#character deaths can be good if they're EARNED.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello & also how are you?

If its okay to request, RoR x Pokemon?

Romantic & Platonic W/: Thor, Loki, Ares, Apollo, Buddha, Hercules, Lu bu, Huang, Jack, Leonidas, Adam, Odin, Susano, and Okita

(You can change the scenes if you want)

Human Reader as human historical figure or hero in Pokemon

She lives in Ancient times of Galar w/ her brother and they're (Pokemon) Partners, the Hero Duo (Zacian & Zamazenta). Reader's partner, Zacian & the brother's Partner, Zamazenta

(or Reader's Zamazenta and Brother's Zacian, whichever, You can change Reader's and her brother's partners and titles and some related to Hero Duo, if you want Ex. Their Crowned forms, and it's crowned forms' signature moves Zacian: Crowned sword, Behemoth Blade Zamazenta: Crowned shield, Behemoth Bash)

If you remember the storyline in the game/anime, about the story/history of the 1st Darkest Day, and the heroes who stop it

In the Darkest Day happens, Reader and her brother as the heroes and they partnered with Hero Duo, to go on the journey to stop/fight the Darkest Day

Reader, her brother, Zacian, and Zamazenta are very close to each other like a family. They train, help, learn, and care for/love each other. Zacian and Zamazenta are willing to fight/help their Partner along the way

They met Eternatus and they fought it together, and defeated Eternatus and the Darkest Day ended

After days of their victory, they humbly earned the titles (as heroes or crowned), Reader/Zacian as the 'Fairy King's Sword' and Her brother/Zamazenta as the 'Fighting Master's Shield', as they traveled/explored new places together and save/help others in need

As they grew, until, Reader and her brother are about to die (in old age or other), they say thanks, vows, and goodbyes to others (who're humans & pokemon who're are close to them) and their Pokemon partners for everything, they died, while Zacian's & Zamazenta's sad/mourn their human partners' death. They went to Slumbering Weald, where they (Reader, her brother, Zacian, & Zamazenta) possibly 1st met, and became statues and waited when there's danger arrived…

So is it okay to make a scenario where they're in Vahalla and how would Reader interact w/ ROR characters, as her Brother and also the hero duo can be overprotective to Reader

-For as long as you can remember, even when you arrived in Valhalla alongside your brother, your partner Pokemon Zamazenta, and his partner Zacian, the four of you had been inseparable.

-You and your brother met the two legendary Pokemon many years ago, when the Darkest Day threatened to wipe out Galar, going to the Slumbering Weald and you each became partners to the legendary Sword and Shield Pokemon with the shared goal in mind of saving Galar and stopping the Darkest Day.

-You became a hero alongside your brother and Pokemon, saving the nation, and you became co-ruler with him, but after you both died, living out your lives into old age, the true legend was lost, morphing into one single hero with a sword and shield, who stopped the Darkest Day, not the two of you and the two Pokemon.

-In Valhalla, you were amazed to be around other warriors of history, ones who did great and bad things, and the gods as well, many who admired the hard work your brother and you had put into saving the world all those years ago.

-When your partner Pokemon arrived in Valhalla alongside you both, you were grateful, as you had seen how they had mourned your deaths, returning to the Slumbering Weald and turning themselves into statues until the world needed them again, and came to you in Valhalla to stand by your sides again.

-You had befriended many warriors, those who admired you, much to your brother’s annoyance, as he didn’t like seeing men around you, not wanting you to get hurt, but Zamazenta was a good deterrent for those wanting to try anything funny.

-Lately your brother had been seeing you hanging out a lot with (Love) and at first it seemed like you were just friends, but as time went on you seemed to be growing closer and closer, but Zamazenta wasn’t doing anything, silently telling your brother that the Pokemon trusted (Love), at least to a point.

-When Zamazenta would get jealous, when he felt like you weren’t giving him enough attention, he would squeeze between you and (Love), pushing (Love) away and making you dote on him instead, much to (Love’s) annoyance and just a bit of amusement.

-It was when the skies turned unnaturally dark suddenly on just a normal day in Valhalla that a siren sounded out, sounding a threat.

-Your brother and you had seen this before, knowing what this is as in the sky, from behind the dark clouds, came something you never thought you would see again, Eternatus, looking more powerful than ever and was now putting the lives of gods, humans, and Pokemon alike at stake.

-(Love) was preparing to fight, to protect you, telling to you run to safety as he headed to battle, but you turned when you heard your brother, “Y/N! Let’s go!” you turned and saw your brother riding Zacian, charging toward Eternatus, and you quickly turned to Zamazenta who nodded and you got on him, charging towards the fighting.

-You saw many gods and warriors were injured were injured when you arrived and you froze, seeing (Love) trying to pick himself up as you stood by your brother, your Pokemon on either side of you.

-A bright flash of light surrounded the four of you, as the two Pokemon performed a Volundr with you and your brother, putting you both in powerful armor, him with a massive sword and you with a massive shield and you both charged into battle.

-Eternatus recognized you both as the one who defeated him all those years ago, screeching out loudly, preparing an attack but you and your brother were prepared.

-As the attack was launched you leapt up first, lifting your shield and you blocked the blow, protecting everyone behind you as the energy played on all sides.

-Your brother leapt up from behind you, charging in with a war cry and stabbed Eternatus deep in his chest, much like when you first fought the massive Pokemon.

-The Pokemon screeched as it was defeated once again, fading away as the sky returned to normal and you and your brother drifted back down to the ground where everyone was waiting and cheering for the two of you.

-You separated from your Pokemon partners and instantly (Love) had you in his arms, hugging you close and you beamed, your arms around his neck, “I’m fine (Love)- this wasn’t our first fight with Eternatus.”

-He smiled softly, relaxing before he lowered his head to kiss you, relieved to see that you were okay before your brother grabbed you, “Not happening!!” you whined at your brother as he glared at (Love) who was amused, seeing your brother so protective as the two Pokemon growled at him, trying to keep him away from you.

-(Love) knew that it was because they cared, just smiling and walking away, as he knew that he would see you later, which you also knew, hiding your smile behind your hand as you realized this before you scolded the Pokemon and your brother, telling them that you were allowed to date, but your brother didn’t seem to think so- while Zamazenta knew what was up, but kept silent, wondering how this was going to all turn out.

[meyerlansky]

also ftr. there's a difference between "i'm harassing the writers/directors/whoever over a decision i didn't like" [bad, fucking obviously] and "i don't think a show should be renewed after a weak season" [value-neutral whether other people agree or not]

[meara-eldestofthemall]

Gee, thanks DC! You Just Turned Bruce Into An Irredeemable Ass.

So, at the end of Gotham War Bruce has officially lost everything. Alfred is still dead, Selina is "presumed dead" and Bruce is both financially and morally broke. Why, you may ask, is Bruce so much worse off this time? Let me count the ways.

He preformed a psychic lobotomy on Jason

The "it's for your own good" excuse only makes the mental rape undertaken by Jason's own father that much more heinous.

Just when you think Bruce can't sink any lower he does. When Dick recognizes that Bruce has lost it, he attempts to use a failsafe disconnect that Bruce himself built into the system. How does Nightwing get thanked for that? Well that brings us to number two on the list.

Batman attacks up his eldest son for doing what he's supposed to do when Batman has gone rouge.

Bruce beats him up because nothing proves you are in control of your sanity like hitting your children. While Dick is holding back, Bruce does no such thing. He hits Nightwing hard enough to send him flying. It could have gotten even worse if Tim hadn't shown up.

Tim arrives and attempts to talk some sense into Batman.

Tim tries to talk Bruce down. It doesn't go well. When Robin is trying to help, as he always does, Batman uses the attempt to reason with him to put the smack down on his son. Bruce could have killed Tim but apparently feels no remorse or guilt.

If there was any teeny tiny little doubt that Bruce will not win the Father of The Year award in 2023 it died a horrible screaming death when Batman abandons his children to potential arrest. Yes, he left a batarang for Dick and Tim but any glimer of possible hope associated with that action was instantly extinguished by Damian's reaction to Batman's callous betrayal.

Bruce abandons Damian.

Look at Dami; he's devastated. Since he came into Bruce's life, Damian has struggled with feelings that he can never earn his father's love and respect. Well, that negative self-image was reinforced in way that may never be repairable. Bruce just utterly destroyed a 13 year old child because of his inability to feel any kind of empathy.

And how does this all end? The best part is that Bruce takes all of his parental responsibilities and dumps them onto Dick.

Thank you Chip Zdarsky and Trini Howard. You've taken Batman from being an edgy anti-hero and made him into a callous monster. Part of me hopes that Bruce never comes back because he doesn't deserve his family.

The only positive aspect in this convoluted mess is that Damian and Tim will be far better off with Dick than with Bruce. Yes, Tim is mostly independent but he still needs guidance (particularly since Tim's first instinct is to try and save Bruce). Damian is essentially Dick's son emotionally anyway so this might help to sustain the positive character growth we've seen in him as of late.

The point of this rant is to wonder what on earth DC thinks they're doing. This story arc has been pure character destruction as far as Bruce is concerned. It's bad storytelling too; rushed, frenetic and massively disappointing.

Hasn't the popularity of Good Dad Bruce in Wayne Family Adventures proved that fans are tired of Bruce being a dark depressed and brooding edge lord? We all accept that Batman is a character with deeeeep issues who is in desperate need of therapy. I, however, draw the line at Bruce being an abusive a**hole.

In years to come when fans wonder when Batman jumped the shark, this is the plot line they'll point to.

[saintsenara]

honestly is there a single competent teacher at Hogwarts? Any teacher I can think of with more than 10 lines of dialogue is a pedagogical disaster. Very shippable disasters though, for which I am grateful because your page has made me giggle all week.

maybe Sprout.

honestly, anon? no.

that school is a basket case and the older i get the more my sympathy for cornelius fudge increases. imagine getting the call where dumbledore says "heyyyyy... so, i hired what i thought was an ex-auror who was retired from the service because of serious ptsd, gave him no teacher training, let him perform illegal curses on children for fun, and then it turns out he was an escaped convict trying to resurrect the dark lord all along. lmao."

i'd have devoted myself to trying to discredit him too.

and so, for fun and profit, i think it's only fair for us to establish an official competency ranking of the teaching staff at hogwarts during the period 1991-1998... points on for having a basic grasp of the material, points off for anyone who nearly dies in your class.

1. wilhelmina grubbly-plank, care of magical creatures

genuinely, professor grubbly-plank is the only person we meet in all seven books who seems to be an uncomplicatedly good teacher. she's got a series of well-defined lesson plans which feature a mixture of guided and independent study and which work in a tangible way towards exams, she has clear authority in the classroom but is never unreasonable or cruel, she's demonstrably able to lead a practical class which involves wild animals which might behave dangerously or unpredictably without there ever being any concerns about student safety, she takes an active pastoral role [such as when she helps heal hedwig's injured wing, reassuring harry enormously], she's collegial [she shares her lessons plans with hagrid in goblet of fire, and she refuses to criticise his teaching to umbridge], and she's admired by all of her pupils except harry [who is nonetheless begrudgingly forced to admit that she's incredibly good at her job].

plus, her aesthetic is iconic.

=2. filius flitwick, charms; pomona sprout, herbology

in joint second place, we have these two.

both sprout and flitwick spend canon seeming to be pretty good at their jobs - they have interesting lesson plans which seem to balance theoretical and practical work well and which prepare their pupils properly for exams, their pupils like them and enjoy their lessons, they're both excellent at the pastoral side of their jobs [sprout's gentle encouragement of neville is really lovely], and they're adored by their colleagues.

they lose marks for lax classroom discipline. harry, ron, and hermione are constantly yapping away in both charms and herbology - with harry and ron frequently failing to understand what they're supposed to be learning because they were too busy have a chat.

=4. remus lupin, defence against the dark arts; septima vector, arithmancy

two teachers here who earn their placement on the list by having one pupil who considers them life-alteringly inspiring.

for lupin, this is dean thomas - whose constant state of readiness to throw hands to defend his honour is one of his greatest character traits. for vector, it's hermione.

obviously, they're both well-qualified, well-prepared, engaging, and [at least in lupin's case, but i can't see why it wouldn't also be the case for vector] well-regarded by their colleagues.

they don't rank higher because lupin loses marks for endangering his students by not disclosing his knowledge that the presumed-to-be-a-death-eater sirius has a means of entering hogwarts without detection [i understand why he does this from a characterisation point of view, but it's inexcusable from a safeguarding one] and because vector teaches an elective subject which is implied to only attract bright, engaged pupils - and therefore has an easier time in the classroom than someone trying to get a student like crabbe through their exams.

5. minerva mcgonagall, transfiguration

in comes minnie mac at number five.

unsurprisingly, her solid curriculum, excellent classroom discipline, high-regard among her colleagues and pupils, support of student extracurricular activities, and investment in helping her pupils pursue the careers they want all give her points.

she loses marks, however, for the fact that she is so casually disdainful of pupils who aren't instinctively good at her subject - which suggests that she doesn't know how to adapt her material so it can be understood by every student she teaches. like dumbledore, she seems to have an identifiable favouritism for brilliant students - who she seems to permit to get away with much more than students she considers average or dull - which probably doesn't endear her to anyone who doesn't get that treatment.

on her pastoral approach, though, i don't think that it matters too much that she's not particularly nurturing - even though she's a head of house. she seems to be good at responding to genuine distress and managing genuine crises with empathy, and the "pull yourself together" vibes she takes in response to more trivial dramas is because she's a presbyterian scotswoman.

6. severus snape, potions & defence against the dark arts

the one on this list that i imagine will be controversial...

because snape is a dick in the classroom - not denying that - but he's also, in terms of his pupils' exam performance, clearly the most successful teacher in the entire school. he can fill his newt-level classes despite only admitting those with outstanding grades, and he expects every pupil he teaches to pass owl-level potions and seems not to be disappointed. hermione reveals that he does teach the theory of potions and the discipline's wider application - harry and ron just don't listen - and that she thinks his lessons are interesting.

snape loses marks - obviously - for his general vibe, although i think he should be allowed some leeway for his dickhead behaviour since potions is clearly a subject in which not paying attention and not being able to follow instructions properly is dangerous [hence why i've been a trevor hater since day one].

i suppose he should also be allowed some leeway because it's a genre requirement for a school story to have a theatrically evil teacher. but he's not getting it - since he clearly enjoys the role so much.

