#red death and his entire family deserve the fucking world

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“I think we should break up.” Simons words were like a ton of bricks, nearly taking the wind out of you. He stated it so plainly, without any hesitation that it had your entire world spinning.

“Wait, what?” You asked, struggling to blink away the hot tears that were threatening to fall. “Simon, you don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His eyes landed anywhere but you, a trick you knew he had in order to keep his composure. There was something more he wasn’t telling you.

“But why? What’s changed?” Your voice was quivering now, praying the man you loved so dearly would just look at you. “Simon, what’s going on?”

Simon said nothing, his eyes glued to the floor as he tried to steady his breathing. He couldn’t look at you. He knew if he did, he’d go back on his word.

“Simon Riley, you answer me right now.” Tears were flowing freely down your cheeks now as you were no longer able to keep your composure. “Simon!”

“I don’t deserve you alright?” Simon finally looked up at you, the harshness in his tone causing you to flinch. “For fuck sakes, I don’t. You are everything I’m not. You’re gentle, you’re kind. You care about everyone so selflessly, and you deserve someone who can be on that level with you.”

“Si.”

“No.” Simon cut you off before you could speak, his eyes flickering back to the floor. “I’m a broken shell of a man, Y/N. You deserve someone who can take you on dates. Someone who can bring you home to their family. Someone who you’re not waiting months on end for, wondering if they are even alive. You deserve anyone but me.”

You choked back a sob, the words of your lover causing your heart to shatter. Is this truly how he felt? Had you failed as a partner to make him feel that he is worthy of love?

“I got my family killed. My best friend died because I wasn’t there fast enough. Everywhere I go, death follows me.” Simon continued. “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.

“Look at me.” You spoke, your voice stern as you blinked away some of the tears. “Simon, look at me.”

Simon’s gaze lifted, and the sight of him caused your tears to flow down your cheeks once more. He was crying. His cheeks were blotched red, something you’d never once seen on him in the years you’d been together.

You took a step forward, slowly moving your hand to cup his cheek, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn’t pull away. “I don’t want, nor need anyone that’s not you.”

Simon blinked, clearing his throat to speak, but you cut him off. “You are the man that I want. You think you’re a broken shell of a man, but every single person on this planet is broken, in their own way. I want every part of you.

I want the late night phone calls when you’re on the other side of the world. I want the reunions when you come home, the feeling that I’ve finally got you back. I want the corny at home movie dates. I want the burnt dinners, the late night fast food runs. I want the man who so deeply cares about everyone but tries so hard to deny it. I want the man that would put his life on the line for anyone who he considers a friend. I want the dry humor, I want the witty remarks. Simon, I want you. Always.”

Simon’s tears now flowed freely down his cheeks, his lips quivering as he struggled with what to say. His arms wrapped around your torso, holding you tightly to him as a sob wracked his body. “I fucking love you, Y/N. I don’t deserve you but gods I’ll fucking try to.”

Little did he know, he never had to. You’ve loved him from the moment you met him.

[mxtxfanatic]

JC better be fucking glad that the whole "i was given a boon from BSSR b/c of my mom" thing was just a lie made up for the Golden Core transfer. that could have been the last fucking thing WWX has from his mother and he just has zero qualms about taking it. both he and his mother truly believe WWX owes them all that he has, including his life, his gratitude, and the memories of the parents he barely remembers.

JC screams "you're the reason my parents and sister are gone!". yeah? well your mom has been actively taking away and destroying the memory of WWX's parents and you just proved that you'd also do the same if given the opportunity.

an actual brother (blood or not) would show concern about what WWX was offering to sacrifice. JC did not, not even years later.

Jiang Cheng lives his life by what he believes others owe him, not what he actually owes others. Even when he knows he owes someone else, he will not repay it if he sees the debt as a "hardship."

Wei WuXian finally lost his temper, “Jiang Cheng! What- What do you think you’re talking about?! Take it back—don’t make me give you a thrashing! Don’t forget. Who was the one that helped us burn Uncle Jiang’s and Madam Yu’s corpses? Who returned to us the ashes that are in Lotus Pier right now? And who took us in when we were chased after by Wen Chao?!” Jiang Cheng, “I’m the one who fucking wants to give you a thrashing! Yes, they helped us before, but why in the world don’t you understand that right now any remnant of the Wen Sect is a target of criticism! No matter who they are, with a surname of Wen they have committed a most heinous crime! And those who protect the Wen are at risk of being condemned by everyone! All the people loathe the Wen-dogs so badly that the worse they die the better. Whoever protects them is against the entire world. Nobody would speak for them, and nobody would speak for you either!”

—Chapt. 73: Recklessness, exr

[Jiang Cheng] could manage to tolerate others, but definitely not Wen Ning, the Wen-dog who put his hand through Jin ZiXuan’s heart and ended both his sister’s happiness and her life. Just a look, and he felt the urge to kill him right there. How dare he step foot on the earth of Lotus Pier—he really was looking for his death!

—Chapt. 89: Loyalty, exr

With a shove, Jiang Cheng pushed aside the panicking Jin Ling who was supporting his side. Though he was already losing blood, blood still rushed to his head in his anger, making his face cycle through shades of white and red. He spat, “What gives you the right? Wei WuXian, what gives you the fucking right?” From behind Lan WangJI, Wei WuXian said stiffly, “What right?” Jiang Cheng replied, “How much has my family given for you? I’m his son. I’m the heir of the Yunmeng Jiang Sect. But all those years, I was never enough next to you. Their love, their dedication, even their life! The lives of my father, mother, older sister, and even Jin ZiXuan! Because of you, all that’s left now is an orphaned Jin Ling!” ... “And then look what happened? You went to shelter some outsider, haha! From the Wen Sect, of all people. How many years did you eat their food and drink their water?! You betrayed us in an instant without any hesitation! What do you think my family is to you?! Endless good deeds, you’ve done them all, whilst every fuck-up was always because you had no choice! You ‘had no choice’! What difficulties can’t you explain?! What hardship must you hide?! Hardship?! You don’t tell me anything, you treat me like a moron!!! “How much do you owe my family? Shouldn’t I hate you?! Couldn’t I hate you?! What gives you the right to suddenly make me feel like I should be the one that’s sorry?! What gives you the right to make me feel like some fucking clown after all these years?! What the hell am I?! Do I only deserve to be blinded by your glory, by your light?! Shouldn’t I hate you?!”

—Chapt. 103: A Hatred for a Life Part 6, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Jiang Cheng, on the other hand, looked about ready to lose his mind on the spot. He said, “You? You?!” The force of the punch had been too powerful. Not only did it go right through Wen Ning’s chest, the shock of it also shattered part of his vocal chords. Unable to form a single word, he fell towards the ground. ... Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi went to the corner. Wen Ning was still half-collapsed onto Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling in an awkward position. Wei WuXian laid him flat on the ground. After studying the dark hole on his chest, he fretted, “Look at you......What should I use to fill this now?” Wen Ning asked, “Young Master, is it serious......?” Wei WuXian said, “It’s not serious. You don’t need the organs here anyways. But it looks bad.” Wen Ning replied, “It’s not like I asked to look good......” Jiang Cheng was silent.

—Chapts. 107-108: Concealment Parts 1 & 2, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

[daenerys-targaryen]

x

I know the asoiaf fandom has it in their heads that magic is bad evil vile the dragons destruction death but I mean you guys do know that without dragons and Daenerys, the world is literally fucked right? The Others would be 100% unstoppable if it weren’t for Daenerys and her dragons. You’re actively wishing on your faves downfall if you really truly believe that Dany has a single evil bone in her body because without her, without her magic, without her dragons, without her resources, your faves will die.

"But Dany plans on ruling the 7K! which means she is public enemy #1 to all of House Stark because House Stark DESERVES to be independent!!!"

You see this is their immediate argument because they do know that without dany, her dragons and resources their faves will die, but they only care about the fact that since ‘the north must be independent’ -> and ‘dany wants to rule the seven kingdoms’ = dany is bad and must be vilified to the furthest extent.

If you understand daenerys character at all (most don’t), you’d know that Dany has only ever viewed the throne and ruling as something that is her duty as the last living Targaryen. It was not something she wanted. This was something that was thrust upon her when she was sold into a position of power she didn’t want and when all her remaining family members were murdered and killed, leaving her the very last. When Viserys died, she took it upon herself to do what he could not. Again, being 14 years old with no education, dany didn’t really understand the true horrors of what that meant until things were already set in motion. When pregnant with Rhaego, she doesn’t think of herself as sitting on the throne but sets that destiny on her son so that he will rule. Then, when Drogo and Rhaego die, who else would that responsibility have gone to? Once Drogo is gone, Daenerys views the remaining khalassar who chose to follow her as her responsibility; how could she not? How could she look into their eyes an abandon them?

Throughout the series, the crown is heavy on Daenerys shoulders. She would rather sit with her girls and eat fruit by the pool, but thankfully another key aspect of Daenerys character is that she is incredibly selfless. Thankfully, she does rule because not only does she have the heart to rule, but she also has the intelligence and cunning to do so. She's good at it. Not perfect by any means, but she's not awful like the fandom tries to make her out to be. In A Dance With Dragons, “For every [petitioners] two she sent off [from her court] smiling, one left red-eyed or muttering.” 2/3 in favor is a pretty good track record if you ask me 🤷🏼‍♀️

She would love to live happily as a common woman with Daario, even saying that if he asked her to, she would give up her crown for him. But in that same vein, her desire to rest and just be a 15 year old girl is overshadowed by her sense of duty. Not only does she believe is it her duty as the last Targaryen to rule, but it's her sense of duty to protect those who can't protect themselves that motivates her rule. With all of that being said, Daenerys main mission right now is not the seven kingdoms, her goal is not the long night and she has a lot of work ahead of her in Essos.

If Daenerys were just power hungry who wanted to rule the seven kingdoms with an iron fist, she would have left essos and taken it upon herself to do just that in the second book. She would have done anything she could to get to the seven kingdoms and take down her enemies. Just how Viserys would have allowed an entire army and their horses too to rape her to get his throne. But again, she chose to remain in essos as there is still work to be done and people to protect and save.

What is sad is just like in the show, Daenerys will go North and defeat the others and save the world (because it’s her destiny), but these same people who NEED HER AND HER RESOURCES TO SURVIVE THE LONG NIGHT will once again toss her to the side once they have no use for her and vilify her every chance they get because the North Must Be Free! But they don’t even understand Danys motives on why she’s ruling.

Daenerys gets the short end of the stick by not only genuinely being a good person and hero, but also because the very fans of the people she will save twist her into a villain who needs to be destroyed. It’s so messed up. It’s so sad considering at the end of the day, Daenerys is just a 15-year-old girl who’s suffered more than Jesus who has a good heart but these people who claim to be fans of the Honorable House Stark would rather her be crazy and die than anything else simply because they’re threatened by her. Not very honorable if you ask me.

I mean, if you hate her and want her to die just say it? You don’t have to twist her and vilify her to justify your wanting her removed from the story. But I understand that it’s just a way for you to save face from wishing a horrible death upon an ex-child bride who’s just trying to abolish slavery.

[secretly-a-catamount]

Let Me Avow

(This Story Can Also Be Found Here On Ao3

Part Two Can Be Found Here

Part Three Can Be Found Here)

  Annabel laughed and took a long sip of her wine. Red as the lipstick stain she left on the crystal glassware, red as her dress, red as the earrings that dangled from her ears and split the ink-spill of her hair by reflecting the dying sunlight like manicure stars. He’d brought the jewelry for her earlier after seeing the way the hand-carved rubies had caught her attention in the shop window of Paris’s most famous boutique.

  “What's next on our grand world tour? Where are we going?” Her laughter, her happiness, her lack of fear — the fact that she was here and whole and healthy — were a balm on the festering wound that had hollowed Malcolm out for nearly his entire life.

  “Anywhere. Everywhere. Anywhere you want to go we will. You go, I go. You go, I follow. You know that. You know that.” He was desperate to reassure her that he would not question her, would not abandon her. Not again. Not this time.

  There was a moment of silence broken only by the soft, whistling sound of Annabel sucking air through the endearingly crooked gap between her frontmost teeth. “And where do you want to go?”

  Instead of answering Malcolm reached to take her hand over the café’s tabletop of intricately overlapping metal scales. He forced his heart to calm, forced himself to sculpt his face into an easy smile.

  The skin on the back of her hand — soft in some places and rough and scarred in others — was cold when he lifted it to his lips, the kiss nothing more than a feather-light breeze of a touch. He imagined she smelled like a tomb, dust and moonlight. He imagined she tasted like death, cold water and endless silences. He wouldn’t know. His senses weren’t as sharp as they could have been, they never were here.

  “That’s not an answer, Malcolm, and you know it.” Her tone was playful, but her smile was rueful, an old sadness buried in the depths of her blue-green eyes, coiled around her bones, torn on the sharp edges of her teeth.

  Nearly knocking the bottle of wine out of its bucket of melted ice, condensation bleeding through his jacket’s fabric and sticking it to the skin of his elbow, Malcolm flipped Annabel’s hand over and kissed the base of her palm. He traveled downwards until he reached the tender, fragile skin at her wrist, lips brushing against blue blood veins and a belled-sleeve, against freckles and a bracelet.

  The movement of her chair closer to the table was accompanied by a thin, metallic screech of its metal legs scraping against the bricks that constructed the sun-warmed patio.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, “I know you hate it when I talk like that.” The idea that he was somehow lesser because he was a warlock, that he had somehow deserved to be owned by her family, that it had somehow simply been his place to have been the Blackthorn family’s servant, their slave, their thing to use and then simply discard. He hated it, hated them all, the thoughts they’d sawn in his mind like seeds in a field before he was old enough to really know better. He knew that he had as much worth as any person, but it was just so easy to fall back into that pattern of thinking — of being purely reactionary, of being nothing more than a dog whose only purpose in life was to follow her around — when he was around her, if for no other reason than the fact that she was better than him, not because she was a Shadowhunter and he was a warlock, but because she was Annabel Blackthorn, and Annabel Blackthorn was better than anyone he had ever met or was likely ever going to meet, as close to perfection as any person could be in Malcolm’s opinion.

