#EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENED. AND ALL HE DID WAS END UP IN THE EXACT SAME PLACE

[demaparbat-hp]

Hiya!! 👋🏼😄 How's it going? Your fashion taste for Zuko in a Modern AU seems to be artsy, or maybe "formal" is the word. That shirt he wore when he gave Sokka romantic song advice looked Versace🧐. Anyway, I was wondering how you came up with it, he always struck me more as the type that didn´t care much about fashion, so I'm curious about other´s opinions and heacanons about it. And do you have any other fashion headcanons for the rest of the GAang? Also, their music tastes. How did you come up with them? Especially Katara's! 😍

Hello! As it happens, I have a lot of Thoughts and Feelings™ about this, so I'm leaving these over here, and the rest of my ramblings down below the cut!

Let us begin with the Gaang, shall we?

SUKI always struck me as that Pretty Girl from the Gym. She is so incredibly fit it isn't even funny. She could kick anyone's ass, and we'd all thank her. She has this casual gym style that somehow always looks glorious on her, as it should! Comfy yet fashionable clothes for a nice workout or a day in town.

Her music tastes are basically any and all power songs from the eighties and nineties. (Eye of the Tiger, anyone?) She also enjoys metal via Toph, and bands like BSB, NSYNC, or Boyz II Men with Katara. My girl has a very eclectic Playlist and we all love her for it.

SOKKA is That Guy™. Loose T-shirts and shorts everywhere he goes, no matter the weather. He's stupidly into fashion but it doesn't show! At all! And everyone teases him about it. His closet is about 90% Cactus Juice merchandise, hence the "it's the quenchiest!" shirt.

His fashion and music tastes are pretty much the same. He loves poetry but isn't really into lyrics. He'll misinterpret just about anything you place in front of him. His Playlist is mostly vibes and tiktok songs he kind of enjoys. He isn't really into music...at least not as much as his sister.

AANG owns exactly one hoodie, one pair of shorts, and one beanie (THE beanie). Oh, and the crocs—don't forget the crocs. Somehow, he's always wearing the exact same outfit. Every. Single. Day. Ancient Gaang lore suggests that the day Aang goes out without his beanie, it's the end of the world.

His Playlist is the poppiest, most bizarre thing ever. Every single song is Happy by Pharrell Williams levels of happy. Yet sometimes, among the bouncy dance-to songs, you'll find the strangest of things... (He does know what Good Day by Twenty One Pilots is about. That's the reason he likes it so much, actually. And it's so weird.)

KATARA is all about sundresses and loose pants. The epitome of comfortable loveliness. Light fabrics in blue shades, careful embroidery, delicate shoes, and little to no accessories—hers is a simple, yet quite adorable, style. She just needs to add more colors to her usual palette...

She is, first and foremost, a Florence + The Machine girl. It's the Dark Goddess of the Sea vibes, to be honest. Florence Welch is her idol and yes, she will fight you about lyrics interpretation, and win. It may not seem like it, but her music tastes are also very varied.

She draws a little from each member of the Gaang, so you'll hear her humming along to Gorillaz (where did you even find out about them, Aang?), The Weeknd (I...don't think this song means what you think it means, Sokka...), and Hozier (Zuko why did you dedicate Talk to me, Zuko WHAT DID YOU MEAN BY THAT).

TOPH...ah, lovely girl. I'll summarise everything about Toph’s fashion sense in two words: comfort and rebellion. Stuffy dresses forced on her by billionaire parents? No thank you! Give her tank tops with loose shirts and short pants. Bandaids shared with Aang, bracelets from Katara, and even piercings she got in tandem with Sokka. Shoes? What even is that?

Something I love about this fandom is our collective agreement that Toph is into the dirtiest, heaviest, most ear-splitting and soul-crushing death metal of all times. Her Playlist is full of the most obscure names to ever exist, and she can and will blast through your walls with the sheer volume of her speaker.

Zuko. ZUKO.

Even in a modern AU my boy must suffer. That being said, I envision Tales from the Couch as—well, exactly what it is: an ATLA modern AU. While there is not a war to fight, and a lot of plot lines are discarded or expanded upon, much about the core story remains the same.

This is my way of saying that Zuko still goes trough his redemption arc, and it reflects on his fashion choices.

The way you described it works perfectly because of one single reason: in this AU, Zuko is an artist. He had to suppress his love for writing and drawing because of his background and the expectations Ozai had for him (taking over the family company), and a very large part of his redemption arc directly affects his relationship with art.

In the Couch equivalent of S1, Zuko has fallen out of Ozai's graces, and is desperate to protect his place in the company and the Kasai household. He's pretending to be someone he isn't and trying to live up to his Father's image of a perfect heir while still being somewhat cut-off financially, and it shows.

He's all about imposing long coats and a semi-formal style, imitating what he knows Azula and Father would respect. He's striking and sharp and dark. But no matter how he dresses or carries himself (that air of cold superiority and arrogance)—it won't help him when he needs it the most.

In S2, Zuko has hit his lowest point. He's officially disinherited and tossed away by his father, and would be out in the streets if it wasn't for Uncle Iroh. He goes from sharp, high-tailored outfits to old second-hand clothes that hang loosely on his frame. He starts smoking and cuts his hair off, forgoing the undercut for the first time in years.

But then...Father accepts him back. When Zuko returns home, it's with respect to his name and a very high position in his father's company. He's finally the perfect Kasai heir, dressed in overly expensive suits and finery, even at home... But Father forbids him from wearing Lu Ten's earring, and Zuko can no longer recognize himself without the familiar glint of gold dancing on his peripheral vision.

When Zuko leaves the Kasai name behind him and goes back to living with Uncle Iroh...he's finally at peace with who he is, and what he wants in this life. The sharp edges aren't gone (they'll always be a part of him, after all), but now they're dulled by looser clothes and softer hairstyles.

He's an artist, and for once in his life, he is determined to pursue his own ambitions. Zuko's outfits may not be designer-made anymore, but he takes what he has and makes himself look like he wants to look, like the person he wants to be.

He doesn't read fashion magazines or keeps up to the latest trends like Azula does. He's just...Zuko. And his newfound confidence makes everything he wears look like it belongs on him.

As for music...well, Ursa raised a literature boy.

He loves lyric-heavy music and natural voices, be they soothing or powerful. Dissecting song meanings and possible interpretations with Katara is one of his favorite parts of the day. They're both very passionate and strong-minded individuals, so it stands to reason that their debates can get quite...heated.

Zuko's Playlist is both incredibly eclectic and somehow very...him. There's a common thread that binds together every song and artist he likes, and he's hilariously unaware of this. To take a look into his Playlist is a higher honor reserved only for those closest to him.

In the wide spectrum of things, it is no wonder that Zuko is, first and foremost, a Hozier man. But though Andrew is his God in all aspects of this life, there's someone else that has had a huge impact on him...

Two someones, actually.

Zuko refuses to tell anyone how he got into Twenty One Pilots, but it's kind of a moot point when the beginning of his obsession is nothing compared to everything that came after. They have just about the right amount of everything that makes Zuko...well, Zuko. The poetic lyrics, the soothing or raging music, the heavy, intensely resonant themes...

Up there, in the second artwork, I placed an album cover behind each period of Zuko's life. The election of these records is intentional, as I feel like their general themes work incredibly well with Zuko's arc and growth.

Blurryface in S1. For the demons within us. For giving a name to our fears and shame.

Trench in S2. For escaping the confined walls of a depression city, and fighting to understand the depths of the map of your mind.

Scaled and Icy in the first half of S3. For returning to places you had left behind. For convincing yourself and everyone around you that you're fine, that you're perfect, even though everything is crumbling inside...

Clancy in S3. For recognizing that you can backslide, that you can have fears and shame and pain—but you're shaping yourself with each step you take. For knowing that seeking help from others is okay. Nobody learns to walk on their own.

(And, in the end, you'll always be better than the person you were yesterday. If only because you're still here. You're still alive. You're still yourself.)

.

Overall, I rambled a bit too much, don't you think?

If you made it all the way down here—thank you so much for reaching out and being interested in this crazy AU! I hope you enjoy these ideas and tell me some of your own ❤️

[kuroosamuu]

megumi x reader | warnings: making out | wc: 687

—

you and megumi decided to keep your relationship a secret. for reasons quite obvious to the two of you, for the current predicament you find yourselves in being one of the main ones.

with the two to of you both being students at jujutsu high, you're with each other more often than not. because of this, you two try to keep your feelings for each other at a minimum and keep anything away to the nosy people around you who would love to tease you about your relationship.

and megumi feels strongly about preventing that from ever happening.

well, that didn't last that long.

It was currently 1am, everyone was sleeping, and you were on your way to megumi's room.

you two did this often, finding the only moment of privacy with one another being in the middle of the night, where no one could interrupt the time you spend together. this was your time to be able to talk to him freely, without worrying about someone else interrupting your conversation or saying something about you two being a bit too close.

so, when you arrive and softly knocked on the door, you felt the relief you always feel when he opens the door, and allow yourself to throw your arms around him.

"missed you."

"you saw me today."

you pull away, pouting at him, "you know what I mean."

"I know, missed you too," he leans down and gives you a quick peck, before you two make your way to his bed to cuddle.

a daily routine at this point.

you lay with your head on his chest, his arm secured around you as you two talk mindlessly about anything and everything.

you end up perching your chin on his chest to look up at him, and before you know it, you lips are on his.

It starts off slow, gentle even, like every other kiss you two share. soon, you place your palm on his chest for leverage as you lift yourself up more in order to deepen the kiss.

megumi sits up slightly, bringing his back to rest on the headboard behind him as your lips move in sync, slowly deepening with each kiss.

you allow your hand that was previously situated on his chest to wander up and over his shoulder, as he takes one hand and place it on your waist.

he brings his other hand to the other side of your waist and moves you to straddle his lap properly now.

the kiss deepens in his new position, allowing yourself to hook your arms around his neck, while his one hand stays on your waist, the other slowly moving up and down your back.

all that is consuming your mind and body is megumi and you don't think of anything else, mind completely taken over by the feeling of his lips against yours.

and he is in the exact same way, hence the reason neither of you heard the door to megumi's room creak open.

and you didn't stop until you hear the crash of something hitting the floor.

you gasp as you part from megumi, throwing yourself off of him as fast as humanly possible and creating as much distance between you two as you could on his small bed.

you turn to look at the source of the sound to see yuji standing at megumi's doorway, whatever in his hand now on the floor, along with his jaw wide open.

the awkward silence between you three lasts for what feels like forever, before megumi finally speaks up.

"don't you know how to knock? what are you doing here."

"I did knock! you didn't reply so I just let myself in..." yuji replies looking between you and megumi, "maybe I shouldn't have..."

"It's not what it looks like," you try to explain weakly.

"I'll just leave you two alone."

yuji runs out of the room, and you look at megumi, the two of you knowing you're going to hear an earful tomorrow from both nobara and gojo, who yuji is definitely telling right now.

so much for keeping your relationship a secret.

—

[sleepy-steve]

pt 2 of steve "dies but doesn't stay dead" harrington and eddie "ferryman of the river styx" munson // 1.9k // pt 1 ♡

—

november 1984

Eddie checks. Of course he checks. Asks around, eventually to his superiors to make sure he wasn’t going to get in trouble for not collecting Steve. It’s uncommon, they tell him, rare, even. But not unheard of. People die briefly and come back to life. Usually only the one time. The answer should be good enough. Should be. Isn’t though. It frustrates Eddie to no end. Months of wondering and ruminating with the firm belief that he won’t get to see Harrington again anytime soon to ask.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

This time Eddie is on the boat. Leaning over the edge, a hand dangling low to the black water, staring at the same patch of grass he first saw Steve sitting. In fairness, all souls appeared in that general area. But Eddie is fixated on the exact spot Steve had shown off his deep chest wounds. It’s for this reason that Eddie jumps three feet into the air when Steve materialises in the same spot again less than a year later.

Sitting up with a rattling gasp and a look of fury on his bashed-in face—again?! Eddie briefly thinks—Steve yells, “Fucking Hargrove!”

“Christ, Harrington!” Eddie shouts, hand over his chest despite the distinct lack of heartbeat. “Could give a guy a bit of warning.”

Steve looks around, eyes surrounded by more dark bruising taking a second to focus on Eddie, chest heaving as he calms down. “Shit, sorry, man.”

They just look at each other for a few long moments, Eddie standing like a frightened cat on his still wobbling boat. He clears his throat to break the silence. “Who, uh. Who’s Hargrove?”

Scoffing, Steve drags a hand down the side of his face, then winces as it passes over bruising. “Douchebag new guy.” He sighs, settling his forearms on his knees. “His sister is friends with some kids I know. Was coming after them, so I…” Trailing off, Steve gestures to his face.

“What? Offered yourself up as a human punching bag and got yourself killed? Again?” Eddie says, trying not to sound too judgemental.

“Yeah, well,” Steve sighs. “I wasn’t just gonna let him beat up a kid. They’ve been through enough without some dickhead coming in and kicking the shit out of them.”

Eddie feels his brows pull together slightly as he sits back down on the bench of the boat, arms crossed over the edge. It’s not like Harrington was the big bully of Hawkins High, but defender of local kids is… new. “Sounds like a grade-A asshole.”

Steve snorts. “He is.”

“Kids were lucky to have you around as their… babysitter?” Eddie offers, cracking a grin.

Steve rolls his eyes, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Something like that. Probably didn’t need me at all. Stuck around long enough to see her drug him, so they should be fine.”

Humming appreciatively, a thought moves across Eddie’s mind, and he can’t help himself. “…No monsters this time?”

“Ha, ha,” Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know you don’t believe me, but the monsters did actually come back, which is why I was with those little shits in the first place.” He sounds annoyed, but there’s a fond look behind those bruised eyes. One that gives Eddie a little spark in his chest. “But no, this death was just a regular guy.”

It’s Eddie’s turn to snort. “This death. So casual.”

A full grin breaks out on Steve’s face, contrasting heavily with the bruises and the blood under his nose. “Well, when it’s happened this many times, kinda hard not to view it as like. Just this thing that happens, y’know?”

Eddie doesn’t really know. Of everything he’s learnt about death—through his own and through everyone he’s met since—this thing Steve goes through is beyond him. Incomprehensible. He nods anyway.

“How many times have you died, Harrington?”

“Hmm…” Steve looks up as he thinks for a moment. “This would be… five? Or six?” He shrugs. “I’m not sure if it happened when I was a baby.”

He says it so casually, so matter-of-fact, Eddie almost wants to double-take. It sounds so truthful, he struggles to not believe him. Even though Eddie knows he’s not losing much by believing him, a small part of him still has doubts. And worries for his job. “You gonna get in the boat this time?”

Steve snorts. “Not this time, buddy.” Something jolts in Eddie’s chest at the familiarity. “Maybe next time though.”

“Next time,” Eddie mutters under his breath, shaking his head. “You anticipate dying again?”

“Well, no,” Steve chuckles. “But based on how things have been… and apparently I’m not too careful.” He gestures at his bruised up face, eyes bright with humour between the blues and purples and reds.

“The monsters?” Eddie supplies, just teetering on the edge of sarcasm.

“Monsters, douchebag guys, car wrecks… you just never know.”

The casual tone in which Steve talks about his deaths still has Eddie reeling. It’s been well over a year and Eddie is surrounded by death constantly, and he still struggles to think about his own. Tells himself he’d rather not dwell, which is true, but it also hurts. He shakes it off, shifting his focus to the bruised and beaten boy in front of him.

“Or… you could save yourself the trouble, and get in the boat now?” Eddie gestures down at his boat with a little hand flair. He’s joking. Mostly. If Steve did have the chance to go back to the land of the living, Eddie didn’t want to take that away from him. Not that he thought Steve was getting that chance. Not completely, anyway.

“Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” Steve grins at him, like they’re sharing a secret. And they kind of were. Eddie wasn’t sure how many people knew about Steve’s semi-regular dances with death.

“And since when have you ever been one to stick to the rules?” Eddie asks, propping his arm up and resting his chin on his palm. Looking at the boy on the grass. His hair is longer this time.

Steve laughs, head tilted back. “Fair point. But if you want me on that boat, you’re gonna have to come over here and drag me onto it.” He raises a brow at Eddie in challenge.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Wish I could, but I don’t make the rules.” He repeats Steve’s words back at him, mocking him.

“Well, well, well,” Steve says, tone playful. “Look who’s being a stickler for rules now.”

“I know,” Eddie drags it out, struggling to hold back his smile. “Crazy, huh? Divine punishment for being born the son of a criminal, I guess.” Eddie’s gaze drops down to the black water beneath him.

Steve scoffs at him. “Like you never smoked pot or broke speeding laws in that van of yours.” 

Eyes widening before he can stop them, Eddie’s shocked Steve even knows about the van. Shocked that Steve knows anything about him at all. What world is he in where the king of Hawkins High knows about Eddie and his beat up old van? Even being in the grade below him, Steve had a popularity pull that was noticed by those in Eddie’s grade. Confusion and surprise subsiding, Eddie finds himself leaning forward even further.

“Coming from you?” Eddie challenges back. “We all know about the famous Harrington ragers, Mister Keg King.”

The title makes Steve roll his eyes. “Never saw you at one.”

It was true. Eddie hadn’t attended any of the parties, for fear of his reputation making him a target. He drops his gaze again. “Didn’t think I’d be welcome there.”

Steve doesn’t respond, and the silence grows between them. They haven’t moved, but Eddie feels further away from him. Like the weird little familiarity they’d developed was being forcefully shoved apart. Eddie doesn’t look up to see Steve’s reaction. Doesn’t want the pity.

“So, you really can’t get out of the boat?” Steve breaks the silence with a complete topic change.

“Nope,” Eddie responds, popping the P. “She’s my new baby, now that I don’t have my van.” He pats the side of the boat with his free hand.

Steve shifts forward until he’s sitting as close as he can to the water’s edge without getting wet. Close enough for Eddie to see the broken capillaries under his skin and the little green flecks in his eyes. He takes in the cuts on Steve’s jaw and forehead, the two black eyes, the blood under his nose. The way his knuckles are bruised and bloodied to match. Something in Eddie feels oddly… protective. Like he wants to jump in front of anything that might hurt this guy he doesn’t even really know that well.

“Change your mind about getting in the boat?” Eddie asks, voice low, now that Steve is so close.

“No,” Steve huffs a laugh. “But you can’t move, so I figured I should.”

“Just that desperate to be close to me, are you?” It slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can think about it. And Eddie wants to punch himself in the face over it.

But to his surprise, Steve doesn’t recoil away or yell at him. Instead, he laughs softly, cheeks faintly pink beneath the bruising. “What can I say? The allure of your… baby…” He says it with a smirk. “Very tempting.”

Taken aback by Steve’s… flirting is the only word to describe it, but that can’t be right, Eddie immediately switches to joke mode. He won’t entertain the idea that Steve Harrington was honest-to-god flirting with him. He won’t.

“I’ll get you into this boat one day, Harrington. Mark my words.” 

He knocks on the edge of the boat twice before smoothing his hand over the wood. Watches as Steve’s eyes follow his hand, seemingly fixated on it. Eddie briefly wonders what would happen if he touched Steve. Would that commit Steve to being stuck here? Commit him to moving on? Would Eddie even be able to feel him?

Gaze shifting back to Eddie’s face, a smile grows on Steve’s face. “Maybe. One day.” He shrugs, like his eventual death is a fun, whimsical topic.

Eddie is about to comment on Steve’s tone, but before he can, Steve’s head whips to the side, hearing something Eddie can’t. Just like last time.

Unlike last time, Steve doesn’t get up right away. “Looks like my time’s up.”

“How do you know?” Eddie is so curious, he can’t help but ask.

“I can hear—” Steve waves vaguely around his ear. “—stuff. From where I am. The kids are yelling. Hope they’re not too freaked out.”

“Guess you better get back then,” Eddie says, trying to hide his disappointment.

“Yep.” Steve pulls himself up into a standing position, now suddenly looking down at Eddie, who leans back on instinct, shifting back on the boat bench. “But I’ll see you next time.”

“I’ll be here.” Eddie gestures at the boat, palm up. Like he has anywhere else to go. “See ya, Harrington. Stay away from monsters.”

“I’ll try,” Steve laughs, walking backwards on the grass. Keeping his eyes on Eddie as he retreats.

“Try not to get that pretty face bashed in again,” Eddie calls after Steve’s already fading form, grinning wide.

Steve just laughs, the sound of it echoing even after his body disappears from Eddie’s sight.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

A Dragon's Dilemma

Aegon II Targaryen x Strong!Velaryon!reader

word count: 6k

warnings: infidelity, incest, some mentions of violence but nothing unbearable!

masterlist

The translation of what is said in High Valyrian is at the end!

It had been years since you or your siblings had last set foot in the castle. Six years, to be exact.

Everything had changed and, at the same time, looked exactly the same. Jacaerys and Lucerys were excited to return to the place where you grew up but you, however, still had your doubts about how good an idea it was. Of course it wasn’t a vacation visit, but a matter of great importance such as arguing for the right that belonged to your brother Lucerys was what had brought the entire family back to King's Landing.

As soon as you arrived the first thing you did was, of course, greet your grandfather whom you found in such a sorry state that you felt like crying. He could barely speak, was completely lying down and his physical appearance wasn’t at all pleasant to look at. But he was still the king and at least you were glad he was alive.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, gave you and your siblings complete freedom to wander around the castle as you pleased after that. You, unfortunately or fortunately, knew exactly where you wanted to go.

A part of you wished that during the welcome (which you didn't get, by the way) you could see your uncle Aegon. Curiosity killed you and above all there was a huge desire within you to know what had happened to him.

The last time you had the chance to talk was that unfortunate night when your (then) younger brother took it upon himself to gouge out your Uncle Aemond's eye. You and Aegon had been victims of the situation because it turned out that you were in his room that night and if it hadn't been for you hearing the commotion the queen probably would have found you passionately canoodling with her eldest son.

