon Witch said, his tone so calm it bordered on smug, just as Janus put their hand on the doorknob.

Logan froze. “Sir?” He turned back to face the other man. His stomach dropped.

“I believe this is yours,” the Dragon Witch said, holding out Logan’s staff.

Logan stared at the staff and pretended his heart was not thundering in his ears. He’d leaned it against the wall when Janus had asked him to kiss them and had completely forgotten it. Its presence had to be suspicious. “Thank you,” he managed, doing his best to keep his voice level. His face was prickling with an entirely different kind of uncomfortable heat than that of a moment ago; this one was more guilty than embarrassed. He moved forward and reached to accept the staff.

But the Dragon Witch did not let go of the other end of it. “I was not aware you carried this about your daily tasks,” he said, his voice buttery smooth and dangerous.

“I—well, you see—” Logan hesitated, mind scrambling for words that would not incriminate himself.

“I asked him to bring it,” Janus said, leaning on the doorframe, their eyes wide and a little too innocent and one finger absently playing with their bottom lip. “I… like it when he does magic.” The sentence was vividly infused with a very particular sort of meaning, and it took every ounce of Logan’s will to maintain his composure and not simply melt through the floor in mortification at this idea being presented to the Dragon Witch.

The man in question blinked, processing what Janus had just implied. He clearly realized after a few seconds—his face took on a strained look, though he hid it well. “Ah. How… fascinating.” He relinquished his hold on the staff and stepped back.

“I—yes,” Logan managed, strangled. “That—is why. Good day.” He hastened back across the room to Janus and led them, at the fastest speed he felt was acceptable, in the other direction.

***

“Why did you say that?” Logan demanded once again as he and Janus walked down the hall away from the records suite.

Janus ignored the clench in their chest at the still-fresh memory of how horribly upset he’d seemed by them bringing up marriage—time to repress all their disappointment and avoid that topic forever, they supposed—and blinked at him. Had the answer to his question not been obvious this time? “…So that we wouldn’t get arrested?”

“Now the High Advisor thinks you have a—a, I don’t even know, a, a magic kink?” Logan said, his voice higher with distress than Janus had heard it go in years.

Janus shrugged. “Yes, what about it?”

“I—” Logan froze, mouth open. “Wait, what?”

Janus just looked at him. “Take two seconds to think about the everything about me and then see if you still need to ask me to elaborate.”

There was a pause.

“Oh,” Logan said, slightly strangled. “I see.”

Janus stifled a laugh. “Anyway, it got him to shut up and stop asking questions, didn’t it?”

“I—that is not the point!” Logan ran his hands over his curls, clutching at them desperately. “Oh, no, he—he thinks we have sex—”

Janus squinted at him. “Sorry, what the fuck have we been doing every night for the last two years?”

“But he doesn’t know about that!” Logan said after what looked like a very frustrated pause. “He—we—I don’t know!”

Janus hesitated. “Are you alright?” they asked, feeling a horrible clench of guilt in their stomach. Had they pushed too far, back in the records room? They hadn’t stopped to think before telling him to kiss them, acting on impulse and almost desperation. They had been full of a selfish, frightened need to be reassured that he still wanted and loved them, even if he clearly didn’t want to marry them after how upset he’d seemed at the idea. The sting of that new knowledge, and the desire to distract themself from it by any means possible, had made it so easy to ignore all their more rational decision-making abilities in the moment.

If Logan was upset with them, Janus felt suddenly certain that they’d deserve it.

Logan dragged his hands down his face. “I—I am not certain exactly what is so distressing to me.” There was a pause. “But I think it is about him, not you,” he added, making Janus’s shoulders relax. “I… did not enjoy his reaction to us.”

He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t upset! At least not with them, and he’d kissed them just the same as he ever did, and Janus was so relieved it was a little ridiculous. Admittedly, they still felt like crying over the knowledge that he didn’t want to marry them, but it was fine. It was fine. He still wanted them. He just didn’t want to marry them. But plenty of people never got married to their partners, anyway. Janus could make do with being a partner and never a spouse. They were still Logan’s. That was what mattered. Not the disappointment. They knew how to deal with disappointment: laugh and say something clever to distract everyone around you from how you felt, and then change the subject and never think about it again. They cast about for a topic to do just that with—Logan had said something about how the Dragon Witch had reacted, hadn’t he?

“Well, I suppose now he has something more interesting to think about than a shriveled-up mushroom like him has probably ever had in his life before,” Janus said lightly. “Logan, I’m sure he couldn’t care less what either of us does in our free time. Come on, let’s go finish the job.”

Logan huffed, following them out of the archives and down the hall in the direction of the secret passage. “You are probably correct,” he admitted after a moment, “but I don’t like it.”

“Oh, I do like when you tell me I’m right about things,” Janus said, grinning mischievously and swooping down to peck him on the lips. “You should do it more often,” they murmured as they pulled away and straightened back up.

Logan rolled his eyes, but did not hide his smile. “You are incorrigible.”

“Yes, I make sure of it,” Janus said lightly, letting go of his hand and running their hand along the carved flowers on the wall, in search of the entrance to the secret passageway.

“It’s the cornflower, dearest,” Logan said. “Third one from the top and second to the right of the window.”

“I knew that,” Janus lied brazenly, pressing the center of the flower. A doorway, previously hidden, slid ajar.

“No, you did not.” Logan offered them his hand once again.

Janus took it and followed him into the secret passage. “No, I did not.”

Once the door was securely closed, Logan and Janus made their way down the passage in relative silence, Janus running their thumb along the back of Logan’s hand in an effort to soothe… well, honestly, they weren’t sure which of them.

As they neared the innermost records chamber, they both fell into near-total silence, until they came to a stop just inside the door.

Is he there? Logan mouthed.

Janus peered through the tiny hidden peephole, moving awkwardly back and forth to see from all angles until they had looked about the whole room. “No,” they whispered. “Or at least, not in this room.”

Logan nodded and murmured a spell under his breath; a blue glow emanated from the bottom of his staff, pulsing outward. He closed his eyes, wrapping both hands around the staff. After a moment he opened them. “He’s not in the near vicinity, either,” he whispered. “Let’s get this over with.” He paused as he noticed Janus staring at him incredulously. “What?”

“Why did you make me do all that work looking for, if you could just do that in the first place?” Janus demanded.

“Well, it may have escaped your notice, but I don’t want to be here ‘in the first place,’” Logan said drily. “If you’re so determined to commit the highest level of crime that there is in the kingdom, you can at least participate.”

Janus considered this and came to the conclusion that there was not a good way for them to win here. Instead of trying, they just huffed and rolled their eyes and lifted the latch on the door. They pushed it open just far enough for themself and then Logan to slide through, then picked up a book off the nearest shelf and used it to stop the passage door from falling shut, in case they needed to leave with haste.

Logan moved to a shelf on the left-hand wall, one filled with scrolls and loose parchments instead of books. He was running his finger along them, moving efficiently, as if he already understood what he was looking at and where to find what he sought. Knowing Logan, he probably did.

Sure enough, after only a few moments, he let out a soft exclamation of triumph. “Ah! Here it is,” he murmured, drawing out a scroll and bringing it over to the large desk in the center of the room. He unrolled it and spread it out on the surface. “The list of approved competitors.” He ran his fingers down the parchment, closing his eyes. “It’s not even charmed,” he announced, opening them. “This will be easy.”

“Good,” Janus said, eyeing the locked door on the other side of the room. Who knew if the Dragon Witch had finished his business here, or if he’d be back?

Logan hummed, tracing a shape in the air; a glowing rune materialized. He plucked it out of midair with his fingers and dropped it onto one of the quills on the corner of the desk.

The quill lifted itself into the air obligingly and dipped itself in an inkwell. Logan, meanwhile, was running his fingers along the list once again, murmuring spellwords under his breath. Janus watched in fascination as several of the names at the end of the list crept downwards, until a space in the middle had materialized, a single line with no name upon it.

With a snap of Logan’s fingers, the quill descended upon the empty spot. “Remind me of your brother’s full name, dearest?” he asked in a low voice.

“Put it down as Lord Patton Peter Dufour,” Janus replied at once. Thank the stars that Pop and Patton had changed their last name when Dad and Pop had gotten married, honestly; it had made this whole fraud ordeal today so much less of a headache for Janus than it could have been.

Logan nodded and the quill lowered itself to the paper, perfectly matching the fine spidery scrawl the rest of the list was written in. Once Patton’s name was down, Logan returned the quill to its place and began tracing more runes in the air.

“What are you doing?” Janus asked.

“Aging the new ink on the parchment so it matches the rest of the list,” Logan replied, scattering the runes across Patton’s name on the parchment with an expert hand and examining the parchment critically as the runes melted into it and faded away. Janus could hardly tell the difference, but Logan seemed satisfied.

“There,” he said solemnly, setting his shoulders. “It is done.”

Janus nodded. They reached over and took his hand. “Thank you,” they said, trying desperately to fit all the emotion they felt into the words. He hadn’t liked it, not at all, but he had done it for their sake, and now Patton would be safe, and Janus was so relieved they could cry.

The corner of Logan’s mouth twitched in something that was not quite a smile. “You are welcome, dearest.” He picked up the parchment and made as if to roll it up, then noticed something on the desk. “Oh, goodness.”

“What?” Janus asked, tensing up.

“Nothing bad,” he assured them. He set down the list of invitees and picked up a different parchment. “Just—look at this.” He displayed it to them.

Janus glanced it over. “…Is that the marriage law that got the twins into this whole mess?”

Logan nodded. “Unfortunate, yes. But look.” He pointed to the lower right corner of the parchment just as Janus processed the particular excited tone he was using, and that this probably had nothing to do with Patton and everything to do with Logan’s love of random, boring facts.

They obediently looked. “That is… the seal of the kingdom of Flores, yes,” they agreed politely, trying hard not to sound exasperated. Was this really the time?

“No—no no—I mean, yes, but just look at—well, of course, you won’t be able to see it, I suppose, it’s a very complex spell, well hidden. But there’s a second seal on top of the physical one—a magic one, very high-level stuff, too,” Logan explained, sounding deeply enthused. “It provides an extra layer of protection. It’s standard practice for serious legal documents such as this one, nowadays.”

Janus blinked slowly at him. “Your point being?”

“Look at the date!” Logan tapped the top of the parchment; Janus vaguely registered that the year was over two centuries ago. “If my math is right, this must be one of the very first laws ever to carry a magic seal! Isn’t that amazing?”

Janus gritted their teeth. “Yes, darling, terribly fascinating. Can we go now?”

“Oh. Oh! Yes, let’s do so.” Logan set down the law where he had found it and picked up his staff. He traced some shapes on its side and it emitted a single pulse of light, which emanated outward to the very edges of the room and vanished.

“What was that?” Janus asked.

“It will remove all physical traces of our having been here as we leave,” Logan explained. “Fingerprints, stray hairs, things like that.” He picked up the parchment with the list of contestants, rolled it up into a scroll once more, and tied the ribbon that held it shut into a neat bow.

As Logan went back to the shelf the scroll belonged on, Janus moved to the passage door, replacing the book that had served as a makeshift doorstop on the shelf and waiting just inside the passage, holding it open for Logan.

“It goes just—ah, here,” Logan murmured, setting the scroll in its place on the shelf, and then stiffened, head turning towards the other door. “Janus,” he said, voice dropping to an urgent whisper.

Janus heard it a second later—voices outside the room, and the knob of the door turning. Logan was bolt-stiff, staring at them with a terrified look on his face, and Janus was sure they weren’t much better. Part of them—an uncomfortably large part—screamed to close the passage door and run, to save themself while they had the chance.

Janus ignored it. Not without Logan.

The door opened.

Janus locked eyes with King Thomas.

Their blood went icy cold in their veins; they barely even registered that the King wasn’t even the one who had opened the door—the Dragon Witch had, though he was looking back at the King and speaking to him and hadn’t seen Janus yet.

Janus abruptly felt like throwing up.

They’d thought they understood the risks of what they were undertaking. They’d thought they could handle it all for Patton. But they realized, heart beating loud in their ears as they watched the confusion register on the King’s face, that they would rather be caught by quite literally anyone else than him. Anyone other than the first person outside their family to give them even half a chance to prove themself. The person who’d overseen the selection of the finest cursebreaker in the kingdom to treat Janus and Dad and then funded an entire government program to make sure nothing like what they’d been through would happen to anyone again. The person who’d handed care of his son over to them with full trust that they would do their job well and cause Roman no harm. The first person who’d shown Janus kindness and trust when he had no incentive to do so.

Janus had understood that they were breaking the law, but it hadn’t felt real. It had all been a game, a way to prove to themself how clever they were, and if they just figured out the right way to push the puzzle pieces around, they would win—the object being to secure their brother’s happiness, no matter the cost.

Staring at King Thomas, the label traitor to the Crown suddenly felt a lot more real.

The King met Janus’s eyes for what felt like a torturous eternity but was actually less than a second. Now Janus had done it. Now King Thomas would see that he should never have trusted them in the first place. Now he would hate them and call the guards in to seize them and he would personally fire them and exile them from the kingdom, if not worse. Now—

King Thomas gave Janus a half smile. Janus’s brain turned to bewildered soup.

“Oh, Dragov,” the King said, putting a hand on the Dragon Witch’s shoulder just as the man began to turn in Janus’s direction, pulling him back so he wouldn’t see them. “I nearly forgot—would you mind grabbing a book on those, what d’you call them, you know, the more antiquated gender systems? I’ve heard some of the areas we sent invitations to are… oh, let’s call them a little traditional, it’s probably the kindest way to phrase it. I want to read up on that a bit so we can try and anticipate any likely areas where miscommunication might happen, so we can minimize that for everybody.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the Dragon Witch said, sounding only a little confused by the sudden request. He stepped away from the door and a second later was out of Janus’s sight.

King Thomas looked back at Janus, still frozen in the passageway. He glanced from them to Logan on the other side of the room, winked at them, and then turned his back.

Janus stared at him for a second more, hardly processing what had just happened at all—then they jumped into action, hastily beckoning Logan, who was already making his way towards them, shock nearly as evident on his face as it must be on Janus’s. Janus slid the passage door shut behind Logan, latched it, and followed him at a fairly breakneck speed down the passageway, their heart pounding in their ears and their hands shaking.

They’d done it. They’d done it all and gotten away with it. Patton was safe, and he and Roman had a chance now. Somehow, King Thomas had even trusted them enough to let them get away with whatever he thought they were doing. Everything had gone perfectly.

So why did they feel so nauseous, and why were they shaking so badly, and why were hot tears threatening to run down their cheeks?

(They knew why. It was because King Thomas had always trusted them, and now, more than ever, they were sure that he shouldn’t.)

reminder that janus’s pronouns are ONLY they/them in this fic! do not misgender them please!

taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @theimprobabledreamersworld @the-sympathetic-villain @crazydemigod666 @nightweirdo @emoprincey (technically u are not on this taglist rn but ik you’ve been waiting for this chapter lol)

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #thatsthat24 #loceit #janus sanders #ts janus #logan sanders #ts logan #ts fanfic #ts fic #fanfic #fanfiction #one chance to change your fate #peregrin writes #nonbinary janus #language #Innuendo

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years ago

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nobody does it like you do - act 6

The final part!! I hope this is a satisfying conclusion! Thank you so much to everyone who has reblogged/commented/shared - it has meant so much. Special thank you again to @morganofthewildfire I'd still be working away at this fic if it wasn't for you, I don't know I ever would have finished it off. Your comments and analysis helped me so much and made this fic better than I could have alone, I'm so grateful.

13k - masterlist - ao3

There are five weeks between the eventful wrap party and her first day shooting the Netflix miniseries in Antica. Five weeks for Aelin to sort her shit.

It’s ambitious, and probably unattainable, but she needs a goal.

She needs something to draw her mind away from Rifthold and the director she knows is no longer there.

She gives herself a week of self pity. A week of lying around her sparsely decorated and impersonal Orynth apartment dwelling and pointedly ignoring the headlines she knows have been released. Elide let her know only one picture was captured of her with tears in her eyes leaving the party. Only one and gods bless Elide she shut it down.

Aelin lies on her uncomfortable couch in well-worn pyjamas with unwashed hair and runs through the photos on her phone of her and Fenrys, her and Manon, and the group of them together on set doing whatever shit they used to do.

She spends more time than she should like that. She sits there until her coffee table is overflowing with takeaway wrappers and Aedion and Elide have stopped texting more than once a day. She’s awful for ignoring them but she’s still mortified.