  “I do, and just so you know, if you keep saying shit like that I might just have to wring your neck.”

  He gave a gasp that would make any actor jealous and pulled his hand out of hers to place it against his chest as if wounded by her words. “Cursing? From your virtuous, maidenly lips?”

  “Oh, fuck you.”

  “With any luck later I’ll have been.”

  It was at that moment that the server decided to make his presence known, a thin, white paper held in his hand.

  “The ticket, Mademoiselle?” His dark caterpillar-like mustache bunched unattractively over his top lip as he spoke.

  Malcolm busied himself with his own wine glass, long fingers wrapping around the stem as he cringed internally. If he had been alone or been with literally anyone else he would’ve taken the server aside and tried to . . . tried to . . . well, Malcolm didn’t know what he would do, what he would say, but he’d have done something to help the poor boy. But he wasn’t alone nor was he with anyone else, so he sat, and suffered, and wondered if Annabel was even more offended by the man’s monstrosity of facial hair that he was. She was a painter, after all, an artist, a woman who brought forth worlds that didn’t exist into reality with brushes and oils and water, a woman more affected by the beauty of sight than he was as a writer.

  Annabel dug in around in her bag for an ink pen. Malcolm fought throught his secondhand embarrassment, refocused, and hooked his ankle around hers underneath the table in a silent apology: Sorry, I’ll remember next time. I really will. I promise.

  She seemed to understand, flashing him a slow, soft smile — he felt a stab of relief at her returning comfort, maybe he hadn’t ruined the night after all — as she scribbled her name on the ticket and handed it to the server.

  “Ready to go, handsome?” She slung her purse over her shoulder, adjusting the straps (Malcolm had been carrying it around earlier, knowing that it hadn’t gone with her day wear), and offered her hand.

  He stood and took it. “Only if you are, beautiful.”

  “I am.”

  They went walking through a forest of people, and then running once they burst from the front doors of the restaurant, Annabel dragging him by the hand and the heart, the two of them racing along the riverside. The ran until Malcolm was really laughing for the first time since he’d left her, the tips of his nose and ears pink from the chilling whiplash of the wind, running until Malcolm (who did not have a Stamina Rune, unlike a certain Shadowhunter with a taste for footwear and fallacies) collapsed to a desolate stone bench, bearly managing to get a question out between his wezzing gasps.

  “Italy?”

  Annabel’s lopsided lips pursued quizzically as she considered her lover sitting just outside the halo of the street lamp. “What about Italy?” Her hair was nearly iridescent underneath the electric light, glinting the thousand different under-shades of raven feathers.

  “Where we could — go next. I want — I want — to take you to a—“

  “Masquerade,” she gasped, cutting him off, her cheeks flushing a shade that was particularly delicious against her skin, strawberries and cream, peaches and porcelain, “you remembered. You actually remember. That was so long ago, I can’t possibly believe that you remembered my birthday wish.”

[theundeadgospel]

Black blood drooled down her maw.

The bat beast prowled through the now emptied caverns of a clan that dared to plan an ambush on Vishus, dilated eyes scanning the murky chambers of death and decay. Hollow bodies of mangled and deformed skaven were now the only remaining reminders of what was once a bustling mischief of babbling orders and incessant bickering — food at the bottom of the chain and trophies to be fed to her men. At the very least, despite this being a relatively agile victory due to the clan having just climbed the ropes to becoming something out in the real world, it temporarily satisfied her beast’s insatiable thirst for violence.

Clan Fester was long gone. Grey Seer Rasknitt was presumed dead for the second time, leaving his former second in command to silently grieve over his disappearance. The guilt of having left Ubersreik to it’s own devices while she was stuck clawing her way back up from Hell stung like a fresh wound being salted knowing that her absence caused a severe dwindling in men without her guidance — and the sight of both her home and ‘kompanya’ vandalized and deserted upon return was a disastrously traumatizing reunion. Betty couldn’t remember the last time she ever sobbed — but seeing Drachenfels overrun with Rotblood scum, her sacred belongings destroyed, men slaughtered, and Rasknitt gone all in one go surely sent the undead into a spiraling descent of mortification. If she hadn’t fucked with the Gods this badly and bit off more than she could chew, perhaps she would have still been ‘alive’ with her battalion, moving forward with Rasknitt’s plans with the Skittergate — perhaps Fester would have a fighting chance at survival.

She had no choice but to retreat back to Clan Vishus. Warlord Skreech would always welcome her with open arms. She didn’t deserve his undying loyalty, but she was grateful nonetheless to have someone to fall back on when all else failed. Clan Moulder certainly wouldn’t trust her entirely after her last fiasco with Throt — even if he did forgive her, she didn’t necessarily forgive herself yet. Being a war machine fed violence, deceit, and thievery became exhausting. Loss never got any easier in her line of work and copious lives. It was disgustingly common — but it never hurt any less. Trudge on and do not ever let others see your weakness — there’s always time to cry in private.

Reverting back to her humanoid form, Betty slumped against the wall, lighting up a cigar. Taking a long drag, the darkness shriveled up at the sight of even the most minuscule of light, the sound of something wet plipping upon dirt ground reverberating in the ghost town of dens. Betty had assumed it was more blood making a mess — and though that was partially true, the red head failed to notice her own tears mixing with the thick substance. Slowly, her blood magic was fixing up wounds and lacerations — but magic wasn’t enough to quell the festering sorrow inside. Crying was a rarity. Of course she didn’t acknowledge her suffering. She never did.

This was life. Revolution, death, war mongering, an endless repetition of kill or be killed. No wonder the skaven were always so on edge. You stop for one second for a breather, and the next you have ten arrows impaling your body. She was cursed with immortality — others were not. Others only had one life. One short, pathetic, measly life with one fragile, paper thin body.

Another long drag. More silent tears.

How much death had she been forced to witness in all these lifetimes? Countless bodies. She’s witnessed her own found family die several times. Her brother that she looked up to like a God get murdered right in front of her, powerless to stop it. Her parents were disintegrated. She outlived all of her old townsfolk. Many skaven were unable to be saved. Clan Fester as a whole had been wiped out like the plague. Who fucking knows where Rasknitt went. It was only a matter of time she lost Skreech too. Everyone dies.

Everyone but her.

Eyes shot open at the sound of shrill squealing nearby, her head sharply cocking in the direction of the nuisance — there’s someone alive? After the Vishus massacre? Impossible.

Putting the cigar out, Betty slithered into the crumbling debris of a barely holding den, pointed ears twitching to discern where the skaven was located. And there it was — hiding under soot and hardened soil, tiny claws desperately grasping at air for fruitless leverage. Any murderous rage that lasted washed away instantly at the sight of a whelp — her guilty pleasure. Larger claws tore away the collapsed structure to let the pup breathe — and cloudy irises suddenly shrunk in both astonishment and disbelief.

“ …Blyat. I need to find Skreech — now. “

[hopeswriting]

HI HELLO, I FELT BAD CONTINUING THE CONVO IN THE POST BUT OOOOOHHOO YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE FEELING UNWELL ABOUT TSUNA HOPE. I AM INSANE ABOUT HIM.

FIRST OF ALL, I checked the link you sent and oh my god SAME "The Truth Revealed" is an INSANE CHAPTER TO ME. Tbh Future arc is one of my favorite arcs in KHR all together. I don't think I ever recovered from Tsuna waking up in a fucking coffin. Like I think that irreversibly altered my brain chemistry I havent been the same. My brains been spinning since i saw that. To find out that TYL Tsuna planned it in the Truth Revealed??? Like WHO is TYL TSUNA. WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM. Like you pointed out that Lal yelled out at Tsuna wasnt like that, but to find out he was?? oh my GOD. Like it makes me wonder how much stress TYL Tsuna was under or how he came to the point that he felt like this was the only solution they could pull off. I think there's an addition that Irie did say that Byakuran would've found a way to bring the younger gang to the future anyway must have absolutely added to TYL Tsuna's stress and desire to get his younger self ready before Byakuran decided it was time before he was. Like I need to know IS HE HAPPY LIKE YOU SAID. I HOPE THIS MAN FINDS PEACE GOD KNOWS HE DESERVES IT. This is more of a headcanon than any solidified proof, just a GUT feeling. But I have to feel as if TYL Tsuna's actions being so... like that had to do with TYL Reborn's death. We know that they're close and Rainbow arc shows us that Tsuna would lift the entire world on his back if it saved Reborn. I can't help but theorize the mental state TYL Tsuna was in, after losing Reborn. Seeing how..hotheaded Tsuna can get about Reborn in Rainbow Arc and how he willingly goes to the Inheritance Ceremony for Yamamoto.. I can see him conjuring a plan like this to fuck the shit out of Byakuran post Reborn death, or even just for the possibility of getting Reborn back. But this is just a headcanon again. Either way?? Im FOAMING at the mouth with you.

As for the rest of our discussion, first of all I lost my shit when you sent the manga panel of Reborn looking shocked but holy shit i didnt connect those dots that Reborn was ?? shocked?? that Tsuna was going along with it. And that its coming from a place of anger and vengeance from Tsuna, which isn't usual for him but fuck they attacked his family. As you mentioned, they crossed that firm line drawn in the sand and Tsuna was going for their throat this time bc how dare they? When, in Tsuna's eyes, Yamamoto was done NOTHING wrong to his attacker. As for Tsuna becoming Vongola Decimo and how he would've been shackled, this is actually something we discussed in our server as well. The conclusion I ended up coming with is that in the end it didn't matter to Tsuna. He was seeing red. He was furious. He was willing to sacrifice everything, even his own freedom from the Mafia to avenge Yamamoto. It's either that he was so blinded by rage that he didn't consider the consequences of his actions, or even worse he was willing to take up the mantle of Vongola Decimo if it meant catching the person who did this to Yamamoto. For Yamamoto's sake, he would be Vongola Decimo. AND THAT IDEA??? OOOHHHH. UGHHHH. THERES SO MUCH TO TSUNAS CHARACTER AND IT DRIVES ME MAD BC HE SEEMS SO SIMPLE AT FIRST LOOK. AND IM??? IM AAAAH YKNOW??

[follow up to this post]

the future arc isn't personally my favorite, but i totally get the people for whom it is. the writing for it is really solid and really steps up from what we had so far, and i DO love so much that first part of the arc up to the end of the merone base raid.

you know, at times like this i wish i'd remember what my reaction was to it the first time i read it too, but my memory is shit lol. but i don't need to to agree it was so iconic and insane of amano to make tsuna appear in the future in a coffin. like not only it's the first thing we learn about the future, but also the first thing we learn about his future. that ten years later he's dead. absolute fucking power move from amano, like hello??

but also, while we're on the subject... this literally just came to me so idk if i'm going to be articulate about this lol, but i think there's something to be said about how the first thing we learn about tyl tsuna is that he's dead. and then he stays dead throughout the arc, mentioned and talked about, judged and defended, praised and blamed, but it all happens through other people. everything we learn about him, every choice (or lack thereof) and decision attributed to him, every glimpse into his personality and what kind of man he was, we learn all of it it through someone else's words. through someone else's eyes, and tho we're given no reason to doubt they're saying the truth, they can only be biased as they say it. like, amano could have made him appear through flashbacks, but she didn't. she gave him no physical appearance, no face, no voice. and then when she does do that (tho even then she still gives him no face), he only talks about his present self. has only words for him. and idk what is there to say about all that, but i know it's relevant to the themes of the future arc.

I think there's an addition that Irie did say that Byakuran would've found a way to bring the younger gang to the future anyway must have absolutely added to TYL Tsuna's stress and desire to get his younger self ready before Byakuran decided it was time before he was.

you're right! i tend to overlook that bit of information, but it is canon that either way, the present 10th gen would have found themselves in the future. so for tsuna to decide he'll be the one to make it happen and have control over it instead of byakuran, was of course the right choice to make. the safest one, both for them and their present selves. as well as the kindest one, because of course, tsuna didn't just bring them to the future to leave them to die in it, the way byakuran would have done. he came up with a plan to make sure they were ready to face the future like you said, and would be strong enough to see it through. and the plan was still harsh and painful and arguably cruel on them, but it still was kindness from tsuna at the same time. consideration for the situation he had no choice but to get them involved in. it was him taking responsibility for it and sparing them the worse of it as much as he could and as much as realistically possible. and maybe it made little difference, but it's still more than byakuran would have allowed them for sure, and it did play a non-negligible part in them not only surviving the future, but coming out on top of it.

you know... for some reason i've always thought tsuna was level-headed when he agreed to go along with the plan. like of course his hands were being forced as he was backed against a corner, facing a hopeless and desperate situation, but in my head he still had himself together somehow. sat and considered the pros and cons of the plan with a cool head, before deciding it was worth the gamble.

but like. knowing tsuna, it's much more likely he hadn't, you're right. that he was standing on the brink, and maybe had already fallen from it. i mean, yamamoto's dad got killed, his parents were unaccounted for, vongola's hq fell and vongola was hunted, namimori was invaded and every people there connected to him hunted too, forcing kyoko and haru to be on the run, with lambo and i-pin after them to keep them safe when they were just fifteen but still forced to take part in a literal war. tsuna had already lost so much by that point, while still being at risk of losing much more. and at the same time, he had already lost the worst thing he could lose, because of course, there's also reborn. reborn who also died, who also got killed when he's the one person who's always been by his side, who's always been his rock and anchor, who's always known how to give him strength again when his own failed him. and MY gut feeling headcanon is that reborn died not too long before tsuna put the plan in motion. maybe even died only just a couple of days before that, and that was the last straw, the deciding factor that made tsuna go along with the plan.

so like. maybe tsuna was heartbroken and crestfallen when he made that decision. maybe it was an entirely emotional one, one he made out of spite and vindictive feelings for byakuran like you said. out of fear he'll end up with nothing more left to lose, and out of his guilt for letting things come to that point and not being in a position--not having the power to make things right again. a decision he made out of his grief and the desperate hope he could get back everything he lost. the hope he could get reborn back. and okay, consider this, but independently of whether it was the right thing to do or of the chances of the plan to be successful, maybe he simply agreed to it too out of the certainty it's what present tsuna would have done too. that it's what he'd have wanted too, that he would have taken any chance that might bring reborn back to him. because it's reborn. oh i'm soo normal about this and their bond.

