#lp asks

everything lmao

but seriously though, his kindness. he is shit upon at every turn and he still picks himself up and works towards GOOD. he's not a superhero, he's not A Chosen One (contrary to fandom ideas); he's a kid who's been forced into a shitty situation, and what he decides to do with it is help others DESPITE what other people tell him. he's going to help people until the very last, and it's a shame that fandom seems to think that's a bad thing because he's willing to look for other solutions outside of what he is told. resourceful and clever and kind and loyal and just?

I was going to be mean, because that's the easy thing to do, but I'm not going to because I'm going to actively practice what I wrote about, if that's okay with you.

Instead, I'd like to emphasize this paragraph in the meta I just wrote.

Perfection is not possible, much less for a teenage character. We have seen Scott fuck up, multiple times, for several different reasons, most coming down to the fact he's an inexperienced teenage boy thrust into a situation he never wanted to be in the first place. He's afraid, he's experiencing things no one could have braced him for, and further affected by the fact that no one explained anything after the fact either.

I reread my meta, just to double check, but I don't see where I called him a saint, or inaccurate. Scott is Kind! Always? No of course not. But when given the choice, where he has option to Not be kind? He is, for the most part.

Scott IS hopeful! Time and again, sometimes to the point of folly, where it does cause him problems. That is a fault but it's not wrong, you know?

Did he make mistakes along the way? Sure, as a kid then young adult navigating a whole new world that actively wanted him dead, he made mistakes.

I'm not and never will say Scott never messed up, and I made it a point several times in that post itself. The fact that you're coming onto my page and accusing me of woobifying him and making inaccurate assessments is? Firstly uncalled for, and secondly, I hope you do the same for all of those fandom creators who go above and beyond to woobify the villains in Teen Wolf.

Why am I not allowed to talk about the positives of this character without having to caveat Every Terrible Thing he's done? Why can't I just expound on this one part of his character that is, objectively, fascinating to see from a teenage boy without having to assure everyone and hold their hands and remind them explicitly that oh WAIT! sCOTT ISN'T A SAINT THOUGH DON'T FORGET!

I know that. You know that. Anyone who has watched the show knows that. Because we have seen the consequences of him lashing out and having dick measuring contests. Why do I have to bring it up every time I want to write something remotely positive about a character on a show I like?

So tell me, Kit. Why do I have to jump through hoops to satisfy you when no one else needs that clarification?

4) a recurring dream, an old unread book, an heirloom

-

It’s a stupid dream, and every time it leaves Shadow on edge. 

The bone orchard. He knows it’s a dream, because there’s no way that a place like that could exist, but when his hands brush over the bleached-white bones as he crawls towards the summit, he almost thinks it might be real.

This time the dream is darkness, the bones familiar under him as he picks his way through with only the eerie blue glow of some unknown light source. The bones crunch and rattle under his feet, the only sound aside from his labored breathing.

The light grows as he begins picking his way through skeletal trees, until he’s standing in front of a tree that’s almost too bright to stare at directly. Unlike the others in the orchard, its branches hang heavy with green leaves, backlit in strange blue.

In front of the tree is a spear, and instinctively Shadow reaches for it, the weight familiar in his hands. He spins it experimentally once, though god knows he’s never held anything quite like it before in his life. It feels right though, hefty weight sparking something in his head and his chest that he can’t quite identify.

“It’s marvelous, isn’t it?” A voice says, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. 

Shadow spins around, spear at the ready, but there’s nothing around but bones and trees.

“It’s just the beginning,” the voice continues, and Shadow turns back towards the tree, wondering for one ludicrous moment if maybe that’s what’s talking to him.

The tree doesn’t so much as stir, but Shadow sees a book at the base of its gnarled roots. He’s positive it wasn’t there a second ago, but dreams are weird like that, right?

With the spear still in his grasp, he walks towards the book, brushing its worn leather cover curiously. There doesn’t seem to be any identifiers, nothing that’ll tell him what the book is actually about, except for a deep imprint in a script Shadow can’t read.

He traces the shapes, all sharp points, and feels a chill down his spine, the voice seeming to whisper in his ear. “You’ll find out in due time, son.”

The sound of rushing water is familiar, as is the sound of his heart beating in his ears. He vaguely remembers a meeting, something about finding aid in the city to avoid suspicion, but everything past the initial entry into the pub is blank.

He groans, and is bumped for his troubles. Above the sound of rushing water is a voice, talking to him probably, but it takes him too long to focus in on the words.

“–almost there, Fjord!” The voice continues, bright despite the strain and the heavy breaths. “I didn’t think it would be so far! It feels like we just left this morning! Though technically we did leave this morning, technically.”

Jester grunts softly, and Fjord is jostled suddenly, a bounce that makes the scenery spin in a dizzying array of gray and green before it settles.

“Jester…?” He manages, tongue feeling too thick in his mouth, the taste of copper cloying at the back of his throat. “What happened…?”

“Oh, nothing! Nothing to worry about!” Again, her voice is chipper, though he can hear the cracks as she continues to hurry along. She’s carrying him, and all at once the aches and pains register in his chest and his arms and his head.

“We’re just going to find Caduceus and Yasha before the bad guys catch up to us! That’s all, it’s going to be super easy, I promise.” She’s rambling, and despite her strength she has to be struggling.

“Put me down,” Fjord groans, and tries to pat at Jester to get her to comply. “Take a break.”

“That’s really not a very good idea,” she warns, but slows down enough to set him down. “They’re still after us, Fjord.”