She hasn’t been able to look Aedion in the eyes since he dropped her back at her apartment after their long flight home from Rifthold. He didn’t say much. After he managed to again get her out of the party with minimal press she had cried, curled up between Aedion and Lysandra in their bed, and he didn’t offer judgement or instruction.

He just held her, whispering words she can’t remember but appreciates anyway. Now she hasn’t replied to any of his texts.

She hasn’t texted Fenrys or Manon either. She doesn’t know what to say.

She knows Fenrys jumped immediately into another movie, an action movie she knows he’s been chomping at the bit to get training for, and Manon into the second series of her show that she’s probably too famous for now.

They’re busy. They’ll understand. At least that’s what she tells herself.

The worst thing she does in that week is pour over the photos she has of Rowan. She didn’t realise she had so many but her camera roll is full of silver and green.

There are photos of just him, looking like Rowan, tall and handsome and understatedly happy, smiling covert little smiles at Aelin behind the camera. He was used to her instructing him to pose by the end of filming, she loved snapping away as he did anything. Eating, sleeping, smiling, everything - if it was Rowan she wanted it captured.

Now every photo is a knife to the chest.

The ones of the two of them together are worse, they twist the knife, pain splicing through her until she can hardly breathe. There are pictures of their cheeks pressed together, eyes shining, some serious, some silly. In all of them Aelin can clearly see her own happiness.

She can’t stop looking at them even as tears swell in her eyes and her throat gets tight.

For one week.

Until it’s been seven days since her flight landed back in Orynth and she gets up off her couch and deletes them. She almost doesn’t, her thumb hovers over the button for a good minute before she presses down but then it’s done and they’re gone. She showers and changes her clothes, she throws away all the rubbish on her coffee table and makes a plan.

Filming the movie with all of them it was easy to feel better than she did before, surrounded by new and exciting things, new people who didn’t know her before or treat her differently because of it. It was easy to lose herself in who she was there and with them.

Now though, she’s back to real life and real life lasts for an uneventful three weeks.

She tries what she can, she reads, she runs, she bakes, she teaches herself how to knit. None of it is satisfying and it's hard to make it stick. It’s all boring and never quite captures her attention the way she hopes. Never captures her attention enough to tear it away from Rowan and Rifthold.

A week before she flies out to Antica it changes.

She stumbles upon the change, completely accidentally, and she doesn’t realise what she’s needed until it's right in front of her.

Her usual run route is obstructed by construction and so she takes a left where she usually takes a right, heading down into the west side of the city, the side she doesn’t often frequent.

She used to. She used to spend hours strolling the streets letting the warmth of the sun and Sam’s hand in hers settle into her skin as they observed the numerous bakeries and small boutiques. Thankfully the scenery appears to have changed since.

The chill breeze of the September Orynth air teases the loose strands of hair tickling her face as she comes to a stop outside the sleek shop front. The wooden panels are painted a dark, glossy black and the windows are polished so brightly they reflect what’s left of the sunlight.

Music of Mistward the sign reads in curved, white lettering.

She can see her reflection in the shop window, her cheeks flushed, hair unruly, her running gear nowhere near to what would be appropriate attire for the shop dripping in class but she can’t turn away.

A bell tinkles as she pushes through the door, her headphones gripped tight in her fist as the gentle jazz playing over the sound system greets her. She doesn’t like jazz, it’s not her thing, but along with the musk of wood in the air it’s soothing in welcoming her in.

She passes walls of guitars and violins until she reaches the instrument that caught her eye. It’s sleek, black lid propped open revealing the elegant strings, pulled tight in neat lines. The sharp contrast of the keys against each other, bright against the deep black of the case. Her fingers ghost over them, dying to press down.

She hasn’t played since those days in Rowan’s Doranelle home. She’s wanted to, longed to feel the cool keys under her fingertips and the flood of the music pouring out of her, but the cheap keyboard in her Orynth apartment wouldn’t do Rowan’s beautiful instrument justice.

Aelin would rather not play at all than attempt a cheap imitation of what she felt there.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A voice sounds behind her, low and raspy but cheerful all the same.

She turns, taking in the older man, his grey hair cut short and his classic shirt and slacks pressed crisp. She glances back to the piano before facing him fully.

“Stunning,” she breathes.

The man steps forwards and offers her his hand. She slips her hand into his and he pumps firmly as he introduces himself.

“Emrys,” he says. “Welcome to Music of Mistward.”

“Aelin,” she says, surprised to hear her voice thick.

“Great to meet you, Aelin,” Emrys says with an ancient smile. He nods towards the piano. “Do you play?”

“No,” she says and Emrys’ smile flickers. “Yes, I mean I used to. I want to,” is what she settles on.

He nods, satisfied, before taking a step closer to the piano. He runs a hand over the top, almost reverently and smiles to himself.

“Antique,” he starts, “almost one hundred years old but well loved. I acquired it recently - here we deal mostly in antique instruments, it’s a passion for both myself and my husband. The previous owner only sold it to me when she inherited it and didn’t know how to play, she wanted it to find a good home.”

He shares a smile with her as if she’s in on the joke but her breathing still hasn’t settled.

“Satin Ebony finish,” Emrys continues, “eighty-eight keys, all original but preserved to the highest quality. Accompanying bench, cut with refreshed velvet. I don’t know in all my years I’ve seen such a fine instrument as old as this.”

Aelin glances back to the piano, it’s big, it won’t fit in her apartment in Orynth but she doesn’t care. She can… adjust. She hasn’t felt a pull like this in a while, she doesn’t want to deny it when she does.

“How much?” she almost demands from the man in front of her.

He appraises her and she knows what he sees. Her bedraggled state and the tension through her shoulders doesn’t give the impression of someone with this much cash to throw around. She abruptly ignores that the way she probably can afford this is because of Rowan’s movie.

When he doesn’t speak she repeats herself, more firmly. “How much?”

“Our price includes delivery and tuning on arrival.” He seems apprehensive of telling her the truth. Aelin waits.

When he finally reveals the figure Aelin blinks. And then she extends her hand. “I’ll take it.”

To his credit Emrys just nods, shaking her hand. “You don’t want to at least play it first?”

Aelin feels the smirk she hasn’t worn in a while creep onto her face. “Is there a risk you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

Emrys returns her smile, a playful glint in his eye. “Not a chance, Aelin. Please follow me to the register where I can take your details.”

Aelin almost stumbles. Almost, but then recovers.

“Any chance I can pay a deposit and then let you know where you’ll be delivering sometime soon?”

Emrys winks knowingly. “Absolutely.”

She follows him to the counter, signs away part of a disgustingly large total of money but leaves with a sense of satisfaction. It’s an accomplishment, a step for purely selfish reasons.

The first thing she does when she leaves the shop is call Elide.

Aelin meets her new therapist two days before she flies out to Antica.

She hasn’t called her old one in months and thinks that’s probably a sign. And she’s all about changes at the moment.

She isn’t shooting in Antica for too long, only a couple of months until she’s back in Orynth and then back to Rifthhold for press. Her stomach drops everytime the thought wanders into her head.

She’s excited to be back in Rifthold, but the company is daunting.

Fenrys and Manon will easily be pissed at her disappearance. She knows Manon will play aloof but she also knows she’ll be upset, Fenrys too. Aelin didn’t mean to hurt them, didn’t mean to drop off the face of the Earth, and she knows she’s let them down but Fenrys and Manon remind her of Rowan. She couldn’t trust the conversation not to eventually steer towards him and Aelin isn’t ready for that.

Their break-up feels weirdly anticlimactic. After everything they built to, Aelin just dipped.

She knows it seems that way to Rowan at least. She hasn’t texted him, or rang him or anything since the party. She’s wanted to, wanted more than anything to hear his voice as she cried, but it’s not fair to him to drag it out and she knows that. She knew when she drew the line she had to stay on her side of it, no matter how much it hurt.

She had cried until her head pounded and her throat was raw. She cried until her eyes itched with no tears left to fall, until all that came out of her was hoarse screeches as she ached to hear him call her Fireheart one last time.

But no one needs to know that, she had kept it as hidden as she could.

She definitely didn’t need any more paparazzi pictures of her with red-rimmed eyes looking downtrodden. She couldn’t bear the thought of Rowan, or worse her mother, seeing them.

She knows Fenrys and Manon; Aedion, Lysandra and Elide would see through her flimsy excuses and so it was easier to stay quiet.

She’s not thinking about facing them yet. She supposes that will be something that likely comes up with this new therapist, but so far on her own, she’s choosing avoidance.

She gets Maeve’s number from Dorian, and she comes highly recommended by a number of Dorian’s other high profile clients. She’s well-versed in non-disclosure agreements, secret sessions and back street exits; she feels like the perfect fit for Aelin.

Unofficially, Dorian lets her know Maeve takes no shit, and that’s also just what Aelin needs.

They agree to online sessions while she’s in Antica, but Maeve recommended an initial meeting and Aelin is open to all of her suggestions.

Their first hour is not directly her most life changing but it’s a start.

“Welcome, Aelin,” Maeve says, sweeping an arm out towards the firm-looking, orange couch in the centre of the room.

Aelin takes a seat, mutters her thanks and glances around the room.

The room should feel cold with the exposed brick and minimalistic decor, the only furniture being the couch Aelin perches on, the almost regal armchair Maeve reclines in and a lamp, but it doesn’t and she gets comfortable tucking her feet beneath her thighs and leaning against the arm.

“So,” Maeve begins, surveying her in the way only a true professional can. “Let’s get started.”

Aelin feels bare beneath her gaze, and like everything about Maeve and her practise it should be unnerving but she just blinks against the scrutiny.

“Why are you here today? You could start with sharing why you have made this appointment.”

And isn’t that the million gold-mark question?

Aelin takes a deep breath through her nose and raises her chin.

“I don’t want to move backwards,” she admits. “Or maybe I just want to know I’ve actually moved forwards.”

Maeve’s expression stays calm, but Aelin knows she’d be smirking if she could. She’s well aware of how therapy works but even so, speaking her thoughts aloud can help to verify them in her own mind.

Aelin hopes so at least.

Their hour is over quickly and Aelin is resolved that Maeve is a good fit, reassured in Dorian’s claim that the woman takes no shit. Her all-knowing assessment of Aelin should have been unsettling but the frank dissection is what she needs.

Online therapy, especially fitting it around shooting might be a challenge but it’s for the best. As much as she values her independence and standing on her own two feet, Aelin is big enough to admit that facing her mother again may require some professional guidance. Seeing Rowan too, but again, she’s not thinking about that yet.

Antica is hot and Aelin is sweaty within seconds of stepping out of the air-conditioned luxury of the airport. That feeling lasts the entire time she’s there, disrupting the otherwise enjoyable time she has shooting the series.

Her new co-stars are fine, they invite her out with them and make her smile but she can’t help as though a part of her is always comparing them to who and what she left in Rifthold. Aelin tries her best to enjoy her time there with them, she hosts dinner parties and invites them to a game of Aedion’s but nothing quite hits the same as her time spent on The Crescent City.

She rationalises it to Maeve, that The Crescent City was a big turning point in her life and that it has nothing to do with Rowan, Fenrys or Manon, but she’s not sure she even believes it herself.

She spends the rest of her time in Antica trying to convince herself, and Maeve, that she’s moving past it. That she’s moving forwards or else she’ll move backwards. She’s not sure how much of it is futile.

The Crescent City is done, whether she likes it or not, and she can’t deny it changed her in ways she didn’t expect. It’s a hard pill to swallow that maybe it changed her beyond return to how she was before. She also can’t quite figure out whether she thinks that’s a bad thing or not.

They have a dinner for the core cast and crew, including Rowan, once they’re all back in Rifthold for the beginning of the press cycle. They have one night to reacquaint before they’re shoved into the whirlwind that is interviews, photoshoots and promotion.

She’s seen the trailer already and it’s just as she expected but more. It’s dark and dreary with flashes of brightness from herself and Fenrys and she’d want to watch it if she chanced a viewing as a member of the public.

What is surreal, is to see herself in a polished version of the film they were creating. Or at least a part of it.

She said each of the lines, rehearsed them over and over until they fell off her tongue without thought, but she still doesn’t recognise the girl in the trailer. A droplet of pride slips down her chest at the realisation that it’s not Aelin in the trailer but Feyre. She knows she’s good, has known it all along, but the realisation and reaffirmation is ecstasy better than any drug.

She hovers outside the restaurant, watching through the window, needing a couple more seconds before she submits herself to the assault of them all again. She still hasn’t replied to either Fenrys or Manon and the thought presses on her like lead but it’s too late to change that now.

If she’s honest she’s concerning herself with Fenrys and Manon in the hopes of distracting herself from the fact that she’s seconds away from Rowan. Seconds away from him in the flesh, his solid body in front of her that she had learned almost as well as her own.

Her palms are clammy and she wipes them against the fabric of her trousers. The upcoming interviews and photoshoots will all be styled for her and so she’s relishing in her last moments for a while of truly dressing like Aelin.

She takes a step towards the restaurant door, the tip of her trainer bumping the wood when a voice sounds behind her.

“Well, hello there, Stranger.”

Aelin braces herself, hand paused outstretched where it had been reaching for the door.

She turns, biting her lip as she faces Fenrys. He looks the same as he did, skin still golden, eyes still dancing with mischief, but his golden curls are trimmed shorter than the last time she saw him. His expression is carefully blank.

“I- Hi… um,” she stumbles over the words. “I’ve missed you.”

Fenrys breaks almost immediately. “Oh thank the fucking gods.”

He surges forwards and wraps her into a tight hug. Aelin clings to him, fighting the tears in her eyes as she buries her face in his chest. She’s gone far too long without this, without him, and it’s all her own fault.

“Do you have any idea how much I missed you?” Fenrys asks. “Oh wait, no you don’t. I’m assuming your phone broke, or was stolen or something since you never replied to any of my texts letting you know.”

Aelin knows her cheeks are stained pink. “I’m sorry,” she admits.

“I know.” His voice softens, losing the teasing edge as he presses a gentle kiss to her cheek.

He pauses before he speaks again, his eyes running over her face. “You could have texted me anytime, you know. Manon too. I know you might forget or try to convince yourself otherwise, but we are your friends. You could have called us about literally anything.”

Aelin feels like she could cry. She’s not sure that she isn’t.

“It doesn’t have to be about anything serious, especially not related to the movie,” or Rowan he doesn’t say but Aelin hears it. “We just wanted to hear your stupid voice.”

Aelin pouts. “My voice isn’t stupid.”

She pokes her tongue out as he rolls his eyes, easily falling back into the dynamic they had shaped a few months ago.

“Not what I meant,” he says before pausing, taking her in as she stands in front of him. “You can’t lose us that easily, you know. We’re like rats or fleas or something. Hard to get rid of.”

“Nice,” she comments, but her chest is tight at his words.

He smiles at her before adding, “and you had fucking better text me back.”

Aelin laughs through the sniffles he’s kindly ignoring. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and finds his contact. Hi she sends and feels his phone buzz against her.

“Much better,” he says and releases her from his arms. “Now, are you ready for a night of the finest dining all on the studio credit card?”

Aelin laughs again. “Lead the way.”

He shoots her a wink and waltzes ahead to hold the door open for her.

Fenrys’ presence shouldn’t reassure her the way it does, especially after the way she has treated him but she clings to him anyway. He’s her buffer for now, a crutch for tonight and tonight only. Once tonight is over and tomorrow begins she and Rowan can be professional, they managed it for months during filming and this should be no different.

Rowan still looks the way he did the night she broke his heart.

His silver hair falls elegantly over his forehead as he bends his head to talk to Manon, the pair of them are engrossed in a conversation as she and Fenrys walk over, not spotting them yet. She loves his hair, loves the thick silver waves and the way they feel between her fingers. She loves the way any attempt he makes to arrange the thick strands is never quite able to tame the beast. She loves the shirt he has on, with the sleeves rolled up exposing inches of tanned skin and dark ink, the same worn green cotton she wore numerous times around his living room all those months ago. She can still remember the feel of it against her bare skin.

His smile is the same, his green eyes crinkling as his lips barely part as he does his best to hold it back.

His smile is the same until he spots her.

He catches sight of her when she reaches the table and his smile drops, the shutters closing over his expression so fast she wouldn’t know he knew how to smile had she not just seen it.