For Yamamoto's sake, he would be Vongola Decimo.

YOU CANT JUST SAY THAT TO ME LIKE I HAVENT THE SOFTEST SPOT FOR YAMS AND TSUNA. oh my god. oh my god??? for yamamoto's sake... for yamamoto. and i mean, i know tsuna would have done the exact same thing for any of his other guardians, but that amano chose to go along with yams instead of any other guardian... like again, i do very much believe tsuna would have reacted the same way were it anyone else, but at the same time i really do very much believe the fact it was yamamoto played a part in his anger and resolve to avenge him. i really can't explain it, but like. it's yamamoto, you know?

NO I KNOW!!!! tsuna is... he's so easy to overlook and deem unworthy of a second glance, but if you DO look back at him, and then really look at him, you can't stop and can't look away. and the longer you look, the more there is to look at. which is even more insane because at his core tsuna still is truly, really just some guy. he's just a complex character in very simple ways i guess??

anyway yeah, i need to LIE DOWN now, thanks.

[cozypancakes]

I know we are talking mainly about Peter and Rose in the fandom, but omg, Maddie Redfield was such a tragic character. This girl never caught a break since she was a kid. First, her mom died, and then her dad blamed her for her sisters death when she was 5/6. Like how insane is this? First of all, he was already rich at that time. He could have afforded a nanny to watch the kids. Even more crazy he blamed her publicly for it. Maddie said in the tape that her dad would go on stage and say Sarah drowned because of her. This man was a red flag from the beginning, I'm wondering how he got so many fans (I know he is corrupt, but people at the college campus were excited to see him there). And then after everything, he's sorta responsible for Maddies kidnapping, plus she had to watch the man she liked getting murdered in front of her while also learning at the same time she was groomed by that man and later got shot by an assassin. Her only friend is Chelsea, someone who is hired to be there for her. Maddie deserves all the happiness in the world. Please let her go to Italy, where she paints all day. I know she won't be in s2 (I hope Chelsea is), but yeah. Also, imagine having to testify against your dad who wanted to kill the president. I know she hates him, so that's gotta feel good in the moment, but if you think about it, she won't get peace. She will always be linked to him, like Peter is linked to his dad and Maddies kidnapping. The conspiracy freaks won't just let her be. Even worse that her dad created the narrative, she's responsible for her sisters death. Maddie is just my girl, and she was suffering the entire time, I need her to be happy in the future.

Maddie definitely deserves some attention, anon. I bet that Redfield didn't get a nanny simply for "appearances". Bet he soaked up the single father card and all the sympathy that got him. And how horrible for Maddie to be publicly known for being the reason her sister die! Like he says that they built a foundation after her sister?? What was the foundation for?? Forcing your eldest child to do a parent's job?! Imagine growing up like that and EVERYONE thinks you're the reason your sister is dead! Parents, classmates, teachers, everyone knows! Some people may ridicule Maddie for having fallen for her art teachers lies but after everything she went through from such a young age I think she was very put together. AND THEN HER FUCKING THERAPIST BETRAYS HER LIKE THAT??? WTF!? How do you go running to the President's chief of staff like that?

She probably won't show up in season 2 and it's probably highly unlikely but I would love a scenario where her and Peter bond over their shitty father's and the conspiracy theory idiots. Peter giving her pep talks before she testifies in court. Peter taking on an older brother role with her and helping her through anxiety attacks or self doubts that creep up about whether she deserves all of this. Peter even learning and accepting that, no, they don't deserve to be punished for their fathers' actions. They are their own people and can only be responsible for what they do. They can't atone for their fathers' sins.

I need them to be each others found family now. Peter being the first person (okay, maybe second after Chelsea) that she sends drafts of her newest artwork to. Introducing Peter to any significant other she has over the years and Peter giving them the "if you ever hurt her, we will hunt you down" (rose standing threateningly behind him). Peter dropping in to visit whenever he is nearby (M: oh you were in the neighborhood, huh? P:England is in the same continent so yeah). Maddie reassuring Peter that he's going to be an amazing father because he is so caring and will always protect them. Peter walking Maddie down the aisle if she ever got married...

Okay that got away from me real quick

[insanescriptist]

See look, the thing was, Jason as a kid was absolutely 100% a liar. Not that anyone really ever called him out on it, but you didn't live four years on the street without seeing shit. Choosing masks and marks and praying you'll live through your mistakes. Seeing people who didn't. Who weren't good enough, lucky enough or useful enough. Like with everything else good with Jason (according to everyone else), that happy boy facade died in a warehouse but it had been cracking for months before that.

Sure, it wasn't entirely a facade -that's what made it such a fantastic lie- but Jason's big mistake was thinking that their relationship, that it had become true on both ends, instead of a lie he had crafted on his. He didn't even think B lied on his. Fake it till you make it. B said look to the evidence and the evidence said, before his death, that Jason was his son. B had adopted him, trained him, treated him as his child. In and out of the leotard and pixie boots.

After his death, under the headstone Todd. Not in the Wayne family cemetery. Not his son. No, in the cave, where the heart of Batman was, Jason had been a good soldier.

Batman collected trophies from his cases. Once he had come back as Red Hood -a very petty fuck you to Bruce and psychological warfare on Joker- the memorial case existing had been a brilliant red flag.

How did that quote go?

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones;

Jason knew that B believed that about him.

It was no wonder their relationship never mended beyond their stark ideological differences. It was well and good to believe that all deserved redemption and the chance atone. It worked sometimes. But B was at his heart, a classist fuckhead, who didn't understand the really, all he was doing was prolonging the suffering of the victims who deserved justice and not the Joker's insanity plea. Again and again. And again. And again.

Kind of like this whole society was a classist shitstain through genetic lottery.

You had your winners. The Heroes.

You had your average joes and janes.

You had your losers. The Villains.

And then you had the fuckwads creating this status quo, allowing society to fuck everyone over. Bread and circuses, except less Flying Graysons and more children gladiatorial battles as preparation for a life and a paycheck to hunt down those that "deserved it," for breaking the law, when society had broke them first.

Honestly, if it wasn't for the Mystical Shit™ then Jason would have thought he was reincarnated into a personal hell dimension full of everything he hated.

They didn't even have proper heroes here! These incompetent shits stayed dead! But what else could you expect from Heroes under a government body? Even the villains under the government bodies he was used to had access to health care from death ala Lazarus.

Where the fuck were the Wallers here?

Jason really fucking hated it here. Six months into a stable identity and a stable place to live and he still hated this world.

Even this shitty apartment was still several steps up from the level of grime he expected. Not enough urban blight. No serious grit. No personal stakes in the hero vs villain rivalries. No real drama. No stakes beyond the petty everyday shit.

Oh, a purse snatcher. A hero is there. Oh, someone robbed a liquor store. A hero is there. Oh no, somehow an entire building is on fire. No worries, a hero will rescue you and fuck themselves up because despite the training the allegedly had, they don't have the equipment on hand to protect themselves from the smoke. What a heroic sacrifice when the fire department could do it just the same but without ending their own career over it. Basic shit.

There were still the fucked up "villains" who just wanted to hurt people. That sort of thing was just endemic to human biology, which these people were. Allegedly. 4 outta 5 people being born metahuman -sorry, with Quirks- and having powers before they had finished potty training and then having their entire lives defined further by genetic lottery, on top of the normal shit politics of wealth and otherness defining their life path.

Jason wanted to burn the whole Hero Industry down. But that's wasn't a new feeling for him now. A whole year into this fucked up world -no Gotham, no Star, no Watchtower- and he still hated everything about it.

Now the question was, how to avoid martyrs.

Martyrs were the bane of any killer, mercenary or assassin. They wanted to die for a cause. It would get the cause more publicity and thus more power. So the obvious solution was to either not get caught killing them or to dismantle the cause.

Both however was better.

Accident someone who was holding some uh, compromising evidence. Whoops, now there's an investigation. Point it out to the news.

Do a little murder. Frame it the right way. Let the police take care of it. It's an average joe. Just works for a hero.

Oh, no. It looks like there's corruption in the hero business. Except the government body over Heroes says, "no, that's just an outlier."

So again and again. Throw a little dirt there. Some accelerate here on the internet. That shiny image isn't as shiny anymore. Take a break. Let things roll, reassess and then plan and progress some more. Change up the MO enough and space things out enough it looks like coincidence. Maybe to the suspicious mind, multiple actors. Multiple cells. Espionage, not his forte, but Jason could dabble in it well.

In the mean time, tonight is a night in. Gotta moisturize and dye his hair again. Forgetting the eyebrows again would be awful; the brow gel was so expensive and so much upkeep compared to just dying it. Mascara at least was quick and cheap.

---

Jason was technically 3 hours into a movie marathon, watching the most recent movie adaptions of classical literature, judging them for their lack of technical skill. Because why have that when there's quirks that can do the same thing?

Basically in this reality anything that could have been done with a quirk was done with a quirk. So special effects? Oh, quirk. Easier to hire someone to breathe fire or something than to get a professional at pyrotechnics or CGI it in. Illegal yes, but no one really cared about the "no quirks in public law without a government permit," unless they were using it to commit crimes or seemed threatening.

Thankfully Jason was always capable of multi-tasking. He had his laptop out, working on a paper. Presumed dead this body was, but Jason had papers that said he was a living person.

Complete with a fucking quirk registration. Because that was also so important to this fuck up society. Positively Orwellian.

Ice quirk, his papers said, because while this body had the instinctual response of lashing out with fire, Jason had been working with the ice. Safer and easier to do that inside than playing with fire and his skin would thank him for it. He may not like this body, but he was at least going to take care of it.

His skin looked more like normal skin now, thanks to some regular moisturizing with the Skin Restorative Serum Knock-off, better known as Skin Goop™ but it wouldn't ever really get back to what it should be. Thankfully he had an explanation for that. His papers said his sad tragic backstory was his family was dead in a fire from a villain and hero fight, he survived with burns and amnesia and now was finishing his schooling online because of having missed so much school and other psychological bullshit that Jason could pull out of his ass like magicians pulled bunnies out of hats.

As much as the stagnation of technology was an anomaly in this dimension -apparently this is what happened when all your "villains" were meta-humans instead of "normal" people with PhD's- it did make faking out his backstory a whole lot easier. Japan had family registries and so it wasn't just a fake identity for himself, but for a whole damn family lineage. That also had to be tied to a real enough one for quirk falsifying purposes and that meant so much fuckery. False taxes, false schooling, falsifying bank records so he could live off of the "life insurance." Which yes, thank you fraud. Steady paycheck, no work. Not enough for vigilante expenses but enough for civilian expenses.

Jason took his time making Himura Touya existent.

Loner in school due to poor health. Yeah, the clinic he used to go to closed down while he was in the hospital. Records lost. Whoops. Yeah, the private school he used to go to developed a leak, so the paper records turned to mush. Electronic records were much more easily faked, but it still took time.

Like it was obviously sketchy as fuck if anyone dug deep and did the legwork and did actual asking but it was a credible enough fake to the rest of society.

So he had a shitty apartment but still better than he was used to for a shitty apartment. He was getting valid credentials for an Official Civilian Life with Normal Things™ like potentially college. That he didn't really need but was absolutely something to do to fill out his time with beyond taking down the Hero Industry.

Plus the insurance fraud money wouldn't last forever and having an official income made it harder for people to think "why doesn't he have a job if he has all these nice things?"

Yeah, even in this world, with the very much real labor shortages, minimum wage sucked. So much of the world was focused on the hero industry and what supported it, that it was absolutely sickening.

But that's what some middle of the week stress relief was all about. Stopping traffickers, rescuing people and arson.

Because why would someone with an ice quirk be a suspect for someone using a fire quirk to make a big ol' fuck you to the world?

Besides, some stress relief was being covered up (and not by him) and well, that's another scandal.

Cremation is just another fun(erl) service

So blaming random 4am thoughts that have been plaguing me all day for this

----

Jason woke to a bright room, thin sheets and the smell of a hospital embedded in his body.

First as always, assess. Hospital. No affiliation printed on the walls or anywhere. Private room, but small. That door looked like it led to a private bathroom. Generic flower picture, a mounted screen turned off. Really fucking bright sunlight from the windows.

There was no fucking way he was in Gotham then. Everything was too nice. Normal by standards outside of Gotham. There were blinds, not metal shutters. The walls were cleaner than Gotham allowed outside of Downtown and he could see greenery through the window.

Okay. So what had he been doing? Jason remembered and then wished he had his Jerichos to shoot himself with. Mystic Shit™. Okay. Okay. That was not one of his better ideas, but if he's recovering in a hospital, it worked. World saved.

So recovery. How fucked was he?

His skin looked so fucked. Which meant he had been worse. He's had time to recover and lose muscle tone in, going by how twiggy his arms were. His hands looked good. Clearly someone knew he cared about those if they went through the effort of restoring those.

Hmm, that was odd. No matter how much Jason hated the Lazarus Pits and all its by-products, it would have been a faster and more simple way to recover from near-death than the long incarceration in a hospital for a John Doe.

Jason wasn't sure if he'd been abandoned yet again by those who called themselves his family because he could, "take care of himself," or if he had been written off dead. Again.

Hospital beat the coffin by a long shot.

And it was with that cheery thought, a nurse -obvious meta human nurse- came in and burst into excited Japanese, because that was of course, his luck.

It's after the nurse and doctors leave that Jason loses his shit.

It looks like he's sulking in bed, but mentally everything in his head is exploding. Imploding.

Three. Fucking. Years. Coma.

Burn victim so bad they not only expected him to die in the first couple of days, but still expect it because of the infection risk his fucked up skin represents.

Still the conversation with the medical staff -of varying degrees of bizarre- was enlightening.

No, he has no idea who he is. Did he ever get anyone visit? How did he get here?

Of course some amnesia is to be expected. No, some of the nurses visited. No one knows how he got here.

Does he know what his quirk is? Uh?

Trauma blocked amnesia, the doctor mutters.

What's the last date he remembered?