You had never planned for it to happen that way and of course you knew it was wrong, but you couldn't help it. The boy was barely a couple of years older than you and unfortunately for you, love doesn’t pay much attention to those it attacks. More than love, you knew there was always a latent desire between you that probably would have been consummated if you had more time.

No one, not even your mother, had found out about it and to a certain extent you were grateful because according to the news that was circulating, Aegon had married Helaena and they had two children from that union. A pang of jealousy and an unjustified feeling of betrayal invaded you when you found out, although you knew that yours with the man was a childish fantasy that turned out to be impossible.

Hoping that Aegon was in the same room since the last time you had been in the Red Keep you made your way through the halls, praying that you wouldn't encounter any relatives who might question you about your intentions. The black dress you were wearing was something simple, but one of your favorites chosen especially for that occasion. Your brown hair had recently been cut so you had only asked your maid to make some braids to adorn your head.

The further you went, the more nervous you were and you even wondered what you would do if Aegon wasn’t in that room, questioning whether you would have the courage to look for him in the rest of the fortress or would you let that idea die for the good of everyone.

You almost fainted when you saw Queen Alicent and Princess Helaena walking along one of the balconies in the distance, but luckily neither of them noticed your presence before you could hide in a nearby nook.

“Your brother is a fool, it seems that he doesn't think, that he doesn't realize all the damage he does to this family…” you managed to hear and you knew, immediately, that you were going in the right direction.

Once you were out of danger you darted out of your hiding place and gathered your skirt in your hands, beginning to run towards the room you were looking for before anyone else showed up or until the queen returned to look for her son.

When you reached the door, out of breath, you took a moment to breathe and felt the beating of your racing heart throughout your chest. Your hair was sticking to your forehead due to the sweat you had released during the effort and while you were taking that moment you asked yourself again if this was a good idea. Determined, you pushed the doors to the room and then entered as cautiously as possible.

Aegon was confused between the white sheets of his mattress, since the curtains prevented much of the light from entering and the place was only illuminated by the warm tones of some candles. He seemed to be curled up in on himself, with his body barely covered to consider himself decent and hugging a pillow on which his face was hidden. Still, you didn't need to see him to know it was him, the completely white hair gave him away.

“Get out of here,” he gasped. From his voice you suspected he was crying and that only confused you more, so you walked over immediately.

Although of course, before that you made sure to lock the door.

“I want to be alone, moth…!” he spoke again, emerging from his hiding place to confront the intruder. However, he was frozen when he discovered that it wasn’t the queen who had entered his chambers.

“Am I coming at a bad time? I can leave if you want.”

“It's you,” he breathed out in surprise, as if he needed to say it out loud to make it real.

You thought there would be a little more conversation for the welcome, but the boy decided that it was more urgent to feel you close and he made it clear when he stretched one of his arms in your direction, offering his hand for you to take. You did not resist, but fulfilled his whim, letting him pull you until you were sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Hello, Aegon,” you said kindly.

As soon as he knew you were close, the man entangled himself in you until he placed his head in the crook of your neck while his arms were responsible for holding you against his naked body. You still didn't see anything indecent, but you could feel the warm skin of his chest.

“You're here,” he continued happily, spreading slow kisses over whatever skin his mouth was within reach.

A smile of satisfaction appeared on your face when you realized that you hadn’t been the only one who had kept that feeling that had blossomed so many years ago well kept.

“I am,” you laughed gently. One of your hands traveled to his head to caress his scalp “I heard you got in trouble.”

“It's all stupid. Don't pay attention to anything you hear” he defended himself. From the smell on his body, as well as the appearance of the room, you suspected that the boy had been drinking before your arrival.

You put your hands between your bodies to push him to which he seemed scared, fearing that you were rejecting him, but his nerves eased when he discovered that you only wanted to be able to observe him.

You noticed that his eyes were swollen from the unshed tears behind which his irises shone.

“Hey, what's wrong, prince?” you asked motherly, raising both thumbs to wipe away his tears. “Is there something bothering you or is it just that in my absence you have softened?”

"When did you arrive?" he asked quietly, completely ignoring your questions.

"In the morning. I was hoping to greet you during the welcome but we didn't have one”

“I didn't even know you were coming. Otherwise I would have gone to the doors myself to receive you as you deserve”

“Would you dare to spoil me in front of my family?”

"Maybe not. But I would have let you take my arm and I would have stolen you to the rooms to do it”

A giggle left your lips at the joke and then you took a moment to observe each other. Aegon couldn't help but notice that your tits had grown and he could see them squeezed by your dress. Your features were still delicate but now they looked more experienced and you had cut your long hair.

You could barely recognize your uncle. His face was hardened, he had gained weight and had become robust, like a real man. You thought that he had changed too much since the last time you saw him and, to be honest, you couldn’t believe that he had become so handsome: while it was true that the marks under his eyes were more pronounced and there were some new scars, he still had the same indigo eyes with hints of purple that you loved to see so much.

"You have changed"

“And you became more beautiful,” he sighed, reaching out to cup your face with one of his hands.

Before you could process it, the boy had already approached you to kiss you, eager to take advantage of the little time you might have but at the same time desperate to feel your lips. They were still soft and inexperienced, almost as if prompting him to corrupt you.

“Aegon…”

“Hmm?”

“You have a wife and children.”

"So what?" he said nonchalantly, only moving on the mattress so he could hold your waist and get you closer to his body.

Kissing him was addictive, so you had a hard time putting two thoughts together coherently enough to push him away and tell him it was wrong. But deep down you didn't want to tell him either; it would be a lie to admit that your intentions when going to his room were only to greet him and chat with him.

His hands walked over your body, as if wanting to remember the shapes already forgotten by time, and you kept holding his face by his wet cheeks.

By doing that he was immediately distracted from whatever had happened and was torturing him, leaving room only for the feeling of satisfaction that came from nibbling and sucking on your lips.

After a few minutes, with one movement he laid you down on the bed and placed himself on top of you, which was enough to bring you back to reality. Just one kiss later, without too much force, but decisively, you placed a hand on his bare chest to push him away from you.

“Aegon,” you repeated sternly.

Whatever you had to say died in your throat as you looked down and noticed that the sheet could no longer protect him, revealing that he was completely naked.

The man looked amused by the situation.

"What? Did the dragon eat your tongue?” he made fun of you. Then he lowered himself just enough so that his lips were at the level of your ear “I can do some things that you might like with mine”

“Aegon, stop it,” you sighed shakily, your cheeks already quite red.

As best you could, you pushed him to the other side and he let you beat him just for the satisfaction of seeing you nervous. You sat back down on the mattress and threw a sheet over his crotch, more out of a matter of maintaining your self-control than out of modesty.

You had your back to him and the boy smiled from his position, wondering how long it would take you two to roll around in bed now that you were an adult and desires had become carnal. He thought that maybe you just wanted him to beg and he felt a bubbling inside, wishing he could persist until you agreed.

However, he was still somewhat hurt by the scene that had unfolded with his mother a few moments earlier and he wondered if you would be able to comfort him as he wished.

Innocently he approached you again and surrounded you from behind, leaving a fleeting kiss somewhere on your neck to test the waters. Seeing that you didn't object, he snuck under your arm and then laid his head on your lap like a cat looking for affection. To avoid temptation, he made sure to pull the sheet tight enough to cover most of his body.

“Where is the rest of your family?”

“My mother and Daemon talking to your mother, probably. I watched my brothers go towards the outer yard and Baela and Rhaena maybe with Rhaenys”

“Aemond was training in the yard so they will meet him. Let's hope this time no one loses an eye”

You giggled at that and Aegon held your hand up to his hair, asking you to pet it. You fulfilled his wish, while he snuggled closer to you.

It was strange that so much had happened and you felt with the same intensity that you had once shared. The problems between your families had never afflicted either of you two, because although both they and you had done questionable things, all that was forgotten as soon as their lips touched yours.

“Have you ever thought about what would have happened if your mother had accepted the engagement that mine proposed?”

"What are you talking about?"

“In having gotten married. You and I"

“You would be very unhappy,” he exclaimed confidently. “You only like me because you don't live with me every day.”

"Maybe you're right. But at least we would have had a lot of fun in the nights”

Aegon laughed and placed a distracted kiss on your arm.

“I guess you're not married yet, right, niece? Otherwise I doubt you would have come looking for me."

“There have been some candidates, but none convincing. Although it’s logical that they are dying to marry the next in the line of succession."

“Smug and mistaken, little princess,” he scoffed and both of you laughed.

You had already had that discussion before, but now you didn't have much heart to repeat it. Aegon claimed that, in case something happened to Rhaenyra, he was the heir and you confronted him by saying that since you were the firstborn, the position belonged to you. However, you knew beforehand that the man's desires were never to reign and that he was only trying to annoy you.

You yourself often wondered if you wanted to rule at some point in history, still afraid of what people might think of a woman on the iron throne. You weren’t blind and you knew that your right to the throne could be questioned not only because of that, but because of the supposed illegitimacy of your birth. You were a Targaryen, your mother's daughter, and that was all that mattered. But still, the thought of having to fulfill a duty of that magnitude completely overwhelmed you.

You were brought out of your musings when you felt the man in your lap stir and stretch enough to give you a deep kiss, which you reciprocated without opposition.

“You should get dressed.”

“Is it bothering you so far?”

“I'm serious,” you laughed, while you gently brushed a couple of hairs from his face “Someone might think badly of us if they find us like this.”

“For someone to think badly you should be naked too. Which I wouldn't object to, of course."

You shook your head, suppressing a smile, and then maneuvered yourself to your feet, pretending that with that Aegon would do what you were asking. However, when you tried to walk away he reached out to grab your hand, reluctant to let you go.

"How long you'll be here?"

"In your bedroom?"

“In King's Landing”

“A couple of days, maybe. I guess until the issue with Drifmark's inheritance is resolved."

“Good,” he whispered, as if assessing the situation. You wanted to free yourself from his grip but he didn't let you “Are you going to leave without saying goodbye?”

“From King's Landing?”

“From my room,” he replied seriously, making you smile.

“I'm not leaving yet, Aegon. I'm just turning around so you can get dressed."

“I don’t mind you looking,” he said cheekily, but you had already turned your back on him. You heard movement behind you and assumed he had started to put on some clothes “Don’t you want to look even a little bit?”

“Just hurry up, your grace”

Upon hearing your complaint he laughed and then you felt a loud kiss on your cheek that had every intention of making you turn around, to which you didn’t succumb.

“There will be a dinner or something like that with the whole family.”

“Huh, yeah?”

“Well, that's what I heard. After dinner, can we meet?”

“Won't we have problems?”

“You don't like problems?” he said in a mocking tone.

You felt his hands put on your waist, from behind, and you prayed that when you turned around he wasn't still naked. It wasn't like that, he was only wearing a linen shirt, pants and was barefoot, but at least it was something.

“Not when they grow up in this family. Any family fight becomes a thousand times worse if it involves dragons.”

"I'm sorry for you. Mine are bigger than yours.”

“We're still talking about dragons, right?”

Aegon bit his lip to contain a grin from ear to ear and then he held you close to his body, ready to kiss you again. You just let him do it.

Dinner was a complete disaster.

You were already in your room, furiously packing all your belongings into a trunk, when you heard the sound of the door opening. You looked up from your task believing that by doing so you would meet Rhaenyra or maybe even one of your sisters, however, you were surprised to see a head of silver hair appear that was not theirs.

“You are very bold to come here after that.”

"After what?"

“You and your brother beating mine”

“They started”

“Aemond did it”

Aegon didn't think you were going to get that upset about the dinner incident, after all he still thought it was petty stuff. But the message had been clear and forceful, at least for you: you were considered bastards and, therefore, unworthy of any merit within King's Landing.

“You're exaggerating, it's just that… you know that Aemond gets carried away by his impulses.”

“And you agree with him?” you asked, angry when the white-haired boy tried to reach out to take your hand.

The boy looked at your things and then at you. He had heard your mother saying that the whole family would return to Dragonstone that same night because apparently, after what had happened, you no longer wanted to spend any more time in the Red Keep.

“He's my brother, I had to defend him…”

"I'm not talking about that. Do you think I’m not a Targaryen?” You interrupted him, stopping from the violent pace with which you were putting away your clothes so you could look him in the eyes. “Calling us bastards is already a betrayal, Aegon. Your family has to be very careful with what they say because very soon the one they offend is the one who will be on the iron throne.”

“Do you think they will allow that?” He said, showing the same seriousness that you had shown him. “I am my father's firstborn.”

“And what are you implying?” you took a step forward and he held your gaze. “Do you wish to usurp the throne that by right and by choice of the king belongs to my mother?”

“I don't want it. But many people do it. All my life my mother has told me that yours will kill me if she comes to power, because I am a threat to her reign.”

“My mother wouldn't do such a thing.”

“Not even under your father's advice?”

Daemon wasn't your father, but you understood what he meant. If your head already hurt after the fight, now you could feel it throbbing from your temples to the back of your neck.

“Is this a confession, Aegon? Are you telling me that as soon as Viserys dies you will fight for the throne?”

“My grandfather will do it. And my mother and Aemond and all those lords on the council will do it too. I hear them whispering everywhere. Viserys is about to die and they will fight to name me king.”

“You know you're taking a big risk by coming and telling me that, don't you?”

“I'm not taking the risk because you're not going to tell anyone.”

For a second, you froze. If anyone asked you, you were sure that Aegon would never be able to hurt you, much less kill you, but a lot could have changed in six years. You took a step back to search through your trunk for the sword that your grandmother Rhaenys had given you and he seemed to guess your intentions.

“Don't do something stupid,” he continued, cautiously. “I've come to make you a proposal.”

“The proposals were made a long time ago and your family declined.”

“Not one of that kind. I want you to run away with me.”

An incredulous laugh escaped your lips, thinking about how your uncle could joke at a time like this. You had to warn your mother, beg her to stay in King's Landing until your grandfather died so that no one could usurp what belonged to her.

“Leave my room, please.”

“I'm serious,” he exclaimed sternly. Almost carefully, he approached you and tried to take both of your hands but you refused, afraid that it was a trap. “Without me, no one here could deny your mother's claim. Not even Aemond, because he is not the firstborn male”

“And you seriously plan to run away?”

"I do. I am tired of all this and it is the only alternative that would solve the situation. That's why you have to come with me.”

“How do I know you're not tricking me into abandoning me far away and leaving my mother without her heir? Or worse yet, that you will keep me hostage for the interests of your family.”

“Our family, my niece,” he corrected you. “Do you remember that we are all part of the same family?”

“Your brother seems to forget often. And you too"

It was incredible how that morning you had been so affectionate and now that night had fallen you were arguing so heatedly. But there came a point where the offenses were intolerable, even with the affection you felt for the dragon.

“I have never hurt you. I have harmed everyone in this family physically or morally, but never you and you know it perfectly” he insisted on wanting to hold you and ended up managing to take only one of your hands “I am willing to leave to clear the way for Rhaenyra but I want you to come with me”

“What if I refuse?”

“Then I will stay. And her inheritance will be at risk”

"Are you threatening me?"

“I'm offering you a chance,” he continued. Apparently he wasn't going to give up on it so easily “I've thought about it for a long time now. My father will be lucky if he makes it to next week alive, time is ticking and when you least expect it a war for power will break out. I'm just saving us a couple of steps.”

“Do you really think I will abandon my mother?”

“Under the promise that she won’t have any obstacles on her direct path to the throne? Yes, I thought you were sensible enough to see the enormous advantage that our absence would represent”

You stayed silent for a moment, looking at him seriously and in disbelief at the decision in his words. Was Aegon really convinced to do all that? Was he proposing that you guys run away?

“And what about Helaena? And your children?"

“They will be fine. I'm not a good father, they won't miss me."

“Aegon this is… it is simply foolish. It's crazy."

“And we have to make a decision now. Your family is waiting for you to leave, time is of the essence”

You stayed quiet, your hand still being held by his. So much had happened that day that you felt like you couldn't take it anymore and now he had snuck into your room to tell you all that. You weren't stupid at all, you knew that your grandfather could die that very night and that the man in front of you was having a train of reasonable thoughts for probably the first time in his life.

“And why don't you just leave? You don't want to govern, uncle. We both know it, you just... go away and that's it."

“I don't want to go alone. I need a company and I want it to be you.”

"And why me?"

“Because I know you're the only one who would be willing to do it. For your mother's sake”

“So it's blackmail”

“Not blackmail. It's a fair exchange.”

You didn't realize when you started crying. And Aegon, as a sign of goodwill, came to kiss your cheeks to erase those tears.

“Say yes,” he continued. “I have it all planned. There is a ship to Essos leaving tonight, we will go on it and no one will ever hear from us again. There it doesn't matter if you're royalty or not, no one will recognize us."

“And our dragons?”

“We don't need dragons there.”

“And what are we to live on, Aegon?”

“We will live on anything. I have a trunk full of gold ready to be loaded on that ship, it will serve us for a few months and if we know how to manage it perhaps for a little longer”

It seems he had thought this through quite well and you wondered if you had always been part of the plan or if it was something that had arisen as a result of your visit.

"I can’t do this”

"Of course you can. Don't think about it too much, just... say yes and that's it."

“And how am I going to leave her? What kind of ungrateful will I be?”

“She left my father's side to live with Daemon, her uncle. And that has never bothered your conscience, has it?” he carefully approached you until he kissed you, hoping that maybe that would soften you enough for you to accept “I know you don't want this either. I know you don't want to govern, I can see the fear in your eyes every time the topic comes up because it is the same fear I see in mine."

“You can't know that”

“I'm an idiot most of the time, I'm not going to deny that to you. But I know we will never have an opportunity like this again. Please come with me”

That was a plea. Aegon was imploring you to join him in this madness and he required an immediate response. All kinds of thoughts crossed your mind at that moment and with all of them you needed to take time to decide. But you had also heard the man's words clearly and you didn’t doubt that Otto Hightower's ambition was such as to manage to steal from Rhaenyra what Viserys had given her.

Going with him would be impulsive, stupid, and anything but sensible as Aegon insisted it would be. You would completely break Rhaenyra's heart. You, her only daughter, abandoning her to seek better fortune in Essos.

Decisions, decisions... they were always the most difficult and cruel part for The house or the dragon.

“And how did you plan to escape just today? It’s improbably convenient, don’t you think?”

"I didn’t know. I was ready to flee the day it was necessary, but I think today is the best opportunity. You're here so our parents won't think I'm kidnapping you or something like that."

“They'll think about it anyway.”

“Leave a letter,” he suggested, bringing one of your hands to his lips to kiss the back “Explain to Rhaenyra that you're okay.”

“Aegon, I'm not going with you.”

"Why not?" he insisted, his voice already breaking. He raised both hands to your cheeks to force you to look at him “I'm asking you, please.”

"No…"

“Let's leave here and we will never know anything about royalty again in our lives”

“There will always be someone who questions a woman's authority.”

“But it won't be because of me and you won't be here to see it.”

“I don't want to leave my mother!”

Aegon sighed, completely exasperated, and his eyes unintentionally glazed over as well.

“Listen, if you had asked me at that time, I would have said yes to marrying you. I don't love Helaena, I want you. Come with me and let's leave all this for peace, we simply… we have to start again” with a delicacy that you never thought he was capable of, he leaned in to kiss you. Once, twice, three times…

"I can’t"

"Yes, you can. You don't want to, it's different."

You looked up, still too close to him, and a sob escaped your chest.

“It's just that I... Aegon, don't do this to me.”

“I will treat you like a queen. You will be my queen forever, you just have to come with me.”

You couldn't bear to look at his pleading eyes. You asked yourself: Should you follow your mind or your heart?

The sound of the door opening forced you to jump away and you pushed Aegon behind some curtains, afraid that someone would discover you.

"Mother"

“Are you ready, my girl?” he asked at first. When she noticed your eyes, her brow furrowed “Are you crying?”

“No, no… it's nothing.”

“Ow, love. What's the matter?" carefully she approached you and took your hands in hers. You felt like you were going to break right there “I know you don't want to leave”

“Leave?”

“Back to Dragonstone, of course. I know you like the warm weather of King's Landing better.”

"Oh yeah. That"

You were silent for a moment and then you approached her and hugged her. She wasn’t surprised, as it was common, but she was moved.

“What's wrong with you, huh?”

“Mom, have you ever thought about what would happen if I didn't want to be your heir?”

Rhaenyra froze. All her childhood and adolescence the only thing she had wanted was to be good enough for Viserys and that meant being named the heir to the throne. However, she assumed that you would have the same aspirations and that is why she wanted to demonstrate from the beginning that a first-born daughter had the same value as a first-born son. The mere thought of having hurt you with that decision immediately distressed her.

"What are you talking about?" she was quick to say, pulling you out of your hiding place to look at you.

“I don't know if I'm ready. I'm afraid I won't do it well."

“Oh, it's not about that, honey. You will do excellent, I don't doubt it for a second. I will advise you all the way until the time comes.”

“What if I don't want to do it?” You insisted. Rhaenyra felt her heart hurt a little and tried to hold back her tears. “It's too much pressure, mom. And I don't want you to be angry with me and I don't want you to hate me because I know you've done too much for us..."

“No, I would never be angry with you. Don't even think that, no,” she murmured gently, brushing your hair. “Are you sure you don't want it?”

"I don’t know yet. But I believe yes"

“Okay, okay,” the blonde responded, trying to process the fact that her most beloved daughter didn’t wish to continue the legacy she was forging. But she couldn't do anything, after all “We'll talk about this when we get home, okay? There is still… there is still Dragonstone as an inheritance if you are sure about this. And Jacaerys could take your place. But we have to think very carefully, sweetheart. This shouldn’t be decided right now.”

“You know I would never do anything to harm you, right, mother?”

"I know"

“And I thank you for everything you have given me and done for me.”

“Of course I know, my girl,” she said, smiling at you as gently as possible. “Thank you for telling me, you… you don't disappoint me at all, okay? Don't be afraid” she lovingly leaned down and kissed your forehead, as she had done all her life “Hurry up to leave. We will wait for you in the dragon pit.”