It tears her chest in two and any attempt at a smile on her part is futile. It’s all she can do to make it to her seat without stumbling and she’s sure she misses any other greetings she gets as she slumps onto the chair opposite Manon. She absently notes Fenrys dropping in at her side.

She can’t look away from Rowan, her eyes scanning to try and find anything that distinguishes him from the man she loved all those months ago. She finds nothing. He’s still Rowan and Aelin still… fuck.

He recovers before she does, ever the collected courtier, clearing his throat and nodding.

“Aelin,” he says and she adores the sound of her name on his tongue.

“Hi Rowan,” she manages and hears how weak she sounds. Rowan hears it too. She can tell from the purse of his lips and the tension in the hand he rests along the back of Manon’s chair.

Aelin allows her eyes to drift to Manon and she finally catches the thunderous expression the younger girl wears.

“Hi,” she whispers and Manon blinks.

“Hi?” Manon repeats incredulously.

Aelin is fucked.

“Five months and I get a hi?”

It’s loud and a few heads turn their way. It’s simultaneously mortifying and everything Aelin deserves.

“I’m sorry,” she says plainly.

She could lie, make up some useless excuses but in the end there’s nothing else but the truth and if Manon wants her to grovel she will, she’s just not sure this is the time or place.

Fenrys shares her thoughts. “Later, Manon,” he says, gently.

Rowan’s eyes stay firmly glued to the tablecloth as Manon frowns, seemingly unwilling to let it go.

After a few seconds, seconds Aelin spends waiting for the ground to open up and swallow her, Manon nods. She nods and turns to Fenrys, demanding to know what he’s ordering. And just like that Aelin has a moment to catch her breath.

She knew this dinner wouldn’t be easy, knew she’d be walking into the lion's den of her own making, but she hadn’t expected it to be as hard. Hadn’t expected seeing Rowan to feel like a slap, hadn’t expected Manon’s hurt to scrape across her skin leaving her raw.

She tries not to think she deserves it, Maeve would only raise a brow as if to say we’ve been over this. The thought is sobering, and she manages to lift her head.

It is what it is, what’s done is done and she can only apologise and move forwards.

As much as she tries to resist, Aelin finds herself watching Rowan throughout the night. It’s scary how familiar he feels, he should feel like a stranger, but he feels like she knows him too well. He laughs when she expects, rolls his eyes when she predicts. He orders what she thought he would and he sips away at an orange juice the way he did the first dinner they all had together.

Aelin already feels so different than she did the last time she was in Rifthold and he seems unchanged.

She observes for most of the night, feeling drained despite her minimal contributions to the conversations. She speaks when spoken to and actively avoids speaking when Rowan does, she definitely doesn’t respond to anything he says even though she wants to at least twice and wants to laugh a couple more.

She makes it through and clings to Fenrys again as they all leave, linking her arm through his as they leave the restaurant. He knows what she’s doing but graciously guides her out of the building. Once on the pavement outside the restaurant he pauses and turns to her.

“What hotel are you staying in while you’re here?”

The rest of the group are milling about, calling taxis and bidding their farewells. Aelin doesn’t know how she’s getting back yet, she’s assuming she’ll split a ride with someone.

“Um, the Glass Castle, I think,” she says, desperately trying to recall the name of the hotel she dumped her bags in a few hours earlier.

“Boo,” Fenrys laughs, pointing his thumb down. “They’ve got me in the Torre Cesme. Think I’m ages away from you.”

Aelin laughs, disappointed but ready to order her own taxi back when a voice she didn’t expect sounds.

“I’ve just ordered a cab to the Glass Castle, I’m staying there too. You can jump in if you want.”

Rowan.

She shoots Fenrys a panicked look but his expression is pure glee.

“That would be great thanks, Boss,” Fenrys says, shrugging his arm out of hers and nudging her towards Rowan.

“No problem, Boyo.” Rowan offers Fenrys a dark grin at the nickname and the sight of it stills her. It’s new, he used to roll his eyes whenever Fenrys would drop it into conversation, but now Rowan’s playing along. And the grin, the curl of the lips and the narrowing of the eyes, it’s sexy as fuck.

It’s only taken one night and she’s back in the danger zone. She doesn’t want to be, hell, she wants him to take her back to his hotel room and peel off her clothes but this is Rowan. She’s spent the last few months trying to get over him, falling into bed with him the first night she sees him again would not likely be defined as progress.

He’s also not likely to want that after what she did.

“You don’t have to,” she says. The first direct thing she’s said to him since their greeting.

“I know.” A slight shrug of his broad shoulders. “But we’re going to the same place, it wouldn’t seem logical to take different cars.”

Logic. That’s all it is.

“Right.” She doesn’t think she’s ever felt so awkward with him, not even at the start. “Thank you,” she says, following him to the car.

Fenrys shoots her a grin as he slips into his own taxi. Traitor.

Rowan holds the door open for her and slips in behind her. She tries not to think anything of the fact he could have easily taken the front seat.

The ride is silent apart from the easy chit chat he makes with the driver, another thing she’s not sure she noticed him do before, and she stares out the window as the city passes by. The streets of Rifthold are not her home but she feels a brightness as she glances down the curving roads, spotting groups of people milling about enjoying the night.

She knows the first call she made to Elide in weeks was the right call. Elide is the only person she’d trust with her bank account and access to real estate listings. The link to the flat her friend had sent over has stayed open in her browser since she got it.

It’s modern with classic twists, situated in a recently renovated old warehouse with miles of exposed brick and rustic wooden panelling. She loves the master bedroom the most, with its adjoining en suite with a huge bathtub she can picture herself soaking in. She has a viewing booked in two days but doubts she’ll even need it.

It’s not long before the taxi pulls up outside the hotel and she follows Rowan through the glass doors. He presses the button for the lifts and Aelin shifts in the awkward silence.

Awkward is not something she’s used to with Rowan. Or it wasn’t before.

The doors slide open and again she follows him inside.

He pauses with a hand hovering over the buttons for the floors. “Which floor?”

“Nine.”

Aelin hates these one word exchanges compared to the hours they used to share talking about everything and nothing. She can’t believe this is the man she was so vulnerable with.

His short huff of laughter drags her gaze to his face.

“What?”

“Makes sense,” is what he says, shaking his head and pressing only the button for the ninth floor.

The ride takes seconds, a minute at most, filled with the silence between them.

When the doors open to the ninth floor she steps out, determined not to follow him again, and she feels him follow her. Even now she’s so aware of his powerful body and the way he moves it. She shouldn’t be so attracted to the power emanating from him, from the breadth of his shoulders to the sureness of his steps. She wants him, doesn’t think she ever stopped, except now he’s the forbidden fruit. Forbidden only by her own actions.

She reaches her door, room 905, but pauses with her key tucked in her hand.

“Thanks for letting me share your cab,” she says, finding herself desperate not to say goodbye yet. “I can transfer you for half.”

That finally, finally, cracks a whisper of a smile but she’s not sure she enjoys his laughter if it’s at her. “Don’t worry about it.”

That should be the end of it, she should open her door and shut it behind her, they have a few weeks ahead of them that will be hard enough without any complications.

She left him and he seems gracious enough to have mostly moved past it.

“It was good to see you, Aelin,” he says, seemingly unwilling to let the night end as well. She doesn’t let the seed of hope sprout because what would be the point?

Nevertheless, Aelin smiles, leaning back against her door.

Rowan continues, “even if I wasn’t sure how the night was going to go.”

Her attention is spiked. “What do you mean?”

She can’t lie, a part of her expects him to back down at the edge to her voice. He doesn’t.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to pretend nothing ever happened between us.”

She blinks, giving herself a second to process.

Maybe this isn’t the same Rowan from all those months ago. That night he let her walk away from him, gods know she needed it, but a dark little part of her had wanted him to fight her harder. Fight harder for her. When he hadn’t she’d taken it as her sign.

She knows the expectation was toxic, if he had fought her it would have only pissed her off, but she wishes she’d had someone to tell her it was the wrong choice. It would have helped to hear in the moment, rather than be faced with Rowan months down the line that she wants and can’t have.

The Rowan in front of her, the third Rowan she’s known, stares her down. His eyes peel away each of the layers she’s worked with Maeve for months to don in a second.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

It’s honest and maybe she’s not the same Aelin as a few months ago either.

That’s what she had asked for that night in the cool air, to move past them with as little commotion as possible, stirring up as little attention as they could. She hadn’t wanted to let them eclipse the movie and yet that ended up being exactly what she had accomplished.

Now though, Aelin knows better.

Rowan nods as his eyes dart across her face. He seems to step closer without realising. Aelin notes the motion, still so aware of him and his proximity to her.

His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip. “I was so angry at you for leaving.”

Aelin loses her breath at his confession.

Eventually she manages, “was?”

He looks away from her, glancing down the dark hallway, his jaw tight. When she’s with him she forgets about the world around them, there’s probably-definitely-CCTV in this hallway but he’s here and she can’t let him go yet.

His fists curl and uncurl as he takes a deep breath.

“Was,” he says shortly. “I was so angry at you, the way you did what you did was shit.”

Aelin swallows. He’s not wrong.

“I know.”

“But now I don’t know.” She lifts her eyes to his, swimming in the openness she doesn’t deserve. And fuck that. That is such bullshit. She meets his stare, returning all that he isn’t saying. “I spent a long time thinking about it, thinking about you, and it took me a while but now I get it.”

That hurts more than she expects. She didn’t expect him to be all over her the minute they reunited but his understanding was always a kicker.

“I know why you did it,” he continues. “And that took most of the wind out of my sails.”

Aelin frowns. He can’t possibly know why.

“I don’t think you do.” He tilts his head, an invitation for her to expand. “Or you’d know that nothing has changed.”

“Hasn’t it?”

His question throws her. Completely.

She tilts her head up to look at him, closer to her than he’s been all night, pushing her to keep being honest with him.

She’s dazed being this close to him again after so long, the green of his eyes stronger than she remembers. Or maybe her brain had assured her the memory of him couldn’t have been real.

“I don’t know,” she admits, unable to fight the way her body leans into him.

His teeth graze his lower lip and she follows the motion.

He’s silent for a beat too long and her skin is thrumming under his attention. She doesn’t know how she’s gone this long without him, she doesn’t know how she thought she’d survive never having him again.

“Let me know when you figure it out,” he says finally, drawing back and a rush of cool air fills the space he had taken. “Goodnight Aelin.”

He turns and she watches his back down the hallway. He slips easily into a room a few doors down and she’s left watching the path he’d taken, feeling the weight of his eyes on her lips.

Her head thuds against the door as she screws her eyes shut. She wants to scream, wants to chase him down the hall, wants to fly back to Orynth where she was safe.

She doesn’t do any of those things.

She tucks herself into her hotel room and readies herself for the whirlwind that’s about to hit. These next few weeks are going to be hard, not just dealing with the Rowan situation, but she can’t fight the excitement she feels.

Fuck. She’s back in Rifthold, back where she loves, doing what she was born to do.

This is big. She can feel it.

The Crescent City is not her first project, and so she’s been a part of press cycles before, she knows how they go. What she doesn’t know is how a press cycle for something like this works.

The only word she can find is insanity.

There are somehow earlier mornings than they had while shooting and often longer days. She gets poked and prodded in hair and make-up for hours before they spend all day sat in a hotel room filming repetitive interviews for various magazines.

She and Fenrys are genuinely friends and yet they still have to put on a show in front of the cameras. She plays up her laughter when he cracks a joke and he makes sure to never look away from her for longer than two seconds when she speaks or a producer behind the camera makes a comment.

She loves Fenrys but it’s exhausting. Her only blessing is that for most of her engagements she’s with Fenrys and Manon with Rowan conducting his own interviews separately as she had hoped.

Sometimes though, given their relatively similar ages and general level of chemistry, they get grouped together.

The four of them are filming a video for Buzzfeed, filling in a quiz to find out which character from The Crescent City they’re most like. She’s unsurprised to discover her result is Rhysand and it’s fun even if her heart does pound every time she has to act like she’s unfazed and friendly with Rowan.

There’s a moment, just a moment, where she almost breaks from her friendly and unbothered interview persona. It’s her turn to read the question, what item could you not survive without on a desert island?

It’s Rowan that speaks. “Her shampoo,” he says, “it’s jasmine.”

There’s a split second where she doesn’t speak, where all she can do is stare at Rowan, stunned that he remembered and thought to mention it now.

In that split second she’s transported back to memories of them together in the shower at her rented apartment, kissing lazily under the spray after spending hours between her sheets. She remembers dumping the shampoo into her hand and then onto his head, massaging his thick locks and surrounding them in the scent of jasmine.

She remembers how he kissed her neck as she did, trailing his hands over her silky curves, slick with the soap, with his kisses building in heat until her hands dropped to his shoulders. He’d lavished kisses down her chest until he’d jerked back, shampoo in his eyes and she’d laughed until he was safe and pressed his lips again to hers, continuing where he’d left off.

She’s shocked he’d bring this up when there’s a camera on the two of them and she can only imagine the comments it will spark. She’s not sure she cares if it keeps Rowan’s eyes on her.

“It’s luxurious for a reason,” she says when she recovers, tossing her thick locks over her shoulder. “Well worth it.”

She doesn’t miss the flicker in his own mask at her comment.

That kind of interaction will no doubt ignite the sparks she’d only ever wanted to avoid.

As the press cycle goes on and on, and they get closer and closer to the premiere it only becomes harder for her conviction to hold.

She tests her own argument, the clear line she drew in the sand, when she manages to keep it professional with Rowan and she’s not sure where that leaves her. She had thought they would overshadow everything about the project and now she’s not sure.

She said nothing had changed and he had challenged her.

She’s still not sure who’s in the right.

Everything is simultaneously completely new and exactly the same. Rowan is still gorgeous, still charming in his own reserved way, still almost reverent when he talks about his craft throughout interviews. He still talks with his hands and Aelin still can’t draw her eyes away from their motions, she still craves the touch of them on her skin. He’s still seven years older than her and the director of her big break.

Yet there are differences.

They’re still often on the same page, offering similar answers and backing each other up but now he never backs down from a challenge. Now he doesn’t hold back those comments she knows he was always dying to let slip. She should be annoyed, everytime he drops a line that pushes her to expand a little part of her wants to roll her eyes.

She doesn’t though. Her blood heats and her skin prickles. She loves this with him. Loves the dance they play, the teasing, verbal games that shouldn’t start her off but do. She loves the smirk he wears when they end up down that path, and she knows she wears it’s mirror image.

She always ends up squirming in her seat and it should be wrong but it isn’t. The cameras can’t see below their chests and the flush in her cheeks could easily be from the warmth of the day.

She’s beginning to wonder if she’s powerless against Rowan Whitethorn. If she’s powerless against the green of his eyes or the curl of his accent. The slant of his brows or the points of his teeth when he smiles.

She doesn’t know that it’s just one thing. It’s all of the things, it’s all of him, and more so than ever she’s completely fucked.

But they aren’t talking outside of the interviews and photoshoots, and the knowledge of which hotel room is his itches her toes every night. It would be so easy to sneak down the hall, to knock on the door and slot her lips to his when he opened.

It’s only a couple of nights before the premiere when the temptation becomes too much. She’s been around Rowan all day, surrounded by the smell of his aftershave, the notes of pine and freshness and Rowan and it’s too much. She strides down the hallway, resolved in her decision and closes her fingers over the button for the lift.

She needs to be elsewhere or she’ll make some bad decisions.

She’s come so far, survived months without him, she can’t cave due to proximity.

The hotel bar is deserted when she walks in and makes a beeline to the bartender. Yeah, maybe after her wobble at the wrap party a bar isn’t the best decision she could make but her options are limited. Trying to sleep with Rowan is, after all, probably the worst of both options.

“Just a sparkling water please,” she says to the barman who nods and returns a moment later.

“Put it on my tab.” A voice from the end of the bar.

A laugh bubbles out of her chest as she closes her fingers around her glass. Of course he’s here. She should have spotted Rowan the minute she walked in and it’s cruel that the reason she didn’t was that her thoughts were too wrapped up in him.

“Be careful what you sign up for,” she says as she walks over, her steps measured as she comes to a stop before him. Her hips swing of their own accord and his eyes dart up and down the length of her. “I can put a number of these away.”

The smile he gives her is surprisingly unguarded. It seems he’s done holding himself back too. Aelin loves it.

“I don’t doubt it,” he says, nodding at the stool next to him. She obliges as he speaks again. “It’s hard to switch off sometimes.”