Saturday. Maybe? The last year? No, I'm pretty sure my memory is shit and I'm trying hard not to freak out over not knowing anything. So could I get the year number?

And then there's the fucking year number. Once he got it translated into more normal terms.

Mystic Shit™ said fuck you to the future.

Except Jason knows this is not his future. Again, if it was, this would have been treated as a fucking inconvenience. Effective skin restoration goop -the proper name escaped him- was easily available to those with the right connections. A normal baseline human with 2nd and 3rd degree burns would be fine in less than two weeks with it, with nary a trace to show for it.

Thanks to the three year coma, his muscles were all atrophied as fuck, despite their best attempts at physical therapy. Because of all the burns and later burn scars and infections making it basically impossible to actually do fuck all about maintaining muscle tone until he was basically burnt skin and bones anyway.

He was so fucking weak now. It wouldn't last forever. He'd escape this hospital before he was discharged, before whatever "benefactor" showed up for whatever "purpose," he was suppose to serve now, as they had the medical debt over his head or was threatening his loved ones or whatever. If one didn't show up in the next week, he was losing his genre-savviness, because shitheads always wanted to claim shit, if it looked useful.

And Jason was used to looking useful, until he was no longer useful and they just didn't care. The amnesia made him less shiny, but Jason couldn't pull off the brain dead zombie imitation without actually being a brain dead zombie crawling up out of his grave.

So under the thin hospital sheets, Jason twitched his muscles.

Two weeks of emotional freak outs, watching the news, physical therapy and drugs Jason had had enough.

And he broke out.

----

Yeah, he regretted it almost immediately. Hard not to in the stupid paper gown, barefoot and bare ass.

Thankfully people were people, even with the plethora of meta humans he had seen, so it actually wasn't hard to find clothes. Someone left a hoodie in their car and Jason broke into said car. Put on the hoodie. Hotwired the car and drove off.

Somehow for being in the fucking future by two centuries and change, cars really hadn't changed. More evidence of Mystic Shit™ slamming him sideways.

He drove to the next town over, picked another direction, drove some more. Parked the car near what looked like a chop shop, negotiated the car for some money. He probably got ripped off, but better than nothing.

He walked to a corner store, bought some flip-flops after bullshitting an excuse that his had broken. First aid stuff. You know, for his feet. Hair dye in three different colors, because Rose Wilson could pick out a bad dye job at a hundred meters and so Jason learned how to dye his own hair properly so as to avoid her mockery, only to get mockery (affectionate) anyway.

It was a mix of instinct and lifelong observation that let him find an empty apartment quickly. He stole some sweatpants and passed out on the bed.

----

The thing is, Jason doesn't regret his crimes like Bruce thinks he ought to do, with a massive pity party and flaming self-hatred and punching criminals instead of shooting them. He hates the necessity of doing crimes, even if that crime is a net gain to society, but that's why all his serious crimes are premeditated. He's homicidal, not a psychopath.

Not Pit-mad either, no matter what the rest of them might have thought.

Again, he's homicidal, not a psychopath. And when he doesn't have to be some sort of costume soldier to be discarded by family for the disgrace of disfiguring the memory of a dead boy? He's actually chill and boring.

That is to say, he crashed at that apartment for three days, felt progressively more like himself, especially after the dye job -white hair all over, now a solid and boring black- but it still didn't change all the other issues the Mystic Shit™ inflicted on him.

This body isn't actually his. Too young, scars not right where the burns didn't fuck him over. Thankfully his existing coping mechanisms for dysphoria work and it's shoved to the side.

It's also a shit body. Not even a month out of a three year coma with inadequate -by his standards- of medical care. It's weak and building muscle to do everyday civilian shit, is going to take months to do. Pushing as hard as he did during the escape wrecked him the next three days. Jason may not know what's going to happen, but with his luck, it's going to suck and training is preparing to make it suck less. The only certainty he's got is that his skin or lack thereof is going to kill him from infection if he doesn't fix it.

He's got no legal identity here. Which basically puts him back onto familiar ground of legally dead.

Beyond the lack of paperwork, he's got a lack of funds. He also has no easy target to steal funds and equipment from, even just for fun.

For more disadvantages, he's in a different country, with different laws and a whole different culture. He would be climbing on board a fucking plane to Gotham, if it existed in this world, for some familiar ground.

He really is the unluckiest Robin. It also means he is also the most prepared Robin.

---

The first six months after waking up in this mockery world of heroics were the absolute worst.

He started at one foot in the grave and crawled out of it before the casket could really eat him alive. Jason had experience in casket busting. He didn't wanna repeat it.

He still didn't know who he was -in who was he inhabiting- but it wasn't like Jason had a lot to go on. 'His' quirk was thermo-manipulation, most obviously in the blue fire he could call to his hands but he could do some ice too; it was thanks to Duke's light and shadow manipulation that he had even tried for the duality. He had white hair. Presumably Japanese heritage but quirks had really erased or blurred a lot of racial lines. Also presumed dead and young.

Access to the Quirk Registry took some doing, but again, not everyone followed basic computer security, much less what it took to keep someone bat-trained out of their systems. Again, for nearly two centuries in the future, a lot of the technological development had stagnated. Searching through the Quirk Registry hadn't yielded any result but none of his other methods had struck anything either. And he had looked at the recently dead and/or presumed dead. Sure, he had some leads that looked viable, but he wasn't going to follow those up yet.

He had fixed a few of his most pressing issues the past six months. His ignorance of the local area, the local and national politics and so on. This world supported and had an entire industry catering to making child soldiers and sell their image and reputation to make money and more child soldiers that called themselves Heroes.

His weak ass body no long cried doing daily tasks and only hated him after working out. Yes, Jason was pushing it but he was well aware of how months of preparation could mean shit in the face of seconds.

His infection risk was severely reduced after quick research bender let him make the most generic knock-off brand of the skin restoration goop in a shitty homemade lab. Did it fix his skin being patchwork fucked in places? Some. He wasn't going to get feeling back properly, but at least he looked more normal. Maybe with enough moisturizing he might look a little less Frankenstien's monster.

He also had a cash inflow. It wasn't great, but it supported his apartment. And the second set of papers. And the 2nd apartment.

Which meant in grand old tradition for Jason, time for him to bounce to the next apartment and come up with a new name.

[moonlitkilljoy]

@giftober 2022 | day 12: antagonist/villain

Red Death from The Venture Bros. Seasons 6 & 7

[simpywriter]

Flames

Part Three

Pairing: Zuko x Reader Universe: Canon Words: 3.6k

Part I | Part II

Summary: What will happen when you meet Zuko after what happened in Ba Sing Se?

Warning: little little tiny bit of angst

‘Where is she?’ was the question that Zuko found himself to ask more often than he thought. And it was followed by images of her face, from where they were little to his exile; he always knew where she was. But these memories were now blended together with her expression when she saw him attacking Katara, protecting the same sister from whom Y/N herself saved him not long before. He remembered the tears in her eyes as he kept throwing fire balls in her direction and the way her shoulders drooped while she jumped on the Avatar’s sky bison.

‘Why didn’t you come back? We would have found a way to free you from your accusations’ He was looking at the city under the palace. He was prince, he finally regained his father’s respect but he still didn’t feel like part of the royal family at all. He couldn’t bring himself to see the city under his feet like his reign. Did Iroh feel like this? No, Iroh was just a stupid old man that refused to accept his place in the world. But… Was Y/N just a stupid little girl?

«Zuko?» Too distracted to pay attention to the surroundings he didn’t notice that Mai was now right behind him, a concerned look on her face. «Are you okay?», she asked placing a hand on his tense shoulder. His face quickly relaxed, even If his body just refused to do the same, and he gave a soft smile. «Yeah», he said encircling her waist with an arm, he placed a slow kiss on the girl's lips, savoring the warmth of a loving touch «Everything's alright»

«Hello, Zuko here» ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’

You couldn’t believe this. You just fled the Fire Nation and found a place to hide, slowly regaining your power after the solar eclipse. And there he was, Zuko, the one that betrayed you and nearly cause the Avatar’s death, asking to be part of your new family. A family that immediately threatened to attack him, even your fists sparkled with red flames. You were surprised when he just lifted his hands in surrender and ignored your team’s words, instead tried to explain himself; Appa even licked him and you saw doubt crossing Aang’s eyes.

But the others didn’t seem even slightly convinced by the flying bison’s display of affection, and even the young Avatar quickly changed his expression in a stern one. «There’s no way we can trust you after everything you’ve done», his words echoed in the temple, quickly gaining support in Katara and Sokka. The former fire prince tried to complain, his eyes set on you as for asking for help.

You weren’t looking at anyone, fingers trembling just as your breath as you vaguely heard Toph trying to intervene, interrupted by waterbender «I think the only one in charge of this decision is Y/N», she said, drawing all the attention on you. You could feel golden hues on every inch of your face, but your gaze remained fixated on the ground as you gulped down the knot stuck in your throat.

«No, you’re right. We can’t trust him». You finally looked up to see Zuko’s features twist in hurt «Please Y/N», he took a step forward and Katara was ready to attack him before you stopped her with a wave of the hand «Let me expla-». The arm raised acted almost, almost on its own accord, sending your palm to hit the boy’s cheek with maybe too much force even for him; it seemed to silence him and the entire team, with the corner of your eye you saw Sokka’s jaw almost touching the ground.

But all your attention was on the firebender in front of you, now touching his face with slight reddened cheeks. «Yeah I… kinda deserved it» «Oh you kinda deserved it??» «I totally deserved it», he punctuated «But if you’ll just let me explain…» «No! You left me in that cave! You betrayed me and broke my heart. You knew exactly what you were to me and you just threw my trust, my friendship and everything between us away to follow your insane sister! I’ve always been there for you! Even in your exile. I gave up on everything, I rejected my life to follow you and now you expect me to forget everything just because you realized that you are good now?». Your voice traveled from angry, to broken, to scornful before you were able to calm yourself, nobody uttered a word, even Toph was speechless.

«Please Zuko, you’re smarted than this. You know I can’t do it», and he heard no more from you, instead being definitively kicked out, without you seeing the pleading (and teary) looks he kept sending you. Katara was the first to approach you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder «Are you okay» «No», you whispered, but Toph seemed too eager to speak «That was stupid, we need someone to teach Aang firebending as soon as possible and, no offense Y/N, but you’re not really doing a good job regarding the ‘speed’ part» You didn’t respond, head hanging low in shame as you were reminded how terrible you were in teaching (not that your state of mind was helping); but Katara quickly interceded «I don’t care, I don’t want Zuko here. He betrayed me, he betrayed Y/N. No matter what he says, he’s not good». You agreed.

You didn’t expect the attack of Combustion Man and even less you expected Zuko to be the one warning and saving you, risking his life in order to stop the assassin. You felt the blood in your veins completely froze when you saw him being pushed out the cliff, only to hang on a liane. It was obvious that Aang would’ve welcomed him into your group at that point, finding the agreement of all the others, and even you didn’t have to force yourself to nod when asked. The fire boy gave you a smile, but it disappeared when you didn’t return it, looking around embarrassed. But after seeing the way his expression dropped when Katara treated him with the minimum amount of respect you felt guilt creeping in your lungs. Yes, he hurt you but he also tried to make it up to all of the team; he deserved at least some words from you.

When you approached him it was evening, he was arranging his sleeping bag close enough to feel the warmth of the fire you had just lit but farther from the others; seeing him so isolated made you feel sorry, reminding you of the way he struggled to make friends in the absence of his mother when he was little. «Hey», you whispered, making his head whip around to see you standing just a few feet away from him, and the way his eyes widened sent your heart on a racing speed. «O-oh, good morni-evening, I-I mean hi, hey», his cheeks shifted from his usual pale color to a soft pink and, by the end of his awkward greeting, a bright red that made you grin in amusement. He was even shyer than five years ago. And so cute.

«Hi», you repeated, taking a step forward, as you kept fiddling with your fingers «Listen, I think you deserve a thank you, for you know… saving us». His smile was softer this time, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth when you got close enough to take a seat next to him; even if his skin was burning in shame he couldn’t stop looking at you, speaking with timid tone «It’s okay. I was the one putting you in danger in the first place, it was the bare minimum from me-» «If you’re trying to make me admit you weren’t a jerk, then it’s not working» But you were grinning and he even let out a low chuckle. And you’ve gone on and on, talking to each other and joking and laughing and smiling. You two were so invested in each other that when Sokka screamed your names for dinner neither of you heard him.

«Are you done, lovebirds?», the boy asked again, this getting your attention and all the air from your lungs at the nickname «What?!» «D-Don’t call us that!», you both stuttered at the same time, with faces set aflame. Toph snickered from right next to Sokka, having heard the smell of fools-ready-to-be-humiliated from miles away, you instantly froze when you saw her smirking lips part to speak. «Yeah? Well, tell Zuko. His heart is giving me headache» The two benders were sure they had never seen two people take two different directions in such a rush.

 

‘Thanks to the spirits Y/N is not here. Who knows when the teasing would end…’, Zuko thought looking down at the Boiling Rock’s prisoner uniform he was wearing. But what the girl would have paid more attention to would surely have been the furious looking ex-girlfriend in front of the firebender. He just needed the right signal from Sokka and Suki. Just the right signal… «It’s for her, isn’t it?», Mai’s voice was lower, trying to hide the hint of hurt behind, but it didn’t go unnoticed by the boy «You left me like this for her…». «I… I don’t understand. Her?» «Y/N. You started getting weird as soon as Azula brought you back, without her. Just stop lying and tell me if you betrayed your nation for another traitor».

