#and it’s awful that there are people out there who look at grieving families and see gold

[transmascissues]

i absolutely cannot believe people are trying to start discourse about whether nex benedict was actually nonbinary / whether it was okay for him to describe himself as nonbinary to some people if he didn’t actually identify that way as if he isn’t literally DEAD because he was KILLED. this is a MURDERED CHILD and these monsters are so busy getting mad at the possibility that he might have been a trans boy who described himself as nonbinary to his family because that was easier for them to take that they’re turning a CHILD who was MURDERED into fucking discourse. even when we die at the hands of cis people’s violence, our own community finds a way to make us the villains of the story.

and all of this bullshit on top of the ways that cis people are already trying to say our grief over his death is unjustified. all of this on top of people claiming he wasn’t murdered and speculating on other causes of death (i literally saw someone say he “clearly went home and took the coward’s way out” and i have never been more disgusted) or claiming that he started the fight as if any action on his part could’ve been enough to justify his death. i am haunted by the sound of his father screaming that his child was not filth because that is what people have been saying about this poor kid, that’s how cruelly his memory is being treated, and even the trans community can’t get it’s shit together enough to look past the stupid discourse and see the tragedy in front of us. did you all forget that it was supposed to be up to us to grieve him in the way he deserves when the rest of the world fails to care if people like him live or die? did you all forget that this child was our sibling, the future of our community, a life that we should have had the chance to know and treasure while he was still here but that we now have a responsibility to hold close to our hearts in his absence? nex’s life was precious and it was ended far too soon and if you truly believe that anything is more important than mourning his life and fighting for a world where no more trans people have to meet such an awful fate, you’re a traitor to this community and you do not deserve the place you occupy within it.

i’m so tired. i can’t even imagine how tired his family must be, to see the public treat the child they’re grieving so horribly, to see the world fail their baby again. leave him alone. he was already robbed of peace in life; the least you can do is let him finally have it in death.

#as a trans man whose family still uses they/them and neutral terms for me and would describe me as nonbinary #because that was how i initially came out to them and me being a man is a much bigger hurdle than i have the energy to help them get over #it’s SO deeply disturbing to know that if my life ended in violence #my own community would be more concerned with how my family referred to me in death than with the fact that i was killed #how fucking dare you turn this poor child’s existence into discourse fodder when they aren’t even here to defend themselves #when you only even know who he is in the first place because he was killed #tw transphobic violence #nex benedict #tbh it feels wrong to even add my usual tags to this but i need people to see it so. here we go #transandrophobia #transandromisia #transmisandry #virilmisia #virilphobia #anti transmasculinity #transmascphobia #exorsexism #trans men #transmascs

[isa-ghost]

Can we please keep in mind that given what we know, there's a strong chance plenty of Wilbur's friends were blindsided by this, and could very well be grieving that someone so close to them turned out to be this horrific?

Given we KNOW Wilbur meticulously kept up a facade socially and publicly, there's a strong chance they had little to no idea he was that way unless they personally witnessed the behaviors. That's horrifying.

I personally know what it's like to have someone you talked to and hung out with near-daily for YEARS to turn out to be a disgusting, lying, fake and awful person. You feel betrayed, sick, angry, confused, devastated. You need time to emotionally process that. ESPECIALLY before doing something like making a public statement about "your stance" on the matter. Some of the people we know felt like family to Wilbur, genuinely, even despite all the jokes that got old so fast within the community. And they could've gone the whole time not knowing all this.

That's not something you get over instantly. That's not something you can think clearly through right away. Anyone demanding a nuanced and well-thought out statement rejecting and condemning Wilbur ASAP for their own satisfaction are stupid as hell. You don't care about the situation, you're fishing for internet points by being ready to pull the trigger on anyone who doesn't say something the moment you expect them to. You care more about Looking like you have humanity by attacking abusers and abuse apologists, instead of Actually having humanity in realizing this has a real impact on real people with real emotions.

They're fucking grieving. And we've seen from plenty of them who thought of him as a friend that Have said something already that they are also ANGRY.

Those who have yet to speak up are likely still processing their emotions. Or processing what they want to say. Or perhaps are even personally affected by the situation as victims of abuse themselves, and therefore NEED to step back before they say anything, if they say anything at all.

They could also be saying something where we can't see. They don't owe the public shit, anything they'd say wouldn't be for us. We aren't entitled to their thoughts or their explicit rejection of Wilbur. Which is Also why anyone demanding instant statements from anyone is a fucking moron. They don't need to "prove" to us that they don't support Wilbur anymore. That's not what anything to do with this situation is about. That's not what matters here.

What matters is they've personally given Shelby their support; which is 10x more meaningful given directly to her rather than in public where it's also largely to please anyone scrutinizing them. What matters is they've stopped engaging with Wilbur, removed his presence from their personal content (ex: Phil removed his point redemption audios that had Wilbur in them), etc. Actions speak louder than words.

Some of you are just fucking lazy and don't want to look deeper, you want convenient and perfectly crafted statements for your satisfaction and comfort right away.

TLDR: think fucking harder before you open your mouth about any cc's reaction to Wilbur or his statement. These people were friends with him (many are also friends with Shelby!), trusted him, etc. There's nuance to situations like these whether you like it or not, and ccs saying anything where you can see it at the exact moment you want them to is not something any of us are owed.

Fuck Wilbur. Fuck his garbage statement. But if you're more focused on hounding every cc who ever knew him publicly to cater to you for one reason or another the second you want them to, fuck you too.

#wilbur situation #discourse

[withdenim]

I think it’s time I introduce my doomed ancient yuri to the ninjago fandom. I’ll leave the story under the cut if anyone wants to read it 💜 it includes my Wojira backstory and why I draw Nyad as oni

Wojira is the younger, less powerful sister of firstbourne, I think. Wojira and Firstbourne we’re both chill with Oni, but Firstbourne was more Reserved about it . Like, she didn’t enforce weird rules or anything but she also . Didn’t stop her kids from being really awful.

Wojira spent more time with Oni than other Dragons. Even her kids (wind and water Dragons) were sort of weird about it. She didn’t really like the sort of power hoarding attitude of the other Dragons and decided to teach them a lesson about it.

When the first master was born she realized that Oni blood COULD bear elemental magic, and she took in two Oni kids (Nyad and her brother who I made up and haven’t named yet lmao) and gave them wind and water (separately) magic. And the other Dragons were VERY mad about this. They thought it was disgraceful.

They tried to get Firstbourne to banish her . Firstbourne refused and so her kids just all worked together to banish her instead. And sort of gave her a fucked up cursed eternal headache (in the amulets) Whoops . Nyad and her brother followed Wojira into the realm of Ninjago and tried to ease her pain for years but eventually it just sort of broke her mind and she started laying absolute waste to everything.

The FSM goes through his whole story (still figuring out details of it in my headcanons) and comes to Ninjago, desperate for a new home. And Nyad and her brother (I really need to name them DIFNDKFM) are scared of him at first. But he shows them his elemental magic and they realize he’s like them (Oni with elemental magic). And they bond over that and tell him about Wojira. The first master decides to help Nyad convince the Merlopians and Islanders to resist Wojira and hopefully bring peace to the realm.

Over several months they become good friends, and they often calm Nyad’s brother by making beautiful little worlds out of their elemental magic for him. And the FSM promises that one day Ninjago will be safe like these worlds, and they’ll all be able to live there.

And these very very lonely people have made a little family.

Of course, the Oni hunters are sent to track down the FSM, and Mystaké is the first to find them. She announces herself and demands the first master return with her. He begs to stay just long enough to make this world safe for the people there, and she reluctantly agrees when they show her the safe world they’re planning to build. It looks beautiful.

Mystaké joins their efforts, hoping to speed along the process of the first master’s return to the first realm, but she finds herself amazed by their magic and (worse) deeply fond of the little trio. She falls in love with Nyad, and starts letting herself indulge in their hopeful fantasies of a safe world where no one will find them. In this time, Nyad gives the FSM a name of his own to use when they have their safer world. Hajime.

When the preparations are as ready as they’ll ever be, the Battle of Nine Days begins. On the eighth day, Nyad’s little brother (who wasn’t even fighting) is struck near-fatally, and Nyad launches a risky attack to try and end the battle once and for all. It’s unsuccessful, but she realizes Wojira’s weak spot. Like in canon, she merges with the sea, desperate to give the others a chance at the world they’d all hoped for, and hoping that her brother could be saved if the battle ended and he could get proper help.

She knows she should kill Wojira, but she can’t bring herself to. And instead of killing her she decides to take the amulets, and send Wojira into a deep, painless sleep, hopefully eternal.

Hajime is devastated by Nyad’s death, and though Mystaké grieves her as well, she’s a lot more accustomed to death, and watches her go, surprised by the ache in her heart.

The brother lives, but passes on his element very soon after the events of the battle, sick of it’s consequence. Hajime builds the new world and appoints new masters, though he doesn’t know where the water and wind elements went (not his domain). Mystaké never even brings up the idea of taking Hajime back to the first realm again, and protects him from other hunters when she can. Hajime lives a long long time before choosing to pass on and find peace for himself. Mystake lives another thousand years, farming strange enchanted teas, occasionally a companion to Wu and Garmadon.

In Hunted, she confides in Lloyd that if or when she dies, she would like to be sunk into the sea where the battle took place (not that she tells him the story. Just the location), and Lloyd thinks it’s just some weird senile old lady talk. But when she does die at the hands of his father and the Sons of Garmadon in Hunted, Lloyd doesn’t get a chance to row her out until after March of the Oni.

She liked Lloyd. He was a lot like Hajime.

#ninjago #my art #lego ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #ninjago mystake #mystake #ninjago nyad #Wojira #ninjago wojira #ninjago fsm #first spinjitzu master #ninjago firstbourne #firstbourne #Nyad x mystake #mystake x nyad #sacrificeshipping #/JOKE #oceanteashipping #if u have a suggestion for a name PLS leave it I love suggestions #also for Nyad’s brother #maybe fuuko #just for the continuity #but I’d love suggestions ! #thanks for reading if you got this far :)

[cookie-nom-nom]

Reading Barrayar I felt trapped in Cordelia’s head. It’s incredibly effective for the dread of war as a civilian. Plans and machinations happening beyond you, with no input. Hearing of things happening that seem far off and like yeah that’s awful but then suddenly it dominoes in a way that destroy your life and it’s not your fault and you could've done nothing at all to prevent it. Especially the tension of being hunted in the Dendarii mountains with no idea how the war is going, if they’ve already lost, if it is already too late. Cordelia is doing actively important things in service of the war by sheltering Gregor, yet there's this pervasive feeling of helpless lack of control. She spends most of the book with this dread of not knowing when the next threat to their family will come, and I don’t think it could’ve been done so effectively if we had access to the information Aral had. I found it frustrating at times, since it felt like Cordelia was swept up in events with little agency (at first; obviously our dear captain didn’t remain there). I wanted so badly to be with Aral seeing and knowing and making the decisions.

But that’s the point! Most people have absolutely zero agency in those situations and little information and it’s terrifying. Barrayar captures the feeling of being a civilian in war where so many narratives narrow in upon the heroes and 'men of history' that control conflicts. That's what readers expect. I think that’s why I loved the ending so much. After so long trapped with Cordelia, just trying to survive the larger machinations of Barrayar’s bloody politics, it felt so, so good to finally be on the offensive, to have information the opponents don’t, to finally have power and the means to control what happens. It's a relief to the constant tension of having no agency in a giant conflict that frankly Cordelia had no business being affect by, yet was swept up in because of her love of Aral.

Which is the second thing I deeply enjoyed in Barrayar. I love how the war is made so human. A messy tangle of human relationships control it. I can’t stop thinking about the hostages. There are just so many children being used because the war holds the future hostage. Tiny precious Miles utterly incapable of comprehending how large a pawn he is. Young grieving Gregor vital to the plans of both sides whether dead or alive. Elena, who should be of no importance but she is because that's the kid of an unimportant soldier, just like every other hostage is another piece in the web of the war. I keep thinking about the relatives of Aral’s men caught in the capital. The hostages that Aral refuses to take. Everyone just trying to take care of those they love, and the points where they must put other priorities over their relationships are heart wrenching.

Barrayar looks dead on at how little people try to survive a civil war. From the mountains where the fighting seems so far, and information is slowed to a trickle of the singular mailman. The invasion of forces that disrupts people who may not even know there’s a war yet. The scientists and the genius lost in a single blast that goes unnoticed. The urban populations trying to sneak in food and people and keep their heads down. Random citizens debating who to sell out, weighing risks and bounties, if it will get them the favor with the occupiers that will help them survive. All so small in the grand scheme of things, and yet they are who Barrayar concerns itself with.

Cordelia’s uncertainty and fear would’ve been undermined if we were allowed to see in the heads of people driving the conflict, because Barrayar isn’t about those people. It is the desperation of two mothers, powerless and kept in the dark, that topples the regime.

Addendum: Cordelia’s relationship to Aral firmly places her in an upper class position that is important to note when discussing the role of civilians/‘little people’ within this analysis. But as a woman on Barrayar she is extremely limited in the power she is allocated, especially compared to someone like Aral, which would be the military leadership POV that novels more focused on the grander scope of war would utilize. Again not to say Cordelia has no agency or power, but it is not to the degree of the people in charge. Thus I place her alongside the average people swept up in a war outside their control. Still, her position as a Vor Lady gives her some access knowledge and connections that she turns into power, which while limited are far more than the average citizen. Her significance to Vordarrian is exclusively viewed as yet another hostage, an underestimation that Cordelia readily exploits, but still afforded only due to her status. Cordelia occupies a position of importance but not power beyond the scope of the people she’s formed direct relationships with, which only further ties into the essay's thesis.

#I found it so so frustrating at first to be trapped with Cordelia until I realized. That's the point. She's trapped too. #Also probably a symptom of me being an omniscient 3rd person writer. I want to explore everyone and feel trapped in just 1 head #anyway probably mispelled so many character names plz have mercy I'm an audio book boi #y'all I meant this to be a very brief couple of sentence about a nitpick but then i just had to unpack author intentions. Sigh. #kinda miss writing english essays ngl. #vorkosigan saga #cordelia naismith vorkosigan #aral vorkosigan #vorkosigan analysis #barrayar #literary analysis #cordelia vorkosigan #something to nom on

[silantryoo]

BONUS [ LIKEALOOK ] — the last great american dynasty, pt 2.

jang wonyoung, throughout the years.

WARNINGS ; misogyny, toxic household, verbal abuse, emotional abuse, absent parents, mentions of affair families, hints of eating disorders, overworking, health issues, implied depression, imposter syndrome (7.2k)

hannah was just a name.

it was a combination of letters that the high schooler couldn't bear herself to recognize. she willed herself to read it as presented in front of her, but wonyoung had always been good at reading between the lines.

still, it didn't matter.

the name held good memories, ones that the young heiress should've treasured. the lullabies and stories that she cherished, the warmth and protection she had been engulfed in, all of it was gone.

good memories were for good people, perfect people. they were for people who kept their promises.

yoo jimin probably had good memories, ones that she didn't feel guilty about.

it helped that her half-sister stayed in the previously occupied room. it gave more of a reason to steer away from hyunseo's vicinity, despite wonyoung's desire to see the familiar layout.

wonyoung knew it would only anger her.

she had peaked into the youngest's room, the door ajar as western music blasted through the crevice. wonyoung had already been upset that day, her mother and father arguing about wonyoung's desire to join her high school's volleyball team. she needed to calm herself, to gather her thoughts and study, but hyunseo was making it difficult, blasting noise through the vents.

the wallpaper was different.

she was disappearing, just like wonyoung wanted.

(it hurt, more than it should've.)

it didn't matter. the young high school student had no time for grieving over her incompetence. her schedule had been filled to the brim with studies and practice since she had officially entered high school. wonyoung had little time on her hands, bouncing between studying and practicing in her free time.

it was a consequence of becoming perfect.

(wonyoung wondered how many consequences she could endure.)

the day after wonyoung had finished the final tryout, she had looked at the board, the official team roster was finally up.

her name was there, the very bottom written hastily as if a second thought. for once, wonyoung was glad to be last. she was glad to be there at all.

the young jang went home, eager to tell someone, anyone about her achievements. her mother and father, as usual, were nowhere to be found, but out of habit, she found herself rushing to her room.

oh.

the wallpaper was different.

hyunseo looked at her, eyes the same as their father's. before the youngest could speak, wonyoung rushed out.

hannah was just a name. she wasn't anyone.

wonyoung wished she wasn't just a name.

wonyoung had never played in a game before.

she had watched many on the tv in her room, juggling her studies and taking notes on all the events and mistakes that happened each minute.

she wanted to be on that screen one day, not as the leader or the libero, but as the ace, the outside hitter who scored all the points, who always seemed to play the perfect game despite not being so.

yoo jimin was an outside hitter, one who had a perfect family.

perfect.