He’s always on the same page as she is. Aelin shrugs, taking a sip of the drink he bought her.

They’re quiet for a moment, both unsure of how to break the silence between them when one of the last things they knew was the taste of each other’s lips.

“I keep thinking I’ll get used to it, that one day this will just be my job, but I never do,” Aelin says eventually, tracing a fingertip through the condensation gathered on her glass.

Rowan nods, smiling softly down at the bar and taking a sip of his own drink. An orange juice as usual.

“It’s hard to sleep at the end of days like today,” he says. “It’s why I’m in here.”

The bar is dark at the late hour, and quiet with no one else in there but them and the bartender. There’s something about the late hour, the darkness and the stillness surrounding them a break from the recent rush, that feels a little bit too close. She feels a little too exposed under the weight of his gaze but she rolls her shoulders back and leans an elbow on the bar as she turns towards him.

“I thought you’d be used to all of this by now,” she says and he cocks his head.

“Why?” His question is coy, begging her to expand.

“This is not your first rodeo and all of that,” she says with a smile.

Rowan laughs softly, the sound curving around her like an embrace.

“It can still be overwhelming after your first big movie,” he says gently, but with an edge to his voice that she needs to immediately get rid of.

“I don’t doubt that,” is what she whispers and his brow seems to soften, sensing her lack of malice.

She hates the way they’re in the position where he assumes the worst of her. She has to make that change.

“I don’t think if I get to do this for the rest of my life that it would ever feel normal.”

“No,” Rowan agrees, “I don’t think it could.”

“So then we need this film to do well.” Aelin shifts on the stool, finding herself leaning closer to him without conscious thought. He doesn’t retreat. He stands his ground until they’re only inches apart. “Lest we find ourselves fading into obscurity.”

“I doubt you ever could,” he says with a laugh and it’s the best thing she’s ever heard.

As he looks at her, his expression soft in the dim light, his smile holds something special for her and her chest lifts that she managed it. That he was willing to give that to her.

“My agent sent over the initial critic reviews earlier,” he says and her stomach plummets.

“And?” she demands, her voice wobbling slightly. Her confidence from a minute ago vanished.

This is the moment where she could sink, the moment this could all be over.

“And they’re good,” he almost whispers.

“Good,” she repeats and it’s not a question but he nods.

She wants to throw herself at him at the news, a couple of months ago she wouldn’t have even hesitated, but now she sits clenching her fists and trying not to smile too wide. It feels like a waste. She’ll never get this feeling again.

She turns to him and he’s smiling so she does what she’s wanted to for months. Aelin leans forwards and wraps an arm over his shoulders, pressing her chest to his.

His arms slip up slowly over her shoulders at first, unsure but gaining confidence as he tightens his grip around her, drawing her further into his chest. Aelin laughs a little, throwing her other arm around him and resting her face against his shoulder.

It’s not enough, it never could be with him, but it will do. She’s just happy he didn’t push her away.

Eventually, after a length of time that feels far too short, she pulls back to see him gazing down at her with an expression she can’t name. His brows are drawn in with his lips gently parted. He’s happy but apprehensive, open but distant. Aelin will take what she can and the distance between them has always been too far.

She wants nothing more than to close it, to draw herself into him and he into her, but she can’t. They’re here for one thing and one thing only and she refuses after what they’ve been through to mess it up again.

She knows he can read her own expression but she doesn’t care. She’ll hide from everyone and anyone but she’s realising she could never hide from him.

She wants Rowan, will probably want him for the rest of her life, but she made the call and he’s wrong, things haven’t changed.

Apart from all of the things that have.

The day of the premiere Aelin feels sick.

Her stomach twists and she tosses and turns all night and the dark circles under her eyes are brutal as a result. Her make-up artist tuts but diligently packs concealer on until Aelin looks well rested. Or as close as she can.

She’s trying not to think of the stretch of carpet she’ll have to walk tonight, a smile plastered across her face as she poses for the hundreds of cameras. Their premiere is one of the biggest of the season and, along with Fenrys, she’s the star.

She’ll have nowhere to hide.

Aelin sits in front of her mirror, her hair and make-up are done but she’s yet to get dressed. She takes herself in, making sure to note every strand of hair to every line of her lips, feeling as though she needs to remember this moment. The moment before it all explodes.

They’ve been building to this for almost a year now and this is as close to a culmination as she’ll get.

Her dress is something fierce. Endless, flowing velvet in the darkest shade of black. Long sleeves and a fitted bodice with an almost indecent dip in the back. The dress would be modest without that cut out, she can’t wear any underwear it dips so low.

It would be a simple dress, some might even dare to say boring, if it weren’t for the back. The majority of the fabric that remains is covered in gold embroidery taking the form of a dragon, coiled to strike. Aelin adored the dress the moment her stylist revealed it to her. She didn’t consider any of the other dresses, didn’t even acknowledge them as options.

The dress is what she needs, something strong, something to help her hold her head up high. She can walk the red carpet and stare down every single person who doubted her and know that they were wrong.

Aelin doesn’t need their approval. She doesn’t need the reassurance of faceless commenters, she doesn’t need the support of the magazines and the newspapers. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. On anything.

Aelin is confident and self-assured and she can walk the red carpet knowing that.

Her sessions with Maeve have helped to reassure her stance, but she’s realising day by day she’s known it all along. It’s just taken a little bit of digging to uncover it.

She slips into her dress and it slides on like a second skin. She takes in her appearance, the arch of her brow and the red smirk of her lips makes her look intriguing, like a confident young woman.

Aelin was born to be an actress but she’s proud to say the sight in the mirror is real.

She poses for a few photos before she’s led out of her room and into the car, waiting to take her to the theatre.

She spends the ride in silence, barely listening to the jabbering of the aide in the car with her, and she focuses her thoughts on the calm before the storm. She takes deep breaths and centres herself the way Maeve has taught, she knows this could so easily be overwhelming but she’s determined to enjoy it.

The car stills and she can hear the noise of the crowd outside. She takes a final deep breath and allows her lips to spread into a smile. This one is genuine, nothing forced about it, and she pauses for one last beat.

This is big and Aelin is ready.

The car door opens and the sound hits her like a wave, slamming down onto her and it's so loud she can hardly think.

This is it. This is the moment she has dreamed of.

The nights where this image was all she could cling to to make it through could never have compared to how it feels standing here now, screams of her own name wrapping around her and urging her on.

Her steps are slow and purposeful as she glides down the path forged for her, the red carpet beneath her stilettos is plush and bright. She pauses where she’s instructed, rolling her shoulders back and smirking at the cameras with a hand on her hip.

She knows she looks incredible and the shouts of the photographers do nothing to change her mind. They are here for her, they’re all here for what she has accomplished, along with Fenrys, Manon, Chaol and Rowan and everyone else involved.

There are so many forces upon her, the flashing of the lights, the screams and shouts calling her name or Fenrys’, the magnitude of what this is could knock down a lesser individual but all it does is raise Aelin up.

She’s been through worse than this and survived, she’ll stare down the lense of all of these cameras, of everyone who has ever spoken her name and she won’t cower, she won’t just survive. She’ll thrive.

A warm hand lands on her waist and somehow the flashes of the cameras explode.

“Hey, golden girl.” Fenrys’ words are almost hard to hear even though his lips brush her ear. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Aelin wraps her arm around his back and grins, “I thought I’d at least show my face.”

He returns her smile and together they pose for the cameras, their shoulders back and smiles confident. She’s not sure this could be better.

Until she turns slightly to her left and gets flashes of silver where she and Fenrys are gold.

Rowan and Manon, posing for their own pictures mere metres away. He looks spectacular, the deep black of his tuxedo doing nothing but bringing out the depth of his tan and the shine of his silver hair.

He’s smiling his public smile and it’s gorgeous even though it’s not her favourite of his smiles, she loves the private ones he used to save just for her, and her own smile falters at the sight.

She’s here with Fenrys and it’s not wrong but it doesn’t feel right. The arm around her waist shouldn’t belong to Fenrys.

She should be where Manon is, smiling up at Rowan while they marvel at what they’ve accomplished. She knows her smile has dropped and she fumbles for anything to plaster onto her expression other than the longing she feels for Rowan.

As if she’d called his name he turns to her, green colliding with blue, and she knows he feels the same.

And that hurts far more than all of the months they spent apart.

All the months she spent hurting, trying to deny what she always knew, trying to pretend that they were anything other than a force of nature. They had been an eclipse, threatening to over take all of this but she was wrong. Rowan was wrong too.

It doesn’t matter whether everything or nothing has changed because she wasn’t right in the first place.

She should have known better than to think that whatever flimsy decision she made could halt what they were, what they should be.

She can only hope he forgives her. She can only hope he feels the same.

But the thing about this new Rowan is that she can’t read him the way she used to read her Rowan, she can’t tell if the way he steels himself and turns away from her is a dismissal or if the look they shared had been just as painful for him as it had been for her.

“A masterpiece.” - Rifthold Reporter

“Fenrys Moonbeam shines alongside Aelin Ashryver in The Crescent City. See our full review here.” - Wyrd Stone

“Latest Rowan Whitethorn flick smashes Box Office records.” - Valg Weekly

“Unapologetic, daring and thought provoking. Award nominations expected to follow for The Crescent City.” - Terrasen Tribune

Her phone has not stopped buzzing for the past four days.

Dorian texts every waking hour with the updates he gets, the numbers coming in and all her latest offers. It’s surreal. She knew they were good but she’s not sure she ever really expected this. Aedion texts her a picture every time he sees or hears her name, it should be terrifying the frequency with which he texts her but she has to fight back her smile each time he does.

She managed to find an hour the night before to call Lysandra and the majority of their call had consisted of Aelin repeatedly asking what the fuck was happening while Lysandra cackled down the phone.

She’d even got a text from Lorcan. It was alright, he’d written. Followed by, I hope I die before ever having to watch you make out with someone like that again.

She’d sent three middle finger emojis and a kissy face in response.

Now is probably not the best time to move to a different country but she’d signed her name on the papers two days before the premiere and Rifthold is calling, irrespective of the fact she’s only been back in Orynth for two days.

Most of her stuff headed out yesterday with the moving company leaving Aelin with two suitcases to fly back to Rifthold with tomorrow.

There’s one last place she needs to go before she heads back to finally get a good night's sleep before her flight tomorrow. She’s never set foot in this graveyard before, she’s never had the courage to dare before, but she’s emboldened. By the success of the movie, by her progress in the past year, by her sessions with Maeve. This has felt like a natural step.

The shining, black headstone is understated and classy and completely to his taste.

Sam Cortland. Beloved son and brother, taken far too soon.

Aelin waits with her head bowed, allowing all of her emotions to rush through her veins. She doesn’t fight them, it would be pointless to try, and she embraces the tears that gather. Eventually she steps forwards, placing the smooth, small stone on the crest of the headstone.

She rests her hand on the cool stone for a moment before sinking down and crossing her legs beneath her as she leans against it.

“I’ve missed you,” she says aloud, “I can almost hear you telling me to stop being such a sappy shit. I can’t help it, it’s been too long since I’ve seen you.”

She pauses, letting the wind drift through the field sweeping her words away.

There’s no one else here but her and Sam, no one else she’d want to hear her confession.

“I wonder what you would have made of all this. I think you’d tell me to enjoy it all, to not miss a moment, and I’m not. I’m just choosing the ones I want to savour. And this is one of them, Sam. I wish you’d been there with me, you would have loved it, the cameras, the lights, everything.

“I have to keep pinching myself to know it’s real, I did it, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come and see you.”

She sighs, letting her head tip back to rest against the stone. She didn’t prepare anything to say, didn’t realise she’d even want to speak to the open air but here she is.

“I’m not the same Aelin as the girl you knew anymore,” she says after a few moments of silence. “I didn’t think I would have the capacity to love again after you but I did, and I feel terribly guilty that I do. I have to remind myself that this is what you would have wanted, you would have wanted me to be happy.”

The silence in the field is more than an answer enough. So typically Sam to give her an answer without so much as speaking a word.

“I was happy,” she says, trailing a fingertip along the words etched into the stone. “I will be again.”

A faint haze of sunlight drifts through the Orynth autumn clouds, a whisper compared to the chorus of brightness she misses in Rifthold, and she stands, brushing off the dirt from her jeans. She touches the stone one last time before turning and heading out of the graveyard.

Her visit was years overdue but her chest didn’t crack open the way she had expected, the tears hadn’t been relentless the way she had expected. She’ll visit him again the next time she’s back in Orynth, probably visiting Elide and Lorcan for Yulemass, and she’ll visit again and again for as long as she lives.

But for now, she has a plane to catch.

Months later and two days before the Oscars, when they’re all back in town for the ceremony held in her new home city of Rifthold, Fenrys throws another party.

She’s managed, this time, to stay in touch with Fenrys and Manon, having made up with the younger girl before the press cycle had finished. Aelin knows her upset was real but partly suspects the animosity was a front. She even finds herself participating in the group chat with the three of them and Rowan. She’s only texted him one to one once to wish him a happy birthday and they had caught up briefly but not texted since.

She’s missed him in a different way to the last time she missed him. This time missing him doesn’t feel necessary, it feels wrong not to text him, wrong to be away from him and she’s itching to see him again.

It’s no one's birthday this time but they’re all together again to celebrate, no matter the results they’ll see in two days. Aelin is very carefully measuring her excitement about her own nomination for best actress. Fenrys is up for best actor, Rowan best director and the movie best picture.

She’d almost dropped her phone in the toilet when she found out from Dorian a few weeks ago.

The party is small but still in full swing by the time she arrives. Big names from the industry, all in town for the ceremony, are scattered all around Fenrys’ Rifthold apartment. He’d bought a place here not long after Aelin and she’s secretly relieved she’s not the only one so moved by their experience.

She waves to a few people she knows and tries to stay calm when she spots Sartaq Khagan in the corner chatting away to a small group of people. Holy shit Fenrys has some famous friends.

Aelin finds herself a glass, tops her orange juice off with a splash of lemonade and begins her rounds. So many more people want to talk to her after the movie dropped.

Her mother had been one of them, and Aelin’s thumb had hovered over the accept button for a moment before decidedly pressing decline. She had blocked her mother’s number a moment later, and then she had made some calls closing the bank account her mother kept topped up and arranging for every penny she’d ever received from Evalin Ashryver to be paid back.

It had hurt, emotionally and financially, especially in the month she’d moved to Rifthold, but it had been worth it. To never let Evalin pass any judgement over her life again was a relief worth any cost. Aelin’s hoping there’s a possibility she could end up with a reward.

She doesn’t know how long she spends talking to big name after big name and it’s a realisation that drops onto her that she fits in here. Aelin Ashryver is a big name. No matter the outcome of the ceremony she has prospects, already a number of projects lined up and she’s loving every minute of it.

She drains her cup for the third time tonight and heads back into the kitchen. She’s barely seen Fenrys all night, and she doesn’t even know if Manon is here.

She frowns into the fridge, there was definitely a full bottle of orange juice in here the last time she topped herself up. She shuts the fridge and spins around.

“Looking for this?”

She should have known.

Rowan looks predictably gorgeous in the dim kitchen lighting. All tanned skin and silver smiles. He’s dressed in her favourite look of his too, worn denim jeans and a soft cotton shirt.

It’s the softness in his gaze that really takes her though, it seems the animosity from the last time they saw each other has faded if not disappeared. Her chest squeezes at the thought. She has no idea what could have triggered it but she will take it.

“Nope,” she says, stepping over to where he stands with an arm braced against the counter at his side, the other holding out a bottle of orange juice. “I was hoping Fenrys would have some chocolate in there but I guess this will have to do.”

She takes the bottle from him, her fingertips brushing his and she feels her cheeks heat at the innocent brush.

His smile is genuine and she knows what he’s remembering because she’s thinking of it too. The first time she visited his house during filming and their moment in the kitchen. They’ve been through cycles, she supposes, but hopefully now for the better.

“I’m sure we can find you some somewhere in here,” he says as she fills her cup, pulling open the cupboard next to his head.

Aelin smirks. “I’m going to leave the rummaging through Fenrys’ cupboards to you. You could find anything in there.”

Rowan winces, closing the door before returning her smile. This is friendly and the hope that’s been planted in her chest begins to sprout.

“Yeah, maybe not,” he says with a conspiratorial smile. “We wouldn’t want to risk it.”