Zuko couldn’t restrain himself, getting up with fists tightened at his sides «She’s not a traitor. And you know exactly that my decision wasn’t just impulsive». He tried to not sound too aggressive, looking at the way Mai refused to meet his eyes during this discussion; he scratched the back of his neck, going back to were he sat while she scolded him just a few minutes ago.  «I’m not a stupid Mai. I really care about you, you know that», the girl couldn’t find a way to retort without feeling a pang of guilty «And you have to believe me if I say that I left because I thought that was the right thing»

«That’s not the only thing I was talking about, idiot», she muttered, rolling her eyes when she saw him open his mouth to answer back «I got it some time ago, you don’t need to make up excuses». Zuko looked at her with a frown, an expression too stupid to be of feigned confusion «Are you serious?», the girl asked raising her eyebrows after a few seconds of silence «You really don’t» «What are you talking about?» «Spirits, you’re so dumb…» «Hey! I’m not-» They were interrupted by a guard reaching for the door in a rush, voice laced with exhaustion «Ma’am, there’s a riot going on, I’m here to protect you!». ‘Here’s the right signal’

 

In the following days it was not uncommon for Zuko to rethink what Mai had said to him at the Boiling Rock; most of the times they were fleeting thoughts as he talked to the others or prepared some tea, but the others, the most difficult to shoo away, would pop out of nowhere during the most inopportune and embarrassing moments. Once, during training with Aang, you were getting ready to switch with him, tying your hair into a high ponytail while turning around, the movements let your crop top rise even more as the skirt fluttered around your thighs, making the arching of your back’s curve enough distracting to make Zuko freeze on the spot and get an accidental kick from Aang. Little did he know you were turned around just to spare yourself the pain of having to stare at his toned and very very very naked chest.

Another time the firebender was busy lighting the fire while Sokka and Toph were fighting over the last supply of dried meat. «Hey», you called him, struggling to keep balanced between your arms some branches «Need a recharge?» You talked to him with such a sweet tone that he almost forgot he wasn’t at the palace anymore, when you were no more than ten years ago; and he found himself contaminated by your kindness, looking down at you with the same soft gaze you always reserved for him. «Thank you», he whispered smiling, helping you to set down the branches. You didn’t know what happened, but your now free hand seemed to move on its own, and you caressed his hair the moment he knelt to stock the fire.

For Zuko, who was currently trying to hide his rosy cheeks from you and whose mind was occupied by the now omnipresent dialogue with Mai, it was the final blow. The feeling of your fingers combing his locks caused a short circuit in his head and his lips parted, letting out a low, but loud enough to be heard, sigh. You froze. He froze. Even the fire died with a puff. «I-I-I…» «Oh, well, uh-» «S-Sorry..» «No… I mean yes! I m-mean…» «It was just�� You know…» «Yes of course! Just a…» «A nothing» «Yes nothing»

«Guys! We need more fooooood!» You closed your eyes in gratitude ‘Sokka my savior’ ‘Thanks the spirit for that dumb guy’, Zuko thought at the same time, hiding his expression even when you walked away, face leaning forward as he relighting the fight.

And then there was the last time. A night, right after everyone had gone to sleep, while Zuko fulfilled his guard shift you found yourself tossing and turning in bed, anguish for the upcoming fight and the stress of training prevented you from falling asleep. With a frustrated groan you pulled the covers off your body, stepping out of the tent careful not to wake Suki, gladly welcoming the cool air against your skin; you caught a glimpse of Zuko sitting on a log on your now extinguished fire. After the extremely embarrassing hair caressing session of the other day you couldn’t find the strength to be alone with him, too scared to say or do something really stupid; but you two have been separated for so long that you simply could not stop from automatically walking in his direction. The slightly damp grass creaked slightly under your feet, until it signaled your presence to the boy. If Toph had been awake she would’ve already taken the opportunity to make a few jokes about the increased rhythm of your heart as soon as you met golden eyes.

«Couldn’t sleep?», he asked, shifting a bit to the right to make space for you. ‘Spirits, he’s so damn cute’ «Yeah», you answered in a hushed tone after taking a seat next to him, scolding yourself for being victim of your own mind. «I’m just…» «Scared». You looked at him, he was playing with a small flame spiraling through his fingers, his expression serious and somewhat… sad? «I feel the same», the little flame was gone and his eyes met yours again, lips bended a sympathetic smile «I’ve never been this scared» «Zuko…» «Don’t»

Your chest tightened at the way he was clearly trying to avoid the subject, he was going to fight his sister, his father, his home. You had left these ideals behind you quite some time ago but him… he suffered more, he fought more, against others and against himself. And now he didn’t even have time to process the change that was immediately about to be thrown back into a struggle with his pat. How could you leave him like this, tormented and alone? «Maybe you should-» «Please Y/N», his tone was trembling and he gripped the log’s edge with a shaking hand «I can’t now, I can’t, I can-» «Hey, hey. Okay, it’s alright», you took his hand, squeezing it in both yours and trying to stop his quivering «We won’t talk about it now» You felt another pang in your heart when the boy murmured a faint “Thank you”, managing to respond only with a simple nod.

But neither of you could endure the silence for long, full with unspoken words. Zuko was the first to speak. «What about you? Ever been this scared?» Your grip on his hand wavered, until it slipped away from yours and the boy immediately missed your warmth, «Yes. When Azula found out about my bending», you quickly added, seeing the questioning look on his face. «That’s when you came to work at the palace…», he said, talking more with himself than to you «You were unhappy and I didn’t take care of you as I should have…» «Zuko. It’s thanks to you if I didn’t end up in the army» «It’s also thanks to me if you ended up working for my father» «Better than the army», you whispered. Your gaze remained on the ash that the breeze moved among the scorched branches.

«In that way I was with you, Iroh was also there sometimes and this will seem absurd but I never found the courage to fight back until I ended up under the eyes of the Fire Lord». His features creased in an amused smirk, eyes rolling to the side «Yeah… all that mysterious blindfolded girl stunt» «Hey! You had the Blue Spirit, I had-» «The Blindfolded-Hooded-Woman?» «Ah ah, very funny», you snorted, but his chuckle didn’t stop and you weren’t sure you wanted it to stop.

«However, while everybody knew you were the Blue Spirit no one recognized me until I came to save your ass from Azula. I also had to bandage my forearms after getting my tattoo and you seriously have no idea how uncomfortable it is to bend with gauze covering most of your arms», you two weren’t even trying to contain your burst of laughter «Maybe for noobs like you» «If you really want to, I’ll kick you and see how noob I am» «Dream as you want». Your chuckles continued for a few moments, toning down slightly only when neither of you could argue anymore.

You bit your lower lip when you met his gaze, the eyes of both did not seem willing to separate from each other; there was something that pulled you towards him, something that had really made you understand how much the child who hid behind his mother’s legs had really grown, in every sense. There had always been something, a little something, that kept you tied to him but never before had it been tangible.

But Zuko broke the contact, looking down at your forearm to steal a glance of your tattoo. You didn’t even noticed he had moved his hand in your direction until his fingertips had gently brushed against your skin, making you shiver under your breath. «I never asked you what it meant», he whispered, and luckily for you he didn’t look up, not seeing the way you blushed at the mixture of his touches and words.

But when you answered your voice was surprisingly calm, «It doesn’t have one», you said «It was just… out of rebellion. Against my father, against Ozai, against the nobles I had to protect…» Zuko knew he should’ve had listened to you, you were confiding in him after a long time and he was finally able to really understand what you were saying; but he could not help it, his conversation with Mai suddenly returned to cloud his mind. He watched you speak, smile, move, without really getting your words, but he didn’t need those.

«Y/N», he called for you, too softly for you to hear «Now that I think about it, it can also be against Azula since I finally managed to do something transgressive…» «Y/N» «And she also said that I-» «Y/N!» «What?» «I want to kiss you»

And he did. Before you could say or do something to make him regret and ask Toph to bury him alive. He did it because he didn’t miss the sparkle that passed over your surprised eyes; so he leaned forward and brought his lips on yours. Everything happened so quickly that you didn’t even had time to think about what he had just said that he was already doing it. And Spirits if you didn’t want him to stop.

His kiss was soft, a barely perceptible movement of his lips which you responded to. When he started to distance himself you immediately leaned forward, refusing to let him go already, chasing the contact. You felt him smile in the kiss as he cupped your cheek in his palm, his touch was slightly trembling from fear and excitement. It was a tender kiss, a tenderness that you knew had always been and would always be there only with him. When you parted there was no need to say anything, it came natural for both of you to just smile without a word as you leaned your head against his chest while Zuko gently stroked your shoulder. After his date with Jin it became rare for you to stop and think about what could have happened with the boy, when he chose Azula those thoughts became mere remains of anger and resentment that encouraged you to fight at Aang’s side; when he betrayed the Fire Nation instead you never really realized the turn that your relationship could finally take, as if everything had returned to the starting point between embarrassed looks and skipped heartbeats.

«You know…», you were the first to speak and he gently squeezed your shoulder, showing that he was listening «Right after the battle in the Crystal Catacombs I thought that I’ve lost you» He groaned «I’ve been such an idiot» «But you’re here now, you proved yourself what the extraordinary leader you can be. And I’m so proud of you Zuko». His smile grew and this time you leaned in at the same time. That night you slept in his tent and he didn’t linger indecisively with his hand over your hips, but he wrapped both his arms around them and held you tightly against his chest while you both drifted to sleep.

The next morning it would have been very embarrassing to explain the situation when Sokka came to wake up the firebender.

Thank you so much for reading this final part! This is the end of the story but I have some bonus chapters in mind (even little drabbles). Let me know if you would like to read them! :)

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Rarepair headcanons because I am ignoring my problems

Serodeku:

Izuku reenacts the Spider-Man movies with Sero. Izuku is MJ. They also alternate being Spider-Man sometimes

They skate together

They get very protective when people call their boyfriend “plain”

They play dnd together

Sero tries to make sure that izuku gets some rest

They’re both kinda insecure, izuku more than sero, but still; and they make sure to reassure each other as often as possible

Sero likes listening to Izuku’s ramblings and finds them cute. He has told izuku this, only for the poor boy to imitate a tomato

After Izuku has been particularly reckless, Sero takes advantage of his quirk, wraps Izuku in bubble wrap, and tapes it there

Tokodeku:

Jocknerd bf and goth bf, we love to see it

Tokoyami teaches izuku how to sword fight

They start a dnd club at U.A.

Izuku talks to dark shadow a lot, Dark Shadow approves of him, and has claimed the spot of best man at their wedding

Izuku comes up with ideas to help Tokoyami gain control with Dark Shadow

Dark Shadow is very protective over Izuku, no matter how many times Tokoyami tells him that he can take care of himself, Dark Shadow will put himself between Izuku and any form of danger as often as possible

Dekoyama??? Aoyama/izuku:

Aoyama gives him makeovers, obviously

Aoyama drags izuku to the mall and tries to revamp some of his wardrobe, but he actually finds the “pants” and “flannel” type shirts cute

They help each other train their quirks

Aoyama is trilingual, and teaching izuku English and French.

Izuku always brings Aoyama home some new cheese

Y’all, I love them so much. There needs to be more aodeku content

Monoshinsou:

They have people watching dates. They come up with stories for the people they’re watching; their job, family, background, etc.

They judge people together

They call each other “love”

They’re both dramatic bastards, who will flop onto their lovers lap and proclaim their death due to a minor inconvenience

They jokingly sh*t-talk class A

Shinsou said “I love you” first, and it was because Monoma brought him coffee to class

Monoyama:

Like monoshinsou, they’re both dramatic bastards, who will flop onto their lovers lap and proclaim their death due to a minor inconvenience

They go shopping together and pick out the most dramatic pieces of clothing for each other

I love them so much, please 😭✋

They have tea parties every week, where they sh*t talk everyone else and gossip

They are both fancy bastards, and they wear the most exquisite outfits to go grocery shopping, and the outshine everyone

They both actually make clothing, they’ll go fabric shopping together. Gift exchanges are often articles of clothing that they’ve made for each other

Momomei:

They work on gear together!!!

Momo makes sure that mei gets some sleep

Mei helps redesign momo’s suit

They often work together with izuku to work in gear and such

They actually got together after izuku introduced them. He had been working on gear with mei, and studying with momo and he thought they’d hit it off. He was correct

Shintsuyu:

Dude they’d be so cute

Tsu is a vent gremlin, and you can’t change my mind. So she and shinsou will play a game where they try to find each other. Tsu is in the vent and shinsou is in the classrooms. Shinsou will try to find whichever vent she’s in, or she’ll find whichever classroom he’s in, in 20 minutes or less

I always headcanoned tsu as a dog person, so they’d have two cats and two dogs, and a bunny that they named Deku

They like comparing their friends to animals, hence the bunny, Deku

Kamideku:

Kaminari is a flirt, and izuku does n o t know how to handle it

Kaminari likes listening to izuku’s ramblings, and can keep up with them. He’ll ask questions on things too, and Izuku has never felt more appreciated

I don’t know why I feel like they’d have so many animals, but I do. They’d have so many, man. Three cats, two dogs, four sugar gliders, a hamster

Adhd power couple. They hyperfixated on complimentary things at the same time one time

Kaminari tutors izuku in English, and izuku turots kami in some other subjects. He’s also teaching kami JSL on the side. Kaminari has a live of languages

Momochako:

Study dates, Momo asks ochako to quiz her a lot

Ochako takes to floating momo’s things when she wants attention. Especially when Momo is studying. She makes a game out of how many things she can float until the other girl notices

Uraraka’s confidence does wonders for momo’s. Uraraka always makes sure to reassure momo that she is strong and that she can do this

Momo makes Uraraka whatever her heart desires. Uraraka blushes all the time, and momo takes great pride in getting her girlfriend to blush

Minatoru:

Mina clings to everyone, but especially to toru

They give each other stuffed animals so often. They’ll go to the store to get food, and come back with three stuffed animals that reminded them of each other

Please, they’re so cute 😭✋

They will play hide and seek, I stand by this.

Mina helps toru design a new costume. I hate hers, it’s horrible, and sexist, and not suitable for a fucking child

Toru says that pink is her favorite color

They flirt with each other all the time. Half the class thinks it’s cute, half of them used to think it was cute.

Iidamomo:

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, but study dates. they quiz each other, and it actually gets pretty competitive

They also have rage room dates. I will not budge on this. Iida tried to murder someone, and I am excited to see momo finally snap. She deserves it

They alternate paying for dates, don’t try me.

The go hiking a lot

They started liking each other after one late night, both having nightmares. Momo had tea, and offered some to Iida. They talked until the early hours of the morning

They can’t flirt. They try. But they’re horrible at it. They’ll compliment each other all day long, but they cannot flirt.