“It's okay, mommy,” you responded, your voice breaking. The woman was about to leave when you spoke again “Avy jorrāelan”

She watched you, from the door, and smiled.

“Issa tolī”

You waited patiently for her to leave, waiting a few extra seconds as a precaution. You then went to where Aegon was only to find him with tears running down his eyes, because while he was listening to the exchange he wondered why Alicent had never treated him that way. The boy thought you were going to throw him out of there and he was surprised when you pulled him by the collar to kiss him.

“If I go with you, you must keep all the promises you just made to me, do you understand?”

“Are you… are you saying you will?”

“Will you keep those promises?” you asked seriously and Aegon nodded frantically. You then shared another passionate kiss.

“Let's go then.”

You took just a couple of personal items to put them in a bag and Aegon suggested you wear a masculine outfit, which you ran to get to his room along with his own belongings.

“How do I know this isn't all a trap?”

“It’s not,” he assured you. He was so eager for you to trust him that he took out the sheath that held your sword and handed it to you “You can kill me if that's the case. But is not"

“I almost forgot it. Thank you"

“Take this,” he added, putting a cloak that was too long on your shoulders. It was probably from Aemond “I know how to get out without being seen, there is a passage.”

Still afraid of what might happen you let him take your hand and you nodded, letting him guide you to said place. You didn't want to imagine Rhaenyra's face when she entered your room to discover your dress placed neatly on the bed, with the jewelry she had given you and a sealed letter on it. You didn't let go of your companion's hand the entire way and once outside you practically ran to the port where the transport that would take you to the other continent was.

Aegon couldn't be happier to have gotten his little princess to accompany him on the crazy plan and he was sure that all things would work out in your favor. Completely devastated, you watched as the vision of King's Landing receded as the ship moved forward, leaving every glimpse of your life you could have.

“We did the right thing,” he assured you, noticing your melancholy and carefully holding your cheeks to kiss you “We will be very happy, I promise.”

You just hoped so. May the seven accompany your path and protect the future queen Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Viserys died that night. The Dance of the Dragons never happened because of the decision the pair of heirs made in an instant.

Entire years of war, were avoided only by taking a ship to Pentos.

Avy jorrāelan: te amo

Issa tolī: yo también

[dreamersworldduh]

BEYOND THE PAST

• CONNER KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — You and Conner Kent are mysteriously pulled through time by your future son, Casey Kent, and arrive at a rebuilt Mount Justice. There, you encounter the next generation of heroes—the children of your former teammates—and a future shaped by your legacy, one you haven't even begun to live.

WARNING! FLUFF. Male Pregnancy.

WORDS! 9.2k

AUTHOR'S NOTE! Okay, here we are with part 2 of this series that I almost attempted to purse a series on Wattpad. Anyway, sorry for the wait—enjoy your reading✨🫶🏽

PREVIOUS PART! — THE STARS

NEXT PART! — THE FUTURE

YOU AND Conner stood frozen, eyes locked on the young man in front of you—Casey Kent, your supposed son. The weight of his words echoed in your mind, refusing to settle, refusing to feel real. The world around you felt oddly still, as if even the air in the futuristic Mount Justice had paused to process what had just been revealed.

Shock didn't even begin to describe what you were feeling.

Disbelief sat heavy in your chest, your pulse pounding in your ears. Denial should've been your first reaction. It was your first reaction, bubbling up instinctively because nothing about this made sense—time travel, future children, a grown man standing here calling you 'Dad'.

But then there was his face.

The shape of his jaw, the curve of his brow, the hair that curled slightly at the ends just like Conner's did when it got too long. His stance, his energy, the calm intensity in his gaze—it all screamed Kent. But it was his eyes, glowing faintly with the same cosmic shimmer as yours, that made something deep in your chest tighten.

He wasn't lying. He couldn't be.

You and Conner exchanged a glance, neither of you speaking, but both clearly grappling with the same thought:

Could this really be our son?

Casey took a small step forward, reading the disbelief in your faces with understanding. His voice, when he spoke again, was calm but sure, steady like someone who had prepared for this exact moment.

"I know this is a lot to take in. Believe me, I've had years to think about how this meeting might go." He gave a faint smile, though it was lined with something almost sad. "You're both still trying to figure out how any of this is possible. So... let me explain."

You and Conner remained silent, waiting—watching—as Casey folded his arms and took a breath.

"You've been brought twenty-five years into the future," he said, gesturing around the high-tech room. "This is Mount Justice—rebuilt after the war. A lot's changed, but this place is still home. For me. For the next generation. For you... eventually."

Your brows furrowed, but you didn't interrupt. The mention of a war raised alarms in your mind, but you stored that away, for now.

Casey continued. "I didn't use a time machine, or a speedster's help. The kind of time travel I used—it's... magical. Purely." He paused, eyes glinting slightly. "Zatanna helped me. Or rather, future Zatanna. It was risky, but we didn't have a choice. Something's happening in your time that could change everything—including whether or not we're ever born."

"We?" Conner finally spoke, his voice still low, controlled, but laced with suspicion. "There's more of you?"

Casey nodded, his expression softening. "Yeah. I'm the oldest. You'll have four kids in total—me, and my younger siblings: Corra, Cole, and Cameron."

You sucked in a slow breath, your body still trying to process one impossible thing before being handed four more.

Casey chuckled gently at your stunned expression, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know. It sounds wild. But it's true. We were all born from the two of you. Raised at Mount Justice. Trained with the League, the Team... the next generation of heroes."

He looked at both of you now, with a kind of reverence in his gaze. "You were incredible parents. Strict sometimes, yeah—but you taught us how to be strong, how to be better. You loved us fiercely. We grew up watching how much you loved each other."

His words hit like a quiet storm, spreading warmth and weight across your chest. You hadn't even wrapped your head around the idea of having a baby in your timeline, and now here was the future standing in front of you—grown, articulate, and impossibly real.

And he wasn't just proof of your future. He was hope.

But beneath that hope, a flicker of dread sparked. If he was here now, twenty-five years before his own birth... what exactly was he trying to stop?

As if reading your thoughts, Casey's expression shifted. The warmth and familiarity that had flickered across his face moments ago faded, replaced by a much colder seriousness. He folded his arms over his chest and let out a quiet breath, his tone dropping into something more measured.

"The man who attacked you—he's not from your time either," he said. "He came through the same kind of rift I did, though we still don't fully understand how he managed to pull it off. His presence in your timeline is... dangerous. Unstable."

Your chest tightened. You exchanged a quick glance with Conner, who remained stoic at your side but tense, his jaw clenched and his fists flexing at his sides.

"Who is he?" you asked, your voice low, wary. "What does he want with us?"

Casey's gaze hardened. "We don't know much. He's elusive. Off the grid, even in our time. But we know one thing for sure—his name."

He paused for a beat, then said it: "Olympian."

The name hit the air like a cold gust of wind.

"Olympian?" Conner repeated, the word rolling from his tongue with suspicion. "Sounds like some wannabe god."

Casey gave a dry, humorless smirk. "Yeah. That's kind of the point. He sees himself as something greater. He draws power from something ancient—some believe it's a corrupted form of cosmic and divine energy, others think he was born in a lab like you, Dad. But no one's been able to confirm the truth. He operates in shadows, moves across timelines, and his agenda..."

He shook his head.

"All we know is that he has a vendetta. A deep one. Not just against the League or the Team, but specifically against our family."

Your stomach sank.

"Me?" you asked quietly.

Casey nodded slowly. "You've always been his focus. For years now. We don't know what ties him to you, or why it's so personal, but he's made it clear—you're the one he wants. You're the one he's been trying to get to. But since he can't reach you in our time—either because of the protections around our timeline or something else—we became the targets instead."

Your breath caught. "You mean... your siblings."

Casey's jaw clenched. "Corra, Cole, Cameron. He's tried to go after all of us at different points. He's calculating. Brutal. But always just out of reach, always hitting and vanishing before we could catch him. We never knew when or where he'd strike next."

You could feel Conner tense beside you, his protective instincts kicking in the second he realized his children—his future—had been threatened.

"But now," Casey continued, "something changed. Somehow, Olympian found a way to get around the safeguards. To go back—way back. To your time. To you."

The weight of that landed like a punch to the chest.

"So now he's not just targeting the future anymore," you muttered. "He's here. In our time. Coming after us directly."

Casey's eyes met yours. "We don't know how long he'll stay hidden, or what his next move is, but one thing is certain—he's not going to stop. Not until he gets to you."

The room fell quiet again, the hum of distant technology the only sound.

"He's not just hunting you," Casey added after a beat. "He's hunting your legacy. And now that he's here, everything is at risk."

You swallowed hard, your hand instinctively resting against your abdomen, where your future had only just begun. The gravity of it all settled into your bones.

Olympian wasn't just a threat to your life.

He was a threat to everything you and Conner had yet to build.

Conner's voice broke the heavy silence that had fallen over the room, rough around the edges but steady, the kind of tone he only used when something was bothering him deep down. He had been quiet ever since Casey mentioned Olympian targeting your children—his children. His mind was clearly spinning, caught between the reality of what was happening now and the impossible weight of what this future could become.

He took a small step forward, his brows pulled together in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was low.

"What about... us?" He glanced briefly at you, then looked back to Casey. "In the future. Where are we?"

Casey's expression changed instantly.

A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face—grief, restraint, nostalgia, maybe all three tangled into one complicated emotion. He glanced away for a moment, his shoulders tense, the weight of the question visibly sinking into him. When he looked back, he met Conner's eyes and forced a small, bittersweet smile.

"You live in Smallville," Casey said gently. "In the farmhouse. The one you grew up in with Ma Kent. It's... still there. You kept it all these years after Uncle Clark moved to Metropolis with Lois and Jon."

The words landed with a kind of quiet finality. You could practically see the memory forming in Conner's mind—the creaking wood floors, the scent of baked pie, the open fields stretching for miles, untouched by time. Smallville. Of course it would be Smallville. It was the one place that had always grounded him.

"That's where I grew up," Casey added, his voice softening. "You raised us there. It was safe. Peaceful. You kept us close to the land, away from the chaos when you could. You taught us how to fight, sure—but you also taught us how to live. You taught us what mattered."

Conner's eyes dropped to the floor, jaw flexing slightly, clearly caught between pride and guilt. Pride that he'd raised a family like that... guilt that he couldn't yet understand what led him there. What would lead you both there.

Then, Conner asked the next question—the one you had been quietly dreading ever since Casey first appeared.

"What about him?" Conner asked quietly, his eyes drifting to you now. "What about... him?"

Casey's gaze shifted. You watched as his mouth parted slightly, as if he had prepared for this moment, maybe even rehearsed it in his mind a thousand times. But no words came. He opened his mouth again, then closed it, his jaw tightening. The shimmer in his eyes shifted, not glowing with cosmic energy this time, but something much more human.

Grief.

He couldn't speak. He looked at you for a long moment, and you saw it written plainly on his face.

You understood. Immediately.

It was the way his expression faltered, the way he clenched his fists, the way his gaze dropped as if meeting your eyes would make it all too real. He didn't have to say it. You knew what he was trying to avoid saying. What he couldn't bring himself to put into words.

You reached out instinctively, gently resting a hand on his arm. He didn't flinch. He didn't pull away. He simply exhaled—a slow, trembling breath—and gave the faintest shake of his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

You nodded once, trying to keep your own expression steady. You didn't press him. There was no need. The silence between you said it all.

Conner looked between the two of you, his features hardening with the realization. His jaw tensed, and he turned away for a moment, letting the truth sink in. You could feel the shift in him, that familiar storm of protectiveness and pain brewing just under the surface.

The truth was clear. In the future Casey came from, you were gone.

But your legacy—your children, your strength, your love—remained.

And now, in this time, you had a chance to protect all of it before anything could take it away.

The corridor leading to the mission room was bathed in soft, ambient light, humming with the quiet energy of advanced tech. You walked beside Conner, still trying to absorb the sheer reality of everything Casey had told you. The weight of his revelations pressed against your chest like a second skin—about the future, your children, and the war you had yet to witness.

Casey walked a few steps ahead, his cloak swaying as he led you and Conner through the gleaming hallways of the rebuilt Mount Justice. Every inch of the base had been upgraded—sleek metal walls lined with embedded light panels, holographic directories, and clear glass doors that shimmered as they slid open with a whisper.

But the mission room ahead still gave you a familiar feeling. It had the same general structure—round table in the center, chairs arranged in a circle, and the large wall display you remembered from your own time. The energy of the space, though modernized, still buzzed with purpose.

As the doors parted, you stepped in, and immediately all eyes in the room turned toward you.

There were six young heroes gathered at the table, clearly in the middle of a briefing, until your sudden entrance drew their full attention. Each of them wore a uniform representing their lineage—familiar emblems worn in bold new styles, the next generation of the Team.

Standing at the head of the table, aged but powerful in presence, was Nightwing.

His once jet-black hair was streaked with silver at the temples, but his stance was strong, sharp as ever. The iconic black and blue uniform had evolved, now bearing a sleek, high-collared design and a digital gauntlet on his left arm. But even beneath the armor and the years, that unmistakable calm authority still radiated from him.

When his piercing blue eyes landed on you and Conner, his expression shifted from stern focus to something else—surprise, followed quickly by recognition.

He stepped forward slightly, his voice roughened by age but still confident.

"Well, I'll be damned..." he muttered under his breath.

You opened your mouth to greet him, but the younger heroes were already reacting.

One of them, a girl with vibrant reddish-pink hair tied in a braid and wearing a sleek black-and-violet suit with glowing orange accents, stood up quickly. She had Starfire's fierce eyes and Nightwing's calculated poise—clearly their daughter. Her gaze bounced between you, Conner, and Casey, curiosity flaring.

Next to her sat a lean boy with wind-swept blond hair, wearing a golden and green suit, a stylized arrow symbol on his chest. His green eyes narrowed with interest, and you didn't need anyone to tell you—he was the son of Artemis and Wally. The confident smirk on his face was pure West.

Across the table were twin girls in matching uniforms, sleek ocean-blue with bioluminescent white detailing. Their red hair was tied back in tight buns, and their eyes glowed faintly—echoes of both M'gann and Lagoon Boy. The bond between them was clear even from a glance, their body language almost synchronized.

Standing near the back was a quiet, contemplative teen with olive skin and sharp, intelligent eyes. His outfit was a deep navy, adorned with arcane sigils across the arms and chest—his aura practically shimmered with latent magic. You felt a twist of recognition in your chest. He was the son of Zatanna and Dick Grayson, an heir to both combat and sorcery.

And finally, leaning casually with arms crossed, stood a broad-shouldered young man with deep brown skin and piercing dark eyes. His uniform was black and gold, trimmed with the markings of Atlantis and the sigil of the former king—Aqualad's son.

The room, moments ago full of discussion and strategy, had fallen into silence. They stared, not rudely, but with something close to reverence—like they had just stepped into the past, face-to-face with living legends.

Casey broke the silence.

"Everyone," he said, stepping aside, "I'd like you to meet my parents... from before it all started. From the past."

He looked back at you with a soft smile.

"This is my father—" He gestured to Conner, then you.

"And my pa."

There was a long pause, the gravity of the moment settling over everyone.

Nightwing let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh, walking forward. His smile was weathered but genuine.

"Welcome to the future," he said. "Looks like it found you whether you were ready or not."

It was strange—surreal, even—to stand in this space and be greeted not by your teammates, but by the next generation, the children of the people you once fought beside. Their faces held echoes of those you knew, and their energy hummed with the potential of everything you and Conner had once fought to protect.

Casey stepped forward, his expression filled with pride, yet undercut by a thread of reverence as he gestured toward the table, where the young heroes stood attentively.

"I figured it's only right you meet them properly," he said, glancing back at you with that warm, familiar smile—the one that made it impossible to deny he was yours.

You nodded, still a little breathless, your hand unconsciously resting over your abdomen, the place where your future—his future—had only just begun.

Conner, meanwhile, lingered for only a moment longer before his eyes shifted toward the back of the room where Dick wondered to, hands clasped behind his back.

As Casey began the introductions, Conner slowly made his way toward him, and you could see Dick's sharp eyes soften as they met Conner's. The two men held each other's gaze for a long second—like they were seeing ghosts, and maybe in a way, they were.

Casey motioned toward the first young woman—the one with the vibrant reddish-pink hair and the proud stance that reminded you so strongly of both fire and steel.

"This is Korya Grayson," Casey said. "Nightwing and Starfire's daughter. She's the field strategist for our squad, and probably the best flier out of all of us. Her Tamaranean side makes her a powerhouse, but don't let the fire fool you—she's calculated. Quiet strength."

Korya offered a respectful nod, her golden eyes studying you with a mix of awe and curiosity. You smiled, recognizing that spark in her gaze—the same sharp glint you'd seen so many times in Dick's.

Casey moved to the boy with the golden-and-green suit, his wind-tousled hair and smirk giving away his lineage before he even spoke.

"This is Ezra West, son of Artemis and Wally," Casey said, a hint of fond exasperation in his voice. "Fastest mouth on the planet and second-fastest feet. He inherited his dad's speed and his mom's attitude. Keeps us on our toes."

Ezra gave a cheeky wave. "Pretty wild to meet you before I even exist. Time travel is so weird."

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at that.

Casey turned to the twin girls standing just to the side of the table, their ocean-blue suits practically glowing under the light.

"Mira and May'al M'orzz, daughters of M'gann and Lagoon Boy. Telepathy, density-shifting, and emotional projection. They're always in sync, even when they pretend they're not. Mira leads with empathy, May'al with instinct."

The twins gave identical nods, their expressions calm but welcoming. You could feel the psychic flicker of curiosity coming from one of them—just a gentle touch, respectful, nothing invasive.

Then Casey stepped toward the teen cloaked in magic, his dark hair slightly curled, his fingers unconsciously brushing one of the glowing sigils on his forearm.

"This is Zahir Grayson, son of Zatanna and Dick." Casey's tone shifted slightly, more reverent here. "He's a walking library of magical knowledge. Z taught him everything she could. He's grounded, but you don't want to see him when the gloves come off."

Zahir nodded politely, his voice quiet but sure. "It's an honor to meet you. Both of you."

And finally, Casey gestured to the tall Atlantean teen with the black-and-gold armor, who had watched you the entire time with sharp, observant eyes.

"This is Kei'lan, son of King Kaldur'ahm. He's got the training of Atlantis and the spirit of the Team. Doesn't talk much—but when he does, you listen."

Kei'lan offered a respectful bow of the head, his deep voice smooth but serious. "I've heard many stories about you. None of them do justice to what I'm seeing now."

You gave him a nod of respect in return, humbled by his words.

As Casey finished the introductions, you glanced to your right, where Conner now stood face-to-face with Dick.

They weren't saying anything at first, just standing there in that heavy silence that needed no words. Then finally, Dick let out a quiet breath.

"It's been a long time," he said.

Conner's voice was softer than you expected. "You're older than I imagined."

Dick smiled faintly, his eyes flicking toward you. "And he look just like I remember him."

There was something unspoken in that moment, something heavy with shared grief, with the memory of the years between this moment and the ones that hadn't happened yet.

"Dick," Conner voiced, making the older man look at him. "I need to know what happened."

Dick finally looked at him. His blue eyes had a tiredness in them—older, yes, but deeper than just years. It was the kind of tired that only came from loss.

"We shouldn't talk about it," Nightwing said. "You shouldn't know yet."

Conner stepped forward, his tone hardening. "I have a son—four kids, Dick. I just found out about Casey a few days ago. Then I get time-traveled 25 years into the future and find out he's not the only one. We have three more. Corra. Cole. Cameron." His voice cracked slightly. "And none of them... have him."

Nightwing looked away again, his silence thicker than any wall.

Conner pressed on, the emotions bubbling just beneath the surface. "I've got future children looking at me like I'm their anchor, and their father— because—their Pa—isn't there anymore. The version of me in this time doesn't have the love of his life by his side. He's raising them alone." He took a shaky breath. "I need to know why."

Dick still didn't respond.

"And on top of that," Conner continued, almost growling, "some lunatic with god-like powers is hellbent on killing him. We don't know why, we don't know how, but he's already started by attacking our kids."

That seemed to finally break through.

Dick exhaled and rubbed his face, the tension in his shoulders clear. When he looked back at Conner, he seemed older than ever.

"It wasn't supposed to happen that way," Nightwing murmured. "None of it was."

"Then tell me," Conner said. "Please."

Nightwing hesitated for a long time. But finally, he turned away from the window and faced him directly.

"It was during the invasion," he began quietly. "Twelve years ago, the war with Darkseid happened."

Conner's eyes widened slightly, but he remained still.

"It wasn't just another battle," Dick continued. "It was the battle. Earth had been holding the line for years, but Darkseid finally came himself. No proxies, no parademons—it was him. Full force." He swallowed hard. "And your partner—he was the one who stepped up."

A chill ran down Conner's spine.

"We were losing," Dick said. "The League, the Team... nothing was stopping him. But your partner—he accessed something none of us had seen before. Something deeper in his cosmic power. A frequency... a kind of energy beyond anything we understood. I don't know if it was instinct, or desperation, but it worked."

He looked down, voice lower.

"He fought Darkseid. One-on-one. And he won."

Conner's breath caught.

"But it cost him." Dick's gaze lifted. "He was gone before any of us could even reach him. Vaporized in the sky, consumed by his own power. His energy tore through the battlefield like a second sun. It saved us. It ended the war." His jaw clenched. "And it broke the family he left behind."

Conner stood still, jaw trembling. He blinked rapidly, but no tears fell. Not yet.

Nightwing looked him square in the eyes. "You want to know why the future you is the way he is? Why your kids carry this weight? It's because they grew up with a legacy, not a father. They never heard his laugh, never saw the way he looked at you. They only know the stories." He shook his head. "And they loved him anyway."

Conner nodded slowly, his throat tight. "I'm not going to let that happen."

"I know," Dick replied softly. "That's why you're here."

The two men stood in silence, the weight of fate between them. And just down the hall, unaware of the truth that had just been spoken aloud, you stood surrounded by the next generation—smiling, unaware of the moment that would one day define your legacy.