Aelin pauses for a moment, taking in the glory of him in front of her. He’s still Rowan, he’s still tall and deliciously broad. His silver hair is slightly more grown out and there are a couple more lines around his eyes but she doesn’t care, in fact it’s charming. He’s still and always will be stunning. She takes a sip of her drink before she takes one of her biggest risks so far.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, not daring to look away from his face.

He bites his lip, his tongue darting out to soothe the skin before he speaks. “I’ve missed you too.”

The smile that spreads across her face is all too telling but he’s smiling too so she doesn’t think it matters. He definitely feels the same and she’d be annoyed at the months she spent worrying but the relief is too sweet.

“Good,” is what she says, far too happy they’re here to bother with pretending she’s anything other than ecstatic. “Congrats on your nomination.”

His eyes dart to the floor and then back up at her, he’s too modest about his own skill and Aelin adores it. “Thank you,” he says softly, “you too.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I couldn’t have done it without you. All of you.”

“Me neither,” Rowan says.

He’s close to her now, closer than he has been to her for months and her skin cries out for contact. She almost can’t believe she’s here now, talking to Rowan without any animosity, days before the Oscars that she’s nominated in.

The smile that takes over her face is completely of its own accord. She’s floating and it seems Rowan is too if the beat they share, exchanging incredulous smiles, is anything to go by.

“It’s crazy, right?”

She’s been asking herself the question for so long it seems only natural it slips out to him.

He laughs softly, and the rough sound curls straight to her core.

“Definitely,” he agrees, his voice low. “I don’t think last time felt like this.”

Aelin slaps a gentle hand to his chest and ignores the thrill that shoots through her at the eventual contact. “I get it, this is not your first nomination.”

Rowan rolls his eyes and she didn’t know how much she missed this, playing with him. She adores his reaction every time, the begrudging amusement he only lets shine through to make her smile.

“Some of us have never been nominated before, this is all completely new.” Aelin takes a sip of her drink. “I had to give up my social media accounts to Elide, it got so crazy.”

Something flickers over Rowan’s face at her comment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” she says, her eyes darting across his face trying to decipher the expression. “She’s always had access and I still do so I can post if I want to but it just became a lot. It stopped being fun when I would see what people were saying, whether it was good or bad I don’t want to see it anymore.”

Rowan nods before his eyes lock onto hers, the intensity in his expression shreds her control.

“And you said nothing had changed?”

Aelin gets it now.

She shifts her weight, leaning as close to him as she can without sliding herself completely into the circle of his arms. “I was wrong. Lots of things have changed,” she says, her voice quiet but strong. “And lots of things are now right that weren’t before.”

She doesn’t mean to skirt around the truth, hiding in veiled words and double meanings, but as always, Rowan sees her. He sees her meaning and he smiles. It’s the most beautiful smile Aelin has ever seen him wear.

“I’ve been looking for you two.”

Fenrys bursts into the kitchen, startling Aelin back from Rowan. She hides her guilty smile in her drink and notices Rowan doing the same. Fenrys just grins, clearly enjoying whatever he thinks he’s seeing.

“You’re missing out, we’re playing kings in the living room if you want to join?”

Rowan glances at her before he turns back to Fenrys. “I think we’re good, thanks.”

Fenrys’ smile turns smug and Aelin resists the temptation to flip him off. She’s in too good of a mood to be annoyed at him.

“Okay, see you later, lovebirds,” Fenrys says, already on his way back out of the door.

Aelin pretends she isn’t blushing as she turns back to Rowan, his green eyes shining.

“This might sound crazy,” he says with an alluring tilt to his lips, “but do you want to get out of here?”

She’s reached a point she truly never thought she would.

She’s an Oscar-nominated lead actress in a box-office-record-breaking movie.

She’s happy, healthy and out from underneath the thumb of Evalin Ashryver.

The part that’s most uplifting, the part that has her unable to wipe the smile off her face as she strolls down the streets of Rifthold, is the arm she has tucked through Rowan’s.

They’ve been walking for a little while, enjoying the cool night air and the ease with which they managed to sneak out of Fenrys’ party. Her heels are killing her and Rowan very graciously offers her an arm to lean on and each time she takes a step in time with him she smiles.

“I never thought I’d like doing television,” he says.

She didn’t know he’d taken on a miniseries, similar to the one she’d done after filming, but she’s loving the recap she’s getting of the months they’ve been apart. The chill of the air is more than fought off by the warmth of Rowan by her side. The streets are mercifully empty and she can bask in the knowledge that it’s just the two of them out here, that they’re insignificant, that anyone who sees them will immediately dismiss them.

“I always thought I’d stick to movies, singular stories but I enjoyed it. I guess change can be good.”

Aelin laughs softly and squeezes his arm. He looks down to her, a question written in the slant of his brow.

“Change can definitely be good,” she says as she takes in the sights of the skyscrapers surrounding them. “I would know that I suppose.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I bought a flat recently.”

“You did?”

He’s so graciously giving her the floor to say what she needs to say and she holds his arm even tighter.

“It’s right here in Rifthold.” Aelin avoids his gaze, lest he think it’s a speedy invitation and that that’s all this is. “I bought it just after we were back here for press, I realised that I adore Rifthold and being here. I missed it when I wasn’t here and I don’t feel there’s anything holding me in Orynth anymore.”

Rowan laughs softly, his feet scuffing the floor.

“What?” she demands.

“I swear I’m not following you,” he says and she feels a smile creep onto her face. “I bought a loft here too.”

Aelin gasps. “But your house was gorgeous!”

Rowan’s smile twists as he looks away from her. “I didn’t say I sold the house.”

Aelin cackles as she squeezes his arm, the sound joyous and bright as it echoes around them. “I knew being Mr Big-Name-Director has its perks.”

“It does,” he agrees with a smirk.

Aelin wants to kiss that smirk. Wants to pull him down and twist her fingers through his hair as his own tangle along her skin.

Instead she says, “I copied you somewhat too.”

He only raises a brow.

“I bought a piano like the one in your house. It was too big for my old flat in Orynth and so I knew what I had to do.”

“That’s good,” he says as his arm drops out of hers. She almost pouts until he instead tangles their fingers together. Her smile says it all, reflected back in his own. “You play beautifully.”

“Thank you.” Her cheeks are glowing. “You’ll have to come over and I’ll play for you sometime, neighbour.”

“I’d love to.”

Aelin slows, using the hand tangled with his to pull him to a stop too. Her free hand trails a gentle path up his chest before coming to rest at his collar, her fingertips tracing the golden skin peeking out from his shirt. His free hand finds her waist.

They’re close, closer than they have been in such a long time when he speaks.

“I don’t know what you think has or hasn’t changed.” His hand leaves hers to cup her cheek. “But I still feel the way I used to about you.”

Her heart takes off, pounding within her chest.

“I do too, Rowan.” Some of the easiest words she’s ever said to him. There’s something about the way the streetlights shine through the silver tips of his hair and the way his calloused fingers feel between hers that she’s feeling brave. “I loved you then and I love you now.”

His eyes flicker across her face as his smile dawns, taking over his face as he smiles so brightly. This is all she’s ever wanted, to have a Rowan like this, with pure, unfiltered happiness in his eyes as he looks at her.

“You love me?”

“I do. To whatever end.”

His lips are barely a whisper from hers and she only acknowledges the thought that they’re in public for long enough to realise she doesn’t care.

“And I love you.”

His words are simple, but sweet. They wash over her and settle into her skin as his lips land on hers. He kisses her with what she can only describe as love. His lips pour devotion onto her and his hands light a fire inside her as he tastes her tongue.

They kiss for longer than she can keep a track of, wrapped up together illuminated only by the street lighting. She’s missed this, missed him, and she can’t help but feel right when his hands are on her. She can’t help but feel right as she stretches onto her toes to throw herself into his kiss.

This was never wrong, this was one of the first things she knew was right.

She loves him and he loves her and nothing and nobody else matters.

She doesn’t win the Oscar, and neither does Rowan. Fenrys does and she screams herself hoarse cheering him on as he makes his way to the stage.

The moment that takes the cake is when The Crescent City takes best picture. She takes to the stage with some of her best friends to recognise what they achieved together and maybe she is a soppy shit but she definitely cries. Fenrys laughs at her and Manon grins but Rowan just throws his arm around her shoulders and it's worth it.

Afterwards, she logs into her Instagram account for the first time in a long time. She posts a picture of Rowan looking absolutely delicious with his tux unbuttoned and his bow tie hanging untied around his neck with a greasy burger in one hand and hers in his other.

Posting him is a statement but she doesn’t care. In fact, she wants the world to know. She wants the world to know that nobody does it like he does. Nobody does it like they do.

#rowaelin #nobody does it like you do #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #throne of glass #rowaelin au #ndilyd #i cant believe it's the last part of this fic #crazy #hope you all enjoyed

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fragileizywriting · 2 years ago

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alright this one is gonna take me a while to type out so stick with me. i would put a wip / six sentences banner but given that i’m writing this on my phone, i don’t actually know where it is. actually, hold on, i might as well

(this is going to be a bitch to clean up and edit afterwards, i’m already dreading this)

tikki demands her lover back from hell

(also sorry for the weird past/present tense shifts throughout this, mobile is ALWAYS trying to change verbs into past tense, it’s so stupid)

after a game of cat and mouse, with plagg hiding behind columns and bannisters and railings, holding onto the desecrating stone like a lifeline, tikki finally snatches his ankle with a vine. he freezes when he falls onto his butt after a harsh tug, his tail doing poor work of supporting him when he looks up to her, a woman who fumes in her spot with her hands out to raise vibes from out the ground. she’s furious.

“hello,” he tries.

no matter how many attempts and how many reasons he gives, these phantoms follow. most of them are always a little bit too off— making her too tall, too high pitched, too skinny, trying to ‘perfect’ her as if he wasn’t in love with everything that she was. like the fates and whispers down here want to convince him that he didn’t truly love her, just the idea of her.

but fates, how much he loves her. he thinks of the curve of her smile and how it’s not perfectly symmetrical. he thinks of her arms, weathered and strong, and how she’d been able to lift that tree off of him— he thinks about that every night, thinking about how this short, plump woman had made that tree look like a twig. he thinks about the curls that framed her rounded face, curls that made its gentle way down a large bosom and larger hips. he thinks about her, all of her, and how he wishes he could kiss her delicate finger tips until he couldn’t breathe any more.

“how do you do?” he tries again, when her frown deepens. he doesn’t remember that line between her brows when she did it, but perhaps this whisper is just filling in the gaps of his feigning memory.

“i thought you’d be happy to see me.” her face is crinkled and frowning, poppy seeds on her face making such pretty constellations. every whisper has a different pattern, never quite the same. “instead i see you running away? have i done something wrong?”

“you’re a well-made one,” he laughs. her vines recede back into the beaten, dirt floor underneath them.

“what?”

“i almost feel as if you’re real.”

“what are you talking about, my lord?”

“your cloak almost looks real.” he’s nowhere close to comfortable to touching her. long vignettes about life up above are embroidered into her shoulders and down beautiful panels of an orange-brown fabric. it glistens gold, just as much as the goddess herself does. beautiful and lovely.

“that’s because it is real,” she snorts. “are you out of it, plagg?”

he knows better than to entertain the whispers. he starts to turn, ambling towards some direction he’s unclear of so long as it gets away from her. her, her, her. “it is nice to see you. please enjoy your time here.”

another vine creeps up against his leg and pulls, forbidding him from leaving. “is that all you have to say to me? i came down here as fast as i could after five hundred years and this is—”

“—five hundred?” he whispers. “now i know you’re not real. it’s been longer than five hundred since i’ve last seen you.”

“of course i’m real. don’t you feel my vines on your skin? i cant be an illusion if i’m touching the vines on your skin… but what does that even matter? you’re treating me like you don’t care,” she huffs. completely ignorant to how he sags.

“eight hundred and seventy two years. five months, twenty six days.”

“oh.”

“fifteen hours… twenty minutes and fifty seconds.” his ears flatten against his head. “that’s how long it’s been without you, my goddess.”

“you’ve been counting?”

“the one joy that i had in my life— the only god i cared about— has been away from me for that long. life has no real meaning without you. i’m so barren and empty that i don’t know what to do.”

“but— why are you acting so coldly?”

“you can’t be here. and you aren’t. you’re a figment of my imagination, the way that all others were, trying to keep me company and sane in this broken castle. but you aren’t here. the real goddess is above. away from me, and away from what my father did to her.” how long has he been crying for? how long has his cheeks and eyes wet the cloak on this whisper’s form, even while she holds him tight, close enough for him to scent the wild flowers she tries to cultivate? how long has it been since he’d been in these arms, breathing, trying to keep everything inside him and not breaking down?

“i am here,” she whispers into his shoulder as they hug. “the fates let me through the gate. i’ll show you.”

#speakizys #fire lily petals #this is like a proof of concept for now #i’m sleepy and tired but i love these two so much

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elentiyawhitethorn · 3 years ago

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When Passion Rules the Game | Part Four

CW: NSFW, language

Part Three//Part Five//Masterlist//2976 words

“Shut up,” Aelin hissed, elbowing Elide. “Aedion can’t know about this.”

She had told Elide and Dorian everything about her last encounter with Rowan (save for what had happened after), and they both refused to stop bringing it up. Aelin swore to herself that she would never gossip with them again, but she knew she would cave eventually.

Elide was currently standing next to Aelin at the work party they were attending, pointing out Rowan and telling her how hot he looked, just to rile her up. As if Aelin didn’t already know.

And Aedion, her cousin, was making his way over to the pair of them. Unaware of Aelin’s inner turmoil, he marched up to them and said, “How’s everything coming along?”

“Great,” Aelin said with a smile. “I already got Chaol Westfall to donate to the organization.” They were hosting a fundraising event for their newest branch, a charity revolving around children with limited education opportunities. They had only been here for fifteen minutes, and Chaol, who Aelin suspected only agreed because he had a crush on her, had donated quite a sum after she sweet-talked him into it.

Aedion grinned. “I knew every time you convinced Dad to get you another ice cream or a new pair of shoes, you were made for bigger things.”

Aelin laughed. “You’re horrible.”

He grinned. “What about you, Elide? Good day?”

Elide rasied an eyebrow. “If successfully corralling Aelin around the room counts as a good day, then I’d say so.”

“I’m not that hard to manage,” Aelin protested with a scoff.

Elide snorted. “Whatever you want to tell yourself.”

Before she could respond, someone cleared their throat in a microphone, tapping it experimentally. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I please have your attention.”

It was Lysandra Ennar, another friend of Aelin’s who often worked publicity events such as these. While everyone else turned and focused on the speaker, Aelin started making her way across the room.

“Thank you all for attending tonight. May I welcome your main speaker tonight, the CEO of Terrasen Corp., Miss Aelin Galathynius!”

Aelin reached the podium with perfect timing, stepping up and taking the mic from Lys with a smile. Then she turned to her audience.

The speech went well. Very well, in fact. Aelin loved many parts of her job, but this was her favorite. Making a difference.

And Aelin excelled at talking to crowds. She made eye contact with different people in the audience, kept her features light and apt, but solemn at the right times, and most importantly, she spoke from her heart. Every rich donor in the room had teared up by the time she was through with them, Aelin noticed proudly.

Upon the completion of her speech, she wandered the room and spoke further to individual people. With Rowan.

That was the other thing. Rowan’s job here was the coordinations director of this new project. Which meant not only was he required to be with her tonight, but they had been working together closely all week.

It had been one week and one day since the incident, as Aelin was starting to call it. Things had been tense, but each had done a good job of sticking to their work and getting things done. Now, on a Saturday, they were launching this new project to the public. Aelin was excited, and no amount of interaction with Rowan could diminish that.

Once Aelin finished up wrangling a healthy sum out of Meave Cadreson, much to everyone’s shock and Aelin’s eternal joy, she stepped out covertly, heading away from the main room and down the hall. Standing so close to Rowan and watching him walk around in a fucking tuxedo was getting to be too much for her. Aelin had done plenty tonight, and no one would notice if she slipped away for a few minutes. She walked toward the elevator, deciding that she could straighten up a few things in her office just to take her mind off him.

Just before the doors could shut, a hand appeared between them and pulled enough to have them automatically opening again. Rowan.

He stepped in the elevator, and Aelin watched in silence as the doors slid shut behind him. Glancing over to the control panel, Aelin realized it was a long way up.

“You left your own event.”

Aelin smiled, pretending the way he crossed his arms and the elevator started ascending didn’t turn her on. “I’ve done enough. I just thought I should catch up on some work.”