"i have my first game next week." wonyoung looked at her food, hyunseo's head turning to her at her words.

her mother rolled her eyes.

"you got in?" wonyoung had gotten in a month ago. her father should've known that if he paid attention. "that's surprising."

she bit her tongue back, hyunseo's eyes glued onto her half-sister in awe. wonyoung calmed herself before speaking. she wasn't going to cause a scene, not when her father had just came back from work.

"so," wonyoung already knew the answer. "can you guys come?"

jiyoung and wonseok's eyes met briefly, and anyone who could see knew what they were thinking.

they weren't going.

"we'll see."

the youngest jang was proven right a week later, her teammate's parents crowded in a bunch on the bleacher, cheering on their kids. colored banners filled the area, and different players' names were displayed except hers.

disappointment settled in her chest, but not surprise.

she looked once more, scanning the crowd, a false hope still bubbling in her chest.

it was baby blue.

'go wonyoung-unnie!'

wonyoung frowned.

she asked for her parents. she asked for her family. she didn't ask for the affair child of her father to come, much less live under the same roof as her. wonyoung couldn't fathom the thoughts that were going through hyunseo's mind.

it was an insult to her, to the jang's. how dare she come to her game? she had no right.

hyunseo wasn't a jang. she would never be.

they had lost that day, wonyoung too angry to focus on what was in front of her. all she could see was the blue on the sidelines and red all around.

wonyoung didn't speak to hyunseo for the rest of that month.

time kept moving, but all the young jang could ever want was for it to stop.

her first season had ended two weeks prior, her official school training finally slowing down. there were no more long days spent in the gym, or sore shoulders and legs from overworking. instead, they had been replaced with gruesome hours at cram school, and an aching wrist from writing for hours nonstop.

the end of the semester was near, and wonyoung had noticed a slight drop in her grade.

she had to do well on her final.

the sun had already set, the heiress stepped inside her residence with a tired haze. friday was always a stressful day for wonyoung, her off-season conditioning and the weekly test at cram school lining up.

she needed food, and then sleep.

wonyoung took off her shoes, listening to the lack of britney spears blasting from upstairs.

her father was home.

"the ahn's told me you did well."

wonyoung jumped as she heard her father speak, his voice loud against the silence of her house.

jang wonseok worked late nights, even now, when his mistress was no longer with him. seeing him home before twelve, completely sober and talking to his eldest child in such a manner was whiplash to the young jang.

she collected herself, clasping her hands in front of her as she bowed politely.

"you watched my finals?" wonyoung bit back a smile, hoping that her true emotions hadn't shined through.

"i was busy." wonseok shook his head. wonyoung looked away. she should've known better. "their daughter watched it with them. why didn't you tell me you were starting?"

the young jang could feel the pride bubbling in her chest, her father's approval filling her with a warmth that she hadn't felt in over a year and a half.

she had worked hard to get where she was, adjusting her schedule to fit more practice and less studying, just enough to maintain her grades but improve significantly. wonyoung's coach had congratulated her progress, rewarding her with her hard-earned spot as the opposite hitter.

she was one step closer to being perfect, just like yoo jimin.

"i did." wonyoung tried her best to sound non-combative. she hated it when her parents twisted her words. "i told mom."

wonseok sighed. leave it up to jiyoung to forget. "your mother never told me anything."

wonseok had never talked to her this long, and the lack of interaction had become evident as the two fell silent, the younger avoiding her father's eyes.

wonyoung internally debated whether she should leave. perhaps her father had gotten tired of her presence. it wouldn't have been the first time, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.

"how are your grades?" her father spoke once more, wonyoung's head shooting up at the sound. "are you getting along with hyunseo?"

his words left a bittersweet taste lingering in the air. wonyoung was partially elated, her father suddenly caring about her to this extent. it was what she had always dreamt of, back when she had been a child.

still, hyunseo was still his favorite, no matter how hard wonyoung tried.

"um, my grades are good." wonyoung barely stuttered out her words. "i'm at the top of my grade."

"good." wonseok smiled. "good job, wonyoung."

good job, wonyoung.

wonyoung always wanted to make her dad smile.

it was a name that she had forgotten, just like the shadow that used to linger next to her closet, holding a glass of water as it urged her to come out.

"who's hannah?"

the walls of the jang household seemed to echo it, chills running down the second-year high school student's spine.

"what?"

wonyoung could feel the memories, hazy and distorted, like an old vinyl playing on a forgotten record player. she could feel it, see bits and pieces of everything. she could see her crayons, lying on her bed. a familiar hum seemed to invade her ears, a lullaby.

then there was a casket, and a broken promise.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

wonyoung wasn't good enough to love or be loved.

"who's hannah?" hyunseo repeated her words, and anger flaring up in the young jang. "dad mentioned her, and-"

"he isn't your dad." wonyoung snarled, gripping the counter as her mother sighed from behind her. "you aren't my sister."

"i just heard-"

"then stop hearing." wonyoung had never asked for her in the first place. she didn't want another person ruining her family. "no one asked you to be here anyway."

hyunseo flinched, her head down as she nodded. the heiress watched as her half-sister walked away, most likely to the room that she had stolen.

wonyoung could see her mother shake her head, jiyoung's doe eyes staring at her with disgust. it was nothing new, especially as of late. it didn't bug the young jang anymore. she had gotten used to it.

still, it stung that jiyoung treated hyunseo, the product of her husband's affair, better than her own daughter.

"you need to control your emotions, before you hurt hyunseo." jiyoung's voice was stern, reprimanding. wonyoung almost laughed at how odd it sounded, like a mother scolding her friend's playmate.

hyunseo had everything she didn't.

"it's not your problem, mother."

jiyoung shook her head, and wonyoung hated how eeriely similar she and her mother looked.

"god, you're exactly like your father."

she didn't know why those words hurt more than they should've.

jang wonyoung had known the ahn's from the moment she was born.

her father had many connections being a politician. he had friends from all over the globe, from switzerland to hong kong. it didn't matter what their profession was. as long as it benefited the jang's, wonseok would treat them with the highest respect.

the ahn's were like them, the head of the family owning one of the biggest acting agencies in all of asia. it helped that they had lived in the penthouse two minutes away, and that their youngest daughter was near wonyoung's age.

yujin was a breath of fresh air, and wonyoung was glad to call the older girl her best friend.

the two younger girl's continued their conversation, ahn yeojin, the oldest of the two ahn sisters, keeping a watchful eye on them. she rolled her eyes, sending petty jabs at yujin. her parents had forced her to accompany the two teenagers in case her sister did anything stupid again.

it was a complete waste of her exam break before she had to go back to campus.

(yujin had broken her grandmother's china plates recently, their father cutting both their allowances in retaliation.)

hyunseo walked down, eyes hesitant as she approached wonyoung. the young jang was glad she had gotten the hint to leave her alone, hyunseo clearly avoiding her for what seemed to be weeks. she ignored the gnawing guilt that built up in her chest whenever she looked at her younger half-sister, replacing it with annoyance instead.

still, there were times were hyunseo refused to get a hint.

"unnie," hyunseo's voice was small, just like how the young lee felt. "can you help me with my homework?"

"learn how to do it yourself." wonyoung sighed. "you're a big girl, hyunseo, and i'm not your tutor."

"oh." wonyoung didn't know why it upset her to hear her half-sister's defeated voice. "okay."

wonyoung tried to ignore it, but the guilt seemed to overtake her. she watched as hyunseo walked back upstairs, her glassy eyes glued onto her paper.

english. wonyoung was good at english.

"you should be nicer to your sister." yeojin sighed. she turned to yujin, pinching the younger girl's cheek. "i would kill for yujin to go back to being that sweet and cute."

yujin blushed, her eyes going wide as she stared at wonyoung. she tried to push the older girl off, embarrassed at the thought of the heiress seeing her like this.

"hyunseo isn't my sister." wonyoung muttered, her eyes lingering on the stairs. "she's not a jang."

"you sound like your dad." yujin noted, eyes void of any thought.

yeojin let go of her cheek and smacked her head, the sight of wonyoung frowning enough for her to justify her actions. "ouch! unnie!"

wonyoung should be grateful that she was turning into a jang. it was what she wanted, to be the perfect daughter her dad wanted.

she paused. when did becoming a jang equal perfection?

yeojin sighed, wonyoung's turmoil evident. she looked at her younger sister, shaking her head.

"private school is melting your brain, ahn yujin."

yujin pouted. "i didn't do anything, though!"

"dad?"

jang wonseok was a busy man. wonyoung didn't know if all his flights were work-related, but she knew that all the papers piled on his desk occupied his time. she knew that from a young age, wonseok couldn't find the time in his schedule for her, and she continued to hold that belief.

jang wonseok stood outside her school gymnasium. he watched. he watched her.

wonyoung didn't understand why she wanted to cry, or why there was an odd feeling in her chest, one that she felt a long time ago with a shadow of person.

it felt warm, but it felt misplaced.

"let's go, wonyoung." wonseok's voice was stern, but he still managed to smile at anyone who came near them.

her father was still a politician before a dad, but wonyoung was still glad he decided to be dad today.

"you came to watch."

warmth and love.

it was all wonyoung had ever wanted from her parents. she had tried different ways of getting their attention, of becoming the version of herself that they had always wanted her to be.

even though she had found it in places where she had never expected, in the cracks and crevices of her closet, behind the shadow that casted against her wall, she had always wondered what it would feel like.

it felt wrong. it felt like she was undeserving.

maybe because she was.

silently, she followed her father into the parking lot. the different muted black and bone-white hues reflected from the sun and into her eyes. her father's car stood out like a sore thumb, however. it's clean, sleek finish emphasized the wealth of the jang name, just like all of the things that wonseok owned.

wonyoung could feel her father's temperament rising with each tired step she took. his patience was running thin and it didn't take a mastermind to figure out it was because of her.

she gets in the passenger seat, the slam of the driver's door making her flinch as she closes hers gently.

her father came to watch her, yet there was still a sinking feeling in her stomach, one that felt worse than before.

the car ride was mostly silent, the hum of the engine virtually silent as they drove.

"what was that?"

wonyoung didn't know what he was talking about.

"what?" she hadn't heard her father speak to her in such a tone, not since he found out that she had been playing well. "what was what?"

"that game, wonyoung."

wonyoung had hurt her shoulder during practice. she wasn't sure how it happened so fast, but it left her feeling discomfort every time she winded her arm back.

her coach had instructed her to take it easy for today, and wonyoung agreed. had she known her father would be watching, she wouldn't have.

why did he have to watch today?

"i hurt my shoulder during practice." wonyoung mumbled under her breath, playing with the cinnamoroll pin of her volleyball bag. "i usually play as the opposite hitter but-"

the car jolted, wonseok stepping on the gas, burning the rubber on his tires. his grip on the steering wheel tightened before he lifted his foot off, no longer accelerating.

she hated it when her father was like this. she would rather have her driver pick her up. at least then, she knew she wouldn't crash.

wonyoung wished he never watched her game.

"i'm not paying for you to be mediocre!" his voice was akin to a whisper, yet much deeper, and much angrier. "i'm not sending you to camps or paying for your physical therapy for you to play middle."

"i still played well." wonyoung tried to reason, slightly afraid. "coach said-"

"your coach doesn't pay for you." wonseok never took his eyes off the road, the snarl on his face staying. "i do. you should be doing everything that i say."

she did. she has. had he caught her playing any other day, she would be there, all over the court and in the air, playing with the pride of the jang's on her back.

she had picked '01' out for that reason.

wonyoung wanted to make him proud.

she just wanted to make him realize that today had been a bad day for her.

"dad-"

"what?"

but there was nothing she could do, not when he had decided that she was as useless as she truly was.

wonyoung stayed quiet, no longer finding the energy or worth to reason with her father. it was one of the many things her father had praised her for when she was younger.

her compliance was a gift.

"get your head out of your ass, wonyoung." wonseok muttered. "don't act like that ever again."

wonyoung, as obedient as ever, nodded.

"yes, dad."

she wished that her father stayed a busy man today.

the only person to knock on her door was hann hyunseo.

her father rarely went up to her room, always opting to call her downstairs to scold her or review her game videos. her mother preferred to barge right in, yelling at the top of her lungs about whatever she was particularly upset about that day.

it was one of the only things that hyunseo had done well, at least in wonyoung's eyes.

wonyoung grabbed the door knob, twisting it open to come face to face with her younger half-sister.

in hyunseo's hand, a piping hot of cup noodles steamed, and in the other, wonyoung's favorite water bottle. no one, not even the housekeepers, bothered the heiress during her study sessions. they knew that they wouldn't get a response at the very least, or gettting yelled at by jiyoung if her daughter answered at the very most.

wonyoung would've scolded the young lee instead, if not for her tear striken face.

"hi." hyunseo's voice was soft, trembling.

wonyoung knew that hyunseo was an energetic young kid, albeit too much for her liking. she always walked around with a smile on her face, even when the jang ignored her.

this wasn't like lee hyunseo.

"you haven't eaten all day." wonyoung didn't know why she felt so guilty. "i made you some food."

she hated hyunseo for many things.

she hated how hyunseo had erased her, even though the young jang had wished to. her shrill, excited voice annoyed her, especially when her mother seemed to be too fond of someone who wasn't hers biologically. she seemed popular at her school, friends hovering all around her with a smile.

hyunseo was too much. too loud, too annoying, too happy.

she was too much like wonyoung, or at least everything she wanted to be at that age.

"are you crying?" wonyoung asked, her voice almost comforting.

tears fell faster down the lee's face. hyunseo had always wished for her older sister to speak to her like that.

"oh, i didn't notice." hyunseo muttered. "don't worry. i just get sad sometimes."

wonyoung got sad sometimes, too. especially when...

oh.

"did dad yell at you?"

hyunseo hesitated before shaking her head, and it was all wonyoung needed to know.

"it's okay." hyunseo handed wonyoung her food and her water. the older girl couldn't help but stare. "i'm gonna go to my room now."

to love someone was to do the right thing.

when was the last time wonyoung had loved someone?

wonyoung hated meetings.

her father seemed to love them, yet she didn't. she hated the way each season started with a mandatory get-together, discussing away games, team trips, and fundraisers. it all seemed like a headache, organizing and planning. she would hate to be left with a task as such.

she could only shiver at the thought.

still, wonseok always got what he wanted, whether it be women or money. the beginning of the season allowed for him to 'suggest' the head coach to put in a good word for wonyoung to recruiters. although it was never needed, wonseok couldn't help but want a little cushion, just in case.

"we're gonna be late." he looked at his watch, handcrafted in spain.

"dad, it's just a meeting." wonyoung wished for hyunseo to talk longer, hoping that her father would just get frustrated altogether and not go. "you know that coach won't care."

"i care." wonseok was getting tired of the youngest at this point. making him wait for three minutes had already pushed his limits further than it should've. "hyunseo! hurry up!"

wonyoung winced, knowing exactly what it felt like to be on the receiving end of his screaming.

she felt horrible, like she was watching her four-year-old self get yelled at in the third person.

"dad, it's fine." wonyoung would've grabbed his arm, if she weren't so afraid of him. "it's only ten minutes away. we still have tim-"

"lee hyunseo!" his voice cut through the air in a way wonyoung had never heard in her life. instinctively, she took a step back. "do you want me to go up there and force you down here?"

jiyoung and wonyoung frowned at the thought of the man dragging the young lee down. it took everything in the younger jang to stay quiet, knowing that if she spoke, he would only get angrier.

jiyoung didn't care. that was sister's blood, regardless of origin.

"wonseok."

"shut it, jiyoung." wonseok's voice was raspy from his shouting. "i can't have that child ruin the reputation that me and wonyoung have built."

wonyoung bit the side of her cheek. if anything, he was ruining the reputation she built. wonseok's instant donations had spread rumors throughout multiple schools, and regardless of truth (which they weren't), wonyoung had to face the blow.

thank god for uchinaga aeri.

"she's a child." jiyoung tried to explain.

envy coursed through the young jang's veins. hyunseo was lucky to have jiyoung on her side. wonyoung would die for her mother to defend her, especially against wonseok.

she was a child, too. why didn't her mother care for her?

"she's grown enough to know that the world doesn't revolve around people like her." wonyoung was a hypocrite, just like her mother and her father. "lee hyunseo! last warning!"

wonyoung couldn't do this anymore. she could let a kid relive everything that she tried so hard to escape from.

hyunseo wasn't wonyoung, and wonyoung needed to see that.