KIRIDEKU, MY BELOVED:

Y’all,,, y’all, I love them so much

They train together, obviously

They ran into each other one night in the common room after both having nightmares. They talked about middle school, how they were both bullied, izuku’s quirk coming in late, katsuki being abusive, kiri being bullied because his quirk wasn’t “cool.” After that, they were practically inseparable.

They started going on dates, not that either of them knew they were dates. The entire class knew, so did the teachers, so did the rest of U.A. Kirishima picked up on it first after a comment from Mina, he had is realization.

So, he started courting Izuku. Not thag izuku realized this. He brought him flowers on most ‘dates,’ he bought him hero action figures whenever he could, he complimented him until Izuku was red in the face (which was honestly very easy.) Still, izuku remained ignorant to the fact that he was indeed dating Kirishima.

The final tipping point, was due to Uraraka’s help. She was quite tired of watching the two of them pine for each other. It was amusing for the first couple months, watching Kirishima try so hard, and Deku being totally oblivious. However, she took pity on her friends after a while.

So, Uraraka devised a devilish plan to get the two together. She involved Mina, Sero, and kaminari in this plan. What was the plan, you ask? Oh, simply to trap the two in one room until they broke through izuku’s obliviousness.

Kirishima finally “straight” up admitted his feelings, to which Izuku had the sudden realization of “oh my gods, have we been dating this whole time??” Yes, Izuku. Yes you have.

They have two anniversaries after that.

Let’s be honest, they are really, annoyingly, horrifically lovey dovey. Kirishima brags about having “the manliest and bestest boyfriend in the world.” Izuku flaunts his many PowerPoint presentations on how talented and incredible Kirishima is

Uraraka doesn’t know if she did the right thing by helping them. She is so tired

Tsujirou:

Jirou makes playlists for tsu

The few sane ones in class A, I swear

They go on walks in the rain as often as they can

They go for dates in the bookstore too. They each pick out an album and a book for the other to listen to and read

Y’all, they make so much sense togetherrrrr, I’m love them 🥺

Jirou started liking tsu after the crew saved bakugou. Jirou sat with tsu after momo, Iida, kirishima, Todoroki, and izuku apologized and sat with her. They had movie night, and Jirou joined the Bakugou saving crew and tsu with taking well into the night. She just appreciated how much tsu cared

Tsu started liking Jirou after she helped Iida, momo, and izuku try to keep the class in order. She appreciated how diplomatic and calm she was

Jirou would talk to izuku all night long about how gay she was, and how adorable tsu was. So, izuku decided to try and suggest ways for Jirou to ask her out.

She did not end up getting to ask her out though, as Tsu walked up to her the next morning f and asked if she wanted to go on a date. Jirou said yes. Izuku cried

Izujirou:

They make playlists for each other

They go for runs on the beach a lot

They both have insomnia, and often spend time making blanket forts and talking, or FaceTiming and listening to music

Jirou walks into the common room once a week looking for new music. She started liking Izuku after he made a playlist for her for one of these occasions.

They’re both quite awkward when it comes to romance, but neither of them will shy away from facing the truth. So, Jirou made izuku a playlist filled with love songs that reminded her of him and sent it to him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell.

So, then Jirou wrote a love song and told izuku that the song was for him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell.

So, then Jirou write analysis about izuku’s quirk for him. Sadly, izuku is dense as hell

So, then, after thinking that Jirou had done so much for him, izuku made her a playlist filled with love songs. Jirou took this to mean that izuku had finally picked up on her feelings, and accepted them.

So, they started to go on dates. Not that izuku knew this, as he is dense as hell. All leading up to izuku finally confessing his feelings on one of their ‘dates,’ to which Jirou responded, “dude, we’re already dating? Aren’t we? I- I thought that was obvious??”

May this awkward couple be forever blessed

Tokoyama:

Goth/prep boyfriends, we love to see it

At least once a day, Aoyama will proclaim that Tokoyami “shines almost as bright as he does, in his fabulous emo way”

They sword fight, and come up with really dramatic scenarios and scenes that they’re in

They bond over being in the izucrew and their shared love of swords. Aoyama took fencing classes in middle school, and Tokoyami got into sword fighting after watching it in pirates of the Caribbean as a young child. He is self taught and watched countless videos on the art of sword fighting

Tokoyami asked Aoyama our by dramatically presenting him with a dagger and going “will you accompany me on a formal outing as my lover?”

Shinyama:

They flirt constantly

No really, it’s getting quite annoying. Someone please stop them.

They both plop down in random areas and proclaim their deaths, the difference between them, is that Aoyama will burst into shinsou’s room, and yell “love, I’ve been murdered. Mourn for me” while plopping down on shinsou’s lap. Shinsou can be found laying face down outside aoyama’s door, and when Aoyama goes to open the door, he just goes “I’ve been murdered.”

^^ one time, shinsou did a very fun Halloween prank for this, where he poured fake blood all over himself for Aoyama to find him an hour later, asleep.

Nap dates. Aoyama get glitter all over shinsou’s room

Iiyama:

Aoyama enjoys making Iida blush, obviously. But he takes joy in doing it specifically when class is about to start. Aizawa is tired of his shit

Here is how I think an iiyama conversation might go:

Aoyama: I ask for one thing in this relationship-

Iida: Aoyama, you know that’s a lie-

Aoyama: for my boyfriend to carry me around all day-

Iida: Aoyama, I cannot feasibly do this with class-

Aoyama: and I don’t think that’s too much to ask for 😤

Anyway, Aoyama got carried around all day that day, despite Iida’s blush and Aizawa’s eye twitch

Everyone in the izucrew is close, but Iida and Aoyama started to get close after Iida told the crew about Stain. Aoyama wanted Iida to know that he wasn’t alone, and that he wanted to help him. So he started packing extra cheese for lunch and giving it to Iida. Iida was very confused at first. But this was Aoyama trying to court him. This was only made apparent by momo and Jirou telling Iida that this was aoyama’s attempt at expressing romantic interest.

Aoyama flirts with everyone, that’s just who he is. But with Iida? Oh it was tenfold. The poor boy was red in the face constantly. Aoyama was a persistent little bugger too, following him around and calling him ‘mon amour’

Kirikamideku:

My dearest traffic light trio, I’m love them

They train together, and kiri and kami always appreciate izuku’s analysis snd ideas

Kiri falls even more in love with izuku and kaminari when they go off on rants. Izuku rants and kami can keep up with him so he asks questions about it. Kiri loves to watch his boyfriends go on rants, I don’t make the rules, but I do enforce them

They started to get closer after kami and kiri found bakugou causing a ptsd flashback (could be on purpose of an accident, up to the reader.) they stated with him and tried to talk him through it. After this, izuku started to tell them about having been a “late bloomer” and being bullied, etc. (I don’t know, man; I tend to over share after flashbacks and after panic attacks)

Izuku tutors them in several subjects, but kami tutors them in English. Kiri just falls in love with his smart boyfriends

Izuku is teaching kami JSL and kami is helping izuku with English and Italian (personal headcanon that Italian has been one of kami’s special interests) kiri loves to listen to them, and finds it relaxing and calming to hear them do this. When he has panic attacks, he’ll ask them to tutor each other in different languages

[darkcircles4lyfe]

Death to All Might, Rebirth to Yagi Toshinori

So about All Might. I’ve been extremely wary of talking about what could happen to him because straight up saying “I don’t think he’s gonna die” is asking the universe to spite me. Plus it also feels like a room full of people turning to stare at me as if I said the Sun isn’t a star. Man has death flags everywhere, I know. 

But, okay, *Bill Nye voice* consider the following:

Mr. Yagi here, if he overheard everything, just received the final nail in the coffin on his career. His time as the symbol of peace is not only over, it was in fact partially responsible for the current state of things, since he once did so much on his own that his absence now makes heroes and civilians alike ill-prepared to cope. I think it was very apt for that one guy to be wearing an All Might shirt--he was acting as a mouthpiece for the latent societal problems embedded in All Might’s legacy. 

We know already that he’s been feeling useless. I love this scene and although I’m not gonna talk about it right this second, remember what Aizawa says about just “being here” being enough:

And we know from conversations with Inko that Toshinori is also reframed his purpose around looking after Izuku. But in the end, Izuku rejected his help, and it was his classmates instead who were able to save him. Now the very progress of humanity is rejecting him too. You may me wondering how on Earth I don’t see the logical conclusion of all this being his death. Hold on. It actually has a lot to do with the fact that we’re all expecting it. Nighteye himself saw it, and despite any contrary convictions anyone might have, the plot doesn’t seem to be veering away from that end. All Might Is Gonna Die, says absolutely everything. 

It’s occurring to me that I have previous experience with this kind of plotline that probably little to no one else in this fandom shares, being that I’ve read a certain book series in which the main character is told in no uncertain terms that he will die (no, I’m not talking about hp). The series in question is T*e Und*rland Chronicl*s (censoring so it doesn’t get put in their side of tumblr) and I’m sorry but I’m about to go on a shameless tangent about it and spoil the ending for you.

So in this series there is a prophecy in every book, each one having something to do with war and conflict, and so far all of them have been right. In the last book [mc] finds out that it’s prophesied that he will be killed. Lots of the things in the prophecies are convoluted and metaphorical, but no, this one literally says “when the [mc’s title] has been killed.” He spends the whole book coming to terms with this, and he gives into it, only to find himself waking up in the hospital instead. “Wow, plot twist. /s” you may be thinking, and yeah sure, the mc in a kids book survived, big shocker. But it doesn't end there. After the war, there are peace talks, but they escalate until the two sides are on the verge of declaring war again. And [mc], bless him, has just been caught in the middle of all of this the entire time. He’s sick as shit of fighting, of watching the suffering and death of people he cares about. He draws his sword against both of them angrily, gives a speech saying he won’t take a side, and then promptly breaks his sword across his knee: “There. [mc’s title in the prophecies] is dead. I killed him.” He’s giving a huge middle finger to everyone there, to the man who wrote the prophecies, to the entire fucked up culture of it all. And so something that was taken literally turns out to be metaphorical. That is, if you still believe in the prophecies at all.

Hopefully you’re catching my drift here. What I’m saying is, even though this other series has nothing to do with bnha, it goes to show sometimes it’s the most absolute certainties that are red herrings, and a “death” can consequently be a symbolic one. In All Might’s case, it could be the death of hero society and a rejection of his own past. In other words, character development for Toshinori himself that reflects on the way the world is changing, too. Also there’s the fact that the mc from that other series I’m trying not to name has an honorary title, and I’m imagining that role he occupied “dying” could correspond to something that amounts to, “All Might is dead. I (Yagi Toshinori) killed him.” 

And here’s another thing: we also have to ask ourselves what good a dead Toshinori is to Izuku, narratively speaking. Yes, Izuku has spent his whole life idolizing even the more toxic parts of All Might, and his idealized vision of his hero does need to “die.” But how about Toshinori as a father figure?  Izuku regretting that his last interaction with Toshinori was to reject his help may drive home the fact that he shouldn’t go off on his own, but at this point it’s kinda redundant. If anything it would negate some of the progress that was just made because it’d make him extra paranoid about losing other people too. To be honest, the whole “Uncle Ben” trope, the mentor/father figure who dies and gives the mc a reason to do better, is so tired. Experiencing the death of a loved one really doesn’t deserve to be romanticized like that. I might as well admit that I’m speaking from experience, and let me tell you, losing someone you love suddenly, when you weren’t around, and with unfinished business--it makes you paranoid as hell that it will happen again. It literally gives me nightmares. Y’all, I cannot stress enough that trauma does not equal character development. Granted, just because I know this doesn’t mean Horikoshi does, but in general he does seem to lead his characters toward healing.

Okay, back to the present. Toshinori is turning away from UA. He likely feels useless and rejected. We can infer that what happens next will involve Stain, and we have a couple of extra clues to go with it: Stain considers All Might a true hero, and has stated that he would let All Might kill him. And since Horikoshi loves his parallels, we also have this fight between Endeavor and this random villain who admires him so much that he wants to die by Endeavor’s hand:

This suggests a confrontation in which Stain challenges All Might to live up to himself as he once was, so that as a hero he can vanquish Stain and symbolically overcome society's perversion of that role. But based on what All Might has learned about the system he upheld, Stain is wrong. All Might is not a “true hero” in the sense that the societal issues Stain witnessed exist not in spite of All Might, but (in part) because of him, because he took too much of the responsibility for himself.

Stain probably had no idea about the personal cost of All Might’s lonely burden until after the fact. Maybe he’s seeing it now. So then perhaps the confrontation would be more about Stain claiming he’s just as fake as the rest. Either way, Toshinori has the opportunity to denounce himself and be rid of “All Might,”  to stop living in his own shadow. Nighteye’s vision has been defied before, and I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the combination of society shifting + Toshinori’s own conviction is enough to do it again and work fate in his favor.

He is not All Might. He is Yagi Toshinori: quirkless, worn down, and directionless except for his dedication to Izuku. If he survives his interaction with Stain, he can resolve his imperfect mentorship by confessing about his shortcomings and simply supporting Izuku as a part of his family, not as his teacher (as Aizawa said, just “being there”). And that’s how you really get character development, for both of them. I mean, shit, imagine Toshinori straight up telling Izuku to stop calling him All Might.

[robininthelabyrinth]

We’ve heard Jiang Fengmian as WWX’s bio father, now it’s time for Lan Qiren as secretly his father. (Please no Wangxian for this one!)

ao3

“You want me to what,” Lan Qiren said.

“Be the father of my child,” Cangse Sanren said. Simply and straightforwardly, as if that were just a thing people said.

Casually.

To their friends.

To their – as far as he knew – platonic friends!

“You’re married,” he stressed.

“Yes, Qiren-xiong, I’m aware,” Cangse Sanren said, her eyes bright with mirth. “I was even there through some of the festivities. Though not all, of course, since the bride gets sent away far too early at these things, and of course then there was all the liquor –”

“Cangse Sanren,” Lan Qiren said through gritted teeth, wishing not for the first time that his friend had an actual name rather than merely a title – something he could use or not use to emphasize his feelings on the subject.