Unaware of the price you'd pay for it.

THE TENSE moment was broken by the sudden hum and flash of the Zeta Tubes activating. A sharp, familiar chime echoed through the sleek metal corridors of the mission room, drawing everyone's attention.

Your head turned instinctively, the muscle memory still there after years of field missions and unexpected arrivals. Conner's body tensed beside you—not with fear, but with that same sharp edge of readiness he'd always carried when the unexpected walked through the door.

Out from the swirling light stepped a group of figures, all of them dressed in full gear. And though they wore new suits—refined, upgraded, more advanced than the ones you remembered—you recognized most of them almost immediately.

Just... older.

The first to emerge stood tall in regal red and gold armor, a tiara gleaming on her forehead, a lasso clipped at her side. Wonder Girl—Cassie Sandsmark—was no longer just the eager, bold young woman you once led into battle. She had grown into her title, and it was clear just by the way she carried herself. Now she was Wonder Woman, in every sense of the name. Her presence filled the room like a crashing wave—confident, commanding, unstoppable.

Beside her, in a sleek, black and red uniform with high-tech gauntlets and a tattered cloak trailing behind him, was Red Robin—Tim Drake. His eyes were sharper now, his expression more weathered, carrying the weight of too many secrets. His cowl was down, but the lines on his face told a story of battles won, and battles lost.

Just behind him, stepping casually out of the tube but scanning the room with a practiced speed, was Blue Beetle. Jaime Reyes. His armor looked more alien now than ever, etched with neon blue glyphs that pulsed as he moved. His eyes locked on you for a moment, widening just slightly in recognition before narrowing again—processing.

Then came a blur of red and white, slowing just enough to reveal a face that hadn't changed as much as the others—though the youthful glow had been replaced by experience and responsibility. Impulse—or rather, The Flash now. Bart Allen. His suit was sleeker, aerodynamic, the lightning bolt insignia sharp across his chest. And though he still carried that spark of enthusiasm in his eyes, there was something heavier behind it.

Static followed next, his coat flaring as he stepped onto the platform, electricity crackling lightly at his fingertips. His dreadlocks were longer now, streaked with silver at the ends, and his shoulders had broadened with age and command. He greeted a few of the young heroes with nods, familiarity in his movements.

Beast Boy walked in at a slower pace, his green skin now darker, his uniform more practical than playful. His expression was more solemn than you remembered, though he gave a faint smile in your direction—tinged with disbelief.

But it was the last figure who made you and Conner both stop dead in your tracks.

He stepped through with the confident weight of someone used to being watched, his cape sweeping behind him, tall and sharp in a black armored Batsuit. For a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

Batman.

But then he spoke.

"Report," he said, voice gravelled and steady, but not Bruce.

Your eyes widened slightly as your gaze swept over him—same bearing, same cape, same silhouette. But something was off. His frame was a bit leaner than Bruce's, his movements more fluid, and then you caught it. The jawline. The eyes. The presence that mirrored Bruce's, but with a precision that was more blade than shadow.

Damian.

Conner muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else. "Wait... that's not Bruce."

You took a half step forward, your voice quiet with realization. "It's Damian."

Casey stepped in beside you, nodding. "He took up the cowl a few years ago. Bruce passed it to him before stepping down. Officially retired."

Your eyes lingered on Damian—Batman now—as he moved toward the others with surgical calm, engaging with the future Team leaders, speaking in low tones with Dick. But he didn't look at you. Not yet.

The feeling that crept into your chest was complex—nostalgia mixed with disorientation. These were your friends, your peers, your family. But they had grown, evolved, stepped into the roles you had only ever seen as distant futures.

Now they stood before you, a reflection of everything that would be.

And yet, here you were, still from a time where the world hadn't yet shattered. Where the future still hovered just beyond reach.

And every one of them was looking at you and Conner like you were ghosts

THE ROOM fell into a strange silence as the newly arrived heroes stood motionless, their eyes locked on you and Conner with expressions ranging from awe to outright disbelief. You could feel the weight of their gazes—each one of them seeing someone they hadn't laid eyes on in decades, someone they had believed was long gone, lost to time and sacrifice.

Wonder Woman—Cassie—was the first to break from her stunned expression. Her golden bracers caught the light as she stepped forward, her voice soft but laced with emotion. "It's really you..." she murmured. "You're—you're alive."

Tim—Red Robin—stood just behind her, his analytical gaze sweeping over you like a scanner, taking in every detail. "He's younger," Tim muttered, eyes narrowing slightly. "Both of them are. That's not the Conner from our time either."

"No," Bart—The Flash now—added with a blink. "They're from the past. Their biometrics, heart rates, aura frequencies... everything is younger. Before... everything happened."

You could see the emotion trying to crack through their composed faces. For them, this was like seeing ghosts return to life. You and Conner weren't just teammates or friends—you had been family. And for those who had carried your memory forward, seeing you now—untouched by time, unaware of your own future—was too much to fully comprehend.

Beast Boy took a slow step forward, his voice low and uncertain. "How is this even possible? He's been gone for decades. You—" he looked directly at you, and his throat tightened, "—you died."

Static folded his arms, electricity flickering faintly around his fingers. "There's no way this doesn't cause a paradox."

More murmurs echoed among them, confusion thick in the air.

But it was Batman—Damian Wayne—who spoke next, his tone sharp and coldly precise. "Casey." He didn't raise his voice, but the weight behind it sliced through the conversation like a blade. "You brought them here."

Everyone turned to Casey, who stood calmly beside you and Conner, seemingly unfazed by the intensity of the reactions around him. But you could see the tension in his shoulders, the careful way he held himself, like he was ready for the backlash.

"I did," Casey said evenly.

"You pulled them from the past," Damian pressed, stepping forward, his cape sweeping behind him. "Without League sanction. Without Zeta clearance. Without any temporal stabilization protocols. Do you have any idea what kind of damage you've done to the timeline?"

Casey remained composed, but the room tensed around them.

"I know exactly what I did," he replied, voice steady. "And I'd do it again."

Damian's scowl deepened. "You jeopardized everything we've built—everything they gave their lives for—because you wanted a reunion?"

"It's not about me," Casey snapped, and for the first time, his voice cracked, the pain breaking through the composure. "It was never about me."

He stepped forward, placing himself squarely between you, Conner, and the rest of the gathered heroes.

"Olympian is here. In their time. We don't know how he did it, but he found a way back—before all the safeguards, before the defenses, before the League had prepared for his kind of threat." Casey's eyes moved across the room. "If he kills him—" he gestured to you, "—he erases all of us. Me. Corra. Cole. Cameron. We'll never be born. And this version of Earth—everything you've built here—might not survive what comes next."

A heavy silence followed.

Casey looked directly at Damian. "I didn't do this for sentiment. I did it because we're losing. We've been on the defensive for years. And you know as well as I do that we've been missing something—someone."

His voice softened as he turned toward you.

"We need him," Casey said quietly. "We need them."

Damian didn't respond at first. His gaze lingered on you, unreadable behind the stoicism that defined him. But you could see it—the tightness in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed at his side. He remembered you. He'd mourned you.

Finally, he stepped back.

"The damage is done," Batman said. "We can't send them back now, not without destabilizing the timeline further. Which means they're here—for now."

Everyone in the room seemed to take that as their cue to breathe again, the tension beginning to ease just slightly.

You looked to Casey, who exhaled deeply, the burden of his decision still pressing down on him, but his conviction unwavering.

"I know what's at stake," he said quietly. "But I'd rather risk the future... than lose the people who gave us one."

The familiar hum of the Zeta-Tube filled the air again, followed by the artificial voice announcing another incoming arrival. Heads turned instinctively toward the portal as the light shimmered and coalesced into form.

"Zeta-Tube activation: designation C-88, Corra Kent."

Before the light had fully faded, a young woman stepped through the glowing arch—tall, confident, and clearly frustrated, her voice already carrying through the room as if she'd been mid-rant during transport.

"Seriously, I leave for five minutes to patrol the south perimeter and the entire League just disappears? You all just ghosted me? Batman, I know you've got your mysterious ninja exit thing going, but the rest of you—really?" Her voice was sharp with exasperation, but there was something undeniably vibrant and familiar in her presence.

She had a striking appearance, blending your features and Conner's effortlessly. Her dark hair was pulled up into a high, practical bun, a few rebellious strands falling into her face. Her eyes—your eyes—glowed with that soft cosmic shimmer, and her uniform was black and silver with crimson accents, a long coat billowing behind her like a cape. The House of El symbol sat proudly on her chest, reimagined with intricate etchings that seemed to shift slightly in the light. Her boots clicked against the polished floor with each hurried step as she walked fully into the mission room.

"Okay, seriously, is anyone going to explain why I was left out of whatever this—" She suddenly stopped mid-sentence.

The room was silent. Everyone's eyes were on her, expressions varying between tense, awkward, and amused. Casey stood near the front, arms folded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. The rest of the older heroes stayed quiet, watching the scene unfold.

Corra's brows drew together as she glanced around. "Why is everyone staring at me like I just said I'm switching to villainy?" She gestured wildly. "Hello? What did I walk into?"

Casey stepped forward with a hand raised. "Corra... don't freak out."

She gave him a look that could only be described as pure little-sister irritation. "Why would I freak out, Casey? Is this about the tower lights again? Because I swear that wasn't me."

"No," he said quickly, then glanced toward you. "It's not that. It's just... maybe take a deep breath."

Still confused, Corra turned to follow her brother's line of sight—and her words caught in her throat.

There, across the room, standing near Conner with the quiet stillness of someone trying to understand the surreal moment they were living in—was you.

You watched her face shift. At first, there was confusion. Then recognition. Then something raw and unguarded—shock, disbelief, vulnerability. Her lips parted slightly, her chest visibly rising as her breath hitched.

She took a step forward, her voice trembling now, no longer filled with sarcasm or confidence.

"...Pa?"

Her eyes widened, tears immediately welling in them. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what she was seeing, as if you might disappear at any moment if she blinked too long.

You took a step toward her, your own heart pounding in your chest, barely able to speak through the emotion rising in your throat.

"Corra," you said, your voice cracking on her name.

That was all it took.

In an instant, she closed the distance between you, flinging her arms around you with the force of someone who had waited years for this moment. She clung to you like a lifeline, her breath shaking as she buried her face in your shoulder.

You wrapped your arms around her instinctively, your chest tightening, your vision blurring as you held your daughter—your future daughter—in your arms for the very first time. She was grown. Strong. Brave. And yet in that moment, she melted into you like a child who had just been reunited with something she thought she'd lost forever.

No words were spoken for several long moments.

Just the quiet, heart-wrenching reunion of a father and the daughter he hadn't even met yet—but who had clearly been missing him for a very long time.

Corra trembled in your arms, her grip firm and desperate, as if afraid letting go would cause you to vanish again. Her face was buried in the crook of your shoulder, and even as the rest of the room watched in silence, giving you both space, she couldn't hide the tears that poured freely from her eyes.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to see your face again—needing, craving that confirmation that this wasn't a dream or a cruel illusion. But the tears kept coming, streaming down her cheeks no matter how many times she tried to blink them away.

She let out a breathless laugh, half-choked, wiping at her face with her sleeve. "Gods, I can't even stop," she whispered, cheeks flushed. "This is so embarrassing."

You cupped her face gently, brushing a thumb beneath one of her eyes, your own expression soft, overwhelmed with emotion.

"Don't be," you murmured. "Not for this. Not ever."

Corra's lip trembled again, but she steadied herself, hands still resting lightly on your arms as if she couldn't fully let go yet. "You don't understand," she said, trying to collect herself. "You've been gone my whole life. I never even got to hear your voice—not like this. Casey told us everything he could, but it's not the same. And now you're just... here."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry," you said quietly. "I didn't know what the future would bring. I didn't know I'd—" You stopped yourself. There were some truths neither of you were ready to speak aloud. "I'm here now."

She nodded slowly, eyes still glistening, breathing shakily through the swell of emotion. She gave another soft laugh and leaned against your chest again, her voice muffled. "Cole and Cameron aren't going to believe this."

You smiled faintly, brushing a hand over her hair. "Tell me about them."

Corra pulled back again, her eyes lighting up even through the tears. "Cole's twenty, hothead like me—maybe worse. Has your stubborn streak, but Dad's glare. Cameron's seventeen, quiet, way too smart for his own good. He's the empath. He'll probably cry just from being in the same room as you. They're gonna lose their minds when they hear you're here."

You could only imagine it—three more children who had inherited pieces of you and Conner, who had grown up never knowing you, but apparently carrying your legacy in their blood and spirit.

Corra wiped at her eyes again, finally beginning to breathe a little steadier. But then her gaze shifted past your shoulder—and landed on Conner.

She blinked in surprise, and for a moment she just stared, brows lifting, lips parting in disbelief. Then she tilted her head and gave a low whistle.

"Whoa..." Her voice was filled with recognition, and just a little amusement. "That's weird."

You turned slightly as she stepped toward Conner, studying him with wide eyes. "You look so young," she said, almost laughing. "I just saw you this morning at breakfast—grumbling over burned toast and yelling at Cole for leaving his boots on the stairs. You had more gray in your hair and half the patience."

Conner looked a little taken aback, but his smirk crept in, faint but real. "I guess future me's a grump?"

Corra grinned through the last of her tears. "Oh, you have no idea."

But then her gaze softened again, and for a beat, she just stared between you both—her two fathers, together, alive, and younger than she ever thought she'd see them.

"I can't believe this is real," she whispered. "But I'm so glad it is."

Later that night, the once-bustling mission room of Mount Justice had gone quiet. The energy that had filled it earlier—buzzing with reunions, disbelief, and the unmistakable weight of time colliding with itself—had faded into a more serene stillness. The blue ambient glow from the overhead lights reflected softly against the walls, casting long shadows across the floor as the hour grew late.

The League had been the first to leave.

Word of a critical incident unfolding in the outer quadrants of the Earth's defense grid had called the senior heroes back into action. There was urgency in their departure, but even amid the chaos, they took the time to come to you and Conner—individually. Each of them embraced you both with heartfelt goodbyes, some quick, others lingering. Cassie had held you longer than you expected, whispering that she never thought she'd get a chance to say goodbye properly, then promising she'd return. Tim had offered a simple handshake, though his eyes betrayed how deeply your reappearance affected him. Bart—still quick—hugged both of you in a blur of motion and words.

Beast Boy looked like he wanted to say more but couldn't find the words. Static just nodded with the quiet understanding of a man who'd seen too much. And Damian—Batman—said nothing at all, but his eyes held a rare respect as he turned and disappeared into the shadows with the rest.

Once the last echo of the Zeta-Tube faded and the glowing arch powered down, it was just the four of you left: you, Conner, Casey, and Corra.

Dick and the next-gen Team had tactfully cleared out, giving you all space without even needing to be asked. Zahir offered a respectful bow before vanishing in a shimmer of magical glyphs. Mira and May'al gave Corra soft smiles. Ezra flashed a wink. Korya nodded to Casey and said, "Take your time. We've got things covered here."

Now, in the softened quiet of the mission room's lounge, a low conversation had begun between your children—children you had only just met, yet already felt tied to in a way that was almost painful in its intensity.

Corra sat cross-legged on the sleek, cushioned bench, a throw blanket around her shoulders like she was a child again, despite being a fully trained powerhouse of a hero. Casey leaned against the holo-console beside her, arms folded, one foot propped against the wall.

You sat nearby on a lower step beside Conner, listening to them with a kind of quiet wonder. Even now, you were still absorbing everything—every word, every gesture. Watching the two of them interact, argue lightly, laugh—it stirred something deep in your chest.

"So," Corra was saying, wiping the last of her dried tears away and smoothing her now-frizzed hair, "do we take them to Kansas tomorrow? I mean, it's tradition. Dad always does dinner on Sundays. Cameron's probably going to freak out when he sees Pa."

Casey raised a brow. "Freak out? Corra, you practically collapsed. Cameron's going to start crying the second he feels Pa walk into the house."

"That's sweet," you murmured softly to Conner, who smirked, though his eyes remained fixed on the siblings in front of him.

"Anyway," Casey continued, arms now gesturing, "we also have no idea how Dad is going to react."

Corra frowned. "You mean future Dad?"

"Yeah," Casey said. "He's... different. Not in a bad way, just—he's been carrying a lot. Raising all of us without Pa. Alone, basically. He's not cold, but it's not easy for him. Seeing them"—he gestured toward you and Conner—"younger, full of life again, especially Pa... It's going to hit hard."

Corra looked down at her hands for a moment. "Yeah," she admitted. "It will." She glanced back up at you, her expression gentler now. "But I think he needs to see you. Even if it hurts."

You felt your throat tighten, but you nodded, voice soft. "If he needs time, we'll give it to him. But... if it means seeing my kids again, all of them together... I'll face whatever comes."

Conner nodded beside you, his hand brushing against yours in a silent affirmation. "We'll do it together. Like we always have."

Casey smiled slightly at that—like a part of him had been waiting to hear that for years.

"Okay," he said. "Then we'll bring you to Kansas tomorrow."

He looked between you and Conner, his gaze settling on yours. "Just... be ready. He's not the man you knew. He's you—but after a lifetime of losing you."

You nodded slowly, heart pounding.

Then Corra reached for your hand again, gripping it tightly. "But he's still your Conner. Just... older, a little more tired. But deep down, he's been waiting for this."

You smiled at her, your voice trembling. "So have I."

After the long, emotionally charged day, Casey offered a quiet nod and gestured for you and Conner to follow him down a private corridor branching off from the main living quarters of the rebuilt Mount Justice. The halls were lined with softly glowing panels, their subtle illumination casting calm, ambient hues along the walls. The sound of your footsteps echoed faintly, the only noise breaking the hush of night as the base settled into stillness.

Neither you nor Conner spoke much during the walk. The two of you were exhausted—not from battle, but from the sheer magnitude of everything that had happened in a single day. The future had dropped into your lives like a meteor, shattering everything you thought you knew and leaving you surrounded by the fallout: older versions of friends, grown children you hadn't yet fathered, and the looming shadow of a threat determined to end you before your legacy could ever begin.

Casey stopped in front of a curved doorway that slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a sleek but comfortably designed room bathed in cool blue lighting. It was clearly a spare guest suite, but it still had a warmth to it—like someone had taken the time to ensure it wasn't cold or sterile. A large bed sat nestled against one wall with a set of smooth, metallic drawers beneath a transparent data panel. There were folded clothes already prepared on the bench at the foot of the bed, and a softly humming ventilation system filled the space with the faint scent of something earthy and calming—like cedar and starlight.

"This used to be Zatanna's room," Casey said as he stepped aside to let you in. "She stayed here a lot before moving into the Tower permanently. We've kept it ready. You can rest here tonight."

You gave a small nod of gratitude, stepping into the room. The floor beneath your boots shifted slightly, designed to adjust for comfort and temperature. Conner walked in behind you, his gaze sweeping across the futuristic amenities, but his expression was distant. You could tell he was still mentally unraveling everything—especially the idea that the older version of him had raised four children without you by his side.

Casey lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, watching the two of you as if he didn't want to leave, as if part of him still couldn't believe you were really there.

"You two deserve a moment to breathe," he said finally. "I'll check in first thing in the morning. We've got a lot to figure out... but for now, just rest."

You turned to him, meeting his eyes, and for a second the air between you felt fragile, delicate, as if too many more words would break the spell. So instead, you simply said, "Thank you, Casey."

He gave a soft smile—one that looked almost exactly like yours—and nodded.

As the door hissed shut behind him, sealing you and Conner in the quiet of the room, a long silence stretched between you.

You sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, the cushion adjusting beneath you with silent precision. Your hands fell into your lap as you let out a slow, unsteady breath.

Conner crossed the room, dropping heavily into the bed across from you. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped as he stared at the floor. The weight in his posture mirrored yours.

Finally, you looked up and met his eyes.

"We're in the future," you said softly, still not quite believing it. "We met our children. We met our son. Our daughter."

Conner nodded, his jaw tight. "And... I raised them without you."

You stood up, crossing to him slowly, and rested your hand on his shoulder.

"You didn't lose me," you said. "Not yet. And we're going to fight like hell to make sure it stays that way."

He looked up at you then, his expression hard—but vulnerable in a way few ever saw. He gave a short nod, then pulled you down beside him.

You two laid down on the bed, you were lying on your side, your back pressed against Conner's chest. His arms were around you, strong and steady, holding you close as if anchoring you there, grounding both of you in this strange reality. His hand moved in slow, soothing circles over your lower abdomen, where the life growing inside you had yet to show. The gesture was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were touching something fragile and sacred.

You placed your own hand over his, lacing your fingers together with his warmth beneath your palm. You didn't speak for a while. You didn't need to. You both just breathed—together, quiet, still.

Eventually, it was Conner who broke the silence.

"We don't even know who he is," he murmured, his voice low and quiet in the dark. "Olympian. No one does. Not even in this time."

You nodded slightly, your head resting on the pillow. "Just his name. No origin. No motive. Just... that he's after me. And that he's willing to kill for it."

Conner's hand paused for a moment before it started moving again, slower now, his touch protective. "He's not going to touch you," he said firmly. "Not while I'm breathing. And he sure as hell won't get near the kids."

His words were steel. Not a promise—a vow.

You turned your head just enough to look at him, catching the edge of his profile in the soft light. His jaw was clenched, his expression distant but focused. Beneath the surface calm, you could feel the storm he was keeping buried. The thought of anyone—especially someone like Olympian—hurting his family was enough to set the air around him on edge.

"He already tried," you whispered. "He went after them. In the future. And now he's here, in our time, trying to stop everything before it even starts."

Conner tightened his arm around you. "Then we stop him first."

You swallowed hard, emotions bubbling up again. "What if... what if I really do have something in me? Something he wants. Something cosmic. Something I can't even understand."

"Then we figure it out," he said without hesitation. "Together. Like we always do."

You let the silence stretch again, comforted by the steady beat of his heart against your back.

After a moment, you spoke again, softer this time. "You think he'll come for us again soon?"