"i'll go get her, dad." wonyoung smiled kindly, the facade threatening to fall with a single accusation.

she waited for her father to allow her, and with a simple nod, wonyoung rushed upstairs.

she hadn't been to han - no, hyunseo's room before. she had peaked inside multiple times, the old, grey wallpaper replaced with a soft pink that complimented the younger girl's personality.

the door was still the same though, and it reminded wonyoung that not all things change.

wonyoung felt a wave of deja vu as she knocked on the mahogany, the solid thud with each hit. her shadow bounced off the ground, and wonyoung wondered if hyunseo could tell who was there from it.

it was silent.

"hyunseo?" hyunseo heard the shadow speak. "can i come in?"

wonyoung could hear the faint footsteps approaching the hardwood door. her younger sister's tear-stained cheeks peaked through as hyunseo let her inside.

wonyoung closed the door behind her, knowing her father and mother would do their best to listen despite the soundproof walls.

everything felt familiar.

the air conditioning blasted from across the room, whirling out puffs of cool air that made wonyoung shiver. she could see the vanity, still in decent condition, just like how it was left before. the back of the door had an empty space between two of its hooks when a young jang wonyoung had decided to hang a chair off it.

the memories came flooding back, but jang wonyoung didn't deserve any of it.

but wonyoung couldn't dwell on it. lee hyunseo needed her older sister more.

"why are you crying?"

wonyoung could list multiple reasons off the back of her hand, many of it her doing.

she felt horrible. she could've stopped this.

hyunseo rubbed her eyes as if she were tired. "i can't find my brush."

although a brush was an odd thing to break down about, wonyoung couldn't help but brush it off. she had her fair share of meltdowns as well, one of which was a missing throw pillow in her closet.

"do you want me to look for it?" wonyoung's voice radiated a warmth that hyunseo had never felt from her.

without thinking, the younger girl threw her arms around her sister, wonyoung holding her in place. she was confused, even more so when the younger began to sob.

"hyunseo?"

it was heartbreaking to hear a child as bright as hyunseo cry. wonyoung didn't know how her parents managed to listen.

"i can't find my brush..." hyunseo could feel wonyoung embrace her back, and she felt as if she finally had someone on her side. "i miss when my mom. i miss my friends from my old school. i miss when dad was nice to me."

wonyoung didn't know why she felt as if hyunseo would shatter if she released her hold, or why it sounded like a six-year-old version of her, begging her dad to stay for her birthday.

"i wish i was you, unnie." wonyoung could feel the tears staining her shirt, and the shock running through her body. "you never mess up. you're always so pretty and smart. you never say the wrong thing. everyone loves you."

each sentence seemed to amount to the lie that was jang wonyoung. everything, every word that had come out of her younger sister's mouth, was all carefully curated by her in fear.

wonyoung was terrified that people would see through her, that they would see an imperfect, horrible monster. the one that resembled her father in namesake and in emotion.

wonyoung had even managed to fool hyunseo, but the eldest could never fool herself.

"you're perfect."

jang wonyoung was a useless, stupid crybaby. she was a coward who hid behind walls, who didn't deserve the love and praise that came to her.

jang wonyoung was jang wonyoung, and she feared that it would never change.

""i'm sorry, hyunseo." the younger girl cried as wonyoung tried her hardest not to. she was fooling everyone but herself. "unnie's here now. don't cry, okay?"

hyunseo's sobs eventually faded seconds later, her face flushed in embarrassment and exhaustion. wonyoung could tell that the younger girl had been needing her by her side, and all this time, she had done nothing out of pure selfishness.

"feel better?"

hyunseo nodded, her hair still messy. the eldest could only laugh at her sister.

"let's go find your brush."

hyunseo nodded, her head low as she watched wonyoung's shadow bounce off the hardwood floor.

wonyoung getting scouted to her dream school was basically a fantasy.

both her parents hailed from different SKYS. her father, like the typical jang he was, was an alumni of seoul national university. her mother, on the other hand, was from yonsei university.

she knew that her father wanted her to follow in his footsteps. wonseok had made it clear that if wonyoung were to continue volleyball, it would need to be at snu, where she would major in political science, just like him.

but, like yoo jimin, she wanted to go to seoul's university of multi-arts.

her father didn't need to know that she had a one-on-one meeting with the coach today. it wasn't like she could accept their offer without discussing with her father first.

but then there was her mother.

"i need to go, mom."

wonyoung had dressed for the weather. her light jacket, engraved with the letters of her high school, lay neatly on her figure. it wasn't one to keep her insulated, but with every word her mother spoke, it seemed more and more the case.

jiyoung was against wonyoung playing volleyball as a whole. she had heard from aeri that her mother would go on rants, demonizing the sport as if it was the reason for her daughter's shortcomings.

the reason for her daughter's shortcomings was many things, including her mother, but it was never volleyball.

still, jiyoung was sure wonyoung was going to get nowhere in life.

"you need to pass your csat." jiyoung had said those words before, like a mantra. "volleyball isn't going to get you there."

wonyoung could only scoff. being the top student at her school should've been more than enough, especially since wonyoung was also in the top ten players for volleyball.

she was eighth, right above a girl named shin yuna, whoever she was.

"i'm already going to pass." wonyoung muttered, putting on her shoes hastily. "i've been studying myself to sleep for the past month."

wonyoung remembered many mornings where she would wake up at her desk, her face pressed against her textbook.

"that's not enough for someone like you."

wonyoung blinked.

"someone... like me?"

wonyoung knew she was stupid. she knew that there was nothing inside her head aside from volleyball and textbooks, and that she always had to try twice as hard to be at the same level as everyone else.

she knew that she was worth practically nothing, but she was growing tired of her parents repeating it over and over again.

wonyoung didn't need a reminder.

"you need to study harder and stop trying to be something you're not."

wonyoung hated how her mother saw right through her, just like how she hated her mother for never loving her.

she hated how she could never love herself because of it.

"is that why you married dad?" wonyoung's voice sounded unfamiliar to her, as if it wasn't her own. "is that why you let yourself get cheated on and why you let his other child live under your roof?"

hyunseo gasped, and wonyoung had forgotten she was sitting in the living room right next to jiyoung.

"this has nothing to do with my marriage and has everything to do with how stupid and useless you are." jiyoung's words still cut deep, no matter how hard wonyoung had willed it not to. "you think your father cared about you before this? you think he cares now?"

wonyoung could only blink her tears away.

she knew the truth, just like then. wonyoung was an extension of the jang name, nothing more. her failures were hers and her successes were his.

she wondered if wonseok ever cared about anyone but himself.

"he cares about someone!" wonyoung bit back with the same furosity as her mother. "and that's clearly not you."

hyunseo wanted the shouting to stop. she wanted everyone to calm down, to get along.

(deep down, she wondered if the real cause of the tension was her.)

"you don't know how hard it was carrying your burden." jiyoung could remember every insult that wonseok threw her way. every jab at her character, she took and held, and it was all wonyoung's fault. "you don't know the things your father put me through."

"i don't need to know!" wonyoung could feel her throat growing tired of holding back her tears. "you're a horrible mother. i wish you died instead!"

the room fell silent.

wonyoung could hear the quiet chatter coming from the tv, playing whatever show hyunseo had been watching. the polyester cuff of wonyoung's sleeve rubbed against her wrist as she covered her mouth. she could smell the rain from outside, no longer pouring,

in front of her, wonyoung watched as she saw her mother cry for the first time.

to love someone is to do the right thing.

"how can you say that to me?" jiyoung didn't know she could feel pain like this again. "how could you hurt your mother, wonyoung?"

("it should've been you, jiyoung. it should've been you instead of jihyun.")

but wonyoung was tired of asking her mother to love her.

"whatever."

wonyoung turned, slamming the door behind her. she could feel her hands shaking, a part of her guilty for saying those words, and a part of her horrified for meaning them.

wonyoung wished the rain would start once more. perhaps she could hide her tears in them.

wonyoung and her mother hadn't spoken about the incident, and she never would.

upon thinking about it, only regret gnawed at the bottom of her chest. she hated how a significant part of her meant the words she said, and how deep down, she truly wished for it to be true.

wonyoung was just like her father, in every sense.

"dad told me to pick you up today."

wonyoung could see the middle schoolers around her, mouth hung open as the eldest picked up her sister. behind hyunseo, a boy around her age scurried away, nearly tripping over himself in fear.

granted, wonyoung was glaring at him.

"was that your boyfriend?" wonyoung felt a deep-setted anger simmering in her chest.

"no!" she could see her sister blushing heavily. "why?"

she knew her mother couldn't care less about who she dated, but she wondered if jiyoung felt the same as her when it came to hyunseo.

"you guys shouldn't be that close if you aren't dating." she felt like a mother scolding her daughter. sighing once she saw hyunseo's pout, wonyoung relented. "does he like you?"

"i don't think so." hyunseo's frown deepened, and a part of wonyoung wanted to reassure her that it was the boy's loss. "do you think he does?"

oh. wonyoung raised an eyebrow.

"do you want him to?"

hyunseo's face burned a firey red as she refused to answer. it took everything in the older girl to not tease her sister. wonyoung never understood someone crushing on another person that much.

perhaps she hadn't met the right person yet. at least, that's what aeri and yeojin had told her (yujin had stayed oddly quiet when wonyoung had asked her).

the two walked out of the building, wonyoung smiling at every passerby she had recognized. there were many of her father's business partners around, all because wonseok had decided hyunseo had to attend private school.

wonyoung shivered at the thought of entering a private school.

"you should apologize to auntie." hyunseo frowned, fiddling with the strap of her backpack.

wonyoung sighed. "it's not your problem, hyunseo."

hyunseo lowered her head, feeling as wonyoung gave her a soft pat on her head.

"i don't like seeing you upset, unnie."

upset was an understatement.

"i'm not upset." wonyoung tried her best to reassure her younger sister, smiling as she opened the car her dad had gifted her on her sixteenth birthday.

"my mom said that lying can put you in jail for life." hyunseo scolded her, and wonyoung couldn't help but burst out laughing. "i know it doesn't because i'm not five anymore, but still."

the two hopped inside, wonyoung starting the car as hyunseo settled in.

"it's her fault." wonyoungg muttered.

she didn't expect hyunseo to understand. although there was a sliver of her that felt bitter, the younger girl wasn't there for wonyoung's childhood. she couldn't blame hyunseo for defending her version of jiyoung.

"i know." hyunseo looked at the window as they pulled out of the parking lot. "but sometimes, it's not just her fault. no one is perfect."

wonyoung felt her heart drop.

hyunseo had seen through her facade.

"i thought you thought i was perfect?" wonyoung's calm voice failed to reflect her true emotions.

did hyunseo hate her now? did she realize that the person she looked up to was nothing but a selfish, ruined person who wished death on her mother?

wonyoung needed to focus on driving before she crashed the two of them on the side of the road.

"you are." hyunseo seemed truthful, but wonyoung begged to differ. "but even perfect people mess up sometimes."

she knew. she had to.

"that would mean they aren't perfect."

wonyoung wasn't perfect. it was her fatal flaw.

"oh." hyunseo hummed, oblivious to her older sister's internal turmoil. "that makes sense, i guess."

wonyoung wondered if she'd ever be perfect.

she wondered if hyunseo would forgive her.

it had only been almost a year since the two had gotten close. hyunseo had followed her around like a baby chick following her mother, and wonyoung cherished it like she cherished her little sister.

but she couldn't stay in this place anymore, not when her father and mother was here. she couldn't become who they wanted, no matter how hard she wanted to.

wonyoung just wanted to be selfish. she just wanted to be anything but her parents.

"look at my daughter!"

wonseok had been babying her since she agreed to go to snu. it was everything she wanted when she was a child, to be recognized and loved by him, but she was terrified of becoming another jang clone.

"top of her class, and on her way to seoul university, just like her father."

she had to break the news to him coldly, just like how he had announced to her mother about his affair.

"i want to go to suma."

wonyoung could see his facade drop, and she was met with the face of the wonseok she knew; cold, unloving, and terrifying.

she hoped hyunseo wouldn't see her like that once she left.

"what?"

wonyoung repeated herself. "i'm going to suma."

suma was a prestigious school, one of the SKYS that everyone had obsessed over. still, in the eyes of the elite, sending your child to the worst out of the four was a mockery.

jang wonseok wasn't a mockery.

"no, you aren't." wonseok's voice was firm and wonyoung could see her mother stiffen at his voice. "that's a performing arts school. your mother went to one when she was younger and look how she turned out."

"she graduated in yonsei."

"she went to a performing arts high school." wonseok reasoned before standing up. "wonyoung, you're not going to suma. you didn't even apply."

she sent the registration forms the day her and her mother had fought, with a letter of recommendation from her coach and the principal.

it was the only school that she had done so.

"i did." wonyoung tried her best for her voice to not waver. "i'm going."

wonseok took a heavy breath, internally blaming his wife for raising a daughter so disobedient. "who's gonna pay for your tuition?"

"i'm on a full-ride scholarship." she decided to answer, quick and curtly.

suma was the only school that had given her a full-ride scholarship, included in which are dorms and her meal plan. snu had only given her a partial one since the campus was only a couple minutes drive from gangnam.

"the majors there are useless." wonseok tried to reason, his temper slowly getting the better of him. "you need something practical, something that makes you-"

"a jang?"

wonyoung had meant it as an insult, but all wonseok could take it as a compliment.

"exactly." he felt as if he was starting to get through to his daughter. "i thought you said you were doing political science, wonyoung."

she never wanted to do political science. if she had to choose a major, one of which wasn't in multi-arts, she would've chosen biology with a focus on flora.

wonyoung never got what she wanted, though.

"i changed my mind."

this time, she would.

"you're kidding me." wonseok couldn't believe what he was hearing. he looked over to jiyoung, face red from anger as he adjusted the cuffs on his shirt. "talk to your daughter."

with one look, wonyoung knew her mother knew that she wasn't going to change her mind. it was one of the many things that terrified wonyoung, especially back when her mom found out about her preference for women.

("it's gonna be my problem if your dad finds out. keep your mouth shut.")

"wonyoung, now's not the time to annoy your dad." jiyoung just wanted to go upstairs and turn off her brain. she was tired of hearing her husband yell and her daughter whine. "just do what he says."

wonyoung shook her head.

"no." she stood her ground, just like her father had taught her. "their volleyball team's good. it's basically the best way to get into the national team. each year they take someone to go and-"

"that's not you!" wonseok could feel his temper skyrocketing. the jang's were made for politics like they have always been. "you're a jang!"

wonyoung never asked to be born a jang.

"i'm going." this was her only way out. "i already accepted."

jiyoung shook her head. with a piercing glare, she looked at her husband. "this is your fault for enabling her fantasies."

"kang seulgi and lee chaeyeon went there. so did seo soojin." her father shook his head, muttering curses under his breath. suddenly, wonyoung had realized.

"dad," there was a reason why she had gone to that high school in the first place. if the jang's were anything, they were easily influenced. "yoo jimin goes there."

"you're not yoo jimin."

wonyoung knew that, but she still wanted to dream.

"yujin-unnie is going. aeri-unnie also goes there." wonyoung begged. she knew that deep down, no matter how hard she tried, she would always need her father's approval. "the oh's went there too! haewon-ssi is next in line to inherit-"

"enough."

wonyoung looked down, her act no longer hiding her desperation.

she couldn't stay here. she couldn't go to snu, and be a half-baked politician who lies their way out of problems. wonyoung had no say in her life, but this time, she just wanted one chance.

"who else?"

wonyoung thought to herself.

"hwang yeji."

wonseok nodded.

"i'll think about it, wonyoung."

that was more than enough.

masterlist | next

taglist (CLOSED)!!