7. horace slughorn, potions

marks on for encouraging independent thinking and for clearly being able to hold a classroom's attention. marks off for not learning the names of pupils he's indifferent to, getting his favourite pupils drunk, and for having no follow-up questions to "hello, sir. i'd like to commit some murders."

8. charity burbage, muggle studies

entirely because i think it's genuinely admirable - and, indeed, far more admirable than the fact that the order of the phoenix all happily keep working for the state following voldemort's takeover - that she publishes an article in the daily prophet, to which her real name is attached, explicitly refuting blood-supremacist rhetoric when she must know that a blood-supremacist government is about to come into power.

marks off because the fact that even wizards who've taken her class appear to know fuck all about muggle society means that she can't be particularly good at her job.

9. firenze, divination

marks on because his pupils love him, marks off because that's a tremendously low bar to clear given... trelawney.

him telling his classes that divination is a bullshit, made-up subject is iconic, though.

10. "alastor moody", defence against the dark arts

i think it's genuinely impressive that he manages to go from being imprisoned under the imperius curse for a decade straight into planning a full year's lesson plans [which his pupils love] and doesn't have a breakdown.

marks off because of literally everything else.

=11. all the miscellaneous teachers: aurora sinistra, astronomy; silvanus kettleburn, care of magical creatures; bathsheba babbling, ancient runes

they seem fine.

14. rolanda hooch, flying

full respect to her for managing to wangle a full-time salary out of an annual workload made up of teaching one lesson [badly] and refereeing six quidditch matches.

15. quirinus quirrell, defence against the dark arts

all the proof those of us who hate professor riddle stories need that voldemort would have been a dogshit teacher, if he can't even get his meat-puppet to inspire a room full of eager eleven-year-olds in a subject which is about the coolest ways possible to kill people.

=16. cuthbert binns, history of magic; sybill trelawney, divination

they're terrible, obviously, but the fact that they remain in their jobs despite being so clearly incompetent is entirely dumbledore's fault. are you not giving the staff performance reviews, albus? come on now.

18. dolores umbridge, defence against the dark arts

umbridge deserves to be in prison, but she did at least bother to plan out a curriculum.

=19. gilderoy lockhart, defence against the dark arts; rubeus hagrid, care of magical creatures

both victims of dumbledore's "lol this will be so funny" era of hiring practices. both deservedly regarded as completely fucking incompetent by all but one defiant brownnoser. both possessing jazzy taste in textbooks.

21. amycus carrow, defence against the dark arts

he beats his sister simply because his pupils do appear to know how to perform the unforgivable curses correctly.

22. alecto carrow, muggle studies

literally nothing positive can be said.

[thegnomelord]

I have had a thought.

What if dragons purr when you rub their horns..

Dragon!Price x Gaz and/or Nikolai,,,

Hehdhehehe

Hmmm, I don't usually write character x character but i'll give it a try so tell me if this sucks lol

CW: SFW, Price x Gaz, horn rubbing, purring, monster cod au, soft short and sweet. 1224 words. Cross posted to Ao3

Kyle is a good soldier. Strong. Competent. Reliable. Though the fears of losing him on every mission still linger, they're eased by the fact that Price never has to worry that his sergeant will stumble in those crucial moments when a second of hesitation can be the difference between life and death. Never has to worry that his Gaz will think of himself as expendable and rush into the hailstorm of bullets. . .

Kyle is also a menace.

Especially when he's perched on his desk and giving John the most pathetic puppy dog eyes he's ever seen. "Please, captain, just one time?" The imp of a harpy even has the gall to flutter his eyes, looking at him through his lashes because he knows how the light of the setting sun hits his eyes juuuust right to make the brown glitter like gold and amber jewels.

"Kyle." Price stresses. This really isn't the time to indulge his sergeant's need for mischief when he's got a week's worth of backlogged paperwork to go through.

"Sir." Kyle throws his tone back at him, but the way the word rolls off his tongue and he adds the smallest chirp to the end of it makes something inside him stir. "Come on mate, I promise it'll only take five minutes." Kyle's wings spread out so he can display the shininess of his feathers - peacocking transcends species it seems - the mundane dark color turned to that of rich obsidian by the sun.

"It never takes just 'five minutes'." He tries to argue, but the usual commanding rumble in his voice is gone. Price knows he's fighting a losing battle from the way his fingers itch for him to burry them into the smooth feathers and preen Kyle's wings until his treasure croons.

Kyle knows this. He's unable to hide the arrogant look in his eyes when he bites his bottom lip and leans back, muscles tensing, because he knows how such a display of his body will make John's eyes automatically roam across his hard earned muscles. "Pretty please." Kyle says, tail feathers gently twitching side to side.

Both of them know Price never stood a chance.

"That was dirty." John sighs, dejected by his own weakness. The distance between them is small, but Price purposely takes slow steps. Kyle eagerly scoots back on the desk and spreads his legs for John to fit between, hands raising to hold his biceps as Price braces his palms against the desk next to Kyle's hips.

Kyle snorts. "As if you've never stooped lower cap." He spreads his wings to wrap around Price, soft feathered wing wrists bumping against his back.

John just growls lowly in response. He doesn't resist his body's natural desire to reciprocate, to reaffirm the claim over his hoard. The atrophied muscles on his right side still ache with phantom pain after all this time, but that doesn't stop him from wrapping his one remaining wing around Kyle. The combination of their wings acts as a shroud from the rest of the world, soft feathers brushing against his green scales and their scents mixing together.

Price treasures these little moments.

The peace only lasts for a few seconds before Kyle ruins it with a grin. "Now come on, give me your horns." He says, not even bothering for Price to tilt his head before Kyle's clever fingers rise up his arms to cup his face, inching closer to where his horns grow out of his skull.

Price promises to himself to hunt down and shoot whichever wanker posted the '101 ways to make a dragon purr like a kitty' on the internet. Ever since Kyle found that blasted instruction manual he's been trying to go through the entire list to verify the information. Price had seen the article in question and had nearly choked when he'd read that the author thought pulling on a dragon's tail could get them any other reaction than an immediate bisection—

Kyle's impatient fingers still just enough to gently scratch the bumpy base of his scalp around the horns. It tingles, and Price isn't able to tell if the tingling sensation is of the good kind or a bad. A small sound rolls from his throat, but that doesn't satisfy Kyle.

"Come on John, sing for me." Kyle repeats the words Price tells him when he's preening him, voice light and just at the edge of taunting. Keeping one hand around his base, Kyle slides the palm of his other hand up the hard bone until he reaches the natural curve of Price's horn. He squeezes gently and moves his hand like he's jerking him off.

"O-oh." Price is grateful he's bracing against the desk because his legs go weak. The sensation of his palm and the pressure of his hand is neither good nor bad, just unfiltered feeling that his brain can't even begin to handle, so it shoots it down his spine like lightning. The buzz of sensation catches on every vertebra and makes his wing quiver, forces his tail to wag like he's some lost puppy.

"Not what I was expecting." Kyle confesses. Price can't see the surprise and wonder on his face as John's eyes close automatically. His head tips forward to rest his forehead on Gaz's chest, brawny biceps tensing to just support his weight and claws digging into the desk with enough force to tear through the wood.

Kyle moves his hands so he's holding Price's horns in both hands. The pale green horns are smooth under his palms besides the occasional scratch or chip in them. Kyle moves his hands with slowly and methodically, changing the pressure he uses on every stroke and paying special attention to the sharp tips of his horns.

That's all it takes to turn John's chest into an geriatric engine. Price manages to groan and mumble a curse under his breath before the only sound leaving his lips is the deep baritone purr. There's no way of stopping it; If Price was in a better mind he would question why the gentle stroking of his horns has him feeling like a puddle of goo but his brain is completely fried from the sensation.

Kyle has heard him purr before but this is different. All the other times his purrs would always be throaty and quiet. Now it feels like the sound is coming straight from the bottom of his chest and, fuck, Kyle can feel it, feel the rumble shake his ribs and the desk beneath him. The sound is loud and unpolished and so raw Gaz feels naked just hearing it.

Kyle can feel his heard beating a mile a minute, his surprise making his hands still just long enough for Price to look up at him. Kyle could die happy after seeing how fucked out Price looks — pupils dilated to the size of plates, panting, red faced, so open and unguarded. Comfortable. With him.

"You've been holding out on me John." Kyle smiles softly, starting to stroke his horns again.

Price purrs even louder, his tail curling around Kyle's leg, managing to pull the claws of one hand from the desk to grip Kyle's thigh and pull him closer, draconic hind-brain desperately seeking to get more of that gluttonous pleasure from Kyle's hands.

Safe to say they take longer than five minutes.

[greenandhazy]

okay but it's the fact that CQL is in large part about what you would sacrifice for the people you love, and in almost every other instance in the show, that sacrifice is portrayed as, if not necessarily the Right decision, at the very least evidence of fundamental goodness. the Yunmeng trio, Wen Qing for her brother and Nie Mingjue for his (Fatal Journey counts 100%), Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, they make difficult choices for love and that makes them Good even if it doesn't make them happy.

and then there's Jin Guangyao and Nie Huaisang. whose identities are so fundamentally wrapped up in being His Mother's Son and The Little Brother, respectively, and they are so singularly devoted to the legacy of their relative that they will continue to fight for it long after death. they will sacrifice others in a heartbeat. they will lie, they will scheme, they will cause others pain. they will endure humiliation after humiliation. they will put on a persona that makes their true selves unrecognizable even to the people who know them best. ultimately they will sacrifice their own morality, their own goodness, in a way that would probably horrify the people in whose names they make this sacrifice.

I am falling asleep and these are random disjointed thoughts but other things that drive me feral about them is:

the backstory CQL gives, Meng Yao being at the Unclean Realm for (?) a length of time, and allll the visual signifiers of a close, basically familial relationship between them

(I know fanon likes to talk about "the Nie braids" as a sect-wide thing but they ARE NOT. they are a HUAISANG AND MINGJUE AND MENG YAO THING. litcherally no other Nie disciple wears them, not even Nie Zonghui! that's so significant!)

CQL/FJ leaning hard into the suggestion of the brothers being more or less on their own, very little discussion of their parents, leaving room to lean into the idea of NMJ fulfilling a parental role as well as a brotherly one, and the parallel between him and Meng Shi being even stronger

the final flashback to Meng Yao and Meng Shi, and how it's framed to suggest that as coming from Huiasang--a cherished memory Meng Yao passed on to him?

I've seen this floated around on tumblr before, about how it's very likely that Jin Guangyao underestimated the depth of Huaisang's love for his brother, based on how his love manifests as overachieving. so that moment of revelation in the temple being not just "oh, you're the one who was behind this the whole time" but "oh, you and I have this same sickness, this same depth of feeling."

the character songs. I'm obsessed with them. the fact that Jin Guangyao's is a constant litany of questions, uncertainty, revolving around "How many people are willing to know your true face?", while the Nie brothers' song has their relationship as this unshakeable foundation, to the point that they're the only two characters represented by one vocalist. the Unclean Realm being unquestionably "a place of deep love" and the only uncertainty being "when will we see each other again?"

(...and that being answered in part by the title, the repeated use of farewell with connotations of permanence. Huaisang defying death, wanting his brother back in any form possible, while Jin Guangyao literally meets his doom because he is so concerned about earning his mother an easier time in her next life.)

mutual obsession over Nie Mingjue. Meng Yao keeping his head in his treasure room. there are lots of jokes about how LXC is left out of the get-along coffin, but can we talk about the fact that Huaisang sacrificed his moral compass, the reputation of his sect, the life of a troubled teenager, and 10+ years of his life all so he could free his brother's mutilated body from Jin Guangyao's clutches... and at the end of it all, Jin Guangyao is the one who will be with him for eternity?

in conclusion: I love them, your honor.

[baldursgat3]

i cannot stare at this document any longer it's 5.1k words, here she is, per request of @thisisew

cw for major character death (kind of) and ascended astarion and durge being Generally Kind Of Fucked Up I don't think anything is excessive but they're not good people

He adored having you at his side - his precious little attack dog. He soothed your bloodlust, sating it as often as he could. There was no shortage of those who wanted to get in the way of his plans for the city of Baldur's Gate. He was happy to let you curb your hunger for violence on his political rivals.  Every so often though, things required a more thoughtful touch. He could just send you out with a name and a vague description and you'd be off like a shot. A few days later they would find a mangled corpse and blame it on the cult of Bhaal that still lingered beneath the city.  No, someone like this, someone this important needed a special touch. You deserved time to plan this one, to savor it. Part of him wished he could go with you to watch but he knew staying away was the easiest way to keep his hands clean. He knew you were more than capable of carrying out horrors all on your own.

Things couldn't have been more perfect. After surviving nearly two centuries of a living nightmare, Astarion felt he deserved nothing less than perfection. He had suffered so long, worked so hard, he had earned this.

He stood on a balcony of the former palace Szarr, basking in the sunlight that poured over the city - his city. He had killed the local vampire lord, freed the city from the clutches of a tyrannical bastard, and rescued the universe from the devastating power of the Nether Brain. He had everything he wanted and he was adored.

More than power, fame, or freedom, one obsession had gripped his heart in a way nothing ever had before. His dearest treasure, Chosen of Bhaal. You had sunk your claws into the very essence of his being. He needed you, craved you, claimed you.

The two of you worked in tandem, like a well oiled machine. His silver tongue and nimble fingers meant he could get most things he wanted. What he couldn't get his way could, more often than not, be solved your way.