Conner's voice was cold, calm, but dangerous in that way only he could be when he meant every word. "If he does... I'll make sure he never touches you. Or Casey. Or Corra. Or anyone with our name."

You turned in his arms slowly until you were facing him, pressing your forehead gently to his. His eyes met yours, unwavering.

"I know you will," you said.

His hand slid up, brushing your cheek, then down again to rest protectively over your still-flat stomach. You both stayed like that for a while—wrapped in each other, guarding something fragile, something that hadn't fully formed yet but had already changed everything.

Whatever came next—whatever darkness was waiting in the wings—you wouldn't face it alone. Not now. Not ever again.

[artbyblastweave]

Here's one change made by Watchmen (2009) that's basically a microcosm of everything I dislike about the film. After the reveal that Comedian was Laurie's father, Manhattan espouses the idea that in spite of his search for thermodynamic miracles in contexts devoid of life, his detachment from humanity blinded him to the chain of remarkable circumstances necessary for Laurie to exist; he returns to save earth because Earth produced Laurie, specifically, his ex-girlfriend and superheroine extraordinare.

In the comic, Laurie points out that the unlikelyhood of her own specificity isn't actually less unlikely than the circumstances by which billions of other people came to exist- and that, exactly, is Manhattan's point. He expressly extrapolates this logic to the rest of humanity- Earth is a miracle factory by virtue of being the one place that can support humans, all of whom have the exact same kind of contradictory history and interiority as Laurie, all of which he was paradoxically blinded to due to his power-induced self-absorption.

This, in turn, ties into one of the biggest ideas that the comic has regarding the superhero genre, which is that it's necessarily myopic, because it's very difficult to tell a superhero story that doesn't on some level implicitly buy into the idea that the superhero specifically is uniquely worthy of attention- the world contorts itself around the person who's name is on the cover. Structurally, non-superhero characters in superhero stories find themselves in an orbit; supporting cast members, love interests kept in the dark, civilians to be saved. Cape stories that deliberately defy this dynamic exist- Watchmen itself is one of them!- but are visibly positioning themselves opposite the standard assumptions of the genre by doing so. Many of the other characters embody this myopia. Rorschach's whole opening spiel is about how intellectually and morally elevated he is over the teeming masses, and his mask killer theory is fundamentally motivated by an ego-flattering desire for the neutered institution of costumed heroism to be relevant enough to sit at the center of a widespread conspiracy. Comedian's gleeful amorality is a means of justifying his horrible actions as the work of a man who's fundamentally above and smarter than every convention and concern of the little people. Dan is the most "normal" and in ways the most cynical about the change-making potential of heroism, but when he finds out about Hollis's murder it takes less than a second for him to start throwing his weight around and threatening Comedian-tier atrocities against the entire neighborhood- because Hollis was one of the characters who mattered. And, of course, Ozymandias, who positions himself as above the sophomoric dynamics of traditional superheroism, is nonetheless still pursuing a plan by which he, the Big Man Of History, unilaterally sacrifices countless nameless NPCS in order to trick the rest of the unthinking hordes into behaving themselves, eschewing anything remotely involving collective action. Almost everything untoward that happens in the book can be directly tied to a failure to internalize what Manhattan did- that other people are important. That everyone who gets blown up at the end of issue 11 could have been the subject of a whole comic book themselves.

But in the movie- which, for space, axed most of the supporting cast even in the ultimate cut- Jon's epiphany stops and starts with Laurie. She's not a microcosm of the miraculous phenomena of humanity at large, no, she specifically- a badass superheroine played by a Hollywood starlet- is just so very special and worth saving the planet over. The scene is adapted almost word for word, right up until the part about "you and everyone else." I guess you can infer that bit, given that from there Manhattan is still out to preserve human life in general, but nonetheless the scene now feels like it's reinforcing the exact logic that it was supposed to be arguing against- that only superheroes matter, and that only the interiority of superheroes can move the needle.

[alohajix]

𝐎𝐟𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝

Description: a few days after her first casting, she gets a message. No name. No warning. Just an invitation to watch the tape back—with him. But this time, there’s no crew. No red light. No director calling the shots. Just the two of them, a couch, and everything they left unsaid.

Warnings: this one-shot includes explicit sexual content, fingering, oral sex (M/F), face-fucking, unprotected sex (protection's key), rough sex, praise kink, hair pulling, slight choking and dirty talk. Readers +18.

Words count: ~ 5K.

SURPRISEEE! Part 2 was ready since this afternoon and I couldn’t wait for you to read it (I'm bad at sticking to my schedule😭)

*****

It started with a message. No name. Just a number I didn’t recognize—but I knew exactly who it was the second I read it.

Watched the tape again.

Couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Want to come watch it with me?

Three lines. That’s all. But my stomach flipped the second I read them. I stared at the screen for a full minute, then locked it, threw it on my bed, and paced the room like I hadn’t been waiting for this exact thing to happen since I walked out of that studio.

It’d been four days. Four days since I sat on that leather couch with his hands on my thighs and his voice in my ear. Since he looked at me like he could see straight through the mask I wore—and liked what was underneath. I told myself it was just work. A scene. A casting tape. Something people like him did all the time. But I hadn’t stopped thinking about it either. About him. About the way his mouth felt on my skin, how he whispered praise like it wasn’t scripted, how he looked at me when the camera turned off.

I picked my phone back up. Typed a reply. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that one, too. Eventually, I settled on:

What exactly are we watching it for?

Three dots appeared instantly.

Chemistry. For research purposes

I snorted. Rolled my eyes. Bit my lip. And then :

Text me your address.

He sent it right away.

I took my time getting ready. Not because I was trying to impress him—at least, that’s what I told myself—but because I needed to feel good. Confident. Like I wasn’t walking into a trap I wanted to fall into. Simple makeup. Hair down. Black cropped tee, no bra. Loose jeans that hung just low enough on my hips. No effort—but just enough edge.

When I arrived, the front door was already cracked open.

“Hey,” I called as I stepped inside.

The place was quiet. Clean. Moody lighting. Soft shadows stretched across the hardwood floor, and I could already hear something playing softly from the living room.

“Back here,” he said.

I followed the sound of his voice into a space that looked more like a home theater than a living room—plush sectional couch, low warm lights, and a projector already casting light onto the opposite wall. The casting tape was paused at the frame where I first sat on the couch. Mouth tight. Eyes wide.

His voice from the camera: “Stage name?” I stood there for a beat, taking it in.

“You really watched it again?” I asked.

He was sitting on the far end of the couch, dressed the same way he was at the shoot—black tee, sweatpants, casual and calm. His hand held a glass of something amber, and there was a second drink waiting on the table.

“More than once,” he said. “You looked hot. Wanted to know if it was just the camera… or if it was really you.”

He looked at me when he said it. Like I already knew the answer. I walked over, grabbed the drink, and sat beside him—closer than I needed to.

“Figure it out yet?” I asked. He clicked play.

“I’m hoping to,” he murmured. The screen lit up with the beginning of the tape—familiar, but still strange to watch from this side.

There I was, sitting on that studio couch, fidgeting with the hem of my skirt, trying not to look like I was already soaking through my underwear. The camera caught everything: the way I shifted, bit my lip, tried to act unbothered. I looked nervous as hell. Raw. Real. Harry glanced at me without saying a word. Then the tape rolled forward—his entrance, his voice, that first look we shared.

“I forgot how quiet you were at first,” he said, voice low.

“I was trying not to say anything stupid.”

“You didn’t.”

I sipped the drink he gave me, letting the warmth settle in my chest. I watched myself on the screen as he unzipped my hoodie. My nipples already visible through my tank top. The way I blushed, even as I tried to smirk. My body tensed beside him when the screen version of me slid into his lap and started grinding.

“You looked so confident here,” he murmured, eyes on the screen.

“I was faking it.”

He chuckled. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He turned the volume down a little, just enough that we could still hear ourselves breathing, moaning, whispering—but now it blended with the sound of this room. Our quiet now.

“You were watching this alone?” I asked, glancing sideways.

He gave a small nod. “A couple times.”

I swallowed. “You got off to it?”

He didn’t look embarrassed. He didn’t flinch.

“Yeah,” he said. “You didn’t?”

I looked away, half-smiling. “I didn’t say that.”

I could feel the tension stretching like a rubber band between us. His knee brushed mine. The projector kept flickering across the wall—me on my knees in front of him now, taking him into my mouth, mascara smudging, spit pooling at my lips.

“Fuck,” I whispered, staring at the screen. “Was it really like that?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember what it felt like,” I said, barely above a whisper. “Didn’t realize how I looked.”

He reached forward and paused the tape. My mouth was wide open around his cock. My eyes were watering. He was looking down at me like I was the only person who’d ever mattered.

“I’ve had a lot of scenes,” he said, still watching the frozen frame. “Some scripted. Some real. That one…” He looked at me then. “That wasn’t just for the camera.”

My stomach flipped. My throat went dry. I could’ve made a joke. Changed the subject. Laughed it off. Instead, I reached out and took the remote from his hand, tossing it onto the table without looking away from him.

“Then don’t make me watch it,” I said. “Show me again.”

His jaw clenched. He set his drink down. And in one slow, intentional motion, he leaned in, pressed his mouth to mine, and kissed me like he was sealing a promise. There was no camera this time. No lines to follow. Just me, and him, and the electricity between us that hadn’t burned out since the first time he touched me. His hand slid under my shirt—no bra again, just like before—and he groaned into my mouth as his thumb brushed my nipple.

“You don’t know how many times I thought about this,” he said. “About having you here. Just like this.”

“You could’ve had anyone,” I whispered.

He shook his head. “No. I wanted you.”

My skin felt too tight. My thighs pressed together as he pushed me back against the couch, hovering over me, one hand already slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans.

“This time,” he said, voice low against my neck, “I’m not stopping until you come for me more than once.”

“Good,” I breathed. “Because I’m not faking a single one.”

He smirked. “Didn’t think you were last time either.”

He kissed me like he was starving. Like he’d waited too long, held back too much, and finally decided he wasn’t going to anymore. His hands gripped my waist, sliding under my shirt, fingers brushing the edge of my ribs like he needed to feel everything. I gasped into his mouth when his thumb flicked over my nipple, and he smiled against my lips like he’d been waiting for that sound.

“This shirt needs to go,” he murmured.

I nodded, breathless, and let him pull it over my head. My hair fell loose around my shoulders, and I watched his eyes drop to my chest—completely bare, nipples already tight, skin flushed.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You look better than I remembered.”

“You’ve got the tape,” I teased, voice shaky. “You’ve seen it.”

He leaned in, lips brushing my collarbone. “I’ve watched it,” he said, kissing down the center of my chest, “but this… this is mine.”

He didn’t ask. He just dropped to his knees right there in front of the couch, hands on my thighs, spreading me open like he was about to pray between them. My jeans were halfway undone, and before I could say a word, he was pulling them down—slow, rough, like he liked the way the denim clung to my legs. He kissed down my inner thigh, breathing me in through my panties.

“Still so wet,” he murmured. “Knew you would be.”

“Harry—”

He hooked two fingers into the waistband and pulled them down, leaving me completely bare. Then he looked up at me, lips brushing my skin.

“Put your legs over my shoulders.”

I obeyed without thinking, lifting my hips as he pulled me to the edge of the couch. The moment my thighs were open and his mouth was where I needed him, I gasped—his tongue was slow, messy, greedy. Like he’d been dying for this and finally got permission. I tried to be quiet. Tried to stay still. But he didn’t give me the chance. His hands slid under my ass, lifting me slightly, keeping me in place as he buried his mouth deeper—tongue flicking, licking, sucking around my clit while I clenched around nothing and whimpered his name over and over again.

“Shit—fuck—don’t stop—don’t—”

He moaned against me like it turned him on to hear me fall apart.

“You’re close already,” he murmured. “I can feel it.”

I nodded, head tipping back. “I—I’m gonna—fuck, please—” He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. I came with a gasp so sharp it felt like my lungs emptied, my whole body trembling while his mouth stayed on me through every last wave. He kept licking, kept teasing, even as my legs shook and my hands tangled in his hair.

He finally pulled back, chin wet, eyes dark.

“Still faking it?” he asked.

I laughed—breathless, flushed. “You wish.”

He stood, pulling his shirt off in one fluid motion. I stared at the tattoos, the trail of hair leading down his stomach, the bulge in his sweats that was definitely not subtle.

“You want more?” he asked.

I was already reaching for his waistband. “Off.”

He let me undress him, hands lifting so I could tug the sweatpants down. He was rock hard, thick, flushed at the tip—and when I wrapped my hand around him, he hissed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “That mouth of yours better still be as good as I remember.”

I dropped to my knees before he could finish the sentence.

“Sit,” I said. “Let me show you.”

He sat on the couch, spreading his thighs as I kneeled between them. My mouth wrapped around him instantly, warm and slow, tongue sliding along the underside. He was heavy in my hand, twitching already. His hand cradled the back of my head—not pushing, just holding.

“You’re too good at this,” he panted. “You know what you’re doing to me?”

I pulled off with a wet sound, smirking. “Reminding you why you texted me.”

He grinned. “You want it rough?”

“Yes.” His grip tightened in my hair.

“Open.” I did.

He slid his cock into my mouth in one long, slow thrust, his eyes never leaving mine. I gagged slightly, tears forming—but I didn’t stop. I wanted it. Wanted to be ruined by him all over again. He started moving—deeper, faster, guiding my head with steady hands. My spit was everywhere. My throat burned. But I was dripping, clenching, loving it.

“You’re so fucking pretty with your mouth full,” he groaned. “I could come just like this. Want me to?”

I pulled back just far enough to say, “No. I want you inside me when you do.”

His jaw clenched. “Get on the couch.”

I obeyed, crawling back up and straddling him in one fluid motion. He lined himself up and paused.

“Still good?”

I nodded, eyes locked on his. “So good.”

He slid in deep, stretching me in one slow, unbearable thrust. We moaned in sync, bodies already moving. His hands gripped my hips as I rode him, rolling them hard, fast, desperate. Skin slapped, sweat dripped, and we didn’t care about anything but the way we felt. I bounced harder, leaned back, hands gripping his thighs for leverage as he fucked up into me.

“Touch yourself,” he growled. “Want you to come again.”

I did, rubbing tight circles around my clit while he slammed into me, deeper and deeper until— I shattered again. Loud, messy, barely breathing. He flipped me over this time—onto my stomach, one leg off the couch, bent over completely. He slid back in from behind and fucked me like he meant it.

“Take it,” he panted. “Just like that. So fucking tight, baby. Gonna fill you up—”

“Do it,” I begged. “Please—inside—”

He groaned, loud and deep, and then he came hard, hips jerking, cock twitching deep inside me as I whimpered from the overstimulation. We collapsed, tangled and trembling, breathless on the couch.

Neither of us moved for a long time. His chest rose and fell against my back, his arm still wrapped around my waist, one hand gently cupping my breast like he’d forgotten it was there. I could feel him softening inside me, his come slowly dripping out with each exhale. But he didn’t pull out. And I didn’t ask him to. We just lay there, tangled in each other, bodies still humming.

“Well,” I whispered eventually, voice hoarse. “Guess you didn’t invite me over just to critique my on-camera performance.”

Harry chuckled against my shoulder, his breath warm. “You want my notes? Because I’ve got a few.”

I laughed, too—lazy, satisfied. “Do they include ‘you moaned too much’ or ‘stop looking like you’re in love with it’?”

He leaned in, brushing his lips just behind my ear.

“No,” he said softly. “They include ‘how the fuck did I let you leave that day without asking you to stay.’”

I stilled. His arm tightened a little around me, like he didn’t want the silence to get heavy.

“I told myself it was just a job,” he said. “But you… you got in my head.”

I turned my face toward him, propping my chin on the couch cushion. “Why didn’t you text sooner?”

“I didn’t want to cross a line,” he said. “You were new. First shoot. I didn’t want to be that guy.”

I gave a tired smile. “And then you watched the tape.”

He nodded. “And crossed the line.”

“Best decision you’ve made,” I murmured.

He kissed my shoulder, finally slipping out of me and pulling me with him as we shifted on the couch. He tucked me under his arm, still fully naked, one hand lazily dragging along my thigh.

“You gonna sell it?” I asked after a moment. “The tape?”

He shook his head. “No. That was for casting purposes.”

I raised a brow. “And this?”

He looked down at me, eyes soft but hungry underneath. “This was for me.”

The silence between us settled again, but it felt different now. Not tense. Just comfortable. Like this was always supposed to happen.

“I meant what I said,” he added, fingers brushing lazy circles on my skin. “Next time—no tape. No crew. Just you and me.”

I smiled, curling into his side, cheek pressed to his chest. “You’re assuming there’s a next time.”

He didn’t hesitate. “There’s a next time.”

And I didn’t argue.

*****

Part 2 of The Casting Tape is hereee 🔥

[voitier]

HANS - In your Hands

둘 : Of caramel and coffee grounds

In a world where every single step is recorded and analysed by cameras, F1 racer Jeon Jungkook could care less about his reputation, having decided that with the amount of money he has he could buy the silence of everybody, if he wished.

Behind him, there's a girl losing her mind trying to get him to behave, knowing that her job is at risk if she doesn't cover up his mess-ups in time.

What happens when one of the most influential and world recognised racers falls head over heels for his PR manager, who absolutely despises his "I've got it all" attitude and wants nothing more than to keep doing her job in peace?

WORDCOUNT: 2k3 words

WARNING: 18+, description of semi-public sexual acts, kinda getting caught

AUTHOR'S NOTE: okay so. first of all, I owe you all my gratitude and affection towards anyone who got interested in the story, who supports me and believes in this little "project" as much as I do. second of all, I owe y'all also my apologies: this part was meant to be part 1 of chapter 2, not the whole chapter itself. however, life got in the way and unfortunately I couldn't do much work over the weekend, and I promised that I would post chapter 2 either during the weekend or monday so it was only fair that I kept my promise and posted it nevertheless.

now, to the chapter itself: this one is heavily focused on OC and Tae's dynamics, we won't see JK until the very end of it, and even then it's just a couple of minutes worth of interactions.

I'd also say that it's heavily explicit but I would be lying, just know that the whole ordeal will take place while OC and Tae are "messing" with each other. why? you may ask. because I needed to introduce to you some of the themes that will be discussed later on, and OC happens to be one of those people whose psyche heavily influences the things she enjoys when having sex, what makes her feels safe and what doesn't, what she redeems right and what not. there are hints to her past, but take them as they are now: just hints. time will unfold everything.

I hope you're not too mad that this chapter is short and JK doesn't make much of an appearance. enjoy your reading, I will wait for you in the comments/Inbox. love you all <3

“Coffee?” 

“Sure” 

Taehyung handed you an ice cold cup, filled to the brim with your iced coffee and topped with cream. 

You smiled, stirring the straw in a couple times before taking a sip. Caramel. “How did you know?” 

“You used to drink the exact same thing in college. Still disgusting, by the way.” 

You scoffed, kicking your leg dipped in the cold water of the pool to splash the man. Taehyung chuckled, tossing his shirt to the side before jumping in the water beside you. He emerged from the water, pushing his slick hair back. 

You lowered your eyes on your drink, doing your best to hide the way your gaze followed every single drop of water dripping on his skin, tracing every curve and crevice you spent nights trying to forget about. 

"You're not jumping in?"

"I have work to do," putting the cup down, you raise your notepad kept at a much needed distance from the pool. Months and months worth of work were scribbled down on its pages, and you weren't risking losing it just because you wanted to tan in the sun by the open-roof pool of the hotel. Not even a chance. 

Taehyung groaned, complaining with a whiny voice: "You can work later. C'mon, you're never relaxing. Plus, the water is really cold and nice."

Sighing, you shook your head, closing the notepad shit again. You turned around, ready to pull yourself up, muttering something about him not bribing you in, when two big hands grabbed your hips, pulling you inside the pool completely. 

"Taehyung!" you gasped, body shaking with the sudden impact of the cold water hugging you whole. 

"Here we go, much better," he murmured, face dangerously close to yours as he kept you trapped between his body and the pool wall. "Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Taehyung..." you whispered, looking right over his shoulder to not encounter his eyes. You knew what intensity they held, and you knew you would cave in immediately if you dared to look at him. Your body tensed up when you felt his hand travel from your hips to your leg, silently thanking the water that hid the goosebumps rising all over. "This is not right," you whispered, probably more to yourself than him, your resolutions threatening to crumble as soon as he hit the right buttons. 

"Why not?" he asked, lips hovering the nape of your neck, his breath warm against your cold skin. You could feel the ghost of his kisses resurface to life, the memories of countless nights spent together hitting you at once. "Your man was hidden in the bathroom of the garage fucking the first willing woman he found and we can't have fun like we used to in the privacy of closed walls?"

Your breath hitched at his words.

Your man. Jungkook.

With the first willing woman. Isadora.

Fucking...?

"Wait what did you say?" you suddenly asked, pushing him back just the right amount to look at him as he spoke.

He cocked his head to the side, raising his eyebrow in a are you serious? manner. A little smirk pulled at his mouth, and he shook his head side by side in disbelief. 

"What did you think they were doing in there, Vel? Holding hands, exchanging rings?" 

You brushed away the feeling of your heart dropping at the nickname, Vel. It had been years since you last heard it, and you certainly didn't enjoy hearing it now and bringing back all the memories attached to it.

"I'm not that stupid."

"Never said you were."

"I just... I didn't think he would go all out, that's all."

"Last minute nerves, sometimes getting blown just doesn't do the job as it should." With a shrug, Taehyung swam back slightly and gave you time to digest what he had implied, observing you with critical eyes in the meantime. "Are you seriously shocked?" he asked tentatively, getting closer again. His other hand traveled to your back, pushing you gently against his stiff body.

Taehyung managed to be exactly what you needed every time you felt like you were tethering on the edge of failure: broad, stiff, firm. Secure in a way you envied. So it was no surprise when you let your body mold into his, throwing your head back with a groan that was both exhausted and terrified. 