@serenitygrace24 @moontealemonpie @writingficsblog @kittyeij @cutieseo @limbforalimb @ahnneyong @yumtooki @lcv3lies @sserajeans @jiwoneiric @babycubchae @trsrina @xyxlyn @misumiausworld @slowlyturninggay291 @awkwardtoafault @captivq @ddeonutz @noiacha @sserabey @d7dream @slowlyturninggay291 @lvwr @perfectsunlight @juhyunsthirdwife @uzumakioden @txtbrainrot @rosiehrs @yunjinhart @skisk1 @bzeus28 @deeznutzryu @jisooftme @danistolemyheart @li0ilthecxnt @eggomi @ddoxhan @zhivaxo @sweet-dhrafts @livelaughloveyujin @luveuly @marimo-anura @yunnybunnyy @ivy-aurora @wonyoluvr

#jang wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #iz*one x reader #izone x reader #aespa x reader #kpop x reader #idol x reader #silantryo

[mishapen-dear]

oh im gonna be SO annoying about bbh in a minute. i keep saying the same thing over and over again but his character is too fucking complex motherfucker is like:

"i'm a demon who is 11,000 years old and i refuse to acknowledge that im a demon nor that i do bad things (like steal furniture) but i will help people every chance i get despite saying im going to stop doing that and i am going to devote my life to protecting these fragile little eggs even though i know im going to lose them one day because i love them too much (and i know i can do that and it will one day be okay, because i have an immortal diamond to keep me company even if he isn't here now). when my friend throws himself beneath the spokewheel of the federation i will be there, bitter about my loss, but i will not start a revolution until he proves he deserves one. i will do what i can to safeguard his system against corruption because i am afraid the federation will use him to hurt us. i know he doesn't want to hurt us. he keeps hurting me. he is isolated by our distrust in him and he is still working hard to try to be a good person in an inherently corrupt system that cannot be fixed so i will build him a statue. i will not kill him when he takes a picture of me in the presidential chair (that was almost mine) and puts it on his wall and calls me 'employee of the month.' i didn't do all of that work for the federation i did it for him like i do it for others because they are my friends. i will exhaust every option i have to build a reason to NOT start a revolution. to not kill him. because i have to say that i tried. i feel like i have made so many compromises. i have held myself back to try to find reason. i will still remove his access to my base. when the island turns against me and he locks me in a cage for a crime i did not commit, i will remove everyone's access (except for my family the french and my family the eggs). i am having fun. when the eggs appear the next day with cracks and dirty shells i will worry, but i know they're strong. they'll be okay. (when i find my son's secret lab and his unethical experiments that cause him harm i will be proud because he has done what i do. he has helped. i want him to be safe but we are never safe and i trust him more than anyone else. i know now, and i can help him be safe.) when the eggs go missing i will be silent. i will look for them, and i will destroy for them, and i will bargain for them, and i will cry for them, and i will not accept their loss. when my friend who is president who once built a safehouse that saved my eggs' lives is finally damaged by the federation (like i knew he would be when he became president) and he starts to hurt people by pushing the same treatment onto them i will not be surprised. i will be surprised when he tries to marry me. i will not blame him (much) when he tries to kill me. our children are missing. he is forced to pretend that his is not. i wish i could too. i will not tell him yes or no because i need an open avenue to manipulate him (because to save him i will have to manipulate him). i will not marry him because he is out of his mind. i have said marriage is overrated. i have also said that i want to live with him in a house with our kids and my skeppy. when he tells me that he wants to be happy with me i will still say 'aw' because it is the most genuine thing he has said to me and i miss my friend. i will still try to kill him. i fail to kill him with someone else's plan. i don't place a block to lock him in place. i hesitate. it doesn't matter if it's on purpose because the next plan works. i will reveal an item that could destroy me to my closest allies (and tubbo) because it will let us save him. we save him. when he kills himself 18 times over i back away from the explosion in surprise and then step close again. while i have grieved i have thrown myself into mines. it doesn't matter. i am numb and want to feel something. everything has lost colour. we save him.

i visit federation workers and ask them about my eggs and they do not tell me anything. i know they are lying. i visit the graveyard to talk to my lost eggs. i have lost all of the eggs. i do not know how to save them. i lay in the mud. it rains and rain signifies the monster has returned to kill my children but my children are not here and so i do not care. when i go home i will become so angry and i will go down to my basement (which i have locked like my friend locked the entrance to his greatest fantasy. we are so alike and our delusions are different. he child was real; here is the secret to finding my children) where i have locked a federation worker away. i will not wash away the blood stains.

i am also part-time grim reaper and i only ever dress up in robes to make people drink more water."

#this was supposed to be a quick summary of his character. help. #this is a quick warning about the other bigger post i am writing about him and how his Whole Deal and World View is and why he's being so #soft with forever despite the Nightmare Horrors #to put it more simply: he's built different #qsmp #bbh #q badboyhalo #qsmp character analysis #<- more like qsmp character 'here is everything about this character but hang on there's even More' #HELLPPPPP IM IN THE TRENCHESSSS #did you know there's a 4096 character limit on a block of text. guess how i found that out #but everything is SO IMPORTANT to how he reacts to everything else #he holds grudges like nobody's business but he's also a hypocrite and plays favourites #he's stubborn and Chooses enemies and friends and there are always lines to cross but he understands context #and the forever thing has the context of bad looking at him and going 'i know what you're feeling. i know why you're doing this.' #'i know i would be worse'

[gribbo]

In the hands of another minstrel, it would make a triumphant theme: Thorm trounced, his captives freed, his curse lifted from the land. Let another minstrel write it. The one who struggled up from the bowels of Moonrise Tower would rather find an unobtrusive corner in which to curl up and die.

"Somebody knocks you on the head every tenday," grumbles Barcus, as though it's a character flaw. His hand on the minstrel's jaw is rough and cool. "Follow my finger."

He seems to be holding up two. Peculiar. The minstrel does his best to watch them instead of falling over. "Did you see the"—he wobbles, peering over Barcus's shoulder—"aasimar?"

The Nightsong, tracking bits of Thorm across the hall, wings to Isobel in a blaze of moonfire. Barcus fails to notice. "You're more addled than I thought."

The minstrel could kiss him. If either of them deserved that.

He reports to the High Harper, who stops him midway and orders him to bed. Where bed has gone eludes him; Vally, he thinks, had shouldered his bedroll. Karlach, his pack. He looks for them in the hushed bustle of the hall: teary farewells here, his niece Nimble frowning at him there, the dead laid out yonder for the living to grieve. Harpers weeping for their fallen softly, businesslike. Victims of the cult, too, lying far from their families and friends—and Alfira where he expects her to be, hunched alone with her lute, feeling out the first fumbling chords of a threnody for them all.

It all makes sense, all of a sudden. He still has his gittern. When he drops onto the bench beside her, her hands stumble on the strings.

“Let’s sing for our supper, then,” he rasps without preamble, tuning up.

Alfira stares at him—huge, stunned eyes in a hollow face. “Really?”

Magga cammara, the minstrel thinks, she’s gotten thin. She’s not even famous yet.

“Go on,” he says gruffly. He fiddles for a moment in A minor before settling on something suitable. “I’ll back you.”

A slow, weary smile staggers across Alfira’s face.

It’s a grueling task, to sing in tribute for so many, for so long. Few would ask it of a singer so untried. But when Alfira’s voice lifts in lamentation like a rusty bell’s chime, heads turn; when he joins her in the second verse, the stentorian echo of her high mourner’s cry, the hush that follows is a grim gratification. They play long after their voices fail. He’s nodding over the gittern, his fingers plodding across the strings, when a warm, heavy hand envelops his shoulder. “Silk?”

“Karlach.” His voice scrapes like an old hinge. He blinks up at her, wondering why she’s so blurry. “There you are.”

“Here I am, sangster.” She turns from him, speaking gently to someone else. “Get some rest, Fira, hey?”

Whoever’s leaning on him rises with a willing mumble, leaving him cold. There’s a head on his knee, he realizes; he gives Mirkon’s curls a drowsy pat, then nudges him awake. Someone lifts the boy and carries him away. Around the hall, the torches burn like drowning stars.

Karlach’s hand keeps him steady. “Can you walk?”

He wobbles up. To his consternation, the hall tilts. Around him, the torchlights stretch and spin—

“Whoops,” Karlach says—and whisks him off his feet, bearing him who-knows-where. Hellion. He should object, probably. Keep his eyes open, certainly. Beneath his head, the machinery in her chest—that horrid death-clock, ticking—rattles a radiator-cough.

She smiles grimly at it. “Will you play one of those for me?”

A funeral dirge. His own tired heart beats off-tempo. “Oh, Karlach.”

“It was beautiful,” she says in her plain, awful way. “Will you?”

He’d sooner cut off his hands. Milil, he thinks, help me play happier music for these people. That triumphant theme. It’s in me, somewhere.

“Sangster?”

A voice speaks up somewhere past his eyelids. “Is he all right?”

“Asleep.” An infernal yawn. “Hells. I’m beat, too.”

Not quite asleep, he thinks. There’s a space between sleep and wakefulness, now, where the Prism-bearers’ minds mingle and meet. Gale’s drifting off thinking about a real bed, with sheets and blankets and such, so all of them are thinking about real beds. Them, the minstrel thinks muzzily, who are we, who are us.

Karlach’s thoughts, blunt and amused, brush his. You sound like that brain-thing.

Shadowheart, ever the eavesdropper, dips in. Are we going to keep it?

That headcheese? asks Vally.

Whatever will it eat, thinks Wyll, in our company?

Tsk’va. Lae’zel pretends to miss his joke. The creature is an abomination.

So are we, darling.

We! cries the intellect-devourer, somewhere else. It’s skittering after a rat, its simple joy rippling through their minds in alien hues. Whee!

Not a theme, the minstrel thinks, absently. Not a theme. He blinks up at Karlach with some effort. “Odd little medley, ours.”

Karlach blinks back at him.

Then she grins, brushfire-bright. “Catchy."

#act ii was my favorite #bg3 #microfic #barcus wroot #alfira #karlach #oc tag #silk #and assorted other characters

[daydreamsandcrashingwaves]

KICTTC 5

I'm BACK helloooo! Oh my goodness friends! I have so much to tell you all! So I kinda was collar grabbed by this story so my edit of chapter 4 is SO different from what I posted here, SOOOOO I'm posting a bit of the edited Ch4 so no one misses out on plot! ahhh I've been so excited to share this all with you!!!! Transference chapter 3 is in the works as well as a secret WIP! I really wanna focus of my first two stories though so Idk when that will be up or what an update schedule might look like.

Anyways the Angst is strong, the trauma and body horror is as strong as the blasphemous tea I brew, read at your own leisure I aint yo mama lol

Stay safe, give yourself grace, take your meds, get some sun, burrow in a blanket nest, drink water and eat a snack lovelies!

~Ren

Once Danny makes a decision he throws himself in head first, this will be no different. Danny has to start at the beginning. He must tell them everything to have a hope of them understanding how Danny ended up dropping through a portal to his brother’s side. For… their family to understand what true danger hunts him even now.

Dick sips his cup of coffee only to look at it betrayed when it’s bitter and cold. He has been in Bruce’s study watching the live feed of the recovery room for hours. He managed to drag himself to bed when Alfred had insisted but his dreams had been plagued with Danyal trembling on the floor, knife hilt deep in his small neck, the sight of them in the doorway had made him panic and then he was bleeding out, his breath gurgling in his throat as he died. It was an awful way to wake up and he couldn’t even go check on Danyal in person! Damian had cashed in a lot of the blackmail he’s kept on them to keep them away. While Dick was proud of his little brother’s emotional growth, seeing their youngest in person would go a long way for Dick to shake off his nightmare. He is a bat though so he will endure, especially because this involves his family, his brothers. 

As the sun started dipping below the horizon behind the curtains Tim walked into the study with two large cups filled to the top with coffee, one with a ton of sugar and cream the other plain black coffee, “Awe Timmy! You brought me coffee!” Dick snatches the plain one up with a smirk. 

Tim just grumbles at his grabby hands and relinquishes the cup. He shuffles over to the couch and pulls out his laptop to work on something- Dick isn’t sure where Tim had managed to safely carry the computer with two fresh coffees- and promptly ignores the others as they file in the next ten or so minutes. Judging by the dark circles under everyone’s eyes, sleep was hard to come by. 

Bruce is slumped into his chair watching the twins. No one breaks the silence. Dick eyes Jason from where his brother has propped himself against the wall out of the way Their father’s shoulders are tense in anger. So Talia is probably giving him the slip. He can’t help but feel resentment for the woman who keeps secrets that hurt his family. She knows that people don’t always stay dead. When Jason died, the only reason Dick had to face it, recognize that his little brother was dead was because they had his body as sure proof he had been murdered. Dick has seen many times how Bruce grieves and it’s never good. Adding in a twin? Bruce is holding himself together with sheer will power and meticulous training. Bruce might be almost impossible to read but he was the first boy to be adopted. He has more Bruce experience than anyone else in the family but Alfred. He can see the cracks. 

Turning back to the screen Dick lets out a little coo at the image. Damian is awake and is looking at Danyal like he’d disappear from under the blanket they share. The boy carefully extracts himself to use the restroom that’s tucked away in the corner. When he comes back onto the screen he is changed into his sweatpants and a t-shirt Dick recognizes as his own. He also spots a change of clothes for Danyal in his arms, which he sets on the side table next to the bed before Damian goes around refilling the water pitcher and glass to be ready for use, setting fresh towels out. 

Turning his attention to the younger boy, he can see how sickly the boy is when they’re side by side to compare. His pale skin shows off the dark veins underneath, his cheeks are caving into his face, all his baby fat eaten away, dark bruises under his eyes, and with how injured he was… it’s not telling a pretty story. Dick is confident that if Danyal hadn’t dropped out of the rafters in that warehouse they’d never know he could’ve been out there. He desperately needed help even if he hadn’t realized it yet. Bruce and Dick watch Damian crawl back into bed, Danny doesn’t wake but he does turn towards where Damian has frozen owl-eyed. An arm snags the bottom edge of Damian’s shirt and like a signal the rest of his limbs follow to entwine them together. It’s very cute. With a smirk Dick takes out his phone and snaps a quick picture. It’s unlikely to truly upset Damian since it’s probably the only picture that they have of the twins together right now, but however Damian responds when he knows the picture exists will be satisfying. 

“Are we gonna get on with it or just sit in silence with our thumbs up our asses?” Jason glares, looking significantly more tense. He stares down the room while crossing his arms across his chest. 

Dick sees Bruce’s shoulders square up like he’s bracing for a physical punch instead of the verbal jab. Batman has an almost obsessive need to know everything he can about a situation, it was one of his many lessons that they as his children made into muscle memory. Knowledge made carefully crafted contingency plans that kept their family safe on and off the streets. Something to hold, to have in reserve for when they need it. To be thrown so many unknowns in the shape of a brother was unsettling them all. 

“Jason.” Dick throws him a disappointed look from where he stands by Bruce, placing a hand on his shoulder to diffuse the argument that would shortly explode. “Danyal hasn’t been conscious, he hasn’t had the chance to explain anything yet, has he?” He raises his eyebrow at his brother. The family might not always reach an agreement on, well most things, but Dick knows his younger brother cares. He does. He won’t admit it but he’s here. Red Hood sticks to Crime Alley, looking after his people and- though he won’t claim them- his kids. One glance at Danyal’s wounded, still form was all it took to gain his loyalty. Red Hood liked to take his aggression out on those who disrespect his claim. Jason’s impulse to run off and hunt the monsters who could harm a child this way was poorly hidden. Dick understood the feeling so he didn’t push further.

Jason sneered at his words but didn’t bite back, just turned his impatient gaze towards Tim. “I’m sure Tim has been doing more digging than sleeping.”

Bruce inhales sharply drawing all of their attention. He’s looking at the monitor, hitting the unmute, Damian’s voice floods the room. “I simply meant you only have to tell me what has happened since we were separated… Once, here. I-We had thought you would prefer what privacy we can afford while we determined who had made the grave mistake of harming you. The family, while well intentioned, can be overwhelming. It is difficult gathering everyone and having them sit quietly for extended periods of time and our family is… large.” 

Damian’s description brought a small smile to Dick’s face. Danyal’s quiet reply dimmed the edges because he sounded so young. 

The whole group shifted and was laser focused on their new family member. Dick can’t think of any way to describe this whole situation as wrong as he took in what he could see.. It had nothing to do with Danny himself, or maybe it was more accurate to say whatever made his newly claimed baby brother look like that was what was firing off all his finely honed warning bells. A glance around at the others makes it clear they’re all, for once, on the same page.

If Bruce’s glare could kill the poor monitor would’ve been smoking at this point. Danyal was clearly at the end of his rope. Dick will admit as much as it irks him Damian was right to sequester the recovery room and keep Danyal in a calm area. They watch in horror as Danyal starts to speak. He was hesitant and nervous at first but slowly gained confidence when Damian didn’t react adversely. 

The rest of them didn’t have to restrain themselves. 

  “What the actual fuck?” That’s Tim’s angry voice, Dick shutters. He sounds like he’s already started on researching his shit list by the furious tapping that comes from the couch. Drs Fenton, the Ghost Investigation Ward, and Vlad Masters can’t possibly know what is coming for them. Dick isn’t sure whether to step in when Jason sinks down into the couch next to their younger brother and they immediately start whispering between themselves. 

He decides after a long look at the twins murmuring to each other that he would rather check on Bruce. “B?” 

The man that stands firm against Gotham’s most unsavory rogues, looks back at him lost. His eyes get drawn back to his sons on the screen, “He’s so small Dick. I-” It’s rare Bruce breaks in composure and Dick’s chest squeezes. His father looks haunted. 

“We’re here for him now, B.” He says gently. There are no words he could say that can erase what is already done. 

They listen to Tim and Jason in the background while watching Damian help Danyal get out of bed. Once on his feet Danyal waves his twin away. He’s weak and shaky but they breathe a bit easier when his legs don’t give out underneath his body weight. The short walk to the bathroom door seemed to have winded him. Danyal reaches for the wall and presses into it while he pauses. And pauses. 