Rowan nodded. He didn’t explain why he’d caught up with her. And that was the end of the conversation.

Aelin’s office was on the sixtieth floor. It was a long and arduous journey (read: Aelin is impatient), and she even brought paperwork to sit on the elevator’s floor and do some days. Her employees found it amusing.

But today, there was no paperwork. There was just Aelin and Rowan.

They were staring at each other, staring becasue there was no where else to look. And an indecipherable expression began to cross Rowan’s face.

“You look stunning tonight, Miss Galathynius.”

He was right, in fact. In the long red dress she had on, she knew how she looked, especially to the male prospective donors. Aelin smiled a bit tightly, trying not to be as excited by this comment as she was inclined to be. “You look quite handsome yourself, Mr. Whitethorn.”

Oh, how Dorian would laugh if he could see them now. He didn’t work in the office building, so Elide had discreetly snapped a photo on her phone to show him. Dorian had laughed endlessly, claiming that even though he was straight, he would do anything “that beauty” asked of him. In other words, they both sucked.

Floor eleven arrived. The silence lengthened. Aelin felt the need to say something. “You did well tonight with the people. We made the right decision in hiring you.”

Rowan smiled. “Thank you.”

Floor twenty-four.

Aelin averted her eyes, feeling awkward as fuck. In the faint reflection of the metal walls, she could make out him still watching her. His gaze dipped lower and Aelin cleared her throat, turning back to him. His eyes immediately snapped back to her own.

“Why are here, if you don’t mind me asking? More work to catch up on?” Aelin kept her tone even, but her hands were shaking with anticipation. She clenched them into fists and hid them in the skirt of her dress.

Rowan smirked. Fuck, fuck, fuck, this man was not allowed to smirk at her. It did unspeakable things to Aelin.

“I just thought I would accompany you. This is your big day, after all. I didn’t think you should be alone.”

Aelin nodded faintly. “I see.” Her voice was slightly out-of-breath.

They reached floor thirty. Halfway there.

“Do you ever think about it?” Aelin asked, not letting herself review that question in her head before it popped out.

Rowan knew exactly what she was talking about. “Of course I think about it. Every fucking day. You have no idea how much torture it is to see you in those gods-damn pantsuits. Or now.” His gaze shamelessly dropped to the dip in her dress. While this dress wasn’t nearly as revealing as what Aelin had been wearing when she met Rowan, it still didn’t leave too much to the imagination.

Maybe they had both had too much champagne.

“I think I have some idea,” Aelin replied.

Rowan looked back at her. And took a step forward. Aelin licked her lips.

The elevator dinged. How had the last half of the ride passed that quickly? Shaking herself out of her reverie, Aelin stepped out, grateful. There was a camera in the elevator.

“Come with me,” she said, but it was more of a request than an order. Allowing Rowan to decide if he wanted to go through with this.

He nodded, and Aelin nonchalantly walked down the hall a short ways, heading for the door to her office on the right. As soon as they were both inside and the door was locked, Rowan was upon her.

Aelin gasped against his lips as he pushed her against the door, pinning her wrists. She kissed him back passionately. Only two weeks of denying herself since their initial meeting, and Aelin was pent-up, desperate to feel him again.

Rowan broke the kiss, pressing his body even harder against hers. “You look so fucking perfect in that dress.” His voice was a gravelly heaven, a sound that Aelin had been dreaming of.

She moaned quietly. “Rowan,” she gasped.

Rowan started kissing her neck, sucking and nipping at the skin.

“Oh, gods, Rowan you can’t…” Her voice was barely audible, a pleasured whisper.

“What is it, baby?” he mumbled.

Aelin almost forgot what her protest had been, then remembered and said, “You’ll leave marks. There’s no fucking way I’m walking out of here in a dress and a scarf.”

Rowan hummed, debating this, then stepped back. “Get on your knees.”

It was all Aelin could do to hold back a groan at the words. She knelt, as instructed.

“Good girl,” Rowan murmured.

Aelin pressed her thighs together in a pathetic attempt at quenching her desire, and reached for his pants. She had been wondering what it was like to taste this man for far too long. Her sanity probably wouldn’t have survived if Aelin never got to.

She pulled out his cock, giving it an experimental pump. Rowan groaned, the sound like a drug. Spurred on, Aelin twisted her wrist, delighting in the sensation of having Rowan’s cock harden in her hand.

She leaned forward and placed her lips on him. Small kisses to his cock had Rowan growling ferally. “Aelin.”

His tone was not one to ignore. Knowing there would be consequences if Aelin didn’t do as was expected of her, she leaned forward and took him in her mouth.

The groan that tore from Rowan’s mouth as she bobbed her head forward had her heart speeding up. Or stopping altogether; she couldn’t say. Aelin made an O with her lips and took him deeper, relaxing her mouth around him.

Rowan reached down and grabbed several strands of Aelin’s hair, tugging them lightly as he got a hold on her. She groaned softly, both from the sensation and from the knowledge that she was entirely at his mercy.

Rowan praised her as she moved, not yet controlling her completely. Aelin took him deeper and deeper with each bob, sucking the delicate appendage a bit too much, secretly pleased with the hiss the movement drew from his throat.

“You want me to fuck your throat, sweetheart? I will if you don’t behave.”

Both of them knew that Aelin was not opposed to that idea.

In response, she sucked harder, flattening her tongue and letting her teeth scrape against his cock.

Rowan tightened his grip on her hair and thrust into her mouth. Aelin moaned around his cock, and the vibrations had him cursing. He started moving harder, setting a brutal, punishing pace.

Aelin felt his tip hit the back of her throat, and she slid a hand down to the hem of her dress. Before she could get her hand where she needed it, Rowan said, “Did I fucking say you could touch yourself?”

The only light came from the cracks in the window shades, pulled closed, and she didn’t realize he would be able to see her. Aelin could only whine in reply. He didn’t stop fucking her mouth.

“Maybe I’ll let you come tonight if you’re good. But you have to listen to me.” Rowan’s voice held amusement, clearly taking pleasure in her struggle. Aelin reluctanly pulled her hand out of her dress.

He whispered some more dirty praises to her, as well as a few threats, and Aelin couldn’t help but feel relieved the only other people in the building were sixty floors below them.

Rowan thrust into her mouth with one last groan, then paused. He pulled her off his cock, ignoring Aelin’s pleas to keep going, and yanked her to her feet.

“I’m going to come inside of you, you little slut. Do you understand me?”

Aelin nodded desperately. “Please.”

“Bend over.” Rowan nodded to the desk.

Aelin pushed some papers aside, then bent over, gripping the edge of the desk in anticipation.

Rowan pulled her dress up, then slid her panties down. Aelin lifted each ankle in turn after he dropped them, leaving her sex bare and exposed to the chilly air. They always ran the air conditioning too much in this building.

Rowan, apparently done toying with her, gripped her hips. He lined himself up with her entrance, and Aelin gasped as she felt his cock part her folds. “Please,” she whispered, for extra measure.

Rowan chuckled, then slid in. All the way.

Aelin buried her head in the desk, gripping the end tighter. He buried himself inside of Aelin with one thrust, groaning breathlessly. She didn’t make a sound, just held on for dear life.

Way too soon, Rowan started moving. He leisurely slid into Aelin, then back out. The pause between thrusts started lessening as he picked up speed.

“Look at you,” Rowan muttered. “You and your tight little pussy.”

Aelin’s toes curled painfully in the high heels that she was having trouble standing in. Rowan’s fingers started to dig into her hips tighter, and Aelin felt exhilarated by the knowledge that he was marking her, that there would be evidence of this the next day and she couldn’t just dismiss it as a dream.

Rowan slammed into Aelin, his balls slapping her clit, and she cried out. He didn’t let up, moving harder and deeper with every thrust. The sweet pain of his fingers digging into her hips was enough to have Aelin groaning as she came.

Rowan cursed as she tightened around his cock. He moved impossibly harder, using Aelin to chase the same pleasure.

Aelin thought she heard some sort of ding, but quickly dismissed the thought as Rowan came inside of her, filling her so delightfully. She sighed, intoxicated from the feel of him.

Rowan muttered a few more praises as he pulled out of her. Aelin shakily stood, still using the desk for support. Before she could say anything, a knock sounded on the door and they both froze.

“Aelin? You okay? I just wanted to check on you since you’ve been gone for so long.” It was Elide’s voice.

The handle started to turn and Aelin yelled. “Wait!” The handle stopped moving. “Um, I’m just…”

“Just what?” Elide asked, suspicious of her tone.

Aelin thought for a moment. “Doing some paperwork.”

“And I’m not allowed in to see you committing the scandalous act of paperwork? What are you actually doing?”

“I… spilled something on my dress so I’m changing into my spare work clothes.”

“Liar,” Elide called. “You’re probably mooning over Rowan again, aren’t you? Maybe you’re even—”

“Elide!” Aelin squeaked. She didn’t dare face Rowan.

“Oh, gods, is he in there?” Elide started laughing. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” Aelin hissed. “Go away.”

Elide’s laughter got louder. “Just letting you know, people are going to start wondering where you are. You might want to finish that up pretty quickly.” Elide was still laughing to herself as Aelin her heels clicking down the hallway.

Finally, absolutely petrified, Aelin turned back to Rowan. In the semidarkness, she could make out a smirk, but that was about it.

“You told your assistant about us.”

Aelin tried not to shiver at the word “us.” She crossed her arms. “She’s one of my best friends, okay. She won’t tell anyone.”

Rowan hummed amusedly, then—thank the gods—seemed to drop it for now. “So, Aelin. Miss Galathynius.” She barely stopped herself from frowning at that. “Will this be… happening again?”

Aelin knew better than to ask if he wanted it to. He clearly did. “It can. But just to be clear, it won’t earn you any special treatment. And if you chose to end this at any time, there will be no repercussions for you. No matter how this ends, your job will not be affected in any way.”

Rowan nodded. “I’m glad.”

“And we won’t be doing this again,” Aelin continued, waving a hand around her office. “I am a professional, and there will be no more office hookups. This stays out of our careers. And,” she added, “when we are here, I am your boss, and you will treat me with the respect I deserve. There will be no talk of this while we’re here, no glances or innuendos. And this is just sex. Nothing more.”

Aelin was a CEO, and she had to be good with words and contracts to make it to where she was now. This was a mixture of both. It was easy for her to decide how to arrange this, and Aelin wouldn’t have this backfiring on her.

Rowan nodded again, agreeing. “I understand, Miss Galathynius.”

Aelin cleared her throat. “Perhaps now that the awkwardness has abated, you can refer to me as Aelin? Most of my employees do.”

“Only if you call me Rowan.”

Aelin smiled. Then she said, “And, I know I’ve already said this, but I would like to make this clear—you are allowed to stop this at any time, no questions asked.”

An expression Aelin didn’t recognize in the darkness came over Rowan’s face. “I appreciate it a lot. Thank you.”

“We should go. We’ve been missing for too long. I should head over to the bathroom and fix my hair.”

“Of course,” Rowan agreed. “Aelin.”

She tried to pretend hearing her name on his lips didn’t melt her heart completely, but it was a losing battle. If only Aelin understood what feeling like that meant.

———

Tag List:

@aelin-bitch-queen

@autumnbabylon

@evolving-dreamer

@feysand-loml

@flora-shadowshine

@gracie-rosee

@infernoqueen19

@julemmaes

@lemonade-coolattas

@live-the-fangirl-life

@midsizewitch

@morganofthewildfire

@nehemikkele

@realbookloverproblems

@rhysandswingspan

@rowanaelinn

@sexy-dumpster-fire

@sleeping-and-books

@story-scribbler

@swankii-art-teacher

@thenerdandfandoms

@yesdreamblog

#rowaelin #tog #when passion rules the game #my writing

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makeste · 4 years ago

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BnHA Chapter 302: As the Todoroki Turns

Previously on BnHA:

Today on BnHA: We have a very fun chapter in which (1) Shouto grows up lonely on account of his parents being worried that his siblings will literally try to kill him, (2) Natsu and Fuyu grow up neglected on account of not being special and/or self-destructive enough to attract attention, (3) we get to revisit all of that exciting spousal abuse from chapter 39, and (4) Touya burns to death right on cue, pretty much exactly like we expected it to happen. Thankfully since this is a shounen manga, Horikoshi finds some hope in all this misery as the Todoroki family rallies together, with Shouto getting his long-overdue credit for being a perfect sweet angel who put up with all of this shit for sixteen years and somehow came out of it strong and kind and empathetic and determined. Anyway, so that flashback was a barrel of laughs. But now that it’s over, we can put all of that angst behind us, and move on to... well I guess, probably, more angst. Look, we’re short on variety at the moment. Bear with it.

ouch. we knew this was coming, but still

A+ parenting move there. “ho boy, our eldest just tried to murder our youngest, now what? hmm how about we isolate our youngest from all human contact”

though in their defense, we probably shouldn’t have expected this rabidly strength-obsessed fire man and his wife who was groomed since childhood to obey her family’s whims to have any idea of how to raise stable, well-adjusted offspring

SERIOUSLY YOU GUYS

this is a perfect example of Enji’s tragically self-revolving viewpoint right here. just because being a hero is your entire world doesn’t mean you can just excuse yourself from anything outside of that and act like it’s out of your control. “alas, all I care about is hero stuff and my son can’t be a hero, we are doomed to inhabit two different worlds” no you jackass, it’s called having more than one hobby?? figuring out how to spend some time with your son that doesn’t involve training?? the same exact thing you were telling him to do last week, while ignoring that you’ve never done that yourself in your life??

that said, yet again we have that complexity though because it’s obvious that Enji at least on some level is aware of his own flaws, even though he seems unwilling or unable to confront them. honestly, from what we’ve seen so far, Enji’s obsession with surpassing All Might might be more accurately called an addiction. he literally can’t let go of it even though he’s fully aware of how it’s slowly destroying his life. and so in the same way that a lifelong smoker or alcoholic might tell their child to stay away from cigarettes and booze, Enji tells Touya not to follow down the same path as him, even though he himself doesn’t know how to leave that path. so yes, it’s hypocritical as fuck, but there’s also an element of helplessness there as well because Enji literally doesn’t know how not to be like this

though all the same he sure could stand to put in more than just a token effort. but it is what it is, and we already know how much he’ll come to regret it

and meanwhile Baby Shouto has frozen his sleep bubble with his quirk lmao. so I guess his quirk did come in early. that’s a recipe for chaos right there

once again Shouto is ruining every single dramatic panel in this flashback

this was so dark and intense... and then I spotted the lil bubs in the corner. Horikoshi please control yourself

“some hero you are, running away” and then all of a sudden, “FIVE YEARS LATER” lol what. OKAY THEN

(ETA: love the confirmation that eight-year-old Natsu comes from the Iida school of puberty and is basically a fully grown man, and meanwhile Touya comes from the hobbit school of puberty and has been perpetually eight for the past five years.)