She laughed at him, because of course she did.

“Let me explain,” she said, probably because she sensed that he was considering stabbing her if she didn't. “Lao Wei and I –”

“Aren’t you older than he is?” Lan Qiren asked, dubious. “Possibly by several centuries?”

“Humans call their husbands that,” Cangse Sanren said, waving her hands at him. “Don’t bother me with details.”

“…you’re human, right?”

“Of course! This is the fourth time you’ve asked, and the answer hasn’t changed. Why would you ever think otherwise?”

“The way that you continuously refer to – no, I’m not letting you distract me this time. Explain yourself!”

Cangse Sanren giggled into her sleeve. “We want children,” she said. “But he can’t, you see. Wrong parts. So we need someone else to be the sire, and I want it to be you.”

“Why?”

More giggling. “Because I like you. And why not?”

“And Wei Changze agreed to this?” Lan Qiren asked, slightly appalled. He knew Cangse Sanren well enough to assume that the answer had to be yes, and yet still...

“Yes, he did, but you’re welcome to talk with him directly. In fact, I encourage it.”

“Perhaps I will,” Lan Qiren said.

Wei Changze was a pleasant person, even if he and Lan Qiren weren’t direct friends – Lan Qiren was a bit too inflexible and serious, Wei Changze a little too free-spirited and light-hearted, so they’d never entirely bonded, but they were both very fond of Cangse Sanren in all her strangeness, each in their own way, and that was enough of a basis for a decent relationship.

“I’d be honored if you would agree,” Wei Changze said when Lan Qiren asked. “You’re my wife’s favorite person besides me – why not you?”

Lan Qiren could think of many, many reasons why not.

“I don’t want to impact your relationship with her,” he said cautiously, and Wei Changze blinked at him as if to say how would it do that? “If jealousy were to arise…”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Wei Changze said.

“…you understand that if I agree to your proposal, I would be sleeping with your wife.”

“Oh yes,” Wei Changze said. “Several times, I hope. We've got to make sure it takes, after all. On that note, can I watch?”

Lan Qiren was a man aware of his dignity. It was beneath his dignity to flail around like a teenager.

He flailed regardless.

“You don’t have to let me if you don’t want to,” Wei Changze said, but he was pouting. “I guess. I just think it’d be hot, that’s all.”

Lan Qiren put his head in his hands.

“You’re bright red,” Wei Changze observed. “Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“I don’t even like Cangse Sanren that way,” Lan Qiren said, voice muffled by his palms. “I mean, I like her, but I don’t – like her. Romantically. At all.”

“And I’m very happy about that,” Wei Changze said soothingly. “As is she, being as she married me and not you. You don’t need to have romantic or even sexual feelings about her, you just need to platonically bang her a few times.”

“…I will do it provided you never refer to it that way ever again.”

“Deal,” Wei Changze said, and grinned, waving his wife in through the door; she bounded in like a lion on the hunt, smelling blood.

“Additionally, we should be clear about what we expect regarding the child,” Lan Qiren said, even though he was already being carted along to the bed by Cangse Sanren’s excessive momentum and Wei Changze’s entirely unnecessary assistance in removing his clothing. “Obviously any child will be yours in every respect, legally and emotionally and otherwise, both of you, but if possible I would still like to see him –”

“Of course,” Cangse Sanren said agreeably, removing his pants. “Whenever you like.”

-

“Something is wrong,” Lan Qiren said firmly.

Yu Ziyuan scowled at him, even as her husband frowned thoughtfully. “Cangse Sanren is a rogue cultivator,” she said acidly. “It is not unusual for rogue cultivators to go a few months without contacting their friends in the cultivation world.”

“We have an agreement that she would come by once every season or else send word. She has not missed a single instance, and yet now she does.”

“Why would she agree to meet so regularly with you? We barely see her once a year, if that,” Yu Ziyuan asked, and Lan Qiren knew her issues with Cangse Sanren were actually issues with Jiang Fengmian, but it still irritated him to be used as a pawn in their troubled marriage.

“If you do not intend to help me search, then just say so,” he said heavily. “I fear that something has happened to her, and I intend to find her; I would like your help, but will proceed without it if need be. If all is well and she just decided not to come, and also not to send word or any other sign, then I will apologize for the inconvenience and repay you any monies expended. But if not…”

“I will help,” Jiang Fengmian said, and Yu Ziyuan looked on the verge of exploding.

“I’ll leave you to sort that out,” Lan Qiren said, shaking out his sleeves and leaving at once. As per their agreement, Cangse Sanren brought Wei Ying to the Cloud Recesses once every season or else sent word explaining her absence – the lack of any word this time was deeply troubling. After all, in the end, despite Cangse Sanren’s relatively humble goals and low-key life, there was always that doom said to be associated with those who left the immortal mountain…

He worried.

He’d planned to tell Cangse Sanren about He Kexin’s death during her present visit, had hoped that Wei Ying’s presence might help lift Lan Zhan’s mood after the loss of his mother and give him some comfort – Wei Ying was Lan Zhan’s favorite person in all the world, bar none, and he had waited so anxiously, if wordlessly, for him to arrive during the month that they expected Cangse Sanren and her family to come. And yet the days ticked by and he didn’t arrive at all…

Lan Qiren worried.

Still, with Jiang Fengmian’s help, and of course the Nie sect’s – Lao Nie hadn’t hesitated to agree, even though unlike Jiang Fengmian he did not have a personal connection to either Cangse Sanren or Wei Changze and was acting wholly on account of his friendship with Lan Qiren – they would be able to cover a great deal of the cultivation world, especially given that Cangse Sanren disliked both Lanling Jin and Qishan Wen and was unlikely to venture into either of their territories.

They would find her.

He hoped that they would find her.

-

“Well, that was a meeting full of revelations,” Lao Nie said, eyes curved into crescents of mirth. “The only thing that would have made it better is if you’d ended your sentence with ‘so fuck off’. You know, so that it would’ve been ‘Because he’s my biological son, so fuck off’.”

“It isn’t anyone else’s business,” Lan Qiren said querulously. “I don’t consider him my son – he’s Wei Changze’s son! His surname is Wei for a reason! The exact mechanics of his conception are private-”

“Are they? Too bad, I’d have liked to hear about it.”

“Lao Nie!”

“What? It’d be hot.”

“Wei Changze said the same thing,” Lan Qiren grumbled. “What is wrong with all you people? Anyway, that was not my point; we can discuss your sexual titillation later. My point is that Wei Ying should not have a shadow cast over his parentage – I should not have had to reveal that fact at any point.”

“You had no choice,” Lao Nie said, not without sympathy. “Given that Wei Changze was a former disciple of the Lotus Pier, Jiang Fengmian had the better claim to custody absent that fact. Never mind that you were Cangse Sanren’s close friend, or that they came to visit you more often; never mind that Yu Ziyuan is to this day only barely able to restrain her jealousy and hatred of the pair of them and would be made miserable by the boy’s presence on the Lotus Pier, and possibly make his life miserable in return; never mind that Jiang Fengmian already grossly favors the boy over his own children, a surefire recipe for disaster…you had to say what you said, Qiren. Wei Ying will be better off at the Cloud Recesses.”

“He’ll be a disaster at the Cloud Recesses,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his temples. “He’s as free-spirited as his parents were. That’s the only hesitation I have…if it weren’t for all the other things you mentioned, Yu Ziyuan’s jealousy and the favoritism and all that, I would think he’d be better off among the Jiang.”

“He will make a very unique Lan,” Lao Nie acknowledged. “But he’ll be an adopted cousin to your nephews, and they’ll grow up as brothers. A-Zhan will be delighted.”

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, acknowledging the point. At least there was that. “Yes, he will.”

“Maybe I’ll have a talk with Jiang Fengmian,” Lao Nie said, more to himself than Lan Qiren. “That poor Jiang boy, no one deserves to grow up with a real-life person being ‘another person’s child’. Perhaps I’ll see about inviting the boy over to the Unclean Realm more often. A-Sang could use a playmate…”

-

“You’re weird for a Lan,” Jiang Cheng said.

“That’s because I’m not a Lan,” Wei Wuxian laughed. “I’m a Wei! Lan Zhan’s a Lan, Xichen-da-ge is a Lan, but I’m not. Don’t let the white robes mislead you.”

Jiang Cheng coughed. “That’s not – what I meant.”

Wei Wuxian blinked at him.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly looking extremely awkward. “Your father’s a Lan, isn’t he? Teacher Lan.”

“Oh, that! No, he’s not. Easy mistake to make,” Wei Wuxian assured him. “Lots of people think that, what with me knowing the Lan sect rules backwards and forwards and upside down – mostly so that I can haggle my punishments down when I break them, that's how I learn them best – but actually I’m Wei Changze’s son.”

Jiang Cheng’s face was red. “But…my dad said…”

“He helped,” Wei Wuxian conceded, tapping his nose meaningfully. “That’s why I’m so pretty! But Wei Changze was the one that wanted me, Wei Changze’s the one who gave me his surname; it’s his grave I sweep during Qingming. If you like, you can think of me as having been adopted into the Wei family; that’s common enough, isn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Jiang Cheng said, blinking. And then he said, sounding doubtful, “Do you really know all those rules?”

“All of them! You have no idea how much trouble you can make with a good set of rules.” Wei Wuxian grinned. “Want to see?”

“I – can we?”

“No,” Nie Mingjue said, stepping into the room. He looked tired, as always, but Wei Wuxian thought that there was never a time when he didn’t, certainly ever since he became sect leader too early. Lan Xichen was always worrying about him, and Lan Qiren, too, and since they were worried, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji had figured they might as well get in on the action. “Not in the Unclean Realm you can’t. Save it for the Lotus Pier, since the Cloud Recesses are too wise to you now.”

“No one is truly wise to my wicked ways,” Wei Wuxian boasted, and Nie Huaisang poked his head out from behind Nie Mingjue’s back and waved – he’d been dragged away to saber training, leaving Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng to try to make friends without him. Without Lan Wangji, too, which was even more unfair; how was Wei Wuxian supposed to represent the gentle snow and wild wind without his other half?

Stupid seclusion. Wei Wuxian was with his uncle in disliking it even when it was necessary.

Though Jiang Cheng was kind of cool…

-

“This is,” Lan Qiren informed Cangse Sanren’s memorial tablet, “entirely your fault.”

Despite her son’s newfound demonic cultivation skills – or his taste for revenge: he had taken the burning of the Cloud Recesses very personally, and the attack on the Lotus Pier, and so on his best friend Jiang Cheng, very nearly as badly, and that, somehow, had inspired him in new and even more uncontrolled ways – there was no response from the grave.

And yet, somehow, Lan Qiren suspected that he could hear her laughing at him.

[luminescentauthor]

BATMAN URBAN LEGENDS #6 IS ICONIC

SPOILERS ABOUND YOU’VE BEEN WARNED

BI TIM DRAKE???? BI TIM DRAKE BITCHES HOLY F U C K

Jason’s perfect world??? Being one where Bruce did in the joker and the family accepts Jason and he breaks down crying in Bruce’s arms BROKE MY FUCKING HEART

as did Bruce’s perfect world: he kills the Joker for Jason and then Jason thanks him and then he sees Jason standing in the middle of a cluster of family, laughing and smiling and it really just reaffirms this idea that Bruce wants to kill the Joker, he wants to so badly, and he can’t because he’s promised the world that he’ll be something greater than he is, and he has to live up to the symbol, and I think some part of Bruce hates himself for that, that he is putting his duties as Batman before his duty to his son.

Interesting detail: in Jason’s fantasy, Jason wore a dark gray shirt and was his actual height whereas in Bruce’s he wore a red and was shorter? I think that can be taken as Bruce thinking “in a perfect world he never died” and also “I miss seeing him happy and I’ve never seen him that way as an adult” (fics where adult Jason laughs/smiles and Bruce just stops breathing kill me every time.) (Emphasis on Bruce hasn’t seen him that way as an adult. the outlaws have.)

BRUCE ALMOST KILLED CHEER AND JASON STOPPED HIM BECAUSE “THIS ISN’T YOU, EVEN IF MOST DAYS I WISH IT WAS” AND THAT FIXED MY BROKEN HEART AND I CANNOT TELL U HOW LONG I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THAT EXACT MOMENT IN DC

BI TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE AND HE HAS A BOYFRIEND

Oracle and Jason’s Entire Dynamic is Absolutely Hilarious and i love them, your honor

Jason wearing a batsuit + red hood mask gives me life

BI TIM BI TIM BI TIM BI TIM BI TIM-

Jason giving up firearms! Because while he still believes certain people deserve to die, he also hates the collateral damage and death has consequences! good on Jason also HOLY SHIT FINALLY THE MORAL CODE DEVELOPMENT WE DESERVE (pspsp dc all-blades as main weapon-)

(No, I don’t think Jason has sworn off killing; I think that was him saying “ugh fuck it fine guns are too easy to accidentally kill someone with, as fun as they are.” Tyler and his mom was a VERY rude reminder of the consequences of taking lives without consideration and Jason just went “hm. What if no.”) (do you really think Jason needs guns to kill people??? he was trained by the all-caste and the league of assassins.)

BRUCE INVITING JASON TO FAMILY DINNER

Bruce sent Jason what looks a hell of a lot like the uniform he wore before, and it very clearly has the red batsymbol on it HOLY SHIT JASON IS WEARING THE BATSYMBOL AGAIN YEE

Jason killed someone in rage like maybe a month ago and Bruce invited him to family dinner anyway because Jason showed clear remorse and that is so different from The Disaster I Pretend Didn’t Happen That Was RHatO Vol 2 and I am HERE FOR IT (i will go on pretending that Jason was injured in the explosion, not by Batman, and Batman didn’t get there until after Arsenal did, just in time to see Arsenal disappear into the distance with Red Hood.)

listen i understand that some people like loner antihero Jason (and I actually totally get this, because he’s a badass who takes No Shit and i adore him for that) (I also admittedly have a soft spot for Totally Ruthless Jason shows off What Exactly He’s Capable Of a la Arkham Knight), but I am one of the fans that desperately craves “Jason gets to heal and eventually reaches the conclusion that yes, some people are truly assholes and deserve to die, but most people (including himself, despite the fact that he has killed) deserve a chance at redemption” and/or “Jason deserves to be able to live his best life and if the blood on his hands is haunting him, he should stop killing for the sake of no one other than himself because he got a second chance at living and he deserves to live it goddammit.”