Damian hasn’t rushed to his side so Dick tries not to panic. He probably needs a moment to gather himself. “Do you think we need to send Alfred down?” He asks Bruce. 

“What?” Tim and Jason both looked up at him in tandem. 

“Danyal! He was- well he is- fine. But look! He’s all hunched like he can’t breathe right? Why is Damian just watching?” Dick frets wringing his hands.

Attention diverted from their plans of destruction the two leave the couch and crowd around Bruce’s desk. 

“Oh fuck!” Tim curses, roughly rolling Bruce’s chair away from the keyboard. “I don’t know how they did it but I think the feed was paused, or spliced or looped. I’m trying to override it- Ah! I got it!” 

The feed clears and they all blink at the empty room. The bathroom door is open and Danyal’s things that were by the door are gone. 

Bruce jumps out of his chair. “What were they doing right before?” 

Tim pulls up the saved file and finds the moments right before the glitch. “They’re hugging?” A few lines of code and Tim has the background volume boosted. A hushed conversation in Arabic reaches their ears. 

“Okay Danyal, I understand and will help you,” Damian studies his brother for a moment, “how can I help you best in this moment Danyal, what is it you want.” 

They watch Danyal look around at the room, fear leaking in now that he’s not focused on the boy with him. “I can’t be here. I won’t heal.”

Bruce flinches like Danyal had hit him.

They embraced, and whatever else was said was too muffled to pick up.

They watch entranced, like a bruise you can’t help but press on, as the scene plays out and ends with Danyal leaning against the wall. 

“They can’t have gotten far, the demon brat wouldn’t risk hurting his precious twin, Dickie-Bird and I can fetch the chicks that flew the nest.” Jason sighs.

Bruce’s phone rings and they all look at it with reluctance. That’s Oracle’s ringtone so it’s important. Dick swipes the device and answers with a quick, “O, we’ve got a situation, please tell me this is important.”

“Yeah it is,” Barbra agrees, “if you guys were gonna patrol why wasn’t I looped in, huh?” 

Dick exchanges a confused look with the others. “Uh no, O, we agreed no patrol tonight, Black Bat, Signal, and Spoiler were our covers.”

“Then why is the Batmobile headed towards the edge of town?” 