"I'm so tired of having to cover up scandals left and right before the media and journalists find out. At least in the garage I thought I could have some peace from that," you whined, finally giving in and hiding your face in the crook of his neck. The smell of chlorine mixed with coffee grounds inebriated your system, momentarily distracting you from the mess you cleared up without even really knowing about it. You nuzzled your face into his neck further, drinking in his smell, letting your body and mind remember what it felt like to feel anchored and safe.

"Now you get why I'm not as worried as you are? We all have our good dose of mess-ups, here. You deserve to be human like the rest of us, Vel"

You deserve to be human like the rest of us, Vel.

Your throat constricted at his words, hands impulsively gripping his shoulders. Did you actually deserve to rest, to mess up? You weren't famous. You weren't rich either, maybe well-put is a more appropriate adjective to describe your economical status, yet you weren't one of those who could retire now and live comfortably like someone else could. That someone, of course, was none other than Jeon Jungkook, who not only could live off the amount of money his bank had stored away, but he could also buy everyone's silence in case one of his mess-ups accidentally slipped from your fingers and became public dominion.

Taehyung lips zeroed on your neck, taking his time leaving kisses behind, wanting to make you relax, first of all, and then take further steps. He made sure you were leaning on the pool wall, his gestures carrying a caringness that felt oddly familiar, yet still scary. He handled you with care and  affection, his touch expressing something that almost resembled a devotional act. 

He was careful and tentative the same way adults who were once musicians sit down at an old piano and slowly start to press random keys until they grow confident enough to play by heart one of their favourite compositions they learned when they were a child. 

That's what Taehyung was doing – playing you, playing your body, remembering exactly which keys to press, yet being careful in case some of them got out of tune over time. He didn't push, but he didn't pull back either. He acclimated you back again to the rhythm slowly, gently lulling you back into the routine. 

His kisses didn't hold the desperation they used to back when you were merely more than a teenager anymore, nor the seduction he used when you weren't totally in the mood, and he knew you could benefit from letting loose even for as little as a couple minutes.

He was measured, controlled, almost gentleman-like, if you will. His touch grew bolder, hands sliding under your legs and hooking them around his torso, pressing you further against the wall.

There, trapped between a literal wall of concrete and Taehyung's hard body, you couldn't help but feel safe, stable, grounded in a way that wasn't new to you. Years back, Taehyung had learned that you thrived off being pressed, almost trapped, between his body and a hard solid surface, whether it was the bed, the wall, or a library. What you couldn't handle though, and you two found out when you were around 21 years old, was not having something solid holding you. Safe to say, mirror sex with your hands on each side of the mirror didn't feel good at all for you, feeling way too "abandoned" to actually focus on pleasure. Taehyung was sure there was some sort of psychological explanation behind it, but it wasn't his place to ask you, so he never did.

You sighed softly, throwing your head back as Taehyung pestered your throat and collarbones in kisses, dipping your hand in his soaking wet hair. You couldn't help but let out a content hum as your body gave into his ministrations, going lax under his touch. 

He was definitely right, it felt so fucking good to give yourself to someone who knew what they were doing. 

"Just like that," he murmured against your skin, "we don't have to rush. We have all the time in the world."

“Tae,” you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck for support. Taehyung’s fingers hooked under the straps of your bra, pulling it down your shoulders to continue his attack on your flesh. One of his hands traveled further down to cup your breast over your bikini, groaning as he became hungrier for this, hungrier for you. 

The sharp ringing of the elevator that opened right a few feet from the pool snatched you from the bubble of bliss Taehyung had so carefully brought you in, forcing a gasp from your lips and your nerves to jump at attention.

You turned around, panic rising as you saw a familiar silhouette with its head low on his phone appearing inch by inch as the doors opened slowly. Jungkook. 

“Taehyung,” you hissed, panicking, tapping his shoulders hurriedly. 

“Don’t make a sound,” was all he said before he dunked his head underwater, swimming lower and lower. You tried your best to act like nothing was happening as Jungkook got closer, his eyes lighting up as they spotted you. 

“Ah, here you are!” he exclaimed, sporting one of his best grins on his lips. “I’ve been trying to call you for the past ten minutes, no wonder you weren’t picking up!”

“Jungkook,” you forced a cough right after to cover up the way your voice cracked as you called his name, trying to ignore with all your might the way Taehyung decided that it was an appropriate space and time to make his hands run up and down your legs, slowly inching them closer to your core, slowly, torturing you in the process. His fingers brushed your inner thighs, his touch so delicate that it felt like something was tickling you instead. You clamped your legs shut, immediately regretting your choice as it had given him the perfect opportunity to push his fingers further up, fingertips grazing with feather-like pressure on your bikini-covered skin. 

Fuck. 

“...and,” Jungkook stopped his rambling, which you hadn’t heard at all, and shut his mouth to look at you better. He tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, squinting his eyes to analyse you better. “Are you alright, Y/N? You look kinda flushed.”

You hummed, nodding your head up and down quickly, internally cringing at yourself as you heard the high-pitched sound that came from your lips. “Yeah, yes! Must be the sun,” your finger pointed up at the open roof, and you took advantage of the moment Jungkook looked up to try and push Taehyung away.

The man didn’t budge.

At all.

If anything, your little "rebellion" only spurred him on, and in a matter of seconds he had slipped two fingers inside your swimsuit, slowly circling your clit and sending sparks throughout your body. 

You hoped Jungkook wouldn't catch on to the way your breathing pattern grew irregular, heavier, or the way your cheeks flushed crimson red, or the trembling of your fingers. You had to find a way to get him out of there, immediately, before you lost all sense of shame and control and fucked Taehyung right in front of his eyes.

"Anyway, do you mind if I join you?"

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

"Yes! I mean– no, not like that, of course you can, it's not my pool, is it?" you chuckled nervously, kicking your legs underwater to tell Taehyung that now he really had to fucking stop messing around. "But shouldn't you go back inside and change? You don't have your swimsuit on."

Jungkook opened his mouth to talk, but immediately snapped it close. His eyes lit up for a brief second before a little smirk took over his lips, the next sentence sending you straight into cardiac arrest. "But I was thinking of swimming naked, Y/N, it would be... freeing."

"What–"

"Besides, aren't you naked too?"

That definitely froze you on the spot. And apparently, Taehyung had managed to hear something from his position, cause he had stopped, too. 

"Uhm... Jungkook, what are you talking about?"

The boy's eyes traveled up and down your body – or, well, what could be seen of it – before his fingers pointed to your form, even though confusion and hesitancy was now clear. 

"Aren't you...?"

You looked down to where he was pointing, gasping as only then you had realised that the straps of your bra were still down your shoulders, just like Taehyung had wanted them. From his position, not too close to the pool, it definitely looked like you were wearing nothing. 

"Oh my god, no!" you exclaimed, immediately pulling them up and around your shoulders. "Here, they were down cause they slipped. Were you seriously considering getting in naked? While believing I was naked, too?"

Right as Jungkook was about to feed you one of his shitty excuses you interrupted him, shooing him away with your hands. "Go, go change, I don't wanna hear anything."

Sulking, he walked towards the elevator, totally acting like a four year old throwing a tantrum: pouting, shoulders slumped over, feet dragging on the ground, exclaiming a defensive "Oh, c'mon, it would have been a nice view!"

"Fuck off, bun," you laughed, yelling something about waiting for him to change in his swimming attire.

You didn’t catch it, but his lips turned upwards in a soft smile right as the elevator’s doors closed.

© voitier 2025

series introduction post here

[pippin-katz]

In Defense Of Edwin

Something that has bothered me is that there's a significant amount of people who talk about Edwin being unaware of Charles' pain as if he's oblivious, or like he did something wrong; that is simply unfair to Edwin.

Charles is happy, friendly, and wonderful. That is his personality. That is not all forced.

People are quick to jump on the line that Charles has been hiding his pain from Edwin, but a line people are ignoring from that argument is: "He's probably been hiding it from himself!"

His behavior indicates that he doesn't talk or think about trauma or negativity unless it's relevant to the situation. I doubt Charles even realized how bad his trauma was until the Devlin Murders. His pain was so repressed that he wasn't "feeling" it anymore.

Charles’ Triggers

While I'm not going to say that Charles did not hide his pain from Edwin at all, I am going to point out that this may have been the first time, in a very long time or ever, that they encountered something this close to home for him.

The only real reason Charles discusses his trauma now is because the Devlin House triggers him, genuinely in a psychological way. It's not just the "crazy dad" that gets to him. There are so many details that fit Charles personally. That whole situation is too fucking much for him.

The song Owner Of A Lonely Heart playing in the background; a song that he says he liked enough to get the cassette tape but that it was smashed by his father.

The controlling and restrictive behaviors of the father on his daughters. The eldest daughter writing about walking on eggshells and looking forward to graduation.

The way that the father kills them; he doesn't shoot them, or poison them, or whatever, he butchers them. His attacks are physically direct. He swings an axe, so his movement is the root of the violence. If it had been a gun, it would've been his finger on the trigger, but the bullets hitting them. Charles was abused by his father through the means of a belt, which is physically direct.

The loop, having to watch it over, and over, and over again with no break, no relief, and not being able to do anything, no matter how many times he sees it happen. Charles' abuse seemed to be regular and constant, no matter what he did. It always ended the same way.

All of that is then exacerbated by the Night Nurse forcing him to reexperience his trauma the very next day. That's a lot of specific details and events that lead to his complete breakdown.

Charles hasn't been consciously choosing to hide all of that pain from Edwin. It had been buried to the point where even he couldn't see it anymore, but the Devlin House uprooted it from his subconscious.

Charles’ Parents

Now, he does hide his habit of checking on his parents from Edwin, but that's not fully about his abuse. Charles misses his family, his life, being alive.

It's worth noting that he only shows Crystal his parents because he's trying to connect with her about not being able to go home. He didn't bring that up on a whim. It was relevant to help Crystal feel understood. She's not special; if someone completely different from her did the exact same thing, Charles would've shown them too.

Now, let's talk about him not telling Edwin. Charles may not have a full comprehension of Edwin's experiences, but he knows he's different from "normal" people. Hiding his parents from him is likely just as much about not wanting to hurt Edwin as it is protecting himself.

Edwin does not show any type of longing for his life. Everything he knew about the world from his time is gone or been changed beyond recognition. He doesn't have a family to miss, not that he was close to them in the first place; even if he did have an emotional connection to them, they've been long dead.

And Edwin seems unbothered, but there’s no way for Charles to know that for certain. Watching his parents weekly would remind Edwin constantly that he does not have anyone. He’s worried about being insensitive; he feels like he would be unintentionally taunting Edwin and rubbing salt into the wound.

Edwin has been dead for over 100 years and spent 70 of those years being torn apart by a demon in Hell; how could he even remember physical sensations other than pain and exhaustion? How could he remember the taste of food while running through Gluttony, watching its inhabitants vomit profusely? He never saw the appeal of romance or sex prior to his death, and then he witnesses the bloody masses of people in Lust; how could he be anything other than repulsed?

Charles tells him that pain is not a contest, but he almost without a doubt compares his own experiences to Edwin's. It's something people with low self-esteem do more than others. He feels guilty, like he’s selfish for being upset; Edwin has it so much worse.

How does being abused by his dad compare to being dragged to Hell? He got hit with a belt; Edwin was ripped apart. Who is he to whine about his life to a boy who has died more times than days Charles has existed?

He may not have had the specific details before, but the knowledge of it being Hell was enough. When you don't put your own needs on your priority list, that's one of the first "justifications" your brain comes up with. They already have enough on their plate, and you don't need to talk about it. You're totally fine! So yes, hiding his parents from Edwin makes sense from his perspective.

But his abuse? Charles doesn't even realize how much pain he's in; how could Edwin have realized?

My point is that Charles wasn't actively choosing to hide all of his pain from Edwin for thirty years, so to blame Edwin for not noticing is like blaming a blind person for picking up a red ball instead of a blue one. He couldn't have noticed; there was nothing for him to notice. Charles wasn't wearing a full mask.

The second Charles shows any indication that something is wrong, Edwin does notice!

Edwin may have trouble with people, but he's not oblivious, and he knows Charles. If he's ever been upset like this before, he would've noticed. He notices Charles' change in behavior after Crystal joined in only a day, and he doesn't deny it when Edwin calls him out.

Edwin also follows up on asking if he needs to talk about his father. Charles brushes him off, but Crystal and Niko show up before Edwin has a chance to press a little more, which I think he would've. I don't think Charles would've opened up, but it would've shown that Edwin is aware that all is not well. He is aware, but on top of being in the dark about it, he's got his own shit he's working out and cases to solve. His attention is divided.

I think it's important to remember this fact that has been driving me mental for months now:

Charles and Edwin’s dynamic during the show is a completely different dynamic than the one they've had for the past thirty years.

The introduction of Crystal, going to Port Townsend, meeting Niko, Monty, fighting Esther, the Cat King, etc. etc. etc. Everything about their relationship gets shaken up from the start of the show. They're both acting differently in all sorts of ways, and some they even acknowledge to each other.

What we saw of them in Port Townsend is not what Charles and Edwin were during those thirty years. It's unfair to pass judgement on something we don't actually know about.

I guess what I'm saying is that I'm getting really tired of fics/posts making a commentary about Edwin not noticing being something he has failed at. Does Edwin feel guilty for not realizing it sooner? Absolutely, but please, at least acknowledge that it wasn't his fault if you're sticking to canon. If you want to twist some shit into it to make it more complicated, make it more angsty, go right ahead! I'm absolutely not stopping you!

But canonically, at least I feel after studying these characters under a microscope, Edwin could not have known sooner.

(ko-fi)

[stormsthatrage]

Have yet another Bleach time travel AU! I dub this one the Uno Reverse AU. Here's the initial prompt I received from a lovely anon: “Consider time travel but Ichigo sends Urahara back in time”

_______________________________

The thing is. The thing is, if someone acts in the way they always have, in the way you knew they always would, in the way you fell in love with them for, can you be mad at them for it?

Ichigo. First protector. So selfless. So kind. So good. So determined to keep everyone else safe.

Kisuke’s body tells him he has been betrayed. It is in the shock stiffening his limbs, making him clumsy. It is in the way his ears refuse to process the sounds around him, rejecting reality. It is in the way he is shivering despite the heat of midsummer, the way his feet have pressed him into the darkest corner of Yoruichi’s private rooms, the one place where he has never been hurt -

But his brain, oh, his brain, damn himself, tells him that an Ichigo who did not attempt to do what Ichigo just did would not be an Ichigo at all. It is not a betrayal when a positive and negative ion attract each other, nor is it a betrayal when a star circles a black hole. It is just - it is just natural, just the universe going on being the universe.

Betrayal might feel right, but the truth is, it is not that Ichigo committed an offense. No, it is Kisuke’s own fault for hiding away his heart in someone so reckless.

…No.

No, not that.

That makes it sound as if he regrets it, as if to do so were wrong, and nothing could be further from the truth. Kisuke could never regret it, not now, not ever.

It is better, perhaps, to say that it is Kisuke’s fault for not preparing well.

Yes, that is more accurate.

If you do not want a positive and negative ion to attract each other, you keep them separated. If you do not want an Ichigo to lay on a wire to protect someone else, you must keep Ichigo away from any and all wires.

And Kisuke had known only one of them was getting out. There were three of them, at the end - Yhwach and Kisuke’s precious heart and Kisuke himself. Three of them, locked in a guerrilla war that no one could win and no one could give up. Three of them, trapped in a necropolis of a universe where the very fabric of spacetime itself was unstable.

Three of them, and, practically, only room for one to break free. Oh, mathematically, theoretically, two was possible. If you do it at the exact same instant, you can send multiple souls back in time together. But practically speaking, the precision necessary to do so is impossible. And once one soul has been sent back, the universe unravels, resets to where that one soul lands, the rest of it is all a hard-drive wiped blank, and so Ichigo is -

Ichigo is -

- It is best not to go there.

Kisuke knew Ichigo’s learning curve. He should have known Ichigo would have figured out a way.

In the end, Ichigo had used his bankai to send Kisuke’s consciousness back, beating out Kisuke’s own development of a temporal kido array by a matter of entire months.

And so the student surpassed the master, and Kisuke is left alive, and it is not a betrayal, no matter how much it feels like one.

It is just an ion being an ion, and a Kisuke being too slow.

____________________________________

Things that happen in this AU:

- With the leisure of time and the advantage of a lab not created by scraps in the apocalypse, Kisuke finds a way to snatch Ichigo’s soul from the exact instant he himself was sent back.

- Before Kisuke realizes he can do this, he goes through three arcs:

       1) He goes a little emotionless from the thought that he will never see his Ichigo - the one that knows everything they’ve been through together - ever again. (He’s not actually a psychopath, but, uh, it’s not exactly ideal for his enemies when he voluntarily shuts off his own empathy because being a feeling person hurts too much.)

       2) He goes a little mad trying to convince himself that this new timeline’s Ichigo will be, in essence, the same as the one he lost. He also goes a little mad knowing that he has to wait 100+ years for Ichigo to even be born. (He’s onmitsukido-trained, he can totally wait...)

       3) He goes a little evil-scientist-with-no-boundaries trying to figure out ways to make it so Ichigo is born earlier.

- Fortunately, Tessai intervenes before anything irreversible is done and gives Kisuke a pep talk. He also gives Kisuke about 200 pages worth of notes on temporal kido arrays that provide the foundation for getting Kisuke’s Ichigo back.

- In every universe, Tessai and Yoruichi will be in the set of Kisuke’s Most Important People. In every universe, they fully deserve to be in that set.

- Before Kisuke retrieves Ichigo, he deals with Aizen, Yhwach, and a handful of other threats that Ichigo doesn’t deserve to have to think about. This may or may not happen during Arc 1, when Kisuke is an absolute monster to people he has reason to turn Benihime against.

- Ichigo arrives in Soul Society in an explosion in the outer Rukongai. (Kisuke didn’t quite get the physical location correct, but considering the difficulty of getting the temporal location correct, he can be excused for it.)

- The 13th division is sent to investigate the explosion. Kaien finds Ichigo and press-gangs him into joining the Shiba clan. Ichigo is so obviously related he doesn’t get the chance to protest.

- Ichigo pleads amnesia about his past. Absolutely no one believes him, but no one presses, either - yet.

- Ichigo joins the Court Guard Squads under Shinji.

- Some of the Captains and Lieutenants of the Court Guard start to act a little strange…

- (The Visored share a mental connection, and Ichigo’s presence snaps that bond back into place. Literally no one realizes this until the Visored start to slowly become, uh, visored. At which point, Kisuke is like, oops, too late to fix that, oh well!)

- Yoruichi, through some insane and brilliant political maneuvering that can’t be traced back to her, forces the Shihouin and Shiba clan into arranging a marriage between Kisuke and Ichigo.

- Kaien only goes along with the arranged marriage because he thinks Ichigo and Kisuke were the ones who orchestrated it all in the first place. He’s not sure how he feels about Ichigo and Kisuke being together, but they’re so obviously gone on each other he couldn’t dream of becoming an obstacle between them.

- There is a weekend, right after Ichigo first arrives, in which Kisuke, ahem, takes Ichigo to an isolated location and demonstrates his displeasure at being separated. Ichigo enjoys the demonstration very much, but he also comes out of it very bruised.

[juudesgirl]

The Space He Chose - Jude Bellingham (Part 1)

It had been almost four weeks since Jude ended it.

Y/N still remembered the exact moment — the way the light had faded behind him as the sun set through the Madrid skyline, the way he’d stood awkwardly in their apartment, hands in his pockets, voice low, like he was reading a pre-rehearsed script.

“I need to focus. On the game. On my career. I can’t give you the time you deserve. I don’t want to keep failing you, Y/N… I think this is the right thing.”

She hadn’t argued. Because what could she say to someone who had already made up his mind?

She’d nodded. Swallowed the lump in her throat. Packed quietly. Left the place that had once felt like home with just a suitcase and the aching echo of goodbye.

-

Now, back in Birmingham, Y/N walked through the city streets wrapped in her navy trench coat, scarf snug around her neck, trying to push the chill away — the one in the air and the one inside her chest.

She wasn’t meant to be out long. Just picking up a book from her favorite indie bookstore. A little corner of comfort she used to visit with Jude whenever he was home — before Madrid, before everything changed.

She was halfway to the till when she heard it.

“Y/N?”

She turned, heart immediately skipping.

Denise.

Her soft brown eyes sparkled the same way they always had. Next to her stood Mark, tall and composed as always, and Jobe, taller now but still carrying that mischief in his grin.

Y/N froze, breath caught between surprise and heartache.

Denise’s face lit up. “Oh my God! Look who it is!”

And before Y/N could even think, Denise had wrapped her in a warm, tight hug. The kind of hug that used to feel like home.

Mark smiled warmly. “What a lovely surprise. How’ve you been, love?”

Jobe grinned. “Didn’t expect to see you here. You’re back for a bit?”

Y/N offered a tight, polite smile, her fingers gripping her tote bag just a little harder.

“Just visiting some old places,” she said gently.

“Tell Jude we said hi,” Denise said cheerfully. “And please tell him to finally reply in the family group chat. We’ve been trying to get him to commit to a date for the next family dinner, and all he did was react to our message with a thumbs up emoji!”

Jobe laughed. “Seriously, when you’re with him, just grab his phone and type out a reply for him.”

Y/N’s smile faded slightly. The lump in her throat returned.

She took a breath. Now or never.

“I’m… I’m not with Jude anymore.”

Silence.

Denise’s expression faltered. Her brows lifted, a stunned softness taking over her face. Mark blinked, his hands slipping into his coat pockets. Jobe stopped fiddling with the book he was holding.

“What… what do you mean?” Denise asked softly, almost cautiously.

Y/N swallowed hard, feeling her heart hammer in her chest. “We broke up. About a month ago.”

Jobe looked between them all, utterly confused. “Wait, what? Are you serious?”

Y/N nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. It… wasn’t my choice.”

Denise’s lips parted, eyes glistening. “Oh, sweetheart… what happened?”

Y/N held their gaze for a moment, then looked down at her hands. She didn’t want to cry in this bookstore. Not again. Not in front of them.