BECAUSE IT CANNOT BE SAID ENOUGH, TIM DRAKE IS CANONICALLY GOING ON A DATE WITH A BOY AND I LOVE THEM SO MUCH HOLY FUCK

[soulmate-game]

Curiosity Killed the Exorcist

“And then, see here? You have to be on the lookout for subtle signs like these. This indicates that he’s…” Marinette nodded as Tim continued explaining, pointing out various body language and other clues out on the Batcomputer. It had only been about six months since the Batfam collectively adopted the little ladybug into their menagerie of heroes, and started teaching her deductive habits and skills. She would not allow them anywhere near Paris on pain of death (some of them had already tried, and Bruce was still recovering from the bruise to his ego. The bruise on his ass from being teleported out of the city and onto the stone of the Batcave was gone, though) but she welcomed any help they could give from within Gotham’s city limits.

Usually, at least in the beginning, they did their mentorship at a distance over video call. But then Tim found out her identity, and Marinette made the excuse of wanting to meet with them in person to gauge their trustworthiness for herself and erase their memories of her identity if they failed her test— and, well, it all snowballed from there until she was teleporting to the Batcave every few days for detective lessons. She was practically a Bat herself, if not for her out of theme codename. And she found herself surprisingly comfortable with the thought of them being a… very eccentric extended family.

Tim was flipping to another saved video in the Batcomputer archives to show another example of his current lesson, when Tikki flew up to Marinette in a hurry. She was holding Kaalki’s glasses. The little kwami whispered something in Marinette’s ear, instantly making the teen blanch and force on the glasses.

“Sorry Timmy, gotta cut this short! I’ll come back tomorrow to make up for it! Okay? Okay! Awesome, you’re the best, bye!” She ignored all of Tim’s protests and rapid fire questions, instead opening up a portal and jumping through it as fast as humanly possible. The portal has barely disappeared before an all-too-familiar voice rose up from behind Tim.

“Maybe I’m still drunk, ‘cause I could’a sworn I just saw a portal closing in the damned Batcave, of all places,” the British-accented drawl was accompanied by the flick of a lighter and accompanying fizzle of a flame. Tim groaned, mentally making a note to ask how in the world Marinette had known that John “Annoying asshole” Constantine was showing up soon, and if he could be in on the warning next time. Bruce, cowl still off, walked over from where he had been sparring with Damian and crossed his arms. He had also heard Marinette’s hasty exit, and made a few mental notes of his own before focusing on the exorcist in front of him.

“What do you want, Constantine?” he grumbled. Any time the blond brit showed up, things only got far more complicated than he ever enjoyed. And he always gave Bruce a migraine, to boot.

“Two things actually, Batsy,” John held up to fingers as his free hand tucked his lighter away in his pocket. His unlit cigarette stayed in his mouth though, probably just for the familiar feel of it. “One; I’m gonna need you to tell me why there was a portal closing when I walked in, because I’ll be honest. The implications there are way more interesting than what I came here for in the first place.”

“None of your business. What’s the second thing?” Bruce immediately shot him down, but John was not one to be deterred. He never fucking was.

“But you hate magic! You make sure I know that all too bloody well every time I pay you a visit, so why the sudden change in heart? Huh?”

“Drop it, Constantine. What. Do you. Want?”

“Fine, fine. I need your help with…”

— * — * — * — * — *

A week later, Marinette was sitting with Jason and Damian in one of the manor’s sitting rooms, the three of them just minding their own business and silently enjoying one another’s presence. Even if two of them would never admit it. Jason was reading Jane Eyre for the millionth time, Damian was leaning against Titus on the ground as he sketched, and Marinette was embroidering a sunhat. Unfortunately for her, Alfred the Cat was currently asleep on her lap and thus holding her hostage.

Even as Tikki flew up to her ear in a panic and whispered, making Marinette prick herself with her needle. She hissed for a second but shrugged off the familiar pain, much more concerned with whatever news Tikki had given her. Damian and Jason were already on high alert from the second that a whispered curse had left her lips, and were staring straight at her and her kwami and Marinette frantically tried to find a way to get up without awakening the cat sleeping on her.

“Uh, what’s wrong?” Jason asked, feeling thoroughly confused and left out. On one hand, he knew that if they were in physical danger she would have moved Alfred the Cat without hesitation. On the other, he did not like the sheer amount of anxiety he could see her experiencing. Marinette’s frantic eyes shot over to him, pupils mere pinpricks and hands mouth agape as she tried to form some sort of plan.

“Uh— “

“Ah! You must be the fair maiden that the Bats are comfortable with using magic around them,” John goddamned Constantine threw the door to the sitting room open wide, making it bounce off of the wall and lightly smack back against his shoulder. He ignored it as he grinned at the three younger people in the room, waltzing in casual as anything. He wagged a finger at her playfully. “I’ve been awfully curious about you, ya know? Brucie boy knows a shit ton of magic users, but he never likes seein’ any of us do our thing. And to not only allow you to teleport without any apparent discomfort but to actively protect your identity from me? Now that’s a damn accomplishment and I really gotta applaud you for it,” he mockingly clapped his hands a few times. “So what’s your secret, huh? I won’t tattle.”

“No thanks. Kaalki, a little help?” Marinette carefully pushed Alfred the Cat off of her lap before diving into the portal that Kaalki whipped up for her, the entire process happening so fast that Constantine couldn’t even get out a proper “hey!” before she was gone and the portal closed. He just nodded, hooking his thumbs in his pockets.

“Ya know what? Fair. That’s fair.”

“Goddamn it, Constantine!” Jason threw up his hands in frustration. “Why the fuck do you have to scare away one of the only sane people in this family?”

“Part of my charm, little red riding hood.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“You know, I’ve been pretty damn nice not teleporting right over to you whenever you disappear. So why don’t you just tell me why you’re avoiding me now that we happen to be in the same room by complete accident, huh?” John asked from where he sat in one of Bruce’s lounge chairs sipping on a beer. Marinette mimed choking him, clearly fed up. He had been trying to have a conversation with her for the past three months, ever since that one time he caught the tail end of her portal closing in the Batcave. Three. Long. Months. And he hadn’t given up, because something about this little Parisian teenager intrigued him. She was sixteen, that much he had gathered from the Bats. But to be sixteen and not only in possession of the Horse miraculous but also clearly the Ladybugs, since he had seen Tikki more than once as well, now that was interesting.

Anybody being in the possession of more than one Miraculous was already cause enough to be keeping an eye on them, which was why he had been keeping an eye on the Paris situation and had pieced together on his own that the presence of Tikki meant that this little parisian teenager was none other than Ladybug herself. Now, that? That was a whole new level of concerning, especially since he knew firsthand that the old Grand Guardian was gone and passed his title down to— yeah, Ladybug.

After that deduction, his interest in Marinette had swiftly switched from curiosity to fuck-I-need-to-know-what’s-going-on-here. Because no kid should have to deal with that kind of weight, and Constantine always looked out for kids when he could.

But right then, Marinette was glaring at him. She had been just coming over for a normal “family” dinner with the Waynes, which she attended from time to time. And apparently they had decided to have Constantine already over so that they could chaperone a meeting between them that would hopefully appease the stupid british magic user enough that he left them all alone again until the next time he needed help.

“Believe me when I say, you’d rather not know,” she replied sharply, glaring Dick. He was the one who had convinced her to come despite her recent close calls with Constantine in the past few days. He studiously avoided her gaze. “I just would rather not cross your path, and there’s no reason for us to interact. Why do you care, anyway?”

“You see, now that is an excellent question!” he chugged the last of his beer and gestured to her with the empty bottle. “Normally, I wouldn’t give a flying rat’s ass. But I’ve put two and two together, since I know who Tikki is,” he nodded to the red and black Kwami. “And maybe I just wanna keep an eye on the new Grand Guardian to make sure she’s doin’ alright. That’s an awful lot of magic and responsibility that you don’t deserve, but I’m not about to try to take it away. Keepin’ an eye on you is the next best thing.”

“Try again,” Marinette shot back, crossing her arms. “You were interested in me before you learned about me being Ladybug.”

“I’m nosy, what do you want me to say? I saw a portal in Batman’s man-cave, I get curious. Sue me.”

“Well. I have Bruce and everyone else already watching out for me, so you can leave me alone now. If I need your help, I’ll make sure to ask every other magic user first before contacting you.”

“Woah, now what’s all this venom for?”

“Uh, maybe we should go and actually eat dinner?” Dick tried to step in, hands up. Constantine had stood up from the chair he was in, which was usually a cue to change the subject as fast as possible. “Before Alfred has to come get us?”

“Maybe I’ll be less venomous if you let the subject drop and leave me alone!”

“Context would be nice, though.”

“Seriously guys, let’s go! Food!” Dick was once again ignored.

“Context is the last thing you need in this situation,” Marinette’s voice was suddenly soft, her arms dropping to her sides. “We’ve had this conversation so many times in so many now-deleted timelines. Just drop it this time.”

“If those timelines are now-deleted, then I obviously don’t remember what’s so bad about telling me why you’re acting like I’m some hated family member you’re avoiding!”

Silence.

Pure. Fucking. Silence. As they all watch with front row seats as Marinette flinches at the word ‘family’.

Pure silence as Constantine’s shoulders drop at the sight of her flinch, realization slapping itself on his face.

“No.”

“See? I fucking knew you would— that this would happen. This always happens, you always hate finding it out, but you’re so— so stubborn!” Marinette was blinking away tears, digging in her pockets and bringing out Kaalki’s glasses. “You’ll drop it now, at least. You always do.”

“Now what is that supposed to mean?” Constantine rubbed his forehead, still trying to sort through his amalgam of emotions. Marinette just shook her head, turning to Kaalki.

“Do you mind showing Monsieur Constantine the way out, Kaalki? I’ll grab you a load of sugar cubes afterward.”

“No, wait, hang on a second!”

A portal opened up under him, making John “Stubborn Idiot” Constantine drop ten feet down onto the hardwood, polished floor of his house. His bruised tailbone would take a while to heal, but his frazzled mind was by far the more concerning development. He staggered to his feet, reaching for the nearest bottle of tequila.

“Ugh, fuck my damn life.”

— * — * — * — * — *

“Marinette..?” Damian nudged the girl with his shoulder, frowning. It was after dinner that same day, and as much as he hated to admit it he had grown to actually like having her around. She was a good friend to have. And seeing her slumped back on one of their sofas, sketchbook covering her face and not a single rambling conversation to be had or heard? It was very concerning. She just made a groaning sound to answer him, prompting his frown to deepen. “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t believe that such a sweet, adorable thing like you is half made up of Constantine’s genes,” Jason mused bluntly from the opposite couch, where he tossed a rubber ball up and down out of boredom. “But now I see where you get all of your Disaster Bi-ness from.”

“Shut uuuuup,” She groaned, chucking her sketchbook at him. He caught it in midair, replacing his rubber ball with it and tossing it up and down in the air. “I’m just frustrated. This timeline is still perfectly stable, so I can’t erase it. And I can’t exactly ask ‘hey, can someone commit a horrid atrocity that makes this timeline split from the main one so that I can erase it and we can start over from four months ago?’ because that would be horribly irresponsible of me. But seriously, Jason. If you’re gonna ever commit, like, city-wise arson? I’d probably condone it right now if only so I have an excuse to use time travel to get out of this situation.”

“Not committing arson unless you give me a better reason for it, Pigtails.”

“Damn.”

“But are you okay?” Damian asked again, seeing as she had completely ignored him.

“I’m fine, Damian,” she finally sighed. “And I know how this is gonna go. He’s going to totally ignore me now, until we meet during some magical crisis and he only interacts with me when necessary. Then he pretends we never met, we have a private little one-sided whisper-argument about how he will never make a good father figure and I would be better off leaving him alone, blah blah blah. Avoidance is a coping mechanism I guess I inherited from him.”

“Guess it’s a good thing I’m trying to bite that in the bud then, eh?” Marinette startled out of her sitting position, seeing John stumble into the room…

Drunk off his ass. But apparently still at least mildly coherent.

“I agree with deleted-me’s, I’m not gonna be a dad. Not me,” he tripped, landing on his still-bruised ass and hissing in pain before continuing from the floor; “So if you’re looking for another Daddy dearest, that ain’t me.”

“See, I knew this is how you’d—”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted. “I don’t know how long the booze is gonna last and I need it’s courage here. ‘Kay? ‘Kay. Where was I? Right. But I know magic, ya know. The kind that doesn’t rely on little bobblehead gods to do. I got— like, a million books. Shit ton of books. At my place. Ya can read ‘em. My books. At my place. But I ain’t gonna parent, but I can lend ya books. Maybe give magic advice. Teach a little. Little bit. Didn’t think I’d have a child, but apparently I do and she’s the fuckin’ grand guardian and a damn hero, and I don’t know how the fuck I was able to help make someone like that. But whatever, it’s not like the world’s ever fuckin’ been easy on me,” He pulled out a sample-sized bottle of whiskey from one of the pockets on the inside of his trench coat and chugged it. After a brief wince and hiss at the burn, he kept rambling. “My door’s open, is what I’m tryin’ to say. No guarantee I’ll be in any state to talk to when you walk through it, but it’s open.”

Deciding to steadfastly ignore the tears streaming down her face, Marinette just swallowed thickly and nodded.

“I, uh. I think I can work with that.”

John barely made it to the nearby bin in time to vomit into it.

— * — * — * — * — *

I hate my imagination sometimes, guys. I started imagining a convo between Mari and Constantine at like 4am and it wouldn't leave me alone until I got it down. but by the time I wrote it, I kinda forgot like 60% of the original convo and just winged it. And this was born. I 100% blame @multifandomscribette because their Bio!dad John Constantine headcannons are amazing and even though this isn't in that universe, those headcannons are exactly what inspired this. So blame them, lol.

[seasonofthewicth]

nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

--

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.