“HEY BIG BRO WANNA COME RECREATE AN ICONIC FLASHBACK SCENE WITH US. WE’VE GOT THE SOCCER BALL RIGHT HERE, BUT HURRY UP OR WE’LL BE TOO LATE FOR SHOUTO TO WALK ON BY AND STOP TO LOOK”

lol and that’s literally the next three panels. but Horikoshi did add this extra bit after Endeavor starts to drag Shouto away

seriously Enji what the hell did you expect was going to happen here. “Touya went nuts and tried to kill his little brother out of jealousy, so let’s make it clearer than ever that Shouto is the important child and all the other children are just rejects. this will definitely not make the problem 100x worse, and will surely lead to Touya giving up and living a happy life, having been emotionally abandoned by the person he admired more than anyone.” good for you pal you figured it all out. no need for that plan b, “we all just go to therapy”

anyway so he’s telling Shouto he can’t play because he needs more endurance training. and meanwhile Touya’s patented Todoroki Drama Genes are going through puberty as well

definitely the face of a happy, emotionally stable child who’s not still plotting to murder his younger brother in his sleep

“WELL ACTUALLY MAKESTE” lol I stand corrected??

apparently during the five year interim Touya actually stopped blaming Shouto and realized Enji was the one at fault. good for him! a bit inconsistent, given what we know happens later, but I assume we’ll get to that in good time

anyway. “yeah man I agree that dad sucks, but it’s the middle of the night and I’m only eight and you’ve been monologuing for the past two hours bro”

LMAO

the manga is making my jokes for me, only better. fine then

looks like someone’s still miffed about that disagreement he had with his baby sister back when she was like four

“Fuyu doesn’t get properly riled up like I want her to so ranting to her is annoying.” okay but having been in Fuyu’s shoes, it really is just a different way of coping, and I can guarantee she’s not as fine with the whole situation as Touya might think. but making your peace with something is often a decision that’s made for emotional self-preservation reasons. and I sure as hell don’t fault her for trying to shut out a situation that she had no control over, and trying to make the best of it, and scrape together as normal a childhood as she could manage

and now in Touya’s defense as well, that is of course easier said than done, and I’m sure if there was a “push this button and instantly get over all of the trauma in your life” switch readily available for Touya then he would have pushed it too. unfortunately it’s not always that simple

so now Rei is pleading with Touya not to go train up on his little emo hill again, but it doesn’t seem like much has changed since he was eight

I don’t think he gives two figs about being a hero; he just wants his father to look at him again with pride. fucking hell, stop doing this to me you damn Todorokis

guh, they keep telling him the same thing over and over again

even if we hadn’t already known he was gonna go melt his jawbone off soon, I wouldn’t have expected a line like that to go over well

yep. fuck

that Todoroki puberty angst, though. nothing else quite like it

“you have a part in this too, Mom” ooooooh man

okay but look, he’s not entirely wrong. like, I’m not saying any of this is Rei’s fault at all! she’s in an impossible situation where she’s afraid to stand up to Enji (who by this point has shown that he’s willing to physically attack her if things get too heated, which is terrifying), and doesn’t really have anywhere to turn for support. her parents aren’t helping much if at all, and Japan in general is just a terrible country to be in when you’re in a domestic abuse situation. everyone’s expected to put on a brave face and deal with their problems all on their own in private. Rei is basically completely isolated at this point, and she doesn’t know what else to do, and so she’s just trying to keep the situation as stable as possible for the kids

but on the other hand, “for the kids” is also where that argument starts to break down a bit, because at this point Shouto is also being physically abused by his father, and the other kids are continuing to be neglected (emotionally if not physically), as they have been for years. so the situation really isn’t stable at all for them. and as a kid, what you end up learning in that type of situation is that you can’t rely on either parent. not the abusive one, certainly, but also not the other one who can’t protect you from any of it. even if they love you and they’re trying, they’re just as helpless as you. Rei is struggling to deal with all of this with one hand tied behind her back, and I get it, and I’m not blaming her at all. but all the same, particularly given that she’s (understandably) putting almost all her focus on Shouto, the end result is that the other kids have basically been left to fend for themselves

so yeah! a shitty situation all around. and one of those cases where it’s not really anyone’s fault (aside from Enji’s), but I can understand the resentment Touya is feeling all the same. and I’m so glad Horikoshi is acknowledging this, because it’s something I probably would have been too uncomfortable to bring up otherwise. as it is it’s still an incredibly heavy subject, and one that I probably have too many personal feelings about

anyway, so once again the whole “we’ll try talking to him and then just shrug our shoulders when it doesn’t work” parenting strategy doesn’t really pan out for the Todoroki fam

sob this boy is Anakin Skywalkering before our very eyes. all that’s missing is AFO to come and start whispering in his ear. any minute now...

“anyway so then he got taller and his fire changed from red to blue”

guess we’re getting pretty close then huh. this is the part of the flashback that I really don’t want to see, but also unfortunately the part that I’m most curious about :/

oh for fuck’s --

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN IGNORING HIM FOR FIVE YEARS DIDN’T ACTUALLY DO ANYTHING TO SOLVE THE PROBLEM” sob. back to the drawing board I guess

I thought he got taller, why is he still only like a third of Enji’s height here

oh fuck me these are armor-piercing feels. this is the heavy artillery right here

ENJI I’M BEGGING YOU PLEASE STOP AND THINK FOR ONE MOMENT IN YOUR LIFE BEFORE DOING SOMETHING YOU’LL REGRET FOR THE REST OF ALL TIME. your child just told you that he still thinks beating All Might is the only thing you care about, and that he believes his existence is a mistake unless he finds some way of doing that for you. please stop for a moment to contemplate that and choose your next words with care and grace and oh who the hell am I kidding

-- OR WE COULD JUST BLAME REI

go on and blame everyone but yourself then!! that’s a great solution!! jesus christ man I know this is Endeavor at his literal worst but still this is fucking hard to watch

POOR BABY SHOUTO IS YELLING AT HIS DAD NOT TO HIT HIS MOMMY THIS LITTLE BRAVE BOY NEEDS SO MANY HUGS OH MY GOD

AND MEANWHILE THE OTHERS ARE HUDDLED IN THE NEXT ROOM TRYING NOT TO CRY AH FUCK

(ETA: Fuyu covering Natsu’s ears cuts RIGHT TO THE CORE OF ME. Horikoshi if you’re really not gonna get these kids some therapy then at least consider giving your readers some. what is this.)

you know it’s bad when you’re starting to think the part where the kid burns to death might actually be a less traumatic thing to cut to right now

holy shit, actual Rei thoughts

“I was the one who ultimately made that choice” well there we go, wonder if that’ll put that whole argument to bed at last. I doubt it, but you never know. actually who am I kidding it’s not gonna settle jack shit lol

oh thank god, they decided it was getting too intense and cut away back to the present to narrate this next (final?) part

get ready to cue up that Alicia Keys. THIS BOY IS ON FIREEEEEEE

yeah I think that’s one thing we can mostly all agree on. neither of them had any clue what the fuck they were doing pretty much at any point. though I will say that the hypocrisy of him being all “WHY DIDN’T YOU STOP HIM” followed by him IMMEDIATELY DOING THE EXACT SAME THING is a bit rich

(ETA: and he still has this problem, doesn’t he? he froze up when Ending snatched Natsuo, and again when Dabi was attacking Shouto. he’s so afraid of doing the wrong thing that he ends up not doing anything, which of course is exactly what led to Touya’s death. damn Enji I guess you’ve still got some additional character development to unlock.)

and of course neither of them could possibly have known how badly it was going to turn out. like, the consequences here were WAY disproportionate even for the shittiest of parenting. no one expects “I didn’t know how to talk to my son” to snowball into “my son burned to death and then somehow came back as a villain and murdered thirty people”

ohhhhhhhh fuck me

LITERALLY INCINERATED THE ENTIRE HILLSIDE. fuck. and I am so not ready for the scene of Enji finding the remains of his jawbone afterwards. at least we were spared anything super-graphic (for now at least)

I feel like the timeline here is off, btw?? wasn’t Touya’s death supposed to happen after Rei got hospitalized? this might be the first actual retcon of the entire flashback. although I think it makes more sense this way tbh

I do appreciate that ten years later Enji is finally reflecting on the fact that if he’d just given up his stupid obsession he could have stopped his family from crumbling apart. that probably sounds sarcastic as fuck, but it’s not. there are countless jerks out there who would have still managed to find a way to blame literally everyone and everything under the sun except for themselves. at least he finally figured out how to take responsibility, even if it came too late to stop his son from dying and being radicalized into a villain terrorist organization

and speaking of, it seems to me we’re missing a third and final part to this little tale of woe, and one which only Touya himself will be able to shed any light on. so we’ll see how that goes

oh man seeing the other kids blaming themselves even though none of it was their fault hits hard af. Rei wasn’t kidding when she said they’d been bearing that burden of guilt far longer than Enji

SHOUTO I SWEAR TO GOD IF THE NEXT PANEL IS YOU APOLOGIZING FOR BEING BORN, I WILL... WELL I’LL BE VERY SAD, I GUESS. SO DON’T DO IT

oh good he’s just being quiet. good. it absolutely is not your fault lil bean. it’s not theirs either, but feeling guilty about things that aren’t your fault is a time-honored shounen tradition

goddammit I braced myself for the angsty Shouto panel a page too early. gotta do it all over again now lol. okay here goes

;_;

well well well would you look at that

imagine that. talking things out with your child before they make a rash decision. looks like the Todorokis’ parenting skills are finally leveling up

OH MY GOD

holy shit. this is the most quintessential moment of father/son Todoroki bonding in the entire series. for me it even tops the “nice scar” scene lol. Enji sobbing at the fact that he still has a chance to set things right. and Shouto offering his hand in what is actually the most mature and selfless gesture I’ve ever seen, and being all “we’ll stop him together” to his dad who he hates, but also doesn’t really entirely hate anymore. and all of that is incredibly moving... BUT ALSO HE STILL REFUSES TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH HIM AND HE WOULD LIKE HIM TO STOP BEING SO FUCKING DRAMATIC ALREADY IF YOU DON’T MIND. “WHEN YOU’RE DONE CRYING...” fkjldsk

OH MY FUCKING LORD

(ETA: wouldn’t be a Todoroki drama fest if there wasn’t somebody listening in on the whole thing in secret just around the corner lmao.)

“you think we should have waited somewhere else?” “yeah, probably.” “are you feeling a lot of secondhand embarrassment too?” “god, you have no idea.” STFU HAWKS IT’S NOT EMBARASSING TO BE MOVED TO TEARS BY YOUR FAMILY ALL COMING TOGETHER IN YOUR DARKEST HOUR TO GIVE YOU HOPE THAT YOU PROBABLY DON’T DESERVE BUT ARE NONETHELESS INDESCRIBABLY GRATEFUL FOR

and anyway you chose these guys as your found family, bucko. too late to back out now. next time go get yourself adopted by the Iidas then

AND MEANWHILE NO WORD ON THE WHOLE “HOW DID A THIRTEEN-YEAR-OLD SURVIVE A FIRE THAT COVERED HIS BODY WITH HORRIFIC SCARS AND MELTED HIS JAW OFF, AND HOW DID HE SOMEHOW THEN MANAGE TO GO INTO HIDING FOR TEN WHOLE YEARS, AND WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT INTERIM TO CHANGE HIS GOAL FROM ‘SURPASS ALL MIGHT TO IMPRESS MY DAD’ TO ‘KILL ALL HEROES TO MAKE MY DAD SUFFER’.” as if we don’t know the answer to that. but still, would it kill Horikoshi to just confirm AFO’s involvement in all of this already. at this point it’s basically just a formality

so here’s hoping next week we’ll either get that, or more Hawks action, or (DARE I EVEN SUGGEST, I’M AFRAID TO JINX IT) finally cut back to Bakugou and Deku and All Might omg. either way I’m hyped

#bnha 302 #todoroki touya #dabi #todoroki enji #endeavor #todoroki rei #todoroki shouto #todoroki natsuo #todoroki fuyumi #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #my sincerest apologies for this absurdly long recap which is barely funny at all!#THERE WAS VERY LITTLE HUMOROUS CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER #congratulations horikoshi you win this round

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firelxdykatara · 4 years ago

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gods, ok, apparently i’m not done.

atla fandom? we need to have a chat.

(....ok that made me sound pretentious as fuck. and maybe i am, but this needs to be said, cause i’m getting....real, real tired of a Certain Corner of this fandom and as a result, this is gonna be a discourse-heavy post so feel free to scroll past if that’s not your bag. as always, my salt posts all carry the catch-all #salt for ts tag, which you’re free to blacklist/filter at your leisure. i’m Very Annoyed at the moment, which will probably come through in the following post, so just. yknow. be prepared for that. or ignore it, that’s perfectly valid too.)

under a cut bc i do care for my followers and their sanity i swear lmao

there’s a real serious issue in this fandom with not understanding what queer terminology actually means or implies, especially when applied to a fictional narrative.

i’m specifically talking about ‘coding’, here. (if i were in a more meme-y mood, i might have said ‘the atla fandom found out about the term “gay-coding” and haven’t shut up since’.)

to the people who say ‘zuko is gay-coded’, i have this to say: you keep using that word. i do not think it means what you think it means. because he isn’t. i’m sorry, but he’s not! and the fact that this is such a prevalent claim in this fandom is distressing, bc it says to me that none of y’all know what gay-coding is or when and how to apply it! please, i’m begging you, go and look up these terms and what they mean and when they should be used before actually trying to plug them into your critical analysis, because when you misuse them and then call other people delusional for disagreeing with you it casts a pall over the entire fandom and is, i think, the root of some of the worst toxicity this fandom has to offer.

and the thing is, there are cases where gay-coding would apply--for instance, a couple series that are famous for queerbaiting their audience by coding their main characters as being attracted to one another (sometimes even despite their openly stated sexualities) come to mind, but those shows bare no similarities at all to atla and how zuko was written and portrayed! (and it would be funny, if it weren’t so obnoxious and infuriatingly wide-spread throughout the fandom, because the only queer couple we actually seen on-screen in either show wasn’t even queer-coded in any respect, and they’re canonically bi! [yes, i’m shading korrasami, or more accurately i’m shading bryke for refusing to give ka the build-up and development they deserved].)

this absolutely isn’t to say that headcanoning zuko as gay is a bad thing or invalid in any respect. (although the tendency for zukka shippers to do this specifically to keep zuko away from katara and/or invalidate his canon relationship/attraction to girls is more than a little eyebrow raising. especially since sokka is usually allowed to be bi, bc fans have no problem letting sukka stay in the background bc it’s no real threat, while jetko shippers are happy to have both boys be bi. [possibly bc katara is less a threat to jetko bc jetkotara is every bit as valid as any single ship between the three, but zukka can’t exactly let katara join in, and if the potential exists for zuko to be attracted to her then canon giving them the far deeper emotional bond becomes a threat to zukka’s existence? idk for sure--you be the judge.]) i prefer to hc zuko as bi (and always have, long before the atla renaissance), bc i don’t think zuko being attracted to boys is outside the realm of possibility, and it isn’t a threat to my ship since zuko&katara had a deep and emotional bond in canon that is very easy to develop further into something that becomes explicitly romantic--but the headcanon itself isn’t really the problem (although what it’s often in service to can be).

it’s the strange insistence that this is the only way to read his character, bc he was coded that way and so anyone who doesn’t see it must be too straight to understand--and i really shouldn’t have to say why and how that is so incredibly fucking insulting. (the ‘hetero lenses’ comment wasn’t cute when it came from bryke six years ago, and the same sentiment being repackaged and delivered by zukka shippers ain’t cute now.)

calling zuko gay-coded not only demonstrates ignorance as to what the term actually means, and how to usefully apply it in critical analysis, but also validates the frankly bullshit insertion of institutionalized homophobia in the world of atla where it was neither needed, nor wanted, nor ever hinted at in canon. as a queer woman i’m still infuriated by one fucking comic panel shoving institutionalized and systemic homophobia into a world where it was entirely unnecessary (and doing this in the first installment of the franchise showcasing a queer relationship??? making korra and asami worried about ‘coming out’ when they could have just gone on to have cute adventures together and tell people ‘hey we’re dating’ and have everyone else be ‘that’s awesome =DDD’ [because it is, in fact, possible to just have a world without homophobia i promise!!!!!] double yikes, i’m still pissed at bryke about it), and i doubly hate that ‘zuko is gay coded’ has become so widespread that ‘ozai hates him bc he’s gay’ has become a staple in that part of the fandom.

not only does making zuko gay and implying (or outright stating) that ozai hated and abused him because of it completely undermine zuko’s character arc by making his abuse about his sexuality rather than ozai’s toxic pride and anger at seeing himself reflected in his ‘weak’ son, but it comes very close to outright stating that abuse and trauma are inherently gay experiences, and they aren’t!!! they really aren’t, i promise!!!

abuse and trauma narratives exist outside of ‘my dad hates me because i’m gay’. and, quite frankly, there are MORE THAN ENOUGH queer trauma narratives out in the world. we do not need to start trying to retroactively make them canon in a series where they didn’t exist! if you’re gay and see yourself in zuko and project your own experiences on him, that’s understandable and valid. that does not make zuko gay-coded. and honestly, the insistence that he is makes very little sense to me, because you’re essentially trying to give the show credit for work you put into interpreting the characters! why would you want to do that? why not own your own headcanons and take credit for them, rather than insisting they are canon and everyone else is wrong for not seeing them??? like, i’ve said before that i’ve always headcanoned zuko (and katara) as bi, and even support it with my interpretations of evidence from the show, but the difference between ‘i think zuko is bi’ and ‘zuko is definitely gay-coded’ is that i know that bi zuko is my interpretation of canon, and that it is work i’m putting into the show that wasn’t actually intended by the creators/writers, no matter how much sexual tension i read into the jetko swordfight.

and like, zuko’s character arc doesn’t actually parallel a queer one all that well to begin with. it’s easy enough to do the work and twist it sideways just enough to make the general points fit, but the fact is, zuko’s arc is not one of self-discovery. it’s not one of coming to understand something fundamental about himself that he can’t change, that he was hated for, and coming out to his father in a dramatic confrontation where he shows that he understands himself and doesn’t need his father’s acceptance to be fulfilled.

zuko’s arc is actually one of trauma and healing. and those can (and often are--like i said, there are more than enough queer trauma narratives in the world, atla really doesn’t need to be one of them) be part of queer narratives, for sure! but they aren’t uniquely queer. and zuko’s confrontation with ozai during the eclipse doesn’t read like a ‘coming out’ at all. (yes, i’ve seen that post. yes, i rolled my eyes and moved on, bc unlike some people, i’m capable of not clowning on correctly tagged posts i disagree with.) zuko is specifically confronting ozai over his abuse, because his arc wasn’t about discovering anything fundamental about himself (and therefore realizing that ozai was hating him for something he couldn’t change)--it was about realizing that he was not at fault for the way his father treated him. it was also about realizing that the fire nation was broken and corrupt at its core, and that his father was an aspect of that he needed to break away from so that he could help the world begin to heal.

he says it himself:

Zuko: No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

making this about zuko being gay and rejecting ozai’s homophobia, rather than zuko learning fundamental truths about the world and about his home and about how there was something deeply wrong with his nation that needed to be fixed in order for the world to heal (and, no, ‘homophobia’ is not the answer to ‘what is wrong with the fire nation’, i’m still fucking pissed at bryke about that), misses the entire point of his character arc. this is the culmination of zuko realizing that he should never have had to earn his father’s love, because that should have been unconditional from the start. this is zuko realizing that he was not at fault for his father’s abuse--that speaking out of turn in a war meeting in no way justified fighting a duel with a child.

is that first realization (that a parent’s love should be unconditional, and if it isn’t, then that is the parent’s fault and not the child’s) something that queer kids in homophobic households/families can relate to? of course it is. but it’s also something that every other abused kid, straight kids and even queer kids who were abused for other reasons before they even knew they were anything other than cishet, can relate to as well. in that respect, it is not a uniquely queer experience, nor is it a uniquely queer story, and zuko not being attracted to girls (which is what a lot of it seems to boil down to, at the end of the day--cutting down zuko’s potential ships so that only zukka and a few far more niche ships are left standing) is not necessary to his character arc. nor does it particularly make sense.