“You’ll have to ask Jude,” she said quietly. “He… he said he needed to focus on football. That he didn’t have space for anything else. For me.”

Mark looked away for a moment, jaw tight. Denise’s hand instinctively reached for Y/N’s, squeezing it.

“I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you all,” Y/N said, voice thick with emotion. “You’ve been such a huge part of my life these past few years. And I love you all so much. Truly.”

Her voice cracked.

“I just didn’t expect my last time seeing you to be… like this.”

Denise blinked quickly, as if pushing tears back. “You don’t have to say goodbye, you know. You’re still family to us.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered, offering a sad smile. “But I think… I need to let go. Completely. And I think this is part of that.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m really glad I ran into you today,” she continued. “I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if I hadn’t had the chance to see you. To tell you in person. And to thank you. For everything. For letting me be part of your world. For treating me like one of your own.”

Her eyes welled.

“Please take care of each other. And Jude. Even if he pushes you away a bit — just remind him he’s not alone.”

She leaned in and hugged Denise tightly. Then Mark. Then Jobe.

And then she stepped back.

“Goodbye,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

And with that, Y/N turned and walked out into the cold grey afternoon, blinking back tears, her heart breaking quietly all over again.

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

i saw your blog and i’d like to recommend you a barista Jake who has a regular customer (you) and always remembers their exact order, idk it seems sweet to me when someone remembers your order very well like aakdjskdjsjdhd

WAIT I LOVE THIS OMG🥹🥹this is sooo romcom coded im OBSESSED— since im having a huge writer’s block rn here’s a lil spontaneous drabble based off this ask as an apology ~~~

✎ᝰ.ᐟ⋆⑅˚₊ extra shot of sim-ping ⭑.ᐟ ── s.jy drabble

jake doesn't mean to memorize your order.

not on purpose, at least. it just happens.

one day, you came in—somehow looking both half-asleep but yet effortlessly good that it has jake manually breathing behind the counter—and ordered an iced matcha latte with oat milk and an extra shot of matcha. and then you came back the next day and ordered the same thing. and then the day after that.

and the day after that.

so today, when you walk in at exactly 8:07AM like you usually do, jake already has your drink halfway made.

not in a creepy way! just in a normal barista way. a convenient way. he's saving you time. he's being efficient. he's absolutely not doing it because his heart does something pathetic every time you walk in.

"morning!"

jake nearly fumbles the cup in his hand—the one he picked up purely to look busy and totally not because he was keeping an eye on the door when 8:07AM rolled around. "hey! good morning!"

he lifts a hand in what he attempts as a casual wave.

it is not a casual wave.

it hovers in the air, frozen mid-motion, as you blink at him, clutching your tote bag, from your spot across the counter.

jake blinks back at you. then, in slow motion, he glances at his own hand, cringes internally and curses every past choice he's made to end up here today—including interviewing for this job in the first place—lowers it like nothing happened, then looks back at you.

and you're staring. but not in a weirded out way—no, no, it's much worse.

you're amused.

there's a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips, a glint of something teasing in your eyes, and jake swears he hears wedding bells ringing in the back of his mind.

his thoughts are immediately cleared the second you clear your throat and nod your head towards the menu behind him. "um, can i get a—"

"an iced matcha with oat milk and an extra shot of matcha," jake thinks to himself as his fingers tap it into the register automatically.

and then he hears your voice:

"oh? you remember?"

jake's head snaps up so fast he's surprised it didn't roll off right then and there. his eyes go wide with pure, unfiltered panic.

oh. oh god. did he just say that out loud???

he chokes out a laugh that sounds less like laughter and a lot more like a cry for help. "uh—"

his brain is on fire. his soul? has left the building that is his body. he has ruined everything.

you definitely think he's super creepy now. you're never going to come back. he's never going to see you again. his life is over.

but also—wait.

how could you not know he remembers your order? you come everyday, and your drink is always ready way faster than it should be. like suspiciously so. oh god, have you just been thinking he really is an abnormally efficient barista this whole time? or—oh god—have you just never even noticed him to begin with?

but your smile grows, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "wow. i must be special, hm?"

jake short-circuits.

"what—no—i mean, yes! i mean, not like that...or anything weird. i just, uh, i remember things. not things things. just like—customer things. order things," he gestures his hands wildly like that will somehow fix the situation.

a pause.

then, you giggle.

and jake is so unprepared.

you step closer to the counter, tilting your head just slightly as you look up at him.

"sooo...," you drag out, voice all sweet and knowing, "you remember other people's orders too?"

jake malfunctions.

his mouth opens. nothing comes out.

the answer is no. he does not. not the way he remembers yours, at least. but admitting that is practically a one-way ticket to public humiliation. as if this conversation wasn't enough.

jake's fight-or-flight response kicks in. he considers lying. but then you raise an eyebrow at his silence, like you already know his answer, and jake—oh, poor, poor jake—folds like a cheap lawn chair right before your eyes.

"...no?"

you grin, clearly satisfied by his answer (or the way he's totally crumbling in front of you), "just mine, then?"

jake genuinely thinks he might pass out.

so he does the only thing he can do.

he grabs a cup, nearly knocking over the entire stack, and blurts out way too fast, and way too loudly for 8AM in the morning, "your drink will be ready in a second!"

you hum in response, watching the way he frantically fumbles to finish your drink that he was already making before you came in, something that doesn't go unnoticed by you.

by the time he pops the lid on and slides it across the counter to you, he still refuses to meet your gaze.

you take the cup with a small thank you before turning it slightly in your hands, then—pause.

your thumb brushes over the side, right where he may or may not have written a tiny smiley face next your name—because of course he remembers your name, too.

you glance up at him. jake stops breathing.

tapping the cup lightly, you tilt your head again before meeting his eyes with a knowing smile, "see you tomorrow, jake."

jake watches as you leave, frozen, staring at the empty space where you just were, heart going a little too fast.

the second you're out the doors, he collapses against the counter, letting out the longest exhale of his dear life, face in his hands.

sunghoon walks up beside him from his hiding spot in the backroom where he witnessed that entire painful interaction.

"you," he says, grinning like someone thoroughly entertained, "are so—"

"don't," jake groans, voice muffled into his hands.

sunghoon ignores him. "—so down bad, man."

jake groans louder.

lmao i absolutely love loser-in-love jake <3

[sheerfreesia007]

In Sickness & In Health

Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

Word count: 2,180

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: Han has always been your best friend ever since you were both little. But when you get sick and need his help getting your class notes and assignments your other friends clue Han into how attractive he is. But what happens when he asks you if you think he’s attractive?

A/N: Divider was created by @bernardsbendystraws, thank you for sharing your dividers with tumblr!

Hey Ji! I’ve got a cold and it’s really kicking my butt. I won’t be in class this week. Can you do me a favor and just let me copy your notes for the week? I’ll get with Iyo to get the notes for my other classes. Thanks Ji. I really appreciate it! That had been your text on Sunday, the two of you had been hanging out the day before and got caught in the rain on the way home. He had worriedly told you that you were probably going to get sick but you had reassured him that you would be okay. And lo and behold, he had been right. After getting your text he had quickly called you gently scolding you that he had been right and that you would get sick because of the rain, but when he heard how scratchy and hoarse your voice sounded he had felt bad about scolding you. So he had quickly told you to rest and try to get better, he’d take care of all of the notes for you and make sure you got all of your work and homework assignments as well.

You and Han had been best friends ever since you were kids, your parents had known each other way before either one of you had been born and had stayed close through the years. Even moving to the same town and same street to live, so your lives were intertwined completely and fully from a very early age. Han couldn’t imagine his life without you in it and he knew you felt the same way. The two of you were so close that the two of you move as if you’re one, you finish each other’s sentences, there’s almost an intuition when it comes to your relationship. Either one of you can tell when there’s something wrong or going on with the other one and already figuring it out or talking about it before the other realizes it.

And it was always so funny to Han that the two of you fit so well together because you were exact opposites of each other. He was anxious while you were unconcerned, you were outgoing while he took a while to warm up to people, he was a homebody while you were someone who enjoyed going out. He teased you that you were the peanut butter to his jelly and that was how your nicknames of PB and Ji-lly had formed.

The two of you were inseparable and Han preferred it that way, he was the more socially awkward one out of the two of you and relied heavily on you to help guide him through friendships. Han had always been into things that others found nerdy or geeky, anime, comic books, superheroes, and music. He had always been bullied for the things he liked and found pleasure in but you had never judged him, in fact you had tried to understand him and enjoy the same things he did. He loved that about you, you always had an open mind on everything you may not have understood it or enjoyed it as much as Han did but you always tried to. He was so grateful for your friendship that he would do anything for you.

Which is how he found himself taking meticulous notes for the two of you during your shared classes. The bell rings for the end of class and Han pushes up his round framed glasses as he finishes the last of the notes before stowing away his books in his backpack. Slipping his cell phone out of his pocket he sends a quick text to Iyo. Hey Iyo, can I swing by and grab the notes and assignments for PB?  I’m going to stop by her place today and want to have everything ready for her. He waited until he got a response form her and then asked for her location so that he could swing by. With Iyo’s location Han quickly left the classroom preparing to get everything together for you before heading to your apartment.

The cafe is lively as Han enters it looking around for Iyo, she had mentioned that she’d be there with a few of your mutual friends on their break and that he could swing by and pick up the notes and work assignments she had for you. When he hears Iyo’s bright laughter he turns to find her sitting at a table in the middle of the cafe with your friends. Walking over they all slowly stop laughing and turn to face him with various greetings. Han shyly waves at them with a shaky smile slipping onto his face as he buries his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie.

”Hey Han!” Greets Iyo as she begins rummaging through her backpack to get all of the notes and assignments for him. “Have you talked to PB? Is she doing better?” Iyo asks curiously. “She hasn’t responded to me in a few hours.”

”Yeah I talked to her about an hour ago before my last class. She’s okay, still got a sore throat and feeling like crap but her fever broke this morning thankfully.” Han responded easily while smiling softly.

“Aww that’s really sweet of you to be keeping up with her while she’s sick.” One of your mutual friends mentions and Han nods his head at her as she smiles up at him.

”Yeah, you’re really a big sweetheart to her for helping her out like this.” Another chimes in and Han starts to feel a little self conscious of their praise of him. He shifts on his feet anxiously and Iyo looks up at him with a soft frown directed at her friends.

”Guys, enough.” Iyo scolded them and they all giggled as they leaned into each other.

”I mean if I had such a hot best friend like Han I wouldn’t let him go without trying to be with him.” Another friend spoke up and Han turned his head sharply to stare at them with wide eyes as the table dissolved into giggles again and Iyo rolled her eyes at them.

”Ignore them Han. They’re just jealous.” Iyo tried to explain their words and behavior away and Han just nodded his head quickly before taking the folder that she held out to him.

”Jealous of what?” Han asked curiosity getting the best of him and not being able to let it go until he knew what she meant.

”Of PB having a hot best friend who’s too sweet for her.” One of the friends said and the table erupted into giggles once again which made Han frown softly at their words. Iyo shook her head at him and then gestured for Han to leave which Han nodded and thanked her softly for the notes and assignments before he quickly left. The words of your mutual friends ringing in his ears and bouncing along the walls of his mind.

Han walks up to your apartment door and quickly opens the door with the spare key that you gave him years ago. He quickly slips out of his shoes and brings the bag of take out into the kitchen before moving around to heat it all up for the two of you. When he had the food ready and hot he put it on a tray before carrying it into your bedroom. 

When he spotted you curled up in your bed buried underneath your blankets with just the top of your head peeking out he smiled softly. Placing the tray of food on your end table he sat on your bed before placing a gentle hand on your side.

”PB, wake up PB. I need you to eat something before taking more medicine.” He called out to you softly. You slowly stirred from sleep and Han watched fondly as you groggily sat up in bed letting the blankets fall from you. He chuckled softly as he gazed at you, your hair was a mess on the top of your head, your eyes are red rimmed and your face looks drowsy still even though he’s pretty sure that you’ve slept for the whole day.

”Hey Ji-lly.” You said in a raspy tone and Han smiled softly at you as he gently raised his hand to comb through your hair.

”You’re a mess PB.” He teased softly and you smiled crookedly at him as your eyes closed gently. “C’mon you need to eat something before you take your medicine.” He told you and he watched as you nodded your head obediently. He gently handed you the bowl of soup and waited until you began eating before he took his own bowl and began to eat.

As the two of you ate Han’s mind kept replaying the encounter at the cafe and without him knowing it you began to pick up that something was bothering him. After taking a couple spoonfuls of your soup you lower your bowl to your lap and turn to look at Han.

”Alright Ji-lly, spill it. What’s bothering you?” You ask him and he looks over at you in surprise. 

“I-“ he begins before sighing softly as a knowing smile graces his lips. “When I met up with Iyo there were some of your other friends there and they said some stuff that made me curious and a little uncomfortable.” He admitted and you tilted your head to the side as you continued eating your soup.

”What was it?” You asked as your eyes kept darting back to him from your soup bowl.

”They said that I was super sweet for getting your notes and assignments for you. But then they also said that I was hot and that they were jealous of you having a sweet hot best friend.” Han told you and you looked at him surprised before he opened his mouth and spoke up again. “Do you think I’m attractive?” He asked suddenly and you jolted in your spot on the bed in surprise at his question before you shyly darted your eyes away from him for a moment.

”Ji-lly you’re very attractive.” You tell him honestly and Han stares at you with wide eyes at your confession. “But it’s not just looks that’s attractive about you.” You say and Han tilts his head at you curiously. “It’s everything. Your sweetness, your excitable passions that you get so worked up over that you rant for hours on end about them, your patience to always make sure that I understand things that you’re sharing with me, your inclusion of me in everything in your life.” You admit softly and Han smiles fondly at you before he chuckles softly.

”That just sounds like you’re in love with me or something.” He jokes teasingly as he looks down at his soup bowl and finishes the last of his soup. When he realizes that haven’t responded to his joke he whips his head up to stare at you surprised. He scoots closer to you and raises his hand to press his glasses further up his nose nervously as you look down at your bowl with a soft pretty blush dusting your cheeks. “Are you in love with me?” He asks softly with baited breath.

You shrug your shoulders at him and your eyes are avoiding any connection with his own as your blush intensifies on your cheeks. Han moves even closer to you and reaches out to cup your face with both of his hands tilting it up to look at him.

”Are you in love with me like I’m in love with you?” He asks softly and smiles as he watches your eyes widen at his admission before you’re melting in his hold with a soft look overcoming your face.

”Yes, Ji-lly. I’m in love with you just like you’re in love with me.” You admit to him softly and he smiles at you sweetly. He then leans forward puckering his lips to kiss you but just as his lips are about to make contact your hand comes up in between both of your mouths to block him. When Han’s lips press against your palm he jolts back and looks at you slightly wounded and you huff at him. “Ji-lly I’m still sick. Don’t you remember?” You tease him gently and Han blushes brightly at your reminder as you grin at him softly.

”When you’re feeling better can I kiss you then?” He asks softly and your grin widens on your face.

”Well duh, we’re dating now so I would assume you would kiss me when I’m better.” You tell him and he balks at your words before he melts into your bed and cuddles into your side as you finish your soup.

”Dating huh?” He asks smugly and you grin at him before pressing a kiss to his forehead.

”Don’t get cocky yet Ji-lly. It’s gonna be our first kiss.” You tell him teasingly and suddenly Han buries his face into your shoulder as a blush consumes him as embarrassment grips him.

SKZ Taglist: @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @inlovewithstraykids, @channiesrightasscheek, @kaiyaba

@bookswillfindyouaway

[sparkleyun]

Always been you

pairing: riki x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst (happy ending!) synopsis: Over the past few months, your friendship with Riki has grown, turning the two of you into an inseparable duo. But when an unexpected mass of feelings within you shifted, the lines began to blur, and you were left confused and afraid. You struggle to make sense of it, unaware that Riki is facing the same thing. wc: 4.7k warnings: none

You lean back in your chair, the soft buzz of the people inside the coffee shop complimenting the peaceful ambiance you find yourself in. It's one of those quiet, cozy afternoons where everything feels a little slower, a little more peaceful. You've come here to read and unwind after a long week, but there's a familiar face across the table from you, and suddenly, the book in your hands has lost all of its appeal.

Riki is sitting across from you, his fingers absent-mindedly tracing the rim of his coffee cup. He's always been like this. Quiet, a little reserved, but regardless... easy and fun to talk to. There's something calming about him, the way he listens intently when you talk, as if every word you say matters. It's not like he has to try either, it just happens naturally. And for that reason, you've found yourself gravitating toward him more often, even though you didn't expect to.

You try to focus on your book again, but your eyes keep drifting to him. He's wearing an oversized hoodie as he usually does, his black hair falling messily over his eyes. It's hard to ignore how adorable he looks, even when he's not trying.

"So," he says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. "Have you picked a movie for the weekend yet?"

You look up, surprised by the question. "Movie?" You blink a few times, trying to catch up with him. "I didn't know we were planning a movie night."

"Well, we've talked about it, right? You, me, and the whole group, you're the one who picks the movie this time around, remember?"

"Oh." You smile, setting your book down. "Yeah, we did mention it a while ago. I guess I just forgot with everything else going on."

Riki's lips curve into a small smile. "You're not going to bail on us, are you? We need you there to pick the movie, you probably have the best taste out of everyone."

You smile back at him, your fingers lightly tapping on the table. "I'll make it, and I'll also manage the popcorn this time around." You say teasingly, reminiscing how he somehow burned the popcorn last time you two hung out.

"I'm offended." he says, dramatically clutching his chest. "I make perfect popcorn almost every time."

"Sure you do." you tease again, raising an eyebrow. You love this side of him. The silly, lighthearted side that always seems to appear when you're around.

The comfortable silence returns after that. It never feels awkward. Instead, it's like the space between the two of you is filled with a muted understanding. You sip your coffee, watching him fiddle with his cup, and for a moment, you can't help but think about how long you've known him for.

You can't pinpoint the exact moment your friendship with Riki begun. It wasn't like a sudden thing. It was more of a slow, steady warmth that gradually grew until you found yourself spending all your time with him and telling him every detail of your life. It was those little moments: his thoughtful comments when you spoke about your day, the way he'd listen intently when you shared something personal, the small smiles and shy glances that made your heart flutter without explanation.

And yet, you never quite knew where to place all of it. Was it just a friendship? Or was there something more, something you couldn't quite put into words?

"So," he begins again, his voice softer this time, as though he's considering his words carefully. "Have you been… okay lately?"

The question catches you off guard. You look up from your book, finding his gaze steady and serious, which is a little unusual. He's usually much more playful.

"Yeah." You say, though there's a hint of hesitation in your voice. "I've been fine. Just… a lot going on, you know? School, stuff with my family, just the usual."

"I get that." He nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "But you've been looking a little stressed lately. Are you sure you're good?"

You chuckle, slightly unsure. "I'm fine. Really."

Riki leans back in his chair, studying you for a moment. There's something about the way he's looking at you right now. It's gentle and thoughtful, it makes your heart beat a little faster. It's not the teasing, casual glance you're used to. Before you can fully process it, he breaks the silence again.

"If you ever want to talk about anything," he says, his voice low but sincere, "I'm here, okay?"

You feel a wamrth spread through you after hearing his words. "I appreciate that." you reply, giving him a soft smile. "It's nice to know I can count on you."

He nods, a smile tugging at his lips. "Of course."

The conversation shifts after that, but something lingers between you both. You're not sure what it is yet, but it's almost like you can physically feel it, as if something suddenly changed in the friendship you've built over all this time. You can't quite understand why it's happening right now of all times, it's so frustrating.

But regardless, as the conversation continues, you find yourself smiling more, your heart fluttering at his presence. You laugh at his silly jokes and listen intently as he talks about the upcoming weekend plans. But in the back of your mind, there's this nagging feeling. You don't know if it's just in your head or if it's something he feels too, but whatever it is… it was bittersweet. Scary but also exciting.

The afternoon drifts on, and the coffee shop begins to fill with more customers. The soft clinking of cups and murmurs of conversation surround you, but you hardly notice. All you can think about is the quiet moments between you and Riki, the way his words seem to linger just a little longer than they should, the way he sometimes can't get his eyes off you, the same way you can't get yours off him.

You try to push those thoughts aside. It's nothing, right? It's just friendship.

───

The night before the movie hangout, Riki is a nervous wreck. He's pacing back and forth in his room, trying to figure out how he's going to survive tomorrow without completely embarrassing himself. He's always been good at hiding his feelings, keeping everything inside, acting like nothing's wrong, but lately… well, it's harder. Much harder. And the whole reason he's so anxious is because of you.

You've been on his mind nonstop since that afternoon at the coffee shop. The way you smiled at him, the way you seemed to genuinely care about how he was doing. He couldn't shake the feeling that there seems to be something more between you two. He wanted to ask you what you thought and tell you how he felt. But he couldn't just come out and say it, could he?

And that's why he's standing here now, pacing like a nervous wreck. Because he needs help. He needs advice. And there's no one better to ask than his best friends, Jake and Heeseung. They've been through everything before. Relationships. Crushes. Awkward moments. They've survived it all, and if anyone can guide him through this mess, it's them.

With a deep breath, Riki grabs his phone and shoots a quick text to Jake.

Hey, you busy? I need help.

A few minutes later, Jake replies

Yeah, what's up, is something wrong?

Riki takes another breath. He really hates asking for help, but he knows it's necessary if he wants to figure this out. His fingers hover over the screen before he finally types:

It's about a girl. One I'm kind of… into.

Ooooh, someone's got a crush. Spill, dude.

He rolls his eyes, but a nervous laugh escapes him. This was a mistake. Maybe he shouldn't have started this conversation. But before he can back out, another text pops up.

Details, Riki. I need more than that. Who is she? What's going on?

He hesitates for a moment. He feels ridiculous but the longer he thinks about it, the more he realizes just how clueless he is when it comes to relationships. He bites the bullet and types:

It's y/n. We've been hanging out a lot lately. She's… really amazing, and I think she could like me too, but I'm not sure. I don't know how to… make a move.