He adored having you at his side - his precious little attack dog. He soothed your bloodlust, sating it as often as he could. There was no shortage of those who wanted to get in the way of his plans for the city of Baldur's Gate. He was happy to let you curb your hunger for violence on his political rivals.

Every so often though, things required a more thoughtful touch. He could just send you out with a name and a vague description and you'd be off like a shot. A few days later they would find a mangled corpse and blame it on the cult of Bhaal that still lingered beneath the city.

No, someone like this though, someone this important needed a special touch. You deserved time to plan this one, to savor it. Part of him wished he could go with you to watch but he knew staying away was the easiest way to keep his hands clean. He knew you were more than capable of carrying out horrors all on your own.

He couldn't wait to tell you about your next target, it had really been such a long time coming. He was sure you'd be thrilled and he couldn't wait to see the sparkle in your eyes. Surely you were around here somewhere, he just had to find you.

Astarion turned on his heel, striding calmly back inside to search for his little love. It hardly even surprised him this time as he suddenly found himself with a dagger against his throat as soon as he had stepped out of the light.

"Darling, we really must work on your greetings." He purred, tipping his head back to glance at you

Your other hand wrapped around him to cup his jaw, fingers trailing delicately over his porcelain skin. "You don't like it?" You pressed the dagger just a bit firmer against his neck. "I can hardly stand it. Gods, I want to split your throat open and watch you bleed for me." You cooed, your grip on the hilt shifting as you struggled to resist the flame in you that ached endlessly, just yearning to hear your love's final breath.

But not yet. Not yet.

The threats that spilled from your lips sounded sweet as sugar to Astarion. He knew your hunger, knew that you meant every word. More than that, he knew your desperate longing to spill his blood was born of a twisted blend of the terrible love of death you held and the wonderful, perfect love the two of you shared.

Every prick of blood drawn with your dagger that was tenderly kissed away was as good as a love letter to him. He didn't mind when your fingers would find their way to his throat, trembling with the willpower it took not to crush his windpipe. It all felt like the most sincere displays of love and trust he could possibly dream of.

"Not today, pet." He wrapped a hand delicately around your wrist as you let him pull the dagger away from his throat. "I have something special I'd like to ask of you."

"Anything." You pressed in close to him, weapon still held tight as you rested both hands against his chest.

"I want you to destroy Wyll Ravenguard."

~*~*~

Your mind had spun with so many possibilities. Wyll had been such a good friend through your journey along the Sword Coast. He had attempted to comfort you in the times before your mind fully returned to you. When you rebelled against the violence that was etched into your very soul.

He was so kind, people loved him. He didn't deserve to die, and that made it so much sweeter. His death had to be perfect, you decided. You wanted it to be intimate and personal. A murder hand tailored just for your dear friend.

Of course, he hadn't stuck by your side once he had realized that his peaceful ways had no claim to the life you chose to lead with your beloved. You understood, of course. Not everyone could grasp the way murder was truly just an act of worship. After all, if everyone was a murderer, there could be no innocent victims and that would never do.

What sort of death was befitting someone like Wyll? Not only someone of such status, but someone so personally dear to you? Poison would be nice. Perhaps you could invite him to dinner. You could prepare something special, something that would have him frothing at the mouth before succumbing to the toxin.

No, no, that was far too unbecoming for someone as lovely as Wyll. Perhaps you could gut him? It would be so intimate but you didn't really want to hear him scream. It was so violent, so feral, such an ungraceful way for the son of the Grand Duke to die.

You wanted it to be soft, personal. You wanted to wrap your fingers around his beautiful neck and squeeze. Your hands twitched with your desire to feel his pulse fade under your touch. You could take him out for an evening stroll, a chance to catch up.

If you had to, you could lie about needing his help. Wouldn't that be sweet? "Oh Wyll, I'm a monster. I need help but I'm so frightened of what Astarion might say." The Blade of Frontiers surely wouldn't be able to help himself. You could almost picture the look of betrayal in his eyes already.

Yes, that was it. Lure Wyll out with a sob story, begging for his help. Then, crush the life out of him as the shock set in. Maybe if you were very lucky he'd die with your betrayal written in his eyes. It was perfect.

It was supposed to be perfect, anyway.

~*~*~

You were late. It wasn't all that concerning, not at first anyway. Astarion had expected you back within three hours. That was the time frame you gave him. Long ago, he'd learned to give you an extra hour as you seemed to be such a truly awful judge of time when you had your hands in your victims innards.

Even your extra hour was up now, though. Suddenly, his mind began to race with the worst possible scenarios. There was no way Wyll could've overpowered you. Unless he got lucky. Unless he struck first? Why would he do that, you were supposed to be lying to him?

So then where could you be? He had already resolved that the two of you would have to talk about your ability to stick within a time frame. Four hours was more than enough time to strangle someone to death. If he found out you lost track of time carving poems into Wyll's skin, he was going to be furious.

Every second that ticked by without you felt like a lifetime now. He had to go find you, he couldn't sit here anymore. What if something had gone horribly wrong and he was just twiddling his thumbs.

He practically sprinted towards the front door, only stopping short when it creaked open in front of him. He stopped on a dime as he watched you take a few, shaky steps into the palace before collapsing.

In an instant, he was at your side. He slammed the door shut behind you, barking orders to nearby spawn to get you medicine, bandages, healing potions, anything.

He bundled you into his arms, tenderly but with a near feral desperation. Dried blood stained your face, your nose was absolutely broken. You'd been stabbed multiple times and the entire right side of your body was scorched.

The way you crumpled to the ground, unable to even bask in the agony of your own wounds, something was horribly wrong. “My love… precious little love, what happened?”

He ever so tenderly cupped your jaw as you groaned quietly in pain. You squinted up at him, his eyes were so worried and you were in far too much misery to dream about plucking them from his skull. “He didn't come alone…”

An ambush? Astarion's grip on you tightened just a bit as a wave of anger coursed through his body. He had known what your plan was, what should've happened. Wyll hadn't trusted you, he didn't believe you. Of course, he was right not to, but that didn't make Astarions blood boil any less. “Who else was there?”

One of the spawn returned with a healing potion that he brought to your lips before you could respond. It wasn't much, but it was enough to dull some of the ache. You'd taken several blasts of force magic to the chest, you knew many of your ribs were broken. Definitely your sternum, you hoped he had more options that could mend that break.

“Gale.” You mumbled, blinking up at your darling. “Shadowheart, Karlach, Halsin, Lae’zel. I could've handled two or three but… six. Like he gathered everyone he possibly could…”

Wyll hadn't trusted you an inch, that was obvious. How disappointing. Another spawn arrived with more healing items that he gently administered. “Tell me what happened, darling.” He clearly had no intention of moving you just yet, he was so worried. You could practically smell the fear radiating off him.

It wasn't the same fear you craved. You craved the fear of death. The panic and knowledge that they were about to die always felt like an aphrodisiac to you. It was different when someone was afraid of someone else dying. Especially now that it was targeted at you, by your sweetest love, you could confidently say you didn't care for it.

“I thought it was perfect. He was listening, he seemed so genuine. I cried and begged him for his help, I don't know if he actually believed me.” You winced as Astarion gently started to wipe some of the blood from your face. “The instant I touched him I got a fire bolt to the chest. They swarmed like pathetic little rats.”

“Calm, darling. You need rest, you need to stay still.” His voice was even and measured. It was too perfect, you knew he was barely concealing a seething rage underneath that voice.

“They were going to kill me. Me. After everything I did for them, everything we did together. They all wanted to kill me.” The hypocrisy was not lost on you. You were there to kill Wyll after everything the two of you had been through. It was one thing for you to have murder on the mind, another thing entirely for the bleeding hearts of your ‘friends.’

“I barely managed to slip into the shadows. I could hear them hunting me still, though. I had to practically drag myself back here.” You were angry, so angry. It was supposed to be perfect. You had wanted so, so terribly badly to hear Wyll's dying breath escape his beautiful lips.

You felt Astarion move, gently and slowly, until he had his arms under you, scooping you up bridal style. You often forgot just how strong his ascension had made him, he held you with all the same effort one might hold a cat. Like you were practically nothing in his arms.

“You need to rest, my pet.” You could feel his hands trembling as he held you tight. His undead heart raced in his chest and you didn't even have the energy to fantasize about ripping it out. Rest sounded so nice.

Failing a hunt was always devastating but this was something else. You had been so excited, you never considered the possibility that Wyll would be smart enough to bring backup. You'd relied so heavily on his desire to be a hero, you really expected him to believe your sob story.

Before you knew it, your love has whisked you away to your bedroom, tucking you securely into the comfortable sheets. He sat beside you, gently brushing your hair for a moment as he watched you situate yourself and your broken body. “I'm sorry.”

You didn't expect an apology, that was interesting. “For what?”

“I should've gone with you. We should've been smarter about this and now- now look at you. They could've killed you. Tossed your corpse in the Chionthar, I would've had no way to get you back.” His eyes were dark and angry but you could see his concern written plainly behind them. He was terrified.

“I should be the one apologizing…” you wanted to reach out and grab his hand but your whole body felt so heavy. “I failed. Now they all know he's your target, we won't get another chance. And who knows what they might say.”

“They won't say anything.”

“How can you-”

“I'm going to destroy them. Every last one, understand? I'm so sorry, darling, I know how badly you want to end them but you need to rest. Please.”

“Astarion, you can't go out there, they're still going to be on high alert. They're probably closing in on the palace as we speak. There's still only one of you and six of them. I know they didn't burn all their resources on me, you can't.”

You understood his urge to kill, more than anyone in the world. Your heart broke in your chest with the knowledge that Wyll would survive the night. You had been so eager for his blood, you truly couldn't have imagined the night going this way.

In retrospect, one of you should've guessed that he wouldn't trust you. You should've been prepared for this. You were getting sloppy and that simply wouldn't do.

You tried to push yourself up a bit, fighting a losing battle against Astarion's firm hand on your shoulder that held you down. “Astarion, if you're going to go, you have to take me with you, if we're together-”

“No.” His voice was stern despite the concern that was woven through it. “You're in no state to be doing anything right now.”

“And you will die if you go out there now.” You reached out to grab his hand, staring at him, eyes wide with worry. “Please, please, I'd go mad if anything happened to you, I beg you don't do this. I'm sorry I failed you, please don't go out there.”

Astarion knew your words held a double meaning that made you far more desperate to keep him at your side. You didn't want him to go out because it was dangerous and you couldn't imagine your life without him. More than that, though, he knew if anyone else ended his life you would raze Baldurs Gate to the ground.

One day, far off in the future, he knew you would be the one to end him. You didn't have a plan, it wasn't going to be any time in the next few centuries at least. His blood belonged to you, though, as much as you belonged to him. He was going to be your magnum opus one day, he had to survive.

Leaving Wyll alive meant that he could spread rumors that you had tried to kill him. Your status in the city was… complicated. Some people revered you as a hero along with the others, some believed you were the head of the cult of Bhaal that still ravaged the city. Others still believed you were dead, that every claimed sighting of you was just another person.

None of them were entirely true, no one knew who you really were. You had helped save the city. You were important to Bhaal’s cult. You certainly weren't dead. You liked how vague it all was, it meant you could get away with things. But if Wyll was going to out you, things were going to change. Especially if he outed Astarion in the process.

Your friends knew how close the two of you were. They knew you were, together, something worth fearing. There was no doubt in your mind that one of the six people that had tried to kill you would spill this story. It would probably be in bold print on the Gazette tomorrow.

“You didn't fail me, my love.” He leaned in to place a gentle kiss on your head, breaking off the frustration and panic running through your mind. “I'll stay.”

~*~*~

He did stay, at least for a while. Just long enough for you to fall asleep. He knew you were exhausted, your body needed time to recover. You'd be out cold for hours.

Astarion stalked through the halls of the palace with an aura of malice that frightened each spawn and servant he passed. Everyone saw the flame in his eyes and no one dared to interrupt him.

How dare they? Who did they think they were? To attempt to take you away from him? They should've known better, they should've known that Astarion wouldn't stand for it.

They knew how much he loved you, were they stupid? They tried to kill you, like they didn't think it would bring the wrath of the vampire ascendant. He was going to destroy every last one of them. Did they not know you were his? Did they not realize the power he wielded?

Every second that passed by flooded his mind with images of your broken, injured body. The way they all seemed to have gotten a strike in on your beautiful, delicate skin. As though they had any right to touch you - any right to look at you.

His mind raced with “what if’s.” If you hadn’t managed to get away, if your wounds had been any worse - might he have lost you for good? At the hands of people who had once claimed to be his friends, your friends.

The idea of losing you was enough to drive him mad. His pulse raced as his attention honed in solely on making them suffer for what they had done to you. He couldn’t survive without his darling, he needed you like oxygen. He was obsessed, he knew that, he didn’t care. He had earned the right to be obsessed and now these people were threatening everything he had worked so hard for - suffered so long for. He wouldn’t stand for it.

He tossed open the ornate front doors to his palace, calmly striding out and down the steps with his arms folded casually behind his back. In his eyes, though, there was a dark malice that shone in the moonlight. “Wyll Ravenguard.” He called out, into the night. His voice was even, betraying only a hint of the rage he felt. “No use hiding, I’m sure you’ve all found your way here by now. We can discuss this like civilized adults.”

A moment passed as his voice faded away into the night air. Then a response. “The time to discuss anything has passed, Astarion.” Wyll stepped out of the shadows, blade readied. “You sent your attack dog to murder me in the streets, there’s nothing civilized about this.”

As he spoke, the others emerged into the moonlit courtyard, each prepared to strike. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken this as a personal offense, Wyll. You are, unfortunately, a rather big obstacle in my plans for the city. I’m sure you understand, I’ve got nothing against you, personally. You simply hold a tragically high title. I know you’re no stranger to political turmoil.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Karlach spoke up, adjusting her grip on the battleax she wielded. “So the fuck what if it’s political or personal, you tried to kill him.”

Astarion sighed, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. “And you tried to kill my pet.” He bit back a grin at the revulsion that radiated off some of your former companions at his choice of words. “We've all made mistakes tonight.”