They, with years of experience fighting side by side, spring in sync for the hidden entrance and pile into the elevator to the cave to change and to track down their brothers.

~~~~~~~

Gotham was unusually muggy this evening. Bruce could feel the sweat drip down his scalp and his suit was already damp. Breath blazed through his lungs yet brought him no warmth. He had to suppress his instinct to shiver. Fear was all he could feel. It was bone chillingly familiar. Nothing like Scarecrow’s toxin yet he was still sinking deeper into glacier littered water. As Batman, Bruce has taken many hits, faced the cruel underbelly of Gotham from the shadows and had said enough. Birthed from vengeance and relentlessly courting justice, he gets back up, keeps moving, doesn’t stay down even when he probably should. No one else had managed to stand against the city’s rogues. Every night he embraces their seething rage that blistered the streets and exploded buildings. Batman turns towards danger, not away. He is the shield that protects his city's people from the impact the best he can. It’s never enough. Batman has flung himself head first into a race that had long since started. 

In the rare hours he is alone surrounded by the soft glow of the Batcomputer and the quiet rustling of sleeping bats he can admit, those first years, he had enjoyed the vicious fights. Tangoing with death each night. He was entranced, he would dance until the curtain dropped. It was a destructive cycle he couldn’t escape. As he’s aged his compulsion to run off has cooled, and it was only after the first time Dick got more than just a few bruises did he realize the true cost. Even if he couldn’t stop them, perhaps he should’ve tried harder to work with his children to ensure their safety.  A family of vigilantes was a double edged blade. His curse to bear. The curse he spread. Every night his heart is split into pieces and goes with them as they stalk their prey from within the shadows. His children amaze terrify him in how they’ve all risen to fight back the miasma that threatens to swallow Gotham whole. 

He doesn’t know Danyal, has never learned what his favorite breakfast is or seen him off to school. They have never shared late night training sessions. His youngest has never fallen asleep sequestered away in his own world working on a case and for Bruce to find him and tuck him into bed like he has with all of his children at least once. No. He was never given a chance. Danyal’s existence was hidden from him. His death was a secret Damian was manipulated into thinking he had to carry the weight alone. And people believed Batman to be some sort of legendary detective. If Bruce was less controlled he might scoff at the thought. He missed things, big and small, all the time. Most often it was his children that were affected by his carelessness, his lack of understanding. 

He knows what it is to lose a son. In death and because of his own parental ineptitude. Bruce knows what it is for his world to spin out from under his feet and to let his rage blindly guide him. Bruce risks a glance at Jason, his walking, talking, breathing miracle. Why couldn’t he just say that to the person who needed to hear it. Jason had died, it was awful, truly awful. As an adult he has never felt so lost. Jason was only a child. A brilliant, bright, life snuffed out in the cruelest way only for some universal hiccup to thrust his soul back into body and for Talia to pick him up. They’ve never talked about the Y-incision that spans his entire torso. Jason hadn’t intended for him to see it. Bruce doesn’t know who is responsible. He doesn’t know if they dare breathe another breath on Earth. He’s afraid to ask. He’s afraid of what he’ll do if they aren’t already dead. No, the only thing he knew about it was what Jason had deliriously shared with him while sick with whooping cough. The cut may have happened but that was as far as they got. His ribs remained intact, his organs undisturbed. Bruce has to trust Jason told him the truth. Bruce hadn’t had the strength to imagine alternatives.

He has no choice now. Whatever Danyal’s journey has been, wherever he’s been. Bruce despairs that his youngest’s life journey has been too similar to Jason’s. Danny had listed off to Damian the multitude of injuries he had and Bruce just knew. Two of his sons have been dehumanized, valued as objects for other’s use, to state their curiosity. His youngest didn’t just get cut into, as despicable as that already was, no, he was awake, aware, alive as some sick fuck rooted around behind his ribs. (Half-alive. His gut rolls at the implications yet it brings none of his usual suspicions to draw his attention to what his son was hiding. Only he wasn’t hiding, not from the Wayne family. No, he had shared everything with very little prompting from Damian. Danyal was running from them) Bruce could only stare at the screen in his office in horror. How fast did his regenerative ability work to regrow his harvested organs? Did he have to break wrongly healed bones and had to hold them in place until they healed enough for him to escape or did his bones snap forcefully into place on their own-    

It’s a race against time now. Danyal is in no condition to be on the run. It would crush him to send him away but Bruce would. He can find a secure place away from him for his son if that’s what it took to make him feel safe enough to rest. Recovery needs to be his number one priority, he had been slowly relaxing with Damian yet as soon as he wasn’t disoriented he fled. What does that say about how he thinks they’ll treat him? What does it say about Bruce that Damain felt he could better protect his twin alone?

Bruce forces himself to reach for his comms and connects to the main comm line they use for patrols. “Everyone, change of plans, keep your eyes open for both boys. They fled from the cave in the Batmobile, hail the line immediately if they’re sighted, I don’t expect Robin to linger once it stops.” Bruce internally curses at himself that he didn’t think to have some sort of code for his youngest. He’s known for creating contingency plans for his contingency plans, yet he is not prepared for this. He could’ve never prepared himself for the knowledge he had not one blood son but two, twins. He couldn’t be too revealing incase someone was listening. “We’re in pursuit of the Batmobile now. Remember the boys are both League trained, Robin likely will have some tricks he’ll play.. The boy’s full capabilities are still unknown and he is heavily injured, proceed with caution, the boy is likely running on instinct, resistance is expected. We want to avoid making them feel cornered.” His tone is tight with worry, He doesn’t blame Danyal for being suspicious. He may be their father, but as far as he knows it wouldn’t be safe. Well, Bruce can’t blame either of them, they’re children, his children. He will blame their mother though. “We want them to get them home safe with no further injuries.” 

Some very distant part of him is proud of Damian for unequivocally having his brother’s back, if only they could bond over things that didn’t shave years off his life. Bruce has never been more stressed. Some day soon he’ll just have to embrace the grey that was sprouting in his black hair and give Alfred relief from helping him hide them.

“Copy that B-man! Our eyes are peeled!” Spoiler responds “I’m currently in Burnley, Orphan’s got Somerset covered and Signal is in Old Gotham! If they’re out here we’ll find them.”

“From what Oracle sent, I think I should be able to pick something up with my powers, I’ll keep trying while we move, B.” Signal pipes in.

“Thank you Signal.” Bruce is flooded with relief. He really is lucky to have them, there’s no one else he’d rather have at his back. They’ve all grown into their own. He tries not to sigh. 

Discovering the twins missing had sent them scrambling, even Jason had looked worried and tucked away his instinct to question him or to argue, his second son had simply followed them down to the cave. At this rate he may get an ulcer. He had felt panic steal his critical thinking, as he led his boys south towards where the Batmoblie was speeding away faster than they could grapple. He had to find them. Gotham isn’t safe at night and Danyal’s movements will be restricted if he deems it important not to rip his stitches. 

Moving through the air usually calmed him but tonight grappling wasn’t moving him around fast enough. Taking the Batmobile was smart of his sons, he begrudgingly had to admit, not only was it faster, the boys would be hidden inside. If Robin had driven his bike he’d have superior maneuverability even though Batman could’ve followed them faster, but if the boys had impacted something during a high speed chase to flee? They’d both be thrown. Danyal is already severely injured anything additional.. Bruce couldn’t make himself focus on that. 

His Trouble Twins probably planned it this way to slow them down. To throw them off their tracks. It was working, the boys had a 10 minute lead on their group. They’d left as soon as they had suited up but they still were too far out of reach. Away from the protective shadow of his cape. He couldn’t protect them now that they left the safety of the manor. Jason was cursing underneath him on the street racing past buildings on his bike, he was slightly ahead of Batman and Nightwing’s position in the air, on the bike next to him Tim was working with Barbara to try and get eyes on the boys. Quiet suggestions on what to look for. Shadows that move unnaturally, flashes of color there and gone, how they needed an algorithm up to analyze all of the feeds simultaneously. With the many cameras in Gotham-more than half Bruce had bought for the city to install- they wouldn’t be so hard to find. They shouldn't be so difficult to find, but Damian was particularly slippery when he put in the effort. Bruce glanced at his eldest besides him. 

Dick was one long string pulled too tight. He, of course, was still chatting happily with Barbara but his smile was strained at the edges, his movements too careful and precise. He hasn’t joked once. The possibility the man would snap increases the longer the twins are missing. It’s rare to see Dick outwardly expressing something other than the pure sunshine and patience. By the time Jason had come around he had curbed most of his bloodlust, it was a faint memory by the time Tim weaseled his way into their lives. It reminds Bruce too much of Brucie. The persona that he developed to hide from the vultures that would’ve taken everything from him as a child when tragedy struck. Before Bruce had decided to be active in Gotham’s social scene he knew it was better they underestimate poor orphaned Bruce Wayne. Brucie hid Batman, a shield to protect his family from those who would expose their secrets. He was necessary, even if Bruce felt suffocated most of the time. Was Dick hiding from him? 

He has to suppress a shutter. All his children to some degree, whether on or off the streets, have adapted to Batman’s mannerisms and habits. It was essential to survive facing the threats they do. Dick though fell more into Bruce’s habits. His eldest son, who with a smile looked after his siblings while Bruce was distracted by some crisis or another.They both often blamed themselves for things they couldn’t stop or foresee. That heavy invisible weight that sits on their shoulders because they claimed it. Bruce knows that he’s failed his children, Dick.. Dick in particular has had to step up on his behalf to smooth things over between family members. Forced to become another parent to the kids he brought home. It was never Dick’s responsibility and it’s taken time and a lot of effort but Bruce is making steps forward, trying to stop repeating the same mistakes. It was only Alfred’s guidance and help raising the boy that he excelled instead of crumbling under Bruce’s incompetence. Bruce was trying though. Even if it was hard to talk about casually, he was in therapy, it was.. Helping. He’s not putting so much of himself onto his children these days. He’s been processing his thoughts and feelings instead of bottling them inside and letting his anger rule him. 

Words though, they still escaped him on the best days. Today was shaping up into an absolutely horrible one. Bruce wanted to say something to reassure his sons that things would be okay. None sounded right. He let them choke him. If they could just find Danyal. As much as it would pain Bruce, his youngest doesn’t have to stay with them-with him. Bruce could never trap him here. He… He just wants Danyal to recover. Recover and be safe, whatever that looks like. The boy looked so small next to Damian. They’re twins and Danyal was so small on that bed next to his brother, all skin and bones, his skin stretched over his face making him look years older and the blood, oh God, it took a second but once they realized all that green was coming from inside of him, Bruce was sure they were going to be planning another funeral. The Y-shaped wound was gruesome and he had stared in shock. Another one of his children getting cut open, violated. Vivisected. He was going to mourn another child. He was going to puke. He was going to destroy those who dared to touch Danyal. A heady mix of vengeance and justice for a boy he’d never properly meet. Somehow though, the boy had stabilized. His boy, another one. He’s too old for surprise kids. Only to be spirited away by Damian behind layers and layers of traps that had made the family hesitate and then they were gone, on the run with Alfred’s careful stitches being the only thing holding Danyal together.   

What were they thinking? Why wasn’t I? Why didn’t I fight Damian harder when he locked them out of the recovery room? No…Danyal was already compromised. Damian saw this and ran from his family because he didn’t trust them to protect Danyal, didn’t trust them not to set him off. Maybe they would’ve made it worse, maybe his son was right even if Bruce didn’t want to admit it. Damian was saving them from an error. The boy who he had only met unconscious or through a screen, would’ve lashed out at himself again and they would’ve caused his-

“B? The Batmobile’s tracker has stopped moving on the edge of Burnside near the Craig Bridge. I can’t get a clear view.” Oracle reports 

“Hn.” He adjusts his trajectory and his sons follow suit, adjusting their positions to be out behind him in a V-shaped formation. If someone were to see them at this hour they’d see the vigilantes and would draw parallels between them and their namesakes, in normal circumstances it might bring a ghost of a smile across his face, they were a mixed bag flock. His flock. His family. He was thankful to have them at his back tonight. They’d find the boys, they had to. They still had nothing on the threat that was nipping at Danyal’s heels. If they were caught…

“Why would the Demon Brats go there?” Jason grumbles. They’re three blocks away now so Bruce has to fight his nausea down. They might have to subdue the boys if they won’t listen to reason. The idea of injuring Danyal further or obliterating any chance to build a relationship because he sees them as a threat rather than family. He has to stay firm though. He might have not been allowed in the room but between Alfred’s worried fretting and the security feed Bruce is very aware how Danyal shouldn’t be moving let alone going on the run with Damian. If Danyal would just let him explain he had options maybe he’d come back on his own.

“Hood, Red Robin, hang back and spread out. Start searching. I’d like to have our newest addition to Agent A within the hour. Nightwing with me.”

His grapple connects to the next roof and he leans into the arc so his path can wrap around the corner. Just ahead the Batmobile is stopped. The doors were open, no signs of the boys or of a struggle. Bruce knows they won’t find anything inside the Batmobile, Damian is efficient and clean in his work, but they look anyway. Bruce shares a look with his oldest and sighs. 

“Nothing in the Batmobile, Hood, Red Robin, report.” He shoots his grapple at the closest roof to get a better view of the surrounding area, Nightwing follows closely behind him. 

“Nothing that I can see.” Hood grunts.

“Nothing here either, no alerts from the cameras.” Red Robin sounds frustrated, “You don’t think they bailed in a dead zone, do you? Robin wouldn’t have him jump from a speeding vehicle, right?” 

“Hn.” Bruce refuses to acknowledge that thought. Even if it was a likely option, if they felt it necessary to throw them off to that degree. Dick is quiet next to him. He wants to say the right thing to ease his worries. Bruce has never been good at finding the right words, to reassure without false promises but will always try, “We’ll figure out what happened, Chum.”

Dick looks at him for a long moment. Bruce lets him and tries not to shutter himself away. Dick needs Bruce more than Batman right now. “Yeah,” It comes out grim, “before or after my youngest brother reopens something?” 

Bruce squeezes his son’s shoulder before turning away and shoots his grapple at the next roof. Right before he jumps he says, “We can only hope the boys are being careful and try our best to find them.”

#daydreamsandcrashingwaves #dc x dp #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #batpham #demon twins au #danny fenton whump #danny and damian are twins #Keeping it close to the chest #fic writing #KICTTC fic #KICTTC update #my writing #lets just say this is more of a sneak peak ;3 #danny fenton #damian wayne #WHERE DID THEY GO BWAHAHAHHAHa

[ggomos-maribat]

2 | a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng

Part 2 of Marinette Dupain-Cheng is Dead | Masterlist

Tim came rushing into the Batcave with an armful of papers which he dumped by the computer in front of Jason. "I remember now. Why her name was so familiar."

"Lila Rossi's?" Jason looked up at him. Ever since the news blew up, Tim had been visibly restless, like the whole ordeal was a mind-boggling case. Though Jason, too, couldn't quell his own curiosity.

"No, that girl she supposedly killed. Marinette Dupain-Cheng." Tim pulled out a folder from the bottom of the pile and slapped it on top. Jason caught the same name on the case's title. "Her death two years ago was a cold case I found. Damn it, why didn't Damian tell me?"

"And you solved it?"

Tim huffed out. "No, I didn't have the time to go back to cold cases again and it kind of got buried with the other ones."

Jason opened up the folder with one hand and skimmed the content. Both Lila and the 'Marinette' girl were from Paris—he remembered how the media was raving on about the death being a mystery, and Lila, Lilia Ross, must've been involved in it. Of course, there wasn't definite proof as all rumors went.

On the corner of the paper, there was a stapled photo: a girl of East Asian descent, with dark hair and blue eyes. She wore a knit sweater, beaming at the camera with her hands clasped on the strap of her bag.

Just then, Jason heard a ping, followed by a curse from Tim.

"Lilia Ross just posted a video." In an instant, he was right by Jason's side so he could see it too. "Looks like she's addressing the accusations."

"Why would she do that?" Jason knew Bruce got all sorts of backlash too, but not once did he ever seriously address all the rumors since that would be equivalent to admitting they were true.

"Honestly this isn't something she can actually ignore. It blew up pretty badly and the online market is important for her business."

Jason looked at the video in scrutiny. Lilia Ross' setup was simple but still put together: there were brand products displayed in her background along with trinkets on the shelves reminiscent of Paris. The brunette's face seemed solemn, but he couldn't get a read if it was forced or not. The title of the video was short, all caps, bordering on being click-baity—'MY MESSAGE TO EVERYONE...'

"Hi everyone," Lilia managed a small smile. "Recently it has come to my attention that an anonymous poster broadcasted that I'm a suspect for murder. I didn't want to talk about it at first, but I decided to tell everyone the truth not for my sake but for the sake of everyone who was affected by that incident."

"Her name is. . ." She paused as if choked up suddenly. "Her name was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She was my friend and classmate in collége and lycée back in Paris. Two years ago, she . . . she passed away—they found her near Pont des Arts. We were told it was suicide."

Lilia took a deep breath and her eyes glazed over. Jason wanted to think that she actually looked remorseful. "Well, I should say her parents didn't say anything else other than that so we were kind of left in the dark about the details. But all of us—our class was really close—we're still grieving. If I knew she was hurting that badly, I . . . I would've done something before it was too late. Marinette was a kindhearted girl and we all loved—love—her. She was taken away from us too early."

Her expression shifted from sad to silent rage. "That's why I can't stand people using her name for this useless sensationalism. This is hurting her close friends, her family, everyone who knew her. Please don't bring her up again; give her some peace. She doesn't deserve this kind of treatment. And please think twice before spreading awful rumors about something so serious."

Jason tore his attention away from the video to look at Tim, who had his lips pursed, thinking deeply. Tim set down his phone. "The facts add up with Marinette's case file, but she's lying."

Tim opened up the folder again. "It's true that the police ruled it out as a suicide and there's still a lot of mystery surrounding her death. But based on what I've gathered, Lilia—er, Lila—and Marinette weren't friends."

"What do you mean?"

Tim picked up another folder, showing Marinette's school record. "According to this file, there were some reports of Marinette bullying her classmates, some issues of theft, blackmail, cheating . . . Lila made it seem like she was likable to everyone, which doesn't seem to be the case."

"But if Lila's intention of making the video was to partly clear her own name, obviously she won't badmouth Marinette." Jason frowned.

His brother shrugged. "Yeah, I thought that too. I'm not pointing at Lila as a likely suspect in this, actually. This case is so confusing that if there was actually an answer to it that makes sense, I doubt a then nineteen-year-old girl would've pulled it off by herself."

He sighed exasperatedly. "But then again, anyone could've been the culprit, and that includes Lila."

"Wait, so you're sure it's not suicide then?"

Another presence suddenly entered the cave. Judging by the soft humming, Jason figured that Dick was home from Bludhaven.

The eldest strolled into the room, hands casually in his pockets. "Hey, Alfie told me you guys were down here!" He greeted. "Did you guys see that accusation on Lilia Ross? That was crazy."

Jason stared at him. "You follow Lilia Ross?"

"I see her stuff here and there—I'm not a boomer, you know."

"So you know about everything then." Tim turned to the computer next. "We're investigating the case."

"What case?"

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng's death," Jason replied. "It's one of Replacement's cold cases and Lilia Ross is tied to it."

"So it wasn't suicide?" Dick walked towards the table, eyeing the papers scattered around. "Hold on, tell us everything. From the beginning."

Like the cop he was, Jason could tell that Dick was showing interest in the case as well. If it wasn't something Tim could crack right off the bat, it must be that difficult. Tim began typing things into the large computer, pulling out the case files in digital form to show the two of them.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, only child and daughter to Thomas Dupain and Sabine Cheng, who own a bakery in Paris. She died when she was just eighteen years old." Tim presented a few pictures. "Attended Francois Dupont in collége and lycée, the same one Lilia Ross went to . . . they were also classmates with a few other notable people: model Juleka Couffaine, physicist Max Kante, the current director of the Louvre, Alix Kubdel, and others. She had a perfect record up until the end of collége when she started getting tardies and absences, then she had three cases of theft, two of cheating and a few reports of bullying and harassment in lycée. She got suspended twice because of that."

He switched to another file. "And then . . . her death. April sixteenth of their last year in school. Locals found her body in Pont des Arts, near the foot of the bridge. The investigation only lasted about three days, but the police declared it a suicide despite the fact that there was no note found, no signs of tendencies before that day. I don't know if it was her parents' decision, but they didn't investigate any further."

Jason shifted on his seat. There was no clear picture of the body, only a blurry photo taken from far away, showing a motionless figure lying on the bridge, with police tape serving as its barrier. She was still young .  . .

Tim's expression turned grim. "Apart from that, here's where it gets weird. Her parents consented for an autopsy and I dug around for the file. They found nothing significant."

"Nothing significant?" Dick echoed.

"As in nothing. No marks on her skin, no sign of injury, no organ failure, no traces of drugs or poison anywhere, no fingerprints, no DNA other than hers." Tim clenched his jaw. "Nothing. Which means . . ."

"They didn't know the cause of death," Jason continued for him.

"Yes, but she was deceased. Only they didn't find out how and they couldn't even estimate the time of death."

"Maybe the coroner faked the report?" Dick suggested.

Jason crossed his arms. "Yeah, but if they wanted to cover up something, then they would've written a fake cause of death, right?"

"Exactly," Tim agreed. "Literally all it says on paper is 'no significant findings. Cause of death unknown'. That's all!"

"So if they don't know the cause of death and there was no note . . . they can't just say it was suicide," Dick concluded.

"Could they just have missed something?" Jason asked Tim.