(and before anyone brings up his date with jin--a) he enjoyed it when she kissed him, and b) he was a traumatized, abused child going out on a first date. of course he was fucking awkward. have you ever met a teenage boy????)

anyway, uh, that was a lot of words, so have a tl;dr: zuko is not gay-coded. there is nothing uniquely gay (or even uniquely queer) about his character arc or characterization, and he was certainly not coded gay in an attempt to sneak a queer character past the censors. if anyone involved with atla was gonna try that, it would’ve been in lok, and as established, they didn’t even manage to queer-code the actual queer relationship before the last few minutes of the final episode. headcanoning zuko as gay is absolutely fine (though if it’s only done to keep him away from female characters he may otherwise be attracted to, that smells more like misogyny than anything else), but insisting that this reading is the only one that makes sense, and anyone who doesn’t agree must be straight (hello, queer woman here making this insanely long thinkpiece) is very much not.

ship what you like, but stop trying to invalidate other ships and other interpretations of characters just to make your ship seem more plausible. it’s really not a good look.

#atla #zuko #zukka salt #more like zukka shipper salt #atla fandom salt #salt for ts #zuko is not gay coded and im so so tired of seeing that argument in this fandom #it's fine as a hc but it's not canon and was never remotely intended and his arc isn't particularly evocative of a gay narrative #long post #queer things

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capsironunderoos · 4 years ago

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Fire

DINCEMBER - December 7 - Fire

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Reader

Summary: Din’s cyare has been captured and held at an Imperial base, and he stops at nothing to get her back.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Mentions of torture via Imps, a very angry Din, some fighting, and very brief mentions of death

Author’s Note: Ahhh this is so overdue! My student teaching started back up again after finals and I had some assignments to complete for it that kept me from writing. I had hoped to write more today, but that just didn’t happen. I hope to just post a bunch of the Dincember prompts at once in the next few days to get back on track! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this!

Here’s the previous prompt:

DINCEMBER - December 4 - Hoth Chocolate

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

This is the hardest that he has ever pushed his body.

His arms are weak and his legs tremble, but he doesn’t stop.

He can’t stop.

If he does, he will suffer an unbearable loss, and there is only so much he can carry, so much that he can endure.

His blaster never leaves his hand, becoming almost an extension of himself as he fires without so much as a glance.

It makes no difference, the blaster bolt hits homes every time.

He is focused, his skills as a bounty hunter and Mandalorian warrior continuing to serve him as he tears through the Imperial facility.

Din thinks to himself that the Imps are beginning to multiply faster than womp rats, but he does not stop to dwell on the implications of that thought.

If he stops for anything, to catch his breath, to check his surroundings, he will surely collapse.

The stress of the past few days, of the constant searching and questioning have begun to take their toll.

He shakes the thought of stopping from his mind, forcing himself to continue, regardless of the pain in his legs, and the ache that has already settled into his shoulders.

He has never fought so hard before.

His hands land punches that force the receivers into the nearest wall, and his feet connect to bones with such strength that the sound of their cracking rattles around his helmet like thunder.

He spots an officer now, watches as he is hunched over a switchboard, punching at buttons as he glances from the control panel to the Mandalorian stalking towards him.

Din will not admit it, but the fear in his eyes spurs him on.

Good, he thinks, let them tremble before me, let them be afraid of the repercussions of what they have done.

When he reaches the control panel, he grabs the officer by his throat, pushing him as he walks until they reach the wall.

The officer’s head bounces off of the wall from the force of Din’s hand around his throat, cueing his hat to fall, and the echoing thud of his skull settles into a sick sense of satisfaction in Din’s stomach.

“Where is she?”

He growls out from behind his helmet, and the modulator amplifies the anger tenfold.

The officer is visibly sweating now, thick bullets running down his forehead as he tries to look anywhere but at the enraged Mandalorian in front of him.

This only stokes the fury growing in Din’s chest, and he picks his hand up off of the officer’s neck just long enough for him to gulp in a breath of air before his hand is settled around his throat again, and this time Din does not hold back.

He cannot stop himself before a sickening crack fills the room around him, and the officer falls to the ground below him.

Din huffs in annoyance, his adrenaline beginning to surge again.

The pounding of his feet begins to subside as the chemical overtakes his body, and he feels a renewing sense of energy.

He strides over to the control panel and is pleased to see different angles of a room displayed on it.

The feed is live, and he stands stoically still as he sees you suddenly fall into frame.

Your clothes are tattered and dirty, and your hair falls around your face as you collide with the floor.

He can see your chest rising and falling, and a sense of relief begins to overtake the adrenaline.

Din silently chants for you to get up, to show him that you never gave up hope that he would come for you.

Maker how he hopes and wishes that you never gave up on him, that you always knew that he would travel to the farthest edges of the Outer Rim just to have you safe again.

His heart rate speeds up when he sees two stormtroopers taking their time as they walk to where you still lay on the floor. It’s clear that they are speaking amongst themselves, but he doesn’t know how to work the control panel in order to hear what they are saying.

He watches as one of them bends down to scoop you up and off of the floor, and as soon as he does, you leap up, swinging your leg to knock his out from under him. He lands on his back, and before either of them can react, you have grabbed his blaster, aimed, and expertly killed the both of them.

Din watches with bated breath now, and he isn’t sure he remembers how to move.

Seeing such a small glimpse of you, and in such a drastically different mental state than the last time he saw you, is enough for him to forget how to even breathe at all.

His brain screams at him to move, to find you, but he does not listen until he sees you run out of the frame.

He locates the identification numbers of your cell on the control panel and begins to run.

Din is sure that the pounding of his feet against the floor would be enough to crack the tile, but he doesn’t care.

He pushes himself, harder than he ever has before, to reach you as quickly as he can.

You have been gone from his presence for far too long, and he cannot stand another second without you.

As he rounds yet another corner, he knocks into something solid, and further extends his already drawn blaster in order for it to be in front of him, pointing at whatever he just knocked over.

His actions quickly change as he registers that it’s you.

You quickly jump to your feet, the trooper’s blaster you had stolen aimed at Din.

He notices your hands shaking, and he can see bruises and cuts laced around your face. He notes how swollen your right eye is, and the blood resting against your split lip.

“Din?” You whisper, almost in disbelief, and his heart plummets to his stomach.

Had you given up hope that he would come for you?

“They said you were here, but I didn’t believe them. I’m sorry, I didn’t believe them,” you begin to repeat your words, and Din notes that you are still aiming the blaster at him.

He slowly holsters his own, before raising his hands in surrender in front of him.

“Cyare, it’s me. It’s me. It’s Din.”

He repeats, hoping that the words will register and that you will lower the blaster.

Upon hearing his name, you do just that, and the blaster clatters to the ground before you fall into his raised arms. He is caught off-guard, but moves quickly to catch you before you meet the ground.

You are crying now, soft whimpers as you clutch onto the chestplate of his beskar.

He wraps you up into his chest, pulling you to him as he holds you.

The alarms are blaring, and the lights are starting to flash, but he ignores all of it.

When he hears the distant tone of talk through a stormtrooper helmet, he does not hesitate to scoop you into his arms. When you don’t protest, he looks down to see that you are either sleeping or have passed out, and he hopes that it’s the former.

Despite the fact that he had to fight his way in, he manages to remember a way out, and by some miracle he doesn’t run into any trouble, except a mouse droid he has to shoo off.

Once he emerges into daylight again, he begins running and he feels his body physically sigh in relief when he sees the Crest sitting just before him.

---

After jumping onto the Crest and immediately taking-off, Din quickly discovered that you had indeed passed out. He had let you be for the few moments it took him to launch the Razor Crest, but as soon as he was able to click on the auto-pilot he was back at your side, moving you to rest on the cot the both of you share.

He sits beside you on said cot now, his hands moving to cup your face and turn it towards him.

“Cyar’ika. Please wake up,” he begs, and oh, how he begs.

He begins to make promises to the Maker, to the stars, hell, he thinks he even makes a promise to the force at one point.

Din knows you require medical attention, but he wants you awake so that you can explain to him what has happened to you, even if he is unsure that he will be able to listen to you describe what you have endured.

His hands move to your shoulders, and with a firm, but gentle, shake you gasp back into consciousness.

You grab at his arms and he helps you sit up before realizing that you think he is one of them.

“Cyare, I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me, it’s Din.” He whispers, and you look at him with wild, wide eyes.

He can tell you are trying to figure out if you should trust him, but when you catch a glimpse of the signet on his right shoulder pauldron relief instantly floods your eyes and you look down at the similar symbol on your skin.

His right hand finds it, his glove-clad fingers coming to rest against the mudhorn there on your wrist.

You look back up at him then, and you can feel the emotion and exhaustion rolling off of him.

“I need to get you cleaned up,” he deadpans, but his words are soft and laced with care.

You nod and allow him to lead you into the cockpit of the Crest.

He softly guides you into the pilot’s seat before he disappears for a minute to retrieve supplies, but you barely notice his missing presence.

Your eyes have found the stars, and you drink them in as if they are cold Bantha milk.

It had been days since you had seen them, and you missed how many there were, how easy it was to stare at them and have them calm every thought in your mind.

When Din returns, he stands for a moment to watch you look at the stars in wonder.

Their light shines into the Crest, illuminating the cockpit and painting a stark silver onto your features. He notices then just how bad your bruised eye is swelling, and how the bright light from the stars seems to deepen every cut he finds on your skin.

Din can’t help but to let out a shaky sigh at the thought of what you’ve been through, and at the thought of what would have happened had he not gotten there when he did.

Hearing his breath escape through the modulator cues you to snap your attention in his direction, and he wonders how long it will be before his presence no longer incites fear.

“Cyar’ika, it’s me. It’s your Din. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Your eyes stay wide and wary, but a small smile works its way onto your lips before it falls again. The cut on them has begun to bleed at the motion, and Din slowly makes his way to you to tend to it.

He squats down in front of you, and you sit rigidly still.

He lifts a wet cloth in front of you, and watches as you look between it and him.

“I need to clean that up, okay? Is it okay if I do that for you?”

You slowly nod, and his left hand moves to cup your cheek and keep your head still as his right gently swipes at the blood sitting on your lip. When he is satisfied that he has stopped the blood flow, he exchanges the cloth for another.

“Now, cyare, I need to clean up the cuts and bruises here okay?”

At the word “here,” he taps his left thumb softly against your cheek as his hand still cups your face.

You nod and he removes his hand to brush the hair out of your eyes and away from your face.

You whimper at the loss of contact, and the sound and action is so unlike you that it catches Din off-guard.

“Haar’chak, what did they do to you?”

He whispers, and he takes note of the tears that begin to sit along your waterline in response.

“I wouldn’t tell them,” you start, and your voice cracks at the use of it.

Din is quick to hand you a glass of water, and you take it from him, greedily gulping it down. He wonders then if you have been fed or given water at all since your capture.

“I wouldn’t tell them where you were, or where he was. That got me time with some angry troopers. I think they may have broken a rib or two. One of them could land a pretty solid right-hook, for an Imp.”

You try to laugh off your words, to pass over them as if they are nothing, but the sound won't come. A sad smile rests on your lips as Din continues his ministrations. His touch is soft as he does his best to clean the cuts on your face.

“Then I wouldn’t tell them your name, or the name of the child, and that afforded me a visit from an angry officer. He asked for the cameras to be turned off, and then proceeded to beat me so bad that I couldn’t stay conscious for most of it.”

Din can feel his hands beginning to tremble as he continues to clean you up. They shake in both anger and sadness, and he is glad that it is time to apply the bacta patches. This gives him a moment to gain control over his nerves.

“I need to apply bacta now, okay?” He asks, and you nod.

When the medicine hits your open wounds, a sharp hiss escapes through your gritted teeth, and Din’s heart constricts at the sound.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and you shake your head before talking again, trying to mask the pain of the healing agent against your open cuts.

“When I didn’t tell them if he was special, or gifted, or whatever they want to call him, they sent in the firing squad. That was when they told me you were there to rescue me. I didn’t fully believe them, but I knew if you were there that it would be my best chance to escape.”

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you, cyare.”

You place your hand on his arm that rests in your lap, and he glances down at it.

“I never gave up that you would come for me, Din.”

He nods and returns to his work, his heart beating so fast he is sure that you can hear it hitting the beskar that sits on his chest.

As you sit in silence now, Din softly rubs at the cuts on your skin, his mind growing increasingly angry the more he thinks about what you endured, but his heart reaches out to you, aches for you.

He was in pain too, upset that your capture had been because of him. That they had tortured you to get to him, to learn about the little one.

As if you can read his mind, you ask him about Grogu.

“Where is he, Din? Please, please tell me he is okay,” you whisper, and it is the first time Din has been able to fully meet your eyes.

“He is safe, cyare. I left him with Cara on Nevarro. We’re going to get him now.”

You nod, satisfied with his response. Din hands you a cold compress and instructs you to press it onto your swollen eye.

“I got this when I wouldn’t explain my relationship to you, or why I wear our clan symbol.” You mumble, and Din’s eyes flit to the mudhorn on your wrist once more.

He thinks then about his clan of three, small and a little broken, but strong, and his all the same.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers, and you stare at him before he says it again, louder this time.

“I’m sorry I turned my back for too long during that fight. I’m sorry I didn’t come for you sooner. I’m sorry that I’ve dragged you into this mess, this is no life for you, or the child.”

He rushes out, and you are shaking your head in disagreement so hard that it has started to ache.

“Do not sit there and apologize to me, Din Djarin. I know what I signed up for, and I willingly signed up for it. I would give my life to protect that child, and I would do the same for you. Have I not proven that? Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.”

Din’s helmet jumps up at the quick movement he makes upon hearing those words escape your lips.

His eyes search yours through the visor, and he finds nothing but sincerity staring back at him.

“I’ll kill them for what they did to you, cyar’ika.” He states, and you smile at him.

“I would set the world on fire to keep you warm.”

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember:

DINCEMBER - December 9 - “Let It Snow”

#dincember #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #mando #mando x reader #mando x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #star wars #star wars x reader #Mandalorian #mandalorian x reader

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