He was so calm for someone surrounded by powerful, angry warriors. He remained unfazed as they slowly closed in around him as well. “She’s too dangerous to live.” Gale spoke as he stepped closer to the vampire, hands sparking with potential magic. “Especially being wielded as your weapon.”

“And she is such an effective one too, isn't she? Well, when she isn't being betrayed, it seems.” He threw a pointed grin at Wyll.

“Betrayed? Because I'm not a gods damned idiot, I'm the betrayer?” Wyll retorted, bitterly. “I wanted to trust her. Gods, do you have any idea how hopeful I was that she genuinely wanted my help? I would've forgiven her in an instant, but I'm no fool, Astarion. Even if it had been genuine it would've taken a serious lapse of judgment to find myself alone with a Bhaalspawn at all.”

Astarion just tutted softly, looking back at him like this was all just some kind of silly game they were playing. “It's a shame, the Bhaalspawn would've killed you kinder than I will. At least with my darling, murder is such a passion. I, meanwhile, want to rip into you with my bare hands and turn you inside out for threatening to take my love from me. Do you understand that? Who you're fucking with?” His calm demeanor was starting to slip as his barely contained rage was bubbling to the surface.

Wyll seemed to recognize this, holding one hand up in defense, though the other kept his blade readied. “You're right, this is political. I don't exactly want to cause a power vacuum in the under city. I don't want to kill you or her. We were friends, once. We all were. But hasn’t she caused enough carnage?”

“What?”

“I can be quick. This doesn't have to be messy. You can't be stupid, Astarion, she wants to kill you just as badly as she wants to love you. One day it's going to be you on the receiving end of her bloodlust. We could end it now, though. Rid Bhaal of another chosen, scatter the cult. Hells, I'll let you claim it, add another notch to your fake hero belt.”

Astarion stared at him for a moment, taking in the offer that had just been laid on the table. Had he been a more sensible man, more reasonable, less utterly obsessed with you, perhaps he could've seen the logic in such an argument.

He wasn't a reasonable man, though. Instead, his eyes darkened with a fury that shocked Wyll into taking a small step back. “You're kidding? Right, you're joking? To attack my love and show up on my doorstep to demand I hand her over to be slaughtered?

“You think I don't know how badly she wants to destroy me? She spends every day itching to bleed me dry and yet, here I stand. Every morning I wake up to her sleeping peacefully beside me, it's just like falling in love again. I am her number one target and she chooses every day to spare me. I would sooner rend the fabric of reality apart than hand her over to you.”

Before he had even finished speaking, the magic that built around Gale erupted. A blue streak of lightning lit the night around them as the wizard loosed the first blow, nearly catching Astarion off guard. Nearly.

A moment before the lightning could connect, Astarion vanished. He reappeared behind Gale, lodging his dagger squarely between his ribs and twisting as he leaned in close. “You forget who you're dealing with, here. I am a fucking god.”

He shoved Gale forward, sending him crumpling to the ground. Shadowheart lunged forward, already channeling a prayer. She was stopped dead in her tracks with a snap from the vampire, however. “I suggest you reconsider.” He smirked as she straightened up, her prayer morphing and twisting. The healing energy that had been building around her coalesced into a deadly bolt of light that streaked towards the unconscious mage.

As Gale stilled underneath Astarion, the rest of the party came to life, all brandishing their weapons with the intent of taking down the vampire lord in his own courtyard. How quaint.

Their attacks narrowly avoided him, catching him not nearly as often as he struck them. Despite their best efforts, they were facing down an enemy that held more power than they could ever hope for. He wasn't truly a god, he had only a few dedicated worshipers but they could more accurately be called fanatics. Regardless, his power could rival some lesser gods.

It was different than facing down a Chosen. Power gifted to an avatar was nothing compared to what came from a gods own hand. Maybe if there had been a few more of them, perhaps if he hadn't taken out their wizard instantly, maybe they would've stood a chance.

He wasnt sure when it happened, at some point Shadowheart and Halsin disappeared. A tactical retreat or simply fleeing a fight they knew they couldn't win. It didn't matter, he could hunt them down later.

There was a feral part of him that so rarely got to see the light of day. Somewhere deep and dark in whatever remained of his soul. These kills didn't need to be clean. Perhaps, he thought, as he buried his claws into Lae’zel’s stomach, grabbing and ripping out what he could. Perhaps Gale had gotten off too easy.

Should he revive him after all this? He was so smart, he could be a useful spawn. Maybe he could even be a little gift to you. Your own little toy to torment as you pleased.

Karlach dropped to the ground, the rage and adrenaline that had been powering her through the multiple deep wounds she'd received finally giving out on her. That was all right, she could bleed out, Astarion didn't mind. Now he could turn all his attention back to Wyll.

The man stood before Astarion, despite sustaining several injuries. He still held his sword tightly, though it wavered ever so slightly. He didn't speak, his face was awash with countless emotions.

“Are you going to be a hero, Wyll? Stay and fight bravely until the bitter end? A stupid, pointless fight that's already killed two of your precious friends. And seems to be working it's magic on a third.” He nodded towards Karlach, still breathing heavy, still clinging to life.

Astarion had taken a few solid hits, he wasn't doing exceptionally well, but he was still faring much better than his old friend. “You don't have to be a hero.” He continued, watching him calmly as his wounds slowly knitted back together. “In fact, take her. Run. Go and survive and live to fight another day. You're no good to the coast dead, Mr. Frontiers.”

Wyll stared at him, eyes flicking to Karlach for just a moment. “I'm not an idiot, as soon as I turn my back you'll be on me.”

“Oh I don't know about that. I've thought of something far more fun. How about we cut a deal? I know you're a big fan of making deals that are bad for you, you should be an old pro.” The grin that spread across Astarion's face was enough to make a shiver run down Wyll's spine.

He'd seen that smirk before. That was the look of a devil who knows he's won. Something about seeing it on the face of a man who used to be his friend, it made Astarion far more intimidating than Wyll would've liked. “What… deal?”

“You leave now, I'll even let you take poor Karlach.” He threw a fake frown in her direction. “Or stay and I will gut both of you like the pitiful creatures you are. However, know that if you leave, I will hunt both of you to the ends of the world. It'll be like a game between us. One that will end with your mutilated corpses crushed beneath my boot. But you will live to protect your precious city another day.”

“Why? Just a minute ago you were content to slaughter all of us in your front yard. You won, why bother?” He didn't trust it, not an inch.

Astarion just laughed softly at him, cocking his head. “I changed my mind. Am I not allowed? No, I think I much prefer the idea of you spending the rest of your days hiding from me. I want you to go to bed every single night of your pathetic life wondering if this will be the night I put you out of your misery. Maybe I'll even send my Bhaalspawn after you to finish the job she started. Wouldn't that be fun?”

His voice was calm and collected, as though this were the most casual conversation in the world. He wasn't bluffing, and Wyll wasn't exactly interested in trying to test him. He bit his lip, his gaze shifting between Karlach and Astarion.

“Better pick fast, my friend. She won't last much longer, and I'm sure you don't want to leave her of all people with me.

“Fine. Fine, gods damn it all.” If only looks could kill, then perhaps Wyll mightve stood a chance alone against the vampire ascendant.

“I'll see you soon, my favorite little toy.” Astarion grinned like a madman as Wyll knelt beside Karlach, quickly casting a spell that teleported both of them away from the courtyard and out of view.

Astarion only chuckled to himself, rather pleased with the game he'd just made. He wouldn't even have to do much besides threaten him every so often now. And one day he would kill him, when he got bored or angry enough.

His attention turned to the two corpses left in the grass near him. Lae’zel and Gale, two incredibly powerful individuals. He could not wait until you woke up to find your new toys.

[demaparbat-hp]

Hi there. ^_^ ♥ First, LOVE your art!♥

2nd, for your Katara joins Zuko in hunting the Avatar AU idea, I have a question. :)

If originally Zuko was hunting him to restore his honor, but now he's part of the White Lotus, does this make the White lotus evil? (The kind that think they're doing it for good, but they're delusional, because their idea is clearly bad.)

Or, if they're not evil, what is Zuko's new reason for hunting the Avatar, if not for his honor? :)

Hello, and thank you for the question!

I hope you don't mind me making this a sort-of continuation to this post, but the replies are connected, in a way.

Now, it may come as no surprise that I love to play with canon divergences. So it stands to reason that one minor change to canon became the basis for Zuko's character in this AU. Mainly, that he stayed behind with Azula to eavesdrop the rest of Ozai's audience with Fire Lord Azulon, and thus was witness to the latter demanding his death in exchange for Ozai's right to the throne.

Zuko, unable to sleep that night, is wide awake when Ursa comes to see him. He delays her, deeply afraid of what's happening, and follows her silently through the dark halls of the palace when she leaves. But Ozai intercepts her. Ozai kills her, and Zuko watches.

It changes everything and nothing at all at the same time. Zuko's desire to be the Perfect Prince isn't because he wishes for his father's attention and love—instead, it comes from a place of grief. Zuko's is a simmering rage that drives him to one day take the throne (the very same throne that turned his mother to ashes and gave her no ceremony) from Ozai in revenge. But to do so he first needs to be ready for it.

Zuko learns to listen. Slithering through the shadows of the palace and pushing himself beyond his limits. But the Agni Kai happens. And when everything is lost, Zuko turns his misfortune into an advantage.

Uncle had started to introduce him to the White Lotus before his banishment, so Zuko becomes a member after he's fully healed. He makes the best out of what little he has—a crew full of agents, traitors and dissidents, and a position and name in the Fire Nation military that, while precarious in nature of his banishment, still allows him certain sway from within.

Time passes, and he grows. He goes to missions for the White Lotus, puts a stop to several plans for minor invasions and battles (nothing major, as to not cause suspicion) and works hard and subtle to better things wherever he goes.

He makes plans. Reckless, half-impossible plans to depose of his father. But they are useless and, most often than not, bloody.

The conditions of his banishment are clear. He is stripped of all titles and rights as Prince and can never set foot on the Mainland ever again. He's no longer the Crown Prince to the Fire Nation and has, by the Divine Law of Agni, no right to the throne. That is, of course, unless he does the impossible, captures the long-missing Avatar, and brings them to the Fire Lord. And that, for obvious reasons, is not an option. It hasn't been an option for the last one hundred years.

Until it is.

Capturing the Avatar is not something Zuko does to regain his honor or earn his father's respect (the first, because he had never lost it; the second, because he's never had it in the first place). It is a necessity. Something he must do if he wants to reclaim his title as Crown Prince, take the throne from his father and end the war once and for all.

But, let me tell you a secret. This AU? It was born because I woke up one day with a single phrase repeating itself in my head, over and over again:

The Prince refused to play Pai Sho, not because he was bad at it but, rather, out of boredom—he never lost a single game.

And that's just it. It's a game.

He can't take an untrained, childish fifteen year old Avatar to his father. But he can give the kid enough time to get ready. Chase him around, play the Bad Guy, push him away from the real dangers out there. Oh, he will deliver the Avatar to the Fire Lord—he just needs to keep his cover as loyal prince long enough for the boy to play his part and become a fully realized Master.

The Gambit is dangerous and double-edged, but all of Zuko's moves on the board are part of the same strategy. This, after all, is just another game of Pai Sho.

And he never loses.

[toriangeli]

Thoughts about Lesmand next season

I maintain that one of the most important relationships of s3 is going to be Lestat/Armand, not because of shipping, but because it's very central to TVL and the series as a whole. Their complicated feelings about each other are fascinating. And they're complicating them even further.

One clear change made is that Lestat now blames Armand for Nicki's death. For those who haven't read the books, Lestat never blamed Armand for Nicki's suicide. This is because one of book!Lestat's most infuriating flaws is that he forgives immediately. This isn't because he's a sweetheart or virtuous or any of that shit, it's because he doesn't like feeling negatively. It's a trait that gets him into a lot of trouble.

But on a television show, something visual and far more concrete than the contents of a book, I can see how this attitude could lead an audience to believe Lestat didn't really care about Nicki. I think that's a good enough reason to make the change already. But there's another important reason to change this.

People talk about how much Lestat's characterization changes between the first two books, but seldom do we get into how vastly Armand changes. Not as a result of character development--as a result of Anne Rice not quite knowing who he is. He was the villain of the first two books, and she expected him to remain a villain until she wrote QOTD and realized he isn't evil.

But by the time she'd figured that out about him, TVL was already out there, and the conflicted nature of Lesmand was very much one-sided. Lestat thought they were besties, while Armand had basically no redeeming characteristics. In this light, Marius' abandonment of Armand is more understandable than it is later on, because as of the writing of TVL, Armand really was meant to be beyond hope.

So at the start, Lestat and Armand really just had a hero-villain relationship. Straight-up. With mutual pining. Some of the major beats of their dynamic, like Armand's sincere belief that Lestat led him on, or Lestat's strange trust in a very unstable Armand, came out of nowhere. It seemed like some of Lestat's attitude towards him was only there to make the betrayals even crueler. Lestat was a total martyr. Hell, at one point (in Memnoch I think) he even asked how Armand could still love him "after everything I've done to you." Lestat didn't do shit to Armand.

Conversely, it can also feel like their later closeness comes out of nowhere. A lot of grudges are let go during QOTD in the face of bigger problems, and the Lesmand conflict is one of them. But what did they do to earn the closeness they have as of Memnoch? What bonded them so much that Armand was the only one who could safely approach a coma'd Lestat?

The show has the opportunity to make these beats feel earned. It has the opportunity to make the conflict something they both contribute to, rather than just Armand. Just like with Lestat, they are drawing characterization of Armand from later books where Anne had his personality down more solidly. They've ironed out some of the big conflicting things, like him spell-gifting Louis into turning Madeleine when turning people is later established to be utterly against his moral code.