"That's a possibility, but I'm not convinced it's a suicide with so many things unaccounted for. An accident or suicide would've left some kind of clue, which this case lacks. With evidence this meticulously covered up, it must be predetermined. Homicide."

"Is that why Lilia Ross was accused?" Dick wondered out loud.

"According to the anonymous post, she allegedly tormented Marinette which makes her a suspect in her death," Tim explained. "There's no evidence pointing to her though. Like I said, there's no evidence at all. Since the investigation period was so short, the police never questioned anyone other than her parents so even if her classmates had something to say about it, there was never a record."

"What about the cameras?" Dick said.

Tim looked a tad bit insulted. "You think I didn't check?"

He quickly opened up more files, video feeds of the day of the incident. The cameras didn't quite give a clear view of the bridge itself, only the roads on either side of it. "No sightings of Marinette or anything weird. Before, during and after the body was found . . . just a small crowd from the commotion. Marinette was last seen alive the morning before, but the cameras caught her going home but not going out after."

Jason searched the feed for anything out of the ordinary but unsurprisingly, nothing stood out for him. "What about her parents? What did they say?"

"They . . . they said Marinette was always stressed out and busy but they never thought she'd resort to suicide. She seemed normal the day before," Tim answered solemnly. "They saw her coming back home but didn't catch her leaving, but apparently she had a habit of sneaking out sometimes."

They all fell silent, seemingly at a loss on how to resolve all their questions. Jason couldn't wrap his head around the whole thing because it all appeared like the impossible did in fact happen. How did she get to the bridge? How did she even die? If there was a killer then why would they . . .?

Then Jason noticed Tim looking at him.

"What?"

"Bruce only asked me to look into this. Why are you so invested?" Tim leaned against the table.

"Why does the reason matter?"

"Like . . . I'd expect you to say something like 'leave the dead to rest in peace' or something like that."

Jason snorted. "First of all, as the spokesperson of the dead, I wouldn't say something like that. More like 'the dead need the living to bring justice for them.'" He averted his gaze. "And secondly, I want to know more. No, I want the truth because . . . because I think I've seen Marinette before."

Taglist: @hammalammadamdam

#maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #character death #major character death #angst #MDC is Dead #dc x miraculous

[sammythelibrarian]

Just some spoilery and messy thoughts on the boy and the heron

One thing I love about The Boy and the Heron is that Mahito is never mean or rude to Natsuko? He's cold, yes. A bit standoffish, sure. Visibly trying to cope with horrific circumstances, absolutely.

But he never calls her out on her "new mother" comment, he never makes faces behind her back, he's not trying to drive a wedge between her and his father.

And it wouldn't have been awful if he had. A lot of his actions are driven by the norms of the time period (his father and Natsuko are smart for marrying, for keeping everything within the family, for not introducing Mahito to a stranger) and the expected showings of respect to ones own family and yadaydaya, but a grieving kid acting out still would have been fine to a modern audience. But he didn't take his feelings out on her. He didn't particularly care for his aunt/step-mom but he didn't (visibly) blame her even when he struggled.

And when she (seemed like) she needed help, he went to help her anyway. And I think that's just nice to see for once.

I'm not a big fan of BuT FaMiLY as a concept (in fact, I heavily recommend pruning the family tree whenever you feel like it!) but I am a big fan of trying your hardest not to take out your valid but complicated feelings on those around you.

Also a big fan of having a look at a situation and decide you will help this person out, even if you don't like them. Not being liked by me is not a crime, so time to go adventuring.

And to me, while the scene in the birthing chamber has some layers I haven't quite figured out yet, Mahito's acceptance of her there comes from the fact that he's had time to breathe. It's not as sudden as it seems.

Away from Tokyo, from his new home, from his father, from his new mother, from everything, his focus is forced to shift. Suddenly he's attacked by birds! On a boat! Gutting fish? His mini-mom's there now, surely this won't affect the way he grieves at all.

Anyway, I think that after all of that it's easier for him to out Natsuko into perspective. All she (has shown she) wants to do is care for her sister's son, her own future kid, her husband and her home. She's been nothing but nice to him and shouldn't that merit something in return?

Not in the "forced by society" way, but in the self-reflection sort of way. Mahito owes it to her and himself to give her a chance to take on this new role in his life. His mother's not coming back either way, but here is her sister willing to love him like her anyway. (and hate him but like I said, layers I'm still struggling to make semi-coherent to myself. I have some ideas)

Here's a story of a boy who's gone through some unimaginable trauma leaving relative safety behind to go rescue his new step-mother that he doesn't even like, only to eventually realize that they'd both be better off emotionally if she's given a chance to be there for him.

She's the first to protect him from the Heron, too, I just realized. He gets the idea of using a bow from her. She's already passing things on to him even before they become mother and son.

Anyway this got way longer than I thought it'd be (I was just going to note down some random ideas) and I'm not sure how much sense it makes but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I've seen a lot of people talking about the themes of this movie, but not many seem to be touching on the relationship between these two (except for talk of the birthing room scene).

One final thought: obviously he has some Issues with fire after the opening of the movie, but by the end it's become Himi's visual (the fire is his mom). Just like how he struggles with Natsuko, but in the end she's become his mom too. Cheesy phrasing? Maybe

#this movie had to simmer for a few days but suddenly it hit like a brick #the boy and the heron #how do you live? #miyazaki youve done it again

[ginger375]

Merry Chrysler!

Who asked for some holiday-themed Wild angst?

Wild hadn’t expected to fall into a memory.

He hadn’t expected it to be a memory of before his time as Zelda’s personal knight. He hadn’t expected when he woke up that day he would actually remember the face of his father…and his sister.

The ensuing panic attack after he came back to himself had Wild stumbling back to the inn as fast as his wobbly legs could take him, ignoring the calls of his brothers that followed.

It started off as a lovely day in Warriors’ Castle Town. Large fluffy snowflakes danced through the air, leading Hyrule and Wind to try and catch them on his tongue. Lanterns were hanging everywhere, the flickering light casting a warm glow on the snow-covered streets and the people walking them.

It was so much. The lights, the snow, the people laughing and calling out to each other, the faint sound of music coming from somewhere; he hadn’t even realized it was happening until he wasn’t…there anymore.

Upon arriving back at the inn, Wild blew past the woman at the check-in counter, bolted up the stairs and slammed the door to the room he was sharing with Twilight before crawling under the bed. There he curled up in a ball and tried to stop the wails of anguish from escaping his throat.

He was somewhat successful in that last part.

Wild’s mind swirled with the images the memory had granted him; a little girl with the same bright blue eyes and blonde hair he himself had, only with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She had been twirling around in the falling snow, laughing when the fluffy flakes landed on her nose.

Link! Come play in the snow with me!

He laughed and went to join her outside when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up at the kind face, a full beard and his own eyes smiling at him.

Not so fast, Link! Get your coat on and bring Aryll her hat, can’t have either of you catching cold on Solstice.

Okay, Pa!

Link put on his coat and grabbed Aryll’s hat off the hook by the door before running out into the snow. He could see the glow of the lantern lights that lined the Main Street of Hateno.

Papa, can we go see the lights?

Only if you wait for me!

Aryll laughed and clapped in delight before grabbing her big brother’s hand.

We’re going to see the lights, Link!

He laughed with her, swinging their joined hands back and forth before dragging her hat onto her head with the other. Once Papa joined them, they separated so they could each take one of Papa’s hands to walk across the bridge and down the hill to—

Wild bit down on his knuckle to try and distract his reeling mind. He’d celebrated the last Solstice with Zelda in Hateno, why hadn’t this memory shown up then?!

The creaking of the bed above him pulled him out of his thoughts. A pair of familiar boots were visible at the edge of the bed.

“Hey cub,” Twilight said as he leaned down to get a peek under the bed. “You wanna talk about it?”

He didn’t know if he could even form words right now. At the sob that escaped, Twilight laid down on his stomach at the edge of the bed. The concern on his brother’s face made Wild feel worse.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Twilight reached a hand under the bed for Wild to grasp. “Whatever it was—“

“I remembered my f-family,” Wild choked out. “M-my father and my si-sister…”

Twilight’s eyes went wide before they went glassy with compassion. “Oh cub…”

Wild held Twilight’s outstretched hand in both of his. He felt awful for ruining Twilight’s—and everyone else’s—day, he felt sick that he couldn’t keep himself together, and he grieved for his family that was long dead.

“You just let it out, Link, okay? I’ll be right here,” Twilight’s watery voice breaking through Wild’s sorrow. “For as long as you need.”

It would be hours before he could find the strength to crawl out from under the bed. Twilight had shifted into Wolfie and stretched out of the rug, a silent offer for comfort that Wild gladly accepted.

Wolfie licked the dried tears from his cub’s face, keeping watch while his cub fell into exhausted sleep. No matter what happened, they would get Wild through this.

Together.

#merry crisis #because Wild’s having one #wild angst #linked universe #lu wild #lu twilight #lu fanfiction #ginger writes

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

With Me, Always. (Oneshot)

Rhysand x Reader

Hiiii. I've had many requests about writing for Rhys - and while I am gradually working on the more detailed ones, and working on my Lucien series, I thought I'd post this sweet lil oneshot I wrote.

Warnings: None. It's just angst and fluff.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Windhaven Camp was ready for the Winter Solstice.

As much as such a soulless place could be ready for the celebration, anyway. There was something darkly poetic about garlands and wreaths and sprigs of holly and ivy being hung on buildings that you knew housed awful people. Awful things.

Only three days left to go. If nothing else, the males were in decidedly brighter spirits — meaning there weren’t quite so many sneers, as usual, while you strolled through the camp. It had become a hive of even more activity than normal, with people flying family members in for the celebrations, and the few shops and businesses there were staying open later and later to accommodate last-minute gift buying.

If nothing else, the hectic atmosphere meant that none of the males seemed to glimpse you and your friend, Ivanna, sneaking further into the hills and mountain range for your clandestine work-out sessions.

“You’d think,” Ivanna panted, stopping to lean against a tree, “that considering we’ve grown up here and never left the damn place, we’d be a bit more used to the cold.”

You snorted, tipping your head back and heaving your heavy breaths skywards. Indeed, it seemed the air was teasing a snowstorm — your wings could feel it; a freezing caress that made you long for the roaring fire of Ivanna’s small home. Your small home.

It was almost two years, now, that you’d been living with Ivanna and her father above his shop — a courtesy he’d hesitantly agreed to, only because your own late father had been a friend of his. But as an Illyrian female with no family left — and sparse assets left behind by your father — your best option had been taking refuge in your closest friend’s home. Shacking up with the only three Illyrian males you were friends with — Rhysand, Cassian and Azriel — would have raised too many eyebrows. And so her father had reluctantly taken you in.

Your gratitude for that generosity was about as far as any pleasantries with him went; one look at the ruined remains of her clipped wings was reminder enough of what a bastard he was. Unlike your own father, who had been a very rare breed of Illyrian male — a kind one.

“Shall we walk back,” You said once you’d caught your breath, “or should I fly us?”

“Ugh. Fly.” Ivanna grimaced. “I don’t feel like having frostbite for Solstice. Speaking of which — what have you bought me?”

You rolled your eyes, your lips twitching as you scooped her up into your arms. “Stop asking. I’m not telling you what I’ve bought you.”

“Rude.” She didn’t even jolt as you launched into the skies, your wings beating against the wind. “I have another question.”

“Of course you do.”

A flash of a wicked grin. “Have you heard from Rhysand?”

The humour eddied from you, leaving nothing but emptiness in its wake. The subject was a sore one — one you tried not to broach, if you could help it.

“Since the last time you asked that very question?” You shrugged tersely. “You know I haven’t.”

No, you hadn’t seen Rhys, or heard from him, for months and months, now. The male, who had once been the only light you had in this dark place, seemed to have forgotten your entire existence since becoming High Lord. It was…lonely. Painful. You knew how busy he must be — and grieving the loss of his mother and sister, too. But he’d never shut you out before, never pushed you away. That he’d not even been back to visit, to say hello…it hurt. And the best you could do was pretend that it didn’t.

Ivanna offered you a gentle squeeze as you swooped down into the camp, landing on the path that cut through the training rings. They were mostly empty, with most males having already started their Solstice break, but your stomach plummeted a bit as two dark, towering figures turned into your path.

Edric and Cenric were two males — twins — who you’d had the displeasure of growing up around. Illyrian brutes through and through, they got off on the torment of females — the torment of you and Ivanna, in particular. It had died down a little when you’d become close to Rhys, Cassian and Azriel — but with them so absent these days, it had ratcheted right back up.

“There you both are.” The one on the left — Edric — smirked. “There’s been a spillage in one of the tents. Ale all over the place.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging Ivanna past them. “Guess you’d better find yourselves a mop and bucket, then.”

The twins were quick to dart into your path. It was Cenric who folded his arms, puffing his chest out. “That’s your job. All you females are good for.”

Your head fell into a tilt. “Is that why you opt for rutting against a pillow instead of finding an actual, living being to stick that poor excuse of a cock into? I suppose that vile mouth doesn’t win many females over.”

Both twins’ eyes flashed with rage, with challenge. Edric stepped towards you, his towering height and flared wings seeming to swallow up the lingering daylight.

“Go mop up the mess,” He hissed through gritted teeth, “before I shove you to the floor and make you lick it up.”

You opened your mouth to retort — and promptly snapped it shut at another flash of darkness. Like a cloud of pure midnight pluming behind the twins, the empty path was suddenly shrouded in a mass of smoky black that cleaved in two.

As Rhysand appeared.

“Hello, you two.” The High Lord greeted the twins, his smirk mocking. “How lovely to see you both.”

The two males had the good sense to back down — even if they did so reluctantly. But with Rhys so newly in power, a whole host of adjustments was rippling through the camp. Nobody wanted to get on the High Lord’s bad side — having not quite discerned, yet, what kind of High Lord he was going to be — lest he remember it for years to come.

So both twins dipped their heads and ground out, “High Lord” in unison.

“I see the two of you are still your delightful selves.” Rhys studied them. “Do me a favour, boys — fuck off.”

There was absolutely no hesitation as the twins dipped past the High Lord, not sparing a glance back. Not until Rhys called out to them once more.

“Find a camp mother and ask for a mop and bucket.” He ordered. “Clean your filthy mess up yourselves.”

Edric seemed to pause; seemed to contemplate barking back at him. But it was Cenric who had the sense to pull him away. They quickly disappeared out of sight, their bickering fading with them.

And then Rhys turned back to you. The smirk softly moulded into a smile. “Hello, you.”

Both you and Ivanna bowed your heads. It felt weird — saying the words. “High Lord.”

Rhys snorted. “What’s with the formalities?”

Ivanna relaxed beside you, lifting her chin. But you…you kept your gaze on the ground; didn’t think you could bear looking at him for too long. It would bring too many things to the surface.

Namely, that one, single night of passion you’d shared with him before things had changed so fast, and he was suddenly High Lord of the Night Court. That very night liked to remind you of itself every day. And even more thoroughly, now, with the person in front of you who shared that memory. You begged — begged — your cheeks not to heat beneath his intense gaze.

“How are you, Ivanna?” Rhys politely regarded your friend. “You’re looking well.”

Ivanna inclined her chin. “As are you, High Lord. I’m very well, thank you.”

“Glad to hear it.” His eyes slid to you again. You could practically feel them coaxing you, begging you to look up.

Ivanna cleared her throat. “I actually just remembered — I have to do some stuff. And things.”

That had you looking up — quickly, abruptly, pleading with Ivanna not to leave you alone with him. But she was already clapping you on the shoulder and striding ahead.

“Enjoy your stuff and things.” You shouted after her, huffing.

A middle finger was her only answer.

In front of you, Rhys chuckled. “I forgot how much you two bicker.”

You flicked your gaze to his. Just momentarily — just enough to convey that you didn’t feel like standing and talking.

“Mm.” You murmured, brushing past him. “I suppose it’s easy to forget such things when you never come around anymore.”

You’d barely taken a step forward before he was jumping into your path. Gently grabbing your hand. The warmth of his thick glove was pleasant against your bare, frozen fingers.

“Wait.” He said. “I—how are you?”

“Oh, I’m great, Rhys, thanks so much for asking.”

“…I’m sensing some anger.”

You pulled your hand away. Used it to pinch the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger. “What brings you to Windhaven, Rhysand?”

“Well, it’s common courtesy for the High Lord to deliver well wishes at Solstice—”

You scoffed, launching into a walk once more. But Rhys was quicker, darting right back into your way.

“And I wanted to see you.” He said. “Please—let’s just go inside and talk.”

You stared at him. So many things you wanted to say. So many ways he’d made you feel. And yet you hated that very fact. That it had become unavoidably clear, and there was no escaping it.

You loved him. You were in love with him.

“Come on.” He said, his eyes flickering your shivering form. “At least come and warm up.”

The cold was beginning to become painful, your wings aching with the chill. You could ignore Rhys, go straight back to Ivanna’s house, but…you had a feeling she’d turn you away. Tell you to hear him out.

So you nodded — folded your arms, just so he couldn’t grab your hand again. “Fine. Lead the way.”

You didn’t know where he planned to take you. His mother’s cottage was the most logical place, but…maybe it was too soon, too raw—

“The fire’s already burning in my mother’s place.” He said, as though he’d read your thoughts. “Where are your gloves?”

Your eyes stayed pinned forward as you strolled beside him. “I forgot them today.”

Within seconds, he was pulling the thick gloves from his hands. “Here.”

“We’re almost at the cottage—”

“Put them on or I’ll do it for you.”

You scowled, snatching the gloves away and shoving them on. Their size wolfed your hands, but their pleasant warmth was such a relief, you almost moaned.

Rhys had always been a mother hen. Always behaved like this around you. Even when he was at his limit, stressed beyond comprehension, he’d looked after you.

And then it had all just…stopped. You’d tried to be understanding. Tried to have compassion for the fact that he’d become High Lord very suddenly, much sooner than he’d anticipated. That he was grieving on top of that. And if he’d needed space, you would have happily given it to him…

But to not even just…send a quick word, to tell you he was alright. To know that you were stuck in this awful place, worrying about him, thinking about him…

He probably didn’t even realise how much it hurt. How much you missed your friendship above all else.

His mother’s cottage loomed, sad and empty looking. It had squeezed your heart every time you passed it, to think of the female that had been so kind to you over the years, just — gone. The friend you’d once found in Rhys’s sister, a young girl of such potential — gone.

And then Rhys, just — gone.

He opened the front door, stepping aside to allow you to enter first. Indeed, the fire was roaring heat into the room, and you hurried towards it embarrassingly fast, your hands outstretched to its warmth.

Rhys chuckled softly, shutting the door behind him. “There’s a snowstorm coming. I can feel it in the air.”

You merely nodded — knew full well that he hadn’t brought you here to talk about the weather. As you leaned against the mantelpiece, embracing the power of the flames before you, you allowed your eyes to wander the small room.

It was just as it was when you were last here, months and months ago, now. You’d lost count of how many. The cramped area was crammed full with the echoes of the past, memories from long ago, and…some—some more recent.

Your eyes shot to the worn, shabby couch — your mind darting straight to the last night you’d been here. The night that, after so many years of close friendship, of subtle touches and glances, of meaningless flirting…one thing had finally led to another. You couldn’t remember what conversation, exactly, had led to you and Rhys kissing. How, exactly, you’d ended up on your knees before him, his rough groans filling the cottage as you’d sucked and licked him and brought him to a roaring release.

He’d had to leave for business the next morning. Within days…everything had changed.

Rhys was staring at that exact spot on the sofa, too. Probably reliving that night just as colourfully.

You felt a little petty as you bit out, “Have you brought me here to suck your cock again?”

His eyes flickered to yours, the swimming violet softening. “Of course not. Is that what you think?”

You shrugged. “I don’t really know what to think anymore, Rhys. It’s not like you’ve given me anything to go on.”

His eyes shuttered. Slowly, he moved to the rolled arm of the couch, perching atop it. No wings in sight, now.

“First and foremost,” He said. “I just want to know how you are.”

“I’m fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Your eyes glazed over as you forced them to stay on one, insignificant rip in the sofa. Anything to avoid meeting those eyes.

“Why?” You asked flatly.

“Because I know you.” Rhys shrugged. “I know when you’re not fine. Not to mention the fact that you can’t even look at me.”

Your hands tightened into fists. You hated how right he was — that he did know you. That he probably knew every thought currently swimming through your head. That he probably wouldn’t stop pushing until you spilled the truth.

You were mentally willing yourself not to cry as you forced your gaze to him and shrugged weakly. “Alright.” You relented. “I’m not fine. I cannot possibly be fine when I miss you, and I think about you every damn day, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“…Y/N—”

“And believe me, Rhys, I know you’ve had a lot to contend with. A lot on your shoulders. And if you need to deal with that stuff on your own, that’s fine…but I’m so fucking scared that you pushed me away because of what happened between us that night. Because you didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did, and it might have damaged our friendship beyond repair. I cannot bear that thought because all I care about is having you in my life, even if you can never love me the way—”

You cut yourself off — blinked out of your thoughts, stunned by how freely you’d allowed your words to run. Your cheeks heated as you quickly wiped the tears forming in your eyes. But you knew it was too late — that you’d said too much.

Rhys stared at you. “The way what?”

You closed your eyes, tears spilling over. “Even if you can never love me the way I…the way I love you. I don’t care, Rhys — I just want you back in my life. That’s all that matters to me—”

“I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers, and you put me in my place for being a prick.”

You stopped, your eyes flying open. You went so, so still.