Once his eyes focus, he sees she’s really seen the worst of whatever battle they just dealt with. Her clothes are bloodied, hers and his, and she’s missing a sleeve from her dress entirely. There’s a bloody gash across one shoulder that seems to have stopped leaking recently, and she has a cut under one eye that must be smarting something wicked.

Fjord reaches out, trying to grab her hand. “Sit still, let me heal you a bit.”

“Fjord, you need it more than I do,” she chides, pressing his hand against his chest, where he finds with some concern that his shirt is soaked through with blood. “I need to rest before I can heal you more but I told you, they’re still chasing us and we need to get back to the others.”

“You can’t carry me all the way back when we’re both injured,” he says, but now that he’s not being rattled around, he’s finding it so much easier to just let his eyes slide shut, just for a second.

The first sign of trouble that night was Allen waiting outside the bookstore, arms crossed like he was trying to keep himself together by sheer force of will.

The second was his greeting.

“I think Cross got whacked,” he said, tapping his elbow nervously. “I don’t know what I should do.”

Lavi was stumped. “My guess would be tell the police?”

Allen blinked slowly, tilting his head, looking altogether very much like an owl. 

“Tell the police that my uncle, who owns an illegal bar, might have been murdered?” He fluttered his hands in the air in exasperation. “You’re supposed to be smart! That’s why I came to you!”

“Sorry to disappoint?” Lavi scratched at the back of his neck absently, looking up at the bookstore. “Why do you say he got whacked?”

Allen opened his mouth to respond, then shook his head, taking Lavi by the forearm and physically dragging him inside the bookstore.

It hurt a little, seeing all the books thrown this way and that, pages ripped out and spines bent enough to crack the gold lettering. Lavi winced in sympathy, nudging aside a downed bookshelf. “Looks like the place got robbed. Anything useful stolen?”

“Not that I saw. I checked.” Allen bit his thumb absently, the white gloves he always wore not nearly as white now. “Also there’s a lot of blood.”

It didn’t look it, but after a moment of digging through some of the stacks of books, yes, they found a puddle of slowly drying blood, scattered papers soaking up red.

Lavi nudged at the pile with a shoe, careful to avoid getting blood on himself. “We sure it’s not a wine mishap?”

“I have yet to deal with a bottle of wine that smells like that, but if you want to give it a taste be my guest.” Allen huffed, looking around the shop in dismay. “I’d just tidied up the place, too.”

“Is that really what has you all in a twist?” Lavi stepped back to sit against Cross’s upturned desk. “Let’s say someone did bump off your uncle. Why would they want to?”

“You have met the man, haven’t you?” Allen groaned. “You’d have an easier time making a list of the people who don’t have beef with him.”

“So what do you want us to do?” It seemed pretty simple to Lavi; just go to the coppers, let them know what happened and get on with it. What else could they do?

Allen frowned, seeming to think real hard about his options before looking up. “We find whoever killed him, I guess.”

“Just like that?” Lavi had a lot of faith in Allen, sure, but even that was stretching it thin.

“He is the bloke that pays us, you know. Without him, we’re out of a job.” Allen pointed out, eyebrow raised.

“Well, when you put it that way…” 

thank u <3

Tsuna could have probably noticed the swathes of color on his arms ages ago, but in his defense, things happened all at once and left him with very little time to process.

Still, he has to take the time to admit something’s changed when he sits with Gokudera and Yamamoto to do homework, and the colors on his arm seem to warm and glow with the proximity. (As subtly as he can manage, he tries to spot similar colors on his friends, but maybe they’re just better at hiding it than him. That’s fine.)

When Chrome and Kyoko and Haru visit for breakfast, the bands of warmth travel up his forearm to his upper arm, and he feels like he’s being hugged. He’s caught Chrome’s eye once or twice, and she always flushes red and looks away, but she favors her right side those times, and he wonders if it’d be rude to ask if that’s where the orange sky flames would be. (He assumes it would be, since Reborn gave him a look when he asked.)

Lambo’s is the most obvious, because his little brother’s about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. He’s still a little crybaby, rushing into Tsuna’s room, onto Tsuna’s bed, shrieking about aliens with a curl of orange flames wrapped around his chest. Tsuna feels the prickle of green lightning on his leg, and sighs, and lets Lambo lie in his bed for a while and hopes that, when Lambo gets older, he realizes what this means. He can’t help but feel warm though, that even despite the uncertainty of having Lambo be his guardian, it seems it was the right choice.

Ryohei’s the only one that comes out and asks him what’s going on point-blank, pointing to the band of orange flames wrapped around both of his wrists. Tsuna can’t help but shrug a little helplessly, pointing vaguely to his lower back, where he can feel the warm sun flames easing the knot of tension in his spine. They assure each other that it’s probably a good thing, and they don’t bring it up again.

He knows things have shifted when Hibari and Mukuro both begin avoiding him like the plague, though more than once Tsuna has caught Hibari glaring in his direction before stalking off. The strands of indigo and violet don’t lie, though, twisting around his middle like two creatures fighting for possession.

Reborn thinks it’s the funniest thing that’s happened to them, his smug little smirk speaking volumes. 

“You could at least tell me what it means, Reborn,” Tsuna complains, and lets his shoulders sag when Reborn hops on.

It’s surprising, feeling a burst of sun flames that aren’t concentrated in his back, and he casts a sidelong glance at Reborn in askance.

Reborn shrugs, tilting his hat to cover his eyes, just an inch. “You know what it means.”