More than anything, I hope to see what made them so important to each other right away. I want to see Lestat's pity and mercy as he realizes how very unwell Armand is, and how that is the reason he lashes out. I do think it should still fall apart because Armand bites the hand that feeds him. I do still want the unhinged gremlin we saw in 2.05. But I think if the audience is going to empathize with him--something Rolin has said is important to them--Lestat shouldn't be quite so much of a saint. I think there should be a crumb of a reason Armand thinks Lestat led him on, albeit a small enough one that it's still not a conclusion a rational person would come to. Like the blood-sharing and casual (for Lestat) sex in Armand's little story. Ideally even smaller. I'd like there to be some trigger. Otherwise, the audience will wonder if they missed something (as I did).

I'll probably ramble more as thoughts come up, but that's it for now.

[shuttershocky]

Consider, Barret.

I'm always considering Barret!

He's my favorite FF7 character and his design in Remake is outstanding.

Parts of Barret didn't age too well (his original character concept is "big and scary man" and he's the only major black character so uhhhhh) but I love that he's an unapologetic revolutionary and a genuinely charismatic leader that cares for the people under him as much as for his cause, whether or not they're even his responsibility.

One of the more endearing parts of the Remake is all the ways that Barret still cares for Cloud despite Cloud only being a hired merc instead of being a true believer in Avalanche; he gets worried when Cloud doesn't make it back immediately after they bomb Mako Reactor 1, and when they bomb Mako Reactor 5 and Barret thinks Cloud is about to fall to his death, Barret immediately says "Listen merc, I was wrong about you!" because he won't let anyone under his command die without him doing everything he could, even if all he can do is tell them they made him proud. He even offers to to stay behind and help Cloud battle Rufus Shinra, expecting Rufus to cheat (he does) and not wanting Cloud to sacrifice himself just to buy the party time to escape when that should be his responsibility as Avalanche leader.

He's even a loving father that spoils his daughter Marlene, but instead of making that detail something that contrasts his hardass personality, it's because he has a child that he's a hardcore eco-terrorist—his child's future is on the line.

I love that he's obviously the most well-read party member, quoting books about planetology and social justice in between all of his other lines being a Mr. T caricature. When the likes of Tifa grow uncomfortable with Avalanche's mission because of the ordinary people whose lives they disrupt too, he's always there to steady her and remind them all that their fight is literally for the planet's life; most Shinra employees are ordinary people just trying to do their best for their families, but Shinra itself is slowly destroying the planet and will kill them all, this fight must be done for everyone's sakes. A good man that serves an evil master must recognize his complicity before he can redeem himself.

One of the coolest things the Yuffie DLC does is expand more on Avalanche as a resistance group with different factions, with the main faction receiving support from Wutai. Barret's group is called "the splinter cell" because the other Avalanche factions don't want to associate with them since they think bombing the Mako reactors goes too far. The rest of Avalanche don't want to destroy Shinra entirely and ruin the lives of many people in the process, they want to force it into reforms.

Sonon and Yuffie end up chatting about this and Sonon says "The problem is, Avalanche is made of good people. They're soft. They want things like better work conditions, fair elections, equality for the undercity members. They can't do what needs to be done, and will eventually be against us. If you ask me, those guys in the splinter cell are who we should be supporting." Sonon is speaking as a Wutai agent out to destabilize Midgar in vengeance for Midgar burning Wutai to the ground back in the war, but it also really highlights how Barret is the only real force for change inside Avalanche, if all the other Avalanche factions are getting support from other countries and doing nothing while Barret is waging a full on war and earning victories against Shinra with only a gun, a girl that can punch good, and a twink with a big sword.

Also gameplay-wise Barret carries this fucking team on his back. Steelskin and his huge healthpool make Barret a tank (very important when many enemies can decide to give you the finger and wipe the entire team), and Lifesaver allows Barret to take damage meant for his teammates, which is critical for surviving many tough fights, but also makes gimmick/joke builds like Nailbat Cloud viable where you want to keep him on 25% health to have that crit chance and damage boost, but can't let him get slapped once or he dies.

That's on top of Barret's skills being your best ranged options in Remake that isn't spending MP (Aerith can do way more damage with spells but also dies to a sneeze without spending materia slots on HP Up), which is also highly important as half the enemies are flying around and Cloud can barely air attack until Rebirth reworked him. There's also bossfight gimmicks like The Arsenal's guns being interrupted by Focus Shot (you normally need Thundaga to stop it and Hard mode doesn't let you use items, making MP conservation really important) Maximum Fury being amazing at building stagger on bosses from the sheer hitcount and being very satisfying to use, and Barret's incredible Deadly Dodge allowing you to cheese the super annoying Brainpod fight because he swings his gun and hits all the Brainpods at once.

Finally, it's really funny how the Remake added in a big cosmic fate force called the Whispers that have the ability to raise the dead and cause or prevent disasters as fate demands it only for them to be destroyed by Barret and Red XIII shooting it repeatedly. Capital D Destiny, a fundamental force of the multiverse, was slain by the power of a guy with a gun and a weird dog.

[yun9i]

painkiller — xiao.

— xiao (genshin impact) x gn!reader synopsis: when he was at his worst, only you treated it best. cw: major character death, friends to lovers, angst, hurt/comfort, settles during around archon war, a terribly written fic from years ago that i reposted so this is not proofread | wc: 2.8k notes: a sad attempt at me trying to write pre-archon war, spare me! reuploading this from ao3 btw...

the birds started chirping in the air as you walked out of your humble home. clutching your bag to your chest, you kept your belongings safe. being an instrumentalist was a talent of yours growing up, and now here you are, one of liyue's few musicians. you walked to the transport and sat in with a fruit vendor who smiled at you. 

walking to the mt. aocang with gifts in hand to give to morax, guizhong, and the cloud retainer, you hummed to the silence of the area. suddenly, a dash of wind brushed through your hair. you chuckled, knowing exactly who it was from.

"hey, xiao," xiao walked by your side and walked with you. "hey, (y/n)," you smiled at his presence. "are you invited as well?" you asked, grinning at xiao. "correct, in fact, they told me to come fetch you," xiao explained, looking up at the mountain. "so hold on tight," xiao abruptly said, holding your body and the bag you carried. "what—" you got cut off by the coldness of the wind. shutting your eyes closed, you gasped for air.

"(y/n)! xiao! you've arrived!" guizhong cheered, helping xiao with holding the food you brought for the adepti. "xiao, you can put them down now," morax reminded, looking over at the both of you. "right, my apologies," xiao let you sit on a chair nearby. 

"it appears that they're frightened, did anything happen on the way here?" the cloud retainer asked, looking over at you. "i think it was the teleporting," morax suggested, earning a nod from xiao who rested on the tree above them.

"come on, dear. eat this," guizhong offered you a bite of mora meat. you happily ate a bite and smiled at the goddess. "thank you, lady guizhong." she smiled back at you. "can you at least warn them next time?" guizhong playfully scolded xiao, making everyone laugh. "of course, lady guizhong."

"thanks for walking me back, xiao," he hummed, acknowledging your thankfulness. "it's only natural for me to do, (y/n)," he responded, earning a light chuckle from you. he unknowingly smiled at you, enjoying your happiness. "well, thank you for the kind act, alatus," you smiled, waving him goodbye as you returned home. 

as you walked away, xiao felt blood rush to his cheeks. he knew he wasn't new to the feeling. it happens a lot when you're around. clearing his throat, he walked back to guili plains. "it'd be impossible, stop thinking about it." xiao reminded himself, as he always did.

since mortals and immortals aren't supposed to fall in love.

"thank you for walking them back, xiao," guizhong smiled, finding him walking back to the area. "it's my duty to help," xiao stated, catching up to guizhong. "you know, i find it nice that you two go well with each other," xiao choked. "remember when you suddenly appeared when they were playing music?" xiao covered his face from embarrassment. "they screamed twice! they fell and thought you'd kill them," guizhong laughed. 

"their life has gone haywire since they got involved with the adepti," xiao stated, guizhong agreeing. "but we're here to keep them safe, so we should be fine, right?" xiao hesitated before nodding. "and they're in good hands, too." guizhong smiled at xiao, seeing his cheeks glow a slight pink. 

"no, stop. this isn't allowed," xiao cut himself off and shook his head. a mortal? with an adeptus? impossible. lives so far apart, dreams so different from each other. but then, only you give him the butterflies.

and only you do it best.

it was a busy morning a few days later. multiple people came around and prepared for a small event that guizhong initiated. many people walked around with smiles on their faces from excitement. however, you were pacing back and forth, nervous. it was a small event, but your thoughts got to the best of you. 

"what if i fail? what if i make a mistake? what if i become a laughing stock? what if everyone brings up the fact that i failed today? what—" you shook your head before starting to nibble on your fingernails. you halted and stood in silence at one major thought. "what if xiao sees?!" you started pacing in a faster speed.

"you'll be fine, (y/n)," xiao interrupted, standing by the door. "oh my god, warning please! don't scare me like that," you yelped from shock. "oh, my apologies," xiao trailed off. "i'm pretty sure it was you who called, though…" xiao muttered under his breath.

"i'm so nervous i can't even focus anymore, i'm so scared something will go wrong and it'd be my fault, i—" you were interrupted by a warm embrace. "you'll do fine, trust me. i believe in you." you swore there was a certain warmth in his gaze where it usually was cold. you swore his voice sounded like honey when it was usually ice. you swore his smile shined where there was usually none. you were calm. you're okay.

because he's here.

"a-alright, i'll calm down. but can you practice with me for a bit? i wanna go over the song a few more times," xiao chuckled, nodding. he grabbed the messy notes sheet before listening to you play. god, how stunning you were. 

you blinked a few times before hearing xiao's voice. "great job, you did well." you could jump to the moon from how ecstatic you felt. you smiled brighter than the sun that day. xiao widened his eyes as he fell into the sweetness of your laugh. he cleared his throat as he heard your partner come in signaling you to come out to perform. 

"thanks, xiao. i'll be going now!" xiao chuckled before nodding, vanishing into thin air. you walked outside to see a crowd turning to your arrival. you chuckled, sitting on a chair as you prepared to start the song.

xiao sat on a tree close to the stage and watched you play perfectly. he hummed and sang along, having memorized the song from a while ago. and he wouldn't want to admit, but he memorized this song from hearing you singing it every once in a while. 

play a song that you'd like, and he'll know every line.

sunset came, and the guili plains were still as lively as ever. you were happy with everyone around. the livelihood of the area was energizing. the people, the songs, the crowd, the lights. even xiao enjoyed it.

but maybe because it was you. 

"xiao?" his thoughts got cut off as you approached him with almond tofu in hand. xiao accepted it with a nod and thanked you silently. both of you sat in a secluded area, sitting on a tree where it was a bit chilly. there was a cold wind that passed by, making you shiver and envelope your body in your arms. xiao noticed and handed you his plate.

"xiao?" xiao briefly smiled and vanished into thin air, leaving you confused. a few seconds later, xiao came back with a coat and a blanket in hand. "here," he said as he passed them to you. "thank you, xiao." you smiled as he helped you put on the coat. "the sun is setting," xiao pointed out, looking at the sun that faded under the tall mountains. "and yet the place is as lively as ever." you laughed, agreeing.

"i'll miss moments like these. the livelihood, the happiness, the scenery, everything," you said with a smile growing. xiao chuckled. "yeah, i agree, the scenery is great, i could stare at it for days," xiao said, looking at you. you chuckled, oblivious to his loving stare. "moments like these i wish i could stop time," you giggled, continuing your meal.

moments like these you cherish, you wish you could keep. xiao would definitely fulfill your wishes and he will at a snap of a finger. 

too bad he couldn't.

the archon war began. seeing deities take each other down for the sake of divinity was not something you would see daily. it was frightening. but you knew you'd be safe, of course you would be. 

you just didn't expect everyone else not to.

havria's surge of power almost salinified everyone who remained. you ran as fast as you could, away from there. sal terrae was the last thing havria had for her people, and now here she was, slain by the first and last king of her people. "xiao, xiao, xiao, xiao," you called for xiao multiple times, sobs and ragged breaths in between. the fear of death grew bigger as you ran with the last few people who survived and ran with you. 

after a few seconds, xiao appeared and helped everyone out of the area. xiao carried you out of the area while you cried in his warm embrace. "it's okay, (y/n). you're safe now," xiao reassured you, stroking your head with his warm hands. from orders of guizhong and morax, he guided everyone left to guili plains to stay safe. once you arrived at guili plains, you were the one who enlightened the two gods of the death of their fellow god. 

"well that's…saddening…" morax responded, looking down in defeat. everyone stood in silence to honor havria's legacy until you heard screams outside. "damnit," morax cursed, running outside to protect the city. "everyone, take cover!" guizhong shouted, pulling you over to protect you. "lady guizhong, let me fight," you pleaded, pulling out the spear from thin air. "but (y/n)—" you cut her off and ran outside. 

you took a deep breath before entering the battle. having learned a thing or two from xiao, you tried to help and defend yourself from enemies nearby. there was bloodshed everywhere. you let go of the fear and hoped for the best. 

despite how strong everyone was, it wasn't enough to save everyone. the city that once stood tall under morax and guizhong's supervision crumbled to the ground. the entire war within the area eventually killed and/or harmed other people.

including you.

you coughed out blood as you felt a pole pierce through your abdomen. you turned to see someone grinning in victory. you yelped as you weakly raised your spear and pierced it through his body. "(y-y/n)!" you heard from the side, your vision getting hazy. "xiao…" you muttered as you slowly walked to the yaksha with most of your already fleeing strength. 

the fear xiao had in his eyes when he saw you dying in his warm arms, from a random pole from a random stranger. it hurt.

morax turned to xiao and found him running to your dying body. he saw the random man laughing in victory and felt anger boil inside of him. he smashed his body with a gigantic meteor. he felt anger due to the fact that this moron destroyed the life of a human he thought was family to him because of how different you treated him. 

"wishing you all the best, (y/n)." morax muttered, attending to the other enemies. xiao turned to morax and cried. "morax—" xiao started, only to be disrupted. "get everyone to safety!" he only shouted, pushing xiao away. xiao nodded, carrying you and gathering everyone and fleeing to mt. tianheng with the other people to keep them safe from further danger. 