“I fell in love with you that day.” He stared back at you seriously — vulnerably. “And I have only fallen for you harder and harder every day since. I have been utterly consumed by you since we were eighteen years old. And I love it. I love you.”

“…what…” You breathed. “I…why did you push me away?”

He shook his head. Swallowed, hard. “Everything happened so damn fast. My mother, my sister…becoming High Lord. With my father dying, I knew there would be unrest…dissenters, people who held grudges against my father and would use me as a scapegoat to exact revenge. I needed to be in Velaris…to protect my people. And I wanted to come back, to see you, but…” He released a slow, heavy breath. “The target that has always been on my back is even bigger, now. Tamlin’s family killed the people closest to me. And if people knew what you meant to me…if they knew that I love you…I would be putting a target on your back as well. And that isn’t fair.”

Another tear rolled down your cheek. All these months of wondering…of thinking you’d fucked things up completely. You hadn’t even considered that Rhys was trying to protect you.

“It is for me to decide, Rhysand,” You said quietly, wiping your cheeks, “if I can live with a target on my back. That choice is mine.”

“I know that.” He whispered. “Believe me, I know. But I just…if I lost you too…”

You pushed away from the mantelpiece. Stalked over to him, until you were stood mere inches from him, your legs touching.

“Isn’t it better to take that risk…to live,” You said, “than this alternative? Than us being away from each other? I’m miserable without you.”

“As I am without you.” He met your gaze. “And that is why I came today. Because I can’t take it anymore. I love you, and I want you with me. I want you to come to Velaris.”

You blinked at him — balked. You’d never even been anywhere outside of Windhaven, never dared to push those limits and face potential consequences.

“I…” You stared into those violet eyes, stunned. “…this is my home…”

“In the loosest definition, yes.” Rhys slowly reached out a hand. Slowly brushed his fingers against yours. “But you don’t even have a home of your own here. You don’t have anything of your own here. You should be living, Y/N. Ivanna, too.”

If you were honest…Ivanna was the only thing keeping you there. The thought of leaving her behind, alone with the males…you couldn’t bear it.

But if she could come to Velaris, too. If you could have both Ivanna and Rhys…a life…

You frowned. “What would I do there?”

Rhys shrugged, properly grabbing your hand. “Whatever you want to do. I could find you a position in the court, or…or something, anything else. As long as you're happy. As long as I get to have you with me. Always.”

You studied him. The wonderful, selfless male before you — who you loved so, so intensely. You should have known, all this time, that he’d only pushed you away to protect you. That Rhys would never have left you without reason.

The relief almost had you succumbing to tears all over again.

“Take some time to think it over.” He lifted his other hand to your cheek, his thumb grazing beneath your eye. “No pressure. Just…promise me you’ll put yourself first.”

You snorted, wiping your eyes. “Says the male who puts literally everybody before himself.”

He smirked softly. “Guilty. But I’m always going to do that. Because I love you.”

Your heart guttered. Words you’d wanted to hear for so many years…they didn’t seem real, now.

You swallowed down another onslaught of emotion. “You really mean it?”

“More than I’ve ever meant anything.”

You swallowed. And before you could allow your tears to grip you again, you leaned forward. Pressed your lips against his.

The kiss was…sweet. Not the hungry, passionate kisses you’d shared that one night all those months ago. But a tender kiss that spoke of promise, of a future, of love.

Rhys kissed you back, deeply and slowly, tangling his fingers within your hair. He tugged you closer, slotting you between his legs.

And only when you were both gasping for breath, your chests heaving, did he pull back. Pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you.” He breathed, his eyes boring into yours.

You pecked him — once, twice. “I love you, too.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He smirked. “And not only do I love you, but I believe I owe you.”

“…oh?”

“Hmm. If I remember correctly, the last time we were in this cottage, you had your head between my legs. It seems only fair that I return the favour.”

You felt heat pool inside you. Felt your toes curl in your boots. And you knew, from the way Rhys’s nostrils flared, his pupils dilating, that he immediately noticed the change in your scent.

“You’d better return that favour, then.” You bit down on your lip. “It is Solstice, after all.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

He grasped the back of your head, pulling your face back to his. And every part of you sang and shattered beautifully as he laid you down on the sofa.

And fell to his knees before you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ all acotar tags: @moonfawnx @writingsbychlo @moonlitcelestial @orangecreamsicle54 @saturnspoet0711 @andahugaroundtheneck @nightscourtt @mysticalcheesecakemiracle @luckypersonmentality @nobody00sthings @kristalhi @tencrushesperday @janzquu @we-were-beautiful @thewarriormoon @cirwin2013 @mrs-azriel @the-kwami-of-fandom-frustration @libraryofathousandstars @daily-dose-of-sass @pixiestix13 @basicbittywitty @simplefan-638 @highlady-ofillyria @false-desire-182 @fictionalcharacterlereasigim @theofficialmadman @kemillfreitas @sledgehammer-21-1 @shannonsaid @jtargs @morelovemorepeacemoretattoo-blog @new-adventures-everday @positivewitch @crushedcloudsx @cartoonnerdgirl @a-frog-with-a-laptop @ssmay123 @linduzmunna @ruler-of-hades @kennedy-brooke @peachyandmoon @ariaaira @topaz125 @blitz-fall @azrielsbbg @gracedarr @goldentournesol @localhopedealerr @swagfreakathletemonger @sfhsgrad-blog @lo0oserlex @ruleroftides @mayabennett03 @vera0124 @mich0731 @balam-sen @luciensbxtch @holywolfsstuff @chloesgoneposts @margssstuff

#acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand acotar #night court #rhysand fanfic #oneshot #acotar fandom #acotar writing #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfic #acotar headcanon #acotar fluff #acotar series #acotar smut #acotar x reader #fluff #mating bond #rhysand #rhysand fluff #rhysand angst #rhysand oneshot #angst #sarah j maas #acotar universe #reader insert #acotar books

[swallowedbyfandom]

Watching Penelope grieving James is a special kind of torture. He has never had the strength to watch Pen cry, even as children her tears always sent him into a panic. On the one hand, as her oldest and dearest friend, he wants to shelter her and her babes in his arms until her heart hurts a little less. On the other hand he is so desperately, hopelessly, and devoutly in love with her that any comfort he offers her makes him feel like an opportunistic cad.

His heart is so heavy with guilt because as much as it hurts him to see her suffer, his foolish selfish heart, also cannot help the ember of hope that someday she may learn to love him again. God, what sort of person thinks like that? He cared for James, even considered him a dear respected friend. He always admired how James put Pen first. That he chose her then took on God, Queen and Country to have her. James was a man of remarkable convictions and fierce loyalty. God, Agatha and Thomas will never know how great a man their father was, they will not even have memories of him as a cold comfort. He must look for the letter James sent him with the birth announcement waxing poetic about how extraordinary little Agatha was. He will have set it aside for safe keeping to save it for her.

Penelope is not recovered enough to travel to Scotland and with almost all the Bridgerton ladies pregnant Pen opts to hold the Memorial for James in Kent. Colin sits with the rest of their family with Agatha asleep in his arms in the packed church and watches in awe as Penelope stands unfaltering at the alter a picture of regal devastation. He is reminded once more that Pen is the same girl that held the whole of society in the palm of her tiny hand at 17. The power Lady Whistledown possessed over words as a young girl is even more finely honed as a woman in grief. Standing in the ashes of her happily ever after Penelope captivates once more with the moving eulogy she delivers about her husband. Colin can see that even Cressida Cowper is moved to tears. If that is not a sign of Pen's immense talent, he doesn't know what is. He was unaware that harpy even had tear ducts.

He watches his mother and Fran hold Pen's trembling hands throughout the rest of the service. He has no idea how she remains so stoic as he can see in her eyes how fragile her control is currently. Disgustingly, he knows half the people at the memorial service are there to gawk at Lady Whistledown rather than to pay their respects to James Debling husband, father, and Earl. He hates how these degenerates have turned Jame's memorial into a spectacle. James deserved better, so does his family.

He knows Pen will crumble on the carriage ride back to Aubrey hall. She will never give the Ton the satisfaction of witnessing her tears no matter the circumstances. She is so gloriously strong that way. His family close ranks around Pen and Agatha during the receiving line and the entire morning thereafter.

Watching Portia Featherington shame gawkers who attempt to approach Pen is a welcome surprise. He knows Portia has never forgiven Penelope for the Whistledown enterprise, not even when Pen less graciously pointed out that if not for her income they would have ended up on the streets. A sympathetic nod is exchanged between Portia and Pen then nothing more.

He spends that evening at his father's graveside mourning for James, Pen, Aggie, Thomas, and himself. He promises himself that he will be patient. He will set his desires aside and just be her friend, her support. He will have a lifetime to love her but first he owes it to her to help her find joy again without expectations. He knows mother and Hyacinth are planning to stay down in Scotland for the next year to help Pen and to spend time with Fran and the baby. He will likely join them, he will speak with mother to see what would be best.

He watches Pen's resilience grow as she scratches and craws her way through debilitating grief and exhaustion to play doting mother and aunt for the children during the day only to succumb to her loss at night. She gets better at it, not that the grief lessens but she learns to function around it. She is with mother at Francesca’s side in the delivery room a pillar of bossy support and love. John Penn Stirling is born on 20 February 1818 at Aubrey Hall to the joy of all.

Colin knows once Fran heals and little John hits 3 months the Stirling and Debling families will head back to Scotland. That will allow mother enough time for Kate and Daphne to give birth. He wants nothing more than to keep the Debling family safe and secure on his family’s estate but he knows Pen will be headed back to Scotland to care for James’ mother and aunt.

Watching Pen tearfully part from his siblings, nieces, and nephews is terrible but watching his siblings part from Agatha and Thomas is gut wrenching. Anthony will never admit it but Agatha is his favorite, she can often be found climbing up into his lap to cuddle and nap. It is hilarious to see the fearsome Viscount Bridgerton seated at the head of the family table attempting to be stern with a tiny blond cherub passed out on him. His siblings almost always plop Aggie into his arms when he is getting frustrated with them, because they know her adorable dimples and her lisped attempts to say Anthony's name always turn him into a pile of mush. No matter how often he has heard Pen bemoaning his siblings for weaponizing her daughter he always catches the humor in her eyes at the sight.

8 months after James' passing shorty after settling into Scotland for the year Colin receives a letter via lawyer from James.

01 September 1815

Colin,

You may be the only other person in the world who understands the honor and the privilege it is to love and be loved in return by Penelope Featherington. She is special our Penelope, I knew from the first moment she smiled at me. I looked into her eyes and thought I have been waiting for you all my life.

It took me 27 years to find Penelope, there was not a force on earth that could have kept her from me once I found her. I was prepared to do battle with you for her hand while I was courting her, but you never realized you were in love with her.

It was our astute Penelope, who cleared up the confusion for me. She told me that you both have spent a decade with your lives so intertwined with one another that it was difficult to see where one began and the other ended. That while you had love for her you had not the experience to understand what that love was. She told me she didn't want to spend her life waiting for you to go out and gain experience in the hopes that you would come back to her. She wanted to live her life to the fullest. She said you were her first love but timing was never your strong suit.

She wanted to build a future with me, travel, have half a dozen children and grow old with me. How could I do anything other than fulfill her wishes? I thank God every day that, that extraordinary woman found it in her heart to make room for our love to grow. Everyone believes Penelope's gift is words but I believe it is her empathy and her ability to love that makes her so incredible.

If you have received his letter then I am dead. I hope I got to give Penelope more than a handful of years together.Do not let her heart go to waste, Colin.Protect her, do not let her stop living, help her heal, and then man up and give that remarkable woman we both love all she deserves. If we have children together love them for me, please.

Sincerely,

James Debling

#bridgerton #bridgerton s3 #polin #penelope featherington #colin bridgerton

[yell0wsalt]

Linzin canon or Linzin second chances?

As long as they’d be endgame, that’d be my life blood.

HOWEVER, when deciding between the two, I would have to vote for Linzin canon.

There were years when she was getting screwed over by her relationships with her family and her romantic relationship slowly crumbling. She needed a break!

Let’s think more on her relationship with Tenzin. Try to stay with me bc I know this will likely have raggedy flow, but anyways—

I am one of the biggest fans of child-free Linzin. Childless is a deeper subject that one can roll with, but them feeling like they can be free in a relationship without kids in general I thoroughly enjoy. That you don’t need children to have a fulfilling life. Being able to spend your life with your partner is what matters most.

With them specifically, it’s their own struggles and pressures when it comes to a legacy I think about a lot when it comes to their relationship. Lin being the daughter of one of, if not the greatest Earth benders alive. And Tenzin, him being a son of the Avatar and the sole Air bender of Aang and Katara’s kids.

Tenzin, not only had to cope with the stress of carrying a whole culture’s history and practices when his father died, but then there’s the question:

What’s going to happen when Tenzin dies?

Cue the looming thought of kids getting darker and heavier over the two.

He was at the time in a long term relationship with Lin, and surely she had similar thoughts running through her mind.

In general with the Avatar verse, the passing on of “bending genes” isn’t so clear, so with Linzin it’s hard to stay what kind of benders their kids would be, if any.

That’s a lot of stress and anxiety for a couple going through the grieving process and one member of the relationship not wanting children (something I want to respect and keep in mind with this argument) and the other likely worried about air bender children.

If they were canon, that would mean amidst everything, Tenzin was able to face his struggles with asserting his own identity and not necessarily giving into societal expectations.

He chose her.

Over everything.

That’s an incredibly serious and powerful gesture.

Taking a step back to go to the show when Lin destroyed ATI, it was more than blind rage of being cast aside for a “younger model who’d want to have his kids.” But also a destruction of the institution that contributed to forcing her and Tenzin apart.

That’s awful. Them being canon would be an answer to those expectations.

There may or may not be issues with the events of Harmonic Convergence and Jinora being a key element in how it turned out, but let’s not talk about that 💀 Butterfly effect so who knows what would happen.

****

Now let’s look at post canon Linzin. I am a sucker for second chance love stories and people getting together later in life. Tenzin would have gotten the children he wanted and eventually be with the person he loves. And Lin had the time and space to heal from her own issues and be with the one she loves. Plus, she’s done well as a mother-figure to a lot of the kids/young adults. Whether she cares to admit it or not, so props to her.

It would be interesting to see how their lives would meld together after the years apart and taking on a more maternal role to Tenzin’s bio-kids.

In short, post canon Linzin is cute and intriguing, but them being canon all the way will have me sobbing in a grocery store parking lot.

Ask me anything

#thank you this was a fun ask!! 😃 #I still have other jumbled thoughts about Kataang and Linzin parallels with children #But I’ve rambled too much #Linzin #lin beifong #tenzin #that second pic is me to you asking this question. love you! 😙

[crying-over-really-dumb-things]

Man I don’t think I’ll ever really get over how the movie adaptation kind of ruined how the general public views Dear Evan Hansen.

In the stage musical, the narrative actively portrays what Evan is doing as wrong. There are several instances where Evan will have one of his sweet/motivational moments with Alana or the Murphy family, the moment will be over, and we’re left with only Evan on stage and then the instrumental music will shift keys to remind us that “oh yeah, Evan is lying to a grieving family right now.”

In Act Two he starts to really act like an asshole to the people around him, he stops helping with the Connor Project because he’s got what he wanted, he’s dating Zoe. And it all culminates to Good For You where he is finally called out by the people he’s being horrible to, the consequences of his actions are catching up to him. And he finally finally admits to himself and everyone else that he was lying, he was projecting himself and his own issues onto this imaginary Connor. He fully realizes what he’s doing is wrong and comes clean about it.

And our sympathy for Evan as the audience stems from the fact that he is seventeen, and teenagers will sometimes do horrible things when they’re in a bad state mentally. We as the audience know Evan is wrong and we want him to realize he’s wrong as well, we want him to get help and grow from it.

But then the movie comes in and cuts all the songs and moments where Evan could possibly be condemned by the narrative. All the times Evan is an actual ass are either removed or heavily toned down. Disappear and Good For You are completely removed.

It doesn’t help that they have a 30 something year old man playing the part, our sympathy that mainly stems from him being a child is harder to lean into when we’re looking at a full grown adult. It feels less like the story is saying “look at this kid doing horrible stuff, don’t you want him to stop doing the horrible stuff and get some help?” And more like “look at poor little Evan :( don’t you feel bad for him? Everyone’s so mean to him for no reason :(”

So after all that, people who hadn’t interacted with the stage production and only saw the movie come away from it thinking the show is horrible because Evan was an awful person but the narrative seemed to want us to root for him.

And this isn’t to say that DEH is a perfect show by any means, a lot of the criticism for the movie can easily be leveled at the stage production. I just think the original intent of the show got lost in adaptation, and the show that was fairly well received on its Broadway debut is now widely regarded as just plain bad.

#this was a ramble #dear even hanson #deh #broadway

[iwillpissyourpants]

A new life?

Welcome to Part 2 of Pain :D

Thankyou all for the support on this fic! I'm beyond happy :)

If you have not read Part One of this fic, click here to go read it!

Contains: Angst, hurt/comfort-comes-later, reader's mood is down, but no warnings for any of the content :)

Overview: Rumors running wild about your and Diluc's divorce had you facing scrutiny from your friends and family, you've had enough, and decided to leave Mondstadt... But where do you go now...?

Gn reader, "You" is used

'This is unfair...'

'So unfair...'

'What have i done wrong?'

"Restore what feelings he's lost" ? How long has it been since his love for you faded...

How long have you been blind?

Diluc... Your dearest Diluc...

Diluc, who you love so much you would do anything, anything for him...

If he had asked, you would being Celestia itself crashing down...

But this...

'Please not this... Anything but this...'

"If you're truly sure you want this..."

'No, please tell me its a lie'

"Then..."

Please Diluc...

Please...

"...so be it..."

When did it start raining?

...

It doesnt matter. Nothing matters...

You stare at the various bags containing what belongings you decided to keep littered about the room of the inn you rented. You couldnt stay in Mondstadt. You could barely stand the pitying looks your parents gave you when you told them about what had happened.

"Some people fall in love too young and with the wrong people, dear. It happens sometimes."

'But why did it have to happen to me!?'

'I thought he was the right person!'

I thought we were happy!

What changed?

Seemingly overnight, most of Mondstadt had heard of your and Diluc's divorce. And just as quickly, rumours started spreading.

Whispers on the street could be caught in broken pieces;

"Master Diluc", "Divorce", "Argument?" "Could they have been unfaithful?"

Hearing such awful accusations broke you even more. These rumours somehow felt worse than the truth. These people were supposed to be your friends! How could they assume such things? Sooner than you could believe, everyone looked at you with varying degrees of disgust and pity, believing whatever they wanted to believe.

And you couldnt take it anymore.

Without any warning, and without telling anyone, you packed what belongings you needed and slipped out your parent's home and made your way to...

Where?

Where would you go?

"Anywhere but that city...", you whispered to yourself.

"I can't handle living in that city, and end up seeing him walk about, doing his duty of guarding them and working at the Angels Share as though nothing's changed."

But so much has changed...

Looking out the window at the stormy clouds you had been walking aimlessly in just a few minutes prior, you grieve for the life you had, and for the life you would have had with your beloved...

Your mind goes back to all the memories you and Diluc had made together.

You remember how you two would sit on the grass outside the winery, slacking off on your duties in the bustling city in favour of weaving flowers together. You remember how it took him a while to get a hang of it, hands always fumbling and dropping the delicate stems, hearing his light-hearted chuckle at his clumsiness.

You remember the sun streaking through the branches of the trees as you two walked hand-in-hand down the riverbank at Windrise with the cool breeze carrying the sweet smell of Asters.

You remember his declarations of love and promises of happiness...

All of those memories feel meaningless now...

Your happiest moments have always been with him...

And now those happy memories sting like an open wound. You had to leave Mondstadt, or you feared that this pain would send you into madness.

You wanted to forget.

You wanted to believe this was all just a nightmare and that you would wake up in your and Dilucs shared bedroom. That you would go downstairs and he would be waiting for you with arms open to tightly embrace you and never let you go again...

You need to do something. Anything to distract you. You need-

'I need Diluc...'

No!

Stop thinking... Please just...

stop...

Leaning back against the wall with a sigh, you continue gazing through the rain at the landscape.

Through the mist you see traces of Dragonspine's icy peaks, you can almost see where the treeline stops and golden fields start...

The golden fields of...

Liyue.

That's where you will go, you say to yourself.

To a nation you had yet to see with your own eyes. To golden landscapes and tall mountain peaks.

To a nation that does not know you and you it.

To a place where you can start anew.

You were a person with many skills, you were bound to be able to make a new life there.

"A new life..."

Those words escaping your lips feel almost holy. The heaviness in your chest is still there, and the pain has not eased, and it will be there for a long time, but with those three words, it doesnt feel as suffocating...

Turning your eyes away from the rain, you dry your face with your sleeves, and ready yourself for your new life.

Take it one step at a time...

Everything's going to be alright.

previous / next

A/n: the previous part was originally just in a youtube comment until the absolute chad known as @heizou-thedetective made a joke about running away from our problems, and now this is a multi-part fic. So big thanks for getting me to write this <3

taglist: @immi547 @incendiotriaaa @lokirutherfordnox @foryoutheworldfan @redactedhimbo @heizou-thedetective

If you want to be added to the taglist, just ask and it will be so! Similarly, if you want to be removed from the taglist just ask.

#genshin x reader #diluc #diluc angst #diluc x reader #zhongli #zhongli x reader #zhongli x you #a new life #genshin impact angst #genshin #genshin x you #genshin impact #angst #part two of pain