Another few seconds pass, and then the reply comes. He can sense Jake grinning from the other side of the phone.

Dude, you've got to stop overthinking this. She likes you. Trust me, she wouldn't be hanging out with you so much if she didn't. But if you want my advice, tell her you like her. Don't knock it till you try it. Just be honest about your feelings.

Riki bites his lip, reading the message. He nods to himself, but Jake's advice doesn't exactly make him feel less nervous. Just the opposite, in fact. The idea of telling you how he feels, of actually putting himself out there… it feels terrifying.

Before he can respond, another text comes through. This one from Heeseung, who he texted desperately while waiting for Jake's reply.

Oh, it's y/n? What a susprise... I would've never guessed. He says sarcastically, knowing Riki has been talking about you nonstop for the past few months.

Riki lets out a groan. Very funny, but I'm kind of freaking out right now. I think I'm going to make a fool of myself if I try to confess to her.

No way, dude. You're overthinking it. Look, if you're friends with her and you genuinely care about her, just be yourself. The worst thing you can do is act like someone you're not. It's okay to be nervous. It's okay to be unsure. But be honest about how you feel. If she's as great as you say she is, she's going to appreciate the fact that you care enough to be vulnerable.

He reads the message twice, trying to absorb what Heeseung said. There's something about his calm, steady way of thinking that helped Riki feel a little better. Still, the idea of actually telling you how he feels… it seems like an impossible task.

He types back, So… should I just tell her? Like, tomorrow at the movie night?

Why not?

Riki stares at the text. His heart rate picks up again. He's not sure if it's excitement or fear, but the thought of opening up to you is making him feel a little dizzy. He has to admit Heeseung is right. If he doesn't say something, he'll regret it. He's never going to know what could be between you if he doesn't take the chance.

But what if you don't feel the same way? What if everything changes and he ruins the friendship?

Jake's message pops up again, as if he's reading Riki's mind. Worst case scenario? She doesn't feel the same way. But at least you'll know, and you can move on. Best case scenario? She feels the same way, and it's the start of something.

He lets out a breath. He knows what he has to do. He knows it's time to stop running from the truth and to just be honest.

He sets his phone down, feeling a little better but still nervous. There's no turning back now. Tomorrow, at the movie night, he's going to do it.

He's finally going to tell you how he feels.

───

The evening had arrived. The living room is filled with sounds of laughter and chatter as everyone settles in for the movie night. Your friends gather on the couch, snacks are being passed around, and the sound of the opening credits begins to roll. The air is light, it's the kind of night that makes you forget all the stress of school and life for a while.

But as you settle onto the couch, your thoughts keep drifting back to Riki. He's just a few feet away, chatting with the others, looking more nervous than usual, which you found odd, but decided not to question too much. You can't help but steal glances at him, your heart fluttering every time he looks your way. It's crazy how much of a mess he makes you feel just by being near you. You've tried to ignore it, tried to convince yourself it's nothing more than friendship, but every time he's around, you can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there could be something more.

You try to shake off the feeling and focus on the movie, but just as the opening scene begins, you notice Riki subtly stand up, his eyes flicking over to Jake and Heeseung, who were both standing in the corner by the snack table.

Curious, you watch as he motions for them to follow him. They exchange brief glances before nodding, and then they all step out of the living room, disappearing down the hallway towards the kitchen.

You don't think much of it at first, but then a small thought tugs at you. Why was he pulling them aside? It's not like he's the type to be secretive, but you can't help it. You slip off the couch and quietly follow them, making sure your feet are making as little sound as possible against the floor. You move carefully, not wanting to get caught. You peek around the corner, just enough to hear their voices more clearly but not enough for them to see you.

"Dude, are you sure about this?" Jake's voice is low but serious. "I mean, you've got to be prepared for whatever happens."

"I know, I know," Riki replies, his voice a little strained. "But I'm not going to know unless I do it, right? I just… I don't know what to say to her."

You freeze.

"Her?" You feel your heart skip a beat.

Her?

You hadn't realized you were holding your breath until you exhale in a rush. Riki clears his throat, and you hear him shift on his feet. "I just love her so much but I also don't want to ruin our friendship, you know?"

You lean a little closer, feeling a sense of dread building up inside you. Who is he talking about? You glance over at the kitchen doorway again, making sure they haven't spotted you yet. You can hear the sound of the fridge door opening, followed by the clink of bottles. It's as if time has slowed down, and all you can focus on is Riki's voice.

"Look, dude," Jake says, his tone softer now. "I know you're freaking out. But at some point you'll have to be honest with her unless you want someone else to do it before you."

"I know." he sighs, sounding frustrated.

Heeseung chimes in. "If she didn't feel the same way she wouldn't be hanging out with you all the time. You can't go a day without texting her and she can't either."

"Yeah, but what if I'm wrong? What if it's all just in my head? Maybe she just really likes me as a friend."

The air feels thick as Riki's words settle in your chest, and something tightens in your stomach. You didn't realize it, but hearing those words makes something inside you ache, and it's a feeling that you can't ignore. You never expected this. Her...he's talking about someone, and it's not you. And even worse, you've got no clue who he's even talking about.

Or so you thought.

You swallow hard, fighting the sudden wave of sadness and disappointment. You try to steady your breathing, your heart pounding rapidly. Of course he likes someone else. Why would it be you? You've only been close friends. You're just… you. The girl who's always hanging around, the one he can talk to, laugh with, but never someone he would look at like that.

Your mind races, thoughts spinning in a blur. Maybe it's someone from school. Maybe he's been talking to her for a while now and you just didn't know. Maybe he's already planning on asking her out tonight. That's why he's acting so weird. That's why he's been so quiet, so distant lately.

You feel a lump building up in your throat, the sting of tears threatening to spill. You force yourself to breathe slowly, trying not to let the sadness overwhelm you. You try to keep your footing steady, but everything around you feels like it's tilting.

You pull back from the corner, moving as quietly as possible, and slip back into the living room. You sit back down on the couch, but you can't focus on the movie. You can't focus on anything. The room feels too loud now. The chatter, the laughter, the flickering images on the screen...none of it matters. All you can think about is how Riki likes someone else, and how much it hurts, even though you only figured out how you felt about him after hearing him talk about her.

You keep your head down, willing yourself not to cry. You don't know if anyone has noticed your change in demeanor, but at the moment, you don't care. All you want is for the night to end so you can go home and forget about the overwhelming, bitter feeling in your chest.

Meanwhile, Heeseung, Jake, and Riki are still in the kitchen, completely unaware that you overheard everything. Riki stands there, still fidgeting nervously, trying to sort through his thoughts while his friends offer their best advice.

"Just do it, man." Heeseung says again. "Like Jake said, worst case scenario, she says no. You'll get over it. But at least you'll know."

"I know." he says, still sounding unsure. "I'll… I'll figure it out." And with that, he returns to the living room. Jake and Heeseung remain in the kitchen for a few more minutes, finishing their drinks and chatting a bit more, eventually returning to the living room as well.

The rest of the movie night feels like a blur. You do your best to hold it together, but the weight of everything you overheard is pressing on you. The sounds of laughter and excitement around you seem distant, like you're trapped in your own little bubble of hurt. Riki hasn't been as talkative as usual, and you can't help but wonder if it's because of her. Every time you look at him, your heart clenches painfully, and you hate how it feels.

You try to avoid his gaze, sinking further into the couch. Every glance feels like a reminder that you're not the one he's thinking about.

And then the movie ends, and people start trickling out of the living room, grabbing their coats, chatting about plans for next time. Riki seems distracted, his fingers fidgeting with his phone, his eyes darting around as if searching for something, or someone.

You try to slip away quietly, not wanting to be noticed, but just as you're about to grab your coat, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey." Riki's tone is hesitant, and you freeze. You don't look at him right away, afraid that if you do, you'll lose all the composure you've managed to hold on to.

"Hey." You reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You can't look him in the eye.

There's a long, tense silence before he speaks again.

"Can we talk for a second?"

You nod, though your heart is already racing. You follow him into the hallway, away from the others, your mind spinning in a thousand directions. What does he want to talk about? Is he going to finally tell you about whoever this girl is? Does he know you overheard everything?

As you step into the hallway, he doesn't say anything right away. He just stands there for a moment, looking at you with a strange mix of apprehension and something else. Then, he looks down at his hands and takes a deep breath.

"You uh… you seemed off tonight..." he begins carefully, his words deliberate, like he's trying to read the situation. "I just wanted to ask if everything's okay."

You swallow hard, not knowing how to answer. How do you tell him that you've been quietly dying inside since you overheard his conversation earlier? You look at the floor, shifting your weight nervously.

"I'm fine." you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, even though your heart feels like it's about to burst. You don't want him to see how much it hurt. You can't let him know that you've been hurting, that would be selfish...

However, Riki doesn't seem convinced. He takes a step closer, his face full of concern. "Are you sure? Because honestly, I thought you were mad at me. Did I do something?"

A tight knot forms in your stomach, and you feel the urge to tell him everything. How you overheard him talking about another girl, how his words made you feel like you weren't even a thought in his mind. But instead, you find yourself shaking your head, refusing to let the truth spill out.

"I'm not mad." You say quickly, your voice quiet. "I just… I don't know. I've been thinking about some things."

He furrows his brows, still not quite understanding. "What kind of things?"

You bite your lip, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. You don't want to keep pretending like you don't know what's going on, but you can't find the courage to admit what's really eating at you. Instead, you push it down, and, without thinking, you blurt out, "I heard you talking to the guys earlier... so, you like a girl? How come you never told me? I thought we told eachother everything."

His eyes widen, and he suddenly seems like he's been struck by a realization. For a moment, he doesn't say anything. He just looks at you, his expression shifting from confusion to something closer to panic.

His mouth opens slightly, as though he's about to speak, but the words aren't coming. You can see the shock on his face, and you don't know what to make of it. Was he ever planning on telling you he had a crush?

"Wait… You think-" he starts, but stops himself, visibly processing everything. Then, he steps closer, his voice low and nervous.

"No." he says, his eyes now locked on yours with an intensity that makes your breath catch. "There's no other girl."

You blink, confused. "But you said-"

"I wasn't talking about someone else," Riki interrupts gently. "I was talking about you. I've been talking about you this whole time."

The world seems to stop for a second, and your heart skips a beat as the realization hits. You feel lightheaded, your mind spinning. So after all, he did like you. All those words he exchanged with his friends were about you.

You stand there, frozen, unsure of what to say or how to react. He watches you, his face full of concern now, his gaze searching your face like he's waiting for some kind of answer. He couldn't read you, he didn't understand what you could possibly be feeling right now.

"So, when you were talking earlier-" you say, your voice shaking with confusion and a little bit of disbelief.

He reaches out and gently takes your hands in his, pulling you slightly closer. His touch is warm, and the way he holds you makes your heart race even more.

"I was talking about you." he repeats softly, his voice full of sincerety. "I didn't mean to make you think I liked someone else. It's always been you, even when I couldn't understand what I was feeling, I knew I felt something more for you."

You blink up at him, your mind still struggling to catch up. All this time, you had been hurting over a misunderstanding. You thought he liked someone else, but it was you that he liked.

"Well...I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you either, sorry."

His eyes soften as he takes in your words, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. "I'm sorry you had to hear that the wrong way. I didn't want to hurt you. I just… I didn't know how to say it. I didn't know how to tell you that I like you- no, that I love you. I've been trying to figure out how to do this right, but I was too scared of messing everything up."

Your breath catches in your throat. Love? He loves you?

"I… I don't know what to say, I-" you whisper, still reeling from the shock of it all.

Riki interrupts again, his voice full of nervousness. "I just… I want to know if you feel the same way. Please."

Your heart is racing now, your emotions overwhelming you in the best way. The feeling of warmth, of everything finally clicking into place, is so intense that it almost makes you feel dizzy.

"I'm so incredibly in love with you." You finally admit, your voice trembling with the weight of your words. You hadn't realized that you didn't actually tell him the truth about how you felt, it was all too much to handle.

Riki pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly, as if he's afraid to let you go. You let yourself sink into him, the rush of relief and joy flooding your chest. This was it. This was what you'd both been waiting for. No more confusion, no more wondering.

"I'm so glad you said it." he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I've been dying to hear those words."

You both pull away from the hug, still holding each other, you look at him, and his eyes are softer than ever, the kind of look that makes your heart flutter with every passing second.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks.

"Of course." you respond, trying to fight back a smile, almost as if you already knew what he was about to ask.

He shifts, his hand slipping into yours once again, holding it gently. "I know it might be a little… soon, but now that we've got all that out of the way…"

You raise an eyebrow, already feeling your heart race again.

He takes a deep breath, his smile never leaving his face. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

You can't help but feel the fluttering in your chest grow stronger. You can see the nervousness in his eyes, the way he's holding his breath, waiting for your answer.

You step closer, a little laugh escaping your lips, and give him a small but firm nod. "Yes, Riki, of course I will."

Relief washes over his face, and he smiles, the only smile that always makes your heart skip a beat. "Really?" he asks, his voice full of disbelief but also so much happiness.

"Really." you reassure him, squeezing his hand, unable to stop the smile on your own face from growing.

Before you can say anything else, Riki leans forward, his lips brushing softly against yours, a sweet kiss that seals everything in place. It's slow and tender, the kind of kiss that makes you feel like nothing else in the world matters.

When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, and you both stay there for a moment, savoring the quiet comfort of finally being together with no doubts in your mind after all it took to get here in the first place.

He looks at you with a stare full of love, no words needed, just one simple expression that speaks for itself.

His voice suddenly interrupts the silence "Would you want to stay the night? Like, sleep over? I don't want this night to end. I want to keep talking to you...keep being with you."

The way he eagerly asks his question makes your heart melt all over again. And undoubtedly, you felt the same way. All you wanted was to be in his arms and talk to him, like you always did. But this time around there was no more anxiety about your feelings, you were completely at ease.

"Yeah." you say with a soft laugh. "I'd love that."

Riki's face beams with happiness, and before you know it, you're both heading to his room, where the night continues exactly as expected. Filled with quiet conversations, laughter, and soft touches. Truth be told, neither of you felt ready to let go just yet, even when you tired yourselves out. You couldn't help but fall asleep in each other's arms, like you've always dreamed, like he's always dreamed too.

[maenefa]

This kind of Denethor discourse is so frustrating to me that I am literally pacing back and forth like a panther in a zoo enclosure. Ugggggggghhhhh

A lot of people will tell you that the moral of The Lord of the Rings is “never lose hope,” and that Denethor is bad because he loses hope.

Please read THIS and THIS and especially THIS, which is one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking meditations on LotR you’ll ever read. Tolkien’s ideas about hope are so much more radical than “hope good despair bad.”

Denethor—Tolkien’s Denethor, not Peter Jackson’s Denethor—is unsettling because he tries to hope, but his hope isn’t strong enough to save him. Here are his thoughts on hope, just a few days before his death:

The time will not be long. In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the hardihood to die free.

Denethor has a more “realist” worldview than Gandalf or Faramir, but he’s not a nihilist. He’s still hanging onto hope even though he’s grieving Boromir and he’s positive that Frodo is going to be captured by Sauron. He only breaks when Faramir is mortally wounded and he sees the black ships in the palantir. And I don’t mean he gives up, I mean his mind snaps:

And as [Pippin] watched, it seemed to him that Denethor grew old before his eyes, as if something had snapped in his proud will, and his stern mind was overthrown.

Tolkien repeatedly uses language like “madness,” “madman,” “he is not himself” and “his mind was overthrown.” It’s not subtle!

Denethor is having a psychotic episode. His culpability is reduced, either partially or totally; we can’t know for certain. But I don’t think that everything he says and does in his last moments is “the real Denethor.”

We can do our best and try to have hope, but sometimes life crushes us. How are we supposed to live with the knowledge that this can happen?

Tolkien was haunted by the idea of heroes who fail, heroes who are crushed by their burdens:

Frodo indeed 'failed' as a hero, as conceived by simple minds: he did not endure to the end; he gave in, ratted. (Letter 246)

….I think it can be observed in history and experience that some individuals seem to be placed in 'sacrificial' positions: situations or tasks that for perfection of solution demand powers beyond their utmost limits, even beyond all possible limits for an incarnate creature in a physical world – in which a body may be destroyed, or so maimed that it affects the mind and will. Judgement upon any such case should then depend on the motives and disposition with which he started out, and should weigh his actions against the utmost possibility of his powers, all along the road to whatever proved the breaking-point. (Letter 246)

Tolkien himself tended to judge Denethor harshly, but the character fits very well into the same template as Frodo: a “sacrificial” person who is pushed beyond his limits. The palantir aged him and weakened his mental health, but what truly pushed him over the edge was the wounding of Faramir: Tolkien says that Denethor “maintained the integrity of his personality until the final blow of the (apparently) mortal wound of his only surviving son.”

It’s easy to judge Denethor for using the palantir (although Tolkien said that he had the right to use it and Gandalf admitted that the palantir’s knowledge had often proved useful!) but what should Denethor have done differently regarding sending Faramir into battle? We know that the defense of Osgiliath was necessary because Tolkien had the Rohirrim arrive at the exact moment the Witch King is about to ride through the gate of Minas Tirith. If Faramir hadn’t delayed Mordor’s army, the Rohirrim would have showed up to a conquered city.

Denethor believed that it was necessary to send Faramir to Osgiliath… and he was right! But the pain of being responsible for Faramir’s death was too great for him to bear. You can say that his craving for information killed him, but it’s just as accurate to say that his love for Faramir killed him.

Gandalf tells Denethor’s servants that they were “caught in a net of warring duties,” and this is also true of Denethor. His duty as a father conflicts with his duty as the leader of Gondor, and the strain destroys him.

It may be true that Denethor’s need for control is a character flaw, but I wonder about his final use of the palantir. His son appears to be dying: why does he leave his side to go look in the palantir? I actually think this was a hopeful act: Denethor was hoping to see the Rohirrim, or some kind of good news about the war, some indication that Faramir’s death would not be in vain. But the palantir shows him that he sent his son to die for nothing.

It’s the tragedy of Denethor lamenting “I sent my son forth, unthanked, unblessed, out into needless peril” and dying before he can learn that the battle wasn’t needless… you can’t reduce this tragedy to a morality play!

Okay, I can’t deny that the palantir is a very topical analogy for the internet/smartphones/the tyranny of “data” in general.

But Denethor is so much more than a blackpilled internet doomer, and I will defend him forever.

[castiwls]

invisible string .ᐟ

Paring; anakin x reader

Prompt; 'And isn't it just so pretty to think. All along there was some Invisible string tying you to me?'

Requested; anon

Notes; reqs and inbox are open !

Masterlist | Taylor Swift masterlist

Fate wasn’t something you truly believed in. The force sure, but fate? That was something children were told to help keep them optimistic or explain coincidences which were just slightly too perfect - parental intervention or not.

Things happened for a reason - but fate was not a reason.

Anakin Skywalker however seemed to be determined to make you believe that fate was real and that it was fate that the two of you ended up in the hallway and the same time at the exact moment a droid decided to trip you up and right into his arms.

Of course, you’d heard of him but you’d never met him. Your master had once described life as being led by a little golden string. Every event was linked and sometimes some people's strings intertwined together when those people were meant to meet.

Anakin seemed convinced that your strings were meant to intertwine and he was doing everything he could to make sure you knew this. First, it was the fact that you were both born on Tatooine and then it became the fact that you both were in the same youngling group (you never spoke) and finally the fact that you both just happened to have quarters in the same wing.

You continued to push that “it’s just a coincidence. It’s not fate, we’re the same age of course we’d be in the same temple group.” Every time Anakin would simply laugh before shrugging and making a comment about how. “A coincidence is fate.” He’d grin wrapping an arm over your shoulder and joining you on whatever errand you were running.

Though Anakin Skywalker was anything if not determined. And he was determined to make you see that your meeting was years in the making - every little action had led to your strings intertwining more and more until that one day in the corridor. 

⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *⋆·˚ ༘ *

“Can I help?” You jumped slightly as a voice broke through the silence and you whipped around to find Anakin grinning back at you, half his body hidden behind the door frame. 

“How did you even find me?” 

“I have my ways.”

“You asked half the temple didn't you?”

“...No” 

You huffed as he stepped closer to where you were currently sat hunched over a droid which you’d spent the last three hours trying to fix. “You look a bit stuck there.” Anakin gestured to the parts strewn all over the floor before crouching down to pick one up. 

“Use this. It’s easier to tighten the smaller bolts.” He pressed the tool into your hand with a small smile. You frowned blinking at him for a moment before nodding and taking the tool. “Thanks.” You did as he said and quickly found him to be right. 

The bolt tightened almost immediately and Anakin made a small noise of satisfaction as you stared down at the bolt. You’d spent the last half an hour trying to get the damn thing to tighten and he’d solved it in less than a minute.

“See. Like I said, much easier.” He squeezed your shoulder before moving to sit down properly beside you. “Here.” He reached over to gently take the tool and the droid. “Let me.” 

He worked in relative silence for a while as you watched. “Why are you so obsessed with the idea of befriending me?” Your words surprised you - the thought not meant to have left your lips but Anakin simply smiled. 

“Because, I think you're an interesting person.” His shoulder bumped yours “And like I said it does seem kinda like fate that we just happened to have so much in common before we even spoke.” You huffed rolling your eyes as he laughed quietly.

“Remember that little thread that we were taught about?”

“Of course I do.”

“Yeah, that little thread is like fate-”

“Anakin-”

He simply cut you off placing the droid down. “I like you. And I don’t think it's a coincidence that we met.” You pursed your lips. He really wasn’t going to leave this alone. “It’s too perfect that we just happen to be from the same town and spent most of our childhoods in the same environment and never met. I think we were meant to meet when we did.”

You sucked in a breath watching him for a moment. You could almost hear the passion in his words almost. He really believed in this - that for whatever reason you were fated to meet.

“Let me prove it to you. Give me a month.” Anakin offered turning to face you fully. “Prove to you that the story about those strings was true.”