"…x-xiao—" you were interrupted by a cough accompanied by blood. xiao started worrying and a few tears escaped his eyes. "(y/n), no. not now, we're almost there, i swear." you laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "why are you laughing? you're literally dying," xiao sobbed, still upset at how lightly you were treating this situation.

"come on, xiao. lighten up a bit, it's not like i'm disappearing forever," you chuckled. "you're not immortal like i am, (y/n). please, let's just go—". "xiao, please…" you begged, slightly crying. "you're hurt, we need to go—". "xiao…" you called out.

"(y/n), please! you're dying! why do you think i am doing this? we need to get you healed!" xiao cried, giving in to his heart. breathing in a lot deeper than most breaths you've taken, you smiled. "xiao, you kill the pain. better than anyone or anything else in the world"

"you're my painkiller," you touch his cheek with your almost cold hands. "so it doesn't hurt." xiao started crying, sobbing as some people stopped by. "(y/n), please i'm begging you—". "xiao, please. go on, bringing me will only risk the others' lives" you responded. "but—"

"xiao." you called, stopping him. he cried for a few minutes.

"i hate you, i hate you, i hate you, i hate you—" xiao kept chanting as he carried your body and ran for his life, everyone doing the same. "xiao, i swear to the archons—" you were cut off by xiao. "just shut up and stay awake." xiao shouted, running faster than light. "wow, rude." you joked. "this is not the time to be joking, (y/n). you're literally dying." xiao responded, angered. "so?" you retorted. xiao halted, slowing down for a bit.

"…i love you." he muttered, weak in volume, but loud in your heart. "if there were a word better than love, i'd use it. i just realized how special you are to me. you make me feel things that i don't with others. you give me emotions to feel. you give me motivation to do things. you give me what i need when i need it. you make the pain disappear."

with your mouth left open from shock, you ignored the pain and the blood seeping out of your clothing. "you're my painkiller," he muttered. "and only you kill it the best." you smiled, your heart fluttering. silence grew in between the both of you until you spoke.

"hey xiao, can we walk like we usually do? pretend that i'm not dying." you muttered, gripping onto his clothing. xiao let out a sigh, nodding as he slowed down on the path to the area they evacuated to. xiao walked, step by step, listening to you ramble about random things. he suddenly started sobbing in silence.

"xiao, you know i love you, right?" xiao nodded, hearing the silence in your voice. "well, i love you," he chuckled. "thank you for everything," tears started running down his face. "thanks for killing the pain," he smiled, for you. "i'll see you soon."

he felt how your arms went limp. he felt how the silence replaced your voice. he felt how cold your skin was.

you were dead.

he cried, for an hour. he came down to where liyue harbor was established. everyone saw how xiao carried your dead body on his back, the same feeling of death reflected on his face. no one could decipher his feelings.

anger that he couldn’t save you? sadness from the fact that he lost you? grief from your death? happiness for your peaceful passing?

morax arrived at the area after a while, carrying guizhong's hair clip. xiao and morax looked at each other and sighed. everyone who died in the battle was buried in a certain area. xiao sighed, standing up. a blank expression adorned his face.

maybe this time, no one can help him.

"why do we always run errands for people?" paimon asked, annoyed. "oh come on, it's zhongli. i'm sure this isn't anything that big of a deal." lumine replied, laughing. lumine, while travelling with paimon, came to give xiao a box delivered from zhongli. none of the two knew what was in the box.

"xiao~" paimon called, looking for him where zhongli told them to go. "paimon? traveler? what are you both doing here?" xiao questioned, standing up from the rock. "zhongli told us to give you these," lumine offered a box that zhongli had prepared. xiao opened the box to qingxin painkillers and violetgrass on a hair clip. he smiled, thinking of you.

"woah, seeing xiao smile is so rare!" paimon said, peeking at the box. lumine and paimon didn't really question the hairclip, despite it being unnatural for xiao. "painkillers? are you sick?" lumine asked, concerned. xiao shook his head. "it's nothing of your concern," xiao answered, holding the box close to his chest. "let us walk you to the inn! we have to talk to verr about a commission anyways!" paimon suggested.

"so, xiao," paimon started, dragging out the syllables in calling his name. xiao hummed in response. "what's that hairpin for?" paimon asked. xiao smiled, looking at the pink skies. "someone special," he responded, looking back at the two with a small smile.

"woah, they must be that special if you're smiling, huh?" paimon blabbered. xiao chuckled, nodding. "they're an old friend who i cherished a lot," xiao stated. "ooh, who are they?" lumine chirped in, asking.

"they're my painkiller."

© YUN9I 2024 ; all rights reserved. do not copy, translate, or repost on any other platforms other than my own.

[getvalentined]

I understand people giving Lucrecia the benefit of the doubt with regard to what she did to Vincent, just like I understand people not realizing how undeniably fucked up Gast was, but the important thing to keep in mind about these characters is that the majority of them are written as being in the throes of some pretty extreme cognitive dissonance.

It's not bad writing, it's that they're hypocrites. They reached a moral event horizon at some point, and they did what they felt they had to do when crossing it.

Gast abandoned a child because he wasn't what he wanted—even having raised Sephiroth up until that point and knowing that he was a pretty normal kid overall, as we can see from his behavior as a young teen in Ever Crisis, Gast still couldn't bear to continue to be responsible for a monster. He knew what Hojo was capable of, because he knew about what happened to Vincent, because it happened in his lab, and he left a literal child in his care anyway. Sephiroth's only crime was not being what Gast thought he was, and Gast damned him to a lifetime of torture under a "father" whose only goal was to use him to prove his own genius. Why? Because Gast had a goal, and the goal was what mattered, the ends justified any means he could devise. He was a man obsessed, driven to the verge of madness in his lust for the Promised Land. A religious zealot with the most powerful scientific team in the world at his disposal, ready to prove him right—and then he wasn't right, and the whole world fell apart underneath him. Ifalna gave him back that stability, because she was a real Ancient, and she gave him a new, better child to care for. A child that wasn't a monster, a child that was his, a child that might one day lead him to the Promised Land, if her mother didn't do so first. When Aerith was born, Gast got to be right again, and therefore all was right with the world. Sephiroth (like Genesis before him) may as well have never existed at all.

Lucrecia openly experimented on a man who loved her enough to die for her, going so far as to apparently use data from those experiments to improve her own academic standing, because she couldn't bear the guilt of being responsible for his death. It wasn't about whether it was the right thing to do, it wasn't about whether she loved him back, it wasn't even about her thesis at that point—she just couldn't continue to live having lost everything as a result of her own impatience, her own lack of regard for everyone around her. She killed her mentor through her own impatience, she gave up her son for experimentation, she didn't stop her husband from experimenting on her ex-lover, and she had nothing to show for it but crippling Jenova toxicosis and an equally crippling cowl of regret.

I could even go into Hojo here, how what he did to Sephiroth was a result of struggling to escape Gast's shadow, how what he did to Vincent was a result of him struggling to prove that he deserved his wife, how everything he did was born from the all-consuming need to do just one thing for which no one else could take credit. Hojo got the director position not because he earned it, but because Gast ran away. Hojo got Lucrecia not because he wooed her, but because he didn't have eyes like the unrequited first love that she killed. Hell, Project S only happened because Project G failed! Nothing Hojo has ever had that was worth anything was because of his work, only because the work of others failed. Why do you think he talks about "failures" the way he does? The failure of others is the only reason he's gotten so far, and he knows that any failure of his own will knock him right off that pedestal—and he's terrified.

None of these people are good people. I don't know that any of them ever were. But in their eyes, everything they did was justified, they took the right course of action, because they took the only course of action that their personal understanding of reality would allow them to take.

Were any of them actually right? Probably not. Certainly not, in some cases. But there's no going back on it now. The arrow has left the bow of the goddess, and there's no calling it back.

[eightstarr]

i know — van palmer.

summary: you can't remember a life before van, but there was one. there must've been one. it feels ridiculous to think about. you'd rather think about her, rather think about this— two moments then, and two moments now (and so, so many to come).

notes: heyyy i know i said i would post this like a month ago, i fully forgot!! if there was like one person waiting i'm sorry and i love you sm <3 also this ignores the plot entirely and i wanna make that very clear just in case!! it's like a nothing happened and we're all okay au! anyway here's to my loser girl and to whoever also finds themselves staring at the wall in silence thinking about her :)

୨・┈﹕✦﹕﹕✦﹕┈・୧

THEN.

"You're hogging the blanket," Jackie mutters over a mouthful of popcorn, purple polished nails tugging at the soft fabric.

She's right— you are. "I'm not," you say, and bring your legs close to your chest partly so they can offer some kind of comfort, but mostly so they're not touching the unknown dangers of the floor anymore.

The TV flashes red and Jackie's living room is bathed in it, along with all your faces.

Shauna snorts at a man getting brutally and very unrealistically decapitated on the screen and pulls her own blanket closer to her best friend before she even has to ask. They do that a lot; talk without words. Any other time you would've noticed, thought that's cute and smiled to yourself, but right now you're too terrified.

The movie is bad. Or, that's what you have to keep reminding yourself of. It's lazy in a way that's bordering on comical and needlessly violent in a way that proves that it was written by a man with interesting fantasies. You shouldn't be scared, but you are.

Another death earns you a few minutes of quiet, though you know the build up to the next one will be worse. The characters cry and fret over the dead body of their friend but the killer is nowhere to be seen, disappearing conveniently into the night. You're granted a scene of daylight but the sun comes and goes, and then the screen turns to dark violets and blues again and you're tensing up in your seat.

It's fine, at first— the pretty blonde girl is yielding a kitchen knife and walking around while her muscled boyfriend boards up the windows of the big house. Lottie shifts where she's sitting on the floor next to Laura Lee's legs and whispers about why they would lock themselves in instead of taking their chances outside, which is 'obviously the smartest thing to do'. You don't have time to process what she's saying because suddenly an ax is clawing its way through one of the windows and the characters are screaming and, well, so are you.

"Fuck!" You curse, jumping and landing yourself halfway into Van's lap, the softness of her thighs under your own, your back against her chest.

Van blinks, more startled by your reaction than the scene itself, her hands coming up to steady you and then immediately dropping back down a second after they brush over the cotton of your shirt. She lets out a shaky breath and does not think about how good your weight feels on top of her, because that would be a bad thought, a questionable thought. And it should not have been the first one to pop into her mind. Definitely not. That would be embarrassing. That would be bad.

You cover your eyes with one hand as the sounds of screaming come to a crescendo and hold one of her hands tightly with the other, mumbling sorry, sorry, sorry as if you're doing something wrong. As if you don't know that, even if you were, Van is incapable of being mad at you. Famously so. Everybody knows.

She looks around the room to the rest of the girls. No one is staring, too busy chewing popcorn and wrinkling their noses at the more gruesome special effects. Van turns her head back to you. A million thoughts rush in, overwhelming and unforgiving. Something about the soft tint of chapstick on your lips, the curve of your nose, the shape of your fingers. Things she's noticed before -Van is often greedy of all your details-, but not in this way, never from this close. She can smell your shampoo from here. Somewhere in the back of her mind, over the scent of honey and strawberries, she wonders if she's going insane.

Your body noticeably relaxes as the violence dissipates, your grasp on her hand loosening slightly. When you uncover your eyes, the final girl is clawing her way through the woods. You're unsure of how she got out of the house, but too comforted by the thought of the movie finally coming to an end to care.

Van is scared to say anything, scared to move— if she does, you might push yourself off of her, ignore her for the rest of the night because you're embarrassed. The thought is ridiculous. You'd never ignore her, you're not that kind of person, but it's what she would do. Except she'd probably never be in this position in the first place, because she'd never be brave enough to throw herself on your lap, even if she was as scared as you were. And that's just it anyway, it's not like you chose to do this. You didn't pick her. You would've found the same comfort in anyone's arms. Right? Van feels you shift closer, just slightly, like you're unaware of it. Right?

Her forehead falls on your shoulder as she thinks herself sick.

"It's scary, right?" You whisper, confusing her crisis for fear. Your fingers wrap around her bicep, soft and absentminded when they brush up and down her skin, trying to make her feel better.

Van feels her stomach flip, her hands twitch. In another world, she would wrap her arms around your waist and press her lips to your ear, mumble something stupid like if you say so, baby just to annoy you. Here, though, all she does is nod her head. She whispers back, "Yeah, it is."

She looks up at the screen, tries to be scared, to be invested. You relax further into her, personal and comfortable as if there's no one in the room but the two of you. Van blinks. She can't give you the name of the girl on the screen. A minute passes and your back straightens suddenly, but you don't rush to slide off her lap. You do it carefully, not because you want to but because you're worried about making her uncomfortable. Van wants to pull you back but she's never faced anything as daunting. She comforts herself with the thought that one day she will, a hungry attempt at manifesting or breaking a mental wishbone or something. For now, she follows you with her eyes and feels her anxiety melt away when you notice her staring and give her a smile. The movie's not yet over. She looks back. Who's the bad guy again?

—

NOW.

Van likes to pretend that she's a better cook than she is. Someone else might find it funny, annoying even, but you can't find it anything but cute. You love telling her that you've run out of food and watch her scoff and puff up her chest.

"I'll make you something out of nothing," she'll say. Then she'll open the fridge and bend at the waist, stare at said nothing for a solid two minutes before resurfacing and declaring that she's craving pizza from the place down the street, anyway, so there's no point in cooking.

At the grocery store the next day, you make sure to buy the essentials for the one pasta recipe that she does actually know how to make. Van likes to feel useful. And you like to indulge her every need, maybe a little too much.

You pick the sweetest looking tomatoes for the sauce, no real expertise behind your method— you're not exactly an amazing chef, either, but the two of you do just fine. Someone calls your name in the middle of bagging the last tomato and you turn to meet a face you had almost forgotten about.

"Katie Lopez?" Van asks again, staring at the folded piece of paper with the almost-stranger's number that you'd gotten without asking (a friendly gesture, you're pretty sure) after a slightly lengthy conversation that carried on even after your multiple anyway, I should probably get going's.

You're telling Van about the encounter while washing the tomatoes in the sink, sleeves rolled up. Your cheeks are warm with kisses like they always are when you make it back to her, as if she wants to reward you for it. You've been hers for so long, and she's still amazed at the fact that you come home to her. "Yes," you repeat. "Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not," she says, flicking the paper where it sits on the counter, kinder than her original need to ball it up or light it on fire or something even more dramatic. She moves to open the cabinet and starts putting away the canned goods you've brought. "I just didn't know you guys were close."

"We're not. She was just being polite."

Van hums. For a moment you think she'll let it go, but of course she won't. She doesn't like the thought of someone flirting with you when she's not there and she especially doesn't like the thought of that someone being Katie fucking Lopez, who's most memorable for fingering girls in the bathroom for most of your shared high school experience.

Van clears her throat and the cabinet closes with a thud louder than she intended, definitely not because she was caught up picturing you under Katie's gaze. She means to sound casual, but she's not trying very hard when she asks, "She ever try to get with you?"

You spare her a single glance, as if to check that she's serious. Of course she is. "What, in high school?" You shake your head, chuckling like the idea is funny. "No. She was more into the cheerleader type."

Van knows that you're right. Still, she squints her eyes at you, ginger hair leaning to one side when she tilts her head. "Is that a hint of resentment that I'm hearing?"

You've gotten good at knowing how to handle her jealousy. It's only fair, considering that she's gotten good at handling yours. Neither are ever that serious. "I was making a neutral observation."

You know she's creeping closer before you feel it. You know her too well. "Yeah?" She mutters, her hands on your hips as she presses herself to your back. Her nose is familiarly cold where it brushes against your neck.

You dry your hands and lean back on instinct, and she doesn't flinch at the added feeling of your weight. Van can be a lot like a brick wall, but you don't usually tell her that, unless you're feeling extra sweet and want her to grin like a cocky little shit for the rest of the day. "You were into that type, too."

Van scoffs, a soft gust of air on your neck. "I was into you," she says.

You hum, purely fucking with her. "Maybe."

"May— what the fuck are you talking about?" She pulls away just enough to prove that she's actually offended. And she is, because the idea is ludicrous and yeah, she's taking it personally. You can question Van about anything you want, except for the fact that she's been in love with you for more than half of her life. "When did you ever see me looking at cheerleaders?" She asks.

You and Van work for a lot of reasons. You work because you're different where it matters, enough to balance each other out, and you work because you're the same in everything else. You might've been just teasing her at first, but now the thought does that stupid thing where it starts to linger and -just like she had thought about you and Katie- you can almost picture it in your head, a younger Van standing on the soccer field, her eyes trailing over a girl's short uniform skirt. You roll your eyes, annoyed mostly at yourself. "Oh, don't act like you wouldn't have loved for them to shout your stupid name."

Van chuckles. She can read your train of thought like a book. She knows you too well. "Stupid name, huh? You're cute when you're jealous." And a little mean, too, but in a way that makes her weak in the knees. She won't be telling you that part. You already know, anyway.

You pull the hands that are wrapped around your waist away from you. Van lets you— she wants to see where this is going. "Not jealous," you mutter.

"No?" She teases, half-heartedly disappointed when you don't turn around to let her kiss you.

You look at her over your shoulder and then make eye contact with the piece of paper on the counter, recalling the words of your old classmate. Call me whenever. We should totally hang out. You're too old to be telling people you should 'totally hang out', but Katie Lopez hasn't changed much from the last time you saw her. You hold back the urge to wrinkle your nose at the memory of that same teenager-trying-to-be-cool smirk that she gave you throughout the whole interaction and hum thoughtfully, like you've been tempted. "Maybe I will call her—" you take one step towards the counter in a half assed attempt to reach for the paper but Van is unusually quick as she strides forward and takes it in her hands, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek as she rips it in two. "Van!" You gasp.

"What? Don't tell me you were actually gonna use it," she pouts. "You're breaking my heart, baby."

You try to take the two pieces away from her and all you earn is her breaking it in four, holding it above your head. You're laughing as you slap her shoulder. "God, you're so stupid."

Van raises her eyebrows, mismatched numbers wrinkled in her hand. She drops them on the counter in favor of cupping your face, pressing a contained short peck to your lips. Don't feel bad, she won't hold back for long. "Stupid like my name?"

"I love your name," you shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love it. Just as long as it's mine to say."

It is yours, but you know that already.

—

THEN.

Van's room smells like the incense you got her. You wonder if she used it just to appease you because she knew you were coming, but it's a silly thought. Van likes you. You know this now. She takes everything you give her (your time, your smiles, your kisses) like it's a precious gift, so you can't imagine that she would neglect an actual gift.

Your grandmother said you should light the incense before a game, to bring you good luck and calm your nerves, and you're not ashamed to admit that you bought Van her own pack the very next day. Everything makes you think about her lately, especially this kind of thing. You're not even sure that the incense works, but why wouldn't you share it with her? She deserves all of it— good luck, a stomach free of nerves, at the very least a nice lingering scent if your grandma's beliefs turn out to be a myth. But you hope they don't.

Your girlfriend is anxious more often than you are, but never really about a game. Van knows that she's good at soccer. She's nervous about other things. Keeping her side of the house clean, being able to afford Sinéad O'Connor tickets, what her mom's mood will be like tomorrow, English assignments but only because she thinks the professor is the coolest guy alive and she wants to impress him even if she won't admit it. And lately, there's another thing. She worries about whether you'll look at her one day and realize that you're too good for her.

You know about some of her anxieties, but clearly not all of them. She can picture your reaction if she were to share the last one with you, how your face would scrunch up and you'd look at her with eyes so loving and so sad. She can almost hear you ask, soft and patient, why would you think that? And she wouldn't know what to say. There's comfort in the fact that the worry is there, but it's not constant. Van only worries about that when you're gone. When you're in front of her, or sitting next to her in class, or talking to her on the phone, it's hard to imagine that you'll ever stop liking her. She takes in your smile, your laughter, your sparkling eyes and she can't think about anything else. You make all of it go away. If you asked her, she would tell you that she thinks the incense works, but only because it came from you.

She can smell it faintly from where she is now, but there are a hundred other things overwhelming her more— the feeling of your legs on either side of her, the sound of your bracelets clinking together when you move your arms to rest them next to her head and cage her in, the sight of you leaning in to kiss her. It's easy to say, she's only been dating you for three months, but Van is sure that she will never get tired of this.

She hums against your lips, something too close to a moan. Her cheeks are red when you pull away, and you're not sure if it was the sound she made or the regretful, kind of embarrassing thing she has to tell you that gave her that reaction. "My mom will be home in, like, five minutes," she says, raspy and breathy.

Her voice distracts you. Your lips are tingling. "Okay," you say, nodding your head even though it takes you another three seconds to actually process what she said.

This is where you sit up, break apart. Neither of you move.

You smile and lean back down to kiss her again, stomach fluttering from the sound of her giggling as you tilt your head back. How are you supposed to stop when she's so fucking— so cute, so handsome, so in love with you. You've never felt so secure of another person's feelings for you before, but it's impossible to doubt Van. She makes you confident, makes sure that you know at all times. Might as well be saying I love you, I love you, I love you between each kiss that she pulls you back into.

It takes everything in you to break away from her, but you have to. "Fuck, okay. I gotta go," you mutter. You have to. You'll see her tomorrow. It should be embarrassing how greedy she makes you.

She watches as you sit up on her lap, your skirt bunched up over the crotch of her jeans. You must notice her looking, because you're laughing like you can read her mind when she huffs and covers her face with her arms, her lips pursed as she suppresses an even more embarrassing sound than the one she made before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you insist, like saying it outloud will make leaving easier. You stand up and brush your hands over your hair, flattening the flyaways. Then you grab your backpack from the floor (don't think about the pretty pin she got you a few days ago, because it'll make you want to kiss her again) and walk over to her window.

You could take your chances with the front door, but you don't want to. Van was afraid that her neighbors would see you and innocently mention it to her mom, say something like oh, I saw that Vanessa's friend came by the other day. Van wishes it could be left at that, but her mom is rarely that simple. She looked so worried as she told you about it, so ashamed. You kissed her cheek and promised yourself you'd get good at climbing.

She comes closer as you climb to the other side, getting your footing on the familiar edge of the wall, and she hisses when you let go of the window railing to reach over and cup her face. You don't have to pull for her to bend down and let you kiss her, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

"Please don't fall," she's saying as you make your way down.

You look up at her and smile, and Van thinks you're so pretty that she misses the mischievousness behind it. "Have a little faith in me— oh, fuck!"

Van flinches, bumping her head on the window with how quick she moves to look down at you. The sound of your laughter makes her realize your hands never left their safe grip. Her shoulders relax. "Oh my God, fuck you," she scoffs, though she's too relieved for it to have any real bite.

"What were you even gonna do?" You ask, still giggling.

She shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, fucking— grab you or something."

"Your arms are too short to reach me from up there."

"I take offense to that."

"Well, I'm sorry," you sigh, tilting your head. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I better not hear you asking for my short arms to carry you after practice tomorrow," Van huffs, said arms now crossed over her chest.

You look up at her in disbelief, raising your eyebrows. "I have literally never asked you for that, you always offer."

She shifts slightly where she stands, moves her weight from one leg to the other, caught. "Because I can do it," she mutters.

"Yes, I know. You're very strong, baby."

Van rolls her eyes, choosing to believe that you're teasing her because if she believes that you're being genuine she might die.

Your feet hit the ground with a thud. You do a silly curtsy, as if to say ta-da! and Van thinks you're so cute she's certain that she'll die. You give her one last grin and blow her a kiss before sneaking away from her house into the night.

Van goes to bed with her cheeks aching from smiling, her bed smelling of your perfume, and the faint sound of her brain screaming (terrified, celebrating) you are fucked!

—

NOW.

"I wish I'd asked you to prom," your voice is muffled by her sweatshirt, lips partly pressed against her shoulder.

Van snorts, looking down at you. "What?"

"You never went," you explain, and you have that look on your face, like you've been thinking about this for weeks. Like you could cry. Van presses pause on the (admittedly) shitty action film she'd chosen and lets you try to get your thoughts out. "I really wanted you there. You would've liked it."

She lets out a sigh through her nose, a hand coming to rest against your cheek. "I really don't know if that's true, honey," she says honestly.

You straighten your back a little, a tiny frown on your face like you get when you've been challenged. "You would've liked it. You love to dance and the DJ was, like, surprisingly good. And Ms. Dawson actually said yes to a dance with Peter K., even though that was highly inappropriate now that I think about it. But it was funny at the time— and Natalie snuck in a bottle of vodka."

"Yeah?" She asks, awfully endeared even when she's heard the story a million times before. You'd told her all about it the day after prom, your voice groggy and sleepy over the phone. She had felt lame about having missed it, but a thousand times better as soon as she picked up the phone, giggling in her bed like a fool at every detail you gave her.

You wrap your fingers around the hand on your cheek, press a kiss against her palm. "You would've loved it," you say, sounding somehow more convinced than before. "I should've asked you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was a dick," you insist. "I was a coward—"

"Hey, no. No," Van sits up from her lazy posture, two thin wrinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns. They look good on her. You remember when they weren't there, and it always makes you a little emotional. "Don't say that. You weren't."

"But I was," you try to reason, stubborn to a fault. "I'm not, like, condemning myself. I'm stating a fact."

Her frown deepens. "Well, I don't like it. And I don't think it's a fact."

You didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, but you're not exactly thinking about that at the moment. It happens— you've let the thought saturate in your brain for too long and now you're stuck thinking that you're right. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" You ask, not being petty but genuinely wanting to know.

Van huffs a frustrated breath. "Because I thought about asking you to prom for years, okay?" She says, crawling with embarrassment. "I told myself I would over and over again and then I fucking didn't. If you were a coward, what does that make me?"

You pause, guilt swirling in your stomach because you realize all at once that you've been poking on a tender bruise you didn't even know existed. "Van," you say softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She sighs, almost a chuckle. She can be so mean to herself, so condescending about her own feelings. You know she's not laughing at you, or disregarding you in any way— it's just what she does when she feels like she's humiliated herself. Especially when you're there to watch, looking at her so kindly when she's certain she deserves none of it. "Yeah, well. That was intentional," she mutters.

You let her look away from you for a moment before you push yourself onto your knees, placing one on each side of her hips. She welcomes you like she always does when you come to sit on her lap now, her hands on your waist and her face falling forward to press kisses over your collarbone. A thoughtless motion, automatic.

"Sweet girl," you hum, guiding her head up with a careful hand, smiling when you meet her eyes. "We should've gone out dancing alone. Would've been way more fun."

Van breathes out a laugh. She wonders if she'll cry, and feels like she could. "Yeah," she agrees.

"I would've said yes, you know. I'm not blaming you for not asking me, I get why you didn't. I really do. But it's important to me that you know that." You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's pretty, and getting long. In no time she'll be asking you to wash it over the sink and trim it with your fancy hair scissors, like you've been doing since you got back together when you were twenty five after a stupid argument that led to a two years long break. It wasn't a good time for either of you, but you don't regret it. You have the rest of your life to live with her. Still, there will always be things like this— arguments about deep buried shame, fears that might never go away, moments you missed that other high school sweethearts didn't because their worries weren't like yours. It's sad, but not inescapable all the time. You and Van don't blame each other for any of it. But sometimes you need to be reminded of that.

"I know," she nods, her voice in that soft, quiet tone that you love but rarely get with how passionate she is. It's not a hardship, you love that just as much. "I think maybe that's why— why I was so freaked out. Like, if you said yes, it would become real."

You nod and chuckle a little, sweet and airy. "And you'd have to actually start to date me? Yeah, I would be scared," you joke.

Van buries her face in your chest with a groan. "That's all I fucking wanted," she says, feeling too honest to play along like she usually would.

You let her stay there for a while, her nose brushing against the rise and fall of your chest. Wanna be here forever, she'd told you once, with cold fingers sneaking under your shirt, more than a little drunk. You have been making fun of her about it for ages, but it tugs at something different today. It makes you pull her softly with a hand on the back of her neck, just enough to press your lips against hers, not wanting to deny her any of your warmth that she might crave.

Van hums against your lips, moving where you want her when your hands guide her own from your waist down to your hips. You press your chest against hers like you know she likes and she moans into your mouth, a hand moving to press against your back and force you closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," you mumble when she lets you pull apart, speaking close to her ear as you kiss her cheek, lips soft over old acne scars and sunspots.

Van shakes her head. "I don't care," she promises, smiling like she does when she's about to say something corny. "Look at me now," she shrugs, fake humble. "I got the girl in the end."

You laugh against her smirk and kiss her until she's lifting your hips and pushing you down on the couch, your back against the worn pillows, a hand on the back of your head in case you bump it on the arm rest. You like when she moves you around just to show off, reminds you of when you were younger and she'd flex her muscles just because she knew you were looking. She might not be the same type of strong now, but she can still pull out some tricks when she wants to. And with you, Van often wants to.

She tilts her head back when you try to pull her in for another kiss, sighing as she gets comfortable on top of you. She almost gives up the act when you pout at her, blinking your pretty eyes, but instead she leans her weight on one hand next to your head and says, "That is, of course, if she doesn't leave me for Katie Lopez's magic fingers."

Van expects you to roll your eyes, slap her shoulder so she can say ouch! and dramatically rest her hand over the wounded spot. Instead, you slide your hand over hers where it's resting against your hip, intertwining your fingers together and smiling pretty, tilting your head. "Mmh, but I have the best fingers right here."

Van scoffs, playing amused rather than speechless because she's trying not to show you how much your words get to her. It's embarrassing how proud it makes her, how quickly she melts into the palm of your hand when you as much as imply that she's good at something, that you would pick her over everyone else, that you want her like she wants you. Praise from others makes her smile and say thank you, but praise from you reaches her core, makes her dizzy. Her lips feel dry and her tongue pokes out absentmindedly to lick them as you guide her hand up. Van barely registers the movement, too busy watching your face— how beautiful that she gets to see it all the time now, that she knows all the details like you know hers.

Her fingertips come to rest against your lips and her breath stutters as she tries desperately to maintain any sense of coolness or dignity or fucking something while you kiss each one, soft and attentive. She's thinking, is she insane for finding it as thrilling as she does, even after all these years? Do you know what you do to her? You can't possibly know, Van almost decides, but then you part your lips to slide two of her fingers into your mouth and she thinks that you do. You definitely know.

"F—fuck," she breathes out, and tries to remember her original plan to tease you but can't recall your old classmate's name. "You trying to butter me up?" She asks, her chuckle trembling but deep, from the back of her throat.

Her fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and Van groans. You hum, "Is it working?"

You're mean, evil. You're the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Two things can be true at once. You're a dream, and you're not like this for anyone else. The thought echoes through her skull, warm and infectious. Van smirks. "Yeah."

[radioisntdead]

You mentioned doing Susan and Reader type things, let me bring up to you:

Reader is Susan's adult child or Niece/Nephew. How do you think that would go? Would she be boasting them up like she does to Rosie or would she be nitpicking them all the time? You decide!

Good evening my dear! I'm gonna scream about Susan now, we don't see much of her but I adore grumpy old people characters (in fiction)

Let's start with child headcanons,

You POOR POOR CHILD, Susan definitely has a key to your home, did you give it to her? Probably not she's the type to MAKE a key, or pick the lock, look me in the eyes [?] And tell me this old woman doesn't know how to pick a lock,

She's definitely seen and done some shit in her [After?] Lifetime, you could be making dinner and she just breaks in strolls on in and starts going on about her childhood and it's just the most messed up Parent Susan lore, she also doesn't care for boundaries, doesn't matter who you are, your boundaries are being invaded, she doesn't like when others invade your boundaries through, only she can do that after all she's your mother! She assumingly birthed you,

Or picked you up from the side of the streets

I don't know how she acquired you

If you have a spouse, Mama Susan does NOT like them, doesn't matter if they're the king of hell or whatever, No one is good enough for her baby,

Heaven forbid if it's someone she already doesn't like, like Alastor for example.

That being said she wants grandkids, you don't have to spawn them, just pick one up off the streets I'm sure there are orphans in hell! Especially after extermination day

She's definitely the type to grab your cheek, squish it and just go "Have you been eating at all?!? Fucking skin and bones!"

Then she just gives you some poor demons leg to munch on, yum!

I feel like when she can make a mean cannibalistic meatloaf, but nothing else,

Maybe soup, but who can't make soup?

[I'm so sorry if you can't make soup, Don't worry I'll make you some so your not soupless]

She's definitely the type of parent to send you to your room without dinner, or keep you at the table until you finished up your meal, or smack with the cane

Honestly if we go with if she was alive in the 1800's {?} And not hellborn {also Susan DOESN'T HAVE A WIKI PAGE? GIVE OUR MEAN OLD LADY A WIKI PLEASE- /j}

Depending on your gender you definitely get raised differently, because sexism was horrid back then, woman didn't get the rights to properly vote until the 1920's, She was long gone by then.

if you're born a gal she's all

"Be more ladylike! No man will marry you if you act like this"

She loves you, and in her mind it's for your own good because society is NOT kind to those who act different than the status quo, she cannot spare you the same fate she got, she wishes you were born in a different time, in one where you'd have more freedom.

she'd lighten up after death because, you know y'all are dead, and man fuck social status that's dead now, she prefers cannibal town as to wherever you were during life

If you were born a lad then you got a ton of

"Be a gentleman! Don't be a dick, don't duel people!"

A son meant she got a pat on the back, she was capable of producing an heir, or whatever old timey crap was going on, she hoped you did NOT turn out to be a product of your environment.

I feel like she'd be very active in feminist movements back then from the shadows, she definitely earned her rights to be grumpy old lady

ANYWAYS THATS OFF TOPIC,

All in all, she's not the WORST mom, but she definitely traumatized you, I feel like y'all healed your mother-child bond in hell {that's a sentence I never thought I'd write}

NOW ON TO THE NIBLING {?} Niece/nephew

She's the single probably wealthy Aunt that probably killed her husband but no one can prove it, completely different from above, she did NOT have a child with niblings [I think that's the right term please correct me if wrong]

If she did have a offspring, congratulations your cousin is often compared to you and y'all probably have a strained relationship.

Anyways any time she sees you she either goes in for the hug and if rejected makes a comment about today's youth and respect, or she doesn't go in for the hug and rambles about today's youth being too touchy,

"What the fuck am I supposed to do with this thing."

Susan when near you.

She gives great Christmas presents though, she just like throws it to you and says she got it last minute and then it's just like 200$ present,

Or if she REALLY doesn't like you, your getting one of those cringe tshirts that's like "look out ladies, I'm a gamer"

OKAY SO ANOTHER LOVELY ANON REQUESTED A THING WITH GRANDCHILD AND SUSAN I'M WORKING ON THAT NEXT, I'm gonna take a nap first though, Thank you for tuning in!

[shhh-secret-time]

Kenny McCormick

27 y.o (He/They)

Soul Synergy: Flowers grow on your skin wherever you soulmates been injured.

Headcanons:

¤ The only reason he's able to go to college is because of Kevin.

》 Kevin goes into the military as soon as he can, since then he's put money to the side for Kenny and Karen

¤ Kenny still works multiple jobs at a time to give back. Feels like he can't just accept the money

¤ He didn't actually go into college until he was old enough to adopt Karen, he couldn't leave her behind

¤ Going for Robotics/Mechanical Engineering

》 I always saw Kenny as the kind of guy who is a savant at things he cares about, so even though he's not a great test taker he's phenomenal in the field

》 He's the kinda guy that stays up until three in the morning going down the Wiki rabbit hole. Next time someone hangs out with him he's going on about snail facts.

¤ If he ever does find the time to himself he spends it on his car.

¤ Bought an old police car from the scrap yard and has been working on it since

¤ Once he gets it up and going he uses it for street racing, earns a little extra cash that way

¤ Absolutely does everything in his power to keep Karen away from that scene

》 She eventually finds out and starts going to watch his races, cheering her brother on

》 His number one fan (I'm crying)

¤ Keeps his parents at an arms length. To the point they don't even know where Kenny and Karen moved to

¤ When Kevin comes home they visit him often. The siblings get together for holidays, birthdays, and breaks.

¤ They moved into the same apartment complexes as Stan and Kyle. They're upstairs neighbors

¤ Will jump down from his balcony to theirs when he comes over, instead of using the front door like a normal person

¤ It isn't until he starts street racing that he joins Stan's board game nights. Now that he's got the extra time

¤ Loves DnD night, but he's the kind of player that's absolutely silly. Has lost two characters already

》 Is the best role player at the table! Has made the table burst into tears over the death of his characters

》 Makes these dorky guys and then makes you fall in love with them.

》》 Definitely flirts with his friends, claims it's in character.

¤ He'll drive Karen anywhere she wants to go until she gets her license. He doesn't want to be her parent but he can't help but worry

¤ His phone is cracked to hell, but he doesn't really care. As long as he can see the screen well enough and make calls it's fine

¤ He collects bottle caps, he doesn't know when it started but he likes picking them up and turning them into pins.

¤ Started using mint/candy tins to keep his stuff in. They fit in his pockets easier

》 In the tin: pair of headphones, chapstick, lighter, a note from Karen, stickers, and a really cool rock he found

¤ Probably has another tin that has sewing supplies, he still has a habit of sewing things back together rather than getting rid of them

¤ His Heelyz are his favorite pair of shoes. He wears them every time he's about to race, says they bring him good luck

》 They were a Christmas gift from Stan, it's the only reason he owns them

¤ Usually has rags covered in oil or grease tucked in his pants, the chain on his pants has little charms. Things Karen has made him and keys.

¤ He had three piercings on the shell of his ear, but when Kevin left for the military he took it out and gave it to him.

》 Said he'll put it back in when his brother comes home.

¤ He's trying to stop smoking but it's a losing battle.

¤ He's still running around as Mysterion with his inability to die.

¤ The power changes as he gets older. He now wakes up wherever he deems home to be. It's not something he can choose, it's what his heart thinks home is

¤ So he wakes up on the couch of his little living room, Karen sleeping in her room.

¤ His body reverses back to when he first got his Soul Synergy

¤ Kenny doesn't get his Soul Synergy until he's in his late twenties.

¤ Doesn't really know why it took so long for it to show up but he's not complaining

¤ I don't think he freaks out when he first sees plants push through his skin

¤ It's alarming for sure, but he just kind of looks at it

¤ It isn't until he notices the scars on his body left from the plant don't go away that he takes it seriously

¤ He tries to keep some of the plants, but he doesn't exactly have the knowledge on how to take care of some of these plants

¤ He gets a little sad when they die

¤ When he finds his soulmate he's more attentive to his body

》 Not just where the flowers grow from, but he's better at taking care of himself

¤ He can't stop being Mysterion. He knows people still need him, and he needs this, but he's not as reckless with his body.

He's sitting in class, zoning out again. Whatever the professor was going on about was a distant thought. The tired behind his eyes weighed him down. He had his head leaned back against the wall, his hood pulled up to add a little extra comfort. Trying to stay awake, he's bouncing his leg. The motion doing very little to keep him awake.

But the sleepy blonde doesn't stay that way for long. The familiar feeling of plants pushing their way from under his skin up into the surface wakes him. He sits up almost in an instant when an orchid breaks the flesh, poking out of his mask. From the side of face, another one blooms and stretches out towards the sun.

No blood. But the side of his face stings, the feeling of a handprint buzzes where the petals touch.

Kenny stands up abruptly, cutting the professor off with little to no care. His hands nearly miss grabbing his bag from the way he beelines it to the door. As fast as his legs carry him, he runs out of the room leaving behind petals, leaves, and the protests of his professor.

(Here's the blank ♡ )

[orenji-iro-no-sora]

I've started reading Heaven Official's Blessings and I am currently on the first book Banyue arc. So I'd be talking about it a lot here because I am so into it!!

*Spoilers for MDZS and TGCF*

Firstly, MXTX is so skilled at writing characters who are clever but whimsical. She really makes you root for the protagonist.

Both Wei Ying and Xie Lian are quite similar in the sense that they both had the right intentions but faced repercussions that, while being justified through the nature of the universe they live in, they didn't deserve. And despite the tremendous pain they went through, both of them were able to reach a state of kind-hearted acceptance which makes them so loveable irrespective of how they're perceived in their story world.

Hua Cheng (San Language) and Lan Zhan are also similar in their endless devotion, the kind that transcends life and death which makes them great love interests. You can't help but feel the adoration they hold for their partners and while Lan Zhan struggled in Wei Ying's first life, he was all in when he got the chance again. Hua Cheng, for now, feels more explicit about his emotions than Lan Zhan (although with Lan Zhan if you know you can't unsee how in love he is). Both of them are dreamy!

MXTX is so good at portraying an almost 'agape' type love between characters. I also enjoy the dynamic of bleeding-heart-oblivious-fool and highly-accomplished-selflessly-loyal.

I can't help but feel that just like MDZS, TGCF is going to be full of action, horror and grief. I am going to hurt for Hua Cheng and Xie Lian, I just know it.

Another thing that I really loved is how Hua Cheng earned the title of Crimson Rain Sought Flower. It's a great description for him, a man who can make the heavens rain blood would seek flowers which are symbolic of Xie Lian. To me, he "sought" flower both in sense of searching it and desiring it (Xie Lian is sought after by him). He sought like butterflies, protective and compulsive. And that's beautiful.

Also "Hua Xie"! Seriously?!?! His fake name was Hua Xie?! Why am I shocked? It's wangxian all over again.

You're actively shipping in your own novel, mxtx!! I love you.